ON THE WAY TO GENEVA
T he Cheshire, disguised in another cellmate, sat next to Tom Truckle in the plane going to Geneva.
He’d persuaded him he knew how to get in, and that Tom needed to be there since the world’s presidents would discuss the consequences of the plague, something Tom was interested in.
The Cheshire had to do it because, as much as he was looking for the Tweedles, he was incredibly curious about Dr. Truckle’s identity.
“Are you sure we can get in?” Tom asked, looking at the world below.
“I’m sure. I’ve always had my secret ways to get into the Queen’s meetings.”
“Well, I sure hope so. I’ve always suspected that the world’s elite people had planned a way out of the apocalypse, like a ship in the sea, or even escaping to the moon. I read about it.”
“Of course. I’m as curious as you are. Let’s hope we expose their plans.”
“But you never told me why you admitted yourself to the asylum, Jack.” Dr. Truckle said. “I always thought you weren’t mad.”
“I have my reasons.”
“I think you’re in love with that bonkers girl, Alice.” He elbowed him. “What’s with that girl? Why is everyone so interested in her?”
“She is special.” The Cheshire grinned. Possessing Jack’s body didn’t fall under the rule that he couldn’t enter a Wonderlander’s body. Because let’s face it. Jack wasn’t a Wonderlander anymore. He was dead. A figment of his own imagination.
Which rather irritated the Cheshire. How could he possess a nobody’s body? It was mindboggling, even for a cat.