by Jon S. Lewis
Colt spent the day holed up in Grandpa’s apartment, trying to plan contingencies for every possibility. What if Lobo didn’t show up? What if he spotted one of the DAA agents? What if he tried to take Colt to a new location? What if something happened to Ms. Skoglund?
“She knows the risk,” Grandpa said. “We all do.”
“But I don’t want anyone to risk their life for me.”
“This isn’t about you, it’s about doing whatever it takes to get the job done. Besides, I don’t think you have much to worry about. She’s a resourceful one.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Colt baked a frozen pizza and distracted himself with a stack of comic books Grandpa had brought from home. As he flipped through the pages, he watched time and again how the Phantom Flyer overcame the odds to defeat villains that should have destroyed him. He wondered if he would be able to do the same.
As the night went on, Colt felt like a Thoroughbred horse stuck behind a gate, waiting for his race to start. Somehow he was frustrated, terrified and excited all at the same time. Then the clock finally struck eleven thirty and it was time to go.
It was cold out, but the sky was clear, and he could see the stars shining overhead as he cut through a patch of trees that skirted the cemetery behind the chapel. Thanks to a schedule that Ms. Skoglund found on one of the servers, Colt knew where the security detail would be stationed, and when. The last thing he needed was to get caught outside after curfew and blow the entire operation.
Colt wore a ballistic vest beneath a hooded sweatshirt, but Giru Ba had also given him a jacket that was constructed from the same nanotechnology used to make his cadet uniform. It was warm, but it also had hidden pockets that held some useful gadgets, just in case he ran into trouble. There was a set of Bola Cuffs that came in a metal disc about the size of a hockey puck. All he had to do was throw it, and four lengths of rope made with polyethylene fibers would eject and wrap around his target, effectively tying the person up. Each strand was as strong as a steel cable, but much thinner, and they only weighed about a tenth as much.
He also had a high lumen LED flashlight that didn’t require batteries. Instead, it used electromagnetic induction, which had something to do with magnetic fields and conductors, although Colt couldn’t remember the specifics of how it worked.
The strangest gadget of the three was something called concrete foam, which came in what looked like miniature whipped cream cans, complete with red nozzles. Inside was a chemical compound that produced rapidly expanding foam that looked a bit like cement when it hardened. Colt wasn’t sure how useful it was going to be, but it was there in case he needed it.
The enormous barn was nestled against a bank of trees that overlooked the Potomac River. From a distance it looked like the subject of a postcard, but as he got closer he could see the damage from years of neglect. The white paint was faded and peeling, casting the barn in a dull gray. Wide swaths of shingles were missing, and one of the doors that opened to the loft hung at an odd angle, threatening to fall at any time.
“All right, I’m here,” Colt said, wondering if the tiny two-way radio transceiver implanted inside his auditory canal would really work.
“I know, I can see you,” Danielle’s voice said in his ear. She was back at Ms. Skoglund’s apartment, where she sat in front of nine monitors that hung from the wall like oversized picture frames. One of the screens was a map of the school grounds, where a tracking device that doubled as Colt’s belt buckle allowed them to see where he was at all times.
“How do I look?”
“Right now, you’re just a little red dot on my screen. But once you’re inside, we’ll have full audio and video feeds.”
He crossed the field and entered the barn through a side door that creaked as it opened. The sound triggered a flutter of activity, and when he shined his flashlight into the rafters he saw a colony of bats swarming overhead. Eventually he found a light switch that triggered a single bulb. It was feeble, but at least he could see where he was going.
It had been years since any animals had been stabled inside the barn, but Colt could still smell the faint scent of manure as he walked past three empty stalls. On the other side of the aisle was a tack room, but outside of a rusted lawnmower and workbench with an old Philips radio, it was empty. Next to that was a storage area, where an array of farm implements hung from the walls. Someone had managed to park a 1952 Ford Country Squire inside, which didn’t leave much room for anything else. The tires were flat and it was buried under a thick layer of dust, but there were no dents, and the wood paneling that ran along the doors and fenders looked like it was in perfect condition.
Colt glanced at his watch. Three minutes to midnight. Suddenly he felt nervous. Getting Lobo to confess about his involvement in Operation Nemesis had seemed like a simple thing when he was in a room full of people, but now that he was alone in a secluded location, he had no idea how he was going to do it.
“Is everyone in place?” he asked.
“Yep,” Danielle said. “Ms. Skoglund is outside, and we just got a report that Lobo is on his way.”
“And you tested everything, right?”
“More than once.”
As he waited, his fingers absently rubbed the medallion that Grandpa had given him. One minute he was worried that Lobo was going to walk through the door and shoot him; the next minute he was concerned that Lobo wasn’t going to show up at all.
There was no knock. The door simply opened, its rusted hinges resisting as Ms. Skoglund walked in. Her cheeks and nose were bright red, and she looked out of breath. “This place looks a lot different at night,” she said as her eyes fell on a sickle that hung in the storage room. “It’s definitely creepier.”
The door shut with a click, and Colt watched as she stood there as though listening for something in particular. She cocked her head and frowned, but then she shrugged. “So,” she said, sounding strangely casual given the circumstances, “do I look conspiratorial enough?” She held her arms out and spun in a slow circle; she was dressed in black from her stocking cap to her boots.
“More like a cat burglar, but yeah, I guess so,” Colt said.
She walked over to one of the windows and peered out across the lawn. “Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“Me too,” she said, turning to him and smiling. “The anticipation is the hard part. Once he walks through that door, you’re going to be great.”
“Okay,” Danielle said. “He’s pulling up now, and he’s not alone.”
“Is it Krone?” Colt asked.
“We think so, but we aren’t sure.”
The sound of tires crunching over gravel broke the silence, and Colt ran over to join Ms. Skoglund at the window. They watched Lobo pull up in his silver Mercedes G550 SUV and cut the lights before he shut down the engine. He stepped out of the vehicle and onto the drive, but Krone wasn’t sitting in the passenger seat. It was Agent Graves, which meant Krone was out there somewhere, unaccounted for.
“Now what?” Colt asked.
“We improvise,” Ms. Skoglund said.
They walked back over to the center aisle and tried to act inconspicuous. Colt could feel his heart beating in his throat and his palms itched.
Then the door swung open.
:: CHAPTER 45 ::
Director Romero? What are you doing here?” Ms. Skoglund asked, her eyes wide with shock.
“I’m sorry,” Lobo said, smiling as he walked into the light. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Instead of a uniform, he was dressed casually in a ski jacket, blue jeans, and work boots. Agent Graves stood behind him in a driving cap, scarf, and a long coat that was big enough to hide at least one gun.
“You didn’t. It’s just that . . . well . . .” Ms. Skoglund looked at the floorboards. “I know this might seem strange, but . . .”
“Now that you mention it, a midnight rendezvous between a teacher and student is a bit odd,” Lobo said, his manner calm.
“Particularly since Cadet McAlister isn’t in any of your classes. Or am I mistaken?”
“No, sir, you’re not.”
“It’s not her fault,” Colt said. “I asked her to meet me.”
Lobo raised a single eyebrow.
“I overheard my grandpa on the phone this afternoon,” Colt said. “He was talking about something called Operation Nemesis, but when I asked him about it, he wouldn’t tell me anything. I figured Ms. Skoglund would know what it was.”
“And what did you find out?”
Colt looked over at Ms. Skoglund, then stared at the ground.
“That’s not an answer,” Lobo said. He took a step toward Colt and his eyes narrowed. “Tell me what you know.”
“That it had something to do with Senator Bishop . . . and that he didn’t die from a heart attack.” Colt made sure he was looking directly into Lobo’s eyes. “He was murdered.”
“I haven’t seen mention of that in any of the reports.”
Colt shrugged. “Your name came up too.”
“Really?”
“They think you did it.”
Lobo grabbed him by the shirt and drove him against a post. “Don’t play games with me, boy,” he said, his lip curled into a snarl. “I want to know everything that you heard.”
Colt struggled to breathe, and Lobo relaxed his grip, though not by much. “Operation Nemesis is a covert project where you’re working with an assassin to eliminate people like Senator Bishop, or anyone else who threatens to cut your funding or replace you.”
“I don’t suppose you were accessing files that you weren’t supposed to see, were you, Kirsten?” Lobo asked, though he didn’t bother looking at Ms. Skoglund.
“It doesn’t matter,” Colt said. “They already knew.”
“And who is they?”
“The Department of Alien Affairs. They’ve been investigating you for over a year.”
Lobo smiled. “They need me, you know. The politicians might not admit it—not to you or the reporters or the sheep that vote them into office, but it’s true. They rely on men like me to do the work they aren’t willing to do.”
“Murdering innocent people?”
“Innocent? Tell me something . . . when the Thule come in force—and they will—who do you think will stand on the front lines? The politicians? Their sons and daughters? Of course not. Yet they sit in their ivory towers and slash our funding so they can pander to voters . . . the same voters who will be slaughtered because we don’t have the weapons to defend ourselves. And I’m the murderer? I’ve done everything I can to save the masses, and if that calls for a few casualties along the way, then so be it!”
As Colt watched over Lobo’s shoulder, Agent Graves morphed into Heinrich Krone. The assassin pulled out an H&K USP 45 with a tactical light mounted beneath the barrel. He pointed it at Ms. Skoglund, and that’s when the lights went out.
She took advantage of the diversion and ducked behind the old Ford before he could fire his weapon. At the same time, a red light no bigger than the tip of a drinking straw danced across Krone’s chest. It bobbed like a gnat until it landed in the middle of his forehead.
“Get down!” Lobo shouted.
There was a pop, followed by the sound of shattering glass. A tranquilizer dart ripped through the barn, narrowly missing Krone before it bit into the wall. At the same time, metal canisters the size of soda cans broke through the windows, filling the room with noxious smoke.
Men in riot gear burst through doors and windows, the beams from their tactical lights crisscrossing through the darkness like incandescent threads of spiderweb. They were dressed in black from their helmets and ski masks to their gloves and boots. Each wore infrared goggles, and they were armed. Colt thought he could see Giru Ba, and he couldn’t tell if Grandpa was standing next to the Ford. His eyes burned from all the smoke.
“We’ll take the tunnels!” Lobo ran toward one of the stalls, but Krone hesitated. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a concussion grenade, and set the detonator.
“Grenade!” Colt shouted.
The safe choice would have been to get as far away from the barn as he could, but when Colt heard the sound of a door slamming shut, he knew where Lobo and Krone had gone. There must have been an entrance to the underground tunnel system hidden in the floorboards, and Colt wasn’t about to let them get away. He dived into the stall and scrambled on his hands and knees, his fingers searching for the entrance.
“Come on!”
His fingers finally found a brass handle on the floor, and he pried the trapdoor open as a shockwave shook the building. Bats shrieked, windows exploded, and the ceiling caved in as he slipped into the darkness. He didn’t fall far, but the ground was hard and air burst out of his lungs.
The darkness was suffocating, and the walls felt like a tomb as he lay still, listening for any sound of Lobo or Krone. All he could hear was a constant ringing sound, which he figured was an aftereffect of the grenade. He pulled out his LED flashlight and flicked it on. He was in an empty room with cement block walls and a low ceiling that exposed rafters overrun by cobwebs.
“Colt . . . can you hear me?” Danielle asked. Her voice sounded faint, and there was a slight crackle, but Colt was just happy that he wasn’t deaf. “Please tell me you made it out of there.”
“Not exactly.” He stood on uneasy legs. “I’m in some kind of cellar under the barn. Where’s Ms. Skoglund?”
“She’s safe, and so is your grandpa,” Danielle said. “Did you see what happened to Lobo and Krone?”
“They’re down here with me.”
“What?”
Colt walked over to a wooden door that creaked as he opened it. On the other side was a narrow corridor choked in shadow. “It looks like the cellar connects with that tunnel system beneath the campus. There’s no way we’re going to find him.”
“Wait a minute,” Danielle said.
Colt could hear what sounded like a zipper, followed by a sound of shuffling papers. “Okay, I found the map that shows the tunnel system. I can’t see any other entry or exit points near the barn.”
“What about the river?” If Lobo couldn’t get to his SUV, the water was his best bet for escape.
“There’s a boathouse about a quarter mile north.”
“That’s where he went.”
“But—”
“Look, I know what you’re going to say, but I have to finish this,” Colt said. “Tell Giru Ba to send a team of agents over there, and I’ll make sure they don’t come back this way.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I’ll be okay. But I’m going to need your help.”
He decided not to use the flashlight. Lobo and Krone would be able to see a light long before he saw either of them. He’d rely on Danielle and her map to guide him through the twists and turns instead.
“Okay, you should see a slow curve up to the left,” Danielle said. “Once you make it past that, it should only be about two hundred yards to the boathouse.”
Colt stopped. He thought he heard voices. He crept forward, careful not to shuffle or scrape his boot against the ground. Up ahead, tiny eyes flashed yellow, and he could just make out the silhouette of what looked like a possum or a very large rat. It stared at him for a long moment before it turned and skittered into the shadows.
Suddenly the silence was overwhelming. The voices had stopped, but Colt pressed forward, each step an act of the will. His mouth was dry. His hands itched. He turned cautiously around the corner and something heavy hit him in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
:: CHAPTER 46 ::
I don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed,” Lobo said as he kicked Colt in the ribs. Pain shot through Colt’s body as he writhed on the ground, wondering if that was what it felt like to get hit by a locomotive.
“Krone set you up,” Colt said through clenched teeth. The words spilled from his tongue before he knew what he was saying, but judging from the expressio
n on Lobo’s face, it struck a nerve.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not the target, you are.”
Krone walked over and leveled his gun at Colt. “Those DAA agents will be here any minute,” he said to Lobo, as the beam from the tactical light burned in Colt’s eyes.
“Do you know how many chances he’s had to kill me?” Colt said, his eyes fixed on Lobo as he tried to stall. “I saw him standing outside our window back home. He had a clean shot, but he didn’t take it. Or what about the rodeo? Or even the car chase? How did Ms. Skoglund run him off the road? It’s not like she’s a professional driver or anything. She’s the only CHAOS agent who isn’t allowed to carry a gun.”
“That’s enough!” Krone’s nostrils flared.
“He wants to get rid of you because he knows that you’re the only thing that stands between us and them,” Colt said, desperate to appeal to Lobo’s ego.
Krone lashed out, striking Colt in the face with the butt of his gun. It opened a gash beneath his eye, and blood poured down his cheek.
“It’s true!” Colt ignored the pain as he pulled the Bola Cuffs out of his pocket and flicked them at Krone. Weighted ropes shot out as the disc struck the assassin in the chest. They wrapped around his shoulders and pinned his arms to his side, and Krone fell, flailing on the ground as his gun bounced into the shadows.
“That’s an impressive trick, but I’m afraid it won’t save you.” Lobo reached into his jacket and pulled out a Sig Sauer P226 with a silencer.
“I never asked for any of this,” Colt said. He held his arms out wide, trying to show that he wasn’t a threat. “I don’t want to run CHAOS . . . I don’t even want to go to this school. If I had my choice, I’d be back in San Diego with my parents, but that’s not exactly an option.”
Lobo raised the weapon, his hand steady and his face devoid of emotion. “Once you’re gone, they’ll realize that they should never have placed their hope in some ridiculous prophecy,” he said. “I am the only one who can save us from the coming onslaught.”