by S. T. Boston
It took about three minutes to reach the bench, and stopping by its side Sam gave himself a second to look around, scanning for any more dog walkers or joggers. The old lady and her Alsatian were just visible on the far side of the water, too far away to see him. Crouching down on the cold sharp gravel, Sam removed the Key Tablet from his pocket. It picked up his body's energy immediately, and the hum seemed to be even stronger in his cold hand, almost making it sting. He looked at it for a brief moment, unable to quite grasp the importance of the strange alien artefact. He placed it on the bench and slid the duct tape off his wrist before peeling off a long strip, biting it clear of the roll with his teeth. Grasping the Key Tablet, he held it in position under the bench and applied the tape. Sam pushed up hard on the underside of the wooden seat, securing it in place; he peeled off a second strip and applied it to the bench, forming a cross. Standing up, he took another good look around, making sure no prying eyes were watching his strange behaviour. It seemed odd to think that an item as important as this was being left taped to an old wooden bench next to a golf course. If things went according to plan, it would be back in his possession in a few hours, along with Adam and Oriyanna. Satisfied the job was done, he jogged back to the RV. He still had work to do before it was collected.
The Sunday morning traffic was sparse as he drove back toward the interstate. As he passed the Days Inn he glanced into the car park; three police cruisers were still parked, not far from where the camper had been. A throng of onlookers stood outside, gawping up at the third floor. The sight of two rather large women in gaudy pink dressing gowns amongst the crowd even made him smile a little. No matter where you went in the world, people were always the same, all eager to watch someone else's misfortune or get in on the latest gossip. Sam kept the RV on Garden of the Gods Road; passing under the interstate he followed the SatNav toward the university campus. The trip only took a few minutes on the quiet roads. Situated next to the university, Sam saw what he was looking for. Opposite the campus was a large shopping village, and many of the students obviously used the parking lot to leave their cars over the weekend. Driving past, Sam took in the array of older, slightly tatty cars.
Pulling off the road and into the car park, he brought the RV to a stop, climbed out and removed a flat head screwdriver from the tool kit in the side utility compartment. It didn't take him long to find what he was after. The small, metallic grey Mark Two VW Golf GTI was just the job, Sam had owned one in his early twenties, he knew exactly how to get in and start it without the key. Taking the screwdriver, he forced it hard into the lock and turned; the knob inside popped up first time. Sam glanced around quickly before jumping in, the car smelt of damp and stale fast food, and a variety of wrappers and bags from various junk food establishments littered the passenger foot well. Jamming the screwdriver into the ignition he repeated the process. Reluctantly, the engine turned over but didn't fire – the battery had obviously seen better days. Depressing the clutch to take some of the pressure off the engine, Sam tried again and held his breath. This time the engine fired and spluttered a few times, but didn't die. Revving the engine, he selected first gear and crept the VW over to the camper. He loaded their luggage quickly, putting the tack bag into the boot. As a last thought he went back to the RV and removed his phone and their passports from the glove box, before tossing the keys onto the passenger seat. In a few days someone would report the RV as abandoned, and the rental firm would get it recovered. Any fines or charges for just leaving it would have to be worried about later, if they were even alive to do any worrying. Leaving the car park Sam checked the time; he had thirty-five minutes. As the VW warmed up, the pokey engine came to life. It felt small and nimble compared to the camper and despite its age and odd, musty smell, it was much nicer to drive. Covering ground as quickly as possible, Sam headed back to the reservoir. On the way, he stopped at a garage and filled the Golf with as much petrol as he could squeeze into the tank. Before paying, he blindly grabbed a selection of sandwiches from the kiosk's chiller cabinet, as well as a pack of energy drinks and a four pack of bottled water. Leaving the garage, he opened a packet of ham and cheese sandwiches. The instant he smelt the cold meat he was ravenous, and finished them both in a few bites. Steering with one hand, Sam freed a bottle of water from the pack and cracked the top off. He could feel the start of a dehydration headache brewing. Draining the cool liquid in a few long swallows, he opened a second bottle for good measure, finishing the contents just before arriving back at the car park. He didn't need long to sort out his observation point, he'd selected it the previous night when scoping out the area.
Pulling into the car park he saw a few more vehicles had arrived in the time he'd been gone. The odd jogger and dog walker were busy with their morning routine, and far off across the course he could see a couple of people teeing off. Sam scanned the reservoir; the thin, matchstick-like structure of the bench was just visible across the water. He alighted from the car and fished a pair of binoculars from his tack bag in the boot, constantly looking around as he went. He felt exposed and naked. There was a good chance Finch already had eyes on the area; Sam knew if the roles were reversed he would have the whole vicinity plotted up.
Securing the binoculars around his neck, he placed the FNP45 in his waistband and hid it with his fleece. Sam felt like kicking himself for not purchasing a couple of Kevlar vests from the armoury. He'd been lucky last night, just one on-target shot would have put him out of the game.
Returning to the driver's door, he removed the small screwdriver from the ignition and hid it in the door pocket. Satisfied that at first glance the car didn't look stolen, he walked briskly to a small wooded area and got into position. The bush provided just enough cover to hide him from the view of anyone using the car park. Whoever was collecting the Key Tablet would be walking away from him. Once they reached the bench, they would be too far off to spot him in his hiding place. Sam made himself as comfortable as possible – as with any surveillance jobs he'd been involved in, the order of the day was hurry up and wait.
* * *
Finch gunned the Impala and headed away from the rangers' hut in a cloud of dust. Buer had ordered him to collect the Key Tablet on his own; the previous night's events had left them short on both manpower and vehicles. Mitchell and another of his small team were already on their way, but it would be an hour or so before they'd made the trip from Denver and another hour before they had an operational base set up. Buer had chosen to stay at the lodge with the two drone-like meat heads he'd arrived with, worried that there might be some kind of attempt by Sam Becker to free his friend and the girl. Finch had thought it unlikely, as he had no clue where they were hiding. There was no doubt that Becker was a skilled soldier and pretty handy, but he wasn't that good. More importantly, Finch didn't really want nor need anyone to go with him. Even after Roddick had been shot and he'd had his face crushed with a size nine, he'd still managed to get the job done. After all that, just picking up the Key Tablet from under a bench would be a piece of cake. Hitting the state highway Finch increased his speed, and despite the lack of food and sleep over the last twenty-four hours he was feeling rather good about himself.
Once he'd acquired the Key Tablet, Buer had requested that he come straight back. He wanted confirmation from the girl that it was the device and not some tin pot ploy to dupe him into taking a fake. Once that was done, the girl was going to die. Finch wanted to be the one to pull the trigger, but he suspected Buer would want to do it. The fate of Adam Fisher had been left up to him, and he was still undecided on whether to hold up his end of the deal or not. Once he had the Key Tablet he might just shoot him, it would be more fun than letting him go. Plus, he owed some kind of payback to Becker for stamping on his face, even if there was no trace now that the assault had ever happened.
The drive to the reservoir took just over twenty minutes. Finch checked his watch; he had five minutes before the pickup. It was close enough. Becker was bound to have the Key Tablet a
t the pickup point by now. Pulling into the small gravel parking lot, he scanned the other vehicles. There was no sign of the RV, which meant one of two things: either Becker was long clear of the area, sat up waiting for a call that he would never get, or he was somewhere nearby, watching his every move. Finch hoped it was the latter; he would relish the chance to lead him back to the lodge. Once there, he would kill him as well.
Climbing out of the Chevy he set off along the gravel footpath. Following the water's edge, he could see the bench at the far side of the reservoir. The fact he was so close to completing his task just made him feel even smugger. The sound of an early morning golfer hitting the ball on the sweet spot drifted through the air. The ball caused a nearby flock of birds to take flight in a frantic jumble of squawks and flapping wings. Smiling to himself, Finch watched them pass overhead as he reached his target. This was it, the moment of truth. He glanced around for a second, almost expecting Sam Becker to appear out of nowhere and take him on, but he didn't. Finch knelt down and gripped the bench. Using the grey wooden slats for support he looked underneath; it was there, a cross of black duct tape secured to the underside of the seat. Frantically, he whipped it off and the tape came away in one whole piece. Stuck to the adhesive was a strange rectangle of metal. Finch gawped at it for a few seconds, not quite able to believe he actually had it. There was no way this could be fake. The artefact looked like no metal he'd ever seen on Earth, strange inscriptions that he recognised as written Arkkadian ran down its surface. Carefully, as if it were now the most delicate thing in the world, he peeled the tape away. The minute his skin touched its surface the metal hummed and glowed. Even in the bright morning sunlight he could see it. Becker actually handed it over he thought to himself in amazement. Sam Becker's desperate attempt to save just one person had just sealed the fate of an entire planet. Grinning contently, Finch tucked the Key Tablet into his suit jacket and walked hastily back to the car.
* * *
Sam watched as a Red Chevrolet Impala rolled into the car park. From his position he didn't get a clear view of the driver, but he heard someone get out of the car and slam the door. Checking his watch Sam saw it was seven twenty-five; if this was the person collecting the Key Tablet they were early. Moving slightly to adjust his field of view, he stared intently at the first small section of path visible from his hiding place. He could hear the rhythmic crunch of the driver's feet on the gravel for a good minute before he saw him. Patience offered its reward, as the profile of Finch strode into view. He was dressed in the same suit as he'd worn on their first run in, although it was looking a little worse for wear now. Finch looked like a party goer who'd fallen asleep in a park wearing his best clothes, and then woke up the next morning and discovered he had to walk home.
Where the view afforded vision, Sam kept a watchful eye as Finch made quick progress around the path. As he approached the bench, Sam switched to the binoculars which were already focused perfectly for the distance. He watched as Finch removed the tape and looked at the artefact for what seemed like an eternity. As soon as he tucked the Key Tablet into his suit jacket, Sam left his hiding place and hurried back to the car. Finch was too far off to recognize him as he fired up the VW and pulled out of the car park. The small road that led to the reservoir was a dead end, there was only one way Finch could come out and it was the perfect choke point to pick him up on. Reaching the end of the road, Sam purposely turned away from the junction that led to the state highway and headed in the opposite direction. After about two hundred yards he slid the Golf in behind a large pickup truck and waited. The view of the junction wasn't the best, but he would see the red Chevy when it appeared. There was no way that Finch, who would be concentrating on the road, would see the little old VW parked and hidden. Sam also had the added bonus of being in a new vehicle.
As the minutes ticked by, Sam's heart rate increased. He hated how time always seemed to pass much slower in situations like this. Finally, the Impala arrived at the junction. Sam could just see the vehicle positioned to turn left, just as he'd suspected. Watching it move off, he waited until he was out of sight and crept the VW forward, pulling out and away from the parked truck. Gunning the engine, he closed the distance to the junction as fast as he could. Thankfully the road was clear, allowing him to pull straight out. The Impala was a good two hundred yards ahead and carrying out an overtake on a bright blue SUV. Sam waited for it to pass and drop out of sight before dropping down a gear and closing the distance. He felt far more comfortable with a vehicle between them for cover. Staying behind the SUV he followed Finch to the interstate, where he took the on-ramp and headed south. The Sunday morning traffic was still quite sparse, offering few vehicles to hide behind. He remained calm and focused, resisting the growing temptation to get in closer. They stayed on the interstate for what seemed like ages; Sam kept an eye on the trip counter, which revealed a good seven miles had clocked by before he watched the turn signal finally come on ahead of him. Mirroring the Impala, Sam guided the VW onto the off-ramp and slotted in two cars back as they took State Highway 115. Tree-covered hills began to rise up to his right, and he felt sure that they would soon be heading that way. Wherever Finch had them was going to be somewhere out of the way, making any attempt to escape hard.
After a few miles the two vehicles turned off, leaving him directly behind the Chevy. Sam eased off the accelerator and let the gap build. He was confident Finch wouldn't have noticed him following. He'd been more than cautious, but trying to carry out surveillance on your own was an almost impossible task, and sooner or later, you were bound to get burned. After another three miles he watched Finch swing the Impala right onto a small unkempt road, the tyres kicking up dust as he went. Sam backed off further and waited for him to disappear over a small hill before making the turn. The dust trail was as easy to follow as the car, and staying a good two hundred yards back he kept pace. As the VW cleared the hill Sam knew he'd arrived, to his right was a small, dilapidated lodge-type building. At the front, sitting proudly on an overgrown field, stood a jet black Explorer helicopter. Sam hit the brakes and pulled left, as the Impala bumped its way up a rough access road before coming to a stop. He rammed the VW into reverse and backed up over the small hill, hiding the Golf from view. He slid out of the car silently and crept forward on his hands and knees. Finch was out of the car and scanning his surroundings, no doubt looking for any signs of a tail. Sam raised the binoculars and focused on the lodge. It definitely fitted the type of building he'd seen on the video. Taking a quick look around, he watched Finch head inside, slamming an old wooden screen door behind him. Either he was satisfied that he hadn't been followed, or he knew Sam was close by. One thing was certain, in the next few minutes Finch would know he was there and with any luck, Sam would get the chance to kill him.
Chapter 15
Oriyanna's plea for help still resounded in Adam's head like a ringing bell, and as his eyes blinked open he felt as if he'd been hit by a train. The pain raging through his head was so acute it unfocused his eyes; even squinting didn't do much to bring the room into view. Somewhere, in a different part of the building, he could hear the dull drone of men talking, although he couldn't make out any words. Adam tried to lift his hand to rub the pain throbbing like a pulse behind both his temples, but neither of his arms wanted to work. It took a few moments to realize why; he was bound to a chair and his ankles had suffered the same fate, paralyzing him to the spot.
Claustrophobic panic began to set in. He could hear someone breathing heavily next to him, and turning his head he saw Oriyanna, bound and unconscious. In an instant his panic turned to anger. Her head and body had slumped forward so much that the restraints were all that held her delicate frame in place. If they were cut she would have instantly fallen forward onto her face. He shifted in his seat. Something cold and uncomfortable was digging into his back, and what little movement he had did nothing to relieve the discomfort, until he remembered what it was. The gun! Sam had given it to him just
before he left the room. Adam tried to piece things together. After taking the gun he'd walked to the diner, but he never made it. Somewhere in the dark car park, someone had been waiting for him. His anger changed to dread. If Oriyanna was with him, what the hell had happened to Sam? Surely he would have put up a fight to help her, which could mean only one thing. He was dead. Adam let his head drop in solace and winced at the constant, throbbing pain behind his eyes. It felt as if someone was trying to push them out of their sockets from the inside. He felt warm tears pooling in their corners, and keeping his eyelids shut he tried to hold them back, but it just created more to follow. One tear after another slowly dripped off his face and down onto his dirty blue jeans. Oriyanna trusted us to help her, he thought, and we let her down. Now Sam's dead and we're going to be next. He needed desperately to wipe the tears away. If she came around now and saw him bawling, it would do nothing to help their situation. Ignoring the pain, Adam craned his neck down and wiped both eyes in turn on the shoulders of his jacket, smearing the blood on his face. He still had the gun, but with both hands bound to the chair it might as well be on the other side of the room. Adam tugged at the zip ties binding his hands, and the old wooden chair creaked in protest. Despite the aged appearance of the timber, it was obviously still strong. In one of the other rooms a roar of laughter erupted, followed by some more inaudible chatter. He tried to count the voices, from what he could make out there were three, all male. He glanced around frantically, looking for something he might be able to use to get free. On the far side of the dank and rundown room, he spotted a rusty old kitchen knife sitting on a worktop, but like the gun, it was of no use. For a brief second he thought about trying to stand and shuffle back quickly towards the wall, in the hope the chair would shatter, but the commotion would only bring whoever the voices belonged to charging into the room, way before he had time to react. Feeling beaten and downtrodden Adam slumped in the chair, allowing the restraints to take his weight for a second. As the plastic bit into his wrists the pain brought back the memory of Sam, dropping the keys outside the diner. Much to his friend's amazement he'd managed to fish them out of the grating they'd fallen through. It had hurt like hell, but somehow, he'd manipulated his hand through the small gap. If only he could do the same thing now. Having only discovered this strange ability the previous day, he wasn't sure if it would work a second time, but it was worth a try. Adam closed his eyes to concentrate; as he did he heard heavy footsteps enter the room. I'm too late, he thought, not wanting to look up and accept his fate.
