Orbital Disruption Page 19

  He pushed back the down quilt. It was surprisingly cool at night here in the low mountains that rose above the Coeur d’Alene River valley but it got warm quickly. Ruben didn’t often sleep in so late but the past few days had been stressful. He’d arrived in Spokane well after midnight. By the time he’d reached his estate it was almost three in the morning. It was after noon now but why should he care? He was still CEO of Excelsior Launch Systems but that hardly mattered anymore. Anna had hopefully finished off those arrogant pricks at Jovian but even if she hadn’t, it also wouldn’t matter. In fact, in less than a month, none of it would matter. The face of the Earth itself would change, vast stretches of coastline would be washed away and Ruben St. James would become the billionaire he was meant to be. He wasn’t a god. He had the humility to understand that. But he was destined to be more than an ordinary man. He felt it in his bones. Everything was finally coming together.

  After showering and wrapping himself in a simple yet elegant silk dressing gown, he descended the main staircase from the upper floor that contained the master suite and guest rooms. The main floor was dominated by a cathedral-like living room with a high ceiling and vast windows. He paused for a moment to admire the tranquil beauty of the forested valley. A formal dining room, kitchen and library completed the main floor. His stomach growled but he didn’t stop in the kitchen. Instead he descended a narrower flight of stairs to the basement.

  Bypassing the theater and billiards rooms, Ruben unlocked a heavy metal door and entered the storeroom. A large yet simple room, five meters wide and almost ten meters long with bare concrete walls, ceiling and floor. At one end was a cot and a small enclosed lavatory. The rest of the space was lined with numerous shelves and cabinets. Canned food. Guns. Ammunition. Gas masks. Medicine. A safe containing almost half a million dollars in cash and several hundred gold coins. He made a quick check to confirm that everything was fully stocked. He didn’t expect to need to use his supplies. The impact of his asteroid in the Atlantic would have no physical effect on Idaho - of this he was certain. But there was a small chance that the human effects of the disaster would be greater than he imagined. If there were a period of chaos in the aftermath of the impact well, he could ride it out here. He had enough food to last for months - perhaps a year or more if he rationed it. A rain-fed cistern further up the ridgeline from the main cabin ensured a steady supply of water. Two large propane tanks behind the garage held enough gas to heat and cook for years. Solar panels on the roof and a small windmill ensured that he wouldn’t be impacted by any blackouts. Twenty well-armed drones patrolled the grounds and airspace overhead. Reassured in his absolute safety, Ruben closed and locked the storeroom and went back up to the main floor to prepare breakfast.

  As he fried two eggs, Ruben wished he could afford to have domestic help here at the cabin. It wasn’t a matter of money, of course, but of security. He had gone to great effort to ensure that his name was in no way associated with the estate. He used an intermediary to hire handymen to make repairs and have a local caretaker deliver food and other supplies. All of them knew there was a reclusive millionaire who occasionally visited but Ruben had made sure that none of them knew who he was and that none had ever seen his face.

  Too bad, though, he thought to himself. A pretty young lady in a maid’s outfit would be really nice right now. Or maybe something a little sterner. Yes, that was exactly what he needed. Ruben took his phone from his pocket and sent a brief text message. There was some risk in this, of course. But what was the point of being a millionaire (soon to be billionaire!) if he couldn’t enjoy himself?

  As his eggs reached the ideal state of doneness - the yolk just firm but not yet hard - he received a reply. Ruben smiled. He ate his breakfast and felt one hunger abate while another one grew stronger.

  “Sir, we have a vehicle inbound.”

  Agent Williams looked up from his phone. The Department of Homeland Security was sending a specialized counter-terrorism unit up from Denver. They had more advanced drones and electronic warfare equipment that would make a raid of the suspect’s estate safer but they wouldn’t arrive for several hours. Williams had resigned himself to holding a perimeter and waiting for reinforcements.

  “Location?”

  “Three point five klicks out,” the tech answered. “Coming in on I-90 from the West.”

  “How’d we pick it up that far away?” Agent Williams asked.

  “It’s a BlueSkies autonomous taxi, sir.” the tech replied. “We put out a geofenced alert for the area. Pickup was in Dalton Gardens, Idaho, about half an hour ago. Destination is St. James’s estate.”

  “Reroute it here,” Williams responded immediately.

  “Executing an emergency police override,” the tech replied calmly and began to type on his terminal.

  “Override accepted by BlueSkies. They report ETA to our position is six minutes. Passengers have not been notified of the detour.”

  “Excellent,” Agent Williams replied and stood up. “Let’s get ready for the intercept.”

  The pale blue vehicle slowed and turned into the parking lot of the Conoco gas station in Kingston, Idaho. Its tires crunched on the gravel that lined the far edge of the small parking lot. It came to a stop several meters from two large black FBI tactical response trucks.

  “Vehicle confirms emergency shutdown, doors unlocked. Radio frequency jamming at full strength,” the technician reported. “They’re isolated from the network.”

  “Let’s see who’s paying Mr. St. James a visit, shall we?” Agent Williams said as he stood up and stepped out into the sunlight.

  Williams approached the vehicle, two agents in body armor ahead of him on the near side. Two other agents, similarly equipped, jogged around to the the far side of the vehicle.

  “Step out of the vehicle with your hands up!” shouted the agent closest to the car.

  The door on the near side of the BlueSkies taxi opened. The interior was configured, like most autonomous taxis with two seats facing forward and two facing backward. There were two young women in the rear, forward-facing seats. One stepped out hesitantly with her hands raised.

  “You too, miss! Out of the vehicle now!”

  The second woman stepped out. A look of fear was clear in her expression.

  Agent Williams noted that both women were dressed in long trench coats despite the warm sun.

  The first agent approached the two women who had exited the taxi as the second agent stood back several paces with her weapon drawn - optimal distance to shoot either of the women if they made a threatening move. But if they were dangerous, they we certainly good at hiding it, Williams thought. They looked terrified.

  “Are you carrying any weapons?” the first agent asked. Both women shook their heads no.

  “I’ll need you to remove your coats, ladies,” the agent said, holstering his weapon. The second agent kept her weapon in her hand but Agent Williams noted that she had lowered it. The first woman turned and looked at the second. Neither said a word but both began to remove their coats.

  As the women untied the sashes holding their coats closed, Agent Williams became more and more certain that he wasn’t dealing with terrorists. Unusually short leather skirts. Leather corsets with metal studs. High leather boots.

  He cleared his throat to draw their attention.

  “Ladies, can you please tell us where you were going just now?”

  The first woman looked at the second and then looked back at Agent Williams.

  “They don’t tell us the address or the client’s name,” she said. “They just send us a taxi.”

  “Were you bringing anything with you today?”

  “We have our, um, equipment. In the trunk.”

  Agent Williams nodded to one of the agents standing on the far side of the taxi. She walked to the rear of the taxi and opened the luggage compartment. She reached inside and withdrew a black carry-on sized suitcase with wheels.

  “We’re going to need to open your
suitcase, ma’am,” Agent Williams said. “Unfortunately, as this is a matter of national security, no warrant or consent is required.”

  The second woman’s face grew pale. The first one simply nodded.

  The agent who had removed the suitcase from the trunk unzipped it and lifted the lid. She reached inside and removed several items including a leather whip, a pair of brass handcuffs and a bundle of rope.

  The agent raised her eyebrows and looked back at Williams.

  The first woman started to explain.

  “We’re, um, entertainers. We don’t do anything with our clients that would be illegal, you know. We just, um…”

  Agent Williams held up a hand to interrupt her.

  “Ladies, we’re going to need to hold you here for a while but you’re not under arrest. Please be assured, we have bigger concerns today than whatever you were involved in.”

  The first woman looked relieved while the second was still pale.

  “But we are going to need to borrow your coats.”

  Ruben St. James paced in his spacious living room. He thought briefly to himself how valuable it was to have sufficient room to really pace. To not feel constrained. But it didn’t help. He was eager for this afternoon’s entertainment and despite how much he was paying them, the ladies were late.

  He contemplated pouring himself another glass of wine but he was already a little tipsy and he knew he would not fully appreciate the fetish experience he had planned if he were too intoxicated. A little bit of alcohol helped him to remove his inhibitions, though. And that was important.

  Ruben tired of pacing and sat down on a couch facing the window overlooking the Coer D’Alene River valley below. A single road followed the river and he was pleased to see a pale blue vehicle tracing those curves. He adjusted the sash of his dressing gown in anticipation.

  “Attention: vehicle approaching,” said a neutral female voice from a speaker mounted on the wall in the living room a few minutes later. “Engaging in thirty seconds.”

  “Vehicle is authorized,” Ruben replied. “Do not engage.”

  “Acknowledged,” the disembodied voice replied. “Security exception logged.”

  Ruben stood up and made his way to the main entrance of his cabin and stepped out onto the flagstone patio. The sun was high enough to shine down through gaps in the trees and it was getting quite warm. A gentle breeze moved the thin silk of the dressing gown and it brushed against his skin. He watched as the blue vehicle slowly wound its way up the gravel road to his cabin, a thin plume of dust in its wake.

  The vehicle rolled to a gentle stop in the circular driveway in front of Ruben’s cabin. He stood at the edge of his patio. Two women stepped out of the car and smiled at him. Ruben smiled back. It seemed odd, but both appeared to be wearing dark slacks and very practical-looking shoes under their long trench coats. That hardly mattered, though. He doubted any of them would be wearing anything at all for very long.

  The women weren’t the prettiest Ruben had ever seen but they weren’t bad looking, either. A brief doubt flickered across his mind. He’d asked for a blonde and a redhead but this was rural Idaho - he decided he should be thankful that the ultra-discreet service he worked with could even find two prostitutes with the requisite skills in his preferred fetish on such short notice. So what if they were both brunette?

  The first woman walked immediately toward Ruben. He was impressed by her confidence. Most escorts were nervous when they first met him.

  “I hear you’ve been naughty,” she said with just a hint of a smile.

  Ruben raised his hands.

  “Oh, yes. I’ve been very naughty,” he replied and smiled broadly.

  The first woman reached inside her trench coat and withdrew a pair of handcuffs.

  “In that case, I’m afraid you’re going to need to be punished.”

  She stepped close enough to Ruben that he could smell her perfume as she grasped one wrist and then the other. He felt an exhilarating chill down his spine as the cold metal pressed into his skin.

  As the first woman handcuffed his wrists behind his back, the second one approached. He smiled and but she didn’t smile back. Instead she reached up and began to unzip her trench coat. Ruben inhaled in anticipation. The first escort still had a firm grip on his handcuffed wrists while the second opened her trench coat to reveal a dark, conservatively cut suit. Ruben felt confusion, enhanced by the wine, as the second escort pulled a badge out of her suit pocket and flipped it open. Did they think he’d requested a police role-playing scenario? He couldn’t read the fine print but he could clearly see the block letters “FBI”. It looked surprisingly realistic.

  “Mr. Ruben St. James,” the woman started to say. Part of Ruben’s mind wanted to know how she knew his name. The escorts were never supposed to be told who he was. Something was wrong.

  “You are under arrest for terrorism against the United States of America.”

  Ruben felt his knees grow weak. He would have stumbled if the first escort - no, FBI agent - hadn’t been holding his handcuffed wrists so tightly.

  “You are also under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, autonomous weapons possession, securities fraud, tax evasion and soliciting prostitution. You have the right to remain silent...”

  Ruben’s muscles gave way fully. He fell to the ground. Small sharp stones punctured the thin skin of his knees but he didn’t notice.

  “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  He leaned forward and felt his stomach heave. He tasted eggs and bile.

  “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one...”

  “Unlikely,” the first agent mumbled behind him. She tugged on his handcuffed arms and Ruben tried to get his feet under him.

  “... one will be provided for you.”

  His head spun. Somehow they’d found him. Somehow they knew everything. How? How was it possible?

  “Do you understand your rights as I have read them to you?” the second agent asked.

  He looked up. The second agent wasn’t smiling. She was grinning. She was enjoying seeing him humiliated.

  He tried to nod his head but it just stirred the fog that surrounded his mind. He needed to take action, somehow turn the tables. At least retain some dignity and buy time to think. He was Ruben St. James - this wasn’t how he would go down, dammit! Ruben clenched his teeth and struggled to stand but before he could get any leverage against the agent holding his handcuffs, the world suddenly grew dim.

  Ruben St. James fainted.

  Twenty-Nine

  “Ow! Fuck, that hurts!”

  Dennis tried to hold his arm still while Molly cleaned the deep cut made by Anna Ivanov’s knife. Despite acquiring the wound more than an hour earlier he was still bleeding. Molly poured hydrogen peroxide onto a fresh paper towel and continued. Dennis gritted his teeth.

  Esteban and Tabitha stood next to Dennis and Molly under the orange glow of a sodium vapor street light on the edge of a parking lot. Esteban wiped blood from his forehead where Sergey’s paddle had struck him. Tabitha popped two Tylenol into her mouth and washed them down with a swig of Gatorade.

  After abandoning the small inflatable zodiac at the Fairfield Marina, the four had walked almost two kilometers to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy. Molly, as the only one not visibly bleeding or bruised, had gone inside to purchase first aid. Now the four stood at the end of the parking lot, tending to their injuries.

  A car pulled into the parking lot. Two young men got out. The first one started to walk toward the pharmacy but the second paused for a moment, looking at Esteban, Dennis, Tabitha and Molly. It might have been hard to tell in the orange lighting but he could probably see that the numerous paper towels on the ground at their feet were streaked with blood. Molly was just starting to apply a large gauze pad to Dennis’s upper arm.

  The young man - a teenager, really, now that Esteban could see him properly - walked toward them. His friend, sensing t
hat he had stopped, turned around.

  “You guys doing ok? You need some help?”

  Esteban smiled and replied.

  “Thanks, man. We’re good.”

  The teenager tipped his head and looked at Esteban. A few drops of blood ran down Esteban’s chin from where the smile had reopened his broken lip.

  “Man, you guys don’t look so good. You sure you don’t want me to call someone?”

  Esteban started to answer but Tabitha interrupted him.

  “It was just a bar fight,” she said. “Some guy was flirting with me and my boyfriend kicked his ass. Things got a little out of hand.”

  Esteban shrugged his shoulders but didn’t say anything.

  The teenager smiled. “Ah, no problem man. I know how it is.”

  Esteban nodded.

  “Thanks for asking,” Tabitha smiled.

  Dennis chimed in. “You should see the other guys!”

  The teenager laughed, turned and walked away.

  Once he was out of hearing range Molly asked, “Do you think he’ll call someone?”

  “Probably not,” Esteban replied, “but let’s get going anyway. There’s a Metro North station a few blocks away. I think it’s time we got back to New York.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Dennis asked as he sat down on the wide vinyl bench seat next to Molly. His jeans and shoes were still damp and smelled like seawater. His upper left arm was a throbbing mass of pain. Esteban and Tabitha sat across the aisle from them. A whistle sounded and the train began to move.

  “We need to get back online,” Tabitha said in a hushed voice. There were only a handful of other people in the train car and they’d already received a few curious glances as they’d boarded, probably as a result of their ragged appearance. “We need to get in touch with Jessica and let her know about Anna and that other guy. If Jessica knows that Ruben is trying to crash an asteroid into the Earth then I think she’ll be forced to work with us. We might be her only shot at stopping it.”