The Trigger Mechanism

by Scott McEwen

“You said the fire was started by a pill-head, right?”

  “That’s right, he was on Zovis.”

  “Well, when Hi Kyto played with Pro_F_er, she called him something else.”

  “What was it?”

  “Highboy.”

  “Highboy? That’s it?”

  “Yeah, that’s all I know. I just thought, since this Zovis kid started the fire. Maybe it could mean something.”

  “It just might.”

  “So what now?”

  “We get close. Very close. You need to be her friend. You need access to her life, her friends, and then the opportunity will present itself.”

  “But I haven’t even met this chick.”

  “No, but you will.”

  “Huh?” Jalen looked out of what should have been a window, but instead the image of a Western landscape—arid and mountainous—raced past.

  “I’m assuming that’s why Wyatt brought you here,” Darsie said. “We’re en route to the Evolution Championship Series … We’ll be in Las Vegas in fourteen hours.”

  “You mean EVO? The fighting game competition?” Jalen panicked. “Wyatt said I was going to be a part of the mission. To stop Encyte. He didn’t say anything about having to play.”

  “Oh dear,” Darsie said. “Well, now that you’re in on our little secret, I don’t think you have much choice…”

  “Hope you aren’t threatening a thirteen-year-old,” a voice came from the other side of the train car.

  Jalen turned to see Wyatt, slumped in a seat, also in a straitjacket.

  “Wyatt,” Darsie said pleasantly. “You’re awake.”

  CHAPTER 34

  In his years with the CIA, Tui had seen some strange things. Like the time he was spying on an Iranian cleric suspected of terrorism. The cleric left his Manhattan hotel dressed smartly, his gray labbaadeh buttoned to his neck, and took a car service downtown. Tui followed him, surprised to find the cleric disrobing in the back of the dark limo, but when the man got out in Greenwich Village, he was in jeans and a T-shirt. Tui tailed him through the narrow streets into what looked like a basement-level apartment, and there on a small stage was the cleric, practicing a heavily accented and rather poor routine to a crowd of aspiring comics. Stranger than fiction, Tui had thought to himself.

  In Bosnia, Tui had seen war crimes of every shade, same in the Soviet Union. In his experience, this was just the way of political people—weird clung to them like their cologne and vodka, but nothing he’d seen in his service was quite as odd as what he witnessed outside of Wyatt Brewer’s house.

  Not even twenty-four hours after Wyatt and Jalen had been dropped off by the Washington fixer, a Mercedes pulled up outside the Virginia ranch house and the billionaire tech investor John Darsie stepped out. Tui knew that Darsie himself was rumored to have been a part of Valor, but now, dressed like a J. Crew model and with four personal guards to keep his hands clean, it was hard to imagine.

  Darsie got into an argument with an obese lady brandishing a cell phone, pushing his way into her house and shattering the window in the center of the door as he shouldered his way in. Then a bookshelf came smashing through a second-story window, and the kids came out on the roof. Wyatt beat the hell outta one of them, like Peter Parker turned Spiderman, and that other kid was all right himself until Darsie pulled out something that looked like a photograph, and they both were distracted and dropped like flies. Even with binoculars, Tui couldn’t see what was in the picture, but pushing his earpiece into his ear, he thought he heard a name—“Molly”—before the boys were knocked out and tossed into the back of a Suburban.

  Tui knew he could have intervened, but instincts told him better. And so far, in two decades with the CIA, his instincts had never once been wrong. That was all he had to hang his hat on—his work. Hell, it was time for his ship to come in. He was getting too old for this shit. He wanted to go back to Memphis. Open himself up a little barbecue pit, spend Sundays along the riverfront, drinking beer. He’d spent twenty years being patient, and now, by god, it was time to get paid. So the spidery Tui decided to lie and wait, following the caravan right up until they boarded the damnedest-looking train he’d ever seen—all black, futuristic, much more so than something that was simply military. But before he could get a really good look at it, it was gone.

  Tui slurped his Big Gulp, noting the direction of the train—due west—and though he couldn’t follow it on the track, he could call in a favor. He dialed a number.

  “Hey, Bobby. Need you to get me an aerial on a train coming out of Charlottesville … No, it’s not Amtrak,” Tui said as he drove west with the train, his thoughts clicking along with the track. He wanted to get in the mind of John Darsie. What on earth could he possibly want with the boys?

  “Yeah, just need you to keep eyes on that train,” Tui said. “I owe ya a beer, Bobby.”

  It was only a few moments before an idea came to him. He picked up his phone again.

  “Yo,” Ken said on the other end of the line, his mouth full of something. “Starting to wonder about you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy … but I got something for you,” Tui said.

  “’Bout time.”

  “But I don’t want you to tell anyone, not even the Old Broad, until we get a little further.”

  “You got it.”

  “At this stage, it’s total theory, but I think it’s this Darsie guy who’s behind it.”

  “Billionaires don’t typically kidnap kids.” Ken burped.

  “I know that. The kids are pawns. This Darsie guy is shifty as hell, and we’re going to figure out why.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “I don’t think you get it, Ken. You need to think bigger. If we bag this guy and prove he’s Encyte, it’ll be better than getting Osama bin Laden. I’m talking book deals, the works—and you better remember me when your time comes.”

  Ken finished chewing and swallowed, suddenly very intrigued. “You know I will, Tui. Just keep an eye on the kids for now. And be in touch.”

  CHAPTER 35

  “You’re kidding, right?” Jalen asked both of them.

  “No,” Darsie said bluntly. “This was supposed to be a solo gig for Wyatt, but apparently he didn’t feel up for the challenge.” Darsie went over to one of his chessboards and moved a piece. Instantly, a piece on the other side of the board moved by itself. “Am I right?”

  “I realized it was not a one-man mission,” Wyatt said. “I don’t play video games, and Hi Kyto is a champion.” Jalen and Darsie looked over at Wyatt as he jerked and twitched in his straitjacket like a worm on a hook. “Can you get one of your butlers to get me out of this?”

  Darsie nodded and the request was granted.

  “Where’s my aunt?” Wyatt asked, rubbing his shoulders and neck, which were now free.

  “Narcissa? She’s a little agitated, but she’ll be okay.”

  “Did you hurt her?” Wyatt asked.

  “Hurt her? Come now. That woman can fend for herself. Actually, she put one of my men in the hospital. Snapped his rib like a twig.” Darsie chuckled. “She’s in a hotel in Charlottesville, probably enjoying a breakfast buffet. She’ll go home once the memory-erasing agent has taken effect.”

  “You wiped her?”

  “Just barely. Can’t have her remember that little run-in with me. But there’s no time to worry about your aunt.”

  “Look, Mr. Darsie, I’m going to tell you something. All that matters is clearing or closing the suspect—Hi Kyto. Isn’t that why I’m here? Why you had me leave Valor?”

  “I didn’t have you do anything.”

  “Whatever,” Wyatt said. “I just want to figure out whoever is behind Encyte, so you’ll help me find Hallsy so I can…”

  Darsie held up his pointer finger. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

  “That was our deal!” Wyatt slammed his fist on the arm of the chair.

  “Sit down, Wyatt. You will get yours when I get mine.”

&nbs
p; “I better.” Wyatt glared.

  “Now.” Darsie turned to Jalen. “You’ll be playing Street Fighter. The Arcade edition. Kids these days are reviving the old games. It’s not Hi Kyto’s favorite, but she’s very good. And at EVO, champions can play against newcomers, so it’s the perfect place to meet her.”

  “No, no, no,” Jalen said.

  “Wyatt, looks like you chose the wrong guy.” Again a piece on the other side of Darsie’s chessboard slowly slid across the squares inlaid with fine wood. “Robotic,” Darsie offered, satisfying his guests’ curiosity without looking up. “I’m playing a computer.”

  “Look, I wanted to help with your little Mission Impossible here,” Wyatt said. “But we need the right tools in place.” He turned to Jalen. “Come on, buddy. I know you think you’re not ready, but it’s one series. All you have to do is meet her, and you’re in. You can never touch a controller again after that if you don’t want.”

  “It’s not just that,” Jalen said. “Yeah, I’m scared … what if it’s hacked and instead of killing Ryu, I kill an actual dude.”

  “That won’t happen. There’s no way—”

  “But this is just not cool on so many levels. First of all, this girl is talented and really cute, and I can’t just go up and talk to her…”

  “What if I promise you, I’ll be there. I won’t be more than ten feet from you the whole time. If something is fishy about the game—which it won’t be—I’ll know it. And sure, she’s pretty but, dude, look at you,” Wyatt said. “You’re ripped out of your mind and that’s from doing nothing. I spent six weeks at Valor, swimming and sweating, and I couldn’t achieve abs like that.”

  Jalen sat, thinking.

  Darsie piped in. “Jalen, I should say I don’t choose people to work with me because of any particular skill set. I’ve always found that the ability to come up with a new way forward—that no one will see coming—is supreme above all … I think you are worthy of doing something great, and I’ve been told I have pretty good instincts in scouting young talents.”

  “Didn’t you hire a potential mass murderer? Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  “Another smart retort.” Darsie golf clapped. “Well, we could always let you boys out at the next stop.”

  Jalen looked over at the 4K screens, which were now depicting thunderstorms. A crisp bolt of lightning popped just as he spoke. “I’m in.”

  “Wonderful. So Wyatt, you’ll need to be in disguise. Dress like a fan or something? These places are very strange to me. Like Grimms’ fairy tales on mushrooms. Jalen, the handle I have acquired for you to play under in the championship is CV_kyd.”

  “Cute.” Wyatt smiled.

  “Thought you’d think so. It’s for old times’ sake.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Vegas isn’t what it used to be, Tui thought as he burped up his cheeseburger, his gold Ford Taurus lumbering down the Strip. Used to be a city run by the mob, but now, it’s all nightclub promoters and celebrity chefs. The city used to have mobsters, brawls, and casinos that smelled of cheap perfume, body odor, and bad buffets. But today, it was cover charges, pool parties, and DJs. And kids. Particularly this weekend, it was flooded with video game–playing kids. Like a bar mitzvah on steroids.

  Tui wheeled into the Mandalay Bay, and tossed his keys at the valet—who missed. The keys went sailing past.

  “You know, you can leave them in the car.” The valet bent over to pick them up.

  “Frank Sinatra is crying in his grave,” Tui said as he loosed a dollar from his billfold and handed it to the valet, who muttered, “Dick.”

  Entering the Mandalay Bay was like walking into a world of pure weirdos, fans dressed as ghoulish, fantastical, gruesome characters. Lots of Asians in jerseys with Red Bull logos across their backs. For the life of him, he couldn’t quite figure this circus out—pro football announcers and pop concert fandom. Foam hats and rhinestone microphones. Fireworks and DJs on every corner. There better be some free drinks.

  But a couple hours inside the casino, and Tui—though he didn’t want to admit it—was starting to see what all the fuss was about. Maybe it was all the oxygen they were pumping, but the atmosphere was electric. It was life or death. The kind of competition that harkened back to man’s first sparring. This was gladiator crap. The ever-present sense of suspense gripped everyone from schoolgirls to team owners who’d groomed the young athletes and wagered their cash on groups of misfits to compete in battle. Here, at a mega-gaming championship, different rules apply. Some of the biggest weenies Tui had ever seen in his life, thanks to a little hand dexterity, morphed into gods. Pot-bellied, pasty nerds wielded all-powerful digital avatars who towered above the crowd in shimmering LED.

  Tui found a cozy spot to wait and keep a lookout for Jalen and Wyatt. Beside him, a zitty kid stood next to a gaming console, promoting a new release. Tui snorted in the guy’s direction, thinking about how the kid looked like someone he’d wanted to beat up in high school. He let himself stare as he sipped his Coke.

  “Sir,” the kid said. “Like to try this? It’s a single-fighter game.”

  Tui looked around. “You talking to me? Oh no. Please don’t take my eye contact to mean I wanna buy something, kid.”

  “Come on. It’s totally free. You know you want to.”

  Tui, were he in his typical mood, might have moseyed over and rammed the glasses down the kid’s throat, but since he was feeling generous and he had time, he thought he’d give it a shot.

  “Not bad,” he said, popping on the glasses. He looked around the casino, seeing the virtual world in glowing 3D. “Lightweight.”

  “Yeah. High-resolution liquid crystal display and they only weigh three ounces.”

  Forty-five minutes later, the zitty kid was tapping him on the shoulder. “Sir, please. Other people are waiting.” He pointed over Tui’s gigantic shoulder, where a line had formed.

  “Yeah, one more try, okay.” Tui looked up and saw a crowd gathering at the entrance. They pressed the barricades. In face paint and purple hair and wearing all manner of bizarre accessories, they hooted and chanted.

  “Like a damn Gaga concert,” Tui said. “Kid, what’s goin’ on over there?”

  “Looks like the players are here.”

  CHAPTER 37

  “Try not to look so … normal,” Wyatt’s voice came through Jalen’s earpiece as he walked underneath the arches of giant palm trees and into the casino.

  “You try not to look so freaky,” Jalen said, his mouth closed like a ventriloquist.

  As promised, Wyatt was ten feet behind him, in a red military costume with silvery shoulder pads and a service cap. “We can thank Darsie for my outfit,” Wyatt said grumpily. “I’m M. Bison, Norwegian dictator.”

  “Or a deranged flight attendant,” Jalen joked.

  “Now, we’re kinda cutting it close time-wise, so you’ll need to go straight to your event. Hi Kyto will be sitting beside you, shoulder to shoulder. All you need to do is look like someone who is mildly competent at this game and somehow get her to notice you. Nobody cares about anything else. She never talks to players and she really doesn’t go overboard talking to fans, so just do the best you can.”

  “Kinda throwing a lot at me at one time,” Jalen muttered, taking his items from the check-in counter and following the signs to bag check. He gave the man his backpack and took a ticket.

  “Stay loose. Keep breathing. Just play.”

  “Loose,” Jalen said, trying not to look at the purple casino carpet, the pattern nearly giving him a seizure.

  “Go kick some virtual butt,” Wyatt said sarcastically.

  Jalen took his place at his computer and tried to appear like someone who was supposed to be there. He took out the joystick Darsie had packed for him. “Good grief,” he muttered to Wyatt. “What the hell is this?”

  “A controller. It’ll work, right?” Wyatt said, watching Jalen get set up. “Sorry we didn’t have a custom arcade stick laying around.”

>   “It’ll work, but I expected more from a billionaire. Your peripheral—your controller—is like another appendage. The stick I have at home is the best there is. This is just … amateur.”

  Just then Hi Kyto appeared beside him, standing behind her chair, loud music bleeding from her headphones. She looked over at Jalen like she was looking through him. Then she actually looked at him, right into his eyes.

  Jalen suddenly felt a rush of fear thinking what if she recognized him from the video—even with the VR headset on, what if she knew it was him? Her eyes cut away.

  “Oh god,” Jalen muttered, somewhat breathless. “I thought she’d recognized me from Encyte’s video.”

  “Impossible. Play it cool,” Wyatt coached.

  “I’m trying,” Jalen whispered, trying to calm his breath and not stare. The girl was fashionable in a damaged way—dark glasses, ripped T-shirt, and thick leather jewelry. Tough and a little boyish, but cute.

  “Now get ready to play,” Wyatt’s voice came in. “Once you switch headsets, I’ll still be able to break in.”

  Jalen looked over and spotted Wyatt in the crowd and nodded. “Better act like a true fan if you’re gonna wear that outfit … you know, cheer or something.”

  “Woooo,” Wyatt mocked.

  Jalen stealthily removed the earbud and slipped on the large gaming headset. He glanced over as Hi Kyto took her seat. Oh my god. He could smell her lip gloss. It was strawberry or something. That should be a violation. She smelled so good. He tried not to stare, but up close, the girl was utterly beautiful. Perfect skin, red lips, long dark eyelashes—a body that belonged not in Gadget, but on the cover of Vogue. The baggy outfits and the surly attitude were pieces of armor to conceal a porcelain doll.

  Just as Wyatt had warned him, Hi Kyto stretched her fingers and popped her neck, looking neither right nor left. “How am I supposed to engage with this?” Jalen muttered. He didn’t consider himself an unfriendly person, but flirting definitely wasn’t his strong suit.

  “Just think about the game,” Wyatt coached.