And in yet one more surprise, on a day that really already had more than its fair share, the scientist turned out to be alive.
And awake.
Squinting in the light of Fields' phone, he looked up at the agent, recognition registering on his pain-wracked face. "Oh. It's you. I...I'm...so sorry." He tried to sit up, but fell back with a cough, blood flecking his thin lips.
"Stay down," commanded Fields, drawing his gun as he shone his woefully inadequate light around their position, searching for any sign of Radovic—for trickery, for an ambush—for anything at all. He saw nothing, but the pitiful sphere of illumination his phone provided was far too small for that to be any kind of reassurance. "What happened here?"
"He shot me." The surprise—the wonder—was evident in Featherstone's voice. "When I saw that poor princess fall, I...I..." He swallowed. "She was bleeding, Agent Fields. Real blood. So real. All of it was so real." He shuddered. "I know it sounds foolish, but I didn't truly understand what he had done—what we had done, until that moment. And then I understood all too well. So, I told Doctor Radovic it had to stop. That nobody else could be hurt, or...or killed. We argued and then we struggled—and he...he shot me."
Fields became aware of the lab-coat's bloodstains, black in the phone's dim light. "Right. And where's Radovic now?"
Featherstone pointed vaguely down the tunnel, in the direction leading away from the control room. "That way. I...I tried to follow, but couldn't...go any further. I'm so sorry, agent. For...for everything."
"Yeah, yeah." Fields sat back on his haunches, as his brain made a valiant—but, he suspected, futile—attempt to churn through the multitude of variables and confounding factors at play in order to come up with a viable course of action. Featherstone clearly needed medical help, but then so did Embers. The portal needed to be shut down, but Radovic also had to be caught. Peregrine would be no doubt be on her way to the car park, but to get there would need to dodge the dragon. Back at the hangar, Britney's and Embers' (relative) safety would only last until the portal churned out something really bad.
And those were just the first few factors that sprang to mind.
For just the briefest of moments, he thought back with longing to the now seemingly golden-hued, halcyon times of just that morning, when all he had to worry about was a broken heart and a career down the toilet. He sighed. Those were the days.
"Give me your radio."
Featherstone blinked at him. "What? How did you—?"
"There's no phone signal out here, and you and Radovic had to be in contact somehow. Hand it over."
As Featherstone laboriously did so, every movement clearly an effort, Fields' heart sank; the little device was obviously low-powered and short-range only. Regardless, he thumbed the transmit button.
"Radovic, can you hear me? Radovic? This is Agent Fields. You're under arrest. Advise your current position and stay right where you are. Running will only make this worse for you." Static-punctuated silence was the only reply. "Radovic?"
More static. Swearing under his breath, Fields was just about to pocket the radio when an idea came to him. A wicked little idea, which prompted a wicked little grin. He hit the transmit button again.
"You know, you'll never get away with this. The agency will hunt you down, wherever you go. You're just not as smart as you think you are, Professor Radovic."
For a few seconds more, the silence persisted. But only for a very few.
"Doctor!" The little speaker transformed Radovic's outraged roar into an indignant squawk. "My title is Doctor, you moronic, cretinous excuse for a functional human being! Can you blame me for wanting to take over this world when law and order is left in the hands of vacuous, half-witted imbeciles who can't even learn a simple title? Imbeciles like you, Agent Fields? And that brainless, good-for-nothing partner of yours? If anything, you should be grateful to me."
"Grateful? Ha!" With a sudden pang, Fields realised Peregrine was rubbing off on him. "Grateful to be taken over by a megalomaniacal, murderous, devious, two-faced...beardy knob-head?" And just maybe, Britney too. "An over-educated, underwhelming, arrogant wanker, who couldn't even successfully take over a bloody big hole in the ground, never mind the world? A heartless, misogynistic arsehole who killed innocent women just because they're inconvenient? Who put a bullet in his own partner just because they disagreed? I don't think so, professor. In fact, you know what? Forget about the agency hunting you down—I'm coming for you, myself. Say your prayers, dickhead, because I swear I'm going to bring you in if it's the last thing I do. You're going down."
Never much of a one for monologuing, never mind ranting, Fields found the experience strangely cathartic. He knew damn well it wasn't going to help the situation one iota, but it certainly made him feel better, and after the day he'd had he figured he was owed a bit of feeling better, however fleeting the feeling might be.
As it turned out—very. The feeling lasted precisely for the few seconds it took him to recognise the nasal braying emanating from the radio as Radovic laughing at him.
"Hnyah-hnayh-hnyah. Oh, Agent Fields, how amusing you are. Ranting away in your dank little tunnel, posturing and proclaiming and promising as if you actually believe you might have some chance of capturing me. Of besting me. Of winning. Truly delusional. Hnyah-hnyah."
If Fields hadn't already longed to punch the beard right off the annoying little git's face, that laugh was the clincher.
"Oh, I have had some setbacks, I grant you," continued the git. "The odd little snafu or two. The occasional spanner in the works. But as you're speaking to me on Frank's radio, I'm sure you can see for yourself I've now divested myself of the primary cause of those setbacks."
"You ruthless bastard," growled Fields. "Featherstone's right here. He's still alive, you know."
"Of course he is. He'd have been far less effective as a means of delaying you if he'd been dead. As it is, he's done his job magnificently, which is not something you can often say about Frank. Perhaps I should have shot the incompetent fool years ago."
A pain, which had nothing to do with being shot, distorted Featherstone's features. "I thought you were my friend," he whispered. "My only friend."
Oblivious, Radovic gloated remorselessly on. "Honestly, I deserve a medal for enduring the whiny so-and-so for all these years. So needy. And the whole fairy tale thing? Those damned princesses? His absurd desire for a relationship? Oh, please. Don't get me started. Do you know, one of them confessed to me that she actually liked the nerdy little shit? Well, I couldn't have that. No, Frank needed to dedicate himself fulltime to developing his theories, free from any...inconvenient distractions.
"And today, we saw the result. Today, despite the taint of his ridiculous obsession with fairy stories and fantasies, despite his endlessly annoying desire for romance, his quest for companionship, his longing for love"—he almost spat the word—"and despite his relentless incompetence, we saw the power of his discoveries. We got just a taste of what that power might be capable of, in the right hands."
"And I suppose that means your hands, Radovic?"
"Of course it does. I can think of none more appropriate—or deserving. And now, Agent Fields, it is with profound regret that I must say goodbye. As much I would have liked to kill both you and that Peregrine bitch, I must away. I must get these new algorithms of Frank's to a safe place, ASAP. Rest assured, however, your time will come."
"So will yours, Radovic. So will yours." Fields pocketed the radio and got to his feet. "Sit tight," he instructed Featherstone, as though the stricken scientist had any other choice. "I'll send help when I can."
"I really am...sorry, Agent Fields."
"Save it for court," he retorted, although given the way Featherstone looked, Fields had a horrid suspicion the next building he'd be seeing the inside of was the morgue. Shaking off the thought, he took a deep breath, stepped over the not-quite-so-bad guy, and at a steady run, set off after the really, seriously bad guy.
Who, just as Fields expected, was long gone by the time he got to the carpark.
Fortunately, the road servicing the Dish ran directly to the colossal landmark, meaning there was only one way Radovic could have gone. So, reasoned Fields—pounding breathlessly towards Pearl as he fumbled in his pocket for the keys—with a nuclear-powered Jaguar he should be a cinch to catch the rogue scientist. And while this was undeniably true, his first sight of the azure-blue vehicle, gleaming gently in the golden glow of the late-afternoon sunlight, made it immediately obvious things weren't going to be quite that simple. Heart sinking, he unlocked the vehicle and climbed into the driver's seat.
Which was where a breathless Peregrine found him, a few minutes later. "What...the...hell?" she panted.
Fields looked up from the car-radio, his expression grim. "Four flat tyres. Radovic slashed them before he took off. He did Featherstone's car, too."
Peregrine's eyes narrowed. "That...that..." She trailed off, clearly unable to come up with an insult adequate for the magnitude of such a heinous act. "Oh, he's so going down. Please tell me backup's on the way."
"No signal," replied Fields, as he replaced the handset. "Out here even the car-radio's out of range." He thumped the steering wheel in frustration.
"Hey, watch it," warned Peregrine. "I was totally serious about the face-breaking thing."
"Fine. So, I take it you didn't have any trouble with the dragon? How'd you get past?"
"Very, very quietly—it's still asleep. Clearly princes take some digesting." With a tired sigh, Peregrine flopped into the passenger seat. "So, in summary, we have no way of getting help for Embers, the bad guy's getting clean away, and the world may soon be taken over by a murderous beardy nerd with anger management issues. To summarise the summary—looks like we're screwed. I guess our only option is walk however far it takes for us to get some phone coverage."
"I guess so. Although..." Eyes unfocused, Fields gave his chin a speculative rub. Slowly, he turned to face his partner. "There might be another way. I have an idea."
Peregrine's expression brightened. "Really? That's good."
Fields' expression, on the other hand, was distinctly lacking in brightness—and heading south. "No, it's not. It's not good. It's not good at all. In fact, it would be fair to say that it's remarkable just how astonishingly and thoroughly, completely not good it is. But guess what?"
"Um. What?"
"I'm gonna do it anyway."