“What does it matter? I was in an interrogation room all night,” she barked.
“Where’s the car?”
She had a ticket stub in her hand. “Impound lot.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I had to run.”
She looked around nervously. “Did you get the stuff?”
“I have it. Had to give some homeless guys the cash to… Never mind. Let’s get you to the hotel for a shower and some coffee. Marcus has news for us,” I told her.
“Tell me when I’m a human again.”
After retrieving the car from the impound, we circled back to the hotel, and Veronica took the world’s longest shower. It might have even surpassed mine after wearing that hat last night. She came out of the steamy bathroom with a white robe, the hotel logo on the chest. A towel was wrapped around her hair, and she smelled fresh and was far more relaxed.
“Spill the beans. What do we know?” She sat on the end of the bed, and I lifted the stainless-steel lid off her breakfast, passing it to her.
“I did some digging. Found an ad on the local university’s website, hosting a meetup for struggling youth,” Marcus said.
“What does that have to do with the Believers?” Veronica asked between bites of her omelette.
“The address. It’s in their building. The one that might be hiding our beloved seventh Token.” He smiled and reached for his coffee.
“What’s the plan? We attend this meeting and spread out, searching the place?” she asked.
“I don’t think it’ll be that easy. Marcus is the most obvious choice for playing a college student.” I realized the error of my ways as soon as I said it.
“How old would you say I look?” Veronica asked with a pile of attitude.
“I…”
“I’m messing with you, Rex. Jeez, I completely understand. Marcus goes in. Then what?”
“We go too, just not conventionally. He’ll scope it out first, let us know what we’re working with, and we’ll sneak in after.”
“When’s the meeting?” she asked, shoving the last bite into her mouth.
“Tonight.” Marcus drank some coffee. “I’ve signed up.”
“Good. Can we see the building? Head over there?” Veronica set her fork down and removed the towel on her head. Her hair was still damp.
“When you’re ready.” I cleaned up, setting the food plates in the hallway, and stopped at the mirror near the entrance. I was skinnier, my cheeks more gaunt than before. I had a couple of weeks’ worth of facial hair, and I looked different, but we all did.
“Marcus, you don’t think anyone would recognize you, right?” We’d been over this a few times, but I wanted to have the discussion again. I didn’t want to send him into more danger than we needed to. As it was, I was tempted to call the whole thing off.
“Saul said the cult isn’t tracking me, and that only a few even knew about you and Hunter Madison at all. I bet it was the Sovereign, Fred, and Francois, along with that guy he killed in LA. Maybe a couple more.” Marcus wore a thick sweater and black jeans with the knees ripped out. His sneakers were flat and white. He passed for the perfect college student.
“You sure you want to do this? It could be dangerous.”
“Compared to everything else we’ve done so far?” Marcus put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m in this with you, Rex. From the start to the end. If we don’t solve this mess, we’re all going to be dead.”
“That’s not a sure thing,” I replied.
“Yes, it is, so I’ll stick my neck out. Learn what we can about the building, and we’ll go from there.” Marcus tossed me the car keys from the counter, while the hair dryer blasted from the bathroom.
“You’re a good friend.”
“I look up to you, Rex. You’re like my brother from another mother,” he said.
“Same.”
Veronica was dressed, her hair in a topknot, opting for casual leggings and an oversized sweater. “Let’s move.”
We drove from the hotel, heading the ten blocks north. I peered through the window, seeing the Space Needle to my left as Veronica dialed Tripp.
His face appeared on her screen. “Finally. You have any issues with my guy?”
Veronica glanced at me, and I gave a slight shake of my head. “None at all,” she said.
“Good. We’re set. Going in tomorrow. It’s quiet here, maybe a couple of sentries from the looks of things. Don’t expect it to be a big deal.” The way Tripp casually spoke about killing people was off-putting, like he was discussing the baseball score.
“Marcus is taking part in a meeting for students at the building tonight. We’re doing an intel run now.”
“It looks like the entire tower is owned by them, under a corporation name. Bezitrial. They’re a pharma company specializing in anti-aging drugs,” Marcus told him.
“Great. Ours is a little different. It’s an estate. Gated, maybe a ten-thousand-square-foot home. Not much activity. If we looked into it, I bet it’s corporate owned as well,” Tripp said.
Veronica held the phone in front of her. “Anything else?”
“We’ll keep you posted on what happens tonight. We’ll each approach at the same time, if possible. We wouldn’t want word of an infiltration spreading and adding to their security. We need this Token, and our best chance is tomorrow.”
Tripp was inside a hotel room. “How are Dirk and Clayton?” Veronica asked.
He glanced at the window behind him. “They’re fine. I sent them to the pool for the afternoon. Easier to plan things without them hovering.”
“Any problems?” I chimed in from the driver’s seat, turning right at a red light.
“Dirk keeps trying to take charge. Ordering me around. I don’t think he’s used to taking orders,” Tripp said.
“I’m glad his head’s in the game. Okay, we’ll talk soon.” I finished, and Veronica hung up as we found parking in a lot a couple of blocks from the Bezitrial building. It was thirty stories high, dark blue glass from bottom to top.
The sidewalks were busy for a Saturday during the lunch hour, as we passed by a bookstore and I peered at our destination. The name on the outside said Access Plaza. As nondescript as they came.
“What floor is this meeting on?” Veronica asked Marcus.
“Says third story.”
“And you convene in the lobby?”
“That’s what the instructions said.”
“What the hell are they doing meeting in a cult-owned building?” I was curious. Struggling youth. It had to be related to the Believers. “I doubt they’d let just anyone use their facilities.”
“That’s what I figured,” Marcus agreed. “I assumed they were trying to pull the oldest cult trick in the book. Prey on the weak and lonely when they have nowhere else to turn. Add to their numbers. After I saw the ads, I searched for variations of their wording and found twenty other cities doing the same thing.”
This was news to me. I guided them into the bookstore, not wanting to discuss a cult directly across the street from one of their bases. “You think they’re doing some heavy recruiting?” Veronica whispered as we wiped our feet on the entrance mat. The store had a dozen or so people wandering around, and we walked to the coffee bar.
“That’s the best bet. The Objects are coming, and they’re trying to pad their numbers. Hopefully, I’ll understand more after talking with them.” Marcus ordered a coffee, and so did I. Veronica asked for a bottle of water. I could tell she was tired after a trying night in custody.
“You’re really going to have to sell yourself,” I reminded him.
“I’ll kill it. I’ll be the saddest sack you’ve never wanted to meet. They’ll have no choice but to let me in,” he said with a laugh.
I paid for the drinks, and we found a bar table along the glass windows, sitting down to a view of the Access Plaza’s entrance. So far, I hadn’t seen anyone going in or out.
Something my dad had said rattled into my hea
d. He’d mentioned dreaming while on Rimia. Every night, he’d dreamt of a man in France, he thought. It had felt like he was living in the man while he slept.
I rose, setting my cup aside. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”
The cashier was on her cell phone, smiling as she quickly typed a message to someone. “Excuse me, can you direct me to books about dreams?” I asked.
“Dreams? Like ambitions, or the thing you do while you sleep?” She didn’t look up from her phone while she asked.
“The second one.”
“Nonfiction, near the self-help.” She pointed deeper into the store.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I found them crammed in with the psychology books, four or five titles. One was written by a celebrity from the nineties, with a phony smile and a dream bubble showing her stacks of money. I picked up the second. It was titled: Dreams: The Link to Your Subconscious. The man on the back flap looked exactly like every sixty-year-old professor I’d ever worked with. I stuck it under my arm and skipped the next as my gaze settled on the last book on the subject.
Projections: Dreams of Others. It was gimmicky, with a yoga-inspired monk-type on the inside flap. He suggested it was possible to sneak into other’s dreams, but only if you followed his ten steps. I took that as well, and paid for them at the checkout.
Marcus and Veronica were chatting, and I set the bag on the coffee bar before spotting the van across the street. Elevator Plus. We lift you up. Not the best slogan, but it gave me an idea. “Hang tight,” I told them, and flipped my jacket’s collar up, knowing the building would have cameras placed around the entrance.
Marcus called after me, but I was already halfway across the street, dodging traffic. I stayed on the far side of the repair van, waiting for the man to walk over. He was tapping on a tablet, grumbling to himself about working on a weekend.
“You have a smoke?” I asked. I’d seen the tail end of the pack sticking out of his front pocket.
He glanced up, probably making sure I wasn’t some sketchy character trying to rob him. Downtown cores were always full of hustlers, no matter which city you were stuck in. Especially in a coastal place like Seattle, the Emerald City.
“Sure, boss.” He passed me one, and I took out my own lighter, flicking the flame to life. I hated smoking but feigned it as best as I could.
I nodded at the building. “Quite the place.”
He began playing on his tablet. “Sure. Whatever.”
“I start on the twentieth floor on Monday. Wanted to scope it out. Man, I am nervous.”
He finally gazed at me, setting the tablet into his van. “Why?”
I could tell he was warming up to me. “New job. Just moved here from Boston. Have two little kids. Wife says we need to make this work, or she’s heading back to Beantown to stay with her mother.” I hammed it up, rubbing my forehead like it was the most stressful moment of my existence, adding in a hint of classic Boston accent.
“I hear you. My old lady’s always threatening me with some crap like that.” He lit a smoke too. We were bonded. Sharing an act. Dealing with similar issues.
“How long you been fixing elevators?”
“Twelve years. Used to work on cars, but this opportunity came and it was better. Get to work alone. See different places every day. They give me a van too, which means I can nap in the middle of the day, and no one’s the wiser. Most of these jobs only take twenty minutes or so, and I can bank ‘em at an hour or two. It’s a good life,” he said. The guy was as nondescript as they came. He was about five ten, one ninety, and I glanced at his nametag. Bruce.
“Nice to meet you, Bruce.” I shook his hand. “Name’s Donnie.”
“Likewise.”
“You all done here?” I asked. I pretended to inhale and turned to blow out the smoke.
“More or less. Need a part,” he said.
“Bruce, would I be able to see inside the building? I’d love to get a feel for the twentieth floor before Monday.” I said it with mild desperation laced in.
“I can’t do that, Donnie. Against the rules.” He smiled.
“Just need a lay of the land. I’m an anxious fella.”
“Well, the place is all locked down. If I disarm her again, it’s shown on the records, and I’ll have to explain it.”
“When you back?” I asked, like it didn’t really matter anymore.
“Tomorrow.”
“On a Sunday?” I pretended it was the most unacceptable thing ever.
“I know. Tell me about it. But it gets me out of going to church with the rugrats and the wife. They pay time and a half. Fantasy football money.”
I had a few hundred dollars from the stash Tripp had passed me, and I carefully slid out two bills. “Bruce, can I meet you here? For a tour?”
He stared at my hand. “Why the hell not. You’ll have to wear a uniform, though.” He took the offered money and opened the rear doors. He found a spare jumpsuit with the company name on the back, complete with the hokey slogan, and pushed it at me. “I’ll be here at eight.”
“Thank you. I owe you big time,” I told him. “You done for the day?”
“Sure am.”
I glanced at the front seat, seeing the tablet. “Did you lock up? I’d be a nervous wreck about that kind of thing. Always been a bit of an OCD.”
He peered at the door and smirked. “Me too. Lemme check.”
I waited until he was out of sight and grabbed the tablet, concealing it behind my back. He was there again a minute later. “See you in the morning.”
“If you bring another two of those bills, I won’t be offended,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Donnie.”
He started whistling, and I watched him climb into the van, not even noticing the missing tablet. I waved at him as he drove off, and waited until the traffic was clear to jog across the street, careful not to drop the tablet.
I pushed through the bookstore doors, finding Marcus and Veronica staring at me.
“Dream books? And then talking to an elevator repair guy?” Marcus asked. “You feeling okay?”
“Come on. I have a plan.”
10
We dropped Marcus off at a bus stop a few blocks from Access Plaza a half hour before he was supposed to head to the support group meeting. I almost sent him with a gun, but if these were really the Believers, they might search the recruits or have a metal detector. We couldn’t take the chance, so he had his burner phone on him. Considering he was about to attempt to infiltrate a terrible cult, my friend was oddly calm.
“I hate this,” Veronica said.
“So do I, but he wanted to stick his neck out. We have to let him.” I sped off, driving to a restaurant a few blocks from Marcus’ destination. We parked in the underground lot, and jogged up a flight of concrete steps before exiting into a classy Italian joint.
I had on a blazer and jeans, Veronica had dressed in a nice green blouse and a pair of black pants, and we hung our jackets on a rack near the booth they directed us to. For a Saturday night just before eight, it wasn’t packed. January in Seattle. People were coming off their Christmas hangover, content to save money and stay at home while the precipitation changed on a whim.
“Why are we here?” she asked.
“It’s close by, and we need to eat.” I’d fasted most of the day, too nervous to commit to food. Smelling the cheese, pasta, and lamb emanating from the kitchen had my stomach growling.
“I wish we could have gone with him. Or given him a mic.”
“Too dangerous, either way you divide it. Marcus is smart and has a charming demeanor. He’ll do well tonight. We’ll be lucky if he extracts some useful information.” We ordered some appetizers but skipped the wine, opting for coffee. I needed all of my wits about me.
“How did you two become such good pals?” Veronica asked.
“It was funny. He was this skinny kid, eighteen years old, and my most challenging student. As in, he challenged everything I taught. This was at my old college. I wouldn’t
say it was a dump, but it was a far cry from being elite. There are a lot of great students at a place like that: those who didn’t have the connections, or maybe didn’t have the proper teachers at their local high schools. But the smart ones usually stand out.”
“The cream always rises to the top,” Veronica said.
“That’s true.”
“My mother would use that phrase whenever I needed motivation.” She glanced at her coffee cup.
“She’s right. Marcus was like that. He nailed his exams. Worked harder than anyone, but he quickly realized anthropology and history weren’t his calling. He switched to computer sciences but continued my classes as electives. We first hung out when he asked for my help on an assignment for his mandatory literature course. He’d never been much of a reader, and I suggested he pick up a couple of classics. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, and he read more century-old books than I have within a year. That’s how he goes. When Marcus finds something he’s interested in, he learns everything he can.”
“Sounds like you were a good mentor,” she said.
“I guess so. I didn’t try to teach him so much as support him. As you can see, he’s doing the heavy lifting now,” I joked.
“He really admires you,” Veronica said.
“And I admire him. It’s rare to find a friend you can rely on, without being self-serving or judgmental.” The food came, and we ate ravenously, me constantly checking my dad’s old watch. “He should be inside by now.”
“Are you sure sneaking into the tower is a good idea?” she asked for the second time since I’d divulged my plan.
“No, but it’s a solid opportunity. We have the codes to break inside and a cover. What more can we ask for?” I dipped a piece of calamari in red sauce.
“If we get the Token, I’m going with you to Rimia.” From her tone, there was no denying her.
“Fine. I’d be relieved to have you with me. We’ll need our parents to come too.”
She grinned at this. “Maybe they could draw us a map.”
“Good luck. Imagine that. They’re obsessed with returning.”
“I’d like to know why,” Veronica said.
“That makes two of us.”
Lost Time (The Bridge Sequence Book Two) Page 9
