Indigo Man

by M. J. Carlson

  “Unable to establish link at this time.”

  “What the hell?” He stared at the dash in disbelief. “That’s not supposed to happen. Retry.”

  The SUV tapped his bumper again. He pushed harder on the pedal. Acceleration forced him into his seat as the wheels’ high-efficiency electric hub motors whined in response and he shot away from the old internal combustion vehicle like it was the past. Zach pressed harder on the pedal. The gap widened. They were a good twenty over the speed limit, and the truck behind him was gaining again. His eyes darted from side street to side street, checking for cars.

  “Unable to establish link at this time.”

  “Shit.” He spat the word out. He didn’t know who was playing with him, but this wasn’t the police. No way. Sweat broke out on his skin. He decided he had to get away from whoever was driving the SUV. Fortunately, there were only a few cars on the street.

  “Auto-drive. Link to Police and Safety, emergency number, 911.”

  “Unable to establish link at this time.”

  He gaped at the dashboard. A fail-safe in the software prevented being out of touch with emergency rescue. “Auto-drive, link to fire rescue.”

  “Unable to comply at this time.”

  He blinked. “What the…? Establish link to time and temperature.”

  “Unable to comply at this time.”

  “Shit. Run diagnostic on the communication software.” The SUV was gaining on him again. He needed to put as much distance as possible between his pursuers and himself. Ahead, another intersection approached. He had an idea.

  He touched the brakes and started a drift to the left. The SUV driver anticipated his turn, surged forward, and crossed his projected path, shooting into the intersecting street and skidding to a stop, blocking the road. Instead, Zach whipped the steering wheel to the right and punched the accelerator. The tires squealed as they clawed for traction on the pavement. He was nearly at the next corner when the SUV fishtailed into pursuit once more, accompanied by the distant sound of rubber peeling from the tires onto asphalt.

  At the intersection, he whipped the wheel to the left. The little Mitsu skidded around the corner, its lone rear wheel chattering on the pavement, starting to drift. Zach corrected, and punched the accelerator again. Behind him, the SUV’s headlights turned the corner to the sound of squealing tires. It was almost half a block behind, but it was gaining again.

  “Who is this guy, and what does he want, for fuck’s sake?” Zach hit the bright lights to compensate for the lack of streetlights on the road he careened along. He had an idea where he was, but he’d never been in this part of the city before.

  “Diagnostic complete. Able to establish link. Do you wish to establish—?”

  “Hell yes,” Zach shouted at the steering wheel microphone. “Link to 911. Emergency.”

  “Unable to establish link at this time.”

  He stared speechless at the dash. Fear and frustration roiled inside him. The SUV was less than half a block behind, again. It had to be jamming his car’s communication software somehow. Behind him, the SUV’s headlights filled his mirror. “Auto-nav,” he shouted. “Calculate route to the nearest open convenience store.”

  “Unable to establish navigation route at this time.”

  “Shit.” He shoved the accelerator harder.

  The driver of the SUV wasn’t going to fall for another fast one. Maybe, Zach thought, if he got to a convenience store, the clerk could link up to the police and he could avoid being featured on the late-night news feeds.

  “Never a cop around when you want one.” The speedometer climbed past seventy miles an hour. The SUV was still gaining. He pressed the accelerator again. The lights of other cars flashed in the gaps between buildings. The next cross street should take him back to a major road. Should. At the intersection, he jammed on the breaks. He threw the car around to the right, punched the accelerator, and slid the Mitsu between two multi-story concrete buildings and onto—a dead-end street.

  Zach gritted his teeth and stood on the brakes. The Mitsu’s tires screeched on pavement. The tiny car slipped sideways in the patches of gravel. He closed his eyes. The Mitsu fishtailed to a skewed stop barely five feet from a yellow and black striped metal barricade where the street ended. A canal crossed the space beyond it. Sixty feet away, on the far side of the canal, the street continued.

  “Shit,” he shouted. A cloud of dirt and rubber billowed around the car, forming a haze in his headlights. He sat panting, adrenaline pouring through his veins. Behind him, the SUV squealed to a stop blocking the street, closing off his only escape.

  CHAPTER 6

  A smile touched the edges of Stiles’s lips. “This works for us. Thomas is out of the game, and if we do nothing, the cops’ll take care of the rest of the problem for us.” He dropped onto the leather couch at his campaign headquarters.

  Brown scowled. He stopped pacing and regarded Stiles. “How do you figure?” Past Stiles, a few lights were visible on the night-time gulf through the penthouse’s glass-paneled wall,.

  “Simple. Marshall can’t prove he didn’t off Thomas. He can’t prove he didn’t set off the explosion at his place and chicken out of blowing himself up at the last minute.”

  “But the whole thing is just plain nuts if anybody gives it a second thought.” He dropped into one of the large, leather chairs opposite Stiles.

  Stiles’s mouth formed a thin line as he mulled the scenario over. “The cops’ll never think twice. They’re paid to close cases, not think. You watch, he’ll go down so quick you’ll think he’s got lead weights in his shoes.”

  Brown wasn’t as convinced as Stiles that they were out of the woods. He had to admit, though, the man was rarely wrong when it came to estimating the depth of humanity’s greed, stupidity, and laziness. “Yeah, but what about the computers Murphy sent the other two to fetch?” He gestured with a hand.

  “Hansel and Gretel?”

  Brown rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Stiles’s habit of hanging nicknames onto everyone wore a little thin.

  “What’s their names, then?” Stiles asked.

  “Hayes and Boone,” Brown said.

  “What about them?”

  “They went and took the computers, for Christ’s sake. That won’t show up on somebody’s radar?”

  Stiles shrugged and raised his eyebrows, “So?” He leaned back on the couch and crossed his ankles on the antique coffee table. He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “This might work out better if we just stop right now. Nobody will believe anything Marshall says about anything. Hell, it may not even occur to him.” Stiles shot out a hard laugh. “He’ll have plenty to keep him busy until after the election, and by then…” he blew smoke toward the ceiling.

  “It would be better if he were to have an accident while in jail, but shit, how to pull it off would be the question.” Brown chewed a fingernail, pensively. “I don’t like this level of potential for mistakes.”

  Stiles took a deep pull on the cigarette. He let the smoke out, slow and controlled. “There’s always a way. I haven’t made it this far in politics by sitting around waiting for something to happen. I succeeded because I make things happen.”

  Brown nodded in agreement. “We should also consider moving Murphy into a position where he’s less visible, less associated with us. Just in case.”

  “Why?” Stiles cast a sidelong glance at Brown. “He did what he was supposed to. He got us out of a jam.”

  “And he was useful, but he’s becoming a liability.”

  Stiles said, “This is why we have the bastard.”

  Brown stared silently at Stiles for several long seconds.

  Stiles returned Brown’s poker face with one of his own. Stiles’s right hand rubbed at his left forearm, the fabric hissing quietly in the silent room. “Okay.” Stiles snorted. “He goes someplace safe, but not too far. We might need him again.” Smoke trail
off Stiles’s cigarette, a thin, blue ribbon moving with the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.” Brown let a disgusted edge creep into his voice. “Funny how many times I’ve heard that word in the last six months.”

  ***

  “I said ‘where’s your warrant?’ Seems a simple enough question.” The stubborn old man stood in the doorway, arms crossed, feet spread in a wide, solid stance. His deeply lined face held all the expression of a stone as he spoke. “I assume you children did at least hear about quaint concepts like search and seizure and probable cause while you were at the Academy?” His voice was a low rumble and more than a little threatening. His flat, cop’s eyes scanned the two young Secret Service agents standing outside GenTest’s door.

  Hayes held up his Secret Service ID again, hoping to hide his flush-cheeked insecurity. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “I said, ‘We are part of the Department of Homeland Security,’” as if that explained everything. “And you are impeding an investigation. You will move away from the door or we will place you under arrest.” He spoke over his shoulder to where his partner stood behind him. “Special Agent Boone, escort this man to the car. If he resists, stun and restrain him.”

  Willis stepped back, eyes narrowed, jaw set. “I have no intention of impeding your anything, but I’ll need copies of those ID’s.” He held out his hand, palm up.

  Now it was Hayes’ turn to stall. “Copies? We’re—”

  “A part of Homeland Security. So you said. You can have anything you want, but you’ll let me copy your ID’s and you’ll sign a receipt for everything you take out of the building.” He widened his stance. “Or I’ll call the real police, and you can discuss it with them.” Willis stood as still as if he were trapped in amber, his hand still out.

  “I… umm… okay, sure.” Hayes squirmed inside. He needed those computers and samples, and if a signature got the job done, so be it. “Yeah, here.” He handed his ID to the old man. “Boone,” he spoke over his shoulder to his partner. “Give this gentleman your creds.”

  She passed her ID to Willis without a word.

  He pointed an accusing finger at the pair. “You two can wait here while I go copy these.” Willis took the ID cards, closed and locked the door, and marched into the reception area. He stepped around a corner and disappeared from view.

  “Jesus, who is that guy?” Hayes winced at Boone’s disapproving glare. “Don’t look at me like that. What would you have done?” He wiped perspiration off his upper lip. Sweat trickled down the center of his back.

  Boone shrugged. “Probably gone to Atlanta and visited with my mother. You realize what we’re doing is illegal, right?” Her face was as expressionless as the old man’s had been. “I’d bet next month’s paycheck he’s a retired local cop. That old man is not going to be intimidated by any shit we sling in his direction.”

  “Hell yes, I know it’s illegal. You want to explain the finer points of law to Johnson, when we don’t have those computers in the morning?”

  Boone frowned. “No. I’d rather the old guy shoot me. You’re sure the order to confiscate came from Johnson, right?”

  Hayes hesitated. “Yeah, that’s what Murphy said. The higher-ups want them for something.”

  “Maybe we should just let the old guy call the local badges and spend the night in jail,” she said and grinned at Hayes. Her white-toothed smile contrasted sharply with the darkness of her skin.

  Hayes rolled his pale blue eyes. “You’re a big help. I’ll be happy if we have jobs next month.”

  Boone’s expression went asphalt flat. “I’ll be happy if we’re not in prison next month. Shh, here he comes.”

  Willis returned with their ID’s. There was a clipboard in his hand. He gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. “Let’s go, children.”

  ***

  Zach’s hands trembled as he popped the Mitsu’s door. He stepped out onto shaky legs and glanced quickly around, his breath coming in shallow, short gasps. Solid concrete walls created an artificial canyon on either side of the street. Dust mixed with the stench of burned rubber from his panic-stop swirled around him, causing Zach to cough. Gravel crunched under his feet as he ran around the rear of his car and approached the guardrail. The metal was cool under his hands as he leaned over the rail. He scanned both directions, searching for a way to run.

  Windowless two-story concrete buildings lined his side of the canal. Their stark, rear surfaces backed up to the edge of tangled brush. Small trees led down the bank to the water, extending into the darkness in either direction. Someone had recently trimmed the leafy, upper portions away, leaving mostly branches and stems. There was no room to run between the unbroken concrete walls and thick tangle of overgrowth, and nowhere to hide in the waist-high scrub.

  Moonlight turned the densely packed vegetation charcoal gray and left only a few inky, impenetrable shadows underneath. Whatever those shadows held, he was certain it wasn’t safety. Nowhere to go except straight ahead. A quick peek over the metal barrier revealed a concrete seawall where he stood, with a drop of a good six or eight feet to the water below.

  From his vantage point, Zach could see the road he’d been trying for. Two blocks past the far side of the canal, it ran parallel to the road he’d veered off of. The moderate traffic and bright lights only accentuated the quiet. A bridge crossed the canal three blocks further south. It was the road he thought he’d turned onto.

  “Dammit.” He slapped a palm on the guardrail in frustration. His heart pounded toward the brink of panic as he realized there was no way out except the way he’d come.

  The SUV sat fifty or sixty feet away, angled across the far end of the street, blocking the entrance. The passenger door opened. No interior light illuminated the inside of the truck. A big guy in a black suit stepped out from the door. In the dim light from a streetlight half a block away, he was little more than a silhouette. Zac could just make out the big guy’s dark, close-cropped hair.

  Inside the SUV, a flame flickered and Zach caught a glimpse of the driver. He also had short, dark hair, and wore a dark suit. The light went out, and the driver blew a cloud of smoke out through his half-open window and turned to watch. Zach breathed a sigh of relief when the man stayed in his seat.

  The man who stood next to the truck looked as big as the SUV. He stepped toward Zach and slid a hand under his open suit jacket. Another wave of fear jolted Zach. He reached in through the Mitsu’s open door and switched off the lights. He pulled the door back and down until it latched, never taking his eyes off the man.

  “I don’t guess he’s taking out his insurance information,” Zach said to himself. He reconsidered going over the barricade and into the canal. If he leaped from the top of the guardrail, pushing off with everything he had, he might make it half way, to what was probably the deepest part. He wondered how deep it was.

  The water behind him in the canal had reflected the black sky above, making its depth a mystery. It could be anything from an ankle-breaking six inches to fifteen feet of dirty, brackish slime. He was pretty good at holding his breath and swimming underwater, but he doubted he could put enough distance between himself and the big guy to avoid a bullet in the back. A cold chill accompanied the realization that he was going to be found dead in a canal, if he were ever found at all. The link numbers he’d stashed in his shirt pocket this evening flashed through his mind, replaced just as quickly by the image of Special Agent Goode leaning over his desk, smiling at him.

  “This sucks.” He straightened and faced his attacker. A couple of blocks away, a pair of headlights reflected off a storefront in the darkness as a car turned onto the street and toward them. Neither of the other two men seemed to notice. The headlights grabbed Zach’s attention, though, because they flicked off. The car accelerated.

  The big man in black squared off and broadened his stance. Zach imagined the bastard grinning at his predicament and his fear turned to ice-cold hatred. In the dis
tance, the lightless car silently sprinted toward them. Zach stared at the surrealistic scene, mesmerized, as much by the sight of the relentless acceleration of the car behind his pursuers as at their ignorance of its approach.

  The man from the SUV slid his hand from under his jacket, and raised his arm toward Zach, the glint of metal unmistakable. Zach took a step toward the canal as the rapidly approaching car’s high beams split the darkness. He realized what the other driver was planning and he stared in disbelief. Caught off guard, the big man spun awkwardly, turning what Zach could see now was a cannon-sized gun toward the speeding car.

  The SUV’s driver pitched himself toward the passenger side door as the big guy with the gun scrambled to his right for a better shot. Finishing his arc, he brought the gun to bear over the SUV’s hood and pulled the trigger. As Zach crouched, shielding his head with his arms, the gun’s report reverberated through the alley and echoed off the buildings lining the canal.

  Again. The gun’s blast filled the space.

  Zach cowered against the Mitsu, eyes shut tight, teeth clenched, waiting. The collision’s sound came as a large, metallic, smacking, crunch, like a truckload of aluminum cans all being crushed at once. It rumbled through his shoes and reverberated off the buildings on either side of him. A split-second later, the echo returned to him from across the canal. A part of him wondered if he was going to be hit by flying debris or bodies. Holding his breath, Zach braced for the impact, waiting for one or both vehicles to pile into the Mitsu, sending it and him through the guardrail and into the unknown darkness at the bottom of the canal.

  An awful silence filled the dead-end street, broken only by Zach’s panting and the occasional faint moan off to his left.

  After a few seconds that seemed a lifetime, he opened his eyes. The SUV sat at a forty-five degree angle to the street, a good twenty-five feet closer to Zach. The passenger’s door was flung open, its shiny metal surface wrinkled where the impact force had sprung it too far around for the hinges. Both the driver and the gunman were lying motionless on the ground, a few feet from the crumpled heap that had been their ride. He was reminded of vids he’d seen of urban carnage during the Water Wars in the twenties, before he was born.