Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One)

Home > Other > Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) > Page 19
Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) Page 19

by Nathan Hystad


  Perhaps I’d missed a marking somewhere, a tunnel I hadn’t seen on the way inside. I retraced my steps, slowly and surely, until I returned to the start. Marcus’ flashlight shone in my eyes, and I shielded them. “Tripp, pass me the ice pick.”

  “Did you find it?” Hunter’s eyes were huge, his breathing labored.

  “Not yet, but it has to be there. Probably buried in years of ice.” That had to be it.

  Veronica didn’t look so confident as she rubbed her arms with gloved hands, shifting on her feet to stay warm.

  “I’ll be right back.” I glanced at the tunnel again, not wanting to revisit the confined cold walls. But I did it, moving faster the second trip.

  With as much mobility as I could muster, I hacked at the ice, pieces flying at my face. I kept hitting the surface, eventually making an indent. Sweat escaped my chilled body while I struck the ice, damned if I was going to leave these lava tubes without the second Token.

  I heard Marcus calling for me, asking if I was okay, and I shouted with labored breaths that I was fine. Just a few more minutes.

  The ice continued to separate as my arms grew tired. I ceased, letting the pick fall from my grip, and I stretched my fingers, leaning into the wall.

  And I saw it.

  The familiar hexagonal shape beckoned me from under a thin clear layer, and I laughed, the cackle of a madman nearing the cusp of his sanity. With a frenzied effort, I broke it free and slipped my glove off, wanting to feel the cold alien metal on my fingers.

  We had the second Token.

  ____________

  Hours later, I was still shaking with a blend of excitement and trepidation. Our trip to Japan had been faster and more efficient than any of us had assumed. Hunter demanded we pack our things and head to the airport, before anyone caught wind of what the purpose of the ice tubes visit had been.

  The Believers could be anywhere, and it was obvious Tripp was on edge since Marcus had advised us about Haja and Hasin’s murders. Guilt had a funny way of surfacing. I’d dissociated myself from their deaths for the last day, but as we boarded the private jet, the pressure built, and I wondered how many more allies would fall prey to the cult’s obsession before we’d completed our search for the Tokens.

  “Everything good?” Marcus asked, taking the seat across from me. A private charter was so far removed from the regular coach flights and connectors we were used to, but Marcus acted like this was an everyday occurrence.

  I peered behind me as the flight attendant chatted with Veronica near the cockpit doors. “Any word on the Objects?”

  His computer was already out of his bag, and he opened the laptop. I watched Veronica as he checked his favorite sources, and smiled as she conversed with the Japanese woman in English.

  “Nothing to speak of, but we may encounter some issues in Paris,” he said.

  “Protests?” I asked.

  “Looks like some group is rallying people into a frenzy, and the church is admonishing their claims. From the posts I’ve seen, things are about to get dicey.” He turned the computer around and set on the table between us, positioning the screen so we could both view it.

  The video followed a small group of people, holding signs, and walking toward Avenue des Champs-Elysées. They repeatedly chanted in French, and I attempted to decipher the phrase. “I think they’re saying ‘Come and save us.’ These people hope aliens are heading for Earth?”

  “You know the type. They’re probably blowing off steam, desperate for a movement to stand behind. I dated a girl in college… she was always trying to drag me to some stupid event or another. Mostly it was a bunch of lonely kids using random causes to meet people. This is probably like that. See… wine bottles, lots of laughing.” Marcus indicated another group joining up with our protesters.

  “It’s not like they have any foundation for a viable protest,” I said.

  “Don’t they?” Hunter asked, appearing from nowhere.

  “Not really. What good is jabbing placards into the air?” I waited for his response. Hunter took a seat at a couch between us, and the motion appeared to pain him.

  “Rex, it’s always them versus oppression. The youth against war, famine, the royals, the government. Throughout time, there have been anti-establishment factions, and nothing’s changed. People do things differently in Western cultures, but as we’ve seen in our own country in recent years, no one is willing to stand by quietly while they feel a disservice is occurring.

  “These Parisians want their voices heard, and it likely has naught to do with the mysterious Objects. Not directly. The Objects give them a reason to gather, their own deep-rooted issues the cause for protest, even if they don’t know it.”

  “Subconscious protest?” Marcus queried, a smirk on his face.

  “Of sorts,” Hunter said. “This is peaceful.” We watched the video, finding the group had increased to well past a hundred people. Some were laughing, others dancing and stalking the famous avenue, surrounded by glitzy storefronts. Men in expensive suits and manicured beards watched the procession from the sidelines; women in exquisite dresses cringed at the youthful mob storming their streets. “Do you see how they always go to the wealthy areas, knowing that they will undoubtedly receive media coverage? They also want the rich to take notice, to see that they exist. They want the government to remember that they pay taxes, that they have pulses and value to society.”

  I laughed as Veronica arrived with Tripp in tow. “What’s so funny?”

  “We’re getting a lesson in civil rights by Hunter Madison in a private jet, en route to Paris from Japan. If that isn’t a punchline to a bad joke, I don’t know what is,” I told her.

  “Heed my warning, Rex. Paris may be calm at the moment, along with the rest of the cities around the world, but when these Objects are closer to our humble little planet, the story will progress from a walk in the park to a hike into hell.” Hunter squinted as the lights dimmed inside the cabin.

  Marcus closed the laptop, and we settled into the most comfortable airline seats I’d ever encountered and waited for takeoff. The flight was long and I, for one, was ready for some sleep.

  “Any luck decoding the final location?” I asked Hunter quietly.

  His eyes were closed, and I saw his lip flinch at my question. “Let’s worry about locating the Tokens we know of, and deal with that another day.”

  He’d already suggested that the sixth would go unfound, but I was beginning to understand Hunter better. If he had the Case and five Tokens, nothing in this world would prevent him from solving the last piece of the puzzle.

  I took the cue as we lifted from the airport runway and started our journey to the third Token in Paris, France.

  7

  Paris was one of my favorite cities, but I’d only visited it twice, and the second trip had been a quick stop. My mother had brought us when we were teenagers, telling my sister and me that we needed to experience culture, something more diverse than the bedroom community outside of Boston.

  My mother was a shrewd woman with an English degree and an insane work ethic. She was always busy with a book in her hand, or working on a crossword puzzle in the years after my father vanished. The way Beverly described her was far different than my memories. Bev had been eight when Dad left, and I was three years younger.

  Her perspective of things was always opposite of mine. She recalled the last time Dad was home with resentment. She’d overheard our parents fighting, arguing in their bedroom, and even swore Mom threw a vase at him, breaking their armoire mirror—whereas I remembered him picking me up, taking a break from loading a suitcase into his truck. He’d rubbed my head, mussing my hair, and crouched down, slipping his watch off. In retrospect, the most valuable gift of my life had probably been nothing more than an afterthought. I don’t know what our conversation had been like, but I’d seen him drive away, pulling from the house, waving as he took off. Mom had been nowhere in sight, but Bev was gazing from the living room window. She’d h
ad tears in her eyes.

  Bev had told me her viewpoint one day when I’d been around fifteen and was pining after his adventurous ways. She sat me on the deck and spoke in hushed tones, hoping Mom wouldn’t overhear our conversation. I learned about Mom’s secret worry that her husband had been stepping out, not just on her, but on his family.

  She talked about that day and their fighting, reminding me he’d never truly been there for us. Her words were sharp-edged, and the manner in which she’d spoken of our father had hurt me deeply. I’d shouted at her, knocking my chair over as I dashed down the deck steps and onto my bike. I’d ridden out to Sleepy Grove Cemetery, and that was where they’d found me hours later, crying near Dad’s gravestone.

  I had no doubt everything she said was true. Dirk Walker had been a selfish man. A terrible father, and an even worse spouse, but despite all of that, I still longed to discover what had happened thirty-six years ago. I had the urge to explain to Beverly why her father had done what he’d done, and felt a sharp pang that my mother was gone.

  Being in Paris brought it all back. The smells were the same as that trip when I’d finished the eleventh grade and Bev was done with her sophomore year at college. The temperatures were far cooler as I stared up at the majestic Eiffel Tower, the entire structure lit up. Paris had an air of excitement, and not just because it was days away from Christmas.

  It was obvious there was a sense of unease in the people, but most appeared to believe the scientific community, as well as the government officials urging the population not to panic. The gatherings from the other day had ended without violence, yet Hunter was confident things would escalate eventually.

  The hotel was a couple of city blocks away, and Tripp had suggested we stay in the confines and safety of the rooms, but I needed to stretch my legs.

  I’d walked this very street with my mother, her forcing me to apply the French she’d insisted I learn throughout school, and it came in handy. I stopped at a café, rain dripping from the umbrella I rested on my shoulder. We’d come to this exact café, though the name on the awning might have been different twenty-something years ago.

  It was dark outside, but the café was in full hustle behind clear glass windows. I watched as couples ate, smiling and laughing, waiters pouring rich wines and after-dinner cappuccinos.

  Veronica bumped into me. “Are you going to go in or watch the happy people all night?”

  “What are you doing? I thought Tripp put us under quarantine,” I joked.

  “Must have had the same idea as you.” She looked up at the Eiffel tower, her eyes reflecting the million lights.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat.” She smiled, and something my mother said to me on our first visit entered my mind.

  Paris is romantic. You’ll see that there are few places with such whimsy and possibilities. Everything feels different here. The wine is sweeter, the coffee richer. The food creamier. The love… Her hands had dropped by her sides. It was at that moment I’d first seen my mother for the sad shell of a woman she’d become.

  Veronica waited at the entrance, and the maître d’ plucked two leatherbound menus, motioning for us to enter. The lights were dim, the scent of roasted lamb and white sauces tantalizing as we wound our way past dining duos and groups of friends and family out celebrating a wonderful night in Paris.

  He offered to take our coats, and I draped mine across the back of my chair. Veronica did the same with hers, and I couldn’t help but stare. She wore a black dress, the neckline far more plunging than her usual practical blouses and travel gear.

  “See something you like?” she asked coquettishly.

  “I… I didn’t—” I started to stammer. “You look lovely.”

  “One of my favorite designers is close to the hotel, so I figured I might as well indulge. It’s not often I get to spend a night in the center of Paris, especially not so close to Christmas. And if the world is really going to end, why can’t we enjoy our time here?”

  “How do you usually celebrate the holidays?” I asked, not wanting to address her dire statement.

  “Manhattan, if I’m around. I have a little sister. After my mom remarried, they had a kid. She’s ten years younger, but of course, as things go, she’s married with a girl of her own now.” Veronica moved out of a server’s way while he poured a glass of water.

  “Tell me about it. Beverly’s older, but she was always destined for a family. Here I am, closing on forty, and I’ve never felt farther from having my own family. I think I’ve missed the window.” I didn’t often let things out like this, but she was so easy to talk with.

  “I doubt that, Rex. Yours just hasn’t opened yet.” She ordered the wine, and I let her choose, admiring how down to earth she was in the field; yet here she was, looking every bit the part of a socialite. “Don’t tell Hunter, but he’s buying.”

  “And this year? You weren’t going home?”

  “Wasn’t planning on it. It’s been more difficult every holiday season. Visiting New York with the snow and giant Christmas tree, and everyone skating in the park. I don’t think I could handle it.”

  “My sister’s kids are great and all, but the thought of sitting with a cup of coffee, watching them open a present only to drop it two minutes later and stare at a screen, is beyond me. Once every couple of years.” The wine was delicious, and we ordered appetizers, duck foie gras, and a single quail pie, with crust so flaky, it melted in my mouth.

  Veronica seemed distracted, fidgeting after the taster plates were cleared. “Something on your mind?” I asked.

  She took a big drink from her wine glass and poured herself another round. “Rex, if I tell you a secret, will you promise to not to spread it around?”

  When someone asks you that, there’s only one option. “Of course. Mum’s the word.”

  “I didn’t happen to stumble upon you guys in Sydney,” she admitted, a slight flush finding her cheeks. She took another sip and sat back, swirling her wine while avoiding eye contact with me.

  I shifted in my seat, unable to stop the next question. “Are you with the Believers?” I said it quietly and stared at her, searching for a tell. It would make sense, with them so close to our trail.

  She gasped, finally meeting my gaze. “Rex,” she hissed, “how can you ask that? No. Truthfully, I’ve heard of them before, but only because of my similar interests.”

  “In cults?” I asked while the server brought our mains. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry, and I shoved it aside while the pollack dripping in sauce slid in front of me.

  “The unknown. Aliens. Stuff Hunter Madison is preoccupied with.”

  I sighed, finally understanding. “You wanted to meet him. Then you heard him mention a pilot and took your shot. Very admirable.”

  “What else was I supposed to do? Ask to see his collection? Invite myself to his mansion?” She chuckled and poked a fork at her risotto, piercing a chanterelle mushroom. “I was the geekiest kid. X-Files posters on the walls, shelves lined with books about the solar system. I wanted so badly to believe there was more than what we saw each day. I was desperate for answers. When we moved to the city, I was so angry that my mother could take me away from my home.”

  I ate a bite of my dinner. “What made you upset?”

  “A telescope.” She stopped, chewing small bites of her food. She held an empty fork, and her eyes filled with tears. “Can you think of a more pathetic reason to be sad? A little girl crying because her telescope wouldn’t work among the bright uptown lights of Manhattan. It wasn’t that I had to leave all my friends behind or that I missed my bedroom. I pouted for months.” A tear rolled free, but she didn’t wipe at it.

  I glanced at my watch, feeling a bond growing between us. “It was a gift?”

  Her smile was so sudden, it almost didn’t seem real. “How did you guess that?”

  “Why else would you be so sad? How old were you?”

  “Four when he gave it to me. It’s the first birthda
y I can remember, but that might be because I’ve looked at the old photos my mom took a thousand times over.” She fiddled with her designer clutch and pulled out a simple wallet hiding in the fancy red leather bag. She unfolded a picture, her thumb across the man’s face. But there was Veronica, so young, her hair bright blonde. She was standing beside a telescope, and not a cheap department store version. This was the real deal. “It was the last birthday before he left.”

  I took a drink of my wine, trying to hide the creeping emotions of my own loss at her words.

  “I still have it.”

  “The telescope?”

  “Yes. It was one of the reasons I stayed in Maui for so long.”

  “It had nothing to do with white beaches or the lush tropical topiary?” I asked.

  “Okay, that may have played a role. Rex, you’re easy to talk to. I didn’t know what to expect.”

  “You never did explain how you recognized me,” I fished.

  “Rexford Walker, son of renowned treasure hunter Dirk Walker. Anyone who’s followed our illustrious billionaire’s obsession knows of your dad, and subsequently, about you,” she said.

  The idea that anyone had interest in me was surprising. “I doubt that. It’s not like my dad and Hunter’s dealings were publicized.”

  “They’re accessible if you know where to search.” She drained her glass. “What do you say we go for a walk? Clear our heads.”

  I’d had enough French cuisine for a night and abandoned half of the fish on the plate. Veronica dropped a few bills on the table, and I smiled at the generous tip Hunter was leaving the staff.

  With our jackets pulled tight, we grabbed our umbrellas, finding that the clouds remained, but the rain had ended. We chatted about inconsequential things as we walked down the cobblestone sidewalks, pausing to peer into storefronts, and ordered espressos.

  It was late when we stopped, and I hailed a taxi to shuttle us to the hotel. I saw Marcus in the lobby, his chin drooped to his chest while he sat in an oversized chair. His computer was open, and I closed it, tapping him on the shoulder.

 

‹ Prev