Peterson and Bennet's families probably hate me. They think I murdered them.
If only I could tell them…
Wait, Bennet's son, Tyler, is a US Senator. He and his husband have a home in Austin. I remember Bennet talking about spending Christmas there with his grandkids.
I've met Tyler a couple times. Nice enough guy. He's got a bit of a libertarian streak and not the type I think would go for the black ops bullshit that Vaughn was pulling. At least I don't think he would. He once did a forty-eight hour filibuster against the overreach of government surveillance.
If I could reach out to him, maybe he could help me sort things out… yeah, if only I could explain to him what was really going on.
I have to give it a shot. The worst that could happen is that we have a very awkward and short conversation. Well, that and the spooks track my phone call and blow me up with an airborne drone before I hang up. But other than that…
I buy a burner phone at a gas station using cash I stole from the men on the helicopter. I avoid using Vaughn's credit card so it can't trace back to the number.
After a few more miles, I pull over to a truck stop and take the phone out of the package. Too nervous to sit still, I step outside the car and onto a sidewalk away from the road.
Thankfully, as a government representative, Tyler Bennet's office number is pretty easy to find.
An older woman answers, "Senator Bennet's office. How may I direct your call?"
I really didn't have a plan for this situation. "Uh, hello? I would like to speak with the Senator."
"I'm sorry, he's not taking any calls right now. Would you like to leave a message for one of his assistants?"
Think of a lie, David. "Yeah… Well, I'm calling from iCosmos. We found a note from his father addressed to Tyler."
There's a long pause. "Hold on one second."
A moment later Tyler answers the phone, "This better not be a joke."
"It's not, Senator. This is David Dixon."
His voice explodes in my ear. "Alright, asshole! You got a lot of fucking nerve calling me!"
"Tyler, it's me! Remember when…"
"Even if it was you, you're the last person I'd ever want to talk to!"
"Wait… I can explain!" I protest.
"Next time you call this number I'm having the call traced, you fucking murderer!"
Oh, Christ. "I didn't… wait… don't hang up!"
Click.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
My one goddamn lifeline in all this just threatened to call the cops on me.
I collapse on the curb, my head in my hands. For the first time I begin to feel suicidal.
There is no end to this nightmare.
I should have let Vaughn push me out.
I should have burned up in the atmosphere.
It should have been me that died and not Peterson and Bennet.
I'm so lost in my thoughts it takes me a while to realize the phone is ringing in my hand.
It could be Vaughn, all patched up, or one of his cronies…
I don't care. Come get me. I'll tell you anything.
"Yeah…" I say weakly.
"David, it's Tyler," his voice is calm and not the tornado of rage that he was a minute ago. "There's not much time to explain. You need to get another phone and call me at the number I'm about to give you. They're listening to everything."
"I didn't kill your father," I say, my voice distant.
"I know that, David." He takes a long breath. "I did."
48
Dead Drop
Tyler tells me when and how to call him back then hangs up before I can ask him what the hell is going on. What does he mean that he killed his father?
So far he's the only person who seems to understand anything and he just cut me off.
I run inside the gas station, nearly causing a panic.
I'm about to cut in line as some hayseed takes his time buying his cigarettes and scratch-off lottery tickets. I want to blurt out that he doesn't have to die an early death and also be bad at math, but I bite my tongue.
Finally, the elderly clerk sells me a phone, trying to figure out what all the fuss is about. I take a deep breath, trying to stop attracting too much attention to myself.
My goddamn face is on the news rack five feet away.
Man, I suck at this kind of thing.
I get back in my rental car and drive another five miles. I think to myself that all Texas towns seem to look alike. Then I realize I'm back in Van Clark.
Crap.
There's no way around it unless I go off-roading.
I remember this is also where I left the square…
I roll through an intersection and see a group of police cars and a crime scene van parked in the RV lot where I hid the Humvee.
Keep calm.
The convenience store is just up ahead and the newspaper bin is only a few feet from the street.
Do I get the square?
Is it being watched?
How long before somebody else finds it?
Damnit. Damnit. Damnit.
I pull over on the street next to the store. Trying to act relaxed, and failing, I make sure nobody is immediately around me and there are no visible snipers on the roof.
The square is just ten feet away…
Don't hesitate. Just do it.
I get out of the car and walk over to the newspaper machine, pretending I'm calm and collected.
Hours ago I was dressed in a sweat-stained jacket and shirt, now I'm wearing a dark blue polo and Vaughn's hat and sunglasses. I'm a totally different dude.
Dressed like this, I look like any of the other spooks on the hunt for me.
I grab the handle on the front of the bin and pull.
It doesn't move.
Waves of panic shoot through my body.
Of course it doesn't open. I haven't put any change in. It's a fundamental concept of our economy, dumbass.
I pat down my pockets and come up empty.
Jesus. This is a horrible idea.
Do I just leave?
What if someone already spotted me near the machine? If I take off and come back later, there's no telling if the square is going to be here.
The square. What the hell is that thing? I'm not sure if I buy Vaughn's explanation that it's some kind of crypto chip. There might be something to that, but I'm sure it's not the whole story.
Christ. I have to get the thing now. If Tyler wants it, trying to come back here is going to be suicidal.
I go inside the convenience store. The same girl with red hair and freckles is behind the counter. Renee, I think that was her name.
I stand in front of the counter looking stupid for a moment.
"Hi there! Are you with them fellas?" she says, pointing to the back.
Two men dressed in FBI jackets are standing by the door to a small office with a monitor playing security camera footage.
Keep.
Fucking.
Calm.
"I'm… with a different agency." I fumble for a pack of gum to set on the counter and pray she doesn't recognize my face from earlier.
One of the FBI agents turns to look at me.
I nod my head like I'm one cop saluting another.
He returns the gesture then goes back to looking at the monitor.
"Any luck catching that boy so far?" asks Renee.
"No ma'am, not yet."
Renee lowers her voice and whispers. "He was right in here. Face to face with me." She shakes her head. "To think that just an hour earlier he'd murdered those poor Mexicans."
My lips start to move, but I stop myself from saying, "Murdered?"
Fucking, Vaughn.
What did they do? Shoot the Mexican army unit?
Why? What did that accomplish?
"We'll get him," I say firmly, keeping my eye on the men in back.
She hands me my change and I head for the door before the FBI men get a good look at me.
I drop my coins in the slot, reach inside and freeze. It's not there…