Man Behind the Wheel (The Next Half Century Book 1)

by Steve Rzasa

  “Jorge! Hold him back!” Tacazon was the driver. The scenery outside the Altair’s windshield—tilted on its side due to Rome’s vantage—jerked back and forth. He felt the car’s floor shift underneath. “Their car isn’t responding to your override! Whoever’s in there has control back.”

  Rome grinned. Blood dripped onto his teeth. Atta boy, Aldo.

  Sara’s arms slithered around Cuellar’s neck. His face turned crimson. He swung the blade without care or aim. It made a wet, meaty sound where it found Sara’s side.

  Rome punched Cuellar square in the face. A tooth broke and skittered across the carpet.

  Vivian screamed.

  Sara sagged back, clutching her side. A bloody blade stained the floor. Red ran between her fingers, soaking her clothes.

  Rome grabbed Cuellar by the collar with both hands and slammed him against a support by the door-frame. The man’s head rattled like a loose gearshift.

  Rome hit him as hard as he could in the stomach, a blow channeling all the fury for everything taken from him.

  Air rushed out in a great whoosh. He slammed Cuellar’s head against the support, again. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. He dropped, out cold.

  Rome lurched to the front of the car. Somewhere in his belt… there it was. The compact spazzer he’d used at Bacevich Arsenal. He jabbed Tacazon in the back of the head. “Pull over.”

  Tacazon did.

  They let the Halcyon reel them to the side of the road. Outside was a swarm of activity—FTZ Security men and women shouting orders, the pair of Condors roaring overhead, the rest of the traffic at a standstill. Rome wondered if they’d shut down the entire Ninety.

  Kelsey was out of her restraints. She had a First Aid kit open and applied a thick set of wound sealant to Sara’s stab wound. “The bleeding’s stopping,” Kelsey said. “She’ll be okay. Still needs a hospital.”

  Rome reached for Sara’s hand. Her grip was still strong. “Hang in there. Kelsey, are you hurt?”

  Kelsey shook her head. She hugged Rome with one arm. “Thanks for coming after us.”

  “You know I wouldn’t ever do anything else.”

  He hugged Vivian tight. His daughter cried until Rome whispered a song into her ear and rocked her from side to side.

  “Don’t kill me, please.” Tacazon held the back of his head. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  FTZ Security showed up at the window, spazzers in their hands. “Sir, open the door! Put the weapon down and disembark!”

  Not yet.

  Rome let go of Vivian and maneuvered to Tacazon. He glared into the man’s face. Some officer. He bet Aldo knew a dozen people in uniform with more honor.

  “Only one thing I need.” Rome pried open his knife. He grabbed Tacazon’s wrist. “Hold still.”

  Tacazon screamed as Rome dug his implant from his wrist.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ALDO WAS RIGHT. COLONEL TACAZON had erased his implant’s memory, but it contained a deep backup. FTZ Security held him and Cuellar in custody until military police could access the implant.

  It told them everything they needed to know.

  “Man,” Aldo said. “I still don’t believe it.”

  Rome’s jaw clenched. “I do. Let’s go.”

  “Go? You’re bleeding.”

  It didn’t matter. He had to find Gabriela.

  She’d landed twenty miles away, her Condor locked down by FTZ Security officers. But in the aftermath of the chase, she and the officers made a quick flight to the side of the Ninety, joining the rest of the crowd.

  Once Rome showed her the data, her cheeks went red. “Who can we alert?”

  “FBI. DOT. But only after we get back to Seattle.”

  Gabriela speared the young FTZ woman in charge of the East detachment with an accusatory glare. “Am I clear for takeoff now?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’ll load up our team.”

  Rome stabbed a finger at her. “You keep Tacazon and Cuellar in custody. I don’t care how many people you have to put around Cuellar’s hospital room. Make sure his implant’s killed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gabriela was already back in the cockpit. The Condor’s engines rumbled.

  “We gonna load her up?” Aldo jerked a thumb at the Halcyon.

  The body was dented in several places. Black marks marred the sides of the under carriage. Two tires were flat and the front end was mangled where the magnetic grapple cable had torqued it with far too much strain, looking as if someone took taffy and twisted it.

  Rome cringed. “No. Leave her here. We’ll come back.”

  “Okay. Yeah. Let me get my stuff.” Aldo went back for his tools.

  Amidst the crowd of Security cars, the three landed Condors, and the horde of emergency vehicles, Kelsey and Vivian sat on an extendable ramp in the rear of an aerial ambulance. The vehicle had a smooth, rounded shape, a tubby version of the military Peregrine. A dark-skinned man shaved bald and wearing a red jumpsuit checked their vitals with a handheld scanner.

  “How’re you holding up?” Rome knelt by Kelsey.

  “Okay. Shaken, obviously. They didn’t hurt us.”

  The bruise on Kelsey’s upper arm said otherwise. But Rome didn’t push it.

  “Daddy, the concert’s tonight.” Vivian’s eyes welled with tears. “Are we gonna miss it?”

  “No, pumpkin, you’ll be on time.”

  “Are you coming?”

  He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I have to take care of something, first. But I’ll be there.”

  ~

  Gabriela pushed the engines so they could get to Seattle in a few hours. It was a far more crowded ride than she usually hauled, what with a dozen FTZ East Security types aboard.

  Rome checked his implant. Sara had sent an image of herself, bruised, but smiling in a hospital bed. A med-drone hovered at the edge of the picture—a fist-sized ball floating on four ducted fans.

  Rome nodded.

  “Hey, got word from FBI field office in Seattle,” Aldo said. “They’ve got agents coming over to West headquarters.”

  “Good. We have to make this quick and quiet.”

  “Supposedly they’re coming in their civvies, no lights, unmarked cars.”

  “That could still make him run.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s the best we got.”

  Rome’s implant buzzed him again. This time it was from Freddie. His eyes widened. “Aldo, I’ve got a data packet I need you to open and process.”

  “Really, Rome? What’d you do, forget how to open one?”

  “It’s a monster.”

  “No duh. Gonna take me a while to pull apart something that big.”

  “How long?”

  Aldo smirked. “Maybe four minutes.”

  “Smart ass.”

  The file was accompanied by text.

  Rome typed the response onto his sleeve.

 

  “Hey. Rome? How’s Sara?”

  Rome looked up. “Herself.”

  “Oh, good. Hey, do me a favor, will you?”

  “What?”

  “When we take this guy down, try not to pound hm too much.”

  Rome didn’t make any promises.

  Aldo took two and a half minutes to decrypt the packet. Rome knew he was finished when he stopped chewing on a granola stick and spat a couple raisins through the holo display.

  “Aldrich! If you get any of your crumbs in my plane’s hardware, I will flip this thing right over and dump you in the Mississippi!” Gabriela harped.

  “Sorry. My bad. But… but…” He snapped his fingers, gesturing at the information streaming across.

  Rome read it. “Freddie wasn’t kidding.”

  “Right? The money fl
ows right to Colonel Tacazon.”

  “And in from the sales of the stolen money, plus the implants.”

  “But check out the money going out.”

  “Mod shops,” Rome murmured. “That’s where Jocelyn got her high-end machinery.”

  “Not just her. There’s listings for at least a dozen more, all with their coordinates scrambled.”

  “You can break those down, right?”

  Aldo raised an eyebrow.

  “Forgive my doubt.” He glanced back at Gabriela. “How long ’til Seattle?”

  “Another hour.” She reached for a control. “You need me to go faster?”

  “If there’s any way—”

  The roar of the Condor’s engines drowned him out momentarily. Aldo yelped as his butt slid out of the seat. Only a last-minute slap at his restraint trigger secured him in place. Rome had to content himself with gripping the back of Aldo’s seat until the acceleration eased.

  “Yes,” Gabriela declared.

  ~

  There was a rare break in the brooding cloud front that rung Seattle by the time they arrived. Gabriela swept down, wings brushing along the white and gray wisps. She slapped at a control. The overlapping flight coordinator message went mute.

  “Show’s all yours, boys,” Gabriela said.

  The Condor dropped like a stone to the landing pads at FTZ West headquarters. Rome led Aldo and the East Security personnel out the hatch, jumping the last foot.

  “Hold up!” Aldo huffed as he jogged. “Man, I wish the car wasn’t broken.”

  Rome did too, but he didn’t want to wait.

  A handful of men and women waited in the lobby. They wore plain, businesslike civilian attire, but Rome tagged them as FBI the moment he realized they’d disabled the Pike security robots. Two stood quivering, wheels trying in vain to engage, lights flashing with the irregularity of a lightning storm. Black boxes were fixed to their sides.

  “Special Agent in Charge, Dana Scarlett.” The woman was blonde and in her forties. Her eyes were dark brown and cold. “You’re making a devil of an accusation, Pursuit Specialist. Especially considering if I acted on the outstanding FTZ warrant, I’d be slapping you in restraints right now.”

  “Understood. My tech has all the data you’ll need.”

  “Sakai, get it.” Scarlett flicked her fingers at Aldo. A short man of Japanese descent moved in, his implant bared. “No one’s left the premises. I have Security in building advised. He’s up in his office.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  “Hold here. This is a federal matter.”

  “Fine by me if you tag along.” Rome made for the nearest elevator.

  “Uh, Rome?” Aldo stayed by his side. “Those were the feds.”

  Scarlett barged into the elevator, accompanied by Sakai. “You’ve got nerve, Jasko.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  The hall outside the office was abandoned, save for the two guards. Both men froze at the size of the quartet moving down the hall.

  “FBI.” Scarlett and Sakai’s wrists flashed holographic renderings of their badges, bobbing in the air was they strode toward the doors. “Stand aside.”

  The guards stepped away without protest.

  Rome passed the secretary’s desk, not sparing a glance at Mrs. Liu. She worked at her displays as if armed federal agents and a pair of surly contract pursuit specialists barged into her boss’s domain every day.

  The last door slid and their target smiled. “Ah, Roman Jasko. Can’t say I’m surprised to see you here. Though, a little forewarning from my Security staff would have been nice. I imagine your friends have something to do with that.”

  “Director Marcus Cho, this man has serious accusations against you,” Scarlett said.

  “I’ll be he does. Did you consider that he’s an unhinged guy?”

  “Unhinged?” Rome flexed his fingers. He daydreamed Cho’s neck between them. “You set me up. Set us both up.”

  “Sounds like a great tale. You’re lacking proof.”

  “We have Sara, Colonel Tacazon, and Jorge Cuellar. They’re all the proof we need.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who are those people? Well, two I recognize as your colleagues in crime. Agent, I suggest you arrest this man and his partner for the death of my Security people. The two men who left their families fatherless, remember?”

  “Okay, Rome,” Aldo growled. “Forget about the part where I said not to beat him up.”

  “Easy. I know the whole deal, Cho—how you hired Colonel Tacazon, how he lined up Sara and her group, how you took your cut of their robberies, how you keep mod shops supplied.”

  “Why on Earth would I do any of that? I’ve got a comfortable job. Make a decent salary, allowing me to live among the more well-to-do set in Seattle.”

  “Greed. Simple as that. You make money as head of FTZ, then turn around and make money on the criminal aspects FTZ hires contractors like me to combat. You’re playing both sides.”

  “Again, you tell a great tale,” Cho said. “But I doubt the FBI’s going to go along with the word of a disgraced Driver. I admit to nothing.”

  “You don’t have to. The data doesn’t lie.”

  Agent Scarlett played back some of the data Aldo had transferred to Sakai. Rome caught a glimpse of the tiny video of Tacazon and Brand dealing for the delivery of the truck. More data—Aldo’s list of mod shops, complete with coordinates and, to Rome’s surprise, bank account numbers.

  Cho’s smile froze in place. The man was good. He never let the congenial attitude slip.

  “What was that about… nothing?” Aldo sneered at him.

  “I need my attorney.”

  “I’ll bet you do,” Agent Scarlett said. “Director Marcus Cho, you are under arrest for conspiracy, robbery, racketeering…”

  Rome tuned out the complete list of charges, which Scarlett made last longer than a prayer. He felt suddenly fatigued, realizing their job was finally done. Rome waited until the two federal agents left with Cho in magcuffs, then sagged into a chair—the same chair in which he’d been given the contract to take down the highway robbers.

  “I guess this means I can go home for the day.” Mrs. Liu stood in the doorway, her arms folded.

  “Sorry about all this, Ma’am.” Aldo fidgeted with his hands. Rome thought he might salute. “We, uh, maybe Security can help you from the building? I could walk you down, if you like, ma’am.”

  Rome snorted and laughed. It felt good to laugh.

  The woman joined him, her voice bright and brassy like a bell.

  Aldo glared at them. “What’s so funny?”

  “Don’t pick on him, Freddie,” Rome said. “He’s still green.”

  “I’ll say.” Freddie patted his shoulder with a display of motherly affection. “You were never like that—not after a good five years, at least.”

  “Fair point.”

  Aldo just stared. “Freddie? The Freddie?”

  “The. Fredia Liu. Rome tells me you’re the best passenger tech out there.” Freddie squinted at him. “Don’t prove him wrong.”

  “No way, Freddie. I mean, Ma’am. I mean…”

  “Easy, Aldo. Sit down, until the Feds come back up for us.”

  Aldo flopped into a seat. He wiped sweat off his forehead. “Rome,” he said. “I’m starved.”

  ~

  Crowds spilled out of Vivian’s school like a wave. The night air was cool and moist. Streetlights embedded in the pavement gave off enough illumination for pedestrian navigation, and cut enough light pollution that a smattering of stars shined. Overlapping conversations took on the sound of an avalanche. Parents extolled their child’s performance, neighbors and acquaintances greeted each other, and kids teased and challenged.

  Rome let it all decline into background noise as he replayed the best tunes of the concert in his head.

  “What’d you think, Daddy?” Vivian swung around, her skirt spinning like a wheel.

  �
��Beautiful, Pumpkin. You and the music.”

  “Did you really like it?”

  “Loved every minute.” Rome smiled at Kelsey, who walked beside him. “Nice company, too.”

  She laughed. “Aldo, is he still like this around women?”

  “What women?” Aldo guzzled a cup of lemonade. “Oh, you mean the Halcyon. Yeah, he talks way more smoothly to anything with four wheels than anyone in a skirt.”

  “Shut up.”

  “No, wait, I gotta hear.” Jake came up from behind Vivian and tickled her. She squealed, and, when she swatted at Jake, he swept her up onto his shoulders. “Dad’s got a lot of stories to tell.”

  “Maybe when present company is older.” Rome draped an arm over Kelsey’s shoulders. “Your mother’s pretty young.”

  She elbowed him, but laughed again.

  “But you’re going back out, right?” Jake asked. “On the Ninety.”

  Rome nodded. “We got our portion of the contract. So did Thad, and he earned it as far as I’m concerned. FTZ tacked on an extra 30 percent for our trouble.”

  “You know, the manhunt,” Aldo muttered. “And the paying Jocelyn for—”

  Rome’s glare cut him off faster than a tech’s override signal. “The feds were kind enough to put in a good word for us, too. I understand the news Net is full of stuff about our innocence right about now.”

  “Yeah, I saw it!” Jake’s arm pulsed with moving text and images. He slid a sleeve down over it.

  “But we’re not going anywhere for a while. I’m here to spend time with all of you.” Rome arched an eyebrow. “As long as that’s all right with you, Kelsey.”

  “I think I’ll adjust. How’s your friend?”

  “Sara?” Rome frowned. “Recovering. There’s a chance she’ll be pardoned from some of her time, but I doubt she’ll escape spending work hours with IRC in Washington or Oregon, maybe elsewhere in the Ninety FTZ West’s jurisdiction.”

  “She did good at the end,” Aldo said. “Glad she wasn’t beating on me, anyway. Oh, and speaking of beatings—I got to catch up with Gabriela. There’s a crumb-crusted console with my name on it. Her words.”

  “You’d better do it. Don’t forget to extend our offer. I’ll catch up with her later.”