Oracle

by Douglas E. Richards

  She flipped on the lights and entered the room. The inside was just as dingy as she expected. Tiny, with a single queen-sized bed sporting an orange floral bedspread, a fake-wood dresser, a small TV, and not much else, other than the hint of mildew in the air. She took a much-needed biological break, noting that the bathroom was in great need of repair, with cracked and dirty-looking white tiles, and faucets that only seemed to deliver ice-cold water.

  “Give me a few minutes,” she said to Vega when she exited the bathroom.

  She proceeded to remove the drones from their cases, along with the tablet computer controller, and placed both drones outside. She quickly landed the larger of the two on the roof above their room, and the smaller on the roof above room forty-nine, making sure the drones’ IR and audio features were enabled. Finally, she checked the tablet computer to be sure each had a wide view of anyone approaching.

  Vega watched her as she worked, but remained silent.

  “Turn around, Tom,” she said when she had finished. When the alien complied, she removed her body armor vest and put her sweatshirt back on, which now smelled of gunshot residue from when she had broken into the room. She had no idea why she felt any need for modesty around a member of a different species, but old habits died hard.

  She dropped to her rear-end on the bed, feeling dizzy, and her eyes slammed shut of their own accord. “If anyone is on to us,” she muttered almost drunkenly, holding on to consciousness by sheer force of will, “they’ll bribe the clerk to tell them we’re in forty-nine. Our car’s there too. When they realize we aren’t inside, they’ll know they’ve been had, and leave the motel.”

  Anna laid down on her back, almost melting into the bed when her head hit the pillow.

  “You don’t think they’ll guess we’re in another room?” asked Vega.

  “No way,” she mumbled dreamily, her eyes still closed. “And once we get . . . used car . . . they won’t find us . . . again.”

  She was rapidly winding down, but fought off sleep for just a few moments longer. “You take . . . first watch,” she said, slurring her words. “I’ll spell you in . . . few hours. Watch the . . . drone feed,” she finished, trailing off.

  “No need for you to take a turn,” said Vega. “I don’t require as much sleep as you do,” he explained.

  But this explanation fell on deaf ears, as Anna Abbott was already in the midst of a deep and dreamless sleep.

  26

  “Anna, wake up!” said Vega urgently, shaking her gently as he did so.

  The detective’s eyes slowly fluttered open. Her sleep had been deeper than any she had ever experienced, and she was disoriented for several seconds, not remembering who this stranger was, or why she was in a strange bed.

  It was a wonder she even remembered who she was.

  But suddenly, her sense of self returned with a rush.

  “How long was I out?” she mumbled.

  “About three hours. It’s just after four in the morning.”

  Anna brought herself to a seated position and rubbed her eyes. Only three hours? Despite still being groggy, she felt like a new person. Three hours of pure, concentrated sleep had done wonders for her, as restorative as her usual six or seven.

  Vega held a tablet computer in front of her, and upon seeing the drone feed from room forty-nine, all traces of sleep finally left her body.

  Five men, all dressed in black, were creeping forward toward the room, and all had weapons drawn, two of them holding assault rifles. Despite the darkness and their black attire, the drone was so near to them that its impressive IR capabilities provided clear images.

  Anna took the tablet from her alien friend and turned up the volume on the tiny drone’s audio receiver as high as it would go.

  “Look, DeShawn,” whispered a hairy, heavily bearded man to the tallest and thickest of his comrades, “this is stupid! We stick out like dicks in a convent.”

  The words coming through the tablet computer were faint, but audible.

  “The rest of you need to wait in the van,” continued the human Yeti. “I’ve got this. The gas will knock them out just like everyone else.”

  “Kiss my ass, Wolfy,” replied DeShawn. “Frey told us not to underestimate them—the girl especially—and to expect surprises.”

  “You think they’re sleeping with gas masks on?” said Wolfy. “I’ve got this,” he repeated.

  “And yet Marshall put me in charge,” said DeShawn, as the five men continued to near the room. “If Frey wants us to all go in at once, that’s what we’re doing. So shut up and get on with it.”

  Wolfy fumed, but didn’t argue further. Instead, he lifted what looked like a flare gun, pointed it at a window, and pulled the trigger, sending a tube about twice the size of a roll of quarters crashing through the glass and the closed curtain inside. The noise this created was sharp, but it was four in the morning, and just as was the case when Anna had broken into her room, it was unlikely to draw any panicked reactions from the precious few guests on the property.

  Anna manipulated the touchscreen controls on the tablet computer, sending the tiny drone through the jagged opening in the window, and watched as the canister released a thick cloud of gas, which soon spread to every square inch of the small room.

  The detective’s mind raced. She had learned much from the brief conversation she had overheard. Frey was behind this, but he didn’t want them dead. At least not now. And these men were all human beings, which Anna found strangely comforting. Men who worked for Neil Marshall, but who were apparently being commanded by Shane Frey.

  Anna bolted off the bed to a standing position as a signal from her subconscious made itself known, unlike any she had ever received. Sharper. Clearer. More certain.

  A large steel structure near the woods flashed across her mind’s eye, followed by a dozen rapid-fire but fuzzy images, followed finally by the voice of Captain Perez. Like a fleeting dream that darted between any number of wild settings, but only lasted an instant. It was a wild jumble, but it was clear to her that her subconscious had made sense of it all, and was calling her to action.

  She gasped, suddenly certain of one astonishing fact.

  She was glimpsing the future. Her intuition was certain of it.

  And her subconscious wasn’t operating as it always had before, focusing solely on her immediate situation. Instead, it seemed to be playing several moves ahead, a deeper game than she had thought was possible.

  Vega was right! She was somewhat clairvoyant. Or at least her subconscious was.

  In retrospect, her instincts told her that she should have always been more open to the alien’s claims. She had dodged bullets the previous night, after all. Literal bullets. At both the high school and in Vega’s hotel room.

  Who could do that?

  Yes, her hidden mind could pick up on sights, sounds, and smells that she could not. It was brilliant at pattern recognition. But could any of this really help her to dodge a bullet? At close range?

  Of course not. She had known which way to jerk her body because her subconscious had seen the future. Maybe even more than one future.

  Not even her subconscious had been aware that it was using precognition as one of many data inputs to help it reach conclusions. But clearly she hadn’t been the only one listening to Vega and considering his wild claims. Her hidden mind had been busy while she slept, consolidating what the alien had told her, and conducting experiments of its own. For the first time making a concerted effort to tune into and tap an ability it had never guessed it had. Focusing on these strange signals rather than ignoring them.

  Vega’s confidence in her had been an inspiration, a catalyst, pushing her abilities forward, even prior to his much-heralded enhancements.

  As usual, she had no idea how she knew this, just that she did.

  And she knew what she had to do now, as well. It was counterintuitive, but the signal was so strong she didn’t question it.

  Anna glanced at the drone feed, whi
ch was now showing Frey’s assault team streaming into the room she and Vega were supposed to have been in, all five men holding their breath in case the gas hadn’t dissipated as quickly as advertised.

  Anna removed her sweatshirt and donned her bulletproof vest once again, this time not instructing the alien to avert his eyes. Inside room forty-nine, confusion had broken out. And fury. They were realizing just how expertly they had been played.

  “Your strategy is working brilliantly,” said Vega in admiration. “We’ll be home free as soon as we can buy a used car.”

  Anna shook her head. “Change of plans,” she said. “We aren’t going to buy a car. We’re going to surrender, instead.”

  “Surrender?” said Vega in disbelief.

  Anna nodded. “It’s our best option.”

  “Better than escaping them entirely?”

  “Yes. My instincts on this have never been stronger.”

  “You do realize that even though they plan to take us alive, that will only last until they’ve had a chance to interrogate us. Then they’ll kill us without mercy.”

  “I do,” replied Anna simply.

  “Which means you must also know how crazy this sounds. Any idea what your instincts have in mind?”

  “Not the slightest,” admitted Anna. “But you just told me you were ready—eager—to trust me with your entire fleet. Are you saying you don’t trust me now?”

  “No. I’ll do whatever you say. I’m just surprised that this is the right answer.”

  “You and me both,” said Anna with a sigh, pulling a gauze bandage roll from the duffel bag and beginning to wrap it loosely around her left wrist, ignoring the much tighter bandage around her upper left arm where she had been shot.

  “Okay, then,” said Vega, swallowing hard. “We’d better get over there and give ourselves up. Before they leave.”

  “Give me just a few more seconds and we’ll do just that,” said Anna. She temporarily halted her efforts to wrap her wrist while she unzipped a side pocket of her duffel bag.

  “What are you doing?” asked Vega.

  “You’ll see,” she replied. “Something my gut is insisting is a very good idea.”

  Anna blew out a long breath. She would never take a leap of faith this titanic had the signals she was receiving not been so powerful. She just hoped that powerful was the same thing as correct.

  Because if these signals were wrong, she would soon be signing her and Vega’s death warrants.

  27

  DeShawn Young placed a call on his cell phone and waited for it to be answered. He was gratified that Neil Marshall had put him in command of this temporary five-man team, but outraged that he and his colleagues had been passed to a stranger like an STD in a whorehouse.

  “Young here,” he said when Shane Frey picked up.

  “Report,” said Frey, this time through a phone rather than a comm, and speaking English rather than his own language.

  “We arrived at the Rest Easy Motel about twenty minutes ago,” began Young. “The Honda was parked in front of room forty-nine, but we wanted to be sure. So we held a silenced gun to the night manager’s head and had a little chat. He confirmed we had the right room. Then we made sure there were no witnesses and killed him.”

  “Did you hide the body?”

  “Of course,” replied Young, trying not to be offended by the question. “But here’s where it gets a little . . . strange.”

  “Go on,” prompted Frey.

  “When we gassed the room and then entered, no one was there. Almost like they knew we were coming.”

  “So you lost them!”

  “We didn’t lose them,” replied Young angrily. “They outsmarted us. You included. You told us they were staying at the motel, and the night manager confirmed it. Not our fault they weren’t there.”

  “Unless they saw you coming?” snapped Frey. “Or saw you kill the clerk.”

  “They didn’t!” insisted Young. “I’m sure of it.”

  “We’ll never know,” said Frey. “But can I assume you’re at least searching for them as we speak? They left their car at the motel, right? So if they did see you coming, they’re on foot. They couldn’t have gotten too far.”

  “We thought the same thing,” said Young. “But here’s where the odd part comes in. Just as we were leaving to begin searching for them, they walked right up to us and surrendered.”

  “Say that again.”

  “You heard me. They surrendered. Just like that.”

  “It’s a trap!” said Frey immediately. “It has to be. Tell me you searched them for weapons?” he said urgently.

  “Yes! Of course. Thoroughly. Vega didn’t have any, but the detective was a human armory. They had a large duffel bag with them, but nothing else. Now we have both of them in room forty-nine, bound and gagged.”

  “Watch the woman like a hawk. As I told you, she’s the more dangerous of the two. Are you positive she’s bound securely?”

  “Positive! With plastic zip-ties. She’s not going anywhere. And she’s wounded. When we searched her for weapons we lifted up her sweatshirt. She’s wearing body armor underneath, and we found she has a mass of bandages around both her upper left arm and left wrist. The one on the upper arm is pretty bloody. Maybe that’s why she surrendered. Knew that she didn’t have the strength to run anymore. Bottom line—she isn’t a threat.”

  “Have you not heard anything I’ve been telling you?” barked Frey. “Of course she’s a threat. Get them out of that room! Now! You shouldn’t still be there. You killed the manager. And if she’s truly allowed herself to be nullified, it probably just means that reinforcements are on their way. So it’s still a trap for you. Or more likely, for me, when I take them off your hands.”

  “And when will that be?” asked DeShawn Young, ready to reach through the phone and choke this patronizing asshole to death with his bare hands.

  “I’ll let you know. Do you have a secure location you can take them to?”

  “Yes. About thirty-five minutes away from here, a little closer to LA than we are now. A large steel warehouse. With woods on three sides, and only one road in. Isolated and private.”

  “Who would build a warehouse in a location like that?”

  “No one would now. But it was built fifty years ago, when it was near a thriving supply line into the heart of California. It’s been abandoned for more than thirty years. Neil Marshall bought it and the land around it. We use it for various purposes as our organization expands north and east of LA. As a high-level meeting place. For drug storage. For private chats and torture sessions with would-be rivals. That sort of thing. It’s sealed with heavy padlocks, but we all have keys.”

  “Then get going. You can text me the location when you’re on your way. Do you have another gas canister?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” said Frey. “Knock them both out right now.”

  “It’s short-acting. They’ll wake up soon after we arrive.”

  “So what? At least they won’t be a threat until then, and won’t have any idea where you took them.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “One last thing,” said Frey. “Be careful. And vigilant. Even when they’re out cold. Continue to expect surprises. When you arrive, make sure they’re bound good and tight, and then lock them inside the warehouse. Alone. Don’t you or any of your men stay in there with them. That would be asking for trouble.”

  “Understood,” said Young as he ended the connection, even though he didn’t understand at all. Why the need for this extreme level of caution?

  Was this guy really serious? Why did the detective make Shane Frey so damn nervous? She was bound, injured, and not more than a hundred and twenty pounds dripping wet. Talk about your paranoid delusions of stupidity.

  Still, he would do what Frey had asked. Because he couldn’t help but be troubled by two things.

  One, Anna Abbott had outsmarted them with apparent ease, which was impressive.

&nbs
p; And two, instead of fleeing to safety, she and her companion had given themselves up—which made no sense at all.

  It was true that Shane Frey was being overly cautious. But Young couldn’t deny that there had to be more to these two prisoners than met the eye.

  28

  The detective awoke with a start. Three men surrounded her, each pointing an automatic weapon her way, while a fourth finished tying her legs to a heavy chair with thick plastic zip-ties. He then proceeded to zip-tie her wrists together on her lap before backing away to join his comrades.

  Anna was still slightly befuddled, and only realized her mouth was sealed with duct tape when she tried, unsuccessfully, to speak.

  She blinked several times and the world began to swim into better focus.

  The alien known as Tom Vega was tied just as she was, right next to her, with their respective chairs actually touching, both in the center of a sea of concrete. He appeared to have been awake the entire time, which her gut suggested was, indeed, the case. An oversize steel banquet table stood twenty feet to her right, with nothing but her blue duffel bag on top, which she was happy to see.

  She proceeded to take in the entirety of the large, steel warehouse surrounding them, which was dark, old, and largely empty, save for six wood pallets nearby, stacked high with canvas bags that she knew instantly contained cocaine.

  Anna’s eyes widened and a chill flashed up her spine. The inside of the warehouse was a perfect match to one of the fuzzy images she had seen in her vision.

  Amazing.

  She still had no idea how this surrender was helping her, but she would continue to play it by ear, and by instinct, and trust that her newly amped-up subconscious knew what it was doing.

  The man aptly nicknamed Wolfy reached forward and tore the duct tape from her mouth, and then did the same to Vega before backing away.

  “What color is your blood?” Anna whispered to her alien friend the moment she could speak, having no idea why.