Winston Chase and the Theta Factor

by Bodhi St John

  Nevertheless, Winston couldn’t help but imagine them dating through high school, maybe into college. Studying together every night. Watching videos. Maybe more? Could it be possible?

  Winston sighed and walked through the room when Alyssa returned to her screen. He took up position behind her, figuring that not appearing right in her line of sight might be best.

  “I can’t wait to put my hands around your throat and squeeze,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Shoot me now, Winston thought, then he mentally bore down on the Alpha Machine. The world went white and, a moment later, as reality solidified, Alyssa’s room returned in full detail.

  She spun around somewhat awkwardly, one hand on her chair, the other coming up near her head, as if she already knew that she intended to pummel him. A strangled, high-pitched noise came from her throat. Winston tried to smile reassuringly as he unconvincingly moved the still-spinning Alpha Machine behind his back.

  “I hope you were kidding about the throat squeezing,” he said.

  38

  Supper and Separation

  The time Winston spent in the Cartlandia men’s room may not have been the longest thirty minutes of his life, but they were definitely the smelliest. On a bustling weekend evening, with the setting sun now peeking out from the tail end of a rain front and temperatures up to hoodie levels, Cartlandia was packed. People flocked from around the tri-met area to this otherwise unremarkable triangular lot in southeast Portland. Over two dozen food carts, everything from the Coop Chicken and Waffles to Shade’s beloved Voodoo Doughnut, lined the property. With the Blue Room Bar crammed against one corner and a covered seating pavilion in another, the area hummed with the sounds of laughter, conversation, and people stuffing their faces. Naturally, plenty of these people needed to use the restroom, and, as Winston sat fully dressed on one toilet in a narrow stall, he could only shake his head and stifle his gagging.

  Still, he would rather be in here and avoid the risk of surveillance cameras covering the public space. He wanted to give authorities the least possible time to see him in the open. At 5:59, he finally washed his hands and left, careful to keep his hoodie pulled up and as far forward over his face as possible. No sooner was Winston free from the acrid smell of urinal pucks than he deeply inhaled the delicious scents of Vietnamese noodles, deep-fried pastries, Indian curry, Lebanese kabobs, and so much more. After the mad dashing about Tillamook’s woodlands and the emotional roller coaster of visiting Alyssa, this moment of utter Portland calm was exactly what he craved. It wasn’t home, but it was blissfully close.

  He spotted Shade’s orange hoodie right where he expected, at the counter for the Rock House Grill. As he approached, Winston heard him ask for a “monster” cooked rare. That would be the twelve-dollar double meat and cheese with ham, fried eggs, and bacon. Winston stood beside him and nudged his friend’s elbow.

  “What? Not the four-patty King Kong?”

  “Oh, hey,” Shade said as if they’d only just parted ways. “I’m mean, if you wanna go big, let’s split the Apocalypse Now.”

  “One,” said Winston, “I don’t have fifty bucks to spare. Two, I just came from the restroom, and my appetite’s not quite that big. You mind if I just tack on another Godzilla like yours, only medium?”

  Shade handed the teller a pair of twenty-dollar bills as he asked for two large Mountain Dews, left a two-dollar tip, and pocketed the rest.

  “Glad to see you found some money,” Winston said. “How was the taxi from Tillamook?”

  Shade blew a raspberry and rolled his eyes. “So…so…long. You couldn’t have got me a limo?”

  “Without me? That is so rude.”

  “I hate you.”

  The grin on Winston’s lips turned to open wonder as he spotted a man emerging from the crowd, approaching them with long, confident strides.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Shade. “Surprise!”

  Winston felt an instant of immeasurable surprise and relief as he recognized Agent Smith’s bouncy brown curls.

  Winston rushed to meet him, unsure whether to shake hands or hug the man, or how to do either since the man’s hands were full of food.

  “Agent Smith! I am so glad you’re OK! I don’t know why, but…you saved my life.”

  “Please call me Vern,” he said, smiling. “I helped because…well, that’s my job.”

  Fortune favored them with an empty table in the crowded pavilion, and they sat down with their dinners. Smith poked at a bowl of Japanese soba noodles with a side of Korean ribs — a bold move considering his polo and slacks.

  Once Winston had a few mouthfuls of Godzilla the Monster Burger swimming in his stomach, he asked Smith the inevitable question.

  “I thought you were dead back on that river dock. What happened?”

  Smith raised an eyebrow and considered his food. “I was in bad shape. Bledsoe had me in a secure medical facility, but…calls were made. I was released in Bledsoe’s absence.”

  “Phone calls by…?” Winston prompted.

  “By Management. My primary employer.”

  Winston and Shade traded blank stares.

  “I haven’t gotten the 4-1-1, either,” said Shade to Winston. Then, to Smith, he asked, “What’s Management?”

  “A dark-ops group under the Homeland Security umbrella, but it operates outside of groups like the FBI and CIA,” said Smith. “Bledsoe works for Management. I was recruited from the FBI about six months ago. When Bledsoe landed in the States, two agents were assigned to help him. Management made sure that I was one.”

  “Only you stopped helping him,” said Winston.

  Smith smiled ruefully and said around a bite of ribs, “My official assignment was to help him. My real assignment was to keep an eye on him and prevent him from doing anything…‘damaging’ was the word they used.”

  Winston nibbled thoughtfully at the end of his straw. “You said you were in bad shape. And you looked practically dead the last time I saw you. But you seem fine now.”

  Smith nodded. “Management sent in a couple of doctors. They ran a bunch of scans on me for an hour or so, pumped me full of IVs, and six hours later I felt like a new man.”

  Winston wasn’t sure how much information to convey. “Did they say what they gave you?”

  “It wasn’t QVs, if that’s what you’re asking,” Smith said. In response to Winston’s surprise about the agent’s knowledge, Smith added, “I was briefed on Bledsoe’s lab, but they wouldn’t tell me any more.”

  Regardless of the specifics, Smith was here now and apparently on their side, although Winston hadn’t entirely ruled out the possibility that Smith might still be a plant from the FBI placed here to infiltrate the group and capture them all later.

  As if reading Winston’s mind, Smith said, “I don’t exactly know what you’re doing. I don’t know what was in the can under that doughnut shop. I don’t know how Bledsoe electrocuted me with his bare hands. And that’s fine. I don’t need to know. But now I understand why Management wanted me to watch him. If stopping Bledsoe means helping you, then so be it.”

  Winston gave Shade a silent, inquisitive glance. Shade never broke stride in his chewing, but he gave Winston a small nod of approval.

  All right, then. If Smith cleared Shade’s paranoia filter, then he was willing to trust the man.

  “However,” said Smith as he poked his fork at Shade, “you and I still need to have words about your tree house.”

  Shade swallowed his bite of burger, but it went down badly. He choked slightly and had to take several long drinks.

  “Anyway,” said Winston. “We’ve got four hours until the meeting time at Council Crest. Last time I met Bledsoe, it…did not go well. I don’t want to repeat that.”

  “Mm!” Smith dabbed a napkin at his mouth and held up one finger for attention. “So, I have a little good news for you. Bledsoe has been disavowed by Management. Cut off. He has no more FBI support. They’re not stopping him, which I find confusing, but
they’re not helping him anymore, either. Except for Agent Lynch, who apparently was also disavowed this afternoon.”

  “I wonder if he loses all his paid vacation days,” said Shade.

  “Probably not his first concern,” said Smith as he gazed at Winston. “Lynch retrieved your mother from her Portland holding facility this morning.”

  Winston leaned back and shook his head. “Of course he did.”

  “It doesn’t change anything,” said Shade. “The plan was always to meet them at Council Crest, get your mom, and crush Bledsoe, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, let’s do that. Although…” Shade grimaced. “You know, there’s nothing keeping him from hiring help. You could be walking into an ambush.”

  Winston thought it over. “Doesn’t seem his style. He likes to do everything himself. It’s like he doesn’t need anybody else.”

  “I agree,” said Smith. “Whatever he’s up to, he’s keeping the number of people involved as low as possible. Plus, his accounts are now frozen, so he’s going to have a hard time coming up with that sort of money on short notice. I’m sure he has some offshore accounts and other stashes, but Management is remarkably resourceful. I’d say the odds are he and Lynch will be alone.”

  “Well…here’s what you may not know,” Winston said. “Bledsoe took the geoviewer from me. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it means he can probably see and hear anywhere, including us right here.”

  That caused everyone to stop chewing.

  “We need to keep that in mind,” Winston continued. “Agent Sm—Vern, do you have a car?”

  “Yes. Do we need more help?”

  Winston pondered that for a long moment.

  “I vote for ninjas,” said Shade.

  “I don’t think so,” Winston said. “More people are just gonna get hurt. And I hate to say it, but Bledsoe is right about one thing: the fewer people who know about this, the better.”

  The others agreed.

  “OK, then just a ride to Council Crest would be great,” said Winston.

  Shade sat up straight and surveyed the food carts. “If you’re driving us, then we don’t have to take Tri-Met. That means we have time for dessert!”

  Smith chuckled. “I can even put it on my expense account.”

  That earned a cross-table fist bump. Shade and Smith were well on their way to being buddies.

  “Do you know what happened to my friend Alyssa?” Winston asked

  Smith shook his head. “Sorry.” He brought a long, wavy clump of noodles to his mouth and slowly slurped them up. He used his other hand to help guide them in. Winston’s gaze went from Smith’s pursed lips to the index and middle fingers of his left hand, which were just under his chin — and crossed.

  “I thought it safest to get Alyssa as far away from this as possible,” the agent added. “She has an aunt in Montana. I put her on a bus this morning.”

  Crossed fingers. Smith was lying and making sure Winston knew it. Right — because of what Winston had just said about Bledsoe having the geoviewer. So, if Alyssa was not on her way to Montana, where was she? And was she able to find any help? Winston desperately wished he could get the whole story.

  Instead, he only muttered, “Ah. Out of harm’s way. Well, I’m glad one of us is safe.”

  ***

  Winston’s mood dimmed with each passing mile as Smith drove him and Shade into the West Hills. Winston couldn’t shake the feeling that he had completely lost control of the situation. He’d failed his father, his mother had somehow walked into captivity despite promising to stay out of sight, and Bledsoe had likely been watching his every move. For all the good his three Alpha Machine pieces could do right now, Bledsoe had the one piece that mattered.

  Feeling along Little e’s wrist guard as it sat between his knees, Winston fed his second-to-last energy marble into the artifact’s small opening. The portal snicked closed.

  Make it count, he thought.

  He grasped the crossbar and held his breath as Little e warmed up and synced with his mind. Winston unfurled the metal arms and had them embrace his three Alpha Machine pieces.

  “Creepy,” whispered Shade.

  “You’re creepy,” returned Winston.

  “The park will be closed,” Smith said as they revved up the southwest Portland hillside. His phone notified them that they would reach their destination in five hundred feet.

  The car’s wipers beat a steady, slow rhythm, like a tired heartbeat. The night beyond their cone of white-blue illumination seemed almost unnaturally dark, as if nothing else in the world mattered except for what lay directly ahead of them. Smith had the sedan’s heater cranked up, and, while Shade seemed unaffected, Winston found it stifling in the back seat. He ached to roll down his window. Perhaps a cold wind and raindrops stinging his face would help bring his thoughts back into focus.

  He needed a better plan. That ninja army sounded better than ever.

  “Shade?” he called across the back seat. “Any ideas?”

  Shade opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. “No, dude. I think this is bad.”

  Winston couldn’t argue with that. It said a lot that Shade appeared pale, even in the slight glow from the car’s dashboard.

  “Are you OK?” Winston asked.

  “Yeah.” Shade sat up straighter, took a deep breath, and tried to grin. “Just jitters. Low sleep and high stress. I’ll be fine.”

  Across the road before them, a pair of triangular white barriers hung across both lanes. Scattered on the road between them lay a thick chain, a padlock, and a pair of bolt cutters.

  “Yeah, it’s bad,” said Shade.

  Agent Smith turned in his seat to examine the boys. His face seemed haggard, as well.

  “Listen, I’m under orders,” he said. “Assist, but don’t interfere. This is as far as I can take you.”

  Winston understood.

  “I appreciate…everything,” he said.

  Smith mustered a wan smile and shrugged. “The Bureau offers its apologies for all of your inconvenience,” he said.

  Winston gave him a solemn nod, trying to convey his thanks through Smith’s charade.

  The boys got out of the back seat and stood by the car. Indeed, the cool rain felt refreshing on Winston’s overheated face, although he suspected he might feel differently in a few minutes.

  Winston watched as Smith backed up and turned onto the first side street. When the car was out of sight, he said, “We need to stop splitting up like this.”

  Shade shifted his pack on his shoulders, making sure the straps were as comfortable as possible. “I agree. Too bad it’s always your idea.”

  Winston shrugged, then he settled his own pack in place. They stood there silently for a moment, with only the glow of distant downtown and the illuminated windows of a few nearby homes around the park’s base to reveal their worried expressions.

  For all Winston knew, everyone and everything he loved would be gone within the next five minutes.

  “You ready?” Shade asked.

  Slowly, Winston nodded.

  Shade turned to his right, meaning to head into the trees near the park’s lower boundary, but Winston called after him.

  “Hey, Shade.”

  The boy stopped and glanced inquisitively over his shoulder.

  Winston had so many things he wanted to say, none of which would ever suffice to express what he felt.

  All he could get out was, “You’re the best friend ever.”

  Shade gave Winston a wry smirk. “I know.”

  With that, he trotted off into the trees and darkness.

  Winston sighed and shook his head.

  Dang. An even better Empire Strikes Back reference. That was the perfect parting line.

  39

  Council Crest Crisis

  A gust of wind swept up the hillside, pushing at Winston’s back and nudging a cold spray of rain down his neck. For once, Winston was thankful that he’d
listened to his mom. Dress for the night that’s coming, not the day that’s gone, his mom would always say. It wasn’t quite as concise as “winter is coming,” but Winston suspected his mom had never seen Game of Thrones. Either way, only now as he reflected on it did Winston realize that the expression had never really been about clothing and weather.

  The road into Council Crest Park swayed gently to the right before merging with the oval loop that ran around the hilltop. The shortest route to the park’s center and the circular cement pad just beyond it was a straight line. Winston stepped over the curb and onto the park’s recently mowed grass. From here, he could see most of the water tower on the park’s north side, ringed by poplar trees as tall as the tower itself. A scattering of tall Douglas fir trees about the park further broke up the view.

  Winston prepared as best he could. With Little e in his right hand, which in turn cradled the three spinning Alpha Machine pieces, Winston found it much easier to keep both reality layers equally in his mind. As he walked, he occasionally marked spots in the park to which he could suddenly geojump if Bledsoe tried to shoot him. Next to that fir tree. Alongside the water tower. Behind the screen of those cherry trees back alongside the road. All he had to do was mentally pull the trigger.

  Where are you, Bledsoe? And what have you done with my mom?

  Water from the damp lawn seeped into Winston’s sneakers. The trees stood still as the wind held its breath. No streetlights lit the park, and the red lights that adorned the massive radio tower beyond the water tank and outside the park’s boundary slowly blinked down at him.

  Gradually, the hillcrest came into view. Beyond the broad open area where children so often ran about and Winston and his mom had spread blankets for countless summer picnics, he saw the squat stone wall that rimmed the compass circle, as he called it. Set within the cement circle lay a smaller circle of flat stones edged by a compass rose showing north, south, east, and west. Winston knew that, on a clear day, he could see five snow-capped mountains from this hilltop, all of them far beyond the Portland cityscape arrayed far below. Now, though, his entire world had condensed to the few square yards of this hilltop.