Evergreen: Trace Contact, page 8
Free, I guess? Or Henry would say “autonomous.” And I think that’s probably it.
It was the text messages that sort of sealed the vibe for me. Victor had sent me the information he knew I would want and had assured me that they couldn’t compel him to tell them anything. He had told me I was safe.
And, for reasons I can’t explain, I believed him.
Still, he’d sent information to a burner phone that could be tracked by GPS, if the government knew about it. We pulled the SIM card and the memory card, chopped those into splinters of plastic with a steak knife, and flushed them down the toilet. Then we smashed the phone into all the bits we could manage, and tossed it into at least ten different trash cans, dumpsters, and storm drains. I bought three new pre-paid phones before we got on the bus, and hadn’t activated any of them yet.
I also bought a couple of new prepaid credit cards and dropped the old one on a random sidewalk where I legitimately hoped someone would find it and steal it. They’d get a pretty nice shopping spree out of it, too. There was about five grand left on that card.
Hopefully their good luck would be my good karma—if anyone was tracking that card, it would lead them well away from me.
The only other open loop was transportation. It was always possible they were tracking everything going out of Los Lunas. But I felt like the bus was still the lowest profile way to go. If I bought a used vehicle again, and ended up coming across a traffic stop, it would take all of ten seconds to figure out that the vehicle wasn’t registered to me, and that I didn’t even have a driver’s license.
It would have been so much easier if we’d kept Airwolf. But nooo, Jacob and Julia both told me that the military would be able to track that no matter where we went. But they’re wrong because Airwolf.
Ok… they were right. Dammit.
The bus finally pulled into a station, and I exited into—I’m not kidding—the freshest air I had ever breathed. Are all mountain towns like this? Is Colorado Springs considered a mountain town? I had to admit, this was my first time being here. Until that moment, I’d never been further way from New York City than Los Lunas, New Mexico.
Well… unless you count China, and all the places between China and New York.
I guess I’ve traveled more than I thought.
It was early morning in Colorado, coming up on 8 AM. By that time in New York there was already traffic going out of its mind everywhere. But here, things seemed kind of peaceful. Slow. Sleepy, even.
The first thing I did was walk to a corner convenience store. I stocked up on water and portable snacks—energy bars, beef jerky, that kind of thing. I’d get a real meal somewhere, but I had come to appreciate the benefits of a portable pantry, even if I did have blisters on my shoulders from the straps.
I made sure I was well away from the bus station before I took out one of the burner phones and activated it. I prepaid for enough minutes and data to keep a twelve-year-old girl in TikTok for a year, and then I pulled up a map of my area. Within walking distance was everything a growing fugitive could need. Fast-food joints, grocery stores, churches for the occasional pounding on the doors and asking for sanctuary. I wasn’t sure if people still did that, and if it was even something anyone would offer. But I kept the idea in my back pocket, just in case.
[You know what occurs to me,] Henry said as we walked the two blocks to a chicken place that served breakfast. [You have not actually used your ability in quite some time.]
[Hey,] Jacob piped up. [That’s right… I hadn’t really thought about that.]
“Ok,” I replied. “So? It’s not as if I want to go around with other people in my head. I have plenty.”
[Understandable,] Henry said. [I was just remarking on it as it seemed… unusual.]
[I don’t see it as unusual,] Kirsten said. [Jaylin has been trying to be a better person.]
“Well, I mean… am I not a good person?” I asked, feeling a little defensive.
[It has nothing to do with being a good person,] Julia said. [He hasn’t actually had to use his abilities.]
[What do you mean?] Kirsten asked.
[Think about it. With the money and resources he got from Emil Lyon, he’s able to stay off the radar. He doesn’t have to touch anyone to find a place to sleep. He doesn’t have to steal food or anything else he needs, because he has plenty of cash. And he doesn’t need to touch someone to get directions or find out where he’s going, because he’s got Google for that. Basically, technology and money are his new super powers.]
I hadn’t thought about any of this before. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about any of it it. Except…
For a long while now, ever since China, I’ve been ducking and dodging and trying to stay out of a secret lab where my brain would be dissected. My abilities had given me an advantage in getting home and getting to safety. But using them… every time I used them I was putting myself in some kind of danger. At least, that’s the way it felt. So somewhere along the way I had just sort of decided it might be better to avoid touching anyone.
I really didn’t want to use my abilities. So, if I didn’t have to, why should I?
The chicken place served little mini biscuits with chicken nuggets on them, and I drizzled honey over these before devouring around twelve of the things. I washed it all down with coffee and spent the next half hour sitting in a booth and using one of my new super powers to Google the address Victor had given me.
No touching, no waiting. Modern technology had all sorts of advantages over absorbing engrams.
The address was about 15 minutes from where I was, by car, in an area called West Colorado Springs, near the Garden of the Gods. A place, I was repeatedly told by advertising, in which I was sure to have a mystical and profound experience amongst the wonders of nature. I admit, it was tempting.
That 15 minutes by car was a two-hour walk, though.
[Uber?] Kirsten asked.
“Tempting,” I said. “But I’m a little worried that someone might be tracing the accounts I’ve used. And setting up a new one might get someone’s attention, too.”
[Smart,] Jacob said. [We’re playing with enough fire by having that phone turned on.]
“Anyone got any suggestions?” I asked.
[I may have one,] Henry replied. [But given our earlier conversation, you may not like it.]
* * *
I did not like it.
But I had to admit, it was something no one was going to suspect. And that meant no one should be able to trace it back to me.
A quick Google search gave us the first key piece for the plan—a very expensive restaurant, located in the clubhouse of a golf course only a short walk from where we were. It was the kind of place where very high-paid businessmen stopped by for 18 holes while they negotiated deals to make all the rest of us pay for their yachts and rocket ships. At least, that’s how I imagined it.
I had made a quick stop at a clothing store, where I bought some fresh clothes that also made me look at least a little more upscale. Slacks, a golf shirt, some nice shoes. I swapped out my backpack for a leather messenger bag that I could sling across my chest or let hang from one shoulder. It had the right look, sort of “business casual.”
Dressed for the part, I walked into the clubhouse and started scanning around for my target.
I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I thought.
[It’s going to be fine, my boy,] Henry said.
I found who I was looking for.
A man who appeared to be in his late fifties had just arrived and handed his keys to a valet. One of the country club’s staff took the man’s back of clubs out of the trunk of a BMW 7 Series sedan and loaded them onto the golf cart the man would use for the day.
[That’s the mark,] Jacob said. [That guy’s going to be here all day. Won’t notice a thing until late this afternoon.]
I nodded, and then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. After the man had handed off his keys, I waited for him to walk away, toward the bar and dining area.
I stepped in front of him as he entered, extended my hand and gave him my best, most familiar grin.
“Tom Billings! I haven’t seen you in… what is it, five years?”
On instinct the man—who was most certainly not “Tom Billings” unless I was also psychic now—took my hand.
In that instant, skin-to-skin, I had him.
[What… what the hell just happened? Is that me? Am I dead?!?] His name was Joseph Elton. CEO of Vaughn Technologies, Limited. He was just shy of being a billionaire, and today he’d be cutting a deal with a couple of other CEOs that would nudge him past the mark. A dream come true for Joseph. One more step toward owning his own island.
[Calm down, Joey,] Jacob said. [You’re still alive. You’re just having what you’d call an out-of-body experience.]
“I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else,” Outer Joseph said. He seemed annoyed. I knew that he was annoyed, because Inner Joseph’s thoughts were still slightly in sync with his Outer counterpart, until I finally released his hand. Outer Joseph was not fooled by my outfit. He could recognize “off the rack” at a glance, and he assumed I was probably a grifter trying to pull one over.
“Oh,” I said, feeling exactly like a grifter trying to pull one over. “I’m so sorry. Now that I get a good look at you, I can see you’re definitely not Tom. He’s black.”
Mr. Elton shook his head, scowling, and left me standing there with nothing but everything that was in his head.
[I demand you release me, right now!] Joseph said.
Sorry, Joe, I need to hold on to you for the next 30 minutes. But I promise, it won’t even cause a blip in your golf game. By the way… 116? Nice!
[My name is Joseph. Not ‘Joey,’ or ‘Joe.’ And you’d better get to know it, because that’s the name of the man who is going to drop the biggest lawsuit you have ever seen right on your head!]
I’d heard enough. I paused for a moment, imagining a white room with a chair and a table. Something that would feel to Joseph as if he’d been abducted and was being held for ransom. It was easier, sometimes, to feed whatever assumption they already had. I then sort of mentally “shrugged.” That’s the best I can describe it. But effectively I shunted the “personality” part of Joesph’s engram into that mental construct, and held on to his memories, skills, and knowledge.
Some minds are strong enough to break out and pester me. But most will fall for the illusion, and spend all their energy trying to break out.
[Clock’s ticking, kid,] Jacob said.
“Right,” I replied. “It’s been awhile, sorry.”
I got myself back into the game. I had 30 minutes, give or take, to pull off this next bit.
I pulled on my gloves. No sense adding to the noise in my head, unnecessarily. And things could get really messy when I started absorbing multiple engrams at once.
I sprinted out of the clubhouse and up to the valet’s station. A bored looking guy in his early 20s was leaning on a podium. He was dressed in what I think of as “clubhouse worker finery.” A suit that probably cost less than what most of the members here tipped for lunch.
Joseph Eland did not know this kid’s name, which meant that I didn’t know it. But that was ok. I could actually leverage that.
“Hey, I’m Mr. Eland’s assistant. He just arrived, but he says he needs me to take his car in for maintenance. He’s… kinda pissed. I mixed everything up. I was supposed to meet him at his condo and drive him in, but I came here instead.”
“No problem, sir,” the kid said. He dealt with exactly the sort of finicky and quick-to-annoy members that Joseph Eland was. “I just need his claim ticket.”
I went still. It was a put on, but I was really trying to sell it. I made my eyes go wide, and I glanced nervously back over my shoulder, then back to the kid. “Oh my God,” I said, quietly.
The kid shook his head, not understanding.
“I… if I go back in there, and he finds out I forgot to get that ticket… I’m done, man. Done.”
The kid got it right away, nodding. “I’m… man, I’m sorry. But I have to have that ticket or I can’t give you the keys.”
I brought my hand up to my forehead, pressing my palm against it like I was on the verge of a panic attack. “I can’t believe it. I’m… I’m so screwed!” I played it up a little more, clenching my fists and smacking my forehead.
[Tone it down,] Julia said.
I stopped, brought my hands down, and leaned in, gripping the podium. I glanced back over my shoulder, as if I was afraid someone might be listening. “I have to get his car in for this, man. Is there anything you can do? I mean… what if he lost that ticket? What would you need, to get him his car?”
The kid’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Do you know his member ID number? We’d ask for that, if he lost the ticket.”
“Yes!” I said. “Oh thank God!” I rattled off the number, which I knew would be right. It was a number that Mr. Eland kept top of mind, because it was easier to charge off whatever he needed to his account, rather than carry credit cards or cash. He didn’t like the way a wallet broke the line of his suit.
The kid checked his register, and looked up at me, smiling. “Got it,” he said.
He knelt and opened a little panel in the podium, scanned the keys there, and rose to hand me a key fob. “Here you go.”
“My friend, you are the man! You’ve saved me!”
“No problem,” he said.
[Do the thing,] Kirsten prompted.
[Is that really necessary?] Henry asked. [We have what we came for.]
[This kid is going to get a ration of hell when they can’t find this key,] Jacob said. [Least we can do is compensate him.]
I agreed.
I reached into my pocket and took out the cash I had set aside for just this purpose. There was about five grand in hundreds, in that roll. Fat cash. I handed it him. “A tip,” I said.
The kid’s eyes bulged at seeing the money. “Oh, no, sir… we’re not allowed…”
“To give someone the keys to someone else’s car without the valet ticket? My man, just take it. You saved my ass today, and this is the least I can do. Take it. Don’t tell anyone.”
He blinked, then nodded, and took the money. “Th-thank you,” he said.
I nodded, and then I was off.
The valet lot wasn’t far, and I made it in just a minute or two. The club was used to high rollers driving their golf carts up to unload their clubs, and then cruising straight from the lot, without bothering with the valet. You don’t delay billionaires when they’re ready to leave.
So no one even questioned me hopping into Joseph’s BMW and cruising out of the gates. I was on my way to the address Victor had given me, and according to Joseph’s memories I would have a good eight-hour window before he went to retrieve his car.
Plenty of time to get myself into a lot of trouble.
CHAPTER
NINE
The address Victor gave me for the Wellings siblings turned out to be a small apartment complex located near Garden of the Gods, with a pretty impressive view of the mountains surrounding the area. I could see snow on the distant mountaintops, which was kind of charming, if I’m being honest. There was also lots and lots of green here—grass covering squares of lawns and trees in every shape I’ve ever imagined. And not just green, but yellows and oranges and reds.
I’ve seen nature. New York has lots of nature. But most of my life has been in the city, and when you live in canyons of steel and concrete, grey is the color you see most often. I go to Central Park sometimes, just to see something else. But here… it’s just everywhere. You don’t go somewhere to see it, you just open your door and step outside.
I pulled the BMW into the parking lot of the apartments. There was no gate—it was just an open-air rectangle of asphalt. The apartments themselves looked like they were some kind of Spanish theme, almost old world. Some kind of stucco exterior, with the ends of wooden beams protruding out along the roof line.
It looked old, maybe 1970s era. But it was in good shape. No signs of decay, and the landscaping was kept up. And, of course, it had that view.
[Can we live here?] Caleb asked.
[I wouldn’t turn it down,] Jacob replied.
I got out of the BMW and made sure it was locked. I was hoping we might be able to get it back to the club before its owner realized it was missing. I wanted to avoid causing trouble for the kid at the valet stand. And it would seriously derail my plans if someone stole the thing before I had the chance to return it.
[Alright,] Kirsten said. [Which unit is theirs?]
I checked the slip of paper where I’d written down Victor’s messages.
“Number 208,” I said. I looked at the building in front of me and realized that it was the only building in front of me. A two-story structure, with a courtyard facing a fenced-in swimming pool. I did a quick count of units, from my vantage point, and realized there were only eight to each floor. The siblings lived in the furthest from the parking lot, on the top-most floor.
[Maybe it’s because we’ve been in New York for so long, but is it weird to anyone else that there’s just so much open space for this place?] Jacob asked. [Tiny little complex like this, but look how much room to roam they have.]
[I was thinking much the same thing,] Henry replied.
[Can we live here?] Caleb repeated.
I walked along the sidewalk, past a sign that pointed to the property manager’s office—a free-standing structure tucked into one corner of the property. I passed the gate for the pool and eventually came to the staircase for 208. A dedicated staircase. For one apartment.
[You ready for this?] Kirsten asked.
I inhaled and exhaled. “Nope,” I said. And then I started up the stairs.
“Can I help you?” a woman asked, before I’d made it to the top.
I looked back to see a young woman, around my age, wearing workout clothes. She was taking wireless earbuds out of her ears. It looked like she’d just come back from a run.
