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

and into a room full of tiles. Shower heads lined the walls. They turned a shower head on and dropped Jaxx on the floor.

The ice water pelted Jaxx and he curled into a ball. If anything, it waked him, making him more alert, breathing life into him.

“Leave Rivkah out of it,” he screamed. “She’s my friend.”

Guards waded in and dragged him from the showers. He could barely piece the last few hours together, but the routine seemed to be sensory deprivation, chemical stimulation, then interrogation and the showers. The sendep tank wasn’t all that bad. At least he didn’t have to listen to Slade’s slimy voice or Donny’s simpering. He grabbed the guard’s lapels and pulled himself level with the grunt’s face. “Don’t let them get to Rivkah Ravenwood. Promise me. Keep her out of this shitstorm. She deserves better.”

Jaxx passed out in a featureless corridor, miles underground and no one topside the wiser.

17

May 30thChicago, Illinois

The Tribune Tower housed World News Network’s Chicago Bureau, plus TGN’s Radio, broadcasting on 1190 am, and Lowell’s Books on the ground level. The tower; a beautiful, French Gothic Building. Those who had the final say in WNN’s news network’s coverage worked there.

Drew tipped the cab driver and shut the cab door. He wanted to linger and take in the expansive architecture of Tribune Tower’s main entrance, a site he could admire for hours—gorgeous floral designs wrapped in vines etched on the exterior limestone walls. It was a sight to behold, a marvel of early 20th century architecture. “They don’t make them like that anymore.” He glanced at his watch. Late. Not good, especially since he’d been allotted an 11:30 AM appointment.

“Sharp,” the officious assistant had said. “Not a moment later, not a second sooner. On the dot.” That was how Hobbs Howell worked. What Hobbs wanted, Hobbs received.

Drew hurried into the lobby.

The lobby was heavenly, with a wooden balcony and pendant lights hanging from the ceiling. He stopped for a fleeting second to take it in, then chastised himself internally and hurried to the elevator. He gripped the folder in his hand tightly, knowing that the pictures inside the folder were his trip to safety, perhaps his only shot at not being gunned down late one night.

At the 24th floor a woman sat at the reception desk, a large World News Network sign on the wall behind her.

Drew’s shoes clicked on the Italian Botticino marble floor as he approached, his head held high, acting the important part, though not feeling it. He wore a suit, something he wasn’t used to. He hoped it didn’t smell of weed.

“How can I help you?” She didn’t bother looking up from her typing.

“I’m here to see Hobbs Howell.”

She stopped, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Are you Drew Avera?”

“I am.”

“Nice work on the Zapruder Film documentary.”

“Thank you.”

She went back to typing. “Yeah, it’s something we already knew. Everybody knows. It was a conspiracy. I did like how you tied in E. Howard Hunt. I didn’t know much about Hunt’s past. Do you really think he was the guy in the umbrella when JFK was shot?”

“That’s what my research said.”

“Interesting. Okay, well you’re late for your appointment.”

Drew eyed a large clock on the wall. “Just a few minutes.”

“Nine minutes, actually. That’s nine strikes against you.” She pointed to one of the chairs. “Please have a seat.”

After a few minutes, a loud click signaled a door opening. A voice boomed, “Step into my office, Drew.”

Drew straightened his tie. He shuffled quickly into the office, which looked more like a small library. Books lined the walls. A giant desk sat in the middle of an expensive Persian rug. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on the blue, cloudless sky.

Hobbs stood and extended his hand, his voice like a bass guitar. “How are you doing, Drew? It’s been a while.”

“Nice to see you again, sir.” Drew looked around for the nearest chair, which was clear across the room.

What a dick.

His footsteps echoed on the tile as he retrieved one, and picking the chair up, he carried it to the front of Hobbs’s desk.

Hobbs leaned back, folding his hands across his lap, inspecting Drew’s outfit. He grinned. “Why are you all dressed up? That’s not like you.”

Drew sat. “Because I’m meeting my boss.”

Hobbs’s grin fell into a frown. He sat upright, serious. “Don’t call me boss. I hate that word. It makes me sound like my father.” Hobbs placed his elbows on his desk, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s see them.”

Drew looked down and hesitated. “Will this hit the news?”

Hobbs stopped rubbing his hands. “My guess is that it will and—”

“If it doesn’t, I have copies of everything. This will go to all other major news outlets and alternative news sources. I’m coming to you first.”

Hobbs’ mouth dropped. “You’re coming to me first because you work for me. You are my employee, Drew. You’re part of the WNN team. Do you know how many articles and interviews and documentaries you’ve conducted on my dime? This story, if I allow you to work it, is your job.”

Drew leaned forward. “I’ve been threatened.”

“Over these photos?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s your source?”

“I can’t tell you my source.”

“Is it within NASA?”

Drew’s shoulders drooped, as he pictured Ann Maddox, a needle hanging from her arm, her face frozen in her final high. “No. Like I said on the phone. These pictures should be coming from NASA, but instead they are coming from a company named Terra Energy Corp. They’re using one of their satellites to take pictures over a Jupiter moon and then sending those images directly to the Global Security Administration, also known as GSA. The GSA is headed by Colonel Slade Roberson. The GSA funds the shit out of TEC.”

Hobbs did a double-take. “Why the hell would the GSA need images from a satellite over a Jupiter moon? And if they need them for some reason or another, why are they using a private corporation instead of NASA?”

“I’m coming to some strange conclusions, here. I still don’t know exactly what’s