by S. T. Boston
“Now, will you please switch off the phone?” he begged.
“Not yet, no, I've had an idea. It's risky, but it might give us the upper hand here, plus I need to show Oriyanna the photograph of that Finch chap.” Sam unlocked the screen and loaded a browser window.
“What the hell are you thinking?” pleaded Adam. “It will lead them right to us!”
“I know it will,” replied Sam as the FBI page loaded. “That's the idea.” He found the 'Most Wanted' picture and passed it back to Oriyanna. “Here you are, does he look familiar?”
She stared at the image for a few seconds and began shaking her head, “No, sorry, I have never seen him before, but he must be involved. I'm guessing that whoever they used to get that close to John Remy wasn't a face any of us would recognise.” She paused to think and handed the phone back. “That's my main concern, I don't know how many of them are here or who they are. They got someone into the US Secret Service, he was even in charge of security for one of our Watchers.”
“Sam, for Christ sake, will you either switch off that phone or explain to me why you think it's such a great idea to let them find us?” Adam was starting to panic and he hated to seem weak in front of Oriyanna, but the truth was he wasn't good at this kind of stuff. Sam, however, was cut from a completely different cloth. Adam had no doubt that some small part of his friend was relishing the challenge they faced.
Sam looked at him, a sly smile spreading on his face. “Aren't you just a bit curious to get a look at who is after her?”
“No, not really!” Adam snapped. “I'd rather stay as far ahead of them as possible, if I'm honest, and how the hell did they even get my number?”
Sam dug out the rental agreement that Oriyanna had used for her demonstration earlier. “It's on the rental form,” he said, waving the paper in the air. “The license plate of the RV is bound to have been recorded when we were stopped. It wouldn't take a genius to get our information from the rental firm.” Adam's face was growing whiter by the second. “Look, if I'm right, they called your phone to make it register on the network; that means they can't get a GPS fix on it – if they could, it would never have rung. All they will have is a rough idea of where we are. Are you with me so far?” Adam nodded his head reluctantly. “So let them follow us, then when we get to Colorado Springs we can ditch the RV and leave your phone in the cab. I'll switch on your Google Mapping app and fire up the GPS, and if they're still watching us, which I bet they will be, it will provide them with an exact fix.”
“I really don't know about this,” said Adam shakily.
“Look, this kind of stuff is my thing. Trust me.” He patted Adam on the shoulder. “I need to know who we're fighting here, and the only way I can do that is by getting a look at the enemy.”
“Sam is right,” agreed Oriyanna. “It is a risky move, but it's pointless just running, they will find us eventually and as much as I am dreading it, the only way I'm going to figure out exactly what they are up to is by getting in close.”
“No, no, no,” groaned Adam, “there is no way I want to get that close, getting a look at them from a distance is bad enough, but one-on-one – no way!” He shook his head in protest. “And do you really expect them to tell you what's going on?”
“Not for a second,” she replied shaking her sleeve down for what felt like the hundredth time. “I don't need them to speak to me. I just need to get my hands on them.”
Sam's eyes were wide with a mixture of excitement and nervous energy brought on by the developing plan. “You want to try and get in that close?” he gasped.
“No, not for a second, but I think it's the only way.”
“This is just crazy talk,” Adam protested. “For one, we don't know when they will catch up to us, or how many there will be. You might not even have time to get ready for whatever the hell it is you're planning to do. Just turn the phone off and let's concentrate on getting to Austin.”
“Just relax,” insisted Sam sternly, “chances are they're a fair few miles away right now, they won't be breathing down our necks anytime soon. If I switch it off now, they'll know we're spooked. Just get us to Colorado Springs, mate, one step at a time.” Sam offered Adam an encouraging smile.
“It seems I'm somewhat outnumbered, doesn't it?” he conceded reluctantly.
“Yep, you are, sorry,” laughed Sam. It felt good to finally have something to do, a plan to focus on. In his many years of military service and protection work, he'd never been the one to be hunted, he had never been the one running. It just wasn't the way he liked to work.
“Okay, I'll go with it, but for the record I still think it's a pretty shitty idea. It's just – I don't know; this seems too big. If what Oriyanna said is true, how can we make the difference?”
She sat forward in her seat and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, just as she'd done with Sam earlier. “Sometimes, Adam,” she began softly, “just one or two people can make more of a difference than an entire army.” He watched her smile in the rearview mirror and his heart skipped a beat.
“Oh, and just one more thing,” Sam cut in, “when we get to the city we need to find somewhere to buy some hardware.”
“Hardware?” repeated Adam, snapping himself out of the near trance-like state Oriyanna had inflicted on him once again.
The smile on Sam's face stretched almost from ear-to-ear. “Yes, hardware. We're going to need some guns.”
Chapter 10
Due to the late hour, traffic on Interstate 25 was light. Since clearing Denver and getting onto I25, Roddick had kept the Impala gunned, and a few miles out of the city the interstate was dry. The rainstorm which had pounded Denver hadn't made it that far. Thankfully, due to the dry, empty road, they had hardly dropped below ninety for the last fifty miles. Finch glanced down at the FBI badge in his hand and ran his thumb over the cool, imprinted metal surface. Whilst the new government ID was a fake, it still looked as real as any genuine one. It felt good to have a powerful form of identification in his possession again. While his previous one had been the real deal, this would no doubt serve just as well on members of the public, and allow him the ability to question anyone he may need to, without having to get nasty. Finch had no real issues with inflicting pain when the situation arose, but actions like that often drew unwanted attention, not to mention how time consuming and messy it could be. Stealth and speed were the name of the game now.
“We're about thirty miles outside of Colorado Springs,” said Roddick nonchalantly, keeping his attention firmly fixed on the road while watching out for the slightest sign of a police patrol. “I'll start backing off in a few miles until we get an update.”
“Okay, get us to within ten miles of the city; hopefully by then we'll have news from Mitchell,” Finch replied, tucking the badge back into his jacket pocket. Roddick nodded in agreement as he manoeuvred the Chevy into the fast lane and swept past a worn out, rusty red pickup truck with a busted tail light. The driver flashed his headlights in annoyance as they passed him as if he were standing still.
Conversation had been pretty light between them since leaving the hotel, which suited Finch just fine. With the window cracked down just a little and some cooling air blowing from the fans, he'd even started to get used to the slight odorous stench that Roddick seemed to emit twenty-four hours a day. While there was no question that he would rather be working alone on this, the benefit of having Roddick as a driver couldn't be ignored. Finch knew he would have wasted a good ten minutes messing with maps and SatNavs, searching for the fastest route out of the city. Roddick had taken a quick look at the map and somehow managed to imprint it into his brain; while he had the Impala's navigation system as a backup he never once looked at it. Mitchell had estimated the RV to be around forty miles ahead of them as they'd left the Hotel Monaco. Forty miles was not a great head start when you were in a much slower vehicle, and there was no way it could cover ground as fast as the Impala. They would be managing a steady fifty miles an hour at bes
t. From the cell tower information, Mitchell also strongly suspected they weren't using the interstate. As Finch and Roddick had left the hotel, Mitchell had gained a link to the traffic camera system on I25. There was no trace at all of the RV having been logged by any cameras, which also pointed to the fact it was on one of the smaller, less surveilled roads. Being on the back roads was more than fine as far as Finch was concerned; it would just serve to slow down their pace even more. From the centre console, his Blackberry suddenly lit up and vibrated loudly, causing it to dance around the small plastic cubby hole. He reached down and snapped it up, answering the call promptly.
“It's Mitchell,” said the voice on the other end. “Looks like I was right about the back roads, I just gained access to Adam Fisher's Visa account. His card was used at Texaco Gas Station on State Highway 105, about ten miles south of a small town called Sedalia and just west of Castle Rock.”
“How long ago was that?” asked Finch, his heart rate quickening.
“Not recently, I'm afraid,” he began. “It was around ten minutes before I called his phone, when you were back at the hotel. I've only just managed to get into his financial records. I'm working on Samuel Becker's now but it will take me a while, it looks like all the financial transactions over the last day have been from Fisher.”
“No problem. Do you have anything else for me?” he asked, annoyed that the information was that old.
“The phone is still switched on and shifting gradually south on cell tower locates. I'm looking at State Highway 105 now, that's the one they're using and runs almost parallel with the interstate. There are a few turn offs but if they stick on it heading south, eventually they will have to come out onto I25. I've run a few hypothetical calculations and if they do take the interstate, I'm expecting them to ping the traffic camera about five miles south of where the roads meet.” He paused for a second; Finch could hear the hum of conversation in the background. “That should be in about ten minutes,” he concluded. Finch sat silently, nodding as he absorbed the information; the fact that the phone was still switched on pleased him. It meant the call had either not been heard, or it hadn't spooked them at all. Glancing to his right he caught Roddick shooting inquisitive looks at him, obviously keen to be part of any update.
“Can you try and access the gas station's computer system,” asked Finch, “they may have CCTV at the site. If the cameras are networked back to a main server, we may be able to get some images from the forecourt.” While he was eager to end this as quickly as possible he was also enjoying the chase – he liked having the opportunity to show off his skills. It was frightening how quickly you could find someone with a few basic snippets of their personal information, and the right training on how to exploit it.
“Sure, I'll get right on to it,” replied Mitchell, “I'll call you back in a few minutes.”
“Well?” Roddick asked expectantly, as Finch ended the call.
“Back your speed off a bit now,” said Finch, scanning the dark highway for a mile marker. “Mitchell thinks they're going to join this interstate in about ten minutes, it looks like they're on a state highway that runs parallel to us over there,” Finch gestured to his left, where a line of dark, brooding mountains filled the horizon.
“That highway merges with this road at a town called Monument,” replied Roddick in a flash. “I saw it on the map earlier; I think we're a little over ten miles from where they meet.”
“Good, let's slow it down just a little,” cautioned Finch. “We don't want to get ahead of them. At this pace, you'll cover that distance in about seven minutes. You've done a good job of gaining ground.” Praising Roddick didn't come naturally but he did deserve some credit – thanks to his directional sense and Finch's intuition, they were well and truly back in the game. Finch relaxed against the headrest and began thinking through how it would all play out when they located the RV. He would ultimately need to deal with the two males first, and he suspected his toughest challenge lay in Sam Becker. With his army service, he was no doubt used to a little hostile action; the writer wouldn't be so difficult to deal with. Finch immediately decided that ideally, Becker should be the first to die. Once they were both dealt with he would shoot the girl, not fatally, but enough of an injury to slow her down and give him a chance to inject the serum. Once that was done she would be putty in his hands. The sharp vibrations of his phone snapped him away from his scheming daydream.
“Not good news on the gas station front,” began Mitchell, not bothering to introduce himself this time. “They have cameras, but the system is down for maintenance work.”
“Shit,” Finch swore under his breath. “Not to worry, it was only an outside chance anyway,” he sighed.
“However,” Mitchell continued, his voice picking up a little, “the license plate just pinged off a southbound traffic camera on I25, about five miles past Monument. It's a little sooner than I estimated, but they're heading toward Colorado Springs.”
“Front or rear facing camera?” asked Finch quickly, sensing the net was closing in. He was also keen to prove he hadn't put all his eggs in the proverbial single basket by chasing off after the two Brits.
“Front facing!” said Mitchell eagerly.
Finch's heart rate picked up again. “Can you send the image to my phone?” he asked calmly, suppressing a rising sense of anticipation.
“Can do,” Mitchell replied. Finch could hear the clicking of keys as Mitchell went to work back in the hotel room. “Okay, done. Should be with you now.” As he finished speaking, Finch felt the handset vibrate against his ear, notifying him of new email.
“Excellent work,” he praised. “Keep tracking them as best you can and let me know when you have anything further.” Finch ended the call and hastily switched to his emails, selecting Mitchell's message he waited for the image to load. “Pick up the pace a bit, but not too much,” he instructed, as the picture slowly materialised on the small screen. It was taking forever. “They are on the interstate, about fifteen miles ahead.”
“No problem,” replied Roddick confidently as he put his foot down, taking them up to a steady seventy-five miles an hour. Even at that speed, they would be gaining ground on the lumbering RV, with every turn of the wheels.
At last the image loaded, and Finch got his first look at their quarry. Using the navigation button he zoomed in over the windscreen; the image was a little grainy and pixilation began to set in as he enlarged it. Staring intently at the CCTV picture, he could still clearly see two people sitting up front, one driver and one passenger. He scrolled the picture down a little so just the top half of the windscreen was in view, affording him a slightly better look at the area behind the driver. Just visible through the grainy, enlarged image was an outstretched arm, holding onto the back of the driver's seat. There was a third person in the vehicle. A wide grin spread across his face. “Gotcha!” he muttered smugly under his breath.
Chapter 11
“God bless America and its constitutional right for people to bear arms,” exclaimed Sam as the RV came to a stop outside the Colorado Springs Gun Emporium. “Where else in the western world would you find a twenty-four hour armory, open to the public?”
“All this is great,” said Adam, securing the parking brake and stretching out a cramping pain in his leg, “but you're forgetting one thing.”
“And what would that be exactly?” Sam was already fishing his wallet out of the glove box.
“That constitutional right doesn't include holiday makers. It's for US citizens. They won't sell you any weapons, you don't have the right forms of identification.” Sam slowly tucked his wallet into his jeans, as the truth of what Adam had just told him sunk in.
“Shit,” he spat in frustration, “I never even thought about that, how could I have been so stupid?” He sunk into the seat, looking deflated. He'd become so caught up forming the plan, he hadn't even considered this problem. Sam glanced out of the window at the brightly lit shop. “Why the fuck didn't you say somethin
g before?” Adam shifted around in the driver's seat – despite the major hole in Sam's plan, it did feel good to stop driving. His eyes stung from the constant glare of oncoming headlights.
“I'm sorry,” he began, “it didn't really dawn on me until we got here. Plus, I kind of took it for granted that you might have thought of a way around it, after all, this is your thing. You know, guns and stuff.” Adam had been against the hare-brained plan from the start, but the thought of going head first into the hornet's nest that no doubt awaited – without Sam having any kind of weapon to defend them with – just made it worse.
“I'm sorry,” Oriyanna cut in, looking worried, “what is the problem exactly? Don't they sell what you need here?”
“Oh they sell it, alright,” groaned Sam, “there are enough guns in that shop to kit out a small regiment. It's just – I might have a little trouble actually buying them. You see, American citizens can purchase firearms if they have the right police checks and identification. I have my British Passport and driver's license as identification, but that won't be enough. I can't believe I didn't think about it.”
“So now, why don't we all see sense,” said Adam, as calmly as possible, “and crack on to Austin, but we start with you turning my phone off.” He released the parking brake and engaged reverse.
“Wait!” cried Oriyanna. Her outburst had Adam jamming the brakes on hard, jolting the RV harshly. “Just go in with what you have, I will take care of the rest.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Sam.
“I'll put it as simply as I can,” she said slowly. “Show them the identification you have; I can make them see whatever it is they need to see. Trust me.”
“Is that more of that hocus pocus shit you pulled on me earlier?” Sam demanded.
“Very similar.” She smiled.
“How the hell do you do that, anyway?”
“Let's just say that the thousands of years of evolution I have over you has enabled me to use slightly more than the ten percent of my brain that most Earth-Humans can use.”