Reversion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 3) by Jay J. Falconer Page A
Authors: Jay J. Falconer
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latest draft of lab expansion contracts. He pulled the paperwork from his briefcase, seeing a cover sheet of paper with notes on it from his paralegal secretary, Krystal Richardson. Her handwritten note identified three new sections needing his approval. Every few minutes, he checked the rearview mirror, looking for a black SUV that should arrive any moment. He hoped the buyer would be on time today, not like the last time when the man was over an hour late.
Larson never would’ve chosen this meeting location, especially since he was without his cell phone. Nobody knew where he was or who he was meeting with, and that was by design. Of course, even if he wanted to let someone in on his illegal activities, he didn’t know who he was meeting with. His buyer was a ghost—some anonymous corporate spy, who paid him well to leak technical specs and project information from the university. Three small purchases thus far, but this time was wholly different. Today was about a life-changing amount of money, meaning he could pay off his mounting debt and right his financial ship. Possibly even retire, if all went according to plan.
He looked around, checking the surroundings in all four directions. No cars, no homes, no signs of life. He was alone—utterly alone. If his car broke down, or if this meeting went sideways, nobody would find him for hours, possibly days. But he didn’t have a choice in the matter. The buyer insisted he come alone and without his cell phone whenever they met.
Larson assumed the buyer chose this spot for both its remoteness, and to take advantage of the cover provided by the railway overpass. Plus there were the regional power lines that ran parallel to the train tracks. Their massive electrical field should scramble any remote listening devices pointed in their direction.
The buyer’s attention to detail was impressive, but this clandestine meeting still made him nervous. An inner battle was raging between his military training and the money he was going to be paid. For a few moments, he considered turning around and heading back to town, but the piles of cash he was about to receive won the argument. They convinced his inner marine to ignore the obvious risk and complete the exchange.
He had seven kids to put through college, and even though he was paid handsomely by the university for his legal skills, his lifestyle and family were far more expensive than he could afford. Plus, he couldn’t say no to his wife or kids, so that left him only one choice: earn some serious cash on the side. Besides, it wasn’t like he was committing treason or selling secrets to the Russians. All he was doing today was sharing schematics for an experimental reactor. A reactor that would probably never work because it was designed and built by a pair of grubby faced youngsters in one of the campus labs.
He exhaled, then continued reading the expansion agreements. He circled a few sentences with his fountain pen for Krystal to change, then left her handwritten notes in the margin of the pages. She was a proven assistant, though she didn’t always spellcheck like she should before handing the document to him for review.
Ten minutes passed before something caught his eye—a reflection in his car’s side mirror. He studied the image, then realized someone was approaching, but it wasn’t a black SUV. It was a black four-door car with a light bar mounted across the top and twin push bars sticking out from the front bumper. The car was traveling in the right-hand lane when its lights started flashing red and blue. Seconds later, a siren chirped twice.
Larson put his seatbelt on and started the car, waiting to see what happened next.
The police cruiser slowed its approach and pulled alongside his Lexus. It stopped, and the passenger-side window rolled down. Inside was an overweight female cop—Hispanic.
Larson rolled his window down and leaned through the opening, consciously wanting the officer to get a good look
Larson never would’ve chosen this meeting location, especially since he was without his cell phone. Nobody knew where he was or who he was meeting with, and that was by design. Of course, even if he wanted to let someone in on his illegal activities, he didn’t know who he was meeting with. His buyer was a ghost—some anonymous corporate spy, who paid him well to leak technical specs and project information from the university. Three small purchases thus far, but this time was wholly different. Today was about a life-changing amount of money, meaning he could pay off his mounting debt and right his financial ship. Possibly even retire, if all went according to plan.
He looked around, checking the surroundings in all four directions. No cars, no homes, no signs of life. He was alone—utterly alone. If his car broke down, or if this meeting went sideways, nobody would find him for hours, possibly days. But he didn’t have a choice in the matter. The buyer insisted he come alone and without his cell phone whenever they met.
Larson assumed the buyer chose this spot for both its remoteness, and to take advantage of the cover provided by the railway overpass. Plus there were the regional power lines that ran parallel to the train tracks. Their massive electrical field should scramble any remote listening devices pointed in their direction.
The buyer’s attention to detail was impressive, but this clandestine meeting still made him nervous. An inner battle was raging between his military training and the money he was going to be paid. For a few moments, he considered turning around and heading back to town, but the piles of cash he was about to receive won the argument. They convinced his inner marine to ignore the obvious risk and complete the exchange.
He had seven kids to put through college, and even though he was paid handsomely by the university for his legal skills, his lifestyle and family were far more expensive than he could afford. Plus, he couldn’t say no to his wife or kids, so that left him only one choice: earn some serious cash on the side. Besides, it wasn’t like he was committing treason or selling secrets to the Russians. All he was doing today was sharing schematics for an experimental reactor. A reactor that would probably never work because it was designed and built by a pair of grubby faced youngsters in one of the campus labs.
He exhaled, then continued reading the expansion agreements. He circled a few sentences with his fountain pen for Krystal to change, then left her handwritten notes in the margin of the pages. She was a proven assistant, though she didn’t always spellcheck like she should before handing the document to him for review.
Ten minutes passed before something caught his eye—a reflection in his car’s side mirror. He studied the image, then realized someone was approaching, but it wasn’t a black SUV. It was a black four-door car with a light bar mounted across the top and twin push bars sticking out from the front bumper. The car was traveling in the right-hand lane when its lights started flashing red and blue. Seconds later, a siren chirped twice.
Larson put his seatbelt on and started the car, waiting to see what happened next.
The police cruiser slowed its approach and pulled alongside his Lexus. It stopped, and the passenger-side window rolled down. Inside was an overweight female cop—Hispanic.
Larson rolled his window down and leaned through the opening, consciously wanting the officer to get a good look
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