Impact (Fuzed Trilogy Book 1)

by David E Stevens

  The agent heard a noise outside. Standing up, he moved forward in the van and looked out the passenger-side window. Rolling it down, he stuck his head out and looked around. Listening carefully, he scanned the parking lot and the entrance to the apartment.

  Hanging from the balcony, it was hard to be inconspicuous. His old body would never have been able to hold on with his fingertips. His new body was amazing, but it wouldn’t survive a four-story fall. Straining to keep his grip, he quietly pulled himself up with one arm until he could reach the railing with his other hand. He grabbed the metal railing, pulled himself up and quickly climbed over. He pressed himself against the wall next to the sliding glass door and froze. He caught his breath, and then reached over to the sliding glass door. Thankful that it was unlocked, he opened it slowly. Hearing nothing, he slipped inside with all his senses straining.

  The agent saw nothing in the parking lot.

  His partner pulled his headphones off and looked up. “What is it?”

  “Heard something out there.” He shook his head. “Probably just a dog or cat.” He went back to his video console and sat down. Completing his scan, he continued, “Stairwell exit one and two clear, balcony clear, side entrance clear, alley clear.” As he expected, he saw nothing.

  Josh heard regular snoring coming from down the hall. He silently glided around the dark furniture to the front door. Unlocking and opening it, he peered out. The hall was empty. Normally, he would go to the left toward the elevator. Instead, he went right, to the stairwell.

  He went down the stairwell as fast as he could, bypassing the ground floor exit. The stairs continued down to a basement area. At the bottom, there was one locked door to an equipment/storage room. Sliding a credit card between the doorframe and door, he was able to open the simple lock. He entered a large, dim, windowless basement. It was dank, musty, and filled with boxes and rolls of carpet. Across the room was a small red exit sign. He went to it and slowly opened the door. It creaked loudly with lack of use.

  Peering out, he saw he was in an outside stairwell, a walkout basement exit. He slipped out onto a set of concrete steps going up to ground level. Taking a few steps up, he poked his head up like a periscope. He was in an alley, illuminated by a single sodium vapor street light. Obviously failing, it buzzed loudly and flickered. Every 30 seconds, it would dim for a few seconds and then relight.

  On the other side of the narrow alley was a broken, chain-link fence. A large dumpster next to the fence provided some cover. Timing the light, he dove across the alley as the streetlight blinked. He quickly wiggled through a hole in the fence and found himself in a dark, poorly maintained parking lot. The lot surrounded a squat industrial building. Skirting the side of the building and staying in the shadows, he climbed over a tall fence and ran to the street. For the first time in months, he sensed no one watching him. He enjoyed the two-mile jog to the airport in the crisp night air.

  It was 1:30 am when he arrived at Boeing Flight Ops, only a half hour before the weekly C-17 left for the Falklands. He saw Greg was already there. He was roughly Josh’s height but only about 140 pounds. Standing in the corner with oddly contrasting clothes, he had a small duffel bag and wore a “geek” cap pulled over a bushy afro.

  Geek caps were new to the market and still quite the fashion risk. A ball cap covered in form-fitting, flexible solar cells with a thin antenna on top. The cap charged electronic devices and provided better reception. Although clever and functional, the name was accurate. Greg also wore cyber glasses and keyboard-mouse gloves. This truly took computers to the street. Observers would see the user staring at nothing, wiggling their fingers in the air, and talking to themselves. Josh’s sister had worked with autistic children. He couldn’t help but notice the similarity.

  He thanked Greg for coming on such short notice. As they walked out to the C-17, Josh looked at Greg’s clothes and suspected he was color blind, at least he hoped so. He was a good-looking kid, but his clothes and geek cap served several functions, including birth control. Josh promised himself, if they lived through this, he’d talk to Greg about women.

  IV

  IMPACT

  The SEAL took his pistol out, pulled the slide back and put it to Petrov’s head. Calmly, but with steel in his voice, he said,

  “Shut the power off or die.”

  40

  CAPTURE

  Elizabeth woke up suddenly, a little disoriented in the strange bed. It was early morning and still dark. As she got her bearings, her intuition said something was wrong.

  She turned on the bedside light and saw a small folded piece of paper lying on the blanket. Opening it, she read, “Elizabeth, I’m sorry I have to go. I had a premonition I can’t ignore. I’m catching the early morning flight to the Falklands. I apologize for leaving suddenly, but where I go I cannot protect you. Cooperate with the authorities. You are everything that’s good and noble about the human race, and I believe, the most beautiful woman in the world. Your belief in me is greater than I am. You deserve much better, and you will find it. I love you. Josh

  Before she could react, the doorbell startled her. It was 5:20! Still clutching the note, she went to the door. Looking through the peephole, she saw a tall, dark-haired man with a black jacket. She asked, “Who is it?”

  “FBI, we have some questions, ma’am.”

  “It’s awfully early, can we talk later?” she asked, knowing that wasn’t going to happen.

  “No ma’am, this cannot wait. Would you please open the door?”

  Delaying further, she said, “I need to see some ID.”

  He held it up to the peephole. She folded up the little note from Josh, put it in her mouth and swallowed it. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

  He came in fast with his pistol drawn, followed by four others. They wore black windbreakers with FBI on the back and wielded automatic weapons. By their bulk, she guessed they also wore bulletproof vests. The man who spoke to her pushed her near the wall and held her there as the agents fanned out, moving rapidly through the small apartment.

  They came back quickly and said, “He’s not here.”

  After a female agent frisked her, the lead agent holstered his pistol and said, “Where is he?”

  She shook her head and said honestly, “He was here when I went to sleep.”

  He watched her closely as she spoke. He didn’t say anything, but nodded to the female agent, who told her to put her hands behind her back.

  As she was handcuffed, the male agent said, “We have a warrant for your arrest on the grounds of national security.”

  All Elizabeth could say was, “National security? You’re kidding.”

  He didn’t respond, but spoke into a microphone. “He’s not here. Bring in forensics. We’re taking her out now.”

  The female agent brought Elizabeth’s sandals out from the bedroom and dropped them in front of her, steadying her as she slipped them on. Elizabeth saw three more people come in with suitcases. One started taking pictures. Another picked up Josh’s bag by the door and pulled out his laptop with a gloved hand.

  They wrapped a blanket around Elizabeth’s shoulders and led her outside. With an agent holding each arm, they took her down the stairwell and out the door. There were flashing blue lights everywhere and a helicopter overhead. Looking up, she saw its searchlight swinging back and forth.

  It was surreal. She felt like she was in a police drama. A few curious apartment dwellers peeked out from their balconies. Flanked by the two agents, they put her in the backseat of a big black SUV.

  Langley

  Davidson was in Buster’s office. It was 6:30 am Eastern Time when they got the call. They put Lafferty on the speakerphone.

  Buster asked, “How’d it go?”

  Lafferty said, “He wasn’t in the apartment.”

  Seeing the veins on Buster’s forehead start to bulge, Davidson quickly asked, “His car is still there?”

  “Yes.”

  Frowning, Davidson fire
d back, “When did the surveillance team see him last?”

  “Surveillance video shows him returning from a walk with Elizabeth Edvardsen. They were clearly ID’d going inside at 10:05 pm. Inside audio confirms it.”

  Davidson persisted, “Could he have slipped out and taken another car?”

  Lafferty said, “We had the entire building under surveillance. No cars left after 10 pm. We’re going through the surveillance videos now. If he slipped out, we have a cordon around several city blocks and a helicopter with IR sensors. We’ll find him. Edvardsen’s in custody and on her way downtown for interrogation. We’ll report back as soon as we have anything.”

  St. Louis

  They drove to an old office building at the outskirts of the city. Still wrapped in a blanket, they took Elizabeth inside to a small room. The female agent removed the handcuffs and seated her at a table across from two chairs and left.

  With nothing else to do, she examined the room. It was nondescript, maybe 10 by 10, beige linoleum floor, beige paint and white, acoustic ceiling tiles with industrial fluorescent lighting. The table was gray painted metal with no drawers and no sharp corners. There was a large mirror on the wall that faced her, probably a one-way mirror. She tried to sit casually, but it was difficult wearing nothing but a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. She pulled the blanket around her.

  Then she realized it was all a state of mind. She wasn’t going to let her environment, which she couldn’t control, affect her identity and belief, which she could. She sat upright, pretending she was wearing a suit, and the blanket was a designer shawl. Still nervous but proud of what she was a part of, she knew she was right and they were wrong.

  Langley

  Davidson, tapping a pen against his leg, suddenly looked at Buster. “May I use your computer?”

  Buster slid his chair to one side.

  Davidson grabbed the keyboard. They had access to the most sophisticated, high-resolution satellite system in the world, but sometimes, you just didn’t need it. Calling up Google Maps, he found the Prophet’s apartment building and switched to satellite view. Slowly, he zoomed out until he could see the airport.

  He grabbed the phone and asked Bishara to come up to Buster’s office. As she came through the door, Davidson motioned her around so she could see the screen. He pointed at the airport. “What’s the schedule for their logistics flights to the Falklands?”

  She scrolled through her tablet. “Looks like they’ve been running them every....” She stopped and looked up. “Monday and Thursday.”

  Buster, sharing the obvious, said, “That’s today!”

  Davidson fired back at Bishara, “What time?”

  She looked back at her tablet. “Usually, it’s early in the morning. It’s a 12-hour flight. Let me check.” She pointed to Buster’s phone.

  Buster nodded.

  After a few seconds, she said, “Two o’clock. You sure?”

  Before she could hang up, Davidson grabbed the phone. He looked at the clock as he waited for Lafferty to answer. It was almost 6:00 am St. Louis time.

  “Bart, was Boeing Flight Ops under surveillance?”

  “No, we pulled everyone in for his capture.”

  Davidson shook his head and then said with certainty, “He’s on his way to the Falklands.”

  Lafferty said, “You sure?”

  “I’d bet my retirement on it.”

  Buster said calmly, “Get the team together.”

  He glanced at Buster, surprised his boss hadn’t exploded.

  Buster, obviously reading Davidson’s look, said, “If he’s outside the U.S., he’s no longer under FBI jurisdiction.” He added with a slight smile, “Or U.S. law.”

  41

  INTERROGATE

  After a few minutes, two men wearing black jackets with FBI on the back came into the room and sat across the table from Elizabeth. They didn’t introduce themselves. The bigger of the two was six-four and twice her weight. He looked like he came out of a mafia movie. With a large broken nose and a big bushy unibrow, the word “testosterone” came to mind.

  She sighed, whispering a quick prayer under her breath.

  The big one asked, “Do you know Josh Fuze?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you want him?”

  “Just answer the questions.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  He leaned forward menacingly. “You’re about to be charged as an accomplice to treason, espionage and conspiracy to commit terrorist acts against the United States. These charges carry the death penalty.”

  They were trying to scare her, and it was working pretty well. “Josh Fuze is a good man,” she said defiantly.

  “Josh Fuze is a threat to this country, and if you don’t answer the questions, we’ll assume you are, too!”

  She shook her head and matched his volume. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, and I have the right to a lawyer!” She was worried, but also angry, and refused to get emotional in front of them.

  The second man had been watching her intently. He turned to Mr. Testosterone and nodded slightly. Silently, the big man got up and left. Elizabeth noted the second guy was the opposite of the first. Smaller and well groomed, he looked more like a corporate vice president. As he spoke, his voice and manner were much softer. She guessed they were using the “good cop, bad cop” approach.

  The big FBI agent entered the dimly lit room, joining two women in suits and a tall, intense-looking man wearing a sports jacket. Watching the interrogation through the one-way mirror, the big agent said quietly, “Looking at her file, I didn’t think that would work.”

  One of the women said softly, “She asked for a lawyer.”

  The tall man in the sports jacket said, “Not yet. We need that information fast, and you know we aren’t worried about her Miranda rights.”

  The other woman looked at him with raised eyebrows, but said nothing.

  Leaning forward, her interrogator said softly, “Elizabeth, Josh is in serious trouble. Time is of the essence. If you don’t want to see him hurt or killed, we need you to tell us everything you know about him as soon as possible.”

  “Why, what are you trying to do to him?”

  “Elizabeth, we need to stop him before he gets himself killed. You can help us prevent that.”

  This wiped out any questions about Josh having delusions of grandeur. Not only did the FBI think he was a national threat, they couldn’t even catch him. She didn’t doubt he was in trouble, but he was much more than they knew. “I don’t believe that.”

  “Elizabeth, it’s often those who are closest who don’t see what’s happening.”

  Elizabeth remembered her earlier pledge. They were not going to control her belief. She decided it was time to take the offensive. “You’re making a huge mistake. He’s trying to prevent a comet from wiping out life on Earth and if you interfere with him, you put yourself, your families and the entire human race at risk!”

  Leaning back, he said, “Elizabeth, what do you really know about Josh?”

  She knew ... it was going to be a long night, but she also knew her rights. “I’m not afraid of what you can do to me, and I know Josh is doing the right thing. I also know I have a right to a lawyer.”

  The tall man behind the one-way mirror shook his head and said quietly, “It’s safe to say her relationship with the Prophet is real, at least from her perspective. Tony will stay in the ‘What’s good for Josh?’ mode. It’s time to play our last card.” He nodded at one of the women. “Counselor, you know what’s at stake. We don’t want her. We want him.”

  Both women nodded.

  As they left, the big agent said, “She’s not a bimbo. She’s very intelligent, yet she believes all this crap.”

  The tall man said, “The Prophet’s fooled senior military officers, leading scientists and Elton Musk.” Looking through the mirror, he shook his head. “About the only thing
I am certain of at this point is that the Prophet has good taste.”

  Elizabeth looked up as the door opened. Two women in suits entered. The first was slim with an athletic build and short light brown hair. She was about Elizabeth’s age and attractive but looked like she was all business. She came directly to Elizabeth and introduced herself as Rachel Hunter, her appointed federal defense attorney. Pulling one of the chairs around to Elizabeth’s side of the table, she sat down next to her.

  The second woman was a little shorter with long, beautiful, auburn hair and fair skin. Like her defender, this woman was impeccably dressed. Elizabeth’s first impression was that she was cute and young, maybe mid-twenties.

  Her newly appointed lawyer began by saying, “Elizabeth,” she gestured across the table, “this is Amy Sobrero from the Federal District Attorney’s office.”

  As Sobrero sat down across from her, Elizabeth realized the woman was closer to her own age. She guessed that this DA’s beauty and apparent youth had probably caused more than one attorney to underestimate her.

  Elizabeth’s attorney said, “She’s agreed to offer you immunity from prosecution if you will help the FBI with their investigation and tell them everything you know.”