Chris Mooney - World Without End

"I've got to get moving," Conway said.

"Your phone has vibration mode, right?"

"They all do now." Randy's voice sounded detached. Uncertain.

"Set it to vibration mode, I'll make contact with you when I get there.

Randy?"

"Yeah?"

"You can do this."

Conway hung up. Two fire engines were rushing toward the gas station, the wail of the sirens building. He ran back to his car and just got himself settled behind the wheel when the attendant opened up the mini-mart's glass door. The man ignored the commotion, his eyes locked on Conway.

"Your car's all busted up, and it looks like you're leaking oil," the Texan yelled.

"Pop open your hood and let's take a look." The attendant, his face and voice nervous, reached behind his back as he walked, less than two feet away from the Pathfinder.

Get out of here.

Conway pressed the button on the Palm and the Pathfinder started just as the fire engines raced by, kicking up large clouds of dust and dirt across the gas station. Conway floored the gas and peeled a good two feet of rubber out of the station. When he hit the highway, he looked in the driver's-side mirror and saw the man standing in the middle of the road, his hand still behind his back as if guarding a shameful secret.

The gas station attendant stood in the dust and the aching heat, the tranquilizer pistol tucked into the back waistband of his work pants.

He watched the Pathfinder until it disappeared.

His real name was Charles Rigby. The original plan was to abduct the computer wiz, Major Dixon the father should have been arrested for child abuse for giving out such a stupid name here at the gas station.

On the way back from skydiving, both Major D and Conway would have to pass along this road, the only way back to Austin, and just as Conway was about to ride past another car would blast out of the gas station and hit his car. When Conway wasn't looking, Rigby would hit him with a tranquilizer dart. By the time he woke up, the man the CIA called Angel Eyes would have the highly coveted military combat suit from Praxis. That was the plan.

Rigby thought it would have been easier to try to take Dixon at night, while he was sleeping. Hit the two IWAC teams that were monitoring Major D one IWAC team lived in the same apartment complex, the other was housed inside a van and then take down Delburn. With the IWAC team gone, they could take the Major straight to Praxis, slip in and get the suit, then disappear. That was how Mr. Faust operated in the past.

The strange thing was that Mr. Faust wanted Dixon and Conway. Why Conway was wanted was unknown. Only Mr. Faust knew that, and the only one who had direct access to him was Gunther, who never talked about the man or the reasoning behind his decisions.

You did what you were told, or you were let go. And never, under any circumstances, did you lie. Even if you fucked up. Like now.

Charles Rigby continued to stare down the highway. Man, I should have come here earlier, when Con-way was on the phone. Just -walked up to him and asked him about his car and then popped him with a dart. But it didn't feel right. When you dealt with guys like Conway, guys who could snap you in half without breaking a sweat, you had to make sure you could pull it off, otherwise you were in deep shit. By the time Rigby was ready to move, Conway was already seated behind the wheel.

Goddamn. Gunther was going to be pissed.

Rigby looked back at the gas station and then reached into his back pocket and retrieved a satellite phone. It wasn't as fancy looking as the one Conway and the IWAC boys used Rigby's phone had that long, thick, extendable antennae but it did have the latest and greatest encryption technology, stuff so advanced that it would take a team of NSA boys weeks to crack it. Charlie dialed the number.

"You got him?" Gunther asked.

"Conway wigged out and hightailed it out of here before I could even get to him."

Gunther didn't say anything. Rigby had known Gunther for three years now it was Gunther who had rescued him from the streets of L.A. Rigby was seventeen at the time and eating out of trash barrels and forced to do other things to survive, things that a teenage boy should never have to endure. Then like a gift from God came Gunther, his guardian angel;

Gunther, who had brought him into the fold and taught him things and showed him a world of unlimited potential and promise.

Rigby, upset that he had disappointed Gunther and nervous that he had blown his opportunity to prove himself, started chattering away: "He made a pay phone call to Bouchard. I got it all on tape. Then Conway called Randy Scott, this guy's inside Praxis right now and he's going to try to shut down access to the suit."

"Dixon's already inside in the lab?"

"As we speak they're downloading the latest version of the software directly into the suit. Now granted, I couldn't hear what this guy Randy was saying on his end because the call was encrypted, but I managed to hear everything Conway was saying and the two of them cooked up a plan " "So Conway's going to try to shut these guys down by himself."

"Yeah, him and this guy Randy Scott. They think Angel Eyes is behind this."

"Get everything ready. I'm on the road and will be there in five minutes," Gunther said and hung up.

Inside the mini-mart, Charlie removed the gas station's surveillance tapes and then checked the broom closet. The real gas station attendant was still passed out. Rigby dragged the guy and put him on a chair behind the counter. When the guy woke up a couple of hours from now, he would have the worst hangover of his life.

Rigby put on a pair of latex gloves. As he wiped down the few areas he had touched, he wondered what Mr. Faust did with all this stolen stuff. Was he collecting it? Selling it? Gunther didn't say anything about it, and Rigby never asked. Then he thought about the suit. To be invisible from everyone, man, you could be God, roaming the earth and carrying out your secret wishes.

Ten minutes from Praxis and relief.

Conway had been barreling down the highway at just above ninety, the ride difficult because of the missing front windshield, the wind gusting past his face with such intensity that his eyes watered. The Palm Pilot was on his lap. He glanced down and noticed that the files were no longer being copied. Randy had knocked Dixon off the server.

But no way to tell if Randy had triggered the lab's alarm system and locked Dixon and Angel Eyes's men inside the building. Conway imagined Angel Eyes and his men as they scrambled to bring the server back online, a process that could take half an hour or more, depending on their skill level. Hopefully, Bouchard's Hazard Team had moved in on Praxis and contained the matter.

Hopefully.

Eight miles away from the company and the traffic on the MoP ac expressway came to a grinding halt. Framed against the clear blue sky and sitting perched high on a hill was Praxis, a sprawling, four-floor structure of gray concrete and mirrored blue glass, looking like some sort of futuristic monolith that had descended from the heavens, isolated from other companies and safe from prying eyes, and oddly out of place in the rolling green hills of Spanish-style homes with red-tiled roofs. Conway moved into the breakdown lane and drove the rest of the way. He picked up his phone and called Randy. Far ahead on the right were clusters of people looking no bigger than action figures gathered near the main road and the only entrance to Praxis.

Angel Eyes and his men must still be inside the building.

Six rings and no answer.

Either Randy had been captured or was hiding somewhere inside Praxis.

Conway hung up and pulled into the small plaza containing a one-hour photo shop and an office supply store. He parked the Pathfinder in one of the shaded spaces, far away from the store and its curious eyes, and shut off the SUV. The hot air throbbed with the traffic from the highway.