Crow's Gambit Read online

  As soon as she went through the door, a vicelike grip grabbed her arm.

  Mrs. Gardner dragged her to the side, into the storage room. The older woman was barely five-foot-tall, with a thin, bird-like build. However, she had a will—and grip—as strong as steel.

  “Someone was here looking for you.”

  “Was it Thomas?” He had to know by now the drone got destroyed. It cost more than most people spent on their cars if they had the money for one. His mood would not be cheery.

  Mrs. Gardner’s eyes narrowed to slits of weathered skin above a deep frown. “Cassie Roberta McIntyre. Were you barnstorming again?”

  “Shhh. Not so loud.” Her eyes darted around the kitchen to see if anyone had overheard. Anything to do with flying had become a serious social taboo. Every flash of a Sylph weapon gave an indication someone had attracted the alien’s attention. What might happen next scared people more than anything.

  Most people believed the full wrath of the Sylph—the grounding of humans—came because the U.S. and Russia had mounted a high-altitude nuclear counterstrike against them.

  The alien objects hadn’t stood a chance against the missiles.

  The spheres were vaporized under the onslaught. Everyone celebrated, for a few minutes at least. Then whatever controlled the objects took notice.

  Within an hour, the gaps in the alien net were refilled. The spheres in low earth orbit started targeting everything in space and working their way down.

  Satellites. Planes. Balloons.

  Any and everything manmade trying to fly ended as a ball of fire. Since that day, they hadn’t attacked any ground targets and for the most part left everyone alone. So, the public happily let sleeping aliens lie rather than risk total annihilation. Now even the mention of flying generated paranoia.

  Mrs. Gardner waggled a finger in Cassie’s face. “You know how I feel about you flying little miss. I knew this was going to happen.” She glanced around the door before continuing. “It’s not Thomas. It’s two men with badges from the FBI.”

  Chapter 4

  SINCE HER FIRST ARREST at age thirteen there had been several close calls and even a few sessions of question and answer with the authorities about her barnstorming activities. However, Cassie prided herself on being able to cover her tracks and find loopholes through all the potential arrests. In the past, it had always been the local police or highway patrol questioning her. Never been the FBI. Their jurisdictional powers and resources were greater and more dangerous.

  Dammit. Why did the train have to show up?

  The engineers always reported things, like drones and explosions. Barnstormers already had a special place in the FBI’s hearts. Catching one who had interfered in the operation of one of the FRA’s trains just made everyone’s day special.

  “Where are the agents?” She looked around the sandwich shop behind Mrs. Gardner.

  “I told them your shift hadn’t started yet. They’re sitting out front waiting for you.”

  “You couldn’t have told them I didn’t work here anymore? I’d gone away for a while? Visiting relatives in Canada maybe?”

  “Cassie Roberta McIntyre, you know better than to expect me to lie for you. You need to get out of here. I figure they’ll wait a few more minutes before they try to find you at your apartment. You should have enough time to get there and grab a few things.”

  And do what?

  She didn’t have any family left. Her best friend was Lizzy. They’d never met in person. No one else would be willing to hide her from the FBI. Her shoulders slumped.

  “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “Here.” Mrs. Gardner handed her a key. “We still own a cabin on Lake Superior. No one’s using it this late in the season. Take the light rail to Duluth. I figure those two gentlemen will have more important things to do in a couple days than wait around for you.”

  Cassie blinked before the tears formed. She gave Mrs. Gardner a quick hug, a whispered “thank you,” and slipped back out into the alley. She took off at a quick run toward her apartment, pausing before crossing the street to the building.

  No one appeared to be waiting for her. There was a car she didn’t recognize on the street, but its plates were Minnesota issued, not federal. And it wasn’t flashy enough to be one of Thomas’s goons. She hadn’t forgotten she’d not only have to evade the FBI, but also needed to find a way to deal with Thomas.

  Crossing the street at a trot, she took the outside stairs two at a time to her apartment. Once inside she went to the hallway closet and yanked out a second backpack. Her “Bugout Bag.”

  The Bugout Bag was a bag you grabbed at a moment’s notice with everything you needed to survive or escape. Grandpa had created a detailed list of the items for it. They included basics, some practical items from an engineering point of view like a folding knife, and duct tape. He had been a big proponent of duct tape. The bag also should have an emergency supply of cash. A hard-learned lesson after Net-Day when ATM machines and credit cards stopped working was the value of paper money. Too bad she had spent the emergency cash on pizza months ago. What she had in her pocket wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

  There were other lessons represented in the bag. A small road atlas of the U.S. and a magnetic compass had been included. Without GPS, the developed world realized it didn’t know how to read maps anymore. Navigation became a major issue. Trips to the woods to practice orienteering had been one of her favorite activities with Grandpa. He’d even staged practice evacuations with her. Once he showed up at her school unexpectedly. They’d driven north, taking back roads the entire way to an out-of-the-way cabin.

  Cassie had always complained about these little emergency preparedness tasks. After he died, she had tried to maintain the Bugout Bag out of habit. Now she was glad for it. Wherever he existed in the afterlife, she knew he was shaking his head with his “I told you so” expression.

  She took the VR headset out of her day pack, adding it to the bag. Throwing the day pack in the closet she grabbed a faded brown leather jacket and swiftly surveyed the apartment. Maybe leaving a note for her roommate was a good idea, something along the lines of: “Please don’t sell my stuff before I’m back.” Just then a car door slammed outside, and voices approached.

  Cautiously, she went to the patio door and peaked around the curtain. A dark-colored sedan sat at the curb.

  Two men in suits were walking toward the apartments. They weren’t wearing the stereotypical dark sunglasses, but it was safe to assume these were the agents from the shop. The car was classic new government; all plastic and aluminum composite with a slightly dimpled surface which indicated it bristled with embedded sensors.

  She grabbed the Bugout Bag and fit it over her shoulders. After the two men passed underneath and out of sight, she slid the patio door open to slip outside.

  On the side of the patio, a rope sat coiled, one end tied to the railing. Her roommate came from a survivalist family and installed it so she could train at home.

  Cassie had tried it several times herself and while she still couldn’t climb the thing, she believed going down was easier. Just before she dropped it over the edge of the railing, movement below caught her eye. One of the two agents stepped back out to watch the street.

  Her heart froze. She was trapped. Inside she could hear the other agent knocking on the door. If she tried to slip back inside to hide, her movement or the noise of the door might attract the attention of the agent below. At any instant he could look up and see her.

  Without warning a car screeched to a stop in front of the building, stopping behind the agent’s car. She recognized it as the same car she had noticed on the street earlier. The driver honked his horn several times, then jumped out of the car. Wearing sunglasses and a green t-shirt he started yelling at the agent downstairs.

  “Whose piece of shit car is in my spot? Hey, you? Is this your car? Get it the fuck out of my spot!”

  Cassie was momentarily confused. She did
n’t think she’d ever seen the man or his car before. He certainly didn’t live here. The agent downstairs started walking back to the street with an annoyed expression on his face. Seeing her chance, she flipped the rope over the side, grabbed it, and swung her body over. She heard the agent outside her door still knocking. Doing just what her roommate had showed her, she lowered herself to the ground faster than safety dictated.

  The agent outside raised his voice in a heated argument with the man on the street. Not to leave any clues behind Cassie quickly flung the end of the rope back up to the patio where it landed in a disorganized pile. Taking a quick look back at the road, she was startled to catch the man in sunglasses glance at her. Her pulse quickened, but he just went back to yelling with the FBI agent. Staying low, she headed around the corner of the building, and once out of sight, started running.

  She ran several blocks from her apartment then ducked into a small coffee shop. She figured this was far enough away and not a place she would normally hang out. Nobody would be looking for her here. After paying for a cup of black coffee, she found an empty couch near the back, dropped her bag, and flopped down. She took a cautious sip of the hot coffee. It tasted strong. Given the day she’d had, she needed the caffeine.

  What was she going to do? Mrs. Gardner’s cabin hideout was waiting, but she needed money to buy a light rail ticket. Of course, she could hitch a ride but that had its own risks. And long term, did she really think the FBI would give up looking for her? The chances were good Mrs. Gardner’s sense of honesty would make her tell the agents about the cabin if they interrogated her further. The cabin might not even be a real possibility.

  So, what options did she have?

  She was so focused on feeling sorry for herself, she didn’t notice the man quietly approach her. It startled her when he set a wooden chair down in front of her.

  “May I join you?” Not waiting for a reply, he sat and took a slow sip of his own coffee, watching her over the lip of the cup.

  She sat wide eyed, trying to process the instant change in her environment. She took a quick scan of the stranger. About six-one with dark hair, wearing a sports jacket and jeans in a fashionably retro look. He didn’t look like an FBI agent, but an unwanted annoyance. He also looked vaguely familiar. The stranger continued to watch her, holding his own cup in front of him.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t—” Cassie stopped as the picture of the man in sunglasses entered her mind. She glanced at the stranger again. Yes, the man in front of her was the same man in front of her apartment who argued with the FBI agent. The one who had helped her escape.

  Chapter 5

  CASSIE’S EYES DARTED around the coffee shop. There wasn’t a huge crowd but enough people she could attract attention if she needed it. He might have helped her escape the FBI, but who knew what his reasons were. Though, even if she did ask for help what would she do? Call the police? The fact she was supposed to be avoiding law enforcement seemed to constrain her options.

  “That was a pretty slick escape you pulled. Of course, it helped I distracted one of them,” he commented. When she didn’t reply he set his cup down on a nearby table. “I almost got arrested you know.”

  “Um, thanks?” Her senses were on high alert. This man was a stranger, why had he helped her? More importantly, how did he find her here? If he found her here, who else could?

  “Before you ask, yes, I’ve been following you.” He smiled in amusement at her shocked expression. “Fortunate thing, too.”

  He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small business card. Holding it out to her, he waited for her to take it. She cautiously reached for it.

  Dale Pointer. Private Contractor.

  And a network address. That was it.

  “Private contractor? That’s fairly vague.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I am currently contracted as a head-hunter of sorts. I find new employees with unique skills for a ... unique client.”

  “You want to hire me? That’s what this is about?” All kinds of warning signals flashed in her mind. “I’m sorry but you’re wasting your time.” She started to stand and grab her bag.

  “Professor Sinclair speaks very highly of you.”

  The words made her stop. Slowly, she sat back down. Professor Sinclair had been her favorite professor before she had been forced out of the university. She had never had the nerve to go back and talk to him, to explain her side of what had happened. She didn’t want to risk seeing his disappointment in her.

  “He says you were one of his best students. That you had a unique problem-solving intuition.” Dale took another slow sip of his coffee. “He also said you were headstrong and tended to be reckless.”

  Well, I can’t argue with half of that.

  “Professor Sinclair said you dropped out after a fight with the department chair. A disagreement about misuse of department facilities, I believe?”

  Cassie looked down at the floor remembering. “Well, that was part of it. I didn’t steal anything if that’s what you’re thinking. I was just using some of the fabrication labs for an independent research project.”

  Dale chuckled softly. “Interesting way of phrasing the fact you were building an illegal drone without permission. I imagine the fear of having the federal government pull its research grants and sponsorships caused some annoyance within the university.” He took another slow sip of his coffee. “Professor Sinclair explained you also told the chair she was a small-minded bureaucrat who only taught because she couldn’t get a job as a real engineer.” His eyes twinkled in amusement.

  Cassie ran her hand through her hair. She could work on filtering better. “Well, now you mention it, that might have happened.” She looked him in the eyes. “It sounds like I’m your dream candidate. I can’t imagine why no one has hired me already. Unless you’d like someone insulted?”

  “Sarcasm aside,” Dale finally set his cup down. “You’re a problem solver with a background in aerospace engineering, a hard to come by skill these days. You also tend to be a little unconventional as evidenced by your rope trick earlier. You say what you think, too.” He spread his hands to indicate all of her. “For this particular client, you actually are the ideal candidate.”

  Exactly what kind of job is this? Any employer she was the ideal candidate for had to have a good backstory. However intriguing, she was currently being chased by the FBI and had to figure out a way to repay Thomas for his drone. She didn’t have time to deal with this. She needed to get out of town.

  Standing, she swung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot going on now and you following me ... well, it’s just too weird. I think you should find someone else to hire.”

  “It will be worth your time to hear the offer.”

  “I don’t need a job.” The lie came out by reflex.

  “Maybe. Maybe not, but that’s not what I meant.” He looked at her intently. “This isn’t a normal job. Think of it more like recess on a high-tech playground.”

  “Sorry. I’ve got to go.” She brushed past him, heading for the door. Rushing out of the coffee shop, she headed down the sidewalk. Glancing behind her to make sure he wasn’t following, she ducked into a small gap between two buildings and headed down a small walkway. Popping out in a back alley, she nearly screamed when she was shoved into the brick wall. Immediately, a hand covered her mouth. A tall, shadowed figure loomed over her. His breath smelled of stale beer.

  “There’s the Sheila I’ve been looking for. You made a bloody mess, didn’t you?” Removing his hand, the man took a step back into the alley light.

  Thomas.

  “Thomas. Look, I know I owe you a drone.”

  “Blimey! Do you think? Do you know how long it takes to manufacture one of those? Half the parts are custom. If you were a right better pilot maybe I wouldn’t be out a drone.”

  Her anger flared. She jabbed her fingers into Thomas’s chest. “I’m the best pilot that’s ever worked for you. If your
shit for brains autopilot hadn’t tried to fly straight up, you’d still have your precious drone.”

  “Don’t blame the equipment, luv. You take the contract, you’re responsible for the drone.”

  “I know. I’ll pay you back. I will.”

  Thomas laughed. “If you took barnstorming contracts for the next year, you couldn’t pay me back. Now if you wanted to haul something a little more interesting than that junk you normally ship; you and I might be able to come to an arrangement.”

  She spat at the ground in disgust. “Drugs? You want me to run drugs for you? You know I won’t do that.”

  “Drugs. Porn. Some dobber’s left kidney. You’ll fly what I tell you to fly now.” Thomas looked her up and down. Then he leaned in closer. “That is, unless you have something else you’d like to offer in exchange.” He put his hand on her ribcage and slowly slid it down to her hips. When he started sliding it toward the buttons on her jeans, she swung her arm at him, trying to slap his face. He caught her wrist in midair, stopping the swing. Pressing against her shoulder, he slammed her hard back into the wall. “Then again maybe I won’t wait for you to offer.”

  As she calculated if she could reach the folding knife in her bag, a large hand appeared on his shoulder.

  With a look of surprise on his face, his body flipped around. The next instant she heard all the air explode out of his lungs with an ‘oomphing’ sound. Thomas went to his knees, hunched over, coughing.

  A hand took her arm and gently pulled her away from the now retching Thomas. In the low light of the alley she saw the face of her rescuer.

  Dale from the coffee shop. He stood protectively between her and Thomas, who was still on his knees.

  “The idiot on the ground is?”

  “Thomas.”

  “Thomas, why am I in a dark alley trying to decide where to dump your body?” For an instant Thomas looked as if he was going to charge Dale but thought better of it and stayed kneeling on the ground, silent.

  She answered for him. “I borrowed one of his drones and it got zapped by the Sylph.”