He led me to another doorway that opened into a long, empty corridor save for a few doors on each side. "These are our offices. Some of these rooms," he pointed to a room on the left, "we use to have conferences with clients. Those are usually special customers looking to set up repeat business. We are willing to set up a sample session though as long as you can bring a group and schedule it in advance."
We continued down the hall until it veers off to the right. He stopped a few doors down, outside a door labeled 'General Manager.' He knocked three times before opening the door. Behind an ornate wooden desk with dragons carved into each of the legs, hiding behind an obscene twenty-eight inch monitor is a guy who can't be a day over twenty sporting a blue buttoned up shirt with a slight trace of a five o'clock shadow forming on his face.
"Pleasure to meet you," he said, stepping around his desk to shake my hand. "Not often someone gets to take a personal tour. Zack usually has these things booked months in advance."
"Last minute arrival," Zack said, the man behind the counter nodding.
"Have we met?" I asked, trying to picture where I remember him from. "You look familiar."
He took a few steps back, tilting his head slightly to the left to get a better look. "Can't say I have," he said, scratching his chin.
Zack stepped out from behind me. "I'm sorry. I forgot to introduce you. Robert, meet Brad Tucker. The man behind the operation."
A smile formed at the corner of my lips when I looked him over.
So we finally meet.
- 18 -
"Probably just a coincidence," I said. "Not like I bumped into you at the hospital the other day or anything."
Brad took a few steps back, moving behind the desk. "Why are you here?"
"Looking for you," I said, ripping off my name tag. "Zack, you may want to get out of here. Things are about to get really ugly."
Zack wasted no time taking me up on my offer, slamming the door on his way out. I motioned Brad to sit while I took a seat on the other side of his desk. "I better do this." I bent over, unplugging his surge protector from the wall outlet. It may have been a jerk move, but I couldn't risk him finding a way to use it against me.
"Do you get off on killing people in car accidents?" I asked.
"I don't know what you mean."
I drew in some essence, lighting a stray post-it note on fire in the process. "I know what you are. Just because you decided against registering with the council doesn't mean we don't know where to find you." The council would be ticked with me if they knew I was acting like a representative, but I didn't care. When he killed Trevor, he crossed the line. I'd kill him now if I knew I could get away with it, but I figured it would be better to play by their rules until he made the first move.
He looked down at the flaming post-it note, sweat forming on his brow. "What council are you talking about? The only council I'm a member of is the International Union of Cannabis Growers."
"So you don't have any interest with Boulder Investments?"
"Not anymore," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Why would I stay with a company that turned me into the feds for having a large ROI. They should have been happy to have my account. It was great publicity."
"Manipulating code is hardly legal," I said. "If that's how your skill works."
He smiled. "Something like that." He opened the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a yellow legal pad and setting it in front of him. "So tell me, are you a cop?"
"Nope," I shook my head. "I just have a vested interest in taking you down."
"That's a shame. I enjoyed killing the last one."
I stood up, slamming my fists on the edge of his desk knocking over his monitor and shattering a picture he had in the corner. "That cop was my friend." I shoved the monitor off the desk, the screen shattering when it hit the floor. "I'm personally going to make sure you answer for that."
"Who am I going to answer to," he said, laughing. "You?"
I felt my face turning red as I balled my hand into a fist. I let out a yell as I put my weight behind a vicious right hook. My knuckles cracked as they hit an invisible barrier inches in front of him. I pulled back my sore hand and noticed a blue imprint of my fist hovering in the air in front of him.
"Did you think only normal wizards could create shields?" he said, pointing to his glasses, specifically the camera attachment on the left side. "Sometimes it pays to get on the beta testing lists. These glasses have been handy a few times now."
As he lifted his glasses, I noticed a spark forming in his eyes. A smile reached his lips when the first of the creatures jumped on the desk, a bug-like robot about the size of a hockey puck. It had six legs, three on each side of its elongated body with a small spherical head with glowing red eyes on the front.
"Nanobots," he said. "I wish they invented these things years ago." He took a few steps back into the corner of the room as more of the bug-like robots flooded the table. The creatures sparked wildly as they crawl over the table, right to me. My only defense was to back myself into the corner, not far from the door, to reduce the amount that can attack me at once.
"Feed, my pets," he said, laughing.
The first of the bots jumped off the desk and skittered towards me. I stepped on it before it could jump on me, but the rest of the pack was on top of me before I could take out any more. As they crawled up my legs, they sent small electrical shocks in my body, making it difficult to shake them off.
Or draw in essence.
The door opened to my left, a muscular man wearing a sleeveless white shirt and a pair of tattered blue jeans entered the room. He had a long brown beard that covered a third of his chest, a direct contradiction to his clean shaven head. He laughed at me when he noticed my feeble attempts to keep the creatures from doing any more damage.
"If you don't mind, my associate here will have to finish our conversation. I have more important business to attend to," Brad said, walking to the door.
I tried to land another punch as he passed by, only for my fist to be grabbed mid-swing by the thug in front of me.
"Next time we meet, I'm going to kill you," I said, wincing in pain from the goon's grip.
"Then I better make sure we don't meet again." He walked out the door, stopping once he's outside. "Take your time with this one." He took a few more steps before turning around again. "Throw his body in the compost pile when you are done. Hate to waste perfectly good fertilizer."
"This is going to be fun," the thug said as he pushed me against the wall, the force of the blow sending most of the nanobots crashing onto the floor. I could almost thank him for that if it wasn't for the knot I felt forming on the back of my head.
"For me," I said, feeling the flow of essence into my body that triggers a mild headache. I tried not to get too upset at still having my sickness, but even under-powered, I should have more than enough to handle this guy.
I smile when I notice him rearing back for a punch. I immediately shifted my resources into creating a shield in the palm of my hand. Pinpointing a shield like that takes a lot of practice, but it also limits the amount of essence it requires to create it. Just the type of efficiency I needed right now.
Three cracks filled the air when his fist hits the shield in my hand. Safe from the blow, I grabbed his fist and started crushing it as I enhanced my strength. As I clutch his hand, I hear more of the bones crack, followed by him dropping to his knees, wincing in pain.
"Sometimes it pays to know a little more about the people you punch," I said, delivering a front kick into his chest, sending him crashing through the desk behind him. Part of me wanted to wait for a response, but I doubted he would find any suitable words while slumping motionless against the wall.
Once the thug was down, I focused my attention on the surrounding nanobots, creating a protective ring of fire around me. It wouldn't stop them from getting to me, but it would buy me more time.
As the first of the bots crackles and pops after passing through the fire,
I created a shield, focusing it on the lower half of my body. I figured they couldn't climb up my legs if I had the shield going, and they couldn't climb it either. Unless they learned to fly, I was in good shape.
It didn't take long for the bugs to break through my defenses, using the melted bodies of the first few nanobots as a bridge . I step back to the edge of the flame circle next to the wall, allowing more of the bots to enter the ring. When I'm sure most of them are through, I set up my final trick, drawing the ring of fire in to the edge of my shield.
The robots crackled as their bodies melted, forcing me to cover my nose to avoid breathing in the smell of melted plastic. When the noise finally stopped, I released all of my spells and admired the pool of molten plastic at my feet.
"Not so tough now," I said, laughing nervously. Now that the room was clear, I darted out of the room after Brad.
I made it down another corridor before wishing I kept Zack around to finish the tour, not that I had any interest in pot. Call it a hunch, but I doubted he was going to take the same path out as I had to take in. After two quick turns, I came up on a locked door that said 'Authorized Personnel Only.'
For most people alive today, lock-picking is an art that doesn't get nearly enough use. Even after hundreds of years, the technology hasn't changed with your standard door lock, though electronic and magnetic locks are slowly starting to get more use in general industry. Thankfully, this is one skill that I picked up as a teenager. In my line of work, there are plenty of times when I needed to be able to gather intelligence on my own.
Sometimes intelligence gathering is as simple as calling up Stacy and letting her do her magic, but there are plenty of times when the information I need can only be found in person. Not every piece of evidence can be found on the Internet, no matter how hard you try.
For situations like this, I kept a full lock-picking set in my bag. It is the full kit that has all the tools you need to break into anything short of magnetic or electronic locks with a bit of patience. Unfortunately, the bag is in my car, which limited my options. Luckily, this was just your standard garden-variety door lock, so it didn't require any specialty tools. Just a pair of picks, which I always carried on me as well as a few spares, just in case one breaks. You never know when you're going to come up on a stiff tumbler.
With my skill, the lock took me about three minutes to open. I could have done it in nearly half the time, but this was one of those times I didn't want to break a pick, or waste time. Every second I spent in here was another second he had to get away.
The door opened into a room with a large oval table in the middle. Chairs are sitting around the table at regular intervals with a gap on one of the sides where a large white board hangs on the wall. I stopped for a moment to investigate the board when I noticed a fair amount of scribbles written using a black marker.
Denver Amtrack Station - Friday 7 PM departure. Be there, ready to go, no later than 5.
I smiled at the seemingly small victory. Bradley may be long gone, but he left me a rather large breadcrumb to follow. With the information in hand, I wiped off the board, hoping they wouldn't figure out that someone else knew their secret.
The trip back through the plant was much quicker than getting in here, without the stops and the constant barrage of questions. I stopped briefly at the entrance, stopping only to give Zack one of my cards.
"What's this for?" he asked, tilting his head.
"The tour," I said. "And your help."
"Leading you to my boss?" he said, looking down at his feet.
I nodded. "He is one of the bad ones, Zack. I'm here to bring him down, but I hate to see you suffer because of it. If something happens to your job here, give me a call. I can make sure you get a solid referral."
"It's not easy to find a normal job when you love all this," he said, opening his arms wide.
"My friends can probably help with that too," I smiled, before walking out the door.
- 19 -
"You let him get away?" Stacy asked angrily.
I knew she wouldn't be happy with me for that, but it wasn't like I had another choice. If there was something I could have done to change it, I would've been all over it.
"I didn't exactly let him go," I said. "He escaped."
"I thought you were a powerful wizard. How did the great Raymond Gilmore get overpowered by a guy who can only control cars and computers?"
"Found out the hard way he can do a lot more than that," I said, lifting the cover from my room service. It wasn't anything spectacular to look at, but the turkey club with a side of waffle fries still made my mouth water by looking at it. "I have the bruise to prove it." It covered the first three knuckles on my right hand, protruding slightly on the top of my hand. I hadn't seen the shield coming. Today, I learned I have a lot to learn about technomancers if I hope to take down Brad. If just so happens I know someone who knows them pretty well.
"I need you to look up a number for me," I said, scarfing a fry.
"Shoot."
"Max Harper. It should be in my personal file."
"That the guy you've been telling me about?"
"Yep. The one and only."
Max was a legend in the wizard community. In his life, he's taken down nearly three dozen dark wizards on his own. When you consider they don't come around that often, you can imagine how impressive that feat is.
"I'll text to you once I find it," she said. "Do you need anything else, or can I go back to acting like I'm busy answering the phones that never ring all day?"
"There is one more thing," I said. "I need you to find me a reason for Brad to be traveling by train on Friday."
"Why would he travel by train?" she asked. "Wouldn't a plane be quicker?"
"Maybe he has a fear of heights."
"Good point."
"I'll research it myself, but make sure you stay close to your phone. I may need you to buy me a ticket." If money wasn't a problem, I would just get the ticket. It would be a lot cheaper to get it a few days in advance instead of the day of the trip, not to mention guarantee me a spot. There is the off chance that the trip is nothing, perhaps another company booked the room and they are the ones traveling on Friday. Doesn't make a lot of sense to buy the ticket now when I'm not even sure he will be on the train.
"Got it," she said. "I'll send your text in the next few minutes."
My mind instantly tried to make the connection between all the information I had. If it wasn't all linked to Bradley Tucker already, I wasn't so sure there would be a link.
What little train of thought I had was immediately broken when Stacy's text finally came through. Not that there was much of a train to begin with.
It's been a few years since I last talked to Max though it feels five times longer. Not only is he a living legend, he's also my mentor and master. There is one last title that he holds though he has never once asked me to say it. For the last twenty years, he has been like a father.
Not of the paternal variety. I doubt my mother would have put up with his ego for more than a few days. Lord knows she gave my actual father hell when the two of them were still alive. He never formally filed the papers to adopt me, but it never stopped me from appreciating what he did.
Shortly after I learned my parents died in a car accident, I learned I had the spark. For some reason that single event woke up something special inside of me. It would have gone unnoticed if it wasn't for Charles Williams, the sole reason I hated middle school. Right after I moved in with my aunt, he decided it was my turn to take the beatings. I still remember the feel of the vicious right hook he hit me with as I opened my locker before gym class. Little did he know, it would be the last. To this day, I couldn't tell you exactly what I did, but I remember the smell after he soiled himself.
He didn't bully anyone ever again.
Me, on the other hand, got suspended for a week, which made my aunt furious. So when a man came to the door, claiming to be my uncle, she was quick to pawn me off. She wa
sn't a fan of kids, so I was all for the move if just to get away. He spent the next few years teaching me how to control my new abilities after school. If there was something he was strict about, it was about me getting my education. He said there were enough dumb wizards around without him adding to the pool.
After snubbing him for the last two years, I hoped he was willing to help me out. It wasn't ever anything personal, but he always seemed to call when I actually had a client and was busy working. I stopped answering the calls about the same time I got tired of coming up with new excuses.
I summoned all the courage I had left in my body and dialed the number. The phone rang three times, making me even more nervous. Then, I got a surprise.
"This is Max," he said. After all these years, you couldn't mistake that voice. It was a reasonably deep voice, with a distinct Canadian twinge. That probably had as much to do with his love of Minnesota as anything else.
"Max, it's Ray," I said, forcing the words out. "I need a favor."
"Oh, look who comes crying for help when he needs it, but can't be bothered to answer the phone when I do."
"I was on a case. I can't cut and run on a client like that. Business is hard enough without that."
"Bad business is adopting a baby wizard who can't be bothered to call and say hi every now and again," he said. "After all these years, you are still sore about the duel, aren't you?"
Truth be told, I was. He talked me into joining a wizard fighting ring not long after I graduated. The ring was something like Fight Club, but for wizards. There weren't any rules, per se, but there was a code of conduct we were expected to follow, and Isaac Milton, clearly broke it. "Isaac cheated. When has time travel ever been allowed?"
Max laughed. "Time travel? You still sore you've never been able to teleport."
He had me there too. That was one of the better spells in some wizard's arsenals. Not so much for offense though there were some who were clearly great at using it for that. But it really shined when you needed to get out of a nasty spot.
Sparked: The Nephalem Files (Book 1) Page 11