He crept through arrivals traffic until he spotted a slim freckled redhead and a large dark-skinned man with a tilted smile. He pulled to the curb, popped the rear hatch, and stepped out into the rain. June ran into traffic, jumped into his arms, wrapped her strong cyclist’s legs around his waist, and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Hello, stranger.” They hadn’t seen each other for two weeks.
Holding her up, he cupped her round backside with both hands. “I beg your pardon, miss, but I’m spoken for.”
“You bet your sweet ass you are.” Her eyes were green and filled with wickedness. She kissed him again, this time with a little tongue. “Hey, is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
“Man, you two need to get a room.” Lewis wore a shadow-colored rain jacket with no visible logo that made no sound when he moved. It repelled the rain so efficiently that droplets didn’t even seem to land on him, although they did bead slightly on his cropped black hair. His tilted smile widened. “Glad you ain’t dead, Jarhead.”
Peter lowered June to the pavement and bumped fists with Lewis. “Me, too.”
Lewis was a semi-retired career criminal who’d made a small fortune robbing high-level dope dealers and, after leaving that business, a larger fortune while saving Peter’s ass. He’d learned his killing skills during a tour with the Army, which included a couple of deployments to Iraq. He was the most dangerous man Peter had ever met. And given the nature of Peter’s friends from the Corps, that was saying something.
Once they were rolling, Peter handed out the sub sandwiches. “I have updates.”
While they ate, he told them about the police brass declaring the investigation over, the intruder at KT’s house, and finding the tape recording with Ellie. He held up the cassette player, realizing just now that he didn’t have headphones so they could listen to it.
June reached up from the back seat, grabbed the device, and turned it in her hands. “Peter, it’s got Bluetooth. You can connect it to the car speakers.”
“I just bought the damn thing,” Peter said. “I didn’t have time to figure it out.” In fact, the idea had never occurred to him. Modern technology was not his strong suit.
“I guess I know who’s the brains of the outfit.” Lewis poked at the media console until the device connected.
June pressed play. The tape hiss filled the cabin, low and visceral, the analog sound of a bygone age. Lewis turned up the volume. Then the voice began. “Hello, friends. This is your humble messenger. I am so very glad to talk with you again.”
They listened in silence. The voice rose and fell, intimate and hypnotic. It spoke about the ravenous industrial machine, about the dark time that was coming. When it was over, they sat in silence for a moment. Finally June said, “We are Legion. That connects to KT’s death threat.”
Peter nodded. “This has to be the story she was digging into.”
“Yeah,” June said. “Does it sound to you guys like some kind of prepper manifesto?”
“Some kind of end-time manifesto,” Lewis said. “Although you notice there ain’t no real mention of God or the Rapture, right? Sounds to me like they ain’t just getting ready for the Dark Time, whatever the hell that is. They gonna make it happen themselves.”
23
Peter had already navigated out of the main airport complex and onto Pacific Highway, a busy four-lane surface road with the elevated light-rail line on one side and a long string of chain hotels and cheap airport parking on the other.
Lewis said, “Did you tell the cops about that tape?”
“I wanted to talk to you guys first.”
“I think you have to share it,” June said. “It’s a game-changer.”
Lewis frowned. “Problem is, you don’t exactly trust the cops to do the right thing. Plus they might limit our moves, get all up in our business.”
“Police departments keep intelligence files on fringe groups,” June said. “So does the FBI. What if someone already knows who these guys are? All we’re doing is helping them connect the dots to KT’s murder.”
“The mayor and the chief of police don’t seem too keen on connecting the dots,” Peter said. “They just want the political win. Plus theyhave their hands full with the tech conference coming up. Although I have to say, Durant seems to want to do the right thing.”
Lewis shrugged. “Sharing with him might earn you some goodwill on the whole felony-kidnapping thing. Let him see you trying to be part of the solution.”
“I had that thought, too,” Peter admitted.
“Okay,” June said. “Play the tape again and I’ll make a recording on my phone. Then I can forward it to the captain.”
Peter parked behind a drive-through espresso place to limit the road noise on the recording. The message was no less disturbing on the fourth listen. He gave June Durant’s number and she texted him the audio attachment, identifying herself as a journalist and a friend of KT’s.
Waiting for a response, they sat in the warm car while the rain poured down and talked about next steps.
“I still haven’t heard from those three guys KT interviewed,” June said. “I’ve pinged them twice. They may never get back to me. We’ll probably need to find them. Which means I need to do some more digging, get their phones and cars and home addresses, so we can walk up on them in person.”
