The Opposite of Need

Taking Lead

This chapter is pretty talky-talky, but I promise, we'll see some action, too. I did research the tech stuff that's mentioned here, but my degree is in English, so I probably didn't get it thoroughly. Anyhow, please be kind to me. I can diagram the heck out of a sentence. A complex motherboard? Not so much.

"They got a picture."

Chandler lifted his head from the maps spread out over the table in his hotel room. Granderson stood just to the side of the bed, practically beaming.

"Who got a picture?"

"The reporters. The ones who were covering the Inauguration." She took a few steps towards him, holding out a Manila envelope with one hand, the other clutching a clipboard. "The security system has been down since the hotel shut down - some kind of off-site digital storage snafu. But there were a half-dozen reporters in the hotel and at the ball. One of them got a picture."

Reaching out, Tom took the envelope. Flicking the flap upwards with his thumb, he reached in and slid the photograph upwards. Grainy - it had obviously been enlarged. The figure was in motion, but clearly visible, his face turned directly towards the photographer.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting - horns, maybe, or a forked tail. Something closer to the face of evil incarnate. The first time Tom had meet Sean Ramsey in the close confines of the Florida hotel, he'd been struck by the malevolence lurking in the cult leader's expression and being. There had been a simmering underlayer of darkness to the man that had made Tom's skin crawl.

Just as well Ramsey was decomposing somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. It had saved Tom the trouble of killing him.

But this guy. . .

Tom's gaze refocused on the photograph. Round face, dark eyes and hair. It wasn't possible to discern the color of the windbreaker he wore, but the gun in his hand was instantly apparent. It seemed that he was smiling as he ran, although Tom admitted that could have been his own imagination working overtime.

"We got a description of a car, too, Sir." Granderson spoke haltingly, as if unsure whether she should continue.

"Let me guess. 1985 Lincoln Town Car."

"Sir?" The young woman frowned. "I don't understand."

"A reference from before your time, Lieutenant." Chandler looked up at her, attempting a smile. "Back when I was a kid, the bad guys in old TV shows always drove these huge old beasts of cars, and the good guys drove American muscle like Chargers or Mustangs."

She pursed her lips as she studied him. "Okay. Well, this time, not so much."

"Go on."

"He was driving a Ferrari, Sir."

"A Ferrari?"

"And it's orange. One reporter said that he would have recognized it anywhere, since he did an article about it as part of his job. He worked at Road and Track before the outbreak." Granderson turned the clipboard she'd been holding towards the Captain. "Here's a picture of the exact model. It's a 2013 F12 Berlinetta."

Tom reached out and took the clipboard from the Lieutenant, glaring down at the photograph. The car sat low and curvy, and had a slightly space-age look to it. Two doors, sweet grill, front spoiler - just enough chrome. "She a beauty."

"That kind of car will stick out like a sore thumb, Sir. I've talked with Green and Burk, and they agree with me that he'll probably ditch it as soon as he gets far enough away from the city."

That sounded possible. Tom lifted a brow, considering. "With a car like that, he could make some serious distance away from the city in a short amount of time. It's more likely to me that he'll hang onto it, just to give him an advantage over anyone trying to chase him. He could outrun anything with that kind of power."

"Which is why we think that time is of the essence."

"Did anyone say which way he went?"

Granderson shook her head. "No. Just that he drove quickly out of the parking lot and headed towards the freeway."

The Captain's eyes narrowed, his mouth hard. "He could be a couple of states away by now."

"Except that this kind of car requires very particular fuel. If you don't use premium, there's a possibility of the engine having problems."

"And even though many of the fuel lines are back up and running - "

"Even on a limited basis - "

Chandler looked back down at the photograph clipped to the board he held. "Even so, they aren't sending premium unleaded fuel at all."

"The only working refineries in the country have been concentrating on distributing regular unleaded and diesel to those stations still up and running." Granderson paused as the door opened up behind them and Wolf and Tex entered. "Which is why I assume you chose the Excursion as your official car."

Tom paused as Tex approached him, glancing towards where Wolf lagged, closing the door with a quiet 'click'. Looking back over at Alisha, he went on. "In a pinch, a diesel will burn pretty much anything flammable. If we can filter it well enough, we're good with scrounging for alternative fuels whenever we can't find a working station."

Tex stopped next to Alisha, glancing meaningfully at the clipboard Chandler held. "We've got a lead on our boy, but we're going to have to move quick if we're going to catch him."

Brows lifting, Tom nodded for him to continue.

"After Dr. Scott died, Michener had McDowell brought in." Nolan lifted a hand and removed his omnipresent cap. "There are still a bunch of cops around St. Louis, and once the cure was distributed, the judge-lady and Michener started gathering them up again. Some of them were patrolling the hotel the night of the Inaugural shin-dig. As soon Rachel's - um - as soon as she was found, the cops went for the Immune."

Granderson shifted her attention from Tex to the Captain. "I thought McDowell had been pardoned. I thought he'd been let go."

"The deal hasn't been made yet." Chandler set the clipboard and photographs down on the table. "He's been held in custody just in case the Immunes tried something. Michener wasn't satisfied with McDowell's act at contrition."

Tex threaded his fingers through the casual mess that was his hair. "He's been thoroughly questioned, Boss."

"And?"

"We got an ID." Tilting his head at the picture still sticking out of the envelope, Tex tapped it with his knuckle. "The S-O-B's name is Curtis."

"Curtis what? First name or last name?"

"Now, that, we don't know." Nolan picked up the photograph and studied it for a moment. "But McDowell seemed to think that he was going to try to make his way back to Florida where there are still strongholds of Immunes."

"Florida?" The Captain cursed under his breath, crossing his arms across his chest. "There are about a million ways for him to get there. How the hell are we supposed to find him?"

"The fuel, Sir. Maybe?" Granderson tapped the picture of the Ferrari. "Those cars are temperamental, Sir. He's going to have trouble finding gas that will run well. If we can figure out where there are still gas stations that have the highest qualities of gas, we can track him."

Wolf made a noise deep in his throat as he neared the group. "That's assuming a lot. There's no possible way we can find him using that little to start with."

"Wolf's right." Tex shook his head. "It's a big country, Captain. And there are still lots of resources available, even after all that's happened."

Tom's brows lowered as he stared down at the table, at the photographs and the maps there. He wasn't familiar with the area, nor did he know anyone who was. As American cities went, St. Louis wasn't huge - but three large interstates led out of the city in three separate directions, with countless smaller roads and byways crisscrossing the area. Curtis could be holed up nearby in one of the thousands of abandoned buildings in the city, or he could have already made it to Mexico.

Chandler rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "So, McDowell thinks that he'd head to Florida?"

Tex nodded. "Apparently, the Immunes down there are being a little obstinate. A bunch of the ones that we routed out of New Orleans headed back to the hotel compound in Florida. According to McDowell, there are several hundred Immunes there now. Maybe Curtis is hoping to go down there and rally the troops. Could be he's aiming to jump start the whole movement."

Tom looked up at a light knock on the door, somewhat surprised when Val slipped through the opening and then closed the door behind her. She passed a quick smile to Wolf as she stopped beside him at the table's edge, then took a deep breath and addressed the Captain.

"The President asked me to spearhead the effort to reestablish reliable communications. I need to get on the Nathan James to get my gear, but apparently nobody told the MPs at the pier."

"They won't let you board?"

"They were pretty adamant about it, too."

Smiling, Tex shrugged. "They're probably just being overly careful."

Val tossed her hair over her shoulder, a rueful smile playing on her lips. "Well, whatever they're being, I still need to get on the ship."

Chandler nodded, throwing a look at the Aussie operator. "Wolf, can you get Green to escort Val onto the Nathan James?"

Taylor glanced over at the woman next to him, then looked back at Tom. "I can take her, Sir. I need to grab a few supplies, anyway."

"Supplies?" Val's brows drew together. "Are you going somewhere?"

Sighing, the Captain ran a hand through his normally-starchy hair. "Wolf's accompanying me to Norfolk. We're picking up my kids and my father. It'll be a little road trip. Some down time for us before the rebuilding process begins."

But Val didn't believe him. She grinned, raising a brow at him. "What part of my resume gives you the idea that I'm stupid?"

Wolf leaned into her, nudging her with his elbow. "Val. This really isn't - "

"Come on, Captain. If you're hunting the dillweed who killed Dr. Scott, I'm all in."

For a moment, the hotel room fell silent, the only sound coming from the air conditioner as it thrummed in one corner. After a long, tense moment, Tom rolled his eyes heavenward and then gestured towards the table. "We have a name and vehicle description. We're just trying to formulate a plan."

"What kind of car?"

"It's fast." Granderson pointed at the clip board, and the glossy photo it held. "It's a Ferrari."

Val stepped closer to the table, turning the photograph until it faced her. "Late model, right?"

"It's only a few years old."

"How are you searching for it?"

"The old fashioned way." Tex scratched at the roughage under his chin. "There's really no other option. The best we can do is canvass the area and try to run down leads."

"Why don't you just track the GPS?"

Chandler's eyes flew wide. "Can you do that?"

Val's brows rose in a cocky challenge. "Captain, please."

Frowning, Tex took another step closer. "I didn't think that the satellites would still be usefully whizzing around in space about now."

Her shoulders rose in a half-hearted shrug. "The satellites used for global positioning are actually a different breed than the ones used for TV or communications. They were originally used by the US military, and they're set into higher and better orbits than more commercial satellites. If I had to make a wild guess, I'd say that they're still up there plugging away. All I'd need to find is the individual code for that particular car and figure out how to hack into the network."

"How do we get the code?"

"Dealerships keep those records, especially on higher-end cars. If it's a newer model, it might still have some sort of roadside assistance service attached to it."

Tom considered, his jaw tight. Looking down, he scanned the seemingly incomprehensible maze of streets and highways on the maps in front of him before glancing back up at Val. "Do you really think you can do it?"

"You doubt me?"

"Let's just say that I'm cautious."

The corner of Val's lips twitched. "Find me the dealership and I'll hack the hell out of it."

Wolf tossed her a side-long glance. "What about Michener's orders?"

"I can multitask. Once you get me the code, I'll find the trace and guide you via ham radio as long as I can while I get things set up for POTUS. Easy peasy." She skewered the Captain with a look that was more challenge than anything else. "So? Is that a plan?"

Tom scanned the room, his gaze settling briefly on each of the people were looking right back at him, their expressions filled with a kind of potent expectation.

"We've gotta get this scumbag, Boss." Tex, of course, the mercenary's hands braced deceptively loosely at his waist.

"I'm aware of that." Chandler took another look at the photos on the table. The car, and the grainier image of the shooter seemed to taunt him. "Val, you go back to the Nathan James. Wolf, go with her and make sure she gets what she needs. And whatever else we might need."

Taylor smiled - a slow, menacing thing- before nodding. "Yes, Sir."

"Granderson, could you please go and ask the security people if there's any more information that we could use?" At her nod, Tom turned his attention back to Nolan. "Tex, you and I will go find whatever other gear we need."

"I saw an electronics shop back near the freeway. Looked nearly untouched. We could probably find ourselves a few good working radios, antennas, and power sources."

Alisha smiled. "Shouldn't take too long to wire hams into a few vehicles. And be sure to find a portable set for Val."

"Green and Burk found a gun shop down towards the docks. We could load up on some civilian gear and ammo." Chandler scratched at a random point beneath his chin. "I'm guessing that there can't be more than two or three high-end auto dealerships in a town this size. Grab a phone book and start looking."

"And then?" Tex's jaw tightened as he flipped his cap back open and situated it atop his unruly hair.

Quiet. The insistent hum of the air conditioning unit filled Tom's ears as he stared down at the photographs and maps before him. Only, it wasn't the papers he was seeing - it was pale skin, tumbled-down curls, and black lace turning crimson as her blood seeped out of her. He could still feel her in his arms at times like this - times when he was purposefully trying to forget the sensation of holding her as she'd slipped away. Anger tickled at his spine, at his gut, while the sickening pulse of helplessness and pain throbbed within his soul.

When Darien had died, he'd sought closure, and perhaps absolution. He'd needed to grieve, but hadn't really had time or opportunity in the ensuing chaos. Even so, he'd fought his way through that agony to emerge on the other side to find purpose. And to find her.

"Find me." He'd told her. "Find me."

"Find me." When he never should have let her go in the first place. Never should have let her walk down that hall, her hair swaying against the curve of her back with each step. Damn it. Damn him.

And damn the dead-eyed Immune in the photograph.

Tex was the only one ballsy enough to prod. His voice was barely louder than the blower on the unit at the other side of the hotel room. "Boss? What then?"

The Captain tilted his head first one way, and then the next before narrowing a meaningful glare at his friend. "And then we go car shopping."