Ascendant Saga Collection: Sci-Fi Fantasy Techno Thriller Page 5

  The loop started up again, Secret Space Program, starfighter, pilot, killer…

  He had to get out of the room, shake it off.

  Opening his door, he peeked down the hall. Empty. Dim lights. The scent of soil drifted in the air, probably from a nearby greenhouse. He walked down the hall and around a corner. Everyone in this section of Underfoot Black no doubt slept.

  He ambled past the RIOUT office and took the stairs to an upper level to a lobby. Empty.

  “Sir?”

  Not as empty as he thought.

  Jaxx turned around. There stood a man in camouflage fatigues, holding a military rifle. Eerily familiar, Jaxx couldn’t put his finger on where he had seen the guy.

  Jaxx put his hands up, just in case. His mind fixated on “killers” and he didn’t want to inadvertently invite a bullet from some Terminator-wannabee’s gun.

  The man wanted to laugh. The corners of his mouth gave him away. He didn’t give into the impulse. Instead, he fixed Jaxx with a cold eye. “This isn’t a bank robbery, Mr. Jaxx. Put your hands down.”

  The helicopter pilot. Fox.

  “What are you doing out of your quarters at 0200 hours, Jaxx?”

  No, it wasn’t just that he was the helicopter pilot. Jaxx knew Fox from somewhere else, but from when and where?

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  Fox gripped his rifle tighter. “How does not sleeping lead to sneaking around the facility at night?”

  A scene played in Jaxx’s head—a long lost memory. The very same guy who stood in front of him, subtly threatening him with a rifle, was on a video screen, yelling profanities at Jaxx.

  Jaxx lurched back and the memory vanished. He gathered himself and dug deep to recall more. But nothing rose to the surface.

  Fox cleared his throat. “Cat catch your tongue?”

  Jaxx put his hands in his pockets. “I thought I could walk it off. You know, maybe it would make me tired enough to fall asleep.”

  He studied Jaxx for a few uncomfortable seconds. “I’m just at a loss for words, Mr. Jaxx. You don’t remember who I am, do you? You don’t have the faintest clue. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Jaxx searched his mind for some answers, but came up empty.

  Fox, shifted from one foot to the other, his face turning red. “Answer me, boy!”

  “All I know is that you were the pilot who picked me up in Peru.” Maybe that was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “Yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Did you have a hypnotherapy session today? Any memories come to surface?”

  Jaxx licked his lips. “I did. I’m not quite sure how to feel about it. I think I was making it all up.” He didn’t want to share his “memory implant” theory with an angry, armed man. For all he knew, he was in on it.

  Fox narrowed his eyes. “My name is Captain Richard Fox. Did that come up in your session?”

  “No. Should it have?”

  “Slade says he doesn’t know you from Adam. Doesn’t remember you from the Secret Space Program. I, on the other hand, do. You aren’t very popular with SSP, or with me. If you let anyone else know the contents of your hypnotherapy session besides Slade, Donny, and me…” he tapped his rifle muzzle a few times. “Do you get my drift?”

  Adrenaline picked up in Jaxx. He gulped down a few breaths to stay quiet and nodded. He hadn’t seen Fox in his session, but Donny had mentioned that he, Slade, and Fox were all in this Secret Program together.

  “Don’t screw up. I don’t like screw-ups. You’re on a tight chain with me.”

  A tight chain? Is that like a tight leash? Has Fox had me on a tight leash before? “Alright. Can I go back to my room?”

  Fox tipped his head to the side. “Remember, tight chain. Now, get.”

  Jaxx walked past Fox and down the stairs. He turned a corner and looked back to make sure that Fox asshole didn’t follow. No sight of him. Jaxx headed in the opposite direction and down another hallway. He stopped in front of the RIOUT office. No one inside. He turned the handle and pressed on the door. Miraculously, it opened. “Idiots forgot to lock up.”

  All the computers in sleep mode, he went to Shaughnessy’s station, then thought better of it. Shaughnessy was a good sort; he didn’t want to muddy his electronic footprint. No matter how good Jaxx was at erasing his steps, there’d be a record somewhere. He hoped his hacking skills were still up to par. His stomach clenched with the thought of what he was about to do. If caught, Fox might put a bullet through his brain, execution-style. He shook off the image. No one would go to those lengths around here. Or would they?

  But Jaxx wanted some answers. Slade was being vague. He could feel it.

  He went across the room to another computer and flipped the keyboard over. In a room full of rocket scientists—who all knew how important security and encryption was—some moron always wrote their password down and kept it someplace obvious. It only took him three keyboards to find his own, personal idiot. He couldn’t be sure, but if memory served, the computer belonged to the scraggly-bearded chap who’d sneered at him on day one. Well, karma’s a bitch, dude; suck it up.

  He swiveled the computer’s mouse and the screen turned on, bringing it out of sleep mode. He typed in the password and a basic computer operating system displayed several icons. He clicked the internet icon.

  A soft metallic noise pinged in the corner of the room. Had someone opened the door? Or the sound of gun-metal on a stainless-steel desk? Jaxx sucked in a sharp breath and ducked. He shoved himself under the desk and pulled his knees to his chest to make himself as small as possible. He waited a few beats, willing his breathing to slow. When nothing else happened—no sounds, no words, no smells—he crawled out. He chided himself for his overripe paranoia. Right now, he could have majored in paranoia. Hell, he would have been a gold medalist, several times over, if anyone ever held a Paranoia Games.

  No one is going to shoot you, Jaxx. Get over yourself.

  He went to his email. His nephew, Drew Avera, on his mind.

  Of all the people in the world who could help him out with information, it might be Drew. And he could trust the kid. He was a twenty-two year old genius, graduating high school and college before he was eighteen years old. The good news was that he worked for WNN—the World News Network—as an up and coming news reporter, out there digging for the truth, just like Jaxx, though in separate fields. Drew had a fascination with finding facts, piecing together complex puzzles, noodling out the stories, and reporting them. The kid already had connections that went deep, and he had a way of discovering information that others were too scared to dig for or just not patient enough to cultivate. Drew allowed informational treasure to surface, with insistent but gentle prodding.

  The problem was that Drew was green, a rookie. He might be able to solve quadratic equations standing on his head, but he was the kind of kid who might forget to tie his shoelaces, or not eat for three days, or seem entirely baffled that he was supposed to report to work every day. Like, every day?

  Jaxx hadn’t seen his nephew for a while, but if he could get Drew to find information on the GSA or Slade, then all the better. It would either calm Jaxx’s conscience or scare the shit out of him. He hoped the former.

  He pulled up Drew’s email, crossing his fingers that Drew still used the same address.

  Subject: Drew Avera, I’m screwed!

  That ought to get Drew’s attention.

  Hey buddy,

  To authenticate this email so you know I’m not some prince in Africa trying to take your money, I’m going to use your nickname; Werd! Yep! Your name backwards. Werd.

  Sorry for the email’s subject line, but I had to get your attention.

  About four or five days ago I was doing field research in Peru. To make a long story short, I was picked up by the military. They flew me to an island in the Caribbean.

  Grenada.

  They offered me a shit ton of money to work for them, translating glyphs and symbols, plus some other to
p secret shit. They are hush-hush, so do me a favor and keep this on the down low.

  I can’t go into too much detail as to what I’m being asked to do, but I’m a little nervous and suspiciou

  A sound of metal, this time against wood, erupted in the room. Jaxx turned the screen off and hid under the desk. He reached out and pulled a chair close. The more cover, the better—if he hadn’t already been spotted.

  The office door opened and a beam of light swept across the room.

  A flashlight.

  “Anyone in here?” Fox, his voice an annoying combo of authoritative and whiny.

  Jaxx squeezed his eyes shut. Not the best position if found. Fox was suspicious of Jaxx already, and this would be the icing on the cake. Would Fox handcuff him and throw behind bars? Would Fox eliminate him somehow? That guy should never have been given a gun. Jaxx could tell he had a short fuse. But it was deeper than that. Not only could he tell, deep now he knew, down to his marrow, do not piss this one off. Trigger-happy was the phrase that came to mind. Maybe a shot to the back of the head wasn’t a paranoid thought.

  A beam of light swept around the room once more, grazing Jaxx’s shoe but continuing on. There was no way out of this. What excuse would Jaxx use? Could he say he thought it would be easier to sleep under a desk? Like back in Grad School? Would Fox buy that?

  The footsteps—booted, heavy, without hesitation—came toward him.

  “I asked politely. It would be best if you showed yourself now. If you do, then do so slowly. I’m pointing a gun. Any surprise and this thing goes off.”

  The footsteps halted and Jaxx could see Fox’s black, shiny boots. He could smell the polish coming off them.

  “Last warning. If I find you, you might not like what I do to you. Come out.”

  The door opened. “What’s the commotion?”

  Fox stiffened. “Slade, it’s me. Richard.”

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “I thought I saw a computer screen on when I walked by here a couple of minutes ago. I thought I better take a look and doubled back.”

  “The screens are like ghosts sometimes. They go on and off every so often. Don’t pay it any attention.”

  “I’ve walked by this door hundreds of times. Never seen a computer screen turned on after hours.”

  “Well, it happens. It’s past your work time, buddy. Come have a late night snifter with me?”

  “Sure, but keep an eye on that Jaxx fellow. I caught him snooping around ten minutes ago.”

  “In here?”

  “No, walking around the hallways. He said he couldn’t sleep.”

  Slade cackled. “The guy is probably shitting his pants. Let him roam for a while. Come on, let’s get that drink.”

  Fox walked forward. Jaxx relaxed and eased his arms around his knees. His foot slipped and nudged a leg on the chair. Fox stopped.

  “Ya’ hear that?”

  A pause. “I heard that.”

  “I told you. Someone’s here.”

  A screen turned on across the room.

  “Yep, there one goes. Like I said, ghosts,” Slade moaned. “Turn that off and I’ll pour us both a decent shot of Glenlivet. Meet you in my quarters.”

  Fox strode to the computer and leaned on the desk, palms down.

  Jaxx knew what he’d see. Glossy pictures littered beard-face’s desk.

  Fox lifted one of the glossies to the screen’s light. A pyramid. Fox put it back on the desk and looked at another picture. A shot of Callisto, though zoomed in close enough to show structures on the moon.

  Fox sighed, dropping the picture on the keyboard. “Way to hide these in plain sight, guys.” He turned off the computer and exited the room.

  Jaxx remained frozen. Should he get up? He thought otherwise and hunkered down for ten minutes. He dared not move.

  I have to finish the letter.

  He slid out from under the desk and onto the seat. He turned on the screen and lowered the screen’s light, then continued typing.

  Drew,

  I just spent the last twenty minutes under a desk. I don’t think I was in immediate danger, but the fact that I was hiding should tell you there’s something uncomfortable about this place.

  Can you look up Colonel Slade Roberson and the Global Safety Administration? Slade heads it. It’s a government agency that reports straight to the President of the United States.

  Anyway, I just need some information, any information, to ease my mind. I’m hoping for the best.

  Thanks, Werd. Email me back when you can.

  - Your Uncle Kaden

  He spent a couple of minutes covering his electronic tracks, then pressed the screen’s off button and hurried to the door, pausing just as he was about to open it.

  The glossies.

  He spun on his heels and carefully walked to the pictures that Fox had held in his hands. It was a gamble, but why not? They had hundreds of pictures. No one would miss two or three. He grabbed a couple and hid them under his shirt. He’d put them under his mattress, just in case. That way, if he ever needed proof of what he was doing with the RIOUT team, he’d have tangible evidence.

  Careful to press the lever down slowly and gently so the latch didn’t click, he opened the door and peered into the hallway. Empty. He strode to the end of the hall and peeked around the corner. No one there. For a moment, he thought about an escape route, just in case another rifle-bearing guard tried to throw his weight around. He didn’t know the layout of the compound well enough to come up with an alternate route back to his bunk, let alone an escape route. Item number seven billion on the to-do list, get schematics for the joint, just in case.

  He stepped down the hall, arms crossed at his front to keep the glossies from falling, and headed up steps to a marble floor that led to a pair of large glass doors. On the other side stood two men in camouflage. Jaxx fumbled to a halt. They held rifles.

  Before Jaxx could slip away, one of the soldiers grabbed the other’s forearm, and pointed at Jaxx. He stepped forward and opened the door. He glared at Jaxx. “Can I help you?”

  “Uh…yeah…I’m new here. I’m just doing my best to find my way around.” He squeezed his arms tight around his stomach, wishing he hadn’t snatched the glossies.

  He gestured to Jaxx’s chest. “Where is your badge?”

  Jaxx looked down at his shirt. “They never gave me one.”

  “They give everyone a badge.” He picked up a clipboard full of papers. “What’s your name?”

  “Kaden Jaxx.”

  The guard flipped page over page. The other guard fidgeted with his rifle. Another one with a hair trigger no doubt. Jaxx resolved to keep his cool.

  The guard put down the clipboard. “I don’t see your name.” He pressed down on his shoulder-mounted communication device. “Captain Richard Fox, we have a four-ten. It looks like he’s holding something under his shirt.”

  Richard’s voiced boomed over the comm. He sounded—what was it—gleeful? bloodthirsty? vengeful? Jaxx swallowed hard. This guy Fox had it in for him, no doubt.

  “It’s probably Kaden Jaxx. I’ll be right there.”

  Jaxx back stepped down the stairs. “I’m fine. I’ll just get to my room. I’m a little lost is all.”

  The guard put his hand up. “Don’t move.” He pointed to Jaxx’s stomach. “What do you have there?”

  “I’m fine. I can probably find my way back.”

  The guard bared his teeth. Literally. Like a dog. Jaxx was up sewer creek, for sure.

  “Stay put, Sir.”

  “Is it Kaden Jaxx?” Fox’s voice came over the guard’s communications device. “Please tell me it’s Kaden Jaxx.”

  The guard tipped his head to the side, bringing his mouth closer to the device. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Tell Jaxx that I have Colonel Slade Roberson with me. We’ll be there in a minute. Search him, please.”

  “I’m on it,” the guard replied.

  6

  May 25th

>   Charlotte, North Carolina

  Drew Avera used his shirt to dry off. He’d forgotten to bring any towels into the bathroom. And there was that persistent whistling. He’d heard it in the shower, but written it off as the water in the pipes, but now the water wasn’t running, so there had to be another explanation. He opened his bathroom door.

  “Crap. The tea!”

  He dropped his shirt and ran naked into the kitchen. He forgot about the pot of tea he put on the stove before getting into the shower. This wasn’t new. Drew forgot what didn’t matter, so he could remember what did. Hence the dust bunnies the size of Texas roaming the skirting boards, the pile of pizza boxes on the table, and the kettle whistling Dixie on the stove.

  He twisted the burner dial off, accidentally elbowing a thick vase. It tumbled off the countertop and onto the floor. It rolled toward a table in the kitchen nook. It would stay there, nestled with the dust bunnies, until he either gashed his foot or his aunt threatened to visit. Nothing like a mother-figure coming over to signal the need for a quick clean-and-tidy. For now, Drew had more important things to attend to. There was his story on the Deganzo Affair—an elaborate, international Ponzi scheme that had quietly ripped the Bitcoin market to shreds—that was due on his editor’s desk in the morning. He’d tracked the hackers to their—“yeah, go ahead, try re-routing me through seventeen countries”—base of operations and was set to blow the lid clean off the whole damned mess. He had about another hour of data to enter into a spreadsheet, detailing who’d done what and when, so his editor could follow along, and then he’d start on his next investigative dig. All good, clean fun.

  His laptop sat on the dining-room table, papers strewn under and around it.

  He plopped on his chair, opening the laptop. He clicked on his email icon; his morning routine, though he missed one vital aspect—his tea.

  Subject: Drew Avera, I’m screwed!

  The tea could wait.

  Drew frowned. He opened the email and leaned in close.