Lost Souls - Страница 50

“It’s already worse,” Deucalion said. “I’ve got a few things to tell you, too.”

Jocko’s online path was through the satellite dish on the roof. Once online, he backlooped through the downtown-Denver telephone exchange. He sidelooped from Denver to Seattle. Seattle to Chicago. Hiding his origins. Not as easy to do when starting from a satellite uplink. But doable if you’re Jocko. Banzai!

He started with a light touch. Soon he hammered the keys. They kept spare keyboards in a closet. Sometimes Jocko busted them up a little when he used his feet for the keyboard, his hands for other tasks.

He wore his hacking hat. Green and red with silver bells. When he was plinking passcodes like ducks in a shooting gallery, the room filled with a merry jingle.

This was the best. He had never been happier. One of the good guys! Cyber commando! The only thing that would make it better was a bar of soap to nibble.

He calls himself Victor Leben these days. Leben is German for “life.” He is the creator of life and the ultimate destroyer of it. His life is about life.

The wall-size plasma screen is blank. He remains in the chair, thinking about what has occurred.

He is not concerned about the unexpected direction of events at the roadhouse. There are contingency plans for everything.

Besides, already many Builders are finishing in their cocoons, and as they come forth, the pace of the assault on Rainbow Falls will accelerate dramatically. The first should mature by morning.

He is confident that Jarmillo and his team will prevent anyone from leaving town. At their disposal is an extraordinary array of tools to quarantine Rainbow Falls, including a fleet of Predator drones equipped with night vision, and armed with missiles; they will henceforth ceaselessly circle over the surrounding fields and hills. Any hiker, off-road vehicle, or rider on horseback will be spotted and destroyed.

Victor Immaculate, unlike the original Victor, does not feel the need to be the puppeteer of all, to keep the many strings strictly in his hands. He has delegated well and can be confident in his people.

As he has meditated on the roadhouse, someone has discreetly come and gone, leaving a pink capsule in the white dish on the small table beside his chair. He takes the capsule now with a swallow of the bottled water.

Mentally he reviews the strategy and tactics of the taking of Rainbow Falls. The plan is sublime. No need for adjustments. He has thought of everything.

Travis followed Bryce onto the porch and watched the old man ring the doorbell.

“You’ll like this friend of mine,” Bryce said. “Sully York. He’s led a life that any man would envy, with great spirit and on his own terms. He has put himself on the line in ways that most of us would never dare, in exotic and generally inhospitable places, always for the good of his country, and he’s come out of every tight spot in triumph.”

The door opened and before Travis stood a bald man with one ear, an eye patch, a mouthful of gold teeth, and a livid scar from his right eye to the corner of his mouth.

“Sully,” Bryce said, “I’d like you to meet Travis Ahern. Travis, Colonel Sully York.”

“Pleased to meet you,” York said in a low rasp-and-rattle voice, and he held out an elaborate mechanical hand of steel and copper to be shaken.

Mr. Lyss found a car with keys in it. He said people left keys in their car when they wanted other people to feel free to use it, but Nummy wasn’t fooled.

“This here is stealing is what it is,” he said.

They were on Cody Street, heading out of town.

“I once drove from Detroit to Miami without ever using the brake pedal,” Mr. Lyss said.

“That’s no more true than people leaving keys for you to use.”

“Peaches, after all we’ve been through, I think you’d trust me by now. I was bunking in a new car, on a car hauler, and I rode all the way from Detroit to Miami on that big old truck without needing the brakes or the steering wheel. The driver never knew I was there.”

Nummy saw how that might be true, especially when it was Mr. Lyss, who seemed to know how to do everything at no cost to himself.

He said, “Well, now I feel bad for saying it was a lie.”

“You should feel bad,” Mr. Lyss said.

“Well, I do.”

“Maybe you’ll be a little more trusting in the future.”

“I guess I might be,” Nummy said.

“Uh-oh,” said Mr. Lyss, and he stopped at the side of the road. Ahead were police cars with flashing lights, blocking both lanes. “Roadblock.”

“They’re looking for jailbreakers,” Nummy said, “and we’re it.”

“Those aren’t real police, boy. Those are monster police.”

Mr. Lyss turned the car around and drove back into town.

“What now?” Nummy asked.

“I’ll think of something,” Mr. Lyss said.

After half a minute, Nummy said, “You think of something yet?”

“Not yet.”

As they slowed for the red light at Beartooth Avenue, Nummy said, “You think of something yet?”

“Not yet.”

When the light changed, Mr. Lyss drove into the intersection.

As Nummy opened his mouth, Mr. Lyss said, “Not yet.”

In the gloom between streetlamps, Frost and Dagget sat in Frost’s car across the street from the Benedetto house. They watched two Rainbow Falls police officers carry the corpse out of the house in a body bag.

“Where’s the coroner’s van?” Frost asked.

“Apparently they have a different routine than we’d think was suitable for Bureau agents like us.”

The two cops dumped the bagged body into the trunk of their patrol car and slammed the lid.

“They’re as absurd as Abbott and Costello but not as funny,” Frost said.

“What the hell is going on in this town?” Dagget wondered.

“I don’t know,” Frost said as he watched the patrol car drive away from the Benedetto place. “But I’ve got a totally bad feeling about this.”

Deucalion had taken Chrissy with him to Erika’s.

Carson and Michael changed into storm suits and ski boots.

In a zippered pocket of her suit, Carson tucked one of her photos of Scout, where she could get it quickly for a final look if things went bad.

Michael said, “Are you ready?”

She said, “I was born ready.”

They were checking out of the Falls Inn. For the time being, the Jeep Grand Cherokee would be their base of operations.

Before they had realized that Victor was far along in his new venture, when they thought they needed to smoke him out, they had booked the room under their names. Considering everything that had happened since dinner and considering what Deucalion had told them about the fleet of unmarked trucks and the grisly scene at the warehouse, they didn’t need to smoke out Victor. His creations were everywhere around them, and therefore he was everywhere around them. He would be coming for them soon.

Their task now was fourfold: against all odds, to survive, to convince the people of Rainbow Falls of the threat they faced, to fight back, and somehow to alert the world beyond this town that the first battle of Armageddon had begun here.

They had consolidated their spare ammunition, other weapons, and various tools of their trade in one large suitcase, which they stowed in the Jeep.

As Michael closed the tailgate, Carson held out the keys to him. “You want to drive?”

He shook his head. “Bad idea.”

“This might be one of the last times you have a chance.”

“Changing our routine now would be like the British people voting Churchill out of office halfway through World War II. They weren’t that stupid and neither am I.”

In the Cherokee, after Carson started the engine, Michael leaned across the console, put a hand against the back of her head, and drew her to him. Eye to eye, lips to lips, he said, “You know how those New Race people he built in New Orleans each had two hearts? Seems to me like you and I-we have just one. If I die tonight, it’s been a better life than I deserved, just having you.” He kissed her, and she returned the kiss as if it might be their last.

When they pulled apart, she said, “I love you, Michael. My God, do I. But if you ever say anything about dying again, I’ll kick your ass up between your shoulder blades.”

As she put the Jeep in gear, the first snow of the season began to fall. Flakes as big as half-dollars, as intricate as fern fronds, floated down out of the night and trembled across the windshield. To Carson, every flake seemed to be a reassuring omen, proof that out of darkness can come one bright grace after another.

Lost Souls - Страница 50

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