Tony gives the entire operation one more good look.
“By the looks of things here,” he says, “Everest won’t have their way for much longer.”
“That’s the plan,” Mary says. Then, placing her hand gently on my shoulder. “I’m aware David Drake extended our offer of coming back to join us in our fight. But I know the Resistance already has you spoken for.”
I nod. “Right now, I just want my family back. Same goes for Tony. And if we join the Resistance, we’ll still be on the same team.”
She squeezes my shoulder. “It would be nice to be closer to you. Both of you. But I understand.”
Leaning into her, I kiss her on her warm cheek.
“Thank you for everything, Mary,” I say. “And the spaghetti wasn’t half bad. The apple pie too”
“The least we could do,” she says.
Turning, Tony and I head for the Land Rover. In my head, I’m praying I get to see Mary again someday.
It’s going on six in the evening and it’s still light out. Gus drives us out of the warehouse and down through what used to be a dangerous, drug and gang-infested ghetto that’s become abandoned since Everest took the district over and shipped the owners and vagrants out to destinations unknown or perhaps to fulfillment centers as far away as Siberia. Or so Tony is quick to surmise from where he sits in the shotgun seat up front. Minutes later, we hit the highway that will take us to the North Country. All the time, Gus is peering into the rear-view and the side-view mirrors.
“Keep an eye out for drones,” he says. “This ride is registered with Everest Albany Department of Motor Vehicles, but those mechanical bastards can nail us for even the slightest infraction. I’ve got my eye out for Everest police. I’m guessing they’re out in force tonight.”
“Don’t speed,” I say from the backseat.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Gus says. “They stop us, we’re just three friends heading out for some camping up north. In Everest designated areas, of course.”
“They’ll love my uniform,” I say.
“That’s why we’re not going to get stopped,” Gus says.
We drive for another hour without stopping. When we come to the start of the Adirondack Park, the many tall pines that flank both sides of the road and the mountains that loom large in the near distance provides a kind of comfort. It’s as if Mother Nature is on our side, and she will do everything in her power to protect us from a technological giant like Everest. For sure, she protects The Resistance which hides in these mountains in a place where even Jacquie can’t reach them. Not yet anyway. Not until the satellite is in orbit.
I’m not sure if it’s the feeling of peace that makes me feel sleepy. Or if I’m still exhausted from the ordeal inside the Everest Re-Educational facility, but soon I find myself nodding off.
“Surprise, surprise,” comes the voice of a man I’ve gotten to know well these past five years.
It’s Ben Stevens. The bestselling author is standing inside my open office door.
“This a good time, Tanya?” he asks.
I stand, heart in my throat, not because he’s startled me, but because he has this effect on me. Christ, he has the same effect on most women I know. It’s not like he’s model handsome. It’s more like there’s something about him. The electric vibe he gives off. What do they call it? His charisma. His charm. No, that’s not right. Charm is too namby-pamby a word for it. Of all people, I should be able to come up with the right word. Magnetism. That’s it. Sheer, naked, magnetism. Like a tractor beam pulling me in with all its gravity defying force.
Okay, I’m getting a little carried away. Let’s just say I find Ben very attractive and alluring. He’s wearing a black button down that’s unbuttoned enough to show off his killer chest. He’s also wearing faded Levis, and a pair of worn brown cowboy boots. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off his thick forearms. Ben is no stranger to the gym, and the working ranch he owns in Colorado keeps him fit also. He might be in his mid to late forties by now, but his hair is still black, thick, and long enough to touch his shoulders. As for his eyes, they’re like deep blue pools. Sometimes he shaves, and sometimes he doesn’t. Today is one of those days he doesn’t. It’s like having the freaking Marlboro Man, front and center.
“You going to come in and sign one of your new novels for your lovely editor?” I ask. It’s my attempt at being witty.
“Thought you’d never ask, doll,” he says.
Only Ben can get away with referring to his 21st century female editor as “doll.” He struts in as I come around the desk. When there’s no more space between us, he doesn’t just do something wimpy like shake my hand or offer a polite kiss on the cheek. Instead, he pulls me into him, bends me backward like we’re doing the tango, then pulls me back up and plants a wet one on my mouth. We don’t trade tongues exactly, but we come pretty damn close. When he finally releases me, he grows an ear to ear smile that’s as infectious as the flu. A good flu.
Pulling myself back together, I go back around my desk, grab a copy of his new novel off the long table pressed against the far wall and then set it out on the desk beside the manuscripts presently in review. I find my best Sharpie and set that on top of the novel.
“Sign away, handsome,” I say.
“My pleasure, doll.”
Grabbing hold of the pen, he opens the hardcover, finds the title page, and scrawls something inside it. He closes the book, sets the pen back down, then seats himself in one of the two guest chairs.
“So, what do you have to drink around here, Tanya?” he asks.
I sit myself down.
“Ummm, it’s not even eleven in the morning yet, Ben,” I say, not without a grin.
He glances at his watch.
“I just got back from my European book tour,” he says. “For me it’s going on five o’clock.”
“You don’t say.” Turning around in my swivel chair, I open the cabinet and grab the bottle of Jameson and two glasses I keep in there for special occasions. Swinging back around. “So, what shall we drink to?”
“You gotta ask, doll?”
I pour two generous whiskeys and set his on the edge of the desk.
“Another bestselling novel for Ben Stevens is about as common as breathing for most people,” I say.
Raising my glass, I watch him raise his.
“To us,” he says.
We drink.
“I didn’t know there was an us,” I say. “You have a wife, last I heard.”
“Damn divorce,” he says. For the first time since he entered the office, his smile becomes a smirk. “She’s taking me for just about everything but my horse. And even then, she might get that. That hefty advance you all just paid me for the new novel? Gone.”
“Jeeze, Ben,” I say. “I’m sorry. There will be other books.”
He drinks down the whiskey, sets the empty back onto the desk.
“Oh, I’m not worried about money. I’ll make more of that. It’s just that divorce is a nasty business and all it manages to accomplish in the end is to hurt the kids and make the lawyers rich.”
I pour him more whiskey and ask about his two kids. A boy and a girl, both in junior high, if I recall.
“They’ll live,” he says, grabbing hold of his drink. The smile returns to his face. The alluring smile, I should say. “But what about you, Tanya. How are you these days? Dating?”
I shake my head.
“Why not?” he asks. “Woman as attractive and put together as you should have a million and one suitors. Doesn’t make sense.”
His blue eyes shift then to the manuscripts on the desk.
“Oh, you know, Ben,” I say. “Same old story. I live for the job and the job is my life.”
“You’re making up fiction,” he says. Then, cocking his head in the direction of the manuscripts. “The Devil Knows You’re Dead by Anthony Smart. He’s a real good writer. You gonna publish him?”
“No,” I respond just a little too quickl
y and a little too forcefully.
“Easy, doll,” he says. “You’re acting like a spooked mare.”
Some women might be offended being compared to a female horse, but somehow when Ben Stevens does it, it’s alluring.
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just that Tony and I have a history together.”
He nods. “So I’ve heard.”
“Well, then you get why I don’t wish to publish him at present.”
“He’d be a good catch if you can look beyond your personal stuff.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I say.
He finishes his drink, sets the glass back down on the desk and stands. Getting up, I come back around the desk and go to him. Once again, he wraps his arms around me. But this time, he’s gentle with me. His face is only inches from mine, and I can smell him. It’s a fragrance that makes me melt. A whiskey, leathery, smoky kind of thing. A manly smell you don’t get much of from the metrosexual men who live in New York City.
“Have dinner with me tonight, doll?” he asks.
I gaze into his eyes. If it were possible, I might dive into one of them, swim around for a while in the warm, soothing water.
“Aren’t you having dinner with your agent after your Mysterious Bookshop signing?”
“I can blow him off,” he says. “Besides, it’s customary for an editor to have dinner with her author on release day.”
“I’d be booked for dinner every day of the week if that were the case, Ben,” I say.
But he’s right. Lots of top authors are treated to a special dinner on the evening of a book launch. Me being me, I’ve been avoiding such niceties as of late. Maybe it’s having turned the corner on forty a while back. Maybe it’s not having kids at this stage of my life. Maybe it’s never having been married or been in a relationship that’s lasted more than a couple of years. Or crap, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m still in love with Tony and just refuse to admit it.
So, what would Kate say?
She’d say, are you fucking crazy? Ben Stevens, dreamboat that he is, wants to have dinner with you and you’re thinking of refusing him? What are you, a lesbian?
And what would Scout say?
Who needs men anyway?
“So, doll,” he says, pulling me closer to him. “Whaddaya say? Are we on for dinner tonight? Just the two of us?”
My face is growing warm. It tells me the blood is rushing to it. That I’m blushing.
“I’d love to,” I acquiesce.
That’s when he comes closer to me, his lips touching mine. This time we don’t hold back. We kiss one another like there’s no tomorrow. I close my eyes and fall under his spell. When I open them again, I see Kate standing in the office doorway.
“Yes, Kate,” I say. “Something I can help you with?”
She’s grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“You go girl,” she says giving me a thumbs up. “History shall record that on this day, August 29, 2028, Senior Acquisitions Editor, Tanya Teal, finally took off her chastity belt.”
Ben laughs a little, then backs away.
“Meet me at the signing later?” he says, his eyes locking on mine. “Eight o’clock.”
“I’ll be there at seven to hear you read,” I say.
“It’s a date,” he says, heading for the door.
“Hi, Ben,” Kate says.
“Hey there, Kate,” Ben offers. “You coming to the signing later?”
“Your publicist wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He disappears, and Kate gives me another thumbs up.
“You’re getting laid, baby,” she says somewhat under her breath before moving on down the hall.
Turning, I go to my desk, pick up Tony Smart’s manuscript with one hand and the phone extension with the other.
“Jen,” I say, “I’ve got a rejected a manuscript called The Devil Knows You’re Dead that needs to be returned to the writer’s agent.”
Gunshots wake me from a sound sleep.
“What was that?” I say, startled if not rattled. “What’s happening?”
We’re driving up a mountain road, the Land Rover bucking and bouncing along the rough terrain. More gunshots. Not super loud shots, but loud enough to disturb my vivid dream.
“No worries,” Gus says. “That’s just some of the gang doing a little nighttime target practice.”
“You’re not worried Jacquie will hear the shots?” Tony asks.
“We’re way off grid,” Gus says. “In terms of Jacquie, anyway. But that will change soon enough. Everest’s goal is to make Jacquie inescapable, and they’re nearly there. That’s why Drake is going to war now, instead of later when it’s too late.”
“How do you know for sure?” Tony asks.
“Everest is planning on launching the brand-new satellite next month,” he says. “When it achieves its orbit and becomes operational, Jacquie will become omniscient. All powerful. There will be nowhere anyone can go, above ground or under, where Jacquie won’t find you.”
“In other words,” I say, “Jacquie will become God.”
Tony turns.
“So, how are you, sleepyhead?” he asks.
I think about my dream, about his manuscript on my desk, about Ben Stevens kissing me. I think about how real it all seemed.
“I’m okay,” I say.
My left hand extended, I’m gripping the overhead bar to steady myself over the rough road. But the rough road soon smooths out as we reach a clearing.
“We’re here folks,” Gus says. “Home away from home.”
He drives further into the clearing along a gravel road that is surprisingly smooth. The place is lit up not only with battery and solar powered lamps, but good old-fashioned torches. To my right are some long log buildings. To my left, the same thing. The buildings also have stovepipe chimneys attached to them. All sorts of people move in and out of the structures while others stroll along the road and the sidewalk that parallels it. They are dressed for the woods, in jeans or canvas trousers, work-shirts, and vests. Most have automatic weapons slung over their backs. AR-15s and M16s by the looks of them. Some carry crossbows and even bows and arrows. Little kids run around, and everyone seems genuinely happy, judging by the happy-go-lucky expressions on their faces.
We pass by a mercantile store and a bar/restaurant. Then we pass a church and a small synagogue, and a library. Another two-story building reads “Alamo School, K-12.”
“Alamo,” I say. “What’s that?”
“That’s the name of our town. It was christened, The Alamo, when we tried to come up with a name that represented individual freedom over corporate tyranny better than any other. So, The Alamo stuck.”
“You do have quite the operation,” I say, as we pass a hotel and then a cinema. “It’s a regular little town.”
“I can’t believe Jacquie or Everest doesn’t know about this place, Gus,” Tony points out.
Gus hooks a right and pulls up to what looks like a public park or common. The gunshots become louder then, as if whoever is doing the shooting is now close by.
“Oh, they know about it,” he says. “Or, we assume they know about it. We’re visible on Drake Earth Maps. But right now, they don’t dare attack us. So far, it’s just a corporate war of words and threats between Everest and Drake. Technically speaking, we’re not in a shooting war yet. But everyone here is not only armed, we’re protected by a barrier that’s armed to the teeth with motion-sensor operated automatic weapons. Plus assorted booby-traps. We’re safe here until the new generation of Jacquie comes online. Then, things will change. She will be able to monitor our every move. She’ll also be able to map out the entire compound. No detail will be too small for her.” Pausing for a long beat. “That is, we don’t stop them from putting her into space first.”
“I guess time really is of the essence,” Tony says.
“Hey, look at that,” Gus says. “They’ve already started the barbecue.”
Looking out my window, I s
ee a pit dug out of the ground. A pig is being roasted on a spinning skewer. Two or three picnic tables are loaded with food and drinks. Men, women and kids are mingling, laughing, and playing. The men and women drink cans of beer, and the whole atmosphere seems like a party. You’d never know that the Everest Corporation resides just a few miles away, or that a possible world war is just about to begin.
More gunshots coming from the near distance.
“Who is shooting and why?” I ask again, as Gus brings the Land Cruiser to a stop. “Is it really just for target practice?”
He kills the engine.
“Get out,” he says, “and I’ll show you. In fact, I’ll introduce you and Tony to everyone.”
We get out. The first thing that hits me is the great smell of the roast pork. There is no better smell in the world. The second thing is the air. It’s so much fresher and cooler way up here in the Adirondack Mountains. In a world that’s becoming more and more overpopulated and polluted, it’s not easy finding fresh air anymore. I stretch my tired muscles and follow Gus as he leads us away from the cooking area to where the gunshots are coming from. Soon, I’m able to make out several people, all of whom are gripping pump-action shotguns.
“Got one at my three o’clock,” a man alerts.
He fires. Something explodes and shatters. It can’t be a bird. Birds don’t explode when you shoot them full of birdshot. It also can’t be a clay pigeon. It’s too big. And like real birds, clay pigeons don’t explode internally.
“Looks like they’re shooting trap,” Tony says. “I love to shoot trap.”
“You can join them,” Gus says.
That’s when we catch the attention of the shooting party. They turn toward us. I can’t make out facial features, but for sure, I’m looking at a woman and three men, one of whom has the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Eyes that reflect the bright moonlight.
“Hey, got one coming up on my nine o’clock,” Blue Eyes says.
That’s when I see the drone appear from out of the darkness. Blue Eyes quickly shoulders his shotgun and fires. The drone explodes, its shattered remnants crashing into the trees beyond the compound clearing. The box it was carrying also crashes to the ground. Some of the now split wires flicker on and off until they die out.
Primary Termination Page 18
