Kidnapped Read online

  Kidnapped

  Nathan Pedde

  Contents

  Kidnapped

  Other Books by Nathan Pedde

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Get Book Three

  About the Author

  Kidnapped

  Agent O’Neal Saga

  Book Two

  * * *

  Nathan Pedde

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  Year 554 of the Beyond Terra Continuum

  Kidnapped: Agent O’Neal Saga Book Two

  Copyright © 2020 by Atomic Slingshot Press

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  * * *

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  eBook version, 2020

  * * *

  ISBN: 978-0-9959846-9-1

  Atomic Slingshot Press

  * * *

  Cover copyright @GracePedde 2020

  * * *

  For information about upcoming projects, publishing news, and behind the scenes blog posts:

  Website: nathanpedde.com.

  Facebook: facebook.com/nathanpeddeauthor

  Newsletter: Atomic Slingshot Press

  Other Books by Nathan Pedde

  Land of Ice and Ash Verse

  Tokyo Tempest Trilogy

  Seismic Shock

  * * *

  Beyond Earth Continuum

  Mechakreiger Saga

  The Experiment Blunder (forthcoming)

  * * *

  Agent O’Neal Saga

  Enlisted (forthcoming)

  Kidnapped (forthcoming)

  Traitor (forthcoming)

  * * *

  For information about upcoming projects, publishing news, and behind the scenes blog posts, please visit nathanpedde.com.

  This project developed when my son, who was six at the time, wanted to help me write a story about spies in space. This is the ultimate result of the story.

  I have many people to thank. The first person I would like to thank is my wonderful wife, Grace. She is the cattle prod, the one that inspires and encourages me to keep going. She is the reason I put in the long hours writing. I would also like to thank my kids, for their enthusiasm and candor. My editor, Ericka Shanniak is the third. She’s the one that told me that I have the knack of storytelling and that I should ignore the advice from my grade 12 English Lit teacher. (She told me to stop trying all those years ago.)

  I would also like to thank Bren MacDonald for being there to bounce weird story ideas with, and the DRS Podcast community.

  In the immortal words of someone that I don’t remember, stay shinny.

  * * *

  Nathan Pedde

  Chapter One

  Sixteen-year-old Des O’Neal stood on a skinny ledge three stories off the ground. He contemplated the events which got him to this unpredictable point in his life. Dressed in black, he was tall and scrawny for his age, making it easy for him to stand on the eight-inch ledge. His fingers grasped at the red bricks to keep from splattering on the ground underneath.

  This is a foolish idea,Des thought.

  He considered himself lucky it was nighttime, and no one would see him prowling around. With his luck, he would be spotted by a station guard and arrested like a common thief.

  Des snorted derisively. Working for a tyrannical taskmaster, Captain Kusheeno with station security, Des was forcefully recruited into being a spy. He screwed up and got caught exploring through the station’s undercroft. A short bit of blackmail later and he now worked for the Captain.

  Being employed by the asshat, had gotten him beaten up, almost thrown out into space, and chased across the station multiple times before the year was out. He had nearly died a couple of times. Des had tried to get out. Except, he was informed he was involved deeper than he fully understood. He had to see it through to the logical conclusion, or no one else would.

  Des shimmied along the ledge. His plan was to shimmy along the wall to a ninety-degree corner. If he could get past without falling to his death, he could get to the unlocked balcony door of the target apartment.

  This is very stupid,Des thought.

  His feet edged his way along the ledge. Each time Des moved he gripped the cracks in the bricks for dear life. The task felt like forever as his soft-soled shoes scrapped along the ledge. He shimmied six meters to the corner. He grasped onto the corner and pulled himself over to the other side.

  Des looked back at the building where he had come up. A large oak tree grew from the park beside the apartment building. Its large, thick branches were a route to the third story of the building.

  Climbing up the balcony railings would have saved me thirty minutes of tree-climbing followed by scrapping along the narrow ledge. But no, there is none,Des thought.

  He continued to shimmy along the ledge, reaching the edge of the balcony. The rain in the sealed colony station was not enough to cause more than fart of wind. If there was wind, it would have blown him from the ledge.

  The easy way over was partially blocked by a large potted plant, hanging from a hook on the side of the building. Des hopped over the railing, twisting himself around the potted plant. With both feet firmly on solid ground, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He cared his feet were on something substantial, and he took a moment to enjoy the feeling.

  He knelt onto the balcony and listened. Des hunted for any sign he was caught where he wasn’t supposed to be. After waiting a minute, no alarm had rung, and no heavy-handed station guards were going to beat him to a pulp.

  Des walked up to the balcony door, checking to see if it was locked. Being on the third floor, it slid open with the lock disabled. Des had it from a good source the owner felt no one would be stupid to climb to the third floor.

  He slipped into the apartment, sliding the door closed behind him. The apartment was a three-bedroom flat, decorated with fancy pictures and paintings on canvases bought before the war when those goods were easy to find. After five years of conflict, they would only be on a second-hand market to discover anything as nice.

  Des walked through the apartment’s great room toward the front door. The target he hunted for was a key card, something the owner would shed when he got home. He would’ve left the card at the front door, in the kitchen, his office, or bedside table. Des hoped that it would be the first one and not any of the later ones. The owners were currently at home and asleep.

  A few weeks ago, his espionage professor, Mr. Smith, gave Des a disk to insert into the computer of a teacher at the school. It would alter his grades and raise them. He hoped it would lessen suspicion from his peers and teachers. If he didn’t do something, he would get in trouble.

  At the start of the school year, he was at the top of his class. The school and his family considered him a genius and allowed him to be pushed ahead a year. Once being wrangled into being a spy with its long hours, his grades suff
ered, putting him mid-level, causing a plethora of suspicion.

  Some teachers made accusations he was getting in with the wrong sort of people. It wasn’t all his fault, not entirely at least. The stress of living a secret life caused him to lose focus, and his grades had suffered as a result.

  The apartment belonged to Des’s history teacher, Mr. Mixon. A dull man with a nasally monotonous voice. He felt terrible to steal from the man. However, if everything worked out, he would get the key card back when he got to school.

  Des reached the front door, and the metal entry table. On top was a pile of keys, small denomination credit chips, a wallet, but no key card. Des searched it to see if it was in it, but it was not there. Only his Station Identification Card, a bank card, an old photo, and another credit chip. He put the wallet back on the table and walked away.

  His next place would be the kitchen countertop. Judging from the man’s need for coffee, it may be beside the coffee maker. He walked through the apartment, being careful not to make any noise. The last thing he wanted was to be caught by his teacher. Breaking and entering would be the least of his problems.

  Des checked the kitchen, and it was spotless. No specks of dust or food debris were seen. The key card was not in the kitchen. The last place to check was the office or the bedroom. Being closer to where the teacher was sleeping. Down the hallway toward the bedrooms, a single light clicked on from a bedroom.

  He’s up to use the bathroom.

  Des crab-walked his way back toward the glass door. Sliding the door open, he exited the apartment and closed the door shut behind him.

  In the apartment, the flabby figure of Mr. Mixon, wearing nothing but his boxers, appeared from the hallway. He looked tired and rubbed at his face.

  Des twisted himself over the railing and onto the ledge. The soft soles of his shoes slipped, his left foot flying away from the wall. He grabbed hold of a brick. He held on with his fingertips and his right foot.

  The noise of the sliding glass door opening rang in the quiet of the night. The slap of bare feet on plastic decking vibrated out in the darkness. Des looked back at the patio. Mr. Mixon left his apartment and leaned against the railing. He stared out away from Des at the station in the distance.

  Jov 1-H Colony Station was seventy-five kilometers in diameter built like a large pop can with all the people living on the inside surface of the can. Most of the twelve different sectors had the glowing light of buildings, while only four of them were darkened as they were for farming.

  The interior was made out to be Earth-like. It had plants and trees, wild animals roamed the parks, and birds sang when the daylight was turned on. It was different, but the only difference Des knew was a cramped colony built on the terraformed moon of Europa. Where he and his older brother grew up until their mother disappeared, and father died.

  A woman walked out of the apartment, dressed in a tank top and panties, except Des didn’t recognize her from anywhere but pictures. It was his wife, Reanna.

  “Can’t sleep?” Reanna asked.

  “Just stress,” Mr. Mixon replied.

  “School?”

  “That and other stuff,” Mr. Mixon said.

  “Well, come to bed,” Reanna said.

  The two of them padded back into the apartment, the sliding glass door locking behind them with an audible click.

  Elsie Dagg sat on a bench in the rooftop garden of her mom’s three-story townhouse. In her lap was a tablet with the latest romance novel from Elsie’s favorite author, E. A. Shanniak. Elsie was supposed to be studying for a history test. However, the book wasn’t going to read itself. She felt like she was ready for the test.

  She hoped Des was studying as he was going to need it. If he got a poor mark, she would overtake him in the grade rankings, which would be a first. Elsie was a full year older than Des was, yet he was smarter than she was.

  The bench in the middle of a garden was next to a large flowerpot with some purple flower Elsie had no interest in learning about, despite her mother’s insistence.

  A head popped out of the hatch in the roof. Elsie didn’t have to look at who it was as it was.

  “Elsie,” Fillip, her younger brother, said. “Dad says he needs you to wash potatoes.”

  “We had dinner hours ago—”

  “Meal planning,” Fillip said. “We are making meals to freeze for the week, remember?”

  “Right… It’s your turn,” Elsie said. “I’m studying.”

  Fillip was two years younger and was annoying. He dressed up in shirts with comic book characters printed on them and spent his entire time playing a card game about magical animals in a ball trap.

  “He said if you were to say that,” Fillip said. “Then, he could always look up your tablet history.”

  “Damn it,” Elsie said, sitting up from the bench. “Tell him I will be there in a moment. I need to put my tablet back in my room.”

  Fillip disappeared down the hatch, a snarly grin on his face.

  Maybe I can move out on my own.Elsie thought.

  She tucked her tablet underneath her arm and walked down the hatch into the townhouse. It wasn’t the same townhouse they lived in for years. They had been forced to move in the last few months. Luckily most of the houses on the station were from a small number of templates, and this townhouse looked precisely like the one she lived in before.

  Elsie walked down the hallway to her bedroom.

  I wonder if I can move in with someone.Elsie thought.Maybe Cryslis will take me in. Or Des.

  Elsie purged the thought out of her mind. She didn’t want to think about him in that way.

  Not yet. Someday.Elsie thought.

  She shook her head, walking into her bedroom. She tossed her tablet on her bed next to the pink stuffed bear. Her computer tower sat on her desk across the room. However, it demanded her attention.

  More like her handler Alpha Omega wanted her to call in. The red light on the front flashed on and off. Elsie went to her keyboard and pushed a few keys. She put in the two-button code telling her handler she acknowledged the signal, but she was busy. She would contact later once the family went to bed.

  She grumbled to herself as she left her bedroom and into the hallway. Her skirt swishing against her legs as she walked. When she got out of school for the day, she changed into other clothes. Des called them civilian clothes, which was understandable as he had three different uniforms to wear throughout a single day.

  Elsie walked down the stairs to the kitchen, which was a disaster like usual when her father was cooking. Her dad, Markus, was in his early forties and loved to cook. He had his favorite apron, and chef’s hat combo he insisted made him look dashing.

  “Hi, Dad,” Elsie said. “Freezing tomorrow’s dinner.”

  “That way, we can save time and money,” Markus said.

  “Great, what’s for dinner for the next week?”

  “Your favorite,” Markus said.

  “Pangelli?” Elsie said.

  “Of course,” Markus said. “What else?”

  “Why does Pangelli need potatoes?”

  “Because there’s a shortage of vegetables at the supermarket. At least until the next freighter arrives or the crops come in.”

  “And why are we putting potatoes in it?” Elsie asked.

  “Something new. And they were cheap.” Markus said. “Think about it as an experiment.”

  “Great. I just love experiments.”

  Chapter Two

  Sheemo O’Neal sat at a table at the Greasy Burger Diner with an empty plate and his school tablets in front of him. The diner had been painted an off-white creme color, making the restaurant look clean. To Sheemo, it looked boring. Low hanging lights hung above his head, casting shadows on the table.

  Sheemo was eighteen-years-old, and going to the Jov 1-H Military Academy. He had short-cropped hair and wished he could grow a mustache. Not that he could keep it, the school had grooming standards, and facial hair was not allowed. He could grow o
ne over the summer months, then take a picture.

  After the events of working with Paul and Ryder, he had a desire to get out of the house and do more. He felt like he was left out of the loop on what was going on in the solar system.

  Paul and Ryder were involved with the announcement the saboteur had been caught and arrested. He didn’t know who made the arrest, as the station administration censored the guy’s name in fear of reprisals against the guy’s family. Station administration claimed they had nothing to do with the event.

  Sheemo blinked, turning back to the school tablet on hand. Hidden in an encrypted file was a folder called: Misc. In it was an array of novels, most of them by the infamous author, E. A. Shanniak. It was Sheemo’s guilty pleasure. His friends and his brother would rip him apart if it were to come out he read romance books by her. However, he knew many facts about Shanniak. Like she was a cyborg writing as a human woman, and no one knew where she lived.

  Sheemo turned the page on the tablet being sucked down into the story.

  “Would you like some dessert?” a voice asked from next to the table.

  Beside Sheemo’s table was the waitress, wearing a low-cut tank top and a short skirt. She had short-cropped black hair framing her petite face. Besides the excellent food, the good-looking ladies was another reason why he frequented it.