Spectrum

by Ethan Cross

  Growling, he said to Carter, “Help him. Let me worry about our guests.”

  He walked over to the door and listened. They didn’t seem to be coming toward them yet. Remembering how Burke had described the lab’s access point through GoBox, Nic realized that they would probably have to come down single file. He tried to discern the number of voices, but the tones were too hushed. He suspected they were discussing how to breach and clear the lab or cover a hallway while they waited for their reinforcements. They could have been pushing forward at any moment. Perhaps there were more rooms beyond this?

  He looked back to Burke and Carter, who were still gathering up the hard-drive pieces. Burke had now grabbed a second trash can.

  Putting his ear back to the door, he heard the rustle of clothing. The CIA team was coming. They’d run out of time.

  “Get him out of here, Carter,” Nic said. “And catch the bastard who killed my friend.”

  Carter’s eyes went wide. “Nic, don’t—”

  But his mind was made up. He holstered his Sig Sauer and pushed through the steel door, closing it behind him.

  He walked casually forward, examining the hallway and the few rooms along the way. One of doors had a window, but all he could see inside were some metal cases that were about the size of a small dorm-room refrigerator.

  Holding up his hands as soon as the flashlight beams hit him and the angry voices told him not to move, Nic kept walking forward, vying for time to keep as much distance between the CIA and the lab in order to buy his friends the time they needed.

  He couldn’t see faces, but he recognized one of the voices. “Officer Juliano,” Yoshida said. “Strange meeting you here.”

  “Yeah, I was looking for the bathroom, but I think I took a wrong turn somewhere,” Nic said. “Maybe you could—”

  With the powerful flashlight beams still in his eyes, he didn’t see the blow coming or know what hit him. He just felt the sharp pain in his temple, and then the lights went out.

  Chapter 74

  With the pieces of the hard drives gathered up, Carter and Burke hurried back out the way they had come in. Carter hated leaving Nic behind. The kid was brave, but impetuous, and he honestly had no idea what Yoshida would do with the young officer. In his experience, the CIA could be unpredictable, especially when it came to keeping their secrets and covering their asses. And there was a cold indifference in Yoshida’s eyes that made Carter feel uneasy.

  They reached the scissor lift, and Carter operated the controls. The lift started to rise with a whir of the hydraulics.

  To Burke, he said, “All those pieces you picked up had better be worth it.”

  “I hope so. I did pick up several investigative vertices and new data points, and I know a guy who may be able to do something with the hard drive components. He’s a wizard.”

  “He better be. I don’t think the techs at the bureau could pull a single megabyte out of that mess.”

  “Do you think Nic will be okay?”

  “I honestly don’t know, kid. We’re in uncharted waters here. I have a few contacts at the agency, but if they give us some national security runaround … I just don’t know.”

  Burke’s head drooped, and Carter could see the doubt creeping in, the second-guessing of his choices.

  “We’ll figure it out, kid. And Nic made his choice.”

  “He stuck his neck out for me. Put himself in danger to help me.”

  “That’s what friends do.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Burke said. “I’ve never had any.”

  Carter cocked an eyebrow. “You have me.”

  Burke said nothing.

  “Your dad said that you had several friends in school. What about this guy with the hard drives? He’s probably a friend.”

  “I have many acquaintances. None I’d call friends. But that’s okay. I’m not saying that for you to feel sorry for me or because I’m upset about it. Having friends is exhausting. They want to do things with you, and they get all bent out of shape when you don’t call them for long periods of time. It’s almost as bad as having a girlfriend.”

  “I’ve heard you do okay with the ladies.”

  “I date a little. Never had what I’d call a serious girlfriend. I can never figure out what they want. It seems like everything I do is wrong. I act one way and receive negative feedback. I act the opposite and receive negative feedback. Often I receive positive feedback, but have no idea what I did to deserve it. It’s all so confusing.”

  Carter sighed. “You might as well get used to that, kid.”

  “Guess I just haven’t found the one woman worthy of that much further study. If I was going to have a successful marriage, I’d need to earn at least a Ph.D. level or equivalent degree, majoring in the subject of my wife.”

  With a warm smile, Carter said, “To have a wonderful marriage, every other man has to do the same.”

  They reached the top and stepped off the lift onto the basement floor. Carter listened to hear if anyone was coming up the shaft after them, but he heard nothing. At least Nic had been successful in helping them escape.

  Carter headed toward the stairs. He opened the door at the top and stepped out into the small home’s kitchen. Burke was on his heels, carrying the two trash cans of hard-drive pieces.

  As Carter closed and locked the basement door, a voice from behind him said, “Don’t move, or I will shoot you both.”

  Then, a radio chirped, and the man said, “Sir, I have the other two in custody at the safe house.”

  Chapter 75

  “Put the trash cans on the counter.”

  Burke complied and turned to the agent. The house was dark, but the waning light from outside still lit the interior. The CIA agent was average height and build, right-handed, light brown hair, no wedding ring, mid-thirties. His finger rested on the outside of the trigger guard. The gun was a Glock 21, .45 ACP, no safety. Burke couldn’t see his eyes, but his voice hadn’t quivered at all when he gave instructions. Confidence could also mean underestimation.

  The agent tossed two pair of plastic flex cuffs onto the counter with his left hand. “Gun on the floor and kick it away, then put those on.”

  Carter placed his gun gently on the linoleum floor and gave it a little kick to send it sliding away from his reach.

  “Put on the restraints.”

  Burke took a step toward the man and said, “We’re agents with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You have no right to detain us.”

  “I believe you were ordered to stay away from the facility. You may not follow orders at the FBI, but we do. Put on the cuffs, and you can explain it to my boss.”

  Burke took another step toward the man. “And if we refuse, you’re prepared to gun down two federal agents?”

  “Don’t make me. Put on the cuffs, and we won’t have a problem.”

  Burke took one more step.

  “Don’t come any closer,” the agent said. “I don’t want to, but I will shoot you.”

  “First, there’s a very important piece of information of which I believe you’re unaware. And it’s something that could save your life.”

  The agent looked skeptical but also curious. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

  “The muscles of the torso are up to ten times stronger than those in the wrist.”

  Burke had calculated the variables, planned the maneuver, checked lines of sight, and nearby obstacles. Carter would be clear from the gaze of the gun’s barrel and would still be clear when Burke backed up. Now, all that was left was to actually perform the action his brain told him would work.

  He punctuated the last word of his sentence with the quick movement of his left arm. Using a Krav Maga technique that he had practiced several times—albeit with a fellow student and a plastic gun—he initiated what started with a Judo wrist lock. Gaining the strength from his core and rotating his body instead of merely moving his arm, he spun his left hand onto the agent’s right wrist, the one holding the gun.

&n
bsp; The force of the push and the rotation of his torso propelled the gun’s aim away from his body. At the same time, he pulled his attacker toward him, putting the agent off balance and giving Burke leverage over the man’s wrist. Then with his right hand, Burke used the barrel of the gun as a lever to easily pry the weapon away from his opponent.

  By using the muscles of his torso, Burke was immune to the agent’s strength. The maneuver could be performed easily by a smaller person defending themselves against a much larger attacker, if the mental preparedness and physical action were performed correctly. And to his elation, Burke’s muscles had cooperated with his mind to perform a textbook Krav Maga pistol disarm.

  The problem came with what to do next.

  His teacher had taught that it was always best to create distance between yourself and the attacker at this point, instead of following with more blows that may give your opponent a chance to retrieve his weapon.

  Is this situation, considering that his opponent was likely trained in some form of martial arts, Burke heeded his teacher’s advice.

  As soon as he had control of the gun, he took four large steps backward. At the same time, he grabbed the barrel with his left hand, allowing him to switch his right to the pistol’s grip. He took aim at the man even as he was finishing his four backward steps.

  “I told you,” Burke said. “The wrist is no match for the torso.”

  The agent looked at him like a junkyard dog who hadn’t eaten in a week. The man massaged his wrist and said, “Now the roles are reversed. What are you going to do? Shoot me?”

  Burke considered that and said, “Yes.”

  Then he aimed at the outer edge of the man’s left thigh and squeezed the trigger.

  The pop of the gun discharging was louder than Burke had expected, especially in the confined space of the home’s kitchen. His ears rang loudly, almost drowning out the man’s screaming. He had shot a gun before, but only after firing did he remember that he had always worn hearing protection in those prior moments. Hopefully, he hadn’t suffered any permanent damage to the tiny hair cells and bones which comprised his auditory system.

  “Give me that,” Carter said, snatching the gun from his hand. “Grab the trash cans and my pistol.”

  “Do I get to keep the Glock? Shouldn’t I have a gun too?”

  Carter looked at him in dismay, eyes wide and forehead wrinkled. “You just shot a CIA agent.”

  “In the leg.”

  The agent was still on the ground, bleeding and crying in pain.

  “Shooting someone is shooting someone. Plus, your mother made me promise that I wouldn’t give you a gun. She was worried you’d hurt yourself.”

  Burke growled in frustration, grabbed up the trash cans, threw Carter’s pistol into one can atop the broken hard drives, and headed for the door. As he left the house, he couldn’t help but smile. He had taken a technique that he had learned in theory and applied it to a real-world scenario, and that was always so exhilarating.

  Chapter 76

  Sam Carter’s heart pounded, but not with a youthful adrenaline, which back in the day had pumped him up to take down a suspect. Now, all that adrenaline made him feel like his arteries were closing up and his lungs were filled with sand. Burke sat behind the wheel, a small smile on his face, and a gleam in his eye.

  “You didn’t have to shoot him,” Carter said. “We could have used the plastic restraints on him.”

  Burke shrugged. “I suppose, but it was just a flesh wound.”

  “Flesh wounds are for movies, kid. Getting shot is always bad. Hell, it could have ricocheted off a bone and struck his femoral artery, then he’d be bled out on the floor back there.”

  Burke’s face fell. “Suppose I got too carried away.”

  “You did good, kid. And I’m sure he’ll be fine. Just learn from it for next time.”

  With a nod, Burke merged the Firebird onto the I-515, heading north toward Vegas.

  “Where does this recovery genius of yours live?” Carter asked.

  “Paradise, out by McCarran,” Burke replied, the latter referring to the international airport.

  Fifteen minutes later, Burke pulled the Firebird up to a beautiful Mediterranean-style home faced with cream textured stucco and topped with burnt orange terra-cotta tiles. It was large and beautiful. A three-car garage—each of its stalls covered by a long porte-cochère—jutted from the home’s right side. The front had tall windows, and Carter could see the cathedral ceilings inside. The landscaping was flawless, red rock bordered by white rock and filled with thriving shrubbery and small trees. He could see the signs of an in-ground pool around the back.

  “Your friend has a nice place. What does he do for a living?”

  As Burke stepped out of the car, he said, “I told you, he’s a wizard.”

  Carter wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he followed Burke up to the front door and stood to the side as the young doctor rang the bell. He heard movement inside, and after a moment, a man with a bushy black beard answered the door.

  As Sam Carter’s eyes drank in the strange little man, it took all he had to keep from bursting into laughter. Burke had literally meant that this man was a wizard.

  “Humble greetings, Allanon,” Burke said.

  The man at the door wore a crimson robe that touched the floor. Carter could tell that the material was expensive. It was fringed with gold and had small runic patterns embroidered all over it. Allanon’s beard was coal back, but his hair was streaked, likely artificially, with white and hung down to his shoulders. He was short with a large hooked nose and orangutan lips. The beard hid most of his pale white skin; the brim of his tall pointy hat, which matched the color of his robe, hid the rest. In his left hand, he held a long staff of white wood topped with a blue crystal.

  “Allanon Majere meet Assistant Special Agent in Charge Samuel Carter, FBI.”

  Allanon’s eyes went wide. “Sir Eric! You would bring the forces of darkness to my doorstep?”

  Burke rolled his eyes. “We seek council from the wisest and most powerful wizard in all the land.”

  The strange little man’s eyes shot back and forth between the two of them. After a moment, he tilted his head and said, “You may pass.”

  The inside of the house looked fairly normal, except for the dragon sculptures, paintings, swords, and other strange decorations. But beyond the decor, there were couches and end-tables and a television and Carter saw a fridge and table in the kitchen.

  Allanon turned back to them and said, “Has your journey been long and tiresome? Are you in need of rest? A knight of the twelve kingdoms is always welcome in the House of Majere.”

  Carter looked over at Burke and said, “Sir Eric?”

  Burke rolled his eyes. “LARP. Live action role-playing game. I got into it a few years ago, but I’ve pretty much given it up now.”

  Allanon seemed taken aback by the comment. “You have renounced your oath, Sir Eric?”

  “Listen, Albert. I know it’s not just a game to you. It’s a way of life. But I need your help with some pretty heavy stuff. I need you to use your magic on some hard drives that are totally trashed.”

  “Dude, don’t break character. That’s not cool.”

  “Will you help me out?”

  Allanon rolled his eyes and walked toward his hallway. “Bring them in and meet me in the server room. I’ll see what I can do. But if they’re as bad as you say, my normal fees may not cut it.”

  “No problem. Whatever it takes. We’ll grab them out of the car and be right back.”

  As soon as they were outside, Carter closed the door behind him and couldn’t contain his laughter any longer. He looked at Burke, who didn’t seem amused, and said, “A wizard named Allanon Majere. That can’t be his real name.”

  “He legally changed it.”

  “Of course he did. I’ve heard of LARPing, but I didn’t know that there were people who took it this far.”

  Burke’s eyes narrowed. “I didn
’t bring you here to make fun of him.”

  “I’m sorry, but come on … a wizard?”

  “Albert is an MIT grad, who has worked for both Apple and Microsoft. He’s a hardware genius. Guy could build a supercomputer out of an old transistor radio. His magic isn’t anything to laugh at. And the thing is, Albert quit working in the tech sector and only does jobs like this on the side because he figured out that he could make a lot more money playing MMORPGs, leveling-up characters and gathering powerful items, and then selling them to noobs on eBay. He has like twenty employees working under him now. Tried to get me to join.”

  “MMO … whatever. That’s the games that kids play online as dwarves and elves and magical creatures.”

  “The games could be anything. Fantasy-based, space-based, anything. But they’re big money. Some of those ‘kid’ games generate profits in the billions.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Carter said. “This guy makes more money playing video games and selling virtual people and trinkets than he did working in the real world for the tech giants?”

  “That’s right.”

  Carter shook his head. The older he got, the less the world made sense to him. He half-heartedly added, “But come on, he walks around pretending he’s a wizard. That’s weird.”

  “He makes his living being a wizard, talking like that, living in that world every day. Why is it any stranger than living as a cop, or mechanic, or waiter? Just because he doesn’t fit into a nice little box that you can understand doesn’t make him a freak. He’s a good dude, and if he enjoys his life better as a wizard, then who are you to judge him and say that he can’t be whoever he wants.”

  “I’m sorry, kid. I really didn’t mean any offense. It was just very … unexpected. That’s all. I apologize.”

  Burke’s brows were still furrowed as they walked back to the car and retrieved the two metal trash cans, the kid carrying one and Carter grabbing the other. As Carter looked into the waste receptacle filled with the shattered and charred electronic components, a part of him hoped that Allanon Majere really did have magical powers. That’s what it would take to sift anything useful out of this mess.