Inside a mobile command center, Henry Burke stared intently at a photo on the monitor in front of him. It was a police mug shot of Jack, taken two years earlier. Beside Burke, Pope and Matheson read Jack’s file.
“Jack Bruno,” Matheson said, motioning at the photo. “In and out of juvie and state pens since he was a kid.” He clicked a button on his remote, and a quick series of photos of Jack skimmed across the screen.
“Grew up poor in Midland, Texas,” he continued. “Showed promise driving demolition derby and dirt tracks. Ironically, at sixteen, his parents died in a car wreck.” A handful of newspaper clippings appeared on the screen. A couple had pictures of Jack as a young driver. Others detailed the automobile accident that killed his parents.
Pope picked up the commentary about Jack. “Seventeen, ran away from his foster home. Came to Vegas with hopes of going from stock car to NASCAR. Instead, he found work as a wheelman for Allen Wolfe,Vegas crime boss.”
Burke nodded. As the wheelman, Jack would have driven the getaway car for Wolfe and his crew. That explained why he did so well driving on the highway.
“Last bust, two years ago, grand theft auto,” Pope continued. “Got out and went legit. He’s been driving a cab ever since.”
As Pope finished, Carson hurried into the room. “I just spoke to Dominick Firenze, dispatch at Yellow Cab Taxi,” he informed them.“Bruno took a fare a significant distance out of the city. Dispatcher claims that he’s been unable to make radio contact for several hours.”
“Does the cab have a tracking device?” Burke asked hopefully.
Carson nodded. “Until it stopped transmitting twenty-eight minutes ago. Last location was on train tracks.”
Pope raised an eyebrow. “Interestingly enough, I’ve been monitoring a recent report of a massive explosion on some train tracks.”
All eyes were on Pope.
“A freighter collided with an unidentified object.”
If Burke had been a more emotional man, he would have smiled. Instead, within minutes, the four of them had climbed into a Black Hawk helicopter and were flying toward the site of the train collision.
Unaware of Burke’s approach, Jack stood on the side of the road looking under the hood of his battered taxi. Almost every part of the vehicle was busted. He shook his head as he tried to imagine how he might get the vehicle up and running again. “Couple of kids, big wad of cash, what could go wrong?” he muttered.
In the backseat, Seth and Sara looked almost as bad as the cab. Sara said something under her breath, but Seth signaled her to stay quiet.
“We cannot trust him,” he whispered.
“We must,” Sara responded. “I can feel it.
Still grumbling, Jack got back into the car and slumped behind the wheel.
Sara leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder.“We know you are frustrated, Jack Bruno,” she began.“But we must ask you . . .”
Jack had had enough. He snapped upright and interrupted her right there. “No, no, no,” he said. “No more ‘Jack Bruno’ this and ‘Jack Bruno’ that. I’ve been asking for answers and . . .”
Sara answered his question before he could even ask. “It’s exactly what you’ve been thinking, Jack Bruno.”
Jack flashed an exasperated look.“So now you’re going to tell me exactly what I’ve been thinking?”
Sara nodded. Reading minds was another one of her “talents.” “The Siphon, that spaceship, my brother and I . . . are indeed not from your planet.”
“So that’s it?” Jack said, spinning around to face them. “Mystery solved. You want me to believe that you’re both aliens,” he said slowly.
“It is the truth,” Seth replied.
“You don’t look like aliens,” he said slowly.
Sara flashed Seth a confused look before asking, “What does an alien look like, Jack Bruno?”
A few days of driving people back and forth to the UFO convention had given him more than a few ideas. “You know, an alien. Little green men. Antennae. Laser guns. ‘Take me to your leader, Earthlings’ mumbo jumbo.”
“Mumbo jumbo?” Seth asked, more confused than before.
Sara seemed to understand better. “He requires some proof,” she said.“He thinks we are insulting his intelligence.”
“Well, yeah,” Jack said. “I mean, you don’t just drop the ‘alien’ bomb. I have seen some weird things today, but you can’t expect me to believe . . .”
Before he could continue, loose items from throughout the cab started to lift into the air. Coins, old parking tickets, and an empty coffee cup were all floating around as if they were in outer space. Jack’s mouth dropped open.
“There are things floating around me, right?” he asked, worried that he was losing his mind.
Sara nodded. “I’m telekinetic,” she explained. “I have the ability to move items with my mind.”
“That’s impossible,” Jack said, disbelieving.
“It is quite possible,” Sara answered. “On our planet as well as yours. You don’t do it because you haven’t learned to use your full brain capacity.”
“Maybe I don’t do it,” Jack retorted,“because it’s just creepy! Could you stop that?”
In an instant, everything dropped simultaneously.
Sighing, Jack turned back around. He tried the ignition and after a few coughs, the cab started. Slowly, the taxi started to rattle down the road, it— and Jack—barely keeping it together.
Back at the crash site, flames flickered in the trees alongside the train tracks. A shadowy figure arose from the wreckage of the collision. It was the Siphon. His body was charred, but somehow he had managed to survive. His leg was severely damaged and bent in an unnatural direction. He straightened it, apparently unbothered by any pain. Then a laser emerged from among the weapons on his arm. He used the laser to burn the armor and flesh around his wound and melt it all back together.
Suddenly a noise from above caught his attention. It was the sound of a helicopter’s rotors. The Siphon slinked back into the shadows to keep from being spotted.
A searchlight from the helicopter moved across the scene of the collision, as Burke and his team surveyed the wreckage.
“Train engineer is banged up but alive,” Carson told the rest of the team. “Last thing he saw in the tunnel was our taxi and a set of flying lights. He figured it was a small plane.”
“Small plane?” Pope asked, his curiosity piqued. “You think there’s a chance they have a second spacecraft?”
Matheson shook his head. “You have the ability to fly at the speed of light, yet you use a beat-up cab?”
Burke had seen enough.“Secure the site. Catalog every piece of debris. I want to know what’s train, what’s cab, and . . . what’s left.”
“Roger that,” Carson replied. “We’ve set up a trace on Bruno’s cell phone. He uses it, we’ll be there before he can hang up.”
Burke nodded, confident that the chase was nearing its end.