Pandemic Palisades Ch 11

With that, we were ordered to leave our folders in the room and return to the assembly area. As we entered, however, we were amazed to see that the space was far less active than it had been previously. The view into the command center was obscured by darkness in the acrylic windows, and all of the passing agents had gone to other parts of the complex. For all rights, we now had the room completely to ourselves - with the only exception being Agent Nokram himself.

For a timeline reference, I checked my watch. Six minutes to one pm. Had our meeting taken that long? Talk about a well oiled machine.

“Okay then,” Nokram said as he brought us over by the black delivery van we had arrived in. “Now, I’m going to go into the locker room for a few moments, but at 13:05 hours a vehicle from Carvana should be arriving. It will be driven by one of our agents in costume.”

“In costume?” Shelly asked.

“As an employee, undercover,” Michelle replied.

Nokram nodded. “Pay attention, please.” He pulled something else from his pocket and handed it to Michelle. Inside of a small plastic bag was a single pill, about the size of a gelcap with green and white on either end.

“Need any water?” he asked her.

“Might be nice.”

He went over to a recessed corner of the inside wall where a standard commercial grade fridgerator was located with clear glass. Along with water, the space contained packaged sandwiches but also several bottles of pop. Nokram then returned with a four ounce bottle of water, which had been located near the top.

“We’d like you to get into costume by 1300 hours,” Nokram said. “Do whatever you need to do, and park anywhere; until 1310 the space is yours.” With that, he gave a nod and headed toward the locker room.

The three of us turned to face one another. “Suppose you two have already worked this out?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” Michelle replied as she opened the bottle of water. In the meantime, Shelly retrieved the bag from Michelle and removed the tracker pill, giving it to Michelle who then swallowed it and drank the whole bottle of water to wash it down. “Tastes like technology.”

My watch beeped the hour, as it frequently does since I’ve preferred to keep it three minutes fast for a long time. Suppose it was time to do this.

“Hopefully we won’t have to get too close to any sewer treatment runoffs,” Michelle said. “When we’re done, though, I only demand two things. A shower and sushi.”

“Oh, my mother makes wonderful sushi at home,” Shelly said. “Shoot, we can get it fresher than any sushiya in town-”

“That’s great,” Michelle smirked. “But I wasn’t planning on going to Undarra to get some, if Ceylara will understand.”

Shelly nodded. “Greg, you might give Jeanette a call.”

A moment later, I had her on the phone. “Hello Greg, don’t worry, I was expecing a call - Shelly talked to me earlier.”

“Oh, great,” I said. “Shall I put one of them on?”

“Anytime.”

I handed the phone to Shelly, knowing that Michelle might turn tires once the wish was made. Shelly greeted Jeanette, turned away from me and talked, and though I didn’t hear the specific wording of the wish, Michelle kneeled to the ground and got onto all fours. A moment later, her hands turned into tires.

“From there, I’ll want to use the wet patch, right?” Shelly asked into the phone as Michelle’s feet turned into tires as well. “Yeah, they don’t do anything until she becomes - that’s right.”

Michelle’s hips began to flare out and widen as they formed into the red buttresses of the 2017 Ford GT. Her body continued to widen and reshape itself as her mid section tapered to the cabin and scissorlift doors, before her head flattened out and widened into the distinctive hood while her eyes and face migrated to the car’s front end.

My watch read 1:03 PM, and I glanced at the clocks in the room. 13:00 hours. We were now on mission time.

As for Michelle, she had changed into a 2017 liquid red Ford GT. Instead of a white stripe down her center, however, she sported a gold one. As for licensing and the like, she had been equipped with a California license plate - 99LCB1 - and current license tabs good until January of ‘22.

“Suppose we can’t call her Stratocaster,” Shelly said. “How about Wildfire? Like the horse from that song?”

“Works for me,” Wildfire replied. “I like it.”

Hey, if it’s good enough for Lisa Simpson, it’ll work here.

Just then, Nokram returned from the locker room. He gave Wildfire a quick once over, grinning all the while. “Love it.”

“There’s one more thing to do,” Shelly said as she removed a blue patch from her pocket and applied it to Wildfire’s hood. “Blue starfish.”

The patch seemed to glow slightly before dissolving into the car’s hood. A moment later, Nokram gave us a curious stare.

“That’s all there is to it?” he asked. “But she won’t change again-”

“No,” Wildfire replied. “Not until I get wet.”

“How will that happen?”

“Trust me,” Wildfire replied. “I’ve got a method.”

Behind us, the east door of the assembly area began to open. I glanced at the clock - 1305 hours. Right on time. Into the area entered a flatbed truck with the Carvana logo and emblems across the doors and up the side of the flatbed. From the driver’s seat exited a younger woman wearing a blue vest with reflective coating and a ballcap that matched the Carvana logo. Her brown hair emerged from the back of the cap with a modest ponytail.

If you pressed me, she looked a little like Penny Gadget from the animated TV show, but with brown hair instead of blonde. Cute enough.

“Agent Peyton?” she asked. “And should I say Agents Claxion, squared? Am I right?”

“You’re right,” I said. “And on time, but unofficially, the vehicle you are standing next to is known as Wildfire.”

“Ah, like the song,” the agent said with a nod. “Great. Are you all set, Wildfire? I hope you don’t mind being towed around.”

“It’s fine,” Wildfire replied. “There’s no need for me to move?”

“Nope, we’ve got plenty of space for me to get where I need to go. I spent the last few hours training, you leave everything to me.” She tipped her cap and climbed back into the idling truck.

“Say, how do we know if the tracker is working?” I asked.

Nokram gave a nod. “Come with me.”

As Shelly stayed beside Wildfire to make sure she was loaded okay, I followed Nokram into the back of the black delivery van. He pushed a button to turn on the truck’s electrical components and went into the back. Pushing an otherwise inocculous corner of the console on the passenger side of the van, the console’s screens came to life as a keyboard and other buttons appeared, lighting up as if a touch screen at a fast food restaurant. While it all loaded, he quickly went back to the truck’s driver seat and pushed a button on the dash. The engine started and the dome light flickered a moment before humming at a steady idle.

Behind me, the console had fully came to life. Nokram then returned to the console, sat at the seat and entered a passcode into the console’s prompt. A moment later, much like the tablet in the meeting room, this console pulled up several monitors. These screens showed a map of the immediate area zoomed out to five miles, as well as a master time, a progress report of the mission, and also the code number for the current operation.

Outside, I glanced through the open passenger door to see that the Carvana agent had parked ahead of Wildfire and was already hooking her up to a winch as the flatbed was bent over to accept a passenger.

Suppose my eyes might’ve been on the agent, who was bending over to connect the winch around Wildfire‘s front axle. Either way, it made more sense to call Wildfire cargo, as it only seemed fair, I guess.

“Claxion,” Nokram said. “From our data, the tracker is already being followed. It was paired prior to my handing it off to your wife, and see? It’s transmitting perfectly.”

“How far will it broadcast?” I asked.

Nokram scratched his nose. “Officially, I cannot tell you. But I will tell you that it works on the same principle as a cell phone - the tracker accepts 5G signals - and provided she remains in an area with cell phone coverage, we won’t lose her.”

“And if Carter drives her into the mountains east of town?” I asked.

“There is a backup system that is supplied by GPS and tracked by satellite,” Nokram replied. “It’s not quite as reliable, but we won’t lose her.”

You’ve said that twice, by the way.

“If you say so,” I replied.

“Greg?” Shelly leaned into the truck. “She’s loaded onto the truck.”

Peeking outside again, I watched the agent as she wrapped chains around Wildfire’s front wheels.

“Suppose everyone will want to watch where they’re delivering a supercar like that?” I asked.

Shelly smirked. “Think of the press Carvana gets! They say that they sell any car, after all.”

“You should’ve heard the company representative I spoke with earlier,” Nokram said. “They were thrilled when I said the model of car it was.”

Another moment later, Wildfire was good and secured on the flatbed. The agent came over to the side of our truck.

“We’re all good here. Last chance to abort?”

Shelly, who was right next to her, shook her head. Michelle, had she been right there, might say the same.

“If Wildfire’s good, I’m good,” I replied.

The carvana-clad agent nodded. “Great!”

A moment or two later, Shelly and I were buckled into the back of the delivery van. Wildfire, riding on the back of the Carvana flatbed, was being hauled outside of Station 17’s west door.

Nokram hadn’t yet approached the driver’s seat, but was instead activating something on the command console in the van. A moment later, something seemed to have been activated.

“You there, Agent Jackson?” Nokram asked.

Although there was no visual confirmation, a small window on the lower left corner of the console indicated a voice bar that reminded me of Turbo Teen’s visual lifeline that was nothing more than an audio waveform.

“I read you, Agent Nokram,” Jackson said. “I am listening in and have started the recording system. Per FBI and CIA regulations, I will be monitoring and recording everything on this channel. We’d appreciate any indications of Agent Peyton’s activity as well.”

“Jackson?” I asked. “Claxion here.”

“Hello Claxion,” Jackson said. “What’s your status?”

“We’ve given Agent Peyton the moniker Wildfire for the red 2017 Ford GT,” I replied. “She is currently on the Carvana carrier and is secure.”

“Alternate form secured?” Jackson asked.

“Affirmative,” I replied. “Mission seems to be a go.”

“Copy that, I will inform Cauldwell,” Jackson replied. “Seems like Wildfire is in good hands.”

Nokram jumped up from the console, slid both of the truck’s front doors closed and pressed a button on his ear before climbing into the driver’s seat. “Radio check.”

“Disembarking 17,” the cute agent with the Carvana uniform replied - I recognized her voice on the audio feed.

“Encrypted message sent to insider?” Nokram asked.

A voice I did not recognize, perhaps inside of the command center above us, reported. “Insider reports acceptance of mission parameters and is awaiting delivery.”

“Jackson? How’d you do with Carter?”

“He is home and awaiting delivery,” Jackson replied. “Carter has agreed to our terms implicitly.”

“Good,” Nokram replied. “There is no reason to contact him until delivery agent is five minutes out. Let’s go.”

“Copy that, disembarking,” the cute agent replied.

“Base one disembarking,” Nokram said. “Buckle up.”

Shelly and I did so, and soon the van began to move. “Suppose I do have one question?”

“Yes sir,” Nokram said as he gingerly pulled out from our parking spot and advanced toward the west exit.

“I didn’t brush up on CIA protocol or anything, but-”

“Right,” Nokram said before I could continue. “Procedure is to stay within two miles at first, and when we get closer your job will be to monitor your friend. I’ll give you the five minute drill when we park next, okay?”

“Copy that.”

Nokram checked the exit and I blinked slightly as we emerged from the assembly building into the bright sun. Suppose we wouldn’t be getting those lottery tickets, but then I could use the luck toward Michelle’s mission at this point. I adjusted my seat belt and held on as Nokram drove on.

Though I couldn’t tell exactly where Agent Nokram drove, I was able to watch our location on the console. I found that if I focused on either the monitor or out the windshield but not both I could focus without feeling too carsick. For the time being, I chose to watch out the windshield.

Shelly seemed to do the same thing I did, and soon we were heading east and then north. Although we were close to route 164, Nokram followed a road that paralleled it northeast. Funny enough, this road all but became an expressway of its own, even though we crossed 164 and were soon running concurrently with I-15 just to our east.

Chancing a glance once in awhile, I could see that Wildfire and the cute agent in the Carvana vehicle were following a similar route, though she took I-15 most of the way. If you pressed me, I’d wager they were about two minutes ahead of us. To our west was the marine base, and there were quite a few aircraft out and about today. The nearest aircraft were Hercules air cargo, but I could imagine that much farther west were more nimble fighters.

On the north side of the base we entered a more commercial district, and as the expressway wound to the west and slowed to modest speeds, Nokram took a right turn at the next stoplight. Pomerado Road. Then it hit me; he hadn’t taken I-15 because it was a toll road.

“Hey?” Shelly asked, noticing the same thing I did. “Since when are there toll roads in California?”

“Since the governor decided that rich people like paying extra so they can drive on roads that might be slightly less congested,” Nokram replied. “There’s a couple here and there, but none north of Big Sur. Suppose they installed them several years ago.”

“Arnold or Jerry Brown?” I asked.

Nokram chuckled. “Honestly, it probably predates them both. Either way, she’s got the transponder, it’s not costing us that much time taking this road. Keep the talk to a minimum; focus your thoughts on the mission.”

“Copy that,” I replied.

As we were being recorded, it didn’t do to discuss toll roads and politics any farther besides.

Continuing to follow Pomerado Road, a road which skirted the side of a canyon and a residential neighborhood, I occasionally glanced at the monitor to see that Wildfire and the cute agent were ahead of us on the same street. Several lights ahead, they had turned right onto Stoneridge Parkway.

Instead of following, however, Nokram took a right turn just before the stoplight, pulling into a small neighborhood with a single road that wound back to the east after a short jog. He came to a stop at the last house before the road turned west again, putting the truck into park.

“Base one parked,” Nokram said to his team before joining us in the back. He pushed the lock on the doors - apparently this truck had been modified as delivery trucks normally didn’t have locks - and then joined us in the back after flipping on the hazzard lights.

“Okay, Claxion. You won’t need to push a lot of buttons, but your task here will be to keep tabs on where Wildfire is going. Obviously, if she changes direction, you’ll tell me which direction. Pretty basic.”

“You’ll want street names?” I asked.

“If possible, but don’t feel like we need to match her street for street,” Nokram said. “If anything, we won’t want to be within sight of her at any point, especially if we don’t know which form she’s in.”

I nodded. “Obviously, there’s no way to know, is there?”

“The last thing I want is to see Wildfire driving along as Carter sees our truck from behind the driver’s seat,” Nokram said. “You’re familiar with the concept of a ghost agent, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“Starsetter, you on board too?”

“Yeah,” Shelly replied. “You might say I’m a bit of an expert when it comes to avoiding being seen.”

“Is she now?” Nokram asked.

I wasn’t sure if it was the time to inform our compadre about mermaids and the veil of secrecy.

“At least it’s good to know you folks are aware of what we’re going for here,” Nokram said. He looked up at the monitor to see that Wildfire had almost reached Shadetree Court where Carter’s house was.

Jackson came onto the soundtrack. “Contact Carter anytime regarding your arrival, MK.”

Perhaps MK was either the nickname, initials or some other codename regading the cute agent in the Carvana vehicle. From now on I’d refer to her by the same initials.

“Calling.”

“Radio listening but muted.” Nokram pushed a button in the corner of the console, and all the lights on the control panel turned a light green color. He then waved at us and put a finger to his lips.

“Hello?”

The voice was Carter’s.

“Hello, this is Carvana delivering your 2017 Ford GT in Liquid Red. Do I have the pleasure of speaking to S.Ross Carter on Shadetree Court?”

“That’s me,” he replied.

“Do I have permission to deliver the vehicle to the front of your house, in the driveway or into the garage?”

“Into the garage,” Carter replied. “It’s a bit of a narrow driveway but it’s a two car approach and the garage currently only has one in there - I’ll move the other vehicle, in fact-”

“I am now approaching the house,” MK said. “Are you the one on the southwest corner? The three story with brick and gold trim?”

“It’s a charcoal grey brick with eucher trim,” Carter replied sullenly.

“Yes sir, I’m pulling up now.”

“I’ll be right out,” Carter said as there came a click on the soundtrack where he hung up.

I watched the monitor closely as the dot indicating the position of Wildfire slowly curled in a circle, suggesting that the flatbed Carvana vehicle was coming about and backing up to Carter’s driveway.

-----

The ride across town on the back of the Carvana vehicle wasn’t all that unusual. I’ve ridden on flatbeds before - thank you, Greg, for suggesting that ride in Duluth last year; I think - but I could feel some of the drivers on the tollway drooling at me.

It’s obvious that I’ve never much felt like a diva while wearing a princess dress or being on stage, like at that pageant awhile back, but every once in awhile I get those pangs of marvelousness. Parading around on a Carvana vehicle, where people often gaze up to it and say to themselves ‘wow, look what that guy bought’ is kinda a neat feeling. Yeah, it’s parading, and yeah it’s a bit of an ego trip - but it’s an even better feeling knowing that the guy I’m being delivered to isn’t going to get to keep me for more than an hour or two, assuming this whole thing goes right.

The CIA agent masquerading as the Carvana delivery person had parked so that the truck faced into the center of Shadetree Court’s cul-du-sac, which had about five surrounding homes on the north side of the loop. Carter’s house was a three level home constructed of charcoal grey bricks and stucco, with a burnt yellow trim on the windows. The front door might’ve been an indigo color, perhaps similar to Ceylara’s fins, but not nearly as splendid.

Once MK - I think that was what she had been calling herself on the mission audio track - got Carter’s signature and ensured that the paperwork was all in order, she began unloading me from the flatbed. Officially, I was dead weight - a lifeless car, after all! - and didn’t have to do a single thing except keep myself in neutral and let that dead weight back me down the driveway.

Shadetree Court was located on the north face of a ridge - I think it was called Sycamore Canyon or something like that; we had passed a park by that name before entering the neighborhood - and while most of the houses were on the north side of Shadetree, Carter’s house was on the south side nestled within the shade of the ridge. Ideally, it must’ve been a difficult house to build given the topography, but the benefits of being sheltered from the wind and for keeping water flowing in other directions than the basement garage certainly must’ve looked good on the blueprints.

I recognized Carter’s Mercedes-Benz AMC Roadster, a white coupe with a black top not unlike Summer’s own convertible top. Low and sleek, it must’ve made for quite a drive to Chicago a year ago this past March during the Migration. He had pulled it outside and parked across the way, giving MK plenty of room to unload.

Carter’s garage was recessed about seven feet down from the street, and sure enough, there was a storm drain near the open door when it leveled out. I was skeptical that Nokram’s assessment of its location would be accessible once that door closed. The rest of the garage was large enough to accomidate four cars - it was far deeper than one might’ve guessed from the view of the street, and in addition to the storage space there was a side area with a row of cabinets and a countertop for tools and the like. A secured door off to the side likely lead into the rest of the basement. Had there been another door on the west side? Maybe that lead to a recessed stairway or something; surely the fire department wouldn’t have let them build a garage like this without a second exit.

MK allowed me to naturally settle to a stop as the momentum of the sloped driveway brought me to the front half of the garage, beyond the clearance of the door. If that storm drain was on the outside, I didn’t know if I’d have any luck getting out.

“How’s that look, sir?” MK asked after she disconnected the winch from my front axle.

“Looks like it belongs there,” he said with a smirk. “Did you happen to have the key?”

She shook her head. “I was told that it would be delivered seperately, but you’re welcome to look inside if you like. The car is currently unlocked. Did you want to take a quick look before signing off on my delivery?”

“Yeah,” Carter said with a nod, quickly coming down the driveway to walk around me. He pulled out a pen-sized flashlight from his pocket and shined it onto my body panels, looking for any imperfections; of course there were none.

“How many miles were on it?” Carter asked.

MK checked a clipboard in her hands. “According to my information, there are 32 miles on the odometer.”

He gave a nod and strolled around to my trunk, bending over and giving my hindquarters a glance. Stop staring at my tailpipes. From there he made his way toward the driver’s seat, opened the door and pulled it open, and then bent over and inspected my interior. Two bucket seats, a centrally mounted shifter wrapped in black leather with the Ford GT logo in the middle, and a matching seat. Not unlike Stratocaster’s interior, other than the black leather and the red accents on the dash.

“Can we pop the hood?” he asked.

“Of course,” MK replied. “It’s your car, sir, take as much time as you need. My pay’s hourly.”

He smirked uncomfortably before finding the release. I might’ve helped him with the second one, but soon Carter had both the front compartment and the rear hatch open, exposing the powerful twin-turbo V6 3.5L 674HP engine. As my engines were cool, he rubbed his hands over the cam shafts and grinned.

Apparently satisfied, he started to close the cover but had an issue lining up everything; MK came over to assist and soon the rear hatch was closed once more.

He then inspected the front hatch, which only featured access to the vehicle’s washer fluid reservoir, a battery terminal, and very little else as the opening was very small. Perhaps his inspection was little more than curiosity, as he closed the compartment moments later.

Pausing to admire my curves from the front end, he gave a nod a few moments later. “You need me to sign something?”

With his moniker delivered and MK’s work finished, she tipped her cap and gave a nod. “If there’s nothing else, sir-”

“Nah, you’ve done your job,” he said casually. He then continued to stare at me, chuckling to himself, as MK left without being formally dismissed. Nice to know that I was more interesting than she was, though I could guess Greg thought different from Carter right then. MK had been wearing black leggings, anyway.

Another moment later, the Carvana vehicle started and drove away. Carter admired me for another moment or two before his phone rang. He pulled the Apple phone from his pocket.

-----

Back in the delivery van, I had been playing a Sudoku game on my phone as I monitored the tracker. They had unloaded Wildfire into the garage, and although we had listened to MK’s audio feed on our recording very little had happened since she left the area. Suppose Carter was busy getting to know his new toy?

Jackson’s voice came onto the audio feed and I put aside my phone for a moment. “1320 hours. Initiating contact.”

“Roger that, Jackson,” Nokram said. “Proceed and advise following the script as best you can.”

“Copy that.”

A moment later, phone noise came onto the audio feed followed by the panging of dialing numbers. The connection buzzed, and then a moment later clicked with Carter answering. “This is Carter.”

“Do I trust that the delivery has gone according to your expectations?”

“Yeah,” Carter replied. “You folks even licensed everything, very nice. Where’s the title? Or the key?”

“Once we complete our buisness, you’ll receive them by courier. The key will be delivered once our conversation is over, but the title might not arrive for a few days. As a buisnessman, I trust you appreciate the time it takes to process everything.”

“Guess so,” Carter replied. “What shall we discuss?”

“Diego Santiago.”

-----

“You get right to buisness,” Carter said with a chuckle as he made his way to the rear of the garage. Even though his Mercedes was still parked outside, presumably on the street, I watched him walk past me and back to the door leading to the rest of the house, where he pushed the button to close the exterior door. It began to close very quietly - perhaps he had the springs serviced recently?

-----

“When I last saw Diego, he was in Chicago,” Carter said as Shelly, Nokram and I continued to listen to the audio track in the delivery van. “At the end of the Migration races, Gio had a central plant that processed all of the smuggled goods. Diego was in charge of that process.”

“Was he, now?” Jackson asked. “Who was his supervisor? Gio directly?”

“Yes,” Carter replied without hesitation. “Diego was managing the labs that took the raw ingrediants and reformed them into usable forms. That was his degree - Diego had gone to school for pharmacutical technology at the University of Berkley.”

“But Diego was Rio’s younger brother?” Jackson asked.

Carter chuckled. “That didn’t mean that Diego hadn’t gone to school more than she did. He graduated high school when he was fifteen and went straight into university after that. Rio might not have been giving you the full story, whomever you are.”

“Where in Chicago are these labs located?”

“There’s three of them,” Carter replied. “One’s up near Morton Grove, a second one is on the south side near Hyde Park, and a third is out west near Cicero. He mostly supervises the concentration, and makes sure that the resulting product is up to Gio’s standard.”

“Was this Diego’s idea, or Gio’s?” Jackson asked.

Carter smirked again. “Suppose Gio had plenty of goons to make sure Diego delivered the expected quotas. The way I understand it, Diego was never allowed to wander between the three labs on his own; rather, Gio appointed him a guardian - a man who isn’t much different than Shades, really - the guy’s name was Krakow.”

“Krakow,” Jackson repeated.

Behind me, I could see Nokram nodding slowly.

“Before you get any ideas, let me remind you that Krakow is neither bodyguard nor just a hired driver. Krakow was essentially Diego’s warden, except that Diego’s cells changed from day to day. Each lab was adjacent to a private condo of sorts, and though these were fairly nice areas - they often had two bedrooms, a living area and a fully stocked kitchen - they were prisons. At no time could Diego simply leave; he was only ever there to sleep, to eat, and once a week would be allowed to watch TV or something. But there was no going to the club, no going to the store even - Diego’s job was to work, pure and simple. Gio made sure of that.”

“Very interesting,” Jackson replied. “I need addresses. Street names.”

“I need a key to this GT so I can make sure the engine works,” Carter said. “Just because it’s got an engine doesn’t mean it can sing.”

There was a few quiet moments on the audio soundtrack. I could see Nokram leaning forward in anticipation, Shelly was doing the same.

“Before I address that, I need to know one thing. Is Diego still in Chicago, still doing this, even now, with Gio incarcerated in federal?”

“Last I checked, yeah,” Carter replied without hesitaiton. “Just because he’s got three labs don’t mean they’re not small operations, and it takes time to process it all. Drugs fly out of those places in the volumes of about 50 cubic yards a week, but if it’s going to stay under the radar of the DEA and local authorities, distribution from there is a quiet process.”

“Sure,” Jackson replied. “But you’re sure that Diego is frequently found within one of these labs, most days?”

“Suppose he gets carted around every few days,” Carter replied. “It sounds like Gio has at least given him a wardrobe at every location and kept him clothed and all that, Diego might be a prisoner but he’s still treated well.”

Jackson hesitated a moment. “What else do you know about Diego Santiago that you haven’t told me yet?”

“He’s about six one, thin but no marshmallow and works out well enough; word is he played soccer as a kid and has always kept fit. Black to brown hair and has thick but not Eugene Levy style eyebrows. Bit of a dimple on his chin and, if I do say so, pretty damn sharp for a kid who isn’t even old enough to drink yet.”

------

As the two continued to chat on the phone, I watched as Carter jumped up onto the counter in the corner of the room. I could tell he looked a little restless; talking like this must’ve really grated on his need to go drive into some canyons somewhere. He had set his phone on the counter on speaker, making my eavesdropping all the easier.

“The place in Hyde Park is the top floor of an apartment complex near Cornell Ave, 5537 in a big old condo building, the rest of the space is apartments but nobody’s the wiser.”

“Sure,” Jackson said. “Ciscero?”

“An old industrial building that’s pretty hard to spot on Keeler south of Ogden; the front door is actually in the alleyway; I think it’s the 4200 block; 4215 or something like that.”

“And Morton Grove?” Jackson asked.

“The number’s 6490 Main Street, but it’s off of Leheigh Ave and that won’t mean much to you, as the building is an offshoot of the local pharmacutical company nearby - it’s pretty darn brilliant how close by the legitimate industry is, yet Gio snatched it up and it’s probably his largest operation of the three. On the other hand, the condo here is also the least lavish, so I‘ve heard.”

------

As Nokram took notes on a little 5” spiral notepad, I began looking up the locations on my phone. Shelly did the same with the Ciscero location.

Still, as their conversation lulled, I began to wonder what Jackson would do next.

“Very well,” Jackson replied. “Thank you.”

“So when I do I get the keys?” Carter asked.

“Between twenty and forty minutes,” Jackson replied. “My team will need to scout these areas and confirm your information before my supervisors are satisfied. From there, you’ll get your key. Unless there’s anything else you want to share that might be a better lead?”

“And the title,” Carter said. “The title too.”

“Yes, yes, the title,” Jackson replied. “Have you got anything else?”

“From what I checked, those trackers that the racers all carried went to the facility in Morton Grove,” Carter said. “I don’t know what happened to them after that, but I’m pretty sure that’s where it went - Bandit told me all about it, she followed the truck there.”

I thought to myself. Bandit was a blonde, but she hadn’t been the bimbo that played pickleball with Carter the other day. While I imagine she had been similarly built, I realized that I hadn’t really seen her. Maybe Rio could tell me more about what she looked like.

“Do you have any information on where those trackers came from prior to the race?” Jackson asked.

“No,” Carter replied immediately. “Suppose they came from his sourcing facilities in Mexico; I heard he might’ve had a few places there but I never knew the names, cities, or wherever. Beyond ferrying everything through the Migration, that’s all I’ve got on that.”

Another uncomfortable silence. Turns out that would be the trademark of the day.

“Very well then,” Jackson said at last. “I will share this information with my superiors and, if we’re satisfied, get you that key.”

-----

“Great,” Carter said as he picked up the phone and immediately shut off the connection. He then jumped off the counter, pocketed the phone, shut off the lights in the garage and headed toward the house.

Though I had hardly a need to catch my breath, I relaxed slightly and hoped that I’d be ignored for awhile. While the need to flex my engine certainly was a consideration, I had slept enough times as a car to accept my idleness.

With luck, Jackson and his team in Chicago would be able to locate those locations, confirm that they were genuine, and then satisfy Carter enough so I could get out of here.

On the other hand, I began to remember that I hadn’t been allowed to carry a phone. Without Carter speaking to anyone around me, I had no idea knowing the timeline - I didn’t want to risk turning on my accessory power and even check the clock - in the event that Carter would suddenly turn up.

Thus, I mentally tried to recount something that would distract me from the situation. I began to think of the fish back at the zoo, the various exhibits and their contents, mentally playing a matching game as to which species went into which tank.

Sounds boring? It kept my mind occupied, at least.

------

Jackson came back onto the audio feed a moment later.

“Nokram, can you check those addresses? I’m going to wire them to the Chicago office and see how fast we can confirm them.”

“Talk to Station 11 up in Grant Park, they can get a crew out to each of those locations quickly,” Nokram said. “I’ll have them look for drug residue among the dumpsters and any signs of the Red Sparrow’s company logos.”

“Agent Hannibal’s home base is in Aurora, she might be in the area too to check out that Morton Park site,” Jackson said. “In the meantime, how are the natives with you?”

“We’re fine,” I said. “Shelly and I looked up those addresses, they’re in some prominent areas of the city.”

“Jackson,” Shelly said. “It looks like all of the locations are close to rail lines.”

“Freight or El trains, yes,” Jackson said. “Still, that’s an important consideration - there’s no money in his product if he can’t reach his customers. I imagine he’s got a network of gangs or other distributors at the local level, but no doubt the drugs they smuggled in that last Migration have already been distributed.”

“Actually, no,” Nokram said. “Those drugs that were located in your find of the transmitter, Jackson? They may have a street value of 100 million dollars, but getting that money wouldn’t cash in overnight. If they distribute it all too quickly, the police could track it.”

“So it’s likely that the stuff we brought,” I said, “could only now being sold to some druggie on the El train?”

“Yeah,” Nokram said. “Keep in mind, there were almost thirty of you on that one mission - and we believe that the Sparrow has been doing these races as many as six or seven runs in the past. I’m confident that Diego has had plenty to oversee, even though it’s been a year.”

“Wow,” Shelly said. “I had no idea that this Sparrow had such a large operation.”

“The secret to having a sustainable buisness is a steady supply,” Nokram said. “It’s the same reason why you can buy French fries at McDonald’s year round, even though potatos are only harvested once a year. Though I’d be curious to know where they store those raw ingrediants.”

“Suppose they rent out a crawlspace or an old elevator shaft?” I asked.

“That’d likely be a whole ‘nother story,” Nokram said.

----------

It was right about this time, ten minutes or so after Carter had left the garage, when I began to wonder why I couldn’t have carried a cell phone or have some other kind of communication device. A radio, or something. I mean, I had a radio, but only one that accepted signals; nothing to broadcast to the CIA with. Admittedly, it might’ve been an oversight, though at least there'd be no way for Carter to find it if I didn't have one on me. At least Summer had CCC radio, as did Specter - but Wildfire? She’s off the grid.

Right about the time that I began to wonder how the CIA was coming with those addresses - certainly they’d wish to check them before I was given any clearance to leave, however that would come - I heard the door to the house open again. The person who had closed the door behind them did this quietly.

A maid or housekeeper of some sort had entered the room. Wearing mostly clothing that you’d expect to find in a hotel and matching leggings with comfortable shoes, an older Mexican woman came into the space. If that was Carter’s attempt at being stereotypical, I didn’t give it much thought.

She had a Swiffer wand in one hand and a bag of trash in another. Perhaps I hadn’t noticed the Waste Management cans over by the counter, but the woman deposited the trash bag into the can and then began to dust.

“Agent Peyton,” the woman spoke quietly under her breath.

Did she speak to a car? Hoping she wouldn’t repeat herself any louder, I flashed my hazzard lights - something that I could theoretically do without a key or anything.

“Do not leave. Jackson and Nokram say no to leave until addresses are confirmed. You have one hour until you are authorized to leave unconfirmed. Flash again if you agree?”

I flashed my hazzards once more. One hour; I can do that.

The woman quickly finished her dusting, even though the counter had likely been dusted previously that day. “Good. Stay the course, you are doing very well.”

She made her way back across the room and through the doorway into the house once more - before turning off the lights.

Thus far I had not seen anything that indicated an interior camera, any security system, or anything that could tip off a sudden intrudor or unexpected movement in the space. Under the cover of darkness, however, I also couldn’t search for any either. There were no windows on the garage door, and despite the darkness, I was still confident that escape through the storm drain beyond the garage door would not be an option.

Regardless, I could not leave until I heard from this woman again - however she might’ve been working with Jackson or the CIA, I could not have asked right then - something to ask when I had a chance to speak with Jackson or someone.

Thus, I settled in and tried to return to my game of focusing on mentally sorting the fish in the zoo tanks again.

----------

Some time passed after that. Shelly and I mostly took to our phones; Nokram discouraged any social media but otherwise seemed to be monitoring the activity on the mission recording and did little else. Neither of us spoke, knowing that our voices could interupt the recording.

My watch, of course, still beeped on the hour. It was three o’clock before I noticed, however. Hadn’t one in the afternoon been zero hour?

“Nokram,” I said at last. “What have we heard from Jackson?”

“Hmm,” he muttered to himself. “You’re right, we’ve given them nearly two hours. How long can Peyton hold out?”

“Another hour or two, but if we’re good, we should get her out,” I said.

Nodding, he came over to the console and tapped a button twice. “Jackson? What have you got for me?”

There followed a moment of silence, but soon Jackson responded.

“Okay, Nokram, we’ve checked out two of those sites. You’ll realize that they’re not close to each other and it takes time to get around Chicago.”

“I was under the impression that the FBI had a bunch of their best agents on this,” Nokram said. “Well? What did you find?”

“We do have a bunch of our best agents on this,” Jackson stressed. “And yours, if you’ll recall.”

Nokram had told him to contact Station 11 for agents. “Copy that.”

“Near as I can tell, the location in Hyde Park and Ciscero both check out and are confirmed. We’re planning to raid the place soon.”

“Negitive, Jackson,” Nokram said. “One thing at a time here.”

“Copy that, Nokram,” Jackson replied. “By soon I mean not tonight, don’t worry. By soon I mean soon, but it won’t affect this mission, promise.”

“Copy that,” Nokram replied. “I should expect nothing less.”

“And your expectations are met, I hope?”

Nokram smirked. “So far. What would you expect from me at this point, then?”

Jackson hesitated. Perhaps he thought this was either a game or a contest, but I hoped he’d go where he did.

“I think it’s time we got our agent out of the lion’s den. Her job is done and she’s earned her pay.”

“Copy that, Jackson,” Nokram said.

----------

While I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, I found myself running out of fish to sort. There must’ve been thousands of fish in all of the exhibits at the Minnesota Zoo, and yet over the past - how long had it been, two hours? - I was either getting delirious or simply losing track. Suppose I should be proud of myself for at least doing it all as lifelessly as a car could - I mean, if it was Greg doing the same thing, he’d have been talking out loud the whole time.

Just when I was about to wonder what else was in the zoo - I mean, there was a whole Tropical Trail and Northern Trail I hadn’t even started to mentally recount in my mind - the light in the garage came back on and the door opened.

But it wasn’t the person I had hoped for. Instead, it was Carter himself. Had they given him the key? Suppose the delivery agent had already come by - if they hadn’t delivered it, Carter would’ve gotten suspicious.

He pushed the button to open the garage door. Now with the added light in the room, my confirmations were met - the storm drain was, in fact, outside of the garage door.

That’s when he pushed the button on the key - if I didn’t respond, he’d suspect something! Now, what was that color code they had given me? What color was that, anyway?

I unlocked the doors and flashed my parking lights once as I activated the electronic response. It seemed to be the right one, as Carter smiled rather pleasantly. That’s when he came over to the driver’s side door and opened it.

Dammit! Was he going to take me for a drive? I hadn’t bargained on that! I mean, it’s one thing when Greg drives me around, but this hadn’t been in the mission profile. I mean, sure, I knew it could happen going in - and frankly if I were to keep up the rouse I didn’t have any choice - but come on, man! It’s late in the afternoon - rush hour traffic in San Diego has to be as bad as anywhere else in California-

“Well, let’s see if they gave me a lemon, a lulu, or a leader?”

That’s when he put his foot to the floor and pushed the start button. My engine fired up at once - I had no control in that decision, and while I suppose I could’ve tried to resist it by mentally blocking the fuel line or something, it happened before I could even try to prevent it. My engine roared with a powerful shudder.

Chuckling and laughing to himself, Carter revved the engine multiple times, bringing my RPMs nearly to 7000 on each push. Each time, however, he kept me in neutral - all he wanted to do was rev the engine and listen to me idle. Did he have any interest in putting me into drive? Dude, I’ve got 37 miles on the odometer; would you risk adding any more?

“Incredible,” Carter mused to himself quietly. “Just incredible. What a powerful machine - too bad that there won’t be any more Migrations to really give this thing a proper test.”

You’re welcome, Carter.

He reached for the console, but instead of pushing the shifter as I expected, he instead pushed the starter button again, powering down the engine. He then rubbed his hand across the dash, did the same with the steering wheel, and then - mercifully - got up and climbed out before closing the door. He reached up with the remote and pushed the lock button - I could at least see it this time, though I couldn’t see any LED color indicating what I was supposed to do - and I locked the doors with the same flash and a light tap of the horn as I had done with the previous unlock.

Carter made his way to the back of the garage and - funny enough, never having bothered to move his Mercedes back into the garage after all this time - headed upstairs. Just as he had done so before, however, he left the lights on.

He did, however, close that garage door. At least I’d have privacy, but my access to the storm drain was now gone.

----------

Nokram had pressed a button on the console several times. “MZ, are you there? It’s time to send the package.” He grumbled and sadly put down his headset and microphone. “Dammit, it’s not working.”

“What’s not working?” Shelly asked.

“Our inside agent isn’t responding,” Nokram said. “That’s MZ - she works as a maid in Carter’s compound. There’s about two or three of them, but only MZ is there on our orders.”

I nodded. “And she’s the only one who knows what’s going on.”

“Not everything,” Nokram replied. “Only that, like Specter, she believes that Agent Peyton is a computerized car or some other form of drone. She doesn’t have the clearance to know the truth.”

“Which we’ll not discuss now, naturally,” Shelly said.

“Naturally,” Nokram replied. “Either way, I wonder if Peyton will get the message now.” He pushed another button on the console. “OR, this is Base one. Need a GPS location on Agent TM. Just skip the chatter, read me her location as soon as you see it.”

“Copy that, Base one.” A moment later, they had it. “Her tracking indicates a location roughly thirty yards from that of Agent Peyton.”

“Thirty yards?” Nokram asked. “Which direction?”

“From our assessment, it’s the backyard,” the agent from the command center replied. “Satellite recon pointed out a conservatory garden in the house’s back yard.”

Nokram sighed.

“A garden?” Shelly asked. “Carter?”

“We believe it was something his mother insisted upon,” Nokram replied. “Stipulated it in her will or something like that. Long story.”

“Either way, it means that this Agent MZ isn’t in the house,” I said.

Nokram nodded. “And doesn’t have her reciever, either. For whatever reason, it’s likely that she put it down in her things, or hopefully in her room - a clear breach of protocol-”

“Nothing we can do about it now,” Shelly said.

Nokram nodded. “Until she gets back and picks it up.”

----------

It had been another twenty to thirty minutes since Carter had left. Amazingly, his Mercedes was still in the street - all but forgotten. Curious.

As I mentally worked my way around the zoo’s tropical trail - I had just made my past the gibbons and the tapirs as well as the nearby tropical reef tank, which of course had already been gone through fish by fish and species by species - mostly - I began to wonder if that woman in the red smock was going to come back or not. It had been even longer since I saw her.

That’s when it began to occur to me. What if she didn’t? It had been some time since anyone came by, and while it could happen that Carter might try to take me for a drive after sunset, or even around that time of evening, I really didn’t want to be here any longer than I had to. Surely Jackson and his crew had located those locations that Carter had mentioned - they worked fast and had plenty of agents in the Chicago area to scout the place well enough for that kind of decision.

Realizing that I didn’t want to proceed without taking the risk - I couldn’t wait any longer - I activated my accessory power and checked my internal clock.

Three forty eight PM. Zero hour had been two hours and forty eight minutes ago. Knowing Jackson and having trusted him time and time before, I was confident that he and his team - or an extension of it, likely whomever was available in Chicago - had done a proper confirmation of one, if not two of those locations that Carter had mentioned. Certainly if one location was confirmed, the next two would be confirmed from clues within the first.

That’s when I made a decision. I had no other means of getting out of here except to continuously ram the door as Wildfire, or leave the area as a starfish. Because of the conditions of Shelly’s wish, my human form was hidden from me until the mission ended - in retrospect it might’ve been a stupid choice! - but it was necessary, so Nokram had assured me, in order to keep Carter from going after a face - and certainly given the complications and mess that Alpha had given me in past years I didn’t need Carter knowing mine - he already had seen Greg’s, and that put him in enough risk as it was. I then reminded myself that it was a blessing that Carter had never seen my face - our paths never crossed once the race began and Stratocaster was the only form of mine that he had seen.

On the other hand - or tire, I supposed - I was starting to miss my human form some. The longest I had spent as Summer was several hours at a time, and certainly Stratocaster hadn’t broken that record. Still, I had always tried to tell myself that Summer would never replace my human form - and she hasn’t - but giving it to Wildfire for more than a few hours wasn’t on my list either.

Thus, it was time to put up or get out. I needed to get out.

As long as my accessory power was on, I hit the lever to control the windshield wiper. A wave of blue juice fired from the ducts below my hood, and a moment later it overcame my hood.

My body began to shrink at once. Fenders gradually shrank and changed from red to blue as my entire mass compacted into itself. Tires shrank and curled into the tips of my little starfish arms, and soon every corner of my automotive body had shrank.

Now staring at the floor, my senses recovered for a moment as I came about and took in my surroundings, standing as best as I could to take in the scene. While I might not have seen the room as well I had with my headlights - or my eyes for that matter - the room now had a grey blur that resembled the space I had seen a moment earlier.

It took me a moment to remember my sea star anatomy. Starfish had little eyespots on their arms and centrally located around their bodies - on the front side that were better at detecting light and dark, but were slow to catch fast predators. Riding around Shelly the other day, I could see the room around me but mostly focused on the discussion, though it was plenty bright.

What I did not see, as Greg would be disappointed to learn, was Shelly’s anatomy. A sea star’s eyes are on its top side.

Anyway, as I was outside of the ocean, I knew that my time would be limited. If I didn’t find a good source of water, I could suffocate within a matter of minutes. Going into this, I had told myself that the worse-case scenario would be that I would dry out and transform back into the GT. Still, I had no interest in remaining in this garage - and if the worst were to occur, I’d hoped that the failsafe that Shelly put into the wish would save my life.

I flopped my way toward the door, but as I had feared, there was no gap between the door and the floor. Flawless. Unless I had transformed into a dust mite, I still doubt that I would have made it - and the liklihood of me surviving the swim in that state would have been questionable at best.

Making my way back toward the center of the garage, I settled down and decided that this wasn’t going to work. My strength was limited and I didn’t have much time. While there might’ve been something to say about going into the house and transforming back into the GT there - wouldn’t that be a surprise to the homeowner - I doubted my ability to open the door. Instead, I realized that all I could do now was wait to dry off.

That’s when the light turned on and the door opened. A woman in a blue smock - not the woman who had called me by name - entered carrying a bag of trash. She deposited the bag into the can, but then stopped suddenly and looked directly at me.

Suppose I must’ve moved my arms at the right time.

“Dios mio, que es esto?”

So glad I took French as my high school language requirement twenty years ago. Guess it was time to get my Spanish up to snuff.

She picked me up, gently placed me onto the counter in the corner of the room, and then gave me a smile.

“Vamos a llevarte a un lugar más húmedo.”

I hoped that had something to do with getting me wet.

A moment later she took a glass jar from the cupboard, filled it at the nearby sink - Carter must be brilliant to have a sink in his garage - wait, not that brilliant - and then deposited me inside. At least, from a sea star’s point of view, I was no longer drowning.

Suppose I’ll look back and think that sentence only makes sense if you realize that the term ‘drowning’ indicates a lack of oxygen. Thus, I was no longer drowning by being out of the water. I’d have to try to remember that sensation later.

Anyway, if you pressed me I’d wager the jar I had been deposited into was about the size of a generous pickle jar. A jar that whole pickles would be sold in at the grocery store. Though I would have welcomed the salinity, there was no residue of any brine present. Either way, it was a welcome change to a concrete floor.

“Ahi aho? Como es eso?”

Seemed okay to me, though freshwater likely wouldn’t be best. Given the circumstances, I wouldn’t dry out at least. But gosh! Could you imagine turning into a GT now?

Before I knew it, she found a lid for the jar and covered it loosely so the water wouldn‘t leak. A moment later, she reached into her smock and pulled out her cellphone. Dialing up someone - I couldn’t see who - her contact answered a moment later.

“Hola Jose? Necesito un favor por favor?”

----------

“Question?” I asked after Nokram had exhausted his efforts to contact this MZ agent, whomever she was.

“Answer,” Nokram replied.

I smirked. “Just to clarify, there’s no way for us to know if she’s moving or not, right?”

“That’s an affirmative,” Nokram replied.

“So what if her location has moved within the house?”

Nokram looked up from his phone and then looked at the map. Zooming in on the house, what had once been a more central location in the space believed be where the garage was no longer contained Michelle’s tracker dot. Instead, it had moved into a far corner of the space.

“That,” Nokram said, “is an interesting relevation.”

Shelly leaned forward in her chair. “Would a Ford GT fit into that corner of the space?”

“Unlikely,” Nokram replied. “Buckle up.”