"Take your pick, Sergeant," the MiB said, chuckling. "You're welcome to wonder about it to your heart's content. After we leave with these detainees. “

"But if you continue obstructing us," the colonel added, "we can easily make room for you in that vehicle as well. How would you like to be the subject of a secret military tribunal, Sergeant? I hear Guantanamo Bay is lovely this time of year. “

Another pair of MiBs appeared and began hustling Lon-nie and Ava into the open rear door of the Humvee. Orman withdrew, taking a step backward with obvious reluctance. But he obviously knew when he was beaten. The Feds were part of a huge machine that could pretty much roll over and flatten anything or anyone that got in its way.

Rath felt helpless. It had become obvious to him that there was nothing he could do to save the girls. / have gotta get out of here, with or without them. Even if that officially makes me the Royal One.

"Hey!" someone behind him shouted.

Rath sighed beneath the gas mask. Here it comes. Squaring his shoulders in an effort to look confident, he turned toward the voice.

"You can lose the gear now, buddy," said one of the helmetless riot cops, a balding, dark-skinned man with a prominent gold tooth. He was sweating in the hot, black body armor, which gleamed in the sunshine. Rath suddenly realized that perspiration was pooling at the small of his own back, making him shiver.

"In case you missed it, the war's over in there," the cop said, hiking a thumb toward the dilapidated warehouse.

No, "buddy"! think the real war's just about to get going.

The other cop's smile froze in place, his entire demeanor subtly shifting from collegiality to suspicion. Feeling suddenly scrutinized, Rath wondered just how much weirdness the other man had seen inside the building… and what thoughts those sights had put into his head.

The cop let one of his hands drift toward a sidearm holster attached to the bulky Sam Browne belt he wore. Rath felt as though he'd just been caught cheating at cards.

"Why don't you take off your mask and helmet now, pal," he said. It was obviously not a request.

Rath considered blasting him and running, but he knew he wouldn't get far with so many armed goons and MiBs around. And even if he did manage to get away, then what would become of Lonnie and Ava? Now the MiBs only suspected them of having committed the heinous offense of Breathing While Alien. If the cops, the MiBs, or the army were to capture or kill him in the act of trying to pull off a rescue, then the girls would be way past mere suspicion.

"How about it, man?" the cop said, his voice raised. He kept his hand just outside his open holster, like a gunslinger from an old grade-B Western. Several other bare-faced riot cops had drifted toward the mounting confrontation, all of them eyeing Rath curiously.

Rath noticed that Sergeant Orman was among them.

Damn, he thought, listening to a door slam shut on the Humvee. The helicopter noise was intensifying; some of the military people and MiBs were apparently getting ready to depart, no doubt intending to watch from the air while the Humvee took their new prisoners off to be interrogated and dissected.

Orman approached Rath, scowling. "Let me see your face," the sergeant ordered, shouting to be heard over the helicopters rising din.

Rath summoned his mental picture of the officer whose gear he was wearing. Gathering every erg of power he thought he could spare without passing out, he concentrated on morphing his face and hair to match his mental image of the cop he'd left unconscious inside the warehouse.

Then he pulled off his mask and helmet with a stage-fencer's flourish.

Orman and the cop with the gold tooth suddenly relaxed visibly. So did Rath, at least a little, when he saw their reactions.

"What's the problem, Sarge?" Rath asked Orman, trying hard to project an image of legitimate confusion.

"Nothing, Palfrey. Just thought it was a little strange that you hadn't taken off your gear yet. “

Rath grinned for the benefit of Orman and the other cops. Like Orman, he had to shout to be heard over the chopper noise. "Just thought some of the gas might still be blowing around out here. I got a double lungful of World Trade Center dust last year at Ground Zero, and thought I was gonna cough up a lung. Can't be too careful, you know? “

Orman nodded silently. Though he and the other cops were no longer looking askance at him, Rath saw something peculiar in the sergeant's eyes. The man looked haunted.

After having seen the freaks' human hosts crumble away into so many Pixie Sticks, Rath could certainly understand why.

Pain suddenly lanced through Rath's head. He recognized it immediately. He knew he had to get out of sight right away. If anyone saw him lose control of his shape-changing ability, he'd be right in everybody's crosshairs within a heartbeat.

Then, just when Rath thought he couldn't endure the agony of holding his current shape for another second, Orman shouted something. "Dismissed, Palfrey. I want you to cordon off the crime scene, then head back to the station." Orman turned and headed across the parking lot toward one of the armored police vans. The other cops who had been looking on drifted away, intent on whatever duties they needed to perform.

Still doing his best to hang on to Palfrey's face, Rath turned back toward the government Humvee, around which several MiBs were still swarming. He could see a driver in the cockpit, obviously preparing to get the vehicle underway. A second MiB sat on the passenger side, apparently riding shotgun. Not far away, the black helicopter was beginning to rise into the air.

As far as Rath could tell, no one was paying much attention to him at the moment. And he knew that if he didn't somehow get Lonnie and Ava free of the Humvee right now, he wouldn't get another chance.

If he hesitated, he might never see Lonnie again. It's now or never.

Discarding the gas mask on the blacktop, Rath donned the riot helmet again and relaxed his concentration slightly, letting his features return to normal, including his spiky Mohawk. Thanks to the helmet and uniform, none of the MiBs, army guys, or riot cops… all of whom were busy at the moment with their appointed tasks… seemed to notice his transformation.

He walked briskly to the other side of the Humvee, the side that faced away from the warehouse and the people milling about it. He stepped into the tall vehicle's blind spot just as the last of the MiBs and military people got inside and disappeared behind the dark-tinted windows of the rear compartment.

Crouching so that no one within the cockpit or the passenger compartment could see him, he quickly approached the drivers side door. He discarded his helmet, removed one of his black gloves, and placed his hand on the door lock. With his other hand, he unhol-stered the police-issue Glock nine-millimeter pistol he had taken from Palfrey.

His ungloved hand glowed a dull red as he forced as much power as he could muster into the door mechanism. Though he felt somewhat dizzy from the effort, he ignored the sensation and tugged on the door handle with both hands. It swung open without any resistance.

Rath tried to take full advantage of the surprise etched across the faces of both men in the Humvee's cockpit. The MiB who rode shotgun went down quickly when Rath force-fed him a mouthful of Glock handle. Shoving the unconscious man across the Humvee's wide dashboard, Rath swung the barrel of his pistol toward the wide-eyed driver, who was already exercising the better part of valor by raising his empty hands over his head.

"Good boy," Rath said, staring daggers at the driver as he concentrated on changing his appearance to match that of the man behind the wheel.

All at once, the pain in his head returned, this time with a vengeance. Rath felt as though someone had plunged blazing pokers into both of his eyes, and he shut them for a moment as the waves of agony washed over him. He was pushing his powers too hard, and he knew it.