by Jon S. Lewis
“All right, listen up,” Lohr said, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. “I’m supposed to teach you how to defend yourselves against monsters that make me look like a furry little kitten, but most of you wouldn’t even last thirty seconds with your own grandmothers.”
A few of the cadets laughed.
“Somehow, some way, I’m going to mold each one of you into a living weapon capable of things that you never dreamed possible—but you’re going to have to do your part. That means total dedication from the moment you walk into this gym until the time you leave. If the Thule are on their way, as we think they are, then there’s a good chance you’ll be the last batch of recruits that will have time to train. So if you fail, we all die.”
Nobody made a sound.
“Today we’re going to pair up and do a little sparring,” he said. “I’ve seen your files, but as far as I’m concerned a black belt doesn’t mean anything, and I couldn’t care less if you were on the varsity wrestling team back home. I want to see what you can do with my own two eyes, so let’s have Romero and Jomtong front and center.”
“Nice,” Oz said. “His dad was a Muay Thai champion. This should be fun.” He had a wide grin as he climbed into the ring.
Colt wasn’t sure that fighting Jomtong would be his idea of fun. He watched him walk up the steps and slide between the ropes. The cadet was thin but muscular, and even though he was eight inches shorter and nearly a hundred pounds lighter than Oz, he didn’t look nervous. In fact, his eyes smoldered like a mongoose eyeing a king cobra.
“Before any of you start complaining about the size differential, you need to understand something,” Lohr said. “There’s no such thing as a fair fight, so you might as well accept it and move on. There will always be someone bigger and stronger, which means you need to use your head, not just your fists, knees, and elbows.” He looked at Oz, then Jomtong, and he smiled. “Are you two ready?”
They both nodded.
“Fight!”
They circled around the center of the ring, looking for an opening. Oz feigned with his right hand, pulled back, and struck. The quick jab would have knocked Jomtong across the ring, but Jomtong was too quick. He connected with a straight foot thrust to Oz’s stomach, knocking him off balance. Then he ran and jumped, using Oz’s thigh as a springboard. His knee bashed into Oz’s jaw, and with a loud crack, Oz fell to the mat.
“See what I mean?” Lohr stepped between them. He offered his hand, but Oz pushed it away and walked to the center of the ring. “You’re sure you want to go through that again?”
Oz nodded as Jomtong stood in front of him, fists held high.
“It’s your funeral,” Lohr said. “Fight!”
This time Oz waited for Jomtong to make the first move. The smaller boy kicked, but Oz caught his ankle with his arm and drove his elbow into Jomtong’s thigh. Jomtong pulled away, limping, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he did a handstand and hit Oz in the chest with his knee. Then he bounced back to his feet, threw a spinning elbow, and followed it with an ax heel kick. The kid was a blur of motion, but Oz blocked each attack.
Jomtong came at him with a looping punch, and Oz caught his wrist with one hand and grabbed the inside of his thigh with the other. Then he picked Jomtong off the mat and slammed him to the ground. Oz rushed to follow it with a strike, but Lohr grabbed him and threw him to the corner of the ring.
“Get back!”
“But—”
“This is combat training, not professional wrestling.”
Oz ducked under the top rope and onto the floor before storming off to the locker room, and that’s when Colt noticed Agent Graves. He was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. But he wasn’t watching the fight. He was watching Colt.
:: CHAPTER 35 ::
The energy drink started to wear off halfway through mathematics, an accelerated class that combined algebra, geometry, and trigonometry. Colt had been hoping he wouldn’t have to take any of the classes they were stuck with back at Chandler High, but the cadets still had to learn the basics on top of all their other course work and the physical training.
Staying awake would have been difficult under any circumstance, but after a restless night in the rock hard bunk bed, it was impossible. Colt started to doze off when the door opened and Jomtong walked in, back from his trip to the infirmary. At first Colt had thought that Oz had broken his back, but Jomtong had just had the wind knocked out of him.
If mathematics was boring, chemistry was intolerable. The instructor actually wore a white lab coat with a pocket protector, and he spent the entire hour reading the syllabus word for word. Colt tried to follow along, but he ended up doodling for most of the class. It wasn’t until the bell was about to ring that he noticed that the instructor only had four fingers on each hand, and two small horns jutting from a cloud of gray hair.
Things started looking up in fourth period. Basic Espionage was an entry-level course, but it was going to involve a lot of hands-on training. The instructor, Agent Huber, was a former CIA operative who had spent most of his career as a spy in Eastern Europe during the height of the Cold War. He had interesting stories, and according to the syllabus they were going to learn how to wiretap, forge documents, and turn household items into everything from weapons to bombs.
Lunchtime provided the first opportunity for Colt to tell Danielle about everything that happened the night before.
“Maybe we should tell someone,” she said.
“Who?”
“What about Ms. Skoglund?”
“Let me know how that goes,” Colt said as the bell rang.
He had been looking forward to Introduction to Flight all day. The classroom was inside the stadium, with a wall of windows that overlooked the aerial field where the cadets had been practicing hoverboard and jet pack maneuvers the night before.
As Colt and Danielle sat down, the door opened and Giru Ba walked in. Conversation stopped as the cadets watched her walk to the front of the room. She stood there, regarding them with her enormous eyes as though she was assessing their worthiness to be in the class.
“Welcome,” she said, her voice melodic and rich. “I have been sent by Captain Starling to escort you to the aerial field. Please leave your computers in the classroom. You will not need them for the rest of our time together.”
“Does that mean we’re going to ride on those hoverboards today?” Pierce asked, betraying his excitement.
Giru Ba blinked as she regarded him. “There is that possibility,” she said. “It will depend on your aptitude and sense of balance. Now please, follow me.”
She led them through a series of corridors until they came to a tunnel that led to the field. Colt kept to the back of the group, hoping to avoid any kind of contact with her. He still didn’t know what to think after everything that had happened the night before.
When they got to the field, the clouds had given way to sunlight for the first time since Colt had arrived in Virginia. Flags snapped in the wind as second-year cadets in gray uniforms zipped around the obstacles in jet packs, while their instructor barked commands.
“Welcome to Tesla Stadium,” Giru Ba said. “This is where we will spend most of our time together. Your instructor, Captain Starling, is rather unorthodox, but his students achieve the highest marks year after year. Our hope is that you will do the same.”
A rush of wind blew across the field as a figure on a hover-board raced toward them. He was dressed in an instructor’s black CHAOS uniform, but since he was wearing a full helmet with a tinted mask, nobody could see his face.
He pulled up in front of the cadets, his silver board bouncing up and down as though it were resting on the surface of the ocean. Below, two clusters of bright lights glowed like embers in a fire. Colt figured it was some kind of exhaust system, or maybe they held the electrical charge that repelled against the charge on the earth’s surface. After all, that was supposed to be what kept the hoverboard afloat.
The inst
ructor removed his helmet and shook his head before running a gloved hand through his thick blond hair. He was older than Colt had imagined—probably in his late forties—but he was still handsome despite the extra twenty pounds that made his face look slightly bloated.
“Good afternoon. My name is Captain James Starling,” he said, flashing a perfect smile that shone unnaturally white. From the way he stood—his head cocked back, one hand on his hip, and the other cradling his helmet—there was no doubt that he spent a good deal of time looking at himself in the mirror.
“Be a dear and hold on to this for me, will you?” He knelt down and handed his helmet to Stacy, who wasn’t given the opportunity to refuse. “I’d like to welcome you to Introduction to Flight, one of the most anticipated classes in the entire academy.” He stopped when the ground started to shake. An enormous transport vehicle with six wheels rumbled toward them. It was gray, with a CHAOS insignia stretched across the hood.
“Excellent timing,” he said.
Colt could feel the rumble of its engine reverberating in his chest. The driver was actually a service bot that looked a lot like the SVC-9 unit that had shaved Colt’s head, except it was wearing coveralls and a trucker cap. It walked over and opened the back hatch, revealing rack after rack of hoverboards.
“If you’d be so kind as to form a single-file line, our mechanical friend will hand each of you a helmet and a hoverboard.”
Pierce was first, though to Colt’s surprise, Stacy was actually second. She had dropped Captain Starling’s helmet and pushed her way through the group, nearly knocking over a male cadet who was twice her size.
“Patience, please. There are plenty of hoverboards for everyone,” Captain Starling said, chuckling as though amused by the enthusiasm.
The line moved quickly, and before long Colt had strapped on a helmet and was holding a silver hoverboard that shone like a newly polished bumper.
“Very good,” Captain Starling said once everyone was properly equipped. “We have enough time that each of you should get at least one run around the track, and possibly a second. But before we start, let’s go over some of the basics, shall we?”
Giru Ba demonstrated the proper mounting technique, showing them everything from where to find the ignition switch to which foot should go in the front binding and which in the back. When she was done, Colt pressed his ignition key and his hoverboard fired up, lifting about a foot off the ground. He placed his left foot in the front binding and his right foot in the back. Somehow the board sensed that he was in position, and the straps tightened on their own.
He stood there for a moment, arms held wide as he tried to find his balance. It was similar to a surfboard, but it was still different—more sensitive—and he could feel the power surging beneath him.
“For those of you who have managed to stay on your feet, the remote control in your hand is more than an ignition switch—it’s also your throttle,” Captain Starling said. “If you drop it, there’s a kill switch behind your back foot.”
Colt looked around, but there were only a handful of other cadets standing on their hoverboards—Jomtong, Stacy, Grey, Bar-Ryak, and a girl named Olivia who had been on the U.S. gymnastics team. Everyone else was struggling to various degrees. Some were able to get both feet on the board, but they’d fall off after a few seconds. Others—like Danielle—were completely lost. Captain Starling and Giru Ba did their best to help, but it was clear that not everyone was going to get a shot at the track today.
“This is infuriating!” Danielle had tumbled face-first into a patch of snow. There was a red blotch on her cheek, and several strands of hair had fallen loose from her ponytail only to get caught in her mouth.
“You’re trying too hard,” Colt said. “Just relax, bend your knees, and—”
“Save it!”
“He’s right, you know,” Captain Starling said as he offered a hand to help her up. “I want you to take your time and imagine that you’re simply standing on the ground.” He continued to hold her hand as she placed her left foot on the board and then her right. “There you are,” he said. “You’ve got it.”
No sooner had he pulled his hand away than Danielle started to teeter. She arched her back, trying to maintain her balance, but she overcompensated and ended up in the snow again.
“Stay at it,” Captain Starling said. “You’ll be an expert in no time.”
“Yeah, right.”
Captain Starling was about to walk past Colt when he stopped. “I know you from somewhere, don’t I.”
Danielle rolled her eyes. “He’s Murdoch McAlister’s grandson. You know, as in the Phantom Flyer.”
“Of course!” He took Colt’s hand and shook it vigorously, nearly pulling him off his hoverboard. “Why, you’re an old pro at this flying thing, aren’t you? How would you feel about taking the first lap around the course—you know, to show the other cadets how it’s done.”
“Sure. I guess,” Colt said.
“Wonderful!” Captain Starling turned around to face the other cadets. “If I can have your attention, it looks like we have a special treat today. I’ve just learned that a descendant of the Phantom Flyer himself is a part of our class, and I’ve asked him to take the first lap. So without further ado, I present . . .” His face went blank, as though he had just been struck with a bout of amnesia. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning over to whisper into Colt’s ear. “But I’m afraid I didn’t catch your first name.”
“It’s Colt.”
“Of course. Colt McAlister!” Captain Starling said with a wink. “Go on then. The stage is yours.”
Colt pressed the throttle harder than he intended and the board shot forward, nearly knocking him over. Somehow he kept his balance, but he was headed toward a pillar that was part of an obstacle course. Instinct took over, and Colt leaned to the right until his body was nearly parallel with the ground. The board cut hard, following his movement, and he shot around the pillar and headed for the track.
“Nicely done!” Captain Starling shouted.
It didn’t take long for Colt to get the hang of things. He zipped around the track like it was second nature, and in a way it was. He’d spent his entire life surfing and snowboarding, and the hoverboard was basically a combination of the two.
As he cruised around the last turn, Colt felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck. His eyes scanned the field, but he didn’t see Heinrich Krone anywhere. Then he spotted him. He was standing in the stadium bleachers, but instead of his dark suit and driving cap, he was wearing a janitorial uniform as he pushed a broom.
Krone smiled, and Colt felt his stomach drop. He glanced back at the track to make sure that he wasn’t going to veer off course, but when he looked back, Krone was gone. He’d been replaced by an old man with jowls and a thick mustache that hung over his top lip.
:: CHAPTER 36 ::
By Friday, Danielle had found a way to access the Internet. It was against school policy, but there was an unspoken rule that students in the information security program were expected to try as part of their training, and she was the first in her class to succeed.
She had been using it to track news for updates about their accident. At least one person claimed to have seen the man in the Mercedes pull out a gun and aim it at the driver of the white van. The testimony was corroborated when crime scene investigators found a Walther P99 on the side of the road.
Authorities claimed that the gun belonged to Heinrich Krone, who was in a coma and under twenty-four-hour police surveillance. If that was true, Colt wondered, then whom had he seen walking across campus with Agent Graves the other night, and who was that standing in the stadium during flight class?
Unfortunately someone had managed to get a picture of Ms. Skoglund’s license plate with a camera phone, but by the time investigators had an opportunity to look it up, she had already broken into the Virginia Department of Transportation’s database and changed the owner of the vehicle to a man by the name of Delbert Landgren,
a retired hog farmer from Shickley, Nebraska. His place of residence was the Alexandria National Cemetery. After all, he had been dead for nearly twenty-five years.
Back home, Friday night usually meant going out with friends to a football game and then grabbing a pizza or some hamburgers. At the CHAOS Military Academy, the cadets used Friday night to catch up on homework. Danielle asked Colt to meet her in the Agricultural Records Room on the third floor of the library. It wasn’t the most exciting backdrop for a Friday night, but since he had to do some research on a paper for Basic Espionage, he agreed.
The building reminded Colt of the New York City Public Library. It was constructed from enormous stone blocks, with pillars, archways, and ornate window frames. There were even lion statues lining the front steps. Inside, long corridors led to a myriad of rooms that were dedicated to more than just books. There were art galleries, an aviary, map chambers, a robotics lab, solarium, genealogy databases, and a host of study rooms, just to name a few.
Though it took him almost twenty minutes of searching, he eventually found the records room. It was in the far corner next to a stairwell. The door was closed but unlocked, and when he pushed it open the hinges creaked.
The room wasn’t large, about the size of a convenience store, or maybe even a bit smaller. Most of the room was filled with filing cabinets, which would have made things feel cramped if it weren’t for the vaulted ceilings and the wide windows that stretched along each wall, offering a fantastic view of the campus.
“You’re late,” Danielle said without looking up.
“It wasn’t the easiest place to find,” Colt said as he shut the door.
“That’s kind of the point.” She was seated at a long table with her back to the door, reading something on the monitor of her computer.
He walked over and set his backpack on a chair before he sat down. “So how did you manage to get online?”
