Unknown 9 by Layton Green (e reader txt) 📗

removed her boots, tossing them into the street. Now secure in her escape, she sped through the labyrinthine gypsy quarter and then alongside the whitewashed caves of Sacromonte, far from the prying eyes of security cameras, before she climbed into the desolate foothills of the Sierra Nevada and disappeared.

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Two days of convalescence at Anandamitra Guesthouse had a dual effect on Andie. After her long walks in the jungle and lazy afternoons sipping coffee on the patio, surrounded by the glory of nature and not in mortal peril, she felt more relaxed than she had in weeks, maybe even years.

Yet Andie had never been good at relaxing. Her idea of a vacation was not lying on a beach like a slug for a week, but a trip to a new foreign city, walking until her feet ached, exploring an unfamiliar culture and cultivating as many new experiences as possible.

She appreciated what the unplugged tranquility of the guesthouse was doing for her soul. If circumstances were different, maybe this was a place she would come to recharge for short periods.

But her mother and Dr. Corwin needed her. Who knew how far the Ascendants, with their vast resources, had progressed on the Star Phone puzzle. It might already be solved.

Rajani wanted to attempt another hypnosis session, but Andie kept refusing, wary of another trigger. She was still more afraid of her visions than curious. Until she knew more about the shadow world, or found someone who did, she wasn’t going back. At least not by choice.

After a morning run to the village and back on a well-worn trail, she cooled off in the wading pool, then curled up on a divan in the pagoda. Terribly frustrated by the delay, she hovered over her afternoon tea while Cal used the phone for research.

Despite their many attempts to reach Zawadi, there was still no word from her.

Still no way forward.

Shirtless, holding a Kingfisher lager in one hand, Cal relaxed in a hammock in his treetop bungalow and waited for Dane to join him online.

I could get used to this. Living on someone else’s credit card, free beer and catered meals, even a laundry service. Now if only there was a 7-Eleven and a movie theater, and someone moved the Staples Center to the jungle…

When Cal checked the dark web onion address again, a message from Dane awaited.

You there, kemosabe?

Cal set his beer down, wishing he was the type of person who could be happy in an unchanging paradise. Maybe he could, if the world was a just place for everyone. Just knocking one back and pondering my life span.

You’re about that age. Impending mortality is 50% of all midlife crises. The other 50 is expectation vs. reality.

That’s deep, dude. Anything new?

Plasmek and Quasar are just as tough to crack as PanSphere and Aegis. More layers than a California fruitcake. Online security ultra-tight. The employee profiles seem normal, so my guess is only the top brass is involved. I’ll keep trying but don’t hold your breath.

It’s there somewhere. Keep at it.

Easy for the guy in hiding to say.

You’re right. I’m sorry. THANK YOU.

Sefa hasn’t slept well in weeks.

Give her some Ambien.

She’s a Zen Buddhist, man. Clean living. Listen, I did find one thing. It’s kinda interesting and kinda fucking weird.

Cal perked up. That sounds par for the course.

Yeah. Exactly. So I hacked your Twitch account and have been monitoring it.

Uh, thanks?

Don’t mention it. Do you know what a wayback machine is?

Of course. I’m an investigative journalist.

Well, there’s the Wayback Machine, started by a nonprofit in San Fran, and there is a wayback machine, a generic term for an imitation device that performs a web crawl of digital archives. I wrote my own code for a scraper so I could pull up deleted comments on your show after your final broadcast.

That’s pretty cool. And?

I didn’t get them all, and someone killed my program halfway through, which makes me nervous for realz. But I read this comment by a listener called 2DanKnoxvegas. He wanted you to know he has an extremely rare condition called Kleine Levin syndrome. It’s a sleep disorder that causes memory loss, hallucinations, hypersomnia, and altered perceptions of reality.

Cal got a chill at the description of the disorder. That sounds a hell of a lot like Andie’s visions.

About two decades ago, 2Dan went to see a doctor in the Bay Area who specialized in rare conditions like Kleine Levin.

What kind of doctor?

A neuropsychologist. During one of the tests, 2Dan was awake when the doctor thought he was asleep. He overheard a conversation about his condition and the condition of some of the doctor’s other patients. He thought it was inappropriate and stopped his sessions. But guess what else he heard on that phone call?

Odds on the Lakers-Warriors? Cal said weakly.

Both the LYS and the Ascendants were mentioned. 2Dan had buried those names, but when he heard them on your show, it sparked something. Specificity of powerful associative memory and all that.

Who was the shrink?

Guy named Waylan Taylor.

What do you know about him? Where is he now?

He dropped off the radar a decade ago. But you can bet your ass I’m using my wayback machine to find him.

After closing the chat, Cal swung off the hammock and paced the little balcony, suddenly alert. Though not what he’d expected to hear from Dane, he knew from past experience that random little nuggets like these could lead to the unraveling of a whole spool of thread.

Because no crime was perfect, no conspiracy foolproof.

No one—no matter how big the broom—swept up all the crumbs.

After lunch on their third day at the guesthouse, Andie sipped fresh date juice on the patio as she watched a red-naped ibis stalk the koi pond. It would have been an extraordinary sight if Andie had not seen it twice already that morning. Like everything else at the bucolic guesthouse, the appearance of the beautiful bird had started to cloy, an affront to Andie’s