Alienation (5 page)

“How's it going over there?” Krone asked as Harry walked over to the bar with a tray of empty glassware.

“Terrible.” Harry took a stack of napkins and dabbed at the perspiration that beaded on his forehead.

“Is he a jerk or something?”

“No, nothing like that,” Harry said as he tossed the napkins into the trash.

“Then what's wrong?”

“I kind of spilled a pitcher of water on his wife.”

Krone started to laugh.

“It's not funny,” Harry said. “I'm going to get fired.”

“Why don't you let me bring them another round of drinks? That way you can compose yourself before you head back over.”

“I don't know . . .” Harry's voice trailed off as he looked back at the senator's table. “What if the Secret Service guys think I'm up to something?”

“After the stunt you just pulled, I'm pretty sure your name is already on a terrorist watch list.” Krone smiled, trying to put Harry at ease.

“Okay, but just this round. I want to go put on more deodorant and get a new shirt. I'm sweating like a pig.”

With Harry out of sight and the bartender distracted with another order, Krone reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a vial filled with a clear liquid called tetrodotoxin. The lethal neurotoxin is found in the liver of puffer fish, and there is no known antidote. He removed the lid with his thumb and poured the contents into Senator Bishop's vodka martini, which he quickly stirred before adding two olives.

Krone carried the tray of drinks on his fingertips like a seasoned professional, weaving through the tables. He was about to serve the senator's wife when one of the Secret Service agents grabbed him by the wrist.

“Who are you?” He was short, but he had broad shoulders and a thick neck, not to mention an FN Five-Seven semiautomatic pistol that he carried under his jacket.

“Harry asked me to deliver these,” Krone said. “He's kind of flustered after what happened. I'm just helping him out.”

“If you're going to pat him down, hurry up,” Senator Bishop said from his seat at the table. “But let the man serve the drinks, Rusty.”

The Secret Service agent bit the inside of his cheek as he looked from Krone to the drinks and then to the senator. Krone could tell that he was considering breaking protocol. With a sigh, Rusty waved him on.

“There's a good man,” Senator Bishop said as he took a last bite of his salad.

“We're terribly sorry about the mishap,” Krone said. “If there's anything we can do—”

“You're halfway there.” The senator accepted the martini. “Now if you can make sure that everyone stays awake during my speech, we'll call it even.” Everyone at the table laughed as Krone watched the senator take a sip of his drink.

A few minutes later Harry was back in a fresh shirt, smelling like a mixture of aerosol deodorant and drugstore aftershave. “How did it go?”

“Everything is going according to plan.” Krone patted Harry on the back. “But you might want to see if Senator Bishop wants another martini. I think he already finished the last one.”

Harry brought the senator another martini, returning a few minutes later with the dirty glass that held the evidence of the neurotoxin. Krone watched as it was placed on a tray before it was brought back to the kitchen.

The rest of the servers started to clear the dinner plates as the lights dimmed and the emcee returned to the stage. “So that's what a thousand-dollar filet mignon tastes like,” he said, earning perfunctory laughter as he patted his stomach and smacked his lips. “Well, as long as it helps us regain Congress, it was well worth it!”

That time the crowd erupted, and the emcee basked in their applause before he raised his hands to quiet everyone down. “Now, without further ado, it is my distinguished honor to introduce the esteemed five-term senator from this great state of Arizona, the honorable Samuel Bishop.”

The crowd rose in thunderous applause, and Krone watched as the senator wiped his mouth and then his brow before steadying himself against the table. His wife leaned over, concern on her face, but he patted her hand and smiled before he stood. The ovation continued as he walked to the stage, where he shook hands with the emcee. His face was pale, his brow covered in sweat as he turned to wave to the audience. Then he fell, unconscious.

A collective gasp rose from the audience as the emcee knelt next to him, confused. Secret Service agents rushed to the stage, and Krone slipped out the door and into the service corridor. His face morphed back to the way it had looked when he first arrived as he removed his tuxedo jacket and dumped it in the trash. He grabbed his briefcase and pulled out his phone to send a simple text.

It's done.

Moments later his phone beeped with a return message. It was the address of a home in Chandler, Arizona, along with a picture of a teenaged boy with blond hair that hung over his blue eyes.

:: CHAPTER 8 ::

A
couple months ago life had been perfect. Colt had been living in San Diego, surfing and hanging out with his friends. Aliens and monsters were nothing more than fictional creatures, and if there was such a thing as a federal curfew, nobody enforced it. His family lived in a big house near the beach, his parents were alive and together, and they actually showed interest in his life.

The past felt like it belonged to someone else, something he could have read about or watched on television. It was too perfect, too pristine. And it was gone. His parents had been murdered, he'd moved to Arizona to live with his grandfather, and those aliens and monsters? It turned out they were real.

Law enforcement across the globe had been overrun with calls from people who had seen strange creatures from myth and legend, and now policemen patrolled the streets in riot gear carry ing automatic weapons. Everyone under the age of eighteen had to be inside by ten o'clock, and in less than a week Colt was moving again—this time to a top secret military school in Virginia where they were going to train him to save the world.

The debate was finally over. There were at least eleven other planets that supported complex life forms, and for all Colt knew there could be thousands more. One of those life forms—a race of six-armed walking reptiles called the Thule—had picked Earth to be their next home, and they weren't interested in sharing it with the current residents.

It was just past nine o'clock on Tuesday night when Colt walked through the kitchen door and threw his keys on the countertop. He'd spent the last few hours at the shooting range with Oz, working on his marksmanship with a Jericho 941 semiautomatic pistol and a Dragunov SVD sniper rifle. It was a lot easier than flying through the air at eighty miles per hour and trying to hit holograms with a laser gun, but it would be years until he was as good as Oz.

He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bucket of leftover chicken, but he didn't bother warming it up or even sitting down at the table. The television was on in the living room, tuned in to one of the news stations that Grandpa watched. The volume was all the way down, so Colt couldn't hear what the anchor was saying, but there was an image of Senator Bishop on the screen just over her shoulder.

“I didn't hear you come in,” Grandpa said as he walked out of his office, startling Colt. His eyes were rimmed with red and his voice was heavy with emotion.

Looking at Grandpa was like looking at his own father. Sure, Grandpa was a few years older, but they had the same face, right down to the intense eyes. Both were tall and thin, but strong, with broad shoulders and ridiculously perfect posture, like they were always standing at attention. If Colt hadn't known better, he would have thought Dad was Grandpa's clone, not his son. It was eerie and comforting at the same time.

Grandpa walked over to the coffeepot and poured a fresh cup. He was a man of few words, and when he spoke it could be gruff. But Colt knew the real man—the man who had sat at his wife's bedside for months, reading Scripture or simply holding her hand as the cancer coursed through her body. He was a tireless advocate for military veterans, giving both his time and money. And he took Colt in when Colt felt like he had nowhere else to go. Sure, he could have stayed with one of his seven brothers, but they had lives of their own. They didn't need him underfoot, and since Grandpa was alone it seemed like a good enough fit.

“Are you okay?” Colt asked.

“You remember Senator Bishop?”

Colt nodded.

“He passed away tonight.”

Colt frowned as he turned his attention to the television where they were showing footage of the senator and his wife at a political rally. Grandpa had been a friend of Senator Bishop's since they served together during the Korean War. The families remained close over the years, so Colt knew that news of the senator's death had to be hard on Grandpa.

“What happened?”

“According to the reports, he had a heart attack.”

Something in his tone made Colt think that there was more to it. “You don't think it was an accident, do you?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“But who . . . ?”

“That's the question now, isn't it?” He walked over to the living room and turned the volume up on the television just as the news shifted from Senator Bishop to the reactor leak in Iowa. Crews had been working around the clock to bring everything under control, but three of the contaminated workers had already passed away.

“Any more news about the virus?” Colt asked.

“Not much.” Grandpa took a sip of his coffee. He had been one of the first recruits in the history of the CHAOS program, and even though he was retired, he still served as an advisor from time to time. That meant he had clearance to information that was off limits to most politicians and heads of state.

“I was thinking,” Colt said. “What if it was Trident Biotech? I mean, they had the motive and the means to create something like that, right?”

“Possibly,” Grandpa said. He sounded distracted. “I hate to do this—especially since you're leaving in a few days—but I need to go down to Tucson.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

Grandpa shook his head. “Not this time. I've arranged for you to stay over at the Romero house. You should be safe enough there until I get back. The way I hear it, they have a better security system than the White House.”

After Grandpa left, Colt wandered back to his bedroom where weeks of dirty clothes covered every surface, hanging off the corner of the dresser, the doorknob, and the bed. He waded through the haphazard piles, trying to ignore the stench of mildew as he looked for something moderately clean to throw into his backpack so he had something for the morning. For the briefest moment he considered separating it into piles and throwing a load in the washing machine, but the thought didn't last.

As he packed, he grabbed his phone and a pair of earbuds before selecting a play list of country songs that reminded him of Lily Westcott. Colt had been smitten from the moment he saw her, though at first he tried to deny it. He didn't want to come across as shallow—after all, she was the consensus pick as the most beautiful girl at Chandler High School. She had blue eyes the color of cornflowers and blond hair that hung past the middle of her back. But it was her smile more than anything that had won Colt over.

The biggest hurdle to any kind of a relationship had been her boyfriend. Graham St. John was a walking cliché. He was tall and good looking, his parents had money, and he was an all-state quarterback who was heading to Boise State on a full-ride scholarship in the fall. He also cheated on her. But after she broke up with Graham, she and Colt never moved beyond friendship. Now that he was transferring to a military school in Virginia, they never would.

After a long search, Colt finally found some clothes that passed the sniff test. He wadded them up and stuffed them into his backpack, threw it over his shoulder, and was heading down the hallway toward the kitchen when something moved just outside the window. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his heart pounded, warning him that something was wrong. He forced his legs to cooperate, willing them to walk as he made his way to the bay window in the living room. A car door slammed, and before he could get a look at its driver, a black Mercedes CLS550 Coupe disappeared down the street and around the corner.

Colt opened the window, and there in the flowerbed were two footprints.

:: CHAPTER 9 ::

O
z lived with his parents in a sprawling house that looked more like a resort than a residential property. Surrounded by an iron gate with its own guardhouse, it had every amenity a person could desire, including an indoor basketball court, a movie theatre, a pool with a waterfall, and a gym that would rival any fitness club.

Colt stayed in the casita out back next to the pool, which was almost as big as Grandpa's house. It had a kitchen stocked with food, a dinette, two bedrooms, and an enormous living room with a projection television hooked up to just about every gaming system imaginable.

Oz ordered thin crust sausage and mushroom pizza from Papa John's, and the boys stayed up half the night playing Zombie Extermination Squad online with Danielle, who was back at her house lying on her bed with her dog, Wolfgang.