America Offline (Book 1): America Offline [Zero Day]

by Weber, William H.

  “Cop’s intuition, man,” Sanchez bellowed. “It’s a real thing. No one believes you when you tell them, but it is.”

  Nate went on to describe precisely how things had gone down the night before.

  “A wolf?” Sanchez said, his gaze focused on a point somewhere over Nate’s shoulder. “It look anything like that?”

  Over near the street, Shadow stood, staring back at them. There was blood on the top of his head, like he’d been struck with a weapon of some sort.

  “You two know each other?”

  Nate frowned. “You could say that. Although I’m not entirely sure we’re on speaking terms.”

  Sanchez didn’t know what that meant, and Nate wasn’t interested in filling him in on the backstory.

  “Who’d you come here to see?” Nate asked, referring to the endless line.

  “A cousin of mine tried to leave town and got stuck in his car overnight. Had to walk back on foot. Hands and feet were all frostbitten. The doofus didn’t have the sense to bring mittens and proper boots in the off chance that his master plan flew off the rails. Anyway, I promised my aunt I’d check up on him.”

  “I could really use your help,” Nate said, hating to call in the favor under these insane circumstances, but feeling like he had no other choice. “When I first found this girl, she was locked in a cage.”

  Sanchez’s chin dropped, his mouth hinging open. “These guys wanted her awfully bad. Any idea why?”

  “Can’t say for sure,” Nate replied, his mind recoiling from a host of sick and demented possibilities. While the ticking clock marking their escape from the exclusion zone had recently ended, he now realized another clock had suddenly taken its place. This one was much shorter and far more forbidding. Letting that particular timer run out guaranteed a terrible fate for his young traveling companion.

  But Nate’s motivation wasn’t merely fueled by the simple fact that it was the right thing to do. Back on the trail he had inadvertently made Dakota a promise. If anything happened, he would come find her. And if there was one thing Nate tried never to break, it was his word.

  Sanchez drew Nate’s attention. “I think I know someone who might be able to help.”

  Chapter 35

  Sanchez led them about five blocks from the hospital to meet one of his old contacts. It was rude to ride next to someone without a horse and so Nate had opted to lead Wayne on foot.

  They were headed down a street with houses on each side when Sanchez glanced over his shoulder. “Your dog’s still following us.”

  “Wolf,” Nate amended. “And he isn’t mine.” Handing the reins to Sanchez, Nate pulled to a stop. He lowered himself onto one knee and held out a hand. Hesitantly, Shadow approached close enough for Nate to see someone had struck the animal’s head with a club or a telescoping baton. It stood to reason that after trying to intervene, the wolf had been whacked in the skull for its efforts. But animals didn’t normally show pain, not easily. The wolf’s amber eyes stared back at him intently.

  “Got any food on you?” Nate asked Sanchez.

  Sanchez reached into his pocket and then put something in Nate’s hand.

  “A granola bar?”

  Sanchez shrugged. “Hey, man, that’s all I got.”

  Nate tore away the wrapper and held it out. Much to his surprise, the wolf came closer still, took the food from his hand, chewed it briefly and then let it fall to the ground uneaten.

  Sanchez let out one of his famous cackles, spooking the wolf. Shadow backed off a few feet. “He’s no vegan,” Sanchez observed. “I’ll give him that.”

  “You know, last night he wouldn’t come near me without growling,” Nate said, marveling at the sudden change.

  “He wants something from you, man,” Sanchez explained, matter-of-factly. “Can’t you see that?”

  “It’s an animal. Most of the time, all they want is food.”

  Sanchez handed the reins back and ran his hand down Wayne’s powerful neck. “I had the same problem with our miniature Schnauzer, Fonzie. Then one day Suzie brings home another named Chachi and wouldn’t you know, Fonzie was suddenly my best friend.”

  Someone there is obviously a fan of Happy Days.

  They continued walking while Nate pondered Sanchez’s story. “So you’re saying your dog was jealous?”

  “I suppose that’s one way to put it. Another was that he realized he suddenly had some competition. Up until then, the Fonz and Suzie outnumbered me. Don’t ask me how, but the little guy realized the only way to avoid an all-out turf war was to get me on his side.”

  Nate grinned. “I think you put way too much thought into this.”

  “Spoken like a man who’s never owned a dog.”

  “Amy’s allergic,” Nate shot back defensively.

  “Laugh all you want, man,” Sanchez derided him, throwing up his hands and spooking the horse, who flared his eyes and bobbed his head. “But I’m telling you. These things are smarter than we give them credit for.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sanchez halted and poked a finger into the puffy part of Nate’s jacket. “That’s what you don’t get, man. You’re part of his pack. Like it or not, you guys are family now.”

  Nate glanced back and noticed Shadow trailing a dozen paces behind, observing them with bright, almost human eyes. Difficult as it was to admit, maybe Sanchez was on to something.

  They reached the house a few minutes later and Nate could see it was not what he had pictured in his head. The guy supposedly dealt weed and party drugs like ecstasy, nexus and poppers—precisely the sort of things kids ought to stay away from, but which seemed to draw them in anyway. Maybe because of this, a part of him had expected to find a dilapidated house in desperate need of a paint job. Out front would be a rotting deck, jammed with torn-up car seats or maybe a full-blown sofa. Instead, they had arrived at a three-story, old-school colonial with tall white columns. The place looked like something out of Gone with the Wind or maybe Django Unchained. Nate wouldn’t be certain which movie applied best until they got inside. This guy seemed like more of a crime lord than a savior.

  “You think this guy will be able to help us?” Nate asked, still not entirely sure why Sanchez thought this little pit stop was such a good idea.

  “If anyone’s got the pulse of this city it’s Five-to-Ten.” The door knocker was a rather delicate part of the male anatomy, two parts actually. Sanchez grabbed hold and slammed the door with it three times.

  “Your old informant’s got some interesting taste,” Nate said. “But why’s he call himself Five-to-Ten?”

  “That’s simple. It’s the sentence range for drug possession with intent to distribute. But these days he goes by Five.”

  The door swung open to a burly black man wearing wide-rimmed sunglasses and a tanned suit. Nate watched as his gaze flit between the two men before passing behind them to Wayne. “What can we do for you gentlemen?”

  “Big D, we’re here to see Five,” Sanchez said. “Official business.”

  “Tie your horse up outside,” the bodyguard instructed him. “And wipe your shoes before entering.”

  Nate hesitated.

  Seeming to read his mind, Big D flashed a set of impossibly white teeth. “Don’t worry, friend. Ain’t no one gonna steal that horse of yours. Not here.”

  Sanchez nodded and Nate did as he said, tying the horse to one of the white pillars. Not far away, Shadow stood in a depression of snow, staring back. “I’ll try to bring you something,” Nate told the wolf. In response, Shadow tilted his head and whined.

  Once inside, a grand entrance was illuminated by dozens of candles. Dotting the foyer were pieces of antique furniture. Beyond that, a black and white marble floor led to a wide, circular staircase.

  Big D led them up to the master bedroom. He opened both doors at once, like a page announcing a visitor for some European monarch.

  Inside were more candles and lots of red velvet, more proof that getting rich selling dope didn’t d
o a thing for one’s sense of interior design.

  A small, skinny guy sprang to his feet. He had long, stringy blond hair and a thick Brooklyn accent. He was also decked out in a double-knit sweater and baggy jeans. His heavy gold jewelry clanged whenever he moved. He waved for the bodyguard to close the doors and leave them.

  “Sanchez, to what do I owe this pleasure?” the diminutive man said, a wry grin splitting his narrow features. The two shook hands. Turning to Nate, their host aimed a finger at him. “The hell’s this? Guy looks like a Fed.”

  “He’s not FBI or DEA,” Sanchez assured him. “You aren’t, are you?”

  “Not the last time I checked,” Nate admitted, still trying to get his bearings in this strange new world they had just entered.

  Five scanned him up and down. “If you’re vouching for him, Sanchez, that’s good enough for me.” Five stood there, nodding, then said. “Hey, where are my manners? Either of you guys want something to drink?” Five snapped his fingers and a scantily clad woman appeared out of nowhere. She crossed over to a nearby closet door and opened it to reveal a fully stocked bar.

  “That’s handy,” Nate said.

  Sanchez took a moment to pick his jaw up off the ground. “Your bartender’s not half bad either.”

  Five snickered, his slight frame gyrating. “What’ll it be then?”

  “Oh, nothing for m―” Nate started to say before he felt a nudge from Sanchez. “Nothing light for me, is what I meant. Got any whiskey? Ten years or older would do nicely right about now.”

  Five nodded, impressed. He turned to Sanchez. “And you? Hot cocoa?”

  Sanchez grimaced. “I’m off cocoa. How about a vodka tonic?”

  “A mixed drink,” Five said, arching one eyebrow. “How PC of you.”

  The half-naked woman brought them their drinks and then disappeared into the other room. They cheersed one another before settling into a plush semi-circular couch. “So, gentlemen, how can I help you today?”

  Sanchez leaned over, scanning each of the doors to be sure the girl and Big D were gone. When he was certain he said: “Okay, let’s cut the crap, shall we?”

  Five straightened. “What are you―”

  “Five’s no drug lord,” Sanchez interrupted, his voice low and filled with disdain. “He isn’t really an informant either. He’s more like―”

  “A mole,” Five said, completing the thought.

  “A cop, if you want to be technical about it,” Sanchez added. “But not as far as the bodyguard and the girl are concerned.”

  Nate shook his head and slapped the meat of his thigh, feeling like a man emerging from a wild dream. “You’re undercover?”

  Five sipped at his whiskey. “Deep. Make that real deep. Have been for years. When the lights went out, I could very well have called the whole thing off and headed home. And I might have if I had anyone there waiting for me.”

  The personal life of an undercover cop could often be summed up in two words. Divorced and alone.

  Five went on, his thick Brooklyn accent already fading. “I suppose power of any kind is hard to walk away from, even when it isn’t real.”

  Nate nodded, recalling the half-naked woman who had served them drinks. As foreign as Five’s argument was, he could still see the allure of holding on through all of the present uncertainty.

  “Besides,” Five said, “over the last few days, Rockford’s police force has pretty much vanished.”

  “Most of the young guys just went home, man,” Sanchez explained, the distaste in his voice thick and unforgiving. “Said they were going to protect their families. But all they really did was leave the old-timers to bear the brunt. By day three, the nuke plants nearby were in full meltdown and the refugees from Byron and the surrounding towns started showing up in droves. Well, you can imagine how that went around here. Cops couldn’t really use their cars to patrol on account of the snow. Sure, the SWAT team’s got a single APC, but that beauty guzzles more booze than my mother-in-law.”

  “So why isn’t there more chaos?” Nate asked, although part of him suspected he already knew the answer.

  Five took this one. “If you think it’s mainly because of this crazy weather, you’re wrong.”

  “Those two brutes acting like doormen at the hospital,” Sanchez said. “They weren’t cops or even hired security. They’re Jakes’ guys.”

  “Jakes?” Nate said, recalling Dakota using the name, although he hadn’t made the full connection. “You mean the former hitman?”

  Sanchez and Five both nodded in unison.

  Oh, crap, was all Nate had time to think. The guy was a verifiable psycho.

  Jakes had worked for a big Chicago mobster and developed a reputation for cruelty and ruthlessness. Two years ago he’d been sent west to take back Rockford from the Russians and the Chinese. Systematically, he’d dismantled the rival gangs, not only through murder—of which there was plenty—but by infiltrating the local government. It was a trick Jakes had picked up from the Mexican cartels. Why bother fighting the government when you can become the government? Stuffing corrupt officials into City Hall and the police department, Jakes had all but assured his rivals would be picked off and sent to jail one by one.

  How did Nate know all this? It was impossible to work the seedier parts of Rockford as a PI without coming face to face with Jakes’ handiwork. If organized crime was Al-Qaeda, then Jakes was ISIS.

  “Jakes ain’t a hitman no more,” Five told him, his eyes alight with fear or excitement, or maybe a bit of both. “He’s moved up in the world. Graduated from low-level lieutenant to puppetmaster and now to local warlord. Since the lights have gone out, nothing happens in this city without his knowledge or approval.”

  Nate leaned back in his chair, the stark reality of their predicament slowly sinking in. A terrible tragedy for the country had become an opportunity for a man like Jakes. He was carving out his own minor fiefdom, deciding who lived and who died. A petty tyrant was the last thing Rockford or any city needed right now and yet, clearly, the rot had been going on for a while here, eating away at the foundations of the local government for so long that when the end finally came, it required no more pressure than a gentle push.

  “You saying Jakes knows who took the girl?” Nate asked. “If so, what are the chances we can talk to him?”

  “Whoa, amigo!” Sanchez said, waving his hands in the air like a man trying to clear away bad weed. “Weren’t you listening? Jakes isn’t gonna help us, man. He’s the one who took that little girl.”

  Nate felt a crushing weight settle over his chest. “But what does he want with Dakota? She’s nothing but an innocent child.”

  “It’s not her they’re after,” Five answered. “It’s the girl’s uncle. Some dude named Roger. Word is, the guy’s sitting on an arsenal of military-grade weaponry. Not only full autos. I’m talking fifty-cal machine guns and sniper rifles. Mortars and rocket-propelled grenades. The works. The guy was a freak and spent years building up enough to keep a man like Jakes in power for a long time.”

  “They wanna use her as a bargaining chip then?” Nate said, putting the pieces together.

  “Something like that,” Sanchez replied, stirring his vodka with the tip of his finger and then licking it. “They searched the guy’s home in town and didn’t find a thing. Word is, he’s got a cabin somewhere in the countryside. They think that’s where he keeps the bang-bang stuff.”

  Nate rubbed his chin. “I see.” Finding the girl in a cage and then getting attacked on the way to Rockford was suddenly taking on a whole new significance. “And if the girl doesn’t lead Jakes to her uncle’s stockpile, what then?”

  Both men looked down. “It won’t be good,” Sanchez said. “If she’s lucky, she won’t suffer too much before they kill her.”

  That sinking feeling again, only this time it was blended with dread and served on ice. “I was worried you were gonna say that.” Nate had a serious decision to make. On the one hand, he could go find his fa
mily and pretend like none of this had ever happened. Or he could add one more item to the list of bad choices he’d made in life.

  Saving Dakota won’t bring your sister back.

  The words kept bouncing off the narrow confines of Nate’s mind like that white digital ball from Breakout. Atari classics aside, he was beginning to realize there wasn’t really a decision to be made. If he left Dakota to die a miserable death, he surely would not be far behind her. Guilt and shame had a way of gnawing at your soul. And as it was, Nate was clinging to the few ethereal scraps that remained of his own connection to a higher power. He remembered that look of surprise on the young girl’s face when he’d told her she was worth rescuing. But deep down, he also knew the decision had already been made the second he found her missing.

  Nate’s eyes gleamed with anger and determination. “Where can I find Jakes?” he asked.

  Both men looked at him as though he had lost his mind.

  “You don’t just go talk to Jakes,” Five said, his voice resounding with no small amount of fear. “Not without an appointment, and even then…”

  “Five is right, man. I mean, whatchu gonna do? Show up and demand he turn the girl over? You’ll be dead before the sound of his laughter reaches your ears.”

  “I’m not gonna ask him,” Nate told them. “I’m gonna go in there and take her.”

  “Man’s got a deathwish,” Five said, talking about Nate as though he wasn’t even there.

  “What’s more, both of you are gonna help me.”

  “Ha!” Sanchez said, clapping his hands together. “Now you’ve really gone off the deep end, amigo.”

  “Just like me, both of you were cops at one time,” Nate said. “Are you telling me you’re ready to stand by while a young girl is murdered by a madman?” His burning glare, like two hot coals, passed from one man to the next. Neither of them could look him directly in the eye. “I see you’ve made your choice. I just hope you can both live with it.” And with that Nate rose and walked out.