Savior

by Caplan, Anthony

  The classifieds held an advertisement for a position in Harken Research Geological Unit as a computer modeler specializing in strategic planning. Ricky read the description out loud.

  That sounds interesting, said Tony.

  Why don't you apply, Uncle Tony? You could probably legitimately be applying for it.

  Maybe I will. That's not a bad idea. You know, Ricky. I've been thinking this whole time driving how unsatisfactory the whole academic trip has been for me. Maybe this is a golden opportunity, coming up here.

  Tony took the newspaper from Ricky and read to himself. Then he went into the bathroom and took a shower. Ricky could hear him on his cell phone, but not clearly. When he came out, Tony announced they were going for a ride, as he dried himself and dressed.

  Where?

  The Harken headquarters. I called them just now. They want me to come in and talk to the head engineer.

  That's awesome, Uncle Tony.

  Yes. I would say so. Pretty good.

  Remember, though. You're not really going for a job.

  Why not?

  We're trying to infiltrate the plant.

  Of course. I'll get a job and then we'll be working from the inside. Perfect, right?

  Right.

  Tony fiddled around on the laptop and found an old resume that had survived somehow in some file. He printed it out to the front desk and asked Ricky to go get it.

  Briscoe was still watching the television, looking more bored than ever.

  Not much going on still? asked Ricky.

  No, not much, eh.

  The printer is where?

  Oh, did you just print out a CV?

  What's that? Oh, yeah. That was probably it.

  Briscoe went and got the piece of printed paper.

  Professor at the University of Pittsburgh?

  That's my uncle. Ricky laughed to be polite.

  Back in the room, Ricky watched the snow drifting in across the highway and at the long line of slow-moving tractor-trailers. Somehow he felt Al was very near and that there was movement beyond the visible river and highway, beyond the stillness and boredom everywhere. It spoke to him, whispering his father's name.

  Tony had shaved his chin and trimmed the moustache and dressed in a white button down shirt and tie and jeans.

  Who do we say I am?

  You're my son. We've moved up here together. You're way into hockey, okay?

  You're really getting into this. Do I have to be?

  What are you, a slacker? Come on, just for today. Your dad would love it.

  He would.

  Uncle Tony laughed.

  Ricky picked up the pack and started moving to the door.

  Leave your stuff here, Ricky.

  No, I want to take the tablet.

  Why?

  I've just always done that.

  No need. It'll be fine.

  Uncle Tony seemed firm on the point of leaving the tablet. But Ricky felt unsure, nervous, letting it out of his sight. It was going against his better instincts, but he did anyway, not knowing why.

  Sometimes you have to let go, Ricky, said Uncle Tony, as if reading his mind.

  They stopped at Cosmos Pizza. It was on the left side of the road, and Tony slid around a little in the intersection.

  Damn, we're going to have to get snow tires if we're here for any length of time.

  We're not settling here, Uncle Tony. We’re just finding my dad and getting out again.

  I know.

  The two workers in the pizza shop were pasty faced and silent, just the drone of the radio in the back room keeping them company while they swung the pizzas in and out of the oven. A steady traffic of customers came in and went out again, a random sampling of people that gave no clue as to the nature of the town. Ricky and Tony ate at a far table, and again Ricky had the sense of his father being nearby by the weirdness of being in this place of uncertain light. He had the sense of being at the top of the world, in a far, cut-off land, and all these routines of seemingly ordinary life were covering up some barbaric loneliness.

  The company headquarters were in a modern office building in the downtown. The secretary came out of her cubicle and asked Tony to come back with her. Ricky waited in the reception area and read a magazine, Canada Today, with an article about Scientology and recipes in the back for venison. Three men in suits came out of the elevator speaking Spanish. They looked Argentinean to Ricky. The secretary did not look up at them, and they walked into her cubicle and out the back as if they were familiar with the routines of the office and used to working around them for the most part. The sight of them sent a chill up Ricky’s back.

  Tony came out.

  Let's go, he said under his breath.

  Did you get the job?

  They want me to come back for another interview. They need to do a background check.

  They were in the elevator and Tony hit the button for the second floor.

  What are we doing?

  I've got an idea. Let's check this out.

  They walked down the hall. Tony doubled back and tried the door to a supply closet. He flicked on the light and looked around.

  There it is.

  It was a black plastic box and inside it were multiple colored wires and jacks. Tony took his laptop out of the carrying case and plugged it into one of the jacks with an Ethernet cable.

  Pull the door closed behind you.

  What are you doing?

  Let me see. Here it is. The backup template. Good, they're using Middleware for the FTP servers. I'm basically going to log on as an administrator and use a temporary file to access the daily log.

  Ricky watched as his uncle worked silently tapping on the keyboard. At some point, Tony whipped the laptop closed, pushed it in the document case, and ran out of the room. Ricky followed close behind. They took the fire escape and ran out into the lobby joining a crowd of office workers getting off work, wrapping themselves in coats and scarves for the weather.

  In the car, Ricky was jumping he was so excited.

  That was awesome, Uncle Tony. I don't know what you did, but you looked good.

  Just tapped into the office network, Ricky. I'm good for something. They almost got us. An alert went out on the internal bulletin that a firewall had been breached. That's when I decided we needed to get out of there.

  Good timing.

  Yes, and now I've got a few files to look at. Keep me busy for a while.

  They drove the few blocks back to the hotel, and Tony got into bed.

  Are you going to sleep?

  No. I like to read in bed. And it's too cold, Ricky. Why don't you go walk around, find a place to hang out?

  Like where?

  I don't know. There's a bar downstairs.

  I can't go in there.

  Of course you can. Just sit down and order a Coke or something. Tell them what room you're in. Run up a tab. I just need some quiet time to look through this stuff and make some sense of it.

  All right.

  Here, take some money, in case.

  Tony handed him a twenty-dollar bill.

  There was already a couple in the elevator. They seemed Spanish or French, the woman dressed in furs and the man in an evening suit and double-breasted coat. They looked at Ricky, and the man cleared his throat in an obvious way. Ricky didn't quite get it, but it seemed to him like some class-conscious bit of snobbery—the throat clearing—that mostly went over his head. It was late in the day for that sort of thing. Didn't they realize the importance of saving his father? Obviously not. Then, on the ground floor, they asked the deskman something Ricky could not hear. He waited behind them for his turn.

  Hi there, still looking for a job, eh?

  No, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to go in the bar and get something to drink.

  Sure. I'll join you in a bit.

  Oh.

  Yeah, I get off in a half hour.

  Ricky sat at a small round table and faced the television. A grou
p of people at the next table was celebrating a birthday or some important family event. It was two women in their twenties and their older parents. Ricky watched the television and tried to keep the nerves at arms length, the feeling that he didn't belong there. A waitress approached, and he asked her for a beer.

  Uh, how old are you, sugar?

  Eighteen. But that's legal in Canada, right?

  It is. Do you have your driver's license?

  Back in my room. I'll go get it.

  No, that's all right. What can we get you?

  A Molson.

  She went off to get his beer but came back around after whispering with the bartender, who had lifted his head and looked at Ricky.

  When did you turn eighteen, sugar?

  Yesterday. It's my birthday, really.

  Isn't that special.

  It is for me.

  The hockey game was between the Edmonton Oilers and the Vancouver Canucks. The crowd was cheering a potential fight, the two skaters circling each other with their gloves off. The bartender stopped watching and poured Ricky's beer. The waitress brought it over and set it down with little fanfare. Ricky drank off a couple of sips from the top. It fit his mood of finding some initiative, some magic spark that would carry him beyond the everyday, beyond the mask of normalcy and to wherever the Santos Muertos had hidden his father.

  Lost in his thoughts, about two-thirds through the beer, he saw the front desk guy Briscoe, come in and sit at the bar. At some point he turned around and saw Ricky. He smiled, said something to the bartender and walked back to Ricky's table, carrying a drink in each hand.

  Here you go. Compliments of the house.

  Thanks.

  You look tired. He sat down and looked at Ricky quizzically. Everybody treating you okay?

  Oh, yeah.

  Drink up. That's a special concoction. My buddy's specialty.

  Ricky drank a sip.

  So what's your story, eh?

  Ricky sighed. If he started, he didn't think he could hold back.

  I'm worried about my uncle.

  Why?

  He's in bed.

  And?

  Well, he's reading up about the company and I'm not sure he. . .well, we don't really want a job there.

  No, you don't. The place is overrun with crazies. They don't like Americans, I can tell you that. We've had a few in here on their off hours.

  Well, that's the problem. My dad's an American prisoner there.

  No kidding, man. Are you trying to get him out?

  Yeah.

  I'll tell you what. My buddy's uncle is a trapper. He says he's heard noises from a spot along the Athabasca near Morton Island.

  So?

  We'll go there frickin' tonight if you'd like.

  That's crazy.

  Well, what are you going to do? You can't just walk in the front door and ask for your dad back. The whole place is top secret. Not even the pissant jerks that get to run the country in Ottawa want to admit what's going on there.

  I. . .

  Drink up.

  Ricky didn't know what to say. He sipped at the drink Briscoe had brought him. The story seemed to spread, and hours later the place was crowded with off-duty policemen, oil prospectors, and ladies of the night all celebrating the end of an era that had vaguely to do with Ricky. He couldn't hear what people were saying, but nothing mattered to him any more. People went behind the bar and took turns pulling the taps and pouring beers. The waitress had one arm around his shoulders while talking to someone else. He remembered his Uncle Tony in bed and thought he should check on his progress. He excused himself, walked out of the bar, and jogged up the stairs of the fire escape and down the hall to their room.

  Relieving himself in the toilet, he heard Tony call to him.

  Ricky, I've had some serious thoughts about this. I've been reading up about the Harken operation and. . .

  Hold on, Uncle Tony.

  Ricky washed his hands and face. He wanted to be as sober as possible for this.

  Tony was still in bed in his underwear. The sheets were off and his face was lit by the laptop's eerie glow. His reading glasses were slipping off his nose. He pushed them back up.

  This is serious stuff, Ricky. The reason they're here is to bring down the Western world. That's their stated aim.

  How?

  Setting off seismic vibrations under the North American tectonic plates. It would take a tremendous amount of energy, but they've figured out ways to harness sound waves. They're already using it. Look at this diagram that I found of a hovercraft.

  He pushed the laptop around and showed Ricky the schematic drawing of a plane that looked like the one Ricky had seen in the Guatemalan highlands the night that they'd been attacked and his father taken prisoner.

  I've seen that one flying.

  Really? It's amazing. I think we need to go to the government on this. It's much bigger than we can handle.

  Ricky jumped off the bed like a bolt of lightning had hit him.

  We can't do that, Uncle Tony. They’ll take the tablet. We'll never get Dad out that way.

  We can't take this on by ourselves, Ricky. These guys are playing with bigger toys than we can deal with.

  We can do it.

  Their operation here covers fifty-two square miles. How do you suppose we'll find him? We won't. We can't. As a matter of fact, I've already emailed my friend Hank Rubine. He's in the Naval Reserve and works for Westinghouse. He's put me in touch with a senior guy at the DOD who's going to call me back.

  What? You can't do that.

  Ricky flew around the room, then fell into a chair, his face contorted, streaming tears, as he struggled to get a hold on himself.

  Ricky. Don't take it like that.

  How do you want me to take it? You've just blown it, Uncle Tony. They're going to be coming for us now. I'll never give them the tablet. That's not what it's for.

  How do you know what it's for?

  I can hear my mother when I hold it up. Like this. Ricky ripped the tablet out of the pack and held it to his ear. The Mayans knew about zero. It's the sign of the snail here, Uncle Tony. See? Ricky held the tablet out to Tony, who left the bed and walked over to the easy chair where Ricky sat. Tony took the tablet and stared at the hieroglyphs.

  It's the invisible world, Uncle Tony. The key to the whole universe. What's underneath the surface of the manifest. Coconut Juan and Evelio knew about it. They knew it had to go to the right people.

  Ricky's face was red and wet and he had to wipe it with his coat sleeve.

  I know it means a lot to you, Ricky. Tony studied the tablet while he talked, searching for words and hesitating before continuing.

  Do you really hear your mother?

  I do. I can hear her talking.

  What does she say?

  She tells me to be good, to follow my heart. It's like she's right here in the room.

  Ricky. I think you have, you might have, access to some alternate reality by the force of your desire, what we used to call prayer, or, in the worst case, wishful thinking. And I respect that. You've had good fortune in this search. Even before that. You could say in some way the tablet sought you out. Coconut Juan had a sense that you were the right person. He entrusted it to you. If you don't feel comfortable bringing in some government muscle, I'll go with that. It's your option after all.

  But you've set things in motion. Uncle Tony. You've uncovered us. We were operating below the radar.

  How do you know? How do you know they haven't been tracking you the whole time you've been on the road?

  Because Coppinger told me about the chips. Your body eliminates them after a while.

  Tracking chips? Easy to manipulate those. Add coagulants to the surface enzymes so that a clot forms on your intestinal wall.

  We need to get out of here now.

  Ricky jumped across to the bed and grabbed the tablet. Frantic, he pulled on his coat.

  Hey, let's sleep on it, Ricky.

&nbs
p; No, we can't. We have to go now.

  Tony stood and grabbed Ricky's arm and yanked him around so that he was facing him.

  Look. There's no need to panic. Nobody's coming for us yet. In the morning, if you'd like, we'll check out of here and find another hotel. We'll register under assumed names and try to resume some cover.

  What about the job?

  We don't need that. I've already found out everything I need to know about the Harken operation. They're doing a lot more than just cracking oil out of the tar sands.

  What about Dad and the other prisoners? How are we going to find my dad?

  Tony let out an exasperated sigh.

  I don't know.

  I feel like you don't even care, Uncle Tony.

  I do. Of course I do. I'm just at a total loss, Ricky. I'll admit I don't know. There was nothing in any of the files about prisoners, holding facilities. Nothing. I could have missed it, of course.

  Well, just think, where's the most likely place for an underground facility? That's probably where they are.

  I have thought about that.

  Uncle Tony played on his laptop. He read from the screen.

  The oil sands are deposited on an erosional surface of ancient limestone. There are three levels in the formation and the lowest level is sixty meters thick in some places. That means that if you go deep enough where there’s a source of flowing water, you could get some interesting cave formations. I would guess that since there is a north-south orientation to the layers, the easiest access would possibly be at the southern end of the formation, nearest to the river here.

  What's the name of the river?

  The Athabasca.

  That's it. That’s what Briscoe said.

  What?

  There's a way in, Uncle Tony.

  A knock on the door caused Ricky to whirl around. Tony stood from the easy chair and put his hand on Ricky's shoulder.

  Calm down, he said.

  Tony put on his shirt and pants and opened the hotel room door to three police officers. The first one in was a thin-lipped, dour man; the next was a dark skinned woman; and the last, a young, clean-cut guy with an expressionless face, all of them wearing the red uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

  Sorry to intrude, sir. But we have orders to bring you into the detachment for questioning.

  On what grounds? asked Tony.