The Eighth Day

Chapter 25

Chad Dodd squinted at the moving map on his glass multi-touch interface. He zoomed in on Effingham, Illinois and the Holiday Inn Express where Echo-7 had holed up for the night. The GPS tracker pinpointed his location and gave Chad a ten-digit grid coordinate accurate to plus or minus a meter.

The comms control panel lit up, and a tinny voice echoed from its speakers. "We're three klicks out, people," it said. "Team leaders, give me a functions check."

"Heartland Team is green."

"Pandora Team is green."

"Gunstone Team is green."

"Roger. Understand all teams are green. Get your asses ready, gents. It's time to earn your paychecks."

"I'm more stoked than a midget at a mini-skirt convention."

"Save it, Maloney."

"I'm telling you. They're gonna write epic hymns about this shit right here."

"Or at least memes."

"Dreyer, don't encourage him."

Chad switched to live satellite imagery. The window displayed two sedans and two SUVs racing down the interstate. They took the exit for the Holiday Inn Express, pulled into the parking lot, and stopped alongside the hotel.

"All right, you want them epic hymns or what?"

"Hell yeah. Let's do this."

Vehicle doors opened, and from within emerged a dozen men in dark suits carrying rifles, the automatic kind—M16s, M4 carbines, Uzis. They started toward the hotel, rifles held at the ready.

A flashing spray of blue and red lights lit the edge of the screen. Chad's eyes widened in alarm, and he swiped the map, scrolled right, and zoomed in.

A police cruiser raced down the road toward the hotel.

"Oh, shit," Chad said, spitting the words through clenched teeth. What the hell were the cops doing here?

It was because of that goddamn video from the charging station in Oklahoma. It had to be. The hotel clerk or someone in the lobby must have seen it and recognized Echo-7 and called the police.

Chad tapped the push-to-talk icon on the multi-touch interface. "Heads up, boys. You got company."

The agents spun around as the cruiser whipped into the parking lot and raced toward them. As it drew closer, Chad's speakers picked up the faint warble of its siren.

So much for the element of surprise.

The cruiser turned hard to the left and skidded sideways, rocking to a halt behind the procession of vehicles. The driver's door opened, and two uniformed officers spilled onto the pavement, scrambling to their feet and crouching behind the cruiser. They fumbled for their sidearms and aimed them over the car, and the muzzles of the agents' weapons swung toward them in riposte.

"Do not engage!" Chad hollered. "I say again, do not engage!"

In the background, one of the cops shouted, "Drop your weapons and put your hands on your head!"

Chad ran his hands through his hair, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to stop the scene from reaching a violent conclusion.