CANDLE LIGHT
It was after 8:00 p.m. when Matt Skyler and Walter Smyth walked out of the Woolpack and stood on the London sidewalk. “It's been an interesting evening, Inspector,” Skyler said. “Next time it's my turn to buy.”
“Just find that plane and the rounds will always be on me, my friend.”
“Deal.” Skyler realized he liked this pudgy little fellow with the balding head. He smiled and they shook hands, the file of search records securely under Skyler’s arm.
Suddenly, Smyth turned and stared into the window of an electronics store next to the pub. A dozen TV's all blinked back at him, their screens covered with the flashing message: A CNN SPECIAL BULLETIN. MYSTERY DETONATION OVER HAWAII. As the anchorperson appeared with a map of Hawaii above her left shoulder, Skyler and Smyth stepped into the store to hear the audio.
“A mysterious explosion lit up the sky over the state of Hawaii early this morning, causing widespread panic and fueling speculation that a satellite, a rocket or possibly some sort of space craft blew up in the upper atmosphere. Witnesses described a light brighter than the noonday sun appeared at 5:47 a.m. local time. It lasted for approximately twenty seconds before slowly fading to a pinpoint of high intensity light and then disappearing altogether. A spokesperson for the Air Force said the source of the light was as yet unknown but a full-scale investigation would soon be underway. We go now to Honolulu for the latest developments.”
“Isn’t that the strangest thing,” Smyth said as he turned to Skyler.
But the director of OceanQuest was already out of the store, running at a full sprint with his cell phone pressed to his ear.
BELTWAY AMBUSH
The British Airways 777 touched down at Dulles twenty-six miles west of Washington. It was two minutes past midnight. Watching the runway lights race by, Skyler mulled over the details of the explosion in the sky over Hawaii. A phone call from Heathrow to Gates had confirmed the detonation of an unknown device in the outer fringes of the atmosphere. Gates also relayed an urgent message from a Colonel Michael Argentine summoning them both to Washington. There was no doubt about it now, Skyler realized — someone had constructed Thorpe's Candle.
Gates had verified through his government sources that a submarine missile launch took place. Bets were it was from the pirate sub Skyler had seen running alongside the Aztec Princess. Skyler and Gates debated if it was a show of force, an attack that went south, or some kind of accident. Had someone already found the lost shipment of korium in Greenland and started producing Candles?
A chime brought Skyler out of deep thought — it sounded when the captain turned off the “fasten seat belts sign” as the plane parked at the terminal. Skyler pulled his carryall from the overhead bin and followed the slow procession of passengers up the entrance tunnel. When he emerged into the gate area, two men wearing dark suits and serious expressions approached. The first was a bull of a man well over six and a half feet tall with thick hands and a shaved head. The second was about Skyler's height, slim with a round face, short hair, and a thin mustache.
“Mr. Skyler,” the first man said. “Special Agent Daniel Tyson, FBI.” He extended his credentials for Skyler to examine. “This is Agent Knowles. We're here to escort you to your destination.”
“Which is?” Skyler asked.
Tyson motioned. “This way please.”
The trio moved away from the gate area to U.S. Customs and Immigration. At the inspection point, Tyson showed his credentials and Skyler was ushered through the gates into baggage claim. He had not checked any bags so the three men were able to walk out to the street where a Ford Explorer waited at curbside. An airport security officer stood guard.
Skyler sat in the back, the two agents up front. They pulled away from the curb, heading east toward the Capital Beltway. “Where are we going?” Skyler asked after a few minutes of silence.
Agent Knowles glanced at Skyler from the rear view mirror as he guided the Explorer south among the sparse Interstate traffic toward Arlington Boulevard. “Important people want the pleasure of your company, Mr. Skyler.”
“Can you tell me if Mickey Gates has arrived yet?”
“I believe he is still in route,” Tyson said as the sleepy communities and empty mall parking lots glided by.
Fatigued, and in need of a shower and change of clothes, Skyler started to lose patience. He was about to say so when he realized Knowles was watching the rear view mirror more than the highway ahead. “Is there something wrong?”
Knowles motioned with his head and Tyson turned, staring into the glare of the headlights behind them.
“Probably nothing,” Tyson said.
“They've been with us since we left Dulles,” Knowles said. “I think we've got uninvited guests.”
“Speed up,” Tyson said. “Let's see what they do.”
Skyler stole a glance over his shoulder and saw a set of headlights pacing the Explorer about five car lengths back.
Tyson pulled a cellular phone from his pocket. “We're on the Capital Beltway heading south near exit 11. Looks like we've picked up a tail.” He listened for a moment then disconnected. “Virginia State police are on the way.” Just as he nodded to Knowles the back window shattered.
The Explorer swerved, the tires squealed, and Skyler was thrown forward. His head banged against the back of the seat. As he pulled himself up, Knowles yelled, “Dan's hit.”
Dazed, Skyler looked over the seat and strained to focus on the slumped-over body of Agent Tyson. Blood flowed from wounds on the back of his head and neck. Skyler located the man's weapon — a Browning 9mm automatic. He pulled back the bolt as a second burst of gunfire slammed into the trunk and fender of the Explorer.
“Get us out of here!” Skyler yelled and aimed over the back seat. He fired three shots at the headlights. The chase vehicle swerved, momentarily losing speed.
The Explorer roared as Knowles floored the accelerator, making large evasive sweeps back and forth across the three lanes of the Interstate. Skyler looked at the glow of the dashboard — the speedometer pointed at one hundred.
A third barrage of bullets tore into the Explorer, this time turning the shatterproof windshield into a mass of spider-webbed cracks. Large chunks of glass separated allowing the one hundred mile-per-hour wind to blast into the car. Knowles screamed, trying to cover his face as tiny pieces of glass peppered him. The Explorer careened across the highway. It skidded over the shoulder, down an embankment and into a stand of small evergreens lining the road. The car crashed into a fence and spun around facing the opposite direction. It dug a path through the dirt and trees. The sound of breaking wood and scraping metal assaulted Skyler's ears.
No sooner had the Explorer come to rest than he heard the screech of brakes — the pursuers stopping beside the highway a hundred feet away. Skyler scrambled out through the back window and tumbled to the ground.
Knowles was slumped over the front seat, moaning.
“Hang on, buddy,” Skyler said as he gripped the passenger's door. Jammed! He put his foot on the side of the car and pulled the handle. With a groan, the door gave way. He dragged Tyson and Agent Knowles out of the car onto the ground. Then he turned his attention back to the highway.
There was a plain white panel van silhouetted in the lights of the Interstate. Two figures moved down the crest of the embankment. Skyler saw the glint of light reflecting on their guns. He took aim and fired. The two men opened fire and raked the Explorer with automatic spray.