The Dark Academy (Supervillain High Book 4)

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Brendan didn’t answer. He let himself be led to the parking lot. Agent Walters had a subcompact electric car parked in one of the recharging spots. It was a two-seater with a backseat that wouldn’t accommodate a child.

  “Where are your other agents?” Brendan asked.

  “Busy, thanks for asking. Your father’s case has been more complicated than necessary, so their attention was needed elsewhere.”

  “You didn’t have to assault Mr. Childes and the security guard. I was going to cooperate.”

  Agent Walters pushed Brendan into the car. “He wasn’t cooperating. Now we’re on a bit of a time constraint, so please give me your right hand.” He fixed a handcuff on Brendan’s wrist. It took him a moment to find someplace to attach the other end. Finally he connected it to the soft handle above the door.

  Brendan gave it a test tug. It held.

  “Is this a rental?” Brendan asked as the agent got in the driver’s seat.

  The agent ignored him and drove them out onto the street, accelerating at a languid pace to join the light flow of weekend traffic.

  “Agent Walters? Are you taking me to Vlad? Is he okay?”

  The agent waved a dismissive hand. “He’s fine, and will remain so as long as you deliver what you promise and help me bring your father in.”

  “I have my tablet with the program. That’s what you were asking for. But what makes you believe I can get you my dad? Like I’ve been telling you, I don’t know where he is. And I was telling the truth about his twin. He has my dad, at least I think he does. And I have no way of contacting either one of them.”

  “That’s where I can help. I have a phone number his employer used to contact him. Now all you have to do is make contact. Bring him out of hiding, either one or both, and I’ll take care of the rest. Then you and your friend can go back to school and be done with this.”

  “You’re not doing this just to arrest him again. My dad’s not going to share his technology with you.”

  The agent sighed. He was a meticulous driver, keeping both hands on the steering wheel and constantly checking the mirrors. “Unfortunately for your father, we may be past that now.”

  “What do mean? What’s going to happen to my dad?”

  The agent didn’t answer. He drove them into the desert and made a turn off the highway. More turns followed. Soon they were driving along secondary roads with no markers. Brendan tried to keep track of their location but quickly became disoriented, as there were no familiar points of reference in sight. One featureless road led to a dead-end cul-de-sac, littered with a collection of fifth wheel trailers, metal cargo containers, an RV, and a mobile home that looked ready to collapse at the first high wind. A large silver Chevy pickup was parked in front of the mobile home.

  “What is this place?” Brendan asked.

  “The place where you’re going to call your daddy and bring him in. Now sit tight.”

  Agent Walters got out of the car and went inside the mobile home. Brendan’s arm was stiff and growing numb. He tugged at the handle with all his strength. He put his feet up and pulled with his legs. He was startled when the agent appeared at the window and knocked before raising a warning finger. The agent then opened the door, unlocked the handcuff from the car, and brought Brendan out.

  A man with a straw cowboy hat and sunglasses was standing at the corner of the mobile home and watching. He wore a black collared shirt and an underarm gun holster with a pistol in it. The man wore a mustache that ran down either side of his lips and had stubble on his chin and locks of brown greasy hair. He came over, took Brendan by the elbow, and escorted him up a few rickety stairs to a glass sliding door that led to the mobile home’s kitchen.

  The single-wide was dark, with light pushing in behind brown-and-apricot curtains. The kitchen’s vinyl flooring was peeling. A yellow refrigerator rattled. Brendan was surprised there was any power in the place. The man sat him down at a small dinette table cluttered with paper, wrappers, and a pair of overflowing ashtrays. Without a word he attached the handcuff to the bottom of the chair, then reached into Brendan’s pocket, took out the phone, and placed it on the table.

  “Let me talk to Vlad,” Brendan said.

  Agent Walters thought about it for a moment. “Sure, why not?” He went into the dark hallway and came out a moment later, leading Vlad along behind him. Vlad looked worn and bedraggled but otherwise unharmed.

  “You okay?” Brendan asked.

  Vlad nodded.

  “We’re going to get out of here soon. They just want me to call my dad and bring him in. All right?”

  Vlad wouldn’t make eye contact, but Brendan could see his friend’s eyes were red and he was trembling. He tried to conceal his rising anger by taking a deep breath and looking up at Agent Walters. Without ceremony the agent handed Brendan a small flip phone and a piece of paper with a phone number.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell him you have to meet him at the Chinese restaurant. Once we hear he’s willing to meet, we’ll change the place to bring him closer to here.”

  The network’s signal was strong. Brendan’s thumb hovered over the phone’s number pad. The bare-bones phone had to be a throwaway. He saw no features or apps besides the ability to text or call. He thought about the agent’s comment that it was too late for his dad to just give up his tech to them. What had he meant?

  “No more waiting,” Agent Walters said. “Place the call.”

  Brendan pushed in the numbers and pressed talk. It rang once, and then he got a message that the number was no longer in service. He double-checked what he had dialed. He ended the call and tried again. The same message played.

  “You must have the wrong number,” he said.

  “Let me see.” The agent took the phone and the piece of paper. He tried dialing. He ended the call and redialed. With exaggerated restraint, he closed the phone and put it away. He crumpled the paper and dropped it on the floor.

  “What does this mean?” Brendan asked. “Did you write down the wrong number?”

  “The number is correct,” the agent said. He thought for a moment.

  “Let me use my phone,” Brendan said. “I can at least try to reach him on his old numbers and email addresses.”

  “Okay. But you’re a brainy kid. I doubt I need to remind you that bad things will happen if you warn him off.”

  “I’ll need to send emails. It will be easier with two hands.”

  “You’ll manage,” the man with the straw hat said.

  “No need to be rude, Mr. Kemp,” Agent Walters said. “We’ll accommodate you. You did call me first, so I will take the leap that we’re on the same page and you’re not going to try anything foolish. Uncuff him.”

  As Agent Walters led Vlad away, Kemp unlocked and removed Brendan’s handcuffs. Brendan almost gagged at the man’s stench of sweat and smoke. He had an array of tattoos that were too complex and faded to be anything like the warlord’s marks. They reminded Brendan of heavy metal album covers.

  “Rich kid, huh?” the man asked. “Studying to be a lawyer or something?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad. I can’t recommend studying law enough. They’re the ones that make all the real money. Besides, you have that look some of them have, you know? Lean and hungry. You might make a good one.” The man went to the fridge and took out a beer. He popped the cap on the counter and drank deep.

  Agent Walters returned and barely concealed a look of disgust as Kemp drained the beer.

  “Let’s call Daddy, shall we?”

  ***

  “Hi, Dad, it’s Brendan. We need to talk about where we left off last time. It’s urgent. Give me a call back.” Brendan ended the call. It was the fourth message he had left, each on a different line that no doubt went to a phone long ago discarded.

  “You’re sounding like a broken record,” Kemp said. “Why not change it up?”

  “What would you suggest?” Brendan asked.

  “H
ey, let the boy work,” Agent Walters said. “The sooner we make contact, the sooner we leave this dump.”

  “I’m sure the owners would resent that comment,” Kemp said. He was just outside the sliding glass door and seated on a plastic stacking chair that bowed under him. Smoke wafted inside from his cigarette.

  “Can you please not let your smoke get in here?” Agent Walters held a napkin to his nose.

  The man flicked the cigarette out over the leaning balcony rail. He then got up, stretched, and clomped down the porch. “I’m taking a walk.”

  Agent Walters waved him off dismissively.

  “There’s more numbers here,” Brendan said. “But they’re all even older than the last few.”

  “Leave no stone unturned. Keep at it.”

  Brendan nodded and dialed. He also sent a text message to every number and an email to every address his father had ever used. At one point Agent Walters surprised him by grabbing the phone and reviewing Brendan’s activities. Apparently satisfied, he handed the phone back and got up to pace, eventually perusing the kitchen, where he began opening cabinets. He looked appalled at what he saw inside.

  Brendan kept composing emails, copying and pasting the message and sending it off. Then he noticed the agent had the round black drone in his hands. Where did he get it from? Walters was turning it over and over, as if it were some mystical object whose purpose remained unknown. But wasn’t that the case with any technology that wasn’t understood? Jennifer’s droplet drone swarm fit squarely in that category. The important thing was that Agent Walters was completely distracted.

  Brendan turned on his GPS’s find-a-friend locator and texted Lucille. Her muted reply arrived a moment later.

  “Leave me alone,” the text read. Her message melted away after five seconds as Brendan’s privacy setting deleted it.

  Brendan hit reply to last and texted, “Forward to Tyler. And Jennifer at Cat Valley. She knows you. You must know her.”

  “I don’t know her.”

  “You do. You know her or someone who does.” He forwarded his personal contact information. “Send her this. My location tracker is attached. Tell her I’m waiting for round two. No cops.”

  Indicator bubbles told him a reply was being formed, but none came. Brendan wasn’t sure if Lucille would do it, and if she did, what possible outcome could he expect? It was too great a risk, and he was squandering the opportunity to reach out for real help. He was risking not only his own safety but Vlad’s. But at least this was some sort of backup plan. His father would probably never get the message, and Myron Reece from Not-Earth had little reason to reply, no doubt thinking anything coming from Brendan would be a ploy to get him arrested.

  Brendan sat back and watched the phone. He saw three messages from Poser and as many from Tina waiting for him. At least they were safe. Then a new one appeared from Tina.

  “At least let me know you’re safe.”

  He grabbed the phone. “I’m fine. Taking lazy day off after game. Tell you about it later.”

  He sent the text and put the phone down, ignoring a wave of guilt at the lie. He let some air into his shirt. Even though the air outside held a chill, the inside of the mobile home was warm and stuffy. The dank old cigarettes at the table did little to help the nasty quality of the air.

  “Is there any water?” he asked.

  “Just beer,” Agent Walters said. “And I’m not letting you get a buzz on. I have a hard enough time with you kids.”

  “I’ve sent the messages out. It could be a while before he replies.”

  “Maybe we’ll think of something that will speed him up. First, I have something else for you to do. I still need the encryption key to the drone software your friend wrote.”

  He knows Vlad has it. Brendan was surprised Vlad hadn’t just handed it over. “I have the tablet. You’ve asked Vlad?”

  “Obviously. Maybe you can ask for me. That way I don’t need to be dramatic with an ‘or else.’”

  Brendan got up from the table and headed for the hallway, with Agent Walters following right behind him. The floor to the mobile home squeaked as they went down the narrow corridor. Its metallic orange-and-green wallpaper was fraying and peeled, revealing dark paneling beneath. Brendan unlocked and opened the door at the end. It was a dark bedroom with a stripped-bare double mattress and the chair Vlad had been sitting on in the photo. Vlad was seated on the floor by a boarded window, his back against the wall.

  He looked up hopefully at Brendan.

  “This guy wants the encryption key to the drone program,” Brendan said. He felt a sickening wave of guilt as he saw his friend’s crestfallen face.

  “I won’t give it to him,” Vlad said, his voice soft.

  “I figured. They have you in here all night?”

  “Yeah. They grabbed me on the way out of the game. Said they wanted to ask questions.”

  “They give you water or food?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Brendan turned to look at Agent Walters. “It will be a while before we get an answer.”

  Agent Walters sighed. “If you give me the password, I’ll send my associate out for some burgers. How’s that?”

  Brendan looked at Vlad. Vlad said, “No.”

  Agent Walters pounded the hollow wall next to Brendan’s head, making Brendan flinch. “It’s just a password. Give me the code, and we’re halfway done here. What’s the holdup? There’s no point in drawing this out!”

  Kemp came running, his boots clomping through the kitchen and down the hall.

  “You okay, chief?”

  “I’m fine,” Agent Walters said. “Go pick up some food and water. We’re going to be here all day.”

  21. Takeout

  Brendan resisted the urge to check his phone for replies until Kemp returned with the food.

  “Don’t forget your role here,” Agent Walters said. He was pacing about the small space in the kitchen. He had taken out his own phone and scowled at it several times. “Your friend goes back to school, and we forget about any part he had to play in all of this trouble. In fact, all of your friends will be similarly forgotten by me and my agency. We’re not interested in them. But you have to do your part, which includes getting him to give us the encryption key.”

  “He said no,” Brendan said. “Maybe once you feed us, he’ll change his mind.”

  “If I feed you. The food is a reward. A rumbling tummy might hurry this whole affair along, don’t you agree?”

  Brendan was hungry and thirsty. He tried not to think about it. Vlad had surprised him in not caving to the agent’s pressure. Brendan doubted it would change when food was offered. He worried that calling Walters had been a giant mistake.

  “So what happened to your van last night?” he asked.

  Agent Walters stopped pacing. “Engine trouble.”

  “Judging by your bruises, you weren’t wearing your seatbelt.”

  “Don’t get sassy. I can always handcuff you to the bathroom sink.”

  Brendan noticed a fresh note of irritability in the agent’s voice. Something had struck a nerve, and it wasn’t engine trouble.

  “We didn’t do anything to your van,” Brendan said.

  “We would have picked you up for damaging a law enforcement vehicle if you had. This would all be so much easier if we had a juicy charge like that to pin on you. But…” He sighed and gestured to the kitchen and the rest of the mobile home. “Here we are.”

  Before Brendan could react, Agent Walters picked up his phone and easily unlocked it. His finger started scrolling.

  “Called the cavalry, did we?”

  Damn. Replies must have come in. The agent’s broad smile was difficult to read. “But at least you did reach out to your father. I’ve come too far for you to yank my chain. I trust your schoolmates won’t try anything stupid.”

  It was then that Brendan decided Agent Walters didn’t know anything about the kids in Cathedral Valley. If Lucille or Tyler had sent a message, the age
nt would have nothing to worry about. None of it mattered anyway if they weren’t coming. It had been a long shot, and Lucille had made it clear she wasn’t going to get involved.

  “Where are the rest of your agents?” Brendan asked.

  Agent Walters didn’t answer. He handed back Brendan’s phone and pulled out his own and started texting. Once done, he opened the refrigerator and again scanned its contents. “How do people drink this stuff?” he said with a sigh. The fridge rattled when he pushed the door shut. Walters wandered back to the bedroom. Brendan was starting to get up when the agent returned and pointed for Brendan to remain seated. He then stepped outside, shielding his eyes from the glare. He made a phone call.

  “Hey,” the agent said. “An ETA on the food? It’s not that complicated. Hurry back, we’re on a schedule, remember?” Walters sat outside for a moment but was soon back up on his feet, again pacing, pacing, pacing.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” Brendan said.

  Agent Walters gave him an are-you-serious look before nodding and pointing down the hall. “No funny business.”

  Brendan went to the bathroom door and watched as Agent Walters busied himself on his phone. The agent looked up and caught Brendan’s eye. “If you’re not going to go, put your butt back down in the chair.”

  The bathroom was miniscule, with the toilet almost touching the wall. It had a sink and a shower stall and numerous stains on the wall and ceiling. Brendan crouched down just inside the door and took out his phone. He put it on the floor. Then he used the toilet, flushed, and washed his hands. There was water but no soap or towel. As he left the bathroom, he slid the phone along with his foot and shoved it under the bedroom door. It fit with room to spare. He then loudly knocked on Vlad’s door.

  “You okay in there, buddy?”

  Vlad didn’t respond.

  “Hey!” Agent Walters called. “Back in here.”

  Brendan returned to the kitchen and took his seat. “Let me bring him a glass of water.”

  “That’s not how negotiations work. You have to give me something first. Besides, thirst is a wonderful motivator. Do you know that in Africa, lions, hyenas, and herd animals will drink at the same water hole?”