When he reached the end of the dirt road Francis stopped and picked up the cell phone he had taken from the first of his victims. He was turning it over in his hand when it began to vibrate. Francis answered it.
“Where the fuck are you guys?” the caller shouted.
“Did you know it’s a federal offense to impersonate a US marshal?” Francis said.
There was a long pause. “Who is this?”
When Francis made no reply the man said, “Walter? Walter Scott?”
Francis flinched at the mention of the name.
“That’s right, Mr. Scott. We found your friend. He sold you out. Then he shot himself to protect his wife, for all the fucking good that did him.”
The caller’s voice was amused now, mocking. “Why not just give us the drive and save me the trouble of finding you? I’ll kill you quickly, I promise. I might even spare the boy.”
Francis laughed. “Why not save me the trouble and kill yourself, you sick fuck? Because I promise I won’t make it quick.”
Francis heard the man speaking to someone, then the sound of an engine starting.
“Walter? You still there, pal?” the caller said. “Maybe we could make a deal.”
Francis hung up.
He got out of the car and threw the phone into the trees, then walked to the trunk and picked up one of the Jackhammers. He pulled off the heavy cylinder and checked the loads. There were ten twelve-gauge shells in the cylinder. He reloaded it and checked the other one, then picked them both up, looped one strap over each shoulder and set off at a near-sprint in the direction of town.
He had just reached the forecourt of the tractor dealership when he saw the headlights. Veering to his right, he ran to the end of the forecourt where a big John Deere tractor was parked only a few feet from the road, and crouched behind the front wheel.
Francis watched the car approach. When it was no more than ten yards away, he broke cover and ran toward it. He swung the Jackhammers around, pointed them straight at the driver’s door and squeezed both triggers. The barrels began spitting flame and buckshot at 240 rounds per minute. The windshield and driver’s side window disappeared in a sparkling red mist of glass, blood and dashboard. A second later the rear tire exploded and the car veered onto the forecourt, hitting one of the tractors and coming to a sudden stop.
Francis staggered back from the recoil and regained his balance. He dropped the Jackhammers, walked to the car and pulled open the passenger door. The driver was still alive. Both his legs had been crushed beneath the dashboard and it looked like one of his arms was broken, but his eyes were aware. He tried to reach into his jacket, only to find the hand at the end of his right arm was no longer taking orders.
“Who sent you?” Francis said.
The man only smiled, revealing two rows of even, bloodstained teeth. “Fuck you!”
“Are you with Princip? Did Norton send you?”
The man only looked at him.
Francis pulled the gun out of the man’s shoulder holster, pointed it at his temple then moved it down and pushed it into his groin. “If you want to die with your balls intact you’ll tell me who sent you.”
The man raised his good hand and motioned for Francis to come closer.
“Eat shit”
Francis, his patience at an end, twisted the man’s broken arm. “Who the hell sent you?”
The man let out a shriek of pain, then his eyes closed and his head fell forward onto the steering wheel. Francis put two fingers to his jugular and felt the pulse first weaken, then stop.
Francis had walked back to pick up the Jackhammers when he heard the sound of an approaching car. He turned around just in time to see another set of headlights rounding the corner at the end of the straight.
The car, a gray Volvo station wagon, stopped several yards from the forecourt. The boy who got out looked about nineteen and was well built, with long black hair that almost reached his shoulders. When he was only a few yards away Francis stepped into the light and said the only thing that seemed to matter.
“Son, you wouldn’t have a hard drive on you by any chance, would you?”
Jesse didn’t reply. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, the look on his face suggested he was disappointed Francis hadn’t vanished. He studied Francis for a moment then mumbled something under his breath.
“What was that?” Francis said.
“I said she wasn’t crazy.”
“Who wasn’t crazy?”
“The woman.”
“Was the woman driving a black convertible?” Francis asked.
Jesse nodded.
“This woman, did she give you a hard drive?”
He nodded again.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Jesse.”
“Okay, Jesse,” Francis said. “Listen to me. Have you got the drive?”
Francis spoke as if the boy might have been slightly brain damaged, which for all he knew, he was. Jesse nodded again.
“In the car?”
Another nod.
“Can you show it to me?” Francis asked.
Jesse didn’t move.
“Kid, I need you to snap out of it.”
Jesse took a step back and seemed to really see Francis for the first time. “Who are you?”
“Listen,” Francis said. “There’s no time. If we stay here, we’re both dead. I need you to show me the drive.”
Jesse walked back to the car and got the bag. He unzipped it and rummaged inside for a moment. “It’s not here. Mandy must have taken it out.”
“Who?”
“My friend. She was with me when the woman gave me the this. I must have left it at her house.”
Francis walked to the Volvo and got in behind the wheel. “Get in.”
– – –
When they pulled to a stop outside Amanda’s house five minutes later, Francis turned to Jesse and said, “All right, how we gonna do this?”
Jesse, who up to this point had seemed too dumbfounded by events to do more than go along in silence, looked at Francis with a mixture of fear and curiosity. “What the hell is going on?”
“That’s a great question,” Francis said. “One I’ve been asking myself all day. All I can tell you right now is that we need to get that drive. The rest will have to wait. Is that going to be a problem?”
When Jesse didn’t answer Francis snapped his fingers. “Hey, eyes on me, kid. Can you get the drive or am I going to have to do it myself?”
“It’s all right,” Jesse said. “Her parents are away. I’ll go in and get it.”
Francis put a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “You need to get the hard drive and the girl. You guys can’t stay here.”
Jesse looked down at the bag in his lap. “We didn’t take any of the money. I was going to hand it in tomorrow.”
“I don’t care about the money. Now please go in there and get the drive, and don’t forget the girl. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Are you a cop?” Jesse asked.
“Are you going, or do I have to do it myself?”
Francis reached for his own door handle.
“I’ll go,” Jesse said.
– – –
“Are you all right?” Amanda said when she saw the look on Jesse’s face.
“Mandy, we need to get out of here.”
She took a step back and eyed him, amused. “Very funny, Jesse.”
When the expression on his face didn’t change, she frowned. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. Something to do with the bag and the money. Someone’s looking for it.”
“Did you go to the sheriff?”
“No.”
“Then what the hell are you talking about? How do you know someone’s looking for it?”
Jesse sighed and turned to the door. “Look out the window.”
She did.
“Who the fuck is that in your car?” Amanda said.
“He says we
need to get out of here. He knows about the money and the hard drive.”
“Okay, I’m being serious now, Jesse. There’s a man in your car. If it’s your dad then it’s a little creepy, but I’m sure you can explain. If it’s not someone from the sheriff’s office, who the fuck is it? And what are they doing here?”
Jesse gave up. He walked to the door, opened it and signaled for Francis to come inside.
“Tell me you didn’t just invite him in!” Amanda said and moved to close the door. Jesse held it open.
“Jess, this is my fucking house!”
Before Jesse could answer, Francis pushed his way in and closed the door.
“What’s the goddamn hold up?”
Amanda ran into the kitchen. When she came back she was holding a steak knife. Francis looked at Jesse and held up his hands, palms up, in the age-old sign for what the fuck?
“You haven’t told her?” Francis said.
“I’ve been trying.”
Amanda raised the knife. “Hello? I’m standing right here! Could someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
Francis looked her up and down. Amanda brought her arms up to her chest and crossed them above her breasts.
“Oh please!” Francis said. “I’m not that guy. Do I look like that guy?”
Amanda didn’t say anything.
“Long story short,” Francis said. “A woman gave you a hard drive. Some very nasty people want it back. She’s now dead. I’ve killed four people this evening who came here looking for it. When the replacements arrive and find you, they’ll kill you, too. Now can we please get the hell out of here?”
Amanda looked at Jesse, clearly unconvinced.
“He’s right,” Jesse said. “I saw two of them out at Farmland.”
Amanda turned and walked down the hall. She came back holding the hard drive and handed it to Francis. “Now get out of my house!”
The look she gave Jesse suggested he was free to do the same.
“You don’t get it,” Francis said. “It won’t matter that you don’t have it. They’ll ask you who you gave it to, you’ll tell them, and then they’ll kill you. It’s that simple.”
It took her a moment, but the look of stubborn determination finally left her eyes. “Okay, so if you’re not from the sheriff’s office, who are you? And why should we believe anything you say?”
Francis considered this. It was a fair question. “Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen who doesn’t want to see anyone else get shot if they don’t have to. As for trust, you’re just going to have to take my word for it. Now if we’re done playing twenty questions, we really need to go.”
When Amanda came back into the living room for the second time, she was dressed in a pair of dark green combat trousers, a black North Face jacket and hiking boots. She stood looking at Francis for a moment, her skepticism clear for all to see. “I’m going to the sheriff’s office. Try and stop me and I’ll scream until the entire neighborhood is standing on the front lawn.”
Francis sighed and raised his arms in exasperation. “Where do you think the men who came here looking for you went first?”
When she didn’t answer Francis said, “That’s right, the sheriff’s office. For all we know there are people waiting for you there right now. They may even be cops themselves. Do you know what they would do if you showed up?”
“We could explain –” Amanda began to say, but Francis cut her off.
“You wouldn’t get the chance. You’d be arrested and taken away. Only instead of putting you in jail they would find out what they needed to know and kill you before anyone around here knew what was really going on. You want to take that risk? Go ahead, the door’s open.”
Amanda only looked at him.
“I’ve got what I came for,” Francis said. “I could just as easily leave you here and let you take your chances. But if you’re coming with me, we need to leave right now.”
It took her a moment, but the look of stubborn determination slowly left her eyes, giving way to something more akin to apprehension.
Jesse led the way. When Amanda reached the door, Francis stopped her. “There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“We need the keys to the Impala.”
Amanda went to the glass cabinet at the back of the living room, opened one of the doors and fished a set of keys out of a porcelain bowl. She threw them to Francis. “One scratch on that car and you won’t have to worry about anyone trying to kill me. My dad will do it for them.”
Chapter 20
Skyline Defense
New York, New York Tuesday 18 July 2006
0230 EDT
Jack picked up the phone and tried to call Rollins again, but there was still no answer.
“Boss, you going to tell me what’s going on?” Marius said.
Jack had all but forgotten Marius was there. Now he looked at him and tried to think of something to say. Mindful that outright lies had a way of outrunning the people who tell them, he settled instead on a plausible half-truth. “The woman driving the car is Cynthia Ross. Her husband is a security systems engineer who helped someone at Albion steal several of our designs. I had Rollins looking for him.”
“And you think she was headed for the border?”
“They have relatives in Canada,” Jack lied.
“So where’s Rollins now?” Marius asked.
“I don’t know. He was supposed to call me when he found her.”
Marius looked skeptical. “If there was a security breach at Albion why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure. I mean, I didn’t know for sure until Rollins found Ross.”
“Yeah, but if you suspected –”
“Marius, I’m having a bad fucking week. All right? You work for me, remember? Not the other way around. If I don’t always remember to tell you everything, I don’t expect to be questioned.”
Marius shrugged. “Fine. I’m just saying. Site security’s my job. If I don’t know –”
“Marius, I get it. I’m going downstairs. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“You want me to try Rollins again?” Marius asked.
“No, I’ll do it. I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as I get a hold of him.”
Chapter 21
Morisson, Vermont
Tuesday 18 July 2006
0230 EDT
“You kids okay back there?” Francis asked.
“We’d be a lot better if we knew where we were going,” Amanda said.
“Canada.”
“I was afraid you might say that,” Amanda said.
“Really? Why’s that?”
“Isn’t that where fugitives go? Hop over the border into good old Canada?”
“And for good reasons,” Francis said.
“Name one,” Amanda said.
“Well, for starters, it’s not the United States. It’s also a largely unpopulated country.”
“So we’re off to the middle of nowhere to shack up with the moose and Eskimos?” Amanda said.
“Can’t promise you Eskimos,” Francis said. “But I’m sure there will be plenty of elk. First we need to ditch this car though. Is there a truck stop around here?”
Amanda sat up and leaned forward. “You’re going to leave my dad’s Impala at a truck stop?”
“We can’t cross the border in this,” Francis said. “We’d have a better chance of getting across unnoticed on roller skates. They may assume we’re leaving the country anyway, but assuming is not the same as knowing.”
“Won’t leaving the car in the same place we move on from just make it easier to find us?” Jesse asked.
“Yes” Francis said. “Being seen arriving and leaving the car there would be both dumb and dangerous. But that won’t matter if there isn’t a truck stop up ahead somewhere.”
“Past Barton about a mile or so,” Jesse said. “It’s a small place with a diner. You usually get a couple of trucks parked up in there.”
“To Canada?” Amanda asked.
“Yes, to Canada. And then maybe Greenland if we’re not too tired.”
“I was joking,” Amanda said.
“So was I,” Francis said.
They drove on for a while in silence.
“That’s Barton over there,” Jesse said when they passed the flyover.
Francis slowed the car, checked the mirror to make sure nobody was behind them and pulled off the road. He crossed a small field and drove into the trees on the other side.
“This is the end of the line,” Francis said and got out.
When Jesse and Amanda joined him Francis had already begun snapping off low-hanging branches from the surrounding trees and leaning them against the side of the car. They joined in and within ten minutes one side of the Impala looked more like a beaver dam than a vintage muscle car.
“It’ll have to do,” Francis said.
Jesse frowned. “I meant to ask, how did you get into town?”
“Motorbike,” Francis said.
“Where did you leave it?” Amanda asked.
“If you really want to know, it’s not far from your house,” he said, looking at Jesse. “In the trees where your road meets the road into town.”
“What’ll happen when they find it?” Amanda asked.
“I’m not too worried about the bike, although it did cost me a small fortune. It’s registered to a false address and a man who doesn’t exist.”
They set out parallel to the interstate, keeping out of sight among the trees. At one point they reached an open field with no cover from the road and Francis made them walk around it, adding ten minutes to the trip. They saw the truck stop twenty minutes later.
There were two trucks in the parking lot. One was a blue Peterbilt trailing a flatbed full of steel beams. Next to it sat a flat-nose Mack Ultraliner with a box trailer. Both The Mack and its trailer were decorated in the same detailed paint job, an airbrush painting of a long mountain range below a cloudy gray sky.
“You guys stay here,” Francis said. “I’m going to take a look around.”
Origin - Season One Page 8