Breakaway

by Jeff Hirsch

  Jake climbed up to the bridge, where he leaned against the railing and looked out onto the sea. The water was flat but for a few low, rolling swells, banded with slivers of moonlight.

  “You should go get some sleep,” Amy said nervously. “The plane will be here in a few hours.”

  Jake nodded, but kept staring out into the dark water. “Do you think they knew it was coming?”

  The sudden shift threw Amy. “Who? Did they know what was coming?”

  “The people in Atlantis,” he said. “Or Tartessos. Or whatever it was called. Atticus said it was probably one of the greatest cities of all time. I was thinking since they had accomplished so much, maybe they couldn’t imagine the end coming. I bet that’s what killed them.” Jake looked back over his shoulder at Amy. “Thinking they were invincible.”

  “Jake . . .”

  “It used to be that I knew what you were going to do or what Dan was going to do almost before you did it. We were that in sync. But now it seems like all any of us do is fight. I don’t like what I see coming, Amy.”

  An impulse to contradict him flared in Amy, but it burned itself out before she could give it voice. “I know,” she said. It was barely a whisper.

  Jake took a step toward her just as the distant whine of engines broke the silence. Jake looked up as the seaplane’s running lights winked into view. Moonlight glinted off of its wings as it angled in for a landing.

  “I guess he’s early,” Jake said. “We can talk about this later. I’ll go get the others.”

  He started to go but Amy grabbed his sleeve to hold him back. “What are you — ?”

  “I’m going to Svalbard,” she said. “Alone.”

  “What? Amy —”

  “Everyone will be waiting for us in Tunis,” she said. “Reporters, police, Pierce’s men. Svalbard is the only chance.”

  “Fine, but going alone is crazy! Dad said the place will be empty and locked up. You’ll never get in alone. Together we could —”

  “I’m not letting anyone else get hurt over this,” Amy said. “You’re right, Jake. We’re not invincible. And Pierce is too good. He’s too smart.”

  There was a roar of engines and then a splash as the seaplane landed. Jake took hold of Amy’s arm as she turned toward the boat’s railing.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Leave Dan and Atticus behind. But let me come with you.”

  The expression on Jake’s face nearly sent Amy to her knees. Despite everything, all the fights and the hurt, Jake wouldn’t hesitate to put himself in danger to help her. She knew exactly how he felt, because she felt the same. Amy felt something bright flare up inside of her. But the brief rush of joy couldn’t withstand the cold wall of fear, worry, and guilt she’d built up. She knew what she had to do. Amy thought of her grandmother, imagined the spine of steel that ran through Grace, and forced herself to look Jake in the eye.

  “I don’t love you,” she said. “I know you think I do. You think that there’s this . . . thing between us, but there isn’t. There never was, and there never will be.”

  There was a pause, and then the light in Jake’s eyes began to slowly fade. Amy was gutted to see it go, but she couldn’t look away. She couldn’t let up. Jake’s grip on her arm loosened. The plane taxied to a stop fifty feet from the boat and the pilot popped the rear door.

  “I’ve disabled the boat,” Amy said. “But there’s plenty of food and water on board. You’ll all be safe until I send someone for you. If something happens to me, tell Dan to gather what we have on Pierce and call the FBI.”

  Before Jake could protest, Amy grabbed her pack and dove off the side of the boat. The chilly water hit her like a fist but she was up and pulling herself through the low swells in seconds. She could hear shouting behind her now. The plane was thirty feet away, then twenty, then ten.

  The pilot reached down and took her by the wrist, pulling her up onto the wide pontoon. He wrapped a towel around her as she stepped up into the plane. Amy turned to shut the door.

  “AMY!”

  Dan was on deck now, standing just behind Jake. Her brother screamed her name and Amy felt hot tears filling her eyes.

  “AMY!”

  The plane’s engines spun up and the propeller began to turn. Dan stripped off his shoes and shirt and dove off the boat. He disappeared in the black, and seconds later she saw his thin white arms tearing through the water. The pilot turned back to her.

  “What do I do?”

  “Go. Now!” Amy said as Dan got closer and closer. In another few strokes he’d be able to grab the pontoons.

  “But there’s someone in the water,” the pilot called out over the engines. “Shouldn’t we —”

  “Just go!”

  Amy slammed the door and fell into her seat. Amy could hear Jake, Atticus, and Dan yelling, even over the noise of the propellers. Each shout was like a fist digging into her, clutching at her insides. Amy closed her eyes tight and the engines surged, drowning the boys out. The plane began to pull away, picking up speed. There was a sluice of water below and then the strangely heavy feeling as they strained into the sky.

  Amy opened her eyes. Below, the boat grew smaller until Dan and the others faded into the distance. Soon, the boat was nothing but a white dot amid the black.

  Amy made herself look straight ahead, staring out the pilot’s window, as they soared away into the darkness.

  Nellie felt herself grow tense as she passed rooms of patients hooked up to pinging machinery and wheezy breathing machines. She had been promising herself for days that she’d come to see Fiske and had been avoiding it, telling herself that the Trilon investigation was too important. But finally the excuses didn’t hold anymore. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Fiske, it’s just that she hated hospitals. Even when they were as luxe as the Callender Institute, they still creeped her out.

  She had been twelve when her grandma got cancer, and Nellie had never quite gotten over seeing her laid up in the stark white of that room. As if being sick wasn’t bad enough, Nellie’s grandma had to do it while being assaulted by fluorescent lighting and the nose-stinging smell of disinfectant. It seemed like the ultimate insult. And the food! Hospitals should be about love and healing and comfort, about beef stew seasoned with just the right amount of thyme and rosemary. Instead, her grandma got mystery meat and iceberg lettuce. Dessert was a sad little cube of green Jell-O.

  How was someone supposed to embrace life eating that garbage? Why would they want to?

  Well, it won’t be like that for Fiske, Nellie thought, swinging the wicker picnic basket she had brought with her. She had waited too long to visit, but she was going to make up for it now. I’m going to heal that man!

  “Nellie Gomez!” Fiske practically leaped out of bed as she stepped into his room.

  “Fiske!”

  Nellie tried to hide her shock at seeing him. The report she had gotten from the kiddos was that Fiske was as gray as dishwater and wrinklier than a man ten years his senior. That certainly wasn’t the case now. Fiske practically glowed. His skin was smooth and ruddy, his eyes bright.

  “You look amazing!”

  Fiske laughed, loud and hearty. “As do you, as always. Is that a care package I see in your hands?”

  “It is, but I think I should go find someone who’s actually sick and give it to them!”

  “If it gets me some of your delicious cooking, I will endeavor to be appropriately moribund. Now, bring it here, Nellie! Bring it here!”

  Fiske rubbed his palms together with the eagerness of a little kid as Nellie set the basket down and threw it open. “Okay,” she said, pulling out stacks of plastic tubs. “We have a big bowl of chicken and dumpling soup followed by an apple cider–brined pork chop, rice pilaf, mixed green salad, and for dessert . . .”

  Nellie whipped the top off a tub.

  “Banoffee pie!”

  “Banoffee pie!” Fiske exclaimed. “My favorite! I barely know where to start.”

  Nellie handed him
a big silver spoon. “Chicken soup,” she said.

  “With pleasure!”

  Nellie found a seat next to the bed, smiling as Fiske dug in with obvious relish.

  “Delicious,” he said through stuffed mouthfuls. “Marvelous. Now tell me the news. How are Dan and Amy? How is the hunt!?”

  Fiske polished off the soup and moved on to the pork chop, not even bothering with a knife and fork. He picked it up in his hands and tore into it with his teeth.

  “Uh . . . they’re fine,” Nellie said, distracted by the spectacle of Fiske eating like a hungry tiger. “They found the whiskers and are in Tunis now searching for the silphium. I think Amy is feeling the stress, though. She sent most of the team back to the States.”

  “Excellent!” Fiske said. “Excellent.”

  “Excellent? Why is —”

  “Amy is feeling her power, Nellie. Her mastery. She is coming into her own. When a person does that, other people can start to feel like . . . how can I say it? Like anchors rather than sails. Do you catch my meaning? My word, this pork chop is delicious!”

  “Fiske, are you sure you’re okay? You seem —”

  “My dear girl, I haven’t felt this good since I was sixteen,” he said. “No! Scratch that. Even then I didn’t feel this strong, this fast, this . . . attuned. I’m seeing things I’ve never seen before. The world is as clear to me as a pane of freshly washed glass.”

  Nellie reached for the phone by Fiske’s bedside. “You know, maybe I should talk to your doc — OW!”

  Fiske’s hand shot out of nowhere and clamped down on Nellie’s wrist. She cried out as her bones bowed under the pressure, ready to snap.

  “Fiske, you’re hurting me!”

  He yanked his hand back like he had been shocked. His mouth fell open and his eyes went cold and hollow. His shoulders fell. Suddenly, his hand that had the strength of a steel vise the second before was as weak as a kitten’s paw.

  “Oh, Nellie. Oh, Nellie. I’m so sorry. No!”

  Tears began to fill Fiske’s eyes. They coursed down his cheeks as he drew into himself like a piece of paper being slowly crumpled.

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t . . . I don’t know what happened. It’s like I don’t know my own strength. I act before I even think. What’s happening to me?”

  Nellie pushed the lunch basket out of the way and laid a comforting hand on Fiske’s shoulder. His face was beet red, his features scrunched together. He looked like a bewildered child.

  “It’s okay,” she said quietly, stroking his arm. “You’re going to be fine. We’re just going to talk to your doctor. Okay?”

  Fiske seized on the idea like a life rope. “Yes!” he said. “Talk to Dr. Callender. He always knows what to —”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Fiske’s eyes fell shut and his breath evened out. He was asleep, his arms crossed over his chest, clutching himself tight. The hand just beneath his chin was shaking visibly.

  Nellie tore out of the room toward a nurses’ station just outside. The nurse’s eyes went wide as Nellie strode toward her.

  “Hey! You! I want to see Dr. Jeffrey Callender. Right now!”

  Nellie stood outside Dr. Callender’s office, tapping her foot impatiently while he sat at his desk speaking with a young woman in a bright red blazer. Fiske had been one of the strongest, most in-control men she had ever known. When the kiddos went to see him, they said he looked tired and weak but they didn’t say anything about a reaction like this.

  “Ms. Gomez?”

  Nellie looked up as Dr. Callender waved her inside. The woman in the red blazer jostled Nellie on her way to the door.

  “Hey!” Nellie said.

  The woman in red didn’t say a word. She already had a cell phone stuck to her ear and was chatting away as she walked.

  “Some people say excuse me!” Nellie called.

  The woman didn’t even turn her head. Nellie rolled her eyes and was about to go in the office when she saw something familiar hanging off the back of the woman’s purse — a white key card imprinted with a large red A. Beneath it was the Trilon logo.

  “Ms. Gomez?”

  Nellie tore herself away and ducked into Dr. Callender’s office. He was a small man with stylish glasses and a thick head of dark brown hair.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “Meeting with pharmaceutical reps is sadly necessary. How can I help you? You wanted to talk about Mr. Cahill.”

  “Yes, I need to know what’s going on and I need to know now.”

  Dr. Callender held up his hands in surrender. “Of course,” he said. “Mr. Cahill has gone through a very difficult time, a great deal of stress.”

  Nellie narrowed her eyes. “He’s dealt with stress his entire life.”

  The doctor nodded his head sadly. “Sometimes the ones who seem strongest are most at risk. They take the world on their back, never imagining a time when they can’t handle the weight.”

  “But what do we do? How do we . . .”

  “Fix him?” Dr. Callender asked. “If only it were that easy. I’m trying different drugs and we’re doing intensive therapy, but it’s a matter of time.”

  Nellie felt a sinking sensation. “Are you saying it’s possible that he’ll . . .”

  “Stress is an insidious thing, Ms. Gomez,” Dr. Callender said. “It’s nearly impossible for us to ever really know its effects, or, once the effects take hold, the long-term outlook. As you said, though, Mr. Cahill is very strong. I’m optimistic.”

  Nellie nodded, numb. She rose from her chair, still in a daze. “Thank you for your time.”

  She stumbled out of the office and into the bustling hallway. “Sorry,” she said as she made her way through the nurses and visitors. “Excuse me.”

  Thoughts of Fiske quickly turned to Amy and Dan. Was Fiske a vision of their future? Would a life of stress and danger break them, too? Nellie shuddered. Her kiddos had never felt so far away.

  A laugh down the hall caught her attention. The woman in the red blazer came out of another doctor’s office. She waved and then headed down the hall in the same direction Nellie was going, her spiked heels click-clacking against the linoleum. Her purse hung by her side, the key card with its large red A swinging back and forth.

  Nellie squared her shoulders, her eyes locked on the key card. She couldn’t be at Amy and Dan’s side right now because she had a mission to complete.

  Nellie started down the hall, praying her back was stronger than Fiske’s.

  Spitsbergen Island, The Svalbard Archipelago

  Amy’s entire world was snow. She sank into it with every step and it blew so thickly through the air that Amy could barely see five feet in front of her. Not that there was anything to see. She had been walking for at least an hour now and the landscape around her was still nothing but fields of white, broken now and again by a gray pillar of rock.

  Amy pulled a GPS device from the pocket of her heavy coat and wiped the snow off its face with her thick gloves.

  Her position was marked as a blue dot moving slowly across the face of Spitsbergen, an island in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. It was part of Norway’s remote Svalbard territories and sat within the Arctic Circle, less than seven hundred miles from the North Pole. Her dot was creeping along the road that connected the Longyearbyen airport, where she had landed only hours ago, to the Svalbard Global Seed Vault.

  As small as the airport was, she could have gotten a taxi to take her to the vault. The pilot had gone to great pains to point out that while the thermometer claimed it was a balmy two degrees out, the winds would radically increase her risk of hypothermia, cold weather gear or not. Amy wasn’t about to take chances on a driver, though. The media might have already broadcast her location across the world. If they had, she was sure that Pierce’s men wouldn’t miss an opportunity to arrange a little accident for her, and she couldn’t let anyone else get involved. As difficult as it made getting into the facility, Amy was relieved when she learned the seed bank was
only staffed twice a year to accept new seed shipments. There wouldn’t be another soul at Svalbard for months, and that meant there was no one she could hurt.

  The screen of the GPS pulsed. She was almost there. The snowfall wavered in the wind and Amy caught sight of an undulating glow in the distance. She dropped the GPS into her pocket and trudged the last hundred yards up a rocky hill. Amy moved carefully, half bent over, gloved hands grasping rocks and her thick boots kicking into whatever crevice she could find. Finally, the jagged land gave way to a flat road covered by a thick sheet of snow.

  Amy could just make out the gray lines of the entrance to the Svalbard Global Seed Vault. It was a simple steel rectangle, about twenty feet high, standing at the edge of the road like an immense burial marker. A square at the top of the monolith glowed in shifting patterns of turquoise and blue. Amy had read about it on the flight over and learned that it was meant to evoke the skies above the Arctic Circle.

  A steel corridor ran from the facility’s entrance into the snowbank behind. Beyond that, the structure plunged into the sandstone of the mountain, tunneling through nearly four hundred feet of solid rock before it branched off into the refrigerated seed storage areas. That they would need to refrigerate anything out here seemed insane to Amy, but it was to keep the seeds at a constant zero degrees. The idea was that the stored seeds would act as a kind of backup system for every plant on earth. If some tree in the middle of the jungle suddenly went extinct, no problem; with the seeds stored in the vault they could bring it back. They must have been thrilled to receive the silphium. A plant brought back from the dead!

  Amy pulled a pair of binoculars from her backpack and scanned the area. The snow along the roadway and by the door was fresh powder, unmarred by any tracks. She checked the road behind her. No sign of Pierce’s men there. A few buildings sat a mile or so to the south, but Amy didn’t see any light coming from them. Amy wished all the isolation could put her mind at ease, but she knew how good Pierce’s men were. If they didn’t want to be seen, they wouldn’t be.

  Amy pocketed the binoculars and crossed the road, leaning into the wind. Once she was at the entrance she brought out a handheld computer with a series of wires running to a key card. Amy slid the card into the reader on the door and the machine went to work. Soon there was a click and the door opened. Amy peered down the hallway on the other side. She looked for tracks inside the door, signs that someone had been there, but the floor was clean.