The Snow Swept Trilogy

by Derrick Hibbard

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "Terminate the hacker," Harrison said, his voice low and angry, "and make sure there is no collateral damage this time."

  "Now?"

  "Now. Command has confirmed that she's still in the reporter's room. Take care of her now, destroy the reporter's files, and get out of there. No screwing around, Morales. Get it done and get out of Chicago. I need you with the subject."

  Morales didn't have to see Harrison to know that he was clenching his jaw as he spoke. Something must be happening to cause Harrison to seem so on edge and reckless. Harrison had used his name over the phone, something he normally avoided.

  Morales ended the call without asking any further questions or waiting for any additional instructions. He could feel his face flushing red, and he fought to keep the anger under control. It was him here in Chicago, not Harrison, and he'd spent the last few weeks here cleaning up messes. What did Harrison think was going on here?

  He finished the last swallow of ginger ale and orange juice and tossed a few dollar bills onto the bar.

  "Ya done?" the bartender asked.

  "Yes, sir." Morales shot the bartender a forced grin. "Enjoyed the conversation, though. You have a good afternoon."

  "And you the same, bud. Next time you're up for a trip to the upper, swing on by." The bartender’s words were difficult to understand through his thick Midwestern accent. Morales nodded and smiled, not entirely sure what the man had said. For the last thirty minutes, he'd struggled to understand the bartender while they'd discussed hunting deer on the upper peninsula of Michigan. Morales himself had never been hunting animals, but he could relate to the thrill that came after hours of stalking a prey in that moment before you pulled the trigger. The bartender's weapon of choice was a crossbow, and Morales thought that he might like to try a crossbow in the near future.

  Maybe he would use one on Harrison. Stick an arrow right between the guy's eyes and watch the life drip slowly from his face. There would be a certain pleasure in watching Harrison die, snuffing the life from this man who'd spent so many years giving him orders and relying on him to keep the organization safe and anonymous.

  He wondered if Harrison would go softly into the night, with honor and peace, or if he would fight and scream in terror at the inevitable unknown. Morales rubbed the stubble of his chin and smiled. Harrison would be afraid, he was sure.

  Morales exited the bar area of the hotel lobby and walked through the coffee shop toward the elevators. He considered stopping for a cup of coffee but thought better of it. Something the hacker was doing up in the reporter's bedroom had Harrison angry and in a panic. Something had to be happening to cause Harrison to give such a reckless order to kill the girl in the hotel with potential witnesses all around. If he waited, whatever the hacker was up to would only complicate matters and may delay his departure from the Windy City.

  The elevator door opened and several people stepped out. He scanned their faces to make sure that none of them was the girl, and then climbed onto the empty elevator.

  Soft music played as Morales rode to the seventeenth floor. He reached into the deep pocket of his coat and removed his Desert Eagle. From another pocket, he pulled an eight inch titanium silencer, which he screwed into the end of the gun. He checked the clip to ensure sufficient ammunition and replaced the gun into the inside pocket of his coat.

  Morales preferred not to use a silencer on his weapon, enjoying the boom of the bullet as it tore from the barrel, but inside the hotel, he had to avoid drawing any sort of attention. Even with the silencer, the sound of the shot would still be substantial.

  The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slid open with a soft ding. He walked down the hallway, directly to the late reporter's room. He glanced around and saw that he was alone before removing the key card he'd pulled from the reporter's body. He tapped it to the sensor and the lock disengaged, flashing a green light. He briefly wondered how the girl had gained access to the room and decided that she must have discovered the reporter's access code that could be entered into the small number pad in lieu of the key card.

  He pushed the door open slowly and saw that the lights were on in the room. He stepped inside, removing his gun as he did. He heard a sound coming from the bedroom and grinned.

  Morales felt that familiar surge of adrenaline and excitement, like a tingling in his muscles and butterflies in his stomach as he flipped the safety switch on his weapon and held it forward. Almost more than savoring those last seconds of a dying person's life, he loved that brief flash in their eyes when they realized there was no escape and that death was coming, ready or not.

  He smiled, thinking about the bartender's hunting stories in upper Michigan. This wasn't so different than hunting animals, he thought, and he tried to imagine the look of horror and surprise that would cross ANONX^17’s face when he came into the bedroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Don’t you need to check out?” Adam asked, following Ryan down the hallway of the hospital. Ryan was getting dressed as they walked, pulling his shirt on over his head and carrying his shoes. At the moment, he only had socks on his feet.

  The hospital gown he’d been wearing a few minutes before was tucked under his arm, and he tossed it into a garbage can as they passed it.

  “I’m pretty sure you need to check out of the hospital,” Adam repeated. “They’re going to think you’re missing, maybe dead in the cafeteria somewhere. And besides, don’t you need at least a little more time to heal?”

  They dodged crowds of people and slid onto the elevator going down.

  “Naw, I’m okay,” Ryan said. He stretched his neck and cracked the bones. The sound was clearly audible in the tiny space and a lady standing next to Ryan looked as though she would be sick. Ryan smiled at the lady and mouthed that he was sorry.

  “But what’s the rush?” Adam asked.

  “We’ve got a plan.”

  “Already?” Adam asked. “We don’t even know where she is.”

  The elevator doors opened and the people filed out, Ryan and Adam among them. Ryan walked quickly towards the door, still wearing only socks.

  “If you’re going to help me do this, then you need to walk faster,” Ryan said.

  “I’m all for saving Mae, but you saw them tonight. They have an army, and if we go about this without a plan, then we’re going to be killed.”

  “We have a plan.” Ryan pushed through the rotating doors to the outside. He paused for several seconds, surveying the cars parked at the curb. He spotted a black town car that waited with its engine running, and began to walk toward it. The driver’s door opened, and a tall thin man stepped out, crossing around the front of the car and opening the rear passenger door for Ryan.

  “Thank you,” Ryan said, nodding to the driver.

  “Good to see you, sir,” the driver responded.

  Adam paused at the curb, hesitating.

  “Get in!” Ryan shouted, and Adam climbed into the car. The driver shut the door behind him.

  “What is this?”

  “My dad’s car. I can only use it when he’s not in town.”

  “And who’s that?” Adam motioned to the driver, who was just getting back into the driver’s seat.

  “The driver,” Ryan said, as if it should be obvious.

  They road in silence for several minutes, catching their breath. Ryan started to put on his shoes, but discovered that his socks were wet. He grumbled under his breath and took them off.

  “Where to, sir?” the driver asked.

  “Dad’s hangar.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “This is unreal. He’s like a butler,” Adam said.

  “Dude, he’s not a butler. Don’t piss him off.”

  “Okay,” Adam said, pausing before changing gears. “Where are we going, and what is the plan?”

  “Dad’s airplane hangar, but after that, don’t know yet.” Ryan held up his phone, shaking it gently. “Have to wait for Heather to
let us know. Her text was letting us know to gather at a pre-arranged meeting place and wait for more info.”

  “Who is we?”

  “Lit Dragons.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Morales stepped into the bedroom, his finger squeezing slightly on the trigger as he prepared to shoot.

  The room was empty. He saw pieces of paper fluttering on the bed and floor, blown by the wind coming in from the partially open window. The sheer curtains billowed, and the room was very cold.

  He crossed to the bathroom in two giant steps, his gun raised in front of him, and he grimaced when he saw that that room was also empty. He turned and surveyed the entire room, looking for any sign of the hacker, but she wasn't there. The room was empty, and there was nowhere for her to hide.

  Then why had Harrison thought she was here? Command center was tracking her phone, and he'd seen her get on the elevator and come up here. He went to the window, which would only open a few inches--enough to allow a breeze, but not a person, and he shut it tightly. The sound echoed throughout the room. Several books lay on the kitchen table, open to pages that had been tabbed and highlighted. Papers were strewn all around, most containing handwritten notes and diagrams sketched in blue ink.

  And there it was, lying in the center of the bed: a mobile phone. The phone's casing was the color of white pearls, and it blended with the color of the white duvet. The phone was face down, and most of it was covered with the mess of papers, so camouflaged that he'd almost missed it. He lifted the phone and saw that the screen was active, filled with the rows of icons for applications. He flipped through the various screens, not knowing exactly what he was looking for, and when he saw nothing that caught his interest, he tossed the phone back to the bed.

  Morales returned the safety switch on his weapon and slid it back into the pocket of his coat, then retrieved his own phone. He dialed Harrison, who answered after the first ring.

  "Is it done?"

  "She's not here," Morales said. "I found her phone, but she's gone."

  Harrison was quiet for several seconds, and Morales imagined his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Again, he thought of the crossbow and relished the thought of sticking an arrow in Harrison's head, drops of blood to run with the beads of sweat.

  "Where is she?"

  "Your people were tracking her, you tell me," Morales said. "If I remember right, that was the way you wanted it."

  "Where did she go?"

  "I was in the lobby before I came here." Morales mentally flipped through the images of people that he'd passed on his way to the reporter's room. "I didn't see her."

  "So she's still in the building."

  "She might be." Morales paused, considering, "but I don't have the exits covered. She could have gone another way."

  "But why would she have left? And why would she have gone another way? Did she see you?"

  Morales laughed, but didn't respond.

  "Did she see you?" Harrison repeated each word slowly.

  "No, she did not see me."

  "Something happened to tip her off," Harrison growled. "Had to have been you, Morales."

  Morales looked again at the hacker's phone.

  "Her phone." Morales' voice drifted as he thought. They had cloned her phone while she rode the bus and was supposedly asleep. Had she known or realized the phone was cloned, he doubted she would have kept it with her. Her survival instincts would have prevented that, and Morales was sure that she would not have traipsed into the reporter's apartment, a place she must have suspected was being watched. The hacker girl was not stupid, that much was clear based on her escape from and outmaneuvering of the soldiers sent to kill her. Of course, she'd had some lead time and notice that they were coming, but still, she was not stupid. Somehow, in the apartment, she must have realized that her phone was cloned, or that something was wrong, and she'd slipped out. Maybe she'd left the hotel by a back door, or maybe she was still there, hiding. No matter what, she had caught on to the fact that they'd been tracking her with her phone and had ditched the phone. She would be off the grid until she was sure that she wouldn't be found, knowing that launching a full scale search of her inside or outside the hotel would require at least some organization within the Chicago PD—something that was possible, but would take time. The hacker girl would bank on that time to escape.

  And maybe that was her goal: to escape with her life. Morales had been to the reporter's room since the man had died, and he was sure that there was nothing in the room that would lead anyone to the truth behind his conspiracy theory rantings. So the girl had likely escaped, and would probably lay low until she was sure that she wasn't followed. Maybe she would stop searching the haystack for the needle and savor the fact that she was still alive.

  But then why had she come to the reporter's room in the first place? She must know that to continue down the road she was on meant only death. Revenge for the other hacker who'd been killed on the internet video in front of her? He doubted that fact alone would cause the hacker to risk her own life to such a high degree.

  "Morales?" Harrison said, interrupting his thoughts. "What about her phone?"

  "She left it here in the room," Morales said, and went again to the bedroom window, which the hacker girl had left open on purpose. Not to escape, but to cause the rustling sounds he'd heard. She'd left the window open to delay whoever she'd known was coming. Morales grimaced and squeezed the phone in his hand so tightly his knuckles whitened and his hands shook.

  "She knew."

  "Of course she knew," Harrison said. "She escaped. Again. You need to find her, Morales."

  "She'll be gone by now, off the grid. Until she pops up again online, there won't be any way to find her." Morales pocketed the hacker's phone, and it clanked against the barrel of his gun. He exited the room into the hallway and started toward the elevator.

  "If the Summit Operation is to be a success," Morales said, "we need to focus on getting Mae to Colorado. We are hemorrhaging from these side projects, what with the reporter and these hackers."

  "These little side projects may prevent the operation from happening at all," Harrison spat. "All it takes is a leak and the entire organization is exposed, much less the operation."

  "Well, make sure there aren't any leaks, then. These outside sources won't be viewed as anything but conspiracy. Even if they do get any details right, which is unlikely, we just nudge the media to reject those details as rantings, and after the Summit, those rantings won't matter. Not by the media, not by the public, not by anyone. Chaos is what you wanted, boss. Chaos is what they're going to get."

  Morales was at the elevator. He pressed the DOWN button and waited, his heart pounding and his face flushing with anger. As he spoke to Harrison, he became more and more disgusted with the man. He couldn't shake the image of Harrison on the floor before him, bleeding and dying. Now, not only was he some dog ordered about by Harrison, but he was the one keeping things in perspective. He wanted to crush Harrison's throat with his bare hands.

  "I'm sending the copter," Harrison said after several seconds. He seemed to have regrouped at least. "You will rendezvous with the doctor and the subject and travel with them to the Summit. If the hacker girl reappears, kill her without hesitation."

  The door to the elevator opened and Morales ended the call without another word.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Heather's hands trembled as she lifted the cup of chamomile tea to her lips and sipped the warm liquid. She set the cup back on the table and lifted the magazine to stare at the pages. She wasn't reading, only seeing the page in front of her, unable to focus, the words and images a blur of color and contrast.

  After a few seconds of her hands shaking and rattling the pages, she decided it would draw too much attention to herself, and she put the magazine on the table in front of her. She stared down at the pages and then closed her eyes, forcing herself to remain calm. She wouldn't keep them closed fo
r long, as she needed to keep watch for the man who was after her. The man who was probably sent to the reporter's room to kill her.

  She had seen the man in the bar across the lobby, but wasn't sure until she'd seen him walk through the cafe and lobby to the elevators, his right hand clutching something in his coat. Of course, it could have been anything in his coat, but she was sure it was a gun. And she was sure it was meant for her. The man moved too smoothly, but paused every few steps to scan the faces of people passing him. He didn't spend much time on the people sitting in the cafe or lobby, something she'd been counting on when she'd picked a table among a crowd of other people at the cafe. She guessed that he would have expected her to leave the hotel right away, not to sit and hide in plain sight. It went against her instincts and all logic, but she had no idea who else was watching the hotel—and leaving would only draw attention to herself.

  She knew she had to wait until he was gone, but the waiting was killing her. It was the instinct of wild animals escaping the hunter that she lacked, the innate ability to backtrack and hide, to confuse her trail and throw off her pursuers. Her mind and gut were in battle, logic and reason fighting for control. She felt a freight train was ripping through her insides, and no matter how many cups of tea she drank—she was on her third—her hands would not stop shaking.

  Heather had known immediately that someone had cloned her phone. She had fallen asleep on the bus, and that was her first mistake. No, not her first, but her second mistake. Her first had been using the mobile pay app on her phone to purchase the bus ticket to Chicago. At the time, the thought that someone would have taken note of her phone's ISP had not crossed her mind. It was a stupid mistake—an oversight that could have gotten her killed.

  But why hadn't they just killed her? They had obviously made the decision to keep her alive when they'd simply cloned her phone on the bus. Even the thought that someone had been close and quick enough to get ahold of her phone while she slept made her sick. Why hadn't they just killed her?