Chapter 25
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Florence was ready to go in a less than a minute – much faster than Eliot and Hardison.
"Since when do we have a rotating light bar?" Eliot asked when a beaming Hardison pulled the light from one bag.
"Since we needed it during a certain night, and didn't have it." The hacker examined the strength of the magnet on the bottom. "With this, we can be there in a half an hour. No speed limit, baby. Let's go!"
They couldn't leave her alone in the apartment, and they needed someone to drive; she was okay with that. She wasn't afraid, just a little hurried as all of them were – though their going to the car didn't look like a rescue party; they sneaked down as if they knew they were doing something they shouldn't. Hardison and Parker both had black glasses now, and she was sure Hardison used them to permanently keep one eye closed, judging by his careful steps down the stairs.
They were on the street and in front of an orange Dodge, when she realized that Eliot had the keys, not she.
He stopped at the driver's door and Florence almost bumped into him; she quickly changed course and went around the car. Hardison was lingering in the back, walking slowly so Parker's painful steps wouldn't be so obvious.
"I think I'm the only one here who is actually able to drive," she said quietly.
No response came.
Eliot looked at the car with a strange hesitation, and for a moment she thought he was thinking about letting her drive. Just one moment, though – the next one he opened the door and sat.
She used the opportunity and took the passenger seat.
The fifteen seconds they spent waiting for Parker and Hardison seemed to last much longer; he was sitting stiff as a board, staring out the front with both hands on the wheel, not just holding it, clutching it.
His right hand, when he finally turned the engine on, trembled so hard that he missed the key hole twice. She bit her lip and stopped any comment.
Parker carefully crawled onto the back seat, Hardison put the light bar on the roof and they were set to go, but she was suddenly completely sure she didn't want to be driven by a man who was only allowed to be out of bed one hour a day.
It seemed that Hardison thought the same.
"Seriously, man? Why don't you let Florence drive? It's insane, Betsy would freak out and you know it-"
"Just get in already!"
Florence squinted when they started, when the engine roared in the silent street.
"Slower!" both Hardison and Parker hissed from the back seat. "You won't make much time through town," Hardison continued. "And you definitely don't want to make us sick, right? More than we already are."
That threat worked, Florence noticed. She carefully kept her eyes on the street, but she studied Eliot's moves. He was driving with his left hand on the wheel, the right was down on the gearshift; he moved it only when necessary. This was almost like sitting with a laptop, she tried to calm herself down, glancing at his profile. He seemed concentrated and that was good. But he also seemed to be half absent, and she didn't know what to think about it.
Hardison obviously noticed it too. "You okay, man?" he asked softly, deep concern clear in his voice. Too clear. He continued, quickly making his voice mocking. "You won't faint on us while you're driving, will you?"
Five seconds passed before Eliot replied. "I drove a car only three days after that bullet, while bleeding out and dying, on a triple morphine overdose, and I drove the whole night. I think I'll manage not to faint now, Hardison." He missed fifth gear and went into third, the car thundering for a second.
Oh. No wonder he was so stiff. Who drugged him? Damn, there was so many questions she wanted to ask him, but she remembered Nate's warning. No questions about That Night. She started to understand why, watching his face being set into a sharp mask. He wasn't even that concentrated when he lipread the words of the Red guards from the recording, from a blurry gray feed.
The thing she didn't know, however, was troubling… was he concentrating on driving, or was his mind set on something else, and they'd all end up squashed into a wall? There was only one way to check that, and she mentally pushed aside all the warnings. "Who drugged you?" she asked directly.
"Not now, Florence." His voice was a low rasp.
"When?" she asked quickly, watching the Challenger speeding through the traffic, and the way his eyes tracked everything in front of him, not even once glancing to the passenger seat, to her.
The pause before the answer was even longer this time. "Some better time."
"I was wondering, can we buy a shotgun now that we're already on the road?" Parker's uninterested voice came from behind. "We can go to Francisco, I bought the hand grenades from him."
The car swerved slightly to the left, but Eliot managed to set it straight in a second. "No, Parker, we can't buy- what hand grenades?!" His voice lost that absent tone, and annoyance crept into it. "Who the hell is Franc-"
"You're the same as Nate – he kept making me leave them every time we went to do something."
"You give me the full name of that guy, and where to find him – he sold hand grenades to a girl? Seriously?"
"I acted cute."
"Even better."
"Or, instead of a shotgun, we can buy a bazooka," Parker continued. Her voice was lower, but felt nearer, and Florence turned in her seat, finding her face mere inches from hers. Parker looked directly at her, but her eyes were hidden behind the glasses.
Florence stopped herself from shifting; she could feel the papers in her back pocket. The thief couldn't take them, read her notes about a bad guy based on Eliot, for whom she needed a bazooka to kill, and return the papers to her pocket without her noticing it. Then she remembered her earrings. Yes, she could do that.
"I've changed my mind," she said to the thief, grinning. "First poison, preferably curare, and then a bazooka. Twice."
Parker giggled and drew back, not paying attention to Hardison's questions about the bazooka, nor to Eliot's growling about the hand grenades.
Florence watched her for a second and darted her a smile – it seemed that the android knew how to return him to the present, without him noticing the intention. Maybe they'd all survive this ride, after all.
Yet, she wondered how innocent her question was, really, and what the thief would have done if she gave her the wrong answer. She was strange.
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"You're aware of the shit storm that awaits us when we get back?" Sophie asked when Nate stopped Lucille one block from the dark green building of Dvorak Security Inc. If it wasn't for the color, it would look very much like the C4 building – long, simple, and very… secure.
"They'll sulk, and then get over it," he said watching her transforming into Olivia Lohman, Inspector from the Department of Natural Resources. It was an old alias Hardison made for a small case, but they never used it. It would hold water until they got home and Hardison covered it up with more accurate data, if needed. Unfortunately, that was the only one they had for DNR, so she had to go alone.
She wore a dark suit with a white silk blouse, and her hair was falling free on her shoulders. It took only three things to transform her from beautiful, confident businesswoman to clumsy book worm – buttoning the blouse tightly to her neck, squinting behind her glasses, and holding her briefcase against her chest with both hands.
"Two of his thugs may recognize you – the one that held you in the corridor is maybe out of commission, though Hardison thinks his exploding jacket wouldn't have done much harm," he said when she checked the bugs in the briefcase and her pocket. They didn't have earbuds, but Hardison's surveillance system in Lucille was set on default, it recognized transmission without him needing to do anything more complicated than to turn it on and set it to search. He would be able to hear everything she said. "In any case, if you see any of them, abort everything."
She took a few pieces of white fur off her suit, similar to those on his dark shirt, and put on her glasses. "I can only remind them of a woman they held in the corridor," she corrected him softly, putting a nasal tone in her voice; an irritating sound, like a permanent whine. "And before you continue, I know – don't be a threat, lull him in false security, and just introduce myself, as the first step."
He just nodded. They might be blind, but they weren't deaf, and this was just recon.
Nothing to worry about.
And certainly, not the time to ask himself how clever it was to go into a mobster's liar without a hitter.
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They needed thirty minutes instead of fifty-five – with the rotating light the Challenger sliced through traffic like a blade. Hardison said he was keeping an eye on police channels, just in case, but they didn't need to slow down even once.
Eliot slowed down only when they turned onto the small road that lead through the forest surrounding the sand excavation camp and the slaughterhouse – he noticed his reactions were much slower with every minute and the narrow road needed more concentration.
He shouldn't feel so damn tired after just one drive. But he did.
He kept moving his right hand to a minimum, yet he could feel familiar pain through his shoulder and chest. Not as much as after the slaughterhouse fight; after that he was in agony, though he never used his right hand completely outstretched, he mainly used the left one.
He should've let Florence drive, but he had to know if he would be able to do it. The results weren't that bad. He did feel as if he ran a marathon while loaded down with a cement bag, and walking would be interesting after this – but his breathing was okay. Faster and shallower than usual, but okay. For now.
The first sign that something unusual was happening was the smell of barbeque that came through the forest. It wasn't a weekend, and clouds were threatening rain again; who would camp here?
"We'll have problems with parking space," muttered Hardison, staring at the many cars that appeared on both sides of the road.
He slowed the Challenger to avoid people walking to and fro, on the same road they had waited for Lucille to pick them up, without traffic and half abandoned.
"We're on the right road," he said, watching five tents rising on the junction. "The camp entrance is at the end of the road to the right, only two hundred meters deeper into the forest."
"At least we can avoid sneaking around in the mud," Hardison said glancing around. "We'll mingle in the crowd – this is even better than silent monitoring."
Eliot eyed the crowd, looking for familiar faces, but no Goons were among them. A man standing behind the huge barbeque cheerfully waved to newcomers.
"Okay, get out," he said waving back and smiling. "Try to find those two idiots, but don't let them see you. I'll make a circle around the entire complex and try to find Lucille. They had to park somewhere."
They jumped out suspiciously eager, even Hardison. Parker seemed to be more interested in something colorful in front of one tent, than avoiding trouble.
He spent five minutes, searching every forest path he saw, but Lucille wasn't anywhere to be seen.
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Robert Knudsen had a beautiful smile.
And the only reason he had to smile so beautifully at a spinster in inspection, was charming her to get her off his back.
Don Lazzara's smile, though, wasn't that beautiful, but it was warm and genuine.
Sophie held her briefcase tighter and returned the smile to both men sitting in a huge, bright office, trying not to think about Nate's reaction when he realized who was visiting his nephew.
"This is my first inspection," she blurted. "I was just recently transferred from a different department, where I had no contact with… clients. Mr. Knudsen…?"
"That'd be me," Knudsen jumped on his feet and offered her a chair; for the moment she thought he would kiss her hand. "How can we help you, dear Inspector Lohman?" She sat, watching him hovering over her; young, handsome, in a suit that cost as much an entire month of a DNR inspector's pay – and aware of it.
Don Lazzara radiated warmth.
She put the briefcase on her knees, making her feet slightly crooked, as if not used to high heels. "This is an annual inspection," her voice kept the whining tone, but she made it official and stern, like she was reciting a well-learned speech. "I have to see your permits. We are particularly worried about monitoring the air and water pollution around your sand excavation camp; further steps ought to be taken in evaluating that to fulfill the new standards."
"Anything you need. When you announced your arrival, I copied all the relevant documents. My other business is security – and I pay just as much attention to the security and well being of citizens around my camp." When he eyed her from head to the toe and darted a smile, she blushed and lowered her eyes with a sheepish smile.
"You're so kind," she said. "We at DNR very rarely find someone who's really concerned about the environment. If we – after I study your papers – find a reason to visit your camp, I'll be there in person, to see that the inspection is correctly performed." At this, she looked him straight in those unnaturally bright eyes, but briefly, as if surprised by her own bravery.
It was strange to talk with the mark without other voices in her head, and the sudden feeling of loneliness and danger added a natural tone to her unease.
"I'll be delighted to show you around, I have nothing to hide. On the contrary. I recently talked with your superiors at DNR, and I'm preparing one more donation. I bet you don't know any other owner of a Frac sand mine that donates Air Pollution Monitors to his worst enemy," his smile widened, but the only thing she saw was Nate's face, and how he stopped his – almost certain – nervous pacing up and down Lucille, and how his eyes narrowed like every time he heard something crucial. Her smile was colored with that image, and she quickly straightened herself up.
Don Lazzara didn't say a word. He slowly leaned forward, widening his smile, and very gently removed a white hair that lingered on her sleeve. His round, jolly face creeped her out, but she returned his smile with a shy one. She was nothing more than a sheep to those wolves, and they had to stay in that conviction.
He just listened, and his eyes, half hidden under heavy eyelids and gray bushes of eyebrows, were steady on her.
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One woman with two small kids drove away, leaving an empty spot near the place where he let the others out, and Eliot parked the car under the trees. The jacket he wore – Nate's - came handy when he felt rushes of a cold wind that announced another storm. It seemed that rain was inevitable when this camp and slaughterhouse were in sight.
Hardison and Parker were talking with a man holding a huge banner. Florence was near them, hiding in the crowd, keeping her back to the TV reporter who walked among the people, asking questions. Her face was buried in huge pink cotton candy. That was exactly what they needed right now – her face on TV screens, in front of Knudsen's sand mine. Knudsen would… he stopped. Damn it, why not?
He checked the perimeter; Knudsen's people were on the other side of the wire fence, and no alphabet Goons were near. The next thing he had to do was get out of the car, and he hesitated a moment before the first step. Stiff, shaking and exhausted – but able to walk. As long as he walked slowly, no one would notice anything.
"Find Lucille?" Hardison came to meet him.
"Nope. They ain't here. We missed."
"That would be good news, if that didn't mean they're somewhere else, doing god knows what," Hardison said. "My next guess would be the Dvorak Security building. Or even the C4 building. Damn. And we can't just go from site to site, chasing them. We should go back. And never tell them we went out for nothing."
"Yep, we should." He studied the man behind Hardison and his banner. "What's his problem?"
"Their problem. These are the Concerned Lincoln Citizens, CLC – they are protesting against the sand mine and pollution. Knudsen is expanding the mine and their houses are only protected by the forest. Mostly downwind."
"Ah. Green things? That's popular now, right?"
"Popular?" Hardison frowned. "I wouldn't call it popular, it's necessary. Pollution is-"
"I mean, popular as in 'a famous TV writer engaged in saving a small community, while mourning the loss of her show', that kind of popular."
"That's insane," Hardison choked. "This is Knudsen's mine, man, the same guy who's doing everything to find her and kill her. Giving an interview on his doorstep…" Hardison paused, turned around to look at the wire fence, then turned back. "Fuck, that will be a message. I have no idea what kind of message, but damn, we should do it. If nothing else, just to piss him off."
"Angry people make forced steps, and forced steps are often wrong," he smiled.
Hardison returned the grin, but the next moment the grin faded. "When we get back, keep M7 on all the screens, don't let Nate or Sophie turn on the TV. We were in the apartment, doing our job, nobody left and gave any interviews, okay?"
"They should know about it. But okay, not now. Maybe tomorrow. Eventually."
"What tomorrow?" Parker asked from their left; only three seconds ago he saw her on the opposite side.
"Nate and Sophie are not here," Hardison explained. "We came here in vain, and we won't tell them we left apartment."
"Nate will know," she stated, slurping something that looked dangerously close to hot chocolate.
"No he won't, we'll cover our tracks. If we are in the apartment when they get back, there's no way-"
"He'll know," she repeated and went away.
"We can make everything to look like we spent hours working," Hardison said to him. "Until we tell them about interview, he won't know."
"Not sure. Now go, tell Florence what to do, I'll be here and watch everything. Don't forget that Goons can recognize you – keep low. And stay together."
He moved back a few steps and leaned on a tree, resting and scanning through the crowd. The TV crew was now in front of the huge wire opening. Hardison picked up Parker and went over to Florence, explaining the idea at a fast pace.
There was about hundred people around the tents, and it wasn't a problem to scan every male face, searching for something suspicious. What he would do if he found something suspicious, well, that was a question worth thinking about.
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"And that's why we all have to be aware of the devastating impact those chemicals have on our environment, and the health of our children!" Florence finished her last statement at the same moment the gathering clouds poured the first drops of heavy rain, but the damn reporter didn't notice it was her final line. He kept pushing a microphone in her face.
"As a famous TV writer, you certainly have the power to spread the word. Have you considered including frac mining in your series, as a case your heroes would solve, if you had gotten a sixth season?"
It's raining, you moron, she screamed inwardly, keeping her professional smile glued to her face. In a matter of seconds, the occasional drops became a heavy curtain, and her curls hung lank, dripping on her forehead.
"Yes, certainly, we had so many more stories to tell, and frac mining was one of them, planned for the next season. All the people interested in pollution problems, and mostly, solving them, would enjoy it immensely." She gave the camera one more smile, turned around and disappeared amongst the people gathering at her back and clapping.
She had no idea how they would manage to leave this place unnoticed, to avoid her connection with the three of them and the Challenger, but before she could hide somewhere, Eliot was by her side with a huge umbrella. Those people were stealing things at every opportunity.
Parker appeared at her left, putting an unfamiliar green jacket over her shoulders, and Eliot kept the umbrella so low that she was invisible and more importantly, unrecognizable. Hardison waited for them by the car, hunched over his tablet, guarding it from the rain.
"You drive back," Eliot gave her the keys and waited until she closed the door behind her. It seemed no one noticed her retreating with them.
"Home, or to try to find them somewhere else?" she asked. Just when he sat, and darted her a strange look, she became aware she said 'home'.
"Home," he said quietly, and rested his head on the back of the seat, closing his eyes.
She drove carefully, glancing to the mirrors often to see if someone followed them. She knew all the rules about noticing a tail in traffic, she even knew how to chase someone without being seen, but this was the first chance to apply that knowledge for real. It wasn't as easy as she wrote it.
"They could've been there, you know," she said after a while, when the silence became too uncomfortable. "Maybe even trying to get in, using the protesters in front. They would probably need you then. This wasn't entirely in vain."
"Pull over," Hardison murmured.
"What? Why? You have something else in mind, or-" Eliot reacted before she could, he turned the wheel to the right. She quickly stopped the car by the road.
Hardison was out, it seemed, even before they fully stopped. She squinted when she heard the sound of vomiting.
"Did I drive too fast, or-"
"No, it was fine. Just continue that way, this has nothing to do with your driving."
None of them went out to Hardison, so she sat too, just waiting for him to get it together and return.
His face was ashen, but he smiled when he sat. "That's better. Go on, I'm okay."
So she went on, trying to drive as smoothly as she could. She made a mental note to remember for the next time – when they say something, first do what they said, then ask questions. They lived very fast, and quick reactions was obviously one of the reasons they were still alive. This was nothing, but the next time, if she was too slow, asking questions instead of reacting, she could get them all killed.
Her passengers were a mess. Parker's legs were laid over Hardison's lap and she couldn't see her, the thief was too low. Hardison rolled his jacket under Parker's wounded leg, and he had his eyes closed too. Both of them, this time. He had removed the glasses. It was strange to see him not occupied with his devices.
They were half way there when Eliot took out his phone. Just one glance showed her he was voting in the polls.
"We lost more than an hour," he explained, noticing her attention. "I don't want to think about what Supernatural did to the numbers while I was gone."
The rest of the trip she tried to count his votes, without any attempts to break the silence again.
Less than two hours after they left the apartment, she parked the Challenger in the back street, in the same spot. They didn't lose much time, that was true, but watching them slowly getting out, she knew this had cost them much more than a small delay would. And, if she judged correctly from their faces, there was, maybe, even a hint of hurt pride. These people weren't used to failing at anything, not even at something small like this.
She kept herself behind them, following their slow climbing, hiding a smile.
Eliot stopped them all before entering the corridor, and went first. Florence knew he was just cautious and to be honest, she completely forgot that someone dangerous might wait for them.
Yet, when she followed him, and saw the reason he abruptly stopped, she realized that danger had many forms. One deadlier than the other.
Betsy was leaning on the wall in front of the locked doors of the apartment. A slow smile rolled over her face when she saw the four of them. Three of them who should've been inside the apartment, under her orders, obediently resting for two days.
"I see you went for a ride," she said. Judging by the extremely creepy calmness of her voice, she was pissed off beyond any measure.
"What ride?" Hardison moved one step closer, guarding Parker. Betsy just nodded to the car keys Florence still held in her hand. It was too late, and too stupid, to hide it now.
"I should've foreseen this," the hacker continued, muttering. "I made a small algorithm to predict the exact time of your visit – you always say what day you'll come, but the time varies. I was on the right track to find the number – but I think I can stop searching. It must be 666."
"Hey!" Eliot turned to the hacker. "You, stop demonizing my nurse. She's mine, and I love her."
"Awwww… what a nice try," her face beamed for a second, but then Florence witnessed the most terrifying thing she'd ever seen – that smile slowly freezing. Betsy looked at them, one by one, and with a deadly even voice, said just three words: "Get. In. Now."
So they did.
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