by Thomas Babak
“Father has no records after Sandy entered the ninth grade.”
Kate interrupted Jenkins with “Sandy?”
“Yes. His friends…umm…he goes by Sandy, short for Alessandro. His other alias is Candy Cane.” Travis snorted at this and said “Sandy Kane, Candy Cane” and snorted again.
“Continue,” Kate said without even acknowledging or looking over at Travis.
“No records of work, taxes for the father. Bills paid but nothing else. There is one record of an exit out of the United States from that time. We’re tracking that down. We’ve already started interviews with students, teachers, neighbors and affiliates, but no one can recall seeing the father for years. We’ve never talked nor seen him, either. Odd.”
“Follow that,” Kate ordered.
“Yes Ma’am.” Jenkins paused while he noted this and then continued. “Poor-to-average student until he enters high school and then excellent grades from there. He was on track to easily be the Valedictorian. Started working at the junkyard the same year he entered high school. I have the details of the old man here…”
“Skip it. No longer relevant for now” Kate said.
Jenkins swiped back on his tablet and continued on Sandy. “No arrests, no hospital visits. No close friends except Miss Johnson who was his childhood friend, then according to other students and her mother suddenly his girlfriend. She moved in with him. The girl, not the mom.” He swiped the screen again and caught his breath before continuing. “We’re still interviewing and collating. I should have a better picture soon, but it looks like he is smart, independent, and a loner.”
Jenkins thought about saying something about the pale light he saw outside this very conference room last night, but changed his mind. He wasn’t sure what he had seen. Just a light and he had been tired.
Kate turned to Dr. Fossberg.
He looked back and said “Nothing.”
Kate continued to stare at him. After a few seconds he elaborated.
“We’ve found nothing. We’ve looked at the high value stuff: hard drives, papers, books…nothing so far. We will continue to examine everything,” he finished, pressing his lips together tightly and staring back. Kate continued to stare for a few seconds more and then broke eye contact and said to the room “Very well. Carry on,” and stood up.
She left the room and made her way to the Wing Commander’s office that she had taken over for her own use. She’d talk to the young girl again.
Not far away in the cavernous hangar, another unmarked white truck deposited its contents. Spread throughout the hangar floor was all the contents of Sandy’s house and the Salvage Yards office, bay and barn. If nothing of value was found here, they would start sifting through the junked cars as well. White tape delineated the contents of each room. A little metal stand amongst the contents of each white tape separated cluster had a placard, which listed the location they came from whether bedroom, or bathroom or office on it.
A couple dozen people suited from head to two in white hazmat suits sifted through each cluster of contents carefully.
If it came down to it, literally no stone would be left unturned. They would rip apart the house and Yard buildings piece by piece to find something if that’s what it took. The technology was just too dangerous. Too powerful to be left in the hands of a teenage boy. Or in the hands any single person or group, for that matter. The technology brought too much power to whoever controlled it. The US Government had to control it completely to keep everyone safe.
As the people in power came to this realization, Kate’s mandate to do whatever needed to be done would be increased. So would the pressure. That or they would take over the pursuit of the boy and technology from her. She would use whatever she needed to use. Do whatever she needed to do to gain control over this Bubble Tech. That’s what the girl said the boy called it. Bubble Tech.
Kate picked up the handset on her desk and dialed a couple numbers noted on the piece of paper hastily taped to the side of the phone.
“Bring me the girl,” she said, and then hung up.
Thirty-One
Sandy jerked awake and thrashed around for a second. The morning traffic crossing the bridge was increasing and a semi-truck driving by loudly had woken him. He guessed. It was that or the bad dreams. He was stiff and had to pee. He’d slept awkwardly in the van’s driver seat. He reached down and unbuckled the seat belt. Stiffly, he got out of the seat and made his way to the van’s cramped bathroom. He had to unstrap some bungee cords and move stuff out of the way first before he could open the door. After finishing he flushed the toilet but nothing happened. He had never filled the water tank. He closed the toilet lid and the bathroom door.
He walked over to the fridge and unlatched and opened it. There were two bottles of water lying on the shelves. He grabbed both, opened one then gulped it down. It was warm but delicious and made him hungry as it hit his empty stomach.
He looked around for where to put the empty bottle. A few minutes later, he realized he’d been just standing there holding the bottle. He placed it gently, carefully in the sink and headed back to the driver’s seat carrying the other bottle. The empty bottle sat next to the TV remote he’d put in there, still unnoticed and forgotten about.
Buckling himself, in he checked power levels. 97%. Plenty. He activated the Bubble Field and flew out from under the bridge and headed north until he hit I-94 and headed East. After increasing his speed along the highway, he slowed down and reduced altitude until he found a likely place to stop. There was a County highway, so he changed direction from the Interstate and followed it south for a just over a mile. He stopped and hovered over the highway, rotating the van and checking the cameras. There were no other vehicles. He descended until he was hovering just over it and shut off the Bubble Field. The van dropped a few inches. Sandy had already switched modes to Driving. He pushed the Thruster forward and drove back to the Interstate.
Sandy spotted a truck stop with a large parking lot. He drove into it and parked the van by itself away from every other vehicle. He got out and locked the doors. Looking around, it didn’t seem like anyone noticed nor cared. He tapped his back pocket to make sure he had his wallet and headed for the restaurant and convenience store the made up the single building at the truck stop.
Ten minutes later he was back in the van. He’d bought several prepackaged sandwiches and a half a dozen bottles of water. A quick visit to the men’s room made him feel much better, too. Especially being able to wash his face and hands.
He had to figure out what to do next. He needed a plan. Mr. Bullock was in the hospital and Tasha was at the Air Force Reserve base. Was Mr. Bullock okay? Was Tasha? He was more worried about Mr. Bullock. Seeing them perform CPR on him at the Yard was not good. Was not good at all. Could he rescue them? How? If he rescued one, wouldn’t they protect the other even more? There were too many questions that he just couldn’t or didn’t know the answers to. How could he make a plan without knowing anything?
Sandy had stopped eating as he thought. He caught himself sitting there holding the sandwich half raised to his mouth. He had no idea how long he had been sitting like that. He’d have to stop doing things like that. Shake it off. Freezing up and getting lost in thought wouldn’t help anyone. He forced himself to finish the sandwich and then eat another.
By the time he finished the second sandwich he had the rudiments of a plan. He couldn’t help anyone, either Mr. Bullock or Tasha, until he knew how and exactly where they were. He’d have to find out somehow. He needed supplies first. There was no telling how long it would take or when or where he could do anything. Decision made, he stuffed the sandwich wrappers into the shopping bag they came in and dropped it on the passenger seat floor. The duffle bag that Mr. Bullock had given him was still sitting there from where it had fallen off the seat. He’d get to it eventually.
Thinking of supplies, he drove out of the truck stop and headed South on the County highway. As soon as no other cars were in sight,
he switched modes to Bubble and flew up into the air. He went back to the Interstate and turned east following it and increasing his speed. Within minutes he saw a city nestled amongst some lakes and slowed down. There was a Wal-Mart northeast of it so he flew around until he found a deserted road nearby and landed and drove back to the Wal-Mart. He spent an hour there buying camping gear, food, water, clothes and toiletries. He was running low on cash so used his debit card. It was declined. He tried the Salvage Yard credit card. It worked.
He hustled the two shopping carts full of stuff back to the van and hastily tossed his purchases into the van before getting in himself. He couldn’t stand when lazy people didn’t return their carts, but the paranoia of using the card made him abandon them where they were. He’d read too many books about people being tracked down by using the credit cards. He didn’t even wait to find a deserted spot to disappear in Bubble Drive but took off right from there. No one noticed except the parking lot security cameras whose video was confiscated later when FBI agents showed up.
Hovering over the parking lot, he brought up his GPS menu and tapped the screen for Points of Interest and Campgrounds. There was a full service KOA just north of where he was. He made that his destination and flew there. Circling above, it looked mostly empty but there were a couple trailers there and a large motorhome. He flew down. Checking again for other vehicles, he dropped back into Driving mode and drove to the front entrance. There was a small lot in front of the small building. He parked and walked to the door. A teenage girl sat behind the counter with an open book.
“Hi, may I help you?” she said with a friendly smile.
“Umm…yes. Can I get a spot for the night?” Sandy asked.
“Sure, do you have a reservation?” she asked, turning the computer screen.
“Umm… no,” Sandy answered in a nervous tone.
“No worries. The grounds are wide open. Too early still. The only people we have right now are snow birders returning. Park wherever you want. Just let me know which spot afterwards, okay?” she replied, smiling.
“Sure,” Sandy replied. He had no idea what a snow birder was.
“Is it just you?” she asked.
“Uhh…yes,” Sandy answered.
“Okay. One adult. Your name?” She asked looking at him.
“Umm…Sandy…Smith” Sandy replied.
“Address?” she asked, fingers flying on the keyboard without looking down.
“Uhh…123…78 Maple…Drive. Minneapolis, MN 553…uhh…11” he said.
“Email address?” she asked.
“Do I have to give one?” Sandy asked.
“No. It’s just so we can Spam you with stuff,” she chuckled.
“Tag number?” she asked.
At Sandy’s confused look she said “License plate number?”
“Oh…Minnesota ALZ 50… 2” It was actually his truck plate with the last digit changed. There were no license plates on the Bubble Van.
“How will you be paying?”
“Cash.” Sandy answered.
After paying, he received a paper tag with instructions to display it on his dashboard. On one side it had a number with the dates he was staying. On the other was a crude map of the campgrounds.
Sandy got back into the van and drove through the entrance. He looked inside the building as he passed and waved but the girl was already back to studying her textbook. He had been afraid that she would see that he didn’t even have a license plate. He found a spot away from everyone else and nestled between a few pine trees. It was as secluded as he could get.
Once parked, he sat for a few minutes and just breathed. Time to work, he thought. He got up and grabbed an extension cord from under the sink and headed outside. He plugged the van into the post and saw a water faucet there. Sandy went back inside and grabbed a hose from under the bathroom sink and hooked that up as well. Turning the handle on it, Sandy began filling the water tank on the van. There was a sewer hookup, but he didn’t have a hose for that. He’d worry about that later.
Back inside the van, Sandy packed the food and water away in the fridge and cabinets. He hadn’t bought anything perishable but storage was at a premium in the van. He removed the bungee cords and tarp and started piling everything outside. By moving the mattress aside and removing the platform plywood boards, he was able to pack most of the stuff in the space the platform made. He’d had to make a platform for the bed because the rear Stator arm stuck out where the mattress had been before.
The closet and cabinets took the rest except for the Bubble Sphere and Drone. He dismantled the sphere and stripped the drone. All the parts went into a cabinet. He took the sphere and drone outside and placed them next to the picnic table. There was a fire pit nearby. There was nothing he could do about the drone. It was welded rebar. The sphere he stomped flat. It was made of cardboard. He tossed it on the fire pit. He’d burn it later before he left along with the empty boxes he now had from all the Bubble Tech odds and ends.
Back inside the van, he checked power. Back up to 98%. He had food and water for a week. He undressed and used a washcloth to wipe himself down. He tore the tags off the clothes he’d bought and put them on. He felt much better afterwards. He grabbed a cigarette lighter out of a drawer and went back outside. The sphere and boxes burned fiercely for a minute or two and soon after was nothing but ashes. He had a fresh idea about the drone and brought the drone frame back inside the van, leaving it in the middle of the floor. Disconnecting the water and power, Sandy took off soon after in Bubble Drive and found a lake nearby. On Lifters he deactivated the Bubble and quickly tossed the drone frame into the lake. Turning the Bubble field back on, he headed back to the Twin Cities. He’d check on Mr. Bullock first. He could figure out a plan to rescue him once he found him.
If he could find him.
Thirty-Two
He flew all the way back to the Yard in Maple Lake first. The parking lot against the country road was completely blocked off the road by cement barriers except for an opening that could accommodate a single vehicle. There was a police car parked there with a couple of officers sitting in it. Nothing else was happening. The Yard looked abandoned. Sandy flew as close as he could by the windows. The rooms looked empty. Stripped.
His house and yard were taped off. Another police car sat in the driveway pointed outwards with a couple officer’s sitting in the front seat laughing hysterically at something. From the windows all the rooms looked empty. They had even taken the curtains.
At the hospital in Buffalo where they had taken Mr. Bullock there were no police cars. Sandy flew around and hovered in various locations. He didn’t see any sign of police or anyone that looked like an agent. A single ambulance came during the two hours he did this. Nothing. He didn’t have to go far to find a quiet stretch of road to go back into Driving mode. Buffalo isn’t that big. A couple minutes later he pulled into a residential area behind the hospital and walked the two hundred feet over to the hospital. He made his way to the front lobby without anyone giving him a second glance.
The woman behind the counter smiled at him as he walked up. “May I help you?”
“Yes. My dad asked me to visit a friend of his. Mr. Bullock. Mr. Richard Bullock. I think he was admitted yesterday,” Sandy said calmly while trying to plaster a smile on his face.
She typed in the name as Sandy watched her. She frowned. She tapped a key or two then looked up and hesitated for a second or two and asked “Do you know of any immediate family members?”
Sandy was taken off guard by the question.
“Umm…no,” he finally got out.
“You said your father was his friend? Is there any chance he could come in or call us?” she asked.
This was a question that Sandy had been asked several times over the years and had a ready answer for.
“My dad is out of town and won’t be back for a while. Is there something wrong?” he asked.
The lady went very quiet for a few seconds as she made a dec
ision.
“I’m sorry but your dad’s friend was DOA,” and at Sandy’s confused expression elaborated. “He didn’t make it, young man. We need to find a family member for disposition of the remains. Can you check with your father and have him call us? It would really help,” she finished.
Sandy stood there in shock for seconds. Mr. Bullock is dead! It roared through his mind.
The words came out numbly. He hadn’t realized he’d even said them “Can I see him?”
His hand was jammed into his pocket. He was gripping fiercely the steel fragment that Mr. Bullock had given him. The reminder that everything had consequences. It was only a reminder of Mr. Bullock now.
The lady at the desk looked at the pain and shock in the young man before her. She’d seen it too many times to count. Though she’d built a protective shell around herself over the years, she still sympathized.
She came to another decision. “I’m not supposed to do this but…” she opened a drawer, took out a small pad and wrote something on it. “If you promise me your dad will call, I’ll send you downstairs. Do you think you’ll be able to handle it, young man? It’s not pretty.” She held the slip of paper up next to her head.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sandy got out, strangely calm suddenly.
She held out the slip of paper to him and he took it.
“Thank you,” Sandy said.
“Take the elevators down and turn right. Go straight ahead. Don’t forget to tell your dad to call. Sorry for your loss,” she said almost as an afterthought.
Numb, Sandy walked over to the elevator which opened as he got there. He got on after another person who had been waiting. He reached down and pressed the “B” button on the panel. The elevator went up two floors, the person got off, and two more got on. The elevator stopped at the lobby again.
Sandy rode the elevator to the basement alone.
Sandy made it back to the van and got back inside before a sob wracked his body. Tears made it to eyes but did not fall. Deep breaths calmed him down. Only the single sob had escaped. The metal fragment now held tightly clenched in his hands on his lap.