Chapter Seventeen

I couldn’t get Archdeacon on the phone. The army’s Fort Sheridan stayed in strict lockdown as it prepared for the president’s arrival. The CIA and FBI had set up command posts, and despite my having clearance just shy of knowing Mamie’s shoe size, they ignored me.

“What part of global annihilation do you not understand, Cartwright?”

The agent was my liaison to Hoover, but he, too, had his hands tied.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Glass, but until the plane touches down, we’re staying on radio silence. No one groundside knows their flight plan, nor will they be able to track them via radio signals. When they land, there will be an emergency briefing that will give you a chance to state your case.”

“But the president won’t land … not alive anyway.”

“The army has this base well protected. Nothing is going to shoot the president down. Plus, they have a fighter escort.”

Cartwright had been transferred up to Chicago after the Sully takedown was foiled by yet another tip-off, this time to the mob. Burke worked overtime trying to stay one step ahead of everyone.

The agent placated me, but I didn’t have the time.

“They don’t have to shoot him down. The Hero Twin can sit in a boat in the middle of Lake Michigan and zap the plane when it goes by. With the exciter fluid in him, especially if it’s been keyed to his DNA, they won’t even have time to say, ‘What’s a matter, Mr. President?’ before matter is all that’s left of him.”

Cartwright seemed genuine in his apology. He promised to send a patrol out to check the bay for suspicious boats, at least, but the problem with being near the harbor was there were lots of boats to check.

I had similar bad luck with the CIA. Agent Chauncey Ream showed no concern for my continued existence on this planet. The man was a walking German shepherd; a gaunt face capped with prematurely white hair and ears that shot back like antennae. “I understand I am supposed to take what you say seriously, Glass, but I’ve read the briefings you’ve given, all the evidence and materials presented, and I’m sorry, but I don’t believe a word of it.”

“You don’t?”

“No. Mindless wanderings, flights of fancy. Unless I see this MASER in action, I discount most of what you’ve said as being Saturday matinee garbage you’ve concocted to keep yourself from going to the chair as a spy.”

I looked him in the eye, which was hard behind the sunglasses. “And is that what your boss thinks?”

“Commander Dulles does what the president tells him to do, and I do what the commander tells me to do. I am told to listen to you. What Commander Dulles thinks is none of my business.”

“Well, the commander thinks what I’m saying is the truth.”

“Again, unless I see the—”

I finished for him. “Thing in action. Hopefully, you won’t see it used on the president.”

He leaned across his makeshift desk to within a finger’s breadth of my face. “That is close enough to a threat against the president that I can have you arrested, held someplace no lawyer will ever find you, and never think twice about it.”

I returned his sneer. “You have a problem with me, Agent?”

He straightened some but not enough that I couldn’t picture him snapping my nose off with one bite. “Yes, I have a problem with all you scientists. It’s because of people like you the Commies have nuclear technology.”

I remembered a similar conversation with a certain Police Chief. “If you ever get to Industry City, you should have a beer with Charles Sweet. You two will have a lot to talk about.”

He ignored the suggestion. “Anyway, doesn’t the president need to be injected with this special fluid to put him in immediate danger?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well, then you can cool your jets. He’s been under twenty-four-hour surveillance. No one has gotten anything in the president.”

“What about food?”

“We have had all his chefs’ backgrounds checked thoroughly. They are all trustworthy people who have been with the White House for years. He’s eating on the plane, anyway, today, and that’s all strictly military-cleared food.”

“Yeah, so was Stalin’s,” I said under my breath.

“What was that?” He looked down at me from over the top of his glasses.

“Nothing.”

I left.

Lee and I sat in the commissary. Soldier and civilian contractors milled around, filling trays with food. In this arena, it wasn’t hard to spot the table where the feds sat or the operatives or the grunts. They did their best to look serious, even while trying to relax. None would address the other branches, each doing their level best to ignore the mixed company. It bugged me.

Lee and I hadn’t figured a way off base as of yet. I doubted the pizza trick would work under these conditions, though I’d kill to get a slice of Chi-town deep dish. The stuff in Colorado couldn’t compare, something about the altitude and the way the crust rose. If I ever wanted to go into the private sector, I’d put all my scientific resources into creating a pizza dough that rose properly at any altitude.

“We can’t just sit here. I need to track Orchid.”

“Maybe this where you need to be right now,” Lee suggested, swallowing down bits of Salisbury steak. “Maybe you need time. You been running toward something, day in and day out. You take the day and be you.”

I guffawed and pushed around my hardly touched shepherd’s pie. “I don’t even know who that is anymore, Wan. Ten days ago, I was a former scientist working as a peeper. Ten days ago, I thought I had found a way back to the life I once had. The car, The Atlantis, was my redemption. But all that did was open a door to pain and heartache. Now Reece is gone, Vincent nowhere to be found, and even if we knew where he was, he’s a fucking Russian spy!”

“But you scientist again, no?”

His optimism was annoying at times like this. I wanted to wallow in self-abuse or worse, to scream, but he made it seem childish. “Yeah, sort of. But things have changed. I didn’t want it to come like this. Not at the cost of Yousev’s life. Not finding out that a person I once respected is an evil mastermind and most likely ordered the death of my fiancée.”

I dropped the fork, crossed my arms, and exhaled loudly. It was not quite a sigh, but it was close enough to elicit another pep talk from Wan.

“Glass, how many people get killed in experiment?”

“Six.” Did I even remember all their names? Their parent’s names? I thought I’d never forget.

“And since then, how many get killed since we start this?”

I thought about it. “That I personally know of?”

He nodded.

“Yousev, one of the Hero Twins, a few black army soldiers, Ilya—”

“Don’t forget Big Red!”

“Yeah, Stalin. So maybe six more.”

“And how many responsible?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I know who orchestrated the whole thing, right? It all can be funneled back to Orchid.”

“And you find that out, what? In ten day time? You solve bunch of murders, some fourteen year old! That make you a pretty good dick in my book, in anybody’s book.”

Again, he was making it hard to stay despondent. “I suppose you are making a point?”

He took a swig of beer and tilted the bottle at me. “You say you don’t know who you are. I say you good at solving murders. You figure out everything. Well, except for one thing.”

“One thing?”

Lee set down the bottle and shoveled in another bite, swallowing quickly. He nearly choked, so he pounded on his chest a couple of times until the mouthful went down. He took another swig of the Ancient before speaking. “Why now? Why wait until now?”

“I thought we had covered that. The bomb.”

“Ruskies had bomb since ’49.”

“True, but it wasn’t very good or effective as a weapon. They created the reaction. They needed something on par with our hydrogen bomb.”

“But still, they want to kill old money year ago, right? No bomb then, huh? Or Stalin, no bomb then either.”

“I guess. What are you getting at, Lee?”

“I thinking something else happen. Something sooo big this flower lady—”

“Orchid.”

“Right, flower lady need to clean house. Little guy at college, old money, even Mendelbum. She no want loose ends. That mean you loose end ’cause she want you dead too.”

“I still don’t know why I’m a loose end. I’m the one that figured out her secret identity. I suppose that’s something.” I took a bite of my food, not really tasting it. Lee had my gears turning.

“What good knowing that after end of world?”

He had made good points. Any decent scientist could break down the exciter fluid and come up with an antidote. I started a chain reaction when Reece dragged me into the game.

The hit on Reece was sloppy. Were they hesitant? They had no idea what his death would do. He was high up in their chain of command, so they didn’t kill him way back when he first objected to the course the Technocrats were taking. But right after he talked with me, the Technocrats laid all the cards on the table, even at the cost of their Industry City lab.

Then my presence precipitated the murder of Yousev because he’d crack too easily if I got to him. Not to mention Mendelssohn’s attempt to reach me had cost him his life.

Lee was right. I still didn’t have the whole motive. I had the big Brave New World-style picture, but why was Noel R. Glass in the way of that?

Mine was the last murder I needed to solve.

I started eating with more gusto. It hit me that the food here was better than I had expected. I hadn’t grabbed more than a doughnut or piece of fruit at Fort Palmer, so this was a surprise. “This isn’t half bad. It’s just like the stuff I get at Hank’s.”

He belched. “Good grub, that place. This almost identical to lunch I had three weeks ago.”

I let the food sit in my mouth, savoring it. I let the spices ruminate, the taste tickle around my tongue. This wasn’t just like Hank’s …

It was Hank’s.

I pushed back my chair hard and ran past the serving counter into the kitchen. I heard the cries of alarm from the staff and more chairs being pushed over. I made it to the cooler before the first armed men showed up. I looked at the boxes of food stored there. From floor to ceiling were stacks of boxes marked Hank’s Food Service.

An army travels on its stomach.

How do you feed a secret army? You start by feeding other armies. How do you get the exciter fluid into the president of the United States of America? You don’t put it in just his food, but everyone’s. Hank’s Diner. There was a receipt in Mendelssohn’s effects. That’s how they had gotten to him.

Two MPs grabbed my shoulders and pulled me away from the cooler. I ignored them and looked for the lead cook. A woman in a tall white hat stood nearby.

“How long has Hank’s been servicing the armed forces?”

She was startled I had addressed her directly but answered, “About six months.”

“Do they do all the armed forces or just the army?”

She thought about it. “I think they service them all.”

Bile rose in my throat. “Even the air force?”

By this time, someone had alerted Cartwright and Ream, and they came in just as the cook nodded.

“The president can’t land here,” I said.

“Why not?”

Ream continued to be annoyed with me, but panic wouldn’t let me take it.

“Because, idiot, he’s already been poisoned with the exciter fluid. If he shows his face, they can hit him with the MASER from anywhere, and pop goes his top.”

There was enough conviction in my voice for the man in the shades to say, “Okay, tell me what we’re dealing with.”

* * *

Air Force One opened communications to the base after Ream contacted their escort. I explained how the food was laced, maybe with the president’s specific DNA. We wouldn’t know until it was tested back at Fort Palmer. Dulles quickly established a backup plan and had the eagle touch down in Cleveland. I tried to convince the president to go to the first game of the World Series and skip Oktoberfest altogether, but he assured me the situation in Chicago was worsening, and if he didn’t step in soon, there might not be a country to save.

“Dr. Glass, civil rights was a big part of my campaign. It is something I feel strongly about. If I turn away now, it will make my administration look weak in the eyes of those who would intimidate and beat others down. I need to take a stand in Chicago, sir. It will be up to you, and the resources I have given you, to make sure I come to no harm and this republic is here to stand for eternity.

“I’ll do my job, Noel, if you do yours.”

All I could say was, “Yes, Mr. President.”

* * *

The plan was simple yet completely unbelievable. Agent Ream planned an assault on the Hank’s Food Services’ processing plant to get the evidence we needed for a court order to raid their corporate offices. There he hoped to find ties from Hank’s to the Technocrats. Cartwright and the FBI would enter their main offices downtown.

Meanwhile, Fred and Horatio were close to a breakthrough on the anti-exciter fluid.

So the choice I had was to accompany Ream or Cartwright. I was likely to find technical data at the processing plant, but I was more likely to find a lead on Orchid at the offices. I chose to go with the Feds. After communicating with the exciter antidote team, I gave Ream a list of things to look for. If any or all were found, they’d have enough to get the warrant. Apparently, the CIA didn’t need a warrant for their end of the operation. It made me wonder how much power they wielded.

If we timed it right, the three of us would be in Hank’s offices when the word came down from Ream. I had done undercover work before but not often enough for my tastes. I didn’t consider myself an actor, but when one spends years as a pariah, it’s nice to be someone else every once and a while.

Lee took a crack at changing my appearance, as my face would clearly be known at a Technocrat funded operation. He’d made me up to look somewhere between Groucho and Harpo. Cartwright had people who did a better job, though my hair was still a bit wild for my tastes. The base commander’s own tailor fitted suits for us in record time. I wondered why he was here and not on Park Avenue. I looked sharp as a tack.

A limo took us off the base.

As we exited a convoy of army haulers pulled up to the gate. Their canvas-covered cargo lay strapped down to the bed.

“Preparations for the president?”

Cartwright looked away as if they didn’t exist. “No, nothing to do with that.”

His reluctance piqued my interest. “Then what?”

“Army business, Glass. I have nothing to do with it.” But behind his disinterest, the delivery bothered him. He clearly didn’t like whatever those trucks contained.

We worked on our cover story during the thirty-minute drive down Sheridan. I could catch glimpses of the lake through the trees and houses. I thought back to summers down by the pier, my family and me. My older brother used to race me to the boardwalk as our mom called out for us to be careful. I remembered spitting from the Ferris wheel and calculating rate of descent, trajectory, and velocity. My brother, who was not like me in so many ways, would give me noogies every time I hit my target.

“How’d you do that, pea-brain?”

I’d wrestle out of his headlock and try to noogie him back, my small arms never long enough to reach. “My brain’s not a pea! It’s not! It’s not!”

He’d laugh and keep me at arm’s length.

I wished he’d return my calls.

We turned west due to road construction. Cartwright fretted about our timing. We had to be in the diner’s offices before Ream entered the factory with his men. I assured him, barring something unforeseen, we’d get there with plenty of time to spare. Unfortunately, we had to go through the worst part of downtown.

The Westside was every bad thing that could happen to a city. There were buildings built on top of each other, covered with signs advertising everything from miracle healings to sex—and sometimes both. I saw a man with no legs, pushing himself forward on a board with wheels. He stopped at a newsstand for the afternoon edition. He was handed a bundle by the owner and wheeled himself away to deliver them, hand over hand, papers on his nonexistent lap.

Everyone had a cigarette. If they didn’t, they were bumming one off someone who did. The only people to smile were overly made-up women who looked into each car that passed and hoped for a stooge to date them for the night. Cartwright made a sound in the back of his throat. “Whores. It’s unfortunate that, in this era of prosperity, we still resort to this.”

Lee took offense. “Let me ask you, buddy. You not married. You go on dates?”

“With them?” The Fed looked appalled.

“No, with normal floozies. I bet tough guy like you no have trouble with ladies, right?”

Cartwright turned a little red. “Sure, I date.”

Lee smiled. “Okay, how many dates before she kiss you?”

The agent boasted, “Usually the third or fourth.”

“How much dough you spend each date?”

He doped it out. “Twenty or thirty. Maybe more.”

“And how many before you get lucky?”

Now Cartwright did take offense. “Now see here! That is none of your business.”

Lee sat back triumphantly. “I mean no trouble, but think about it. For what you spend on dates before you get slow ride, have you not spent same amount other man spend on hooker? All women chippies. Some like the cash in one big lump.”

I didn’t know if I agreed with Lee, but Cartwright certainly didn’t.

I thought about Merlot. She was in this city. In a day she’d meet the president of the United States and sing for him. I wondered how that came about, especially so fast. Charlie the Spic? Or some other mob head still looking to ease his guilt over Merlot’s mom? If she returned to Chi-town to get serious about her career, she found a big way to do it.

We pulled into the parking ramp of the Hank’s Tower. Five stories lower than Industry City’s Liberty Tower, it was number three on the tallest buildings list. Our car descended into the darkened depths of the parking garage, and I became overwhelmed with a sense of foreboding.

As I got out of the car, I caught a glimpse of a black woman getting into a different limo across the garage. It could have been Merlot. The tower hosted several radio programs, and certainly, as the singer performing for Ike, she was sure to be interviewed.

I thought about rushing over.

To do what?

Tell her what else I’d found out? To say I was sorry? Nah, she was moving on, and I wasn’t going to get in the way of that. She was better left out of it all.

We presented our motley crew to the front desk receptionist of Hank’s Food Incorporated. She took a look at us and blinked. Three distinctively different men stood in front of her in tweed suits, horn-rimmed glasses, and matching briefcases. Cartwright took the lead.

“Yes, ma’am. We are the Wheat, Oat, and Rice Co-operative and we have just flown in from Washington, D.C., to talk to your president, Mr. Arliss Vaughn.”

His nasally voice added to the overall effect. She blinked again before asking, “You’re with who?”

I stepped forward and gave her a smooth, dulcet voice to sooth her consternation. “We’re with WOR …” I looked at her name tag. “ … Stephanie. We represent the majority of grain growers in the United States.”

She wasn’t swayed. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Vaughn?”

“We just spend three days at House in meetings about impending threat to agriculture in America. We no have time to make appointment. We come right here.”

She looked down at Lee, who smiled widely. “And this threat?”

Cartwright answered instead of Lee. “Communism, ma’am. Communism.”

“But that,” I cut him off as if he had said too much, “is for us to discuss with Mr. Vaughn. Is he available?”

She picked up a headset and punched some buttons. She took us in again as she spoke. “Mr. Vaughn? There are some gentlemen from the Oat, Wheat, and—”

“I’m Wheat. He’s Oats.”

“Sorry, the Wheat, Oat, and Rice Co-operative to see you.”

Lee whispered, “How come they never mix me up?”

I kicked his foot.

“Yes, sir.” Addressing us, she said, “If you’ll go down to the first door on your left, you’ll find a conference room. Mr. Vaughn will join you shortly.”

We thanked her, but before leaving, Cartwright asked, “I’m having a call forwarded here. Would it be too much trouble to let me know when it comes in?”

“I’ll have it transferred to the conference room, sir.”

He thanked her again. She picked up a buzzing line and said into it, “No, Sheila. I haven’t been able to reach the processing plant either. Not for the last half hour.”

As we walked, I noticed two particular things. The first was all the two-way mirrors. They were everywhere: in the lobby, down the hallways. I’d been in enough interrogation rooms to recognize the special reflective material they used. Hank’s security probably watched our every move. There may even be security cameras recording us.

The other thing I took note of was the PR; posters touting company propaganda such as, Hank’s Foods: Efficient Foods for Efficient People! and If It Tastes Good, They’ll Waste Less! and Hank’s! Lower Cost and Higher Quality Go Hand in Hand! With the words came pictures from the heartland of America, good salt-of-the-earth people in front of harvesters and tractors.

We found the room without seeing another soul. We seated ourselves and put our briefcases on the table in front of us. There were no cameras visible in this room, but I’m sure they were just hidden within the trappings of the place. I tested the lock on the false bottom of the briefcase but didn’t open it to check if my gun still waited there.

“Sorry, y’all,” came a voice from a hidden doorway that opened to reveal a stocky gentleman who looked as if he’d just flown in from Texas. His gray suit was topped with a cowboy hat the size I previously imagined came on only Yosemite Sam. “We’ve been having some phone problems today. Can’t seem to get any calls in or out. It’s creating a bit of a wildfire.”

His Southern drawl would be better on an oil magnate than a former Department of Agriculture head, but Arliss Vaughn was known worldwide as the shrewdest businessman on the planet. He’d been responsible for keeping food production going during the Second World War before stepping out of politics and into the private sector to create Hank’s Diners. He fully believed in the affordable quality his company marketed, and he himself refused to eat anywhere else when on the road.

“Oh, my,” Cartwright squeaked, “I do hope you get it fixed. I’m expecting a call.”

“Stephanie told me about that, son. I do hope it clears up soon. Now, getting down to brass tacks here, how can I be of assistance? It’s been a while since I’ve been in the know on Capitol Hill, and I can’t say that I’m familiar with your group.”

I spoke up. “We have recently formed as a request of grain farmers who are concerned about the supply and demand of their product. With each war, the demand goes up, but there is always a sudden drop when hostilities end.”

He furrowed his brow. “Are you saying that you want America to stay at war?”

“No such thing,” said Cartwright. “Due to the recent end of hostilities in Korea, the military will be requiring a step-down in food production, and as the new food supplier to the armed forces, we were concerned about how to keep production steady and create a slower descent.”

Vaughn looked at us suspiciously. “You do know that I produce all my own food for my restaurants and food services, correct?”

“Yes. You see, that’s the problem,” I said. “We’d like you to outsource a certain amount of your grain production to other smaller farmers, so they don’t risk foreclosure.”

“Out of the question. Quality control is paramount with our organization.”

I could see where he was going and decided to head him off. “But not only quality, but efficiency, correct? The least amount of energy that produces the maximum effect?”

He was startled by my correct assessment of his philosophies. “W-why, yes, Mister …” He fumbled around, realizing we’d never given our names. “Wheat, was it?”

“I’m Oats. He’s Wheat.”

“I’m Rice, but you guess that already.”

“Wait, something is wrong here. What are your names? Not who you represent.”

The phone on the conference table rang and, still flustered, Vaughn picked it up. “Yes? A call for Mr. Wheat?” He offered the handset to Cartwright, who got up to take it.

“Looks like the phones are working again.”

Vaughn nodded suspiciously. “It would appear they are.”

“Hello? Yes?” He flapped his ears a bit. “Well, that’s great news! Give my best to the little missus!”

He set the phone back on the cradle and returned to his seat.

“My wife just went into labor,” he told us, which was our password to go.

Vaughn, still not completely sure what was going on, said, “That’s wonderful news!”

“For us, yes. You, no.”

He drew from his briefcase his ID. “Mr. Arliss Vaughn? I’m Agent Cartwright of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and you are under arrest for conspiracy to assassinate the president of the United States of America. Will you please stand up?”

“I don’t think he will.”

We all turned to look at the owner of the new voice. Amanda Orchid walked in through the same hidden door in the wall Arliss had originally entered from. Crow’s feet edged what were once matronly eyes. Now they bore down on me with hatred and scorn. Behind her filed in four black army soldiers, pistols out. Cartwright went for his gun. “No!” I yelled, but it was too late. They drilled him before he had his equalizer all the way out. Lee grabbed me and pulled me down to the floor as more bullets passed over us.

“Stop!” commanded Orchid. “She wants him alive!”

She?

Lee sprang up, using the momentary distraction. I saw him fling something from his sleeves and heard cries of pain as whatever he tossed struck home. He pulled me to my crunchers, and I saw the four guards sagging to the floor, pieces of metal sticking out from their faces, eyes, and necks. Orchid had pulled Vaughn through the closing door. The murderous look she gave me showed that our friendship was long gone.

I went for the door, but Lee pulled me back the way we had come in. “We go! More will come. Bet you a dollar!”

We grabbed the guns from our cases. I stood over Cartwright. He wasn’t breathing. The shots had been true to the heart.

Lee picked up the agent’s fallen gun. “Now!”

We went through the conference room door, quickly pushing ourselves flush with the opposite wall. Reinforcements entered immediately after us. The guys Orchid had at her disposal acted better trained then the ones we had previously met. Still, we took out two immediately. The others ducked behind corners, popping out to take shots at us. Lee pushed us down a different hallway. We could hear them coming behind. We turned corner after corner before finding a back stairway. The offices of Hank’s Foods may not have been on the top floor, but the flights of stairs still went a long way down.

We hopped down several steps at a time, sometimes partially sliding on the rails. We heard the door crash open above us. We had about six floors on them. Below us we heard more footsteps, lots of them. Lee looked over the rail quickly and pulled back as gunshots came from above.

“We have company.”

I kicked open a door and discovered a long hallway. Lee on my heels, we passed large windows and could see we had ten stories between us and the ground. I’d have no such luck as a window washer today. I could see the Chicago River, ferries passing close by. I thought if we could just make the river …

We passed businesses and offices, but I doubted anyone could or would be able to help us, not against an armed force. We came across elevators just as they opened to black-garbed men. Lee with blazing speed fired both guns, one in each hand. I was reminded of Vincent and wished I still had my bodyguard here. We took out the soldiers and launched ourselves into the elevator.

I pulled open the panel as soon as the doors closed. “What you doing?”

“Overriding the call button. That way they can’t stop us until we reach the garage and our men.”

“Think there still help waiting?”

I paused. “What do you mean?”

“How army men get into building unnoticed?”

“Maybe they were already here? Like another hidden lab?”

“Maybe.”

I overrode the switch and hit P1.

“If we can just get to the car,” I said it more to myself than to Lee.

We hung to the sides as the doors opened. Our limo was not there, giving credence to Lee’s theory. We slowly moved out into the garage, checking behind cars as we moved. The roscoe I was using was almost—if not already—out of ammo.

The Technocrat army came, more soldiers than we had slugs.

Lee pushed me behind a car and smashed three little white balls onto the ground. We were instantly covered with smoke. He found a maintenance manhole cover, and together we flipped it open. I went down first. The soldiers fired into the smoke, hoping to hit something. Bullets sank into the cars around us, shattering glass.

“Okay, Wan. Drop down.”

The space was over the Eden Expressway, which ran under the city. I could hear the cars zip by underneath. Lee didn’t follow me.

“I hold them off. You get help.”

“Lee!” I called up, “This is no time for heroics!”

He smiled as he slid the cover back in place. “Perfect time for heroics. Be good. Tell wife I think of her at end. Really, I think of Jayne Mansfield.”

I heard two sets of gunshots—Lee’s attack and their response.

The shots slowed down until there were no more. “Lee? Lee! Wan!”

The soldiers would find the hatch once the smoke cleared. I moved forward, bent at the waist. The tunnel twisted and turned over the expressway. I could see through vents to the cars and trucks below, but I couldn’t find a way down. From the smell, I was getting closer to the river. If I made the end of the tunnel, I’d find a way down. I was so focused on my task, I didn’t know the soldiers had caught up to me until the bullet hit my leg.

I screamed as hot metal tore through flesh. I fell forward and through the grate in front of me fifteen feet to the pavement below. I tried to stand, to get out of the way, but my leg was useless. An oncoming sedan slammed on his brakes, but not quick enough to avoid hitting me square in the chest. The impact sent me up and over the bridge railing, and I plummeted fifty feet into the cold, unforgiving Chicago River.