by Linda Mooney
Slowly, he let forth with a low intensity light, emitting it outward with a growing radiance. Making himself highly visible amid the gathering darkness that accompanied the storm.
Come at me, you sick son of a bitch. Come on. Hit me with your best shot.
The sound of thunder curled around him. Faint flashes of white light sparked here and there, outlining the clouds from within. Yet all of it remained swirling directly above the park like a massive atmospheric whirlpool, churning and boiling with growing fury. The rest of the city remained under the lighter gray layer.
Quazar was ready. Ready for the bolt of negative ions to rip from overhead. He intensified his glow to give the man an easy target, and moved closer to the bronze statue that loomed a good twenty feet over his head.
"Okay, Bob," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Let's see how good a shot you really are. What do you think you'll hit first? Me? Or Mister Woodrow?"
The explosion blasted outward from the statue's base, sending shards of brick and concrete flying in all directions. He heard fragments striking metal with the sound of tiny bells. Bits of debris the size of large caliber bullets went zinging into the pavement. Within his dense, protective shield, the rubble made popping sounds when it came in contact and was obliterated. Quazar coughed as a cloud of white particles filled the void where the memorial once stood.
He barely had time to realize the statue had been sabotaged, when the black, jagged bolt of negative energy came flashing downward. He leaped out the way a split-second before the lightning struck the ground where he'd been standing. People's screams filled his head, but he couldn't stop to help or offer aide. Bob had to know by now his initial attack had failed to bring his target down. For Quazar, this was the window he'd been waiting for.
He rocketed upward, aiming for the bolt's point of origin. The air prickled in the strike's aftermath as he entered the dark abyss. In those few seconds he had while Bob's creation built enough energy to try again, he had to find the spotter.
Thunder cracked with bone-jarring intensity, temporarily deafening him. The air grew too dense to see, and trying to brighten his way produced a glare, forcing him to shut down and search blindly.
He kept his shield up. The atmosphere crackled with static electricity, which continued to increase. His skin crawled from contact, becoming more intense and painful with each second. His head and lungs were clogged with the scent of ozone as he shot through the thickness.
Something grazed his right leg. Instinctively, he lowered his shield and doubled over to try and grab whatever it was. His right hand met emptiness, but his left managed to touch it. His fingers encountered something hard that wobbled and moved away before he could grasp it. Pitching himself forward, he slammed his right hand down on the object, and a brilliant flash of iridescence exploded all around him. Pouring on the energy, Quazar shot straight upward, not stopping until he reached the bright morning sky, the cloud cover well below his feet.
Breathing deeply, he hovered, listening. Waiting to see if the thing would accidentally run into him again. Anticipating another strike, but hoping his theory held true. His skin no longer burned, but it felt as if he was coated with some sort of residue.
As the clouds began to dissipate and fade back into their former dirty gray color, he knew the attack was over. Damage had been done, but Bob's true intent had failed. Quazar wondered what the man was thinking at that moment.
He returned to the park where the police were still examining the mess made by the statue's explosion. The crowd was gone, dismissed save for those who had been hit by shrapnel and were being loaded into ambulances. However, the news crews remained to cover the aftermath.
He landed amid the cluster of parked squad cars. Warkowski immediately came over to him, scanning his face and body for any signs of injury.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm okay. Got a bit bunged up, but nothing serious. How's the clean-up coming along?"
She glanced back at where the crime scene investigators were busily working their way through the rubble and debris. "It will take a few days to piece it together. You're thinking we'll find more C-4?"
"I'm counting on it," Quazar told her.
"So, where did you go? And don't say up."
He snorted softly. "I had to. I couldn't risk being struck again by another one of those black bolts of lightning."
"And you believed flying into the clouds would prevent that? I'm not following your reasoning here, Quazar."
"Regardless as to whether or not the lightning is generated with negative energy, like Sherandar believes, and I bow to her intellect, it's still lightning. Which means it has to follow the law of physics."
"What law of physics? Help me out here. I studied criminal law. Are you talking about gravity? The fact that it strikes downward and hits the earth?"
"Actually, it travels both ways. Down to the earth and back up," he said.
She gave him a puzzled look. He pointed overhead for emphasis.
"Lightning can travel from the ground up. But it can't go above the clouds, above its point of origin."
"So you went above the storm to escape being hit," she stated, not questioned.
"Yes."
The captain looked pointedly at his empty hands. "Where is the tracking device I gave you? Did you drop it or lose it?"
Quazar couldn't help but give her a triumphant smile. "I planted it."
"You planted it? Where? On what?"
"Part one of mission accomplished, Captain. You could say I just LoJacked a drone."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Conflict
They hurried to the captain's sedan. Quazar took the back seat as the passenger seat was blocked by the squad car's computer.
"Is it working?" he asked, slamming the door.
"Hold on." She brought up the map on the monitor. "Okay. Yeah. We got it. Hold on." Turning on her light bar, she peeled out of the parking lot and began to tail the signal. "You know, it's damn hard to follow something that's not on the streets," she yelled back at him.
"I'd go after it, but I don't have any way of tracking it myself," he told her.
Unexpectedly, the captain pulled into a side street and parked. Reaching down, she dragged a briefcase from the passenger floorboard and opened it. After a second of rummaging through the side pockets, she pulled out an object, glanced at it, then threw it into the back seat. "Catch."
He stared at the slender plug and wire in his hand. "What is this?"
"Newest technology," she said, typing in a code on the laptop. "Put it in your ear. Wire goes around the outside."
He glanced into the rearview mirror to see her staring at him. To put on the device, he'd have to remove his mask. He never gave it a second thought and pulled off the head covering. Once he had the object seated, he drew his mask back on. Another look into the mirror found her nodding.
"Okay. Now press the button on the side of the part that's in your ear canal. That'll turn it on."
He did as she placed an identical device into her own ear. "All right. Now what?"
"Get your butt out of the car and head southeast," she ordered.
He didn't question her, but got out and took off in the direction stated. On the ground, Warkowski resumed the chase by car.
"Say something, Quazar." Her voice came in loud and clear.
He grinned. "Neat little gadget. What's the range?"
"We're told up to fifty miles, but we've never tested it to see what its true range is. See anything?"
"No. These clouds are too dense."
"Want to go higher?"
"I'll stick to this altitude for a few more blocks. See if the weather clears out. Do we have a direct link with these things?"
"Yeah, via the computer. You can program in up to a dozen units, allowing us to intercommunicate without having to use the police bands. The tracker is still heading due southeast. Hey, Quazar? I wasn't expecting Duncan to demolish the statue. Were you?"
The fog was get
ting thicker, but it was a natural phenomenon that accompanied the cold front bringing in the season's first snow. The low lying bank forced him to weave between the taller buildings.
"I'm breaking surface," he told the captain, heading upward. Reaching clear air, he spoke again. "To answer your question, no. I didn't expect the memorial to get the C-4 treatment. But I was prepared for anything, so I wasn't caught off-guard. Any idea how high up these drones can fly?" If Sherandar was here, she would know, he told himself. At the thought of her lying comatose in the hospital, his anger grew hotter.
"I have no idea," Warkowski admitted. "It's hard to believe a little bitty drone can dredge up something as powerful as that lightning bolt."
"It doesn't," he informed her. "Sherandar told me she believes the device that creates that lightning will probably be something that'll need a van or truck to haul around."
A van or truck.
He started to ask her to keep her eyes peeled for a suspicious vehicle traveling in the same direction as the drone, when the captain beat him to the punch.
"You think this van or truck is controlling the drone?"
"It would make sense. Park close to where your intended target is, and use the drone to pinpoint. Mobile, remote controlled mayhem."
Through the headpiece he heard Warkowski put out an APB for a truck or large vehicle traveling at a high rate of speed in a southeasterly direction out of town. Quazar increased his velocity and dipped below the clouds. It didn't take long before the captain's car was out of sight. Yet they remained in range of communication.
"See anything yet?" Warkowski asked.
"Nope. No van, no drone, no nothing."
"You do realize that's a double negative," she drolly commented. The remark was so much like something Sherandar would say, it struck an emotional chord.
"I take it the drone is still on the move?" he asked.
"Yes. Wait. No. Hold on. Quazar, it's turning. It's now moving due south. What the hell?"
Quazar searched over the landscape. They were quickly approaching what appeared to be a dead end. Nothing but flat, open highway lay ahead.
"Surely they're not going to expose themselves," Warkowski muttered aloud. "Picking them up would be child's play for you."
The cold truth came to him, and he clenched his fists at the realization. "They're leading us on, Captain. They want me to follow them. They have no fear of driving out in the open because they know my ultimate goal isn't them. It's Bob. They know I won't do a thing to stop them because they're not my primary focus."
"They're deliberately leading you to him? Quazar, he could have a trap set for you."
"I know, but what other choice do I have? If I veer away, he'll take the opportunity to make good his escape, and I may never have another chance to put my hands on him."
"Why not let him go?"
"No!"
"Shut up. Hear me out. Say you let him go."
"All right. Let's say I do," Quazar countered. "Do you honestly believe he won't try to take me on some other day? Given that he's already come up with a way to kill me, who's to say he won't devise another method, given enough time and leeway? As it stands, I'm the only person right now who can testify against him. Who can put him away for good." He paused, then added, "Me and Sherandar."
"Who may or may not wake up from that coma."
A very real threat suddenly loomed. "Oh, God. The hospital. Captain!"
"I know what you're thinking, and I'm already three steps ahead of you," Warkowski reassured him. "You probably didn't notice, but I have three layers of security guarding her as we speak. But if you're so damned and determined to confront Duncan on his terms, he could kill you. If Sherandar doesn't survive, there's nothing I can do to make him pay for his crimes."
Quazar smiled bitterly. "Captain, I assure you. I have tricks up my sleeve that neither you nor the public know exist. If his lightning maker is in the truck, I'll be okay."
"And what if he has another one?"
"I'll still be okay," he told her. "Just keep telling me which way to go."
He jetted ahead, no longer caring if Bob's henchmen saw him tailing them or not. They obviously knew he was in pursuit. Or if they weren't aware, they soon would be. Either way, Quazar was counting on finding a not-so-warm reception waiting for him when he arrived wherever he was being taken.
He was well past the city limits and into the country when he finally spotted the vehicle. It was a black SUV with windows tinted to the point where they prevented him from seeing inside. The little hovercraft-looking drone flew directly above the van's roof.
"All right. Found it! Captain, you there?"
"Where are you?"
"About six miles outside of town, heading south on six-oh-five. It's a black SUV with blacked out windows. Can't read the plates from the distance, but the drone is almost riding piggyback."
"Getting onto six-oh-five now. Any sign of a destination?"
"None." If she was just getting onto the highway, she had to be a good fifteen miles behind him. Guess we'll find out how good these ear gadgets are.
"I have backup on their way. Be careful, Quazar."
"Same to you."
He glanced toward the horizon. Highway 605 wound through the heavily forested part of the state. Traffic was scarce, since the road led to few large towns and ended at the foot of the Big Cut mountains. Wherever these people were going, it had to be to a private residence. Most likely a summer getaway.
Quazar checked the road.
The SUV was gone.
"Damn!"
He quickly swooped toward the road and eyed the tracks in the thin layer of snow covering the two lane blacktop. The tire marks left the road and turned onto a gravel lane, which disappeared into the woods. A mailbox with only the rural address stenciled on the side marked the cutoff. Landing, he pulled the post from the ground and turned the box upside-down, shoving the box back into the dirt.
"Captain, the SUV has turned off onto a private road."
"How will I be able to find it? The transmitter shows the drone's in the middle of the Big Cut National Forest."
He snorted. "Don't worry. You'll recognize my handiwork."
"Quazar, wait for us. Don't go in there alone." Her worry was evident.
"I can't afford to let him get away," Quazar argued. No longer able to follow the vehicle by air because of the thick forest, he was having to move on foot, running to catch up.
"Where is he going to go? He's in the middle of a forest!"
"Does the word helicopter mean anything to you?" he snapped back. "Listen, when you find the cutoff, shut down those sirens I hear. And turn off your lights. He knows we're coming, but you don't have to broadcast it."
Through the earpiece he heard the wailing abruptly cease.
"Better now?"
"Going radio silent," he answered. "If you hear me talking, it won't be at you."
"Got it. Good luck."
The path was barely wide enough to accommodate one vehicle. Quazar kept his ears open for the sound of an engine, but either the trees were too dense, or the vehicle had already stopped.
He rounded a curve, and suddenly found himself facing an open area of land. He barely had the chance to see the SUV's open tailgate protruding from behind a two-story log home when a massive bolt of lightning struck him in the center of his chest.
Quazar dropped to his knees in agony, every nerve frying inside his body. But the bolt hadn't incapacitated him like it had in the past. His shield had absorbed some of the impact and deflected a bit more, but not enough to completely protect him.
Gasping for breath, he managed to lift his head to see Bob standing on the porch. On the ground in front of him, two men held a large, oddly-shaped rifle with a flared muzzle. It vaguely resembled a bastardized version of an antique musket. Power cables trailed from the gun's stock to the SUV.
He could hear a low rumble as the weapon recharged. Apparently, the gun hadn't been at full power when he a
ppeared. If he'd been any slower, and the weapon had been at full strength, Quazar knew the blast would have killed him. But at the moment, he was totally incapable of moving, much less getting out of the way before the next shot.
"I would bid you welcome, Quazar, but I really don't appreciate trespassers on my property." Bob took the short flight of steps from the porch to the ground and walked over to stand by the two men with the gun. "Out of curiosity, how did you manage to follow us?"
Quazar gritted his teeth. "I want to know which one of your men tortured Sherandar."
A sick smile oozed across the older man's face. "That would be Bill. He's very good at what he does. I'd like to introduce you two, but unfortunately he's not here."
"You had him killed."
Bob tisked. "Actually, he's on another assignment...back in the city."
Back in the city? Fear lit inside his chest, and Quazar struggled to get to his feet, without success. If Sherandar was under police protection, that left only one other person vulnerable. The bastard was talking about Cheyenne. Squeezing his eyes shut, he prayed she was in a safe place.
Until Bob spoke again, and sent more terror racing through his body.
"I hate having to tie up loose ends, but you gave me no choice, Quazar. I can forgive you for saving my boat. I can't, however, have your pretty little mistress blab about her voyage."
"Stay away from her!"
He could feel the effects starting to wear off, but he couldn't let them know. He panted and struggled to make it appear he was fighting his disability.
Bob chuckled. "Why should I? I'm sure she'd appreciate having a visitor, even though she won't wake up to appreciate it."
Quazar grimaced. "I swear to God, Bob—"
"Go ahead! Swear! Or save your breath. It doesn't matter to me," the man taunted. Looking at the two men with the weapon, Bob asked, "How much longer?"
One of the men glanced at what Quazar figured might be a gauge or counter. "Seventy-two percent."
Bob smiled. "Almost there. Another few minutes, and my headache will be over."
Gradually, Quazar felt his muscles relaxing. Breathing was no longer a laborious effort, yet he continued to gasp for air, keeping up the charade. Bob continued to talk to pass the time.
