by Brandt Legg
Alasie returned with the to-go sandwiches and the check. Wen wished her luck with her jewelry and Chase recommended a few websites where she could display her work, saying he’d be surprised if she didn’t sell it faster than she could make it, then handed her the bill folder.
“Do you need change?” she asked.
“No.”
“Thank you,” she said, looking at them both. “I’m going to work harder to get my art out there.”
They said farewell, and a minute later, as Chase gulped the final sips of his coffee and they stood to leave, Alasie came back.
“Wait, there’s a hundred dollars too much here,” she said, waving the bill folder.
“That’s for you,” Chase said.
She smiled a big, grateful, sincere smile, teary eyed, thanked them again, and then went to wait on another table.
Wen suddenly put her hand on his. “Trouble,” she said, nodding to the front window.
Chase turned around slowly. Four rough-looking Chinese men were crossing the street, and then he saw something far more terrifying getting out of a vehicle.
Rong Lo.
Fifty-Seven
Alasie saw the horrified looks on Chase and Wen’s faces. “What’s wrong?” she asked, as if she might somehow be responsible.
“Alasie, is there a back way out of here?” Wen asked.
“There is, but why?”
“Show us now, please,” Wen said as she and Chase almost pushed Alasie toward the kitchen.
“Okay, okay.” She led them through a spacious kitchen and then into a cramped room with a small row of lockers, a few chairs, and a table. “There’s the back door.”
“Thanks!” Chase said, racing toward it.
“Hey, if y’all need a ride, I got off ten minutes ago,” Alasie said. “I can take you.”
“Yes,” Chase said.
Wen was already out the door with her weapon drawn. Seeing no signs of Rong Lo’s men, she kept the gun in her hand, but concealed it inside her jacket so as not to spook Alasie.
“This one’s mine,” she said, jogging ahead of them and unlocking the door to a battered old two-toned blue 1984 Ford F150 parallel parked on the small back street. “Pay for gas, and I’ll take you anywhere you need to go.” She climbed in and reached across to unlock the passenger door.
“If you got off ten minutes ago, why were you still working?” Wen asked as she got in beside her and a large dog.
“I hung around just to make sure y’all got everything you needed,” Alasie said. “That’s Tamjee, he’s a good dog.”
“Can he ride in back?” Chase asked, squeezing in the cab.
“No, Tamjee always rides next to me, but if you’d be more comfortable back in the bed, feel free.”
“I’m good,” Chase said. “We should get moving.”
“Where to?”
“Out of here, fast,” Wen said. “There are people after us.”
“Dangerous people?” Alasie asked, concerned.
“Yes,” Wen replied. “Chase, you should stay down.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“I need to watch.” Wen pointed to her hand under her coat so he’d get that she needed to be ready to shoot.
Alasie pulled onto the street, and then turned onto Connors Road.
“Just get us out of the city. I’ll pay for gas,” Chase said from the floor. Tamjee’s tail wagged in his face.
“Did y’all do something bad?” Alasie asked. “Is it the police looking for you?”
“Not police, but very bad people,” Wen explained.
“We’re the good guys,” Chase added as Tamjee drooled on him. He wiped the slime off and gently pushed the dog away. “What breed is Tamjee?”
Alasie laughed. “Part mutt and part wandering spirit, but mostly Tamjee’s a warrior—a love warrior.”
Wen pet Tamjee and cooed something in Mandarin to him.
“I could take you to a place north of here, where my people are. They could hide you,” Alasie offered.
“Thank you,” Wen said. “But we could not bring this kind of terror to you.”
“Then where?”
“West,” Wen said, believing Rong Lo would think they’d go south.
“My cousin has a cabin in Wabanum, about sixty kilometers up the road,” Alasie said. “It’s been empty since the power plant shut down. You could camp there until you figure things out.”
“Sounds perfect,” Wen said, watching the road behind them, wondering how long it would be until Rong Lo caught up.
The two Chinese mafia and Rong Lo’s two associates swept into the diner like immigration officers making a raid. They were in the kitchen before anyone could stop them. Rong strode through the door with his computer tablet held in front of him, viewing the AT tracking system results. “Where are they?” he demanded.
The sparse crowd of diners looked at him suspiciously.
“Not here,” came a call from one of his men in the kitchen. A waitress, dishwasher, and busboy tried pushing and shoving the Chinese agents out of the kitchen. One of the mafia men struck, and in rapid moves took down the two young male employees while the waitress screamed.
“Where are they?” Rong Lo shouted. “A young man, and a pretty Chinese woman. They were here.”
No one answered. Two couples walked briskly toward the front door, trying to leave.
One of the mafia men pulled a gun out. “Back to your seats!” he barked.
Rong Lo nodded to another one of his men.
The MSS agent grabbed the manager, a woman in her fifties, and slammed her against the counter.
“We’re in a hurry,” Rong Lo said, walking over to the woman. “Who waited on them?”
“Alasie,” the woman said. “They gave her a big tip.”
“I’m sure,” Rong Lo said. “Which one is Alasie?”
“She’s gone,” the cook said. “Her shift ended.”
“Check out back,” Rong Lo shouted. “Now!”
He turned and headed back to the front door, staring into the tablet again. His two agents followed him as the mafia men exited from the rear.
By the time the vehicle carrying Rong Lo and the agents circled around to pick up the mafia men behind the restaurant, the AT tracking system was picking up activity.
“Head west,” Rong lo said. “We’ll have them soon.”
The IT-Squad reported in from the Muttart Conservatory.
“Chase and Wen were here. Several people ID’d them from photographs. They spent time in one of the pyramids, then fled. Accessing on-site cameras, we see a couple that is most likely them, but then we lost them in the trees.”
While listening to the squad leader, Travis received an updated link. Traffic cameras had picked them up going into a diner. Not long after, Chinese agents were also identified at the same location.
“Edmonton isn’t exactly blanketed with cameras,” Travis told the leader, “but the satellite has them now. West on Sixteen, go!”
At the same time, while CHIP-0630 drove, CHIP-0830 intercepted a police report of five Chinese men roughing up a restaurant.
“The diner is just over a kilometer from the pyramids,” 0830 said.
“Let’s get there quick, find out if they got Chase,” Franco said while trying to access intelligence satellites. “He keeps slipping away, but the noose is tightening. Chase is just about out of time.” Franco looked up from his tablet and out the window and recalled the first line to The Unnamable, by Samuel Beckett. “‘Where now? Who now? When now?’”
Fifty-Eight
As Alasie drove the old pickup west, Chase, distracted by thoughts of his parents, tried calling Boone again, but only got voicemail. He pulled himself up from the floor and reluctantly rearranged Tamjee so the dog was now on his lap.
Wen slid the Antimatter Machine out of her pack.
“What’s that?” Chase asked, instantly alarmed. “They’ll trace us in three seconds if you use that.”
Wen sm
iled for a second, amused that he would think she was that foolish. “It is completely untraceable, custom-built.”
“Really? I didn’t know that was possible.”
“We are far enough out of town that it’ll pick up cell signals.” She paused, then began typing faster.
“What?”
“We’ve got a real problem—or several,” Wen said as results from the query came across the screen. “It looks like two, no, three different entities are accessing satellite imagery to track us right now.”
Chase turned around and looked out the back window. The dog licked his hand. “There’s nobody back there.”
“Not yet,” Wen said, typing furiously. “They’ll have our current location any minute.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Asking a friend for a favor.”
“What will they do if they catch us?” Alasie asked.
“We can’t let them catch us,” Chase said, recalling the horrors of Vancouver. He remembered Flint's team and put in a call to his bodyguard. Unfortunately, it, too, went straight to voicemail.
A little window on the Antimatter’s monitor came to life. A message displayed, leaving Wen disappointed. “Cannot help. You should know, astronauts do not do favors.”
Wen thought for a second, and then typed, “I was not asking the Astronaut, I was asking my friend Nash.” She hit enter.
Chase kept watching the road behind them. Alasie spent more time looking at the rearview mirror than the windshield.
A few seconds later, the Astronaut’s response came. “You will have forty-four minutes.”
Wen typed, “Thank you,” followed by three hearts. She pulled up an image window to monitor the satellite feed. In another window she searched ahead for a way out, calculating each step in her mind.
Chase tried Flint once more—voicemail. He called Boone again. His brother picked up.
“Hey, where have you been?” Chase asked, still watching the road behind.
“I just landed in Cancun.”
“Did you find them?”
“No. My buddy is picking me up. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
“Call me even if you don’t know anything.”
“Will do. You okay?”
“Ask me in a few hours. Meantime, can you call Flint Jones and tell him I’m on Sixteen West heading out of Edmonton and could use the team? He must be in the air or something.”
“Sure, I’ll keep after it.”
Chase gave him the number and ended the call.
Wen had found what she was looking for and thought they might have a chance, but it all hinged on the Astronaut buying them that forty-four minutes. “There is a small road up ahead,” she said to Alasie. “I want you to turn onto it. There should be a thick area of trees— He did it!” Wen interrupted herself, seeing the satellite image go black and an error message flash. “Okay, they are blind.”
“Seriously?” Chase looked at the screen. “Some friend.”
Wen nodded, setting a timer on her watch. “Okay, there’s the road. Once we’re in the trees, Chase and I will crawl out the back window and get in the bed. I don’t even want you to stop. Just slow down, and we’ll drop out the back. Then you keep going until you get to the next road. It runs parallel, and will get you back to Edmonton.”
“But—”
Chase handed her three hundred American dollars. “This is for gas. Give me your address, I’ll send you more.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Please,” Chase said. “It is the least we can do.”
“Thank you,” she said, as if it were ten thousand dollars. She gave him her address. It took him a few moments to find something to write it on.
“Don’t worry,” Wen said. “I have it memorized.”
Chase gave her a look. She smiled.
“Will I make it back to Edmonton?” Alasie asked, as if fully grasping the danger for the first time.
“If you don’t stop,” Wen said. “You should have six to eight minutes to spare before they get the satellites back up.”
“What?”
“Listen to me,” Wen said in a grave tone. “Go straight to the West Edmonton Mall. Park in the parking garage. Have a friend pick you up. Do you have somebody?”
“Yes, I think, but—”
“Good. Leave your truck there for at least a day. Go straight home from the mall and get your grandmother. Go stay with somebody else.”
“There’s not even anyone following us,” Alasie said, sounding confused. “Am I really in that much danger?”
Wen looked at Chase, then back at Alasie. “Yes, I’m sorry. But a day or two after we’re gone, they won’t care about you anymore.”
Alasie clutched the wheel tightly and teared up.
“Stay strong,” Wen said. “You can do this. You’ll be okay.”
“There’s the turn!” Chase said.
In a minute they were in the trees.
“Remember what I told you,” Wen said firmly as she slipped out the window.
“Thank you again,” Chase said. “When you leave your truck, take all the paper from it, cancel its insurance and registration. Don’t ever go back for it.” He handed her a card. “Call this number, read the woman who answers this code.” He scribbled a nine digit number. “Tell her I promised you a brand new truck. Tell her what color you want. She’ll take care of it. Good luck.”
In shock, Alasie said nothing, but slowed just enough. Wen rolled out of the bed and sprang to her feet. Chase managed to stumble after her, but stayed standing. They dove into thick underbrush and watched Alasie drive away.
“Think she’ll make it?” Chase asked.
“I don’t know,” Wen admitted. “It may already be too late.”
Fifty-Nine
Mars was laying on the bunk in his cell at Lompoc Federal Prison when a guard dropped a scribbled message on his floor. Mars, rarely stressed about anything, had been unable to sleep much of the night before, and skipped breakfast and lunch. Chase, like a brother to him, could already be dead. Chase’s parents, the closest thing he had to a mother and father, were missing, and for the first time, even with all his power, Mars felt trapped in prison. But, as he picked up the guard’s note, he had a bit of hope. His plan to mobilize his considerable contacts on the outside was now underway.
“Chase, if you’re still alive,” he whispered out loud, “it just got a lot harder to find you.”
Chase and Wen stayed in the bushes, even after Alasie’s F150 was out of sight.
“Shouldn’t we go?” Chase said, still amazed to be with Wen again.
“Not until Rong Lo passes,” she said, taking out the Antimatter Machine.
“I’d rather not wait around for him to get here.”
“We’ll be too exposed,” she said. “Do you have a weapon?”
“I’ve got this,” he said, holding up his multi-tool.
She laughed. “You really brought a pair of pliers to a gun fight?”
“This is more than pliers,” he said, feigning indignation.
“So is this.” She tossed him her QSZ-92 semi-automatic pistol. “Careful, it’s loaded.”
“Where did you get this?”
“China.”
“No, I mean—”
“Here they come,” she said, looking at her monitor. “I might be able to pick up Rong’s signal.”
“That machine can do that?”
“There!” She pointed to a small gap in the brush that gave them a view of the road. Chase watched while the car carrying Rong Lo zoomed by. Wen continued working the Antimatter Machine.
A minute or two later, another car passed. “Your friends from GlobeTec,” she said.
“Franco Madden? How do you know?”
“I’m picking up his device . . . No!” she said loudly. “He’s got drones.”
“Where?” Chase asked, relieved they were concealed under a thick canopy of leaves.
“One already passe
d. High altitude. Stealth, but limited camera range. Distance is good, but it can’t go too wide without a physical sweep. That may give us a chance. The other is still covering Edmonton, near the diner and pyramids.”
Chase noticed how she was once again analyzing the situation—in this case, a device and its weaknesses.
Wen checked the timer. Thirty-seven minutes. “Hope he keeps going.”
“So the drones didn’t see Alasie turn back to Edmonton?”
“Not if they are still heading west.”
“But how much longer until they realize they lost us?”
“They are getting additional data from somewhere. MSS has compromised many tools of US intelligence.”
“But the satellite working this region is down.”
“For thirty-six more minutes,” she said. “I’m not sure if they are hacking that sat or one of the systems monitoring it. Either way, they may blind follow, not knowing how long until the sat goes back up.”
“Let’s hope. Can we go yet?”
“A little more time for that drone to get out of range.”
“And where are we going?” Chase wasn’t used to being the follower, but Wen had an overwhelming sense of command he didn’t remember from before. His curiosity about what had happened to her in the intervening years would have to wait, but he was beginning to think she’d become a revolutionary after he left China. That would explain the MSS and her silence . . .
It would explain a lot of things.
“We need train tracks,” Wen said, still staring into the Antimatter Machine.
“Train tracks?” Chase looked out into the other direction—miles of wasted prairie and scrub. “You want to hop a freight train? That’s our best bet? Do we even know if one is coming? We have, what, half an hour?”