“Ultra-cold atoms,” she said, “using both lasers and a magnetic trap.” She aimed the weapon at the stile. “Watch what happens.”

She squeezed the trigger and a controlled spray of translucent liquid, gray as a battleship’s hide, enveloped the stile. Moments later, it cracked in two, its delicate electronic insides frozen solid.

“Let’s roll,” Charlie said, as Whitman crashed the gears.

*   *   *

“He’s in,” Preach said. “He’s breached your vaunted defenses.”

Hartwell moaned, but White was watching Preach, gauging his expression and the tenor of his words, his mind calculating—always calculating. Preach seemed bubbly, almost elated that Whitman was coming. White tried and failed to understand the source of these emotions.

“Oh, Christ,” Hartwell murmured, almost unconsciously.

“The power of Christ won’t save you,” Preach said. “Not here, not now, not ever.”

*   *   *

Flix felt Edmond Dantès’s intent before he made a move. How he was able to do this he did not know, nor did he question it. He was up out of his seat and moving as Dantès lunged toward the jet’s galley. There was a return of the absolute focus on the enemy Flix had felt in el-Habib’s villa, only without the terrible, ripping horror that had held him prisoner in his own head. He was himself, and yet more than himself. He moved with absolute resoluteness, without hesitation or conflict: he had become a weapon.

As Dantès reached for the paring knife on the galley counter, Flix grabbed him from behind. Dantès jammed an elbow hard into his ribs, but Flix barely felt it. Reaching around Dantès’s jaw, he grabbed it with one hand, slid his free arm across Dantès’s throat, and gave a violent twist. The crack of his victim’s cervical vertebrae snapping resounded through the interior, causing the flight attendant to jump.

Flix released the corpse, and it collapsed onto the deck. He turned to the other three: the pilot, navigator, and the attendant, impaling them one by one with his steady gaze.

“Who’s next?” he said.

Chapter 51

51