Read Online Olympus Device 2: The Olympus Device Book Two by Joe Nobody - Free Book Online
Authors: Joe Nobody
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure
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smoothly into the ignition. The tank was even full. After retrieving the rail gun and his bag, he secured them to the seat with a bungee cord from the workbench. He fired up the engine, its smooth purr reassuring.
It had been decades since he’d ridden a motorcycle, images of an old dirt bike and roaming the hills of West Texas filling his mind for a brief moment. “I hope it’s like a bicycle , and you never forget,” he whispered. Donning the helmet would even provide a bit of a disguise.
He stepped toward the controls, intending to hit the door’s button when another thought occurred to him. Remembering the emergency release, he pulled the big door open and then pushed the idling bike into the driveway. A few seconds later, the garage was sealed up tight behind him. If no one were home, it would be a while before the cops found the rental. Time. Precious time.
He wobbled the handlebars a bit as he rolled down the driveway, almost letting the machine fall over before he got the feel of it. The bike’s massive engine felt strong as he accelerated down the street.
“He couldn’t have just disappe ared into thin air,” Shultz remarked to his driver, his head scanning right and left as they slowly rolled through the suburban streets. “There’s no way he could have gotten out of this subdivision.”
“There are 30 patrol cars searching th is neighborhood,” the driver responded, “In addition, we’ve got every exit closed down tight. We’ll find him, sir.”
Shultz reached for his cell phone. A few moments later, a voice answered the call. “I need a drone over our location… pronto.”
Dusty took it easy, not wanting to be noticed, and trying to re-learn his limited skills on a motorbike. The community was massive, block after block of upper middleclass homes that seemed to stretch forever. Twice his hand reached for the rail gun’s case, an approaching police cruiser causing fear to fill his stomach. But both times the cop had passed by, the officer trying to drive and search both sides of the street for the rental car.
He worked the motorcycle in generally the same direction, worried that someone would find or report the rental in the garage. He needed distance. He needed to get away from what certainly would be significant numbers of law enforcement converging on the neighborhood.
Sto pping at an intersection, he noted what had to be a major roadway to the right. There was an exit.
But the flashing blue lights of three police cars blocked the road, the dark shapes of uniformed officers clear in the distance. There were a few cars waiting to merge into the thoroughfare traffic, and as Dusty watched, it was evident they were being searched.
“That makes sense,” he whispered under the helmet’s face shield. “I bet they’ve got the entire area sealed off.”
He circled the block a few times, trying to figure a way out. He thought about trying to find a non-street route, thinking the bike could pass through a narrower area than any car. He might end up in a ditch or stuck or worse yet, let the bike fall and pin him underneath. No , he decided, I’ll stay on pavement .
While he orbited the block, another cruiser passed by. Dusty nearly hit a nearby-parked car, not paying attention as he watched the cop hit the brakes in the rearview mirror. The policeman was turning around.
He gave his steed some gas, zooming ahead and executing through a couple of quick turns. Time is running out , he determined, trying to steer the unfamiliar machine and watch for the police. The longer I stay in this subdivision, the more cops will show up.
He came across another exit, this one blocked by two patrol cars with flashing blue lights. There weren’t any residents trying to exit via this route.
Dusty glanced in the mirror again, the outline of yet another squad car visible several blocks behind him. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he whispered.
He reached to th e case behind him and removed the
It had been decades since he’d ridden a motorcycle, images of an old dirt bike and roaming the hills of West Texas filling his mind for a brief moment. “I hope it’s like a bicycle , and you never forget,” he whispered. Donning the helmet would even provide a bit of a disguise.
He stepped toward the controls, intending to hit the door’s button when another thought occurred to him. Remembering the emergency release, he pulled the big door open and then pushed the idling bike into the driveway. A few seconds later, the garage was sealed up tight behind him. If no one were home, it would be a while before the cops found the rental. Time. Precious time.
He wobbled the handlebars a bit as he rolled down the driveway, almost letting the machine fall over before he got the feel of it. The bike’s massive engine felt strong as he accelerated down the street.
“He couldn’t have just disappe ared into thin air,” Shultz remarked to his driver, his head scanning right and left as they slowly rolled through the suburban streets. “There’s no way he could have gotten out of this subdivision.”
“There are 30 patrol cars searching th is neighborhood,” the driver responded, “In addition, we’ve got every exit closed down tight. We’ll find him, sir.”
Shultz reached for his cell phone. A few moments later, a voice answered the call. “I need a drone over our location… pronto.”
Dusty took it easy, not wanting to be noticed, and trying to re-learn his limited skills on a motorbike. The community was massive, block after block of upper middleclass homes that seemed to stretch forever. Twice his hand reached for the rail gun’s case, an approaching police cruiser causing fear to fill his stomach. But both times the cop had passed by, the officer trying to drive and search both sides of the street for the rental car.
He worked the motorcycle in generally the same direction, worried that someone would find or report the rental in the garage. He needed distance. He needed to get away from what certainly would be significant numbers of law enforcement converging on the neighborhood.
Sto pping at an intersection, he noted what had to be a major roadway to the right. There was an exit.
But the flashing blue lights of three police cars blocked the road, the dark shapes of uniformed officers clear in the distance. There were a few cars waiting to merge into the thoroughfare traffic, and as Dusty watched, it was evident they were being searched.
“That makes sense,” he whispered under the helmet’s face shield. “I bet they’ve got the entire area sealed off.”
He circled the block a few times, trying to figure a way out. He thought about trying to find a non-street route, thinking the bike could pass through a narrower area than any car. He might end up in a ditch or stuck or worse yet, let the bike fall and pin him underneath. No , he decided, I’ll stay on pavement .
While he orbited the block, another cruiser passed by. Dusty nearly hit a nearby-parked car, not paying attention as he watched the cop hit the brakes in the rearview mirror. The policeman was turning around.
He gave his steed some gas, zooming ahead and executing through a couple of quick turns. Time is running out , he determined, trying to steer the unfamiliar machine and watch for the police. The longer I stay in this subdivision, the more cops will show up.
He came across another exit, this one blocked by two patrol cars with flashing blue lights. There weren’t any residents trying to exit via this route.
Dusty glanced in the mirror again, the outline of yet another squad car visible several blocks behind him. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he whispered.
He reached to th e case behind him and removed the
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