Oliver Invictus (Annals of Altair Book 3)

by Kate Stradling

  Again that wry smile served as wordless answer. If Oliver was not mistaken, though, a hint of sadness passed across the man’s face. Misgivings churned anew. Silently he thanked the forces that had so far kept him from that final destination.

  Now all he had to do was avoid it entirely.

  Fat chance at that, as he was headed straight into danger instead of away from it. Tallmadge might intend to keep him out of the fray, but with government resources no doubt crawling their journey’s objective, odds were not in his favor.

  “So we need to get to the Brotherhood before they get to Prom-C,” he said, careful to keep his voice neutral. Faint tremors shook his hands, but he clenched them into fists to hide it.

  “We need to get to Abel and Kennedy before General Stone’s people do,” said Ben. “There’s a kill order for both of them, with a few dozen drones deployed to patrol Prom-C’s neighboring streets. The Rosses won’t get within five blocks of the school, and if they start any riots elsewhere like they did in Seattle, there are plenty more drones to sweep through those crowds.”

  “Stone plans to execute a fourteen-year-old in broad daylight?” Jenifer asked, a squeamish expression on her face.

  Ben tipped his head. “He learned from the Wests’ escape five years ago. He’s planning on Altair or one of its affiliates interfering, and he’d rather kill Kennedy than have her come into our network. His projectors will do damage control in the aftermath.”

  “Can they counteract Kennedy in the moment?” Oliver asked. To Ben’s quizzical glance he clarified. “Can projectors fight each other for control?”

  “Only if they’re at the same level or higher. Projectors have a small degree of natural immunity to their own kind, but the higher levels can overwhelm the lower ones. The government considers most high-level projectors a threat to national security. If Stone has access to any of Kennedy’s caliber, he keeps them under lock and key.”

  Oliver rested his elbows on his knees as he looked Ben dead in the eyes. “But Altair has access to some.”

  The man’s posture became guarded, his shoulders stiff. “If you’re talking about Honey or Happy West, it’s no good. No one knows where they ended up, whether they’re still in the country or out of it.”

  “Not even you?” Oliver challenged.

  “Especially not me. I have a government bounty on my head, if you’ll recall. The less I know about the Wests, the better. Besides, Happy would only be ten or eleven. Stone and his ilk might not have a problem pulling kids into these operations, but Altair would rather protect their childhood.”

  A pang of jealousy snaked through Oliver. He’d had no childhood worth protecting.

  “Are you done with this page?” Jenifer asked, calling his attention back to the file she still held.

  He’d already skimmed its contents. He nodded, and she flipped to the next one. Five pictures and five quick biographies met his gaze—the five prison-escapees recently broadcasted on NPNN.

  With renewed interest he leaned closer.

  They weren’t prison escapees at all. They were rogue agents who headed a group called Sparta. Defectors from Altair’s network, they were radicalized in their beliefs and willing to use brute force to achieve their ends. They had, collectively, been in hiding somewhere south of the border for the past decade. One or more of them had arrived in Portland a few days after Oliver had been shot, and their whereabouts were unknown.

  “What do these Sparta guys have to do with the Rosses?” he asked.

  “One assumes they’re on the prowl for a young, strong projector to join their cause,” Ben said, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “They’re our competition, you might say, except that instead of pulling Abel and Kennedy Ross from circulation, they’ll offer safe harbor and use them for destructive purposes. From what I can tell, the renegade pair will fit very nicely into their organization.”

  “And all five of them are here?” Jenifer asked.

  “Not likely. But we don’t know which of the five has come, so it’s best to keep on the lookout for all of them. The government has taken that tactic as well, as you’ve no doubt seen on the news.”

  Oliver studied the entries, memorizing faces and biographical details. The last on the list, a stoic man in his fifties, bore a full beard and a scowling brow.

  “This Adam Wythe guy kind of looks like you, Ben,” he said, half-jokingly.

  The man across from him remained unmoved. “Probably because he’s my father.”

  Jenifer and Oliver both jolted. Ben settled deeper into his chair as though unconcerned.

  “You’re kidding,” said Jenifer.

  “No. Oliver already knows my history: I’m an internment-camp baby. My parents had every reason to radicalize when they finally escaped from beneath the government’s thumb. My father radicalized a bit more than necessary.”

  Oliver returned his attention to the page. “So your real name is Wythe?”

  “It’s Calvin Morris right now, thanks. But while we’re on the subject, I have as much incentive to stay out of sight as you do on this mission. Kindly keep to the boundaries I set.”

  Having already resigned himself to the role of an instrument, Oliver should have had no problem with this request. The person speaking it was another story, though. “How do we know you’re not a double agent for your dad?”

  Ben opened his eyes and leveled a flat stare. A shiver traveled up Oliver’s spine. “You don’t. You’ll have to trust me.”

  The request was ludicrous. “You once shot me with a tranquilizer gun.”

  “You’ve been shot with something worse since then. A little birdie told me you pulled a trigger of your own, too.”

  Oliver glowered, his ears burning. “I think I liked you better when you were dead.”

  In answer to this outrageous remark, a smile broke on Ben’s face. “You were always such a funny kid. I wish you’d gotten out of that van with Quincy and the Wests five years ago.”

  Having wished that himself more times than he could count, Oliver snapped his mouth shut. Ben returned to his repose, arms folded and legs stretched. The thrum of the plane engines alone kept them from total silence.

  At long last, Oliver asked, “Why didn’t you force me out?”

  “People who aren’t committed to the cause become a security risk. You had to learn the truth for yourself.”

  It was a bald fact. Up until that moment when Principal Jones had calmly, smugly consigned him to Prom-F, his loyalty hadn’t wavered. If Altair had forced him into hiding at the age of ten, he would have ratted out his caretakers in a heartbeat.

  Stupid, blind, prideful little kid.

  Chapter 28

  Dripping Faucet

  Saturday, March 9, 1:45 PM PST, Danville

  After the snows of Idaho and the rain in Washington, the weather in California was positively balmy. From the back seat of a gray sedan, Oliver stared out the window at tall trees and green lawns. He absently rubbed the fingerless glove on his right hand—a new glove that Ben provided before they left the cargo plane at the Oakland airport. This one would not only block the signal from his embedded ID chip, but it would ping any chip reader with an alternate identity.

  Ben had given one to Jenifer as well. “If anyone asks, we’re a happy, normal family out for an afternoon adventure,” he said with a smile.

  He drove them now through quaint neighborhoods with mostly ranch style homes while Jenifer navigated on her phone.

  “We take a left at the stop sign, and it’s up the next road.”

  Ben put on his turn signal and followed her directions. He glanced in the rearview mirror, catching Oliver’s gaze before he looked away again.

  They were headed to a safe house, someplace Altair had provided for them to hunker down until they knew more about the Rosses’ whereabouts. Oliver was exhausted. The half-hour drive from Oakland had wound through city developments and forested wilderness alike, but the variety of scenery could only distract him from his aching shou
lder for so long. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on a bed—or a couch—and nap for the rest of the afternoon.

  “That’s it on the right,” said Jenifer. “The one with the gray—” She swiveled around as they drove right past the house. “You missed it.”

  Oliver tensed, wary of surprises from Ben. “What’s wrong?”

  “The blue van behind us has been following us for the last three miles,” said Ben. “But even if it wasn’t, the safe house is compromised.”

  “How do you know?”

  Before he could answer, a chirp emitted from a tiny device on the dashboard.

  “That’s a roadside scanner checking our ID,” said Ben. “There’s not supposed to be one here. Stay calm. We’re headed back to the highway.” He signaled and turned at the next stop sign.

  Oliver glanced through the back window. The blue van turned as well. “How did you know the house was compromised before the scan came through?”

  “One of the visuals was off?” Jenifer guessed.

  “Yep,” said Ben, his eyes firmly on the road. For Oliver’s benefit he elaborated. “Altair has a system for marking houses as safe, particularly when they’re loaning those houses to an active operation. We have a prescribed approach, and there are elements in place in the neighborhood to give the all-clear. If any of those elements is missing, we consider the house compromised and move on.”

  Oliver’s throat constricted. “To where?”

  “To another town, to a hotel or a charge station or a shopping center, somewhere we can get our bearings. Right now, we’re headed back to the highway to see if we can lose this tail.”

  Another glance through the back window showed the van still behind them. Its driver wore a baseball cap and sunglasses to hide his eyes.

  “Oop. Here we go,” Ben said. Red and blue flashing lights pulled onto the road behind them and a siren blared a brief warning. Oliver’s stomach lurched into his esophagus, his every muscle tight as their car eased over to the curb.

  Tires screeched and an engine revved. The van whipped past them, accelerating. The cop car followed, its siren wailing full-force. Oliver hunched into his seat on instinct while Ben and Jenifer openly rubbernecked.

  “You’re acting guilty,” Jenifer said with a glance into the rearview mirror. “We’re a nice family out for an afternoon drive, remember?”

  Down the road, the van careened around a corner. A second police car sped across the intersection, joining the chase. The sirens faded into the distance as Ben maneuvered onto the road again.

  “What just happened?” Oliver asked with a shaking voice.

  “If I had to guess, someone in the van didn’t have valid ID or a snitch.” Ben tapped the tiny device on the dashboard. When he came to the next intersection, he turned the opposite direction as the chase. “We can thank the government for that small mercy. Whoever was tailing us didn’t know there would be suits watching our destination.”

  “Who do you think it was?” Jenifer asked. “Someone from the Brotherhood, or…?”

  “They tend to be the sloppiest when it comes to digital signatures. Part of their initiation involves removing the ID chip so that they’re off the grid. If a specially placed ID reader like the one back there picks up a car without a driver, of course it would alert its agency.”

  A few more turns brought them back onto the highway. “So where do we go now?” Oliver asked.

  Ben grinned into the mirror. “Which sounds better, San Ramon or Pleasanton?”

  “Which one is further away?”

  They ended up at a roadside inn a few miles down the highway. Jenifer ran in to the office to rent a room. Ben stood outside the car, leaning against the front hood as he talked on his cell phone. Oliver, his door open, shamelessly eavesdropped from a recumbent position in the back seat.

  Ben remained pleasant throughout the conversation, but in a killing-with-a-smile-on sort of way.

  “I mean, I get it, yeah, but where did the leak happen? No, I’m about to pack up my toys and go home. The whole point was to stay on the outskirts, not to have multiple hostiles breathing down my neck.”

  “Multiple” usually meant more than two. So the GCA and the Brotherhood were probably involved, but who else? Oliver stared at the fabric-upholstered ceiling as he contemplated the possibilities. The five renegades, maybe? But they wanted to recruit Kennedy, not a null.

  Then again, they might need a null on hand to recruit her without succumbing to her projections.

  The one-sided conversation outside drew to its conclusion. “Well, we’ve found a place to bunk down for now. I suggest you plug up the hole sooner rather than later, and let me know when you do. I can’t move forward in good faith otherwise.”

  Ben ended the call. Oliver sat up in time to see him toss the phone into the bushes. “Did you get us a room?” the man yelled across the lot.

  Jenifer, returning from the front office, held up a pair of key cards.

  “Great. Get in the car.”

  She crossed around to the passenger side and dropped in with a frown. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” He started the engine as three doors shut.

  She pointed to the left. “We can drive around back for a closer entrance.”

  “We’re not staying here,” said Ben as he steered the car the opposite direction. “You paid in cash, right? So we’ve set up a decoy and can move on. There’s a leak somewhere in the network—a tiny one, but a leak nonetheless.”

  “Is that how the safe house was compromised?”

  He grunted, his eyes on the road. “Someone cued the Brotherhood that we were coming, so Altair burned down our safe house in response.”

  Jenifer recoiled. “They gave its location to the GCA? On purpose?”

  “That’s protocol. They can’t risk an altercation on one of their properties, and it’s my job to recognize if it’s been compromised. Besides, if they hadn’t, we’d’ve had to shake that van ourselves.”

  “So what now?” Oliver asked from the back seat.

  “Now we pull off somewhere without surveillance and switch our license plates, then find another candidate for where to stay.”

  “And you have an extra set of plates lying around, I suppose.”

  “Of course. They clip on to the originals in about five seconds, too. What do you take me for?” He flashed a reproving glance, and for the first time all day, Oliver felt reassured instead of apprehensive.

  Chapter 29

  Hot Commodity

  Sunday, March 10, 9:15 AM PDT, Pleasanton

  “What time is checkout?” Jenifer asked from the vanity area of their hotel room. She leaned to one side, her gaze in the mirror upon Oliver, who reclined atop the closest of two disheveled queen beds.

  “Eleven,” he said. He shifted his attention to the little alcove by the door. Ben sat on a small couch, its hide-a-bed already put away. The man had earbuds in, a receiver of some kind in his hands and an unfocused expression on his face. He’d awakened before either of them and hadn’t said a word all morning.

  The remains of their breakfast lay on the low table in front of him: scraps of pale scrambled eggs, a crust of toast, two empty yogurt containers, and a last wilted grape on its withered vine. Jenifer had procured the meal from the hotel’s hospitality room, and Oliver had eaten the lion’s share of it. Ben had only plucked up a piece of toast, and when asked what he was listening to, he shook his head and waved them both away.

  The television was on, but muted. Jenifer had given Oliver the task of watching the news while she showered. Even though he had no cause to fear Veronica’s reports, he opted for subtitles—partly for Ben’s sake, and partly because he couldn’t stomach her voice.

  He was still a wanted school bomber. Kennedy was still a kidnapping victim. Abel was still an arsonist. The prison escapees had dropped in number from five to three.

  “Does that mean they’ve caught the other two?” Oliver asked when he reported this detail to Jenifer.


  “Doubtful. They’re probably narrowing their search.”

  Wary of Ben on the other side of the room, he had not disclosed that Adam Wythe was one of the three. He wasn’t trying to withhold the information, but he didn’t want to distract his Tallmadge handler from whatever currently engrossed him.

  And, for all he knew, Ben was already well aware.

  “Do you need any help pulling your stuff together?” Jenifer asked as she tied off the tight Dutch braid she had worked in her damp hair.

  “It’s all in my duffel bag.” He had so few things, and all of them donated, so he wouldn’t miss anything left behind. Except, perhaps, his deodorant. He couldn’t apply it properly with his bum arm, but he’d attempted it that morning anyway. Now, fully dressed and with his sling back in place, he waited for the final word on where this day would take them.

  Jenifer, dressed in black from head to toe, threw the last of her toiletries into her bag. She snatched up Oliver’s duffel and carried it with hers to the door, where she paused to give Ben a questioning look. He didn’t immediately notice her. When at last he lifted his gaze, his brows arched in an unspoken question. Jenifer tapped her wrist, and he checked his watch. With deft hands he stripped his earbuds and replaced them in their case.

  “What’s the word?” she asked as he stowed the case and his receiver in a coat pocket.

  “The driver of the blue van abandoned it in an alleyway and escaped on foot. The police arrested three passengers who weren’t so lucky, but none of them has any ID and they’re refusing to cooperate.”

  “That smacks of the Overmountain Brotherhood,” she said.

  Ben stood and brushed the wrinkles from his slacks. “There was also a break-in at our first hotel last night, which means that the network leak is still dripping information.”

  “How did they track us there?” Jenifer asked, bewildered.