Olympus Device 1: The Olympus Device (7 page)

Dusty headed directly away from the main cluster of police cars around the lab building. He had no idea how many law enforcement officers College Station employed, but it sure looked like every single one of them was converging on the lab.

He found himself in a small area of shops and restaurants wit
h more than a few people strolling along the sidewalks. That was good – he could get lost in the crowd and take a bit to think through his escape. He suddenly realized that a tall guy with a cowboy hat and boots didn’t exactly fit in with the average person on the street. The police would have his description soon, if not already.

Two blocks ahead, a police cruiser turned the corner and headed directly at him. Quickly
glancing left and right, he spotted an open shop. Ducking inside, he found himself in a campus bookstore. He quickly moved to the rear of the sizable facility, pretending to casually browse while glancing over his shoulder to see if the police were coming in behind him. The squad car passed on by.

The assortment of A&M paraphernalia
displayed on the shelves was amazing. Glassware, bumper stickers, shirts, pants… you name it. Stopping in front of a rack of sweatshirts, it occurred to him that he needed a disguise, and this seemed the perfect place to acquire one.

A few minutes later
, he was standing in the checkout line, a bundle of A&M logoed clothing in his arms. The girl working the register didn’t even look up, scanning the items one by one. Never one who believed in credit cards, Dusty rolled off two $100 bills from his sizable wad and then asked the young lady if the store had a restroom. It did, and tucking his bag under his arm, Dusty headed to the men’s room.

Despite the washroom being complete
ly empty, he chose the last stall and breathed a sigh of relief as he locked the door behind him. The commode became his workbench as he quickly began digging through his purchases.

Grimacing, h
e replaced his best hat, a Resistol Horseshoe model purchased in El Paso long ago, with a baseball cap. The extended bill, pulled low, would make it difficult to get a clear view of his mug. Next, he pulled on a hoodie sweatshirt. Oversized sunglasses rounded out his disguise, the outfit covering much of his head and face.

Loading the backpack
was next. Taking the rail gun, batteries and ball bearings out of their hard-sided case, he gently transferred the equipment to the pack. The weapon was followed by the two bottles of water, packages of beef jerky and an extra T-shirt for padding.

After making sure he was still alone in the room, Dusty stood on the seat and pushed one of the square ceiling tiles up and out of the way. The dust falling from above made him sneeze. He carefully stuffed the gun’s case in the space above
. He eyed the Resistol, common sense telling him to get rid of the big hat, but he couldn’t part with it. The tile was fitted back to its original position. He then used toilet paper to wipe up the particles of insulation and dirt that had floated down. It wouldn’t be good for someone to wonder what was up there as he sat doing his business. He stuffed the cowboy hat into the pack.

Exi
ting the stall, he paused to look in the mirror. The disguise wouldn’t pass extra-close scrutiny, but if he kept his head slightly bowed, it would be difficult to see his face from any angle.

Laughter sounded outside the door, two college
age guys then entering the facility, their conversation focused on the co-ed working the cash register. It was the first test of Dusty’s getup. The two fellas passed right by him without a second glance, heading directly to the urinals without missing a beat.

Slinging the pack onto his shoulder, just like he’d seen
other students haul books, Dusty made for the bookstore’s exit. He froze at the door when the shoplifter alarm began buzzing loudly, the alert causing a sense of panic to well up in his throat. He was tempted to run out of the store, sure the incident would bring some sort of security force rushing to the door. On the other hand, sprinting out of the place would draw the attention of any police officer in the area.

Half-turning
to look at the clerk, he shrugged his shoulders while digging the receipt out of his pocket. The girl behind the counter waved him over. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I must have forgotten to remove one of the sensors. Turn around.”

Dusty did as instructed, and felt the girl tugging on his new hoodie. A click and a snap later, she removed a beige colored button with a special too
l and held it up for him to see. “You should be okay now,” she said.

“Thanks
. I’m trying to surprise my daughter.”

“Well, you should probably let me cut that tag off the back of your hat then. It kind of looks a little nerdy.”

Embarrassed, he pulled the hat off and let the girl snip the tag. A few moments later, he exited the store.

Normally a man who welcome
d being outside, the fresh air no longer gave him a sense of comfort. Instead, he felt exposed, almost vulnerable as he meandered down the front steps.

Trying his best to maintain
a normal gait and keep his shoulders slightly slumped, Dusty wandered through the streets of the college town. He tried to remain in the retail section, pretending to window shop while trying to think of a way out.

Renting a car was out of the question. By the time he could locate an agency, his driver’s license would be posted everywhere.
Stealing a vehicle wasn’t realistic either – he didn’t know how to hotwire a car. The bus station was probably as off-limits as well. That boiled it down to two options; his plane, or walking out. The latter plan would most likely to get him caught, lost, or shot for trespassing.

As he wandered
the sidewalks, Dusty tried desperately to get his bearings on the airport. He knew where it was, the general direction, but the route Mitch had driven into the campus was completely exposed and likely to get him apprehended if he attempted to get there on foot. He tried to think about where he could safely acquire a map of the area, but couldn’t come up with a workable solution.

Turning a corner
, his heart jumped a beat at the sight of two policemen at the far end of the block, his coronary pace increasing again when they began walking his way. He glanced across the street, hoping a quick jaywalk would avoid the lawmen, but saw a similar patrol on the opposite side.

It would have been
too obvious to turn around. Feeling like a rat caught in a trap, Dusty pretended to window shop at a men’s clothing store, his mind frantically searching for a way out. A car engine sounded behind him in the street, and in the warped image of the window glass, he saw a vehicle with writing on the side and a contour on the top.
A police car!

The vehicle
pulled up to the curb behind him. Sure, it was a squad car, complete with lights on the roof, Dusty’s mind told his legs to run, but they were frozen stiff. About the only thing he could manage was a half glance over his shoulder. It was a taxi, delivering a middle-aged woman to the men’s store.

A taxi! That was it! Spinning quickly, he was at the back of the cab before the woman could deposit
the change in her purse. Bending slightly, Dusty made eye contact with the driver and asked, “Airport?”

Without a word, the cabbie waved him in
, and then they were speeding off. Four blocks of freedom and several glances out the back window later, the blood returned to Dusty’s cheeks.

Mi
tch was nursing his third cup of coffee, trying to remain calm at the only open table in the Java Barn. He didn’t want the brew, but believed he’d look weird just loitering in the shop.

He didn’t pay much
heed to the two uniformed police officers when they strolled through the front entrance, assuming they were just stopping in for a quick caffeine fix. With a clear vantage of the counter, his breathing stopped as one of the officers held up a sheet of paper to the kid working the register. He knew it was up when the barista nodded, stood on his tiptoes and scanned the tables. He pointed directly at Mitch.

By the time his vision cleared, the professor was looking at two policemen standing in front of his table. “Professor Weathers,” one of them was saying. “Could you please step outside for a moment, sir
?”

Mitch couldn’t remember his legs ever feeling so weak. He somehow managed to stand
, and then one foot was moving in front of the other. It felt like liquid was running down the back of his knees. On the way out, the man in front of him lifted a radio from his belt and reported, “This is 117, and we’ve located Dr. Weathers at the Java Barn.”

“Hold him there,” responded a metallic sounding voice through the small speaker.
 

Mitch was thankful to lean against the hood of the police car, the support allowing him to concentrate on his next
move. “What’s the problem, officer?” he asked the closest cop.

“I’m not sure,
Doctor. We had instructions to locate and detain you immediately. My supervisor is on his way. I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”

Mitch didn’t have to wait long. A government-looking sedan pulled up, a man in a fancier uniform and another
in jacket and tie exiting the vehicle. The guy with the tie was clearly in charge.

Extending his hand, the tie said, “
Dr. Weathers, I’m glad to see you’re okay – we were worried about you.”

Mitch accepted the handshake, anticipating a crush
, but the grip was only firm. “Why would you be concerned about my well-being? And who are you, anyway?”

“My name is Agent Shultz, FBI. The
U. S. Air Force detected an electromagnetic event in your lab. When Dean Floss let us in, we found damaged equipment, but no sign of you. Witnesses and surveillance cameras showed you walking through the building with a rather rough looking character, and we thought you might be being forced to act against your will.”

Mitch laughed, partly at the description of Dusty, partly because he’d anticipated immediate arrest. “No, I wasn’t being forced to do anything. As far as the man who was with me, he was a colleague of sorts.”

Shultz started to say something else, but was interrupted by the beating-disturbance of an approaching helicopter. The agent turned to Mr. Fancy Uniform and said, “Well, so much for calm, cool and collected – Houston is in the building.”

Mitch watched the copter fly low over the skyline of College Station, the pilot evidently spotting a safe place to land the noisy machine. When normal conversation was again possible, the FBI man asked, “Professor, would you please accompany me? My superior has just arrived from Houston
, and I’m sure he’ll want to speak with you.”

“Do I have a choice
?” Mitch asked, a hint of defiance in his voice.

“Sir, I don’t see any reason why you would
wish to hinder an investigation. Am I missing something?”

The meaning was clear to Mitch – come along nice
, or we’ll find a reason to bring you along. He was beginning to seriously dislike law enforcement.

Shultz moved to the
sedan and opened the back door, another strong hint that he wanted Mitch to come along. The professor complied with the lawmen’s request.

A few minutes
later, the men were back in the lab underneath Anderson Hall. Mitch’s initial reaction to the throng of law enforcement poking and prying in his lab was protective. “What are all these men doing in here, Dean Floss? They should all leave immediately before something is damaged.”

Floss
ignored the protest, instead pulling Mitch aside. “What the hell happened in here, Mitch?” the dean asked in a low voice.

“I was asked by a colle
ague to evaluate a new invention, and it damaged the ballistic tube. I was going to fill out my report after I had a cup of coffee.”

Before Floss could comment further, Shultz and another man approached. He didn’t offer his hand. “Professor Weathers, I need to know where this man is,” said the newcomer as he pointed to a
n enlarged photo of Dusty, obviously taken by one of the campus’s numerous security cameras. “We know he was in the lab with you and is carrying some sort of weapon.”

“And who might you be, sir?”