“I don’t. I’ve got tags on your team thanks to the GPS markers in your clothing, but unfortunately, I’m not seeing anything on the satellite feeds just yet. I’ll get back to you.”
“Okay,” Smith acknowledged, then switched the channel to communicate with his team. “Wesson, Barney, Tinker, Black—any injuries? What are we seeing out there?”
It was Wesson who replied. “Hey boss, we’ve got some scrapes and scratches, but nothing major. I don’t think that bomb was meant to kill anyone. He was probably using it to scare us off.”
“Probably, but we can’t assume that. We need to find this guy before he does something worse.”
Smith flinched as a rifle shot echoed around the facility. Tinker must’ve reached a secure location, and that fact was confirmed a second later when the junior agent chirped in. “Smith, I saw a glint of something way up there. I think the dude is scaling a ladder right now, heading up to the top of the main elevator.”
Smith instinctively craned his neck for a better view. The angle wasn’t good, but he could see the top of the silo was over one hundred feet up in the clear autumn sky. Damn. Heights weren’t his thing. He’d hoped to get to the site before the vigilante did, but somehow the man had beaten them there.
A small popping noise filled the air, almost like a toy gun or distant fireworks. Smith automatically crouched behind the truck again, waiting for the noise to die down.
“Ahh!” Smith heard over his comm. “Check in!” Smith commanded his team.
“Wesson here boss, rounding the south side of the big tower.”
“Tinker, still in position across the lot. I’m trying to locate the Corn Avenger, but he’s out of sight right now.”
“Barney checking in.”
Nothing from Agent Black.
“Barney, go find Black. See what’s going on,” Smith instructed.
As he spoke, Smith saw what looked like snow falling from the sky. It was September and still in the mid-60’s. Not snow. Popcorn. He reached out and was about to catch some when…
“Don’t touch it!” Barney shouted through the comm. “I found Black, He’s going to be okay, but he has some chemical burns, it looks like. I think he may have even eaten some of the popcorn. Don’t touch it, I think the Corn Avenger laced it with something toxic.”
Immediately, Agent Smith retracted his hand and tried to steer clear of the blizzard of popped corn falling from the tallest silo on the lot. Even so, a piece or two brushed back of his hand, causing a slight sting and burn.
Double damn, he thought.
“Barney, get Black back to the car. Wesson, Tinker, and I will take care of this,” Smith ordered.
“Sure thing. I’ll get on the horn with HQ to see if we’ve got anything to help Black,” Barney said, then cut his comm link with Smith.
Smith stood back from the truck briefly, to gauge the situation. He saw the ladders and stairs winding up the elevator and thought for a moment that he saw movement near the top. Smith noticed electric lines leading from the office towards the peak of the elevator and a relatively calm breeze. A flag stationed at the crown of the silo gently fluttered in the late autumn air.
“Wesson, where are you now?”
“Still on the ground, but I’m on the back side of the silo. Less popcorn back here. There’s a set of stairs here and I was about to head up on your orders.”
“You have them. I’m going to go up the front side. Maybe we can corner him at the top,” Smith said. “Tinker, keep on eye on me. If you see anything wonky, you know what to do.”
“Will do.”
After a deep breath, Smith launched himself off the side of the truck and ran around the tailgate towards the base of the tower. He kicked hundreds, if not thousands, of kernels of popcorn out of his way, some inching inside his pant legs, and burning his ankles as he ran. He was swearing off popcorn after this mission.
He began to run up the metal stairs, his heart pounding with the excitement. The phone rang, chirping on the Bluetooth in his ear.
“Dr. Anna.”
“Yes, Smith. I have him on satellite. He’s at the top on the south side. I had to do an infrared scan to find him. He’s got a heat source up there,” the analyst said.
“Heat source? It’s 63 degrees out here,” Smith said.
“Looks like a cutting tool of some sort from here. Just be careful, Smith.”
“I always am,” Smith replied. He clicked off the earpiece, eliminating distractions as he headed to the top.
The Corn Avenger must’ve taken refuge from Tinker’s rifle on the far side of the silo, the side Wesson was scaling right now. Smith alerted him of that fact, and kept climbing. The blizzard conditions had lessened, and Smith saw a small cannon affixed to the railing, and a popcorn popper set down on the metal grating. This must’ve been the staging area for the popcorn blasts and Smith made sure to steer clear of the toxic kernels again as he continued his trek up.
“Smith?”
“Yeah, Wesson. Whatcha got?
Wesson’s voice was low, like he was trying to avoid detection. “I’m on the base of the final set of stairs. I see him above me with some kind of acetylene torch. He’s cutting holes in the roof.”
“Why? There’s already a couple hatches up there,” Smith said.
“I don’t know. You want me to go up and ask him?”
Smith paused on his own stairs for a moment. He appreciated the wit of his team members in tight situations like this. “Yeah. Can you just pop up there and ask?”
“Ha, ha. Seriously, what’s the next move? If I take one step out right now, he’ll know I’m here.”
Smith considered their course of action for a moment. “Just sit tight for now. Listen in and if you think I’ll need you, get to the top as soon as possible. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
“A fine time to ask me that. I’ll just file for workman’s comp later. Hazardous working conditions and all,” Wesson bantered back.
“Okay. Take it up with Director Wall.”
Smith slowly advanced up the final set up stairs on his end, more than aware of the distance he was from the ground. Just a few steps from the top, he heard a voice call out.
“Stay right where you are!”
He looked over the railing and found a man wearing a yellow outfit that resembled a bulbous giant ear of corn. His lower legs were the only portion of his body exposed. Smith had to stop himself from laughing out loud.
“Okay, okay. I just want to talk. My name is Agent Smith. What’s yours?”
The man hesitated for a moment. “Call me...the Corn Avenger.”
Smith resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The vigilante in front of him might be campy in more ways than one, but he was dangerous as well.
“Why are you up here, Corn Avenger? What can I do to get you down?”
The Corn Avenger pulled his gaze from Smith and stared off into the distance. “I’m putting a stop to the use of genetically modified seeds. The food supply is becoming a minefield of Frankenfoods, and someone has to stand up against it. Someone has to be the voice in the wilderness. I am that voice. I am...the Corn Avenger!”
“Wow. Did you rehearse that in front of the mirror in your mom’s basement?” Smith said before he could help himself.
The masked man turned back to Smith with a hateful glare. “How dare you? I can unleash a plague of biblical proportions on this nation and you can’t do anything to stop me. I am...the Corn Avenger!”
A pop from the other side of the tower sent the Avenger down on one knee. He screamed in pain, doubling over. Smith noticed a small cannon, not unlike the ones he’d seen on the way up, attached to the top of the building. Apparently, not all the corn had popped before and a few stray kernels had detonated, hitting the Corn Avenger in the legs.
Smith double tapped his microphone to let Wesson know to advance, and he did the same, approaching the costumed man.
“Come on, let’s get you some help,” Smith s
aid. He reached down to take the man’s arm.
“Get away from me!” the man screamed. He grimaced in pain, but stood up and waved a small torch in one hand. The flame was shooting out, but Smith had avoided the heat thus far.
Wesson came around the corner behind the Corn Avenger, and waited a moment, apparently gauging the situation. The man stood up and spun around. He let out a small shriek when he saw Wesson behind him.
“You’re not going to catch me! These so-called superfoods have to be stopped, and I’m the one to do it. Because, I’m...the Corn Avenger!” The man shouted at the two agents. “Besides, I’ve already doctored the grain in the bin below. You’re not going to be able to get all of it out of the food supply. I will have my vengeance!”
Smith calmly asked, “Do you have a clean shot?”
“What are you talking about?” the Corn Avenger asked.
Without another word, Smith slowly took a half step to the right. Two beats later, he heard the report from Tinker’s rifle and saw the yellow corn costume blossom in the center with a dark shade of red. The Corn Avenger looked down, confused at first. His eyes went back to Smith, pained and dismayed.
He stumbled backwards, and Wesson stepped out of the way. The Corn Avenger’s heel hit a cable strung across the top of the tower, and he fell backwards into an open vent. Smith and Wesson hurried over and looked down into the tower of corn. A plume of corn dust billowed up from the silo. Smith’s eyes widened when he remembered the torch the Corn Avenger had been holding.
“Wesson, we gotta go. Now.”
The other agent didn’t even argue. Out of the corner of his eye, Smith could have sworn he saw a fireball erupting from the tower as he raced back to the stairs. They didn’t have time to get down all those flights of stairs. He remembered the power lines.
He pulled a pair of heavy-duty gloves out of his back pocket. No time to put them on. Instead, he handed one to Wesson and took one himself. “Hold on!”
The pair of agents slid down the electric lines like zip lines. Halfway to the building where Tinker had holed himself up, Smith felt the line go slack behind him. The elevator exploded, fire raging and destroying the grain inside. Luckily, they were close enough to the ground that the agents were able to tuck and roll, avoiding major injury in the process. Smith looked back at the tower and realized what the Corn Avenger had planned. Fireworks were shooting off the top of the tower in every direction. He’d meant to blow it all eventually in a spectacular fashion. His proclamation about spiking the grain was probably a red herring.
Tinker strode up and joined the men as they watched the fireworks in silence.
After a minute, the three men heard another set of feet behind them. It was Jimmy, the facility’s erstwhile steward. He stopped a few feet away, open-mouthed and in shock.
Smith and the other two walked by and the senior agent patted him on the arm. “You might not get that six-pack this week, Jimmy. Sorry buddy.”
The Utility Company
Three Months Later
The light stopped Wayne Thurgood just before his destination. Just across the street on the opposite corner lay his other home, his life, a strange mixed identity. The old industrial building was labeled across the top with the innocuous title: The Utility Company. Wayne remembered a day and time years ago when the irony of the name made him laugh. The corner of his mouth rose in an almost remembered smile. To be young again…
The light turned and he drove forward. The automatic chain-link gate allowed him through at a swipe of his card. In his peripheral vision he caught the laser sensors at their task of examining the contents of his car as he passed by. The car was already weighed before passing the gate and he knew of three other checks that would happen as he made this short drive into the compound.
He drove through the lot and passed the large utility trucks and vans, turning the corner to go into the underground parking garage. A ramp led down to three underground parking levels, with another security station before the final level. He drove up to the booth and presented his badge while Henry, feet away inside a booth behind three layers of blast-proof casing studied the data on his screen.
He looked up from the data and commented, “You’ve gained a pound since yesterday, sir.”
Wayne took it in stride. “It must have been all that pasta I had last night with your girlfriend.”
Henry chuckled, “Good to hear you have a love life, sir.” He buzzed the gate open after a short beep in the booth confirmed the final security check on the car.
Wayne drove on and parked, leaving the comment behind. Love life. Who has time?
He parked in his spot, went in the nearby entrance and headed straight for the locker room. He found his locker and began to take off the trappings of normal life. Work boots off, jeans, flannel work shirt off, ID on the shelf. He closed the door on Wayne Thurgood and pressed the button on the side console. The sound of machinery came from the locker as it opened itself. Black suit, white shirt, black tie. He put it on, tied the laces of his slick patent leather shoes and checked his ID. “Agent Smith, The Agency, a sub-agency of Homeland Security.”
Agent Smith stood up, walking to the floor length mirror just before the locker room’s exit, checked his thinning hair and went to work.
_____
Smith went to his office pod. There were four office pods on this level, two of them reporting to him. Every pod had two agent offices and workspace for between four and six junior agents along with two office management assistants. Smith’s assistant Nora smiled as he walked up. “Good morning, Agent Smith. Coffee?”
Smith smiled back, “You know what I like, dear friend. How is your morning?”
Nora stood, smoothed her skirt and went over to the espresso machine and started a press. “Same as ever. Ted wants to take me out for an anniversary dinner tomorrow. Shane has a varsity soccer game tonight while Jane is at music practice. Life’s pretty busy, but we’ve got to make the time for each other, you know?”
“Very nice,” Smith replied. “How you manage all that as well as all the miracles you do for me, I’ll never know.”
“You’re easy. Ducks in rows. Bitter coffee, bitter beer. The family, now they keep me hopping.”
“Sounds like quite the busy home life,” Smith offered.
Nora smiled, thinking of her family. She dumped the first two shots in the cup and started another. “I love it. It’s hard to balance, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. You should try it.”
Smith shrugged, “You know me. Nobody seems to stick.”
She glanced up from her work of the moment, “Or you’re not sticky enough. You have to be open to it or it’s always going to be what it’s always been, Mr. Smith.” She dumped in the last shot and brought the drink over.
“Three shots, straight.” She had the grace to wait until he started drinking to bring up the next subject, “Speaking of sticky, that girl over in Analysis left a note that she wants to see you.”
Smith almost spit the espresso out and ended up coughing. Nora calmly handed him two napkins.
“Nora! Not nice!”
She winked at him, “Depends on the perspective, my friend. I told her I’d send you her way when you got in.”
Smith took the hint and started toward the lab, one floor down. Once there, he paused at the door. There were two figures inside, a man and a woman—both scientists, each with doctorates in multiple fields. The man was as socially awkward as it gets, and the woman…steady, persistently consistent, easy to work with, and…pretty. Smith wondered why he hadn’t thought that before. Perhaps because she was likely ten years younger than he was? Smith shook his head and went into the lab.
Dr. Anna—not her real last name, but the code name given to her by the agency—came over as soon as she saw him come in. “Smith, we found something that seems out of order and we think you should take a look at it.” She handed him a folder.
Smith opened the folder and read the summary on th
e top of the first page, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper as he read. “You’re sure of this?” he asked.
She nodded at him, the nod one gives to their superior. He shoved whatever notions Nora had put into his head as far away as he could.
“Yes, sir.” she said. “I know it looks like a stretch, but Liszt and I have been over it and over it. I’m confident in the results.”
Smith agreed. She was always spot on. “All right, be ready in the conference room in one hour. We’ll present to the team then.”
Preparations
Smith took the folder and went upstairs to the top floor of the Agency, sub-basement level 1. Once there, he went to the large office in the far corner, the director’s office. Director. Smith still had a hard time calling him that.
The director’s name was Wall, and as with many names in the agency, there was an element of description in the name. The man was built like a tank: tall, wide and solid. He had a face to match, with a square jawline and flat nose to go with two eyes that at times seemed to be able to see into a man’s very soul.
Once upon a time, Wall had been in Smith’s position when Smith was a junior agent. Smith had too many personal and professional experiences with Wall from those days to feel comfortable with his former senior agent’s position as director—even though he’d been in that position for the last two years. Smith was as likely to call his long-time mentor Agent Wall, or Wall, or at rare moments in a basement poker game...Joe.
Smith stopped outside Wall’s office, checking in with Wall’s assistant, Kiko, a woman altogether thorough and precise. “Good morning, Agent Smith,” she greeted him, “The director is expecting you, but is on a call. Would you please have a seat?”
Of course Wall was expecting him. The pair downstairs must have notified Wall of their findings too.
“Yes, Kiko. Thank you, I’ll wait in the hall.” The hallway outside was a bit of a memorial to the agency—the missions of yesteryear and the ones who were lost along the way. Smith often walked by so preoccupied that he didn’t see much. This was a good opportunity to relive the Utility Company’s history.
Utility Company (Book 1): Blink Page 2