by Al Macy
In the early years of the company, whenever they’d had a slow period, they’d fly over to the Baja Peninsula and rent a cabana on the beach. They surfed until their arms felt like noodles. This was before Sophia had been born, and each day ended with fish tacos, margaritas, and stories around a fire on the beach. The members of the group were perfect traveling companions; they were always on the same page and handled all the typical holiday snafus with good humor.
There was a sadness to the memories as well, since Mary was now dead, and Renata’s marriage to Pierre had ended in a bitter divorce. The only upside was that last year, Renata had sent Sophia to live with Jake for three months. Renata had wanted Sophia to have a father figure in her life. Jake agreed wholeheartedly and had devoted all his time to Sophia. Jake and Sophia developed a close bond.
What about Renata? Could he consider a romantic relationship after losing Mary? No. In any case, those thoughts would have to wait until they resolved the current crisis.
A shout interrupted Jake’s daydream. “Juan the mole is calling!” The company’s top negotiator, Senor Vela, picked up the phone, and the others rushed to the comm center and picked up the special “listen-only” extensions.
“Thank you for the money,” the caller said. “I have information.”
“We are grateful, Juan, and we will take care of you.” The negotiator had a soothing voice.
Juan spoke rapidly. “Benito, the boss, asked me for the location of a functioning pay phone in Mexico City. He wanted one on a semi-busy street in the southwest corner of the city. Since so many are broken, he asked me to find one that was definitely working. For a ransom call I think. Are you ready for the location?”
“Yes.”
“The corner of Parroquia and Jose Martin Mendalde.” Juan said.
“When do you think he’ll be calling?”
“Right now, Senor. He will be calling now. I have to—” The line went dead.
“Those places are too far from here.” Renata stared at the floor. “There’s no way you can get there in time.”
Jake barely heard her. He was already out the door with Archie Chen, the company’s top agent.
CHAPTER NINE
The call did indeed come in before Jake and Archie were in position. It ended one minute before they arrived at the pay phone. The negotiator relayed the conversation over the radio. “The kidnapper asked for ten million dollars. He said, ‘Your company has interfered with us too often. I have three guys here who would like to spend some time with your daughter. Lo entiendes?’”
Archie slammed his hand on the steering wheel.
“Wait.” Jake pointed out the window to a motorcycle leaving the block near the payphone. “Look there. Could that be our guy? That’s a pretty high-end motorcycle for this area.”
With nothing to lose, they followed the bike to a rundown house in the small town of Temamatla.
“That bike is way too good for a house like that,” Jake said. “It’s a long shot, but let’s check it out.” We need a break!
Archie Chen deserved his nickname, “The Mexican Ninja.” His specialty was going in and out of occupied houses undetected. He had the chiseled muscles you’d expect from an expert climber and the intense look of someone who rarely laughs.
A few years ago, one of the company’s new administrators had voiced doubts about Chen’s exploits. Rumor had it the administrator woke up the next morning with a ninja action figure in his underwear, with a note reading “Me love you long time.” No one questioned Archie’s abilities after that.
Jake and Archie drove back to the office but returned to the Temamatla house at two a.m. Chen ghosted down the street and attached a listening device to windows on the first and second floors.
The next morning, they listened in and were treated to nothing but a long argument about soccer. They were about to give up—it had been a longshot anyway—when Jake held up a finger, listening intently.
“Do you hear that?” He squeezed the headphones against he ears. “That’s Sophia!”
The crying came from the upstairs microphone. One of the soccer fans swore, and Jake heard him go up the stairs, transitioning from the downstairs mic to the upstairs one. After a whimper, they heard a slap and the words “Tu será tranquila y comerás el cereal—toda ella—si alguna vez quieres ver a tu mamá de nuevo.” “You will be quiet and you will eat your cereal—all of it—if you ever want to see your mommy again.”
* * *
June 10, 2018
At four a.m., the streets of Temamatla were quiet. Jake pushed the headphones against his ears and held his mouth slightly open, straining for every sound coming from the electronic bugs. Benito, the one who’d made the ransom call had a deep, raspy voice.
Jake nodded. “Yes, one kidnapper is sleeping, but the TV is on. I’m sure it’s Benito that’s still on the couch but I don’t know if he’s awake.” He looked at his watch. We can’t wait any longer. “Let’s go.”
Jake and Chen got out of the communications van and into their souped-up Chevy Aveo. They drove to the hideout, turned off the headlights, and coasted to the curb. The house was an ugly cinder-block affair with a simple opening for a balcony on the second floor.
Chen ascended the wall, aided by the protrusion of a utility meter, carrying a large duffel bag. Jake watched from the sidewalk. Chen tilted his head and raised it just enough to see over the wall. He moved in slow motion, pulling himself over the wall and onto the balcony.
Jake waited. One minute. Two. Four. It’s taking too long. After five minutes, Jake heard a deep voice, followed by the spit of Chen’s silenced pistol—maybe?—and the roar of a shotgun. Not good.
But Chen’s face was the one that appeared over the balcony wall. He dropped the duffel bag to Jake and yelled, “Go, go, go!”
Jake put the duffel in the back and Chen appeared, like magic, in the passenger seat. How can he be so fast?
Jake turned the key, hit the accelerator, and reached to close his door. The roar of a shotgun washed over them, and pellets peppered his shoulder. Pellets from the next shot rattled against the car’s roof. Jake smashed the accelerator down, and they were soon out of range.
“Is she okay?” Jake looked back at the duffel bag.
“Hey, guy, you’re about to pass out. Let me drive.” They pulled over. Archie yanked Jake over to the passenger seat and ran around and got in on the driver’s side.
Jake put his head between his knees, barely conscious. He wanted to look in the duffel. I’ll pass out if I try. “What happened?”
Archie drove and looked over at his former boss. “I was about to put a bullet in the back of Benito’s head, when he got up and went to the john. Shit, why didn’t I just shoot him? I thought I’d have enough time to get Sophia out. She was tied to a radiator with a rope around her neck. She didn’t look good.”
“Ah, jeez.” Jake’s eyes were fluttering.
“She was asleep, but I dosed her with Halothane on the cloth so that she wouldn’t make any noise, and I got her into the duffel. Benito came back. He brought the shotgun up, but I got a shot into his neck. As he fell, he fired a shot that hit the bag. I’m sorry Jake, but I think that—”
Jake fell into darkness.
CHAPTER TEN
At 12:10 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time, on June 10, each nanobot counted to zero, dismantled its protective spore coat, and went to work.
First the nanobot determined whether it was in an appropriate host. If data from the accumulated x-ray reflections indicated a non-human species, the nanobot self-destructed.
Next, if the host was human, the nanobot evaluated the host’s sleep/wake state. If the host was awake, it did nothing but repeat the evaluation. If the host was asleep, it unfolded itself and sprang into action.
Fanta Okoro, the seamstress in Nigeria, had 274 nanobots in her body. It was 5:10 p.m., and Ms. Okoro was on her way home. As she rode the bus, exchanging gossip with her best friend, her nanobots dismantled their coats but did nothing. They had to
wait until she fell asleep.
Heather Goff, the two-week-and-two-day-old infant in Baltimore had only moments to live. She was awake at 12:10 but fell asleep at 12:33 p.m. This was the go signal for the nanobots in her body. They began replicating in a frenzy and distributed dessication units to every part of her body. Two minutes later, she was not only dead, but as dry as a block of Styrofoam dressed in a pink blanket sleeper. The nanobots, having fulfilled their mission, self-destructed.
As of June 10, 12:10 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time, seventy percent of the members of the human race were either dead or were housing patient nanobots that would kill them as soon as they fell asleep.
* * *
June 10, 2018
At the emergency entrance to Hospital Ángeles del Pedregal, Jake came to and watched Archie lift Sophia out of the duffel bag. It was lined with six layers of Kevlar. Jake’s head bobbled. He squinted at the blurry image. Is she alive? Her body looked bruised. Is she moving? Archie handed her over to the ER doctor with the rope still tied around her neck. Two ER nurses loaded Jake onto a gurney. He passed out again.
Hours later, Jake regained consciousness following his surgery and looked down at his bandaged left arm and shoulder. Archie Chen brought him up to date.
They’d found no broken bones and removed most of the shotgun pellets. Sophia had recovered from the Halothane with no ill-effects. She was going to be okay.
When she and Renata came into his room, Sophia had a death grip on her mother’s neck, her head buried against it. When she saw Jake, Sophia held out one arm toward him. Renata leaned down, and Sophia added Jake’s neck to her death grip, pulling him and Renata together. Jake was still groggy but made an exaggerated choking noise that got laughs from everyone except Sophia. Comic relief. Jake smiled and took a deep breath. His trying had paid off. Good!
All were beyond exhaustion, and the hospital let Renata fall asleep in a bed next to Jake’s, Sophia still attached to her neck like a limpet.
Two hours later, yelling in the hallways awakened Jake. The word “muerto” was repeated a lot. An arm snaked around his neck and squeezed. He flipped over, sending waves of pain through his injured arm. It was Sophia. He frowned. Why had she let go of her mother? He looked over to Renata’s bed.
Instead of the beautiful Renata Perez, the bed contained a grotesque, mummified version of his friend. It was if all the moisture had been sucked out of her with a pump. The clothes hung loosely on the body that was half the size of the original. He covered Sophia’s eyes. What the hell had happened?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
June 11, 2018
Alex roared and charged his brother, planning a full-on tackle that would throw them both into the shallow water. Martin ducked down, and Alex flew over his back, splashing down into the water. Martin was on him before he even figured out what had happened. The twins were evenly matched, but Martin lured Alex into deeper water, where his aquatic skills gave him the advantage. He came out on top.
The fight ended as quickly as it had begun. Their anger dissipated, Martin floated around and Alex trudged up to the shore. He stopped and looked off into the distance. There was something different about this fight. It had started over an argument about who would collect the firewood and who would cook breakfast. What was it really about? Two guesses, Einstein. Rebecca. Long hair, great face, smart mouth. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. He nodded to himself.
Neither twin had wanted to go on this trip and miss the latest Cronkite developments, but when Alex had seen Rebecca on the dock, his outlook shifted. He’d seen that same look in his brother’s eyes, just before Martin stumbled off the dock and into the lake.
Alex snapped out of his trance and got to work collecting firewood. Martin joined him, and they constructed a perfect fire then waited for the others to get up. Martin pointed to the tent. “If they’re not up in five minutes, I’m going to wake them. They must have heard us fighting, right?”
Alex poked the embers of the fire. “I don’t get it, the girls have always been the ones to get up first. Yesterday they made breakfast at seven. It’s ten o’clock now. Also, Brad’s group should have come back from the island by now.”
Soon Martin tapped his watch. “Okay, time’s up.”
“That was a quick five minutes.”
“Well, I’m hungry.” Martin stamped over to the tent. “Hey guys, wakey wakey. Aren’t you hungry?”
After a minute with no stretching or other noises from the tent, Martin looked at his brother. “What’s going on, are they dead or something?”
Alex frowned, stepped over, looked at Martin, and unzipped the tent flap. “Hey guys, we’re coming in, like it or not.”
They both cried out and jumped back when they saw the shriveled, dried-out remains of what had been Rebecca, Susan, and Susan’s dad. “No, no, no, no.” Alex peered in at Rebecca. Instead of a beautiful young woman with thick brown hair down to the middle of her back, a four-thousand-year-old museum mummy lay in the sleeping bag. A mummy bag. The girl they had been bantering with yesterday seemed to have had all the moisture sucked out of her body. She could be distinguished from Susan only by the color of her hair. The skin was pulled back from her teeth, leaving her mouth gaping open. The air was a funky steam bath.
“What’s going on? We need help.” Martin paced.
“Well, there’s nothing that can help them now.” Alex pressed his palms against his eyes, trying not to cry. She would have been the love of his life.
“Brad has the only cell phone. And he’s over on the island.”
Alex took his hands away from his eyes. “Really?”
“Tech-free trip, remember? And Susan’s dad doesn’t—didn’t—believe in cell phones. Besides, the coverage around here is pretty spotty.”
“Well, let’s find another group with a cell phone.”
“Good idea, but do you see any other groups around here?” Martin started pacing.
The twins wandered around the campsite, arguing about what had happened and what they were going to do. Alex went back to the tent, knelt down, and looked in as if expecting everything to be all right again. If only Rebecca were still alive—No! Time to stop thinking about her and start planning.
Alex sat on his haunches. “Okay, we need to get back to civilization, and for that we need a canoe, and for that either Brad’s group needs to come back, or we need to get over to the island.” Alex reached into the tent and, keeping his hands away from the corpses, pulled out the binoculars.
They moved down to the shore, and with the binoculars, Alex could make out the canoes on the shore two miles distant. No movement. No smoke. “I don’t think Brad’s group is coming back.”
Staring into space, he handed the binoculars to Martin, who brought them to his eyes, and scanned the island’s shoreline.
“Agreed. Let’s get started on a raft, and if they aren’t back by the time we’re done, we’ll head over there.”
“Do we really need a raft? I swam a mile in the swim-for-cancer thing. We both swam in that.”
“Yeah, in a pool, with unlimited breaks. And I didn’t make it,” Alex said. “Remember? I cramped up after a few laps.”
Alex looked back at the tent. Burning the bodies would be the proper thing to do, right? They didn’t have a shovel, and they couldn’t just leave them.
“Should we try to preserve the scene? For the cops, I mean?” Martin asked.
“No. I don’t see this as a crime, do you?”
They built a large fire, had a brief ceremony, and respectfully added the three bodies to the fire. The bodies had felt like they might crumble to dust when they were moved, and they burned quickly, like straw. It was a horrific process, however. What a terrible idea. What were we thinking? As the bodies burned, the boys had to push various body parts into the center of the fire, and when done, they had a grotesque pile of bones and skulls.
After that fiasco, they took refuge in intellectual analysis. They started with estimating the dis
tance to the island. Alex paced off one mile along the shore and then evaluated the change in angle toward the island camp. Despite not having access to trigonometric tables, they estimated that it was 2.2 miles away.
After that, they measured Martin’s swimming speed both with and without a flotation vest. They also fashioned a quick-and-dirty test raft. The raft won the speed test, even with only one paddle, so they spent the rest of the day putting together an improved version. They tore up Susan’s tent and used the strips to tie logs together.
Alex lay on his side and wove the fabric between the logs in a pattern that would provide maximum strength. Sure, they could survive for a while here at the campsite, given their luck with hunting and fishing. But I want to find out what’s going on! The deaths must be related to Cronkite’s visit and the sneeze.
The brothers worked through dinnertime and finished at eight. They would leave at first light. After cooking up freeze-dried lasagna and apple cobbler, they crawled into their sleeping bags and fell asleep within moments.
* * *
June 11, 2018
Charli rubbed her fists against her eyes like a toddler at bedtime. She sat quietly, paying attention to Ruby Mountain’s new-house smell and the sounds of the air circulation system. She opened her eyes and looked down at the picture, on her tablet, of her favorite nephew, Zachary. The same photo had been on her desk in the White House. It showed him holding up a crayon drawing he’d done for her. He hadn’t survived. Now is not the time to cry.
She watched the president stare blankly at his notes and run his hand through his gray hair. Yesterday the sixty-eight-year-old Hallstrom had been a dynamic older guy, the kind you’d see out sailing, hiking, or in a Viagra commercial. Now he was an old man. Everything about him seemed colorless, and the twinkle in his eye was missing.
Hallstrom ran his hand through his hair again. “This meeting is for—hey, where’s Maddix?”
Charli said, “He’s in his quarters. His sister died, and he’s devastated. Inconsolable. His sister raised him. I’m going to sit with him after the meeting.”
