“Awesome view you got here,” Carlos says.
Tim smiles. “Yeah, this belongs to some muckety-muck banker who’s off on vacation in Venice for the week.”
“How’d you get it?”
“Heather hacked the maid service, got all the info we needed to snag the keys and turn off the alarm, and then gave the maid the week off.”
“Nice,” Carlos says. “And how’re things at the CDC?”
Tim’s eyes roll back a little and he cocks his head. “It’s work, as usual. No pandemics or viral outbreaks, at least of the biological kind, so they have me busy upgrading the servers.”
“Sounds like loads of fun,” Carlos says. “How’s Mom?”
Tim looks at Carlos and frowns.
“She misses you, bro, and she’s mad at me for not telling her where you are.”
The edges of Carlos’s lips turn up in a mixture of acknowledgement and mocking acceptance. “Can’t be helped, man. Even I don’t know where I am half the time. Tell her I love her and I’ll try to see her around Christmastime.”
“She doesn’t handle this black hat stuff very well, you know.”
“I know.”
“So how’re we doing with the thing you’re working on?” Tim asks.
Carlos moves a few feet down toward the corner of the twelfth-floor patio and stares out over downtown Atlanta. The distant honks and sounds of the city blend into a mellow rumble echoing from the caverns and canyons of the city streets below.
“How do you always end up scamming locations with views like this?” Carlos asks. “Back in Bossier City our shop has zero ambience. It’s like working in a donut shop behind a Home Depot.”
“Only the best for my brother,” Tim says. “If you’re going to B&E, you might as well do it up right. The view from the front of the building isn’t quite this good, so I made sure Heather got this unit. Now quit dodging the question. How are things going?”
“I don’t know, man,” Carlos says. “I’m just getting a bad vibe right now. I can’t really explain it. Ever since the boiler room in Ohio got raided, I’ve had this sneaking suspicion that someone on our team is switch-hitting.”
“Seriously?” Tim says. “You think someone’s working with the feds?”
Carlos turns around and leans against the railing. “I don’t know.”
Tim tips his head toward the apartment. “Do you think it could be one of the two you brought with you?”
“Nah,” Tim says. “You know Patrick. He’s my best friend, ever since the three of us used to phreak free long-distance calls with a blue box back in the day. And Paula’s been with me for six years. She… well, just no way she’s the one.”
“Then who?”
“Like I said. I don’t know.”
* * *
I’m starting to really like this Amish life, and I never really thought the farm work part would appeal to me.
I take a drink of cool water and set the cup back on the heavy oak beam, out of the way. Mose Shetler walks by and pats me on the back.
“Have to keep the insides moist, isn’t that right, young doctor?”
I pick up the two hay hooks and follow Mr. Shetler out to the wagon. Loaded with tightly bound bales of golden hay, it’s been pulled up the banked ramp to the upper floor of the barn. Ben and the young Amish boy named John walk by me headed in the other direction. They’re each carrying one end of a large hay bale with one hay hook each, and John struggles to hold up his end of the heavy load.
“Don’t hurt yourself, John,” I say.
“I can work good!” John says in English. “As good as Ben can!”
“No way,” Ben says with a laugh.
The two of them have become fast friends in the last few days. Ever since we first came to live with the Shetlers, except when he’s been at school or off on some chore, John has been at Ben’s side. Seeing the two of them work together reminds me that Ben is still a boy in his heart and mind, regardless of how much his CAINing has seemed to mature him.
“I bet we can’t get the whole wagon unloaded before supper!” Ben says, sounding like the eleven-year-old he really is.
“I bet we can!” John shouts back, and the two of them drop the hay into the stack and run back toward the wagon. “And then we’ll throw shoes, and I’ll show you what’s what!”
“Hey! No running with the hay hooks, you two!” I say, but I chuckle anyway. I bury my two hooks in opposite sides of the next bale and pull it down just as Ben leaps onto the hay wagon and John scurries up behind him.
“Seriously, you two,” I scold. “No running or jumping with the hay hooks.”
“Yes, sir,” the two friends say in unison.
Mose Shetler catches up to me as I haul the next bale. He’s dragging his bale with only one hook so he doesn’t have to carry the thing, and as he comes alongside me he smiles. “It looks like those two are becoming buddies, Doc.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. “Ben spent most of his life without a brother. I bet he’s enjoying spending time with John.”
“Yes,” Shetler says, “it’s not good for man to be alone. So says the Good Book.”
I laugh and say “Yes, sir” again before I look up and see that Mose is looking at me. “Oh,” I say. He’s talking to me. He’s talking about me.
“That beautiful April Troyer from down the road was kind enough to bring us that nice pitcher of cold water for our work,” Mose says with a slight lilt in his voice. “It’s a shame that she’s almost the same age as you are and she’s still unmarried.” He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. It’s the first time that Mr. Shetler has acknowledged in any way that my stay in this Amish community might be a permanent one.
“She was set to marry one of our local boys, but he ran off before the wedding, and the rest here in the community wouldn’t marry her. Afraid her first man might come back.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Shame, really,” Shetler says. “Such a fine woman, and to be scarred for something not her fault.”
“That is a shame,” I say.
“She’s a nice sturdy one, that one,” Mose says with a smile on his face. “And nice-looking too, I might add. Not that we discuss such things,” Mose adds. “That would be improper.”
“Improper?” I ask.
“But we do notice things,” Mose continues, “and sometimes in noticing them we mention them… which isn’t at all the same as discussing such things.”
“Which would be improper,” I add.
“Absolutely improper,” Mose says. “But have you noticed what a sturdy, nice-looking woman she is?”
“Who?” I ask as a joke.
“Young April Troyer!” Mose says. He sounds frustrated with me, as if he really thinks I’ve forgotten who we’re talking about. “Who do you think we’re talking about?”
“Wouldn’t it be improper to discuss it?” I say, smiling at Mose.
“We’re not discussing anything,” he says. “We’re just noticing and mentioning.”
“Well I don’t suppose it matters,” I say. “She hasn’t said two words to me since I’ve been here. And she’s been over here two or three times a day.”
We deposit our hay bales in the barn, and Mose sets his hay hook on the heavy beam before removing his work gloves. “Well,” he says, “it wouldn’t be proper for her to speak to you directly, other than to ask you if you need something or some such thing as that.” Mose takes up his cup and pours himself some of the water. “But you said it yourself, Doc, she has been here two or three times a day since you boys showed up.”
“Maybe she’s interested in Ben,” I say between sips of my water.
“Nonsense,” Mose says. He sounds indignant. “Ben is a fine young man, but…”
“But what?”
“But he’s still very much like a boy.” Mose puts down his cup and pulls on his gloves again. “He’ll mature in time, but I don’t think he’s interested in marriage yet, and I know that April Troyer is not interested i
n him either.”
“You know that?”
“Let’s stop discussing such things,” Mose says as he walks back toward the wagon for another load. “It’s improper.”
I follow Mose back to get another bale and climb up on the wagon to push one toward him.
He sets the hook in the bale. “But you know what I’ve been saying, Doc, and don’t pretend otherwise.” He pulls the bale down and begins dragging it behind him. “And tomorrow is the Sabbath. It will be your first Sabbath meeting here among us.”
I hook another bale, then jump off the wagon and hustle with it to catch up with Mose. “What does the Sabbath meeting have to do with April Troyer? Who we’re not discussing?”
“After the sermon,” Mose says, “there’ll be some time as the young… unmarried folk… gather to plan for a barn get-together or some such thing. Perhaps you two might attend such an event…”
“Wouldn’t it be improper for me to ask her to some kind of barn dance?” I ask. “Or to talk to her or dance with her at such an event, if we were both to happen to go?”
“Of course it would!” Mose says. “Highly improper.”
“Then how…?”
Mose pushes his golden bale into the stack in the barn with his knee and foot and straightens it with a sturdy shove.
“Goodness knows why you’re still unmarried,” Mose says. “You know nothing of Amish ways.”
I heave my bale on top of the one Mose left behind, and when it’s in place I look over at him and smile again. He’s expecting me to say something, but I don’t have any idea what to say. So I just shrug.
“Sarah will talk to her,” Mose says, sighing. “You will die unmarried if we don’t give you some help.”
* * *
The next morning, after the early morning milking, Ben and I get dressed for the Sabbath meeting. As I dress, I pull up the rough mattress and see that the Glock, with the two magazines, is still there. I drop the mattress back down and pull my suspenders up over my shoulders and sigh when I think about hiding the gun in this place.
This peaceful place.
Then I think, I’ve brought an even deadlier weapon into this Amish community. I sigh again and continue dressing. Church will be held at a neighboring farm, so Ben and I have donned our best Amish clothes, and we comb our jackets with a lint brush provided by Sarah Shetler.
I’ve been joining the milk crew of John and Ben every morning, even though I know next to nothing about milking cows. But I’ve really enjoyed the process of learning the ins and outs, and especially of watching how the milk gets turned into other products I really love, like butter, cheese, and sour cream. Getting up early is the hard part, and then there’s this splitting headache…
Because I could use a drink.
I guess I haven’t completely changed.
The best thing about living this Amish lifestyle—the early mornings, the hard work, the hay and manure, the sweat and toil and sore muscles—is that for the most part, I’ve been able to forget that the entire U.S. government is bent on killing me.
For the most part. But when I do think about it, that’s when I need a drink.
And right now I need one so hard.
I’ve gone at least four days without alcohol, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. My tongue feels thick and dry in my mouth, and no amount of water has made me feel satisfied. And my head… The ache is intense, starting behind my eyes and shooting back into my brain like a worm burrowing in, or a knife so sharp it cuts deep and only later do you feel the dull ache. If only I’d kept the scotch that I left in the glove box of the truck.
But maybe I don’t need it. Maybe. If I can keep it going here… if we can stay hidden in plain sight, just maybe I can put away a habit that’s held me in its grip for so long.
It’s all for naught, though. This thing’ll go sideways and you’ll get a bunch of these people killed. And then—if you’re not dead too—you’ll go back to drinking yourself to death.
Good morning, Cruella. And a happy Sabbath to you too, you insufferable bitch.
But maybe I’m right, because it is me saying this to myself and not Cruella. Marilyn probably doesn’t care one way or another. Unless the feds have been by to try to get word on where I’m hiding. I bet they have.
* * *
At church at the Millers’ farm (another Miller family, no relation to Frank; there are Millers everywhere in this area), Mose Shetler introduces Ben and me to the community. He does it in the language of his people, so I don’t know much about what he said. I’m sure he tells everyone my made-up story, about how I rebelled against the Amish life, because I see some surprise and some shaking of heads in the fellowship, but then he must have told them that I repented and am looking to mend my ways, because then there are smiles and heads nodding before he finishes the introduction.
Ben stands up to speak, and when he does I panic a little. After all, in my eyes he’s still an eleven-year-old boy with autism. A time bomb. But he’s really progressed. He smiles, looks humble, and I can tell that he thanks the community for taking us in, and for helping us get on our feet.
After the sermon, which lasts two full hours, all in a language I do not speak, we are greeted by a long line of well-wishers who shake our hands and slap our backs and tell us they are here to help us if we need anything. Some of the elders come by with Mose and speak to me. They tell me that people will be suspicious and careful with me for a while, but that if I work hard and keep my nose clean, they’ll all find something else to worry about.
The older men separate from the group and go outside to stand and talk under a massive oak tree. Some of the men light pipes, but they all speak in Pennsylvania Deutsch, so I feel uncomfortable and left out.
Then I see the young unmarried people bunching up near a paddock fence, so Ben and I walk over and join them.
And there’s April Troyer. Looking beautiful with her brown eyes and dimples. She smiles at me, and I get the feeling I’ve been invited to the barn function that the youth are planning for after the work is done that evening.
The group of youthful unmarried varies in ages from about sixteen to quite a few in their low to middle twenties. I’m the old man of the bunch, but I’m clean-shaven, which to the Amish means “available,” and so I’m included in the planning for the festivities.
I haven’t been to a party that wasn’t just a drunken night of debauchery with a bunch of programmers, hackers, and scientists in a very long time. I just hope there’s no dancing.
Do the Amish dance?
CHAPTER 15
Carlos looks around the apartment and then stretches before rubbing his face in his hands. After three straight eighteen-hour days—with the team doing all they can to hamper the feds’ search efforts for Doc and the boy—they still haven’t found a way to re-establish contact with the HADroid. The truth is, they have no idea where Dr. Alexander and the robot are hiding. The doc isn’t answering his phone, and it’s evident that he hasn’t made it to any of the other safe houses on his way to Louisiana.
“When are you heading out?” Tim says. “And, I guess more importantly, where are you going next?”
“We have three locations primed and ready,” Carlos says. “Junior Johnson up in Upper Marlboro, Maryland has a townhouse we can use. And then there’s the safe house in Knoxville. And my team in Bossier City is going back online sometime this morning.”
“Upper Marlboro, eh?” Tim says. “Right in the heart of the beast?”
“We can operate anywhere, that’s what’s cool about the black hat work. And it’s kind of a thumb in their eye to be working against them right in their own back yard.”
Tim stands up, stretches his legs, and walks over to the sink to splash water on his face. “So, the question is still… where you heading next?”
Carlos doesn’t answer. And after Tim is done at the sink, he turns, and Carlos sees his brother staring at him.
“Maybe we should take a walk and talk, then,�
�� Tim says.
Carlos’s eyes meet Tim’s, silently communicating agreement, and Carlos closes his laptop. He’s taking it with him. Patrick lifts an eyebrow slightly but doesn’t say a word. Carlos knows that by taking the laptop with him, he’s showing distrust of his team, but there’s no way he’s leaving it behind when he still feels like someone, somewhere, may be working with the feds. Telling secrets. Setting them all up.
He slides the laptop into a leather satchel and throws the strap over his head. Paranoia is an authentic survival response, he thinks.
The two hackers excuse themselves and head out of the apartment to the elevator. Once they’re inside, Tim turns to Carlos.
“Don’t tell me you don’t trust your own brother now.”
Carlos cocks his head and smiles, but it’s a half-hearted smile. The kind of smile that communicates the deeper worries of the heart.
“You know I trust you, Tim. But I’m not sure I trust everyone else in that room.”
“You mean my people, don’t you?”
“I don’t know them as well as you do.”
The door slides open on the first floor with a whirr and a thunk, and the two brothers step out. Carlos looks around to make sure the hallway is empty before speaking again. The elevator doors slide shut and Carlos steps closer to Tim.
“Listen, Timbo,” Carlos says, “you and I both know there’s a bigger war coming. We’ve known it for a long time. The hacktivists are all talking about this new Transport Authority agency that no one is supposed to know exists. The one that’s supposed to marry domestic and foreign intelligence and serve as a parent agency over pretty much everything else in the government.”
“So? What’s new?” Tim says. “We supposed to go into full battle against the government every time there’s a new agency? Every time the government gets bigger or more invasive? Hell, man, we are the government in most cases, which is something to remember when you’re making decisions.”
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