Echoes From the Moon (The Token Book One), page 33
Silas stared at the flickering fireplace, feeling quite the opposite. They shared an undeniable connection: both being grandkids of famous astronauts, having to grow up with their looming presences overshadowing their families.
“Silas, would you say something?” Rory sat on the chair closest to the hearth, her legs crossed beneath her.
“Something.”
She rolled her eyes, looking exasperated with him. “That’s not funny.”
“What do you want me to do? I like you, Rory.”
“I like you too, but that doesn’t negate the fact it was an error in judgment.”
“Why does it require a label? Is there really anything wrong with what we did this afternoon? We’re two consenting adults capable of making decisions.”
Rory averted her gaze. “You don’t want to be involved with me.”
“Why not?”
“First off, I’m a loner, and I’m spoiled rotten.”
“So am I.”
“Not like me. My dad is going to buy me a condo, and I didn’t pay for my schooling. When Kevin blew my advance, who do you think bailed me out? I fought so hard to take care of myself in those years after college, but I’ve never known what it’s like to fear where my next meal was coming from, or had to worry about my future, which makes me an utter and complete failure who can’t write another book. I just don’t have it in me. I’m clearly attracted to psychos, present company excluded.”
Silas smiled and took a drink of his lemon tea. That was one thing his grandpa had in ample supply. “But you said you like me. That’s a nice start.”
Rory’s frown finally vanished, and she clasped her tea close to her chest. “It was fun. I don’t know the last time I stopped thinking. Do you ever feel that?”
“Probably.”
“I’m in my head so much that I can’t turn it off. I’m constantly annoyed with myself. Can’t I shut up for a minute and hear the world around me?”
“I don’t have that problem. I’ve never been much of a thinker.”
“Sure, the finance major doesn’t use his brain.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” he said. “Our brains are difficult to ignore.”
“I sit and watch people, having dinner with friends, laughing, sharing stories, and existing… It’s missing in my life.”
“It’s called being happy, Rory.”
“Is that what it is?” She smiled at him. “Are you happy?”
“I’d say I’m quite content, but given the recent situation? It’s tough to remember what normal is.” Silas motioned to the room they sat in. “Grandpa Gunn was literally killed two weeks ago, and we’ve been through more than we deserved. But great things are around the corner. I can sense it.”
“I’m glad one of us has your optimism.” Rory sighed and drank her tea. “I need a splash of honey or something. You good?”
He offered his cup. “I’ll take a refill.”
Rory left and banged around the cupboards in the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with two steaming cups and an open bottle of tequila—the same one Leigh had brought to the house. Silas paled, and it all flooded back.
“You okay?”
“I was thinking about…”
Rory glanced at the bottle and seemed to understand. “Oh, you two were…”
“No, we weren’t, but it was one of those… what might have been.” Silas made eye contact with Rory. “She died because of me.”
Rory sat on the couch next to him. “It’s not your fault.”
“We bury my grandfather tomorrow. Then what?” Silas took the tequila and splashed some into his lemon tea. Rory did the same, and they clinked glasses.
“Then we live,” she said.
“To living.” Silas frowned at the taste, but kept hold of the mug.
His phone buzzed, and Silas checked it, finding a message from Waylen. “It’s our friend at the FBI.”
“That’s a sentence I never expected to hear. What’s it say?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you down. Consider this over on your end.” Silas read it twice, and started a response.
“There’s no reason for Monroe to continue to come after us, since Waylen’s delivering the tokens. I feel so free. We can do anything.”
“Or nothing. I am retired for the moment, remember?”
Rory laughed, and the air in the room seemed to get lighter. “Not everyone’s independently wealthy.”
“Oh, poor Rory.” Silas poked her in the arm. “I refuse to be sad for you.”
Rain started up again, drawing his attention to the window. It was pitch-black outside, the world drowned by dark clouds. It made the indoors of his new lake house all the more enticing. Drops splattered onto the massive windowpanes, one after another, in a continuous random pattern.
Be careful, and remember, it’s someone else’s responsibility soon. Silas hit send and waited for the response.
“It’s true. We can start fresh.” Rory set her cup aside and leaned on Silas, giving him the idea that her earlier statements didn’t coincide with her genuine feelings.
“How about that game of Monopoly?”
“Fine, but I will throw the board if I lose,” Rory said.
“Of course you will. I’ll be the bank.”
____________
The storm lingered, refusing to pass through the area. The heavy black clouds were anchored from Loon Lake and persisted all the way to Campbelltown. Silas’ mood matched the weather as he pulled into the cemetery. This was a somber affair, not a ceremony so much as just bearing witness to Peter Gunn’s burial.
Silas didn’t know the man, and even staying at his home had done little to change that. He kept the journal with him, but couldn’t bring himself to read it. He wanted the tokens to be gone from their lives forever. If he opened the journal, they’d continue to hold power over him.
Rory had a black outfit, and Silas wore a dark suit. They’d stopped at the store in town, grabbing two matching umbrellas, but there were only white and red polka dots left. He parked his Chevelle under a large oak, then climbed out and popped the colorful canopy.
“At least we won’t be soaked,” Rory said, taking the rare role of optimist from him.
Silas checked the clock, knowing that Waylen had three hours before his own meeting in DC. The seconds seemed to tick slower with the pending arrangement, and Silas had woken up with a headache because of it. Rory, on the other hand, was almost perky.
They greeted the woman in the brick office building, and she smiled warmly as they dripped on her entrance mat.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Gunn. We loved Patricia. She and I were in a knitting club together, and she always gave me the best slow cooker recipes. I miss her every day.” She rubbed her palms, then blinked. “Whoops. I suppose I should have told you my name. I’m Dolores Newton, and I manage the place.”
“Nice to meet you, Dolores. I’m Rory.”
“You look familiar,” she said.
“I get that a lot.”
“No, you said Rory?” Dolores beamed. “She gave me a copy of your book!”
“Who did?” Rory asked.
“Patricia Gunn. It was a beautiful tale of a courageous woman breaking through glass ceilings and venturing to the Moon. I loved it.”
“My grandma read your novel,” Silas quietly told Rory, then focused on Dolores. “Could you tell me some stories about them after?”
“It would be my absolute pleasure, dear.” Dolores looked to be around his own parents’ age, but she sounded like his other grandmother, a kind soul who’d passed when he was around fifteen.
Twenty minutes later, they stood at the edge of a dug grave, the coffin from the funeral sitting on the lowering device. The freshly-dug dirt trickled in the heavy rainfall. Dolores had asked if they’d prefer to wait it out, but since the radar didn’t show it dissipating, he’d opted to proceed as scheduled. Silence filled the air, and Rory held his hand as Peter’s body descended into the ground.
Beside his gravestone sat the plot of Patricia Rose Gunn. Silas had visited it before during her whirlwind funeral, but couldn’t recall what the stone said. His gaze flickered to Peter’s, and he read the inscription on the bottom. Your footprint on our lives will never be forgotten.
Silas tugged his umbrella closer as emotion welled in his chest. Peter should have lived longer, and Silas should have tried to know him. He supposed most regrets were irreversible; otherwise, they’d be called something else.
When it was over, he was numb.
“Let’s go talk with Dolores,” Rory said.
They spent an hour in the office, with the cemetery director excusing herself twice to deal with random issues. Silas learned about Patty, as she affectionately called his grandmother, though Dolores had little first-hand experiences with Peter. Eventually, she had to go, and Silas thanked her for spending so much of her morning with them.
He closed the umbrella near the car, tossing his into the backseat. “Lunch?” he asked Rory.
As they pulled away, he noticed a black van following them, the wipers on full.
____________
Waylen paced the office, continually checking his watch. The meeting was in an hour, and Assistant Director Ben hadn’t shown up yet.
“Can you call him again?” Waylen asked Ben’s assistant.
“As I’ve told you five times, he’s in a meeting with the White House,” she said haughtily.
Darren Jones had talked his ear off yesterday at the hotel bar, until almost midnight, and he’d found the distraction helpful. The moment he’d gone up to his own room, Waylen couldn’t sleep. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the window-mounted AC unit clicked on and off. Twice, he’d removed the tokens from their hiding spot, spread them out on the desk, and considered assembling it. He had to know if they were really a portal to alien worlds.
He'd kept in touch with Silas and Rory, and ignored another two texts from Martina. Then, when he’d given up hope of ever relaxing, his eyes closed, and Waylen recognized the brush of the Shadow on his mind. Tendrils clung to his appendages, dragging him into oblivion. He’d woken at seven AM on the dot, his head clear of distractions.
Waylen sat, tapping his toes until Ben appeared in the hallway. He jumped to his feet when his superior waved him to follow. “What’s the word?”
“You’ll see.”
He entered a meeting room with Ben, and spied Plemmons at the table, along with another man he’d never met.
“Special Agent Brooks, take a seat.” The Secretary of Defense gestured across from him.
Waylen glanced at Jacob B. Plemmons, then at the man with him. He was younger, around Waylen’s age, with a fresh haircut and shiny cufflinks that didn’t look cheap. Plemmons had a blue tie on, with a small golden American flag pin on his lapel.
“Gentlemen,” Waylen said.
“It’s come to my attention that you’re going to Planetae Inc. today,” Plemmons said.
“In an hour, sir.”
“Leo Monroe is on our untouchable list,” he told Waylen.
“I’m not going to arrest him.”
“Monroe had several important contracts with our government, but it’s also clear he’s not above selling technology to the opposition. We’ve warned him before, and I believed he would stop. He hasn’t. I’ve watched his business closely, and while we’re still in a partnership with him, that may come to an end.”
Waylen listened intently to each word. “His men tried to murder me, sir.”
“So Ben has said.”
“He killed Peter Gunn, a national hero,” Waylen said. “He may not have pulled the trigger, but the blood’s on his hands.”
“I know.”
“Are we doing anything about it?”
Plemmons leaned on the table, pointing to Waylen’s chest. “Show me.”
Waylen shot Ben a nervous glance, but the Assistant Director only nodded his confirmation.
Waylen removed the packages and slid one token onto the table. The younger man with Plemmons almost drooled at the sight.
“Who is this?” Waylen asked.
“He’s with me,” was all the answer Plemmons offered. He reached for the token. “May I?”
“Don’t.” Ben grabbed his arm. “You have that heart condition.”
Plemmons loosened his tie and sat back. “Proceed to the meeting at Planetae. Give him the Delta and make a quick exit. We’ll do the rest.”
“You’re taking him down?” Waylen asked.
“Yes.”
Waylen filled with relief. As dangerous as the Delta was, he somehow felt better with the concept of it being in the government’s hands, over those of a private company’s deranged CEO.
“Bring them. We’ll deal with Monroe.”
“Why not just go arrest him?”
Plemmons frowned deeply. “He’s feeling the heat. He might skip town and hide at one of his foreign plants. But he won’t leave with the Delta in the city.”
Waylen stood, knowing his timeline was tight.
“And Special Agent…”
“Yes?” He stopped at the door, with the tokens securely tucked into his pocket.
“Does anyone else know about these?” Plemmons asked.
“No one we need to worry about.”
The man with him whispered in his ear, and the Secretary of Defense pursed his lips. “Don’t tip Monroe to what’s happening. He’s dangerous, and we can’t allow him the opportunity to evade us.”
“No pressure,” Waylen muttered to himself as he left.
Special Agent Charles met him in the lobby. “Everything good?”
“It will be. Thanks for your work on this, Gary.”
“Any time.”
Waylen found his car in the parking garage and began his drive north.
He first realized something was wrong when he smelled the burning. A hiss of smoke rose from the hood as he hit the freeway, and he heard a snap. He pressed the brakes, but they no longer worked.
Waylen guided his car to the shoulder and yanked on the emergency brake. It pulled up with no resistance, and he slid into the guardrail, scraping the side of his doors. He did everything in his power to avoid striking another vehicle. The car was slowing since his foot had retreated from the pedal, but the steering wheel locked up. Waylen could only watch as he aimed directly for an overpass and hoped he’d make contact with the orange impact barrels. The car hit the barricades at twenty-five miles an hour, and Waylen smashed into the airbag the second it deployed.
Pain erupted in his face, and his neck tingled when the airbag deflated with a hiss. He tried to grab his phone, but it must have fallen to the floor. Waylen undid his seatbelt and reached for the handle, hearing a strange noise. He glanced up, finding a black helicopter landing in the middle of the exit.
A man stepped out.
Leo Monroe had brought the meeting to Waylen.
10
“We should have heard from him by now,” Rory said. The restaurant was pleasant, probably the finest dining experience Campbelltown had to offer. She’d opted for the seafood, and Silas had ordered the Cajun chicken, neither of them finishing their meals.
“He was going there at one. It’s two thirty.” Silas stabbed a steak-cut fry and bit it in half before setting the remainder on the plate. “They might still be talking.”
“Talking,” Rory said. “About what? It’s not like Monroe will want to be besties with a special agent after trying to kill him. He bribed a federal agent, and from what I gather, Waylen took that one personally, if you catch my drift.”
“You think so?” Silas seemed surprised.
“It was obvious, at least to a woman.” Rory waved the server down and asked for the check.
“It’s on me.”
“My entitlement continues,” she said.
The place was quiet on a Wednesday after the lunch rush, but a couple of people lingered near the windows. They’d opted for a quiet booth, tucked in the back of the dimly-lit establishment. Rory felt like hiding from the world on this gloomy day.
“Let’s give him another ten minutes.”
Rory wanted to dial Waylen’s number, but wouldn’t allow herself to follow through. The last thing an FBI agent in the middle of his duty needed was to be pestered by a civilian.
“Are you staying?” Silas asked, after paying cash for their lunch.
“That depends on you.”
“Me?”
“You probably want the place to yourself. I could book a hotel in town,” she said.
“No way. You’re welcome to the lake house for as long as you’d like. You planning on starting the book again?”
“I am.”
“Good.”
“When Waylen calls us and confirms it’s done, I can move on,” she said.
Silas dangled his car keys. “Rain’s let up. Ready to head back?”
“Sounds good to me.” She stopped Silas at the exit. “He’ll be all right.”
“Waylen can take care of himself.”
The clouds had finally parted, offering a peek of sunlight through the darkness. Silas cursed under his breath. “There’s that van again.”
It was parked a block down, facing the other direction. “This is a small town. Probably has nothing to do with us.”
“I hope so.” Silas manually unlocked her door and opened it for her.
Rory wasn’t used to this kind of treatment. “How chivalrous.”
The moment Silas started the car, the van ahead took off.
“See, we have to stop being so paranoid.”
Silas put the car into gear and moved from the curb, driving past the main drag. Soon they were through town, and he was on the highway that led to Gull Creek and eventually to Loon Lake. Rory held her phone in her lap, willing Waylen to contact them with good news.
“Shit,” Silas said. “He’s following us.”
Rory’s pulse quickened, and she felt on the precipice of a major panic attack. “This shouldn’t be happening.”
Silas reached under his seat, brandishing a gun. “I’ll take care of it.”
“What are you doing?” she shouted. “You can’t whip that out whenever you want.”
“Things are different in Wyoming, Rory.” He slowed, and she watched through the mirror as the van did the same. Rory exited, wishing he’d just leave it alone, but obviously Silas was done being pushed around. He backtracked on the road and stepped further onto the shoulder as a massive semi-trailer whooshed by. The van had tinted windows, and Silas jogged to it, gun raised. “Get out of the van! Why are you following us?”
