The Principal Director leaned forward again. “What about Captain Ash? He’s still on the loose.”
“He is, sir. But I don’t believe he’s any kind of problem. He only wanted his children.”
“And these missing journalists?”
“We believe they were scared off, sir, and will resurface soon. When that occurs, they will be dealt with.”
“Yes, but who is helping these people? They couldn’t have done this all on their own. And if Olivia is alive, where is she?”
“We’re looking into all of that, sir, but, again, we don’t think any of it is a serious threat. The boulder is running downhill. It’s too late for anyone to stop it.”
53
As they sped away from NB7, Chloe called Matt, requesting a safe house and a doctor. They were directed to the home of an elderly woman in a small, Western Idaho town. Despite the fact the sun had yet to come up when they arrived, she smiled at the children and told everyone to make themselves at home, then disappeared into a room in the back.
Ash hunted down some aspirin for Chloe, then found a couple of bedrooms upstairs and told Josie and Brandon they could use them. But instead of separating, they chose to share a room. He could tell they were still unsure if it was really him, but he didn’t want to push himself on them.
After they were settled, he cleaned out his wound again. The first time he’d done it had been in a gas station restroom, not exactly the most sterile of places. This time he found some rubbing alcohol in the medicine cabinet, and poured it into the groove on his arm. It burned worse than when he’d actually been hit, but he knew he had to do it, and dumped nearly half the bottle over the wound before he stopped.
When he returned downstairs, he found Chloe propped up on the couch.
“Why don’t you get some sleep,” he suggested.
“I tried, but this isn’t going to let me,” she told him, touching her leg.
He wished he could do something more for her. The pain seemed to be hitting her in waves. She’d be fine for a bit, then, with no warning, would close her eyes tight and cringe.
Just short of an hour after they arrived, there was a knock on the door. It was Pax and Billy. Billy quickly checked both patients, then gave Chloe a sedative that allowed her to fall asleep. As soon as she was out, he dealt with Ash’s wound.
“Clean this yourself?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Remind me not to use you as a nurse.”
More burning, then a bandage to cover the gash. When he was through, Billy examined Ash’s face, looking at the scars of the surgery from what seemed so long ago.
With a simple “It looks like nothing’s going to fall off,” Billy went to see what he could do about Chloe’s leg.
“You got ‘em,” Pax said, once he and Ash were alone.
“Yeah, I did.” Ash knew he should be happy, but the worry he’d had for his kids’ safety had turned into worry for their mental well-being. Sometimes being a parent sucked. “Thanks for your help. Those mini-explosives you gave me, I couldn’t have done it without them.”
“Don’t even worry about it.”
They talked a little longer, but at some point Ash fell asleep. How Pax and Billy got him into a bed upstairs, he had no idea. But that’s where he woke to an afternoon sun shining through the window.
He showered, put on the new clothes someone had laid out for him, and headed downstairs. He found Pax and the old woman in the kitchen, laughing and having a cup of coffee.
“Where’s Josie and Brandon?” he asked, alarmed.
“Your kids are fine,” the old woman said. “They’re out back, playing with the dog.”
Ash walked over to the open back door and looked out the screen. Josie was sitting on a picnic bench, petting the head of a golden retriever while Brandon was trying to coax the dog away with a ball. It seemed so…normal.
“And Chloe?” Ash asked.
“Billy took her back to the ranch,” Pax said. “Said she needs surgery on the leg, but that she should be fine.”
Ash hadn’t told her thank you. He should have done it already, but he’d been too drained to even think about it.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” the woman asked.
Ash shook his head. “Not right now, thanks.”
He opened the screen door and stepped into the backyard. Both his kids looked over and stared at him. He wondered if their uncertainty would ever go away, if they’d ever truly believe he was their dad.
As he walked toward them, the golden retriever ran to him. Ash knelt down and petted the dog’s head. “Hey, buddy.” He looked over at his children. “What’s his name?”
Neither of them said anything for a moment, then Brandon took a step forward. “Strider.”
“Hello there, Strider,” Ash said to the dog.
Strider wagged his tail and licked Ash’s hand.
“He likes to play catch,” Brandon said.
Ash stood up. “You have a ball?”
Brandon nodded and showed him the tennis ball in his hand.
“Throw it for him,” Ash said.
Brandon tossed the ball across the yard, and Strider took off after it. As the dog was bringing the ball back to the boy, Ash casually walked over.
“Can I try?” he asked.
“Sure,” Brandon said, handing him the ball.
They played toss with the dog for several minutes, alternating turns, with neither of them really saying anything. While they did this, Josie sat quietly on the bench watching them.
As Ash was about to throw the ball again, Josie said, “Why did they tell us you were dead?”
Ash paused for a moment, then let the ball fly. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Because they weren’t very nice, I guess. They told me you were both dead, too.”
“They did?” Brandon said.
Ash nodded.
Strider returned with the ball and dropped it at Brandon’s feet, but the boy didn’t seem to notice. Brandon looked at his father for a moment, then glanced at his sister and whispered something just low enough so Ash couldn’t hear it.
Josie seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then looked up at their dad. “Is…Mom alive, too?”
Ash could feel his heart suddenly break. He sank down to his knees so he was closer to their height, tears forming in his eyes. “No, sweetie. She’s not.”
“But you’re here, and they said you were dead,” she countered.
Ash could hear Brandon’s breath become ragged as he fought his own tears. “I know, Josie. But your mom was gone before they even took us out of the house.”
“But…but…are you sure?”
He nodded.
Brandon was the first to fall into his embrace, sobbing into Ash’s shoulder, but Josie wasn’t far behind him.
“I love you guys,” Ash said, then repeated “I love you” over and over.
“I love you, too, Dad,” Josie said, once her tears had finally lost their strength.
“Me, too,” Brandon added.
The hug that followed seemed to last for hours.
__________________________________
Want to know what happens next?
The second Project Eden Thriller
EXIT NINE
is only months away.
Look for it early Fall, 2011
BONUS MATERIAL
Keep going to read the first chapter to
LITTLE GIRL GONE
A Logan Harper Thriller
By Brett Battles
• • • • • • •
LITTLE GIRL GONE
Chapter 1
“Get the girl,” the voice whispered once more.
Slowly, Logan Harper opened his eyes. It had been the dream again, always the dream.
Get the girl.
He knew the words wouldn’t completely go away. They defined him now. He’d come to accept that. The best he could hope for was to force them to the back of his mind, and make them a distant whisper h
e could almost ignore.
Almost.
He reached for his cell phone a second before its alarm started softly beeping. 4:05 a.m. It was time to get up, and start pushing the words away.
Creating habits had been the key. He’d developed a strict schedule that allowed him to go from one task to the next to the next. In the two years since he moved back to his hometown of Cambria, California, he’d basically done the same things everyday. In the mornings this meant a six-mile run, a shower, twenty minutes reading, then out the door to work.
The reading had been the hardest part. In the first few months, it had been almost impossible to concentrate on the words. His mind would drift back. He’d see things he didn’t want to see. Hear things he didn’t want to hear. But he kept at it, finally training himself to focus on the page and not on the past.
At 5:55 a.m., he would close whatever book he was reading, and head out. That Tuesday morning was no different.
Cambria was located on the Central Coast of California, almost exactly at the midpoint between Los Angeles in the south and San Francisco in the north. It had been a good place to grow up, but like most teenagers in small towns, Logan had seen it as confining. He couldn’t wait until he turned eighteen and could leave, and that was exactly what he did—Army, college, a great job at a defense contractor based in D.C. He was gone fifteen years before everything changed, and the only place that made sense for him to go was home.
Now, instead of small and confining, he would have said Cambria felt right. But that wasn’t really the truth. Nothing felt right to him. What Cambria was for Logan was a place where he could just be, and not worry if it was right or confining or safe or any of those kinds of things.
It was a way station between what was and…what he had no idea.
At his normal walking pace, it was eleven minutes from the front door of his apartment above Adams Art Gallery to Dunn Right Auto Service and Repair where he worked as a mechanic, but only if he was heading straight there. His routine included a stop at Coffee Time Café for a large cup of French roast, black, and a toasted bagel with a light smear of cream cheese.
Tun Myat had owned Coffee Time for nearly two decades. He was a seventy-something year-old Burmese man who moved to the U.S. in the 1980s, and was a close friend of Logan’s dad, Neal “Harp” Harper, for nearly as long. He was always smiling, and never had a problem if a regular was a little short on cash. No one called him Tun, though. He was Tooney, even if you’d just met him.
As usual, the lights inside Coffee Time were all blazing when Logan arrived. He pushed on the door, but had to pull up short to keep from slamming into it when it didn’t open. He took a step back and looked at the sign propped in the front window. CLOSED still faced out.
Logan was pretty much Coffee Time’s first customer everyday, and Tooney almost always made sure the door was unlocked before he showed up. Peering inside, Logan looked through the dining area, past the glass cabinet that housed the pastries, and into the visible section of the kitchen. He couldn’t see anybody, but Tooney had to be there somewhere. When Logan had run by an hour earlier, the lights had been off.
Chances were, Tooney was just running a little behind, and scrambling to get everything ready. If that were the case, he could probably use a little help, Logan thought. He decided to go around back and see.
Coffee Time was the second-to-last unit in a row of tourist-focused shops on Main Street. Logan headed around the last of the units, then toward the back. Just as he reached the end of the building, he heard a raised voice. He paused, worried he’d almost walked into something that was none of his business, then took a peek around the corner to gauge the situation.
Tooney had parked his old Ford Bronco directly behind the café like he always did, but this morning there was an unfamiliar Lexus sedan sitting beside it. That didn’t necessarily mean anything. People had been known to leave their cars back there on occasion.
The door to the café was open, spilling light onto the cracked asphalt. But whatever voice Logan had heard was silent now. It dawned on him that it could very possibly have been a radio with its volume set too loud when it had been turned on.
He rounded the corner, thinking that must have been it, but he only made it a couple of steps before he heard a heavy thud and a short, muffled yell.
Not a radio.
Tooney. There was no mistaking the voice.
Keeping as tight to the wall as possible, Logan moved to within ten feet of the open door.
The voice from moments earlier spoke out again, a man’s voice. Logan was close enough now to make out what he was saying. “Nod your head and tell me you understand,” the voice ordered. Logan had never heard it before. “Good. Now sit up.”
It was clear whatever was going on inside was not just a friendly visit. Logan’s first thought was that Tooney was being robbed.
He glanced at the Lexus, automatically memorizing its license number. He knew the car could hold several people, which meant it was very possible the speaker wasn’t alone.
Crime in Cambria was rare even at the worst times. For law enforcement, the town relied on the Sherriff’s Department stationed out of Morro Bay nearly twenty minutes away. Logan pulled out his phone and started to dial 911, knowing they would never make it in time, but the sooner they were en route, the better.
He’d barely punched in the first number when Tooney’s voice drifted out from inside. “Please. Just don’t hurt—”
There was a hard slap.
Logan shoved his phone back in his pocket, knowing he couldn’t waste time making the call, then glanced around, looking for something he could use as a weapon.
“You open your mouth again, and it’ll be the last time. Understand?”
Silence.
“Good,” the voice said.
Logan spotted two three-foot long metal rods, in a small pile of wood along the back of the building. Both had double lines of slots running down one side. Screw them to a wall, then insert hangers in the slots, and, bingo, instant shelving unit. Or grab one in each hand, swing them around, instant clubs.
He chose option two.
As he moved toward the door, he heard the sound of something moving, or sliding inside.
“…too much, and apparently doesn’t…” the man with Tooney said, the first part covered up by the noise, while the last seemed to just fade out. This was followed by a solid, metallic click and everything went silent.
Logan stepped into the doorway, and looked quickly around the room, ready to help his friend. Prep table, food storage racks, sink, dishwasher, stove, walk-in refrigerator, a stack of empty milk crates, Tooney’s small desk.
But no Tooney, and no man. No anyone.
As silently as possible, he walked to the doorless opening that separated the kitchen from the front of the café. But there was no one there either.
Where the hell—
He heard a voice, muffled and indistinct, to his left. He whirled around, his arms cocked, ready to strike. But there was no one there.
As the voice spoke again, Logan realized it was coming from inside the walk-in refrigerator.
He raced over and yanked the door open. A flood of chilled air poured over him, but he barely noticed it. Three feet inside, Tooney was kneeling on the floor, facing him. Between them was a man in a dark suit, pointing a gun at Tooney’s head.
Before the man could turn all the way around, Logan wacked him hard in the arm with one of his improvised clubs. The man let out a groan of pain as he sidestepped past Tooney, and moved further into the refrigerator, away from Logan.
Logan slashed at him again, hitting the man’s shoulder, and scraping the end of the metal rod across the man’s neck.
“Son of a bitch!” the guy yelled. He twisted to the right so he could bring the hand holding the gun around toward Logan.
In a quick, double motion, Logan swung the rod in his left hand at the man’s head, then struck downward with the one in his right at the gun. The
man leaned quickly back to avoid being gashed across his cheek, but doing so caused his gun hand to drift upward a few inches, right into the area Logan had aimed at.
Just as the rod hit the gun, the man pulled the trigger. A bullet raced by Logan’s hip, then slapped into the wall of the refrigerator. Logan struck at the man’s hand again until the pistol, a Glock, tumbled to the floor.
Unarmed now, the man staggered back, bleeding from both his neck and his hand.
Logan stood in front of him, ready to strike again. “Tooney,” he called out. “Can you get up?”
“I think…” Logan heard a foot scrape across the floor. “Yes…I can.”
“Go call nine-one-one,” Logan told him.
The would be attacker laughed. “You’re not going to do that. Are you, Tooney?”
Logan sensed the café owner hesitate. “Tooney, now.”
That seemed to break the trance, and Tooney shuffled out the door.
“Who the hell are you?” Logan asked the intruder.
“Why don’t you ask Tooney?”
Logan stared at him for a second. “Get comfortable. It takes the Sheriff a little while to get out here, and you’re going to be pretty damn cold by then.”
The guy began to smile. “I can handle a little cold. Can you?”
The last word was barely of out of the man’s mouth when he charged. Logan whipped a rod through the air, smacking the man in the side of the head, but it didn’t stop him. With another step, the guy had moved inside the range of the clubs.
Logan quickly let go of them, then grabbed the man by the shoulders and tried to guide the attacker’s momentum passed him, not through him. He was only partially successful, though, deflecting the man away from his chest, and into his shoulder.
The man staggered, then started to go down. Reaching out, he latched onto one of Logan’s belt loops, and they both ended up tumbling to the floor.
Logan found himself on his back, with the man on top of him. He threw a quick punch into the man’s ribs. But instead of responding in kind, the man shoved Logan in the shoulders, and pushed himself up.
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