The Omega Device (The Ha-Shan Chronicles Book 1)

by S. M. Nolan

  Maggie kept the silence for a moment, then spoke through chattering teeth, “How d-did you deal with it?”

  “Part of me hasn't,” He admitted with disappointment.

  He allowed his words to echo within him. The cold cynicism of war strained his chest, sucked the air from his lungs. Maggie felt its presence beside him.

  He did his best to stay level, “I still try to make up for it, but the truth is, I'm in this too. I don't want to be here either. What's here, now, we take as it comes, try to make up for later. For ourselves and anyone caught in the cross-fire. Because we're helpless. We have no choice. We didn't have a choice there. Those people didn't. We don't have one here. No-one chooses to take life. They choose to survive. The cold reality of death is simply a consequence of it.”

  “S-so, we h-have to fight them?” She asked, chest fluttering with cold breaths.

  “I'm saying we survive, no matter what. Whatever their reasons, whatever they're after, it isn't what what they think. But it doesn't matter. This isn't something we can talk out. We're being forced to defend ourselves. We're helpless otherwise.”

  He stood slowly, retrieved his flash-light, and offered her his hand. She took it with a cold sniffle.

  He leveled his eyes on hers, “We already know they killed Ryusaki. We need to find out why they want us dead. Maybe it will at least give us some direction.”

  She rubbed the cold from her chest, “I'm g-guessing, wh-whatever their reasons, it's something to do with him.”

  He stooped to retrieve the shotgun, “Then whatever Ryusaki did, or was involved in, has been pinned on us.”

  Maggie watched him through spasms of cold, “So, what? Just try to avoid them?”

  “At least 'til we figure out what's going on,” he said, twisting the light on and starting forward cautiously.

  Maggie adjusted her back-pack, “And if we c-can't?”

  “Continue to do what's necessary to stay alive. Whatever Ryusaki was involved in wouldn't have stopped with him. Especially not if the other victim was an ally. If someone was in league with him, these people probably think we're apart of them. We might as well see if they can help us.”

  Maggie followed him forward, reached into her back pocket to check her cell-phone. The screen was dead. Water dripped from its innards as she turned it over. She slid it back into her pocket with a wince, “We n-need to let Ash know what h-happened, and you n-need to let your friends know to keep an eye on them.”

  “I will,” he said, stopping to warm her. His hands rubbed heat over her back and chest. She reveled in it. “As soon as we can find our way out of here. I'll make sure they're safe. Otherwise, we need to stay out of sight.”

  Maggie watched him, grateful for his warmth.

  He released her, “Better?”

  She nodded, “You?”

  He pointed to the wind-breaker, “Water-proof.” She managed a smile, followed him around the curving tunnel. “The only person we know had access to Ryusaki before his death was Chen-Lee. If we're going to find anything, it'll have to be through him.”

  “It's not going to be easy to find him,” Maggie admitted, suppressing further shivers. “He was headed back to L-A. His father owns some kind of business, and his sister's a tattooist—world renowned—but I don't know anymore.”

  “It's enough,” he assured her. They reached a fork in the tunnel. He hesitated, then motioned her left with the light. They sloshed along a gradual S-curve as he explained, “If Chen-Lee or his father's connected, he'll be easy to find. If all else fails, we seek out anyone else with a link to Ryusaki.”

  Maggie was confused, “How are we supposed to get to L-A? And what about jurisdictions? Your friends can't help you out of state.”

  “Not through usual channels, but everyone knows someone. We'll just have to hope it's enough. At this point, skipping town's not the worst idea. Even if they follow us, it's a lot easier to disappear in L-A.”

  Maggie thought of Chen-Lee's demeanor, “What if we're walking into a trap?”

  “We don't have many other options,” he explained. “If Chen-Lee's involved, the last thing we want's for him to go into hiding if we try to contact him—or worse, expose his position if he is hiding. We can't count on others contacting him either, or else we risk turning them into targets. It's too dangerous. It has to be us. We just keep moving, and out of harm's way.”

  Maggie understood, “So, how do we get there?”

  Russell grimaced, “I was kind of hoping you could help.”

  Her brow furrowed. She was confused for a moment before remembering the money in her bag. Russell had seen her put it there. While part of her still clung to the hope that she might use it for the shop, the dawning fear of never seeing it again overpowered it. It was an obvious choice, clearly one of few she might actually be given.

  “Yeah, okay. It's probably better that way. Cash is untraceable.”

  Russell nodded with an apologetic face and continued through the tunnel. The sewer wound forward for a few minutes, its darkness chased away by his light. When its exit finally emerged, the afternoon day-light was a welcome reprieve.

  Beyond the exit, a large field of tall-grasses sloped to a point where crushed, cement rocks filtered the tunnel's small stream into a pond. A breeze rippled its surface. Cat-tails around it swayed, dried and browned from the season.

  The pair climbed from the tunnel, stepped carefully across the rocks to a field, and headed for a rural road nearby. Russell stopped long enough to remove his phone and dial before continuing.

  “Chuck? Listen, a lot's happened. I need a ride… I don't know, somewhere west of 49th. Yeah, yeah alright… Thanks.” He ended the call, handed the phone to Maggie. “A friend's going to meet us. We just need to find a cross-street and make the call.” She dialed the shop. He cautioned her, “Don't let them know too much. For their sake.”

  She nodded, “Ash, it's me. Yeah, something happened. No, I can't. Ash… Ash, just listen. I don't know when I'll be back. I-if something happens, finish Jerry's piece. I want the shop at the convention no matter what. I don't know…. I love you too. Thank you for everything. I've gotta' go.”

  She ended the call, handed the phone back to Russell to wipe her eyes.

  “You alright?”

  She blinked away tears, “I'm fine. Let's just get out of here.”

  9.

  A Helping Hand

  September 30th

  4:00 PM

  425 S. Switzer's garage

  Chuck's face was drawn into utter perplexity across the empty cable-spindle he used as table. He stared at Russell and Maggie from an old, tattered armchair. They soaked a dingy couch in his garage with a vile smell.

  Neatly-organized shelving and large lawn-equipment enclosed the ancient “living-room set” that occupied the garage's center. Distant sounds of Chuck's wife thumped from inside the house somewhere before the air stilled once more.

  Chuck was long past the obvious signs that something had happened. The two looked liked they'd been drug across hell and back. He'd almost driven past them on the side of the road, pegging them for vagrants, but Russell's frayed windbreaker gave him away. Now they were talking about some kind of conspiracy against them. He'd have questioned their sanity, but realized his best friend might be in serious danger.

  He stood for a cabinet above a workbench, grabbed out coffee cups and a bottle of whiskey. He returned to his armchair, poured into two cups, then slid them forward without a word. He swigged from the bottle, winced, then poured himself double in the third cup.

  He rested the cup on the chair's arm, “Rus, this is a bit much.”

  He lifted his whiskey, “I know you're probably lost at what to think.”

  “That's an understatement if I've ever heard one,” Maggie said. She gulped and grimaced with a stinging breath.

  “Yeah, really,” Chuck said with a desperate laugh.

  “I know it's a lot, but I need your help.”

  “Rus, Marie'
s just left. I can't put her in the middle of whatever's goin' on. She's gotta' be at school, and… I just can't chance anythin'.”

  “I know that, but I don't have anyone else to go to.”

  Chuck stared into his mug, “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Sorry if I'm out of line here,” Maggie said. “But what's the problem with helping us?”

  “I got no problems helpin' you,” Chuck corrected. “But what Rus is askin' takes a lotta' calls, 'n favors I don't have anymore.”

  “Why can't your department help us?”

  “You can't take the risk of someone findin' out. If they're as connected as you think, they'll know he's OPD. They've prolly got us tapped already. The second someone requisitions anythin' outta' the ordinary, they'll jump. But that ain't the biggest issue, what you're plannin' is.”

  “Why?”

  “What you need's anonymity,” Chuck explained. “I can only get you so far, but you're missin' the fine print.” He began closing fingers on his open hand. “You need strong security on your friends—sure we can do that, but we can't stop an army. You wanna head out to LA? Alright fine, go, I'll see what I can do but I can't make promises. You want some help on the other-side, locatin' the guy—you're on your own there. But tha's just the big stuff, I'm talkin' about walkin' through airport security with loaded handguns. Even if you check 'em, the second you get on the plane, they're gonna tag you. If these guys are as connected as you think, they'll nab you in the middle of the terminal. Everything you do now's gotta be risk-assessed.”

  Maggie sighed, “I really hadn't thought of that.”

  He stabbed a finger at Russell, “You haven't, but he has. I dunno what you're hopin' for, but it ain't gonna happen the way you want.”

  Russell's desperation peaked, “Yeah, I figured that.”

  He stood to anxiously pace about the room. He settled in a slow rhythm behind Maggie and the couch before stopping to lean against a tractor. He put his hand to his chin, “What do you suggest?”

  Chuck sighed, “I wish I had better news for you Rus, but I don't. You're gonna have to go out there naked and hope you can find somethin'. I still got some friends. I can see about hidin' your movements on the plane. But it ain't guaranteed. Even then, if they're tappin' us, they'll know where you're goin' before you ever get there.”

  “You think they'd attack us in an airport?” Maggie asked, shifting to bounce her eyes between Chuck and Russell behind her.

  Russell gave a tilt of his head, but Chuck answered, “Hell, we'd do it, and we're cops—notta' organized pack 'a murderers.”

  Russell bit at a finger-tip, “Even if they don't hit us right away, they'll follow us and do it.”

  Maggie sank backward, drained her whiskey, “Do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

  Chuck gestured to the door, “Inside on the right.” She ambled into the house. Chuck shot Russell a look; his brows drew a question in response.

  “Ah, c'mon Rus, I ain't fuckin' blind.”

  “What're you talking about?”

  “I got eyes man, I can see she's a fine piece'a ass.”

  Russell was too tired for games, “Yeah, so?”

  “If you're doin' this for that—” He paused to refill his whiskey. “A world'a shit's 'bout to come down around that girl. You need to be usin' the big head above your ass, not the little one in your pants.”

  “Christ, I wish it were that simple. Then I could walk away.”

  Chuck took his response in earnest. His tone shifted to a warning, “Then you gotta' know these guys are gonna' bring hell-fire your way. You gotta' be ready for it. This is gonna' be war, man, 'cept this time they're only aimin' at you.”

  Russell hung his head, “That's why I need help. If you can get us to L-A, we'll handle the rest.”

  “I'll figure it out, but you're goin' in naked, and you know what that's like.”

  “Hands tied and barrels on me, but what can I do?”

  Chuck hesitated to drain his cup, “Keep your head on straight and hope the damn things jam.”

  Russell moved to speak, but Maggie opened the door and stepped into the garage. Chuck poured a final mug for the two, “I'll make some calls, see what I can set up. Meanwhile, shower's free and the fridge is stocked. Help yourself. Just don't let Eve see ya' in that state. God knows she'll be on my ass about havin' dirt on my beautiful garage-couch.”

  Russell looked to his damp shoes, “Thanks man.”

  He headed into the house, “Anytime Rus.”

  For the next half hour the two sat in silence, considering their situation. Maggie knew they needed to leave town, but the possibility of never returning weighted her chest. To leave everything behind, be driven solely on survival, was beyond foreign to her.

  But trying to hold onto anything in Oakton could be a liability. She was now living out of her pack, evaluating her every action. She needed to take stock.

  She wasn't physically strong but she was more than capable of delicate finesse and subtlety. Moreover, she was good with people, and had a little money that might go a long way if careful. Otherwise, she'd have to rely invaluably on Russell. She could use her pistol, but there was no doubt he was better with it.

  She chanced a look at him to see his eyes locked on a fixed point, his mind elsewhere. The angled lines of his face uttered a depth of urgency contained by calm breaths. For a moment she admired the will it took for two, such contrasting states to coexist.

  Russell broke his stare to stand and check the fridge, derailing her train of thought. She followed him with her eyes, “What are the chances we'll survive this?”

  He untwisted a loaf of bread, spoke as he slapped meat on to a few pieces, “Well, if we aren't hit the second we get off the plane, or going to see Chen-Lee, we'll have to load up. There's no way we're getting out there with these weapons. We'll have to grab something there, and hope we've got enough time to figure out the rest before the next attack.”

  “You really think they'd come after us in an airport?”

  Russell hesitated in thought, then started a second sandwich. “No, judging by the hit in the alley, they probably need secrecy. But they're also probably capable of searching a plane on the tarmac. If they are, they'll pull us off and take us somewhere to be executed.”

  Maggie's pulse spiked at the thought, “Could they really do that?”

  “Maybe. We're hoping a few greased palms will get us what we need, why would they be any different?” He finished the second sandwich, replaced the contents of the fridge, and handed her one. He sat beside her to eat, “The thing is, Chuck's got some resources to tap but if they're as well-connected as they seem, they've got infinitely more.”

  “How d'you figure?” Maggie asked, biting her sandwich.

  “The weapons,” he said, following suit. “Mil-spec hardware means mil-spec connections, or enough money for black-market deals. Either one's enough to make a few people look the other way when they need to… interrogate someone.”

  “So, we're walking into a hornet's nest.”

  She stilled a rising lump in her stomach long enough to swallow. They finished the meal in silence, neither of them daring to think too deeply until a question edged its way into Maggie's mind.

  She tried her best to push it away, but it formed words that forced themselves out. “Russell?” She hesitated. He gave a nod to continue. “You asked me why I called you, but… why'd you agree to help? I mean, before you were attacked.”

  He admitted a minor confusion, “It's what I do, I guess.”

  She looked him over curiously, “Are you sure that's all?”

  He met her eyes, hoping to impart more, but could only say, “I don't know, Maggie.” She nodded, looked away as he stood, “We need to be ready to leave as soon as possible. You can use the shower in this bathroom. I'm going to talk to Chuck.”

  Maggie lifted her bag from the floor, headed inside. Once she'd showered and redressed, she returned to the garage. After a few minutes of rigid, upright sitting,
her mind playing terrifying scenarios, she sank into the couch with exhaustion.

  She closed her eyes, soaking in the silence around her and hoping it would last. Instead, the door opened to Russell and Chuck amid a conversation. Russell was freshly cleaned, wearing baggy clothing meant for a man Chuck's size. Their speech drifted off as they stepped down into the garage.

  Maggie looked over, “How's it going?”

  “Good,” Russell said with raised hopes.

  “Got a buddy who's in with the FBI now—lucky bastard,” Chuck said, moving to the armchair. “Says he can get you out tonight, unmarked, on a plane to L-A-X non-stop. Says he's got you tagged as Federal Air Marshals. You'll have no problem carrying a handgun on the plane, but you gotta' keep it hidden, and that big cannon stays with me.”

  “I thought you said—”

  “Yeah, and I thought so too. Guess my friends are movin' up in the world.” He shrugged. “This ain't a time to be lookin' gift horses in the mouth, so load up. Plane leaves in three hours.”

  Maggie nodded and zipped up her bag, slung it over her shoulder. Russell stood beside her as Chuck pressed a button on the wall. The garage door opened with a rush of cold air and a mechanical grinding.

  “You ready for this?” Russell asked.

  “You mean flying across country with a loaded handgun to avoid murderers and find a needle in a haystack?” Maggie asked, unusually long-winded. She shrugged, “Russell, a few days ago all I was worried about was paying rent. Either I'll live or I'll die. I'm just tired of waiting around to find out which.”

  He grimaced. Chucked stepped past for his large pick-up, “C'mon.”

  The trio climbed in. The truck rolled backward, then started forward for the high-way. The next hour consisted of Chuck and Russell discussing their plans. Maggie listened, adding comments here and there, but feeling largely ineffectual. Eventually they rounded full circle on the conversation and drifted into other things.

  Maggie fell into a restless sleep, later awakened by Russell jostling her outside terminal-4's entrance at CVG Airport in Northern Kentucky. A syrupy stream of people flowed along the sidewalk with a heavy murmur. Distant jet turbines roared and whirred.