Dead End

by Jeramy Gates

  The pale glow illuminated her face as she scanned the next page of the King James Version. After a few minutes of reading, she came to a passage that gave her pause. It was vaguely familiar, but the quote she remembered was somehow different. She read it twice before realizing that although it sounded familiar, it was actually new to her. She whispered the words into the darkened hotel room:

  “…wake up the mighty men, let all the men of war draw near; let them come up: Beat your plowshares into swords, and your pruning hooks into spears: let the weak say, I am strong…”

  The passage sent a chill down her spine. For some strange reason, it almost felt as if those words had been put down there just for her; as if this prophet from centuries ago had somehow foreseen the events that would lead to this place, this time in her life; that he was reaching out to her across the ages, distilling his wisdom down into one simple verse that spanned millennia to tell her in no uncertain terms that she was doing exactly the right thing. The meaning dawned on her in a surprising metaphor: I used to be a plowshare, she realized. Now, I am a sword. I was weak. Now I am strong.

  The next morning dawned bright and sunny. Even before climbing out of bed, Val was checking her phone for messages. She had none. That was disappointing, because she knew Matt would have contacted her the second he broke the file encryption. Since he hadn’t called or texted, he probably hadn’t had any success. She suppressed the urge to call him right away, knowing that he had been up late. Instead, she got dressed and wandered down to the hotel’s buffet for a leisurely breakfast.

  Val had the dining area mostly to herself. During the forty-five minutes she spent there, only a handful of travelers came through. No one stayed. They loaded up plates of toast or bagels, filled coffee cups, and vanished wordlessly into the world. A few employees passed through, but they were so quiet and efficient as to be almost invisible.

  Valkyrie scanned the headlines on her laptop while savoring a toasted bagel with onion-flavored cream cheese and sipping an espresso she’d made herself. The world looked pretty much how it always had: wars, earthquakes, famine and disease. Someone had died, someone was born, someone committed murder, and someone got caught in a lie… Humans being human. The news reports all worked hard to make these things sound important, as if they’d never happened before, or least never this bad. Val wasn’t fazed. As a teen, she would have bought the hype hook, line, and sinker. As an educated teacher in her twenties, Val would have approached the stories with a touch more skepticism. As a woman most would consider middle-aged, with a gun under her jacket and a collection of tombstones to replace her family, it all seemed irrelevant.

  A twenty-four-hour media circus working desperately to sell commercials, she thought cynically. She closed the computer and turned back to the real world, which didn’t seem at all like the one on her screen.

  Glancing through the windows to the south, Val caught glimpses of kayaks moving down the river, and bicyclists and joggers exercising in the adjacent park. A young couple pushed a baby stroller down the sidewalk… It struck Val that no matter how many towns and cities she visited, she always observed the same fundamental behaviors. Two days ago, she had been three thousand miles away, and yet could have seen almost exactly the same scene outside her hotel. It was somehow reassuring, knowing that life and community were such universal truths. People like Val, men like the Collector -these were the aberrations. So long as the world remained mostly like that young couple, it would get on just fine.

  Val rose to make her second espresso. She checked her phone again. She didn’t expect any messages. It hadn’t buzzed yet, and it was unlikely she would have missed it if it had. She was right. Val chose French roast, and the machine performed a fresh grind before pumping the scalding hot water through the grounds. Dark liquid whooshed through the dispenser, filling her cup. The pump went silent after a final spray that created a perfect light brown foam that floated across the surface of her beverage. Val took the cup back to her room with her, and at last called Matt.

  “Uh… hello?” he said in a raspy, not-quite-awake tone.

  “Matt, it’s Val. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He cleared his throat. “It’s okay. I’ve just been babysitting the computer all night.”

  “Did you have any luck?”

  She heard him moving around. A few seconds passed before he answered. “No, not yet. Are you coming over?”

  “Actually, that’s why I called. Do you mind if I borrow your car for a couple hours? I’d like to have a look at the Blackstar Fusion headquarters in person.”

  “Of course. You did buy the car, remember?”

  “Yes, but it’s yours,” she said. “Go back to sleep, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  Matt mumbled something that could have been “okay” or “all right” as he hung up. The conversation left Val with the feeling that buying him a car -extravagant as it might seem- was not nearly enough to repay him for all he had done for her.

  According to her phone’s GPS, Blackstar’s headquarters were just across the New Hampshire border, a drive of about fifty minutes. Val had easy access to the highway headed north, since it conveniently ran right past the hotel. She stopped long enough to fill the Charger’s fuel tank, and then she was off.

  As she headed north on the highway, Val had mixed feelings about the muscle car. It had certain modern conveniences that the Packard lacked, which she appreciated: steering wheel controls for the stereo and cruise control, for example. The heated seats, auto-dimming rear-view mirror, and so on. These were nice features. Others seemed a little excessive: a large screen entertainment system with voice recognition, a DVD player, and a heated steering wheel... this last one she found rather baffling. Not so much that such a thing existed, but the very idea that anyone would want it on a sports car. The idea of raw, stripped-down power seemed gone in this new breed of muscle cars. Instead, they had hypersensitive brakes and steering, eight-speed automatic transmissions with electronic shift override, and a button to turn off the “skid control,” just in case the driver might want to spin out. Umm… who wouldn’t?

  The car was certainly nice, but it left her yearning for the Packard. There was something different about her nearly century-old vehicle, and it wasn’t just nostalgia. It was the way you could look at it and see the love that went into the craftsmanship of the machine. It had been designed to be beautiful -not just to be pretty until the paint got old- and to have a personality all its own. It was classy, and even if it had been rusting away in a field somewhere, it would still somehow look classy. They just didn’t make cars like that anymore.

  Of course, it helped to know that Tom had been over every inch of that car, restoring it with his own two hands. He’d removed the rust, updated the wiring, rebuilt the engine, and probably done a thousand other things she would never even know about. Personal touches like the custom dash and console made it all the more unique and special to her. For Tom, it had been a labor of love, just like the car’s original designers, and it showed.

  Thinking about him brought a pang of uncertainty. Now that she knew he’d concealed his true occupation from her, Valkyrie couldn’t help wondering what else Tom had hidden. It didn’t seem possible that he could have worked for a top-secret government contractor without her knowing. What if, as Matt had suggested, Tom had been a drone engineer? Would that change the way she felt about him? What if the man she knew as Tom wasn’t really Tom at all? What if he’d lived a whole different life that she’d never even suspected?

  It was starting to feel that way, and Val didn’t care for it. She hated the uncertainty of not knowing who the man she had loved really was. She hated that she now doubted him; that she couldn’t be sure of his intentions. She told herself their love had been real. If he hadn’t loved her, he would have been gone long before the Collector showed up to kill him. That much must have been true.

  “Take the off ramp in one quarter mile,” the GPS voice said.

 
Val followed the instructions. The road led around a subdivision, along the edge of a field and into a wooded rural area. Val found the location remarkably similar to the area where Tom had worked in Idaho, which apparently had also been one of Blackstar Fusion’s operations. It seemed they had a preference for rural locations. It must have been for security reasons, because money didn’t have anything to do with it. The corporation was worth billions.

  “Right turn here,” the GPS said.

  Val slowed and turned onto a wide lane. Rows of maples with bright green spring leaves lined either side of the road. They stretched into the distance, their intertwined canopy of branches casting a dark shadow across the asphalt below. The trees and the elevated banks along the road blocked off her view of the property. After a couple turns, she caught sight of a guard house up ahead. Her foot inched toward the brake.

  A spontaneous idea presented itself, and instead of stopping there to turn around, Val drove up to the gate. She rolled down her window and smiled at the gray-haired man in uniform named Hank who greeted her. Hank held a clipboard under his arm as he leaned out the window.

  “Good afternoon, Ma’am. Do you have an appointment?”

  “Sorry, I think I’m lost,” Val said. “What is this place?”

  He tilted his head to the side, peering into the windows of the car. “This is private property, Ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “But if you won’t tell me where I am-”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you into the property without a badge.”

  Val reached into her blazer, pulled out her fake FBI badge, and flashed it at him. “I’m Special Agent Valkyrie Smith. I have an appointment with Levin Alexander. I’m told he has an office here?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Hank said, suddenly helpful. He scanned the clipboard. “I don’t have an appointment listed. I’ll have to call ahead.”

  He disappeared back into the guard shack. Val watched through the dark glass as he picked up the phone, dialed the main building, and spoke to someone there. His speech was muffled, but she caught the word FBI. He leaned back out. “Agent…?”

  “Smith.”

  “Right.” He put the phone back to his ear. “It’s Agent Smith. Uh-huh. I’ll send her right up.” He hung up and hit the button to raise the gate. “Just follow the lane to the parking lot, and take the main entrance,” he said. “Somebody will meet you in the lobby.”

  “Thank you.”

  Val’s phone buzzed while she was parking. It was a text message. She unlocked the screen and saw the glassy-eyed image of a dead man staring back at her. Before she could even react, the phone rang. It was Carver.

  “Carver, did you send this picture?”

  “Yeah. You know this guy?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Who is he?”

  “I hoped you could tell me. He tried to break into my trailer last night. His name is Rex Brandison.”

  “Oh. You… killed him?”

  “You did hear the part about him breaking into my house, didn’t you?”

  “Right… Sorry.”

  “I just wanted to make sure you made it to Boston all right.”

  “There was a little turbulence, but other than that it wasn’t a bad flight.” Then she put two and two together. “Are you saying that you think this Brandison guy was looking for me?”

  “He came prepared to kill someone,” Carver said, “and to dispose of the corpse. Sounds a lot like the company you’ve been keeping lately. I don’t know what else he’d come around here for.”

  He did have a point. What were the odds that a killer would stumble on Carver’s place out in the middle of nowhere? And nobody in their right mind would go after Carver, especially on his home turf.

  “They’re not company,” she said. “It’s possible that he was working for the Collector, I suppose. Did you question him?”

  Carver cleared his throat. “Not exactly.”

  She shivered, imagining the dead, soulless eyes in that photo. “Carver, what did you do to him?”

  “The less you know, the better it is for both of us. Speaking of, go ahead and delete that picture for me. We’ll just pretend you never saw it.”

  Val glanced at the lobby and saw someone standing by the windows, staring out at her. “I have to go,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Sure. Watch your back, all right?”

  “I always do.”

  Valkyrie entered the lobby and stood just inside the entrance, hand resting on her cane as she scanned the room. It was a two-story atrium with offices and hallways on both levels. Stairs off to the right led up to a second-floor balcony. A large u-shaped service desk sat at the center of the room. Mounted on the wall behind the desk was a large bronze relief of the Hindu god Shiva, with a black pentagram in the backdrop. Emblazoned at the top and bottom of the symbol were the words Blackstar Fusion.

  The woman Val had seen at the windows approached her from the front desk. The woman was attractive: early thirties, thin and curvy with dark hair, olive skin, and wearing a tight-fitting black skirt with a white blouse. Her heels clacked on the hard floor as the came over.

  “I’m Carina Wohler, the Service Operations Manager,” she said as she shook Valkyrie’s hand. Val introduced herself as Special Agent Smith, and then added, “Call me Val.”

  “Security told me you’re looking for Levin Alexander?”

  “Not exactly. I’m here to inform you that Mr. Alexander has passed away.”

  The shock that washed over Carina’s features was undeniably genuine. “I don’t understand… How?”

  “He was murdered,” Valkyrie said.

  “What!” Carina’s eyes were wide, her jaw hanging open. “Are you sure?”

  Val saw that they had attracted the attention of numerous employees. She lowered her voice. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “Oh, of course. Come with me.”

  Carina led Valkyrie down the hall. At the end, the manager ushered her into a large corner office with views of the parking lot and the river behind the building. “Please, have a seat,” she said as she closed the door. She settled into the chair behind the desk, facing Val. She leaned forward on her elbows, staring intently, waiting for an explanation.

  “Mrs. Wohler-”

  “Carina.”

  “Carina, when did you last hear from Levin Alexander?”

  She thought about it a moment. “About six weeks ago. But that’s not unusual. Our relationship lately has been… strained.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “To be honest, it has been going on for a few years. Levin’s contract with us doesn’t require him to put in a certain number of hours, but we do expect results. Lately, we just haven’t seen any.”

  “You mean he hasn’t been lobbying for you?”

  “Based on the results, I’d say no. That hasn’t stopped him from cashing our checks, though. We’ve talked about letting him go, but decided to wait until we have replacements.”

  “Replacements? Plural?”

  “Yes. You see, Blackstar has grown exponentially over the last decade, and diversified into many different fields. The board decided it would be best to hire specialists who can lobby independently in each field.”

  “I see. And how long did you work with the… Mr. Alexander?” Valkyrie paused midsentence, stopping herself as she almost called him the Informant.

  “I’d have to check his file. I’ve only worked here for four years, and he predates that by some time.”

  “Carina, are you aware of a Blackstar program called “ASP?”

  She gave a mystified shake of her head. “I’ve never heard of that. Are you sure it was Blackstar Fusion? There are several corporations that have similar names.”

  “I’m sure. Does Blackstar build drones?”

  Carina started to answer and then caught herself. “I’m sorry, Val, but I’m not allowed to go into detail about this company’s confidential projects. Besides, wha
t does this have to do with Levin? You understand, he didn’t actually work for the company. He was just a lobbyist. Nothing more.”

  “I understand.” It was worth a shot. “Can I call you if I have any more questions?”

  “Of course.” Carina gave Val her card. “That’s my direct line. Again, I’m sorry about not being able to share details. It could cost me my job.”

  “I understand. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Wait! Aren’t you going to tell me who killed Levin?”

  “I can’t,” Val said. “It’s confidential.”

  On her way out of the lobby, Val paused at the glass doors. Someone had taped an invitation to the glass, reminding the employees of the upcoming company conference. It was on Saturday, and according to the sheet, attendance was mandatory. She tore it down and tucked it into her pocket as she walked out.

  Chapter 14

  Valkyrie felt quite pleased with herself as she drove away from Blackstar’s headquarters. Granted, it had only been an office building and not one of the high security production sites like the one where Tom had worked, but it still seemed quite an accomplishment to have successfully infiltrated such a place. And to think she’d even managed to extract a considerable amount of information in the process! Val only wished she’d been more prepared for the unexpected success. There were almost certainly more questions she should have asked, but would only think of later.

  The minute she got back on the highway, Val saw taillights up ahead. She eased back on the accelerator as traffic closed in around her. Within the space of a mile, traffic went from over-the-limit speeds to a dead stop. She activated the GPS map on her phone, and found the source of the problem: a traffic accident two miles up the road. She put the Charger into Park and settled back for a long wait. She turned on the radio, switched it to A.M., and scanned the stations until she found something local. It took about five minutes -mostly commercials- before she got the details: A semi-truck pulling two trailers had drifted across the lane, causing an accident with two other vehicles. This caused the driver of a minivan to lose control, flipping the vehicle in the median. No word on casualties.