She heard another door open, and Ayla screamed. Her voice was muffled suddenly, then Maggie heard a man yelp in pain.
“The bitch bit me!”
Good for you!
The truck they were in suddenly jerked and she lost her balance, falling into the arms of her assailant. She heard the hiss of airbrakes, then the engine she hadn’t noticed before, stopped. A noise at the back of the truck had her spinning as she was lifted to her feet, and suddenly the entire truck was bathed in sunlight as the rear doors were thrown open.
She was pushed toward the light and soon found herself squinting at the sun, covering her eyes, as she gingerly made her way down the same ramp they had been pushed up only minutes before. She turned back and saw Darius being carried fireman style, screaming at the top of his lungs, his little legs kicking ineffectually at the man. Ayla was being held from behind, carried forward, the man gripping her under her ribcage as he struggled against her more ferocious attack.
Maggie noticed his hand was bleeding, a trickle of blood on Ayla’s chin. Ayla’s leg swung out then up, catching the man in the groin. He grunted and loosened his grip. Ayla shrugged out of the hold, and ran forward, into the sunlight and fell down the ramp. Maggie stepped forward to help her, but was held back by her captor.
Two SUVs, she presumed the two from earlier, were parked behind the truck, and the passenger side door of one of them opened, a man, the first one she had seen without his face covered, stepped out and rounded the front of the vehicle.
“Sir, your face!” It was the one holding her.
The man shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, not where they’re going.” He raised a hand gun and pointed it at Ayla and fired. Ayla fell backward, into the arms of the man she had bit as Maggie screamed. Her mind began to swim, her vision blurring, as she watched her baby go limp, and the man, her murderer, turn toward tiny Darius.
He fired, eliciting another scream from Maggie as the weapon was turned on her. He squeezed, but she felt nothing, her mind shutting down from the horror of seeing her children murdered in front of her, it judging the experience of her own death an unnecessary evil.
As she slumped to the ground, all she heard was the blood rushing in her ears, and a thumping sound in the distance.
My babies!
Ogden, Utah
Detective Jack Percy looked at the rubber that had been laid on the pavement earlier. There was no doubt something had happened, but the question was what? The reports were confused, conflicted, and none of them frankly believable.
A car was pushed into the back of a truck by an SUV?
He had called bullshit on the report when it came into the office, and after bets were taken, had gone out with his partner as they were next in the rotation.
“What do you make of it?” asked Jamie Conway as she chewed on a power bar. Peanut butter flavor. His favorite.
“Do you have another one of those?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, Boss, last one. Want half?”
He waved off the proffered bar. “Naw, I’ll grab something after we’re finished up here.” He pointed at the tread marks. “Get the crime scene guys down here, have them get photos of the treads, see if they can match the vehicle types. Put an APB on the vehicles. One or two black SUV’s, tinted windows, damage to the front end of one.”
“Damage?”
Percy pointed at the ground. “There’s some glass and plastic here. Could be from the SUV, could be from the car. Have the lab guys check it out.”
Jamie finished jotting in her notebook then nodded.
“So, do you still think it’s a bullshit call?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “For all we know there was a rear-ender. Car hits back of truck, SUV hits back of car, insurance papers are exchanged quickly, or there was no major damage so they decide to forgo it. You know how reliable witnesses are.”
“Do you honestly believe what just came out of your mouth?”
He grinned. “Not for a second.” Twenty-two years on the force told him something more was going on. Witnesses would conflict in their statements, and the witnesses here did, but they all agreed on one thing. A car was pushed into the back of a truck. The disagreement was on what the truck looked like, what the car and SUV looked like, and the number of vehicles involved.
“Did we get any cellphone footage?”
Jamie shook her head. “Nada. Not exactly prime real estate here, and the few witnesses didn’t think to haul out their phones.”
“No teenagers then?”
Jamie grinned.
He swirled his hand over his head. “Check every store, see if we have anything caught on security camera. We might get lucky.”
Jamie didn’t look convinced. “Not exactly a camera friendly neighborhood, Boss. This is industrial.”
One of the officers manning the scene ran over.
“Detective, they just found the truck, the SUVs, hell, everything!”
“Where?”
“Not even five miles from here.”
Percy frowned. If they had already abandoned their vehicles, there might be no way to trace them. He looked at the officer.
“And?”
“Car in the back of a semi-trailer, empty, two SUVs, one with damage to its front end. Just like some of the witnesses said.”
“Shit!” muttered Jamie. “This is big, Boss.”
Percy nodded. “Make sure the area is secure, get crime scene over there, tell dispatch we’re on our way.”
The officer nodded and got on his radio as Percy jogged toward their car, Jamie at his side.
“What do you think, Boss?”
“I think this is bigger than we originally thought.”
Mona Reservoir, Utah
Jason Peterson woke when his head rapped against something hard. Wherever he was lying bounced again, and again his head smacked against the floor. His head throbbed, his brain an unfamiliar fog, the only feeling he could recall that was similar was the one and only time as a freshman in college that he had gotten drunk. He had been drunk since, but nothing like this, and never again in college.
He had never lived it down.
Goaded into drinking by his roommate and lifelong friend to that point, he had agreed to have his first beer at eighteen. Then a second. Before he knew it, he had lost count, and lost track, of not only the number of drinks he had had, but the limbs he had under his control. He was told the next day he had had a good time, but had no recollection beyond waking up, lying across the bathroom counter of the dorm, his head in one of the sinks, with a few photos going around of the night that were too embarrassing to want to recollect.
The montage at the end of The Hangover was uncomfortably familiar.
He escaped with all his teeth, and unmarried, but swore off alcohol until he could drink around people he could trust to not put his mouth and other God given parts where they shouldn’t be.
And the way his head felt now, was exactly how it had felt that morning on the bathroom counter.
He forced his eyes open, praying he wasn’t back in college. They burned and he immediately shut them. Instead he tried to listen, to cut through the white noise that seemed to consume his thoughts. He could hear a dull roar. And voices. Two voices. Talking loud enough to be heard over the roar of an engine.
The boat!
He realized he was in the boat, not his college dorm, and his heart slammed against his chest as the memories flooded back. They had been rescued, then someone had said his name, then shot him. But hadn’t. It wasn’t a bullet, it was some sort of tranquilizer.
That explained the hangover.
He tried to listen to the voices. He could hear one, but didn’t recognize it. The other voice he couldn’t make out enough to say whether it was familiar or not. Straining against the roar of the boat’s engine that dominated his right ear which lay against the cool, metal surface, he tried to make out the words, but it was merely bits and pieces.
“…minutes…plane…to th
e rally…taken…north…paid…”
It meant nothing.
The boat turned, the entire vehicle banking to the right, sending him tumbling into the gunwale with a grunt. A grunt that attracted the attention of someone.
“This one’s awake.” The voice was uncomfortably close. “Should I tag him again?”
“Negative. You’re liable to kill him. We need him alive, and he has a heart condition.”
How did they know about that?
He had only been recently diagnosed with a thickening of the heart wall, caused by high blood pressure, the stress of his job and the realization he was responsible for what he had created, proving too much. The moment they had succeeded in their experiment, succeeded in the fifteen long years of research, he had at once rejoiced, then cried at the horror of it when activated.
It had so much potential for good.
But far more for evil.
And at that moment he knew how Robert Oppenheimer had felt when the first nuclear bomb was successfully tested.
Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.
He felt a hand grab his shoulder, spinning him onto his back. He looked up, the world still a blur, but clear enough to see something dark move rapidly toward his head. An intense pain was followed by a sea of nothingness.
Ogden, Utah
Detective Jack Percy stepped out of the car as his partner checked her teeth in the vanity mirror, then joined him. The area had already been cordoned off, and half the precinct seemed already on scene. It was exactly as described. Two SUVs and a semi-trailer. The scene commander waved at him and strode over.
“Detective Percy, Conway,” he said, nodding to both, his eyes lingering on Jamie’s model-like physique.
“What’ve you got for us, Sergeant Gates?” Percy let his tone indicate the ogling session was over. He glanced at Jamie but as usual she seemed to be ignorant of what had just happened.
When Jamie had made detective, every married guy had run for the hills, knowing damned well their wives would never let them work with her. Percy had volunteered, the poor girl not understanding why no one wanted to work with her, and seeming genuinely hurt as partner after partner refused the Lieutenant.
Percy’s partner was due to retire, so when he had heard what was going on, he walked over to the desk she was sitting at outside the LT’s office, and sat down beside her.
“Detective Percy. Jack.” He held out his hand. She had taken it, but only briefly made eye contact, her eyes wells of tears.
“Jamie Conway.”
“So you’re the new detective?”
“Supposed to be. But nobody wants to partner with me.”
“And you don’t know why?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m guessing they don’t want to work with a woman.”
“Think like a detective. This is the new millennium. Most of the guys around here post-date the old boys’ club. Separate yourself emotionally from the situation, and ask yourself why they don’t want to work with you.”
She dabbed her eyes dry, then looked at him.
“I don’t know. What else could it be?”
He had chuckled. “Oh, it’s because you’re a woman, all right. But again, ask yourself why.”
She frowned, eying the desks of two of the men who had already refused her, them whispering amongst themselves, stealing occasional glances at her.
Her eyes shot open and she smiled.
“Because they’re married?”
“Bingo.”
“And they’re afraid their wives will get jealous.”
“Two for two.”
“But why would they get jealous? We’re all professionals.”
“Conway, have you looked in a mirror lately?”
She blushed and turned away modestly.
“Anybody not married here?”
He shook his head. “Nope.” He stood up and knocked on the LT’s door. He waved him in and Percy opened the door, poking his head inside. “I’ll take her off your hands, LT.”
The LT had blown him a double handed kiss, and Percy had taken her to lunch so they could get to know each other a little, then invited her for dinner with his family. His wife had taken to her right away, treating her like a younger sister, jealousy not entering her mind. Percy wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Was it that she trusted him, or knew Jamie was way out of his league?
Probably a little bit of both.
And so it had been. They had become partners, and his wife hadn’t expressed a concern at any time, Jamie having a standing invitation to join them for dinner every Sunday if she wanted. And once the guys at the office had got to know her, they realized how despite her good looks she was just “one of the boys”, her ways slightly tomboyish, with a blue streak that would make a sailor blush at times. When she had told her “Do you wanna be the mama or the papa?” joke at the first Friday after-work outing, he knew she was in, one of the retired old timers actually pissing his pants.
So it was rare now that he had to deal with guys from the department ogling his partner so obviously.
And it annoyed him.
“We’ve cordoned off the area. I ran the plates. They all check out as legit, out of state, not stolen. We’re canvasing the area, but don’t expect much. This is mostly abandoned industrial.”
“What’s with the dust?”
Percy and the sergeant turned to Jamie, who was standing behind one of the vehicles.
“What dust?” asked Percy, rounding the vehicle.
“Look,” said Jamie, pointing at the side of the vehicle. “This side is covered in dust, so is that one.” She pointed at the other SUV. “But look at the other side,” she said, rounding the vehicle. “It’s clean. Both of them.”
Percy looked at both vehicles, walking around them, then examined the ground. He pointed about fifty yards away. “Look at that!” It was as if a large fan had parked itself in the center of the abandoned parking lot. It was completely devoid of litter, it all seeming to be pushed against a chain link fence to their right, or out of the general vicinity. As well, the dirt from several years of rain and winters, showed a definite pattern of having been recently blown outward in all directions.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked Jamie.
“Helicopter?”
He nodded.
“Christ, Boss, if they used a helicopter to get away—”
“This is definitely way bigger than we think it is.”
Cortina Street, Huntsville, Utah
Phoebe Shephard pushed open the door to the mud room as the garage door rumbled closed. “Charlie, I’m home!” she called, not really expecting an answer. Her son was fourteen, and was usually attached to a pair of headphones leading to his iPhone. But announcing herself was a habit she had always done, and would continue to do, even if it was to a house with no available ears, or an empty one as it was on occasion.
The fridge closed in the kitchen as she kicked her heels off, giving each foot a quick squeeze massage, cursing her flat feet and the misogynistic bastard who had thought it was a good idea to make women several inches taller.
“I’m going to go upstairs and change. I’ll be down in a minute to make dinner, so don’t eat too much! We’re having pork chops with apple sauce and mashed potatoes and gravy. Your favorite!”
At least she assumed it was still his favorite. As a kid Charlie had loved apple sauce, and whenever this particular combination was served, the apple sauce was immediately mixed in with the mashed potatoes and gravy, and every rapid bite savored for the eternity a split second seems to a kid. The enthusiasm had never waned, until about two years ago, when he had a sleepover at a friend’s. Apparently the same meal was served, he mixed everything together, and was laughed at.
He had come home crying, and when she heard even the parents had laughed, she was ready to go over there and tear both their throats out. Carl had stopped her, the father of the little shit apparently being one of her husband�
�s supervisors.
“Let it go, honey. The guy’s an asshole at work, and so he’s an asshole at home. I’m not surprised. But if we start a family feud, it could make things difficult at the office, and things are bad enough as it is.”
It was the first time he had made reference to things not going well at work. She had pressed him on it, but he had refused to get into it. She had had no clue there was a problem until that point, but with this tidbit released, she began to notice the odd thing here and there, the sigh for no reason, the slumped shoulders when no one was looking.
She knew his work was top secret, some military project, so conversation was forbidden. She was friends with Maggie Peterson, the wife of Carl’s partner, Jason. When she had approached her on the subject a few months ago, Maggie had confessed that she too had noticed a difference in her own husband. He was more emotional, and on several occasions had caught him silently crying to himself, refusing to explain why.
Something was going on at the research facility, and what had been jubilation at an apparent success earlier in the year, had turned into something else in recent months.
She entered the bedroom, eyes closed, her body working on autopilot as she pushed the door shut behind her and began to strip out of her clothes, tossing them blindly toward the bed. A bed that had been lonely for days.
Lonely because whatever was happening at the lab, hadn’t interfered with their annual fishing trip. Jason and Carl, along with their bachelor friend Phil, had still left as planned, not due back for another week. No cellphones, no computers, no communications technology of any kind.
“Call the local sheriff if there’s a problem,” he had said every year they went. The number sat on the fridge downstairs, under an I Love Robots magnet that had come with the Roomba he had purchased. She had watched him demonstrate it, then promptly vacuumed properly. She would have thought he had been hurt by her lack of interest, but she knew he had bought it for only one purpose.
To tear it apart.
Within a week he had reprogrammed it to tie into the house’s wi-fi network, and as a joke for his friends, he could send a command from his iPhone, which would activate a servo on his beer fridge, pushing the door open, which would then allow a ramp to drop. The robot would whistle like R2D2 and promptly deliver six ice cold beers to wherever the phone was located. It would then return to the fridge, the ramp would rise, and the door would close.
Rogue Operator Page 3