Nine-Tenths

by Meira Pentermann

  “With all due respect, Leonard,” Max said turning abruptly to face him. “I don’t trust you. If you’ve come here to sack my apartment, you’d better go back and bring a few buddies.” The man’s stance was proud and unrelenting.

  “You’re wrong, Max,” Alina insisted. “He’s been gathering all kinds of information. He could help you.”

  Leonard nodded. “I could help you. I could give you your WLN record.”

  Max scrunched up his nose and eyed Leonard skeptically.

  “Plus,” Alina said, “he’s here to help me save Natalia.” She proceeded with a very brief synopsis of Natalia’s situation. “What cause could motivate a man more than protecting his own daughter? We’re getting out of here by Friday. He won’t betray us. Just trust me.”

  Max appeared to consider her words, although his eyes never broke from Leonard. Finally, he asked, “You can get my WLN record?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  Max glanced back at Alina. She tipped her head forward with a distinct air of confidence. Addressing Leonard, Max spoke in a clear voice. “Stewart Shinskey.”

  “Huh?”

  “My real name is Stewart Shinskey.”

  Leonard’s mind raced. The name sounded familiar. Where had he heard it before? “Priority Targets. You’re a Priority Target.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I saw your record today. It was in a database called Priority Targets. The database was filled with names of individuals that the WLN wants to keep tabs on. Your record said something to the effect of…” Leonard looked at the ceiling. “‘Suspected of being a contact in an illegal emigration gang. Closely monitored by WLN. No incriminating conversations in the home.’”

  For several seconds, Max merely stared. Then he began chuckling, and a warm grin spread across his face. “Dumbshits.” He pointed to one corner of the ceiling. “Still haven’t figured out voice activity detection.” He stepped toward Leonard and thumped him on the back. Then he leaned forward and muttered, “You may be a son-of-a-bitch Fed and I’ll regret ever meeting you, but Alina’s got the best instincts I know. If you get me a copy of that record, I’ll get you an ID.”

  Leonard nodded, his anxiety diminishing slightly. “I promise. I only want to get my daughter out of this God-forsaken hellhole.”

  Inches from Leonard’s face, Max searched his eyes for a sign of betrayal. “For better or worse, I’m in now.” He motioned for Leonard to follow him to one of the closed doors. “Let’s take your photo. You need the ID by Friday?” He moved toward one of the closed doors. A noticeable limp distinguished his gait.

  “Thursday actually,” Alina said. “We’re leaving on Natalia’s birthday.”

  Max sighed. “It’s not that easy, Allie.”

  Allie?

  They entered a dark room with a desk, several computers, and a camera mounted on the floor. A spread of unidentifiable machines nearly filled the rest of the room. No pictures adorned the walls, but a pale blue patch was painted in the corner, its color bleeding onto the ceiling and floor. Clearly slapped on in haste, the patch appeared as if it would serve as a background for an ID photo.

  Flipping on a radio near the door, Max explained quietly, “My guy will need to hack into three security databases. We’ve got to create a substantial identity that will get you past Idaho Springs. This isn’t a simple in and out of a Fed facility we’re talking about.”

  “Please,” Alina begged.

  Hobbling upright and with dignity, Max led Leonard to the pale blue wall. The rebel touched him with an air of authority, adjusting Leonard’s posture and turning his head slightly so that one ear and his full face would appear on the photo.

  “I’m going to have to pull several favors,” Max said. “What have you got for me? Can you make it interesting?”

  Alina thought for a moment. Then she shoved a hand in her pocket and retrieved a key. Holding it out to him, she shook it urgently. “When we’re gone, take whatever you like.”

  Max fiddled with the camera, aiming it at Leonard. Alina moved in front of the equipment, continuing to thrust the key in Max’s direction.

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “Are you sure?”

  “We won’t need anything. We’re not coming back.”

  He grinned and reached for the key. “Sweet.” Pocketing the item and gazing into the camera, he said, “That’ll pretty much cover all the favors I call in as well as bank up a few on my ledger for the future.”

  “Great.” Alina stepped aside.

  “Scowl, Leonard,” Max commanded, as he snapped a photo. Leonard took a serious stance. Max snapped another photo. “Don’t move your head.” Leonard tried to resume his original posture. “That’s good.” The makeshift photographer clicked the camera several more times. Then he led Leonard to the other side of the room to take a retina scan and a digital image of all ten fingerprints. After verifying that the images recorded properly, Max crossed to the desk.

  Leonard and Alina followed him.

  Making notes on a small tablet, Max said, “I think another MD with infirmary privileges would be the most effective alias. I’ll see what Jimmy can pull off.” Tapping his pencil, he frowned and gazed at Alina. “You know, Allie, there’s not enough—”

  “Yes, I think an MD is an excellent idea,” she interrupted, catching his eyes and subtly shaking her head.

  “But if you need to ditch—”

  “A really, really good idea.” Alina glared at Max, clenching her fists.

  “Not enough what?” Leonard asked.

  Max gazed at Alina for a moment before returning his attention to the tablet. “An MD it is. Possibly a psychiatrist. That could be interesting.”

  “And believable. Who better to visit, or possibly interrogate, the patients?” Alina smiled unconvincingly.

  “Not enough what?” Leonard repeated, but the pair continued to ignore him. Scowling, he nearly lost his temper again. Allie this, Allie that…and now secrets. Not enough supplies? Not enough gas? Eventually he relented, recognizing his precarious position in the situation. Whatever. Just get me out of here.

  “Do you create new IDs or modify existing ones?” Alina asked innocently. Leonard realized that she was inquiring out of a concern over the tracking chips. But why not tell her trusted confidant, Maxy-waxy? Perhaps Alina didn’t want to look like a fool in case Leonard was mistaken or making it up.

  He opened his mouth, contemplating explaining the tracking theory and beating Alina to the punch, but he held his tongue. Max was already leery of him, and clearly Alina felt the time was not right. Maybe she just wanted to complete the test first, so that she could give her rebel friend reliable information.

  “I wouldn’t modify existing IDs,” Max said. “I’ve tried it. Just doesn’t look right. Got everything I need right here.” He swept an arm around the room full of impressive equipment.

  “This is quite an undertaking,” Leonard said, hoping to work his way back into the conversation.

  “I’d rather be in the ID business than the tunneling business. A couple of guys managed to tunnel under the Southern Wall last year. They smuggled thirteen people through, but it did not end well for them. Other people are trying it though. The problem is, once you get under, you have to be fairly well equipped for survival. The Southern Wall is the easiest to penetrate, but there is nowhere to run. It is a long way around if you have to start in Castle Rock.”

  “To Grand Junction?” Leonard asked.

  Max appeared to suddenly second-guess his loose tongue. “Yeah. That’s right.” Again, he regarded Leonard with suspicion. Then he glanced at his tablet and mumbled, “You’ll have the ID by Thursday morning. I may need to get one of my guys to deliver it in the middle of the night.”

  “Just let us know when and where,” Alina said, smiling.

  “Will do.” He ushered his guests back into the front room, closing the photo room door behind him.

  Eric Stehlen, A Man with a
Vision resounded in the living room. Leonard gritted his teeth.

  “In retrospect, it is mind-boggling that those despicable protesters made such a fuss over five years. I mean, five years. Come on.”

  “Outrageously unpatriotic.”

  “Simpleminded, really.” The first man shook his head sadly.

  “Oh,” Max said suddenly. “About the car bugs.”

  Alina flinched. “Car bugs?”

  “Your Toyota only has one. Reese did a thorough examination.”

  “How are we supposed to go anywhere with a car bug?” Alina whispered harshly.

  “No worries. It’s an early model. A B12. It’s attached to the drivers’ seat on the right side.”

  “Attached to the seat?”

  “Yeah. Watchers can slip into someone’s car, slap a B12 on the side of the seat and be out in less than thirty seconds.”

  Alina appeared perturbed. “I can’t do this. How can we escape if we can’t properly communicate?”

  “Relax. Pour a soda or, more effectively, a milkshake down the side of the seat.”

  “And they won’t come after us for disabling a bug?”

  “B12s don’t transmit a failure message. No one will notice if one drops out of the network unless the Watchers are already actively listening to your conversations—”

  “Which they may be.”

  Max shrugged. “They may still put the issue on low priority. They can’t follow up on everything in twenty-four hours. By then you’ll be long gone.”

  “I suppose.” Alina’s confidence had waned considerably.

  “The milkshake is a great cover. No proof of deliberate tampering. Throw a few empty snack bags in the back seat. That way, you’ll look like an innocent slob.”

  The sycophantic TV hosts prattled on. “And truthfully, in the current crisis, I say the younger the better.”

  “Absolutely, Brady. Vitality and intelligence. It’s what saved the country.”

  A photo popped up on the screen. Leonard jolted. A haughty man with a mustache and dark gray goatee stared back at him.

  “The man from the portrait,” Leonard blurted, louder than he intended.

  Max and Alina turned abruptly. They stared at Leonard in alarm.

  Gesturing toward the television, Leonard explained, “There is a huge, three-story portrait of that man in the lobby of the DID.” He smiled as he made another connection. “And I have a picture of myself shaking his hand…in that box with my diplomas.”

  Alina rushed to Leonard and grabbed his arm. “Let’s get going, sweetheart. Max has a lot of work to do.”

  But Max materialized at their side inches from Leonard’s face. “What are you playing at?” he whispered.

  “It was just bugging me, that’s all. I knew I knew him from somewhere.” Suddenly nervous, Leonard’s voice trailed away.

  “That’s Stehlen, Leonard,” Alina said softly, subtly coaxing him to shut his mouth. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

  Stehlen. Of course, you idiot.

  Lightheaded, Leonard broke from the trio and stumbled to the couch. He put his head in his hands, trying to send the blood back to his brain. When he looked up, he noticed Max and Alina having a hushed but heated discussion, punctuated by occasional glances in his direction. Eventually, Max nodded, seeming to accept whatever explanation Alina had presented. He crossed to the couch, helped Leonard to his feet, and ushered him to the exit.

  The door closed behind them and three locks clicked into place. As they wandered down the hallway, Leonard spoke very softly in Alina’s ear. “What did you tell him?”

  “That you’re a victim of a DID brain experiment gone awry.”

  “And he bought it?”

  “Appears so. We’ll see whether or not an ID shows up on Thursday.”

  Leonard stared at the steps as they descended. “Sorry.”

  “Just keep your mouth shut when you’re feeling clueless. Ask me, in private, if you have any questions.”

  “Right.” They reached the door to the building. “Alina?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why was I shaking president Stehlen’s hand?”

  “When you brought the photo home you explained that he had dropped by to congratulate the team on the success of your project. I didn’t know you were the project leader. He obviously was rather smitten with your work.”

  “And I?” He pushed the door open and gestured for her to take the lead.

  “You were as detached as always. I didn’t know how to read your emotions. I suppose the lack of gushing adoration could have been a sign of resistance.”

  Leonard chuckled and took her hand. She sighed and leaned into his side as they emerged in the fresh night air.

  “Let’s try and get some sleep, Frankenstein,” she said, mildly amused.

  “That sounds like a great idea.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Walking through the corridors of the DID the following morning, Leonard moved as if on autopilot — swiping his card, leaning in for retina scans, and punching in his five-digit code. He barely even noticed the three-story portrait, which he now knew to be President Stehlen.

  McGinnis had aborted any attempts to chat with him after being met with aloofness from the get-go. This suited Leonard perfectly well. He was not in the mood. Distracted by images of Alina and Max, Leonard sulked defiantly.

  Jealous of his wife’s chummy relationship with Max and angry with himself for his own naïveté, Leonard marched along, oblivious to his surroundings. Fatigued, confused, and irritated, Leonard didn’t know where his emotions ended and reality began. He considered the possibility that Alina was having an affair with Max, but dismissed the idea. After all, when would she have time? Then again, when did she find the time to do all the things she claimed to have done in preparation for the escape to Grand Junction? Leonard shook the thoughts from his mind, concluding that exhaustion had severely impaired his judgment.

  When he reached the hanger, he did not pause. The enormous facility filled with satellites failed to impress him. Old news. He had been there hundreds of times before. Perhaps Alina was right. Maybe he was the victim of a DID experiment gone awry.

  Absentmindedly weaving his way through the cubicle maze, Leonard attempted to focus on the day’s important plans. He needed to double check that Dickens also took lunch at noon. In addition, he had to find a plausible excuse to stay at his desk while his coworkers enjoyed the DID’s delectable sandwich selections.

  He passed Sandy Little’s cubicle and nodded casually. Anything but casual, the young woman’s blue eyes pierced his, causing him to stop in his tracks. They locked gazes, neither saying a word.

  Sandy.

  Through no fault of nature or choice, Sandy Little lost her baby yesterday afternoon at the hands of the Department of Health. In pursuit of some God-forsaken new world order called The New Direction, women like Sandy Little, an L-2 perhaps, were not permitted to bear children. The details of Alina’s confession flooded Leonard’s brain. Images of Sandy screaming and protesting formed in his mind, but he had no consoling words to offer his assistant. The lingering silence suffocated Leonard’s spirit. Only yesterday, this girl had oscillated from chatty to professional in the blink of an eye. This morning, nothing.

  Leonard could not decipher the expression behind Sandy Little’s cold eyes. It wasn’t anger. Not even sadness. No distinguishable emotion whatsoever. It was as if her soul had been extinguished. Numb and lethargic, the young woman merely stared.

  Does she know Dr. Marsh is my wife?

  Leonard broke her gaze and swiftly departed, feeling a bit woozy as he approached his cubicle.

  At least an hour passed before Leonard realized that he had been aimlessly flipping from one page to another, perusing the branches of the SSP01 tree without actually absorbing any information. Staring at the Priority Target profile of Stewart Shinskey, aka Alina’s Max, Leonard sat forward.

  How do I print this? Contemplating the possibilities, Le
onard concluded that he would have to download the information on a disk if he could find one. Whether or not he could smuggle it out of the facility remained to be seen, but he had not been frisked or x-rayed when he left yesterday. Leonard rummaged through his drawers. Near the back of the top drawer he found a black thumb drive. Perfect.

  As he pulled out the thumb drive, his hands passed over a small, tightly folded scrap of yellow paper. Curious, he smoothed it out on his desk. It was a note written in curly handwriting followed by the signature Sandy.

  Oh my God, he thought. Am I having an affair?

  “Dear Mr. Tramer,” the note began.

  Too professional. He sighed in relief and continued to read.

  “It has been an honor to work with you. I know there are many among us who seek to thwart the evil intentions of this government. I often wonder if you are a member of that quiet resistance. With that in mind, I have tried to be a faithful employee. I pray that my efforts have been of use to you. Sometimes I believe that we will prevail. That belief used to inspire me to struggle through another day. However, I find no comfort in anything any longer.

  “I need to leave these words behind, even though I know they will go no further than your eyes. I, Sandy Little, give my allegiance to those who seek to rebuild the free world…and no one else.”

  “I need to leave these words behind,” Leonard muttered under his breath. “What the—?”

  Leonard leapt from his chair and raced through the cubicle maze, nearly knocking down one of his subordinates in the process. Upon reaching Ms. Little’s cubicle, Leonard shouted, “Sandy!”

  Slumped over her keyboard, Sandy appeared to be taking a morning snooze.

  “Sandy,” Leonard repeated, out of breath. He touched her on the shoulder gently. Nothing. A little harder. Still nothing. He swung her chair around.

  The beautiful blond woman’s head lolled over to one side. Her arm slipped from her lap, knocking down a prescription bottle. Leonard watched it fall, seemingly in slow motion, bouncing twice before rolling into the corner. Touching her neck and wrists, Leonard searched for a pulse, not entirely sure if he knew how to find one.