The Trigger Mechanism

by Scott McEwen

  “And this is the one I used last summer when Wyatt got a tooth knocked out in a fight.” Mum blushed. She knew Cass was also upset about the abrupt loss of her friend. Her comrade in grief.

  The truth was, everything had shifted. There were no missions. Eldon, though he was clearly trying to unite the group, had lost every bit of spring in his step.

  Cass sighed. She needed something to go as planned. To bear fruit.

  “Dear, Wyatt will be all right. Something tells me he has a plan. He’s far stronger—and smarter—than we think. All these kids are.”

  “Hope you’re right.”

  She knew what it was like to have her plans literally blown to pieces, but for once, she was tired. Too tired to put them back together again.

  She leaned over the outdoor sink, letting the cool water run over what was left of her scarred skin, her damaged right hand, unsure in that moment if she had the strength to fight again.

  * * *

  Across campus, the Rovers were having their midday downtime in their cabins. Cody, since he wasn’t much for journaling or taking naps, sneaked down to the shooting range. Thanks to Ken, the campus had long been combed of weapons, but he had managed to steal a Beretta M9, a sweet little number, and sometimes, when he was certain no one was around, he’d get a few shots in, just to practice.

  And he was doing just that when his pocket buzzed. He reached in and pulled out an old iPhone, and on the notification screen, six voice mails. Cody was confused and a little alarmed. Normally there was no cell service at Valor, and definitely no Wi-Fi access for campers, but he kept the phone with him, another form of contraband, and he would play the few games he’d downloaded before he left, Minecraft, Fortnite.

  He played the first message, and it took only a couple of seconds for him to recognize a voice he knew better than any other.

  “Cody, it’s me. You gotta get back here. They took him, they took your brother! Oh my god, oh my god,” Narcy sobbed.

  Cody looked around the empty range, wondering where his dad would be at this point in the day as the first voice mail ran over into the next.

  “Cody, it’s your aunt. Where are you? Oh my god…”

  There was shuffling on the other end of the line. “Cody, someone wants to talk to you. Hang on.”

  “Cody,” a male voice said. “This is Mr. Yellow. Do not overreact,” the man spoke calmly over the chorus of Narcy’s curses and screams.

  “Overreact? I’m a hostage!” she bellowed.

  “I know Narcy left you a disturbing message, but the situation is not as dire as you might think. We have men following Wyatt and Jalen right now.”

  “They stormed into the house,” Narcy squawked. “Wyatt kicked their asses, doin’ some kind of judo … he judo-chopped one of them right in the stomach.”

  “Narcy, please,” Mr. Yellow said faintly in the background. “Why don’t you have a Coke?”

  “Well, thanks for the offering, for pity’s sake.”

  “Cody,” Mr. Yellow again turned his attention to his message. “I know this might sound disturbing, but truly, everything is fine. Right now, Wyatt and Jalen are with an individual—I cannot reveal his name—suffice it to say, he’s a man of great means, and though we do not know exactly the intent, we believe they’re on a mission to find America’s most-wanted terrorist.”

  Cody knew where he had to go. He slipped the phone into his pocket and climbed out of the range, taking the long way instead of going up the trail on a path where he might encounter campers returning from training. He followed the shore north and west. He entered the bunker complex, which, at its entrance, was large enough to drive through. He sneaked past the security detail and headed toward the director’s office. But instead of going to his father, he went down into the bowels of the bunker and followed a series of ladders and narrow staircases to find the thick metal door and biometric scanner that led to Avi’s hideaway.

  “Avi,” Cody said, rapping on the metal door. “It’s Cody. Could we talk?”

  “What’s going on?” Avi’s bland tone blared through the intercom.

  “Just let me in.” Cody looked around, worried at any minute his father might see him.

  There was a long buzzing sound, and the door unlatched. Cody found Avi inside his lair, goggles down.

  “Now, what is going on?” Avi grunted.

  “Avi,” Cody said, wide eyed from the lights and sounds behind him. Though he had been at camp for a few weeks now, he’d yet to see Valor from this kind of James Bond vantage.

  “Something’s going on with my brother,” he said. “And I think you know what it is.”

  Avi did his best “Who, me?” face, but feigning innocence—or feigning anything, for that matter—was not his strongest skill set.

  Cody extended the old iPhone. “Here,” he said. “I have messages … from my aunt Narcy. And Mr. Yellow. I know Wyatt’s involved in an important mission and he’s been kidnapped.”

  Avi began tinkering with something in his hand. Behind him, behemoth racks filled with servers, spy gear, and drones, and his staff of secretive computer geeks scurrying about.

  “Come inside,” Avi said after a minute. He waved the boy past a wall of knobs and screens and blinking lights, his own private world of security equipment.

  “Now, where did you get this?” Avi asked, snatching up the phone. “You know electronics of any kind are prohibited.”

  “My aunt Narcy. It’s her personal phone, she kept her one for business. Anyway, I’m sorry. I know Dad said not to contact anyone, but Narcy insisted I keep it for emergencies. I was worried … I just wanted to be able to check in on my mom. If I had to. She was really messed up when we left—”

  “Well, your brother is fine. What your aunt witnessed was likely a recovery of assets.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your brother and Jalen are in the employ of a powerful billionaire—Mr. John Darsie.”

  “Hey, I know him. The Paycard guy.”

  “Yes, Paycard and all of that. He’s very well known. Your brother left camp because he’s made a secret pact with this man in hopes of finding Encyte, but if I had to guess, it’s for revenge.”

  “I knew Wyatt didn’t give up on us.”

  “Of course he wouldn’t do that. Especially not when it comes to you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “A brother’s love is very important,” Avi said, his tone going cold. “And that is why I’m allowing this total disregard for protocol. I want to help your brother find the man who killed mine.”

  “Hallsy?”

  Avi nodded. “And it seems now, with Valor turned into a glorified amusement park and your father under a microscope, this man—Mr. John Darsie—is the only way.”

  Just then, the heavy steel door to Avi’s lair clicked closed. He looked at Cody, wide eyed. “Did anyone come with you?”

  “No. Just me.”

  “Well, then, we’ve got a bigger problem on our hands.” Avi sighed and went over to a metal cabinet and pulled out the tiniest drone Cody had ever seen.

  “What are you doing?” Cody asked.

  “I’m going to see who was just spying on us.”

  * * *

  “Why were you following Cody, anyway?” Rory asked, resting her oar across the hull and letting the kayak drift.

  As was common, Group-A was out on the lake in the afternoon. One place they could get cool, be alone and away from the watchful eye of the landlocked Ken.

  “Well, I was down in the Caldera and I thought I heard a shot…” Samy said from the other kayak. Pierce was in the seat behind him. “And I knew no one was supposed to be down on the range, so I followed him.”

  “And why do you think Cody didn’t just go to his dad?” Rory asked.

  “I don’t know! Maybe because he didn’t want to tell his dad he had a gun and a cell phone! But the point is, I heard it from Avi’s mouth—Wyatt and Jalen are going after Encyte. Don’t you see? Wyatt’s ge
tting a plan in place. He’s going to bring us back in. So we gotta get off our butts already!” Samy said to the rest of his group, his passionate voice a little too loud for the still lake.

  “Quiet, dum-dum. Sound travels on the water,” Mary Alice snapped. “Anyway, what about Wyatt’s memory? He’s been wiped, so how will he remember us?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know how that works, but he must have planned for that. Come on, guys. Wyatt had balls.”

  Rory and MA looked at each other and rolled their eyes, paddling just ahead of the boy’s kayak.

  “You know what I mean,” Samy persisted. “Courage. He made his own path. I say we get back to our training.”

  “And then what?” Pierce asked from the seat behind him.

  Samy smiled. “And then we freaking go after him … He’s going to need our help. I just know it.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Jalen rocked, slipping in and out of consciousness as he felt a gentle rolling motion. His arms were heavy, like he was wrapped in a blanket, making it even harder for him to wake, but when he finally forced his eyes open, he found himself in a train car. He popped his stiff neck and looked down, realizing that it was not a blanket at all, but a straitjacket. His heart was now thudding to life.

  “Good morning.”

  Jalen jerked his head up to see the man in the cardigan sitting across from him. “What’s going on?” Jalen bucked against the canvas cloth. The dim memory was now coming back in Jalen’s mind—the fight, the bookcase, the window he shattered.

  “I’m Mr. Darsie, and you weren’t part of my original plan, but,” Darsie said, motioning for Jalen to lean forward, “I think it was a good call. Still, Wyatt was supposed to have been sworn to secrecy.” He began loosening the heavy buckles on Jalen’s back.

  “Thank you,” Jalen said, wrestling from the jacket like a molting snake.

  “The headaches may continue for the next few weeks.” Darsie motioned to a dish rattling on a thin golden tray. “These will help.” The dish contained two white pills, and beside it, a bottle of Fiji.

  Jalen picked up one of the pills. It bore no markings. “Think I’ve had enough unknown substances for a while,” he said, setting it back down. The veins in the side of his head throbbed. “What are they, anyway?” he asked, wincing.

  “Mostly a standard pain reliever … with a special mix that my doctors find particularly soothing for migraines.”

  Jalen stared at the pill.

  “Muscle through on your own if you’d like,” Darsie said. “I must say I’d like to be trusted at this point, but perhaps that’s wishful thinking…”

  “Trusted? Didn’t you stab me with a sedative?”

  “Touché. But I’m glad to see your memory is coming back. I wasn’t positive that formula worked.” He smiled and turned to one of his manservants standing behind him. “Please find some aspirin. And take this away.” Darsie motioned to the golden tray.

  The man lifted the tray and Jalen caught his hand. “Just a sec,” Jalen said, reaching in the bowl and scooping up the pills. He stared at Darsie, popped the pills in his mouth, and slugged the mineral water. “Thank you.”

  A few moments passed. “A little extra caffeine,” Darsie finally said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Perfectly pure caffeine … in the pills.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s it. Nothing else.”

  “Well, I feel better already.” Jalen finished his water. “Where’s Wyatt?”

  “He’ll be joining us shortly, but first, I wanted to have a little talk … about your friend, Hi Kyto.”

  “She’s not really my friend. I mean, I know her but I haven’t met her.”

  “And I think you and Wyatt have discussed that she could be linked … to Encyte.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Hi Kyto is employed by me. She and I have an intimate working relationship, and in order for that to continue, I need to know some things.”

  Jalen nodded.

  “You see, often when we think about who’s bad, we have so many emotions and prejudices that lead us in a direction that objectively may be wrong. Innocent people are constantly harassed, accused, and found guilty of crimes they didn’t commit, based on these prejudices. I don’t think I need to tell you that.”

  Jalen nodded again.

  “For example,” Darsie continued, “many of my colleagues in the software industry or in tech in the government are convinced that Encyte is a Russian mole from North Korea.”

  “Think it’s possible?” Jalen interrupted.

  “Sure it’s possible. Anything’s possible, but jumping to that conclusion, I think, is lazy … not to mention dangerous. Other ideas we’ve heard … a political activist—which makes way more sense to me—domestic terrorists, a rogue politician, the idea of a Unabomber has even been kicked around.” Darsie smiled, eyes glowing. “Some people think Encyte could be me.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “So you need to think about why Hi Kyto is a suspect.”

  “Well, her ability, her technical skill, her disposable income from professional gaming.”

  “Right!” Darsie snatched an iPad off the nearby desk and swiped it open. “Maybe you’ve already learned a few things from Valor, but there’s more. A hunt for a serial killer starts with a victim. You need to profile them.”

  He handed Jalen the iPad. Jalen studied the screen: a table, a mosaic of faces filling the sixteen-by-nine-inch frame. They were laid out in blocks of three—the sneaker attack, the Austin attack, the victims of the California fire.

  “These are the victims,” Darsie said. “Hundreds of them.”

  Jalen zoomed in, scanning each—every color, every gender. His head pounded. He thought he might be sick. “I…” he stammered, suddenly wanting to jump out of the train.

  “Come on, boy. Get control of your thoughts. Push them back. What’s done is done. Now, look at them and tell me what you see.”

  Jalen swallowed. He scrolled and zoomed. A song came into his head. “This is America,” he said to himself. A few more seconds passed. “More young than old people.”

  “Correct,” Darsie said gleefully. “Median age is twenty-three … What else?”

  “Well,” Jalen said, “they’re young, but I don’t see why.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “As I understand from what Wyatt told me, the first attack involved a shoe drop with a brand that marketed to urban youth, so in that attack, I understand why the victims may’ve been young.” Jalen slid the blocks of photographs to the right along the timeline, pulling up a fresh batch of images that looked almost like they could be in a college yearbook.

  “Go on…”

  “And the car attack in Austin, it would make sense that so many young people were there, because it’s a city where young, cool people go…”

  “Hold on.” Darsie Googled quickly. “Median age for residents in Austin is thirty-one point eight.”

  “That still doesn’t make sense. The median age for the attacks is a lot younger than that, so—”

  “He targeted them as they ran through the park?” Darsie asked.

  “Well, not really. I was driving, so I was choosing the victims, but if I remember the point scale correctly…”

  “What, what about the points?”

  “The points got higher the younger the victim,” Jalen said, his stomach and mind swirling.

  “So he was guiding you, to some degree.” Darsie walked across the gently rocking train car and sat down at his desk. With great focus, he began hammering on his keyboard. He stopped and sat upright, staring at his laptop. Jalen watched his mind turning like gears.

  “A birthday party for a high school senior, who was killed in the attack, had been planned that afternoon … it was to be held in the food court. The girl’s name was Jill Mahoney … and her dad was a state senator. There are pictures of them setting up on Facebook…” Darsie looked up, face flushed. “She was a gamer
.”

  “Her name did sound familiar.”

  “Ever play with her?”

  Jalen shook his head.

  “So maybe Hi Kyto had a beef with this gamer? Maybe she was plotting to kill her.”

  “Maybe.” Jalen wasn’t convinced. “But I’m sure Hi Kyto would have been ranked above her. I mean, so far beneath her that it wouldn’t matter…”

  “An aspiring club pro versus Andre Agassi?”

  “Or club pro versus my mom,” Jalen said under his breath. “Just doesn’t make any sense, and statistically, I’m not sure if it means anything.”

  “They still teach statistics?” Darsie grinned.

  “I’m no great student, but I can do basic math.” Jalen consulted the iPad. “Sixty-four million kids play video games. Hit a kid, and you stand a good chance of hitting a gamer.”

  Jalen swiped the iPad to another block of images. “But our young theory breaks down with the fire,” Darsie said.

  “It killed old people because they were surprised in their homes and probably couldn’t escape in time … and can someone truly predict where a fire will go? I mean, if the wind is blowing, its path would be pretty crazy.” Jalen paused, reaching the dead end of his thinking. “You mentioned the Unabomber type.”

  “Yes, but political activists—what we like to call homegrown terrorists—are tossed into every investigation. Not saying Encyte is not a terrorist, I just don’t know if his motivations are political or radical.”

  “But the Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski, wasn’t he associated with universities?”

  “Yes, he was a mathematics professor, a prodigy in his field. He was disgruntled, but that’s about all he had to do with students. I don’t know … maybe he held a grudge against them.”

  “Maybe this one does.”

  “Maybe so,” Darsie said. “But back to the original question—do we have enough evidence that points to Hi Kyto?”

  “No. Not based on this alone.” Jalen stared at the block of faces. Those from the fire. He looked up. His mouth opened. “I remember something.”

  “Yes,” Darsie nudged, eyes wild.