Ahead of its August 27 release in my Random Origins short story collection, I will preview Cyber Radio for my readers as part of my ongoing #SaturdayScenes initiative. Make sure you join my Reader’s Club to get the other free stories I offer to my subscribers, and to get further notifications regarding the release of Random Origins and future stories!

When he didn’t find Julian in his office at 10 AM, Martin didn’t think much of it. Julian didn’t come in late often, but sometimes he needed a little more runway in his morning. More than once he hadn’t shown up to work until shortly before the lunch hour. So Martin shrugged it off and went back to his office. He’d try Julian again after lunch.

Except Martin got busy. A couple of impromptu meetings put him back in his office at 3:15 PM. He hadn’t forgotten what he wanted to ask Julian, but now his email needed attention. He spent a good twenty minutes clearing up his inbox.

A knock on the door interrupted him as he got through the last handful of emails.

“Have you seen Julian today?” Cynthia asked.

Martin sighed. “No, as a matter of fact—”

“Did he have scheduled vacation?”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t think so.”

Martin frowned. Part of Julian’s arrangement assigned Martin as his immediate supervisor. Martin scrambled to check his calendar. Had he forgotten that Julian told him he was taking time off? Nope. The calendar showed no entries for Julian. For good measure, he accessed Julian’s shared calendar. Nothing there either.

By now Cynthia had approached. She stood by him, holding a piece of paper in her hand. She draped it across his keyboard.

It took Martin a moment to decipher the writing. “Flight from San Jose to Ontario?”

“Confirmed on the manifest. He was on that plane. Surveillance video from both airports, inbound within the hour.”

She stood there for another few seconds. “This violates his agreement.”

“I’m sure he forgot.”

She sighed, then shook her head before she stepped away.

He caught her at the door. “You running the recovery?”

“One of the adults has to.”

Martin followed her. He sat in the emergency meeting. He heard all the theorizing, and listened to the facts, such as they had them, incomplete and inconclusive. Julian was trying to evade. No doubt about that, someone argued. Why else would he pay for the ticket in cash if not to delay the alarm a credit card transaction would have triggered? He used his own ID, they surmised, because he had to, saving whatever fake identification he was planning to use till later. Like when he booked his next flight from Ontario, because who went to Ontario, California except to connect to somewhere else, or because they lived around there?

The reasoning behind that last bit sounded weak to Martin. From the look on Cynthia’s face, she didn’t find it terribly convincing either.

The airport surveillance video came in next. Piecemeal. Incomplete. Choppy and grainy as all get out. The best sequence came from San Jose: Julian going through security, Julian walking through the terminal, Julian lining up to board the plane. They keyed off his appearance: jeans and a thin jacket.

From Ontario, they received another sequence showing him getting off the plane. Then, nothing. A couple of cameras around his gate had malfunctioned, apparently. Other pieces of video in the terminal didn’t show any trace of Julian. Like he’d vanished. More video inbound, someone promised. No record of a car rental. No other records of having hired a car service. No credit card transactions.

Best theory? Julian had booked and boarded another flight, using fake ID.

Martin shook his head. He’d seen enough. He walked out and went back to his office. At his computer, he brought up a map of Ontario, California. On a hunch, he performed a search for “nearest major casino.”

He reviewed the first two hits. First up, he reviewed the website for San Manuel Indian Bingo and Casino. Even though Julian said “bingo-boingo” all the time, Martin knew he disdained casinos that offered bingo. Wannabe casino’s, he called them. Trying to appeal to old ladies. Besides, San Manuel was too close. It represented the obvious choice, the one Julian would disdain as the predictable one. Not random enough.

The second hit, Pechanga Casino in Temecula, would place Julian an hour away from Ontario. Martin reviewed the casino’s website. It would do in a pinch for Julian, except for requirement numero uno, as Julian liked to say: blackjack. It didn’t offer any. Oh, and it had bingo, even if the casino’s name didn’t advertise it.

Martin spent a few minutes reviewing other casinos in the area, both large and small. None listed blackjack. He recalled Julian telling him once that’s why he preferred going straight to Vegas or Reno. Finding a casino in California that offered blackjack tables was a pain.

Martin went through some of that pain now, expanding his search. On a whim, Martin mapped how long it would take to get to Vegas. Straight shot, 10 to the 15 freeway, zoom all the way to Vegas. Two to three hours. But Julian wouldn’t do that, would he? No, too obvious a choice for him. Especially since that’s where Martin had rescued him last.

Where else, then? He scrolled the online map east until he got to the Coachella valley east of Palm Springs, where he found his mark.

Martin grinned with self-satisfaction, recalling how Julian had more than once mentioned going to the Coachella Music Festival. They had a couple of casinos around there, he’d noted more than once.

Martin locked his computer and readied to go. Then he thought of something. Maybe he should give those guys in the conference room a few tips. Not the kind traceable to him, since he didn’t want them to know everything, just enough to head in the wrong direction. He logged on to his computer again, and in another five minutes, had a batch-looped script running. That should give his colleagues a few ideas.

Martin considered whether to email Cynthia to make sure they saw it. Nah, that wouldn’t work. Too close to the edge. No sense in giving the wrong impression, namely that he was playing a double game when in fact he only wanted to keep Julian out of trouble—and more importantly, working his magic for InfoStream.

Besides, time was running short on Martin. The last flight to Palm Springs left in ninety minutes.

Julian had to level with himself. He was having to tap that phone more than he liked. Hopefully they thought he was just texting or Facebooking or something like that. Hey, everybody did it, right? Except he wasn’t posting cat pics or tossing likes and plus ones and faves to his social media homies. He was keeping his digital cash account above water. Because after giving up on poker, all those rotten blackjack hands sure weren’t doing him any favors.

Maybe he should quit for the day, though. Twice he’d nonchalantly looked around. Twice he’d seen the goons standing, not too far, looking right at him. Ready to put the hook in him when he went bust? Had they caught on that his cash wasn’t running out, even if he hadn’t physically provided them with a bank account or credit card number?

He told himself to calm down. Trust his hack. It was chugging right along, taking care of things.

His last hand had come short at seventeen to the house’s twenty when he felt the tap on his shoulder. It made him jump. But when he turned around, he didn’t find one of the gray suit goons there. Instead, he found Valerie’s smiling face looking down at him.

“It’s six thirty, Robert. Maybe take a break and buy me some dinner?”

Julian nodded. He took his chips over to the pit. He said, yeah, no need to cash out. Leave it all in. He’d come back to play some more after dinner.

Valerie’s grip on his forearm was stronger than he expected. She didn’t guide him toward the restaurant. Instead, they found themselves in front of the elevators. Two goons stood at a comfortable but strategic distance. He wouldn’t get past them if he bolted.

The elevator dinged. He and Valerie got in and rode it alone to the third floor. Two other goons met them there and escorted them to his room’s door. Valerie waved him inside. She came in after him and closed the door.

Julian eyed his laptop, right where he left it. Except it now faced at a different angle. The wiring he’d tucked behind the TV cabinet now rested, exposed, alongside the laptop. Still operational, but out in full view.

“Have a seat, Mr. Rogers.”

“How do you know my name?”

She gave him a mock frown. “What do you mean? If your name isn’t Julian Rogers, then why are you playing under his account?”

“Hey, OK. Listen—”

“Have a seat, Julian.” Her voice sliced with a sterner edge this time. She kept up her smile, but it had an air of cruelty to it now.

He sat on the edge of the bed.

She pulled up the only chair in the undergrown room. She dragged it along the thin carpet until it reached a spot in front of the laptop. She turned it there, facing its back out to Julian, and straddled it. Her forearms came to rest atop the chairs back. She sat ramrod straight.

“Quite the setup you have here,” she said, giving the laptop a sideways nod. “Air-gapped something or other, I hear.”

Julian felt the blood drain from his face.