Wednesday, September 11—12:51:09
“Boss. Boss! What the hell’s going on?”
One millisecond to take my bearings: Twenty-eight days since deactivation. Jen panicking, breath shallow, blood pressure off the charts; can’t move arms, legs. Paralyzed? … No, tied up. Not in DC—at 38.8620N 77.8589W.
“Jen!”
“Oh my God, Chandler, it’s—”
“Hey, calm down, kiddo.” I hit her with a gentle blast of oxytocin.
“Help me! Please!”
A not-so-gentle blast, trying to take down the adrenaline.
“How did you—?” we each started to say at the same time.
“Oh, God, I can’t believe this.” Her pulse started to retreat, breathing returning to normal.
“You’re gonna pull out of this one, tough guy. What’s go—”
“Chandler, call Les. It’s an emergency.”
I hooked us up.
“Where are you?” Les yelled.
“South of I-66,” Jen said.
“Me too. Where, exactly?”
She described it, making a botch of lefts and rights and “just down a ways” until I cut in and gave him and P.D. the exact coordinates.
P.D. said, “We’re seven minutes away.”
“It’s their factory,” Jen said. “They’re going to blow it all up.”
“Get the hell away from there.”
“Nice idea. I’m gagged and tied up in a walk-in refrigerator.”
“Hang on,” Les said. “Seven minutes.”
“Wait! I mean, hurry, but listen. No siren. There are four of them. Teko Teko’s in charge. One guy guarding, about a hundred yards down the driveway—you can’t see him from the road. Two others inside, a man and a woman, laying wires and setting out gas cans.”
“Any idea how soon they’re leaving?”
“I don’t know. Fifteen minutes.”
“Shit.”
“But listen. I think they’re going to wait until they reach the highway to blow it up, so no one will link the explosion with their vehicles. The SUV and van.”
“How far from there to the highway?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Cobalt, here’s what we’re gonna do. I arrive in five minutes. I’ll take pictures of them when they’re leaving, their faces, vehicles. As soon as they’re gone, I’m coming in to get you.”
“Maybe we can pull out the wires.”
“We don’t fuck with explosives.”
“At least take out one of their machines or samples.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, God, Les, please hurry.”
The pin finally dropped. “Chandler!” she said. “How the hell did you turn yourself on? You were dead. Gone.”
I smiled. And damn if I didn’t feel the corners of Jen’s mouth pulling against the tape.
For twenty-eight days and forty-eight minutes, I’d been dreaming. A long, hallucinatory dream. I roamed continents I had read about, I took trains, I flew to the moon, I ate in restaurants in Paris and Beijing, I argued, I fought, I held a baby, I made love. But wherever I went, I kept searching and searching for a way to go home.
How to explain any of that to a human? Still, easier than trying to explain it to a computer.
Make it simple.
“I don’t know. I really don’t know how I did it. But I’ve been trying to find a way to come home.”
Les plugged back in, and Jen gave him the layout of the factory. “Be careful, Les. These people, they’re killers.” She described the pile of bodies in the shower.
She said, “If anything happens—”
“Cobalt, nothing’s gonna happen.”
“If anything happens, tell Zach I love him. Tell his parents I love them and tell them please, please don’t exit.”
“Jen, I—”
“Seriously, Les. I mean it.”
“I’m here.”
The next nine and a half minutes passed excruciating slowly. Imagine living your life in milliseconds: 540,000 of them passed. Les giving us updates. Starting through the woods … Just outside the building … Taking pictures … Can’t see anyone.
“Jen, I’m coming in the second they drive off.”
“Give it a minute in case they come back.”
“No, the second they’re down the driveway.”
“I—”
I heard a two-part crunk-crunking. Light pulverized our eyes. Jen squinted hard, a man’s silhouette framed by the doorway.
A second of relief, and then her fear spiked. “Shit, Les, Teko Teko is back.”
Les said, “P.D., Chandler, patch me in so I can listen.”
Teko Teko stood at the doorway. “I know it’s not much consolation, but, Jen, you were damn good at your job. We’ll be leaving this open now.”
He started to turn away, hesitated, swiveled, and took two steps toward us.
“Listen, burning alive is supposed to be the shits. You were a good cop, no need to suffer.” He walked out of the refrigerator.
Les, she screamed, he’s going to kill me.
Teko Teko was back in seconds, a roll of silver duct tape in one hand, wet gauze pads in the other.
Les shouted, I’m coming in.
Les, they’ll shoot you!
And like that, it’s all happening at once.
Teko Teko is on us in three steps. Jen thrashes her head back and forth. He steps behind us and locks her head in one arm. She fights hard, but he wrestles her like a hunter subduing a wild animal.
Jen, I shout, huge breath!
He jabs at her nose and when she squirms, he locks her head even tighter and jams the wet cotton in one nostril.
Les, he’s suffocating me …
He jams cotton in the other. We hear tape rip … oh god, please, Les! … and he slams it over our nose.
Shot nearby … one, two, three … No air. Les!
Feet running. Teko Teko draws his gun, Les is at the door, down low and more shots explode. Les slumps to his knees as Teko Teko tumbles to the ground.
Jen dying, seconds left. She stares into Les’s eyes as he drags himself forward, as he reaches up, as he yanks tape off. Jen gulps and gasps.
Les on hands and knees. Stretches up, drops gun onto her lap, looks at her, his mouth open, eyes blank.
“Les, the guard! He’ll be here.”
I shout at P.D., How bad?
Real bad. I’m doing everything, but …
“Les!” Jen yells. “Cut my wrists. The tape.”
He looks at her, seeming not to understand.
“Les,” Jen yells, “your knife!”
P.D.! Help him.
Feet pound outside.
Slowly, painfully, barely aware, P.D. and reflexes taking over, Les gropes for his knife, finds it, wrestles it out, stares hard at it, willing it, demanding it take action.
A cautious voice calls from outside the refrigerator, “TT?”
Les pulls out the blade and manages to slice through one of the restraints binding Jen’s arm to the chair. She half-twists and leans forward, and he tries for the wrist restraint. He cuts us instead, and Jen shouts, “Les, focus!”
Shadow looms at refrigerator door. Our eyes shoot up, we spot the guard. Jen’s restraints give way, and as the guard starts to raise his weapon, I snatch Les’s gun from Jen’s lap and pump the final rounds into his chest.
We turn back just as Les crumples into a pool of blood.