End Game (The Genesis Project Series Book 3) by Greg Van Arsdale

Author:Greg Van Arsdale [Van Arsdale, Greg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-03-11T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

In the real world

When Mike LeGuerre pushed through the revolving doors of the VRBuilding, he noticed the black van forcing its way into the thick downtown traffic. Car horns blared as angry drivers slammed on brakes, gesturing with the city’s fluent attitude at being so rudely cut off.

To his left, a young man in a yellow VW Bug pulled up to the red and white striped garage gate of the VRBuilding. The security guard strolled casually to the car, a clipboard tucked under one arm. Mike recognized the kid as a college co-ed he screened for employment the previous day.

“You!” he bellowed, his powerful voice carrying over the afternoon traffic.

Both driver and guard turned as one to watch the giant sprint toward them. Mike’s polo shirt stretched thin across a heaving chest, his thick legs pumping hard. But it was the .45-automatic in his hand that caught the young man’s bulging eyes.

“Get out of the car!” LeGuerre ordered.

The co-ed’s shaking hands fumbled with the seat belt as he hurried to obey. “Wh . . . what’s going on? What did I do wrong?” he stammered.

Mike pulled him unceremoniously to his feet. “Nothing. I’m commandeering your vehicle.”

“You’re wha . . .” The kid spun around. “You can’t—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring it back in one piece.”

Mike grimaced as he mashed his massive frame into the car’s cramped interior. Groping beneath the seat, he found the lever and moved the seat as far back as it would go, but it wasn’t enough. His knees still hit the plain, metal dash. His head bowed forward, pressed hard against the ceiling.

The young man winced at the sound of gears grinding into reverse as Mike jerked the tiny car into the bustling stream of traffic. More tires screeched behind him. Two taxis skidded sideways in a desperate effort to avoid a rear-end collision, obscuring everything behind them in a cloud of foul-smelling burning rubber.

Mike’s huge feet searched blindly for the thin clutch. Horns honked incessantly. Mike slammed first gear home and popped the clutch. The ungainly Bug lurched forward, caught up quick, and then zoomed ahead. The strained putt of the 4-cylinder engine was soon lost in the rumble of the downtown traffic.

The black van was nowhere to be seen. Undaunted, Mike kept the gas pedal hard against the floor. He came to a screeching stop at every intersection, searching the avenues left and right, ignoring the cars swerving around him, their horns blaring. After the third rendition of this tactic, he glimpsed the tell-tale dish antenna three blocks down. The van had stopped at a red light, straight ahead.

Mike smiled and eased the car into the flowing traffic. The van’s driver seemed unconcerned. He took his time leaving town. He slowed for the next yellow light long before it turned red and Mike pulled over to the right lane, staying a block behind so as not to be conspicuous. When the light changed, the van turned right. A few seconds later, Mike followed.

They drove for an hour.

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