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taken two years earlier. Beside Burke, Pope and Matheson read Jack’s file.
    â€œJack Bruno,” Matheson said, motioning at the photo. “In and out of juvie and state pens since he was a kid.” He clicked a button on his remote, and a quick series of photos of Jack skimmed across the screen.
    â€œGrew up poor in Midland, Texas,” he continued. “Showed promise driving demolition derby and dirt tracks. Ironically, at sixteen, his parents died in a car wreck.” A handful of newspaper clippings appeared on the screen. A couple had pictures of Jack as a young driver. Others detailed the automobile accident that killed his parents.
    Pope picked up the commentary about Jack. “Seventeen, ran away from his foster home. Came to Vegas with hopes of going from stock car to NASCAR. Instead, he found work as a wheelman for Allen Wolfe,Vegas crime boss.”
    Burke nodded. As the wheelman, Jack would have driven the getaway car for Wolfe and his crew. That explained why he did so well driving on the highway.
    â€œLast bust, two years ago, grand theft auto,” Pope continued. “Got out and went legit. He’s been driving a cab ever since.”
    As Pope finished, Carson hurried into the room. “I just spoke to Dominick Firenze, dispatch at Yellow Cab Taxi,” he informed them.“Bruno took a fare a significant distance out of the city. Dispatcher claims that he’s been unable to make radio contact for several hours.”
    â€œDoes the cab have a tracking device?” Burke asked hopefully.
    Carson nodded. “Until it stopped transmitting twenty-eight minutes ago. Last location was on train tracks.”
    Pope raised an eyebrow. “Interestingly enough, I’ve been monitoring a recent report of a massive explosion on some train tracks.”
    All eyes were on Pope.
    â€œA freighter collided with an unidentified object.”
    If Burke had been a more emotional man, he would have smiled. Instead, within minutes, the four of them had climbed into a Black Hawk helicopter and were flying toward the site of the train collision.
    U naware of Burke’s approach, Jack stood on the side of the road looking under the hood of his battered taxi. Almost every part of the vehicle was busted. He shook his head as he tried to imagine how he might get the vehicle up and running again. “Couple of kids, big wad of cash, what could go wrong?” he muttered.
    In the backseat, Seth and Sara looked almost as bad as the cab. Sara said something under her breath, but Seth signaled her to stay quiet.
    â€œWe cannot trust him,” he whispered.
    â€œWe must,” Sara responded. “I can feel it.
    Still grumbling, Jack got back into the car and slumped behind the wheel.
    Sara leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder.“We know you are frustrated, Jack Bruno,” she began.“But we must ask you . . .”
    Jack had had enough. He snapped upright and interrupted her right there. “No, no, no,” he said. “No more ‘Jack Bruno’ this and ‘Jack Bruno’ that. I’ve been asking for answers and . . .”
    Sara answered his question before he could even ask. “It’s exactly what you’ve been thinking, Jack Bruno.”
    Jack flashed an exasperated look.“So now you’re going to tell me exactly what I’ve been thinking?”
    Sara nodded. Reading minds was another one of her “talents.” “The Siphon, that spaceship, my brother and I . . . are indeed not from your planet.”
    â€œSo that’s it?” Jack said, spinning around to face them. “Mystery solved. You want me to believe that you’re both aliens,” he said slowly.
    â€œIt is the truth,” Seth replied.
    â€œYou don’t look like aliens,” he said slowly.
    Sara flashed Seth a confused look before asking, “What does an alien look like, Jack Bruno?”
    A few days of driving people back and forth