by Brandt Legg
“The odds are against us, too.”
“Then why do we try? Hey, watch that semi, it’s pulling over.”
Chase switched into the next lane, then back, and noticed a cop behind him. “Because such odds make stubborn people like me want to prove something wrong.”
“Then you’ll meet with WOLF? The speed limit is seventy here, by the way”
“I didn’t say that. I know, that cop’s following me.”
“Don’t worry about him, he’s just—oh, there, he’s passing.”
“For all I know, your subversive friends at The Cause have simply decided to blow up the tech companies they don’t agree with.”
Ryker and Damon boarded a flight to California, their mission clear: stop Chase Malone from finding the truth. There were others already moving—sixteen other mercenaries looking for the secretive billionaire—but Ryker and Damon had the “license to kill.” They were the only ones that Westfield had met with personally.
“What do you think?” Damon asked as they buckled up in first class seats.
Ryker adjusted the air control. He hated cold blowing across his bald head. “Parents. That’s our ace.”
Damon didn’t really like the plan, thought family ought to be off limits, but this mission had a stratospheric priority level, so he’d do what had to be done. Westfield had assured them full authority and total protection. It meant, if need be, that they could “exterminate anyone who’d ever known the guy.” One way or another, Chase Malone was going to die in the next forty-eight hours. The only question remaining was how many people would go down with him.
“Parents are good bait,” Damon said quietly. “I just hope they’ll still be around to attend their son’s funeral.”
Thirteen
With Wen now driving, as they neared their destination, Chase placed a call to his parents.
His mother, Daisy, a classic car mechanic, had owned an auto repair shop since before he was born. Her grandfather had also been a mechanic in World War II, whose knowledge was passed onto his granddaughter. She, in turn, had taught her sons, Chase and Boone. They could all repair anything from Tanks to Toyotas, and because Daisy’s father had owned a plumbing and electrical contracting business, they could pretty much handle anything along those lines as well. They were a close family, and Chase’s recent troubles had been difficult for all of them.
“Daisy’s,” his mother said, answering the phone. He was surprised she picked up. From the sounds he could tell she was in the funky old brick building, long ago transformed into a two door garage, located in the lazy, hip town of Cotati, California, where he’d been raised, about forty-five miles north of San Francisco. Although the shop specialized in classic cars from the fifties and sixties, she could fix anything, and the town of around eight thousand kept her constantly busy. His father, Zack, a CPA, ran the business end of things, and kept books for other small businesses on the side.
“Mom, I need—”
“Convoy! Are you back in the country? Are you coming home?” his mother asked, using the nickname she’d called him by since he was a baby.
Wen took the Mt. Shasta exit.
“Yeah, I’m in the States, but I can’t come by. There’s more trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
His dad picked up an extension. “Chase, are you and Wen okay?”
“We’re fine, but I’m afraid you two are in danger.”
“We’ll be fine,” his mother said. Daisy was fearless. Both his parents were skydivers, scuba divers, and all-around adventure nuts. Even though Chase and his older brother had inherited their parents’ zest for life, Chase’s form of it exceeded the others. Boone had started a window-washing business and grown it to the point where he now did most of the major buildings in San Francisco, clearing seven figures annually.
“I need you to take a vacation. My treat.”
“Last time you asked us to do that we were followed to Mexico. It was a close call,” his dad said.
Chase, talking through the car’s speaker, looked over at Wen, as if she might be able to convince them even though they’d only met briefly a few months earlier. Wen shrugged and checked the speedometer to make certain she was keeping it within the speed limit.
“We learned from that experience. No credit cards. I’ll have someone bring you some cash. You can stay in the country—Maine, the Florida keys, Montana. Just for a couple of weeks?”
“We’re here,” Wen said, checking the rearview mirror as they turned onto a small dirt road into the woods.
“Mom, Dad, I’ve got to go, but I’m serious. I don’t know who’s after me, but there’s a strong chance they’ll use you to try to get to me. Please go.”
“We’ll talk about it, Convoy, but you know I’m not one to up and run.”
“It’s a good time to take a vacation,” Chase said. “Talk to Mars, see what he says. I’ll call you later.”
Mars, fifteen years older than Chase, had worked at Daisy’s throughout Chase’s entire childhood. During most of that time he’d done law school part time, finally earning a degree and passing the bar almost a decade ago. A few years later, after a deal with the wrong businessman turned politician, Mars wound up in Lompoc Federal Prison. He still had “a dime”—ten years—remaining on his sentence. Chase considered him a second brother, and was confident he would persuade his parents to leave town.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Chase asked Wen after the call ended. “It looks like no one’s been here for years.” An overgrown dump filled with the kind of exotic weeds that only California could claim—spindly cactus-looking things, prickly straw colored organisms, wild vegetation that belonged in a Dr. Seuss book.
“There,” Wen said, pointing to a rusty sheet metal Quonset hut that seemed in jeopardy of being consumed by the man-eating plants.
She steered their vehicle into what turned out to be an old workshop, open on both ends and filled with broken and useless tools that matched the rusty structure. There was also a 1990s pickup truck, and three people standing next to it. One of them was the Astronaut, and although he smiled at the sight of Wen as their car came to a stop, his eyes were filled with concern. He waved his arm frantically, rushing them in.
“Get out of the car, now!” he shouted.
Fourteen
Tess and Travis hunkered down inside CISS Mission Control, a room located in the basement of the CISS building filled with wall-sized monitors and computer terminals, making it look like a futuristic version of NASA’s Mission Control—thus the name. They watched a direct feed of “the world’s most wanted man” being apprehended. Twenty minutes earlier he’d been responsible for the firebombing of Aadyah Action & Air, a leading aerospace company in Bangalore, India.
“They got the Fire Bomber!” Tess said, celebrating as police placed restraints on the man and led him toward a van. “How close do we have a team who can take custody?”
Travis looked away from the large monitor showing the live satellite images of the capture and over at one of the technicians, who was busy searching for an answer.
“We can have someone there in thirty-five or forty minutes,” the tech said.
“Do it,” Travis said.
“What the hell?” Tess shouted.
Travis turned back to the screen in time to see the suspect burst into flames. He didn’t just catch fire but, for an instant, actually looked like a human comet. The police escorting him dove away, collapsing and reeling in pain from instant burns, two of them also catching fire themselves before dropping and rolling to extinguish their clothes.
“How did that happen?” Tess yelled, as if by witnessing something horrific so close she might also burn. “He’s been completely consumed by the flames!” Usually a cold woman, this caught her by such surprise her eyes teared for a moment before she caught herself.
“A fitting end to the Fire Bomber,” Travis said, stunned by the graphic sight of a human melting.
“Maybe it was
n’t him,” Tess said, sounding desperate. “This was the first attack in India. He could have been a copycat.”
“Call from the Pentagon,” an assistant said to Tess.
“I’ll take it in the Secure,” Tess said, heading to a small conference room at the other end of Mission Control.
“Tess, what the hell is going on?” the Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense asked. “India? Is this our Fire Bomber?”
“I hope so,” she said. “Because he’s dead.”
“Excellent. Then maybe this is done?”
“You know better than that. We still have no idea who the Bomber was working for.” Although she’d never believed there was only one bomber, the official theory had not changed.
“When the hell are we going to know?”
She thought of Chase, and the Astronaut he was headed to see. “Hopefully, before the next attack.”
“It had better be. I’ve talked to the President, and I don’t have to tell you he is extremely concerned that the FBI—or, God help us, the media—finds out about our project.”
“We don’t know for sure this has anything to do with horUS,” Tess replied tersely.
“India makes five out of the ten companies. Five companies form the list. Starting to look like a very big coincidence.”
“But it could be just that.”
“Come on, Tess, there’s no such thing as coincidence!”
“The odds just shifted, but it’s a big list, and the Bomber obviously doesn’t like tech companies.”
“Regardless of why, we still don’t know who!”
“I understand the importance of stopping the Bomber,” Tess said impatiently, rubbing a bit of dry dirt off her cowboy boot. “We’ve sent IT Squads to every attack site, and another ten Squads are canvassing potential targets prior to possible strikes. But, need I remind you, it isn’t just CISS who has come up empty—your Defense Intelligence Agency, a dozen other intel services, local law enforcement, and the FBI have also failed.” The momentary lapse earlier had been replaced with her typical expertise and decisiveness.
“Good God, we’ll be dead if someone finds out who the Bombers are before us!” Westfield managed to shout without raising his voice. “There are only a few of us who know what’s at stake here. And this is at the heart of CISS’s mission. I’m counting on you, Tess. Keep horUS safe.”
The project, “horUS,” was so far above any official classified level that only nine people in the country were privy to the full scope of it. In spite of her years in the intelligence world and all the time spent on horUS, every time she heard the word, which rhymed with “chorus,” it actually startled her—almost scared her. Still, she wasn’t convinced the Fire Bomber was targeting horUS, but it was possible . . .
She thought of Chase again. In spite of all the specialized personnel CISS had out there trying to crack the case and find out who was conducting this war, Tess believed Chase had the best chance. But during sleepless nights, one gnawing question haunted her: How could the bombers know about horUS?
Tess ended her call with a defiant pledge she had to believe. “We. Will. Find. Them.”
Inside the rusted metal Quonset hut, Chase and Wen did as the Astronaut commanded and quickly jumped out of the car. Wen held her Glock ready, eyes taking in the area, unsure of the danger. Without introductions, the other two people who’d been waiting immediately climbed in the front seat of Chase and Wen’s vehicle.
“Nash, what’s going on?” Wen asked the Astronaut, staring intently into his own Antimatter Machine.
The Astronaut shook his head without answering as he quickly passed an electronic wand up and down their bodies. It beeped only when he reached her backpack. A few seconds later, the Astronaut pulled a tiny chip about the size of a US nickel out of her pack.
“GPS tracking devise,” the Astronaut said, handing the chip to the woman in the driver’s seat. “Go!”
Before Chase or Wen could protest, the unidentified couple pulled away in Chase’s rental car and disappeared out the other end of the shed.
“What the . . . ?” Chase said.
“I assume the chip wasn’t yours,” the Astronaut said, smiling, but at the same time his face held a serious and worried expression. He looked back into the monitor of his machine.
“No,” Wen answered. “It wasn’t. Tess must have put it on when she patted my pack.”
“Or the police did it while they had all our stuff,” Chase said.
“How did you know?” Wen asked the Astronaut.
“The question is, how did you miss it?” He stared at her a moment, a teacher disappointed in a pupil. “No matter, now. If all goes well, they will continue to track your car all the way to Seattle.”
“Who was that couple?” Wen asked.
“Friends,” the Astronaut said.
“Thank you,” Chase said, holding out his hand. “And nice to finally meet you in person.”
“No offense,” the Astronaut said, not taking his hand, “physical contact is not easy for me.”
“Okay, none taken.”
Wen wrapped her arms around the old man, who closed his eyes.
Chase smiled. Even a man who could not bear to be touched couldn’t resist Wen.
“Chase, I’ve admired your work for quite a while,” the Astronaut said, once Wen released him.
“RAI?” Chase said, referring to the artificial intelligence program he’d created that had amassed most of his fortune.
“No,” the Astronaut said, looking directly into Chase’s eyes. “SEER.”
Chase could not mask his shock. SEER, an acronym for Search Entire Existence Result, had been secretly developed by Chase and his business partner, Dez. It employed advanced photonic quantum information processors and utilized deep learning, AI, quantum algorithms, and virtually every data point in digital existence to predict the future with stunning accuracy. Chase believed it could be used to do incredible good, to solve society’s greatest problems, to liberate humans from complex burdens. He also knew that it would be extremely dangerous for the invention to become public. His imagination constantly created hundreds of possible ways SEER could be misused. He’d only entrusted the information to the five people closest to him.
“How did you learn of SEER?” Chase asked suspiciously.
The Astronaut, who’d been gazing intently into the monitor, looked at Chase as if he were a naïve child. “We must leave immediately,” he said, folding up his Antimatter Machine. “Follow me. I’ll explain on the way.”
Fifteen
The normally hectic flow of the summer travel season at Philadelphia International Airport, like all major transportation hubs, had become even more crazy due to the fire bombings and the search for the Fire Bomber.
“So is he helping us or not?” Bull asked Lenny as they snaked through a gaggle of travelers between airline ticket counters.
“Yes. I mean, sort of,” Lenny replied, agitated. “I told you what he said already.” Then Lenny tripped over a toddler sitting on a suitcase.
Bull shook her head in exasperation and gave him a hand up. “Yeah, you did, and it doesn’t make sense. Telling us to get out of town doesn't seem like much help.”
“It is.”
“I still don't even agree.”
“They know,” Lenny said, stopping to make eye contact. A man with two suitcases plowed into him.
“Idiot!” the man said as he untangled himself and continued rushing toward his gate.
“They know what you found,” Lenny repeated. “You know they do. And they’re looking for us right now.”
“We’re not easy to find,” she said, looking around as if not believing what she’d just said.
“We can't just sit and wait for them.” He started moving again.
“We’re safer hiding in the city we know,” she said, following him. “How do you know that the convict hasn't already sold us out?”
“He doesn't do that. That's why we went to him in the first pla
ce. Trust. He's working on it.”
“Trust nothing!”
“He'll help us, but he can't do anything if we’re dead.”
Bull checked behind them again. Crowds of people coming and going, everybody seemed to be watching her. An assassin in the angry mob. She clenched her fist to stop her hands from shaking. Bull told herself she needed caffeine, but that wasn’t really the cause of the shakes this time. Pure anxiety. What she knew had been creeping up on her ever since she’d first found it.
We’re either about to be very rich, or I'm finally going to find out if there really is life after death, she thought, checking her pocket for the boarding pass for their flight to Los Angeles. To live or die in LA.
Chase and Wen followed the Astronaut through the woods, weaving past sugar pines, scrub oaks, juniper, and madrone, providing a thick canopy and making the three of them momentarily invisible from aerial surveillance. They oscillated between a tiny trail and picking their way through the underbrush.
“So CISS wants you to help find out who's behind the fire bombings,” the Astronaut said, panting as they climbed a slight rise. “As you know, I’m an extremely logical person. And things that are not logical agitate me. Their request bothers me a great deal.”
“Because it doesn't make sense that we could solve something that they could not?” Wen asked.
“No, because it means you’re in serious danger, and we must figure out how this all connects.”
“The question is how are all the targets linked?” Chase said, stumbling over an exposed root.
“One of the many questions,” the Astronaut replied as they entered a denser section of Douglas fir, maples, and larger oaks. “Could your company, Balance Engineering, be a target of the Fire Bomber?”
“I don't see how,” Chase said. “As you know, after I sold my artificial intelligence program, RAI, I reduced the number of employees dramatically, and even more once I became a fugitive. BE has less than forty employees now, and I have little to do with the day-to-day operations.”
