by Greg Taylor
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Strobe, but I thought you were trying to convince me to join you on this impossible mission.”
“I am. Listen to me. This is important. You listening?”
Toby nodded. He was all ears.
“Even if Harvey and his gang were able to go after Annabel, do you know why you and I have a better chance at saving her than they do?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Because we care more about her, that’s why. When Harvey’s done with us here? Whether or not we become MCOs? He’s gone, man. So is Steve. It’s sayonara. They’re gonna be off to train some other low-paid rookies to fight monsters. But that’s okay. You know why?”
Toby shook his head no.
“’Cause we’re a team, man. We gotta go get one of our team back.”
Toby felt a surge of pride when Strobe said that. He was a part of this team.
“I’m goin’ even if you don’t come with me,” Strobe said. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna go save Annabel.”
Save Annabel.
Toby suddenly had a feeling about something, about the real underneath reason why Strobe had such fire in his eyes, why he would stop at nothing to get to Annabel. No way was Strobe going to stand idly by when someone so desperately needed his help. Not this time.
“Okay, Strobe,” Toby heard himself saying. “Let’s go get her.”
Strobe gave Toby a nod, a look of appreciation showing in his eyes. Then he turned and opened the garage door, ready to take on the guttata army. Before doing that, however, he looked back over his shoulder at Toby.
“I think we’re gonna have to take your bike.”
5
Annabel was slowly regaining consciousness.
Sounds and sensations floated through her brain, went away, came back again.
She was on the floor of a vehicle with a powerful motor humming behind her. She was blindfolded and gagged, her hands tied behind her, her ankles bound together.
One sensation that wouldn’t go away was the throbbing in her head. Man, did that hurt. Annabel forced herself to take deep breaths. She knew she needed to get past the pain and focus on what she might be able to do to get out of her predicament.
First, Annabel tested the ropes that bound her. Every one of them was so tight it bit into her skin. Just moving was painful.
Only the wrist ropes, then. Keep things simple, Annabel counseled herself. By concentrating on the wrist ropes, and nothing else, Annabel thought maybe—just maybe—she would be able to get free before arriving wherever it was she was being taken.
If not … well, it would give her something to do in the meantime besides just freaking out, which is what she really felt like doing.
Back at Killer Pizza, the mood was as downbeat as it could possibly be. The troops were gathered in the locker room and gym, waiting for further word on the guttata.
Harvey was holed up in his office. Nobody had seen him since he had called off the tail on Gome. That had been more than an hour ago. Since then, Gome had exchanged his Hummer for a “clean” vehicle—the guttata obviously suspected that Gome’s SUV was bugged—which meant that Harvey’s tracking screen was of no further use. With no tail on Gome, and no tracking device in his vehicle, the location of the Alpha’s home would remain a mystery.
Steve knew how tough it had been for Harvey to give in to the Alpha’s demands. Doing that meant the guttata would win this battle. At the same time, there was no guarantee any of the Alpha’s promises would be kept, including handing over Annabel.
It was a bad position to be in, no matter how you looked at it. But ultimately Harvey had decided there was only one way to go. He had to take the chance that Annabel would be returned if he did what the Alpha asked. At least that gave her a shot at surviving the night. If the KP crew went after the guttata, Harvey had no doubt their leader would carry out his threat to eliminate Annabel.
Harvey was certain of this for a very good reason. Several years before, he had been in a situation similar to this one. That time Harvey had gone after his enemy … and had lost one of Killer Pizza’s most valuable MCOs as a result of his gamble.
That MCO had been Harvey’s brother.
It was a decision that would haunt Harvey for the rest of his life. No way was he going to gamble this time around. So all he could do now was wait. And hope, come morning, that Annabel would walk through Killer Pizza’s front door, safe and sound.
The jostling finally stopped. Annabel had not managed to loosen the rope binding her wrists, not even the slightest bit, so she lay still and listened. The back door of the vehicle suddenly swung open. Annabel felt someone cut the ropes that bound her ankles. The hand that took her by the arm and guided her slowly out of the vehicle was surprisingly gentle. Annabel expected much rougher treatment, especially after getting smacked in the head and being abducted from her home.
“Hello.”
Annabel was startled to hear the sudden greeting. The hand holding Annabel’s arm indicated for her to stop. “Sorry about the inconvenience, young lady,” the voice continued. “You seem like a nice enough person. Of course, you have no one to blame but yourself for this predicament. You shouldn’t have gotten involved with such bad company.”
Annabel kept her face impassive. A mask.
“We’ll get to know each other better soon enough. Until then, my associates will take you to a nice, comfortable room. That’s the least you deserve after such a trying journey.”
As the hand holding Annabel got her moving again, Annabel was seized with a sudden urge to lash out at her captor. This could be it, after all. Her only chance of escape. But when a second person grabbed her other arm, that squelched any thought of a fight for freedom. Annabel knew she couldn’t take on two people while blindfolded, gagged, and with her hands tied behind her back. So she allowed herself to be led wherever it was she was going, concentrating instead on sensory signposts, anything that might indicate where she had been taken. Sounds. Smells. Anything.
But Annabel was having trouble focusing. She wished she hadn’t heard that disembodied voice. In spite of the pleasant words, there was a quality to it that creeped her out. The flat, unemotional tone made Annabel think of blackened, leafless trees.
As Annabel was led up a stairway, tentacles of fear began to work their way through her body, like some kind of virus. She’d been able to fight that sensation when she was in the car. But no longer. It was the voice that had done it.
Now all Annabel could think was: Did anyone know where she was? Was anyone coming to her aid? She certainly hoped so. After her sightless meeting with her captor (he was the Alpha, Annabel was certain), she knew she was in trouble.
Big-time.
6
Strobe’s powerful legs were a blur as they propelled Toby’s bike rapidly down the hot, deserted suburban street. Sitting on a seat that had been fashioned over the rear wheel fender, Toby held on tight.
The two were an odd sight. Beside the fact that the bike was too small for them, Toby was wearing not one but two overstuffed backpacks, and Strobe had the strange-looking aluminum tube strapped across his back.
“What is this thing, anyway?” Toby asked, referring to the tube.
“A CSG,” Strobe said as he negotiated a sharp turn.
“Which means?”
“Creature stun gun. Packs an amazing wallop.”
“How do you know? Ever use it?”
“No.”
“Bring any instructions?”
“No. But how hard can it be? We’ll figure it out.”
“That thing looks pretty unwieldy, man.”
“Just think how difficult it was to get it out of KP without anyone noticing. Trust me, we’ll be happy we have it. From what I read, hitting a bull’s-eye in the dark would be easier than nailing the Alpha’s DDI”
“Wow. I’m impressed you know about the depressor dens inferiorus, Strobe.”
“What can I say? I’ve been reading my text. You
may applaud me.”
Protected by impenetrable, fossilized bone, the depressor dens inferioris was a small depression at the back of an Alpha’s neck. The thing that had caught Strobe’s eye as he read about the DDI: just before an Alpha attacked its prey, the protective plate over the DDI opened for a split second, exposing the vulnerable area. Considering that the Alpha’s heart was never vulnerable—it was completely encased by a crucible of the same steel-like bone that covered the DDI—this made the DDI the lone “Achilles heel” of an Alpha Male guttata. Nail the exposed depressor dens inferiorus, so long, Alpha. But as Strobe pointed out, that was an almost impossible task.
Hence, the CSG.
“Where are we going, by the way?” Toby asked as he and Strobe blasted down a steep hill, the rush of wind blowing their sweat-wet hair back from their faces.
“To the Brentwood police station.”
“Why?”
“Before we do battle with Alpha Man, we have to find out who he is, right?”
“I believe that’s a given.”
“Okay, so we’re gonna use Gome to point the way.”
“How so?”
“You and I are about to do some good old-fashioned police work.” Strobe took a left at the bottom of the hill and pedaled down the middle of the asphalt street as heat lightning flashed in the distance. Toby wasn’t sure what Strobe had in mind, but it already made him nervous.
“Well? What do you think?”
Toby and Strobe had found a hiding place for the bike and their gear in a wooded area about a block away from the police station. Pacing back and forth in the woods, Toby had a concerned frown on his face.
“I don’t know. This sounds like a pretty far-out plan to me.”
“You have a better idea?”
“No. But maybe you should have the seizure. I’ll go find Gome’s office.”
“You want to find Gome’s office? Fine. I’ll do the seizure.”
Toby tried to imagine himself scurrying around the police station in an attempt to find Gome’s office while Strobe pretended to have a seizure in the lobby. He wasn’t sure if he could handle that. “Okay, let’s go back to your original plan. I’ll have the seizure.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Let’s get to it, then. We don’t have all the time in the world here.”
Now Toby tried to picture himself pretending to have a seizure in the lobby of the Brentwood Hills borough building. It was just acting, right?
Acting?! Toby had never set foot near a stage his entire life. What did he know about acting? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Toby gulped nervously, then followed Strobe out of the woods.
“Unnnnnggggghhhhhh!!!”
Toby rolled up his eyes and fell heavily to the floor at the base of the steps that led up to the lobby of the borough building. He cracked his head when he went down and almost blacked out from the blow. His eyes literally glazed over, the result of skull meeting floor.
Okay, that really hurt! But use it! Use the pain!
The receptionist who greeted visitors to the borough building immediately left her desk, ran down the stairs, and knelt by Toby’s side. Summoned by the receptionist’s calls for help, two police officers pushed through the door that led to the police-station half of the building and began tending to Toby.
Time for Strobe to make his move.
He had been waiting outside the front entrance to the building. Toby had used the back parking lot entrance. Now Strobe entered the building and moved quickly across the lobby. He checked to make sure no one was watching him, then opened the door marked POLICE and eased it shut behind him.
Strobe found himself facing a short hallway. After a few long strides, he stopped and peered cautiously into a large room at the end of the hall. There were three desks for police assistants. Each assistant was positioned near a police officer’s door.
Fortunately, the place had almost emptied out as a result of Toby’s seizure pantomime. There was only one assistant, her back to Strobe, and one officer’s silhouette behind the glazed glass of his office window. It didn’t take long for Strobe to spot the office door with THOMAS GOME painted on it.
Keeping close to the wall, Strobe edged his way toward Gome’s office. He was now shielded from the lone assistant by a partition that surrounded three quarters of her desk. Just as Strobe slipped into Gome’s office, a shrill, distant siren blasted the air outside.
Paramedics.
The countdown had begun. Strobe definitely didn’t want Toby to have to deal with them. That would complicate things. Pulling a digital camera out of his pocket, Strobe started snapping away at the diplomas and pictures Gome had on his walls. As he moved to Gome’s desk …
“What’s going on out there, Vicki?”
Strobe dove under the desk when he heard the officer talking to his assistant just outside Gome’s closed door.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re really on it, aren’t you?”
The two laughed. There was more conversation between the two, but it was muted. Strobe couldn’t hear them. He wiped a bead of sweat away from his temple with the back of his hand. This wasn’t good. The paramedics would arrive before he knew it and he was totally trapped in Gome’s office!
Strobe took a few more pictures of Gome’s desk, all the while hearing the low murmur of talk between the policeman and his assistant, the blurry silhouette of the officer visible through the pebbled glass of the window.
By now the sirens were just down the road. Definitely time to go. Strobe took one last picture, pocketed his camera, and stared at the door. The two were still out there. Strobe looked at the window. It was the only way out.
“Anybody comin’?”
Strobe glanced over his shoulder at the borough building. “Not yet.” He and Toby were hustling it across the parking lot toward the woods where they had stashed the bicycle. It had been a very close call, with Strobe rescuing Toby just before the paramedics arrived, ad-libbing to the perplexed crowd that his brother had a strange condition that produced seizures from time to time when he went from the humid heat of the outdoors to the air-conditioned chill of the indoors. There was no known cure for the mysterious ailment, other than to stay indoors—or outdoors—all summer long!
“You were really somethin’, Tobe,” Strobe said as they double-timed it across a couple of tennis courts. The woods were just on the other side of the courts. “I almost called the paramedics, you were so convincing.”
“Let’s just hope this was worth it.”
When Strobe and Toby got to the shelter of the woods, they immediately started going through the pictures on Strobe’s camera. The images included: Gome getting some kind of award … Gome with the Brentwood Hills Board of Directors … Gome at some kind of “breaking-ground” ceremony … Gome standing on a pier by a lake, proudly holding up a large trout.
“Know any of the people in these pictures?” Strobe asked.
“No.”
“How ’bout this one?” Strobe went back to the image of Gome with the Board of Directors. “Maybe Alpha Man is one of these dudes. Know any of them?”
“No. Besides, why would Gome want to hang a picture of him with one of his gargoyle pals in his office?”
“Why wouldn’t he? Nobody around here even knows guttata exist.”
Strobe had a point there.
“What do we do now?” Toby asked, disappointed in the outcome of their siege on the Brentwood Hills police station.
“Get a move on.”
Strobe could see a couple of paramedics outside the borough building, scanning the area. After pulling on their backpacks, the two swung onto the bicycle—this time with Toby steering—and took off through the woods. Emerging into an open field on the other side of the woods, Toby bounced down a short hill, over a curb, and pedaled past the row of houses that lined one side of the street.
“Let’s go back to your place,” Strobe said. “I’m not willing to giv
e up on these pictures. I want to put them on your computer. Blow ’em up. We might be able to find some kind of clue in the details.”
“Like that movie, right? The one where the guy, the fashion photographer, takes some pictures of that girl …”
“Never saw it. Just … get us to your place, okay?” At the end of the street, Toby spotted one of several entrances to the vast acreage of North Park. He steered his bike into the park and onto one of the walking trails. As the bike shot past a large playground, something suddenly caught Strobe’s eye.
“Stop!” Strobe yelled.
Strobe’s command caused Toby to lose control of the precariously overloaded bike. His teeth chattered as the bike swerved from the walking trail and bounced over the exposed roots of a large maple tree. It was like riding over railroad ties.
If only that trash can hadn’t been in the way.
Toby was on his back, staring up at the sky, before he knew what hit him. Looking around, he saw Strobe running toward the playground. “Strobe! What the … ?”
But Strobe was already out of earshot. When Toby caught up to him he was standing near a plaque at the edge of the playground. The plaque read: FOR THE ENJOYMENT OF THE FUTURE MOTHERS AND FATHERS AND LEADERS OF THE NORTH PARK AREA COMMUNITIES. Looking through the pictures on his camera, Strobe nodded when he found the picture of the breaking-ground ceremony.
“Check it out,” he said, handing the camera to Toby. Sure enough, the ceremony depicted in the picture—before the playground had been built—had taken place at the very spot where Strobe and Toby now stood.
“So?” Toby asked.
“So? You know what this is, Tobe? Serendipity. I think we were meant to ride past this playground at this particular moment in time. Ten to one the guy in that picture is Alpha Man.”
Toby studied the picture. Gome stood next to a man who was taking the first shovel of dirt out of the ground where the future playground would be built. He was a very tall, youngish-looking man with silver hair.
