He still hadn’t told Rasul’s parents—well, his foster mother at least.
“How are they finding me so fast?” Dash asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I change phones, but still they call me. They found me at the mall. I can’t stay here for long. I don’t want to think about what would happen if they catch up to me here. Would they arrest you? Kill you?”
Yifei’s eyes widened as she swallowed her ice cream.
“I’m not being dramatic!” Dash set his spoon on the countertop. “Can I borrow a couple of outfits? I need to stay away from everyone until I can figure this out.”
His friend smirked. Dash stood half a foot taller than she did and possessed a considerably larger physique. “If you can find something that fits, go for it.”
“Give me a break. I don’t have a lot of options.” Dash sighed.
Yifei pointed toward a door. “Mi casa es su casa. Take what you need.” She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Headlining the news was the surprise launches of rockets across the globe. Vandenberg Air Force Base, Cape Canaveral, as well as the private spaceports. “What is this, the Fourth of July?” She asked.
“Too much of a surprise,” Dash replied. “I hadn’t heard anything about these. You?”
Yifei shook her head as she scooped out a monster spoonful of ice cream.
It wasn’t just the United States, either. Images flashed on the screen from Baikonur in Kazakhstan, Jiuquan in China, and more.
“This is weird,” Dash muttered as he walked into the bedroom. He turned on his AR goggles as he threw open the closet.
Yifei was too petite for Dash to take just anything. Instead, he looked for sweats—things that would stretch. He grabbed a pair of black and pink yoga pants, then a dark gray hoodie. Trying to squeeze into Yifei’s jeans would just cut off the circulation to his legs, so Dash rolled up a pair of UCLA sweatpants and a black running shirt to have something to change into.
Would it be enough?
Dash sat on the edge of the bed, his stomach fluttering and his mind racing. What could he do?
“Good evening!” Iris appeared in his field of vision, bubbly and eager.
“Search news for Olympus Initiative, local only.”
“Okay!” Iris flashed him a thumbs-up.
Dash glanced at the top, then bottom of the closet. “You got a backpack or something?”
“Will a messenger bag work?” Yifei called back.
Before Dash could answer, the front door burst open with a thunderous crack and a quartet of suited figures poured into the apartment, weapons ready.
“Yifei, run!” Dash yelled as he slammed the bedroom door shut and locked it. It wouldn’t hold, and he knew it, so he scrambled over the bed and reached for the window. He pushed, but it didn’t budge. Just as he got his fingers over the lock, lightning struck him in the back and he screamed as agony plunged him into darkness.
Everything hurt, but his back topped the pain chart. His body moved, but not under its own power. Grunts seemed to envelop him. As his eyelids fluttered open, he saw a man and a woman carrying his legs, the same pair from the mall. His head inched to the side and he saw another set of arms hooked under his armpit. Everything seemed hazy, including his thoughts. Slow-motion.
They stopped to make a clicking sound, then poured his limp body into the backseat of a car.
“Bring your car around,” the woman ordered. “Follow us.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The two men who’d carried his arms broke off and jogged around the corner of the building.
The man and woman got in and buckled up.
“Let’s go,” the woman ordered. She fiddled with a radio, which sputtered into police chatter as the engine rumbled to life.
“Where to?” The driver asked.
The woman waved her hand ahead. “Doesn’t really matter. Head into the hills. Should be private enough there.”
Dash squeezed his eyes shut to clear the haze. It helped, a little.
His arms were still free, and he still had his glasses. Dash’s eyes focused up and to the right, bringing up the menu. He put Iris on mute, just to be safe. He couldn’t find his mobile phone, but Iris still had a network connection, so the phone was in the car. The Iris software allowed for text dictation and even had an optical input keyboard, but it was slow and difficult to use.
Still, it might the best chance.
Dash pulled up the text menu and keyed in the numbers to Yifei’s new phone, then entered:
trk my pjone heding into hills
He sent the message and prayed Yifei hadn’t been hurt. The driver’s eyes flicked up to the mirror, locking on his. Dash didn’t react and looked dazed.
“I think he’s waking up,” he announced.
The woman turned around. “Is that right? You awake, Riordan?”
“Castillo?” Dash sounded like he was coming out of a deep sleep.
“Afraid not. I’m Mosley. I just handle her dirty work.”
“Wh-where are we?”
Mosley glanced at the passing streets and shrugged. “Nowhere. Just driving. Where’s your brother’s data chip?”
“What?” Dash squinted, gave his head a quick shake.
“He means the memory card,” the driver explained, earning himself a glare from the woman.
Dash let his head loll for a moment, then mumbled, “Dunno. What card?”
“Riordan, don’t play stupid with me. You not only mentioned the topic to Sandford Irving, but you also ran several internet searches for Project ORION.” The woman smirked.
Dash’s heart stopped for a long moment and his eyes widened. How could they know? Was it a probe? No, the woman’s smug expression wasn’t an act. She knew all right. Bluffing her wouldn’t work, so Dash kept his mouth shut and tried to slow his breathing down.
“No? Really?” Mosley drew a pistol and pointed it Dash’s face.
Panic made him scramble back, but there was only so far he could go in a car. Dash channeled his anger and got control of his feelings. Besides, shooting him in the car would be a dumb move and this woman didn’t strike him as stupid.
He hoped.
Mosley scoffed and put her gun back in its holster. “Stupid. You’re caught, Riordan. Cooperation is the best thing you can do for your situation now.” She faced forward again, staring out into the darkness.
Rasul had cooperated in the hotel. He’d been compliant until it was obvious that he was marked for death, not arrest. Dash saw the same fate in the woman’s eyes. He was about to die.
Dash glanced around, looking for a tool or avenue of escape. The car seemed to growl as the tires bounced over the uneven road. Shadows shrouded the maroon interior save for the glare of the gauges and the light coming from the second car behind them. They drove uphill, but Dash couldn’t see what lurked outside. Jumping might lead to an escape or just a painful, crippling injury.
“You got it?” Mosley asked.
The driver reached into his pocket. “Yeah.” He handed over a flattened metallic cylinder, rounded on the top and bottom, with a threaded hole on the end.
Dash recognized the suppressor—the same type as the hotel killer had employed. He was out of time. They’d find a dark canyon, shoot him, and disappear without even annoying the locals. Without thinking, he slid his glasses off and wrapped his hands around the stem and frame. Twisting with increasing force, the stem broke off, leaving him with four hundred dollars’ worth of junk—
And one improvised weapon.
His finger tested the end. Jagged and sharp.
“Just like a sheep,” he murmured to himself.
As the woman finished threading the suppressor onto the barrel of his pistol, Dash grabbed the woman’s hair and jerked it back. Mosley howled in pain and Dash drew the ragged metal across her throat. Blood sprayed across the interior of the car, covering the windscreen and the driver’s face. The pistol fell from her grasp as she clawed at her neck.
“What the fuck?” The driver bellowed
as blood spurted on him.
As the woman writhed and gasped, Dash threw himself at the driver, stabbing into his throat as fast as he could, seeking out his carotid artery. The driver cried out and struggled to grasp Dash’s hand.
“Ah! Nnh! Augh!” The driver’s voice escalated to a high pitch as his cries became screams.
Beside him, the woman slumped in her seat, unconscious from blood loss. She’d be dead in mere moments. The driver’s struggles grew weaker by the second and the car veered along the gravel road. Dash strained to get past him and grasped the gear handle near the wheel. He gave it a sharp jerk up, putting it into neutral.
“Stop the car!” Dash barked into the driver’s ear, but he whimpered and pawed weakly at him.
Blood covered the windscreen, dripped from controls, and painted Dash’s face and hands. He couldn’t see ahead of him and didn’t know how much longer until the car would tumble off into a canyon. Stopping was his best chance.
Dash slid forward and grabbed the driver’s leg, his own feet pressed against the back seat. He grunted and tried to push the leg onto the brake pedal but lacked the leverage to lift the dead weight.
“Nnngh!” Dash grunted as he pushed with everything he had, but the leg refused to move.
Thunder exploded inside the car as it jerked forward with a loud crunch. Dash screamed as inertia threatened to spill him into the footwell, but his splayed legs braced him against the headrests.
The tail car slammed into their vehicle again and this time the wheel spun to the right.
Dash gasped and grabbed the wheel, turning it to the left. Left would always be safer than the right on this road, even if he couldn’t see it. Better to roll the car uphill than to tumble down into the canyons below.
He pressed down on the driver’s leg and the car roared but didn’t accelerate.
“Shit!” Dash grasped at the gear handle and dropped it down into drive. The car lurched, and the engine spun up as he tried again. This time the car responded, speeding up and putting some distance between the two vehicles. Dash noticed the left turn just in time. He thrashed as he spun the steering wheel and the car squealed and rumbled as it just negotiated the turn.
He hadn’t slowed down through the maneuver, which gave him a tiny bit of a lead on the pursuit car. Instinct made him throw the gear shift into reverse and the engine howled in protest, but the wheels turned backwards, and the car skidded forward, then rumbled rearwards.
The pursuit car was halfway through the turn when Dash’s crumpled bumper hit the fender, redirecting its momentum and forcing it over the side of the canyon road. Dash jammed the gear shift into park and this time the engine seemed to explode with an enormous bang. The vehicle skidded to a halt in the gravel as a cloud of dust enveloped the car.
Dash pulled himself forward, climbing over the dead woman’s body and opening the passenger door. He spotted his phone, screen shattered, by Mosley’s feet. As he climbed out of the car, he saw headlights thirty feet below, obscured by grass and dust.
Fluids hissed, and clouds of steam leaked from the car behind him. His heart pounded against his ribs and his breath came in great gasps. With a shaking hand, Dash retrieved the pistol from the car and found the woman’s phone. He flipped on the flashlight and climbed down the scree to the pursuit vehicle.
The second sedan had folded over into an L shape, as the passenger cabin had crunched over the engine compartment. The airbags had deployed, but it didn’t matter. Blood and brain matter oozed from the passenger’s crushed skull. On the other side, the roof had caved in, forcing the driver’s head down to his crotch. Dash stuck the pistol under his armpit and took their wallets and phones. He found a metal valise between the passenger’s legs and took that, too.
He left their guns.
Flipping the first wallet open, Dash’s jaw dropped as he saw a gleaming gold badge in the light of his phone. The identification card belonged to Michael Vandeleur, Office of Special Investigations. He recognized his face, too. Dash had fought him and another man by the elevator in the Crowne Plaza. The second wallet had the same badge and identified another OSI agent.
Dash gasped as he slumped against the car. “Air Force?”
Twelve
DASH HATED WAITING.
He didn’t know much about the OSI. He’d encountered them a couple of times during stories that required him to go out to Vandenberg Air Force Base and once when someone had thought he was a spy, taking pictures of the assembly of a rocket bound for the International Space Station. They were investigators, well-trained and regarded. Dash had no idea why a group of them had tracked him down, but they knew who Castillo was, so it stood to reason that she was Air Force as well.
The Air Force’s involvement made some sense. His brother had worked for a major military contractor. Whatever else Project ORION was, it was space-related and that was the Air Force’s bailiwick.
This went way beyond a conspiracy to keep his brother’s information quiet. There were ways to minimize leaks, discredit whistleblowers, and spin virtually any story. They didn’t want that. They wanted no one to release this data.
And they were ready to kill to do it. Cops usually weren’t willing to make that call. Neither were many federal officers.
The military, however, trained people to make the hard call and do it to protect others.
The OSI agents hadn’t cared about him, hadn’t cared what his brother had done. They were executing orders that would protect lives.
Presumably.
Since he looked like a crazed mass-murderer, and Yifei hadn’t contacted him, Dash was forced to reach out to the one person he knew qualified to deal with the OSI.
“You’ve reached Shiraz Imports. Our office is closed. Thank you.” A loud beep followed.
“I’d like to place an order for wine. Delivery at...” He checked the time. Nine-fifteen already. “Ten a.m., please. I’m not sure of the address. Somewhere in the Hollywood hills. Please call me back at this number.” He had read off Mosley’s phone number and then hung up and pulled the battery from his phone.
Then he’d settled in to wait.
And seethe.
Not only had people tried to kill him, but the entire situation put him back in contact with the one person he’d hoped to never speak with again.
To pass the time, he’d gone through the trunks of both vehicles. Aside from the usual car safety equipment, he didn’t find anything useful. No changes of clothes, no emergency bags, weapons, or spare helicopters.
“Someone really should invent a damned helicopter you can pack into your trunk,” Dash muttered.
The valise had a combination lock, so Dash would need tools to open it. If Shiraz Imports ever found him, they’d have whatever it took.
He’d kept the four identification wallets, then collected personal wallets. The woman hadn’t had a purse, which was too bad. After recovering nearly six hundred dollars in cash, Dash took handcuffs and keys from the bloodstained car. One key went into his back pocket, just to be safe.
Sweating from climbing down and back up the gravel slope, Dash pressed the battery back into the cell phone and turned the phone on. It took a moment to power up, but the clock told him it was two minutes to ten.
At ten o’clock on the dot, the phone rang. Dash jumped, having never really believed the call would come. His stomach rolled over a few times, but he took a deep breath and answered the call.
“Hello?”
A voice as dark as the grave spoke to him. “As-salaamu alaykum.”
“Wa-alaykum-assalaam.” His voice quivered a bit, but after the day he’d had, Dash didn’t beat himself up too much.
“What do you want?”
“I’m in trouble. I need help.”
Dash heard the scoff on the other end of the phone, pictured the man’s expression. He imagined profound disdain.
“Please. They just tried to kill me. I’m covered in blood and have four dead federal officers.”
The s
ilence stretched on for so long that Dash checked to make sure he hadn’t lost the call. The call clock continued to increment, though, and he put it back up to his ear.
“Head west, back towards the city. Call me from the first cross street you find. I’ll find you.”
Despite his trepidation, hope surged through him. “Thank you.”
But the call had already ended.
An hour and a half later, Dash slumped against the corner of a bodega, trying to look as forgettable as possible. He’d used dust to scrub the blood from his face and arms. The result was that he looked very much like a homeless man in a filthy hoodie. Possibly a drunk or an addict. He clutched at a bundle made from an OSI agent’s jacket, with the disassembled phones, magazines, wallets, and badges stowed inside.
He’d adopted a vacant stare, hoping to put off anyone who wanted to talk to him.
No one did.
The white cargo van pulled up in front of him. No sign announced a business, no logo gave a clue to its owner. Simple, anonymous.
The passenger window rolled down and the driver’s shadow grunted two words.
“Get in.”
Dash jumped to his feet and climbed into the van, dropping the valise between the seats and the bundle in the footwell.
The driver, dark-skinned and bearded, glanced over his shoulder, then pulled away from the curb.
Relief and unease mixed in his belly. Dash’s throat tightened as he looked forward. The decision to call seemed foolish, but what choice did have?
They drove in silence for a long time. Dash watched the clock on the radio count up, minute after unending minute. The van smelled of spices, fragrant aromas that reminded him of childhood, of his foster mother’s cooking. The driver smelled of tobacco and expensive cologne.
“Thank you,” Dash said, tired of silence and anxious to get the screaming or punishment out of the way.
The driver nodded once, his face a mask of stone.
Dash glanced behind them. The van had a small table and chair. He saw shelves that looked appropriate for a delivery vehicle, but it also had twin power strips anchored to the table and a bank of monitors on the wall.
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