The vehicle slowed unexpectedly, snapping Trey’s eyes wide open. Ahead, a military helicopter hung just above the road surface. Unlike the innocuous eye in the sky that trailed them earlier, this completely black chopper had guns, lots of them, all pointed directly at the vehicle.
Dylan let off the gas, allowing the car to idle to a steadily slower speed.
To Trey’s surprise, the band of cops slowed as well, widening the gap behind him. The white belly of the first chopper came into sight and hovered over the police cars like a hawk guarding its hatchlings.
At his front, the dark helicopter crept closer. Trey was no aeronautics buff, but he knew enough to pick up that something was wrong about the armed vehicle’s motion. It was fake!
Perhaps Dylan noticed the same thing, or maybe it was the cannon barrels pointed at his face, but Dylan hit the brake and threw the car into reverse.
Strong vibrations shook every nerve in Trey’s body, emanating from the aircraft that steadily approached. Glimpses of a disk-shaped alien ship flashed as Trey fought to lock onto the frequency of the illusion.
A hand pressed against Trey’s shoulder. He looked up to see Livy crawl over the console into the front seats like a child afraid of a storm.
She settled into Trey’s lap, and he pulled her tightly against him.
“Ba-back up,” Trey stammered. “It’s not . . .”
“I know,” Dylan said.
The car inched in the opposite direction. The aircraft matched the cars motion perfectly, as if taunting the passengers.
Dylan tromped the gas pedal, and the alien ship disguised as an armed helicopter mirrored his speed.
The car’s engine stalled unexpectedly.
Dylan twisted the ignition but nothing happened.
“Come on,” he said, pounding the steering column.
The helicopter continued its approach, so close Trey could see the individual rivets affixing the armor-plated panels. A flash of clarity revealed the shiny, spinning underside of the real craft behind the projection.
The thunderous pounding of artificial rotors drilled into Trey’s ears, but it too lacked authenticity. Beneath the deception, he heard the familiar whir that had lifted him and Livy away from Earth only months before.
Trey stared at the intimidating weapons dangling from the military copter. They were fakes, but he suspected the real craft was also heavily armed.
Just outside the rear glass, a sea of flashing lights and a wall of black-and-white grills filled the view.
The alien ship held its position in a stand-off against the fleet of police, leaving Trey and his friends helpless in the middle.
An eternity passed as Trey waited for the black-eyed creatures controlling the craft to make their next move. One thing he knew for certain; they would have to take him by force. He would not step inside that ship without a struggle. Not this time.
Trey gripped the door-handle, ready to bound at any moment. The dark, menacing helicopter tipped backward and pulled away, a move more convincing than its prior. Within seconds, it dove over the tree-line and out of sight.
Trey stared into the sky in shock as Dylan worked the ignition key. The engine slowly rolled over and clattered to life.
Behind them, the officers took immediate action. Pop! Pop! Pop! Gunfire ripped through the calmness, shattering the brief moment of respite.
Surrender
THE QUICK HAIL of bullets exploded all four tires, dropping the sedan to the pavement with a heavy thud. Dylan tromped the pedal and the flat tires flopped loudly, flailing for traction. Police vehicles swarmed both sides of the car and surrounded it in seconds.
Guns pointed at Trey and his friends from every direction. Real guns! Not a single vibration came at the car from outside.
Trey marveled at feeling relieved to be arrested at gunpoint. He raised his hand in surrender, and everyone in the car slowly did the same.
One officer hesitated from his tactical approach to peer with shock at Pearl in the back seat. He turned to his companions. “They’ve got an infant.”
Heads bobbed to get a better look inside.
The officer leaned to the car and guardedly pulled open the driver-side door, maintaining constant aim at Dylan. With the door hanging agape, he directed his voice inside. “Where’d the baby come from?”
Dylan didn’t hesitate to answer, thumbing toward the back. “It’s the blonde chick’s baby.”
Trey was flabbergasted Dylan had disavowed his daughter, but the reasoning caught him quickly. Pearl needed to be human, fully human. To what extent it was true didn’t matter at that moment, only keeping her human in the eyes of law.
Zach followed the logic. “Ours! She’s ours.”
The officer took a small step back. “This is how it’s going to work. One at a time, you will each step out of the vehicle with your hands raised nice and high so everyone can see them, starting here with the driver.”
As Dylan slid from the car, Trey’s door pulled open slowly. He looked up to the stern face of a man in a bullet-proof jacket. “Thank you,” Trey said as if about to step onto the red carpet.
The officer failed to acknowledge the lame attempt at humor. “The girl next.”
Livy wriggled her way off his lap and out of the vehicle with both hands raised. The officers motioned her toward the front of the vehicle where Dylan waited. The gun barrel waved Trey from the car next.
Trey filed into line beside Livy, where Zach and Amy soon joined them.
Two men ducked into each side of the back seat to retrieve Pearl. As they fought with the restraints, a black SUV pulled up in the nearby median.
Agent Graff lifted out of the passenger side, followed by McDonnel on the other. A second black vehicle came into view, largely obstructed by the other vehicles.
A silver-haired man in a dark suit and trademark sunglasses met the two agents and strolled alongside them toward the action.
The men went straight to the baby freshly plucked from the vehicle. McDonnel lifted Pearl’s fingers and inspected her scalp like a piece of produce at the supermarket. Trey wouldn’t have been surprised to see him tap his knuckles on the girls head to listen for the right tone. Remarkably, Pearl stared at the men with curious eyes without breaking into a frightened scream.
The silver-haired agent snapped photos and studied them on his camera before moving on to the lineup.
McDonnel took Pearl and headed toward his SUV. Graff vanished into Dylan’s car to retrieve the car-seat.
Amy did what any mother would do. “Where are you taking my baby?”
“Don’t worry,” said the senior agent as he met the group of teens. “She’s in capable hands. We’ll have you reunited in a jiffy.” He paused to stare at Amy head to toe in a way only a physician or federal agent could get away with. “Assuming everything checks out here.”
He held his camera toward Amy and snapped several photos at various angles. He pinch-zoomed the images, offering no reaction as he studied them.
A sidestep later, he repeated the process with Zach.
“All right,” the agent said, turning to the local police officers. “Will a few of you kindly escort these two to my friends with the infant?”
Several armed men stepped toward Zach and Amy.
“Should I cuff them, sir?” one of them asked.
“No,” said the agent, “Unless they resist.” He looked to Zach. “Are you going to resist?”
Zach shook his head vigorously, tossing shaggy hair.
“Good then.”
The agent spun toward Trey, losing interest in the two humans. Trey avoided eye contact, instead watching his friends being led away. Thankfully, the officers were kind enough to shoulder their rifles without prodding the two along at gunpoint.
Zach turned over his shoulder with a look of dismay. Trey nodded an attempt to convey all would be fine.
The silver-haired agent stepped uncomfortable close to Trey, singling him out. Why, Trey couldn’t imagine. After
all, Dylan was the big guy, the threat, the one who got the drop on the agents at the county jail.
The man pulled off his dark sunglasses. His steely-gray eyes scanned Trey’s face systematically. “Damn,” he said with a laugh. “You are good at what you do.”
“Thanks?” said Trey, lacking a better response.
The man stepped back and shouted orders over his shoulder. “Give us space! But don’t drop your guard!”
The closest officers slowly backed away. Those at the rear jumped to attention, recognizing their complacency.
The agent coolly looked over Dylan, Trey, and Livy.
“My name is Harold Simmons. I’d like to start by apologizing for the behavior of field agents McDonnel and Graff. It was poor judgment on my part to allow them to speak with you.”
“Interrogate me,” Trey corrected.
“I would hardly call that an interrogation.”
Simmons sighed. “But yes, you’re right.” He slid on his sunglasses and relaxed in his stance. “You’re not under arrest, and you aren’t facing any formal charges.”
“Tell that to those guys,” said Dylan, nodding to the hoard of police officers behind the agent.
Simmons smiled coyly. “I think the less they know about you the better.”
Trey jumped in. “Sounds like you’re using them.”
“Now listen, kids,” the agent said, fanning open his black suit-jacket. “I’m unarmed. I’m asking you to come with me so we can sort this all out.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Well, our brave men and women in blue will take you in. And that’s not meant to be a threat. I’ll make sure that after due process you’ll be free and clear in a few days. It was all just a misunderstanding.” He scanned over each of their faces. “But be clear on this. You aren’t leaving here on your own accord.”
Trey looked to Dylan and Livy; both appeared to agree the agent’s offer was genuine.
Trey wondered how he’d been elected spokesman, but he took advantage and interjected his own terms.
“All right, we’ll cooperate under one condition.”
The agent’s silver eyebrows rose above his dark sunglasses. “Condition?”
“Yes, protection for us.” Trey nodded toward the black SUV. “For our friends . . . and for our family.”
Simmons nodded. “I think we’ve established that.”
“No!” said Trey. “Not from the police. Not from you.” He pointed his thumb toward the sky. “From them.”
Safe-House
TREY SAT ALONE on a black vinyl sofa inside a sterile, gray, windowless room that felt more like a waiting room than the safe-house it purported to be.
A small coffee table with chrome legs centered the room. A handful of outdated magazines were fanned out on the fake mahogany surface.
Trey, Livy, and Dylan had been separated “for their protection” by several long corridors and seemingly endless closed doors.
Many hours had passed since he saw Zach and Amy disappear into the black SUV two states away. His friends were safe, he had been assured, at a location undisclosed “for their protection.”
He stood restlessly and stared up at one of two security cameras strategic placed “for his protection.”
The heavy steel door to his room was likely locked from the outside, but he didn’t feel compelled to test it.
Behind him, a kitchenette filled a tiny alcove with a small fridge and a sink. Next to it, a closed door marked another small room. He stepped around the couch and twisted the doorknob.
The door opened to a tiny bedroom with a single bed and a small dresser. Another door suggested what he hoped to be a bathroom.
He eyed the dark interior, then flipped the light switch. To his surprise, there were no cameras hiding in the corners.
A digital alarm clock on the dresser told him it was nearly eight o’clock. Having crossed at least one timezone, it was pushing nine back home in his living room, only hours from his weekly meeting with Arken.
He flicked off the light and turned away, the promise of supper tugging at his stomach. Only an hour before, the thought of food had been repulsive, but now it couldn’t arrive soon enough.
As if on cue, a light knock spun his head toward the entrance. The lock clattered, but no one entered.
On his way to the door, a second knock sounded, slightly louder this time. He lunged for the door, then paused to compose himself. Slowly, he eased open the door to a narrow slit.
A man in a plain white shirt stood with multiple sacks of fast food in one hand and a drink carrier in the other. Trey opened the door fully, and the butt of a gun came into sight, strapped below the man’s armpit with a leather shoulder holster.
Trey reached for one of the two sweaty drinks in the cardboard tray, but the man interrupted. “Eh-eh, the diet is mine. Take the other.”
Trey nodded, taking the wet paper cup. “Thanks.”
The man pushed the bags forward and waited for Trey to take one. When Trey hesitated, the man shook them. “They’re the same, either one.”
Trey glanced at the security badge clipped to the man’s shirt pocket. “Thanks, Frank.”
“Eat up. Simmons is anxious to talk with you.”
“Tonight?”
Frank chuckled. “No, on your twenty-first birthday. Of course tonight.”
“Yeah, okay.” Trey eyed the thick black wristwatch showing above Frank’s rolled up sleeves. “Hey, the clock in the room says eight. Is it right?”
Frank looked suspiciously at his own arm without twisting the watch face into view. “Yeah, it’s right.”
Trey rolled his eyes at being suspected of trying to make a move on the agent. “Just checking.”
Frank forced a smile and pulled the door shut using the free fingers of his bag-toting hand. A muffled beep sounded through the door, followed by the hard clunk of a mechanical lock.
* * *
After Trey had devoured the greasy burger and fries, he stared across the coffee table littered with wrappers, napkins, and crumbs. A blank wall stared back at him.
“A TV would be nice,” he said toward the cameras.
Grudgingly, he snatched up the trash and stuffed it into the empty bag. Using the back of his hand, he swept the salt and crumbs onto the industrial strength carpet.
Still ahead of his scheduled meeting with Arken, he stretched widely and tossed the crumpled food bag in the general direction of the wastebasket. It was a perfect time to explore beyond the walls of his room.
Feigning a yawn for the camera, he slipped toward the small bedroom. He pushed the door closed and sat on the edge of the soft bed. Another yawn forced his jaw open, this one involuntary. He looked to the digital clock, seriously considering the idea of setting the alarm to take a power nap instead.
He shook the fuzzies from his head and pushed his back against the wall. There would be time to sleep later.
With little effort, his projected body soon stood at the foot of the bed, free of locked doors.
His first priority was Livy, but as he suspected, his intention to travel to her room only took him as far as the hallway branch that had taken her out of his sight. He drifted along the long clean corridor with no need for footsteps. Gliding above the glossy floor, he passed by the first few doors without consideration.
The next set of opposing doorways also required no scrutiny. A copy room sat directly across from a break room with two vending machines.
He picked up speed as office doors lined both walls. Engraved markers named each occupant along with his or her obscure title.
The first door with real potential finally slowed him to a stop. A small placard above the entrance labeled the room D-1. He eased through the door and was met by complete darkness. Instinctively, he reached uselessly for a light switch before catching his mistake.
He ducked back into the hallway, keeping the room in mind if he failed to locate Livy elsewhere.
Across the hall, he pushed his projec
tion into room D-2 only to find similar blackness. At a faster pace, he flittered down the long hallway, popping into one dark room after the other.
Finally, several rooms ahead, light seeped onto the shiny floor below a closed door. He darted ahead and burst inside. A shirtless hairy man reclined on a sofa watching TV in his underwear. Trey cringed at the sight he couldn’t un-see.
Back in the halls, he looked into the distance to the next glowing threshold. With lightning speed he was at the door. Hesitantly, he poked his head inside. Bingo!
Corroborate
TREY TIP-TOED INTO Livy’s quarters, despite his inability to make the slightest sound if he tried. At a small table, Livy faced the door with a ceiling-mounted camera staring her down. Across the table, the silver-haired agent sat with his back to the entrance.
Trey scanned for other agents. They were alone.
He couldn’t help noticing the big-screen TV and the computer workstation in the corner. Everything else virtually mirrored his room.
Agent Simmons sipped casually on his fast-food straw between chuckles as he recounted a story that made no sense to a newcomer. Livy’s untouched food sat next to her on the table.
Trey stared at her large blue uninterested eyes and wondered what face she was showing the agent.
Simmons chuckled. “I’ll never live that one down.”
Livy smiled politely. If the man had a clue about her body language, he didn’t show it. Perhaps that was his intention, to lower her guard before grilling for answers.
Simmons picked up his notepad and turned to a blank page. Here we go, thought Trey, a smile forming on his projected lips. If Livy was about to pull a wild story from thin air, he could easily corroborate it later. He had stumbled into a well-executed plan.
“So then,” said Simmons. “Captain Deek Jones has his security team throw you out of the park. What next? You just go home?”
Dammit! He’d missed the truly important details.
Livy shrugged. “Well, yeah. We didn’t stick around. He made it clear he wanted nothing to do with us. That’s why I was so shocked when I heard he showed up at the sheriff’s office.”
Misplaced Trilogy Page 21
