by Layton Green
Ettore could contain himself no longer. “What in the world is this about? What am I supposed to do?”
Once the cigar was fully lit, Stefan said, “We need you to deliver this briefcase to my counterpart within the Society in Malmö, Sweden—the city just across the strait from Copenhagen. As part of his many duties, the prince assists with military defense and diplomacy, and needs to ensure these documents arrive safely in the hands of the Swedes.”
“What’s inside?”
“Trust me, it’s better if you’re not familiar with the contents.”
“But I don’t understand. Why me? What does this have to do with science?”
Stefan’s smile was wolfish. “Not a thing. German spies are everywhere now. The borders are not secure. But you’re an outsider, unknown to the intelligence services.”
“What if they search the briefcase?”
“You work at the institute, with an impeccable international reputation. No one will dare touch you.”
“I don’t know about this,” Ettore said, trying to stem a rising tide of panic. “I could lose my position, or worse.”
The German patted Ettore’s knee. His voice was paternal, warm with understanding. “I cannot assure you there will be no risk. I can only say that I would not ask you to do anything I did not have full confidence you could accomplish. Dark days are upon us, Ettore. The world needs its heroes.”
“I’m hardly a hero.”
“As I said, every man plays his part.”
“I haven’t even agreed yet.”
“Yet I believe in you. Will you aid us, my friend? Will you join us in our cause and help fan the flames of democracy?”
Despite his misgivings, despite the surreal nature of the evening and the gravity of the request, Ettore found himself once again soothed by Stefan’s confident demeanor, lulled into a sense of security and desiring only to please the German soldier.
“I will help you,” Ettore said, so softly he could barely hear his own voice.
Los Angeles
14
After twisting up a serpentine road into the parched hills above Hollywood, high above the iconic sign, Cal stepped off the DASH bus with a crush of other tourists at the entrance to Griffith Observatory.
Perched atop the south-facing slope of Mount Hollywood, resembling a cross between the White House and a mosque, the observatory’s trio of copper domes overlooked all of central Los Angeles yet stood a world away from the smog and busy streets. The beloved attraction was free to wander through, and hosted a busy calendar of exhibits, astronomical viewings, and presentations on the cosmos. The city planners got this one right.
It was four in the afternoon, hot and windy. In one hour, if nothing suspicious drove him away, Cal was scheduled to meet the anonymous source who had first brought the Leap Year Society to his attention. The public exposure made him jumpy, but he was excited by the prospect of gaining more ammunition in his newly declared war on the enigmatic organization that had ruined his life.
The rendezvous at the observatory was happening at his request. The lone road to the top of the hill made it hard to trail someone unobserved, and after exiting the bus, he stood on one of the terraces for the next half hour and watched every single person who arrived by bus or hiked up from one of the public parking lots. Even if the communications with his source had somehow been intercepted, the observatory was swarming with schoolchildren and visitors from around the world, and he couldn’t imagine anyone making a play in such a crowded place. Especially people who lived in the shadows.
As he watched and waited, Clippers hat pulled low and hands tucked nervously into his jeans, he reflected on the events of the last twenty-four hours. After scrabbling down the dusty hillside behind Elias Holt’s mansion, terrified he would get shot in the back, tripping over rocks and ripping his clothes and skin on the cacti and thorny underbrush, he had stumbled into a ravine that led to the bottom of the hill. No one came after him. He assumed they hadn’t seen him climb the wall and had instead searched the mansion. Once Cal found a road, he jumped into a taxi and sped away.
But he had crossed a line by leaving the rental van—procured in his own name—parked at the mansion. He had to go dark and figure out what to do.
When Cal arrived at his house, he asked the taxi driver to wait while Cal inspected his Jeep. The glove box and all the compartments had already been emptied.
Trying not to panic, fearing they were still in the house, Cal waited in the taxi while he called 911 to report a burglary. When the police arrived, Cal told them he had seen someone in the house through the kitchen window, rummaging around as the taxi pulled up. The police snooped around long enough for Cal to grab what he needed: his dog, Leon; his passport and cash, hidden under a floorboard; and spare clothes. Most of the drawers had been upended, but he kept his laptop in a secret desk drawer and was relieved to find the chalk dust on the lock had not been disturbed. They simply had not had time.
He stuffed everything in a backpack and hurried to the Jeep as soon as the cops left. No doubt they had planted a tracking device, so Cal ditched the Jeep in a public lot and called in a favor. He asked an old pickup basketball buddy who lived in the desert, Brett Stellis, to take Leon for a while. They met at a busy fountain at The Grove, a ritzy outdoor shopping center, and Brett took Leon without question, knowing the risks of Cal’s profession.
Feeling very alone without Leon, Cal did his best to lose himself in the crowds as he wove his way on foot to La Brea. He paid cash for a cheap motel, grabbed some cold peanut noodles at a Vietnamese place next door, then holed up in his room and tried to get a handle on the disturbing turn of events.
He had just seen, with his own two eyes, evidence the Leap Year Society was real and connected to Elias Holt. Far more important, they had opened a file on Cal at the same time he had run the story connecting the CIA and a handful of prominent defense contractors to the black-site lab of a global technology company.
Cal’s source—a Bolivian scientist working at PanSphere’s black-site lab—had blown the whistle on forbidden research into genetic engineering, nanotech chemical agents, and other highly regulated technologies conducted on-site and sold to various players. Bizarrely, his source had also claimed an unknown entity was siphoning off the best research and leaving the scraps to the CIA and corporate defense firms, right under their noses. Unfortunately, the scientist had gone dark—or been disappeared—before he could flesh out this part of his story.
Four things had gotten Cal fired: the sudden desertion of his source, the outright denial of the Bolivian government of the existence of the lab, the miraculous appearance of falsified evidence that contradicted Cal’s claims in his article, and the lawsuit against the Times.
The CIA, or even one of the defense contractors, could have pulled all of that off. But Cal had always suspected his mention of this elusive metaconspiracy was the real trigger.
And now he had proof.
Who were these people?
The knowledge that such an organization existed—hidden in plain sight—terrified him. But it did not surprise him. No one had a handle on anything anymore. Technology was too complex, spiraling further out of control every day, metastasizing like some cancerous AI overlord. It took a genius to fully understand one little part of the puzzle, like microchip components or modern programming languages. Everyone was so specialized that no one had a handle on the big picture.
He didn’t have the choice to walk away anymore. He had pulled on the dragon’s tail—twice—and been caught. It was publish or perish in the most literal sense.
When he had plugged the USB drive with the stolen data into a computer at the public library, he had found nothing but encrypted gibberish. He needed Dane, but the computer guru was not taking his calls or responding to his emails. Though frustrated, Cal couldn’t blame him.
In desperation, he had reached out to his original source, the one who had turned him on to the LYS in the first place.
/> To his surprise, she had responded to his chat request with a simple but chilling message.
My bo*fr*end came back. And he isn’t the same.
After a hard swallow, Cal had replied immediately. What do you mean?
I . . . saw something. Someone should know.
What is it?
I’m not sure email is safe.
Are you in danger?
I don’t think so but he might be.
Cal knew he had to play it cool. What do you suggest?
I don’t know.
I’m a former reporter. I might be able to help.
How?
Where are you located?
Thinking he had pushed too far, too fast, he released a huge sigh of relief when she finally replied.
San Diego area.
Her response thrilled him, but it also put up his guard. Then again, the Golden State had forty million people and bred conspiracy theorists like minks. He suspected quite a number of his listeners lived nearby.
I’m in LA.
Really?
20 years and counting. Maybe we could meet?
Her response was again slow to arrive. I don’t know.
I’ll come to you and take every precaution.
I think it’s better if I come up there. Less chance he follows me.
OK
When?
Cal told her the truth. Sooner is always better.
It would have to be public.
Of course.
Let me think about it.
She emailed him three hours later and agreed. After considering his options, Cal asked her to meet him at Griffith Observatory during daylight hours.
The situation made him wary. It was a little too convenient. But he had talked to enough potential and anonymous sources to know her responses felt natural.
Even if she was compromised or one of them was followed, the sheer popularity of the planetarium should protect him. He had taken another precaution as well: taking a cue from Dane, he had purchased a burner phone so he could text the actual location right before they met. He also texted Dane about the meeting, though he had not received a response. With a sigh, Cal supposed he would have to figure out something else to do with the USB drive.
A bang in the crowd snapped him back to the present. Thinking it was a gunshot, he whipped around to find a parent scolding a child holding a bag of those small white poppers Cal had loved as a kid.
Get a hold of yourself, buddy. You’re a pro. Act like it.
With twenty minutes to go, he moved inside, scanning the crowd as he walked past the exhibits in the Central Rotunda and the Hall of the Eye. Crackling, bullet-like strikes of contained lightning awed a crowd watching a demonstration of the Tesla coil. Cal kept moving until he reached the edge of the giant Foucault pendulum, pretending to watch the mesmeric swing of the bronze ball suspended from the ceiling while he sent an email to his source that contained the number of his burner phone. Even if someone was watching, no way they could track a burner phone that fast.
Moments later, she texted him.
Are you here?
Yes.
Me too.
Meet me at 5:00 Event Horizon show. Back left row, two seats by the aisle. I’ll save you one.
Do I need a ticket?
No.
K.
Tingly with anticipation, he made his way to the main elevator. The show in the Event Horizon, a presentation theater on the lower level, would be less crowded than the show at the wildly popular Oschin Planetarium. Easier for him to procure seats and ensure his instructions were followed.
He was fifth in line when the doors opened. He hurried to the back left of the tiered auditorium and draped an arm over the seat next to him, discouraging other visitors.
As the minutes ticked by, the auditorium filled to half capacity, but no one sat anywhere near him. Almost everyone had crowded into the bottom half, close to the giant screen. He wondered what had happened to his source when five o’clock arrived and the lights faded to black, casting the theater into darkness.
Had she changed her mind? Been intercepted?
Growing nervous, he decided to call it off as a booming musical score heralded the arrival of an exploding star on the presentation screen. He recoiled as someone brushed against his shoulder, then realized a woman with long hair had slipped into the seat next to him. He sank back down, relieved, as the camera zoomed into a vast cluster of stars so dense and iridescent it took his breath away.
How to start the conversation? He had to build as much trust as possible during the brief show. He guessed she would want to leave before it was over, escaping in darkness as she had arrived.
A floral sweetness in her perfume reminded him of running through a childhood meadow, the sultry summer air laced with honeysuckle. As he leaned over to speak in her ear, the theater screen panned to an image of a black hole, the classical score soared even louder, and someone shoved a foul-smelling cloth over his mouth.
The smell of vinegar washed over him. He shook his head back and forth, trying not to inhale the toxic substance as two pairs of hands lifted him out of his chair and carried him away in the darkness. Cal’s muffled shouts for help were drowned by the rag over his mouth and the thunderous music.
A crack of light appeared. They carried him through a door, either in the back of the theater or in the hallway, that opened onto a gray, dimly lit stairwell. He struggled to free himself, but his limbs had started to numb, and the men holding him were strong.
By jerking his head from side to side, he caught glimpses of two large men hustling him down a flight of steps. One was blond and pale, the other a balding black man with a keloid scar on the side of his neck. Both were dressed in shorts and polo shirts. They could have been tourists visiting the observatory with their families. At the bottom of the stairs, they took him through an unmarked door and into a long hallway lit by a faint glow at the far end.
This is it, he thought. This is where I get stuffed in the back of a van.
As they passed a series of closed doors in the hallway, Cal’s lassitude increased until he felt almost weightless. He was about to pass out, his shouts for help dying before they left his throat. Another closed door loomed at the end of the hallway. The stocky blond man hurried ahead to open it, revealing a blue Kia Sedona idling in the sunlight. Behind the vehicle was a small paved area and a dumpster squeezed against the side of the hill. The shouts of children drifted down from the main entrance, but no one else was in sight.
When he saw the waiting vehicle, Cal’s adrenaline spiked, giving him a burst of energy for one last struggle. The man carrying him like he was a recalcitrant child held him tighter, and Cal failed to break free. The rag was still pressed against his face. The brief exertion had sapped the last of his energy. His limbs felt like water.
The blond man held the door for his partner as the side of the minivan slid open, exposing a retrofitted cage cordoning off the front of the vehicle. The shadow of someone very large was visible in the driver’s seat. As Cal was carried outside, he noticed a blur of movement from behind the planetarium door as it closed. A hulking figure stepped into view, and before anyone could react, the figure stiff-armed the blond-haired man across the neck so hard his eyes rolled back before he hit the ground.
Dane’s broad face was twisted with anger, his long hair framing his face like a Viking raider. Elation shot through Cal, but his heart sank when he realized the café owner had arrived barehanded.
The man holding Cal released him, and Cal fell coughing to the ground, without the strength to keep his feet. As his captor reached for a weapon, Cal heard the pump of a shotgun, and a familiar calm voice calling out from inside the van.
“That would be unwise.”
The passenger window had lowered to reveal the double-barreled snout of a shotgun pointing at the remaining captor, who stood very still with his hands raised. Sefa’s enormous head leaned over from the driver’s seat as Dane pounced on the s
econd assailant, knocking him out with a heavy elbow to the temple.
Dane looked shaken as he checked to make sure both men were unconscious, then dragged them toward the back of the van. The rear door lifted automatically, and Sefa hurried over to help lift the two men. Cal could see the unmoving legs of a third man, presumably the driver, already inside.
After shutting the door, Sefa hustled to the driver’s seat as Dane helped Cal up. “Can you walk?”
“Not yet.” Though his voice was barely a whisper, he could feel his strength returning.
“You need a doc?”
“Don’t think so. Just go.”
The big man stuck him in the front seat, awkwardly straddling the console between him and Sefa. Cal looked back and saw a padlock on the cage separating the rest of the van. The rear door had no handle.
A prison meant for him.
Sefa circled back to the top of the planetarium on a service drive, headed back down the hill, and parked in the public lot at the bottom, along with hundreds of other vehicles. After lifting each of their captives’ wallets and taking photos of their faces, Dane and Sefa locked the Kia, threw the keys into the woods, and helped Cal limp across the parking lot to a silver Toyota Prius.
Cal managed to croak, “Whose car is this?”
“Mine,” Sefa said, as the two of them helped Cal into the back seat, then lowered their heads as they scrunched into the front.
“Do you realize how ridiculous you two look in this car?”
Sefa looked wounded. “Just trying to help the planet, man.”
After a moment, Cal said, “It could have been me back there. Would have been. I thought you’d written me off.”
“I wasn’t sure where I stood,” Dane said. “Not sure I do now. The way they intercepted my hack at the mansion and sent it back at me so quickly . . . These people are the real fucking deal.”
“How’d you know about the meeting?”
“We got your message and decided to follow you off the radar. Stay in the shadows and see what happened. But when that Kia swung around the building after you went inside, we didn’t like the look of it, so we tracked it down the service drive.” Dane popped an energy drink. “Thirsty?”