Kill Switch

by Gordon Bonnet

  “You offering to drive?”

  “No. I figured you’d have pulled over and taken a nap by now.”

  “No need. We have ways to avoid having to sleep. It’s convenient.”

  “Not sleeping makes you crazy. It only takes a few days’ worth of missed sleep to make you start hallucinating. I’m a biology teacher, remember? We know these things.”

  “Thanks for the concern, but as far as the biology you think you know, you might want to forget all of it. Most of it is wrong.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Drolezki didn’t respond.

  “What happened to ‘it doesn’t matter, because you’re gonna die anyway?”

  “I already told you. I wasn’t sent to answer your questions. I was sent either to dispose of you or else bring you back. So shut up and let me drive.”

  Chris looked around him at the gradually lightening landscape sliding past the window. He saw rugged peaks and valleys, dotted with what looked like spruce and fir trees. “Where are we?”

  “You don’t give up, do you? We just cleared Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. We’ll be crossing into Washington before sunrise.”

  He shuddered. He’d always intended to go back to Washington after he left. He’d had friends there, many of whom had given him a standing invitation to visit. When he was hired to teach biology at Guildford High School, he had considered many times heading back out for a visit over the summer, but at first the cost of airline tickets was an impediment, and after a few years, other priorities replaced returning to the Pacific Northwest.

  Now he was going back, under circumstances he’d never have imagined. He would have liked to see Deirdre, Glen, Gavin, and the rest one more time. Shoot the breeze, have a beer.

  Instead, they were all dead.

  And soon he would be, too.

  Would They track down all of the people he’d interacted with along the way? The Harpers, Thomas T. Champion, the boy in the tollbooth—maybe even Luanne at the Super 8 Motel in Erie, Pennsylvania? Loose ends. Would all of them be eradicated, erased, found dead in bed one morning or killed in a hit-and-run? Taken out simply because they’d had the ill fortune to cross paths with him?

  This got him thinking about his college friends again. How they’d all teased Gavin about his interest in conspiracy theories. Gavin had been right, it appeared, and none of them had known it at the time except for him. There had been one evening, over drinks in a pub on campus. Lewis had been there, Chris remembered, as had Deirdre and Mary. Elisa hadn’t been, he was certain of that, although where she had been that evening was lost in the haze of memory. As far as Glen, he couldn’t recall if he had been there or not. Glen was so quiet that his presence sometimes went unnoticed until he said something, usually something perceptive and interesting, but if he didn’t speak up it was easy to forget he was there.

  Deirdre, he remembered, had been talking excitedly about flying to California for spring break.

  —

  “I haven’t felt comfortable on a plane since that Korean Air jetliner went down,” Mary said. She was sitting, leaning back in her chair with a lazy grace, a glass of red wine in one elegantly-manicured hand.

  Lewis snorted. “Right, Deirdre, you’ll be safe as long as you don’t fly from Seattle to California via Soviet air space.”

  All of them had laughed, even Mary, although her laugh sounded a more than just a little cool.

  “You believe what the Soviets are claiming?” Deirdre aimed the question mostly at Lewis. “That it was on a spy mission?”

  “That’s bullshit. You don’t send a fully-loaded passenger jet on a spy mission. One of their fly-boys got trigger-happy, and then they had to cover their asses afterwards.”

  “Actually, don’t you think that would be the best way to spy?” Gavin asked. “It’s like you said. Who would suspect a passenger jet would be on a spy mission? You send ’em over restricted space, equip the jet with a camera operated remotely. You don’t need anyone more than the pilot and copilot to be in on it.”

  “Another conspiracy, Gavin?” Mary rolled her eyes. “How many is this, now?”

  There was more laughter, but Gavin, predictably, rose to the bait without a moment’s hesitation. “No, really! You don’t know what kind of things the government is up to. We don’t even know one percent of what they do. And what’s more, even a lot of the people working for them don’t know. The people in control, the power brokers behind the whole thing, they know. They’re the only ones. So they take their plans and divide them up into little pieces, give out the little tasks to the underlings, who then carry them out. One person, disguised as a tourist, takes pictures of restricted sites with a miniaturized camera. Another one gets a job in the civil service, and intercepts data coming in via mail, or telegraph, or whatever. Another one might pose as a custodian and plant bugs in diplomatic offices. None of ’em sees the big picture. Only the ones at the top do, and they report to no one.”

  “Not even the president?” Mary smiled down into her glass of wine.

  Gavin made a scoffing noise. “You think Reagan is in charge? He’s a puppet, like most heads of state. You never get to see the ones on top. You probably wouldn’t even recognize their names, recognize their faces.”

  Chris grinned, unable to resist slipping in the needle. “I did hear that Nixon was supposed to be on that flight, but changed his mind at the last minute.”

  “See?” Gavin beamed. Beside him, Deirdre winced and took a sip of her beer. “You think that kind of thing is a coincidence? Someone tipped him off.”

  Lewis was unconvinced. “Why would they tip Nixon off? I’d think the powers-that-be would be just as happy to be rid of that scheming sonofabitch.”

  Gavin wouldn’t back down, though. “No. Killing an ex-president? That’d be too big a misstep. Even the Soviets knew that.”

  “The Soviets?” Deirdre shook her head in confusion. “Why would they care? Like they have any regard for what we want or don’t want.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Gavin gestured excitedly. “The Soviets and the people in government here in the U.S. are all pawns. The ones in charge, hiding in their posh mansions in Samoa or Bali or Jamaica, maneuver the elected officials around like pieces on a chessboard. Reagan and Andropov and the rest of ’em might even think they’re in charge. I don’t know. But what’s certain is they’re not. They aren’t the ones making the decisions.”

  “And the rest of us?” Lewis waved around him at the other people at the table, at the other patrons at the bar, chatting and drinking and laughing.

  “Us?” Gavin’s normally genial expression darkening. “As long as we stay out of the way, we’re okay. It’s like the way you don’t make a point of killing a fly while you’re outside. But if it gets into your house, starts to buzz around your ears, you swat it, any time you like, for any reason or for no reason at all. That’s how they see us.”

  Mary squinted. “Flies?”

  “Pretty much. Like the people on the airplane. They got in the way.”

  “That’s horrid,” Deirdre downed what was left of her beer and setting down the glass with a clunk.

  Gavin nodded. “It really is. That’s exactly what it is. Horrid. Because if one of us got in the way, it wouldn’t be murder, the way it would be if you or I killed someone. It would just be…” He faltered, stopped.

  “An unfortunate necessity?” Chris volunteered.

  “Yes,” Gavin looked up. “Exactly that. Collateral damage.”

  —

  Chris looked over at his captor, still driving with the same relaxed economy of motion. That’s how Drolezki saw him. He’d even used those very words to describe Chase Ballengee. Collateral damage. Chase just got in the way.

  By now, the sky was shining with the early light of morning, although the sun had still not risen. They passed a sign for a rest stop a mile ahead.

  “Hey, Drolezki.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I need to pee.”
>
  Drolezki looked over at him, shrugged, and with a quick motion, flipped on the turn signal. “Okay, but listen. I let you out of this car, you keep in mind I’m a quick enough shot to put you on the ground before you take ten steps. If there are other people hanging around at that rest stop, I will not hesitate to do the same to any of them that try to intervene. You’re not getting away from me, not unless it’s on a one-way trip to the Pearly Gates.”

  He ground his clenched teeth together. “Understood.”

  “That means you walk, calmly, slowly, and you don’t try to get help. You don’t talk to anyone. You go in, take a piss, whatever you need to do, you come back out.” He angled his car onto the off ramp, then pulled into the parking lot, and slid into a space. The agent turned off the engine, and looked him right in the eye.

  How could he ever have characterized Drolezki as boyish-looking? He’d never encountered such complete arrogance before. The man knew he was above the law. Gavin’s words had never made so much sense. “As long as we stay out of their way, we’re okay. They let us be.”

  Chris held up his left hand. His right was still cuffed to the door handle. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll play nice. I don’t want anyone else dying because of me.”

  “That’s the way.” Drolezki pulled a key out of his pocket, reached over and unlocked the handcuff. Chris massaged his wrist, then unlocked and opened the door.

  It was going to be another beautiful, warm day. The sky was a brilliant sapphire blue, with only a few streaks of white clouds. He stretched, his back cracking pleasantly, and then walked off toward the men’s room. Drolezki followed, his eyes scanning the area, appearing not to be aware of Chris at all as he ambled along behind him.

  But he knew the agent had been telling the truth. If he showed any sign of trying to escape, he’d be dead in under five seconds.

  He expected Drolezki to follow him into the men’s room. Instead, the other man sat down on a bench and stretched his long, muscular legs out in front of him. Had the dude taken a pill that made him not have to pee, either? No sleep, no peeing, maybe no eating, drinking, or sex. He could have been a damn robot. He certainly didn’t seem very human.

  He continued into the men’s room, walked up to one of the urinals. A teenage boy was washing his hands and exited, leaving him alone.

  He had just finished, and was rezipping, when an elderly man with a tan fedora and a rather ridiculous pair of plaid Bermuda shorts stepped up to the urinal next to him. “Beautiful day.”

  “Yeah.” Apparently the guy didn’t know the rule that you don’t talk to someone standing at the urinal beside you.

  “Should stay nice. Long as you keep your eyes on the prize.”

  Chris’s eyes widened, and he looked over at the man. “What prize?”

  The old man turned and gave him a solemn wink. “Staying alive, of course. That’s what counts, right? Half the battle, that. Staying alive.”

  “Yes.” Feeling like an automaton, he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He glanced back at the old guy, who was still standing at the urinal, whistling softly to himself.

  Had he actually heard the old man say that? Or was he finally losing his ever-loving mind?

  No. There were people on his side, he knew that. He didn’t know how they were keeping track of him, or how far they’d go to help him, but he wasn’t imagining it. The hobo in Missouri had been shot in the back for helping him escape. There were others, scattered along the way. The boy in the tollbooth, Luella the hotel clerk who warned him about the guys who were after me, maybe even Thomas T. Champion and the Harpers and Chase Ballengee. Maybe they were all in on it, all trying to help him, all trying to keep him from becoming another casualty.

  And not being alone made all the difference.

  Chris walked out of the men’s room to where Drolezki sat. “All done.”

  Drolezki smirked at him. “Smart guy. You follow orders well, once you know there’s no way out.”

  Chris didn’t answer and only kept his face impassive with an effort.

  For now. He’d go along with the arrogant sonofabitch for now. But if he let his guard down just once, Chris would be ready.

  Half the battle may be staying alive, but the other half is winning it.

  Chapter 17

  Drolezki gestured for him to get back in the car. He noticed again how relaxed his captor seemed to be. He didn’t do much more than give a cursory glance around to make sure no one was watching as he climbed into the driver’s seat, leaned across the seat, and snapped the cuff closed around Chris’s right wrist. The agent was completely in charge of the situation. Hopefully no one got in his way. No more deaths of innocent people because of all of this.

  Other than himself, of course.

  “Now I gotta take a piss. Don’t even think of trying to call out for help while I’m gone.”

  “What happened to me being a smart guy who follows orders?”

  He gave Chris a predatory grin. “I’m a smart guy, too, and I don’t like to tempt fate. Don’t try it.”

  He got out, shut the door, and strode back across the parking lot, back toward the men’s room.

  Chris hoped the old man was gone. Had Drolezki had overheard what the guy had said? Probably not, he decided. Being the jackass he was, he would have said something, tried to rub it in.

  At least this proved Drolezki wasn’t a robot. Robots didn’t need to pee.

  Drolezki returned a short time later, got back into the car, and tossed something into Chris’s lap—a vacuum-sealed package of cheese and crackers. He had an identical one, as well as two bottles of water, which he stuck into the cup holders between the front seats. “The best cuisine the vending machines have to offer. Better than nothing, though, right?”

  Then he started the car and put it in gear, pulled his snack open, and was already munching loudly on the crackers by the time they were back on the highway.

  “Thanks.” Chris opened his crackers took a bite. He hadn’t realized until that moment how hungry he was. His last meal had been half a BLT in the diner twelve hours earlier.

  “Don’t want you to starve before we have a chance to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Yeah, It’d be a real pity if I died before you had the chance to kill me.”

  Drolezki looked over and frowned. “Look, dude, it’s nothing personal.”

  “No? Well, I hope you understand that it’s pretty personal to me. Getting murdered kind of is the ultimate in personal, you know?”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  “It’s the only way I have, at the moment. You’d feel the same way if you were the one looking down the barrel of a gun.”

  Drolezki shrugged. “There’s more at stake than one life.”

  “You said that before.” Suddenly, his captor’s unassailable coolness sent him past the breaking point. He felt a swell that reddened his cheeks and set his heart pounding. “You said that about Adam’s death, and Chase’s, and the deaths of my other friends. So—one life? Two? Three? Ten? A hundred? When does it cross the line? When does life become worth something? How many lives does it take before you’d say it was too high a cost? I don’t know what government agency you’re working for, or another country’s government, or no government at all. You may be one of the Illuminati, like Gavin thought, or just one of a group of power-hungry assholes who’ve somehow figured out how to do whatever they want to with no consequences. In the end, it doesn’t matter who you’re working for, because people like you are all alike. They can always find something for which they are willing to destroy the lives and happiness of others, and ultimately, they always lose in the end. I’m not going to beg for my life. Not now, not when I get to wherever you’re taking me, not when you torture me to find out what I supposedly know. Because there’s one thing I do know, and it may be the only relevant thing. There is nothing more important than respecting human life and freedom. So hear this, Drolezki, and you can pass this message as far up the
chain as you want. You can do what you want to me, but I swear that at every step, I will do everything I can to thwart you. Put simply, you and your puppet masters can kiss my ass.”

  Drolezki looked over at him for a moment, his eyebrows rising on his broad forehead. Chris stared back, and their eyes met. Drolezki’s gaze was impassive, unaffected, even a little amused. Whether through nature or long practice, he wouldn’t—or perhaps couldn’t—let himself be affected emotionally by what Chris said. The words struck like waves against a cliff face, and were equally easily thrown back. The corner of his mouth twitched. “I see now why you evaded us for this long.”

  Chris looked down. Whatever fury he’d felt was gone as suddenly as it had arisen, and his anger turned to sickness and cold fear, like ashes in his belly. “I wish it was that. I’m not brave. Just lucky. Deirdre and Lewis and Gavin were always the brave ones, the ones who were willing to speak their minds no matter what the consequences.” He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “And they’re all dead.”

  —

  They crossed into Washington State at a little after 6:30 a.m. The sun was shining as they descended from the last tumbled slopes of the western Rockies onto the flat, arid plain east of Spokane. Drolezki showed no particular inclination to talk, and in any case, there didn’t seem to be much more to say. Chris’s outburst of bravado felt like a coda, the words of a condemned man addressing the crowd from the gallows, standing on the trapdoor with the rope already around his throat, knowing that he’d never again feel the wind on his face, that the clock was ticking minutes to seconds to nothing.

  He noticed his captor swallowing a small white tablet with the last mouthful of water in his water bottle after they passed the exits for the town of Sprague, and he briefly wondered if it was some kind of stimulant. An explanation, perhaps, for how Drolezki could keep driving for hours on end without a break. Other than a few extra rumples in his nicely-tailored pants and dress shirt, the agent looked as fresh and alert as he had the day they’d met.