Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2)

by Siegel, Alex

  "He can't just make up his own rules," Charley said in a subdued tone. "That would be chaos."

  "There are no hard rules in battle, just guidelines. It always comes down to a soldier's ability to judge right from wrong."

  "And sorcery springs from chaos," Andrew added. "Only normal people expect it to make sense. Tonya understands that."

  Charley looked back and forth between him and Tungsten.

  Her shoulders sagged. "I guess I'm losing this argument, but I'm not the one you have to convince. If you want a seam, you'll have to go through Webster."

  Andrew exhaled. She was right.

  No use putting it off, he thought.

  He grabbed his phone and dialed Webster's number.

  After two rings, Webster answered, "Yes?"

  "We need to talk to you," Andrew said. "Not in your office."

  "OK. Pick a spot. I'll find you by tracking your phone."

  Andrew looked down at his phone. It was easy to forget the BPI always knew where he was.

  "Bye." He hung up. "We need a good place for a very private conversation," he told Tungsten.

  * * *

  Andrew liked the United States National Arboretum. The balance of trees and grass was just right for walking and looking. It had miles of trails and covered an enormous amount of land. He wanted to come back in the summer and have a picnic.

  Tungsten was leading the way. It was getting dark, but the poor visibility didn't seem to bother him. Andrew and Charley stayed close together as they followed him along a dirt path bordered by bricks. They came to a rose garden, but the plants had no flowers in the winter.

  "This is a good spot," Tungsten said.

  Andrew didn't see any reason why the rose garden was special, but he refrained from comment.

  He looked over at Charley, and the shadows on her face made her beauty appear dark and mysterious. He lightly kissed her on the lips. She gave his hand a friendly squeeze.

  "Do you have a girlfriend?" Charley asked Tungsten. "You don't have to answer if you don't want."

  "Not at the present time," he said.

  "Why not? Seems like a lot of women would be attracted to a man with your body."

  Andrew gave Charley a curious look. Are you one of those women?

  "Thanks," Tungsten said, "but my lifestyle isn't conducive to long-term relationships. I'm always travelling and working."

  "Do you have plans for after we finish this mission?" she said. "Maybe you can settle down."

  "That's unlikely. My skills are in great demand."

  "You could stay with the BPI."

  "We'll see," Tungsten said. "Depends on how this mission ends."

  Andrew heard the crunch of footsteps on dirt. Director Webster walked out of the gloom. He was wearing a blue winter parka over his regular business suit.

  "Interesting place to meet," he said.

  "There are no bugs," Tungsten said, "at least, none of the electronic kind."

  "Why am I here?"

  "The investigation is taking us to Las Vegas," Andrew said. "I want a portable seam."

  Webster raised his eyebrows. "A very bold request."

  "I'm done fooling around. I'm a sorcerer. If I can't use my abilities to their full extent, somebody else can do this job."

  Webster rubbed his own neck and had a contemplative expression.

  "I think the request is reasonable, sir," Tungsten said.

  "In your expert opinion?" Webster said. "Would you like to weigh in, Charley?"

  Charley shook her head. "I think it's a bad idea. We can find Blake without taking dangerous, illegal shortcuts."

  "I'm not so sure. The Senate Committee on Armed Services meets again tomorrow morning, and I'm anticipating an ugly session. Protestors are blockading the gates of Mumford Base. The media circus is getting worse by the hour. The Vault will be moved very soon whether we like it or not."

  "You can build a new Vault that fast?" Andrew said.

  "We'll create temporary accommodations until a new facility is ready, not that it's any of your business." Webster looked at Charley. "If a dangerous, illegal shortcut can end the chaos, I'll do it."

  She frowned.

  "So I'll get the seam?" Andrew said.

  Webster made a growling noise. "The idea of putting that much power in the hands of a teenager makes me nauseous."

  "I'm a responsible adult."

  Webster rolled his eyes.

  Nobody spoke for a minute. Even though the Arboretum was located in Washington, DC, Andrew heard no city sounds. The cold had quieted the insects, and the silence was profound. It was getting darker.

  "I don't have much choice," Webster said, "but just to be safe, you'll have supervision. Tonya will be with you."

  "But she has to guard the Theosophical Seam," Andrew said.

  "This is more important. She will meet you in Las Vegas, and you'll receive the seam there."

  "If she works with us, we'll have to tell her everything."

  Webster shrugged. "When you're in it up to your eyeballs, another inch deeper doesn't make much difference. I have to go. Give me a ten minute head-start before you follow." He walked off.

  "That's good news," Charley said cheerfully. "We'll be with Tonya again."

  "I don't know," Andrew said with less enthusiasm. "It feels a little like having my mother as a chaperone on a date. This is supposed to be our mission."

  "She can only help us, and we need help."

  He sighed and nodded. That was certainly true.

  * * *

  Blake looked out the window of his Humvee at the protestors in front of Mumford Army Base. They were a motley group. Blown dust mixed with sweat coated their skin. T-shirts and shorts were the most common clothing, but he also saw jeans and cowboy boots. Tie-dye was popular. The protestors had created temporary encampments on the sand on either side of the road.

  Blake smiled at some of the protest signs. The sayings included, "Biological Murder Weapons!" "Abolish Nukes," and "RIP the World." One man wearing a gray mask carried a sign which read, "Save Our Aliens!" A woman whose breasts were bouncing freely in the breeze had a sign, "I'm from the Future. Stop This Now." An old man off to the side was protesting safety belts in cars.

  Blake had tapped into a rich vein of fear in the population, but that wasn't a great accomplishment. Ordinary people were easy to scare. They knew they were mere fly specks which could be wiped out at any time.

  Two of Blake's bodyguards were in the front seat of the Humvee. They were wearing the combat uniforms of Army sergeants in desert camouflage. Blake had a formal green captain's uniform instead. Shiny buttons, polished insignia, and even a few colorful ribbons decorated his clothes.

  The driver honked the horn and gunned the engine aggressively to move the protestors out of the way. He had to weave around the more stubborn ones. Eventually, the Humvee reached the front gate of the base.

  A guard came forward, and the driver showed him some paperwork. The papers were forged, of course. The guard just glanced at them and then waved the Humvee through. He was more interested in the protestors.

  Blake kept his eyes forward and showed no emotion on his face.

  Mumford Army Base covered an enormous amount of land, but most of it was uninhabited. Clusters of buildings formed outposts in the vast wasteland. One such cluster was near the gate, and looking at it made Blake glad he didn't live there. The structures lacked even the slightest architectural flair. They were just green boxes made of sheet metal or adobe. Narrow streets formed an obsessively regular grid. Stretches of sterile sand covered the unused spaces, and Blake didn't see a single plant.

  Blake wondered what Phillip was doing. He couldn't bring the boy along without arousing suspicion, so Phillip had stayed in the hotel. Blake actually missed him, and that was a strange feeling.

  The driver navigated the Humvee to a housing section. Rows of identical, tiny homes had mere slivers of space in between. They were meant for junior officers without families
. Blake guessed each house had just one bedroom.

  "I can handle this alone," Blake said.

  He got out of the car, and the air was warm, dry, and pleasant. His nose itched from inhaling dust.

  He hurried over to the house and knocked. According to his intelligence, Lieutenant Doken had just come off duty and should be home. Blake knocked again impatiently.

  A woman in a yellow-green uniform answered the door. Her pudgy face and generous rump weren't suitable for a soldier, but she was a technical specialist, not a fighter.

  "Captain?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "What can I do for you?"

  "Before I tell you, I need to confirm something," Blake said. "You're Lieutenant Henrietta Doken, and you're in charge of the Radio Spectrum Branch, right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good." Blake smiled. "And you never visit the Physical Containment Facility?"

  "No, sir. It's completely off-limits."

  "As it should be. I have a special assignment for you. Mind if I come in?"

  "Be my guest, sir." Doken stepped aside.

  He walked in and looked around the cramped front room. There was a couch, a chair, and a television, all cheaply made.

  The Russian Eye was in a pouch around Blake's neck. He tapped into the power of the seam and said, "In a day or two, you're going to transmit a special message. The tricky part will be making it seem authentic, but I'm sure a woman of your skill will manage. The message must use all the right secret codes. If you need help from anybody else, just let me know. Here is what I want the message to say...."

  * * *

  Andrew walked out of the Las Vegas Airport and blinked in bright morning sunlight. He had taken the first flight out of Washington, DC after not getting nearly enough sleep. His brain wasn't hitting on all cylinders.

  He, Charley, and Tungsten were dragging their suitcases. Charley was shuffling her feet like a zombie, but Tungsten had a light, quick step and an alert expression. Andrew wondered if the soldier had received special training in functioning with little sleep.

  The warm, dry air was a pleasant change from the cold damp of Washington. A pale blue sky didn't have a single cloud. It seemed the middle of winter was a perfect time to visit Las Vegas.

  A car horn got Andrew's attention.

  "Need a ride?" a woman called.

  He looked over at Tonya. Even though she had also rushed to Las Vegas on short notice, she looked good. Her blonde hair was brushed and trimmed. Blue eyes gleamed mischievously. She was wearing a black shirt and checkerboard pants which fit her body snugly.

  Andrew, Charley, and Tungsten walked over to the car, a sporty red sedan with a retractable roof. Tungsten took over as driver, and Tonya rode shotgun. The apprentices sat in back and held hands.

  As Tungsten drove away, he said, "Where are we going?"

  "I don't know," Tonya said. "My instructions ended at picking you up at the airport. Nobody even told me why I had to meet you here."

  "Then we're going to breakfast. I'm starving, and I need a huge cup of coffee."

  Tonya used a navigation system in the car to find the nearest restaurant.

  "So," she said, "is somebody going to tell me what's going on?"

  "Did you see the news reports about Montaña de la Serpiente?" Charley said.

  "Of course. Biological weapons, aliens, or a time travel machine. Take your pick."

  "It's actually the Vault. Blake is spreading the rumors."

  Tonya frowned. "That unfortunately makes sense. The publicity will compromise the security and force the BPI to do something rash."

  "They're going to move the Vault within a few days."

  "And Blake will attack at a moment of maximum vulnerability."

  "You got it," Charley said.

  Tonya rubbed her temples. "How did he find the location to begin with?"

  "The armored truck which came to the compound where we found Phillip."

  She closed her eyes. The muscles in her jaw twitched.

  "He fooled everybody," Charley said timidly.

  "I'm supposed to be smarter than that," Tonya replied in a low voice. "I'm a high and mighty member of the Tribunal. I sit in judgment over my peers. This was his plan from the beginning, and I played along like a perfect fool. I was absolutely convinced revenge was his only motive. I didn't give the master magician nearly enough credit. Now it's almost too late to stop him. If he gets his hands on the contents of the Vault, the world will be in deep trouble."

  "It's not hopeless," Andrew said. "We followed the rumor trail to here. If we keep going, it might lead us to Blake. To make the job easier, Webster agreed to let us use a seam."

  "What?" She twisted her head around to stare at him. "Are you joking?"

  "No. He's desperate."

  "He must be." Tonya exhaled. "That would certainly explain why I'm here. I wouldn't trust you with a portable seam either."

  "I can handle it," he declared.

  "No matter how skilled you are, you're still a teenager. A portable seam is a very powerful, dangerous tool. It takes a lot of maturity to use one responsibly."

  Andrew decided to close his mouth and not argue.

  The car arrived at a restaurant called the Grizzly Bear Diner. It was a green stucco building with Spanish tile trim in a shopping center. Andrew's stomach growled in anticipation of a late and much needed breakfast.

  Everybody got out of the car and went into the restaurant. The place was ordinary enough except for murals on the walls. Giant paintings portrayed bears in natural environments such as streams, hills, and mountains.

  The group sat at a table. A waitress came by, handed out menus, and left.

  "How did you decide to come to Las Vegas?" Tonya said.

  Charley quickly summarized the state of the investigation. Andrew produced the sheet of credit card charges and gave it to Tonya.

  She studied the list. "We have a lot of places to visit. It could be a long day."

  The waitress returned, and they ordered their food. Andrew asked for a "Grizzly Bear Combo" which included three eggs, a chicken fried steak, hash browns, and a side of fruit salad. He tacked on a hot chocolate as a drink. Charley raised her eyebrows but didn't comment.

  "We should prioritize the list," Andrew said. "We want to visit the most interesting places first."

  Tungsten took the list from Tonya and studied it. "Mama Dona's has to be first."

  "What's that?"

  "A famous brothel and the kind of place where a hitman might talk too much."

  Andrew smiled. The idea of visiting a real brothel intrigued him, but he didn't want to say anything in front of Charley.

  "Sounds like a good idea," Tonya said, "and at this time of day, they won't be busy with customers. We'll need the seam first, of course."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Now that's a real truck stop, Andrew thought.

  The gas station occupied a big chunk of land at the edge of Las Vegas. One row of pumps was for cars, and a separate row served trucks. A building in the middle housed a shop and a restaurant. At least twenty tractor-trailers were parked in the spacious lot. Overweight men wearing baseball caps were walking around.

  Andrew hadn't come for gas or food. He sensed a seam nearby. The source of energy was tiny but potent enough to do the job.

  "There." He pointed. "In the back corner."

  Tungsten drove the car to a particular big rig which was isolated from the rest. It had no lettering on the dark green sides. Heavy bolts in the walls suggested they were made of armor plating.

  Two uniformed soldiers were sitting in the cab with the engine running and the windows rolled up. The soldiers had body armor and combat helmets. They looked at the approaching car with suspicious expressions.

  Tungsten parked near the back of the truck. He, Andrew, Charley, and Tonya stepped out into cool, dry air. Andrew was enjoying the perfectly pleasant weather in Nevada.

  The soldiers in the cab remained seated. The back door of the trailer opened
on its own, and he heard the whine of an electric motor. A staircase came down automatically. Andrew looked inside with great curiosity.

  Six heavily equipped soldiers were guarding a big safe. With their full face masks and advanced combat rifles, they looked like they had come from the future. The guns were pointed at the newcomers.

  "Calm down." Andrew raised his hands in surrender. "We're supposed to be here."

  One of the soldiers came forward. His uniform had the stripes of a sergeant.

  "Name," he grunted from behind his mask.

  "Andrew Kenworthy. My friends are Charley Lemay, Tonya Akin, and, uh, Tungsten."

  The soldier straightened. "Tungsten?"

  "That's me," Tungsten said.

  "The Tungsten?"

  "In the flesh. I'd love to shoot the breeze with you, but we have a job to do, sergeant."

  The soldiers had brought kits for taking fingerprints, retinal scans, and other forms of biometric identification. The readings were sent by radio to another location, presumably the Vault.

  The elaborate procedure amused Andrew with its pointlessness. He was already close enough to the seam to employ mind-control on the soldiers. Invisible energy pulsed out of the safe and filled the back of the truck.

  Finally, the checking and rechecking was done. The safe had two digital combination locks. One soldier typed in a passcode, and another soldier typed in a second. Working together, they turned the handles and opened the safe.

  An ordinary cardboard box was inside. Nobody else went forward, so Andrew took the initiative and grabbed the box.

  The soldiers backed away as much as possible within the confines of the trailer. Andrew forced himself to not smile at the dramatic reaction.

  He opened the lid of the box and discovered a stone statuette inside. It had arms, legs, breasts, and a bulbous belly.

  "It looks like an ancient fertility idol," Charley said.

  Andrew nodded and took the statuette out of the box. The dark black material had a polished surface with a few chips from rough handling. The seam was located where he would expect the heart to be.