The Snow Swept Trilogy

by Derrick Hibbard

  Morales was suddenly at his ear, his breath hot and raspy.

  “Nothing is unraveling, Paul.” Morales said, “and you'd be smart to play along. Your wife and kids smartly left you to your work and are currently only being watched. Oh yes, we know, and that goes for your little sidekick, Dennis. Only watched and monitored, from a distance. That can all change, makes no difference to me. You see, we are the waking giant, and no one will stand in our way.”

  To Paul, it seemed that Morales' voice was getting further and further away as the darkness overtook Paul. He wanted so badly to let whatever was coursing in his veins to take him away from that place, away to a place that was warm and dark and safe. He thought about his wife and kids, about Dennis and his family, and dread filled his heart and mind. How had he let it get this far? Why hadn't he just dropped it like they'd all told him to?

  “Are you listening to me?” Morales seethed, bits of spittle spraying the side of Paul's face. Morales shook him, slapped his cheeks gently.

  “Drugs are working, eh? Fading out, my friend?” Morales said. The cop leaned forward and bit into Paul's ear. The pain was immense, and the side of his face and neck felt warm with flowing blood. Paul came instantly back from the drug induced void, fully alert, and screamed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Hello?” a new voice said into the phone, and Heather's heart sank. She didn't respond, only listened to the silence. She scanned her screens but couldn't see that anyone else was on the roof. Of course, she'd only marked the phones and radios for those who'd been following and surrounding Paul in the café. If anyone else had joined the hunt, then she wouldn't have had the opportunity to mark their phones and run it through the assisted GPS protocol. She kicked herself for not thinking of that sooner.

  She heard a muffled breathing sound in the phone, and then the voice said, “we know about you too, Ms. Anon Seventeen.”

  Heather jumped, startled at the sound of the username she used when wanting to hide her true identity. Although no one knew her real name behind ANONX^17, it wouldn't take much to put that together, especially for someone skilled with computers. Everyone always left a trail of data, no matter how carefully the tracks were covered. Once the initial faux wall was broken, the rest would crumble easily, if someone looked hard enough. Even the Duke, who could have figured out who she really was in just a few minutes, had never done so (or at least she didn't think he had). Among hackers, it was a matter of respect for a person's true identity, and now someone was a step closer. They knew she was involved somehow, and if they knew about her, chances were they knew about the Duke and his team as well.

  The line went dead, but the little triangle on her screen signifying the location of Paul's phone stayed lit. She prayed that the person who'd answered Paul's phone didn't take the battery out, for as long as the device broadcasted a signal, she could follow.

  The problem was—

  the triangle suddenly disappeared

  —with the onset of movies and books about spies and conspiracies, even someone with no knowledge of how the devices worked would remember that a device can still be tracked even if it’s just turned off. The battery had to be removed, or destroyed. Sure enough, the signal was gone, so any attempt to locate the phone was useless.

  Heather paused for a few seconds. On the one hand, it would be much smarter to just walk away. Paul would have been caught anyway, regardless of her intervention. It just would have happened sooner. Il Contionum knew of her online pseudonym, and if she kept digging, they would likely know who and where she was in reality. Then it wouldn't be Paul disappearing. She would be gone too.

  But it wasn't right, what they were doing. She didn't want to think of the slippery slope that would continue if people like these continued unchecked. Heather knew the reality of the world. The reality that almost nothing happened without being recorded and swept away into the eternal mass of data. Nothing was secret, no matter how deeply the secret was hidden—virtually anything could be discerned with proper access to data. It was thrilling to explore the data, venturing through mountains and rivers and oceans of information, unbeknownst to most. An untapped wilderness of endless possibilities.

  But combining the access to that data with the ability to make people disappear, to sweep away the deaths of hundreds and thousands and millions in massive cover-ups? The power would truly be infinite.

  Heather did not want to live in a world with such power. She pulled a tablet computer from her bag on the floor and propped it next to the screen of her computer. She opened an app for video chatting, and then typed a message to the Duke. She would have to wait for him to respond--other than chatting through their secure VPN, they had no way of contacting each other.

  While she waited, she wrote down the last coordinates for Paul's phone on a scrap of paper on her desk. In order to track Paul, she needed to refresh the program, gather the signals in the area by where Paul had been. She would then estimate the signal closest to Paul's last coordinates and hoped that it belonged to Paul's abductor. It was a long shot, but she couldn't leave Paul alone out there. Her heart raced as she typed and scanned the data, all the while trying to figure out another way to find Paul. She even thought about calling the police, but knew it wouldn't work. The Contionum would have tapped all calls going in and out of the area, and probably could intercept any call to the police.

  After a few seconds, the app on her tablet flashed an alert that someone was trying to connect. She pressed the “Accept” button and a man's face appeared. It was the first time that Heather had seen the Duke, but his appearance was so close to how she'd imagined that she stared back at him for a few seconds in surprised silence. He was wearing a collared shirt that looked recently pressed. His hair was parted nicely down the side, and he was chewing on the wire rim of his glasses. His eyes were a dark blue, like the deepest part of a glacial lake.

  “So?” he said, an eyebrow cocked. “I wasn't expecting to see an invitation from you. We gonna take our relationship to a new level?”

  “I need your help,” she said.

  “Okay, then.” He looked disappointed, “all business then.”

  “I was tracking the reporter,” she said, and while she spoke, she typed several commands into her computer. The Duke leaned forward, his eyes suddenly very intent.

  “What happened?”

  “They took him,” she said. A number of signals displayed on her screen over a satellite image of Chicago, the signals multiplying with each second as the image rendered further. She typed another command and the screen zoomed into a building. Little numbers appeared next to the signals, indicating elevation. It was the only thing she could think of. She zoomed closer on a building, checking the coordinates she'd jotted down a few seconds before. They were very close.

  “Okay,” The Duke said patiently, “tell me what happened. Tell me how I can help.”

  “Paul said something before the line went dead. He asked about a girl named Mae Edwards, and I think she's the girl that they're after.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It's too much of a coincidence,” she said. “I need you to run searches of that name in conjunction with the Contionum. Something big is happening, and I don't think it ends with them killing Paul, or this girl.”

  “I think you're right. Why take Paul if something wasn't going on?” The Duke began typing on his computer, his attention diverted from Heather. He kept talking, mumbling as he spoke, almost to himself.

  “He must have stumbled across something without even knowing it, and they need him quiet.”

  Heather's breathing was heavy as she watched the Duke work, thinking of her next move. It was all happening so fast, and it was so crazy, that it was hard to even comprehend.

  “I don't want to live where this can happen,” she whispered. “I'm really worried about Paul. I was just talking to him, and he was fine. They were after him, but he was alive and talking. I'm worried they're going to kill him.”


  “Probably,” he said, glancing up from his own screen to look at her through the video. “So let's find him, and let's find the girl.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Mae exited the elevators and saw that Ryan was waiting for her in the lobby. He was sitting in one of the oversized white arm chairs that were sectioned off onto one side of the lush and modern hotel. The chairs were arranged around a fire place that was set into a wall lined with book shelves. In the center of this sectioned-off area was a coffee table with a few vintage magazines scattered across its surface.

  The area was meant to look like a library or a living room, to convey that feeling that you've arrived at home, and that all the comforts of home have not necessarily been left behind. Even the crackling fire in the hearth and the candle glowing on the mantle added to the effect, and although Mae's childhood home hadn't been like this, she did feel at home. In the few weeks that she'd been at the hotel, this area had become one of her favorite places to just sit and think, or to pore through books and the old magazines.

  Ryan looked up from a book that he'd apparently pulled from the library and smiled at her. He set the book aside, his movements awkward, but Mae didn't notice exactly why he was moving strangely until he stood up. At first, Mae just thought that his arm must be hurting, because he carried it at a 90 degree angle and didn't move it. As she stepped around the chair to give him a hug, she saw that his arm was much bulkier than it should have been. Ryan was wearing a dark grey sweater, and beneath the sleeve on his left arm, she saw that he was wearing a hard cast, which appeared to begin at his shoulder and wrap all the way to his hand.

  She stopped before giving him the hug and stared at his arm.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh nothing, I just hurt it the other day,” he said, glancing away very briefly before returning his gaze and smiling again at her. The flitting of his eyes said that he didn't want to discuss his arm any further, but Mae pretended not to notice.

  “When you were away?” she asked. “It looks like you did a bit more than hurt it.”

  “I'm good, how are you?” he said, and his tone was still light. He lifted his arm and shrugged. “I broke my arm. No big deal. It happened while I was away for work, and the docs say that I've got this bad boy for a couple of weeks, and then it comes off. Piece of cake.”

  “Well, are you okay?” she asked, finally meeting his gaze. She reached out and touched the cast with the tips of her fingers, feeling the hardness there beneath his sweater.

  “I'm fine, like I said, it's no big deal.”

  She noticed a bruise on the side of his face, by his ear, with part of the black and blue splotches disappearing under his hairline.

  “What did you do, get in a fight up there?” she asked, raising her fingers to his face and tracing the outline of the bruise. It was worse than she initially thought, extending down the side of his face and neck.

  “What, you don't like the look?” The light tone was still there, but underneath it, Mae could tell that he was getting a little frustrated.

  “I'm just worried about you, Ryan. This looks really bad.”

  “The docs checked that one out too, and I'm fine. Just some bruising.”

  “What happened?”

  “It's really silly,” he said. “I was moving some equipment around, and I tripped. Hit my head on the box, and then again on the cement, broke my arm. Sucks for sure, but I'm okay.”

  He grinned at her and pulled her close to him with his good arm, embracing her in a tight squeeze.

  “And it's all kind of worth it because you're worried about me.”

  He leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek in a fleeting kiss. She felt the butterflies again, felt the warm rush of dizziness and elation wash over her, but she pushed it away.

  “I am worried. This looks really bad,” Mae stood on her toes and landed a kiss of her own on the darkened and bruised skin of his cheek. She smiled up at him.

  “You need to stop being such a klutz.”

  “Guilty,” he said, and they laughed.

  “Come on.” He pulled her toward the entrance of the hotel, and his waiting car beyond. “Let’s go for a drive.”

  ***

  A few moments later, and she was barely thinking about his broken arm, or the nasty bruise on the side of his face. They were driving along the Massachusetts turnpike toward the New York state line. Snow was falling gently from the heavens, adding to the thick layer of powder that blanketed the rolling hills and forests of western Massachusetts.

  “Your favorite movie cannot be Breakfast at Tiffany's,” he said, laughing.

  “Why not? It's a great movie!” she said, and in truth, it was one of the few movies that she'd seen. As a child she had been more at home outside, and then after

  the tank oh please don't put me back in there please the tank the tank

  arriving in Miami, and all the business that had followed, she'd never gotten around to watching many movies. She saw Breakfast at Tiffany's one night at a hotel in New Orleans, and loved it. Mostly, she loved the carefree lifestyle of the main characters, and how easy their lives had seemed to her. She loved the style of clothing, and how the men treated the women, and the parties and all of it seemed so enticing. She'd only seen the movie once, but it had stuck with her ever since.

  “Is it the Tiffany's part of the movie that you like? Or is it the romance?” he asked, grinning slyly. “Am I your Sid Arbuck?”

  “So you have seen the movie?” she asked, giggling.

  “Of course,” he said. “Who hasn't seen Breakfast at Tiffany's? It's just not my favorite movie in the world.”

  “Okay, so if you don't approve of that one, how about Amelie?”

  “The French one?”

  “Yeah,” she said, thinking back on the wholly unexpected eccentric whimsy of that movie. Amelie was one of the few movies she'd seen before Miami, and it had been with a group of friends, after they'd hiked through the mountains on that autumn day. After she'd had her first kiss on the ridge, the color and leaves all around.

  They passed a large green sign on the side of the highway, signaling the exit to the Berkshires.

  It was here, she thought, and the sense of déjà vu swelled over her like a wave washing over a sandy beach. She had been on this highway before, turning off on that exit, and the trailhead leading to that memory of the first boy she'd loved was less than a few miles away. She wondered what Adam was doing, and she felt a twinge of guilt at thinking of him while sitting next to Ryan. It had been so long since she'd seen him, and so much

  you killed people when that building collapsed

  had happened since that hike on the ridge, when she'd been blissfully unaware of the dangers that were lurking just barely in the shadows. In her memories, the two events had happened so close together that she wasn't sure how much time stood between the hike on the mountain ridge and when she was taken from the school.

  They passed the freeway exit to her past, to the flood of memories, and in the same moment she felt both regret and relief, like tasting something sweet that had a bitter and metallic aftertaste.

  “You, my dear,” he said, “are a sucker for romance movies with a whole lot of panache.”

  She laughed, and pulled herself from her thoughts of that night, so long ago.

  “Panache, eh?” she said, shrugging, but who was she really fooling? When Amelie rode off into the flickering snapshots of the future, she had wanted that, still wanted it.

  “What's your favorite movie?” She asked, and he smiled.

  “I'm going to say any movie where Charlie Kauffman has written the script.”

  “You have to pick just one movie, or it’s cheating.”

  “Okay, well then.” He paused, mulling it over in his head, “I'm going to have to go with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but only because of the scene on the beach during the winter. You never see beaches during the winter in movies, when it’s snowing full force. That part, a
nd then the scene with the elephant parade, 'the world forgetting, by the world forgot.’”

  “Okay?” She laughed, but the sound was a question. “I have no idea what you just said.”

  “It's from a poem that I like, and it’s in the movie, during the elephant parade. So, it's kind of like two things that I like all in one. I had no idea that it would be in the movie, but I should have known I guess, 'cause the name of the movie is from the poem.”

  “I don't think I've seen that movie,” she said, “but it sounds good. Who doesn't like a good elephant parade? But the real question is: does it have panache?”

  “Oh, loads of panache.”

  “We should watch it then,” she said, and touched his hand.

  He smiled, but didn't respond. Instead, he looked out the window at the snow covered mountains and snow dusted trees. They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the muted sounds of the car speeding over the highway.

  “Ryan,” she said after the silence had fully developed.

  “Yes?” he asked, looking at her but knowing where the conversation was going.

  “I don't really know how to say this, but ...”

  Mae paused. Her heart beat quickly, and she felt lightheaded. She couldn't think of how to continue this conversation without opening up her feelings to him, and she had never opened up her feelings to anyone other than her parents.

  Even with Adam, on top of the ridge, she hadn’t gone this deep in their relationship. She'd met Adam at school, then he’d approached her in one of the classes that they'd shared and asked if she could help him with his homework. They had spent the afternoon together, and many more afternoons in the months that followed, and their friendship had deepened to the point that she didn't know how he was ever not a part of her life. They did everything together, except be more than friends. That is, until they were on the ridge, and he pulled her close, and she let him. Not until he touched her face gently with his fingers, twirled her hair, and leaned forward to gently brush his lips against hers.