The solution to his dilemma was obvious. A sane and rational part of him warned against it. But he saw no other choice.
“Michael has to be stopped from getting a second infusion,” he said. And if it comes down to it, Jessie too.
Grant couldn’t hide his disappointment. “You’re going to Montana.”
“Feel like a road trip?”
“I wouldn’t be much help. I’ve never even fired a gun. And I have my family to consider.” He paused. “I suppose that makes me a coward.”
“No, I get it. I’d probably do the same in your shoes.”
They hiked back toward the main trail.
“There’s another reason I can’t go with you,” Grant said. “The truth is, over the past few years I’ve also had this increasing desire for another infusion of quiver. Sometimes the urge becomes almost overwhelming. It’s as if quiver is some powerful drug and I’m in need of a fix. If I came along, you might have three quiver kids to contend with rather than just two.”
Aiden wasn’t surprised by the admission.
“I suspect it’s common to all of us,” Grant continued. “If Gold wasn’t mentally impaired and Blue hadn’t been an addict, they likely would had the compulsion too. Probably Cyan as well.”
But not me. Aiden was the exception, the anomaly. Given the choice, he wanted nothing to do with quiver.
“Any buses out of Portland heading in the direction of Tau?”
Grant nodded. “But none that would get you real close.”
“In that case, you got a spare vehicle I could borrow?”
“There you’re in luck.”
Aiden doubted that luck was the right word for it.
FORTY-EIGHT
Grant’s loaner was an old Toyota, with emphasis on old. Its black paint was scratched and in spots devoid of polish. The doors creaked. The driver’s seat was wretchedly uncomfortable. Aiden squirmed a lot during the long drive.
Ana Cho had been gone when they’d returned to the house, having taken Lucas to a playground. Aiden was glad for her absence. He wasn’t in the mood for a further Q&A or a mother-son tag team trying to get him to leap into some alternate universe.
Grant had packed him a lunch, a chicken sandwich and apple. He’d wolfed those down in the first hour on the road and, during his first fuel stop, bought a Coke and a bag of chips. In the restroom he’d changed his dressings and popped another of Rory’s pills.
The Toyota’s radio was dead. Aiden was left alone with his thoughts. Fresh doubts nagged at him. It was unsettling to realize just how warped his motivation was for rejoining Keats and Jessie. Bottom line, battling mercenaries was preferable to staying in Portland and risking being persuaded to go donut-hole diving. He was sure that whatever was on the other side of a cleaving represented a whole different order of freakish and scary.
He reached Jaffeburg, Montana, just after sunset. His hope was to rendezvous with Keats and Jessie at the café owned by Ned’s old friend, the former naval captain. If the pair had left already he’d have to figure out some other way to rejoin them. Whatever the case, he’d promised Grant he wouldn’t drive the Toyota all the way to Churchton Summit and risk that someone associated with Tau would find the vehicle and trace its ownership. Later, when things calmed down, he’d return the car to Portland.
If he was still alive.
He repressed that latest glum thought as he cruised down the town’s main drag. Jaffeburg straddled a dry river valley in the Northern Rockies pinched between high mountains. Storefronts were bathed in the yellowish glow of old-style streetlamps.
The three-story Moonsign Hotel was at the far edge of town, a century-old brick building in the Neoclassical Revival style. A squared-off roofline featured ornamental pilasters. The architecture reminded him of southeastern Pennsylvania.
He thought of Darlene and Leah. He’d call them tomorrow before heading into the wilderness. It might be their last chance to talk.
There was no sign of Ned’s pickup as he turned into the hotel’s parking lot. But Keats and Jessie could have parked elsewhere.
Aiden had been expecting a rough-and-tumble barroom atmosphere but the Moonsign had more of an upscale feel. Off to the side, a shadowy dining room radiated candlelight and low conversation. He was about to stroll toward it when he spotted a wizened stringbean of a man with a military-style crew cut behind the bar. Judging by his age, Aiden had a hunch he was Ned’s friend.
Hopping onto a barstool, Aiden ordered a local craft beer.
“You the owner?” he asked.
“Eduardo Fernandez, at your service.”
“I’m looking for Deke Keats.”
There was the slightest hesitation. “Afraid I don’t know the name.”
It was possible Keats and Jessie hadn’t arrived yet. But Aiden had a hunch they’d been here and had instructed Eduardo to keep it quiet.
“It’s OK, I’m a friend. I was with Keats yesterday at Ned’s place.”
“Icy Ned? Ex-Marine?”
“Ex-Army.”
“That old coot still doing three-mile runs every morning?”
“Not unless Mabeline’s lifting him out of his wheelchair and sprinting with him on her shoulders. So enough with the trick questions, OK? Are they here or not?”
Eduardo gestured at the ceiling. “They booked a room. But they went out early this afternoon.”
“Any idea where?”
“Nope. And you’re not the only one asking. Four guys came in a while ago looking for ’em.” Eduardo motioned to the dining room.
Aiden’s guard went up. Had Michael and his mercs somehow tracked Keats and Jessie here?
He debated options. If the men indeed were mercs, it was unlikely they’d try anything in public. Then again, if the audacious Nobe was among them, that theory might be worth crap.
Aiden’s beer arrived. He left a five-spot, grabbed the brew and walked boldly into the dining room before he could talk himself out of it.
“Hey Aiden!”
He spun toward the voice. Rory Tablone sat at a table tucked in the back corner, munching on a basket of chicken wings. Aiden recognized the biggest of his companions, ponytailed Chef, the man they’d rendezvoused with in Sioux Falls. The other two were strangers.
Rory snatched a chair from an adjacent table. Aiden squeezed in beside the one-legged medic.
“What are you doing here?” Aiden wondered.
“Eating.”
Rory field-stripped a chicken wing with his teeth, wiped barbecue sauce from his lips and introduced Chef.
“We’ve met, sort of,” Aiden said, extending his hand. The big Native American declined to shake, settling for a nod so as not to interrupt his assault on a heaping plate of spaghetti.
Rory motioned to the others. “These lowlife meateaters are Toothpick and Bling.”
The monikers seemed fitting. Toothpick was a skinny Black man with oversized glasses and a prominent scar on the bridge of his nose. Bling, a squat, big-bellied Latino guy, had gold chains dangling from his neck and a matching earring. The pair looked around the same age as Rory and Chef.
“Come here often?” Aiden asked.
Rory broke into a lopsided grin. “Icy Ned called, told us about you and the girl. Said Deke was leading you into a category-five shitstorm but was too proud to ask for help.”
“No surprise there,” Toothpick grumbled.
“We flew into Helena together a couple hours ago,” Bling added. “Drove straight here.”
“I’m guessing you’re wondering why,” Rory said.
“Crossed my mind.”
“OK, here’s the backstory. Once upon a time, when we were doing some shit for Uncle Sam that good citizens of this country ain’t ever supposed to know about, Deke was the man. He ran the unit.
“We were in this hellhole of a country. Locals were wasting one another like there weren’t no tomorrow. The four of us and a couple other guys were trapped in this village. It was raining crap – enemy fire from all si
des. Ammo was running low. No way were we gonna last the night.
“Another squad got sent to pull us out but they ran into platoon-strength bad guys and couldn’t break through. At that point, we figured it was pretty much over. Started making our peace with the world. But in case you haven’t figured it out by now, Deke Keats ain’t the type to be throwing in the towel. All by his lonesome, he commandeers an enemy assault vehicle and comes racing through that village like some pissed-off superhero.”
“You should’ve seen him,” Bling said. “Plowing into the bad guys who don’t get out of his way and shooting the rest of them.”
“Crazy son of a bitch saved our asses, got us out of there,” Toothpick added.
“Genuine Medal of Honor stuff,” Rory said. “Only they tend not to give medals for the kind of classified op we were on.”
Aiden understood what Ned had meant when he suggested Keats cash in his chips. Rory, Chef, Toothpick and Bling were the chips. They were here to make good on a debt no amount of money could repay.
“What the hell’s this?”
Keats stormed toward them flanked by Jessie. Their dark pants and sweatshirts were caked in mud.
Rory beamed. “Yo, Deke! About time you got here. Hungry?”
“No. And when you’re done stuffing your faces you’ll be hitting the road.”
“Can’t do that.”
“I told you back in Virginia, not your fight. You’ve got families to think about.”
“We could say the same about you.”
“Homefront’s covered,” Toothpick said. “This is a done deal.”
“The least we can do for Greg,” Bling added.
Keats glowered.
“It’s all right, Aiden knows,” Rory said. “Ned spilled the beans.”
Keats turned his high-beam indignation on Aiden.
“I’m sorry they killed your son,” he offered. “And don’t blame Ned. I made him tell me the truth.”
Keats looked like he was having trouble swallowing that. He tried holding onto his anger but it slowly seeped from his face. Aiden figured he was genuinely moved that his old unit had showed up in his time of need.
“All right,” he said finally. “When you’re done, upstairs, Room 206.”
He headed off. Jessie grabbed an extra chair and squeezed in between Toothpick and Bling.
“What’s this about his son?” she asked, flagging a waiter and ordering a Heineken.
The soldiers traded off relating the full story of the railfans’ encounter with Nobe. When they finished, Jessie finally turned to Rory, who’d been staring at her the whole time.
“What the hell’s your problem?” she demanded.
“Icy Ned wasn’t kidding about you.”
“If that’s supposed to mean I’m a smart woman who can take care of herself, I’m all ears. Otherwise, Peg-leg, keep it zipped.”
Rory laughed. Jessie, still with fire in her eyes, whipped her gaze to Aiden.
“So what’s your story?”
Hello to you too, Mom.
But now wasn’t the time to hit her with that particular revelation. He took a swig of beer and settled for a macho-flavored quip.
“Didn’t want to miss all the fun.”
FORTY-NINE
The seven of them gathered in Room 206 to discuss the next day’s assault. Keats commandeered the desk chair, leaving Aiden, Jessie, Toothpick and Bling to sit on the twin beds. Rory hopped up on the dresser. Chef remained standing by the door, a mute sentinel.
Keats revealed that he and Jessie had driven fifty-odd miles east, parked the F-150 and hiked to the bridge where the train presumably would come under attack. In the event Tau Nine-One had roving night patrols or the mercs had sent advance scouts, they’d crawled the last few hundred yards to reach an overlook. The ground being wet from an earlier rain accounted for their muddy clothes.
“The recce didn’t reveal much,” Keats said. “Hard to say which direction the mercs will be coming from. We’ll have to be ready for pretty much anything, even being mistaken for hostiles by those Marines on the train once things go loud.”
Aiden listened halfheartedly as the soldiers reviewed tactical scenarios. He should have felt encouraged. Their own force now included five battle-hardened soldiers. But he was more anxious than ever. There were still too many unknowns. They didn’t know how the mercs intended to board the train or how many of them they’d be facing.
Keats asked what gear the men had brought.
“We scrounged up surveillance cams, headsets and a few other toys,” Rory said. “And one perimeter intrusion kit. Laptop controller and five remote ground sensors.”
“Excellent. Weapons?”
“Since the four of us were flying commercial together, thought it best not to. Four ex-military dudes from different states, all on the same plane, all checking firearms into their baggage? That’s TSA bait.”
“Besides,” Toothpick added, “Ned said you had enough firepower.”
Keats described the weaponry they’d procured. “Would’ve liked to have body armor. But considering the terrain and the length of the hike to reach the target, my hunch is that the mercs will go light too, leave their vests at home. Still, no guarantees it’ll play out that way.”
He got to his feet, planted hands on hips and regarded the four soldiers sternly. “What’s the drill?”
“Expect worst-case scenario,” they uttered in unison.
“All righty then!” Rory said, grinning. “Tomorrow we find these assholes and trash their day!”
He hopped off the dresser but his funky prosthetic touched the floor at a bad angle. The mechanical knee made a harsh click-clack sound and he stumbled forward. Chef, with surprising speed for a big man, lunged and caught the medic before he fell.
Rory pulled up his pants leg. The lower part of his metal limb was fitted into a running shoe. Mock astonishment filled his face.
“Goddamn! Where the fuck’s my foot?”
Bling and Toothpick laughed. Chef managed a grunt. Keats wasn’t amused.
“You gonna be this noisy during the op?”
“Nothing pliers and a can of WD-40 won’t fix,” Rory countered.
A maid knocked and entered, informed them their other rooms were ready. Keats made the assignments. He and Rory would bunk here in 206; Chef, Toothpick and Bling would share the room next door. That left Aiden paired with Jessie in a third room at the end of the hall.
Aiden considered asking someone to switch with him. But that would probably piss off Jessie so he kept his mouth shut. Besides, he hadn’t slept at all last night. Even if one of his biological moms made another pass at him, being dead tired should be enough of an excuse to deflect her.
Ten minutes later they were alone in their room. Jessie quizzed him about Ana Cho. He tried to beg off answering her questions until morning but she was adamant.
He told her about the encounter with Cho and Grant. A sixth sense warned him not to reveal anything about Grant manifesting the cleaving and Aiden sticking his hand through it. Such knowledge might give Jessie even more encouragement to go after the quiver.
He saved the big revelation for last. Jessie was appropriately stunned to learn he was White, the anomaly, even more so when he described his miracle birth.
“You just appeared out of thin air?”
“Pretty weird, huh?”
“And the six of us are your genetic parents?”
He nodded.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“And that’s why you didn’t want to have sex with me. You see me as your mother?”
“One of them. And it’s not something conscious, more of a gut sensation. I just know that it wouldn’t have felt natural.”
“Not natural,” she murmured.
He couldn’t read her expression. Sadness maybe? Disappointment to realize that sex with him wasn’t going to happen? Or something else, perhaps a renewed acknowledgment of how being a quiver kid had warped her li
fe.
Aiden was too tired for further speculation. He retreated to the bathroom, locked the door and stepped into what could be his last cleansing shower.
FIFTY
Michael retreated to the basement. The long-awaited day was here, Tarantian about to reach fruition. He’d sent Trish on an errand for supplies to get her out of the chateau for a couple hours. Except for one of Nobe’s men waiting down at the helipad to pilot the four-seater Maverick and fly him to ground zero, he had the place to himself.
He’d helicoptered back from the cabin near Churchton Summit where the final assault plan had been reviewed with Nobe, Kokay and the full contingent of mercs. By now, the men would have broken into small groups to avoid attention and be headed into the wilderness to take up positions. Michael’s only criticism of the plan was that they’d reach ground zero relatively late. But Nobe didn’t want to risk arriving too far ahead of the train.
He tugged at the hidden latch behind the furnace. A false wall slid back. He placed his hand on the palm lock of the steel door and leaned in close. The retinal scanner flashed green and the door unlocked with a loud click.
Ceiling lights came on automatically as he entered the windowless lab. Lined up on a bench along the far wall were six medical-grade containment vessels. Three of the transparent cylinders harbored pristine manifestations he’d recently created, the gelatinous brown masses suspended in a nutriment liquid. If the plan went off without a hitch, he’d only need one. But it was best to be prepared.
He selected the endmost vessel, hit the controls and watched the murky liquid drain into a refuse pipe. The door slid open and he reached in. The instant his palm touched the manifestation, he saw and felt the shadow forming beside him.
It began as a blurring of the air. Within seconds, the spectral figure coalesced. Other than an occasional fade into translucence, the apparition poised at his side was a perfect double, down to the clothing Michael wore.
Occasionally, a doppelganger was flawed and unreliable to control. As always, he performed a series of basic tests. In his mind, he imagined lifting his arms and flexing his fingers. His real self, his physical body, remained motionless, but the shadow mimicked his mental commands with robotic precision. Energized purely by his will, it was ready to do his bidding.
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