Mirrored Man: The Rob Tyler Chronicles Book 1

by GJ Fortier

  “There's a store. Should I stop?”

  “Nope,” Rob said as the GMC slammed into the back of the Toyota. Glancing over, he saw that June had taken the hit in stride. I'm beginning to like this girl. “Been in many demolition derbies, have we?”

  “You have no idea,” she answered, half smiling. “Who are they?” she asked, weaving the SUV in an attempt to keep their adversary from pulling next to them on the narrow two-lane highway.

  Well, since I was in Afghanistan until about forty minutes ago … “I have no idea, but there's more than one of them in there.” He unbuckled his seat belt and climbed into the back.

  “What are you doing?” June asked.

  “Seein’ if I can scare ‘em.”

  The two vehicles burst through another empty intersection. Each time they did, June was forced to steer wildly to keep their adversaries at bay. She was dismayed that there was no traffic to run interference with. Glancing at the GPS, she saw that they were approaching another intersection as the GMC struck them again, shattering the back window.

  Brushing off shards of glass, Rob looked at his weapon in despair. Only six rounds. Gotta pick my targets carefully. He leveled the 9mm at the driver’s side of the GMC's windshield and squeezed off a round. It bounced away harmlessly.

  Bulletproof. “Maybe not so carefully.”

  He adjusted his aim and emptied the remaining bullets into the GMC’s grill, hoping to hit the radiator or some other vital component. His action produced the same result. Nothing.

  The next impact made both SUVs swerve violently back and forth, but June continued to impress her passenger as she recovered quickly.

  Rob climbed back into the front seat. “We're in trouble.”

  June looked at him skeptically. “Ya think?”

  “No, I mean we're in real trouble.”

  “Whadaya mean, real trouble?”

  “I think that thing is armored. It probably weighs six tons.”

  The tires of the Toyota squealed in protest as June turned the wheel violently, propelling them around a curve and through another intersection in an unsuccessful attempt to shake their adversaries. “Armored? Who are these guys?” June wasn't aware of the fact that she had turned on to a five-lane highway until the GMC surged ahead, quickly slamming into the driver’s side of the Toyota. “Hang on!” she shouted. She slammed on the breaks and then went quickly back on the gas. The back of Rob’s head nearly smashed into the dashboard, but the force of the acceleration that followed slapped him back against the seat. June looked back at her mirror, smiling as they shot past the GMC. But that smile quickly faded as the behemoth rushed back to within inches of their bumper.

  “Did you mean to do that?” Rob asked incredulously.

  “Crap!” she yelled.

  “Yeah. Don't try that one again, okay?”

  “Back seat driver,” she admonished.

  She couldn’t keep the GMC from wheeling around them on the five-lane, but she anticipated their next move and slammed on the brakes again. The bigger SUV hit the Toyota squarely on the side instead of forcing them into the intended pit maneuver. June's hands danced on the wheel and her feet did the same with the pedals. Another driver may have lost control, but she was able to hold the road and even regain the lead.

  “Okay, I'm gonna just let you drive then,” Rob said stoically.

  But the GMC was on them again and maneuvering for another hit. Without hesitating, June hit the brakes again, having the presence of mind to shift the truck into neutral to prevent the engine from stalling. They both watched as their foes crossed inches in front of them, only to lurch off of the road. The driver of the larger vehicle worked hard to regain control, but lost some ground as a result.

  “Nice!” Rob shouted excitedly. “You may have to do it again, but quick.” He watched the GMC come at them again from behind.

  June’s smile disappeared as she looked in her rear view. “Looks like I don’t have a choice.” Looking ahead again, she saw another intersection, this one with several businesses lining each side of the road. “Should I stop at one of these?”

  “No! Just keep goin’!”

  Once through the intersection, June saw a grove of trees ahead on the right. She slid the Toyota to the left and watched their adversary pull alongside for another attempt at a “pit.” But at the last possible moment, June stood on the break pedal with both feet, turning the wheel as she did. The 4 Runner began to spin clockwise as the GMC came at them. It almost passed by harmlessly again, but at the last second it clipped them in the front. The deafening sound of crunching metal assailed them. It appeared as if the Toyota's entire engine compartment disintegrated, making their clockwise spin even wilder. But June had misjudged the distance to the trees. Instead of smashing into one of them, the GMC dove into the drainage ditch. Water from the recent downpour exploded into the air as the SUV connected with a concrete driveway that crossed over the ditch. The truck's momentum carried enough energy to flip the heavy vehicle completely over, landing upside down and spinning a hundred feet before coming to rest in the middle of a resident's front yard. Motion sensors triggered floodlights, and the whole area was suddenly brightly illuminated.

  The Toyota continued its spin until it turned a complete three-sixty, coming to rest on the road, facing west again.

  Lights came on and curtains were pulled back inside the house, silhouetting one of its residents as they looked out at the carnage on their lawn. Rob watched as the driver’s door of the GMC opened and a man dressed entirely in black slowly climbed out. “We have a survivor,” Rob said, opening his door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want some answers.”

  June turned her attention back to the rear view. In the distance, a set of high beam headlights could be seen. Rob saw them too as he climbed out.

  “Maybe it's the police,” June said hopefully.

  Rob’s keen eyes recognized the shape of the lights. “Not unless they drive Humvees.”

  “The Air Force?”

  “We better go,” he instructed, a bit too calmly for June's liking.

  “How are we gonna go? The car's ruined,” she said woefully, gesturing to what was, from her prospective, a nonexistent engine.

  Jumping back in, Rob reached over and pressed the start button. To June's amazement, the Toyota came to life. “Engine’s fine,” he said. “At this point, I don't care who they are. There’re too many people tryin’ to kill us! Let's go.”

  “What about lights? It's dark. Do we even have any? The cops'll stop us for sure.”

  “Auxiliary lights under the bumper,” he said without missing a beat. Turning toward her, he smiled. “Can we go now?”

  As June started down the road, Rob turned his attention back to the lights behind them. He knew that a Humvee’s top speed was around ninety miles per hour, and after what he had just witnessed he was confident in June’s ability to outrun them. He continued to watch as it stopped at the crash site and a single figure climbed out, but they were too far away to make out who it was.

  Rob forced himself to relax and look over at his chauffeur.

  Feeling his stare, June looked back at him, suddenly self conscious. “What?”

  “What was your name again?”

  “June … June Phillips.”

  “Where did you learn to drive like that, June Phillips?”

  As she turned her attention back to the road, a girlish grin crept onto her face. “Ethiopia.”

  * * * * *

  INSIDE THE OFFICES of the Manhattan Temporary Service located in a professional park off of Highway 54 in Morrow, Georgia, Toni Blackburn vigorously chewed a wad of bubble gum while sitting at her desk in her combination work/living space. She was staring anxiously at the computer monitor in front of her. Next to the desk was a small table with a laptop computer that she used for Internet research. The young woman had been only twenty-three and fresh out of college when the CIA recruited her two years
before. She was a graduate of the University of Georgia where she had obtained her Bachelor of Science degree in Human Resource Administration and Development. She had been offered a position within the clandestine agency and, after completing her training, was assigned to the Atlanta field office as a logistics coordinator.

  She was small and short, and would have been a rather plain-looking girl if it were not for her Gothic style. She wore her hair dyed jet-black, shaved about two inches up on the sides and back, with the rest hanging coarsely down to the small of her back. The hair was a stark contrast to her pale complexion. The black eyeliner that she wore around dark brown eyes gave her a gaudy, mysterious look. She was perversely proud of her seven piercings. Two in each ear, two in her nose, two in her lower lip, and a tongue stud. She wore a black tee shirt and black overalls. A pair of black combat boots completed the costume.

  Chris Montgomery, the deputy director of the Atlanta field office, stood behind her. He was also staring intently at the computer's monitor. At five eleven, he was showing the inescapable signs of his 61 years. His eyes were weathered gray, and accented by deep crow’s feet. His hair, the same color as his eyes, receded more with each year. The moderate spread around his middle betrayed him to be a man who had long ago given up on most physical activity. He was dressed casually in blue jeans and a peach polo shirt.

  To Montgomery’s right stood his assistant, Simon Pew. The young man had been with the agency since 2004. His enlistment in the Army, which included a short stint in its elite Delta Force where he had served in Iraq, Afghanistan, and most recently, in South Korea, had ended when he was approached by “the company” and opted to join their ranks. He stood five foot nine with black, closely cropped hair and green eyes. He had been dressed a bit more formally than his superior, in a gray business suit, but the events of the past couple of hours had him shedding his jacket and paisley tie, throwing them unceremoniously on the floor.

  The screen was split into sixteen views of the underground complex. They watched as Bravo team carried out the various tasks necessary to remove evidence. The team members had a row of unconscious forms lined next to one another on the floor, preparing to take them to the garage for transport.

  Over the past few days, Toni, Montgomery, and Pew had waited patiently for the waking of the clone, anxious to see the results of the decades-long experiment. They had watched as the commander and his “twin” had some kind of psychotic episode. They had heard Covington’s call for flash flood, the code that would initialize the cleaners. They had watched their screens helplessly as Rob and the clone were taken from the facility before Bravo, who had been delayed by a car accident during the storm, could arrive. They had witnessed the unfortunate demise of one of the Air Force security guards at the hands of Bravo, and the gassing of the persons left in the lab. They had heard Covington's report of the truck accident and of the death of one of the NCIS agents. But none of it concerned Montgomery as much as the death of Captain Benny Walsh. Things were not proceeding as planned.

  Montgomery turned away from the desk and rubbed his face. He had been assigned to project Pine Tree when it was moved from Canada to Georgia. Pew had been approached by an operative of the North Korean government, known to him from his time in the Army. Back then, Pew had let it be known that he was available for extracurricular activity, so long as the price was right. The North Korean operative eventually approached Pew and asked him to return one of their citizens, as well as a few of his companions, to his homeland. Pew's plan required the involvement of Montgomery in order to be successful. In return, the two were to receive a life-altering sum of money and a one-way ticket to the non-extradition country of their choice.

  Montgomery had spent thirty-two years in the CIA after the Navy. His career had cost him three marriages and alienated him from his four children. He had attempted to buy their affection, but that had only resulted in the draining of his savings account. Since he had only four years left until retirement, the prospect of living off of what little the government would provide him for his service fueled his enthusiasm for the idea.

  He was now beginning to regret that decision.

  They were caught off guard and mournfully ill prepared when the situation inside the bomb shelter deteriorated so quickly.

  “Anything?” he asked Toni.

  She popped her gum, and then answered, “No. Nothing since Covington picked up Rigby.”

  Montgomery considered the girl for a moment, pleased with his choice in hiring her. He’d had enough time in his position that the agency took little interest in his recruiting practices or choice of candidates. This was her first operational assignment, but the events that had taken place thus far were exactly like those she had trained for. She reported the deaths with as much emotion as she would have used reading a grocery list. The woman had little regard for the people involved. That was how Montgomery had disciplined her. We don't get emotional.

  But that was of little comfort to him as he considered the situation. There were at least four people dead. One of the primaries was missing, along with Doctor Phillips. One of the other primaries was in the wrecked semi truck that had Air Force personnel crawling all over it, and Don Cook and Jimmy Bennett had been whisked away to the hospital. His well-orchestrated plan had shattered into a million, million pieces. Worst of all, it seemed that somehow his superiors in Virginia were also aware of what was happening.

  “What about the major’s car?”

  Toni shook her head. “No. They must have found the tracking device. There's been nothing since I lost the GPS signal.”

  “Simon, a word please,” Montgomery said.

  The men stepped out of the room into the business office of their “front.” When they were out of earshot, Pew whispered, “Walsh is going to be a problem.”

  “I know. The agent, too. This was supposed to be a simple sweep and clear, and it just got very high profile.”

  “Too many things went wrong. We were unprepared,” Pew replied.

  “You're telling me.” Montgomery rubbed at a kink in his neck. “That idiot Covington.”

  “What do you expect? He's not a professional. He wasn't trained for this kind of thing, but he was all we had to work with.”

  “I still didn't expect this.”

  “Should we call Bravo team off?” Pew asked.

  “Are you forgetting who we're dealing with? Those aren't CIA operatives down there. They already have the professor. They can't be called off.”

  “Calm down.”

  “Calm down? Are you out of your mind? They are gonna crucify us. Either Langley or the Koreans. Take your pick!”

  Pew let Montgomery take a few deep breaths before he spoke again. “Bravo isn't in communication with anyone but us, so neither party knows anything yet. We’ve got some time to cover our tracks.”

  Montgomery pointed toward the back room. “That girl in there knows that four people are dead, and that two of them were murdered!”

  Pew smiled. “We trained her to expect that. She's not going to do or say anything that we don't want her to.”

  Montgomery knew he was walking a tightrope, but now it was fraying on both ends. “We'll have Rigby eliminate Covington, or the other way around. Then we can implicate them.”

  Just then, Toni's cell phone rang. A moment later, Montgomery's own phone vibrated. The display showed the 703 area code of Langley, Virginia. He opened and quickly closed the flip phone. “Bad signal.”

  Pew's own phone rang. “Langley,” he said. “We can't all have a bad signal.” He answered the phone.

  Montgomery watched as Pew listened, glancing at him occasionally. “No sir. I haven't gotten to the office. Is something wrong? Yes sir. I'm pulling into the parking lot now. Let me get inside and I'll call you back.” He hung up before the person on the other end could object. “An analyst was monitoring our feed.”

  “They know,” Montgomery said matter-of-factly.

  “Relax, I planned for this.”
>
  Montgomery looked at him in disbelief. “You planned for this?”

  “Let's take it one step at a time. We can't do a thing about Cook and Bennett. We know Doctor Phillips and either Tyler or the clone are in the major’s car and are heading south.”

  “Why would they go south?” Montgomery wondered aloud. “Why not go to the local authorities?”

  “Well, they may have seen Covington, an Air Force sergeant, kill Walsh,” Pew speculated. “And then they find themselves in a car chase with persons unknown? They probably don't know who they can trust. My guess is that they have friends or family somewhere down in that part of the country.”

  “Who?” Montgomery asked. “Phillips doesn't have any family in the country at all and Tyler's people are in South Carolina.”

  “We'll get Toni on that. In the mean time—”

  “Deputy Director!” They were interrupted by Toni.

  “What is it?”

  “That was Director Casas in Langley, sir. She wants you to call her ASAP.”

  “What did she want?” Pew was playing ignorant, stalling.

  “She said they have been monitoring the situation in the lab and she wants to know what you're doing about it.”

  “What have you heard from the assets?”

  “Alpha and the remaining Charlie are proceeding south behind the major’s vehicle.”

  “Why would Tyler and Phillips go south, Toni?”

  “I don't remember reading anything about Phillips having anyone in that direction, but there was something in Tyler's file about Apalachicola.” She turned around to face them as the two stepped back into the office, “But there's a really big variable here.”

  “What do you mean?” Pew asked.

  “It depends on who Doctor Phillips has in the car with her,” said Toni. “If she has Tyler … well that's one thing. But if she has the clone—”

  “I'm not following you,” Montgomery said.

  Toni, unlike her superiors, had studied the details of the operation during her long hours of doing nothing but monitoring the activity within the facility. “If she has the clone, well, the clone won't have any memory except for maybe a week at most. That means that its only memories will be of Tyler's last few days before they scanned him. It won't know anything outside of the laboratory. It'll be lost. Phillips would be the one making their travel decisions.”