by TR Kohler
Twice.
From there, he had departed the shack and driven directly to the apartment he is currently sharing with Eka and Intan. The two people that also now join him in the van, the three of them having rehashed the plan several times throughout the night.
Directives that they all now know rote as they sit and watch the hordes of workers funnel their way inside the facility. People that barely lift their feet or their gaze from the sidewalk before them, none having the slightest idea of what is about to befall them.
The new direction the enterprise Arief works for is taking, opting to take an emphatic step forward out of the shadows. A new endgame, reached through the shock and sacrifice of people like those lining the sidewalks.
A crowd that is beginning to thin, prompting Arief to shift his gaze to the clock on the dash before him.
“Shift starts in seven minutes,” he says. The first any of them have spoken since leaving the apartment, the sound of his voice grabs the attention of Eka in the passenger seat.
A bit of movement from Intan tucked into the space behind them.
Leaning forward, he rests either hand on the seatbacks. “This is going to be so epic.”
A comment that draws a flash of white teeth from Eka as she glances back over a shoulder. “Yeah, it is.”
Words that Arief doesn’t bother adding to. Vapid statements that only confirms the disdain Firash holds for them.
Solidifies the fact that they really are idiots. Kids still out chasing some ethereal goal. Idealistic jargon prattled on about from afar.
A stance that no doubt is about to be obliterated. A first foray into the realities of battle.
Pushing open the driver’s side door, Arief slides out into the parking lot. A stall tucked away in the rear corner of the employee lot, he slips along the narrow gap between the side of the van and the fence lining it.
A standard chain link design that forms a ninety-degree angle near the back bumper.
Perfect cover as he wrenches open the vertical panel door along the back. Grabbing up the heavy canvas bag propped into position there, he swings the door shut and loops the thick strap of the bag over a shoulder.
A total weight coming in at more than forty pounds, digging into the soft tissue of his deltoids.
A load he gives no indication of, his jaw set as he comes forward along the far side of the van. A short walk that ends with him pausing beside the passenger window to see Intan already having slid forward behind the wheel.
“You all set?” he asks.
“We got it,” Eka replies. Her voice barely a whisper, she stares straight ahead. “Get into position. Park the van. Wait for you to return.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The elongated oval beaten into the desert sand isn’t so much a track in the traditional sense. It isn’t the kind most commonly found encasing a football field, made of rubber with lanes clearly delineated with bright paint and numerals.
Just as the people currently slogging around it are a far cry from traditional student-athletes.
More a foot path than anything, the course stretches over a half mile in length. Winding over the windswept ground, it has a slight downward grade on the front portion, making the return trip that much more difficult. Gone is any form of vegetation save the occasional tuft of sagebrush or cacti.
Certainly, nothing to provide even a modicum of reprieve from the harsh sun.
A fact made most obvious by its shine on Doc’s bald head, the bright rays reflecting from the veneer of sweat painting his skin. A constant coating of moisture that is present no matter how many times he swipes at it with the hand towel hanging from either side of his neck.
Same for the parabola of sweat that stains the front of his gray sweatshirt.
A stopwatch gripped in his hand, he stares down at the digits displayed onscreen. Numbers made to look even smaller in the grip of his oversized paw.
“Eight minutes,” he bellows, his deep bass timbre easily passing over the sand.
A sound that gets no reaction from the people traversing the track. Only nominally more from the small cluster of black angus cattle bunched up nearby. Spectators idly standing by, watching another of the anomalies of their new existence on The Ranch.
Creatures that will never again need to worry about going through a spring roundup or being carted off to the butcher. The lucky chosen few that will spend the rest of their days being fed lavishly. Lawn ornaments, cared for by a line item hidden deep within the federal budget.
Taking the entirety of the scene in as she walks up, Kari Ma is well past the point of trying to make sense of all of it. Born with the gift of invisibility and having spent her life working with or around people with abilities even much greater than her own, she knows better than to try and do such a thing.
All it does is create grief and confusion.
A host of other things as well, none changing the situation in the slightest.
“That looks...” she says on approach, pulling Doc’s attention away from the stopwatch. Glancing at her, his face creases into a thin smile.
“Enviable,” he replies. “Inspiring. Fun as hell.”
No choice but to match his expression, Kari nods in agreement. “Yes. All of that.”
The grin growing large enough to show teeth, Doc turns back to the track. Checking the time, he fixes his gaze on a young man with blonde hair shorn down a uniform quarter inch trudging their way. Cristian Rigg, the youngest of the trainees on hand at The Ranch. Just fourteen-years-old, not far removed from working the mines in his native West Virginia.
That being where his gift of superspeed was first discovered.
An ability that seems far from apparent at the moment, his body listing to the side as he jogs along.
The latest example of Doc’s preferred training style, building people up as individuals independent of their abilities. Baseline skills so that when the time comes to employ them, they will be that much better off.
“That’s it, Rigg,” Doc calls as he passes. “Doesn’t matter if you’re fast as hell if you pass out after a mile!”
A comment meant to serve as motivation, perhaps even a bit of explanation, though it seems to land no better than the task itself. Words that earn a sideways glare, Rigg clearly not enjoying what is happening.
Much the same as the handful of others spaced at intervals around the track. People moving at different speeds using various gaits, small clouds of red dust rising around them.
The finisher to an afternoon training session before they will be released for the day.
Standing with both hands balanced atop her cane, Kari watches for no more than a couple of minutes before her attention is ripped away. Pulled from the scene before her by the vibration of her cellphone against her ribcage.
Another unexpected arrival that causes her to reach into the inside pocket of her suit jacket and extract the device.
“Mike?” Doc asks, glancing over before setting his focus on the next runner approaching.
Bennett Wirfs, a young man gifted with an ability known as cyber mind. Something that is decidedly more cerebral than physical, a fact plainly visible as he stumbles along.
"Perry Walker," Kari replies, beginning to turn away from Doc and the track.
“Hm,” Doc says, grunting softly. “Any word from over there yet?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The shrill sound of the ringtone erupts from the darkened confines of the apartment. Volume turned up just shy of a fire alarm, it reverberates through the space, easily passing from its place on the kitchen counter into the bedroom.
Smashing into Mike at full force, it rips him from the clutches of sleep, jerking him directly upright in bed.
A reaction even more pronounced than his encounter with Tania Lynch pulling up onto the curb the day before, the physiological responses are instantaneous. More than just a rising pulse, this one brings with it the sharp catch of his breath. A veneer of sweat.
A spike in acrimony at the harsh intrusion interrupting the rest that had been so long in coming, most of the night spent staring at the files Tania brought over.
The woman he suspects is on the other end of the call, still intent on trying to get him back for being such a thorn in her side. A presence foisted upon her that was neither wanted nor asked for.
Pops of light erupting across his vision, Mike peels back the thin sheet covering him. More than enough given the warmth in the air, it falls to the floor as he rises, the continued intrusion of the ringing reverberating through the apartment.
A shrill siren pulling him forward, pushing his vitriol ever higher as he snatches the glowing device from the counter and presses it to his face.
“Yeah?” he snaps, letting his tone match the annoyance shared by Tania the previous afternoon.
A decision that makes it that much more surprising when the voice that responds isn’t the one he is expecting.
At all.
“Bad time?” Kari Ma asks, a bit of her own agitation obvious. Perhaps, a bit of amusement as well.
Having only met the woman a couple of times, it takes a moment for the voice to register. A crease appearing between his brows, Mike jerks the screen away, staring down at the string of digits splayed across it.
The standard ten digits grouped into three-three-four that he very rarely encounters these days.
“Sorry,” Mike mutters, bringing the phone back to his face. “Was up most of the night staring at my notes and the case files from those two blasts.”
Bypassing the apology, she goes straight to the second part of his statement. “Anything moving there?”
Lowering himself to the edge of the kitchen chair Tania had occupied the night before, Mike balances his elbows on his knees. Raising his free hand to his brow, he kneads the skin twice before running his palm back over his scalp.
A move that does little to push aside the grog. Rest that was most of the night in coming, his mind refusing to turn off.
Things running the gamut from Gatorade and Pepsi to again questioning if he should be in Jakarta at all.
How Diah is doing overseeing the bar while he is away.
If he really does have a daughter out there, or if he is just the sucker that was brought in to deal with an ugly situation. The closest thing there was to an expert in country.
“More questions than answers,” Mike replies. “Right now, we know they are both American-owned beverage companies in roughly the same geographic area. Beyond that, it’s almost like they were planned to be as different as possible.”
Rotating his focus away from the floor at his feet, Mike takes in the spread of literature on the table beside him. Every square inch not still occupied by the remains of their shared Chinese food covered in printouts from various reports.
Schematics and chemical analyses and investigation findings from a handful of places. Handwritten thoughts and theories from his own observations and discussions with Tania.
Very little of it providing a solid heading, that being the irrefutable truth that eventually caused him to give up for the night and head into the bedroom.
“Why?” he asks. “You were just here, so you know the time change. Have been in the field before, so you know how these things tend to go.
“Let me guess...the President call and lean on you?”
A question that was as much jest as anything, it was meant as a backhanded way of telling her she was phoning entirely too early. Interrupting what little sleep he’s gotten since they first met.
Making it that much more surprising when she answers, “Call? Yes. Lean? No.”
Brows coming together, Mike takes a moment to decipher the response. A puzzle too intricate given his being awake for less than three minutes, he prompts, “Meaning?”
“Meaning, there’s been another incident,” Ma says. “General Motors, this time. Less than an hour ago.”
On his feet the instant the information is out, Mike glances to the clock seated into the top of the stove nearby. An aging model with manual hands sitting at an obtuse angle so large it is nearly a straight line.
“Ten after seven,” he whispers. “Less than an hour ago means...”
“Day shift,” Ma finishes.
“Shit,” Mike mutters, already retracing his previous path back into the bedroom. Long strides just shy of stomping.
Pulse picking up as he goes for his duffel sitting in the corner and begins to pull out clothes.
“How big is the GM plant here?” he asks.
“Largest in the country,” Ma replies. “I guess it’s grisly. Someone contacted the embassy, and it went through the chain pretty quick from there.”
Snatching an outfit that is only a slight variation of his daily uniform at the bar, Mike tosses the clothes on the bed. As he does so, he runs the call tree she is alluding to through his mind.
A string of connections that would have to include a minimum of four different stops before making its way down to him.
At least two of them being ranking offices with vested interests in seeing this go away.
“Any pressure?” Mike asks.
“Not yet,” Ma replies, “but I honestly can’t say how long that will hold.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
In both of the previous instances, Arief Wardoyo was not in the immediate vicinity when the bombs blew. Rigged with timed detonators, he’d been sure to put a bit of distance between himself and the blast sites before they went off, as per Firash’s plans.
Lengths where he could still monitor the responses, but risked no chance of being detected.
Orders he was glad to obey, though there is no denying the pulsating adrenaline that now fills him. More than just the jolt of placing the devices and racing away from the factory.
Slipping out unseen and ridding himself of the maintenance uniform he was wearing. Stripping down to clothes he had on underneath, leaving the soiled blue togs in a dumpster nearby.
Making his way back to the van to find Eka and Intan both seated in the rear. A spot where they were out of sight and seemed to have been partaking in other extracurriculars as well.
Activities Arief couldn’t bring himself to care about as he slid into the front seat, making it just in time for the first blast to erupt.
Excitement unlike anything he has felt, cresting with the ground trembling beneath the van. Energy that grows as he sits and watches the cloud of black smoke rising into the air from the facility nearby.
“That...is...badass,” Eka mutters, repeating the line she used earlier. A catchphrase that the two seem to use for most everything, even when it isn’t always appropriate.
Passing from the rear of the van, she parts the two front seats before dropping sideways into the passenger chair. Knees pointed toward Arief, she stares out through the windshield, her mouth gaping.
A posture that Intan mimics as he leans forward into the gap between the chairs. Dreadlocks hanging down on either side of his face, his eyes are opened wide.
“Badass,” he echoes, putting special emphasis on the back half of the word.
A two-part cadence that normally would make Arief feel nothing but annoyance, but this morning actually evokes a smile. A small grin as he stares at the dark funnel pushing ever higher into the sky. A stream that continues steadily even now several minutes after the initial blast.
A side benefit of the cascading ripple effect of Firash’s newest invention. Scads of smaller explosions placed throughout the warehouse, each set to go off in order.
A sequence with just enough gaps in between to make people think that it is finally over. Draw in first responders and workers to offer aid before taking out some new portion of the building.
Send renewed shock waves through the ground and bits of exhilaration into Arief.
“How many is that now?” Eka asks.
“Seven,” Arief replies.
“Was that the biggest?” Intan follows up.
In vivid clarity,
Arief can recall the details that were imparted to him by Firash. An explanation that was more thinking out loud as he worked through the plan, passing every last thought and intention into Arief.
“So far,” Arief mumbles, the smile falling away as he continues watching.
In total, there are an even ten devices stowed throughout the interior of the building. A trio of larger ones planted in a lopsided triangle in the middle, meant to impact maximum damage.
Both in terms of property and employees.
From there, the blasts spiral outward. A progression that starts with the logical exit points before circling through the facility.
Making sure that nothing goes completely unscathed.
A sequence that is nearly complete as the initial wave of first responders shows. Vehicles preceded by the moaning wail of their sirens. A sound giving cause for Arief to recline his seat slightly.
Reach out and motion for Eka to do the same.
Parked near a confluence of two feeder streets, Arief watches as the source of the grating noise appears a few moments later. A string of police cruisers tearing into view.
Two handfuls that whip past them without so much as a glance before disappearing around the corner.
Followed in order by a trio of ambulances.
A pair of fire engines.
A convoy of vehicles that immediately chokes all access in the area, backed almost all the way to the van.
“You guys ready?” Arief asks, the smile lingering as he takes in the scene.
A question that doesn’t need an answer as he reaches for the door handle before stepping out into the street.
Chapter Thirty-Six
From the sound of things, Tania Lynch is no more excited to be getting the early morning call than Mike was. Opening with an audible exhalation, he can hear covers rustling. A pained grunt.
