Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2) (34 page)

"This could be useful as identification," he said.

"We'll see," Charley said. "The car might be stolen."

"Still, Weasel can probably do something with the information."

They opened the trunk next, and it appeared completely empty. Then Andrew noticed the bottom of the compartment was higher than he expected. There was space for something hidden below. He started searching for a secret latch.

"Careful," Charley said.

Andrew slowed down and took his time. He examined the trunk from all angles until he finally discovered a release hidden under the bumper. He held his breath as he pushed it.

He heard a click. A panel at the bottom of the trunk had popped open, and he gently pulled it the rest of the way. He found a collection of very nice guns, grenades, and demolitions packages.

"Cool," he said.

"But not very informative," Charley said. "I'll check the car again."

She went into the car and climbed all over the interior. After a minute, she stuck her hand under the driver's seat and fished out a slip of paper.

Andrew walked over to look. The paper was a credit card receipt from a coffee shop.

"Nice," he said.

Tungsten came out of the house with an electronic device in his arms. It had nobs, buttons, and a small display. The metal housing was painted green.

"You found the radio," Andrew said. "Where was it?"

"Under the bed," Tungsten said. "I should've seen it the first time, but I was a little distracted."

"Beating up gangsters," Charley said.

"Exactly."

Andrew noticed two wallets on top of the radio. "Wallets?" he said.

"From the hitmen," Tungsten said. "I also took pictures of their faces with my phone. Did you guys find anything?"

The apprentices showed him the paperwork and receipt they had found.

"I think we have enough for Weasel to work with," Tungsten said. "It's time for us to leave anyway."

"Yeah," Charley said. "I'm surprised the police aren't here already."

"This isn't the kind of neighborhood where neighbors call the cops."

They walked quickly towards their car.

"Wait," Charley said. "What about the guy we left in the house? Shouldn't we call an ambulance? He's bleeding."

"Are you kidding?" Tungsten said. "As soon as he gets to a phone, he'll call his friends and warn them about us."

"But he could die."

"So? He just committed multiple murders and tried to add me to his list of victims. Somebody else will find him eventually, and the longer that takes, the better for us."

She looked to Andrew for a response, but he could only shrug. He agreed with Tungsten. It was time to stop playing nice.

Chapter Fifteen

Andrew, Charley, and Tungsten walked into Weasel's secret room. Tungsten placed the military radio on a desk with a metallic thud.

Weasel rolled over in his chair for a close look. "Expensive," he said immediately. "You can't buy equipment like this on the street."

"Can you do anything with it?" Tungsten said.

"Maybe. What else you got?"

Tungsten handed over the wallets he had taken from the hitmen.

Weasel rolled back over to his computer. He opened the wallets and began to type.

Andrew looked over his shoulder but didn't understand what Weasel was doing. In the movies, hackers always used bright, colorful, intuitive interfaces. Weasel was using plain text only, and the interaction consisted mostly of computer codes.

"These identities are fake," he announced. "Stolen social security numbers. Forged driver's licenses. Dummy insurance cards. Worthless."

"What about this?" Andrew said.

He gave Weasel the paperwork from the glove compartment of the Cadillac.

Weasel used his computer again. "Just as worthless."

"Last shot," Charley said as she gave him the credit card receipt.

Weasel entered the numbers off the slip of paper. After a moment, he sat up straight with a more attentive expression. He continued to type at a rapid pace.

"Got something?" Tungsten said.

"Maybe. A stolen card was used to pay for the coffee, but there are plenty of other recent charges on the card."

"How can you tell?" Andrew said.

"The bank computer told me," Weasel said.

"You have access to bank computers?"

"The NSA does, and I have access to the NSA."

"Oh." Andrew raised his eyebrows.

A printer came to life and spit out a sheet of paper. He grabbed it immediately. Tungsten and Charley came around to read over his shoulder.

The sheet showed a long list of credit card charges. The descriptions included the names of restaurants, bars, casinos, shows, and hotels, all in Las Vegas.

"He was on vacation," Andrew said.

"Maybe," Tungsten said, "or maybe it was a business trip. We should check out all the places he visited. We have his entire itinerary." He tapped the sheet of paper.

"Touring Vegas sounds like fun, but it could take a lot of time. How do we know the hitman was even there? Maybe the real owner of the card made those charges."

Weasel typed on his computer for a moment. "The real owner is in a nursing home in Sacramento. I don't think he's attending midnight strip shows."

"It's our only lead," Tungsten said. "We can be in Vegas first thing in the morning. I have a good feeling about this one."

Andrew raised his eyebrows. It was hard to argue with a "good feeling," and he didn't have another suggestion anyway.

Charley shrugged. "I've always wanted to visit Las Vegas."

"OK," Andrew said, "but I want to talk about something in the car."

She gave him a suspicious look.

"I'll keep working while you're gone," Weasel said.

"Thanks." Tungsten patted him on the shoulder. "You've been a real lifesaver, and I mean that literally."

He, Andrew, and Charley walked out of the Slippery Weasel Tavern. The sun was setting, and the air temperature had dropped. Orange sunlight illuminated a blanket of clouds which had rolled in. Andrew zipped up his coat to his neck.

They hustled over to their blue sedan and sat inside. Tungsten started the engine and turned on the heat.

"What is it?" Charley said.

"This investigation is taking too long," Andrew said. "We don't have time to wander around Las Vegas, hoping to get lucky. Nobody who knows anything will talk to us voluntarily."

"What are you saying?"

"I want a portable seam. I want quick, truthful answers to my questions."

"Mind-reading?" Charley said. "We discussed this already."

"It's better than torturing people."

"Not by much."

"I agree with Andrew," Tungsten said. "We have a very powerful tool at our disposal. Let's use it."

"But the ethics...."

"We're dealing with very bad people who have no ethics at all."

"That doesn't mean we have to lower ourselves to their level," she said.

He glared at her. "I'm tired of this wimpy attitude," he said angrily. "You're sorcerers, damn it.
Sorcerers!
You have powers I can barely comprehend. I've seen you tear a steel bar in half. At some point, you have to accept what you are. You can't hide from your natural abilities forever. Andrew's situation is even more extreme. He's a
war mage
, maybe the only one in the world. It makes no sense for him to follow rules written for everybody else."

"He can't just make up his own rules," Charley said in a subdued tone. "That would be chaos."

"There are no hard rules in battle, just guidelines. It always comes down to a soldier's ability to judge right from wrong."

"And sorcery springs from chaos," Andrew added. "Only normal people expect it to make sense. Tonya understands that."

Charley looked back and forth between him and Tungsten.

Her shoulders sagged. "I guess I'm losing this argument, but I'm not the one you have to convince. If you want a seam, you'll have to go through Webster."

Andrew exhaled. She was right.

No use putting it off,
he thought.

He grabbed his phone and dialed Webster's number.

After two rings, Webster answered, "Yes?"

"We need to talk to you," Andrew said. "Not in your office."

"OK. Pick a spot. I'll find you by tracking your phone."

Andrew looked down at his phone. It was easy to forget the BPI always knew where he was.

"Bye." He hung up. "We need a good place for a very private conversation," he told Tungsten.

* * *

Andrew liked the United States National Arboretum. The balance of trees and grass was just right for walking and looking. It had miles of trails and covered an enormous amount of land. He wanted to come back in the summer and have a picnic.

Tungsten was leading the way. It was getting dark, but the poor visibility didn't seem to bother him. Andrew and Charley stayed close together as they followed him along a dirt path bordered by bricks. They came to a rose garden, but the plants had no flowers in the winter.

"This is a good spot," Tungsten said.

Andrew didn't see any reason why the rose garden was special, but he refrained from comment.

He looked over at Charley, and the shadows on her face made her beauty appear dark and mysterious. He lightly kissed her on the lips. She gave his hand a friendly squeeze.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Charley asked Tungsten. "You don't have to answer if you don't want."

"Not at the present time," he said.

"Why not? Seems like a lot of women would be attracted to a man with your body."

Andrew gave Charley a curious look.
Are you one of those women?

"Thanks," Tungsten said, "but my lifestyle isn't conducive to long-term relationships. I'm always travelling and working."

"Do you have plans for after we finish this mission?" she said. "Maybe you can settle down."

"That's unlikely. My skills are in great demand."

"You could stay with the BPI."

"We'll see," Tungsten said. "Depends on how this mission ends."

Andrew heard the crunch of footsteps on dirt. Director Webster walked out of the gloom. He was wearing a blue winter parka over his regular business suit.

"Interesting place to meet," he said.

"There are no bugs," Tungsten said, "at least, none of the electronic kind."

"Why am I here?"

"The investigation is taking us to Las Vegas," Andrew said. "I want a portable seam."

Webster raised his eyebrows. "A very bold request."

"I'm done fooling around. I'm a sorcerer. If I can't use my abilities to their full extent, somebody else can do this job."

Webster rubbed his own neck and had a contemplative expression.

"I think the request is reasonable, sir," Tungsten said.

"In your expert opinion?" Webster said. "Would you like to weigh in, Charley?"

Charley shook her head. "I think it's a bad idea. We can find Blake without taking dangerous, illegal shortcuts."

"I'm not so sure. The Senate Committee on Armed Services meets again tomorrow morning, and I'm anticipating an ugly session. Protestors are blockading the gates of Mumford Base. The media circus is getting worse by the hour. The Vault will be moved very soon whether we like it or not."

"You can build a new Vault that fast?" Andrew said.

"We'll create temporary accommodations until a new facility is ready, not that it's any of your business." Webster looked at Charley. "If a dangerous, illegal shortcut can end the chaos, I'll do it."

She frowned.

"So I'll get the seam?" Andrew said.

Webster made a growling noise. "The idea of putting that much power in the hands of a teenager makes me nauseous."

"I'm a responsible adult."

Webster rolled his eyes.

Nobody spoke for a minute. Even though the Arboretum was located in Washington, DC, Andrew heard no city sounds. The cold had quieted the insects, and the silence was profound. It was getting darker.

"I don't have much choice," Webster said, "but just to be safe, you'll have supervision. Tonya will be with you."

"But she has to guard the Theosophical Seam," Andrew said.

"This is more important. She will meet you in Las Vegas, and you'll receive the seam there."

"If she works with us, we'll have to tell her everything."

Webster shrugged. "When you're in it up to your eyeballs, another inch deeper doesn't make much difference. I have to go. Give me a ten minute head-start before you follow." He walked off.

"That's good news," Charley said cheerfully. "We'll be with Tonya again."

"I don't know," Andrew said with less enthusiasm. "It feels a little like having my mother as a chaperone on a date. This is supposed to be our mission."

"She can only help us, and we need help."

He sighed and nodded. That was certainly true.

* * *

Blake looked out the window of his Humvee at the protestors in front of Mumford Army Base. They were a motley group. Blown dust mixed with sweat coated their skin. T-shirts and shorts were the most common clothing, but he also saw jeans and cowboy boots. Tie-dye was popular. The protestors had created temporary encampments on the sand on either side of the road.

Blake smiled at some of the protest signs. The sayings included, "Biological Murder Weapons!" "Abolish Nukes," and "RIP the World." One man wearing a gray mask carried a sign which read, "Save Our Aliens!" A woman whose breasts were bouncing freely in the breeze had a sign, "I'm from the Future. Stop This Now." An old man off to the side was protesting safety belts in cars.

Blake had tapped into a rich vein of fear in the population, but that wasn't a great accomplishment. Ordinary people were easy to scare. They knew they were mere fly specks which could be wiped out at any time.

Two of Blake's bodyguards were in the front seat of the Humvee. They were wearing the combat uniforms of Army sergeants in desert camouflage. Blake had a formal green captain's uniform instead. Shiny buttons, polished insignia, and even a few colorful ribbons decorated his clothes.

The driver honked the horn and gunned the engine aggressively to move the protestors out of the way. He had to weave around the more stubborn ones. Eventually, the Humvee reached the front gate of the base.