by A J Blanc
“Don’t worry, they’re just trying to spook us so that we stop on our own, and not have to ruin one of their likely very expensive vehicles.”
“Well it’s working!” Hal snapped. “At least the spooking part is. These jump seats aren’t well insulated from shock waves. That blast made my teeth rattle like a ball bearing inside an old-style paint can!”
Milo didn’t know how many of those mines the cloud cars carried, but their ship couldn’t take many more hits like that. Luckily, it appeared they were changing strategies. Two of the patrol craft had taken up flanking positions off their port and starboard bow, with the third directly behind, lining up his cannons.
“Hang on!” Milo bellowed behind him, and then braced himself for the expectant crash they were about to experience.
Seconds melted by. Nothing was happening, so Milo let out the air he was holding in. When he did so, the cloud car to his right waivered violently, flipped over onto its back, then nose-dived into the sand and rock. There was little chance the pilot survived the impact at such speed, he supposed.
Another PT-109 patrol craft, with somewhat different markings along the hull, zoomed by, with the two initial aggressors in close pursuit. The newest arrival was leading them away from the TME, with the flying skills of an ace pilot. The aerial maneuvers were fast and fluid. The pursuers seemed completely outmatched, and the wavy, air warping energy of their ion cannons scattered wildly through the sky. One of the hostile cloud car pilots realized what was happening, or was told, and swerved around to regain its chase of the TME.
“What’s happening out there? Can we relax now?” Hal asked from his jump seat, with strain in his voice.
“No! Keep holding on. In fact, hang even tight…”
Milo was cut short by a loud crackling sound, followed by the abrupt loss of almost all forward momentum. The transport skidded roughly to a halt, leaving a large swath along the ground. As the feeling in his arms and legs returned, due to the force his body endured from the seat restraints, Milo considered himself fortunate that they didn’t flip over during the crash. Although he had never been in a vehicle that had been hit by ion cannons before, the incessant buzzing noise cued him in on where the name buzz blasters came from.
He unbuckled and trotted aft to check on the other two. They were found out of their seats, packing whatever they could into a couple medical bags, and Marcus’s duffel.
“Leave the rifle and body armor too,” Milo announced, catching them off guard. “They likely have tracking devices, plus they’re a bit bulky and impractical to lug around.”
Marcus stopped packing and gave him a dour look. “This is an H&K G11. Do you know how rare these things are? Well, the phase sevens anyway. The only versions that worked well enough to be adopted on a limited basis by NATO forces, and even the French Foreign Legion.”
“Yeah, I do,” Milo fired back. “Which is another reason why we can’t take it with us. People would recognize it in a second. Now, if we’ve grabbed all we can and can still travel light, let’s get moving. If our guardian angel out there covers us, my car can take us the rest of the way. It shouldn’t be far.”
The transition from the dark, smoky interior of the TME into the intense afternoon Nevada sun took some adjustment, but they quickly turned to traipse away from the relentless ball of fire. The air was dry and still, until a cloud car rocketed over their heads so close Milo thought he could reach up and touch it, if he wanted to. The craft made a wide arc to come around for another pass when something went wrong mid-turn. Its back end began a slow, vertical roll, as if its engines were tied to a string and was being pulled downwards. The y-axis rotation picked up speed, and the vessel smacked into a rocky protrusion hard enough to cause large chunks of it to slide away.
The reason for the second hostile patrol craft being knocked off their backs became evident seconds later. The final two cloud cars were engaged in a heated chase nearby. Milo figured either the allied craft got a shot off, or was somehow able to lure its pursuer into a situation where friendly fire did the job for them.
“We should try to do something to help,” Marcus said. “The lead pilot is good, but it’s only a matter of time before the other wears him down, or lands a lucky hit. Rosen doesn’t hire just anybody. It’s entirely possible that one, or both, are professionals, maybe even military.”
“How do you suggest we lend assistance Airman, use harsh language?” Milo asked, still mesmerized by the dogfight overhead.
“I have a thought,” Hal cut in. “But you’re not going to like it.” He told Milo his plan, and the man swore at him with such fervor, Hal couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that the ‘harsh language’ you were referring to? Because it may be more effective than you think. I haven’t heard some of those colorful metaphors since I was surrounded by Marines.”
Still red in the face, Milo turned away from the other two and unfolded his tablet. He checked for the location of his car. The onboard tracking system indicated that it had passed ten kilometers and was closing. He looked to his left and could see it speeding toward him, like a well-trained dog running to its master coming home from a long day’s work. He stared at it a moment longer and let out a heavy sigh.
“If I do this, and it works the way it’s supposed to, will the DIA compensate me?”
Hal stared at the man. He was clearly distraught by the decision he was now committed to, so Hal had an obligation to try and assuage him in the most honest way he could. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” came Milo’s flippant response. He sighed once more and activated his vehicle’s manual controls. Velocity was increased to maximum, and he steered it directly toward the aerial acrobatics going on overhead. He was confident that if the lead craft hadn’t spotted the Studebaker rapidly approaching, the vessel’s proximity alarm had made its presence known. With this assumption in mind, he was growing nervous it wasn’t veering off. In fact, it appeared to have increased speed!
“Uh, is your goal to take out both of them?” Hal asked with tension in his voice, obviously making the same assessment. Milo didn’t respond. He was too focused on watching the sky, while steering from his tablet, waiting to make a split second maneuver.
The ion cannons of the trailing cloud car had finished their recharge cycle for the third time, so it resumed its attack. From where the three stood, it looked like the nearly invisible ionized energy was coming within a few dozen centimeters, and inching closer with each volley. The Stude was getting dangerously close as well. If there were anyone in the driver’s seat of the car, they may have been visible by then. Milo really hoped they saw…
The friendly patrol craft took a sudden, steep dive, catching the following pilot completely by surprise. An ion blast intended for the other vehicle struck the Studebaker on the hood. The car began to drift downward, making it a larger target. Since the assaulting cloud car had increased speed to chase the friendly PT 109, there wasn’t enough room to slow down or maneuver. It crashed into the Stude with such force that the luxury auto was bisected, and the three large pieces plummeted to the ground limply.
The last surviving patrol craft made one pass of the wreckage, and landed nearby. The two-section hatch opened like droopy eyelids. Who stepped out made two of the three men slouch in relief, but the third reached guardedly for his sidearm.
“Pick our jaws up from the dirt boys. Who else do you think it could’ve been to come to your rescue?” Sonya said with a cavalier attitude.
Hal and Milo exchanged conceding glances. Milo noticed Marcus’s hand lingering over his pistol grip, like a cowboy in a showdown, and shook his head as subtly as he could. Hyde relaxed and uneasily readjusted the equipment bag strapped to his back.
“Well, it might’ve been less of a shock to us if you had answered your phone, negating the need to steal a Timmy,” Hal rejoined jadedly.
“Yeah, I probably should’ve mentioned that I never answer my phone. Which is why I said I’d co
ntact you, not the other way around. Anyway, as time is short, I should let you know that your scheme worked, or at least the part where Rosen’s dirty little secrets were revealed, quite publicly. I’m here to clean up some of the mess you’ve caused in the interim.”
“What does that mean exactly?” Milo asked suspiciously.
“I need to gather up the bodies, or survivors, of the three pilots sent after you and take them to the nearest med station, making it appear that I was there to help like the good colleague I am. I also should use some seismic mines on what’s left of your car over there, to make it near impossible to identify and link back to you.”
“So that’s it? You make it sound like this won’t get investigated at all,” Hal said.
“Oh I’m sure it will be, but it’ll be half-assed at best. They have more pressing matters going on right now than the loss of one man. Speaking of which, you should be clear of the zone communication inhibitors just beyond that ridge over there, so you can make whatever travel arrangements you need. Leave the bags though, the gun belt too kid. There’ll be less of a demand to track you down if they’re not concerned about stolen property on top everything else. Plus I might be able to use it to our advantage.”
The three men exchanged nods, shrugged, and collected the bags into a small pile. “Ok. Anything else you want to bestow on us?” Milo asked.
“Yeah. Keep it in your pants until she’s eighteen kid. Now, it’s best you get moving so I can tidy up here, and work on my cover story.”
“Do you really think that’s going to work? Their surveillance systems have to be back up by now. Besides, it looks like you could use some help.”
“They are, but we’re in a sort of blind spot here. This area is never used for anything that would need to be watched. And don’t worry about me. Like I keep trying to tell everyone, I can be very convincing when I have to be.”
“If you say so. Good luck,” Milo concluded as he turned to walk toward the ridge she indicated a moment ago; the other two in tow. Hal and Milo walked silently without looking back, but Marcus couldn’t help but check over his shoulder every dozen paces or so. It occurred to him that he may have to get used to that practice for a while, until his name could be cleared. Forever vigilant, in no small part due to his experience as Prisoner 74205.
Epilogue: Vindication
Chicago – Government Building, Dearborn Street
Milo sat at his desk within the US Marshal Field office, staring blankly at the back of his cubicle. It had been just over a week since the escape from Rosen’s hunting ground, with the three men going their separate ways shortly thereafter.
While the Rosen Gaming Network was still a lucrative company, it had been neutered of its most popular and violent programs by placing a stoppage order pending investigation. As an act of contrition by some of the outed members of congress and other political affiliates, many of the zone properties had been annexed by the federal government and turned into wildlife sanctuaries. One of the most rapidly approved bills in US history.
Needless to say, acting like it was just another day after all he’d been through in the past ten days was a challenge. He’d received an award for his work on the Rubicon case. He tried to give it back, knowing all too well that Hyde didn’t die in the zone as the official report stated, so he bit his tongue and drowned his conscience with some fifty-year-old bourbon he’d been saving for a special occasion.
To take his mind off all that, Milo was pleased to be assigned a new case the day before. It didn’t receive a fancy code name, nor was he to be paired with an agent from outside the Marshals, but it was a sign that things were indeed getting back to normal. Then why was he so depressed about being back to work, he wondered?
Perhaps it was his new case; an escape from the recently reopened Joliet Correctional Center. Recognizing the old prison’s notoriety in popular culture, a wealthy financier thought it a good idea to renovate the main prison, along with a few of its outbuildings. It was a rushed job, but somehow was able to reopen on its seventieth anniversary of closing in 2002.
It was widely known to those who follow the construction and conservation of prisons, that the Alethea Foundation, which funds private detention facilities amongst other programs, cut corners at every turn. The escape of a man named Scofield however was so obviously an inside job that Milo wondered why it was still sitting on his desk. He stood up to ask his direct-line supervisor, Jamey Kirlan, that very question when he saw a familiar face weaving her way through the office maze.
“Good day Ms. Sarne. What brings you to my little piece of paradise? Or the more prudent question is, I suppose, how did you get in here?”
“Keeping promises Deputy Durron. And I have Justice Department credentials, in my real life that is. In case you’ve forgotten.”
“Oh, right. So which promises are you referring to? I wasn’t holding you to anything that I can recall.”
“Not my word, not technically anyway, but Agent Dune’s. Your last directive to us was to keep you on the same page, and to Harold that apparently still stands. Part of what Watson uncovered from Rosen was some of their… informants I’ll say, for lack of a better term.” She unclipped a data stick, disguised as a personal data transmitter, from a lanyard that hung around her neck. PDTs were used to track a person’s whereabouts while they were at work or school. The devices were often integrated with employment or student identification cards, since those were typically necessary to have on hand for multiple reasons.
“This contains a list of names of individuals within the Department of Justice who had regular contact with Rosen in some way, until about a week ago of course.” She stepped in closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “One of those names is of someone who works in this very office. Seems he has a bit of a gambling problem and got mixed up in the Network’s high risk bookmaker.”
“That probably just described half the people in here, Can you tell me who it is, or do you want to keep me in suspense?”
“I haven’t read the whole file, not my area of concern sorry to say, but the man’s name is Kirlan…”
“That slimy rat bast… He’s my supervisor. He personally selected me for the Rubicon case. I suppose this might explain how he was able to remain in Chicago for his temporary promotion, instead of getting shipped off to who knows where. Well, thanks. I’ll have a look at this right away.”
“There’s still one more matter of business I’m to deliver to you Deputy Durron.”
“Milo, please. Never mind the formality, and save yourself three syllables.”
“Very well, Milo. My apologies. I don’t warm up to people very quickly. Anyway, Hal wished he could be here in person, but he has already returned to his original mission. However, he didn’t forget his promise to help you replace your beloved vehicle, that you nobly sacrificed I might add.”
“No way. He was actually able to get me another one?”
“Not exactly. But it’s the same year as your other one, and even the same color scheme.”
“Ok. Where do I see this thing? Do I pick it up from some impound lot somewhere? Or will a friendly person posing as an insurance agent appear one day?”
“You can start by checking your parking space through the security feed on your desktop, which Hal wagered you became quite familiar with to watch over your previous car,” she chided with a shy grin.
Without admitting that Hal had been right, Milo did as she suggested. After allowing the cameras to cycle through its series of feeds, he paused it as the image hovered over his assigned space. Although his wife had offered to let him use her car, he declined due to the efficiency of public transit in the downtown area. His parking spot had been vacant the whole week back, until now.
The frozen camera angle caused him to do a double take. The car’s colors were strikingly similar to his Sky Hawk II. But upon further inspection, he had figured out what it was. “A Tesla Torpedo? It’s a decent enough car, but probably about a third the ameniti
es even the cheapest Studebaker offers.”
“Hal assumed you’d say almost that exact phrase, so he’s willing to take it back and see if something else comes along that’s more to your ‘delicate sensitivities,’ as he crassly put it.”
“No, no. I’m just giving you a hard time. It’ll get me where I need to go just fine. Plus, it has an interesting story behind it, if you’re ever inclined to check it out.”
Much like its human namesake, Tesla Incorporated was forward thinking with their efficient, if not somewhat trendy, line of electric cars that helped to loosen the hold organizations like OPEC had on the world. In recent years however, they opted for a more classic, by-gone age look to house what soon became a standard engine.
One of those styles was modeled after the Tucker 48, of the short-lived Tucker Corporation. While the 48 was the official name of the vehicle, it was often referred to as the torpedo, and so the unofficial name was adopted into the Tesla line.
“I may just do that, but probably won’t, full disclosure. So, unless there’s something else, I bid you good luck, Milo.”
“What will you do now?” he asked as she turned to leave in one, swift motion.
“The same as I always do; get on with my life, until my other life comes calling again. When that call comes, and I’m sure it will eventually, I try to be prepared. I suggest you do the same.”
Milo watched her leave but said nothing, unsure of how to respond to her last statement. He scoffed, thinking it unlikely he would ever see her or Hal again, turning back to his desk, which contained a case he would probably solve by the end of the day. Then he looked at his new car projected onto the paper thin monitor and fantasized about what situations would make the call Alena spoke of present itself.
To be continued…
Acknowledgements
Inspiration has a way of springing up when you least suspect it. Like its predecessor, Pieces of the Whole, ideas for Crossing Rubicon came to me from various corners of my vast catalogue of useless trivia. Most of those sources are rather obscure, but parts of the main plot stemmed from a somewhat more recognizable novel known as The Running Man by Richard Bachman; a pseudonym of Steven King. I’m ashamed to admit that I had not come across this book until somewhat recently. Being a product of my time, I of course watched the film it was loosely based on. While I prefer the movie, surprisingly enough, there’s something special about the book that wasn’t captured within the screenplay, and I hope to have given it some justice here.