about my movements yesterday, and since I didn’t see a tail it meant he had to be using technology.
I pulled my hand scanner out and set it to look for any waves emanating from Jane, and sure enough there were three bugs letting out a silent scream. One was in the glove box, another under my seat, and the last sat behind the back bumper. I plucked each one off, and tossed them in a nearby trashcan, then got back in and hit the ignition. Jane started purring like a lion cub with a belly full of zebra, sounding more excited than I was to go kidnap Marc Humphries, the head of the SPECs. That was probably because if we got caught she wouldn’t be the one spending the next decade eating powdered eggs and showering in groups.
The director lived in the Foothills, a nice area on the south side of town with sprawling, perfectly coifed lawns, and high stone fences. It’s quiet and very beautiful, but the best part? There’s only one road that connects it to the city proper, and I was parked right on it, waiting for the black sedan with SPEC plates that picks Humphries up every morning. My plan was to take its place, snatch the director, and ask him some questions.
Stopping the car was simple enough. I just stepped out in front of it, and threw my shoulder into the grill. Its front crumpled around my body. The impact shoved me back a few feet. And when we came to a stop I was standing where its engine used to be. Quick as I could I pushed the car behind some high bushes on the side of the road, and checked on the driver. He was unconscious, but alive, thanks to the air bags, so I tossed him in the trunk sans hat, shades, and wallet, then poked a few breathing holes through the metal to keep him fresh.
I slipped on my black jacket, along with the driver’s accessories, and caught my reflection in the window. Staring back was the spitting image of a chauffeur. I hopped into Jane, flipped a few switches on the dash, and her exterior shifted around until she looked so much like the black sedan I just pulverized that even the factory couldn’t tell them apart. She even had the same plates.
Then I headed to Humphries’ house.
The guard outside waved me through the gate without a second look. I pulled up to the entrance, hopped out, and took my place next to the rear door, ramrod straight. Almost immediately a voice called out, “Director Humphries, your car has arrived.” I looked up to see a young man motioning toward me. I put on a big grin.
“I can see that Jonstone.” Marc Humphries came out of his house at full speed. He was wearing a black suit with a pair of perfectly polished shoes, and his white hair was high and tight. On the news he always looked like an owl, but the way he took those stairs was more akin to a hawk. “You’re late,” he said as he leapt into the car.
Young Jonstone, trailing a step behind, handed me a briefcase without a word before returning to the house. I closed the rear door, and brought it up front with me.
And that was that.
“Let’s go,” Humphries said.
“Right away, sir.” I pulled onto the main road, and made my way back to the city a hair under the speed limit. After a few minutes I stole a quick glance at the old man through the rearview mirror. He was staring out the window, nibbling at his thumb. The facial expressions I saw made it look like he was running a vigorous game of chess in his head.
After a few seconds he noticed my staring. Then he passed his gaze around the car before returning it to me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Bob, sir.”
“Bob who?”
“Kane.”
“Bob Kane?”
“That’s right.”
His eyes narrowed. “Where’s Filo?”
“Filo, sir?” I slipped the driver’s wallet out, and gave the ID a downward glance. The name on it was Jeff Long. “Who’s that?”
The old man said, “My regular driver.”
“Don’t know a Filo, sir. Central mentioned that Jeff was sick with the flu, and that I was to fill in. Though if you like, I can contact
I pulled my hand scanner out and set it to look for any waves emanating from Jane, and sure enough there were three bugs letting out a silent scream. One was in the glove box, another under my seat, and the last sat behind the back bumper. I plucked each one off, and tossed them in a nearby trashcan, then got back in and hit the ignition. Jane started purring like a lion cub with a belly full of zebra, sounding more excited than I was to go kidnap Marc Humphries, the head of the SPECs. That was probably because if we got caught she wouldn’t be the one spending the next decade eating powdered eggs and showering in groups.
The director lived in the Foothills, a nice area on the south side of town with sprawling, perfectly coifed lawns, and high stone fences. It’s quiet and very beautiful, but the best part? There’s only one road that connects it to the city proper, and I was parked right on it, waiting for the black sedan with SPEC plates that picks Humphries up every morning. My plan was to take its place, snatch the director, and ask him some questions.
Stopping the car was simple enough. I just stepped out in front of it, and threw my shoulder into the grill. Its front crumpled around my body. The impact shoved me back a few feet. And when we came to a stop I was standing where its engine used to be. Quick as I could I pushed the car behind some high bushes on the side of the road, and checked on the driver. He was unconscious, but alive, thanks to the air bags, so I tossed him in the trunk sans hat, shades, and wallet, then poked a few breathing holes through the metal to keep him fresh.
I slipped on my black jacket, along with the driver’s accessories, and caught my reflection in the window. Staring back was the spitting image of a chauffeur. I hopped into Jane, flipped a few switches on the dash, and her exterior shifted around until she looked so much like the black sedan I just pulverized that even the factory couldn’t tell them apart. She even had the same plates.
Then I headed to Humphries’ house.
The guard outside waved me through the gate without a second look. I pulled up to the entrance, hopped out, and took my place next to the rear door, ramrod straight. Almost immediately a voice called out, “Director Humphries, your car has arrived.” I looked up to see a young man motioning toward me. I put on a big grin.
“I can see that Jonstone.” Marc Humphries came out of his house at full speed. He was wearing a black suit with a pair of perfectly polished shoes, and his white hair was high and tight. On the news he always looked like an owl, but the way he took those stairs was more akin to a hawk. “You’re late,” he said as he leapt into the car.
Young Jonstone, trailing a step behind, handed me a briefcase without a word before returning to the house. I closed the rear door, and brought it up front with me.
And that was that.
“Let’s go,” Humphries said.
“Right away, sir.” I pulled onto the main road, and made my way back to the city a hair under the speed limit. After a few minutes I stole a quick glance at the old man through the rearview mirror. He was staring out the window, nibbling at his thumb. The facial expressions I saw made it look like he was running a vigorous game of chess in his head.
After a few seconds he noticed my staring. Then he passed his gaze around the car before returning it to me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Bob, sir.”
“Bob who?”
“Kane.”
“Bob Kane?”
“That’s right.”
His eyes narrowed. “Where’s Filo?”
“Filo, sir?” I slipped the driver’s wallet out, and gave the ID a downward glance. The name on it was Jeff Long. “Who’s that?”
The old man said, “My regular driver.”
“Don’t know a Filo, sir. Central mentioned that Jeff was sick with the flu, and that I was to fill in. Though if you like, I can contact
Similar Books
