Incursion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 2)

by Jay J. Falconer

  “Replication will require close proximity,” Fuji added.

  “Which is easier said than done,” Lucas said. “Cyrus’ men are well trained and always on high alert.”

  “Not always,” the professor answered. “We do know that his senior staff hangs out at Tailgater’s Pub on Thursday’s for happy hour, so it shouldn’t be difficult to get one of them alone, especially if they’ve been drinking raspum all night.”

  Lucas smiled. “Eventually if one of them will need to take a leak and heads off to the bathroom alone.”

  “If Bruno waits inside the adjacent stall, it should only take a few seconds.”

  “It’d be like collecting a urine sample from a drunk, only it doesn’t need to be done in mid-stream,” Lucas said.

  “Hell, if he was drunk enough, you could probably collect both of his kidneys and sell them on the black market,” the professor said. Then he paused, turning his head slightly, as if he were in deep in thought. “That gives me an idea.”

  “What?”

  “You said ‘the Collector’ wants to get his weapons back, right? Which is why he kidnapped Fisher’s daughter.”

  Lucas nodded. “That’s what the old man told us right before he cashed it in.”

  “I think I know the identity of the Collector.”

  “Who?”

  “Gaylon Reece.”

  “The drug dealer?”

  Kleezebee nodded, then stroked his long beard. “A few days ago, I traded our remaining stunners and power cartridges in exchange for the new vid-screens in the basement.”

  Lucas was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. His mentor had never given away any of their technology before.

  “We couldn’t complete the Incursion Chamber’s monitoring system without them, and he was the only one who had access to that kind of technology. The man collects everything—and I mean everything—as long as it has inherent value. That’s what he did for a living before the Krellian attack. And we all know that old habits die hard.”

  “Why would Reece think Fisher had the stunners?”

  “Perhaps his daughter acquired them without Mr. Reece’s permission,” Fuji said.

  Lucas didn’t agree. “I’ll bet it was her ex-boyfriend, Piston. Assholes like him are always looking for shortcuts.”

  “Either way, I’m afraid we will never know for sure,” the professor said.

  Lucas flared his eyes. “Now that we know who has her, we are going to rescue her, right?”

  “If we had enough weapons to replace the set that was stolen, then yes. But we don’t. We only have one left. There’s nothing we can do for her.”

  “Bullshit. There’s always something that can be done.”

  “Sometimes you have to know when to walk away, especially if it means avoiding contact with the underbelly of society.”

  Underbelly or not, Lucas couldn’t let it go. “He’s a collector of things, so let’s trade him something else. Regardless of his reputation, he’s still a businessman. I’m sure the stunners are not the only thing he would accept in exchange for her.”

  “Dealing with a man like Gaylon Reece is extremely dangerous. He’s ruthless and unpredictable, which I’m sure is why he has eluded Cyrus and his death squads.”

  “Unless they’re working together.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Still, we have to try. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Let’s assume for a moment that I agree—which I don’t—how do you expect to contact him and arrange for a trade?”

  “I figured you already knew how to do that. After all, you’ve done business with him when you traded our fucking technology away.”

  “That was through a friend of Claude’s in the capitol building, Jennifer Warren.”

  Lucas had heard of her, though he had never met her. “The one-eyed chick?”

  Kleezebee nodded. “I think she used to be involved romantically with Reece, before the Krellian assault. She owed Claude a favor and set up the one-time meet. But that trade was under entirely different circumstances.”

  “How’s that?”

  “It was a business transaction, one item for another. There was no emotion involved. A ransom exchange is wholly different. This time it’s about revenge and that changes the dynamic completely.”

  “Then let’s not make it a ransom exchange. I can go in undercover. Purchase her along with some other shit.”

  “He’ll see through that in a heartbeat.”

  “Not if we step up our game. I’m sure if the three of us put our heads together, we can outsmart one tweaked-out asshole.”

  “Maybe so. But Reece could be holding Carrie Anne anywhere.”

  Lucas wished he knew how to contact the Baaku. They might be able to help in the search. He thought about mentioning it to Kleezebee, but earlier when he tried to tell the professor about the spiritual salad farmers, the old man laughed it off. Kleezebee thought Lucas had been hallucinating again. Not that Lucas blamed him; he wasn’t entirely sure they were real, either.

  He decided he needed a different plan, one that everyone would agree was part of reality. “Can’t we use the Incursion Chamber to locate her remotely?”

  Kleezebee didn’t hesitate, almost as if he had already considered the idea. “It only works if you know the exact date and time of a target event. That means we’d have to know her location first, in order to calibrate the device. Otherwise, we can’t seed the calculations properly. It’s a Catch-22. Besides, we don’t have sufficient E-121 to power the unit.”

  “That power requirement may not apply,” Fuji said.

  “Explain.”

  “Penetrating the narrows of time is far easier for a local incursion.”

  Lucas understood the ramifications. “Local viewing requires much less power to open the wedge, especially when there’s no time displacement involved.”

  Fuji nodded. “A little over two-hundred amps should be sufficient to initiate.”

  “That means we could use standard household current.”

  “Theoretically, it is possible.”

  “Could we establish a stable incursion point with that level of power?” Lucas asked, as his mind filled with possibilities.

  “For no more than one, maybe two seconds, at best.”

  “That might be enough if the timing is right. The element of surprise would be on our side for a change.”

  Kleezebee seemed frustrated. “Guys, we still need to know her location first.”

  “Unfortunately, that is true,” Fuji said, bowing to Kleezebee.

  “But we have to try, Professor.”

  “Time may find a way,” the baldheaded monk added, looking at the professor with eyes wide.

  Kleezebee sneered at Fuji.

  Fuji stood silent.

  Lucas moved a step closer to his mentor. “Fuji’s right. I think the universe owes us one, big time.”

  Kleezebee paused; he was obviously thinking about it. “I’m sorry, but the answer is no. It’s a fool’s errand. We need to focus all our efforts to acquire the power modules from Cyrus now, while we still have time. You do want to find your brother, right?”

  “Of course I do. But I can’t let an innocent girl die. Not when there’s something I can do about it,” Lucas said, looking at Fuji, hoping his friend would agree. The monk didn’t answer; he must have caved to the professor’s sneer.

  “Please, we have to save her,” Lucas said, staring at Kleezebee. He waited a good ten seconds, but the professor’s expression didn’t change. It was clear that Kleezebee had made his decision and wasn’t going to change his mind.

  Lucas threw up his hands. “Ah, fuck you.” He paced the room, trying to decide what to do next. “Fine, if you don’t want to join me, then I will go alone. You don’t need me to help with Bruno or the E-121 recovery mission. Rico can handle it. So, that makes me available—and expendable.”

  Kleezebee shook his head. “It’s much too dangerous. You will be putting Drew at risk.�
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  “Horseshit! You don’t even think he’s still alive.”

  “That is simply not true.”

  Lucas grew even more upset after the professor’s spin control. “What the hell do you care if I go or not? This is my decision! Not yours!”

  “I do care. More than you know. But I have a responsibility to protect all the members of our team and our mission.”

  “What’s good for the many outweighs the needs of the few,” Fuji added.

  “Or the one,” Lucas added, gawking at the monk. He recognized that catch phrase from a trio of old Star Trek flicks, but knew Fuji couldn’t have seen them—not in this time period and certainly not on this planet. He rolled his eyes, then looked at Kleezebee. “I appreciate your concern, Professor. But I’m going and nothing’s going to stop me. Not you, not Fuji, not an army of Krellian meat-eaters.”

  Kleezebee folded his arms and stood even more erect than he normally did, but he didn’t respond.

  “You might as well accept it, Professor. This is happening, one way or the other. So, you can either help me, or tell me to fuck off. I really don’t give a shit. So, what’s it going to be? I need to know right now, because the clock is ticking.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Lucas felt the inertia of the Mag-Lift train slow, meaning it was nearing another station, but he couldn’t see where he was, not with the hood draped over his head. He sat up in the squeaky leather seat and adjusted his hands, trying to make them feel more comfortable behind his back. The nylon rope around his wrists was tight—probably too tight—since he had lost some of the feeling in the tips of his fingers. He flexed his hands, trying to send more blood to his extremities. It seemed to work, though his pentagon-shaped watch slid out of position, swiveling down around his wrist.

  It had been a long, curvy, two-hour ride, but he wasn’t sure if the train had circled back on the adjacent track or traveled in one direction the whole time. Not that it really mattered, since he knew he wasn’t being followed. The seventy-two-hour ransom was still viable and the extra time allowed Lucas to better memorize his cover ID.

  He figured he was the only civilian in the train car other than Reece’s men, since he hadn’t heard any other voices or activity during the ride. Lucas was impressed that Reece could arrange and afford a private car, especially since Cyrus kept close watch on the transportation grid. He wondered how the Supreme Commander would react if he learned that his major rival was freely enjoying the comforts and tactical advantages of the Mag-Lift system.

  Lucas licked his sticky, stale lips, as his empty stomach bubbled an angry tune. It had been hours since he had anything to eat or drink—not since right before Reece’s men snatched him off the street near the bakery in town. He knew that he had better eat something soon, if he was going to keep it together for the negotiations. He could feel his energy levels dropping by the minute. His mind drew a delicious picture of a pile of fresh cherries covered in whipped cream. He could almost taste its sweetness sliding down his gullet, but the vision just made him hungrier, so he turned it off.

  When the train came to a stop, the distinctive swooshing sound of the car door rang out, then a blast of fresh air smacked him in the face. He wriggled his feet under his outstretched thighs, leaned forward and stood up, waiting for one of Gaylon Reece’s men to take him by the arm and lead him out of the passenger car. Someone did. It wasn’t long before the station’s platform was under his feet; the creeks and hollow sounds told him that he was walking on wooden planks.

  The guard escorted him fifteen paces forward before he pushed Lucas’ head down and forced him to lean sideways. “Get in and move to the middle,” the man said in a deep, gruff voice.

  Lucas slid his butt onto the seat and hopped his body over a few feet. He could feel someone sit down next to him on both sides. The sway and depth of the seat depressions told him that the bookend bodyguards were both very large. He drew in his shoulders and arms, allowing more room for Reece’s guards. Both skimmer doors swooshed, compressing the air inside the car as they closed.

  “Safe house three. Tactical route alpha,” the man on his right said.

  “Affirmative. Setting course and speed. Electro-armor engaged,” an artificial, robotic voice said from the front of the vehicle.

  Lucas knew he was riding in a late-model skimmer limousine, since only the newest limo models were equipped with both the AutoDrive feature and the revolutionary new armor system that he had heard about. Reece had bucks, that’s for sure. But the real question was, where were they taking him?

  About thirty minutes later, the skimmer slowed down and stopped. The door to his left opened, then someone tugged on his arm, pulling him sideways. He flew off balance as he was dragged out of the vehicle and ushered to his feet by a pair of strong hands. His feet felt uneven—like he was standing in loose dirt or sand, so he shuffled his feet, twisting them deeper into the soil, trying to gain better footing. It worked.

  His nostrils swelled as the distinct aroma of brisk mountain air invaded his senses. But that wasn’t all. There was an odd secondary scent—something he could only describe as wet pine tree mixed together with a bad case of swamp-ass. Then something brushed against his leg from behind, nudging him a half-step forward, as the huff of excited breath filled the air. He could hear rapid sniffing, right before something pushed against the bottom of his crotch, sniffing his privates for at least thirty seconds.

  Then it barked—fuck, a dog—and its mouth was much too close for comfort. That must have been the source of the swamp-ass stench. He figured the animal must have been playing in the forest, rubbing against the sap-laden pine trees before taking a swim in a pond filled with beaver shit. Hopefully, there weren’t any leaches in the pond, otherwise, he might soon feel them crawling up the inside of his leg, looking to latch onto his manhood for an afternoon blood-suck.

  Someone grabbed the top of the hood, pulling it up along his chin, across the tip of his nose, and off his forehead. The crackle of static cling grabbed a few strands of his red hair, tugging at his scalp before it let go. Moments later, the warmth of sunlight soothed his right cheek.

  He looked down. A hundred and fifty pound red-and-white-colored Siberian Husky was staring back at him with a jawline of impressive teeth and deep blue eyes. Its ears were angled back sharply and every hair along its neck was standing at attention. Lucas looked up, not wanting to challenge the imposing animal. Maybe if he ignored the curly-tailed nut-sniffer it would go away.

  In front of him was a tiny, wood-framed cottage with a classic front porch. The building was maybe eight hundred square feet—about the same size as Kleezebee’s cabin. A dense forest of trees stood guard behind it, with an open, lush meadow off to the left.

  “Safe House Three?” he asked in his most sarcastic tone.

  “Quiet!” the guard yelled, pulling him toward the front porch.

  Lucas studied the area for possible escape routes as they moved closer to the cottage. He spotted something familiar: a distinctive, two-spire peak between the towering trees. Ghost Mountain. The evening sun was shoulder-high in the cloudless sky, meaning he was somewhere along the south ridge, on the side opposite from Dr. Kleezebee’s cabin. His chest tightened when he realized he could walk home with Carrie Anne from there, assuming he could negotiate for her safe return—and survive the ordeal. If his cover ID didn’t hold, it would have to be Plan B.

  The crotch-friendly mutt jumped and positioned itself ahead of him using a low-angled crouch, making Lucas even more nervous. It looked angry or hungry, hard to tell the difference with the drool dripping from its mouth.

  The guard kicked the animal in the head, making it yelp, before it stumbled out of the way and ran off. It disappeared around the corner of the bungalow. “Fucking flee bag,” the man said, disdainfully. “Someone should shoot that mutt.”

  The brute untied the lashing from Lucas’ hands, then opened the door and shoved him inside with enough force to make him fall forward on his knees
. The door behind Lucas closed and he heard its lock engage. The chaperon remained outside.

  Lucas stood up and took a moment to admire the dozens of full-sized, twentieth-century movie posters blanketing every square inch of the wood-paneled walls: Pirates of the Caribbean, Terminator, Lethal Weapon, Linkage, Final Countdown, Contact, Scanners, Brainstorm, Sneakers, Battleship, Independence Day, The Godfather, Godzilla—and the list of blockbusters went on. Each one was professionally framed in glass and looked to be in mint condition. If it weren’t for the overabundance of memorabilia, he’d swear he was standing in Kleezebee’s living room. The layout was identical, including the stone fireplace and unimpressive kitchen area on the right.

  He studied the floorboards near the center of the room, but couldn’t determine if there was a trap door leading down to a basement—a brown area rug smothered the floor. But if there were a basement, that’s where he figured Gaylon Reece was holding Carrie Anne. Of course, that was assuming she was being held on-site and was still alive.

  Lucas heard a flushing noise coming from the short hallway on the left. If the rest of the cottage was laid out the same as Kleezebee’s place, then the hallway led to two bedrooms, one being the master, with a central bathroom that both rooms shared. He heard the familiar sound of toilet paper being pulled from a wall-mounted dispenser, then a second toilet flush.

  Reece limped into the main area from the hallway.

  Lucas tried not to stare at the man’s eye patch or peg leg, but it was impossible not to sneak a peek at both. He prayed his wandering eyes weren’t obvious or offensive.

  “You must be Mr. Nicoli,” Reece stated.

  “Yes, yes, I am. But you may call me Lucas,” Lucas answered, hoping his assumed name sounded legit.

  “I’m Gaylon Reece,” the long-haired man said. He moved a few steps, then sat down in the wooden rocking chair next to the couch. In front of him was the end of a glass-inlay coffee table with a handheld graphene screen sitting on top of it. “I want to apologize for the harsh manner in which we brought you here. But since we haven’t engaged in commerce before, it’s paramount that extra security precautions be implemented. Cyrus has spies everywhere.”