Rogues of Overwatch

by Dustin Martin

Mark’s stomach growled. The pizza delivery man was late. Lionel sat on the other bed of the motel room, watching the evening news. There was a short segment earlier on a crashed Jeep and the dead officers. A later story focused on a couple of stolen vehicles, a police SUV abandoned at a gas station with two dead cops inside, stripped to their underwear, and a brown van, currently missing and its owners bewildered. Lionel had insisted they ditch the brown van a few miles up the road at a shopping center before walking to the motel. Mark wasn’t sure where they were; it looked like the outskirts of some Washington town.

  Oliver exited the bathroom, fanning the air behind him as the news showed a police sketch of him and Lionel. An older photograph of Mark was beside them. “Woo! Don’t go in there for a while!”

  Mark leaned over, looking into the bathroom. “You sure you didn’t need help getting around in there?”

  “No, no,” Oliver said, washing his hands. “No, I can handle myself fine once I learn where everything is. What’ll really keep you up at night is ‘How do I know when to stop wiping?’ Eh? Eh?” He tapped his temple, then left Mark to puzzle that. “Pizza here yet?”

  The doorbell rang, as did Oliver’s disposable cell phone. Oliver handed Mark a wad of bills to pay for the pizza and answered the phone. “Hello? You’ve reached the office of Light, Cloud, and Waller Associated. Please state the reason for your call,” he joked. He was silent for a few moments. Mark eyed him, keeping the door pulled to and trying to block the delivery man’s view inside. He took the pizza and change and kicked the door shut. “Yeah, hang on. I’ll put you on speaker.”

  Lionel and Mark gathered around the phone. “Is everyone there?” Whyte asked, an edge in his tone.

  Oliver opened the pizza box, picking out a slice. “Yeah, we’re all here.” He ate his piece, spilling cheese and mushrooms at every other bite onto his arms. He wadded the cheese pieces into little balls and pressed them back into the slice. “Might want to be quick. I haven’t had a chance to buy more minutes.”

  Valerie spoke up. “Guess you didn’t capture Heather.”

  “Oh, the gang’s all here,” Oliver said, his mouth full. “You’re right. We just missed her. Should’ve seen how crazy these guys were. They jumped onto the plane while it flew above us! Can you believe that? Daredevils, these new ones. I like them.”

  “New ones?” Whyte asked.

  “Yeah, that one girl and her friends.” Oliver snapped his fingers. “Uh, what’s her name?”

  “Lydia,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, Lydia and those two boys. They were helping Sylvia.”

  “Were they?” Whyte murmured to himself, too quietly for Mark to hear what he said. “Was she shot? Or did she bleed at all?”

  “Not that I know of,” Oliver said.

  He wants her blood. Mark’s suspicions had been right about Whyte’s investigating the strength-invulnerability formula. He hoped this interest in Lydia would distract from the topic of failing to capture Heather. However, that proved to be wishful thinking on his part. “Back to the matter at hand, we are without Heather as a bargaining chip for the negotiation with the U.S. And I have been watching the news for the past hour. Your faces are all over the screen.”

  “Please tell me they got my nose right,” Oliver said. “It’s not too big, is it? Tell me it’s not too big.”

  Sensing that Whyte was about to rip into them, Mark ran through as many options as he could, trying to find some way to stem his anger. There had to be some way to buy time. Some suggestion to reach Heather that he could then use to slip away with her before Whyte caught her. But she was with the BEP Division at this moment, wherever their base was, with no way to contact her at all.

  Contact. Contact. “Mr. Whyte,” Mark said, startling Lionel and Oliver.

  “Yes?”

  “We could still reach Heather,” he said. “We know where she is after all. At the BEP Division’s base.” He paused, waiting for some sort of objection. “Why not have your contact tell you where she is?”

  Again, there was a silence. “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Whyte said. “My contact is limited in the information given to them. Only some of the BEP Division know where their base is, and my contact isn’t one of those people.”

  “Can’t you just track their position?” Mark asked. “You know. Triangulate it or whatever.”

  “No. Cell phones, computers, and anything of the like are searched and confiscated upon entry to their base, save for top personnel. My person is limited to a computer tied to their network and a landline. Even if the incompetent fool smuggled something in, their base is underground and the reception is terrible. We couldn’t pinpoint their exact location with a tracker or anything without being close to their base already.”

  “Whoever it is, is technologically stunted,” Oliver added. “Sheila’s trying to help them build a phone that we could possibly trace and talk privately on, so the BEP Division wouldn’t be listening in. But so far,” he shrugged, “it’s not going well. Doesn’t know the first thing about electronics or machinery to save their lives, and the BEP Division is short of the parts needed anyway.”

  “So we know nothing about where they’re at?” Mark asked.

  “All we’ve discovered is that it’s on the east side of the country, more to the north. Although,” Whyte spoke to himself again. “I wonder if we could use Heather. Maybe she could,” he grunted, “no, never mind. We have to focus on the U.S. negotiations. Can’t lose sight of that.”

  “How come?” Mark asked.

  “Because if we can convince a superpower like the U.S. to employ us, we’ll have an easier time convincing other countries,” Whyte said. A tense pause passed, and Mark shirked from the phone, preparing for an outburst. “I’ll have my contact monitor Heather,” he said finally, and Mark breathed easy. “Meanwhile, I want you three to lay low until I can take care of your notoriety. Then, I have another job for you. Hopefully one you won’t fail,” he said, enunciating his words.

  Mark shivered, but he was happy. Bullet dodged. “What is it?” Lionel asked.

  “My contact informed me of a pending discharge from the BEP Division, some swimmer from Vermont,” Whyte said. “Sounds like he would be useful. And maybe we could get some intel from him. I’ll call you when I get more details.”

  “Righty-o,” Oliver said. Whyte ended the call and Mark sank onto the bed, his muscles like melted butter. He hardly paid attention to Lionel, who said he was going for a walk. “Kind of hard to walk in your state, isn’t it?” Oliver asked, chuckling. Lionel ignored him and split his body apart, squeezing through the cracks in the door.

  Oliver lay back on his hands after finishing half the pizza and stretched out on the floor. “Hope we don’t have to stay here the whole time. I’ll go crazy.”

  With Lionel gone, Mark figured this was the perfect opportunity to find out more about Whyte’s power. The question had bugged him nonstop on their trip. “So, Oliver?”

  “So, Mark?”

  “You said Whyte can see into the future?”

  “That’s right,” he said.

  Mark licked his lips. “How far into the future?”

  Oliver cracked his neck and kicked his feet onto the opposite bed, his rear drooping toward the floor. “Enough to know when I’m about to ask for a raise,” he said. “Keeps dodging me then.” He smiled and folded his hands behind his head. “But how far? Who knows?”

  “Are we talking years or something?”

  Oliver looked upside down at him, the sunglasses giving the impression he was staring right at Mark. “Well, I don’t think so. But for appearance’s sake among the mercenaries and others below us, we let them think that.”

  “So it’s not years?” Mark asked.

  Oliver shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. He’s never really told us. I’m guessing a few days, but others say a day or an hour. Still, even an hour is pretty good.”

  “And he can see the future for everyone? What every person will do?”
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br />   “It’s only his future. Things directly related to him. I think. Not sure. Why so curious?” he asked. “Trying to surprise him?”

  “No, just wondering. You have to admit, it’s pretty amazing.”

  Oliver agreed. “That it is. Guess you get jaded after a while. But between you and me, fire is cooler.”

  Mark held his face and looked at his knees. A man who saw at least an hour into the future. How does one escape that? How could he fool Whyte and leave, especially with Heather? The more he discovered about Whyte, the more his chance to escape his clutches fell. Perhaps turning himself into the police or the FBI was the only way. Even that was risky, as Whyte might know about his intentions beforehand, and he was always watched at the base. He definitely never wanted to return there.

  Then he realized that this wasn’t the base. Here, in this uncontrolled environment, he could alert the police, be arrested, and let them take care of this. First, he thought as he eyed Oliver, I have to do it when they’re not around.

  “Let me put it this way,” Oliver said, patting Mark’s back. Lionel entered and sat in his chair, returning to the news. “I wouldn’t play Whyte in a game of poker.” He laughed and nudged Mark. “You’d have better luck in a casino.” The boy forced a grin.

  “Speaking of casinos,” Oliver said, “it’s been a while since I’ve been to one. I’m itching to go again. You ever been, Mark? No? Hey,” he rose up, his finger pointed to the ceiling, “we’re close to Vegas.”

  “We’re a thousand miles from Vegas,” Lionel said.

  “Hey,” he said, pointing higher, “compared to how far the base is, we’re relatively near Vegas. Why don’t we pop on down there for a little fun?”

  “No,” Lionel said.

  “Oh, c’mon. We could use some relaxation. And what better place to lay low than a tourist hotspot? What do you say, Mark? Feel up to it?”

  Vegas. Plenty of people and plenty of places to lose yourself in. An easy city to hide from others—or to place one phone call for freedom from all this. Certainly with more opportunities than the cramped hotel room. “Sure,” Mark said. “Sounds good.”

  “See?” Oliver said. “We’ll head down there, lose some money, have some drinks, and enjoy ourselves.” Lionel gave a heavy grunt, wispy trails exiting his mouth and circling up to rejoin his scalp. “I’ll take that as a yes. Vegas, here we come!”

  * * *