“This phone records every call by default,” she said. She selected a file and clicked on it. An audio clip began to play.
Travis heard Bethany’s voice first. She started to say hello and then Paige spoke over her, her own speech fast and panicked, struggling for clarity through hyperventilation: “Bethany. Go to my residence. Override for the door is 48481. Open the hard storage in the back wall of the closet, star–7833. The thing inside is one of the entities I was testing, the same as the one I brought to D.C. Take it and get out of Border Town right now. Don’t tell anyone anything. Get somewhere safe and then use the entity. You’ll see what it does, and what you need to do. Whatever you learn from it, just make it public yourself, make it huge, do not go to authorities. Not the president. Not anybody. If you need help, find Travis Chase in Atlanta. Three seventeen Fenlow, apartment five, the name Rob Pullman. Shit, what else . . . ?” Paige stopped to take a deep breath. Then another. In the background Travis heard a sound: running footsteps on pavement.
Bethany’s voice came in on the recording: “What’s happening? Where are you?”
Then Paige cut her off again, shouting. “You can take it through and still come back! You can take it through!”
On the last word something changed. Some expulsion of her breath, as though her body had suddenly moved. Or been moved. Then the recording ended as abruptly as if she’d turned off the phone, though Travis pictured something more severe than that.
The on-ramp to 285 came up on his right. He took the turn going too fast. His concentration wasn’t on the driving.
He looked at Bethany. He waited for her to explain what the hell he’d just heard.
She went back to the directory on her phone and navigated to a new file. Its icon was a symbol of a filmstrip frame. A video clip.
“It was nine minutes after midnight, East Coast time, when Paige called me,” she said. “And I captured this from CNN about an hour later, when I was already on my way here to find you.”
She double-clicked the file, then handed Travis the phone. He propped it on the steering wheel as the video started to play.
News chopper footage. A row of vehicles crippled and burning in the street. Four SUVs jammed together like derailed train cars. The last of them was flipped over on its roof. The caption at the bottom of the screen read: motorcade attacked in washington, d.c.
The shot pushed in tight on one of the vehicles and Travis saw damage that couldn’t be attributed to the flames alone. Massive holes in the metal panels. They could only have been caused by high-powered gunfire. It’d even cut through some of the structural members. Maybe shotgun slugs at close range could do that, but the sheer number of holes ruled that out. Someone had used a heavy automatic weapon on the convoy, probably a .50 caliber. Serious hardware to be lugging around within a few miles of where the president and his family slept.
“I’ve watched the coverage for a few hours now,” Bethany said. “Until I got off the plane here in Atlanta. They’re saying the victims in the motorcade were a mid-level CIA executive and his staff, and that the names may not be released. After a while they started reporting the exact time it happened. A few minutes after midnight. So the times match. And it’s exactly where Paige and the others would’ve been after leaving the meeting, right between the White House and Andrews—”
She cut herself off and looked at him. “I’m sorry, you’re hearing this all out of sequence. I’m not making any sense.”
“You’re fine. Just take it in order. Start at the beginning and tell me what you know.”
She made a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a laugh. Equal parts weariness and frayed nerves.
“What I know won’t take long,” she said.
Chapter Three
Bethany unzipped her backpack and opened it. Travis felt a pocket of dry heat roll out, like she’d opened the door of a toaster oven.
There was a single item in the pack. In the glow of passing streetlights Travis got a sense of the thing. A dark metal cylinder. It was the size and shape of a rolling pin without the handles. There were three buttons running down its length, with symbols engraved into them. Something like hieroglyphs, though not in any human language, Travis was sure.
Next to each of the buttons someone had taped a handwritten label. The three of them read:
ON
OFF
OFF (DETACH/DELAY—93 SEC.)
“This is the entity Paige was talking about in the call,” Bethany said. “The one she had locked in her closet. There’s another one identical to it, which she took to D.C. The two of them came out of the Breach together, like matching handsets for a cordless phone.”
She lifted the entity free of the bag. It didn’t look like it weighed much, by the way she held it.
“Whatever’s going on,” she said, “it all centers around the two entities.”
“What do they do?” Travis said.
“I have no idea.”