2041 Sanctuary (Let There Be Light)

by Robert Storey

  The idea was a frightening one, but she wasn’t about to turn tail and run, and after half an hour of seeking, Brett had found nothing in the vicinity of the prison that looked suspicious or resembled anything like a clue. She decided to head back to the motel where she’d been staying, but as she made her way to her car she spied something out of place. A white news van stood parked amongst a host of its fellows, but this vehicle had no markings or plates. It was the same one that had fled from outside the courthouse earlier that day.

  She removed her pistol from her belt and approached the rear of the van. Reaching out to one of two doors, she grasped its handle and yanked it open.

  Dark emptiness greeted her.

  Brett stowed her weapon and got in to search the detritus on the floor, and then slid into the driver’s seat. Feeling under the passenger side dash, she opened the glove box and found it empty save for another piece of paper.

  Ask who? She turned the paper over to see it was blank.

  A prison security officer approached and tapped on the window. ‘Ma’am?’

  She opened the door and got out.

  ‘Are you the owner of this vehicle?’ he said.

  ‘No, I’m a federal agent.’ She reached for her badge and realised her mistake. ‘Why, is there a problem?’

  He hesitated and she hoped her appearance and confident manner ensured he wouldn’t want to see ID.

  ‘Someone said this van was causing an obstruction.’

  Brett looked and saw it was doing no such thing. She frowned. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Some kid.’ He held his hand out around waist height. ‘He was hanging around the rear of the compound.’

  ‘Show me.’

  The man nodded and led her back into the crowd before skirting the perimeter of the prison’s fence. A minute later they emerged into to an emptier area.

  The security man looked around. ‘He was right here.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  His radio crackled. ‘Disturbance at gate two, Andy, can you assist?’

  He grasped the handset. ‘Copy, Control, on my way.’ He looked to Brett. ‘Not sure, short dark hair, Asian looking? I have to go.’

  The man jogged away and disappeared back into the melee.

  Apart from a small access road and a high fence, all Brett could see were three tall guard towers and their searchlights raking the compound’s interior.

  Movement inside caught her eye and she raised her computer phone and zoomed in to get a better look. A large blue and white truck stood parked behind a mass of security fencing and on its side were the words:

  COUNTY OF LOS ANGELES DEPARTMENT OF

  CORONER

  SPECIAL OPERATIONS RESPONSE TEAM

  Brett could just make out two people dressed in black uniforms with matching caps getting out of the back of the vehicle. They pulled a collapsible gurney with them and its legs unfolded to the ground, enabling them to wheel it into the prison’s main building.

  A couple of minutes later the two state employees re-emerged, but this time an ominous body bag lay on the trolley, its shape leaving little doubt that its function had been fulfilled.

  When the grisly cargo had been loaded, the prison warden, accompanied by two of his guards, came to sign off the undertaking and waited as the two death dealers slammed shut the rear doors before climbing into the cab.

  Something about the scene niggled at her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The body language of the two coroners seemed tense, almost rushed – but no, that isn’t it. Brett zoomed further in on the image.

  The driver was a woman, her features hidden in shadow and Brett was hit by a flash of recognition; she’d seen this person before! An image of a figure running away from her back at the court house sprang to mind. She looked again and tried to visualise the two together.

  The truck moved forward and the first set of gates opened to allow them through. Then another set opened and the vehicle crept along toward the rear exit as two police patrol cars moved in to escort the coroner to the final gate.

  Lights from the guardhouse homed in on the truck. Passes were shown and words exchanged before a siren wailed once and the final barriers lifted. The patrol cars lit up their light bars and the truck’s red and white LEDs also blazed to life.

  The small convoy rolled out down the service road and Brett turned and ran.

  Pushing into the protestors, she thrust people aside and glanced left, keeping the coroner’s truck in sight. Legs pumping, she collided with a man and stumbled before regaining momentum. A moment later she burst free of the masses and rushed to her car. The hybrid engine whirred to life as her quarry gained speed and turned onto the main highway. Wheels spinning on the grass, Brett bounced her blue sedan onto the asphalt and gunned the accelerator. The back of the car slid out before snapping back as Brett sped to catch up to the flashing lights ahead.

  She went to phone her office to call in support and then swore. She’d have to do this on her own.

  Weaving in and out of traffic, she worked her way closer to her target, which turned off Lake Earl Drive and toward the I-101 interstate. After a minute the flashing lights stopped and the two patrol cars peeled off onto a side road, leaving the coroner’s truck to continue its journey alone. At an intersection Brett drew up alongside and peered at the passenger. The young, clean-shaven man shot her a sideways look and tugged his cap lower to hide his face.

  The truck pulled away and crossed over the I-101 and on into the darkness.

  Brett waited before following at a distance.

  The coroner’s truck took a left onto the Redwood Highway soon after and Brett found herself driving through a forest of trees. But the journey didn’t last long, as after a few miles she pursued the truck to a small camping ground. She switched off her headlights and drew to a halt at the side of the road.

  The twin beams from the coroner’s vehicle highlighted the forms of giant redwoods before its taillights glowed red as it pulled into a parking bay. Brett touched her computer to activate a low glow by which to see. Taking out her weapon, she chambered a round and got out of the car.

  The cold night closed in around her and she approached the rear of the vehicle.

  The gas guzzler’s engine continued to burble and Brett switched off her gun’s safety as she crept up to the driver’s window.

  She paused … and then darted forward to aim her pistol into an empty cabin. A twig cracked behind her, she whirled round and something cracked across her head. A gunshot rang out and a flock of birds flew up, screeching into the night.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  ‘Is she dead?’

  ‘Of course not, look, she’s breathing.’

  ‘So who is she?’

  ‘How do I know?’

  Brett lay on a cold floor, pretending to be unconscious. She’d been aware of her surroundings ever since she’d felt herself being manhandled by the two people she now listened to.

  The woman who’d just spoken had to be the driver of the coroner’s truck and the voice of a young man, who she assumed to be the passenger, spoke again.

  ‘Didn’t he say?’

  ‘What do you think?’ the woman said.

  ‘No?’

  ‘Correct. As usual he wants to keep us guessing.’

  ‘According to this she’s called Brett Taylor. Weird, eh?’

  ‘I’m more concerned she had a gun.’

  Brett heard the floor creak as someone moved closer.

  ‘What are we going to do with her?’ the young man said.

  ‘Don’t look at me. This wasn’t my plan.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we tie her up?’

  Silence ensued before the woman spoke again. ‘Okay, you do it and I’ll cover you.’

  Brett felt hands on her arms and she cracked open an eye to see a youth bending over her with a gun in his hand. She grabbed his wrist and twisted. He cried out in pain, dropped the weapon and Brett surged to her feet.

 
; ‘Stop or I’ll shoot!’

  Brett froze as she looked down the barrel of a revolver. She held up her hands. The female driver stood before her with a shaky finger on the trigger of her weapon. They were in the back of the coroner’s truck. Brett dropped her hands back down and made to pick up the gun that the young man had been holding.

  The woman moved forward. ‘I said stop!’

  Brett looked at her. ‘You’re not going to shoot me.’

  A look of fear crossed her assailant’s face.

  Brett reached down and picked up the gun, her gun. Checking it she turned it on the driver and her partner. ‘Now, you put down the gun or I’ll shoot you.’

  The woman’s hand shook and Brett feared she’d misjudged her.

  ‘I’ll lower mine if you lower yours.’

  ‘What is this, kindergarten? Lower your damn gun, I’m a federal agent!’

  ‘Then where’s your badge?’ the young man said, his accent strange.

  ‘In my car.’ She cocked the hammer and advanced. ‘Now lower your weapon!’

  The woman stood her ground, forcing Brett to re-evaluate her position. Seeing her opponent was caught in two minds, reluctant to shoot but unwilling to cede control, she made a bold decision and released the trigger, then held up her gun side on.

  The woman, English by her accent, saw sense and lowered her revolver.

  ‘Who are you?’ the lad said.

  Brett, keeping her eyes on the armed female, gestured at her wallet on the floor. ‘You already know.’

  He screwed up his face. ‘That’s not what I meant. Did he send you?’

  Brett flicked her gaze to him and then looked back at the woman. ‘Who hit me?’ The back of her head throbbed with a dull ache.

  The young man pointed at his friend, who gave her a nervous smile. ‘Sorry, I saw your gun and panicked.’

  ‘You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.’

  Silence ensued as they considered one another.

  Brett frowned and looked back to the youth. ‘Did who send me?’

  He and the woman swapped a look of concern.

  ‘You were the ones that called me, remember?’ Brett rubbed the back of her head. ‘And then you ran from me.’ She pointed at the woman. ‘You ran from me.’

  ‘That was you?’

  ‘You said things will go badly for me.’ Anger flared when realisation dawned. ‘You’re the ones who cost me my job!’ Brett moved forward, brandishing her gun.

  They backed away and the driver scrabbled for her revolver, but Brett reached out and snatched it from her grasp. ‘How did you know who my father was? What the fuck is going on?’

  The youth’s eyes strayed to the body bag that rested on the trolley.

  Catching his mistake, Brett held her gun on them and grasped the bag’s zipper. She pulled it back to reveal the body of the man she’d just seen executed. Her eyes widened and she swung back onto them. ‘Who the hell are you people?’

  Chapter Thirty Five

  A few miles from the Pelican Bay Supermax State Prison in California, a figure crept through the misty woods. While the forest floor was littered with the decay of leaf and branch, the man made no noise in his passage, slipping amongst the tall trunks of giant redwoods as silent as a predator stalking its prey.

  A wolf howled in the distance, sending its eerie cry shivering through the trees and the man paused. Seconds later an answering call confirmed his fears and intensified the need for haste. Moving forward, stealth transformed into a loping run, the terrain slipping past like a forbidden dream. On and on he ran until a clearing appeared out of the gloom, the lights of a vehicle an oasis of bright in an otherwise pitch-black wilderness. Slowing to a stop, his breathing laboured, the man searched heavenward for celestial guidance, only to remember the dust cloud still thwarted such starry shepherds from delivering their earthly divination.

  Muttering a prayer to his forefathers, he stepped from his place of hiding and approached the truck, the word CORONER on its side just discernable to straining eyes. Careful to keep his presence undetected, he pressed his ear up against the vehicle’s cold metal skin and waited for his cue.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Jessica Klein stared at the gun-toting woman before her, unsure what to say. From what they’d gleaned up to now this was the person they’d been told could help them, but so far she seemed like a dangerous liability. She said she was an FBI agent and Jessica had to admit she did fit the profile. Tall, long overcoat, smart shirt, tailored trousers, and an athletic build more like a man than a woman. She glanced at her young German friend, Eric, who had eyes only for the gun pointed in their direction.

  The self-proclaimed government agent swore. ‘If someone doesn’t start talking, I’m gonna start cracking heads.’

  ‘Jessica?’ Eric said, sounding worried.

  The agent smiled at the disclosure of the name and then blinked as if seeing Jessica for the first time. Her expression turned into one of conflict as the usual computations took hold. ‘Do I know you?’

  Jessica sighed. There goes my anonymity, she thought, might as well get it over with. ‘I work – did work – in television.’

  The woman’s eyebrows rose as recognition slapped her round the face. ‘Holy shit, you’re that English newsreader, Jessica Klein, the one that got fired for working with terrorists.’

  ‘That was a lie, the GMRC set me up, and besides it was a right-wing group with terrorist ties, not terrorists per se.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to believe that, after you knock me out and pull a gun on me?’

  Jessica blinked, she had a point. ‘Believe what you like, it’s the truth. Are you going to keep waving that thing about or can we call a truce?’

  The agent looked at Eric’s scared face. ‘Fine,’ – she made her gun safe and tucked it into her belt – ‘but I’m keeping this.’ She dropped Jessica’s revolver into her coat’s inside pocket.

  Jessica breathed an internal sigh of relief. Sometimes celebrity status had its plus side, people tended to believe what you said. ‘So, Brett, is it? I guess you’re confused.’

  ‘You could say that, and pissed. Do you know the punishment for assaulting a federal agent? The only reason I’m not hauling your asses in is because I wanna know whatever this is. And what the hell are you doing with this body?’

  ‘I thought you said we cost you your job?’ Eric said, looking nervous. ‘That means you’re no longer an agent, no?’

  A strange glint appeared in Brett Taylor’s eyes and Jessica sensed danger. She held up a hand to regain the agent’s attention. ‘Look, we don’t know anything about you losing your job, but I can tell you what I know.’ This is going to get complicated, she thought as Brett turned to regard her with steely eyes. ‘Okay,’ Jessica continued, ‘we were told to go to the courthouse and wait for further instructions. That’s all. We didn’t call you.’

  ‘Then how come I traced the signal to the van?’

  ‘Aus diesem Grund,’ Eric said and held up a holographic touchscreen device.

  Brett glared at Jessica in consternation.

  ‘Pardon my German friend, when people make him nervous he forgets his English.’

  Eric shot her a look of admonishment.

  ‘He said,’ – Jessica pointed to the device – ‘that’s what you traced. But we never spoke to you, we weren’t controlling it.’

  ‘So someone else was. Who?’

  Jessica groaned. Here came the hard bit. It would have been easier had the woman not been in law enforcement, but it seemed their mysterious puppetmaster continued to pull their strings with a sadistic flare.

  ‘He’s our friend,’ Eric said butting in. ‘A hacker.’

  Jessica gave him a look of warning.

  Brett sat down next to the body bag. ‘You might as well tell me, Ms. Klein, or we can all go to LA and speak to the director of the FBI and see what he has to say.’

  Jessica sighed. ‘Fine, his name is Da Muss Ich, roughly translated, �
�Because I Can”. You’ve probably heard of him, he was—’

  Brett swore. ‘Responsible for some of the worst cyber attacks in U.S. history, for stealing millions of dollars and national secrets, which included exposing undercover federal agents.’ She bore down on Jessica, pistol raised. ‘You said you didn’t work with terrorists, B.I.C. is the biggest terrorist there is!’

  Jessica shrunk from the agent’s ferocity. The petite newsreader could handle herself, but without her gun this woman frightened her. There was something about her eyes, something not quite right. She put her hands up in supplication. ‘Calm down, okay, he’s a bad guy, I get it—’

  ‘That’s a fucking understatement!’

  ‘—but you need to hear what I have to say.’

  ‘Do I? B.I.C. is the most wanted criminal in the United States, probably the world. I should report you right now.’ Brett took out her phone. ‘In fact, I will.’

  Jessica felt her anger rise and she knocked the phone from Brett’s hand.

  The agent’s eyes flared and she grabbed Jessica’s throat and thrust her gun forward.

  ‘Scheisse, stoppen!’ Eric moved to intervene, but Brett turned the gun on him while glaring at Jessica and he backed off.

  Jessica lifted a hand to pry the agent’s thick fingers away from her neck and Brett seemed to regain her composure and let go. She then took a backward step and crouched down to pick up her phone.

  ‘Look,’ Jessica said, as the agent put the device back to her ear, ‘I’ve had a bad couple of months; I’ve been imprisoned, assaulted, kidnapped and drugged—’

  ‘Taylor, Brett, secure code in, put me through to my nearest field office.’

  ‘—if I’d have known who he was I’d never have got involved with him. He’s manipulated me from the outset. I trust him about as far as I could throw this van—’

  ‘Yes, I know, I’m on suspension,’ Brett said into the phone, still looking at Jessica.

  ‘—but if you turn us in now you could be condemning millions, perhaps billions, to their death.’