Page 31 of The Vigilante's Lover
I pick up what looks like a thick piece of cellophane with a black band along one edge. My fingers graze the surface and several icons light up. It’s the latest model of an electronic skeleton key. Sam was still working out the bugs in the prototype when I entered prison. Looks like he finished it while I was gone. Hopefully. I slip it into a hidden pocket in the lining of my jacket.
Next I put a tiny, delicate bit of filament in my ear. On its own it acts as a short-range hearing enhancement device, but paired to my Blackphone it can act as a remote earpiece and radio scanner.
I carefully check the knife sheath along my arm. It’s highly unlikely they’ll let me keep it, but it is an acceptable weapon inside a silo for a Vigilante.
“Let’s go,” I say and close the trunk.
Mia follows without a word. I maneuver her in front of me to keep an eye on both her and our path to the silo.
When we’re a decent distance from the car, I punch a button on the key chain and one of the tires deflates.
Mia gasps. “What did you do that for?”
“To make it appear as though a normal civilian has left it due to a flat.”
“Ohhhh. So they won’t take it.”
“Exactly.”
“But how will we get away?”
I click the button a second time, and the tire inflates instantly.
“I need one of those,” she says.
I deflate the tire once more. While Mia stares at her shoes, I toss the key chain in a tree. Can’t have them confiscating that.
Mia takes an uncertain step. “Is it far?” she asks, snatching at my hand as she makes her first hard stumble in the underbrush.
“A bit.”
She starts getting her footing better as we walk. She’s doing much better by the time we make the turn toward the silo entrance, and the gravel is replaced by an empty stretch of asphalt.
“Wow,” she says, slowing down to look.
The silo is buried in the side of a low hill, almost entirely concrete. It housed missiles during the Cold War, but once it was abandoned, like many of the silos all over the world, the Vigilantes staked their claim to it. These shared spaces are part of the few tenuous links between the traditional governments of the various nations and the Vigilante network.
We approach the looming concrete walls that flank an enormous set of metal doors. The exterior appears abandoned, choked with brush andsilted with layers of dirt.
We are still fifty yards out when the doors slide open. The leaves flutter as a whoosh of air exits the facility. Mia halts, out of fear, possibly. Or ready to run. I grasp her hand tightly. She won’t escape me now.
Two men step from the door. One is dressed in a brown blazer over blue jeans. His walk is focused but unhurried, someone who knows the drill.
The other wears running skins and a body-hugging long-sleeved top. His cut muscles are discernible even from this distance, and his posture speaks of arrogance.
They wait for us to approach. Neither openly carries a weapon, but I have no doubt they are both armed. I’m sure Running Man thinks himself a master martial artist as well. I pay him little mind. It’s obvious that Mr. Blazer outranks him. When we’re about five yards away, Mr. Blazer calls out.
“Jax De Luca,” he says. “You and your companion will come with us for security screening. If you have any weapons, please display them now. Failure to comply will be seen as hostile intent, and we will respond with force.”
Running Man purses his lips and shakes his hands to the side as if loosening up. He reminds me of a cocky cage fighter before he gets his face pummeled by an overpowering opponent.
I would never be so foolish as to bring a substantial weapon to a silo. I flick my wrist, activating the holster to drop the knife into my palm. It winks in the sun as I hold it up.
Mia lets go of my hand. “You brought a knife!” she hisses.
“All right,” says Mr. Blazer. “Come with us. Please keep the knife in view.”
Mia huffs in surprise that they allow me to keep the blade. This makes me wonder if she’s been in a silo after all. It’s impossible to be Vigilante trained without living in one for a time. She should know the basic rules.
