“Yeah.”
This time it was a different voice.
“What’s that?” Keene asked.
“It’s the conductor of the train,” Taylor said. “The doors must be opened, and he’s announcing where they are and where they’re going. Boost it some more.”
Artie did and ran it back.
“… Blue line. Next stop, UIC-Halsted, then Clinton-Blue.”
Taylor was getting excited now. “We need to—”
“Already on it,” Artie interrupted.
He opened his browser. He typed in a search. Seconds later they were all looking at a transit authority map.
“There,” said Keene, pointing to the screen. “Racine Station! Chicago.” He gave Artie a friendly smack on the back of the head and said, “Good job. We owe you one.”
“Yeah,” Artie said, “just don’t kill me, and we’ll call it even.”
CHAPTER 15
The Prophet was confused. While he was under no assumption that he would be safe—in the sense that his calling didn’t mean a safe life—he didn’t think that he would be in any physical danger. Not that that would dissuade him. He was committed. He would follow whatever direction he was led in. And if it meant his head being served up on a platter, then so be it. But if what he’d been told was the case, then how would he continue his mission? Well, he thought, I guess that’s what living by faith means.
So … there would be someone coming for him. And while he wasn’t told who or when or how, he was to avoid being caught at all cost. And that was going to be the trick. Wasn’t it? Don’t get caught by the person or people who are coming for you, though you have no idea where they are or when they’re coming. He smiled to himself. Not that he found it amusing. Just that now he had more to be concerned with. He pulled the collar of his coat up, to shield his face from the bitter wind that howled outside, and left the diner.
Two blocks up he entered another small café. The hoodie was pulled tight, and he turned his head as he passed the front counter, avoiding the small camera above the clerk. He made his way to the back and sat down at an open space. He quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying him any attention. No one. Nor would they. Most people here were already busy typing away on the many keyboard stations around him. He chose this particular Internet café because it was usually filled with people who were out of work and didn’t have Internet of their own. Most of them were probably revising their résumés. Some others were just young kids skipping school, playing games.
He pulled the disposable credit card out of his pocket and inserted it into the receptor. The monitor came to life, and he began typing. Nervously, he felt inside his jacket pocket for the thumb drive. Still there. That made him feel a little better.
He finished typing his letter, pulled the thumb drive out, and stuck it in the machine. He dragged the file over to the icon on the screen and watched the little blue line streak across as the file was copied. Clicking on the icon, he watched as it opened and showed the contents of the small drive. There was his letter. And right next to it, another program. He double-clicked and watched again as the blue streak told him the program was opening. A little white box appeared with the words LAUNCH SWEEP? on it. He clicked YES and ejected the thumb drive.
As he walked out the door, he could hear the patrons’ grumbles. Two seconds later, he heard the snap and sizzle as sparks flew from the desks of computers. The entire café had been fried.
CHAPTER 16
So how do you know him?” Taylor asked as they drove.
“Who? Artie?” Keene said.
“No, President Grant,” she said. “Yes, Artie.”
Now there was a complicated story. One that he didn’t really have the desire to get into with her. He had used Artie on a number of jobs, jobs that he was neither authorized to talk about, nor did he want to. Shortly after leaving the SEALs and newly with the CIA, he had been introduced to Artie by his mentor, Sam. Sam had tried to explain to Keene, who was fresh off the Farm—the CIA’s training facility—that there were assets, and then there were assets. Artie was the latter: a pure genius who, from a technological perspective, could get you anything you needed. However, unless he felt his life was in danger by you, you couldn’t trust him farther than you could throw him. Keene only hoped he had instilled that level of fear in the little computer nerd before they left.
“We go way back.”
“Seriously, Keene. Can we trust him?”
“He better hope so,” Keene said as he reached into his pocket. Pushing the button, he put the phone up to his ear. “Keene here.”
It was Artie.
Suddenly, he jerked the wheel and crossed two lanes of traffic, pulling the truck over to the side of the road.
“Hey!” Megan shouted. “A heads-up next time?”
Keene shushed her with his hand and said, “Hold on. I’m putting you on speaker.” He put the truck in park and pushed the little speaker icon on his screen. “Go ahead.”
“Okay,” Artie said. “What I was trying to say was, listen to me before you just start yelling and geting mad at me.”
Keene pinched the bridge of his nose. Please, he thought, please don’t make me have to go back there and kill him. “What?” he said impatiently.
“Okay. So I kinda made a copy of the video.”
“You did what!” Taylor screamed.
“Artie,” it was Keene now, “you better—”
“Hey!” Artie shouted over them. “You can come back here and shoot me if you want. But after I’m done telling you what I found.”
Keene looked at Taylor. He could see the curiosity in her eyes, too.
“Go ahead.”
“Okay,” Artie continued. “So like I said, I made a copy. Don’t ask. Trust me. I’m just that good.”
“Speed it up!” Keene’s voice rose.
“Okay, okay. I’m getting there. So I went back and just looked at some different things. First, I just watched the dude sitting on the stool. Then I took time to zoom in on all of the monitors behind him. They’re all national networks, so I figured that’s not going to help. But I kept looking anyway, ‘cause, you know, never know what you may find right? Right. So, I kept going and still didn’t find anything.”
“That’s it, I’m turning this car around!”
“Okay, okay. Jeez, hold on. I’m getting to it. So I started to just look around the room. And I noticed something.”
“What?” Keene asked.
“So, like, there’s not a lot of light around this guy. Just what looks like natural daylight. But I noticed that it wasn’t coming from any of the sides. It was coming from above.”
“How did you see that?” Taylor asked.
“‘Cause I threw a couple gamma ray filters in there and diffused it. I can see sunlight rays coming from above and at an angle. Like skylights or windows up high. So I used a couple other filters I have, and I was able to get some shadows. Looks like a tic-tac-toe board shadow being cast over the wall of newspapers.”
“So?” Taylor said. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It’s a warehouse,” Keene said.
“It’s a warehouse!” Artie repeated. “Exactly! So I got back on the net and started looking for warehouses around Racine Station. Turns out, there’s a whole neighborhood of them there.”
“That doesn’t help,” Keene said.
“Yeah, but maybe this will,” Artie said. “So this neighborhood only has a few small buildings like the one this guy is in with that kind of blueprint. Don’t ask. I pulled the records. So anyway, there’s like twelve of these warehouses that were built with plans that match what we were looking at. All of them have been renovated in the last ten years. And all of them were either turned into some kind of boutique store or apartment building. In the last couple years, with the bad economy, four have been abandoned.”
“Okay,” Keene said, his interest rising.
“Only one of them is close enough for us to h
ave been able to get that audio,” Artie said.
“So you found it,” Keene said.
“I found it!” Artie said.
“Good job,” Keene said. “I told you there was something. Text me the address. Oh, and—”
“Yeah, I know. Delete the video. I already did.”
Keene clicked off the call and put the truck in gear. He stepped on the gas and shot out into the street, pulling a complete U-turn.
“Hey!” Taylor shouted again. “I thought you were going to warn me when you did that.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“Your place.”
“For what?”
“To pack a bag. We’re going to Chicago.”
“Why Chicago?” Director Preston asked.
“Found a lead,” Taylor answered, gripping the handle above her window with her free hand as Keene swerved in and out of traffic. “Keene seems to think we should go.”
“Anything big?” Preston asked.
“Don’t know yet. One of Keene’s buddies,” she watched as Keene made the face again, “is a computer hacker. Pretty good one, too. Has some gear that he shouldn’t have. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s a good lead, and we’re going to check it out.”
“Anything you need me to do?”
“Nah. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Check in when you get there.”
“Will do.”
Taylor clicked off the call as the truck pulled into her driveway. She undid her seat belt and opened the door.
“I’ll be a couple minutes. You can come inside if you want.”
“I’ll wait out here,” Keene said. “I’ll call Jennings and let him know.”
“Suit yourself,” she said. “Give me ten minutes.”
Inside, she ran to the bedroom and grabbed her overnight bag, stuffing it with underwear, jeans, T-shirts; a toothbrush followed. She zipped up the bag and headed into the kitchen where Barney, her Jack Russell, was sitting on his doggie bed. Shoot, she thought.
“Sorry, buddy. I almost forgot about you.”
She pulled out her phone to call the neighbor, but as she did, it buzzed.
“Taylor here,” she answered.
“Ms. Taylor, it’s Boz.”
“Oh hey, Boz. What can I do for you?”
“I’m still at the White House, but I wanted to try and catch up with you and Mr. Keene. Where are you?”
“Ah,” Megan paused, unsure what to tell him. “At my house. But I’m about to leave.”
“I see,” Boz said.
Megan could hear the questioning tone. She figured she might as well tell him.
“Keene and I are on our way to Chicago. Seems there may be something worth checking out. We’re leaving right away.”
“Great. I’ll come with you.”
Aw, man, Taylor thought. No way this was going to go over well with Keene. “Tell you what, Boz. Keene and I are in a pretty big hurry. What if I just call you and keep you updated?”
“I really don’t think that will work. But I also don’t want to be the cause of any friction between you and Mr. Keene. So if you’d like, you can keep this conversation between us, and I’ll just meet you at the plane.”
Megan was about to try and protest again, but the line went dead. She opened the cupboard and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen, took two out for the headache that was now pounding in her temple, chased them down with a glass of water, and threw the rest of the bottle into her bag. She quickly called the neighbor and explained her unexpected trip. The neighbor promised to take Barney out and feed him for the next couple days. Taylor left a twenty on the counter with a note that read, Thanks a bunch! I owe you one!
She barely got the bag in the backseat and her seat belt buckled before Keene pulled out onto the road again.
CHAPTER 17
Boz clicked off the phone call from Taylor as President Grant came back into the room. He had been left there by himself while the president attended to a quick briefing. While alone, he tried to think through everything Grant had shared with him the last couple days. First there were the letters. Then there was the video. And finally, there was Jonathan Keene and Megan Taylor.
There really wasn’t any good explanation for how he’d found himself here. It all seemed surreal. He had been an Army Ranger, before. And if there’s one thing that Ranger school had taught him, it was that everything had an explanation. There was no such thing as coincidence, or chance. Strangely, his current role as a pastor had affirmed that way of thinking. Therefore, no coincidence. No chance. And that made him feel all the more uneasy about what was going on here. He had shared his concerns with Grant, who had as much as agreed with him. But there was the idea that maybe they could somehow stop what this Prophet was warning them about. Perhaps, in His providence, God was using them to bring about some much-needed change.
“I need to know where Keene and Taylor are leaving from,” Boz said to the president as he reentered the room.
President Grant crinkled his brow. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Boz said, realizing that he had started in the middle of the conversation. “Keene and Taylor are leaving for Chicago. I need to go with them. Where would they be leaving from?”
President Grant nodded and picked up the phone.
“Director Jennings…. I’m fine, thank you. I need some information, if you would be so kind…. Thank you. Mr. Keene is leaving for Chicago, I understand…. Yes, I would like to know where from…. Thank you.”
President Grant placed the receiver back in its cradle and smiled at his friend. “Being the president does have its perks every now and again.”
Boz smiled, knowing that his friend was a very humble man who would never use his office for personal gain. Even so, he had to agree with him. It did have its advantages.
“Reagan National,” President Grant said. “Private terminal, hangar three. Gulf Stream-5. They’re leaving in less than an hour.”
“Then I’ll bid you good day, Mr. President.”
“I’ll have one of my detail take you there. You’ll be there when they arrive.”
“Thanks. That’s probably not a bad idea, seeing how they don’t know I’m coming.” He smiled.
Keene pulled the Pathfinder through the security gate, flashed his ID and made his way to the newly added private hangars at Reagan National. The airport had been under reconstruction for more than a decade and now was fully operational. The big hangar’s doors were swinging open as Keene pulled the truck over to the side and parked. He and Taylor jumped out and walked to the waiting Gulf Stream jet. He was not at all happy at what he saw standing at the top of the stairs.
“Hello!” Boz shouted over the whining of the jet engines. “Good to see you again!”
Keene pushed his way past the man and threw his bag onto one of the empty couches that lined the side of the midsized jet.
“What are you doing here?” Keene asked.
“Well, unless I’m mistaken,” Boz said, “I’m going to Chicago with you.”
“And how, exactly, did you come to find out where we are going?” Keene shot a cross look at Taylor, who shifted her eyes away.
“You could say I’m very resourceful, Mr. Keene,” Boz answered.
Keene fumed. Taylor must have talked to the man and told him where they were headed.
The personal flight attendant for the aircraft secured the door and knocked on the door to the cockpit to let the pilots know they were ready. Keene moved past her and took his seat beside Taylor. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“You do this to me again, I don’t care what the president says, I’ll be working this on my own. We clear?”
He pulled back and gave her an icy stare. Impressively, she didn’t budge. Rather, she matched his glare with one of her own. And leaned over to reply.
“You threaten me again, Keene, and I’ll get out my laptop and personally m
ake sure that every agency in the world has you on their number-one priority list. Are we clear?”
The plane rocked back and forth as it made its way out onto the runway. Keene and Taylor sat back in their chairs, avoiding each other’s gaze. Boz, who had been in the back, came up front and sat down in the chair facing them. He had some bottled water in his hands and tossed one to each of them, as he sat down and buckled up.
“Make sure you drink plenty. Chicago’s cold and dry. And we’re going to be flying at forty thousand feet. Wanna make sure we’re plenty hydrated, in case we need to chase someone down.”
Keene huffed to himself.
“What’s that, Mr. Keene? Did you say something?” Boz asked.
Keene just looked at the man and twisted the cap off his water. “Thanks, chapy.”
Aside from the roar of the engines, the cabin was silent. No one spoke as the plane took off and climbed altitude. After five minutes, the captain came on the loudspeaker and announced they were at cruising height.
Taylor unbuckled her belt and stood up.
“I’m gonna go freshen up. Been a long morning.”
She made her way back to the rear of the plane and into the lavatory, leaving Keene and Boz to themselves. Several seconds passed before either spoke.
“So, chapy, what’s an ex-Ranger like you doing in a place like this?”
Boz smiled. Keene tried to get a read on him, but there was nothing.
“Haven’t been called that in a while,” Boz said. “Guys in my old unit used to call me that. Even before I went into the pastorate.”
“Yeah,” Keene said, “we used to call all you Bible-thumper guys chapy.”
“Bible thumper. Interesting,” Boz nodded. “So these guys, these Bible thumpers … Ever see any of them running around beating on their Bible?”
“What?”
“I mean, you call us Bible thumpers. Ever see anyone running around beating on their Bible? You know … smacking it around?”
Keene chuckled. “Nothing personal. It’s just an expression.”
The 13: Fall Page 6
