Turn or Burn

by Boo Walker

  He kissed her on the cheek, but she didn’t seem very receptive. Talk about a fireball. This woman was making my mother look like a pushover, and that, my friends, she was not.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  Ted and I escorted the doctor out of the building. It was the first time he’d left since we checked him in the afternoon before. We moved down the empty hall, two of us in front and one behind the doctor. We boarded the elevator. It stopped on the fifth floor. A woman with a briefcase stood waiting. She had on dark slacks and high heels and looked like she was on her way to her 10 a.m. Would probably grab a cup of burnt coffee on the way. I waved my hand and said, “Ma’am, you’re going to have to wait until the next one. Sorry.” She didn’t argue.

  We reached the bottom floor and moved with purpose towards the exit. Ted and I scanned the lobby, analyzing each person, noticing eyes, hands, movements, and gestures. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The bellman opened the doors for us. Francesca had pulled the Suburban up to the front. She was standing with the back door open. She’d cleaned up since the gym. Looked sexy in her simple attire. No heels. Women can’t wear them in this business. You never know how far you might have to walk or run. I could see a little bulge in her suit jacket from her handgun.

  The doctor stepped inside first, and I went in after him. Ted rode shotgun. Francesca drove us around the circle of the lot, weaving past a couple taxis, and then we were off. We’d analyzed the entire run the night before. Only a half mile to cover. Nothing, in the scheme of things. Everything sometimes.

  CHAPTER 9

  The clouds had finally parted. We’d only gone a few blocks in the armored SUV when we started to see signs of the madness. I did not like being in that car. Eyes were on us and I was in my head. Was I ready for this? Would I ever be? I’d been thinking that getting back into the action would help, but it didn’t feel that way right then. Seeing the scene around me, and Ted and Francesca sitting up front focused on protection, I realized I didn’t feel like one of them anymore. I felt like a foreigner and part of me wanted to say, Stop! I have to get out. You need to go on without me. But I wasn’t going to do that. I had bought a ticket, and now I needed to take the ride.

  There were all kinds of people, and they seemed to be everywhere. Some were chanting, others screaming through megaphones and waving signs and marching, all for their different reasons. As we suspected, and as I could tell by their signs and banners and shirts, most of them were motivated by religion. But I saw someone waddling through the crowd in a space suit. Another not far away wore a robot costume. It seemed others were there for the fun of it, almost like they were attending the newest Comic-Con.

  On the corner of Seventh and Olive, outside of Blueacre Seafood, a group of people in neon orange T-shirts were standing together in a circle, holding hands. Their eyes were closed, and it looked like they were praying. These kinds of people covered the sidewalks and spilled into the coffee shops and fast food joints and out into the street, angrily shaking their fists and making noise.

  I couldn’t stand protesters. I wanted to grab them all by their necks and scream, “Go get a job, you pricks!” Or, “Occupy this!”

  From what the doctor had told us earlier, the Singularity Summit had grown greatly over the past few years, turning into one of the hottest tickets in the country. What began as a get-together of a couple hundred had turned into an international affair with a growing list of VIPs. And now, this…

  We moved as quickly as we could south on Seventh Avenue. I read some of the signs and banners. Make the Wrong Choice and He’ll Abandon You. Jesus Did Not Have a Computer. Don’t Choose the Highway to Hell. And then there were some that didn’t have the religious message, like: Hubris kills. Pull the plug. That kind of thing.

  The closer we got, the denser the mob became. The cops were in force, too, all wearing neon vests with Seattle Police on the back. Some were on horseback, weaving their way through the crowd. From what we’d seen yesterday, a block in every direction leading to the Convention Center was locked down.

  Up ahead, I could see the barricade where they had blocked off the street. A thick line of SWAT stood with shields and sticks, ready for the crowd to try to penetrate. We just had to get inside. Looking left, I watched two men get thrown to the ground and cuffed by police. Others were circling around the scene, screaming and throwing things at the cops. Another traffic light stopped us. We were the third car back. Two blocks to go...

  A loud boom.

  We all whipped our heads back. A giant of a man was trying to see inside our vehicle. I touched my gun, ensuring it was there. He started beating on the windows with both fists. I didn’t think he could break the strong glass, but it wasn’t worth the risk.

  Francesca was driving, and she didn’t need me to tell her to move. She held down the horn and started working her way to the wrong side of the road. Two cars had to stop and move onto the sidewalk to avoid hitting us. But she didn’t stop, like we’d all been trained to do. When you’re driving in that kind of situation, you must drive offensively. Don’t give other drivers the time to make decisions. Make the choice for them. Make them get out of the way or stop. She didn’t let up until we’d gone another block, and we passed through the last light before the barricade. Several other cars were in line to get in. We pulled up behind the last one and waited.

  I shut down for a minute. That had really put me on edge. This voice in my head kept telling me I wasn’t ready, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t let Ted down.

  I turned around and stared at the astounding sea of people and the great quantity of signs bobbing up and down over the mass. I cracked the window. A group was chanting, “Don’t play God! Don’t play God!”

  The guards finally let us in after checking each of our IDs and running a dog around the car and a mirror under it. It was a good feeling to be out of that mess. If someone had been gunning for the doctor, it would have been easy to strike with some sort of bomb. We were okay, though. For now.

  “There it is,” Francesca said. The Convention Center came into view. Massive silver block letters along the front read: The Seattle Convention & Trade Center. The walls were made mostly of glass. A sky bridge reached out from the fourth floor and rose over the street to an adjacent building. The Convention Center covered two full blocks. Plenty of exposure. If I was the one trying to cause problems during the Summit, I could have had my way quite easily. Simply put, I had a terrible feeling about what was to come.

  We rode down into the parking garage and wound our way to a spot three levels down. Lots of people that could have been clones of the doctor were working their way to the entrance. The real geek squad. All of them had probably memorized the periodic table before they could walk. The ones that everybody picked on during grade school who were now married to all the good-looking, smart women.

  We followed the crowd, flanking the doctor, not relaxing for a single second. Ted walked several feet behind us, and Francesca and I took either side. We rode to the first floor, and each of us worked our way through a security line, much like you’d find at an airport. As we got up to the front, we handed the officer our guns and papers. He let us pass without dealing with the detectors.

  On the other side, we were handed an off-white pamphlet. There was a quote on the cover by Raymond Kurzweil, who would be speaking later that day. It read:

  The Singularity denotes an event that will take place in the material world, the inevitable next step in the evolutionary process that started with biological evolution and has extended through human-directed technological evolution.

  Inside the pamphlet, there was a list of events and speakers, including biographies and descriptions relative to each talk. On the third page, there was a picture of Dr. Sebastian, and below him, a picture of his second in charge, Dr. Nina Kramer, who had straight blonde hair and fair skin—like she had some Viking blood running through her. She looked about ten years younger than Sebastian and was
clearly in good shape. Ted had mentioned that she was a runner. She was standing next to their chimpanzee, Rachael. Kramer would be showing up later in the afternoon with the chimp. Their presentation, the one everyone was psyched about, would take place at four.

  We proceeded to the escalators and rode up to the open third-floor atrium where everyone had gathered. The ceilings were multiple stories high. There would have been lots of light coming in through the giant walls of glass had the sun been shining, but of course it wasn’t, so artificial light lit the mood.

  As we reached the top, swarms of people moved toward Dr. Sebastian, like paparazzi after a movie star. Sebastian turned to Ted. “I will need my freedom. I don’t want this to be a big deal. These are my colleagues and fans.”

  Ted nodded and the three of us dissolved into the crowd. The doctor immediately jumped into a lively conversation with a group of pocket protector types. It would have to be one crafty assassin to fit in with these yahoos.

  I walked over to Francesca. With my eyes working the crowd, I said, “Good workout?”

  She mumbled something in Italian I didn’t understand.

  In my best Italian restaurateur voice and with wonderfully exaggerated hand movements, I replied, “Okay, bella! Fettuccine! Lasagna! Parmigiana!”

  She shook her head. The people near us who heard my rant looked at me like I was crazy. If only they knew. I guess I’d dug my own hole with Francesca. She’d started it and I couldn’t let it go. But now I was getting on my own nerves. Can’t you keep your mouth shut? My mother would have smacked me in the head if she heard that.

  That didn’t stay on my mind long, though. I had a job to do, and any of these people could have been the person we were looking out for. I hadn’t worked in a while and my tools had dulled. I could usually pick an enemy out of the crowd with ease, but it wasn’t so anymore. I’d lost some of my precision and confidence.

  There was no excuse. I couldn’t screw up.

  ***

  As the day progressed, conference attendees, Dr. Sebastian among them, followed their schedules and chose which speakers or panels they wanted to participate in. While protecting the doctor’s life, I couldn’t help but soak in the theories and beliefs coming out of the mouths of some of the great minds of our day. CEOs, inventors, doctors, scientists.

  Not that my opinion mattered, but I was sold on what could be happening in the coming years. A period of time really could be coming soon, where the technological achievements would surpass anything we could imagine. One of the most interesting talks I heard was from Ray Kurzweil himself. Ted had mentioned him back on the vineyard. Kurzweil began his work decades ago by creating a computer that could compose music on its own. His belief was that this period of time, this event horizon, could happen as early as 2045, and that specific year was based on his thoughts regarding exponential technological growth similar to what Ted had already described to me. It was actually so simple that even I could understand it.

  Yeah, I didn’t doubt the Singularity, and oddly enough, I didn’t dread it, either. Nor did the people who I heard talk that day.

  CHAPTER 10

  The last meeting before lunch was on the sixth floor, and it had collected quite the crowd. Many people had been forced to stand in the back and along the sides. Were they about to show the new Star Wars?

  The media section in the back right was overflowing with reps from local and national outlets. The room comfortably held about two hundred people, but at least fifty more were squeezed in there. Each row was elevated above the one before and looked down at the table centered on the small stage. Five panelists sat there behind their name tags, looking back up at the crowd. Above the stage, a projector displayed the title of the panel: How Living Well Past 100 Will Change Everything, From Health Care to Finance to Relationships to Faith.

  I was just blown away by the fact that people really wanted to live that long. It was easy to imagine that the human race could figure it out, just not why they would want to. Give me seventy, and I’m pulling the cord. Life ain’t that good.

  Dr. Sebastian had chosen a seat about halfway up, and he was waiting excitedly with his small Apple laptop resting on the countertop in front of him. Ted sat next to him, doing his best not to attract attention. I was at the top of one set of stairs near the door, Francesca at the other.

  The moderator finished introducing the speakers, and people clapped with admiration. As one member of the panel began to address the first question, I noticed a thirty-something woman with dirty blonde hair looking around the room. She sat two seats away from the doctor. She didn’t appear to be paying attention like the others, and I watched her for a few moments. She redirected her attention to the panelist currently speaking. A general rule of thumb in this situation is that you don’t need to worry as much about women. It’s mostly men who kill people. She was slightly questionable, but nothing to sweat about.

  I reminded myself that the last thing I needed was to let my PTSD get the best of me. Make a move on this girl, and I’d be in the spotlight. I knew I could easily fall into the trap of pulling a few false alarms and getting scrutinized for it. Then I’d be scared to speak up when something went wrong. And someone might die. It was a balance I had to find, and a little confidence would go a long way.

  I kept looking around as I half-listened to some philosopher type go on about how followers of certain faiths would have to reexamine and reinterpret their beliefs, just like they’d done when evolution became more accepted. My mind was attempting to wrap around that one when my eyes went back to the woman. She sure was fidgety. But she was trying not to be. Like she was trying to keep herself together. She was holding her shaking leg, attempting to keep it from moving. I didn’t like it.

  I took a few steps forward, passing a couple of the latecomers. I tried not to get in their way as I got a closer look. Now the woman had her right hand in her lap under the counter, and she was digging her middle fingernail into the cuticle of her thumb in an extremely aggressive, painful-looking manner. Those were the signs we looked for.

  Was she just an anxious person? Had something happened to her earlier to provoke such a response? Or was she there to cause problems? Only one way to find out, and that was to get her up and out of there. Ask her a couple questions.

  I felt the heat, though. I’d already appeared paranoid in the doctor’s neighborhood when I thought I’d seen something in that window. Really didn’t want to do that again. I’d been doing this for more than a decade, though, and I felt something inside of me. Some sort of agitation. Something was wrong.

  I had to go with it.

  I looked up at Francesca who was eyeing me from her position at the exit door on the other side. I nodded down at the woman and then made my way. Reaching the row where Ted, Dr. Sebastian, and this young lady were sitting, I slipped past the backs of two people and reached out for her. Her leg was now moving like it had a motor in it, bouncing up and down on the ball of her foot. The philosopher type was still waxing on, saying that new religions would surface as a result of the Singularity.

  The woman had on a khaki jacket cinched tight by a large belt at the waist. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I noticed she’d been quite liberal with her makeup that morning. I tapped her on the shoulder, and it scared the hell out of her. She jerked back like I’d shot a gun next to her ear.

  I said in a whisper, “Can I borrow you for a minute, ma’am? Real quick.”

  Her reaction wasn’t comforting. Behind her bluish-green eyes, I could see her mind racing to make decisions. The muscles in her arms and hands and neck tensed.

  I stuck my hand out again and motioned with two fingers for her to come.

  The battle in her mind subsided, and she nodded and began to stand.

  I knelt in the aisle so as not to be in anyone’s way and waited for her to collect her things. Watched her carefully.

  Then she jerked at the belt holding her jacket too quickly, and I started for her. A couple s
creams erupted as I threw my hands at her, grabbing her shoulders. By then, I really hoped I wasn’t overreacting. My shattered ego couldn’t have taken it.

  I caught a glimpse of steel as the jacket pulled away from her body. She had a gun. I pulled her backwards and she fell into the seat. Her hand came up holding a little Smith & Wesson, and it was coming toward me. I grabbed her arm and blocked any further motion, and she fired the gun into the ceiling.

  The room turned to chaos.

  I slid my right hand up her arm to the gun and ripped it from her grip, then stepped over the back of a seat to get into her row. I tumbled on top of her and fought her swinging hands and kicking feet. My hand went instinctively to her throat with my free hand, the other one still gripping the gun. The woman’s shirt had pulled up from her waist, and I noticed some kind of strange mark, like a branding, on the right part of her stomach. Funny, the things you notice in the frighteningly quick seconds of battle.

  As I choked her into submission, a shot rang out, and blood splattered onto both of us. I whipped around as Ted collapsed to the ground.

  “Ted!” I yelled. At that point, I had no idea how bad he was hit, but it looked like a headshot. Things were moving to quickly to be sure.

  What I am sure about is that my hopes of ever being the warrior I used to be were obliterated in those few seconds. A paralyzing sensation overcame my body, and my mind went to mush.

  In a haze, I looked up. Another woman was there, holding a smoking handgun. She’d shot Ted and was now aiming her gun at the doctor. Fighting with everything that I had, using what I’d learned over the past year, I found some control. No one else was going to die.