Track of the Beast: A Brock Stone Adventure

“I can’t say for certain. He might have Senior Wardens above him. I wouldn’t know. Ultimately, we all take our orders from the Worshipful Master. And don’t bother asking his name. The only rumor I’ve ever heard about him is he’s a rich guy from back East. That’s all I know. I swear it.”

“Are you Freemasons?” Stone asked.

Even in this perilous situation, the pilot let out a braying laugh. “The Freemasons are children playing at a game they don’t understand.”

“Who are you, then?”

Without warning, the pilot threw his head backward. Pain burst across the bridge of Stone’s nose as skull collided with cartilage.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Stone said, blinking away the pain. Unlike himself, the pilot wore a knife at his belt. Stone pulled it free and began sawing at the parachute cords. The man screamed and fought, but Stone was too strong for him. “Don’t feel bad. I don’t know about you, but the gall is my favorite time of the year.”

He severed the last cord and released the pilot. As the man plummeted toward the ground, Stone spread his arms and let the sailsuit arrest his fall. Spotting the Flying Wing, he set his course, braced himself, and fired the rocketboots. As he soared through the air, he had to smile.

“Alex my friend, I will never doubt you again.”

9- The Newspaper

Seattle was not what Stone had expected. He had envisioned a small coastal town, an oasis on the outskirts of the dense forests of the Pacific Northwest. While the oasis analogy might have been apt, it was a far cry from a small town. Though it was no match for the bustling cities of the east, it was most definitely a city.

Alex had been grumpy since their encounter with the fighter. Although his rocketboots had worked remarkably well, they had burned out just as Stone returned to the Flying Wing. As they walked down the streets, his mood brightened and he excitedly pointed out prominent landmarks. Though he had never visited the west coast, he had studied up on their destination.

“That’s Smith Tower,” he said, pointing his hook in the direction of a skyscraper that dominated the skyline. It was topped by a pyramidal spire that shone in the sun. “It stands 484 feet tall. At thirty-eight stories it is the tallest skyscraper in the city.”

“I can see that,” Stone said.

“I would not want to be one of the men who helped build that thing,” Moses said. “If I’m going to be that high in the air, I want wings and rocketboots.”

“It’s one of the tallest skyscrapers outside of New York City,” Alex said, diverting the subject away from the rocketboots. “It’s the tallest building west of the Mississippi.”

“Actually,” Constance said, “it’s now the second-tallest. The Kansas City Power and Light Building overtook it just last year.”

“Interesting,” Alex said. He’d taken a shine to Constance and she seemed to share his interest, though they’d kept their interactions fully above board. “I hope we’ll get to see the Aurora Bridge. It just opened in February and it’s supposed to be a magnificent representation of cantilever and truss construction.”

“It’s also a favorite of suicide jumpers,” Constance said. “Mostly broken-hearted lovers from what I hear.”

“I can’t imagine anyone would ever be so foolish as to break your heart,” Alex teased.

“The newspaper office is just around the corner,” Stone said loudly, cutting off their cloying banter before it could truly get underway. “You did say Trinity planned on visiting here?” he said to Constance.

“She specifically mentioned it during our last phone call.”

Moses excused himself and crossed the street over to a city park where a group of men, working-class judging by their clothing, were gambling with dice. They were mostly white, but a few black and Chinese men were among their number and they invited Moses to join them. Stone smiled ruefully.

The office of the Seattle Spokesman was small, neat, and smelled strongly of ink. A young man in a cheap suit greeted them politely and asked their business.

“Brock Stone to see Mister Griffith.”

“I am Mister Blinn. May I help you?”

“No.” Stone didn’t intend to be rude. He simply saw no point in wasting time. “It is Mister Griffith we need to see.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Mister Blinn,” Constance said gently, nudging her way in front of Stone, “our friend and your colleague in the newspaper industry, Trinity Paige, is missing. We know she had a recent meeting scheduled with Mister Griffith. Did you, by any chance, meet her?”

Blinn’s demeanor suddenly changed. “I remember her. Quite a tomato, that one.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows, but froze under Stone’s cold glare. “I’ll take you to Mister Griffith right away.” He turned and led them through a bright green door into a smoke-filled office.

“There are people here to see you,” Blinn said to the surprised-looking man seated inside.