As my own hand automatically rose to salute her back, I flash a wry smile. “It is. Carry on.” I grab my pack and head back out the door.
When I get to the courtyard, Quaid and Jax are waiting for me, along with Nash, who steps forward to hand me a satellite phone. “They hit a diner off of I-74. Cameras don’t have a timestamp. Straight west from here, a little under eight miles. Chopper is waiting. I’ll continue to monitor from here. Good luck.” His brown eyes sweep from Quaid to myself to Jax. “As soon as you hear from your father, relay the intel, and I’ll work up an analysis.”
I stuff the items in my pack and clap him on the back. “Thanks, Nash.”
Quaid stalks toward the helipad. “Load up.”
Less than a minute later, we circle over the compound and head toward the diner. The bird makes it in three minutes. Quaid must have told them it was urgent. They set down a click out, so we don’t alert them, but when we see the diner, we know we’re too late.
An old grey cinder block diner sits on the corner of nowhere, its asphalt parking lot full of cracks and weeds. Large dirty windows offer a murky glimpse into the inside. Beyond the garish orange neon sign, loudly proclaiming they’re open, there’s one soul in a booth eating, a cook, and a server.
The smell of greasy food hits me when I open the door, and my nose wrinkles. I make a quick call. “Nash, I need a picture of River and Greer.” Damn it. Gnashing my teeth, I curse silently. I can’t believe we left without one.
My phone pings two seconds later, and I walk over to the server. “Have you seen these two people?”
An older woman in her sixties, she quietly assesses the fatigues I’m wearing, then purses her lips. “They were here. Left maybe ten minutes ago. Why? They in trouble?” Her eyes widen when she sees Quaid stalk past the window. “He with you?”
“Yes,” I say tersely. “Which way did they go?”
“Around back,” she replies with a shrug. “Didn’t see a car.”
I nod at the cook and customer, who are watching the entire exchange. “Thank you.” I place a twenty on the counter and head out the door.
Quaid stops pacing. “Well?”
“She said they left ten minutes ago. Around back,” I tell him, watching him hurry around the building. “Jax.”
Jax stops looking at the stars to follow me to the rear, where Quaid motions him over to a specific spot.
“I don’t see tire tracks,” Quaid informs him. “Think they took off on foot?”
Jax holds up a hand, then walks in a circle. He widens it once, twice, but stops on the third time. “They disappear.” He frowns and returns to the center and retraces his steps again. “No car. Not on foot. They’re just gone.”
Surprised, I dart a glance at Quaid. “See any traces of ash?”
Jax squints, then pulls out a flashlight. Carefully stepping, he restarts the entire process. “Here.” He looks at me. “How did you know?”
“Fuck!” I curse. “A jumper.” Jax lifts a confused eyebrow. “A jumper has the ability to transport themselves anywhere. The best ones can bring someone with them. Although, I’ve never heard of one able to carry two passengers.”
Jax mulls over my answer and continues to walk his circles. “He didn’t. Looks like he made two jumps. Here and here.” He points to the two piles of ash. “What’s with the ash?”
I lift a shoulder. “Pieces of their clothing get caught in the jump. We think it’s a chemical reaction, but we’re not sure.” I dial Nash. “Jumper picked them up. We’re going to wait here another ten minutes, then call my father.”
Jax looks at Quaid and me. “She has a mark, doesn’t she?” His tone is mild, but we both hear the excitement in his voice. “Any idea why some of us have it and others don’t? I mean, I used to think the most powerful got them, but that theory fizzled pretty quickly.”
The marks used to bother me, but when nothing happened with them, I pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated on the day-to-day task of managing Phoenix. Now, I’m back to wondering. Instead of answering him, though, I call my father.
He answers on the first ring. “Nothing in Atlanta or Asheville. Cannon AFB in New Mexico is the nearest active base. Reese AFB was closed in the nineties, then turned into a wind research institute in 1997. The only other location listed near that area was a small weapons depot, but it was closed as well. Do you want to tell me what this is about?” His tone is cautious, as if he’s not sure he wants to hear it.
“No, but be on the lookout for a truck full of intel heading your way. They kept documents of the experiments. It’s worse than what they did to us in the Army,” I tell him, trying to keep the bitterness out of my tone. Granted, we volunteered to assist the Army in their research, but we never realized they would take it that far. When my father found out what they were doing to us, he stopped it in its tracks.
“Hell,” he returns softly. “I’ll do my best with what you send me. Rumblings from the Capitol tell me Hightower’s going for the jugular. I’m fighting him, tooth and nail. In the meantime, ditch your cell and call me on the other line going forward.” He pauses for a second. “Good luck, son.” The line goes dead.
It’s bad if he called me son. I tap the off button and strip the SIM from my cell. Then, toss the phone in the dumpster. Quaid and Jax silently follow my lead without even asking. Good thing Nash sent a phone with us. This one is registered to the Army. We’ll have to eventually ditch it, too, but for now, nobody but Nash knows we have it.
“Weapons depot outside of Reese AFB. Shut down in the 90s. We’ll take the chopper to the airport. Have a private plane ready for us. Untraceable. The hunt for us is on,” I relay to Nash. “Send the team to the location. Armed and ready. We’ll meet them there.”
I stop and think for a minute. “Kill the cells for the entire team. This phone is limited-use only. We’ll pick up a couple of burners.” Last order. “Tell Beckett to move us out asap. We can’t wait for Friday.”
