The Prisoner - Carlos J. Cortes [62]
Nikola stood, stretched his legs, and crossed the open office he shared with Dennis. The young man had napped for a few hours. Nikola hadn’t slept a wink.
“Anything?” Nikola asked. It was a silly question delivered instead of a greeting. Any signal from the police, the DHS, or the NSA’s listening networks would have beeped loud enough to awaken a mummy.
Dennis scanned his screens. “No reports. The usual fuck-ups at checkpoints. A group of kids tried to turn around, stoned out of their minds and without a driver’s license. Another incident involving a member of Congress and a minor; that sort of thing.”
Nikola nodded. Dennis hadn’t said the kids would be returned to their parents inside black bags, but a measure of collateral damage was to be expected in any large-scale operation.
On a box trailing a bunch of wires atop an equipment rack, a yellow light started to throb, keeping rhythm with a high-pitched beep. Dennis pecked at his keyboard, and a single line of text scrolled on the center screen. He glanced at it and moved to leave.
Nikola reached for his arm. “Stay.” Then he stood, leaned over the box, and placed his index finger on a small window by the flashing light. The drilling tone of high-speed synchronizing data poured from overhead speakers.
“Where are you?” a colorless metallic voice asked.
“At my house.”
“Is the boy with you?”
“He is.”
“Send him out to play with himself.”
Once more, he arrested Dennis’s move. Odelle was untrustworthy. Nikola reached for a book and let it drop on the floor. “Go on.” Nikola settled into a comfortable slouch in an easy chair, signaled Dennis to be quiet, and closed his eyes.
“News?” the voice asked.
“No news.”
“Is that supposed to be good news?”
“No news is the absence of news.”
“Suggestions?”
“We wait.”
“For a miracle?”
Nikola opened one eye. Definitely squirrelly. “The way I see it, unforeseen developments have complicated whatever plan they had. Originally there were three and Russo. Now they may be four, and I surmise two of them weren’t supposed to be on the run. My take is they were hired hands, like the people who cut through the supposedly secure tunnel and welded the panel back on.”
“Continue.”
“If there are five people, one of them on a stretcher or in a wheelchair, and if Russo is still alive, they can’t move about very easily.”
“They must have had an escape planned for four. What’s the difference with five?”
“The difference is not in the numbers but the nature of the people,” Nikola explained. “whatever plan they had is now useless. Nyx was their repair shop. The woods is a wonderful place to hide a tree. Dr. Carpenter would have booked Russo as one of their rich customers. I don’t think he would have had any problem palming a subject into their network. He knows the ropes. Once Russo was conditioned, Carpenter would have lowered him into torpor once more, slipped him into one of their plush capsules, and started the slow-arousal sequence. After eight years, Russo has to be weak. Carpenter would need a few days to stabilize him.”
“Would the others shack up at Nyx for the duration?”
“I don’t think so. Most of the arousal sequence is automatic. Carpenter would have rigged his timers and driven them out in his car before midnight.”
“Why midnight?”
“That’s when the janitorial crew starts working on the research block.”
“And then?”
“They would have gone their separate ways—our daring lawyers into safe houses to watch TV and wait for the dust to settle, and Carpenter back to his work routine.”
“And the controller?”
“It depends. He could retire to a sunny place or end in a shallow grave if his masters worried about loose ends. Either way, he would disappear.”
Silence.