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

nice building, people coming and going wearing nice business attire.

Mouth agape, he took his first steps out. “Where the hell am I?” he blathered to himself. He travelled all night, in a secret, underground monocar. For all he knew, maybe Ottowa, or Montreal, or Texas. The placards on the wall had English words. Still North America, but he didn’t know if in the United States or Canada. In either case, he had to get moving.

30

June 5thUnderfoot Black, Grenada

Slade stared at his computer at the Tanner Springs Assisted Living Center website, the place where Drew’s mother had been living for years. Located in Charlotte, North Carolina, the facility was large and fancy.

He didn’t want to ever use this against Drew, but he was out of time and couldn’t have someone screwing up his plans to Callisto. Knowing where Drew’s mother lived would be the best bargaining chip Slade had against Drew. Even if she was a fruit loop. Perhaps her vulnerability was a plus. Drew visited her every week, and for how many years? The kid was attached. If Slade needed to, he could put the smallest amount of pressure on mommy dearest and Drew would cave. He turned his head to the window, allowing himself a millisecond of regret for what he’d become, then dismissed it. “Needs must,” he said. “Duty first.”

He scrolled down the website just as his phone rang. He clicked on the speaker. “Yes?”

“It’s Donny. You might want to get down here and take a look at this. Mr. Jaxx is showing...uh...well...things.”

“What things?”

“I could explain, but better if you see it for yourself.”

“I’m on my way.”

Slade looked at his calendar. Less than a month until they launched to Callisto. Anymore hang ups would need to be dealt swiftly. Jaxx better not be another hang up.

31

June 5thUnknown

Drew walked out of the building with his hands in his pocket. He made sure his stride was confident, comfortable, not some scurrying walk-run that would draw attention. He checked his phone for the time. 8:14 am.

“Pacific standard time?”

Was he in California? No, not warm enough. The street signs said 51st and Hawthorne. He looked up and down the building he exited. No indication of the city or the state. Or the country. The rest of the block had one to two story buildings, this one a skyscraper. “Way to keep a low profile, guys.”

He needed to act as natural as posssible, having just run from the military. He had all the information he needed to expose the truth, and was most likely on a black ops hit list.

They’re probably coming up the elevator now. I have to get out of here.

He jogged down the street until he came to an open restaurant, Por Que. Bikes everywhere. Where the hell were the cars? A license plate would be nice. He shrugged and made his way inside.

“One or two today?” asked the hostess.

Drew smiled. “Can you tell me what city this is?”

The server glanced around, as if looking for pranksters hiding in the restaurant. She leaned to the side, placing a hand on her hip, the other hand touching her lips. “What do you mean, sir?”

“Is this Sacramento?”

“You’re joking, right?”

Drew gave her a serious expression, his hands sliding in and out of his pockets. “I’m sorry. I have a brain condition that causes memory loss. I just need to know what city I’m in.”

Her eyebrows squished together. “Okay, well, you’re in Portland.”

Drew flinched. “Portland, Oregon?”

“Yes.”

He flashed his teeth in another smile, holding back his surprise. He turned and left the restaurant. He had no idea what was in Portland or where he should go next. More importantly, he had to get off the street.

Portland House Motel, a large, worn out sign stood high above the buildings a couple blocks down. Drew started to jog again, taking a gander over his shoulder every so often, then slowed his pace as he came to the motel.

A quaint, two-story affair, a bit worse for the wear. The paint peeled from the porch steps and the windows hadn’t been cleaned in about a century. He wondered how bad a room would smell.

At the desk, he asked the woman for a suite on the second floor. “I’ve got cash.”

“We don’t have suites here.”

“I’ll take whatever.”

She took a drag on her cigarette, then walked to a side window and blew. She grabbed a key and handed it to him. “One flight up, second door on your left. Enjoy.”

The room stank of well-trodden carpet, old sheets, old everything. The walls yellow with green trim, and the lamps and bedside tables straight out of the sixties, though never refurbished.

He pulled a chair up next to the window and shut the curtains, pushing one curtain aside so he could watch the sidewalk and street through the tiny slit.

His phone rang. Sunset to Sunrise displayed on the caller ID. A national radio show, one of the most popular in the country. He’d been on the show about a year ago, interviewed about his life and a few of his documentaries. The show had a conspiracy slant to it, though unlike most conspiracy-type programs it was more credible with experts in the field.

Drew answered.

“I’m sure you are inundated with phone calls.”

Drew scratched his cheek, one eye trained on the street below. “Robert May? Long time.”

“I received your packet in the mail. Interesting, to say the least.”

Drew sighed. “Good. I’m glad someone got something.”

“So, you haven’t been inundated?”

Drew pulled his phone away to see if he had voicemails. None and no missed calls. “I don’t have any. Should I?”

“Your information is all over the news.”

Drew about fell out of his seat. “Who broke the story?”

“Tucker Frost of PointLine.”

“The morning show? Is it on now?” Drew glanced at the sidewalk. Someone suspicious walked by. The guy held a phone, sun glasses, and moved his head in a way as if he tried to locate someone. He disappeared around the corner.

“It’s not just on that show. It’s on just about every news network,