Page 30 of Wired Courage

The Master put his forefinger and middle finger on a spot just below Connor’s hand. He pressed down lightly.

Connor froze, paralyzed. His breath caught and held—his diaphragm refused to respond. His body went rigid. He couldn’t even blink. His skin crawled with bizarre sensations. There wasn’t a thing he could do about any of it—he was trapped in his immobile body.

“There are secrets I can show you.” The Master’s voice was as potent as the strongest narcotic. “With your computer skills and my talents, we could topple governments. Make kings and queens. Raise fortunes, and crash them on the unworthy. Set free the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, if we so desire.” Those bizarre purple eyes drilled into Connor’s soul. “Think about it.” The Master lifted his fingers, releasing him.

Connor breathed again. Blinked again. He yanked his arm up against his chest. Pushed his chair out. Stood up and backed away, all the way to the wall. “I can do all I want to with just my computer.”

The Master smiled. “You’ve been frustrated many times by the vast world of people who don’t keep a digital footprint. I can help with that.” He flicked a crumb off his immaculate whitegi. “Think about it. That is all I ask.” He rang the brass bell and addressed the now familiar ninja servant. “Take this man to the barracks. I find I tire of his company.”

The ninja tugged Connor away.

He was unnerved by how much he wished the Master would let him stay.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Days Twenty-Six and Twenty-Seven

Jake lapsed in and out of consciousness as he lay in the white-walled chamber that must be the compound’s infirmary. Had he really just died, and been brought back? His body confirmed, with a multitude of pain, that was the case.

A kind-faced older man hooked him up to oxygen, treated his wounds, and surprised him by hooking up an IV. “Just getting you hydrated.” The man had an Australian accent. “And a little something for the pain.”

Jake floated away on a rosy cloud of meds, and fell asleep.

When he woke, his “belly was chewing on his spine,” as his mama used to say, and the older ninja was right there beside his pallet, handing him a nourishing bowl of meat broth.

Jake was able to sit up and eat it himself.

Eating felt surreal. He was still, mentally, halfway wherever he’d gone when he died.

This brush with death was far from his first near miss, but it was his most serious.

Black.

That’s all there had been.

No angel choir, no Grandma welcoming him from the other side, no favorite pup Shadow from his youth, begging for a pet.Maybe there was no heaven.

Naw. He refused to believe that. He just needed to be dead a little longer.

Jake spooned up the last of the soup and swallowed it. The heat and soft texture felt good on his raw throat.

He felt bruised, hammered on, wrecked. Like he’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson, and the dude had focused on his internal organs, specifically his lungs. It still hurt to breathe.

Why was he alive?

And . . . why did Connor have one blue eye, and one brown?

Connor had to have pleaded for his life. Maybe caved and offered Pim Wat what she wanted to hear. But hadn’t there been another man there? Dressed in white, with the most unusual eyes . . .

Eyes haunted Jake as he drifted back to sleep.

Purple eyes. And Connor’s eyes. One blue, one brown . . .

He woke abruptly.

The room was dim with early morning. Night must have passed.

He knew who Connor was.

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