by Peter Darley
“I am so damn proud of you, kid.”
B.J. looked at him, confused.
Crane came from around his desk, his expression suddenly bright and gleeful. “You did exactly what I did. You did exactly what your dad did.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, sir.”
Crane pulled out the chair on the guest’s side of his desk and headed over to the drinks cabinet. “Take a seat, B.J.”
Bewildered, B.J. sat down with the corner of his eye on Crane. Is he taking something for this?
Crane handed him a shot of scotch in a crystal-cut glass. “As you know, EDID is one of the newest government agencies in America. It was set up fifteen years ago, when my former department, SDT in Langley, merged with Mach Industries, to form a force to be reckoned with. The world was changing. New threats. New strategies for dealing with ‘em.”
Here we go again.
“After ISIS, we had Ghoster to deal with. Those goddamn cyber-terrorists damn near crippled the nation. I lost one my finest men in that conflict. Wentworth Cullen.”
“Yes, sir, I know.” B.J. glanced at the whiskey, which gave him an opening for changing the subject. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day for this?”
“I thought you could use it.” Crane took a glass of whiskey to his side of the desk and sat down. “What you don’t know is how much your dad had to do with me getting appointed director.”
“My dad? I thought your connection to my family was my Uncle Ty. He supplies government agencies with helicopters and tech.”
“I supply Ty with the tech. He mass produces it. Hell, the hover car is based on the old Turbo Swan tech your dad designed. But I’m where I am because of your dad.”
“How’s that?”
Crane sat back and gazed at the ceiling pensively. “It was over twenty-six years ago. I was assigned to bring your father in because SDT needed his help with an internal threat.”
“Operation: Nemesis?”
“That’s right. But when we found your dad, I realized the clowns I was working with were part of the conspiracy. I helped him escape and had to go on the run, myself.”
“Yes, I remember you telling me about that some years ago.”
“Did I mention I wound up helping your dad and your Uncle Ty to bust your Aunt Emily out of the clutches of a human trafficking outfit?”
B.J.’s jaw slackened. “No, you didn’t. You were a part of that?”
“Yes.”
“That means . . . you were with my father when he died.”
Crane paused for a moment, clearly uneasy.
Why does he look so guarded?
“What I’m trying to tell you, B.J., is you have nothing to worry about. I broke the rules in order to do the right thing, and so did your dad when he broke out of Mach Industries with the Turbo Swan. Because of what I did, I helped take down Operation: Nemesis. After that, CIA Director Brenham proposed I become director of SDT. He was a good man who supported me. Now I want to support you.”
“Support me?”
“I’ve always wondered if you might’ve inherited your dad’s traits. I’ve been waiting—even hoping—there might be some of the old Interceptor in you. Or, more accurately, the new Interceptor.” Crane winked at him mischievously.
B.J. lurched forward. “You’ve been hoping I’d do this?”
“Secretly.” Crane stood and walked around the desk. “You’ve been working here for over a year in an administrative capacity. I’ve always known you were cut out for more than that. There are crises occurring we can’t yet explain, and you just went and flew right into it.”
“I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”
“These disasters are sweeping across the globe. Now that it’s hit the U.S., it’ll become the prime focus of EDID. I’m going to have to think about this very carefully. First, I need to figure out some way of getting you out of the mess you’re in.”
B.J. cringed. “What can I do to help?”
“You said you took the INT-Nine to help someone. Who was that?”
“Her name is Heather Addison. I went to school with her. She worked in New York, at least until a few hours ago. I saw the damage spreading toward the place she worked and took off to get her out. If I hadn’t, she would’ve died.”
Crane shook his head with an astonished look. “Incredible. You risked everything to save another. There is nothing nobler, kid. Where did Ms. Addison work?”
“The Zenith Corporation,” B.J. said.
Crane’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, why?”
“The Zenith Corporation has been supplying government agencies with tech for decades. The CIA has them on the payroll. Hell, their tech decoded Wilmot’s Nemesis flash drive, back in the day.”
“Who’s Wilmot?”
“One serious asshole. You wouldn’t have heard of him. His name was conveniently omitted from all training files. It’s a . . . very sensitive intelligence issue.”
“What does that have to do with me? And more to the point, why are you telling me?”
“You’re different. I’ve got to propose a compelling justification to Congress for you being in New York in the INT-Nine, and you’ve just given me one. I, not you—I—sent you out there to assist the personnel of one of our most significant sub-contractors.”
B.J.’s eyebrows rose as Crane’s words resonated, and a sense of good fortune came over him.
“We may need Ms. Addison. Do you have any way of contacting her?”
B.J. took Heather’s card out of his pocket. “Sure. Right here.”
Crane glanced at the card. “I’m going to need this.”
“OK. Do you mind if I take the number?”
Crane shot him a knowing grin. “Is something going on between you and this lady?”
“Hopefully,” B.J. said slyly.
“All right.” Crane pushed a slip of paper and a pen to him. “Write it down, then I want you to go home and lay low. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve straightened everything out.”
“Yes, sir. What about Tito?”
“We need him, so don’t worry. That won’t be the last time you wear that armor. Tito was following my orders too. OK?”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Now get out of here. I’ve got a lot of work to do, and so do you. Just not yet. Wait for my call.”
“Yes, sir.”
B.J. sat in his apartment staring through the holographic, 3-D projection of his television, completely unconscious of what was showing. Crane’s reaction to what he’d done had come as a total surprise. Then there was the revelation that Crane had been present in Los Angeles when his father had died. Why had none of that been mentioned before? And why had Crane become so uncomfortable at the mention of it? It was as though there was more to his father’s death than he’d wanted to reveal. Somehow, B.J. knew there was.
But what did Crane have planned for him? He’d implied he had new duties coming up involving the INT-Nine. It was an exciting and intriguing thought, to say the least.
A buzz at the door drew him out of his reverie. He made his way across the apartment. Who could that be?
Upon opening the door, he was taken aback by the elegant, older woman in the doorway. Her compassionate eyes complimenting her shoulder-length, peroxide hair required no introduction.
“Mom?”
Five
Highway of Love
Belinda Reese froze in the doorway. She hadn’t seen her son since he left Dallas eighteen months ago and immediately noticed the maturity in his face. His boyish looks had changed so quickly.
But it was more than that. She’d always recognized the similarity between B.J. and his father. Now, at twenty-five, he was only three years younger than his father had been when she’d first met him. There was virtually no distinction anymore. She was gazing, once again, at the face of Brandon Drake, Sr., and a disquieting sense of eeriness came over her.
“Come on in,” he said.
; His words distracted her enough for her to step inside.
He frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m just surprised.”
“Surprised by what?”
“Well, just look at you. You’re all grown up.”
“You didn’t expect me to shrink, did you?”
After a moment, she succumbed to laughter.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “So, where’s my hug?”
Suddenly aware of how cold she must’ve seemed, she threw her arms around him. “I’ve missed you.”
“It’s great to see you, Mom. I’ve missed you too. What brings you to Washington D.C?”
“Tyler flew us up.”
“Uncle Ty’s here?”
“He’s just settling up with the cab driver. He’ll be up in a moment.”
“Great. I’ll make some coffee. Where’s David?”
“He’s at a golf tournament in Napa, California. He’s coming home the day after tomorrow.” She followed B.J. into the kitchen.
“So, has Uncle Ty got business in town?”
“No. I . . . needed to see you.”
He turned to her with concern. “Mom, is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure.”
“So, tell me.”
“I saw the news,” she said.
B.J. froze in his tracks and looked back at her with a knowing look in his eyes. He didn’t say a word.
Belinda couldn’t be certain what she’d seen was B.J., but the fear wouldn’t leave her. The flying man in the jet-powered armor could’ve been anyone. But the helicopter camera had caught him in close-up, and she’d seen that breast plate before. Not the helmet. Not the arm or leg plates. Just the breast plate. How was she going to explain it to him? How could she even ask him about it without revealing the terrible truth? He idolized his father, even though he’d never known him.
But what he idolized wasn’t the truth. It was a myth made up of selective stories they’d fed him, what he’d absorbed from comic books, and The Interceptor movie series. How could she break his heart by telling him his father hadn’t died in the Turbo Swan crash in Los Angeles? What would it do to him if he discovered his father had taken his own life in order to protect them from the evil inside him? How could she explain that his father had been wearing an identical breast plate just a few moments before he hurled himself from a mountaintop?
“I saw the news report about the disaster in New York this morning. I saw the man in the armor,” she said finally.
B.J. threw his arms in the air, exasperated. “How is it everybody knows that was me?”
Belinda exhaled with relief. Now, she didn’t have to explain it. “Who’s everybody?”
“Heather knew immediately. The helmet covered my head, my voice was disguised by an electronic filter, and still she knew.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she knew because nobody else was crazy enough to do something like that.”
Belinda laughed. Heather’s excuse was as good as any. “My feelings exactly.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Hell, even Uncle Jed figured it out, but I suppose that had a logical explanation. The minute he saw EDID hardware on TV, it wouldn’t have taken him long to find out who was missing.”
Belinda’s mouth fell open. “You mean . . . you took it without permission?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was precisely what his father had done, and B.J. looked exactly like him. His father’s last words echoed in her mind: I’m not gonna die. I’m not gonna die. I’m not gonna die . . .
B.J. hit a sensor on his beverage generator and a large chromium mug of coffee smoothly ejected from the portal within seconds. Handing it to her, he smiled. “Come on. Let’s sit down. I’ll put some music on.”
They re-entered the living room, and B.J. turned on the radio. Crystal clear rock music filled the room from four chrome, square, sound emitters positioned at each corner of the ceiling.
“Buddy!”
B.J. and Belinda looked across the room. A distinguished-looking, middle-aged man stood in the doorway. Still retaining a full head of short brown hair, a lean, athletic shape and a bronze tan, he’d maintained a striking look. His child-like, excited smile added a youthful aura to his fifty-four years.
“Uncle Ty!” B.J. said, and hurried over to give him a hug. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m doing great.” Tyler broke the embrace and seemed to be studying his nephew’s eyes eagerly. “Tell me it was you.”
Belinda stood abruptly. “Tyler, that’s enough. Please, just for now, grow up. This is serious.”
“Actually, Mom, it’s nowhere near as serious as you think it is,” B.J. said.
“How can you say that?”
“What’s serious is that so many people died this morning, and a magnificent city is in ruins. I saved as many as I could, but my main priority was Heather. She’s safe. What I did is no cause for concern.”
“You could’ve been killed. I was worried about you, so we jetted up here.”
“No,” B.J. said. “I couldn’t have been killed. You don’t understand what that armor can do. I couldn’t have even got wet.”
Tyler stepped between them. “I’m so damn proud of you, B.J. Can you tell me anything about the armor?”
Belinda rolled her eyes and sat down with her coffee. Tyler was acting like a kid in a candy store, and B.J. was so laid back he was virtually horizontal.
Nevertheless, B.J.’s position on what had happened to New York, and his sense of altruism did, at least, demonstrate a degree of maturity. B.J. and Tyler had always been like brothers around one another, and not uncle and nephew.
“I still have much to learn about the armor,” B.J. said to Tyler. “But I do know the metallic composition is the same as dad’s Turbo Swan shell. The miniature jets are assimilated into the boots, with faster than Mach-One propulsion.”
Tyler’s eyes glazed over with awe. “Incredible.”
“Yeah, I guess it is. It contains weaponry, but I’m not sure how much I’m permitted to say about that. It’s sub-aquatic as well as avionic, and I’m told it has night vision lenses that can make pitch darkness look like perfect daylight. Oh, and, more importantly, it has a built-in music system.” B.J. winked.
“What did Jed say when he found out you’d taken it?” Belinda said.
“He was thrilled. He’s going to propose the idea to Congress.”
“What?”
“Mom, chill. Everything’s going to be legit, and that armor is safer than this penthouse.” He turned back to Tyler. “Anyway, take a weight off. How’s Aunt Emily?”
Tyler chuckled. “She’s still the president of The Samaritans, but I think she’s having some kind of mid-life crisis.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s just started getting into heavy metal.”
B.J. burst into laughter. “No way.”
Belinda sighed. “It’s true.”
“Are you guys staying the night?”
Tyler suddenly appeared awkward. “Oh, I booked us a hotel.”
“You what?”
“Well . . . we didn’t want to impose.”
B.J. shook his head. “You’re unbelievable. I haven’t seen you guys for over a year, and you’re booked into a hotel? You know me better than that.”
“OK,” Tyler said, cringing. “Bad judgment call on my part. I’ll make it up to you. What say I take us all out to dinner?”
B.J. was silent, trace-like.
Belinda looked at him as he sank into his leather couch with his head tilted toward one of the sound emitters. “B.J.? Are you OK?”
“Y-yeah, I’m fine. It’s just . . . that song.”
She listened to the track on the radio. It seemed familiar, somehow.
And then the chorus arrived:
Driving on the highway of love, when I look in
your eyes. Shaking all the fears that I know, with you here by my side . . .
“Oh, man. That hook is just a killer,” B.J. said. “Damn, I love this station.”
Belinda shivered. “Do you listen to this station often?”
“It’s all I have on.”
The song reached the fade-out, and the announcer came on as it ended. “Highway of Love by Shining Line from twenty-ten. The classics keep coming. Up next . . .”
Oh, my God. Belinda finally remembered where she’d heard the song before. Back in 2014, she’d left the cabin in Aspen with B.J.’s father in a Dodge Sprinter van. They were trying to escape from America, not knowing the horrors they were heading toward. She recalled they were driving through the Rockies, and she’d been telling Brandon about her traumatic childhood. The song, Highway of Love, was on one of his CDs. She remembered thinking how appropriate the lyrics were. She’d never loved anyone like she’d loved Brandon, and she’d been driving along a highway with him, filled with hope and joy.
But the song was an oldie, and aside from a specialist revival, post-Millennium, AOR rock hadn’t been mainstream since the 1980s. What were the chances of B.J. being so taken with that particular style of rock––and a song that had such a connection to his father? It hadn’t been on the radio in 2014. It had been on one of Brandon’s own CDs. Additionally, B.J. had just said that particular station was all he had on. His father had been crazy about AOR, and there was no way a style of music could’ve been a genetic trait.
She glanced around the room and noticed her son’s collection of karate championship statuettes.
There was no longer any doubt in her mind.
Six
Congress
Heather Addison sat mournfully beside her friend, Robin Hess, in Robin’s Jersey City apartment. The shock of the day had finally taken its toll. Hands shaking, she barely managed to make herself a gin and tonic—her second. The first hadn’t helped. How many would it take to make her forget?
Robin, a longstanding friend, placed her arm around her. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. It’s just horrible, Heather. Are you sure you don’t want me to call your mother?”