Forty Leap (25 page)

In the afternoon, Neville and I left the
facility for a walk along the grounds. Such sojourns were
discouraged but not forbidden. Almost nothing was forbidden. If
nothing else, we were meant to feel free and at home. I wondered
how much control Igor actually had over the facility. I suppose it
didn’t really matter.

As the wind whipped around us, Neville kept
his eyes on the range of mountains that surrounded the facility as
we walked. I can’t imagine why he had chosen me as his confidant,
but that was what we became. I guess it was just circumstance. He
said that he admired my level head and, when it came down to it,
he’d rather have me at his side than someone who would break into
pieces, like Awen Mohammed, or someone who was consumed by his own
lunacy, like Rogers Clinton.

I was flattered.

In the ridges and crevasses that surrounded
us, Neville could see places where soldiers could be encamped.
There was no quick way into the valley except by air and we hadn’t
heard any foreign aircraft so he guessed they must have marched in
over the course of several days, set up a supply line, and
entrenched themselves in strategic positions. That was, if Igor was
telling the truth.

All of our discussions came back to that
point. No matter what he had done for me, he was not to be trusted.
Based on what I’d seen and what I knew of his character, there was
no way I could be made to believe everything he said. Though
Neville had never met him, he was inclined to agree. I had shared
with him my experiences before my last jump and his reaction had
been mixed. I think the fact that I had placed myself into the
hands of a man who had at one time had those hands wrapped around
my throat damaged my integrity in Neville’s eyes. Of course, going
to the facility had been a move born of desperation and desperate
men will do anything. But I wasn’t supposed to be a desperate man.
I was supposed to be level-headed.

At night, we parted and went to bed. Neville
suggested every night that we retire early and stay well
rested.

On the morning of the 9
^th
, I
awakened, showered, and went down to breakfast. Neville was not
there, but I didn’t think anything of it. I sat with Rogers and we
talked about nothing for thirty minutes while I ate a light meal
and he consumed piles of eggs and toast. Neville still had not
shown up when we were done and I began to grow restless. It wasn’t
as if we usually ate together. Before a couple of days earlier, we
were on friendly terms without being friends. Now, though, I found
that we were joined together by the oncoming storm. He was my link
to sanity.

I excused myself from Rogers Clinton’s
company and stepped out into the corridor. Unable to control the
impulse, I went to Neville’s room and knocked on his door. There
was no answer. He wasn’t inside. I felt a little lost then,
wondering how best to spend my time. On a whim, I went to the
library and began to read through my journal. I kept it with me
always and, leafing through the worn pages I was glad of its
company. The words reminded me of who I had been when all of this
had started. That man, whose name had also been Mathew Cristian,
was a very different person. I found that I did not like him all
that much. He seemed a bit frail to me, unable to come to grips
with his emotions, unable to express himself in the slightest. I
was still quiet, still a man who withheld more than he gave out,
but I was not
that
man.

Toward the later part of the morning, Neville
came striding into the library looking all around. When he caught
sight of me, his expression went from worry to relief. I had never
seen him so agitated. He sat down next to me and motioned to the
journal.

“That your diary?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Anything else you care about in this
world?”

It was an odd question but I shook my head in
response. There were no material things that had any value to me.
Just the book.

“They’re out there,” he said. “I went for
another walk this morning and saw them camping out just where we
thought they’d be. They’re clever buggers, and several dozen strong
at least. Armed by the government, these GEI blokes won’t be a
match for them. They’ve been buzzing around all morning and night
while I’ve been looking for a hiding spot.”

I didn’t understand. Where could we possibly
hide that they wouldn’t be able to find? Anyone missing would
prompt a thorough search of the facility and the surrounding area.
That meant that our hiding place had to be a good one. It had to be
someplace that even the staff didn’t know about. I was doubtful
that any such place existed, but Neville rebuffed me. He said that
every architect and builder in the history of mankind had conspired
to build secret rooms into their constructions. It was the child
playing the game while the adult was working. In a place like this,
it would be easy to indulge such a fantasy. To me that seemed a
long shot onto which we should not be pinning our hopes.

“Well that’s for certain,” he agreed. “Found
the place, though. Women’s bathroom just off the staff recreational
areas. There’s a vent that’s just too big for the room and not too
little for a man. You can follow it to the narrow shafts or deeper
into the rock where the builder cut away a small square room.”

My eyes must have bulged.

“Don’t get excited. It’s just four cement
walls. We’d have to smuggle in food and build a bathroom. Ain’t the
time for that, mate.”

“What do we do then?”

Neville reached over and plucked a random
book from the shelf. “We wait.”

We didn’t have to wait long, though. A young
man in a GEI uniform came into the library at around noon. When he
saw us, he pulled out a radio and signaled to someone that he had
found us. Neville and I exchanged glances and stood to receive him.
Without too much preamble or explanation, he explained that
everyone was gathering in the dining room. There were government
representatives at the facility and they were coming in to inspect
the premises.

It all sounded very queer, even to me, but we
played along because there wasn’t really anything else we could do.
Neville made the symbol of a gun with one hand behind our escort’s
back, but I didn’t see any weapon. Even if I had, I’m not sure what
it was he expected of me. Attacking the man and taking a weapon
seemed out of the question. Even if I could have done that, I
certainly wouldn’t ever be able to use a gun on someone.

Wil Lowenburg was standing outside the
cafeteria, bouncing nervously on his heels. When he saw me he
looked relieved, but only mildly so. He leaned inside and I heard
him say
That’s the last of them
. Sure enough, all twenty of
the other patients were gathered inside the dining room with a fair
amount of staff. Each of my peers was wearing a GEI uniform of some
kind and a badge.

“What’s going on?” Neville asked.

Wil explained that the government was looking
for us, and others like us. The official news story was that we
were a threat, being bred as spies; we had read that. The military
didn’t have any interest in eliminating us, however. They wanted to
capture us and begin their own research. If we were officially
eliminated as a threat, no one would ever come looking for us. I
was handed a jumpsuit with a badge. The badge had my picture on it,
but the name was Matthew Goldberg. At least I didn’t have to
remember a new first name. Neville did. His new name was Ives,
which was a good Scottish name. He was given cafeteria clothing and
a hair net. He smiled at his disguise and donned it quickly.

After that we just sat around chatting and
looking scared. I tried to catch Rogers Clinton’s eye, but he was
across the room and he had this fierce look on his face. Rogers was
in his sixties, that much was certain. But I could tell he was
spoiling for a fight. Maybe he thought this provided him a glimpse
of his path to greatness. Awen Mohammed sat with Samantha Radish,
their hands locked tightly together, bloodless knuckles meshed.

Ultimately, we heard voices in the hallway
beyond. Wil moved to the door and stuck his head out. Like a
switch, all of his nervousness and concern drained away. That
boyish smile returned and he was himself once again, extending a
hand to greet someone unseen.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said to us as he
came back inside. The director of the facility was following and a
man in army fatigues following him. “This is Lieutenant Archie
McSwain. He’s in charge of conducting the inspection of our
facility. He’d like to ask some of you some questions, so please do
your best to cooperate.”

It was a foolish notion that a secret this
large could be kept by so many people. The room smelled of nervous
sweat and was filled with wide eyes. More to the point, Lieutenant
McSwain did not give any indication that he would be a party to any
false pretenses. His posture and his expression betrayed a man
purely about his business. He already knew who and what we were and
procedure was just a tissue paper obstacle. Striding around the
room, he spared no one a clear look into the eyes. He harrumphed
once when passing Rogers Clinton but didn’t give me a second
glance. When he reached Neville, though, he stopped, staring long
and hard at the badge on the Scotsman’s chest.

“What is it that you’re doing here, Mr.
Ives?”

His voice was hard edged and deep. The
tonality was slightly forced, generated for effect, but I was given
the impression that it came easy to him. He’d used it a million
times in the past.

Neville met him head on. “I’m a cook,
sir.”

“Nice accent. Irish?”

“Scot, actually.”

“Really, what’s a good Scot doing all the way
out here?”

“Like I said, sir. I make meals.”

“Is that all? And what’s for dinner
tonight?”

Neville smiled. “Pineapple chicken. Will you
be staying, sir?”

McSwain nodded. “I don’t doubt it.” Pulling a
radio from his belt, he signaled someone named Sergeant Hopper.
“You can bring your men in,” he said. “This is the right
place.”

The director came forward. “Lieutenant, I
don’t think you can…”

“I can do whatever I want!” he barked.
“You’re all a bunch of criminals. Most of these fools are nobody
I’ve ever seen, but you should have at least put a fake beard on
him.”

When the glaze cleared from my eyes, I saw
that the Lieutenant was pointing at me.

Rogers Clinton was laughing. Lieutenant
McSwain was the unshakable sort, all business, never sidetracked.
But he whipped his head around at the sound of Rogers Clinton’s
laughter and a dark scowl crossed his face. I did nothing; it
wouldn’t have even occurred to me to do something. But Neville was
ready. As soon as the lieutenant’s attention was diverted, Neville
charged forward, grabbing his still outstretched hand. It was
simple for him to twist it around behind him in a hammer lock, but
he would have never been able to hold him alone. As strong and
confident as Neville was, he was hardly a match for McSwain. I
wonder if any one of us was. But Rogers, as the laughter died,
bounded forward like a man possessed and yanked McSwain away from
Neville. As old as Rogers was, he was stronger than any man had a
right to be. He stood half a foot taller than McSwain and probably
outweighed him by fifty pounds. He flung the lieutenant into a
table and followed him, loping across the distance in an instant.
McSwain recovered well and was ready for Rogers, but he was
favoring his left arm, the one Neville had grabbed, and he was
shaken by the attack. Rogers swung at him once, twice, missing both
times. McSwain saw an opening and returned the blows. He connected
two solid shots with Rogers Clinton’s midsection, but the big man
wasn’t fazed. He took them as if they were no more than the wind,
closing his hands together and bringing the mighty fist down on
McSwain’s head. The lieutenant collapsed to the ground, trying to
regain himself.

“Just hold him!” Neville shouted and Rogers
responded by grabbing him up in a bear hug. He grabbed both the
lieutenant’s gun and his radio from his belt. Studying the radio
for a moment, he held it up. “You tell them to withdraw. You made a
mistake.”

“They’ll never believe it.”

“They don’t have to, do they?” Neville
grinned as he hit the connection on the radio.

McSwain did as he was told.

Wil was listening to something on his radio.
“They’re coming in through D and G,” he reported.

“Do we have people there?” the director
asked.

“Just surrender, you fools!” McSwain shouted.
“What do you think you’ll accomplish here?”

Rogers squeezed him tightly and I could see
him wince. It was odd to watch these events unfold and know that I
was in no way a primary part of it. Neville and Rogers were making
the decisions for us while the director and Wil seemed to be
attempting to coordinate a defense against the invasion. At least
it became clear who was on whose side. Unless the ruse was so
elaborate, we could count on the GEI people to stand with us. It
was small comfort, but comfort just the same.

“You’ll never get everyone out,” McSwain
pleaded. “Don’t waste lives by fighting.”

“Shut up!” Neville screamed at him, his face
turning read. Then he smiled again and looked at Rogers. “Still
bored?”

Rogers winked at him. “Things are looking
up.”

It was only then that I began to understand
what was going on and even my understanding was abstract and filled
with gaps. Rogers had always said he was too bored to jump. Maybe
he wasn’t just being flip. Maybe boredom really
did
have
something to do with the frequency of jumps. I had never considered
it before, but then again my entire life was boring. So what could
have excited me enough to start me off on this path?