The Eighth Day

Chapter 23

Chad Dodd's footsteps echoed along a sterile concrete hallway beneath a ceiling that glowed with the same soft white light as his office. Ahead, the corridor opened into an oblong chamber trisected by rows of unfinished pillars. At the far side, the director's receptionist sat behind a semicircular desk covered in videos and electronic files.

She glanced at Chad as he approached, and he flashed a weak smile. "Hey, Regina. Is he in?"

Her gaze flickered sideways toward the gray door on her left. She dragged a digital calendar across her desk and studied it. "He has some time available later this afternoon."

"This is urgent."

With a sigh, she shook her head. "Always is." She placed a finger against her earpiece. "Sir, Mr. Dodd is here to see you. Yes, sir. He says it's urgent." She winced and glared at Chad. "Yes, sir. I will." She lowered her hand and flashed a sardonic smile. "The director will see you now."

The door whisked open, sliding into a recess in the wall. Chad stepped inside.

The director's office was similar to his own but larger, with several additional multi-touch interfaces mounted on the walls and a much longer conference table surrounded by extravagant leather chairs. The director sat behind a dark oak desk that contrasted with the bleak decor, a man of indeterminable age with rough, tanned skin lined from years of hard experience. His shaved head gleamed beneath the ceiling's glow.

Chad strode forward and stopped in front of the desk. The director buried himself in a document displayed on its surface, some sort of report or memorandum, swiping from one page to the next as he read through its contents.

A trickle of sweat ran down Chad's brow. He resisted the urge to brush it away. Instead, he remained motionless, his hands clasped behind his back.

Finally, the director tilted his head to one side and fixed Chad with a cold, blue-eyed stare. "This better be good."

Chad swallowed. "Echo-7 evaded us again in Oklahoma. We lost two more agents. He stopped at a charging station in—"

The director cut him off. "What? Did you misplace them?"

"Sir?"

"The agents. You said we lost them."

"What I meant to say was—"

The director placed his palms on the desk and leaned forward. "Say what you mean, Dodd. Don't talk like they're your goddamn slippers. Walter Lee and Rob Olson. Rob's married and has two boys. Am I right?"

Chad's cheeks flushed with heat. He nodded.

The director made a vague waving motion with one hand. "Go on."

Chad told him how they'd tracked Echo-7 to the charging station. "Lee and Olson were the only agents close enough to intercept. But when they tried to neutralize Echo-7, he disarmed Olson and shot them both. Afterward, he took the cash from the register and, uh, used a box cutter to remove Olson's thumb."

"Jesus."

"He left his truck and used the thumb to take their car. He's headed east on I-44. Should be near Tulsa by now. And there was a security camera in the store."

"Tell me we have the feed."

Chad shook his head. "They're running it pretty much twenty-four seven on all the major news sites. You can watch the whole thing online."

"Splendid." The word was a flat tire.

Chad said, "I'm still not sure where he's headed, but we'll track him until he stops for the night. Take him while he's asleep."

"Good. And just so we're clear, no one moves in until we've got every team in a two-hundred-mile radius on this."

Chad opened his mouth to protest, but the director cut him off with a wave. "Yeah, yeah. I know. They got other fish to fry, other irons in the fire, other plots and plans on their hands. But I don't give two shits if they're in the middle of stopping the next Cuban Missile Crisis or giving the Secretary of Defense a hand job. Just do it. You know what happens if Joe Public gets wind of this son of a bitch. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Good. Make it happen. Now get the hell out of here."