Jim’s face was still pale. “Show up tomorrow and I’ll hand over my best attempt,” he said.
Outside Jim’s front door, Mark scanned the street. He knew that Morana, who had driven the truck out of sight southbound on Lincoln Boulevard, would not risk losing him, so someone in the vicinity had to be watching—somehow.
Mark spotted a plumbing truck parked across the street. The driver stood outside winding a hose into the open door of a body cabinet on the side of the truck. He looked over at Mark, nodded, and then returned to the task of packing his hose.
Making her way up the sidewalk to his left, a woman wearing khaki shorts, a sun hat, and pushing a denim covered baby stroller approached him about a block away. She studied Mark as she passed him. But who wouldn’t? The entire city was still on edge and Mark was a stranger in this neighborhood.
A blue Buick sedan backed out of a driveway three doors away from Jim’s house. The driver stopped the car with its rear extended into the street. Mark hadn’t seen if the car had exited a garage. If it hadn’t, then any of Pop’s people could have parked in any of the street’s driveways to keep watch on Mark during his visit with Jim.
He saw Jim’s living room drapes part enough for an eye to peer through. He only had two minutes to rendezvous at his pickup corner so he began his jog back.
By the time he reached the intersection, he was out of breath and hot. Morana had the truck parked beside the road and the passenger window was down. Mark thrust his torso through the window and climbed inside. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve, taking off a bit of makeup.
Morana put her thumb up and then down, asking for confirmation of his success with Jim Kourokina. Mark glared at her while he panted. They hadn’t discussed the threatening email she had sent to Jim. Mark thought he could persuade Jim to cooperate without forcing him. Mark knew that what Morana had done would work, but Mark still resented it. He showed her a weak thumbs-up sign as he worked to put his suit back on.
Their truck reentered traffic, bound for the Nest.
§
Mark turned on the radio and pressed the pre-programmed buttons to find a heavy metal station. He turned the volume up loud and then looked for Morana to signal that it was safe to talk. She shook her head slightly and pinched her collar in several places. While Pop may not have been actively listening to them at that moment, the risk was too great.
Morana turned off the radio and they rode in silence, concentrating on their plan and mentally rehearsing. More than once, they exchanged forced smiles that masked their anxiety as they neared the Nest.
They pulled into the garage. The floor opened and the truck began to sink into the Nest’s subterranean garage. When the wheels touched down, they hurried to get out. When they entered the foyer Pop stood inside, waiting for them.
“Looks like you owe me quite a report,” he said to Morana. His face was stern and he locked his eyes on hers.
“Yes, I do. And I have one,” she said.
Fear gripped Mark and he wondered if his makeup would hide it.
“So what have you been up to?” Pop said.
“We saw The Mullesville Torts. It was good,” she said.
“Mark, leave us,” Pop said, pointing to the foyer door that led into the Nest. “Please go to your suite and find a gift we’ve left in there for you.”
Mark left Morana. Her face wore an expression he hadn’t seen on her yet: terror.
He placed his hand on his suite’s console and the door clicked. He pushed it open and froze at what he saw. Janne Prophet sat on the sofa in his den.
“Janne!” he said.
“Excuse me, have we met?” she said as she stood up.
“Janne, it’s Mark—I’m in disguise.”
She hollered, “Mark!” and ran to him. “What is going on?” she said. “Why are we here? And why do you look this way?”
Mark pressed the door closed until it clicked. He scanned the countertops and then looked up high, reexamining the molding and ceiling corners. His heart pounded and he took a deep breath.
“What’s wrong?”’ she said, grabbing his shoulder.
He pointed to the sofa for Janne to sit. She backed to it and slowly sat, all the while studying his face.
Janne’s presence in the Nest couldn’t be for anything good, he thought. But her clothes were neat, not torn. She seemed more confused than afraid so she obviously hadn’t been transported there in the manner of fodder.
“Mark, please answer me! You’re scaring me!” she said.
“I need a minute,” Mark said. He picked up a magazine from the coffee table to keep his hands from trembling. Pop’s efforts to control him had just expanded to include the abduction of one of his close friends.
“I want answers, Mark and you’re stalling. Please talk to me.” Janne folded her arms and crossed her legs, digging in to wait as long as necessary for his explanation.
“How did you get here?” Mark asked.
“Okay, I’ll go first,” Janne said—exasperated. “I called for a car to take me to a fundraiser at Morton’s downtown. I was surprised at how fast the limo arrived, and I should never have entered it. Things were fine until we cleared the city’s outbound checkpoint. That’s when the limo’s windows blackened and the driver partition went up. The doors wouldn’t open and wouldn’t unlock. The driver ignored my calls to pull over and let me out. My cell phone couldn’t get a signal, so I had no way to call for help. Finally, the door opened and they brought me from some garage into this room. This has been terrifying, Mark. And if you are part of this, then please fill me in on what’s happening. This is serious! It’s kidnapping!”
Mark cleared his throat, his mind racing for the right words. He knew that if he in any way disparaged Pop’s mission, they could both be dead in a matter of minutes. Yet, pretending to be on Pop’s side would terrify Janne more.
At that moment Mark remembered Janne’s advice at the press conference—that if he felt uncomfortable because he didn’t know what to say, he should gently pinch the skin of his Adam’s apple and tug it a few times and she would jump in to the rescue. There wasn’t much she could do to rescue him in the Nest, but perhaps the gesture would clue her into his inability to speak openly.
“Janne, I’m going to explain things to you,” he said. As nonchalantly as possible, he raised his hand to this throat and pinched the skin of his Adam’s apple, tugging it three times, raising his chin slightly as he looked at Janne. She studied his face, her brow furrowed. When Mark delayed a moment on the last tug, recognition registered on Janne’s face. Without moving her head, she looked up and around the room, before her eyes came back to Mark. He shook his head so slightly as to be barely noticeable, but she saw it and knew to limit her reaction.
Mark said, “I’ve joined a mission and you are at its headquarters. The founder of our mission, ‘Pop,’ has devised a brilliant plan to end homelessness and the suffering of the impoverished. He has begun with the city of Santa Monica, and I can’t tell you how excited I am as I envision what this city will look like when the mission is complete.”
Janne leaned in and examined Mark’s face, looking from one eye to the other in a desperate attempt to see another sign or hint from him, but he could give none. “So how does this involve me?” she said.
“I don’t know exactly why you are here. But I hope that Pop has brought you here to help us. He told me to come back here to my suite because there was a gift here for me, and I assume that gift is you. You see, Janne, the fodder—those who mistreat the homeless—are creatures of a different breed. They are not like us. They abuse our brothers and sisters. We are kind.”
“I think I understand…” Janne said. Mark widened his eyes a bit, coaxing her to say more. Janne added, “…and you know me, Mark, I’m always looking for new ways to support social causes. I mean, I have a track record of doing so.”
“Of course you do. And this new plan is the right thing, Janne. When we explain it to you more, you’ll be
come as excited as I am.”
“Perhaps I will,” she said looking sideways at him, as if to confirm a loss of sanity. “I’m scared to death, Mark. I don’t like being taken somewhere against my will and I want to go home now.”
“We are home now,” Mark said.
“Mark, tell me the truth. Are we the next victims?”
“No, of course not,” Mark forced an awkward, hard laugh.
There was a knock at the door. Before Mark could move to answer it, Pop and Morana entered.
“Hello, Mark and Ms. Prophet,” Pop said.
Some of Morana’s hair stuck to her cheeks that were wet from crying.
Mark and Janne stood and greeted them.
Pop rubbed his hands together and said, “Ms. Prophet, Morana will show you to your quarters. Mark, in my office immediately.”
Morana reached out to take Janne’s arm, but Janne pulled away, saying, “I’d like to know why I’m here.”
Mark bit his lip.
Pop smiled. “Of course,” he said. “Wouldn’t we all?”
“This is not a joke. I’ve been brought here against my will.”
“Stop,” Mark said. “Janne, please don’t make a problem.”
“A problem? A problem? Mark, have they brainwashed you? I want some answers! This is crazy! You people are lunatics!”
Pop rested his hands on his hips and smiled.
Mark said, “If you don’t buy in, Janne, then you are no better than any of the fodder who have advertised our cause on the news.”
“Nice,” Pop said, raising his eyebrows to Mark. “But let me take care of this.” He leaned to within six inches of Janne’s face, and she pulled back. “Let me tell you something, Ms. Prophet. I had planned on giving you accommodations that would rival those in your mansion. But your tone is eroding my hospitality. In fact, I’m on the fence as to whether I should lower you into the gut of a diet container that will dry you out like a prune in less than a week. Can we please be courteous and follow Morana to our quarters?”
Janne’s hands began to shake as she looked at Pop and Morana, and then at Mark. She followed Morana to the door, her eyes staring at the floor as realization of her own captivity sank in.
“Atta girl,” Pop said.
Janne’s step stuttered, as if she might turn and challenge his condescending, chauvinistic remark. At work she was the boss and would never have tolerated an atta girl from a man. Realizing she was not in control in the Nest, Janne kept walking.
Morana took Janne away down another hallway, and Mark followed Pop to his office and sat in his now familiar guest chair.
“I had a troubling conversation with Morana today,” Pop said as he pulled out his phone and held it a foot in front of his face, straining to see it. Mark felt his heart stop and then begin to pound hard as a terror prickled every inch of his skin. Morana had been playing him. Oh God help me, Mark prayed.
“We lost a few minutes of communication with the truck in which you rode today,” Pop said as he put his phone back into his pocket and looked at Mark’s face. “I’m glad to see that you take this mishap as seriously as I do—you look pale, Mark.”
“I-I can’t believe that technology as sophisticated as yours could fail.”
“Yes, it is terribly disconcerting. I don’t need to tell you that communication is key for our cause. I hold Morana responsible for the problem. She also had little to say about the movie you screened for me. What did you think of it?”
Mark swallowed hard. In an instant his fear changed from Morana’s possible betrayal of him to Pop’s discovery that they had not watched the movie.
“I enjoyed the movie more than I thought I would,” Mark answered.
“Really? How did it end?” Pop said, watching Mark carefully.
Mark leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs to seem calm. “How did it end?” he repeated Pop’s question to buy time.
“Did I stutter?” Pop leaned closer “How did the movie end?”
The intercom by Pop’s door beeped and an electronic voice said, “Teddy.” Pop sucked his teeth in disgust and clicked the door open with his remote.
Teddy leaned in and said, “That Janne woman is pounding her room’s door with a chair.”
“Let her. She’ll do no unfixable damage. When she tires, she’ll rest.”
Mark was relieved for the interruption to Pop’s questioning about the movie. But Janne’s distress worried him. “My friend, Janne—why is she here?” he said.
Pop smiled. “The truth is, she did such a keen job of supporting you during your press conference, I decided that it would be fantastic for her to support you on your new mission. We’ll make her comfortable.”
Mark didn’t buy it. Janne was not here for support and he knew it. “But she doesn’t want to be here,” Mark said, pressing a little harder. “And she’s not fodder.”
“I know this. She’s simply our guest.”
“Is her well-being dependent on my cooperation?”
“I cannot force you to believe in our mission and I don’t think I’ve given you many strong reasons to join us. Perhaps Ms. Prophet will be the strongest.”
“So now you are blackmailing me into the behavior you want—?”
“No one is blackmailing you!” Pop yelled.
Mark jerked his head back, startled by Pop’s outburst.
“Her visit is temporary!” Pop continued, “The process, Mark! I’m sick and tired of people getting wrapped up in the process of how things come about. What is important is that the right things do come about. To date, all processes to help our suffering brothers and sisters have failed—except mine!”
Then, with all the sincerity Mark could muster he said, “I’ve been participating in the mission. I believe in it.”
Pop thought for a moment. “You are still a bit of an enigma to me, Mark. If you had fully convinced me of your loyalty by now, Janne wouldn’t be here. If you have been honest with me, she’ll be quite comfortable and meet no harm. If your loyalty is as precarious as it seems, then…” Pop made the clucking sound with his tongue, “…shame on you.”
“What will convince you of my commitment to the mission?”
“I’m glad you asked. In two days you will lead the obtainment team in acquiring fodder. We have fresh tape of this fodder abusing one of our actors over the course of two weeks. You will meet him in the vestibule of the Pacific Grove building when Bracks delivers his elevator to you. You will coax him into one of our enclosed data carts and you will bring him to us. You will have a crew of Trail Bladers at your side. I don’t think you will make a mistake.”
“What about Morana?” Mark said, trying to hide the disgust he felt at the notion of leading an obtainment.
“She’ll accompany you, but I am restricting her participation because she has seemed a bit distracted to me lately. And I want you to have an opportunity to demonstrate your passion for our mission. You have claimed it. Now I want you to show it. Are my expectations clear?”
“Yes, but Janne—she’s terrified. I’d like to talk to her.”
“Not to worry, Mark. She’ll be comfortable when her adrenaline subsides. Watch.” Pop pulled a remote control from his drawer and aimed it at a large monitor on the opposite wall. The screen showed a grid of closed circuit images covering several rooms in the Nest—confirming Mark’s suspicion of surveillance in every room. Pop pressed a key on the remote and the screen showed a room where he saw Janne, sitting on a bed in what looked like a small hotel room. Her face was in her hands and her shoulders shook as if she was crying. A full bookcase, sink, television, and some floral arrangements actually made the windowless room appear cozy.
“Mark, she is going to be our guest for as long as we need her. Frankly, after calling us lunatics, she should be glad she has a room with a door instead of a lid.” He turned off the monitor and tossed the remote control back into the desk drawer. “You need to rest up. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” Pop pointed to the door for
Mark to leave.
As Mark neared the door, Pop said, “Oh, one more thing...”
Mark turned to him.
“How did the movie end?”
§
When he entered his suite, Mark knew that sleep was out of the question. He was far too anxious, afraid, and excited. Pop had asked him to describe the ending of The Mullesville Torts and Mark had delivered his best recollection of the summary that he and Morana had practiced. He hoped the details he gave matched Morana’s. Pop had seemed content with his answer, but Mark couldn’t be certain. He did know that the next series of events in their mutiny needed to line up perfectly. Jim Kourokina must succeed in reengineering the TellTale, Morana must have been honest in her desire to end the mission and Pop must not mulch or immure him within twenty four hours. The failure of any of these would result in the execution of all the starving victims—and, most definitely, Mark.
He went straight to the bedroom, took off his shirt, and threw it into his closet. He turned off the lights and got into bed with the rest of his clothes on. He pulled the covers up to his neck and lay still. The quiet darkness gave him the feeling of being invisible, and he wished he was.
Morana knocked on Mark’s suite door at 7:00 a.m. After a sleepless night, his eyes were dry and he blinked hard on the way to the door. He had already put on new khaki pants and a collared olive shirt—no doubt bugged with the polymer battery just like all the other clothes.
The last time Mark had seen Morana she was standing beside Pop, her face soaked in tears. He hadn’t had an opportunity to speak to her about it, and wouldn’t get that opportunity unless they were able to find some private, shirtless, time somewhere while out.
“We’re doing another screening,” she said.
“Really?” Mark said, surprised that Pop would approve another movie after having reprimanded Morana yesterday.
“Yes, this movie is a symbolic reward. We’ve obtained twenty-five fodder, and today we deliver the fifteenth fodder back to the streets. For Pop, these numbers are a milestone and significant progress toward our goal. After we finish the delivery of the expired fodder, Pop is allowing us to screen the movie of our choice.” Morana delivered this news with the appearance of enthusiasm Mark knew she didn’t feel. She was good.
Dire Means Page 35
