by Chris Mooney
"So they don't know you're alive."
"They think I'm dead. That I died from the bomb they planted inside my car." Conway squeezed the receiver in his hand, his anger getting away from him and not caring, heat building in his voice. Sweat worked it way down his back. His heart climbed inside his chest when he asked the next question.
"Where's Pasha?"
"About twenty minutes ago, we lost contact with all the team members at the Austin airport," Bouchard said, his voice flat.
"Same thing happened with the surveillance and Hazard Team covering you and Dixon. The watches that monitored their life signs… they all flat-lined. People who witnessed the explosions at the airport called the police and fire departments. It doesn't look like there are any survivors, Stephen."
Conway felt a sharp pain twist inside his chest, like razor wire working its way through his heart. He stared across the empty field, white dots of light dancing and burning in front of his eyes. That doesn't mean she's dead.
"Stephen?"
You have to forget about Pasha you have to forget about all of this and focus on Dix. He needs you. You're the only one who can save him.
Training took over. He compartmentalized his thoughts and feelings, pushed them to the side, and focused on solving the problem.
"I'm here," Conway said.
"What do you want me to do?"
"The only bright spot in this mess is the Hazard Team I brought in."
"Wait. You brought in a separate Hazard Team?"
"Yes. One not connected with the IWAC group. I didn't tell you I didn't tell anyone except Pasha. Tomorrow morning the news is going to break about John McFadden. He's CIA. He's been a Russian spy for almost twenty years. And we think McFadden knows about us."
Jesus Christ.
"When did you find this out?"
"Last night. But his connection to us, I just found out about it an hour ago. The hole… it just keeps getting bigger and bigger. It's a disaster.
"Steve, I'm on a satellite phone in my car, on my way back to Delburn.
I had to get files on McFadden. The Hazard Team at the airport, they're alive, but I can't get in touch with them."
"Angel Eyes must be jamming our signal. I couldn't call you from the school." Conway's voice was dry, separated from himself.
"What about Randy Scott?"
"Last time I heard, no life signs." A pause, and then Bouchard added,
"It doesn't look good."
"He might be in the lab. If he is, the lab's security would prevent us from monitoring him. Or calling." Or he might be dead.
A distinctive chirping noise came from his Palm Pilot. It was the sound of an e-mail that had just come through.
"Hold on," Conway said. The color screen read: Would you like to read it now? Yes or no. Conway pressed Yes and the e-mail message opened.
It was from one of the servers inside the Praxis lab.
Conway felt the muscles in his back and shoulders tense.
"Dixon's inside the lab," he said. Then, as expected, the security program he had coded in case of such a possibility launched a new window, this one showing an empty white bar that read 3 percent, the bar slowly filling as the files for the latest version of the optical camouflage software were downloaded into the suit.
"He just accessed the server. He's downloading the new software into the suit."
"How long until he?"
"Twenty, twenty-five minutes tops and he's done."
"Can you shut him down?"
"Not without my laptop."
"How far away are you from Praxis?"
"I won't make it in time."
"We've got to shut him down." Fear had eaten through Bouchard's confident tone.
"If Angel Eyes gets that suit "
"Randy has the same security clearance as I do. He can bounce Dixon off the system and then activate the lab's alarm, and they'll be trapped." Conway glanced back down at the Palm's screen. Ten percent of the files had already been copied.
"You need to find a way to move the Hazard Team to Praxis."
"I will. Keeping trying Randy. And get to Praxis. Do whatever it takes to contain the situation until I can get the Hazard Team there.
We can't let Angel Eyes leave with that suit."
"Understood."
Conway hung up and dialed Randy's direct number. No answer. Not surprising, since Randy was always traveling around the company fixing various computer problems. Conway called Praxis's main number. The voice mail system immediately picked up.
The secretary should have answered the phone, not the company's voice-mail system.
Something's wrong.
Fifteen percent of the files had been download.
Conway tried Randy's cell phone next. Two rings, three, come on Randy "Hello?" Randy whispered.
Relief, as the opportunity Conway had hoped for suddenly presented itself.
"What's going on? I just called the main number and the voice mail is picking up."
"We've got a bomb inside the building."
The receiver felt loose and wet in Conway's hand. Behind him came the ring of the phone from inside the mini-mart.
"I was in the lab working on Lankler's hard drive when the main fire alarm went off," Randy Scott said, his voice low, almost a whisper.
"I'm thinking it's a routine drill, and I'm about to go down the stairs when Peter McCabe calls up and tells me to stick around because someone called in a bomb threat, that the firemen and bomb squad guys are downstairs evacuating everyone out of the building and they want to come up and take a look around the lab."
"The caller said the bomb was inside the lab?"
"No, but the caller did say it was on the fourth floor." Right. Saying it was inside the lab would be too suspicious. Conway looked across the field, beads of sweat sliding down his face and running into his eyes. A bomb threat, how perfect. The call gets everyone out of the building and Angel Eyes's people move in disguised as bomb-squad technicians and firemen. No one suspects a thing.
"You let them inside the lab?" Conway asked.
"No. I got the hell out of there. They're looking for me." That meant Dixon was physically inside the lab alone. To get inside the lab, you placed your palm on the handprint scanner and then spoke your name into the voice-recognition system. If accepted, you entered your code and the lab doors slid open, allowing you access. To travel deeper inside to the staging area where Dixon worked, you needed to wear a special badge encoded with a microchip; otherwise, the lab's sensors would pick it up, trigger the alarm system and lock you inside the lab until the police arrived.
You got Dix and the suit inside the lab alone, all you need to do is have Randy trigger the alarm and you'll trap him away from Angel Eyes and his men. Get back to the Pathfinder and get moving.
Conway turned around and saw that the attendant had moved behind the counter, the phone pressed against his ear.
"I'm hiding out on the third floor in Neil Joseph's office that's why I'm whispering. They don't know I'm in here," Randy said.
"I can't get through to Pasha. I just tried using the office phone here and the line is dead. I can't call out."
"Randy, I'm running out of time, so listen to me carefully." Con-way picked up his Palm and jogged back to the Pathfinder.
"Dixon's inside the lab right now, and he's downloading the latest version of the software into the suit. It's encrypted, and Dixon knows the decryption code. If the download happens, the suit will be operational and Angel Eyes will be able to use the cloaking technology."
"Where's Hazard? They should have moved in by now," Randy said.
"Dead. You and I are the only ones left."
Silence on the other end. Conway removed the gas pump, placed it back into the cradle and then walked around to the other side of the Pathfinder. The attendant was still inside. The phone was pressed against his ear, and he was looking in Conway's direction. Shit.
Conway opened the door and got behind the wheel.
<
br /> "Bouchard's trying to reroute a Hazard Team from the airport to Praxis but he's been unable to contact them. They may not make it there in time. They may not make it there at all," he said.
"You'll have to shut them down."
"How can I " "Listen. Use the PC in the office and log on as the network administrator. Then you can shut the server down. Win Nuke the whole thing, I don't care, just make sure you delay them for as long as you can. The suit is useless without the new software."
"They might have already blocked off my access."
"Then log on as me and use my passwords. They think I'm dead, I doubt they would have changed them."
"And if they did?"
"Trigger the lab's alarm."
"That's in the security office. They might have someone guarding it."
Conway looked at the Palm Pilot. Forty-five percent of the files had been downloaded.
"Another twenty minutes and he's done," Conway said.
"You armed?"
"The Qlock's in my office lock box." A sharp intake of air, Randy drawing confidence. Conway could picture the twenty-eight-year-old agent, a rookie and the youngest member of the IWAC group, his pale Scottish skin flushed the way it always did when he got nervous.
In the distance, Conway heard the wail of approaching fire engines, He looked up and through the bands of heat rising off the long stretch of highway he Could see the tiny, red-blurred, flashing fire-engine lights growing larger and heading his way.
"I've got to get moving," Conway said.
"Your phone has vibration mode, right?"
"They all do now." Randy's voice sounded detached. Uncertain.
"Set it to vibration mode, I'll make contact with you when I get there.
Randy?"
"Yeah?"
"You can do this."
Conway hung up. Two fire engines were rushing toward the gas station, the wail of the sirens building. He ran back to his car and just got himself settled behind the wheel when the attendant opened up the mini-mart's glass door. The man ignored the commotion, his eyes locked on Conway.
"Your car's all busted up, and it looks like you're leaking oil," the Texan yelled.
"Pop open your hood and let's take a look." The attendant, his face and voice nervous, reached behind his back as he walked, less than two feet away from the Pathfinder.
Get out of here.
Conway pressed the button on the Palm and the Pathfinder started just as the fire engines raced by, kicking up large clouds of dust and dirt across the gas station. Conway floored the gas and peeled a good two feet of rubber out of the station. When he hit the highway, he looked in the driver's-side mirror and saw the man standing in the middle of the road, his hand still behind his back as if guarding a shameful secret.
The gas station attendant stood in the dust and the aching heat, the tranquilizer pistol tucked into the back waistband of his work pants.
He watched the Pathfinder until it disappeared.
His real name was Charles Rigby. The original plan was to abduct the computer wiz, Major Dixon the father should have been arrested for child abuse for giving out such a stupid name here at the gas station.
On the way back from skydiving, both Major D and Conway would have to pass along this road, the only way back to Austin, and just as Conway was about to ride past another car would blast out of the gas station and hit his car. When Conway wasn't looking, Rigby would hit him with a tranquilizer dart. By the time he woke up, the man the CIA called Angel Eyes would have the highly coveted military combat suit from Praxis. That was the plan.
Rigby thought it would have been easier to try to take Dixon at night, while he was sleeping. Hit the two IWAC teams that were monitoring Major D one IWAC team lived in the same apartment complex, the other was housed inside a van and then take down Delburn. With the IWAC team gone, they could take the Major straight to Praxis, slip in and get the suit, then disappear. That was how Mr. Faust operated in the past.
The strange thing was that Mr. Faust wanted Dixon and Conway. Why Conway was wanted was unknown. Only Mr. Faust knew that, and the only one who had direct access to him was Gunther, who never talked about the man or the reasoning behind his decisions.
You did what you were told, or you were let go. And never, under any circumstances, did you lie. Even if you fucked up. Like now.
Charles Rigby continued to stare down the highway. Man, I should have come here earlier, when Con-way was on the phone. Just -walked up to him and asked him about his car and then popped him with a dart. But it didn't feel right. When you dealt with guys like Conway, guys who could snap you in half without breaking a sweat, you had to make sure you could pull it off, otherwise you were in deep shit. By the time Rigby was ready to move, Conway was already seated behind the wheel.
Goddamn. Gunther was going to be pissed.
Rigby looked back at the gas station and then reached into his back pocket and retrieved a satellite phone. It wasn't as fancy looking as the one Conway and the IWAC boys used Rigby's phone had that long, thick, extendable antennae but it did have the latest and greatest encryption technology, stuff so advanced that it would take a team of NSA boys weeks to crack it. Charlie dialed the number.
"You got him?" Gunther asked.
"Conway wigged out and hightailed it out of here before I could even get to him."
Gunther didn't say anything. Rigby had known Gunther for three years now it was Gunther who had rescued him from the streets of L.A. Rigby was seventeen at the time and eating out of trash barrels and forced to do other things to survive, things that a teenage boy should never have to endure. Then like a gift from God came Gunther, his guardian angel;
Gunther, who had brought him into the fold and taught him things and showed him a world of unlimited potential and promise.
Rigby, upset that he had disappointed Gunther and nervous that he had blown his opportunity to prove himself, started chattering away: "He made a pay phone call to Bouchard. I got it all on tape. Then Conway called Randy Scott, this guy's inside Praxis right now and he's going to try to shut down access to the suit."
"Dixon's already inside in the lab?"
"As we speak they're downloading the latest version of the software directly into the suit. Now granted, I couldn't hear what this guy Randy was saying on his end because the call was encrypted, but I managed to hear everything Conway was saying and the two of them cooked up a plan " "So Conway's going to try to shut these guys down by himself."
"Yeah, him and this guy Randy Scott. They think Angel Eyes is behind this."
"Get everything ready. I'm on the road and will be there in five minutes," Gunther said and hung up.
Inside the mini-mart, Charlie removed the gas station's surveillance tapes and then checked the broom closet. The real gas station attendant was still passed out. Rigby dragged the guy and put him on a chair behind the counter. When the guy woke up a couple of hours from now, he would have the worst hangover of his life.
Rigby put on a pair of latex gloves. As he wiped down the few areas he had touched, he wondered what Mr. Faust did with all this stolen stuff. Was he collecting it? Selling it? Gunther didn't say anything about it, and Rigby never asked. Then he thought about the suit. To be invisible from everyone, man, you could be God, roaming the earth and carrying out your secret wishes.
Ten minutes from Praxis and relief.
Conway had been barreling down the highway at just above ninety, the ride difficult because of the missing front windshield, the wind gusting past his face with such intensity that his eyes watered. The Palm Pilot was on his lap. He glanced down and noticed that the files were no longer being copied. Randy had knocked Dixon off the server.
But no way to tell if Randy had triggered the lab's alarm system and locked Dixon and Angel Eyes's men inside the building. Conway imagined Angel Eyes and his men as they scrambled to bring the server back online, a process that could take half an hour or more, depending on their skill level. Hopefully, Bouchard's
Hazard Team had moved in on Praxis and contained the matter.
Hopefully.
Eight miles away from the company and the traffic on the MoP ac expressway came to a grinding halt. Framed against the clear blue sky and sitting perched high on a hill was Praxis, a sprawling, four-floor structure of gray concrete and mirrored blue glass, looking like some sort of futuristic monolith that had descended from the heavens, isolated from other companies and safe from prying eyes, and oddly out of place in the rolling green hills of Spanish-style homes with red-tiled roofs. Conway moved into the breakdown lane and drove the rest of the way. He picked up his phone and called Randy. Far ahead on the right were clusters of people looking no bigger than action figures gathered near the main road and the only entrance to Praxis.
Angel Eyes and his men must still be inside the building.
Six rings and no answer.
Either Randy had been captured or was hiding somewhere inside Praxis.
Conway hung up and pulled into the small plaza containing a one-hour photo shop and an office supply store. He parked the Pathfinder in one of the shaded spaces, far away from the store and its curious eyes, and shut off the SUV. The hot air throbbed with the traffic from the highway.
Behind the strip mall was a wooded area, its shaded edge holding trash barrels and four redwood picnic tables. All he had to do was walk through the woods, make his way around to the back of Praxis, climb up the embankment, and then he would be able to see the company's main and side entrances. He could watch and report his findings to Bouchard, who should be back at Delburn by now. It beat sitting around and waiting.
He shoved the phone back into its leather case and, Palm Pilot in hand, got out of the Pathfinder and ran behind the strip mall. He tore through the dense growth, ducking under tree limbs, branches snapping back. To his immediate left and rising at what looked like a ninety-degree angle was a steep embankment. He ran up it, struggling, his legs burning, and then five minutes later, his hard work was rewarded.
In the spaces between the trees, Conway could see the side of the building, the late-morning sun reflecting off the blue-mirrored glass so brightly it made him squint. Dizzy, his face hot and his breath coming in sharp, painful bursts, Conway stumbled around until he found the spot that offered him the best view of the building and then squatted down and surveyed the situation.
