The Luke Titan Chronicles: Books 1-4: The Luke Titan Chronicles Boxset

by David Beers

  Then the pacing started.

  “Christian, you’re gonna hurt yourself!” Veronica had said.

  Christian said nothing back to her, though his thumb absently rubbed the pink scar on his cheek. Maybe he didn’t know he was doing it, or maybe he was saying, Not too worried about it, dear. Either way, he didn’t sit down.

  “I’m as sure as I can be,” Tommy said, answering his question. “I think these records were purposefully buried, like someone was paid to make them nearly impossible to find. You can’t seal these things, at least not without very specific criteria met, but you can make it harder to dig up.”

  “How so?” Christian said.

  “You move the records around. I think the name change took place in Philadelphia, but I found it in Tucson, Arizona.”

  “How is that even possible?” Veronica asked.

  “It’s easier when you’re using older documents. Most of this was done with actual paper, not digitally. So, you simply pay a mailroom clerk to find the document, and then ship it somewhere else. You do that twelve times, apparently, and that creates a trail that can barely be followed.”

  “He shipped his name change document twelve separate times?” Christian asked.

  “That’s what I’m seeing.”

  “But how did you find it?” Veronica said.

  “The document wasn’t ever scanned, but the case number was entered. I followed those.”

  “Do you have the name?” Christian asked.

  “No, they never scanned the actual document. It’s sitting in a lower court’s closet.”

  Christian stopped pacing, turned around, and then walked to the front of the plane. He knocked on the pilot’s door.

  “Yes, sir?” the pilot said as he opened it.

  “We’re going to Tucson, Arizona. We need to make it before the court closes for the day.”

  “DID YOU FIND IT?” Charles asked.

  “Yes.”

  “When can we have it by?”

  “That depends on how much you want to pay.”

  “Price doesn’t matter.”

  “Three days.”

  “Okay,” Charles said. “Get it.”

  He hung up the phone, knowing his assistant would do as he said. The procurement hadn’t been hard, though Charles didn’t expect it to be. Weapons were available if you had the money to buy them. Charles imagined it had always been so, all the way back to primitive man. The cost for weapons was different then—you paid with physical labor as you carved your sticks or found your stones—but all the same, weapons were available for those who wanted them.

  Charles had more work to complete—work just as important as procuring the gas.

  He needed to pick a target.

  None of what Titan was doing was new, per se. In fact, gunning down and blowing up buildings was used by every two-bit terrorist to ever exist. Charles knew the man was smart, but if he was being honest, he was more impressed with Titan’s ruthlessness. It reminded Charles of himself somewhat, the way he had moved across the cabin’s living room like some lithe predatory cat.

  Charles hated the man, but he couldn’t deny the attractiveness of such instinct—the instinct to kill.

  And what came next? Perhaps this was the real difference between Titan and the other terrorists that bombed Europe every other week. They killed indiscriminately, but not Titan.

  His target was very specific this time, and it was Charles’s job to ensure compliance.

  Charles waddled to the couch and took his laptop from the coffee table, placing it on his knees. His fat stomach didn’t leave a lot of room to set the thing on his legs, but no matter. His knees would work fine.

  He was using Tor, the encrypted browser that ensured his searches were private. He was safe as he started typing in keywords. Which was good—necessary, even. Because what Charles was looking up would definitely trigger bots throughout the federal government. Algorithms that would see his search terms and then began their own searches, on him.

  No need to worry, though.

  ‘FBI buildings with childcare on site’ wouldn’t be picked up by anything, bot or human.

  CHRISTIAN SAT in the hotel lobby. Night had fallen outside, and other than the random hotel guest, he was alone. The staff was somewhere around, though Christian hadn’t seen them in a few minutes.

  They had the name. Charles Twaller had actually been born Randy McStein.

  Charles Twaller might not have any family, but Randy did. He had a mother, 83 years old, who lived in Boston. Rebecca McStein. Her husband was deceased, but she had a daughter—and Randy a sister. Alicia McStein.

  A whole, regular family.

  Did they know about Randy’s name change? Did they know about his job? Did he send them money every month, being the dutiful son and brother? Did he treat them well while gunning down innocents? While disintegrating buildings?

  Christian didn’t know, but he was going to find out.

  “Hey,” Veronica said as she rolled her suitcase across the lobby. She held a cup of coffee in her other hand. Christian saw how exhausted she looked, but they had no other choice. This was his life, and she’d asked to join it. She’d stepped out of the shadows, insisting that he take her along. “Want me to get you a cup?” she asked.

  “I’ll get one.”

  “You see Tommy on the way down?” he asked.

  “I stopped by his room. I think he’s ready for you. I can go get his things, though, if you want to be alone a little longer.”

  “No, I will. Do you think you can talk to me for a second?” he said. He looked down at his shoes, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at asking something so bold. So much of his life had changed, yet when it came to Veronica, he still felt like a child.

  “Sure,” she said and placed her bags down. She took a seat across from him.

  “I … umm … I don’t know how to say this, to be honest.”

  “Then just say it.”

  But he couldn’t do that, and he knew it. He hadn’t told anyone this, and had been debating for days whether he should let Veronica know. In the end, it came down to her life. Tommy, Waverly … they mattered, but they signed up knowing death was an option. Perhaps an argument could be made that Veronica had too, given how many times she kept coming back, but still … not in the same way those two had.

  Christian was resolute in that he wouldn’t pay any heed to Luke’s ultimatum. Insanity. A million people could die and still Christian wouldn’t raise a hand to the three people Luke said he must kill.

  Yet, another part of him—a more cynical part—said he might not have a choice in the end. Luke might have his way regardless of Christian’s feelings on the subject.

  “Christian?” Veronica asked.

  He looked up from his shoes, realizing he’d been lost in thought.

  “Sorry.” His eyes wanted to go back to the floor, but he kept them on her. “I’m going to tell you something, Veronica, and you can’t tell anyone else. Not Tommy. Not anyone. Okay?”

  Concern crossed her face. “Okay, Christian. You know I won’t.”

  “Except, there might come a time when you have to tell them.” His eyes broke their gaze, and went to his shoes. He smiled at the contradiction in his statement. “If you think I’m going to do it, then you have to tell Tommy.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When Luke broke into my hotel room, he told me something, Veronica. And I haven’t said this to anyone else. I can’t, because I’ll be off the case.” He sighed. “He said that he’ll stop all this if I kill you, Waverly, and Tommy. He said he’d turn himself in.”

  Christian could feel her eyes on him, though her silence said more than her words could.

  She understood how insane it sounded, how Luke it sounded. And maybe she understood why he was telling her, too. Because Luke had a way of making the impossible, possible. A way of turning virgins into whores, and saints into killers.

  “I’m not going to do it, of course. I
t doesn’t matter what he does. But ….” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

  “But, you don’t know what might happen.”

  “Right,” he said, understanding that was the most polite way to say something that sounded insane now, might sound perfectly reasonable after more time with Luke. “I’m going to go get Tommy.”

  Christian stood and said nothing else. He left the room to get his paralyzed partner.

  THE FOUR BOARDED the plane (the nurse, Anne, as always coming along), though Tommy barely noticed. He wheeled himself to his usual place, across from Christian and diagonal to Veronica.

  He was glad to be sitting diagonal from her during the flight. He wanted to watch her, because something had happened. Tommy should have been concerned with where they were headed—to Charles Twaller’s family, or Randy’s. He wasn’t, though.

  Tommy was concerned with Veronica. He’d seen her 30 minutes before they boarded the van which brought them to the jet, and she’d been normal—as normal as someone could be when flying around the country looking into a killer’s past, anyway.

  And then, when he saw her on the ride over, that normality was missing. Replaced with fear that radiated from her like poison from a dirty bomb.

  He was quiet during the ride over, but as she sat down in the plane, he spoke up.

  “You okay, Veronica?”

  Her eyes darted up from the floor as if she wasn’t completely sure where she was. As though his voice had woken her from a deep slumber, and it was taking a few moments to reorient herself.

  “Yeah, Tommy, I’m okay. I’m just sleepy.” She gave him a smile and he knew she was lying. Was it Luke or Christian? Someone had gotten to her and the smile said he would get it out of her. She thought they were connected in a way that couldn’t be duplicated with others. Both victims of Luke, and horribly so.

  Perhaps she was right in that.

  She was wrong as well, though. Tommy was a victim, but he was different than most. Some victims wanted to be left alone, to retreat and deal with their pain. Not Tommy. He wanted vengeance, and whatever Christian was hiding … Tommy thought it could give him his vengeance.

  CHAPTER 17

  Rebecca McStein looked at Christian and Tommy as if they were bugs to be squashed. Not bugs to be feared, but insects that were an annoyance rather than those that could actually harm anyone. You simply stepped on them, then swept them up for disposal.

  “Ma’am,” Christian tried again, “We would really like to speak to your son. Have you had any contact with him lately?”

  The woman didn’t shake or nod her head. She only stared, as though she hadn’t heard the question.

  This had been going on for the past few minutes. Christian looked down at Tommy.

  “She doesn’t seem like she wants to speak with us, does she?” Tommy said, his own eyes remaining on the bitch in front of them.

  “Mrs. McStein, do you know how we could reach your son? Randy, or Charles, if that’s what you call him now.”

  Christian didn’t think this was the first time law enforcement agents had arrived at her door asking questions about her offspring. No flicker of recognition or fear showed in her eyes at the mention of his two separate names. The woman was a rock.

  “Your daughter, then,” Christian kept going, “is she still at 911 Rainbow Road?”

  And, finally, he’d hit something. The corners of her eyes squeezed together slightly, and her otherwise placid lips tightened.

  “Alicia, right?” Tommy asked. “That’s her name?”

  “Don’t you bother my daughter with any of this,” the woman said, her first words since admitting her name.

  “We don’t want to, Mrs. McStein, but you’re not being very helpful right now,” Tommy whispered. “We’re trying to discuss your son with you, but you’re staring at us like we’re speaking a different language.”

  “Alicia hasn’t done anything wrong, so you just stay away from her.”

  “May we come in, then?” Christian asked.

  “You have a warrant?”

  Christian said nothing.

  “No, I didn’t think so,” the old lady said. “No, you can’t come in. Don’t come back either, not unless you have a warrant. And stay away from my daughter, you understand?”

  Christian smiled, his lip turning into a sneer. “We’ll be heading over there in the next hour, Mrs. McStein. You have a great day.”

  The woman stared for a second longer, fire nearly erupting from her irises. Christian and Tommy both matched her stare, until she finally shut the door in their faces.

  “Well, if her son is half as much of a cunt as she is, it makes sense why he’d be working with Luke.” Tommy turned his wheelchair and started back down the walkway to the rental car.

  Christian walked a bit faster to catch up. “Heading to see the daughter now?”

  “We didn’t fly to Boston to leave empty handed.”

  “Do you think we can get a warrant for her phone line? She’s probably going to call him right now.”

  “You know the answer to that,” Tommy said. “No judge is giving us a warrant with the non-existent evidence in our possession.”

  Christian knew he was right, only asking in hopes that Tommy might say something different.

  Christian loaded Tommy into the van before pushing the wheelchair into the back. He then went around to the driver’s seat and climbed inside, starting the vehicle.

  He put the daughter’s coordinates into the GPS and pulled out on the street.

  A few minutes passed before Tommy said, “Did you notice something different about Veronica during the flight?”

  “What do you mean?” Christian said.

  “She seemed off, like something was bothering her.”

  Something was, of course. That Christian had been given an ultimatum, to either kill her and the rest of his friends, or the attacks would continue. Christian only told her to not to tell Tommy. He hadn’t said a word about keeping her demeanor the same.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Christian said. He didn’t like lying to Tommy, no more than he already had.

  “Are you sure?”

  Christian looked over to the passenger’s side. “Huh?”

  “I just mean, did she say anything to you that I should know about? We’re all in this together right now, for better or worse, and if it’s something that might affect us, then I’d like to know.”

  It affects you, Tommy, but I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you anything about it, because to do so would mean I couldn’t chase Luke anymore.

  “Not that I know of,” he said.

  Neither spoke again as they drove across town. Christian didn’t know what Tommy was thinking, and he didn’t like that at all. He and Tommy were usually in sync, but no longer.

  He suspects. And why shouldn’t he? He knows you lied about what happened in the hotel room. Maybe he knows you’re lying about Veronica, too.

  What did it matter, though? Whatever Tommy was thinking, it wouldn’t change Christian’s decision. Hell, the reason he told Veronica was so that she could pull the emergency lever and tell Tommy if need be. There were safeguards in place now, and so Tommy’s worrying—or distrust—was misplaced. Christian had taken care of it.

  And, really, what could he do in a wheelchair? Christian hated thinking that, but it was reality. Tommy couldn’t exactly stand up and stop Christian. There would be no showdown on the street like at Hanson’s house. No choke hold that brought Christian to the ground.

  “You didn’t used to think like this.”

  His mother spoke from the backseat.

  I didn’t use to have a circular scar on my cheek either, Mom, Christian thought.

  Christian slowly brought the van to a stop. “Here we are.”

  A car sat in the driveway, and being a Saturday, Christian was hopeful the woman was here. If not, they’d have to wait.

  Christian stepped from the van and went to the opposite side. He’d parke
d on the street, so that Tommy’s side faced opposite the house. Neither spoke about it, but watching Christian move a crippled agent into his wheelchair wouldn’t exactly strike fear in the heart of the woman they came to see. This way, that part was hidden, and while it was something Christian didn’t like considering, it was necessary.

  Once Tommy was situated, the two started up the driveway.

  “Let’s hope she’s better than the mother,” Tommy whispered.

  Christian smiled slightly but said nothing.

  He rang the doorbell and the two waited.

  No one came.

  Another ring.

  They finally heard steps moving inside, then the door opened. A relatively young woman stood in front of them. She was tall and thin, looking very different from the mother and the pictures they had seen of the brother. Christian thought the woman pretty, though her face looked worried.

  Which was a good thing. Very different from the mother’s face.

  “She told me you two were coming,” the woman said. “I’m Alicia.” She didn’t look at them as she spoke, but up at the sky above. “It looks like it’s going to rain. You two come on in and we can talk inside.” She stepped back, opening the door wider. “Do you need me to open the garage door? Would that be easier to get your wheelchair in?”

  She spoke like someone who might have been on a meth binge for the past three days, each word rapidly firing out, trying to keep up with her mind. Christian didn’t think drugs were involved though; despite the woman’s sad face, she appeared healthy enough.

  “No, ma’am,” Tommy said. “We should be able to manage. Thank you for inviting us in, though I feel we should introduce ourselves first.”

  “No need. Mom already told me.” Her voice changed, mimicking that of an old witch. “The bastard in the wheelchair says he is Phillips, and the bastard standing up is Windsor. Don’t let them in.”

  Christian’s eyes widened and he smiled. “Well, her memory is good, at least.”

  “That might be the only thing good about her,” Alicia McStein said. “Come on in before it pours.”