by Jon S. Lewis
“It makes sense,” Oz said. “If he couldn’t use his hands, then he’d lose his business. It’s hard to do auto body work if you can’t hold any tools.”
“There you are,” Ms. Skoglund said as she walked over to the table where the three of them were sitting. “I’ve been meaning to hunt you down all week, but it’s been absolutely insane around here. For some reason the school board decided that we needed a new security system. They’re installing cameras, metal detectors, and who knows what else. You’d think we were expecting an invasion or something.”
“It sounds pretty high-tech,” Oz said.
“Oh, it is. All those cameras are going to allow me to monitor every nook and cranny of this school from my desk.”
“Let’s say you spot someone pouring . . . oh, I don’t know, some kind of hot sauce in Mr. Pfeffer’s coffee . . .” Oz said.
“If it happens during first period I’ll probably be in a meeting with the principal, so I won’t be able to do much about it,” Ms. Skoglund said with a quick wink.
“By the way, if I haven’t told you yet, I’m really digging the new do.”
Ms. Skoglund lifted her hands to her hair. “Really? I thought Mauricio cut it too short.”
“Nah, it’s perfect,” Oz said. He flashed her a bright smile.
“Anyway, I really came over to see how you were adjusting to life at Chandler High,” Ms. Skoglund said as she turned to Colt, who couldn’t stop wondering if she was one of the CHAOS agents in deep cover.
“Everything’s been great so far.” Without realizing it, Colt’s eyes shifted to the far side of the cafeteria.
Ms. Skoglund turned to see what had distracted him. “Oh,” she said as Lily Westcott walked over to the cashier to pay for her lunch.
Colt blushed as Oz patted him on the back. “I think he’s going to like it here just fine.”
“Apparently so.” Ms. Skoglund excused herself.
“What do you think, is McAlister going to get the girl?”
“I think we have bigger problems right now,” Danielle said.
“I don’t know,” Oz said. “The homecoming dance isn’t that far away. If McAlister doesn’t make his move soon, he’s going to be stuck on the sidelines.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Colt said.
“Really?” Danielle said. “I thought you two were going together. You know, to share your bromance with the world.”
“Maybe we will,” Oz said.
Colt looked at him sideways.
“That way we can give all the ladies a chance to dance with us,” Oz said. “It’s only fair.”
“You certainly don’t suffer from any self-esteem issues,” Danielle said.
“Relax, Salazar. I’m just messing around. Besides, I have my eye on somebody right now.”
“Who?” Danielle and Colt said at the same time.
“That’s on a need-to-know basis,” Oz said, “and right now neither one of you needs to know.”
“Do you think that Ms. Skoglund heard what we were talking about?” Colt said, changing the subject before it came back around to Lily.
Oz shrugged and took a deep draught from a carton of chocolate milk. “I doubt it.”
“Look, we don’t have much time before the bell rings,” Danielle said. “I had some free time in my computer lab, so I did a little research on Trident Industries. Apparently their scientists were running mind control experiments before World War II. They were even trying to splice human DNA with wolves to create some kind of hybrid.”
“Like werewolves?” Colt asked.
“I guess. Anyway, after World War II Trident Industries was on the verge of bankruptcy. The rest of the world didn’t want to do business with Nazi sympathizers, so they had to launch a major public relations campaign.
“Since then their record has been squeaky clean,” she continued. “They’re environmentally conscious, they’ve donated billions to charity, and they even offered public apologies for the atrocities that the Nazis committed using Trident innovations.”
“If they’re still running a mind control program, somebody has to know about it,” Oz said. Then his eyes lit up. “Basil Hyde.”
“Who’s that?”
“It’s kind of . . . well, he’s a businessman.”
“You’re hiding something.”
“Maybe,” Oz said. “What are you two doing tonight?”
“I was going to get a dress for Lily’s party,” Danielle said.
“Change of plans,” Oz said.
“When am I supposed to buy my dress?”
“How should I know?” Oz said. “I bet you have a closet full of them. Just wear one of those.”
“You don’t understand girls, do you?” Danielle asked.
“Not really.”
“So what are we doing?”
“You’ll find out when we get there. Just make sure you wear something nice.” Then Oz turned to Colt. “That goes for you too. They won’t let us in if you dress like a slob.”
“Am I supposed to rent a tux or something?”
“Just comb your hair and put on a decent pair of jeans and a button-up shirt,” Oz said. “If you have a sport coat, that wouldn’t hurt.”
“Are you serious?”
Oz smiled as the bell rang. “And no flip-flops.”
: : CHAPTER 33 : :
Grandpa McAlister was mowing the front yard when Danielle dropped Colt off after school. His pale legs were sticking out of a pair of plaid shorts, and he was wearing blue socks and cream-colored shoes that were smeared with grass stains.
“Why don’t you let me do that?” Colt said.
“Because I like things done a certain way.” Even though the enormous brim of a fishing hat covered Grandpa McAlister’s face, he was still bright red. Sweat was pouring off his forehead, and his threadbare golf shirt was soaked through.
“You could always show me how to do it your way.”
“You’ve got enough to worry about right now. Besides, I’ve got plans for you this afternoon, and I don’t need you complaining about how tired you are.”
“Whatever you say, Gramps.”
“Do you have any homework tonight?”
“A little, but I was going to do it tomorrow. I’m kind of burned-out right now. Besides, Oz wants to hang out later.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to be with your friends, but I have something to show you. You’ll need to put on some pants, though.”
Colt did as he was told, and a few minutes later he was seated in the cab of his grandfather’s pickup as they trundled down the highway, heading east. Grandpa McAlister had wrapped something up in a tarp and stuck it in the bed of his truck. Whatever it was, it was big.
“That isn’t a body back there, is it?” Colt asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
When they exited on Signal Butte Road, Colt’s eyes shifted from his grandpa to the window. He started drumming his fingers on the armrest.
“What’s wrong with you?” Grandpa McAlister asked.
“Nothing, why?”
“You’re kind of jumpy.”
Colt stopped drumming.
Ten minutes later Grandpa McAlister pulled into the hidden drive that led back to his desert property. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked after getting out of the truck. Colt hadn’t moved. “Would it kill you to give me a hand?”
Colt stepped out of the cab to help his grandfather. Whatever they had been carrying was heavier than it looked. They set it on the dusty ground, and then Grandpa McAlister pulled out a pocketknife so he could cut the twine that was holding the bundle together. Inside were two tarnished metal tanks connected to thick leather straps, kind of like a parachute.
“Is this what I think it is?” Colt asked with wide eyes.
“That depends on what you think it is.” Grandpa McAlister handed Colt what looked like a flight suit. It was olive green with leather patches on the knees and elbows.
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
“You’re going to teach me how to fly?”
“Somebody has to.”
“I think this is going to be too big,” Colt said as he held up the flight suit.
“That’s because it was mine. It’s a bit of an antique, but it’ll have to do for now. Most of the reconnaissance crews wear body armor nowadays, but I don’t like it. Too restrictive.”
Colt zipped it up before rolling up the sleeves and the cuffs of the pant legs so it would fit better. Then his grandpa had him step into a harness that crossed over his chest to form an X.
“Now this might not feel comfortable, but it beats the alternative,” Grandpa McAlister said as he cinched the harness tighter than Colt would have preferred. Then he picked up a length of chain and connected it to an eyelet screw that was lodged in a block of cement. He took the other end and fastened it with a carabiner to a ring that was on the harness.
“That’ll get you to fifteen feet or so,” he said, checking his handiwork to make sure Colt was secure.
Next came the jet pack. Colt had to lean forward just to keep from falling down. There were two armrests connected to the pack, and Colt set his arms on top of them before he grabbed what looked like joysticks.
“Now this is the ignition switch,” Grandpa McAlister explained, pointing to a red button on top of the left joystick. “Once you hold it down, you’re going to feel those rockets kick in. It’ll shake a bit, but that’s normal.”
Colt nodded.
“Those handles are going to control your throttle and your pitch,” Grandpa McAlister continued. “When you’re ready to come down, just keep your thumb on the red button. The longer you press it, the smoother the landing. And whatever you do, don’t double tap the darn thing. That cuts the engine, and you’ll drop like a rock.”
“Don’t double tap. Got it.”
“There’s just one more thing,” Grandpa McAlister said before placing a helmet on top of Colt’s head. He snapped the chin strap and then pulled out a pair of aviator goggles. “These should keep the bugs out of your eyes.”
“So how long will the fuel supply last on this thing?” Colt asked as he slipped the goggles over his helmet.
“On these old models, you’ll have about ten minutes . . . maybe less.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s assuming there aren’t any leaks.” His grandpa took a few steps back. “Now, are you ready?”
Colt nodded.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Colt hit the ignition switch, and the jet pack sputtered. Then, in a burst, it ignited and Colt started to lift. He was gripping the handles so tightly that his arms shook, but it wasn’t long before he started to relax. The ascent was gentle, and moments later Colt was leveling out at fifteen feet, thanks to the tether that kept him from drifting away.
He looked down and saw his grandfather motioning for him to do something more than just hover in place, so he applied gentle pressure to the throttle and pulled to the left. The jet pack obeyed, looping around in a large circle. He did the same thing going right before trying a figure eight.
Colt decided to test the ignition switch. He placed his thumb on the red button and held it down. Just as Grandpa McAlister had promised, he started to descend slowly. As soon as he released the switch, he began to rise again. He flew around in a few more circles before looking up to the sky. It was a perfect day. There were no clouds, and the breeze was gentle. It was a shame to be tethered to this chain when he could be soaring through the air.
Colt looked down at his grandfather and gave him the thumbs-up signal before tapping the ignition switch twice. The engine cut out, and as Colt dropped, the tether drew slack. He reached down and unlatched the carabiner, freeing himself from the chain. Then, right before impact, Colt pressed down on the ignition switch, and the jet pack roared back to life.
He pushed on the throttle and burst into the sky. The wind rushed against his cheeks as Grandpa McAlister disappeared below. The flying motorcycle had been fun, but this was different. It was just Colt and the sky with nothing in between. The slightest hand motion or movement of his leg sent him one way or another. Precision was key. Colt had to maintain his focus, but he loved it. Somehow he felt at home.
He swooped down and watched as two coyotes ran across the desert floor. He followed them for a while before veering toward a rise that was covered in cacti. He circled overhead a few times, easing up on the throttle as he did. Colt didn’t want to go back down, but he knew that Grandpa McAlister would be worried. He headed back, and when he spotted the truck, he placed his thumb firmly on the ignition button and held it there. The jet pack descended slowly, and moments later Colt was back on the ground.
“Do you know how foolish that was?” Grandpa McAlister said as Colt cut the engine. His face was flushed with anger and the veins were popping out on his neck.
Colt flipped the goggles on top of his helmet. “I’m sorry, Grandpa, but I couldn’t help myself.” His smile was wide.
Grandpa sighed. “I should lock you in your room for a week after pulling a stunt like that,” he said. “But I have to admit, that was an impressive piece of flying.”
: : CHAPTER 34 : :
You got a flying lesson from the Phantom Flyer?” Oz asked as he drove down the beltway, heading to Scottsdale. “Do you know how incredibly amazing that is?”
Colt shrugged in the passenger’s seat. “The flying part was amazing, but I’m still not sure about the whole Phantom Flyer thing. Besides, even if it’s true, he’s still just my grandpa.”
“That man is a living legend,” Oz said. He turned his eyes to the rearview mirror so he could see Danielle. “You’re awfully quiet back there.”
“I don’t know about this dress,” she said as she pulled the hem down over her knees.
“I think you look great.” Oz elbowed Colt in the ribs.
“Yeah,” Colt said after turning around. “You look nice.”
“Nice?” Oz asked. “What are you, her father?”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“How about that she looks beautiful?”
Colt saw Danielle blush as she locked eyes with Oz through the rearview mirror. Then she turned away.
“So are you going to tell us who this Basil Hyde guy is?” Colt asked, trying to change the subject.
“I already told you,” Oz said. “He’s a businessman.”
“Yeah, I got that part.”
“Let’s just say he’s connected.”
“What, like the mafia?”
“Not exactly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Danielle asked. She leaned forward to stick her head in the front seat with the boys.
“It just means that he knows a lot of people in high places,” Oz said. “Whatever Trident Biotech is up to, he’s going to know about it.”
“How does he get his information?” Danielle asked.
“I’ve never asked him.”
“Is he a criminal or something?”
“That’s a bit harsh,” Oz said as he glanced at Danielle. “Let’s just say he lives in a world that isn’t exactly black-and-white.”
It wasn’t long before they arrived at the Scottsdale Waterfront, a posh collection of high-rise condos, shops, and restaurants that lined a canal bordering Camelback Road. Oz pulled his Jeep up to the valet at a restaurant called the Sanctuary, where a fashionable crowd of beautiful people milled about.
Colt saw a woman who was easily six feet tall without high heels. She was holding a rhinestone purse with a Yorkshire terrier poking its head out as she talked to a man who was at least six inches taller than she was.
“Yeah, he plays for the Phoenix Suns,” Oz said when he caught Colt staring. “This is where the who’s who come to be seen whenever they’re in town. Just try not to gawk, okay?”
It wasn’t easy. The street out front was lined with exotic cars that
cost more money than most people’s houses. There were Rolls Royces, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Porsches. Then a limousine pulled up. The driver rushed to get the door for a woman who could have been a supermodel for all Colt knew. Two more who were just as beautiful followed her before another man, taller than the guy Oz said was on the Suns, stepped out. He was wearing a linen suit and sunglasses, and he winked at Colt before flashing a bright smile.
“Come on,” Oz said, pulling Colt by the sleeve.
One of the hostesses opened the front door when they approached. “Welcome to the Sanctuary.”
The restaurant looked like a gothic cathedral. Servers in formal attire carried trays of food and bottles of wine to tables that were draped in white linen. Thick stone columns stretched from the floor to the top of the vaulted ceiling where at least a dozen iron chandeliers hung. Each was filled with white candles, as were the sconces fixed to the walls and pillars, and the candelabra that sat in the center of each table.
“Hello,” Oz said after he walked to the hostess stand. “We have a reservation. It should be listed under Romero.”
“Of course,” the hostess said. Then, as though rehearsed, she broke into a megawatt smile as she opened a small drawer to pull out three silver wristbands.
“Put these on,” Oz said, slipping one on his own wrist.
“What are they?” Colt asked.
“They let you into the VIP section.”
“How did we get VIP passes?”
“Come on, McAlister,” Oz said. “You’re with me, that’s how.”
“If you follow me, I’ll take you right to your table,” the hostess said. The three of them followed her as she wound through tables and pillars in the dimly lit room. They passed a stringed quartet, and then headed toward a set of double doors carved from rough wood. A massive iron cross hung on the wall overhead, and two men in dark suits and sunglasses were standing on either side.
“What’s with those guys?” Colt asked, trying to whisper so that Oz was the only person who could hear him.
“The guy on the left used to be a CHAOS agent,” Oz said. “I think the guy on the right was a Navy SEAL, but I don’t remember.”
