by A J Blanc
Milo looked up from the scrolling data on the table’s built-in monitor. “I’m afraid it was, but it appears that person may have been taken by body snatchers since I last saw him,” he bantered. “You up all night gambling or something?”
Hal fitfully stirred his drink and took a large gulp of the still hot beverage, not caring how much it burned his throat. “Not my scene. I reported in, said goodnight to the wife and kid, then collapsed on the bed. Just didn’t get enough shut-eye I suppose. I’ve had sleep issues since we came back from the Far East.” He emptied the rest of his coffee and considered getting another. He eventually looked up at Milo to receive an amused stare from the man. “What’s got you so chipper this morning? I know you didn’t get a full night’s sleep any more than I did,” he jabbed jealously.
Milo’s grin turned full smile, and he unfolded his arms. “For me, it’s about quality not quantity. While I love sharing a bed with my wife, I’ve always slept better on my own. The second my head hit the pillow I was out. Didn’t even bother to set an alarm.”
Hal scoffed and bent over to access the tabletop’s screen menu. The display split to accommodate a new user, but kept whatever Milo had been reading unabated. Hal ordered a blended iced mocha for his second round of caffeine, in hopes that the chill would further aid in waking him up. Once the order was complete, the table’s screen returned to full size and remained facing Milo. The man no longer seemed interested in what Hal could now comprehend as a news ticker however.
“If you don’t mind my saying,” Milo posed, “the world of espionage doesn’t seem to agree with you. I’m not so sure the illustrious people at DIA are directing you to your full potential… An appropriate use of your time as an MD I mean. They should consider more objectives comparable to your short-lived career at Omnium.”
Hal stared at him with a glazed-over look; his head propped up by his arm. He was taking an uncomfortable amount of time to respond, but if asked he would claim it was due to not knowing how much he was able to reveal. The caffeine was beginning to seep into his system, giving him somewhat more clarity, and he didn’t see any harm in providing some context to the very logical question.
“Well,” he groaned. “This wasn’t my initial assignment. I was following the earliest recorded test group for the ASIs; a small division of the National Institute of Mental Health, contracted with the Alethea Foundation. That, I can confidently say, was a more suitable fit. Now I find myself trying to juggle two operations,” he said wearily.
“So what happened to the other team assigned to watch Rosen? Something tells me there’s no shortage of fed finks with practically unlimited resources.”
“Says the guy driving a Studebaker,” Hal rejoined with a solemn tone. He finally felt the fog lifting from his hazy head. “The dynamic team of one went MIA almost two weeks ago. Since I was on a parallel assignment, of sorts, I was re-tasked with finding out what happened to her. I was getting close to her trail when the prison break happened. That’s part of the reason why I was at Leavenworth before you,” he added after a moment. “I was looking for her, not tipped off for any escape plots.”
Milo shrugged. “Makes sense. Any new leads on her whereabouts? Maybe I can help, if you’re allowed to give me any details that is.”
“Yes and no… regarding new leads. Her name is Alena Sarne, and she was a senior member with the National Institute of Corrections. I don’t have all the particulars, but from what I understand, since she was a lieutenant with Naval Intelligence before her current stint, DIA reached out to her to see if she would keep an eye on Rosen’s partnership with BOP.”
“What, no fancy alias, or compelling cover story like you got?” Milo asked satirically.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Hal fired back as he sucked down the remaining pockets of his blended beverage. The chill was both invigorating to his tired body, and soothing to his scorched throat. “She’s legit, so she didn’t need one. Plus, from what I hear, she spearheaded a couple of excellent programs for vets who are in custody at federal institutions… which is unrelated to Rosen so I don’t know why I felt the need to share that with you.”
Milo nodded in thought. His hand came very close to his chin before he stopped himself. “Well, if you’ll allow it, I can put an alert out for her as a person of interest. She’s one of ours; in more ways than one. It’s doubtful to get much pushback trying to find a missing DOJ employee.”
“What would putting out an alert entail?” Hal asked askance.
“It would simply put more eyes on her, figuratively speaking. Facial recognition, financial account and social media activity, conspicuous searches… movement of any kind sends a notice to the requesting party, i.e. me.”
“And these alerts are fairly common? Setting one up won’t raise any eyebrows?”
“In the time it took to explain what one is, a hundred of them probably went active. So no, it’s not too likely to be noticed. And even if it were, so what? What harm could it do to put a little attention on her disappearance?”
“For starters, I don’t want people grilling you on where you got her name and employer from. I’d rather not put you in a tricky situation if I don’t have to, and further endanger her in the process. Assuming that’s even a concern at this point.”
“Let me worry about my own comfort level, thank you. But I’m not gonna just sit back and…”
Hal’s journey back into coherence took a large leap forward when he noticed Milo sit up straighter and stare intently at something, or someone, off to his right. Hal looked around to place what the man might be tracking, but he quickly gave up and decided to ask.
“What? What is it? You look like a lion just spotting his second breakfast.”
“I’m pretty sure I just saw Watson. He exited that lift bank over there and is heading toward the direction of the south exit.”
Hal began haphazardly scanning the area. “You’re joking. I don’t see him. What would he be doing here anyway?”
Milo stood and waved his right hand over the table, settling the bill and resetting the imbedded display. He tapped a spot a few centimeters behind his left ear and gave Hal an impatient glare.
“I don’t know, let’s go ask him. Does your subdermal communicator still work?”
Hal leapt up and fell in beside him. “Yes. In fact it’s been upgraded and linked with my imbedded mobile. What channel you on?”
“Three,” Milo answered his pace quickening. “I doubt we’ll be able to cut him off, but you flank him on the left in case he tries to double back. I’ll head the direction I last saw him and meet you on the other side of this gaming island. He was wearing a grey jacket and a Vegas Knights ball cap.”
Hal nodded and the pair went their separate ways. The relentless drone of strobing lights from gaming machines attracted people of various ages like moth to flame. He waded through the endless twilight, dodging half-intoxicated gamblers as they buzzed from one game to the next. Hal had never been fond of casinos, or gambling in general. They often brought in some very appealing shows and exhibits, he reflected, but he found the experience not worth the sensory overload casinos imposed upon their patrons.
He turned the corner to another long aisle of electronic games bookending the path, with some tables farther down the walkway. Milo appeared in front of him about a third of the way down his field of vision. He briefly turned around to heed any goings-on in Hal’s direction, then continued his alleged pursuit. He had forgotten about the subdermal communicator being online, and upon hearing Milo’s voice, nearly jumped out of his shoes.
“Anything?” Milo asked, his voice sounding as clear as if he were standing directly beside him.
“All clear on my end. Do you see him up ahead?”
“I think he’s just passing that sports bar at the bend. I’m gonna pick up the pace a bit, as discreetly as I can so he doesn’t suspect I’m tracking him.”
He thinks, Hal repeated in his head. “Copy. I’ll do the same.” Hal threw
any discretion to the wind and began to jog. He didn’t doubt his partner’s perceptiveness, but having not seen Watson himself, it proved difficult to track the man with the same level of zeal.
~
Raymus Watson wasted no time upon returning from Rosen. He checked out of the room under his assumed name, via the in-room concierge system, but kept the room assigned to Bria, so it seemed at least one person stayed to enjoy the local festivities a bit. He was casually dressed and sporting some hockey gear, since the season had just begun a couple weeks prior.
He was making his way to the south exit when he sensed he was being followed. Even during his time as a SEAL, Watson had the uncanny ability of knowing when he was being watched. He didn’t know if that was an effect of his ASI, or something he had before he volunteered for that grand experiment. One thing he was sure of however, memories of his life before the implant are now irrevocably blurred.
Raymus passed a sports lounge on his right at a bend in the walkway. The next round of the Most Dangerous Game would be starting any minute, so he entered the establishment and asked the barista to switch on Rosen in an attempt to draw in a crowd. He didn’t linger to see if it worked, since it was still relatively early in the morning, but he did activate his chameleon jacket once again to change it from grey to a golden brown.
As Watson approached the doors to the exit, he slowed a moment to peer into the highly reflective glass. The sports fans were growing at a trickle. Out of the ambling customers, he spotted two men that didn’t quite fit in with the crowd. One was tall, approaching middle-age, and had a haircut so obviously military that the man might as well have been in uniform. The other, who had just managed to catch up with the first, seemed more aloof, but was clearly a G-man based on his attire and general amateurish technique of pursuit.
The soldier paused to scan the sports café, very thoroughly. He quickly determined that his quarry wasn’t inside and looked directly at him, in the same moment the doors leading outside parted. Raymus knew he had to disappear, and in a way he wouldn’t normally choose; for many reasons. He hailed a Johnny Cab, and directed it to go to the Nevada Museum of Art, since it was close to the library. The robotic head and torso acknowledged the request, in its annoyingly chipper voice, and even tipped its hat before turning and speeding away. He glanced toward the doors of the south exit for as long as it was in his line of sight, but his pursuers were nowhere to be seen. He let out a sigh of relief, but as quietly as he could so to not alert the robot driver.
While there were a number of reasons he was adverse to the Johnson Cab Company fleet, his primary objections were twofold: it was relatively easy to track when used, and by whom. Then there was the fact that they just plain creeped him out. It was like the things were straight out of a campy movie from the 1990s.
Traffic was lighter than expected in the early weekday hours, so he calculated arriving at the museum in less than fifteen minutes. His so-called ‘driver’ reminded him that his destination didn’t open until ten o’clock. He thanked him for the information to prevent additional reminders. Downtown Reno not being as picturesque to look at as many other major cities, Raymus instead contemplated which of the data he downloaded to share with his new handler, for lack of a better term.
When she first contacted him, it had seemed both highly suspicious, and desperately providential. She sent an encrypted message on one of the old ComNet channels he still sparingly used. It was even an encryption method commonly used by Naval Intelligence, so he was intimately familiar with the sequence.
The first message came mere minutes after his meeting with Rosen recruiters, while he was on assignment in Belarus no less. He had to admit, the offer from Rosen’s representatives to head their asset procurement division was a tempting one, but he got the sense that they weren’t giving him the full picture. He told the reps that he would give them an answer once his mission was completed, and they parted ways amicably. Before he had time to think about it however, he heard a chime indicating receipt of a message on a channel he hadn’t used in years:
“Ur about to be made. They don’t take kindly to rejection. How do you suppose they found you while in the field?”
That question had occurred to him as well, so he had made sure to ask the pair sent to recruit him. Their answer was that ‘they had friends in high places,’ or some such redirect. He later learned that they had been accurate, from a certain point of view. As he watched rival agents raid the room he had just occupied, from a vacant apartment across the street, he received another message from his guardian angel claiming an analyst had sold him out, rather than be blackmailed. Raymus was fairly confident he knew who that was referring to, and would deal with him the first chance he could, but before he sought to find a safe extraction point, he replied to the mysterious messenger: ‘who is this, and what do you want?’
“For now, you can call me your Lucky Charm,” came the cryptic response.
~
Alena Sarne was feeling trapped. Out of all the large hotels in Reno, it was amazingly hapless to pick the one that both Watson and the federal agents were staying in as well; though in retrospect it made sense considering its proximity to Rosen. She came down to the coffee bar and froze when she noticed the taller of the two already there and reading from his table’s computer. It took her a few seconds, and comments from impatient people, to realize that she and him had never met, and that he would have no reason to be looking for her.
She picked a seat on the opposite side of the food court-like area so she could keep an eye on him. Sitting and tenuously enjoying her coffee and a fresh pastry, she ran scenarios through her head to try and make sense of how the agents would’ve been led to Rosen’s doorstep. No average grunt within the US Marshals could know about the conspiracy between the Network and Department of Corrections, amongst others. Only one possibility remained; these two were getting outside information. From who or where remained to be seen, but her current situation didn’t enable her to find out.
The shorter of the dynamic duo arrived and looked like hell. He seemed surprised to see the other one, but brusquely plopped down across from the man anyway. They got to chatting about something fairly in depth, so she allowed her adrenaline level to drop a little once again. She finished her pastry and was sipping her coffee when she looked up to see the bigger one staring in her direction, with a shocked look of recognition in his eyes. The other one was scanning the area haphazardly, but she could feel her heart rate rising back up, freezing her in place again.
They got up and were weaving their way as directly toward her as the dispersion of café style tables allowed them. Panic began to settle upon her, and all she could do in response was to bury her head and appear as if she were engrossed in something displayed on her table monitor. There were still so many things that had to be done, and she knew they would fall through the cracks if she were taken into custody, particularly concerning Watson. While he was more than capable on his own, she put him on his current path and would be devastated if she weren’t allowed to follow through with it.
The two were now at her table, the taller one almost completely overshadowing the other from her seated perspective. She tried to calm herself by thinking about what she was going to say, when she looked up to see they had passed her by at a quick pace. They had split up, presumably in search of someone else, and soon disappeared into the hive of gambling machinery.
The level of relief she felt was palpable. So much so that she nearly teared up out of the sheer joy of being able to finish what she had started. Which brought her to the next problem she needed to solve; how was Watson going to send out the data he retrieved? Certainly not through the regular internet, she reckoned. One of the few viable options to upload sensitive data securely was through the ComNet, which was monitored with less scrutiny since anyone with access had, or still has, significant military experience. Figuring out where he would attempt to logon would be where their official meeting place will be.
&n
bsp; Chapter Fourteen: Carpe Furor
Milo stood at the ride-share post of the Atlantis’s south exit, and continued his visual sweep of the area. Hal stood beside him with a self-satisfied look about him. “Want to re-evaluate that whole quality versus quantity thing again?” Hal razzed.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean; I saw him I tell you!” Milo answered incensed. “He must have one of those chameleon jackets; it changed colors when he stepped into the sports café.”
Hal could tell he had struck a nerve, so he thought it best to change the subject. “Speaking of that, it looked like the Game was about to start. Where were we going to meet with Kane again?”
“We weren’t meeting with her anywhere. She was supposed to contact us when she found us a way in to interview one of Rosen’s higher-ups,” Milo answered in a huff, still scanning the vicinity. “She said the best time would be during the second round, since everyone involved with the production would be otherwise occupied.”
“Oh right,” Hal mumbled, trying his best to play dumb. “It might be a good idea to poke around there anyway and test their hospitality. Plus we can be close by when Sonya messages. We should probably check in on Marcus before we head over there though. I can empty the tank at that café while we’re at it.”
Milo grunted and they went back inside. The sport-themed establishment was festively decorated with memorabilia from several different eras of professional and collegiate athletics. These eras were separated into rooms throughout the eatery, which apparently catered to conventional dining habits by making itself a coffee bar in the mornings, then shifting to the more traditional type of bar later on.
The Most Dangerous Game had indeed begun, and could be viewed anywhere one sat or stood. It wouldn’t have surprised Milo to find at least one monitor in the lavatories either, a hunch Hal was about to find out for himself as he headed that way.
Milo sat at a tall table in the relatively vacant soccer and hockey room. The seating area wasn’t chosen because he considered himself a fan of the two sports, nor was it due to its lower occupancy at the moment. No, in the few seconds he stood in the doorway, Milo instinctively looked for the place that could view all the exits and as much of the café as possible. This was a habit most veterans who have had any combat training continue long after they separate from service.