by Audrey Auden
The car’s driver’s side door popped open, and a small man with dark sunglasses and a grey fedora sprang out, weaving swiftly through the sea of parked vehicles. He tapped the glass on her window, and she rolled it down a few inches.
“Emmie Bridges?”
Emmie peered at the man curiously. She thought she recognized that voice.
“Counter-surveillance operative identity confirmed,” said the calm voice of the security concierge, “Please follow operative instructions for secure vehicle transfer.”
“Um —” Emmie peered up at the man. She was having second thoughts about this operation.
“Quickly,” said the man, pointing at Emmie’s dashboard.
Emmie looked down at the rearview monitor and felt a surge of adrenaline as she recognized the tall, fair-haired figure of Amos Eckerd running up the center of the freeway toward her car. She gasped and fumbled with the manual handle to open her door, nearly clobbering the man in the dark sunglasses, who stepped aside just in time. He took Emmie’s hand and pulled her quickly to her feet.
“Hurry,” he said, pointing toward his car but keeping his eyes on Amos. Emmie hurried, waving nervously at drivers as she squeezed between car bumpers. The grey sedan’s passenger door swung open to admit her and quickly closed behind. She looked back and stopped breathing as she watched the man with the dark sunglasses backing slowly toward her, pointing what appeared to be a silver pen at Amos, who had stopped dead in his tracks, mere yards from Emmie’s car, and now stood with his hands above his head, his face red with exertion.
The driver door of the grey sedan swung open to admit the little man, and in one smooth motion he slid into the seat, seized the wheel, and floored the accelerator. They raced off along the shoulder, provoking a cacophony of honks from the disgruntled traffic jam.
∞
“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Emmie hyperventilated, staring out the rear window as the figure of Amos Eckerd receded into the distance.
“Don’t worry,” said the man in the dark sunglasses, steering neatly around a biker who seemed to share his ideas about the proper use of the freeway shoulder, “I think we have at least a two-minute lead on him.”
A moment later, the man turned off the freeway exit ramp and pulled up to an empty port at a busy recharging station. A large white SUV pulled up at the port beside them, and the man turned to Emmie and said,
“Now we’re going to change vehicles. When your door opens, just step calmly into the SUV.”
Emmie nodded, heart pounding. Her door opened, and she climbed out of the car, as did her driver. Simultaneously, the doors of the white SUV opened, and Emmie stopped to stare as out stepped a small man in a fedora and dark glasses accompanied by a diminutive young woman with cobalt blue highlights in her bone-straight brunette hair.
“Come on,” said her driver, ushering her past their doppelgängers and into the rear passenger door of the SUV. The door shut behind her, and Emmie looked out the window to watch the grey sedan pull out of the charging port and take off toward the freeway at speed. A few minutes later, her driver hopped in behind the wheel of the SUV, pulled out of the charging station at a leisurely speed, and headed in the opposite direction.
When her breathing at last returned to normal, Emmie turned toward her driver.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to a safe house. It’s —” he glanced at a visual overlay Emmie could not see, “about an hour away. We have to take the long way to get around the accident we planted.”
Emmie opened her mouth, uncertain what to say to this. At last, she said,
“Thank you. I don’t know what —”
She blinked, then peered closely at the man’s profile.
“You!” she exclaimed, “You’re — No, you can’t be … Na — Na —”
“Naoto Kimura,” he said, smiling at her, “I guess my disguise isn’t quite as good as I thought.”
He removed his sunglasses, fedora, and a convincing wig of short-cropped black hair, revealing the shining bald head Emmie remembered from Tomo’s memorial service. She shook her head, not quite believing her eyes.
“But — You were old.”
He winked at her and stooped his shoulders subtly, creasing his face in some way that seemed to age him twenty years. He said, now with the precise, Japanese-accented English she remembered,
“Surely in your line of work you have learned that looks can be deceiving.”
Before she could decide what to think of that, the cool voice of Emmie’s security concierge interrupted them over the SUV audio channel.
“Status update.”
“What’s wrong?” Emmie asked nervously.
“Your personal vehicle’s autopilot has been directed to a secure garage facility in Livermore. You are advised to continue using the secure car service provided by your counter-surveillance operative until further notice.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks.”
She slumped back against her seat, saying, to herself more than to Naoto,
“It would be great if she could differentiate between, ‘You’re being followed,’ and ‘We’re parking your car,’ don’t you —”
“Status update.”
Emmie’s mouth went dry. The security concierge continued,
“Facial recognition monitors have confirmed the identity of the driver of the Tesla Courant, license plate 5-SOS-101, as Amos Jeremiah Eckerd.”
“You think?” Emmie snorted.
“Would you like to hear public information about Amos Jeremiah Eckerd?” asked the concierge.
Emmie looked at Naoto, who shrugged.
“Sure,” said Emmie, “Lay it on me.”
“Amos Jeremiah Eckerd, male, age seventy-six —”
“Seventy-six!” Emmie exclaimed, “Could have fooled me.”
“— Born in Lynchburg, Virginia. Oldest son of Jeremiah Josiah Eckerd, deceased, and Miriam Fuller Eckerd, deceased. Father to Ezekiel Amos Eckerd. Married to Annabelle Abbott Eckerd, presumed deceased.
“Eckerd holds an undergraduate degree in Philosophy and Religion from Liberty University, and a PhD in Theology and Apologetics from Liberty University Theological Seminary.
“Eckerd is presently employed as senior minister of —”
“Okay, okay,” said Emmie, raising her hands, “How about something useful? Like why he’s following me?”
“Would you like to initiate a consultation?”
“Ugh,” Emmie grumbled in disgust, “Not right now.”
Naoto chuckled and said,
“Falsens sticks to protocol, doesn’t he?”
Emmie wondered what Naoto might know about Falsens.
“So he is a he?” she said.
“Mmm,” Naoto cocked his head to the side, “I just assumed. I should know better — I haven’t actually met him. Or her.”
“But you work for him?”
“I’ve done a lot of work for Falsens in the past, but, if you navigate to section seventeen of Falsens’ standard proposal terms,” Emmie shook her head at the memory of the monumental document, “You’ll see that, technically, I’m working for you. Falsens likes to spread liability around.”
“So who were you working for while you were impersonating a Buddhist priest at Tomo Yoshimoto’s memorial service?”
Naoto’s face grew serious.
“Interesting question. Normally I wouldn’t be able to discuss other clients’ work, but in this case, you happen to be both clients. So that dovetails nicely.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Amaterasu Nagato hired me on your behalf to provide counter-surveillance and security services. Apparently she anticipated some of the trouble you would be having.”
Emmie sank back into her seat.
“So what exactly have you been doing?”
“Periodic bug sweeps, personal communication channel monitoring, wireless network shielding, round-the-clock bodyguard detail. Among other things. My instructions were
fairly broad. Provide you with as high a level of personal security as I can. Minimize detection by third parties and interference with your regular activities.”
“So where were you when the accident in the spliner happened?” Emmie asked softly, wondering how, with all the people spying on her, she had been so utterly alone in that moment.
Naoto sighed.
“My ability to provide security on the Augur campus without detection was limited. I alerted Augur security as soon as my remote surveillance detected the disturbance in the spliner, but by then the damage was done.”
“Damage. You mean Owen.”
“Yes. Owen. I’m sorry.”
Emmie pressed her forehead to the window, forcing herself to move on to a more pressing concern. She knew now what Amos Eckerd must be after. Her fingers traveled to the emerald tablet tucked away in the little compartment on her belt. She wished it had never come to her, almost as much as she wanted to understand why it had.
CHAPTER 14
The Anonymous Collective
Emmie stared through the tinted windows of the SUV at the bright red doors of the Buddhist Church of Oakland.
“You’re kidding,” she said, “This is the safe house?”
“The very same,” Naoto replied, pulling the car up alongside the curb, “Now, I’ve keyed the door to your palm. Go inside and check our shared channel for instructions to enter the safe room. I’ll be right behind you.” He glanced through the rear window. “I just need to get rid of this car.”
Emmie felt a renewed surge of adrenaline as she contemplated the broad stretch of sidewalk separating her from the church. She seemed unable to convince herself to open the door. Naoto squeezed her shoulder.
“You’re going to be fine. Go.”
Emmie stepped onto the sidewalk and faced the church’s wrought iron gate. Naoto pulled away from the curb, leaving her standing there, exposed. Glancing nervously at the slow-moving pedestrians and cars moving along the block, she pressed her hand to the palm scanner. The padlock clunked, and the gate swung open. She hurried up the front steps, and the heavy red front doors swung open at her touch.
Emmie stood alone on the worn red carpet in the lobby for a while, breathing in the faint scent of incense, until she heard a ping on her smartcom. She flipped on a visual overlay, where a text message read,
Go to the hondo.
She remembered the way, and she took the stairs slowly up to the second floor. She approached the smiling wooden Buddha standing at the open doors of the hondo. Inside, rows of empty pews faced the gleaming altar at the front of the room. Her smartcom pinged again.
Press hand to Buddha’s belly.
She reached out toward the smiling wood carving and pressed her hand against the smooth, cool cedar. A faint buzz emanated from the pedestal beneath the statue, and a pulse of warmth traveled along her palm. As soon as the buzz fell silent, another text message appeared.
Proceed to the shrine.
She hurried down the center aisle and came to a stop before the richly gleaming shrine.
Touch Buddha’s foot.
She stepped around the heavy incense jars and draped altar table. She reached out tentatively toward the golden Buddha at the center of the shrine, pressing her fingertip to one gleaming foot.
She felt a rush of air as the entire wall panel containing the shrine pulled back, creating a gap on either side of the panel that led into some dark space beyond.
Take the right path ;-)
Emmie glanced nervously over her shoulder before stepping toward the Buddha and turning right. She could just make out the three bare walls of a small room before the wall behind her began to close. She was plunged into darkness for an instant before bright ceiling lights switched on.
She found herself standing in a wide but shallow room, unfurnished, with uniformly grey walls. She felt a moment of panic at the thought that she had stepped into some kind of spliner, but when she reached out toward the near wall, she felt the reassuring rigidity of drywall.
Her smartcom pinged.
Stay there. I’m on my way.
Emmie sat down against one of the narrow walls, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her head. She felt trapped and alone inside the small grey room.
But a moment later, a warm prickle of awareness on her skin reminded her that she was not entirely alone. She wondered if Dom might be there, somewhere, and when she looked up, she found his projection seated across from her, leaning against the adjacent wall, watching her. She cocked her head to the side.
“Amos was right there,” said Emmie, “Just a few car lengths away from me.”
“I saw him. It is fortunate that Naoto was there. He seems to know what he is doing.”
Emmie shivered, looking around the tiny room.
“I hope so.”
The lights went out. Emmie jumped to her feet in alarm, unable to back away much father as the entry wall pushed in a few feet toward her.
She sighed in relief as Naoto’s small figure, now dressed in the robes of a Buddhist monk, slipped through the opening. A rush of air escaped the room as the wall closed once more, and the bright LED lights switched on again. She glanced at the place Dom had been sitting, but he had disappeared.
“Sorry I startled you,” said Naoto, “I spend so much time in here that I didn’t even think about the lights.”
“You have to spend a lot of time in here?”
Naoto shrugged.
“It’s convenient for work. Small, well-hidden, easy to secure …”
He sat down on the floor and pressed something concealed beneath the waist of his robes. The bright lights dimmed, and all four walls of the room lit up with a mosaic of two-dimensional projections.
“… A very serviceable command and control station.”
He pointed toward a video feed projected on the broad wall, and it drifted toward him. Emmie knelt beside him to look at an aerial view of her house on Skyline Boulevard. Naoto zoomed in on the ring of redwood trees surrounding the stone bench by her driveway. There, nearly obscured by shadows, stood a man in a bulky hoodie and baseball cap, shifting slowly from one foot to the other.
“Is that Amos?” she asked, her hand moving involuntarily to her throat.
“No,” said Naoto, “He’ll be too smart for that. Still, we know you can’t go back there.”
“Wait,” she said suspiciously, “How do you have a live video feed of my house?”
He zoomed out again and tapped a redwood in the projection.
“Tree’s-eye view.”
Emmie’s mind drifted back to the last night she had spent with Owen. He had spotted one of these cameras. With everything else that had happened since then, she had forgotten.
“Man,” Emmie shook her head, unsure whether to be grateful or furious that someone had been watching over her all this time, “I love my trees, but between the stalkers and the cameras …” Her hand flew to her mouth, “Wait. Do you have a camera at my parents’ house? Is there —”
“Yep,” said Naoto, switching to another video feed and pointing out another figure in the shadows.
Emmie fumbled with her smartcom, overcome by the urgent need to confirm that her parents were safe. Naoto raised his hand.
“Don’t. They still think you’re at Yosemite. If you call, you’re just going to worry them. Let’s keep things simple. I’ve called in bodyguards for your family members for now. I don’t think the Stewards are going to make a move on them.”
“But you don’t think — Shouldn’t they be warned? They could be kidnapped or something!”
Naoto shook his head,
“Your parents don’t know anything useful to them. It’s you they want.”
“Right,” said Emmie, slumping against the wall, “Comforting thought. And now we’re pretty much trapped, aren’t we?”
“We’re working on it,” he said, returning to poring over his projections.
Emmie straightened up to look over his shoulder,
pushing the gloomy thoughts from her mind in an effort to understand what options might still remain to her.
“What exactly are we looking at here?” she asked.
Naoto pointed to a map of the Bay Area covered in slowly-moving dots.
“These are pedestrians and vehicles that our traffic analysis suggests are performing sweeping and patrolling maneuvers. The blue ones have been there for at least six hours. The red ones have just become active within the last two.”
“There’s a lot more red ones.”
“Yeah. Means Amos’ people have probably just deployed a lot of new surveillance resources in the area. They may not know our precise location, but they think you’re here.”
Emmie crossed her arms, trying to remain calm.
“This is probably naïve. But can’t we just call the police?”
Naoto shook his head.
“I wouldn’t advise it. Not until we know who we’re dealing with and what they want. Amos isn’t working alone, obviously. He could have connections anywhere. And if anyone’s likely to be working for the dark side, it’s the government.”
Emmie rolled her eyes.
“You sound like my Uncle Frank.”
“Your Uncle Frank sounds like a smart guy,” Naoto said distantly, absorbed in his visual overlay. Emmie watched in silence until, a few minutes later, Falsens’ stumpy projection showed up.
“Miss Bridges, I have an update on your investigation request.”
“Did you find Amos?” Emmie asked hopefully.
“Unfortunately, I am currently unable to locate Amos Eckerd,” said Falsens, his androgynous voice slowly verging on feminine, “A construction crew near the point of your rendezvous with Mr. Kimura disconnected all our concealed monitors along a quarter-mile stretch of the freeway in a matter of minutes after we captured Eckerd’s image. This is unlikely to have been a coincidence.