Foreseen (The Rothston Series)
Page 31
“Inaction,” Curtis mumbled. “Just like Congress. Brolie was always laughing that it was a good thing.”
“Exactly,” Melvina continued with a fierce light in her eyes. “I’ve heard the same from Mr. Jamison. But perhaps those were not jokes. I cannot be certain how far it has gone, but I fear that Rex, Mr. Jamison, and presumably Ms. Lee have been using Rothston’s power for their own end – to enhance Rothston’s power and control.”
“They’ve taken over Congress,” I muttered to confirm where she was going. My fists clenched at my worst fears coming true. These people were evil, and needed to be stopped.
“Yes, I am afraid so. And the SEC, and perhaps the military. We do not know how far it spreads. Jamison has always made it clear that he opposed our Minimal Intervention Policy, but it appears he has not willing to wait for The Seven to deliberate and change its position.”
“But that means …” Curtis started, but Mel interrupted.
“It means The Seven are not in charge of what Rothston does, and haven’t been for some time.”
Chapter 28
Kinzie
From the back of the limo, I watched the New York street scene slide by like a movie – taxis squeezing their way through the streets, people of every size, shape, and color rushing by, heads lowered along the sidewalks. Hurrying to get on with their lives. Oblivious that mine was about to end.
Mr. Jamison patted my hand on the seat between us to comfort me. “It won’t be bad, Kinzie,” he said. “In the end, you’ll be grateful.”
Grateful? How could I be grateful when I was about to be killed? My throat swelled and my eyes stung, wanting for tears, but I had none left. Still, I couldn’t be angry – at least not at Mr. Jamison. What else could he say? The vote had been close – four to three – and they’d argued about it, both before the sentence and since, he’d told me. But in the end, I posed too much of a threat to the old ways. Mr. Jamison said he couldn’t tell me who voted which way, but from that I knew who had sentenced me to death – the senior members who wanted to cling to their power. And Rex Brolie voting with them, of course. Ironic that it was the swing vote who would shift the balance of power away from the old guard who’d condemned me.
One of the Guards in the limo shifted in his seat. I wondered if he understood what they were doing.
It wasn’t fair. I wasn’t dangerous. I stared out the window again. Wherever we were headed, all of The Seven would be present, but only those who’d voted for execution would carry it out, Mr. Jamison had told me. A safeguard to make sure each member of The Seven understood the gravity of their vote. He squeezed my hand again, and I tried to give him a smile. At least I was spending this last hour of my life with someone who cared. I didn’t have many of those. Only my dad would miss me. Would Greg ever think about me or wonder where I’d gone? A sob hitched in my throat as I thought about him – what I had destroyed with my arrogance.
The limo stopped just past an arched tunnel and the black-suited men scrambled out of the car. Mr. Jamison emerged next, holding out his hand to assist me. I squinted in the glare of the reflection off the glass high rise next to the colonnaded building I faced as people rushed past me, crowding through the building’s doors. My stomach lurched, but whether it was from the crowd or from taking the next step toward my death, I wasn’t sure. Maybe both. I shielded my eyes and looked up to the massive arched windows and the statues high above. It was nearly six according to the gleaming clock in the center of the figures. I read the words below it, deeply engraved in the stone: Grand Central Terminal.
“Come on, Kinzie,” Mr. Jamison said, pressing his hand on my back.
“I … I can’t go in there,” I stammered, as my eyes dropped again to the pedestrians pushing their way through the doors.
“You have to,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. He didn’t understand. I’d rather die here than walk into that building at rush hour. “We’re just taking a little subway ride,” he continued, then he leaned in close. “And in the crowd – that’s your best chance to escape,” he whispered. My heart leapt and shuddered to a halt. It was true – the press of all those bodies could give me a chance to disappear. Even the best adepts would have trouble finding one person they barely knew among the throng.
I forced my feet forward, fearing that the crowd would leave me paralyzed, like that time at the parade so long ago when I’d been separated from my dad. Mr. Jamison held my hand tightly as he helped me through the cavernous room I’d seen in pictures and movies. Blurs of colors and mangled scents of cologne and sweat swirled around us but I kept my focus on the celestial ceiling above, naming the images quietly to myself: the Gemini twins, Pisces, the Milky Way. I kept going until the arched expanse was obscured and we descended to the lower level.
At the bottom of the ramp, the noise from thousands of people – chattering with their friends, arranging business deals on their cell phones, barking out orders for clerks at the food stands – and the smell of coffee and spices of every cuisine imaginable assaulted my senses. A man knocked into my shoulder, jolting me forward, and kept going without noticing. People swarmed like angry bees through the corridors between the vendors, bunching up at the doorways down to the subway platforms. I froze again, unable to make myself enter the teeming mass of humanity.
“I can’t do it,” I said stiffly.
Mr. Jamison and the two Guards pushed me to the corner of the landing where the ramps leading from upstairs came together. “Take off her QIT,” Mr. Jamison barked to one of them.
“But, sir …” the Guard protested, as a swarm of commuters brushed past. I gulped in air, trying to breathe smoothly and failing.
“Do it,” Mr. Jamison snapped to the Guard. “We can’t very well drag her the rest of the way. “It’d be undignified, and she deserves more than that, at least.”
He’s trying to give me a chance, I realized. I needed to look for a way to escape. My instincts were searching for a way out, fighting a battle with my crowd-frozen mind. Fighting and losing. I needed some advantage, somewhere to make a break, something to scream, but each impulse was overridden by the sea of bodies flowing past. I needed to focus on something else. I stared at the vaulted tile ceiling that spread across the landing, listening to a woman give instructions to someone on her cell phone about cooking dinner. It sounded like she was standing beside me, but when I looked cautiously around, no one nearby was speaking. A disembodied voice. My skin crawled.
The Guard leaned down and, as he raised the leg of my pants, twisted his body to block the view of the glowing ankle bracelet from passersby. In a few seconds, the device was loose in his hand, and the depth of the world slowly leaked back into my perception. But the turbula wasn’t like it was before. Not as clear. Not as strong. But right now it didn’t matter. I just needed to stay calm. It was easier with people fuzzy. Easier to ignore them that way.
Mr. Jamison urged me to keep going, but still, my heart was pounding too hard and my head throbbing. I hesitated, when he whispered in my ear again. “It’s okay. Before we get on the subway, I’ll give you some space – it’ll be your chance.”
I looked up at him as pain stabbed through my head. I could do this, I realized. There was hope. I could get away, and Mr. Jamison would help me. He was helping me, now. Influencing me to keep going. I dropped my eyes to the floor and placed one unsteady foot in front of the other into the crowd. Guided by Mr. Jamison’s comforting hand on my back, we made our way through food stalls and swarms of humanity. Across the room, down a set of stairs and through a turnstile. The crowd pressed tighter here, packed like anchovies into a pillar-studded area with tracks on either side. Each step I took required all of my focus as we waded onto the platform, and my brain burned in pain. I hoped Mr. Jamison would keep it up – continue influencing me until I reached the point where I could escape. I watched my feet against the gray floor – first the right foot stepping forward, then the left. The Guards were growing impatient. One cut in front of me, separ
ating the crowd briefly so I could pass through. My heart was pounding so painfully, I wasn’t sure I would make it. My vision kept clouding and the deafening noise became muffled, like I was hearing through a pillow. Twice my knees buckled as consciousness started to slip away, but Mr. Jamison caught me both times, holding me until I recovered enough to move on.
Finally, we stopped to wait for the train. The pain in my head lessened as I pressed my back against a white tiled pillar, trying to slow my racing pulse. Mr. Jamison and the Guards huddled a few steps away. Hopefully, he was giving them orders that would give me a chance to get away. Or maybe this was my chance, while he had them distracted. But I couldn’t move. Not yet. I needed to calm down.
A dumpy businessman stepped in between us, as more people streamed down the stairs onto the platform. I studied the man’s thinning hair to distract myself, but he noticed, stroking his precious remaining locks before he moved away. More people seeped in to fill the space. My ears separated out the kind tones of a woman nearby. I turned my head to find her with two other women chatting beside me. Pretend they are the only ones here, I urged myself. No one else exists.
The woman facing me was in her late thirties, I guessed. She had dark hair like mine, but it was straight and cut into a stylish, professional bob. I wondered if my hair would do something like that, but I couldn’t quite imagine it. My heart had slowed, although it was still pounding in my chest. I could do this. I could keep calm and escape.
I glanced around and the panic swept back. The platform was packed now. Nothing but an endless sea of bodies jostling for position – flopping like tuna in a net – but trapped two stories beneath the rock and masonry above us. I quickly turned back to the woman. Her friend was waving a tablet, complaining about something she’d just read. The dark haired woman’s head nodded in agreement. I gulped in some air and struggled to listen. Anything to keep my mind alert.
“There’s something wrong with Congress,” she told her friends. “I know the Rep from the Eighth District. Grew up together and he was a decent guy before he got there. Had lots of good ideas. But now?”
“Like all the others ain’t he,” her friend opined.
“A shame. It’s like getting to D.C. takes away their brains. They won’t agree on anything, even stuff that doesn’t matter.”
“And when you do get someone down there who wants to make a difference,” the woman with the tablet added, “He goes off and gets himself in some sort of scandal. Texting nude pictures, exposing yourself to a kid – who does crap like that?”
The third woman grinned. “It’s the aliens,” she said with a gleam in her eye. “They give everyone in Congress a lobotomy so they can control what happens.” The three women laughed, but a shiver went up my spine. I’d been part of the inaction in Congress, but … I jumped as a figure cut in between us.
Rex Brolie gave a sharp laugh. “You ought to be scared, Nicolosi,” he said coldly.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, then shook my head. He was a member of The Seven now, headed for the same destination I was, whatever it was. And he was the one who’d condemned me to death. “You … you don’t have to do this,” my voice squeaked, but it seemed far away, drowned out by the gallop of my pulse. Rex stood there, glaring down his nose at me, like he he’d won some prize. And what was left of my heart dropped into my stomach. Curtis had been right. He’d said that Rex always got even, and I hadn’t listened. I thought I could outsmart him – I thought I could prove to the world that I was better and make him cower to me. Why? Why did it matter to me? He may have been the vote that condemned me, but my own ego had set it in motion. I was about to die because I wasn’t able to resist the urge to show him up. Even so, I didn’t deserve this.
He gave a dismissive laugh as he watched my ego crumble. “This is fitting,” he declared imperiously. “A long dynasty of common-loving losers, first your Uncle Gordy, now you, brought to an end by my hand. You shouldn’t have gotten in my way, Nicolosi. I always get even.”
At his hand? My brain had barely registered the words when he slipped past an Indian woman in a sari who smelled of curry and sweat. She stepped toward me as he went by, and the rest of the crowd devoured what little space I had like hungry locusts. I was wedged between the Indian woman and a man reeking of pipe tobacco who towered over me on the other side. I couldn’t see the cluster of women anymore. A younger guy with a backpack and grimy bicycle shorts cut in front of me, his hand running along the back of a young woman with unnaturally dark hair and more piercings than I had ever seen. Someone stepped in front of them and they moved backwards, jostling against me.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. The din of the voices around me grew louder, but less distinct, as my ears were overwhelmed. A long tunnel seemed to stretch before me, squeezing its way between the people, with a welcoming blandness at the end. The gray … the oblivion. I shook my head, knowing I needed to stay alert. My head stabbed in pain. It had to be Mr. Jamison, urging me to do something. There had to be something here. Something I could do. Some way out.
I forced my head to the side, but the sea of bodies was endless. I turned back to the couple in front of me and a tickle of cool air kissed my face. Past them, I saw an opening in the crowd only a few feet away. A yard, maybe a little more. My heart leapt. If I could push through to get there, I could think. I could figure out what I was supposed to do. I’d be safe.
I took a deep breath and held it, willing myself to move. I knocked into the bicycle guy, and he stepped aside with a glare. He grumbled something, but I couldn’t hear what it was. My vision began to fade again, but I held on, studying the gray stone of the floor. Get past these next two people and I was there. I side-stepped a man beside me. Almost there. Open space where the gray squares turned to knobby school-bus yellow. I could see it in front of the next person’s feet, just at the edge of the platform. Whiffs of the cooler air now flooded my nostrils. Only a few more steps. I could make it. Somewhere, I heard a rumbling hiss. It was a comforting sound.
My shoulder grazed the last woman in front of me as I passed by her. “What are you …?” I heard her say, but didn’t listen to the rest. The dull rumble expanded in the room, but the openness of this space – beyond the crowd, beyond the edge of the platform – called me like a siren. I inhaled deeply, studying the words “Grand Central” imbedded in the white tiles on the far wall, separated by a dark, cool gulf. Ten feet of open space, like a twilit valley with cool air and quiet where I could think. But the crowd still pressed behind me. Shouts, as people clamored for space, yelling for others to get out of their way. A hand touched my back. Another grabbed at my shoulder. I flinched them away and took another step forward. One more and I was there – they wouldn’t be able to reach me. I’d be safe. Somewhere I heard my name called. A pleasant sound from a familiar voice. The rumble turned into a roar and I felt wind hissing past me. I’d made it. I smiled and stepped into the emptiness.
Chapter 29
Greg
“Damn it, Curtis!” I jammed on Mr. Heisenberg’s brakes and laid on the horn as a taxi swerved in front of me. Its swarthy driver yelled something in a foreign tongue. “We’ll never make it like this,” I snapped, staring down the canyon-like street lined with high-rise buildings.
“Sorry,” he squeaked from the back seat, as the traffic on 42nd Street parted again and I coaxed the Maserati through.
The display on the dash read 6:05. We were late, but Mel had said the time of execution would depend on the subway schedule. But the dread kept growing inside me. How would we find her in Grand Central Station? The place was like a cavern with endless tunnels going off in all directions. And even if we did, what would happen then? I had to trust the old woman and the nerdy high school guy in the back seat. They seemed to think their plan would work, although talking to the same people who’d decided to kill Kinzie seemed more like wishful thinking to me. But I had to trust them; I had no other options, and they’d gotten me this far.
Curtis Mechenbaum huddled in the back seat. It was obvious why Kinzie got along with him; the kid was real. A little spoiled perhaps, but then again, so was I. The Yale sweatshirt swam on him, but he needed it more than I did. And it covered some of the stench of his days in that cell. His face was pale but was looking better than he had on the first half of the drive. Food and water had helped. But his adept skills were still weak. An aftereffect of the QIT device, Mel told me. Curtis’s forehead knotted in concentration as he influenced the taxis drivers to get out of our way. I almost felt bad for pushing him, but we’d get no second chance at this.
Mel suddenly straightened in her seat. “Got them!” she announced.
“In the terminal?” I asked as I swerved to the curb under the arched overpass and stopped in front of the ornate station. We were running out of time.
“Yes. And I know where.”
Curtis pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and the three of us scrambled out of the car. I snatched the keys out of the ignition and Melvina tore off the bathrobe she’d been wearing as a coat on our drive. Dressed in a red striped sweater and khakis, she marched into the terminal through the tall doors. The crowds parted like the Red Sea to let her pass, and Curtis and I followed her down the polished marble steps to the vast main gallery. High above us, supported on tall columns, the blue-green ceiling arced like a cathedral, festooned with the golden likeness of constellations. A huge American flag hung from one end. I’d been here many times with my parents, and later with friends on weekend trips to the city and admired the architecture. But not this time. And all these people – they were just in the way. Without Mel, finding Kinzie in all of this would have been impossible.