Trial Run

by Thomas Locke

  “Well, sure.”

  She wrapped her arms around him. “You’re something else.”

  He looked down at her. “Is that good?”

  “Yes, Trent. That is very good indeed.”

  He hesitated a long moment, then lifted one arm and settled it onto her shoulders. Shane strengthened her own grip in reply. She felt a tension ease from his frame, something he had been carrying for so long she only noticed it when it was gone. She took it for the right moment to say, “I want you to come with me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “If you should stay, then so should I. We’re partners. I’m not going without you.”

  She readied herself for all the responses she could imagine. The longer he took, the more she felt isolated from the surrounding hilarity. The only two somber faces on the entire beach.

  Trent said, “Do this for us. Not for me. Not for you. For us. So we can hope for a future together.”

  She locked on to him more tightly. “How can you possibly speak the only words that will break down my walls?”

  He lowered his face into her hair. “I’ve dreamed of doing this. All my life.”

  Shane said, “Promise you’ll come join me as soon as you can.”

  He held her closer still. “The very nanosecond.”

  They walked down past the point and then turned east on Ocean Road, the street that bordered the university. They had left their bikes there that afternoon before walking back to the apartment, having a bite, going for a drive, apparently drifting through a slow day in typical student fashion, while the party got under way. Abandoned bicycles formed a metal forest along the university’s border and the park fronting Ocean Road. They waited in the shadows until a cluster of semi-sober students wandered past. Then they mounted up and headed south, through the university.

  The university’s southern border was rimmed by Lagoon Road. Where the street turned inward, a paved bike path branched off. The path continued along the top of the beachside cliffs. Trent held to a steady pace, passing a number of slower-moving cyclists returning to Goleta from the party. Five miles later, the path emptied into the parking lot fronting Goleta’s main public beach. Their tires hissed past the shorefront restaurant and locals playing beach volleyball beneath the streetlights. Trent did not push it hard.

  Where the parking lot ended, so did the streetlights. Their bike lights illuminated a small path of asphalt. If Trent had not known where the path started again, he would have missed it entirely. It was an inky river beneath a quarter moon. Once they left Goleta’s shoreline behind, the only sound was the hiss of their tires along the path.

  Seven miles farther south, they climbed the steep rise up to where the path joined the main shoreline drive. He stopped at the top, using a stumpy cedar for shelter. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.” Shane was not even breathing hard. “That was fun.”

  Trent searched the night. Fifty yards farther on, Highway 101 ran through a concrete cavern. The traffic noise was thunderous in the night. “We’ll cross that bridge and then be back in shadows.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Trent checked the night once more. A few cars passed. None slowed or gave any indication they were aware of two bikers hovering behind the tree. “Here we go.”

  The traffic noise rushed up at them. Then they were over and back on the empty path. After two miles and another rise, they entered into the rarified realm of Hope Ranch.

  The main avenue was broad as the highway and rimmed by imperial palms. The streetlights cast a gentle glow over their progress. Trent knew there was little risk of their being followed. But he pushed it hard just the same. He swung into a cul-de-sac and cycled to the end. A stairwell opened through a grove of pines. The tang of kelp and sea salt was very strong.

  Trent said, “We’ll hide your bike in the trees.”

  Shane stepped from the bike. “How did you know about this place?”

  “I started coming down here my first year. It’s about as far from the university scene as I could get on two wheels. The beach below here is almost always empty. I’ve never seen anyone use these stairs.” Trent descended three steps and lifted her bike over the railing. A trio of pines formed a natural wall. He had hidden his own bike here many times. Unless someone knew where to look, the bike was lost from view. “I guess they’re too busy playing golf or off spending money.”

  Shane hissed, “Car.”

  “Come down here.” As the car swung around the dead end, a streetlight illuminated the vehicle’s lone passenger. “It’s Murray.”

  The attorney watched them approach the car with stone-like gravity. He inspected them and the night before unlocking the doors. When they slipped inside, he said, “I want to know what’s going on, and I want to know now.”

  50

  Gabriella sighed the name over the phone. “I can’t believe someone on our team betrayed us and sold Reese Clawson our experimental protocol.”

  “And records,” Charlie added. He stood by the window of his Santa Barbara hotel room. The bedside clock read three minutes after eight. Charlie could hear the television playing softly in Elizabeth’s room next door. He also heard a shower running. “At least we now know what Reese is doing with her group. But it still doesn’t answer what role Trent and Shane play in all this.”

  Gabriella pondered silently, then asked, “This woman who approached you in the restaurant did not specifically name Brett as the spy, did she?”

  “Her name is Elene Belote. No, she did not hear who was behind the theft.” Charlie recalled standing before the maelstrom while guilt and remorse snagged every wrong memory, pulling him toward the swirling dread. “But I know it was Brett.”

  He expected Gabriella to argue with him. But instead she said, “Belote sounds like a French name.”

  “She’s from south Louisiana. Very quiet. But precise. A typical intel senior analyst. Able to sift through junk and find facts. I’m convinced she’s telling us the truth. Elene Belote has ascended. Or transited, as they call it. Many times. And she did it according to the system you worked out.”

  “If you are convinced, Charlie, that is good enough for me.” But her compliment was robbed of potency by her tone, which was utterly detached. “What do you think Clawson and her team are after?”

  “First, infiltration and secrets. Belote told us that much. So far they’ve focused on transit points they themselves controlled. But their goal is to penetrate enemy territory and escape unseen.” Charlie hesitated, then added, “We need to keep in mind what Massimo told you, how observers were returning to attack us. That sounds like Clawson and her team. It’s the way they think.”

  “You know this for a fact, do you? How they think?”

  “I know what I know.”

  Gabriella hesitated, then asked, “Will you tell me what is wrong?”

  Charlie leaned against the side wall. The wallpaper was fabric with a rough weave. He could sense Elizabeth’s feelings for him. They pulsed through the wall separating his room from hers. He could feel his own answering desire, woven into the wallpaper’s design.

  “Charlie?”

  He dropped his hand. “You haven’t asked the critical question yet. How did Elene know to come meet us? The answer is, she transited. And broke ranks. And asked her own question. Can you think what that question might be?”

  Gabriella’s silence was an admonition against his tone. Charlie knew he was being overly harsh. And he could not stop it. He went on, “Belote asked how she could help the others trapped like she almost was. The coma patients filling the ward they’ve set up. Elene Belote has seen for herself the horror they faced. There are nine of them, Gabriella. Nine more people trapped in comatose states. Just like Brett.”

  She moaned softly, “What have we done?”

  “We didn’t do this, Gabriella. Don’t make things worse by taking on guilt you don’t deserve. Belote knew that Reese Clawson might give lip service to keeping their casualties at a mi
nimum. But if push came to shove, she would sacrifice them all to her goals. And I’m convinced her ultimate aim is to attack us. On our terms.”

  Gabriella grew subdued now. Thoughtful. “I don’t understand.”

  “Elene Belote transited or ascended or whatever you want to call it. And she asked who would save her teammates from the same cauldron that almost swallowed her. And she was shown me and Elizabeth seated in that restaurant by the sea. Waiting for her. Only when she was close to us did Belote realize I was the one who had saved her.” When Gabriella remained silent, Charlie spelled it out. “It could only mean one thing. I go and I bring her back. And then I try to save the others.”

  “No, Charlie. You yourself said how dangerous—”

  “This isn’t a Q&A. We’re not talking options. This already happened.” Charlie could hear the longing and frustration in his own voice, laced together with fear. “I have to do this, Gabriella.”

  “But not alone.”

  “That’s how I always am. Even when I’m in Switzerland. Isn’t that right? Out on the rim. With the other disposables.”

  He knew he was being unfair. He knew and could do nothing about it.

  Gabriella, however, said merely, “You are our guardian. And when we move, you will become our island chieftain.”

  Charlie knew he should thank her. But all that came to mind was, It’s not enough.

  Gabriella went on, “You cannot risk our future on what this woman has told you. Promise me you will not do this alone.”

  Charlie returned his hand to the wall. “I have to go.”

  “Charlie. Please. Let me do this with you.”

  She was right, of course. Even in his state of ultimate frustration, he could see that much. “All right. We’ll set it up by phone.”

  “You promise me?”

  “Yes.”

  Even her sigh carried a musical quality. “Come back as soon as you can, Charlie. I miss you. We all do.”

  He hung up the phone and stood touching the wall. Wondering if there had ever been a life where things looked simple, and all choices did not seemingly lead to loss.

  51

  Unless I get answers I like, I’m walking.” Murray Feinne’s face was tightly cavernous in the glow from the car dash. “I don’t care what kind of pressure you think you can lay on me. Managing partners, clients, whatever. I’m done being played with.”

  Trent sounded surprisingly calm to his own ears. “Who is pressuring you, Murray?”

  “Oh, like you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.” The attorney’s laugh was brassy with strain. “I should never have gotten involved with you two.”

  Shane said, “Is that your answer?”

  “I’m not in the answer business. Not tonight. Now tell me what’s happening.”

  Trent was in the rear seat. It was his normal position when connecting with strangers. Stay low, stay out of range. Only now he leaned forward and told Shane, “I think we should tell him.”

  The leather seat rustled as Shane turned around. “You mean, everything?”

  “Yes.” Trent asked the attorney, “What we say is confidential, right?”

  “Everything you tell me is covered by attorney-client privilege unless I learn that you have committed a felony. I cannot be party to covering up a serious crime. Have you broken any laws?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Then I would lose my license and possibly face jail time for divulging the contents of our discussion.”

  “Shane?”

  Her voice went very small. “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.” Trent settled his elbows on his knees and launched in.

  When he was done, the lawyer powered down the windows and turned off the car. The night breeze felt refreshingly cool. He spoke to the night beyond the front windscreen. “To recap, you dreamed you were seated in a classroom in the physics building, where an older version of Trent Major offered you access to new algorithms.”

  “These experiences are more than a normal dream state,” Trent said. “The difference is unmistakable and instantaneous. And I have no idea if this character I meet is actually me.”

  “Have you asked him?”

  “I’ve tried.” The attorney had shifted to what Trent assumed was his courtroom persona. Crisp and incisive and tightly focused upon the facts. Which resulted in a heightened ability on Trent’s own part to see and assess. “But I am not in control of either the experience or the conversation. I am too involved. The encounter is simply too intense.”

  “You’re certain this could not simply be your unconscious self projecting your current state of work forward to the next level?”

  “You are forgetting how I met Shane,” Trent replied. “And then there is how we knew to come meet you at the sports club.”

  “You had never seen Shane before that day?”

  “I did not know she existed.”

  “Ms. Schearer, do you concur?”

  “With everything he has said.”

  Murray tapped the steering wheel, frowning intensely. “Then this woman, whose name you do not know, and whom you insist you have never seen before, accosted you in the Starbucks on State Street in downtown Santa Barbara. She deposited a duplicate of a handbag that Ms. Schearer was in the process of purchasing. In it was an apparatus containing a software package we can only assume is not something generally available to all iPod users. Ms. Schearer—”

  “I think it’s time you called me Shane.”

  He looked at her for the first time. “You elected to follow this unknown woman’s instructions. Which resulted in your own dream state.”

  “It was not a dream. It was an ascent.”

  “I have as much trouble with the name as I do the supposed process. Whatever actually happened—”

  “It happened, Murray. I ascended. I hovered above my own body. I traveled. I returned.”

  “—you received a message asserting that you must journey to London.”

  “The trip is vital,” Shane replied. “So is the timing.”

  “So you can meet this strange woman who accosted your partner.”

  “Vital,” Shane repeated. “Just remembering the experience fills me with that same intense pressure. I have to do this.”

  Trent added, “Don’t forget how the woman warned me before leaving Starbucks.”

  Shane said, “And the threat was confirmed this afternoon.”

  Murray asked, “You are certain it was Kevin Hanley you saw inside the Goleta State Bank?”

  “Absolutely positive,” Shane said.

  “And we were being followed,” Trent added.

  Murray did not so much sigh as huff a hard breath. “I’ve got to tell you. Under different circumstances, I would call this the perfect time to cut my losses.”

  “But you believe us,” Trent said. “Don’t you.”

  “Ever since we met, I’ve been facing a torrent of incoming fire. And for reasons I don’t understand. My managing partner is furious. Not with me. I’m just the whipping boy. He’s scared. I’ve never seen him scared before. He won’t even tell me who’s pulling his strings. Which means it has to be so far up the food chain he is afraid to even spell the name.”

  Shane asked, “Does that mean you’ll help me?”

  Murray looked at her. “Where were you born?”

  “Sacramento.”

  “You will spend tonight in my guest room. I will make an urgent request for the hospital to supply us with a copy of your birth certificate. Tomorrow morning you and I will hand-carry it to the regional office of the State Department. I will explain that you have lost your passport and the nature of your trip is so urgent I am postponing a hearing in federal court to walk you through this process. Which I am.”

  “Thank you, Murray,” Shane said solemnly. “Very, very much.”

  He turned to face Trent. “You’re not traveling with her?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Do you have somewhere safe to s
tay?”

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead. I was mostly concerned with getting Shane off safely.” There were several hotels around the school that were lax when it came to ID’s. “I’ll find somewhere.”

  “Do you have any money?”

  “Some.”

  Murray reached for his wallet. “Here’s six hundred bucks. This is going on your account. And I’m billing you for these hours.”

  Trent didn’t like accepting the man’s money but knew he had little choice. “Thanks. A lot.”

  “When you get settled, phone my private line. Leave your address. Don’t give your name. Do I need to tell you to avoid ATMs, credit cards, cell phones, all that?”

  “No.” Trent folded the money and slipped it into his pocket. “You don’t.”

  “Why can’t you accompany your partner to London?”

  “Yeah, Trent,” Shane said. “Why not?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The attorney nodded slowly. “Given the circumstances, that almost makes sense.”

  52

  The mattress beneath Trent was lumpy and smelled of old sweat and spilled beer. The bare pillow stank of cigarette ashes. Radiohead thumped through the wall to his left. Shadows flickered across the slit of light below his door. His chest ached from Shane’s absence. Now that he was alone, his reasons for staying behind felt empty as the room.

  When he had arrived back at campus, Trent had been afraid to approach one of the cheap motels adjacent to the university. Courage was much easier to find when Shane was around.

  He had decided to avoid the physics building for fear of reconnecting with the trackers. Using a coffee shop computer, Trent had hacked into the university residence files and identified a vacant room in the freshman dorm, the university’s largest. He had slipped into the dorm as students had bounded out on a midnight snack run. Entering the room had been a snatch, as virtually none of the door-locks worked. All had been so repeatedly jammed with screwdrivers they were little more than decoration.

  Trent showered in the stalls down the hall and dried off with his T-shirt, ignored by everybody. He returned to the room, lay on his bed, and rested. He did not expect to sleep. The noise bothered him, and the room was crowded with memories from his own freshman year, which had been awful. He had arrived at university at the age of fifteen and a half, the youngest in his dorm by over two years. He had been shunned. He had not known such loneliness since the first year of foster care. Now he lay on his back and missed Shane with a longing that wrenched him over to his side. He would move tomorrow. Where to, or for how long, he had no idea. He needed to rest and figure things out.