by Eric Bernt
Barnes, surprised to see his boss inside his office, paused before answering. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Fenton put aside his fear of his security director and snapped, “I didn’t ask what you think.”
Barnes remained calm. “It would seem that a previous conversation we had in your office is what set all this in motion.” He paused for emphasis. “If the echo box is working, we both need to be a great deal more careful about what we say in enclosed spaces.”
Fenton had momentarily forgotten how much the world was about to change. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. The oft-repeated statement would have to be amended to something like, Anything you have said can now be used against you, so you might as well fess up and get on with it. People were going to have to learn to be as careful about what they said as they now were with what they transmitted. The American public was going to have to learn restraint, which Fenton thought would be a good thing in the long run. More like things used to be.
No one could retract what had already been spoken. Those echoes were already there, bouncing around, waiting to be reconstructed. Like blood evidence left at the scene of a crime, it never disappeared completely. A permanent record remained for anyone with the proper technology to retrieve. Fenton considered the future. “Eddie has said that eventually, the box will even work outdoors.”
Barnes shook his head. “I guess it doesn’t much matter where we incriminate ourselves, then.” It took him a moment to wrap his head around the notion that anything ever spoken anywhere could one day be heard. It was truly stunning to consider, particularly in his line of work. Barnes quickly asked himself what he would hear first if given the choice. He knew right away that he would take the box to the Soldiers’ National Cemetery in Gettysburg, and listen to Lincoln’s address. It had been given at three p.m. on November 19, 1863, and was widely considered to be the greatest speech ever delivered in the English language.
Certain technologies were capable of winning battles before they ever started. In the Information Age, the echo box was going to be one of them. Fenton returned to the question at hand. “What is your plan?”
Barnes paused, deciding just how little he could get away with saying. “You are personally going to deliver the device to the president of the United States.”
Fenton blinked several times as he digested the simple directive. “I’m what?”
“We can’t trust anyone else to hand it over.” Barnes watched the glimmer of a smile slowly appear in Fenton’s face, just as Barnes knew it would.
“How will you regain possession of the device?”
Barnes just stared at him, and then looked pointedly at the four corners of his office. There was no way in hell he was going to answer that question.
Concern appeared in Fenton’s face. “We cannot afford another mistake.”
Barnes resented the statement. “The reason we are in this situation, Marcus, is not because of a mistake. You always knew the world was going to change the moment the box worked. It just so happened that moment occurred today.”
Fenton nodded, both because his chief of security had a point, and because Fenton knew not to push the man too far.
“Immunity would be a good idea before you hand over the box. For both of us.” Barnes was thinking about the crimes he was about to commit more than the ones he already had.
Fenton didn’t hesitate. “Get me the echo box, and I will get us immunity.”
After Fenton left, Barnes turned his focus back to the screen, pleased with the distance Lutz and Hirsch were maintaining from the DHS agents. He reached into his drawer and popped some antacid. The stabbing pains in his stomach were clear reminders of the extraordinary risk he was taking. This was the endgame. Michael Barnes was going all in. He liked his cards, but couldn’t be entirely certain what his opponents were holding. He wasn’t even sure who they were. But somebody had been playing him for far too long. Whoever it was needed to be taught a lesson. And Michael Barnes was going to teach them a doozy.
CHAPTER 64
West Forty-Fourth Street, New York City, May 27, 6:27 p.m.
Eddie looked scared. He had no idea how far he had walked, or for how long. He had just been walking to “nowhere in particular,” which he still found to be a very peculiar destination.
He had given up trying to find the exit pass that he was supposedly given by the Carnegie Hall security guard, because he had no idea what the pass looked like. Eddie also didn’t know why the man had locked him out of the fabled concert hall. It was all very confusing, and it made him feel uncomfortable, which was never a good thing.
Immediately after being locked out of the hall, he had trouble breathing. Then his vision became blurry. He put his hands on his knees because he thought he might fall over. But as his world started spinning and he was on the verge of slapping himself, something unexpected happened: Eddie imagined himself becoming completely helpless in this massive city of strangers. And the thought so terrified him that it somehow helped him to calm down. Because there wasn’t anyone around who would help him. No doctors. No nurses. No anyone. Worst of all, no Skylar. He could relax when he was once again with her, but not until then. For the time being, he knew he needed to help himself. So he did. Counting footsteps, mapping the city visually, as well as acoustically. He differentiated the great many SOUNDS being produced all around him, and he intended to catalog them all from memory at the earliest possible opportunity. He was going to need a lot more notebooks.
There was no way Eddie could recognize what a developmental leap he had taken: Eddie was in control of himself. Not completely, but enough so to manage. He was on his own, and he was doing okay. It wouldn’t last long. It couldn’t. But these were some of the most important minutes of his life.
He was surprised to realize he had become surrounded at an intersection by a group of elderly people who had just gotten off a bus labeled “Skyways.” He didn’t understand why a bus, which traveled on the ground, would be called Skyways. An airplane, maybe, or even a helicopter, but not a bus. It made no sense.
The old people were waiting to cross the street when Eddie remembered what Detective McHenry had said: “Find the largest group of tourists you can and stay in the middle of them.” So that’s what Eddie did. He wasn’t sure that these people were tourists, and was about to ask one of them, when he remembered that they were strangers. Mostly because he wasn’t sure what else to do, Eddie stayed within the group until they arrived at a theater where a musical called Chicago was being performed. Why a group of tourists would come to New York to see a musical called Chicago was another thing that made no sense to Eddie. Is there also a musical called New York being performed in Chicago? The world was so confusing.
In any event, a heavyset woman in a yellow vest was handing each of the senior citizens a ticket that allowed them to enter the theater for the musical’s next performance. The woman in the yellow vest did not hand Eddie a ticket, so he was not allowed to enter with them.
Alone once again, Eddie looked for another group to stay in the middle of. The next group he saw consisted mostly of men in dark business suits with either red or yellow ties. He had no idea what the significance of their tie colors was, but guessed each color must refer to a particular type of job. In Harmony House, different types of employees wore different types of outfits. The nurses wore tan. The cafeteria workers wore blue. The doctors wore white. Dr. Fenton sometimes wore a tie, but there was no consistent pattern to the colors of them. Eddie would have noticed if there was.
This particular group walked much faster than the older group from the Skyways bus. Eddie wanted to ask them to slow down, but didn’t speak to them because it wasn’t safe. He observed them, finding it curious that none of these men talked to each other. The old people in the other group didn’t stop talking to each other the entire time he was with them, but all of these men talked into devices to people who were somewhere else, or typed on device
s with their thumbs.
Eddie had never talked on a mobile phone, or typed with his thumbs. He had never sent a text message or an email, never updated a social-media page. He understood that these things existed and more or less how they worked, but it was strictly against Harmony House policy for patients to contact the outside world without permission. He had asked Dr. Fenton on numerous occasions, but the doctor always said the same thing: there were a lot of bad people out there, and the only way Eddie could be protected was to prevent the bad people from getting to him. He looked at those around him, wondering which of them were the bad people. Some of them? All of them? How could he tell? It was all very scary.
His world started to spin as Eddie became increasingly uncomfortable. New York City was too loud and too crowded and too different from Harmony House. He didn’t belong here. He wanted to go home, but didn’t know where Skylar was. He was surrounded by strangers, and Eddie knew he shouldn’t be alone. It wasn’t safe. Something bad could happen. He might get hurt, and the thought of that frightened him. There were so many ways a bad person could hurt him. He knew that people got robbed and stabbed and raped and murdered and tied up and tortured, all the time. None of these things ever happened inside Harmony House. He had only read about them, or watched them on television. These were things that only happened in the outside world, which he was now in the middle of. And it suddenly all became much too much.
SLAP! SLAP SLAP! SLAP SLAP SLAP!
Most of the businessmen around him didn’t even notice, but those who did kept right on going. Except for the guy closest to Eddie. The investment banker stopped to ask if he was okay. Eddie slapped himself several more times until his entire cheek was bright red. It looked like a nasty patch of sunburn. Catching his breath, he answered that he didn’t talk to strangers. The investment banker shook his head, wondering why he had even bothered, and quickly moved on. The freak could slap himself right into the emergency room for all he cared.
Eddie stood alone on the sidewalk for quite a while, wondering which way he should go, when he felt something he hadn’t in years. A rumbling in his stomach. It was well past Harmony House dinnertime. The day’s excitement and the unusual amount of walking had made him feel particularly hungry. He thought of his brief attempt at a hunger strike many years ago, and how much he’d disliked the feeling. To no one in particular, he said, “I’m hungry.” No one answered. Or even bothered to glance at him. Eddie briefly wondered if he had become invisible, but then dismissed the notion. Invisibility wasn’t possible. Not yet, anyway. But the gnawing in his stomach persisted, so he repeated himself. “I’m hungry.”
The soft-pretzel vendor was at the other end of the block when Eddie first smelled the man’s wares. Eddie breathed in deeply through his nose as his feet led him toward the scent. “I’m hungry.” He’d repeated the sentence another six times by the time he reached the pretzel man.
“Two dollar.” The man’s accent was Egyptian.
Eddie was again confused. “Two dollar what?”
“Two dollar.” He pointed to his handwritten sign, which read: “PRETZELS—$2.”
“You mean two dollars.”
The pretzel guy sneered with disgust at the arrogant American correcting his English. “Two dollar.”
Eddie remembered the two one-dollar bills Skylar had given him after their bet in the police station, and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out the two bills and held them up for the pretzel man to see. “This is two dollars.”
The vendor quickly snatched the bills from Eddie’s hand and replaced them with a freshly baked good. “This is pretzel.”
It was the first item Eddie had ever purchased in his life. He enjoyed the warmth of the baked, twisted bread in his hand. It was comforting. Not too hot, and not too cold. He hesitantly took a very small bite, chewing with just his front teeth. Eddie had clearly never tasted one before.
“You never have pretzel?”
“Not one like this. The only kind of pretzels I have eaten are small and hard and crunchy.”
The pretzel guy grinned widely. “Then you never have pretzel.”
Eddie looked confused. “I just told you that I have only eaten pretzels that are small and hard and crunchy.”
The Egyptian man motioned to the pretzel in Eddie’s hand. “You like?”
Eddie took a moment to chew the small bite he had taken. He took his time like a connoisseur. “Three.”
“Three what?”
“I give this pretzel a score of three. It could very well be a four, or even a four plus, but I have never tasted another pretzel like this one, so I don’t have anything to compare it to. That’s why I cannot give it a higher score. But I promise that when I eventually write down the score in my notebook, I will revise the number accordingly after I have a sufficient number of comparisons, if the revision is warranted.”
The vendor nodded, not understanding a word Eddie had said after “three.” But the man was pleased when Eddie took a large second bite, and an even larger third.
Eddie shoved the rest of the soft pretzel into his mouth, causing his cheeks to bulge and nearby pedestrians to maintain their distance, as he continued on down the sidewalk. Keeping his head down, looking at the cracks in the pavement as he stepped over them, he had no idea where he was or where he was going. Eddie knew only that he should keep walking. To nowhere in particular. So he continued counting his footsteps. Seven thousand four hundred and eighty-three. Seven thousand four hundred and eighty-four. Seven thousand four hundred and eighty-five.
CHAPTER 65
Central Park South, New York City, May 27, 6:43 p.m.
Skylar ran along the southern edge of the park, repeatedly calling out Eddie’s name like a parent looking for a lost child. She grew more desperate with every passing moment. Looking. Looking. Where the hell could he be? It was her fault Eddie was off Harmony House grounds. And it was her fault he’d been allowed to slip out of the cab. She had already been living with the guilt of her brother’s death after she left for college; a second death of someone equally as special, and perhaps even more, was something she couldn’t bear. It would end her. She had to find him. “EDDIE!”
Skylar saw him in the distance. A man carrying a nylon bag clutched tightly to his chest. He was surrounded by a large group of tourists, moving away from her. She only caught a brief glimpse, but it was enough. Skylar took off running like she hadn’t since her lacrosse days. The woman could really run. Even at an all-out sprint, she remained graceful. It has to be Eddie. It just has to.
But well before she ever reached him, she saw the man’s face. He was at least fifty, and graying. The man was not Eddie. Dammit!
She continued looking all around her, turning her gaze up into the trees, hoping to find birds like the ones Eddie sang with at Harmony House. One of these beautiful creatures might very well lead her directly to him. But where were they? There were no such birds in Central Park. The only birds that Skylar could see were pigeons. Dirty, nasty, flying rats that did not chirp or whistle. The sound pigeons made was more of a coo, and that was generous. The sound was ugly, and nothing Eddie would try to make music with.
Skylar kept running.
CHAPTER 66
Sixth Avenue, New York City, May 27, 6:56 p.m.
Agent Raines wasn’t more than three blocks from Skylar. And rapidly getting closer. He had worked out a well-coordinated search grid en route to Carnegie Hall, which divvied up the sixteen-square-block area around the hallowed hall among the twelve search teams now taking his lead. He was a veteran. He knew this city. And he wasn’t going to allow these suspects to escape. Especially now that he had learned from agents who had interviewed the Carnegie Hall personnel that the patient and doctor had been separated. The doctor wouldn’t flee until she rejoined her patient, because she was responsible for him. She was looking for him while they were looking for her.
CHAPTER 67
New York Office, Department of Homeland Security, May 27, 7:01 p
.m.
The temperature inside 633 Third Avenue was rising, or so it seemed from the beads of perspiration on the foreheads of the eight Homeland Security analysts feverishly working their computers to catch a glimpse of the two fugitives. Max Garber was still tracking Detective Butler McHenry’s southbound progress on the New Jersey Turnpike, but he was also now lead analyst on the fugitive-task-force support team, because of Raines. Garber clearly relished the hunt. He and his seven compatriots were scanning the unique biometric features of every face in view around Carnegie Hall. Well, most of them, anyway.
The program needed at least seven facial markers to positively identify someone, and it took a minimum of half a second to lock these in. Translation, the software missed every fourth or fifth person. This included the athletic woman who had been briefly running through the crowd along Central Park South. She just happened to be one of the fourth or fifth persons whose identity the software missed before she disappeared from view. And none of the analysts were even bothering to check any faces themselves. They were too busy tallying probables and weighting candidates for further investigation. Given the number of other possible simultaneous sightings, and that the woman they were looking for was less important than the man, neither Garber nor any of his people gave Skylar a second look.
CHAPTER 68
Bird Shop, New York City, May 27, 7:23 p.m.
As it turned out, Skylar was right. Eddie was talking to the birds. Three, in fact. A monk parakeet, a green singing finch, and a blue-fronted amazon. But he wasn’t in Central Park. Or anywhere close to it. He was in a bird shop, one of only three in New York City. After walking 11,327 steps, Eddie saw the sign for the bird shop. It was colorful and friendly, and Eddie knew instantly that was where he should go. Because birds were good. So were people who liked birds.