Our-World
Shelbyville, Tennessee
For obvious reasons, Alison Springs wasn’t safe for us anymore. Besides, that unprecedented thunderstorm proved we needed to take immediate action to prevent another storm like it from revealing our position or affecting our general location with the same catastrophic consequences. We doubled back to Piper’s apartment to gather the few items needed for a road trip, but then we didn’t hit the road…
We took to the skies.
Derek Smallwood agreed to meet us just outside Shelbyville, Tennessee. With the Quad-Airbike cruising at an average of one hundred sixty miles an hour, we could make the trip in a little over three and a half hours. This was assuming we could fly the shortest possible distance, which was, of course, a straight line. This was more or less achievable, with some minor adjustments. We had to climb to extreme altitudes around densely populated rural areas and avoid a few commuter flight paths by diverting slightly.
Ultimately, we completed the trip in just over four and a half hours. Our gear was packed into overstuffed backpacks that hung like saddlebags across the seat behind Piper. We wore our armored suits, allowing us to transition to high altitude and back down to our more comfortable cruising level of around twelve thousand feet without making the trip unnecessarily tricky or fatiguing.
Smallwood had parked his rig in a small clearing in the woods, beyond what appeared to be a long-fallow field, two additional cornfields, and about a mile down a dirt road from an ancient-looking farmstead. He must have traversed the rutted, rocky, overgrown trail that skirted the barren field to reach the back and enter the tree line. It was no small feat considering what he was driving. I approached from the south and made a pass, searching for signs that the meeting location might have been compromised. Thermal and IR scans of the field and the canopy beyond the tree line revealed only the outline of Smallwood’s RV and what seemed to be a single human presence. The forest registered multiple life signs of various sizes, all too small to be human.
Circling again, I approached low and slow—buzzing quietly just five feet above the path’s surface. We traced the route Smallwood likely took as he drove in. The rough terrain would have been tough on his suspension. Piper laughed behind me, clearly sharing the same thought. “The last stretch of his drive must have been incredibly uncomfortable,” she mused.
We followed the narrow separation at the tree line and the tunnel in the overgrowth beyond. I figured the Airbike shouldn’t have any issues if the RV made it through. However, broken tree limbs to our left and right showed that the RV needed to make accommodations for itself. This increased my confidence that this meeting hadn’t been compromised or staged. Both are positives in favor of this not being an ambush.
“So far, so good,” I said quietly, feeling Piper tap gently on my ribs in response. We had come as prepared as possible. Along with wearing our armor and helmets, we each had a pistol holstered at our hips. We looked like sleek, futuristic soldiers approaching a shady deal rather than like a couple getting ready to meet someone I considered a friend.
Smallwood consulting with an outsider on our project weighed heavily on my mind since I learned about the breach of confidentiality. While I didn’t outwardly feel that he was working against me, the lie—an omission at the very least—was more than a little concerning. We were here to clear the air and see what we could do to mitigate the factors that led to the thunderstorm that resulted when Piper and I Transitioned together.
Derek Smallwood stood on the step of his Winnebago, half in and half out of the door, as we quietly hovered up the path and took our position about two dozen yards before him. His mouth hung open, and he just stood there, staring wide-eyed. I lowered my helmet without removing my hands from the handlebars. As he watched my helmet disintegrate, his eyes, already impossibly wide, somehow widened even further. He sagged and nearly fell the rest of the way out of the RV.
I gently set the Airbike on the ground as Smallwood awkwardly settled onto the bottom step of the camper. The RV was a thirty-five-foot twin-axle Bus with a wide side door and a set of retractable stairs. It had been entirely renovated inside to suit the requirements of this project. While the exterior looked like any other RV on America’s interstates, the interior was far from ordinary.
“That…that,” Smallwood stammered as Piper and I climbed off the Airbike. “I don’t know what’s more incredible—that machine… or what your—” his outstretched finger indicated the side of his head—“gear just did.”
Piper released her helmet as we walked, taking a moment to let her long blonde hair down from the band that held it back. With a near-silent groan, I noticed her bending and stretching her back and legs as she moved. It had been a long, exhausting ride.
I reached out to Smallwood, helping him to his feet before shaking his hand. “Derek, this is Piper.”
Smallwood’s gaze shifted slowly back and forth between me and Piper, his unblinking expression having cooled only by a few degrees. I hadn’t intended to make this kind of entrance, and it struck me for the first time that I could have warned him about how we would be traveling. I’d been careful not to divulge too much to too many about these matters. This time, it was working against me.
As Smallwood looked me up and down, he clearly found the body armor intriguing. Given what he observed the helmet could do, that was understandable. His analytical mind was likely pondering what else the suit might offer. However, when his gaze lingered on Piper’s figure longer than necessary, I decided the formfitting aesthetic was more distracting when he focused on her. Piper might have started to wonder too, as I noticed her cheeks flushing.
“Doc,” I said and mused at how many doctors and professors had become part of my life in recent years. “Why don’t we go inside? You can share your conclusions about the storm and how we can mitigate the fallout?”
Smallwood nodded and glanced back at the Airbike. “Then later, you’ll tell me about this incredible machine?”
I nodded. “You bet.”
“I’ll need a place to change,” Piper said. She had already grabbed our bags and handed me mine with a tight-lipped shove and a hard glare. “Maybe wash up?”
Smallwood quickly nodded, “The bathroom is just inside on your left. Spare towels are in the cabinet across from the washroom door.”
Piper pushed past me, ascended the stairs, and disappeared into the RV. Smallwood immediately moved to the Airbike and began to circle it slowly. “This is amazing,” he said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Those propellers are big, yet the flight was so quiet. I admit, I have dozens of questions!”
A scratching sound at the tree line behind me caught my attention, and I turned to see a small squirrel clinging to the base of a vast tree. It wasn’t quite a baby, but it wasn’t an adult either. It spiraled around the elm’s trunk as it made its way higher.
“That won’t end well,” Smallwood said, waving a hand vaguely toward the broad boughs of the thick branches overhead.
Initially, his meaning was unclear. Then I noticed the thick mud wasp nest spreading wide where a limb as thick as my thigh met the tree trunk. A few insects buzzed near the half-dollar-sized opening in the sagging lump of the nest. The nest seemed to vibrate as the squirrel reached the supporting limb and attempted to climb higher. A cloud emerged from the opening in the clay-like surface of the nest. The squirrel reacted instantly and darted for the ground. The cloud shifted, seemingly tracking the path the small rodent had taken. Only then did I notice the subtle saw-like buzz in the air as the swarm made chase.
The squirrel must have sensed the danger because it moved quicker than I thought possible. The leaf litter covering the forest floor parted in the wake of its escape. The cloud of insects, hundreds strong by my estimate, banked and shifted as a single mass as it picked up speed in the chase.
Smallwood chuckled. “At least the little bugger ran away from us. If he’d gone for cover under the camper, it would take hours before we could step outside.”
I didn’t respond. My gaze drifted from where the swarm had vanished and settled on the now motionless and silent nest slightly smaller than a basketball. The reaction from the nest had been instantaneous, a primal response to a threat. The coordination of the community must have been a hardwired reaction, something occurring at the genetic level.
Smallwood nudged my arm. “You okay?”
I nodded. A plan of action was finally forming in my mind. Although not fully developed, it already had immense potential. The swarm reminded me of how the Elend had pursued me outside their underground lair.
“Um, Gray?”
I turned around to see Piper halfway down the stairs, leaning out the door of the Winnebago. She looked… well, it was hard to say exactly. Concerned, maybe even sick. Perhaps alarmed.
“You should take a look at this,” she said after a long pause.
I glanced at Smallwood, who simply stared at me. He didn’t seem to understand what she was talking about. Curious, I followed Piper into the RV.
Across from the door stood a small couch. To the right was a small table cluttered with unidentifiable electronics. Beyond that, on the right, was access to the driver’s and passenger’s seats. To our left, things became a little more interesting. A five-foot-long stretch of counter lined the wall next to the entrance. On the counter rested a long glass tank with thick walls. Inside, a clotted gelatinous fluid bubbled, shifting between shades of pink and light red, gurgling and circulating behind the glass.
“What in the freaking hell is that?” Piper grumbled through clenched teeth. She had her back pressed firmly against the counter on the opposite side of the vehicle, which, perhaps incongruously, housed a sink, stovetop, and kitchen counter. “It looks like he liquefied a…a person.”
Smallwood finished climbing the stairs behind us and was staring at Piper. He pushed the black frame of his glasses back up on his nose, then turned to gaze at the bubbling tank. “Huh,” he said. “I guess it does, indeed.” Then he looked at me with concern in his eyes. “I should do something about that! Can you imagine if I ever get pulled over?”
I smirked, already shaking my head. This was my first time seeing this setup in person. I knew the plan and understood what Smallwood was putting together and how he was doing it, but I had never stopped to consider what it would look like. I had never thought that he would fail to camouflage the equipment once the system was operational.
Esker’s voice sounded in my ear. “Research indicates that highly functioning intellects often struggle to understand concepts that those with lesser intelligence might categorize as common sense.”
I squinted at my inability to respond to Esker at that moment, aware that I was the lesser intellect in his scenario. When I spotted the broad grin splitting Piper’s face, I realized Esker’s comment had come through our shared channel.
Piper shook her head, likely in response to Esker’s comment. Noticing that I didn’t share her alarm, she stepped away from the far counter and lifted the palm of her hand off her holstered gun. “Care to explain?”
Smallwood stepped forward and took the initiative. “This is the secret sauce, so to speak. Our method for preventing that strange weather phenomenon from revealing Gray’s location when he Transitions back to our Brane at the same time as Breslin or when Breslin is already here. So long as the biomass in these tanks is more than seven percent greater than Gray, the curiosity is… well, redirected, for lack of a better term. Instead of honing in on his position, the storm front concentrates on this—well, on me, honestly. That’s why I need to keep moving.”
When Smallwood placed his hand on the front of the tank, he did so with a clear sense of pride. At that moment, I noticed the long rectangular tank was divided into two equal-sized cells. The contents of both appeared to be the same, although the sludge on the left seemed to be circulating faster than those on the right.
“What’s the difference between the two sides?” Piper asked, beating me to the question.
Smallwood stepped back to give us a better view of the entire tank. He flipped on a long, thin LED light that hung from the cabinets above the enclosed tank to illuminate the device better. “For this to be effective, the biomass must be living, viable cellular material,” he explained. “Human tissue, as you likely know, doesn’t survive long once separated from the host body. To keep this…distraction, shall we call it…operational, we need to maintain the tissue alive.”
Piper’s nose crinkled as she looked at Smallwood, clearly skeptical. “You found a way to keep Gray’s tissue viable long-term?”
“Unfortunately, no. But we found a workaround,” Smallwood clarified. “Since the biomass is only useful for a maximum of thirty-six hours, that gave us a time window to generate additional material to replace it. As long as new material is ready to supplant the old in time, the ahh…distraction…remains effective.”
Piper’s gaze swept over the inside of the RV. She went to the far end and through the door, presumably leading to the sleeping quarters. “You’re talking about cloning,” she said with a tense expression as she stalked back. “How? You don’t have the space or equipment for that here. You mentioned you have to keep moving. Aren’t you always on the road?”
Smallwood glanced at me anxiously. Piper’s tone indicated that he was being accused of something. He either disliked it or was unsure what the accusation entailed. I shrugged and said, “Please explain. She’s the brains of our team.”
“Cloning,” he said with a slow nod. “But only in the most basic sense of the word. It’s more akin to adding yeast to bread to make it rise. It’s not much more complicated, either. Not once you have the right yeast, so to speak. And the right catalyzing component.” He leaned over the top of the tank and pointed to the small black cylinder fused into the glass or acrylic along the wall, situated halfway between the first chamber and the second. It was half the size of a coffee can and looked reasonably unremarkable except for the small, coarse grate that seemed to expose its contents to each chamber independently.
Piper looked at me. “Were you aware of this?”
I shrugged. “No one used the word cloning.” I glanced back at Smallwood. “What can Breslin do if he gets access to my genetic material? Could he use it to reverse-engineer the Crossing? I was very clear about that security concern when we discussed this project. It’s a deal-breaker.”
As he shook his head, Smallwood stated, “Absolutely not. That would be impossible.”
I guided him to the chair beside the table cluttered with electronic equipment and motioned for him to sit. “I’d feel more confident in your statement if you hadn’t just repeatedly used the term ‘we’ when describing your work on this technology. Since I know you’re not referring to me when you say that, why don’t you tell me who else was involved?”
Smallwood slumped in his seat. “That…” he paused and seemed to weigh his words. “It wasn’t a lie. Maybe an omission,” he finally said. “Your project was intriguing—fascinating, really. As you know, I’ve been absorbed in Brane Theory since my early days at university. But no one takes it seriously,” he glanced pointedly at Piper. “I don’t need to tell you that, right?”
Piper said nothing.
Shrugging, Smallwood continued. “So anyway, when your friend Esker approached me, I was intrigued. Initially, I thought he was a crackpot. However, the more we communicated, the more I took him seriously. Then, as you know, considering what your team was paying, I was open to experimenting with the hypothetical. Why not? I could play with my theory and get well compensated for it. Who wouldn’t?
“The thing was, the models worked. Well, they did right up until the twenty-four-hour mark. Then, things started to become unreliable. At first, I thought it was just an unfair parameter in Esker’s game, you know, since this was all make-believe. But then we changed some of my assumptions, and I could move the twenty-four-hour mark to thirty-six. When I did, two things happened. First, I realized that none of what I was doing was hypothetical. The genomic information Esker provided was very specific. I stopped considering this a game or exercise and treated it as real-world.
“And that’s when I broke the rules and reached out for help,” Smallwood finally concluded. “I knew it was against protocol. I knew it could cost me my position on the project. But I was so close to a workable solution. I thought that if I did this anonymously and didn’t reveal any information about the project, what harm could come from it?”
The pain was intensifying behind my eyes, a migraine of epic proportions. For this reason, I’d always found maintaining a small social circle challenging. Bringing Smallwood into my confidence had been necessary; the storm back in Alison Springs had illustrated that perfectly.
But this?
Piper looked at me with concern. She understood this was serious. The real question was, how bad?
“Who did you contact for help?” I asked. It took everything I had to keep my tone conversational. No matter what happened next, Smallwood’s technology was critical for preventing the strange storms from first compromising my geographic position with a given Crossing and, more importantly now, for stopping the storms from causing escalating damage if Piper accidentally or intentionally Crossed with me. The storms could be avoided, but only if Breslin and I were never on the same Brane at the same time. I had never found a way to control something like that. Until my last crossing, I had never had any control over it.
“Hell,” I groaned and rubbed my eyes.
Smallwood appeared more uncomfortable now than ever before. “I have no idea who I’ve been in contact with,” he said, rubbing his sweaty palms on the legs of his slacks. “We never exchanged names. We don’t even have email addresses.”
My teeth were grinding. “How do you communicate?”
“We don’t anymore,” he said with a shrug. “The last exchange was—” he paused to think about the question. “Well over six months ago. Maybe even nine? We spoke in a dark web chat. It’s anonymous and untraceable.”
Piper looked just as confused as I was. “Why is it taking so long?” she asked.
“It was just a consultation,” Smallwood said. “As I said, he knew nothing about what I was doing or why. Only that I had an issue with the tissue samples not lasting as long as I needed. He proposed the approach that is now used as the catalyst. There was also an additional issue of how to circulate the genetic material to ensure proper exposure. We worked on a sketch of the schematic for two nights. I paid a consulting fee via bitcoin, and the transaction was complete.”
“He never asked why you needed this or had any questions about the project?” I pressed.
Smallwood shook his head. “It’s not all that unusual. There are tech and science enthusiasts on the dark web who troubleshoot like this. Some make a good living and have built strong reputations for their work. They all operate under pseudonyms, but the work can be lucrative.”
I knew I was scowling. I wanted to punch something, though I didn’t know exactly why. Smallwood’s insincerity was undoubtedly part of it. His consultant put us at increased risk, that much was clear. But if he’d done all this a month ago and I hadn’t been captured or killed, maybe I was overreacting. Still, it felt like I was missing something.
This thread had to be pulled until we understood better what was on the other end.
“What do you think, E,” I said.
“Doctor Smallwood seems to be telling the truth,” Esker replied. “Or, more accurately, he thinks he’s telling the truth. I made a mistake by not monitoring his communications more closely. I should have been aware of all this.”
That conversation could wait. Esker was a powerful AI, but I had mixed feelings about having him monitor our friends’ communications. While keeping an eye on Breslin’s minions, like Ingersoll and Vincente, was fair game, it felt wrong to watch people who were supposedly on our side.
Eyes widening, Smallwood sputtered, “Who—who are you talking to?”
I glared at the little scientist and said, “Esker.”
“Oh,” he said with a sigh, sagging slightly. “Tell him I said hello. I wish he could have come in person. I’ve always wanted to meet him.”
Piper let out a laugh that sounded like a cough.
“I’m examining Doctor Smallwood’s history on the dark web,” Esker said. “I’ll find the chat room and any traces of the conversations.”
I had a better idea. “Derek,” I said, “What will it take to add Piper to the Offset?” Shortly after the project started, my biomass amalgamation was referred to as the Offset in communications. It seemed more tactful than calling it Liquid Grady or Ledger Slurry.
Smallwood’s expression grew distant as he idly scratched at what seemed like an early attempt at growing a beard. Perhaps he just lacked proper facial hygiene. “I have a prototype tank stored under the bego,” he said quietly, almost as if he were thinking aloud. “And I always keep a spare catalyst, so that’s taken care of. We could use that on her rig,” his gaze returned to us. “But since two is one, and one is none, that leaves me without a backup catalyst in case of failure.” He shrugged, a gesture that conveyed, what can I do?
“When was the last time a catalyst failed?” Piper asked, her expression thoughtful.
“Hasn’t happened yet,” he admitted.
Esker’s voice sounded in my ear, and from the look Piper gave me simultaneously, he must have spoken to her, too. “Fabricating a pair of replacements will take four days. I can place the order now, and work will begin first thing in the morning.”
I looked to Piper, who nodded back. It was clear from the way she kept glancing at the tank of circulating pink and red material that she wasn’t thrilled about everything she saw, so I led the group outside before continuing our conversation.
“What do you need to get the process started for Piper?” I asked, gently latching the side door behind us as we gathered outside the RV. Even though Smallwood drove the Winnebago all over the country with the tanks bubbling and percolating just as they had been, I couldn’t shake the thought that slamming the door might splatter a bit of my genetic material across the linoleum floor of Derek’s rolling Creepshow.
“Just a blood sample, like with you,” Smallwood confirmed. “I’ve significantly improved the process since we first started. I won’t need pints to create the base this time. About what you usually give for a normal blood donation will be enough for the source material. I have what I need for the draw right here.” He looked at Piper for confirmation. “We can do it now if you want.”
“There’s no time like the present,” Piper said.
I asked, “Do you feel confident that this will offset Piper like it does for me?”
Smallwood suddenly appeared uneasy. He took a second too long before nodding.
“You’d feel better if you could contact your consultant again?” I offered.
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, still uneasy with the admission. After a long breath, he nodded.
I didn’t want to seem obvious, so I let the silence stretch. Looking briefly at Piper before replying, I finally spoke. “No names, and keep the details as vague as possible. We need the best minds working on this. I just need to know the project hasn’t been compromised. If I knew you needed outside help, vetting additional resources would have been easier. This isn’t the ideal way to bring in help.” I shrugged. “Given what we saw with that storm, right now, we just don’t have the luxury of ideal conditions.”
The point, of course, was to create an opportunity for Esker to trace Smallwood’s consultant so we could identify him. It was disingenuous not to explain this to the doctor, but I had to keep him in the dark since his knowledge might compromise the effort. Plus, we genuinely needed the best minds addressing the problem. The strategy simply ensured we understood whether those minds were working for us, against us, or might one day be turned against us.
Our-World
Alison Springs, Maryland
Chris Ingersoll pushed through the door of Al Vincente’s room with his verbal onslaught chambered and ready to go. He paused, mouth agape, when his eyes met those of the blue-eyed nurse changing the dressing on Vincente’s shoulder. Whatever he had been about to say was suddenly lost. “Al,” he said instead, blinking slowly. “Glad to see you’re okay. You have everyone worried.”
The nurse tore off a strip of tape and used it to secure a gauze pad to Vincente’s shoulder. “You’ll have to wait in the hall,” she said, giving Ingersoll a pointed glance. “I’ll be finished with Mr. Vincente in about five minutes.”
“That’s okay,” Vincente said, waving Ingersoll into the room with his good arm. “Lisa, this is my partner, Chris.”
The nurse pinned Ingersoll with a stern expression that softened after a moment. “Alright,” she said as she returned to work, pulling on the roll of tape. She glared at Vincente and spoke more quietly. “You’ve been on the phone all morning. You should be taking it easy. A gunshot wound is serious business. You can’t rest if your mind and body are still stressed.”
Ingersoll approached the foot of the bed. “I just need a few minutes with Al. After that, he’s on bed rest. Bureau orders.”
That satisfied the fussy nurse, who completed her work and took Vincente’s vitals. She scribbled a series of notes on a clipboard before leaving the room with little more than a stern expression.
“I don’t think she likes me,” Ingersoll said as he eased the hallway door shut.
“She’s a great judge of character,” Vincente said with a smirk.
Ingersoll glanced at the equipment hanging on poles from the corner of his partner’s headboard and the complex diagnostic tools on freestanding carts around the edge of the bed. Most of it chirped or hummed in some subtle way. “They really have you wired up.”
Vincente seemed to slouch a bit more deeply beneath the covers. He tapped a button, lowering the incline of his bed by a few degrees, and Ingersoll noted the glassy sheen in the agent’s eyes. “They have me on some morphine derivative,” Vincente remarked, as if acknowledging the attention.
“Is there much pain?”
Smirking, Vincente said, “Not when the morphine kicks in.”
Ingersoll laughed and stepped closer. Having his partner in a more compliant state would make the conversation easier. That might be better if he didn’t remember the details of their talk when it was over. He noted the pump with the small upturned glass vial suspended from it and the tube leading to a complex metering device. This would be the pump used to dispense the pain medication. He approached the device, pulled the tube from the restriction mechanism, and allowed another generous amount to flow through the line before pushing it back in place.
“What are you doing?” Vincente asked.
Ingersoll had deliberately obstructed his actions by positioning himself between the bed and the machine while he made the adjustment. “Just taking a closer look at your hardware, buddy,” he said, then stepped back to the foot of the bed.
The nurse nearly burst through the door and into the room. Ingersoll stared at her in surprise but did his best to mask his confusion about the disruption. “Problem?” he asked as she glared at both of them.
Lisa looked at Ingersoll with suspicion, then glanced at Vincente for several long seconds. “Is everything okay in here? One of the machines just set off an alarm.”
“All good,” Ingersoll said. “You good, partner?”
Vincente took his time to reply. “I’m tired,” he said, a slight slur in his voice.
Lisa glanced at them again before fixing Ingersoll with her gaze. “Ten minutes. Not a second more. Mr. Vincente needs his rest and hasn’t been getting it.”
Vincente nodded and watched as the nurse left through the door. He paused for a moment before moving to the doorway and quietly closing the distance behind her.
That woman could interrogate murder suspects. She’s got the chops for it.
“So, buddy,” Ingersoll said as he stepped to the foot of the bed again. “You finally came face to face with our boy, and you let him get away.”
Vincente stared back but remained silent.
“You with me?” Ingersoll grabbed Vincente’s foot through the blankets on the bed and shook it. “Stay with me, buddy. You saw our boy, right?”
“Sure,” Vincente said, nodding slowly. “He was there. Sat right next to me and everything.”
“So you talked with him?”
“Talked?” Vincente paused for a moment. “Yeah. We talked.”
“What did he say?”
With his eyes slowly scanning the room, Vincente seemed to ponder this for a moment. “He knew we were after him.”
Ingersoll rolled his eyes. “There are a lot of people after him. That’s hardly going to make the five o’clock news.”
“No. He knew we were after him. He knew you and me by name. It felt like he’d been keeping tabs on us while we were keeping tabs on him.” Vincente paused and seemed to drift. “Dirty,” he murmured.
Shaking Vincente’s foot again, Ingersoll said, “Wait. Say that part again. What did you just say? What’s dirty?”
“The kid says you’re dirty. He thinks you’re working directly for Breslin and don’t care about arresting him. If you catch him, he believes you’ll either kill him or take him to ATG.”
The room seemed to darken as Ingersoll’s vision constricted into a narrow tunnel. The kid knew more than he should. It was exactly what Breslin had predicted, but Ingersoll still didn’t comprehend how. He was just a kid, after all. Maybe they were right and had been underestimating him up until now. But that changed this morning. While Ingersoll was here, Breslin’s goons were ransacking Piper Hudson’s apartment.
Preliminary interviews were underway with the scientists Piper worked with at the University and the bar where she worked nights and weekends. One of the two would undoubtedly lead to additional locations where the couple would likely hideout. Ingersoll felt closer to Grady Ledger now than ever before. For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, he was doing more than chasing a ghost.
Vincente had begun to doze. Ingersoll grabbed his partner by the foot once again and shook him back to a semi-wakeful state. “Hey, Al. Stay with me. We’re almost finished. You spent a lot of time with the suspect. What else can you tell me about him?”
“What else?” Vincente looked puzzled. Then he grinned. “Hey, Chris. How are you?”
Ingersoll smiled broadly.
No memory at all.
He wondered whether he should give Vincente another dose of morphine just to be safe. Glancing at the door, he reasoned that the nosy nurse was unlikely to dismiss it as a glitch again. Getting caught would raise questions he couldn’t answer. It was better to be in and out.
Ingersoll slapped the back of his partner’s foot to ensure he was paying attention. “What else did you get? You’re an agent, for Christ’s sake. I hope you did your job and learned something about the suspect while you had access to him.”
His eyes widened, and Vincente became clear for a moment. “He took down the HTs by himself,” he said, referring to the hostage-takers. “He did it without breaking a sweat.” His head shook slowly. “It was like he was crossing something minor off his to-do list.”
“What?” Ingersoll said, his forehead furrowed.
“As if he could have done it at any moment.” Vincente licked his lips and locked eyes with Ingersoll. “I felt like he was interrogating me.”
A half dozen questions fought for Ingersoll’s focus, pulling his mind in different directions. Before he had a chance to frame any of them for his partner, the phone in his breast pocket began to ring. As he retrieved it, Nurse Lisa stepped into the room. “Time’s up,” she said and gestured him toward the door.
Glancing at the bed, Ingersoll saw that Vincente was already asleep. With luck, he wouldn’t remember the visit. If he did, the details would be nothing but a blur. It was as good as he could hope for. It was time to remove Vincente from the investigation, even if he hadn’t been shot. He had never been as invested in the hunt as Ingersoll and the rest of ATG’s security team.
“Ingersoll,” he said as he tapped the phone to life in the hospital corridor.
“Sir, this is Moffit,” the voice on the line said. “I’ve just reviewed the security footage from the night in question at the Borderline Grill. You’ll want to see this… it’s—well, it’s unexpected.”
“Give me something to work with. Use your words, man,” Ingersoll insisted.
“Well, sir. On the night of the event, when the target exfiltrated, he used some sort of…it seems to be an unidentified flying machine.”
Ingersoll stood frozen, his finger still on the elevator’s call button. “Moffit,” he said through gritted teeth. “Are you trying to tell me that the target used a UFO to escape?”
“Yes. Well—no. Not really. Sort of? I’m not sure what it is. You have to see the footage.”
Chris Ingersoll sat in the passenger seat of an armed and armored Cadillac SUV as it sped through downtown Shelter Spring. One of the unnamed goons from Breslin’s corporate security team drove while two others occupied the back seat. They’d supposedly been recruited from other lucrative private military firms, but in Ingersoll’s view, that didn’t indicate competence or professionalism. It only suggested they were even more opportunistic mercenaries. Although they were meant to be on his side, he had little confidence in any of them.
“ETA is seven minutes,” the driver said as he skidded through the stale yellow light, causing the SUV’s traction control to blip audibly.
Fighting the urge to grip the oh-shit handle above his door, Ingersoll instead concentrated on not dropping the small digital tablet in his lap. He ground his teeth and swallowed the curse on the tip of his tongue, then hit play on the video again. Footage from a camera positioned high on the rear corner of the Borderline Bar’s wall began to play for perhaps the fifth time. It showed Grady Ledger positioning narrow bands around his knees and hips before slipping out of a sodden sweatshirt and adding more rings to his arms and neck. A moment later, he activated some kind of technology and, as if by magic, futuristic, form-fitting body armor wrapped him from head to toe.
A second later, Piper Hudson followed suit and stripped down to a sports bra that Ingersoll only saw briefly before she positioned the same devices on her extremities. She took a few extra moments to tie her hair into a restrained bun, and then she was swiftly transitioned into a strange new outfit that resembled a mix of tactical gear and football pads. Ingersoll chewed his lip, still unsure about what he was witnessing as he watched the couple mount a small, agile flying craft and blast out of frame in what must have been a high-G vertical climb.
“New intel?” the driver asked as he slammed on the brakes. His hand hit the steering wheel, and a barely audible curse escaped his lips.
Ingersoll glanced up just in time to see a Toyota Prius stop short at the light. Looking at his aggressive driver, he noted the color on the mercenary’s face and how close their bumper was to the rear of the Prius. “Just worry about the road,” Ingersoll admonished. He had spoken with Breslin personally and had been told not to share unnecessary information with the rest of the team. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who didn’t fully trust the hired help.
The phone in Ingersoll’s breast pocket began to vibrate. He retrieved it, tapped the screen, and placed it to his ear, saying just one word. The caller provided a clear and concise report without delay. As he watched the Prius pull away, Ingersoll breathed before disconnecting the line. He glanced at the driver with mixed feelings about the new orders. “Change of plans,” he said, tapping an address into the dashboard screen.
When he hit enter, the navigation system responded with an audible reply. “Routing to Rinaldy Veterinary Clinic. Estimated time of arrival: seventeen minutes.”
An arrow on the screen directed the driver to turn right at the current intersection. The mercenary seemed to interpret the seventeen-minute estimate as a challenge from the onboard computer, as he spun the wheel and stomped the accelerator to the floor. The SUV took off with the screech of rubber against asphalt, and Ingersoll’s head snapped back into the headrest.
Ingersoll was seeing red, fighting the urge to deliver a verbal reprimand while calculating the odds of how that reprimand would affect his real-world game of Armageddon as this team of gun-toting clowns raced across town.
One of the goons in the back seat laughed. “Faeber, you asshat. Remind us—what did you do before joining Red Spear and ATG?”
The other goon was laughing like a high school student.
The driver, Faeber, cornered hard and accelerated even harder. This time, Ingersoll reached for the oh-shit handle without hesitation. Faeber pressed the pedal to the floor, and the engine roared. The narrow, one-way street started to tunnel as parked cars on both sides blurred with speed. He glanced over and met Ingersoll’s gaze with a steady, unhurried look. “I was a stunt driver for five years before I realized I liked shooting just as much as crashing.”
Alarmingly, Faeber’s foot remained planted on the floor while his gaze stayed fixed on Ingersoll.
Psycho—This guy’s a psycho.
A riot of laughter erupted from the back of the SUV. Ingersoll’s bladder was in a race with his bowels to see which would fail first, and his mind was slowly recognizing that all three men in the vehicle with him were more than just a bit off their rocker. He drew his pistol from its holster and positioned himself directly in Faeber’s line of sight. He was surprised to see how steady his hand looked. “If we wreck, I’ll shoot you in the face,” he offered quietly because it was the only voice currently left in his mental toolbox.
A smirk spread across Faeber’s face as he eased off the accelerator. He nodded once and then turned to face the road again. “Huh,” he said, amusement lacing the brief statement, and began to brake more aggressively.
“In fifty feet, make a left turn,” the navigation system announced.
Ingersoll turned quickly to the front and realized with a start that they were about to run off the road, regardless of whether he could get the driver to pull himself together. He swallowed the acidic bile rising in the back of his throat and looked down to find that the steady grip he had on his gun just moments before had changed. His hand now wobbled like one of the afflicted. He slipped the gun between his leg and the seat. He didn’t want anyone to see the shakes, but after what he had just experienced, he no longer trusted this group enough to keep the gun out of easy reach.
As Faeber eased the SUV into traffic at the next stop sign, he shot a quick glance at Ingersoll. “What’s the deal with the Vet?”
Ingersoll was confused. “Sorry?”
Faeber pointed to the navigation system. “You’re rerouting us. You must have new intel.”
Nodding, Ingersoll watched the driver with unblinking eyes. It was as if the drive towards death had never happened. He looked like the same guy who had picked him up at the hotel that morning. Glancing at the navigation system, Ingersoll observed their ETA had been reduced by four minutes. It felt like an unfair trade, as he was sure he had also forfeited at least a year of his life due to the trauma.
Nodding, Ingersoll said, “Yeah, new intel. It’s best if you just focus on driving.”
Knocking at the back door of the veterinary office, Ingersoll wasn’t surprised when it opened to reveal a somewhat attractive thirty-something with shoulder-length brown hair. She stood about five foot six—five eight in the heels she now wore as part of her business casual ensemble. It was as much camouflage for her as a ghillie suit for a sniper, and the comparison was fitting, he knew. She was every bit as dangerous.
“Olivia,” he said, brushing past her.
“You made good time,” Olivia said with a smirk. She glanced back at the three mercs standing beside the SUV, the only vehicle in the deserted rear parking lot, and then pulled the door shut and threw the bolt. “Tracking suggested you’d be another four to six minutes, maybe more with traffic. Your driver must be good.”
Ingersoll rounded on her, his eyes wide. “That man is clinically insane,” he practically spat. “If you or Breslin ever place me with any of those three again, I’m walking. It’s the end of the deal.”
Olivia was Breslin’s head of field logistics. She flew into Shelter Spring as soon as the recent sighting of Grady Ledger was confirmed. While Ingersoll didn’t know much about her background, the rumor was that it included time with army intelligence as well as a stint with the CIA. Though Ingersoll didn’t put much stock in rumors, every interaction he had with Olivia gave him confidence in her capabilities.
Olivia offered little outward reaction to his raised voice, other than to lift one dark eyebrow. After a long moment, she shifted and looked back down the hall they had just crossed, staring at the door. “Faeber was driving?” she said slowly, savoring the sentence as it rolled off her tongue.
His hands raised in an expression—really, do you think—Ingersoll glared.
She spoke in a slow, measured tone. “Faeber is under orders. He’s never to drive.” She looked Ingersoll right in the eye. “I’ll handle that myself.”
That was perhaps only the beginning of a conversation Ingersoll wanted to have about staffing, but something in Olivia’s expression when she made the statement made him rethink extending the discussion longer than necessary. If other rumors were to be believed, Olivia didn’t handle HR grievances with reprimands or performance improvement plans. A chill went down his spine.
Everyone in this outfit is operating with a sprung spring.
Not for the first time, Ingersoll wished he had played things a bit more like his partner and kept his nose clean. Al Vincente was in a dangerous position of his own, but it wasn’t one of his own making. Even Ingersoll knew his ambition had been responsible for sinking him into the pit of quicksand that was ATG. If anything happened to Vincente, Ingersoll knew that responsibility for it would ultimately fall on him.
“Our missing professor is right through here,” Olivia said, gesturing toward a wide set of swinging doors down the hall.
Ingersoll pushed through the doors and found himself in the main operating room of the veterinary clinic. A conventional hospital bed had been placed in the center of the space where the usual exam table would have been. The sizeable articulated light arm suspended from the rafters had been shifted to the edge of the room, and the equipment typically used for treating pets and animals had been replaced with high-end alternatives.
On the bed, a slightly inclined male figure lay supine. His eyes were taped shut, and he had been intubated. Numerous machines surrounded the head of the bed, all displaying diagnostic information. One of the largest devices featured a clear panel with an accordion-like cylinder that expanded and contracted in sync with the rise and fall of the figure’s chest, facilitating his breathing.
“Doctor Kramer Fulbright,” Ingersoll said, his tone low. His gaze moved slowly up and down the bed and across the array of complex devices. It finally rested on the flat panel display labeled EEG. “That’s electro-something, right?”
“Electroencephalogram,” Olivia stated.
Stepping closer, Ingersoll looked for subtleties on the display that he might have missed at first glance. All the colored lines on the display were completely flat. “Maybe it’s not connected properly?”
Olivia turned to meet his gaze from across the bed. “That was my first thought. Unfortunately, the equipment has been double-checked, and a backup unit was used to confirm just before you arrived. Doctor Fulbright is completely brain dead.”
Ingersoll felt his face twist in response. “I can’t see Ledger doing that to the man. He’s never hurt anyone in the past. Certainly nothing like this.”
Olivia shrugged in response. “With Al Vincente in the hospital, the investigation will rest entirely on you. But I tend to agree. That wouldn’t align with his history.” Her eyes roamed the room, and she appeared ready to share more.
“If you have any further thoughts, I welcome them. Between this and what happened at the Borderline, we’re closer to Ledger than ever before. There’s no such thing as too much information in an investigation like this, especially when we’re dealing with someone as resourceful and intelligent as Grady Ledger.”
Something shifted in Olivia’s expression as it moved over the crippled figure and met Ingersoll’s gaze, making him feel like he was seeing a side of the woman he’d never encountered before. “I don’t think Ledger did this to Fulbright,” she said softly, her voice husky. She pointed vaguely toward various parts of the life support equipment. “I suspect something happened to this man, and Ledger tried to save his life.” She swallowed hard. “A futile, failed effort.” Then she shrugged. “I could be wrong. Your investigation will reveal the truth.”
Ingersoll nodded slowly. “The twenty thousand dollar question is, why?”
“And the hundred-thousand-dollar question,” Olivia added. “Where is he now? Ultimately, that’s what we need to answer.”
Pike watched the veterinary clinic from concealment across the street. The overflowing steel dumpster on wheels was stacked with discarded wooden pallets, rolls of moldering plastic sheeting, and piles of industrial supplies, making it easy for him to create a burrow for himself and Alley Lauer. He didn’t view the position unfavorably compared to some of the observation points they had used in recent years. Although the smell was less than pleasant, they had fashioned a concealed cubby that allowed for greater flexibility in movement and space for their audio and visual surveillance equipment. And since Gray had outlined the caliber of people they were up against, they went the extra mile to line their hide with insulation to mask their thermal signature. Even if the team at the clinic thought to sweep the area, Pike’s team would remain invisible to all but the most invasive detection efforts.
Alley adjusted the contrast on the camera attached to her tablet. “Right there,” she confirmed, waiting for Pike to slide onto his belly. The team leader found a position beside her on the ground in the dark in front of the screen. The camera they had among the scattered debris was aimed squarely at the clinic’s facade. As they adjusted the settings, it allowed them to scan the building’s surface and focus on heat signatures.
“Right, nice tech,” Pike whispered back.
They could see a pair of men standing like pillars at what was clearly the rear door of the building. Another group flanked the front door, hidden from view, but thanks to the camera equipment, it was clear they were just inside the entrance. “That one’s a corrupt FBI agent,” Alley said, tapping the larger of the two men positioned near the center of the building. They both recognized the horizontal figure as Doctor Fulbright.
“Seger is running facial recognition on the woman,” Pike said. “She seems to be some kind of shot caller, judging by how the others deferred to her.”
“Nice to see a woman in charge,” Alley quipped.
Pike was already shaking his head. “I’ll hand you the crown any time you like. You’re a group of chinwagging dilettantes. Nothing would make me happier.”
Shoulder-checking him and offering a wink, Alley returned her gaze to the screen. “I still don’t like giving Fulbright up to the bad guys,” she said after a short silence.
“We’ve done all we can for him. He’s brain dead,” Pike said. Though his tone didn’t convey much, it expressed displeasure. “As hard as it is to believe, I think he made it to wherever he was trying to go. He just didn’t make it back. In my opinion, that makes this less of a tragedy. If he died proving what he wanted to prove, it’s not our place to criticize.”
Alley said, giving him the side-eye, “not like you to be all philosophic.”
“Guess I’m just getting old,” he said with a smirk.
They watched as the team in the clinic across the street moved Fulbright’s body into a panel van. Immediately afterward, the woman and the FBI agent left in separate vehicles. The agent drove away in the Cadillac SUV, while the woman left in a sedan that arrived just long enough to pick her up. The vehicles departed in different directions. Pike and Alley stayed behind to observe as figures inside the building remained long enough to conduct a systematic search for any evidence, but as best they could tell, nothing was collected.
“Send an update to Gray,” Pike said. “This op is complete. We’ll rendezvous with Seger and Unger to initiate the next phase.”
