Ascendant Saga Collection: Sci-Fi Fantasy Techno Thriller Brandon Ellis (ebook reader for comics txt) 📖

slid out from under the desk and onto the seat. He turned on the screen and lowered the screen’s light, then continued typing.

Drew,

I just spent the last twenty minutes under a desk. I don’t think I was in immediate danger, but the fact that I was hiding should tell you there’s something uncomfortable about this place.

Can you look up Colonel Slade Roberson and the Global Safety Administration? Slade heads it. It’s a government agency that reports straight to the President of the United States.

Anyway, I just need some information, any information, to ease my mind. I’m hoping for the best.

Thanks, Werd. Email me back when you can.

- Your Uncle Kaden

He spent a couple of minutes covering his electronic tracks, then pressed the screen’s off button and hurried to the door, pausing just as he was about to open it.

The glossies.

He spun on his heels and carefully walked to the pictures that Fox had held in his hands. It was a gamble, but why not? They had hundreds of pictures. No one would miss two or three. He grabbed a couple and hid them under his shirt. He’d put them under his mattress, just in case. That way, if he ever needed proof of what he was doing with the RIOUT team, he’d have tangible evidence.

Careful to press the lever down slowly and gently so the latch didn’t click, he opened the door and peered into the hallway. Empty. He strode to the end of the hall and peeked around the corner. No one there. For a moment, he thought about an escape route, just in case another rifle-bearing guard tried to throw his weight around. He didn’t know the layout of the compound well enough to come up with an alternate route back to his bunk, let alone an escape route. Item number seven billion on the to-do list, get schematics for the joint, just in case.

He stepped down the hall, arms crossed at his front to keep the glossies from falling, and headed up steps to a marble floor that led to a pair of large glass doors. On the other side stood two men in camouflage. Jaxx fumbled to a halt. They held rifles.

Before Jaxx could slip away, one of the soldiers grabbed the other’s forearm, and pointed at Jaxx. He stepped forward and opened the door. He glared at Jaxx. “Can I help you?”

“Uh…yeah…I’m new here. I’m just doing my best to find my way around.” He squeezed his arms tight around his stomach, wishing he hadn’t snatched the glossies.

He gestured to Jaxx’s chest. “Where is your badge?”

Jaxx looked down at his shirt. “They never gave me one.”

“They give everyone a badge.” He picked up a clipboard full of papers. “What’s your name?”

“Kaden Jaxx.”

The guard flipped page over page. The other guard fidgeted with his rifle. Another one with a hair trigger no doubt. Jaxx resolved to keep his cool.

The guard put down the clipboard. “I don’t see your name.” He pressed down on his shoulder-mounted communication device. “Captain Richard Fox, we have a four-ten. It looks like he’s holding something under his shirt.”

Richard’s voiced boomed over the comm. He sounded—what was it—gleeful? bloodthirsty? vengeful? Jaxx swallowed hard. This guy Fox had it in for him, no doubt.

“It’s probably Kaden Jaxx. I’ll be right there.”

Jaxx back stepped down the stairs. “I’m fine. I’ll just get to my room. I’m a little lost is all.”

The guard put his hand up. “Don’t move.” He pointed to Jaxx’s stomach. “What do you have there?”

“I’m fine. I can probably find my way back.”

The guard bared his teeth. Literally. Like a dog. Jaxx was up sewer creek, for sure.

“Stay put, Sir.”

“Is it Kaden Jaxx?” Fox’s voice came over the guard’s communications device. “Please tell me it’s Kaden Jaxx.”

The guard tipped his head to the side, bringing his mouth closer to the device. “Yes, Sir.”

“Tell Jaxx that I have Colonel Slade Roberson with me. We’ll be there in a minute. Search him, please.”

“I’m on it,” the guard replied.

6 May 25thCharlotte, North Carolina

Drew Avera used his shirt to dry off. He’d forgotten to bring any towels into the bathroom. And there was that persistent whistling. He’d heard it in the shower, but written it off as the water in the pipes, but now the water wasn’t running, so there had to be another explanation. He opened his bathroom door.

“Crap. The tea!”

He dropped his shirt and ran naked into the kitchen. He forgot about the pot of tea he put on the stove before getting into the shower. This wasn’t new. Drew forgot what didn’t matter, so he could remember what did. Hence the dust bunnies the size of Texas roaming the skirting boards, the pile of pizza boxes on the table, and the kettle whistling Dixie on the stove.

He twisted the burner dial off, accidentally elbowing a thick vase. It tumbled off the countertop and onto the floor. It rolled toward a table in the kitchen nook. It would stay there, nestled with the dust bunnies, until he either gashed his foot or his aunt threatened to visit. Nothing like a mother-figure coming over to signal the need for a quick clean-and-tidy. For now, Drew had more important things to attend to. There was his story on the Deganzo Affair—an elaborate, international Ponzi scheme that had quietly ripped the Bitcoin market to shreds—that was due on his editor’s desk in the morning. He’d tracked the hackers to their—“yeah, go ahead, try re-routing me through seventeen countries”—base of operations and was set to blow the lid clean off the whole damned mess. He had about another hour of data to enter into a spreadsheet, detailing who’d done what and when, so his editor could follow along, and then he’d start on his next investigative dig. All good, clean fun.

His laptop sat on the dining-room table, papers strewn under and around it.

He plopped on his chair, opening the laptop. He clicked on his email icon; his morning routine, though he missed one vital aspect—his