Boyd Morrison: The Midas Code

“You left it all behind to join the Army. Rangers or special forces. There was a great article about you in Sports Illustrated a few years back.”

Grant didn’t get stopped by fans nearly as much as he used to, but he probably would if he still had the dreadlocks he wore at the height of his fame. He’d left professional wrestling to join the military after 9/11, but a knee injury he got in combat meant that trying to resurrect his pro career after he got out wouldn’t work. He sometimes missed the cheering crowds, and his notoriety occasionally came in handy.

“I swear I’ll only be a minute,” Grant said.

Jervis looked around and waved him in. “You’re fine. Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” Grant waved back and jogged up the gangway. He made his way down the stairs through the now empty ferry. When he got to the vehicle deck, the last of the cars were just driving off.

The only car left was a cherry-red Dodge Viper. A crewman next to it was looking around. Grant ran up to him.

“This yours?” the man said. “I was just about to call the tow truck. Be a shame with a car as nice as this.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Grant said to the man as he opened the driver’s door. “Bad time for a bathroom break.”

He opened the glove box and found the keys Tyler had left for him. He started the car and roared out of the ferry.

Tyler was waiting for him two streets over in the SILVERLAKE TRANSPORT truck. Grant pulled up along the driver’s side. Tyler leaned through the window.

“We can’t get out, partner. Orders.”

“We?”

A beautiful blonde peeked her head around. Grant shook his head. He definitely wanted to hear what that was about.

“Your friend can’t drive a stick?” Grant asked.

“We’re supposed to stay in the truck,” Tyler said. “Just follow us, but not too close.”

“What the hell is going on?”

With his hands out the window, Tyler quickly signed to Grant. The truck has eyes and ears. No calls. Tyler’s deaf grandmother had taught him American Sign Language, and he in turn had taught it to Grant during their stint together in the Army.

Grant nodded, but he had no clue why the truck was bugged. He shook his head and put the Viper into gear to follow.

Tyler drove off, and Grant stayed a respectful distance behind. The rain that until now had only threatened started coming down in a patter that rippled on the Viper’s cloth roof.

For thirty minutes, they drove south and west, eventually turning onto a gravel road. A rotted wooden sign read STILLAGUAMISH STONEWORKS . In less than a minute, the road ended at an abandoned quarry partially filled with water. Tyler stopped the truck at the edge of the pond.

Grant parked, flipped his rain hood up, and got out. He was halfway to the truck when Tyler and his new friend exited the cab.

“Ready to tell me what this is about?” Grant said as he approached.

Tyler waved him back. He had what looked like a canvas sack under his arm. The woman next to him didn’t seem to care about the rain drenching her.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Pop the trunk.”

Grant hit the button and followed Tyler, who laid the item down carefully.

“What is that?”

Tyler threw the canvas aside to reveal a shiny bronze device. Grant recognized it immediately.

“Isn’t that the geolabe you built?”

“Yup.”

“Now I’m really curious.”

“I’ll explain on the way.” Tyler closed the trunk.

“You want to drive?” Grant asked. The Viper had only two seats. One of them was going to have the woman on his lap.

Tyler squinted at Grant’s bulk and shook his head. “You better.” Tyler turned to the woman. “Sorry, but it looks like it’s you and me.”

The woman brushed Tyler’s apology aside. “To get away from that bomb? Are you kidding? Get in. I’ll try not to crush you.”

No chance of that, Grant thought as he eyed her tiny frame.

They piled into the cramped cockpit, the woman perched on Tyler’s legs. Once they were seated with the doors closed, Grant turned to Tyler. “Did she just say ‘bomb’?”

“I couldn’t tell you on the phone,” Tyler said, “but there’s enough binary explosive in that truck to jump-start a volcano.”

While Grant processed that bit of news, he turned the Viper around and sped toward the exit. Tyler tapped the screen on his cell phone and put it on speaker. After one ring, a man answered.

“Are you in your car with Grant Westfield?” the man said, to Grant’s surprise. “I knew you’d get him involved at some point anyway, so I thought he should join in the fun.”

Grant shot Tyler a pointed glance, but Tyler put up a hand that said, “I’ll tell you later.”

“He followed me to the quarry just like you instructed. And we disconnected the geolabe from the bomb.”

“Drive back to the ferry. I’ll take care of the truck.”

“Why are we going back to the ferry?” Tyler asked. “Another bomb?”

“No,” the voice on the phone said. “Just that one.”

As they reached the quarry’s sign, Tyler said, “Before we go anywhere else, I want to-”

A tremendous blast shook the car. All three of them ducked instinctively. Grant mashed the pedal to the floor, throwing a plume of gravel behind him. In the rearview mirror he saw a cloud of black smoke that was already being dissipated by the pouring rain. The sound of the explosion would have been heard for miles, but no one would be able to tell where it came from. It might even be mistaken for a crack of thunder, though lightning storms were rare in the Pacific Northwest.

Grant kept driving. There was no reason to stop and go back to the truck. The only thing they’d see was tiny pieces. He wouldn’t be surprised if the whole truck had been blown into the water.

“What the hell is wrong with you, you maniac!” the woman shouted.

“Good,” the voice said. “You’re still alive.”

“Your concern is touching,” Tyler said.

“Do you think that explosion would have been big enough to sink the ferry? Be honest.”

“Yes. What’s your point?”

“So, Locke, if that’s what I was willing to do to a boat full of innocent people, imagine what I’m willing to do to your father.”

T yler looked at Grant and saw the same flash of alarm on his face that he felt in his gut.

“What does that mean?” Stacy said.

“Now to your mission-” Orr continued.

Tyler hung up. He had to warn his father, but the certainty in the caller’s voice made him fear that he was already too late.

He found his dad’s number and called. The phone was answered on the second ring.

“Dad, it’s Tyler-”

“Nope,” Orr said. “I thought you’d be calling, so I had my colleagues forward his phone to mine.”

Tyler gripped the phone so hard that he nearly crushed it. “If you hurt my father in any way, my mission will be to hunt you down and drain the life out of you one drop at a time.”

“Yes, you’re upset, but I’m not going to harm him unless you decide not to help me. Or if you call the FBI.”

“Do you have any idea who you’ve kidnapped?”

“Of course I do, because I’m not a grade-A moron. Major General Sherman Locke is newly retired and looking for work, so he’s not going to be missed right away by anyone but you.”

Tyler thought about that and knew he was right. If Sherman had still been in the Air Force, the Pentagon would have contacted the FBI within hours of his disappearance, not least because he was a military officer with access to top-secret information. But out of the military he was just another civilian who was free to do as he pleased. If he took off without telling anyone where he was going, that was his business.