Albert and his sidekick leapt through the rooftop’s emergency exit to see the clear sky that he had witnessed so many times before in his plans. Except in his vision, Angus Turner was there to meet him with a proud smile on his face and a calming word.
“Where’s Turner?” screamed Ying, searching the speckled white roof for a sign of the wise professor. Her voice was carried away by the wind whipping across the rooftop. In the distance, the ocean danced and sparkled as the sun hid just below the horizon.
“Shit! I don’t know,” screeched Albert.
“What do we do?”
“Give me the rope.”
Ying removed the long black rope that Brick had given them and tied it securely to a metal post along the roof’s edge. Albert looked over the edge to the parking lot below. It was empty. Where are Brick and Gabe? They should be here by now to pick us up . . . Something’s wrong.
He attempted to collect himself, but could hear the slamming and banging of doors opening and stairs being climbed. They’re coming.
“We can’t leave without him,” said Ying, anticipating Albert’s thoughts.
Albert spun and looked at his assistant. “That’s not even an option. Brick and Gabe aren’t here yet.”
Ying’s eyes widened. The assured calm that had possessed them as they ascended the stairwell had vanished amid the swell of the unexpected. The steady lines of the tree in her mind’s eye turned to dust.
“Get next to the door. We’ll take them as they come,” shouted Albert as he shoved Ying next to the rooftop entrance.
Two guards clad in red body armor slammed through the door, each carrying a high-powered gun, but the sight of the two massive soldiers paled in comparison to what followed: Eva.
Channeling Angus Turner, Albert sprung from behind the door and grabbed the first guard’s gun. As he did so, his glasses once again illuminated green above the man’s head. He slammed the butt of the gun against the guard’s face, momentarily disabling him. Albert then turned to the next guard, whose stomach glowed green through the glasses. He jabbed the man in the gut and encircled his arm around his neck, depriving him of oxygen.
Ying watched as the other guard quickly grabbed Albert by the neck and shoulders and attempted to peel him off their partner.
Seeing both guards’ legs glowing green, Ying dropped to a knee and delivered two measured blows to the men’s knees, sending them tumbling to the ground. Albert kicked their guns away and body-slammed one of the guards, ramming his head against the ground.
The next thing Albert heard was the crack of limb against limb. His eyes shot upward to see Eva mercilessly beating Ying with her black-gloved hands. Ying’s glasses had been dislodged from her face, and the taller, more powerful woman tore at her hair, aiming furious blows at her face and body. Ying fell to the ground. Albert saw blood streaming from her lips and nose as Eva kicked her relentlessly.
“Stop!” screamed Albert with a newfound power. The plea resonated throughout the empty rooftop. Eva turned. Ying crumpled to the ground, moaning.
Eva pivoted to him. Her face simmered with rage. She locked eyes with Albert, and her rage turned to despair. She was gone now. She had chosen her fate, and Albert had lost her. There would be no bringing her back. Now she was Albert’s enemy, and she knew it.
Albert rose to face her and assumed his fighting position.
Eva scoffed.
“I didn’t want this, Dilbert,” said the woman in black as she unleashed a series of blows that Albert attempted to block.
With the vibration of each blow, Albert’s glasses fell farther down his face. Panicked, he covered his face to secure them.
Eva’s eyes followed his movements.
She knows about the glasses, he thought.
Albert could hear footsteps rumbling up the stairwell like a building fire. More guards are coming. I need protection. His mind quickly raced through the possible scenarios. He could stall Eva by herself, but once the guards arrived, it was over. I’ve got to back her up against that door.
“Turner’s been training you, I see,” exclaimed Eva with a sardonic smile. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Albert jabbed with his right hand. She dodged left. He jabbed with his left. She dodged right, almost imperceptibly to highlight the minimal effort required. He kicked with his right leg, attempting to throw his opponent off guard. This time, the woman in black’s hand sprung from her left side like a gun from a holster and swatted Albert’s face. He reached for the glasses, but it was too late. They clinked against the ground. Before he could recover, a devastating kick to his knee dropped him to the ground, followed by a jaw-smashing blow to his face.
As Albert fell to the ground, the roof door burst open, and Angus Turner limped onto the roof. With one forceful arc, the aging professor swept Eva’s legs out from under her with his walking stick, sending her tumbling to the ground.
“I think you’ve caused enough trouble for the day,” said Turner like a disappointed father to a child. He snatched one of the guard’s pistols off the ground and pointed it at her head.
Albert rushed over to Ying, who was curled up on the cement roof.
“Are you alright?”
Ying smiled, her mouth caked in blood. “Yeah, you should have let me take her. I had her right where I wanted her.”
“Attagirl,” exclaimed Turner as he dragged Eva away from the rooftop entrance and toward the rope hanging from the roof’s steel edge. The woman in black’s face seethed.
“Dr. Puddles, Ms. Koh, I believe it is time for us to make our escape,” said Turner, gesturing to the rope. “Ms. Koh, do you think you can make it?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” replied Ying, lifting herself off the ground and limping toward the roof’s edge. As she passed Eva, she stepped on her hand.
“Ahhhh,” screeched the woman in black.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I step on you?” said Ying with a grin.
Albert frowned and gestured to the empty white-lined parking lot below. “Bad news, Professor. Something happened to Gabe and Brick. They’re not here.”
Turner closed his eyes. Albert could see that the events of the past few weeks had taken their toll on the old man.
“Onto the next branch of the tree. We go by foot,” cheered the professor, attempting to convince himself as much as Albert and Ying. He handed Albert a yellow envelope with something thick inside.
“Is this . . . ?”
Turner nodded.
Albert slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket and followed Ying down the rope, all the while looking up at Turner.
“Are you coming?” asked Albert.
“Yes, and so is Ms. Fix here,” said Turner, gesturing with the gun for Eva to grab the rope.
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” came the voice of Cristina Culebra. From the sound of her voice, Albert could tell she was standing behind Turner.
Albert watched from below as Turner quickly slid his body behind Eva and brought his pistol to her head. Panicked, Albert began scaling back up the rope. Without looking back, Turner pointed his finger downward, signaling for Albert and Ying to keep descending. Albert kept creeping down the side of the building but could see the professor’s silhouette. Turner stood at the roof’s edge, using Eva as a shield.
“It’s been a long time, Cristina,” said Turner.
“Yes, Angus . . . too long.” Albert heard Cristina’s heels crunching toward Turner on the rooftop gravel. He looked down. Ying was nearly at the bottom now.
“Don’t move any closer,” said Turner. Albert could hear the rooftop door open again and the shuffle of numerous footsteps. The backup has arrived. I can’t leave him. He began climbing hand over hand back up the rope. The fibers of the rope tore at the skin of his hands.
“Come now, Angus. You’re smarter than that. You’re cornered alon
e on a rooftop. Ten armed guards have pistols pointed at you. Even your precious Tree of Knowledge won’t do the trick. Why don’t you put down the gun and we’ll discuss this like civilized adults?”
From his vantage point, Albert could see Cristina approaching Turner. She was carrying a gun. What is he doing? She’s getting too close.
Behind his back, Turner again motioned for Albert to stay put.
“Now, Cristina, don’t do anything rash, or I may hurl myself off this roof and you’ll never be able to crack that book you’ve stolen. Or worse yet, I may be forced to do something unpleasant to your daughter,” said Turner, his voice beginning to break.
Cristina Culebra smiled. This was her moment. She cocked her head to the side and delivered the words she had been waiting to speak to him since the beginning. “Don’t you mean our daughter, Angus?”
Turner slouched and staggered to the left, looking at Eva as if he were seeing her for the first time. His eyes carried the pain of a man who realized he’d chosen the wrong road in life.
Albert glanced at Eva and could see she felt all of this and more. Hope filled and softened the face that had been so hard a minute ago. This was the girl that he had known, the girl he had fallen in love with. She reached out to her father and grabbed his hand as if to restore a connection that had been taken from them.
Their connection was broken by a gunshot.
Cristina and Eva both turned in panic to see the bloodied presence of the general, arm extended, gun in hand.
Turner grabbed his chest and staggered backward, attempt-ing to find his footing.
Albert looked on in horror as Turner’s foot caught on the edge of the roof. He reached and strained with his free hand. The professor’s pant leg slid in and then out of Albert’s hand as his body tumbled off the building.
“Nooooo,” screamed Ying.
Turner’s body descended earthward and slammed against the remorseless concrete below.
Chapter 14
Albert Puddles walked out of Fix headquarters side by side with Ying and an escort from the Los Angeles County sheriff’s office. The morning sunrise shined a harsh beam, an interrogation light, stripping Albert of pretense, exposing him for what he was, mocking him for what he had lost. Every few steps, he looked behind him toward the ledge of the cruel glass building where Turner had fallen. He wondered: If he looked hard enough, could he prevent it from happening? One look at Ying, and he knew she thought the same.
Ocean air brimming with expired fish and thriving industry lilted in front of him, carrying the chatter and laughter of officers in the parking lot. Handshakes. Pats on the back. Bullies at the playground. In one of the squad cars sat Brick and Gabe, handcuffed and complaining vehemently to anyone who would listen.
As he walked toward the blue-and-white sedan that would carry him to confinement, Albert’s mind flitted from one feeling to the next. With each step, sentiment bubbled and burst like water in a cauldron. Grief at everything that had been taken from him. Turner, his job, his home, his life, his comfort in knowing what each day would look like . . . his hope. Wonder at how his calculations had gone wrong. How the Tree had let him down. Guilt for bringing Ying into this chaos, for not having the foresight to protect Turner. Isolation at the realization that he was the guardian of the Tree now, that his mentor wouldn’t be there to teach him, to protect him. Responsibility for the Book Club, for those who would be harmed by Cristina Culebra, most important, for Ying. Anger at himself for allowing emotions to corrupt the order that he had built in his life, blinding him to the general’s gun and Turner’s weakness, keeping Eva forever in his mind. Demolishing routine, organization, predictability.
Confusion that those same emotions made him feel alive.
Alive. Something stirred. He understood now. His back straightened. He looked at the sun again. The harsh spotlight was gone, and in its place a new beginning. His steps quickened. Ying and the deputy started scampering just to keep up. Emotions were water. It was his choice how to deal with them. He could do what he’d been doing, shoring up a wall to keep the water out, inevitably crumbling as the sea wore down the rocks and seeped its way inside. Or he could harness it like a waterwheel and use it to give life to something greater than himself. To fuel his resolve. The Tree. The fight against Cristina, the—
“Tim! Not that car.”
Albert snapped back to reality. The deputy had opened the back door to usher Ying and Albert into the back seat, but had been interrupted by another officer.
“These guys are apparently suspects in a case back in Jersey. They need to be transferred. Put them in the navy unmarked Crown Vic over there.” He pointed to a car inconspicuously parked in the back of the visitors’ circle.
Albert squinted at the officer, trying to glean meaning through his mirrored aviators. Transferred? How would they know we need to be transferred already? Does Cristina Culebra control the sheriff as well?
The sheriff’s deputy pushed Ying and Albert through the crowd of cars and toward the dark-blue sedan. The windows were tinted, but Albert could see there was a driver in the car waiting for them.
“Where are we going?” asked Ying to the deputy.
“You’re going to jail, ma’am,” said the deputy triumphantly. “This gentleman here’s going to take you back to Jersey and make sure justice is served.”
“Who is he?” asked Albert.
“No more questions,” said the deputy and shoved them into the mysterious car.
Albert and Ying tumbled into the dark vinyl seats. The creaking sound of the material reminded him of a New York City taxicab. A thick black cage separated them from the driver. Albert peered through, but the driver kept his head and his eyes forward.
“You’ve come a long way from solving logic puzzles, haven’t you, Professor?” said the voice.
Albert grabbed the cage. “Detective Weatherspoon?”
The bearish detective turned and flashed a sly grin. “The one and only.”
Both Ying and Albert leapt forward in their seats and pressed their faces against the divider like dogs in a kennel. Weatherspoon reminded them of home.
“Wait, so you’re here because you know about Cristina Culebra? You know that what I told you was true? I knew it. I knew you’d see that this whole thing was a scam. Oh, thank God you’re here. She killed him. She killed Turner. We need to get her!”
“Whoa. Slow down, Puddles. Don’t get too excited. I’m still not convinced you aren’t a part of something, but I know for sure that this mess is a whole lot more complicated than it looks. First things first, let’s get the two of you out of here and back to New Jersey in one piece, and then we can go about figuring out what’s really going on.”
The detective started the car and crept out of the parking lot. Albert could hear the pebbles trickling out from behind the tires as they left. Ying looked behind them. No one followed.
“Since we’ve got a little time, why don’t you start at the beginning,” said Weatherspoon.
Albert leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and gathered himself. He was exhausted, and the man who had been his father for the last sixteen years was dead. All he wanted was to sleep and dream, dream of a place where the Tree of Knowledge never existed. But he knew he couldn’t. He had listened to the serpent and taken a bite from the apple. He was no longer ignorant. He was awake. His life was no longer a life; it was a cause. Ying—and hopefully Weatherspoon—would be his partners in that cause.
He took a deep breath and began, “It all started when you came to my office with a piece of paper . . .”
Epilogue
“This is a celebration, not of my election but of our independence,” boomed Cristina Culebra into the gleaming silver microphone.
A crowd of one hundred thousand Californians rocked and jostled like a single mindless organism, hoping to catch a glimpse of the newly elected governor. Re
d banners and T-shirts gleamed in the sunlight like blood on a knife. Drumbeats rippled through the crisp fall air and echoed around the state capitol.
“For too long, we as Californians have been held down by bureaucrats in Washington, DC.
“For too long, your hard-earned money has been sent to other states and wasted by corrupt local officials.
“For too long, our elected leaders have ignored us and abandoned us.
“For too long, the Golden State has been cloaked in darkness.
“Today, we say: No more! No more income taxes. No more federal regulations. No wasteful spending. Today, I am here before you to officially announce California’s independence from the Union!”
The assembled throng screamed with delight, oblivious to the impact of the newly elected governor’s words. They were hers. They would follow.
“From now on, we are not Americans; we are Californians. From now on, we rise and fall together. From now on, our destiny is our own. And as your president, I will promise you that our future will be bright.”
Cristina Culebra paused, adjusted her crimson scarf, and pointed a long, tan finger at General Isaac Moloch, who stood over her left shoulder like a ghost. “And to those who would try to stop us, I would say one thing. There’s a four-star general and a Red Army that’s got our back.”
The final words of Cristina Culebra were drowned in chants of “Chris-ti-na, Chris-ti-na!”
The self-proclaimed president stepped back from the microphone and waved to the crowd, delighting in the power that was finally hers. She knelt down on the edge of the stage and shook hands with the screaming, crying citizens reaching up to touch their newfound savior.
From the side of the stage, Eva looked on, attempting to grasp the magnitude of what had happened and what was about to come. She had gained and lost a father in a moment. She stared with a nauseated air as her mother smiled and pressed the flesh of her unwitting victims.
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