by Travis Knoll
"I will fight," Mishkin stated.
"So the tunnels will get us to Poland?" I asked, and Mishkin nodded his head yes in acknowledgement.
We glanced down both sides of the barren, dark tunnels and I knew that the only real way to get this money back to the people was to get back to America and let Detective Slate somehow protect us while I turned this around. My cell garnered service from the internet extender that was acting as a router. Mishkin smiled as he lent me the password.
"I need to call Detective Slate, in the States," I said. Talks and Signs glared at me like I should be committed to an insane asylum.
"This is the only way back into the country, and you know it," I stated. I continued glaring at them as I dialed the phone number for Detective Slate while the others talked to Mishkin. He was telling stories about how the Russians were using propaganda toward America during the cold war, and how they used the Duga Radar as a mind-control device.
The phone rang.
"This is Detective Slate," the detective said aggressively into the phone.
"It's me," I said softly.
"I got your email. Now where are you?"
"First I need you to guarantee us safety back to the States. Can you do this?"
"Do you have more information that is tangible to hold someone?"
"Yes, I have more then enough information. Can you get me back to San Francisco?"
"I can as long as you will testify in front of a court what is going on."
"Is your mother alive, Detective?"
"Yes she is, why?"
"Promise on your mother’s life to provide security needed to myself and my friends, and you will get more than enough tangible information," I said, and the phone was quiet for a second. The detective cleared his throat, and I swallowed what was left of my ego.
"That is fine, you have my word. I will get you tickets."
"I will email our names and information needed shortly, and then purchase everything and you must guarantee safe travels."
I hung up the phone and glanced at the others that talked to Mishkin as he pointed down the path that led towards Poland. I quickly emailed the detective our fake ID information to get us back to the States.
"It is custom in my country to provide security for your travels and protection. We traveled here for safety after the Chernobyl fallout. I know these tunnels better than anyone," Mishkin said.
Mishkin hugged his son and kissed his wife, telling them in Ukrainian that he would be right back and that he needed to help the weary travelers to the Polish border.
He walked us to what resembled a skeleton of an abandoned subway car that was already on the subway tracks. The metal frame was a bit rusted, and welded together. It showed signs of visible use over the years.
"I will be your guide to make sure that you get to Poland," Mishkin said.
I remembered when I was a child I would stay up late at night and watch Mad Max movies before they were banned. This old subway car reminded me of them as I hopped on the side of the car and Mishkin ushered us forward.
The time passed and we discussed what the detective had told me. They all thought I was mad. It was, however, the wise thoughts of Signs that put his hands together in a praying affirmation. He signed, stating the same thing that I thought: we must do something, as nothing has no chance of gain. Talks didn't need to translate this, as we could all hear it from his heart. I knew that I couldn't trust the detective, but I had to take a chance for these people. I watched the wind flow through Alex’s dark, silky hair, and the steady hand of Mishkin navigating us to Poland as the time passed.
I showed Signs the flash drive in my hand that had the coded files and CIA screenshot copied to it, and stated that this was the failsafe of backup information in case something should happen to me, and not to let it fall in the wrong hands. Signs took it and placed it inside of Odysseus's collar, which had a small lost-key compartment nested by his throat. We both petted him and knew it was safer with him then any of us, as Odysseus would never break. I told Signs that if the detective wanted information that he was going to have to protect us first, and this was the last of our leverage.
The small rustic subway car pushed through the tunnel lit solely by flickering LED lights that were generated by the continual static electricity of the turning of the steel wheels. Through the tunnel, the walls bore extremely artistic graffiti and words. I thought that people had been down here for some time while I was chasing a meaningless girl and typing on my computer in California.
Mishkin would talk strong words and pause often, which drew us in continually. He would talk of how they had to live on potatoes for months, and purified the rain and melted snow in boiling pots in order to survive. He looked at me, stating all in hopes that one day someone would come along and free them to start the Uprising up once again, and to let his son know freedom as I once had as a child... He expelled laughter as he stated that they even made vodka out of potatoes.
The subway car came to a stop, and above us were lights shining through small holes in an apparent sewer ventilation cover and ladder below it. Mishkin pointed to the cover and explained how to complete our mission that we still had in front of us.
"Stick with the light at this point, my friends, and make our suffering worth it," Mishkin said. He pointed to a glimmer of light coming from a street light. In a lot of Lifes, it was thought that their greatest fear was that they weren't worthy of the suffering God had placed upon them. Great truths behold a man that suffers much.
"This is the end of the line for me as well," Alex stated with a wistful look on her face.
"This is my home. I'm with the fight," she stated. She kissed me on the cheek, a friendly kiss, and we shared a look, which led us to believe that perhaps we would see each other again. We knew that the odds weren't in our favor to make it back to America without handcuffs.
"Make it worth it," she said as she hugged the others and watched as we walked away.
"Don't fall in love, pal, we still need ya thoughts," Talks said once he and Signs were ready to go.
"I have to call the detective real quick to confirm everything," I said. I noticed that I had a glimmer of cell phone service seeping through the city streets.
March 12, 2035
San Francisco, CA
FBI Office
19:55
In Latin there is a phrase: ad maius bonum. It is a saying that I remembered my father used to say that meant “for the greater good.” It was one of the last things that I remembered him saying to my mother before his imminent departure.
"This is Detective Slate," the detective stated as he picked up the phone.
"This is your Tax, and I know who it is. Can you guarantee our safety and buy us tickets back to the States, then? I have what you asked for."
"Stand by one moment," Detective Slate said. He put the phone on hold, switched the security camera in the room off in his office, and peered out at the boardroom at officers and detectives that walked through the cubicles.
"Sorry for the delay. I had to make sure that nobody was monitoring me. So you can confirm that you're willing to testify and have proof with you. I have to let you know this can incriminate yourself as well."
"Yes, I promise I'm one hundred percent on my end, Detective."
"OK, then I will take care of everything, and I am not telling anyone. This is an inside job. I will take care of your travel arrangements."
"Beautiful."
"One last thing that I have to state is if this doesn't work, and if you're lying and try to run, we will put you in prison for the rest of your life. Is this understood?"
"I completely understand, and make sure not to tell anyone, and I mean no one, and have some sort of security escort there. You don't understand what we’re up against—this can get all of us killed. You have to also promise to clear my friends."
"I will try my best with the resources I have at my disposal, but b
ring something more tangible that I can hold somebody to with more than an email here, son."
"I have a lot more than something tangible, I assure you. What if I told you that I had the exact code that they're using for this information?"
"I'll be waiting at the airport. And one more thing. To increase my security measures, I am going to have you fly in to New York. No one will think of you being there."
"Perfect, I look forward to meeting you."
The phone was hung up and the dial tone was heard in the receiver. The detective looked around the office to ensure security and that nothing was being traced. He dialed his secretary and told her to gather some flight information for him.
March 13, 2035
New York, New York
JFK Airport
12:47
There were no signs to insinuate anything out of the ordinary in the airport. The same as always, Lifers were running around going to their next jobs with their thoughts being taken, or rather absorbed. The midday rush of Lifers that were in a perpetual movement of the machine. They were all just trying to get to work, as they became worried and anxiety-ridden with thoughts of lack of money, and this was what he wanted... They were like mice fighting over the same piece of existential cheese, salivating at the bit.
Detective Slate held a picture of the three assailants with Odysseus. He stood in front of the airport by the subdued and armed SUV waiting in the arrivals terminal. He looked around the location and radioed to other officers on staff to ensure that the location was secure.
I peered at the others inside the airport, and I glanced at the detective standing outside. He appeared to be alone with his dark aviator-style sunglasses on. I petted Odysseus and motioned at my cohorts to make sure that they understood everything.
"If anything goes south, take that information to the instapress," I said. I glanced at Odysseus panting next to Signs.
"I think we should have mapped out a better backup plan," Talks said.
I couldn't help but laugh, as this was the only idea that had any merit. I looked at Signs and could translate that his thoughts were telling me to be careful. I just nodded and shared a moment with him. He was kind of like a big brother in some way. His thoughts felt like a warm, comfortable blanket on a cold day. He put his praying hands together and nodded at me; it gave me the sense of calm that I needed.
"I don't see any extra fuzz beside the detective. I guess it's clear," I said as we parted ways. I walked to Detective Slate. The automatic door of the airport exit slid open as the detective raised his voice.
"Tax," the detective said, idiotically putting his arm in the air, waving at me.
I walked out of the front sliding door of the terminal and proceeded toward the SUV. Instantly I heard shots fired. I surveyed the area, taking cover, and saw Detective Slate fall to the ground. My ears rang from the noise of the screaming around the airport. I raced to the detective, and looked at him close and open his eyes with blood spilling onto my hands and all over me from his lifeless body. His fellow detectives spread throughout the area looking for a shooter, but could find nothing as chaos erupted in front of JFK Airport.
March 13, 2035
New York, New York
JFK Airport
12:47
I remembered seeing the gunshot in Black’s head, and it didn't really phase me like staring at Detective Slate. There was something about being next to a person that just got murdered in cold blood, it made me feel it on a visceral level. The screams continued to echo throughout the entire airport as the police searched for someone with a gun, or perhaps a sniper on the roof. The Lifers were running toward any exit they could find in a frantic pace.
I stared deeply into the detective’s eyes, not worried in the slightest if there was going to be another shot fired at me. I just continued to stare into his eyes. The eyes truly were the gateway to the soul. His eyes were now glassy, and I could tell nobody was home anymore, just a carcass, a place for his soul that was now free. I was then snapped back into reality by Signs as he grabbed me from behind.
We raced through the maze of Lifers inside the airport, and each of us asked for answers to what the hell was going on as we quickly ran through the airport.
"We need to move, and fast," Talks stated.
We ran to the exit for the Air Train and glanced around at all the Lifers staring at us. They pointed and turned, glaring at us as if we were doing something wrong. Pictures of us were being instantly portrayed on monitors and TV tubes in the airport with words underneath stating that we were cop killers, and for others to be on alert. Lifers continued to scream, pointing, stating we were the killers that matched the description on the screens.
I looked at my phone and got a photo text message picture of us. It warned of a red alert and had the words “killers on the loose.” Signs watched as everyone's phones flashed. People were now being alerted with a red alert text message of a cop killer in the area with the picture of us.
We ran like track athletes toward the train, glancing in both directions at a couple of seats on separate ends of the passenger car. The intercom on the train came on and stated a warning, saying there were criminals in the area, and if Lifers saw something, they should say something. All I could think of was why the gunman didn't shoot me and only the detective...
"Let's split up and meet back in the city," I said.
An officer came through the train car’s partition, checking for tickets. I turned and looked at the others. A woman pointed at us from the other end of the train, and suspiciously whispered to the officer that we matched the description of the cop killers that were in the red-alert text message. She pointed at her phone and showed the officer the picture.
The officer turned and glanced in our direction and we were gone. The officer walked toward the bathroom, and pulled his handgun from its holster. The train started to move as the officer cautiously walked in our direction.
I never played football in high school, as the thought of being in a tightly enclosed environment with guys never really did it for my claustrophobia. I wiped the perspiration from my forehead and the three of us with Odysseus huddled in the corner of a small uncomfortable bathroom of the train. We stood shoulder to shoulder with our faces just inches apart. I tried to restrain laughter as I looked at Signs holding his hand over Odysseus's mouth. When there was a tough situation to go through in life, it was apparent that laughter became more evident than ever before.
"What should we do now?" Talks whispered. I shrugged my shoulders. I was out of options, as it was either jump out of the small train window, or fight the armed officer that was slowly approaching us.
The train swayed back and forth as it went down the tracks, forcing us to bang into each other continually.
The officer knocked and tried to open the door to the bathroom, but it was locked. We stood together, almost hugging in silence.
"You men need to get back to your seat, as we have vigilantes on the loose in the area, and it's not safe," the officer said as he repeatedly knocked on the door, the knocks getting progressively louder.
March 13, 2035
New York, New York
JFK Airport -- Train
13:39
Wrestling for an inch of space inside of the tiny bathroom, we were cuddled next to each other with Odysseus in the middle.
"Sorry, sir, but I had Chinese food on the plane. I'm in a discussion with them right now, and there are no vigilantes in here," I said. The others glanced at me as I shrugged my shoulders, thinking what was I supposed to say.
The bathroom was quiet and the train slowed down as we peered out the small window at the second terminal station stop from the airport.
"Sir!" the officer said, raising his voice aggressively as he continually knocked on the door. "Sir, you're going to have to go back to your seat NOW!" The officer pushed his shoulder into the door and yelled at the same time.
"I'm coming in," the o
fficer warned.
He thrust himself through the door, breaking it down. The small window in the bathroom was open as a breeze passed through it. He looked at the train station of Lifers that walked off the train to their terminal. The officer immediately grabbed his radio...
"We have the criminals on the run at air terminal number two," the officer said as the train pulled away from the station.
The officer tried to fix the door and, closing it sharply, he raced out of the bathroom. Above the sink in the ducting ventilation panel were the three of us, huddled closer than before, like a couple of Boy Scouts camping in a tent telling stories. Signs continued to hold his hand over Odysseus's mouth.
March 13, 2035
New York, New York
Penn Station
14:32
There's something about the feeling of being home, the air from the changing season, or the street vendor cooking a fresh Coney dog. This was not the case for Talks, a true Bostonian. We walked through Penn Station's chaos of Lifers that persisted in all directions trying to get from one Lifer job to find more work. A lot of Lifers were trying to squeeze in a few more day walking hours before curfew bound them to their shelters. Some of them were taking off their ties, or formal dress attire, to go to their next jobs of the day.
"These Yanks have smelly thoughts. I fuken' hate the Yankees," Talks said.
He was trying not to touch anything, thinking that New York was going to take away from his home Boston's pride. I think even Odysseus smiled at this facsimile of his heritage.
