Domination (A C.H.A.O.S. Novel) - By Jon Lewis Page 0,30

only.

Three thousand more had gathered outside the gates of the academy, all hoping to catch even a glimpse of the historic moment when the Phantom Flyer and his Agents of CHAOS would take to the skies for the first time in over fifty years.

Becoming the official symbol of hope in the fight against the Thule should have made Colt nervous. The president of the United States was going to be in attendance, along with a laundry list of politicians, corporate leaders, musicians, and actors, and all of them wanted to meet him after the show. And everything was going to be broadcast in more than two hundred countries and thirty languages, to a viewership that was supposed to eclipse one hundred million. But all he could think about was Lily Westcott. Her eyes. Her smile. Even the scent of her shampoo.

He wanted to slip away and head back to Arizona right then and there, but the campus was swarming with agents from the CIA, FBI, DAA, and Secret Service, not to mention the heavily armed members of Delta Force. They were all there to make sure nothing happened to Colt, which meant that all eyes were on him.

“Looks like the president’s motorcade has arrived,” Colt heard Captain Starling announce through the speakers inside his helmet.

“You mean his body double?” Oz said.

There were rumors that the president had employed a team of shape-shifting Thule to stand in for him during any public appearances, while he and his family hid in an underground bunker—which seemed odd, considering that all of humanity was at war with the Thule.

“I can pretty much guarantee you that the Secret Service is monitoring this frequency, genius,” Danielle said.

Oz shrugged. “What are they going to do, arrest me for telling the truth? Besides, if they haven’t locked me away by now, I doubt it’s ever going to happen.”

The sound of footsteps echoed through the tunnel, and when Colt turned around he saw three men in black suits and mirrored sunglasses, each with a white earpiece and a stoic expression.

“Told you they were listening,” Danielle said, but the Secret Service agents walked past Oz.

“Cadet McAlister?” the lead agent asked as he approached Colt. He was older than the other two, with cropped gray hair and skin so pale that Colt wondered if he was a vampire.

Oz, who had never been much for diplomacy, stood in front of Colt with his arms folded across his massive chest. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Agent Marz, and this is Agent Denton. The gentleman with the briefcase is Agent Galloway.” He paused a moment, as though waiting for Oz to introduce himself, but he didn’t. “We’re going to need Cadet McAlister to remove his helmet and one of his gloves.”

“I don’t think so,” Oz said.

Agent Marz was at least six inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter than Oz, but if he was intimidated, he didn’t show it. “Please step aside, son.”

“Uh-oh,” Danielle said, her voice barely a whisper as it carried over the comlink. “This is about to get ugly.”

Oz narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils. “I’m not your son,” he said, the words spilling from his lips like a growl.

“What’s going on down there?” Captain Starling said through his comlink.

“We have a bit of an issue,” Glyph said, the pitch of his voice betraying his nerves. “Members of the Secret Service have arrived, and they are asking—”

“Yes, I heard what they asked,” Captain Starling said. “What I want to know is why.”

“Excuse me,” Glyph said, raising his unusually long index finger as he shuffled toward the agents. “I hate to be a bother, but Captain Starling—he’s the . . . I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten the title that he asked us to use.”

“Executive producer,” Danielle said, rolling her eyes.

“Ah, yes,” Glyph said with a nod. “The executive producer of the show would like to inquire as to the nature of your business with Cadet McAlister.”

“According to our records, we’ve tested the entire campus, with one exception.”

Colt’s eyes went wide, and his heart started to thrum behind his rib cage. The Secret Service had arrived early that morning to run everyone from cadets and instructors to dishwashers and maintenance workers through a series of tests to determine if any shapeshifters had infiltrated the campus prior to the president’s arrival.

Colt’s status as the next Phantom Flyer was public knowledge, but the fact that Thule DNA flowed through his bloodstream was not. The last thing the government wanted was for the American people to