First up on the to-do list, find a barber and take care of two years of neglect, then rent a room somewhere and soak in the tub. Some fresh clothes and a change of socks would be nice, too.
The flurry of humanity continued in front of him, speeding past in waves. He was about to slip into the crowd and continue his journey, but stopped when he noticed a small figure standing in a doorway, pointing at him. The watcher was across the street and wearing a hooded sweatshirt. The slender person took a few steps toward him and stopped before pulling the hood back to reveal a face.
It was a woman. Wait, check that. A young girl. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. She had spiked red hair, and even from a distance, he could see her bright blue eyes. She gave Simon a single head nod, acting as if she knew him.
He didn’t recognize her. Who was she? Before he could blink, a distant voice called out from the right, in the same direction as the news media.
“Redfall?”
Simon swung his head and found a tall woman in her thirties with platinum blond hair and just a dash of makeup. She was pointing at him with a microphone in hand. He recognized the reporter, who was standing next to a cameraman on the sidewalk, only twenty yards away. Two other news crews were following behind her, all of them on an intercept course to his position.
Simon turned away, praying she hadn’t just put the pieces together. Her name was Mary MacGrady and she’d interviewed him fifteen years earlier, when his company first went public. He didn’t know why, but his eyes went in search of the young redhead across the street. The girl wasn’t there, possibly scared off by the growing presence of news personnel, he decided.
“Redfall? Simon Redfall?” the reporter screamed from behind.
Simon didn’t want to look back, but he did.
Her eyes flew wide. “Hey, it’s him!” the reporter screamed. “Simon Redfall! I remember those eyes. Get that camera over there!”
Simon didn’t hesitate. His feet took off in a flash, running away from the reporters and slipping into the mass of people. The crowd had thinned a bit, but was still dense. He pushed several people out of the way, allowing his legs to pick up speed and put some distance between himself and the media. He knew it wouldn’t be long before everyone in the vicinity knew who he was.
CHAPTER THREE
Zeke Olsen dodged the dancing hipsters and annoying beggars of Seattle’s Pike Street Market and found the address relayed to him by his boss. It was tucked down an alleyway between a jet board shop and a high-end baby boutique. The entrance door was in a darkened alcove and was made of reinforced steel and painted a bland industrial gray.
A one-inch-square symbol had been stenciled to the upper right corner of the doorframe, tagging the secret location. The familiar dark-blue pyramid with three parallel white lines running through it at a forty-five degree angle told him he was in the right place. It was the secret mark of his eccentric boss, and always used to identify covert locations and safe houses for those inside Indigo’s circle of trust.
The moment Zeke’s feet stepped into the shadow of the door, a series of tiny red LED lights appeared on the wall above the entrance and on either side of him.
He stopped short and never touched the door handle, per the instructions delivered via text message by his boss, Vito Indigo, founder and CEO of the world’s largest technology corporation, Indigo Technologies. The message was simple and clear: step into the doorway at the appointed time and wait. Zeke knew better than to ask for clarification. He’d risen to second-in-command by following Indigo’s directions to the letter, whether he agreed with them or not. All of his success was due to his amazing boss—a man who took a shot and hired him without much experience after a single interview.
Zeke was proud and content to be a company man, pure and simple. He was fifty-five years old, meek looking and forgettable. The only thing even vaguely remarkable about him was the permanent twitch in his right cheek. Every minute or so, his nervous disorder would flare up, drawing the corner of his mouth up as if he was trying not to smile. He first suffered the condition twelve years prior after recovering from a nasty bout with Bell’s Palsy.
The illness started immediately after a lengthy visit to Nepal where he’d been tasked to handle a series of complex purchases along the Phewa Lake waterfront. It was easy to remember that trip, not so much for the billion dollar investment, but rather for the odd weather event on the last day.
For sixteen minutes, the heavens opened and dumped rain across the massive resort. But not just any rain—thick, sticky red-colored rain. The locals feared some type of extraterrestrial event had taken place, but after thorough investigation, the scientific community came together and declared the strange meteorological event a direct result of an accumulation of European micro algae in the atmosphere. He didn’t understand the biological processes at work, but the rest of the world accepted the explanation, and so did he.
Zeke waited patiently as lasers scanned his entire body, focusing on his lips, eyes and hands. He’d been through hundreds of similar scans in various secure facilities around the world over the past twenty-plus years. However, this was the first time he’d visited this Seattle location, even though Indigo Technologies was once the proud owner of a sprawling twenty-acre office complex just north of the city ten years before. It took almost four years, but Zeke was finally able to dump the investment for his boss after some crafty last-second negotiations with a local real estate mogul.
“Seattle is old news,” his boss had told him. “DC is the center of the action. Just get it done.”
Zeke shrugged and followed his boss’ directives, which were to relocate their corporate headquarters to a suburb of Washington. The cryptic instructions and sudden decision to sell didn’t surprise him, though. Indigo did what he wanted and never bothered to explain his decisions to anyone—not even to his newly-minted Senior Vice President and second-in-command.
The lasers stopped their dance and the red lights faded. The door in front of him shook for a moment, then he heard a click. The door popped open, and the text message notification on his phone chimed. He pulled the phone from his pocket and brought up the message.
“Enter,” was all it said.
Zeke walked into a foyer where lights flashed on and the door closed behind him automatically.
He looked around; the only way in or out was the entrance he just passed through. However, the exit quickly disappeared when a pair of shiny silver-colored panels slid across and came together in the middle, covering the doorway with a hiss.
The foyer shook, then Zeke felt a familiar sensation rise up through his legs. At that moment, it all came together: he was in an elevator, heading down.
Thirty seconds later, the lift came to a stop and the metal panels slid open, revealing a chamber decorated with a thick, indigo-colored carpet and eight equal-sized wall sections that formed an octagon. Each segment had an antique painting hanging in the center, representative of a different period of classical art.
There were only two pieces of traditional furniture in the room: an antique mahogany desk with a flat-screen computer monitor and an old-fashioned rotary telephone sitting on top, and a high-back office chair sitting on a trio of metal casters.
An autonomous robot moved forward on its twin treads and latched onto the swivel chair with one of its grappler arms, pulling it out at an angle. The gray-metal device looked like a five-foot-tall Praying Mantis, with a swooping, drawn-back head that swiveled, and a pair of bulging lateral sensors for eyes. Its pair of oddly long, retractable arms gave him the creeps, looking like they were waiting to pounce on him as soon as his head was turned.
Zeke recognized the second generation device, having witnessed its worldwide launch the previous year at Indigo Tech’s Spring Technology Conference and Expo in downtown Atlanta. The sales for the personal service robot had been brisk ever since, forever changing the way households were managed and run all over the world.
The offici
al name for the product was ButlerBot Mark II, but Zeke thought the name lacked any sort of creativity or marketing sizzle. He’d never mentioned his concerns to Indigo, the same person with whom he was meeting today. And certainly not after his boss dumped a billion dollars into the product’s marketing campaign to ensure its rollout was smashing success.
Zeke stepped into the chamber and sat down in the waiting chair, keeping his head turned and eyes fixed on the ButlerBot. The unit backed away with just an electric hum of its servos and motors.
The monitor flickered on to reveal an image of Vito Indigo. The trillionaire recluse looked to be in his sixties and wore a wide straw hat and sleek, dark sunglasses—his trademark look. His silver-speckled brown hair fell in waves to his shoulders and disappeared off screen. Zeke often wondered how far down the locks traveled, having never met his boss in person. Their meetings were always conducted over video chat and held in secluded locations like today.
Indigo smiled, flashing a set of perfectly white teeth that contrasted with his deeply tanned face and thick goatee. The orange hue across his skin made him look like a laid-back Caribbean native. Maybe the term Caribbean hillbilly would’ve been more accurate to the uninitiated.
Just then, Zeke’s mind flashed an image of George Hamilton’s DNA being genetically spliced with a pot-smoking surfer dude wearing Jethro Bodine’s clothes. Not what most people, including him, would expect the richest man in the world to look like. It had been decades since his job interview with the enigma, and he still couldn’t reconcile the oddities. But who was he to question anything about his mega-successful boss?
“Good afternoon, Zeke,” Indigo said in a soft, controlled voice. “Please have a seat.”
“Hello, sir,” Zeke answered, tucking his feet and sitting a little more upright in the chair.
“You might be wondering why I’ve brought you here.”
Zeke’s eyes darted about the room, then back to the screen. “The thought did cross my mind.”
“Something cataclysmic is about to happen, and I want to keep you out of harm’s way. You’re very important to me and have been a loyal confidant, even before your recent promotion.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said as his heart began to race, worrying about Indigo’s choice of words. “Cataclysmic?”
“Watch the monitor and observe.”
Zeke’s eyes focused on the screen in front of him. A moment later, Indigo’s face vanished and was replaced with several high-altitude satellite feeds of the Earth. Inside each video window was a growing, red-colored cloud formation.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Redfall? Where?” someone shouted from behind Simon as he continued his sprint down the street.
He shot a glance over his shoulder, checking to see if he was putting more distance between the gang of reporters chasing him. He was, thanks in part to the mass of citizens he’d zipped through earlier.
Simon turned to keep running, but slammed face-first into an overweight, red-faced street vendor selling digital photo frames. He bounced off the big man as the souvenir devices flew everywhere, sending Simon sprawling to the concrete on his back.
Most of the frames smashed into pieces on the cement, but one of them landed on his chest, giving him a close-up view of its rotating set of images—his wife’s tearful face with purple splotches across her skin. The snapshots must’ve been taken only moments before the lethal cocktail took her life. Simon was furious. Somehow, this vendor had his hands on the photos already and was selling them for profit.
Simon shook his head and started to get to his feet, but the vendor kicked him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.
“What the fuck, pal? You gonna pay for the shit you broke?” the vendor snarled.
Simon rolled to his hands and knees, gasping for air. He could see three news crews closing on his position, but they weren’t alone. A small knot of execution-goers had joined the chase with flared eyes and red cheeks.
“There! The guy with long hair and beard. In the old army jacket,” she said, “the one who just fell down.”
“He’s the husband!” a young, athletic looking man next to her yelled.
“They killed my sister,” a small woman cried.
“And my wife,” a burly middle-aged man standing next to her added.
“Get him!” the young man said, grabbing the burly man by the arm.
Simon figured the posse had grown thanks to the reporters giving chase. People around them must have slowly realized what was happening and joined the hunt. He couldn’t blame them—it was human nature after the bloodlust initiated by the live execution. It was still bubbling close to the surface, fueled by alcohol and bolstered by collective anger. He knew the small crowd wasn’t satisfied with Tessa’s death and would soon grow into a mob. An angry mob seeking revenge.
The group started across the street, led by the two angry men.
Simon felt a grab on his right arm.
“Well, buddy? What’s it gonna be?” the street vendor asked, using his hands to contain Simon.
“Get your hands off,” Simon snapped, shoving the man away.
The vendor came at Simon, latching onto the front of his jacket. “You owe me money, asshole.”
Simon pivoted on the ball of his right foot, sweeping his left foot back ninety degrees to snap his torso away from the man’s hands. The man fell forward, off balance, just as the athletic young man—whose family Tessa had killed—made it to them. The vendor and the young man ran into each other, then staggered backwards, stunned.
A pair of strong hands grabbed Simon’s shoulders from behind. He could smell beer and body odor and figured it had to be the burly middle-aged man.
“We got ya, Redfall. You’re gonna pay for what your wife did,” a deep voice said, sending a waft of bad breath his way.
Simon didn’t want to fight these people, so he chose to use evasive tactics. His training kicked in, bringing his arms sharply up to loosen the assailant’s tentative hold on his back. Simon bent his knees and let his body fall abruptly, slipping out of the coat that was still pinned in his attacker’s hands. Before the three men accosting him knew what was happening, he thrust his legs, diving through a gap in the men. He tucked into a roll and came up on his feet at a full sprint.
It had been a while since he’d put his evasion skills to use. It felt good as he bobbed and weaved through the crowd, ignoring the shouts behind him.
* * *
“Are you seeing this?” G shrilled across the communication link, his voice brimming with excitement.
Tally’s ear bud cracked under the excessive volume, making her pull the device from her ear. She waited a few seconds until G was done talking before she put it back in.
“Yeah, I saw it, G. I told you Simon had skills. But I need you to calm down; otherwise, you’re gonna break my eardrum.”
“Sorry,” he replied, using a softer voice. “Is that better?”
“Much,” she said with inflection, hoping to drive her point home. “Where did he go? I lost him in the crowd.”
“Hang on, checking the feeds.”
Tally tapped her foot on the sidewalk, waiting for a location and direction. She’d planned to approach Redfall and get him somewhere quiet, then make her pitch. She knew something big was happening in the world, but she needed help from someone with the tactics and training to stop it. Simon was at the top of her short list and there simply wasn’t time to find anyone else.
“Status?” she asked.
“One sec . . . Okay, there he is. Got him. He’s running east. If I was him, I’d turn down . . . yup, he did. Now he’s in an alley heading south.”
“Location?”
“Two blocks south. Approaching 18th.”
“Got it,” Tally said, picturing the map of the area in her head. She knew exactly which alley G was talking about. It ran lengthwise along the west side of the NEC, intersecting a small cross-street that circled around to the other side of the execution center.
If she remembered correctly, there was a parking lot just behind her that mirrored the alley Redfall had taken. She turned quickly, found the entrance, and sprinted across it.
“There’s an intersecting alley ahead of you, on the right,” G said in her ear. “If you hurry . . .”
“Already on it,” she snapped, cutting him off with huffing breath.
“Wicks, you need to hurry. They’re gaining on him.”
“I am,” she grunted, tearing down the alleyway. She ran down the passage, planning to cut through the memorial park two streets over and separate Redfall from the mob. There were plenty of hiding places in the park, but she’d have to find a way to slow the mob down. With his skills, she guessed he’d only need thirty seconds of separation to slip away into the green. Her thighs were burning as she pushed her legs beyond their limits, praying her adrenaline would hold out.
Something was nagging at the back of her mind, though—something at the edge of her memory, stuck there from when she’d gone over the map in the back of the van. It was only a glimmer of a thought, just out of reach.
“Shit,” G said, just as she remembered what it was.
“Fence!” she added.
“Yeah. And a security team.”
“Not good.”
“Backup plan?”
She stopped running. “You ready to drive, G?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
She changed course, heading to the right. “Fire that baby up and meet me at the corner of 15th and Pennsylvania Ave. in three minutes. Don’t be late. We have to get him out of there before that mob tears him to pieces.”
Redfall: Fight for Survival (American Prepper Series Book 1) Page 3
