October Skies

By Don Rehmel

With the flick of a wrist, Ian Michaels throws a leather satchel containing what could be his greatest discovery out the window, just moments before a horrific car crash leaves him clinging to life. The only witness to the accident, Celeste Noel, watches in fear as two men search through the wreckage but walk away empty-handed, without even a glance at the lifeless driver. In the days that follow, Celeste, an average fourteen-year-old girl and quite content with life in her small town, is forced to follow her instincts as she hunts for answers to the growing mystery of the driver and his pursuerswhen she isnt even sure of the questions. An examination of the wrecked vehicle and the drivers hospital room prove worthless in supplying answers, for both Celeste and the two ex-marines turned corporate problem-solvers. Any early sense of adventure is quickly replaced with fear as Celeste struggles to stay one step ahead of the two unknown men in a race for the missing satchel, that eventually turns into a race for her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781449732219

Don Rehmel

Don Rehmel has written poetry, one-act plays, and now a novel. First published while in college, Don has enjoyed the personal satisfaction that comes with writing for many years. Currently living in Lexington, Kentucky, Don also participates in local community theater productions and coaches youth lacrosse.

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Copyright © 2011 Don Rehmel.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-3221-9 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-3222-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-3223-3 (hbk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011961003

WestBow Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Printed in the United States of America

WestBow Press rev. date: 11/28/2011

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

For Little Pup …

… to Heaven and back

Chapter One

The gas pedal was pinned against the floor by a tensely flexed foot inside a Saucony running shoe worn out from miles of pavement. Trees and fences blurred together into one fuzzy image as they flashed by. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his back despite the cool fifty degree temperatures outside. His heart was still experiencing the odd mix of lightness and pounding as a result of racing through a stop sign a few miles back. Still, his foot never left the accelerator. He didn’t even consider slowing down. He wouldn’t consider it. He couldn’t.

This exact moment in Ian’s life mirrored the man exactly. His casual dress hid from view the competitive, driven man underneath; the two attributes more than anything else that had carried him to the top of the video game world. Approaching forty-five, Ian was an old man in an industry that consistently found the freshest ideas in the bright, young newcomers. Newcomers that came and went so fast that careers were counted in months, not years.

Ian was the exception. His career in the video game world now spanned nearly twenty years and his ideas were as fresh and innovative as any on the market. Even though many considered him a ground breaking genius, Ian’s success was more the result of gritty determination than God given talent. In the process of creating a single game, he would throw away more ideas and more hours of programming code than entire design teams at other companies. It was this constant turnover of ideas that in the past twelve months had birthed the contents of the leather satchel in the seat next to Ian, and it was the reason that Ian was now speeding down a narrow, rural Kentucky road at 90 miles an hour. It was also the reason that the black sport utility vehicle in his rear view mirror was racing at the same speed.

And gaining.

Ian had no idea who was behind him, but he knew what they wanted. For the past few days, he had had the sense that he was being watched. No proof, just an unsettled feeling. The proof was there now and it was all too real. Whoever they were, Ian wanted to know two things; how they found him and how they knew why he was here.

The men in the black SUV had located him earlier in the morning when Ian activated the navigation system on his Cadillac STS sports sedan. That signal was also received by a sophisticated piece of surveillance equipment no bigger than a cell phone and in seconds the driver of the black Suburban knew the location of his target. And in just minutes the two men inside had a visual on Ian’s dark blue vehicle. But Ian’s hunters didn’t know what was in the satchel. Their mission was to just retrieve the contents in exchange for a large sum of money. They were nothing more than hired guns, very well paid hired guns.

Pushing the accelerator up to 95 mph, Ian knew he couldn’t outrun the large, black SUV. Sure, with a 4.6 liter V-8 engine and 320 horsepower under the hood, the Cadillac STS was much faster than the GMC Suburban, but the other driver was obviously more skilled at maneuvering at these speeds. Every time Ian looked in the rearview mirror his unknown pursuers were closer. Something had to be done. He would rather see the contents of the satchel thrown off a bridge than to let someone steal it.

His mind clicked at the sound of the word. Throw! That was it!

The timing would have to be nearly perfect, but it was the only option. Ian let go of the steering wheel with his left hand and placed his fingers on the power window switch for the front passenger side window. His throbbing fingers evidence of how tightly he had been gripping the steering wheel. Not daring to take his eyes off the road, Ian pulled back on the switch with his middle finger. The window began to move down, letting in a wave of cool, crisp air.

Up ahead the road made a sharp bend to the right around a group of trees and along a fence row. For a short instant Ian marveled at how undisturbed the rural countryside looked. It was a pure American setting worthy of a Norman Rockwell painting.

The curve was quickly approaching and the black SUV would have to slow down or risk the very real possibility of a roll over. The timing would be tight, but for just a second or two, Ian’s car should be out of sight. Ian placed his right hand on the leather satchel and with his left, he pulled hard on the steering wheel. The car squealed through the turn. Just as he hoped, the black SUV began to fade back in the rear view mirror. Anticipating the moment when he would be out of sight, he picked up the satchel.

Patience, not too soon, he said to himself.

Now! Now was the moment. Ian flung the satchel as hard as he could through the open window. The satchel spun through the air like an odd floppy Frisbee. Using the rearview mirror, Ian watched it fly through the air, praying that it would hit the ground before the black SUV cleared the curve.

The blast of a horn forced his eyes back to the road in front of him. It took a moment for Ian to realize he had drifted over the center line. He was now driving in the wrong lane and facing the dirty, black grill of a flatbed truck loaded with bales of hay coming from the opposite direction. His muscles flushed with nervous energy, Ian pulled hard to the right on the steering wheel. Too hard. He cleared the bus, but the right side of the car dipped off of the pavement and into a drainage ditch that ran parallel to the road.

Back in the black SUV the driver hit his brakes as the car in front of him swerved hard to the right. He and the man with him watched as the driver of the car struggled to regain control of his vehicle and get it back on the road. It was obvious to both that the driver was failing miserably.

Ian also knew he was in trouble. The right side of the car had become stuck in the ditch and he was no longer able to control the direction of the car. Ian slammed hard into the driver side door as the car jerked violently. However, that jolt was nothing compared to the one that caused the car to come to a sudden and brutal stop. In an instant, the windshield disappeared behind the airbag and a cloud of white powder exploded as the airbag deployed. Ian never saw the eighty year old oak tree that ended the short but wild ride. Nor did he see the steering wheel when it impacted with the center of his forehead as the car came to an abrupt stop. Ian opened his eyes, but just for a moment and then blacked out.

The flatbed truck was long past by the time Ian met his fate with the oak tree. So when the black SUV slowly approached the scene there wasn’t a car on the road or a person to be seen. Pulling up behind Ian’s car, the driver carefully positioned his tires to line up with the ruts made by the Cadillac. Stopping about a car’s length behind the wreck, two men exited the SUV. With speed and precision they moved straight for the mangled mess that was Ian’s car. Never uttering a word to each other, the men made efficient use of time and movement as they thoroughly searched the car. Neither man gave Ian’s bloody face and limp body a second glance.

An internal alarm simultaneously went off in both men. They knew their time was up. Despite the unsuccessful search, they couldn’t risk staying any longer. They looked at each other, acknowledging their failure and headed back toward their vehicle. Not a word had been spoken. Placing the SUV in reverse and carefully backing up and onto the road, they drove away; leaving behind just a single set of tire tracks leading from the road to the wreck.

n n n n n n n

What a perfect day for a ride. The crisp, cool air and the bright warmth of the sun blended together to create a morning that demanded Celeste spend it outside. Usually, a beautiful Thursday like this would have been wasted with a forty-five minute ride on a school bus. But this week was fall break. That meant no school, instead there were daily, long rides with her horse, Smoke.

Celeste would rather spend time with her horse than with anyone else she knew. She had no interest in pop stars or celebrities like most of her friends and she wasn’t really all that concerned with fashion. A pair of jeans, a soft over sized sweatshirt and riding boots were her idea of a great outfit. Thanks to her Mom and Dad, she was more familiar with classic black and white movies than with current showings at the theater. She would rather read a book than watch television. But still, she would rather go for a ride, than do anything else.

Climbing up into the saddle was like a time machine for Celeste. The instant her feet slid into the stirrups, she was transported to a world of her own making and her world was her favorite place. That feeling was strongest when she was able to escape under a cloudless, pale blue sky. A day just like today when the sound of cars and people were absorbed by the open sky. Any problems or teenage stress melted into the soft grass. It was paradise and she was alone with her horse, her friend.

Minutes after leaving the barn, neither the warm rays of the sun or the occasional chilling fall breeze could penetrate into her private world of daydreams. There were times when Celeste would go for a ride and literally lose hours at a time in this world of her own. Of course, it usually happened at the most inopportune moments, like when she was supposed to be home at a certain time and more than once she had felt Dad’s wrath for not having her chores done on time. She didn’t even mind getting caught in the rain because she didn’t see a storm moving in. It was all worth it to Celeste. Surely the world would be a better place if everyone was able to escape on the back of a horse.

Daydreaming had left Celeste completely deaf and blind to the world around her. No world other than her own existed … until Smoke, who was still very much in the real world, forcefully reared up on his hind legs, instinctively reacting to the sounds of squealing tires and crushing metal that shattered the cool silence of the morning.

Caught completely off guard by Smoke’s sudden movement, Celeste’s feet flew backward out of the stirrups and the rein jerked loose from her hands. Arms flailing and grasping at the air, hoping to find a leather rein flapping loose. Celeste was reacting with her own instinctive move for survival, trying in vain to find some way to slow her rapid decent to the ground.

Her body was totally out of control and her mind was racing in two directions at once. The rational, logical side demanded to know what had just happened and struggled to understand why she was now floating in the air. At the same time, the emotional side was running purely on fear and the surge of adrenaline that screamed through her body. Sheer terror compelled her to find a way to regain control and avoid the serious injury that would surely result if she failed to do so. The only thing Celeste was sure of was that gravity was pulling her down to the hard ground much too quickly.

Sliding down Smoke’s back her right hand made contact with something. Automatically, her fingers grabbed and clutched at the object before her brain could even determine that it was the front edge of her saddle. Her finger tips were just able to wrap around the braided leather, but it was enough to slow down her momentum just a little, allowing her left arm to swing around and make a blind grasp at the saddle horn.

Celeste was no longer falling, but she was now face down on Smoke’s back just behind the saddle with her feet swinging about loosely behind her. She squeezed her arms against the sides of the saddle to keep from sliding to either the left or right. Despite all the excitement around her and the fact that her entire body and mind were focused on not falling, somewhere in the back of her mind ran the unlikely thought that if she did fall it would ruin an otherwise beautiful day. Not to be distracted by this odd, out of place thought, her mind and body focused on one last desperate move for survival.

She let go of the saddle edge with her right hand and with her left pulled hard against the saddle horn. The simultaneous completion of these two acts pulled Celeste’s body forward to where her face was now in the middle of the saddle. The back edge landed hard against her chest, causing her to gasp for air. It was pure luck that her right hand was able to find the loose rein as it bounced through the air.

Celeste wrapped her hand around the rein and hung on tight. The weight of her body tugged the leather taught against Smoke’s head. When Smoke felt the reins snap tight, hours of riding time led him to believe that Celeste was bringing him under control. Even though the reality was that at this very moment she was not even close to being in control of her own body, let alone the 800 pounds of horse flesh beneath her. Smoke, however, responded loyally. Understanding the role of both horse and rider, he snapped back to his normal self and with all four hooves on the ground, began trotting at a mild pace trying to burn off his own rush of adrenaline.

Celeste’s face was taking a beating against the back of the saddle as Smoke trotted along. Unable to get her legs under control, she found it extremely difficult to pull herself up and over the saddle, but after much effort and several failed attempts; Celeste eventually was able to situate herself on the saddle again. Both horse and rider were gasping for air as if they had each been running at full speed for several minutes; when in reality the whole event had taken less sixty seconds.

Placing her feet in the stirrups, it was only then that Celeste was able to look around to try and see what had spooked her horse. However, before her eyes could find the cause, her nose reacted to the distinctive smell of radiator fluid, which she knew from hanging out in the garage with Dad, filling the air. The smell triggered a déjà vu moment. In an instant, Celeste’s mind recalled the sounds that had escaped her only moments ago. The mental echo that recounted the harsh impact of car on tree was enough to make her jump slightly in the saddle. Reaching down, Celeste gave Smoke a reassuring pat on the side of his neck, because now she understood why her friend responded the way that he had.

Her eyes followed the source of the smell toward the road and up in front of her, where they landed on two men exiting a black SUV. They were moving straight toward a mangled mess of car that Celeste had somehow failed to notice. Both men wore identical clothing – dark gray polo shirts, black cargo pants tucked into the top of black combat boots and black gloves. Their movements were nearly identical as well. Strong strides and eyes zeroed in on the wreck, they moved with quick and focused purpose. Immediately Celeste sensed that the men were not there to help.

Unsure of what was going on, but too scared to move closer, Celeste gently guided Smoke under a large willow tree along the fence row and behind the SUV. Not exactly sure why she was hiding, Celeste was grateful that the drooping branches offered her the perfect cover to watch but not be seen. From this vantage point, she was almost completely hidden from them, but still able to watch their movements.

She watched in amazement at the realization that her initial assumption was correct. The two men did nothing to help the driver. Celeste could see the man through the opening that once held the now shattered rear window. His body, held in place by the seat belt, hung awkwardly between the steering wheel and the back of the seat - almost as if he was floating in mid air. Neither man gave the driver so much as a glance, their purposed activity a stark contrast to the lifeless driver.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the two men, Celeste watched closely, astounded at how efficient and fast they moved. It was obvious that they were looking for something. Whatever it was, she had a hard time believing it was more valuable than a human life. Still, the two men totally ignored the badly wounded man behind the wheel.

It took less than two minutes for the men to complete their search of the front of the car. Without any noticeable communication they both stepped back from the wrecked vehicle, only to resume the search again. The man on the driver’s side took a step to his right and grabbed the rear door with both hands. In her hiding spot beneath the willow Celeste cringed at the harsh sound of metal scraping on metal as he forced open the badly misshapen door. She watched the stocky