Hold On! - Tomorrow (A Sci-Fi Thriller) Page 17

  “Mr. Drake, my name is Woody Schuster.”

  B.J. froze. “How do you know my name?”

  “I’m using my friend’s Z-Watch. It’s kinda complicated, sir. We had to call you from a number that wouldn’t be under surveillance. I was involved in an incident last night.”

  “What incident?”

  “Mr. Drake, I’m with a lady who really needs to talk to you.”

  “Lady?”

  “I’ll pass you over.”

  After a shaky transition, a beautiful blonde appeared before him, and his heart leaped. “Heather?”

  “Hey, hero,” Heather said cheerfully. “How are you doing?”

  Twenty-Eight

  Barricade

  Deborah Beaumont and Juanita Fernandez stepped into the office of Barrington Fleming, an esteemed lawyer in Washington D.C. Juanita placed a thick file on the desk.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Fleming,” Deborah said. “This is extremely important.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Ms. Beaumont,” he said. “The Senate is a formidable adversary. Do you have any new information I might be able to use?”

  “It’s all in that file,” Juanita said.

  Fleming picked it up and began to peruse what was inside.

  Deborah noticed intensity in his eyes as he speed read the information, thoroughly engrossed.

  Jed had insisted on the finest lawyer. Fleming’s determination and confidence in his own abilities seemed to pour out of him. At fifty-nine, he’d aged extremely well, despite a sparse covering of hair. Nevertheless, his follicular deficiencies did nothing to detract from his distinguished looks.

  Fleming finally looked up from the file. “How did you come by this?”

  Juanita said, “As soon as Director Crane was arrested, we started to investigate Senator Sloane. Director Crane has many supporters in the department, and several agents assisted us in acquiring the information.”

  He returned to the file, shaking his head. “It’s unbelievable. I think it’s enough to get Sloane taken out of the Senate.”

  Deborah and Juanita looked at one another, encouraged.

  “But please be mindful, this information was acquired without due process. No court order.”

  Deborah looked away dejected. “Does that mean—?”

  “Not in the way you think. We can’t use this as it stands. But now that we know what he has to hide, we can confidently initiate a court order to investigate Senator Sloane’s affairs, knowing what’s going to be revealed.”

  “How long will it take?”

  Fleming sat back and sighed. “It won’t be quick, but I’ll pull a few strings to speed it up. When you called, you said you saw the senator acting irrationally.”

  “That’s right,” Deborah said. “Both of us did, not to mention every member of the FBI team who arrested Director Crane. Heather Addison was in the room too, but we haven’t been able to contact her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She went to Los Angeles on her own initiative to give a television interview about the senator. After that, she disappeared.”

  “That’s not good.” Fleming paused for a few moments, and then said, “Leave this with me, ladies. Your testimonies will certainly help to verify all of this. I’ll have those officers subpoenaed and start the ball rolling immediately.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fleming.”

  He stood and smiled. “It’s Mr. Crane who should be thanking you. Hacking into Sloane’s bank accounts, tracing the sources on his statements, his medical history, and then establishing a timeline . . . It’s an incredible piece of detective work. You should be very proud.”

  “Do you really think it’ll help?” Juanita said.

  “A United States senator has a serious mental illness he’s been keeping secret, and hasn’t taken his medication for months? Are you kidding? Trust me, Senator Sloane is finished.”

  Deborah and Juanita grinned and made their way toward the door.

  ***

  “B.J., don’t tell me where you are. That’s vital,” Heather said. “Director Crane ordered me to tell you that. He’s been arrested.”

  “What? How?” B.J. stared at Heather’s hologram, outraged.

  “Sloane came in with a team of FBI agents. They took him in because you flew to Dallas in the armor.”

  “I have to help him, H.”

  “No, don’t do anything. Stay wherever it is you are. They’re out to get you, babe.”

  “I don’t care. Uncle Jed needs me, and it’s only a matter of time before the FBI show up here. Apparently, the location is on their database. I have to leave.”

  “B.J., I’m in San Fernando in a suburban residence. Nobody would think of looking for you here. These kids saved my life. I’m pretty sure it was C.O.T. who tried to kill me.”

  “Tried to kill you?”

  “Yes. If you have access to a TV, try to find any news reports on the Golden State Freeway incident last night. The blue van was me and Woody.”

  “Who is Woody?”

  “He’s . . . my new friend,” she said hesitantly.

  “That’s all I need to know. In that case, he’s mine too.” B.J. wandered around the cabin’s living room, taking Heather’s hologram with him. “I need to see you, H. We have to fix something up.”

  “OK. How are we gonna play this?”

  “You’re in L.A., and I can’t afford to be seen. It’ll have to be in the desert. How about Mojave?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, H. I love you, you know.”

  Her eyes welled up. “I love you, too.”

  He became distracted by shadows on the snow outside the front window. “H, I have to go. Something’s going down.”

  “B.J.? What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know, but someone is here.” He ended the call, and Heather’s hologram vanished. He looked around the room. “Mom?”

  Belinda came out of the kitchen. “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Keep quiet and get down to the basement, right now.”

  B.J. crouched and noticed an armed agent slowly walking past one of the living room windows. Belinda knelt behind the sofa.

  “I’ve got to get to that trap door,” he said. The rustle of boots-on-snow outside grew louder. Shit. They’re surrounding us. We’re barricaded in here.

  The agent cleared the front window. B.J. peered around from behind the sofa, knowing this was their only chance. “Lie flat and snake your way over to the trap door,” he whispered.

  Together, they crawled a few feet across. B.J. grasped the hook in the carpet and opened the door just enough to accommodate them. He eased himself down a few steps and reached up to help his mother. “Come on. You’re nearly through.” He could see she was struggling, trying to get through from such a difficult position.

  He moved a few steps farther down and held her shoulders steady. He knew if he were to let go, she would fall down the steps, head first. Finally, her feet were clear and the trap door closed.

  With B.J. bracing her, she eventually reached a step where there was enough room for her to stand upright. “You OK?” he said.

  “Yes, I think so,” she said breathlessly.

  “Good. Because I’ve got to move fast.” He rapidly unbuttoned his shirt, kicked of his boots, and pulled down his jeans. Barefoot and wearing only his boxer shorts, he darted over to a box in the corner of the cellar. Anxiously, he took out the INT-Nine, one section at a time, and clasped the segments onto his body. “Sorry, Mom. I have no choice. I have to lead them away from here so they don’t take you in. There’s no way they’re gonna catch me. If they know I’m not in here, they’re not gonna waste time looking.”

  “I know you’ll get away,” she said with a remarkably calm tone. “You always did.”

  He rolled his eyes. She has so lost it.

  In less than a minute, the foot and leg sections were secure. Next, he affixed the arm plates, then the body armor. He switched on the metalli
c groin pocket and it sprung open. The release key was inside.

  He suddenly realized he was going to need money. He rummaged through his jeans pockets for his wallet. Quickly finding it, he flicked through the wad of bills. Around two thousand dollars. That should be enough. He dropped the wallet into the groin pocket, sealed it shut, and put the helmet on.

  Belinda came over to him and hugged the armor.

  “I’ll get them away from here,” he said. “Wait until it’s clear. When it is, call Uncle Ty and ask him to come and collect you.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” she said with an emotional quiver. “Please be careful. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mom.” Heart pounding, he made his way over to the rear steps and climbed up. Another trap door with primitive locks waited at the top. He knew it was invisible on the outside by virtue of the snow.

  Carefully, he pulled the latches across, and pushed the door up an inch. There were no boots showing ahead or on either side. But what might be behind?

  Not wanting to give them a chance to grab him, he activated the jet boots and shot up through the trap door, ascending to one-hundred feet within a second.

  He turned around to get his bearings and could barely believe what he saw below him. There must’ve been fifty agents all decked out in armor, surrounding the cabin. He had to get them away from here as peacefully as possible.

  Descending to approximately thirty feet, he held his armored right hand out to them. “Leave this place and do no harm.”

  They trained their machine rifles on him—and then four helicopters appeared above.

  Twenty-Nine

  Total Onslaught

  “Agent Drake, I’m Special Agent Freedman with the FBI. I have orders to take you in. Please don’t make this any uglier than it has to be.”

  B.J. raged at Freedman’s words. “Take me in? At the expense of how many more innocent women and children?”

  “Believe me, I am sympathetic to you. I admire and honor what you do, but I have no choice. I have orders from Congress.”

  “From a mentally-deranged lunatic,” B.J. said. “Sorry, Special Agent Freedman, but the Nuremberg Defense was made invalid ninety-five years ago.”

  “Don’t do this. Please come in.”

  “Not a chance.”

  Freedman lowered his head momentarily before looking up and nodding to his men.

  B.J. watched as the platoon of agents trained their rifles on him. A sudden barrage of impacts struck the armor. It was a total onslaught, but the bullets bounced off the alloy, almost harmlessly. Oww. “You son of a bitch. I can’t believe you shot me. What’d you do that for?”

  “Come down, Agent Drake.”

  B.J.’s heart burst with shock and outrage. “Why the hell did you shoot me?” The sense of injustice, and the utter insanity of the situation, overcame his mind. His fury reached a pinnacle. For a moment, he experienced something he’d never felt before. He wanted revenge. “All right, you bastards. You wanna play?” He touched his wrists, one hand over the other, and rapidly adjusted the settings. He reached his arms out and an eerie hum filled the air. The wind seemed to shimmer, and the FBI agents before him flew backward under the impact of an intense jolt of sonic force.

  Bullets struck him from the side, but he reached out to the shooters and blew them back in the same manner.

  He felt the impact of bullets on his helmet and looked up. They were firing from one of the helicopters at the top of the ridge.

  He clenched his fist and bent his wrist downward, aiming at the helicopter. The laser beam shot from his wrist, slicing through the rotor blades. The helicopter careened a mere twenty feet down onto the bed of the ridge.

  Satisfied nobody was harmed, B.J. turned back to the FBI team. “I didn’t want this. I don’t want anybody to get hurt. Just leave me alone. That’s all I ask. If you can’t accept that, just ask yourselves why, and then try to find a justification for your persecution of me. You have two choices. The law—or morality.”

  “Agent Drake, we don’t want to do this either, so please don’t force our hands.”

  “Do what?”

  Freedman got up from the snow where the sonic force had thrown him and gestured to an agent standing behind him.

  The agent, clad in off-white snow-faring Kevlar, a matching helmet, and blue eye shields, raised a bazooka-sized weapon and aimed it at B.J.

  “What the hell is that?” Not wanting to wait to find out, B.J. aimed his palms against the agent and fired a wall of sonic waves against him.

  Simultaneously, the agent activated the weapon—and sonic force met sonic force.

  Shit. They’ve got a sonic cannon. B.J.’s sonic waves clashed with the agent’s, and he could feel the pressure. But which of the two could generate the most power?

  B.J. could feel perspiration forming on his brow under the extraordinary conflict of irresistible force meeting the unmoveable. His view became distorted through the strange, atmospheric shimmer between them. I can’t let him win.

  The pressure on his muscles was intense, as though he was in a reverse tug of war or the ultimate arm wrestle. The other guy wasn’t about to give way. It was a battle of wills.

  B.J. gnashed his teeth as he valiantly attempted to drive the agent back. I can’t. His wave is so damn strong.

  He pushed forward with all his might, but the agent responded in like fashion. B.J was highly-trained physically, and couldn’t figure out what this guy must’ve been under all that Kevlar gear. It felt like he was going up against some kind of champion body builder.

  They forced against one another with unremitting zeal. It didn’t seem to be about the FBI mission any longer. The primal instincts had taken over between the two men, and it was personal. Who’s the strongest? Who’s the better man? Who has the bigger cock? B.J. realized that was all this contest had become. It was childlike.

  The sonic waves came closer together and the pressure became too much for both of them, launching them forty feet in opposite directions. They landed flat on their backs.

  B.J activated the jet boots and shot through the snow, enough to give him the space to ascend again.

  He hovered above the FBI squad and gloated for a moment. “Come and get me.”

  He adjusted his position to the west and shot forward, quickly accelerating to Mach-One between the three remaining helicopters. Damn, I hope they leave the cabin. I’m so sorry, Mom.

  Freedman approached two of his men who were helping Drake’s opponent back onto his feet. “You OK, Jones?”

  “Yeah. Damn, that kid’s got some power behind him. I gave it everything I’d got and I still couldn’t push him back.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me. That armor contains tech we won’t be seeing for at least five years.”

  “It was more than just the tech, I can assure you,” Jones said.

  Freedman took out a slender, silver-screened radio and made a call. “Director, this is Freedman. Drake got away, and he’s heading west. His speed made it look like he vanished, so I’d imagine he hit a sonic boom. That’s all I can tell you—west at extraordinary speed. It’s going to require satellite and radar tracking to give us any chance of locating him. All we can do here is search the cabin for clues of where he might be going.”

  “Just leave it, Freedman,” the director said. “We’ll try radar searching and heat tracing, but I don’t think that’ll work. The armor can jam anything like that. That’s the point of it. It’s essentially the weapon of tomorrow.”

  Freedman held himself still for a moment. He knew he’d been duty-bound to bring Drake in, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of relief that he’d escaped. Everything about this was wrong. It was insane. He had no argument to The Interceptor’s words. This mission was endangering the innocent, and persecuting an astonishing, self-sacrificing man. Freedman knew his men felt the same. Drake’s remark about the Nuremberg Defense was absolutely right.

  He put the radio to his mouth again. “Thank you, sir. We’ll
wrap it up.”

  Belinda held her ear close to the basement’s trap door exit. She could hear the trampling of boots. They seemed to be heading north in the direction of the ridge. She presumed they must be joining up with the agents in the downed helicopter. At least, that’s what it sounded like had happened. B.J. must have done something and put it down on the north plateau.

  Then the sound of helicopters landing up there confirmed her suspicions. She looked around the horrible, dank basement, knowing how long it took to walk up the steep incline of the ridge. When they arrived, they’d most likely talk procedure before boarding the remaining helicopters. She had to stay down there where she was invisible. Windows were the enemy at that moment.

  And she needed the bathroom.

  An hour passed before she heard the first rustle of rotor blades coming to life. Over the next few minutes, she waited until the she could hear the final chopper recede into the distance.

  Relieved, she headed back up the steps to the living room.

  She eased her head through the trap door and strained to see outside the windows. Nobody was there. Eagerly, she climbed up into the living room and made her way through the bedroom to the master bathroom.

  Once she’d finished, she walked toward the entrance door and stepped outside.

  Angrily, she stormed around to the back of the cabin, across the clearing to her former lover’s grave. “Why, Brandon!” she roared. “Why does B.J. have to go through this, too? Why did you have to become him? Wasn’t your own nightmare enough? Why couldn’t you just rest in peace?”

  She placed her hand on the gravestone, sank to her knees in the snow, and sobbed. “Oh, B.J. My little boy. What will they do to you?”

  After awhile, she composed herself and stood. She wiped her eyes, switched on her Z-Watch, and made a call. It was answered quickly. “Ty, it’s me. Please just . . . come and get me.”

  Thirty

  Stopped

  B.J. noticed a dense forest below him. The location reader in his visor indicated it was Utah. Carefully, he descended and concealed himself among the trees.