Indigo Man

by M. J. Carlson

  “I don’t believe we are sitting here, in a drive-through, while you’re listening to your colleagues.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. His breath was returning. “We should be getting away. That’s why they call it escaping. You know, eluding the police?”

  “Have you not been listening, or has the adrenaline overloaded your system? We are escaping, but we’re doing it in a rational manner. Because we are not speeding away from the scene at a hundred miles an hour in a black hybrid electric registered to you, we will be successful.”

  “Instead, we’re going to be involved in a shoot-out at a fast-food place.” Zach moaned. “I always knew junk food would be the death of me, but I thought I’d die of a heart attack, my arteries clogged with goo.”

  “You may still get your chance, Zach, but if you don’t calm down, you’re going to have a stroke first.” They moved up a car-length in line. “Can I get you something? I think I want a Coke, or would you prefer a milkshake?” she smiled at him.

  “A milkshake?” His exasperation filled the question to overflowing. “You’re getting a Coke?”

  Sara nodded. “Uh huh. I need something to wash down more aspirin for this headache and settle my stomach. I’d offer to split an order of fries, but all the grease.” She shook her head. “We have to think of your heart.”

  “My heart?” His eyes widened at her. “My heart? I…”

  Sara turned in her seat, touched his arm. “Zach,” she said. The calm in her voice focused his attention on her. “Have I been right so far?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “What kind of car are they looking for?” She poured a little more of the water onto the shop rag and used the vanity mirror to dab at the fresh blood smudged on her forehead. “Gonna be a nasty bruise.” She shook her head slowly and tugged a bit of hair loose to hide it.

  “I don’t know.”

  She nodded. “Neither do they. If we stay calm, behave in a rational way and not like criminals running screaming in the night, we are going to get away.” Her smile broadened, “and if you don’t, I’ll stun you and throw your unconscious body in the trunk. Are we clear?”

  His mouth opened, but no words came. He nodded instead.

  They pulled even with a four-foot tall, pink plastic rabbit with a speaker in its open mouth. “Hello, and [crackle] to [crackle]. Can I [crackle] your order?”

  “Good.” She patted his arm. “Now, don’t say a word.” She steadied herself against the console and leaned over him to speak to the rabbit. “Yes, please. We’d like a medium Coke and a chocolate milkshake.” She turned to him, “Is chocolate okay, or do you want vanilla?”

  He glared at her. “Chocolate is fine.”

  She turned back to the speaker. “Sorry, a chocolate shake is fine, and one medium order of fries, please.”

  “I have [crackle] Coke, one chocolate shake, and one medium [crackle]. That’s [crackle]-sixty, please, and [crackle] to the window.”

  Sara retrieved a bill from her pocket. When they reached the window, a thin girl of about seventeen with stringy blond hair and several purple acne spots on her chin and cheeks opened the glass. She smiled at them, caught sight of the sheen of perspiration on Zach’s face as Sara handed her the money, and leaned out of her window.

  “Excuse me, but is your friend okay?”

  Sara spoke across Zach to the girl. “He’s my husband. He fell off his mountain bike earlier, trying to keep up with boys from the neighborhood, and hurt his arm. I promised him a shake and fries, because I don’t think he’ll be up for much else tonight, if you know what I mean.”

  His eyes widened. He turned to glare at Sara again, sending wordless daggers in her direction.

  The girl glanced from Sara to Zach, then back to Sara. She giggled as she took the bill. “That is so sweet. My boyfriend does that kinda stuff all the time so I know exactly what you mean.” She waved her hand in the air, dismissively, took the money, and disappeared.

  Sara spoke over her shoulder as she leaned on his lap. “Would you please calm yourself? You look like you’re about to pop.”

  He turned to face forward, working at relaxing the muscles cranking his jaw closed before he cracked a molar. He was still staring out the windshield when the girl returned with their change.

  Sara put the change in the center console, and the girl handed her the order. She leaned out the window again. “Ma’am?”

  Sara leaned toward the girl.

  “I hope your husband gets better real soon, if you know what I mean.” She giggled again.

  Sara patted Zach’s leg. “Don’t worry about him, dear. He has amazing recuperative powers with the right incentive.” She winked at the girl.

  The girl giggled again and smiled at them. “That’s so cute. You two have a real good evening.” Then she stage-whispered, “go easy on him,” loud enough for Zach to hear. The window closed as she turned away.

  He drove the Mitsu out of the drive-through as Sara replaced her earpiece. She directed him to park the car under a large tree in the rear of the lot where they weren’t visible from the restaurant. He backed into it and flicked off the lights. She rolled her window down and handed the milkshake to Zach.

  “I can’t believe you made up a story like that. Why would you tell that poor girl I fell off a mountain bike?”

  “Because you’re in pain. Would you rather I told her the truth? How’s your side, by the way?” She reclined the passenger seat again, closing her eyes.

  “Better, thanks. How’s your head?”

  She scowled. “Throbbing again. The nausea’s back. Must be the running. I just need to lie down for a bit, until my stomach stops trying to flip itself onto the pavement.” She took a breath and exhaled through pursed lips. “Did you get the backup drive?”

  Zach’s hand moved to his pocket. “Yes. It was right where I left it.”

  “Good. We need someplace safe.”

  He laughed once. “Safe? Special Agent, I have the Secret Service after me. In about half an hour, there won’t be a safe place I can go on this side of the planet.”

  “I have an idea.”

  Before he could ask what she meant, she held up an index finger and pressed the other on her earbud. “Okay, we can go.” She gestured toward the road.

  He pressed the accelerator and wheeled out of the parking lot. “Where to?”

  “How much cash do you have on you?”

  “Not much,” he said, checking his pockets. “Eighty or ninety dollars, I guess, why?”

  “Not enough.”

  “I can stop by an ATM,” he volunteered. “Or I have a credit card.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Please. It’s bad enough we’re still in this car, but using a credit card? Do you ever watch vids? That would be like shooting flares off.” She hesitated for a second. “There’s a safe house on the beach we can use for a few days until you decide what you want to do next.”

  He stared at her. “A safe house. On the beach. I’m curious, do they need to use that one a lot?”

  “It’s more a rest and recuperation base than a safe house, per se, but I’m pretty sure it’s vacant currently.”

  “Pretty sure?”

  “Yes, Zach. Pretty sure.”

  He chuckled. “I see what you mean about surprises in your work.”

  “You have no idea. Finish your milkshake, we have to go to the airport.”

  “Airport?” Zach asked, confused. “What airport? Why?”

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue before she went on. “The airport by the bay. It has long-term parking. We need another car.”

  He stared at her. “Why?” he asked, not comprehending.

  “We need transportation.”

  “We’re in a perfectly good car.”

  “And it’s a wonderful car, but it has Auto-nav and GPS, and it’s registered to you. It’ll be a simple matter for the police to access your data. Then they can use it to track this car and us. We have to get a few hours ahead o
f them to get some rest.”

  “But they don’t know what we’re in, you said so yourself.” He gestured around them. “We can make a run for your safe house.”

  “Zach.” Her words were calm. “We can’t stay with this car much longer. All they have to do is identify you as a potential terrorist threat to Stiles. Your driver’s license ID photo and information will pop onto every laptop in every police car in the state. Murphy and Newman already know what you drive, and in about an hour, so will the police. Someone will find us. This car is simply not an option, and you need to get on board.”

  As they stared at each other, her words encircled him like iron bands—his life, if not over—was changed forever. Panic welled up in his throat, tightening until it felt like he was strangling.

  Across the car, Sara closed her eyes. She was pale, even in the dim, overhead light from outside. He opened his mouth to speak, but she threw a hand up to silence him.

  “Stop the car.” She shoved at his shoulder and turned toward the door.

  The abruptness took him aback. “What’s wrong?”

  “Stop now. Really. I have to throw up.”

  “Emergency,” he said to the car. “Pull over and stop.”

  He reached across the seats, gripping Sara’s arm and side as she pitched out the open door and wretched. He held her steady while the waves of nausea racked her and until they passed.

  “Crap.” he said, helping her back into her seat. She propped her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. Perspiration glistened on her face. He touched the makeshift bandage on her forehead, carefully removed the tape, and examined the cut. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but the wound was ragged and raw, about an inch and a half long, and it needed attention. He re-taped it and put the last bottle of water in her hand. “Rinse your mouth out and drink some of this.”

  “Thank you.” It was barely a whisper. She sipped some of the water, swirled it around her mouth, and spit it out the open door. “So much for dinner. Too bad. It wasn’t nearly as good the second time.” She chuckled, but the water bottle trembled in her hand.

  “You should lie down.”

  “I will. Soon.”

  His stomach twisted on itself as he watched her—pale and injured, and wondered how he could have doubted her. No one had ever risked anything for him before, and never this much. He wanted to cradle her in his arms until she was better, but settled for taking her hand in his. “I don’t know what to do for you. Please,” he said in a choked whisper. “I’m…” he stumbled over the words. “I’m afraid for you.”

  Sara licked her lips. “Drive to the nearest police department and turn yourself in. If we stay in this car, they’ll find us anyway, and I can’t do this on foot. I’m sorry, Zach. I really am. I blew it.”

  “No, you didn’t.” He hesitated for a long moment. As his thoughts focused on Sara, the feelings flowing through him scared and confused him. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  “What?” Her head turned in his direction. Her eyes were glazed again, like she was having trouble focusing. She braced herself against the dash with a hand. “Shit.” She spat the word out, and closed her eyes again. Most of her hair had escaped the knot on top of her head, leaving her with a disheveled appearance.

  “I said, I’m sorry.” He stared at the floor, blinked at the burning in his eyes. “For being so dense, for not believing you, for not trusting you. Without you, I’d be on a steel table in a really cold room right now or in a ditch. I owe you my life twice over. I want you to know I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

  Her mouth opened and closed, wordlessly. “Zach,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “I’ll be fine after I’ve had a chance to lie down.” She laid her hand on his leg. “We just need to hold it together for a little while longer, to work together.” She swiped the back of her hand across her cheeks. “I wish I could tell you everything will be okay, but—”

  “Then I’ll tell you. It’ll be okay. We’ll get another vehicle and get to someplace safe.” He touched her shoulder. “Just lie back for a few minutes. Please. You need some rest.”

  “Maybe for a few minutes.”

  He jumped out, ran around behind the car, reclined her seat back as far as it would go, and closed her door. Once he was back in his seat, he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

  CHAPTER 12

  Zach touched Sara’s shoulder. “Sara?” She jerked awake, popped up straight, and dropped back onto the seat. “Too fast.” She brought a hand to her head and lay still for a moment.

  “You might be hurt worse than we thought,” he said. “We should get you some real help.” He reached a hand over to move the hair from her face.

  She brushed his hand aside and sat up. “Where are we?”

  “About half a mile from the airport. Should we call a cab or try to rent a car?”

  “No.” She closed her eyes. “Cabs log where they pick up and drop off fares. When they find this car, they’ll call the cab companies and we’re done. As for renting a car,” she squeezed her eyes shut before opening them again and blew out a breath. “My head’s bleeding and there’s blood on my blouse. I’m having trouble staying on my feet, and you look like a rabbit on the first day of hunting season. If I saw us walk into a rental office, I’d be on the link with the police before we got to the counter.”

  “Yeah,” Zach added, “and even if we could get a rental, they’ll check the rental companies, get the transponder code, and track us down through it. We’re still screwed.”

  Sara’s eyes blinked open. “The transponder.”

  “Yeah, it’s tied to the Auto-drive GPS.”

  She slowly turned toward Zach. “But if we turned the transponder off…”

  “Can’t.” Zach shook his head. “It’s integrated with the autopilot. Most of the subsystems in the car, including the emergency alert systems and the navigation system depend on it. The rental company would have a fit.” He smiled at the thought.

  “No.” Sara laid a hand on his leg again. “Not that car, this car.” She laughed, but this time the sound held relief. “Zach, you’re a frigging genius. What year is this car?”

  He smiled. “It’ll be two years old in January. It’s my first ever new car. Laz talked me into—”

  “Turn the car around,” she said. “Find us a light to park under. Quick.”

  “But—”

  “Zach, please. Now. This might just work.”

  “That’s what I was going to tell you,” he said. “The lights are over there.” He was pointing at the parking lot in the distance to their left. He hesitated. “What about this car? What are you thinking?”

  Sara grinned and leaned against her seat. “I have an idea. Please, take us in there.”

  They rolled along the entrance road for airport parking until a large green sign with white Long Term Parking reflected in the headlights—its white arrow pointing to the left. He engaged the car’s manual control, slowed, and made the turn.

  They followed the signs, stopping at the automated gate into parking. Zach grabbed the ticket the kiosk printed, and followed the entrance lane around into the football-sized lot.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked her as they circled, hunting for an empty space.

  “I’m a little tired.”

  “You have a head injury.”

  She chuckled. “I just need to rest for a bit.” She turned to him. “And the quicker we get you to a safe spot, the quicker I can close my eyes.”

  He parked the car in the first open space under an overhead light. She released her door and pushed it up and open. “Pop the hood.”

  “What?”

  “Pop the hood, please.” She climbed out and walked around to the front of the car.

  He did as she asked, and Sara lifted it. He stepped out of the car and moved around to where she stood, examining the components. “What are you doing?”

  “Please, be a dear and get our screwdriver, would
you?”

  He stared at her.

  She ignored him, leaning into the engine compartment.

  He shrugged it off and retrieved the screwdriver from the bag on the car’s floor. “I…” Zach stopped himself from saying what was on his mind.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Please. What?”

  “You can’t disconnect the transponder,” he said, in his most reasonable voice. “The car won’t operate without it.”

  “Yeah.” She cocked her head at Zach. “That could be a problem, but I’m not going to disconnect it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “There’s a third option. We short out the onboard vehicle registration. When we reboot the car, it’ll respond like a new system. The Auto-nav and Auto-drive systems will still work, but the car won’t show up as registered to you.” A grin spread across her face.

  “That’ll…” He hesitated, realizing how stupid his next words were going to sound. “Void the warranty.” Yeah, he thought. It did sound every bit as stupid out loud as he expected. “Sorry. Old habits.”

  She braced a hand on the open hood and stared at him. “You want to help, or would you rather go stand over there and watch?”

  “What can I do?”

  “Hand me the screwdriver.”

  They leaned into the open engine compartment. “This one,” she said, indicating a small black box on the side of the compartment. “No, wait, that one.” She pointed to another.

  “Are you sure?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, I’m sure.” She jammed the blade of the screwdriver under the locking mechanism of the plastic cover and popped it off.

  “Only three wires?” he said. “I’d have thought it would be more complicated.”

  “That’s what they always want you to think,” she said. “You’re less tempted to monkey around with it. The red one is power. The white,” she traced a larger gauge wire where it made its way down the firewall, disappearing under the car, “connects to the antenna. This one,” she touched the blue one that joined with the car’s wiring harness, “runs to the car’s dashboard computer. Here goes.” She unscrewed the wire from the mechanism and braced the screwdriver against the metal of the car.