by Pete Molina
Chapter 15
The minute Sam and Agent Dawson left the restoration building Ralphie piped up, I have reestablished a connection with the datasphere. I am accessing in an anonymous mode. It will limit my ability to access information services with fees, but I can operate like this using free services and datastores. I thought that the best considering your current status.
Good, try to compile some information on the whole virus event and things that are running around the media about my other version. Also try and grab some info on Jeff, since my version was supposed to be in his hands for safe keeping, Sam ordered.
You got it. I’ll let you know when I’ve found some significant results, Ralphie responded.
It only took them a few minutes to make their way to Harding’s vehicle, a bullet shaped capsule with large blades folded on four sides. It was a jump limousine, capable of traveling anywhere on the planet within an hour by making suborbital hops. It was the kind of extravagant transportation that one would expect of the most powerful, and richest man in the solar system. The fuel cost alone would be staggering. The limo would use close to half its fuel at each jump; it could at most make four depending on the destination. Harding must really want to see him fast to bring him this way. They could have taken a zip train almost anywhere on the planet in a few hours.
“Are we going far?” Sam asked.
“Just to New York,” Dawson said, climbing up the stairway and opening the hatch.
Sam followed him in. Inside he found a plush room with seats around the circumference. The seats looked like those found on a zip train, only much more luxurious. The capsule could easily seat twenty, but it was empty except for them. In the center was a small circular disk, probably a small lift tube. Sam looked up and could see a smaller room above, the cockpit.
Sam walked around the small room, being careful to avoid the lift tube. “You know we could take the zip tube and be there a lot more quickly.”
“Yes, one could, but your current condition makes that difficult,” Dawson said, moving towards one of the seats. “And unfortunately most other transportation options are either too slow or too public.”
Sam nodded and took one of the seats a few away from Dawson. “I wasn’t thinking about that, I guess I’m still thinking like I’m a normal person.”
A voice called down from the cockpit, “We’ll be lifting in two minutes. I am engaging the fog restraint system. You don’t need to be in a seat if you don’t want.”
“Fog restraint?” Sam asked. “I know they were using it for emergencies in the zip tubes, but I hadn’t heard of it being on suborbitals.”
“Well, it lets you move about, and Mr. Harding likes to walk around. I can make the walls seem transparent if you’re interested in the view,” Dawson offered. “This is only the second time I’ve been on board. The first was on the way here. The government doesn’t spring for this kind of expense.”
“Sure, that’d be interesting, but it is dark out,” Sam said standing back up.
Dawson touched some controls on the touch screen that was part of his chair, and the walls around the circumference became transparent. Sam knew it was just an illusion, that the scene was being reconstructed from some kind of camera array built in to the outer hull.
“It won’t be dark for long. We’ll have to make most of an orbit to get there and the sun is always shining in space,” Dawson said, engaging his restraints.
“Lifting in thirty seconds,” the voice came again.
They waited in silence. Sam noted that Dawson didn’t stand up. Apparently he wasn’t entirely comfortable with riding the suborbital. Sam wondered if it were really going to be that bad.
“Lifting,” the voice said.
Sam felt a subtle pressure all around him; the fog restraints were kicking in. They would limit the amount of movement he could have while they were under thrust. Sam walked around a little. The fog was smart. It let him move about and he could barely feel it there. Looking around, he could see the ground rapidly receding from view. The buildings already looked doll sized. Sam wondered what would happen if he jumped.
He jumped a little just experimentally. He didn’t leave the ground more than an inch. His vertical movement was definitely being dampened. Too bad they didn’t have variable gravity on boost. That would be a good use for fog, but you would always be able to feel the acceleration inside; the fog couldn’t change that. It took a few minutes for them to make orbit, and just as Dawson had promised, the view improved when the sun came out. It was spectacular. Sam hadn’t left the planet more than a handful of times, mostly as educational trips when he was younger. The last trip he remembered was a few years ago.
Sam almost laughed when he realized how long ago it really had been, not a few years but a few decades. Sam glanced over at Dawson. He had turned the restraint chair so he could see out the transparent hull more fully. Sam also noticed that he was still holding on to the arms of the chair tightly.
The suborbital began to turn from the vertical, pushing itself into a parabolic trajectory that would take them into space and then back down to their destination in New York. By now the landscape was all that could be seen. Sam could make out some patches of light below but they were now too high to see much of anything human made. It was humbling that in few thousand years of human civilization they were reduced to some lights and a few larger structures that could be seen from space. Of course, all one had to do was scan the radio frequency range and they would find that Earth was a busy place.
After another minute or two the engines cut out and the pilot called down, “We’re done lifting. We’ll be in free fall for about twenty six minutes, unless you guys want me to engage the simulated gravity. The fog restrains have been lifted. Please try not to get sick.”
Sam felt it in his stomach when the rockets cut out and he pushed off a little experimentally. He began to slowly move towards the top of the cabin. It was only about ten feet to the ceiling. The room was big enough to have a little zero-g fun.
“Hey, Agent Dawson, do you want the simulated gravity?” Sam called out as he rebounded off the ceiling, heading towards one side of the simulated transparent walls. As he approached, he felt himself panic irrationally. He knew there was something solid there to stop him but his brain was still sending the danger signs of open space with or without his consent.
“What ever you want, Mr. Storm. I’m content just to sit here and admire the view. I don’t get many chances to leave Earth,” Dawson replied from his chair, which was still turned away from the center of the room.
Sam reached the wall. It was strange to be up against something that didn’t even appear to be there. Sam looked towards the little hatch to the cockpit on what had been the ceiling of the cabin. He launched himself towards it, not too fast but he covered the distance in only a few seconds. As he entered the fog column that was set aside for the lift tube he felt himself begin to be pulled up through the opening. His head came up through the hole and he saw a man sitting in a fog restraint chair watching through a simulated transparent ceiling with graphics depicting their flight vector and numerous other pieces of information. The view from here was a little different than below and the graphics added an interesting touch.
“Hi.” Sam said. The man turned the chair slightly to see what the disturbance was.
“Oh, hi,” the pilot replied. “You really shouldn’t be up here. Regs, you know,” but he was smiling as he said it.
“Well, if you think I should leave,” Sam said starting to turn a bit.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. No one will know, and, hell, this thing basically flies itself anyway. I’m not allowed to take it off auto-pilot unless something comes up, and it never does,” he said, sounding tired.
“I could see how that would make some one feel, to be a pilot of a ship that doesn’t need one except in an extreme emergency,” Sam sympathetized.
“Wel
l, even then it probably doesn’t need me. Its got semi-sentient software, like a companion only more powerful, and not quite as friendly. It can handle anything, but someone died at one point, so they decided to put someone in the cockpitregs,” the pilot explained.
“Do you ever take it off auto, just for fun?” Sam asked, looking around the cockpit. There wasn’t much in there in the way of controls, probably just an radio link between the pilot’s companion and the limo’s system anyway. Thought controlled.
“Yeah, I have to pilot it on at least one trip a month to keep my license current. I live for those days. And the view is always spectacular.”
“Yes, it is,” Sam agreed. “So why don’t you get a job flying one of the interplanetary transports or cargo haulers? I believe that you get a little more control over things on those and the views of the different planets would be worth it.”
“Yeah, but I like the ground a little too much, can’t leave Earth for too long. I’m quite attached. Besides, you might get a little more control on one of those other ships but you also get a lot more headaches, dealing with passengers or deadlines. With this job, I could be going anywhere in the world on the spur of the moment. So long as we got some anti-matter and some water to power the rockets, I’m happy. And it pays really well.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Sam said.
“I’m Randy, Randy Homan,” the pilot said, but he didn’t leave the chair to shake Sam’s hand. Sam wasn’t sure how to reply; he hadn’t anticipated this when he had boarded. Should he tell the man his name? He decided to give him just his first name.
“Sam. Good to meet you, Randy.”
“You too, Sam. You know it’s funny, your name and stats aren’t coming up in my displays,” the pilot remarked with a bit of a puzzled look in his eyes.
“That is funny. I wonder why?” Sam said, felling a little nervous. He decided to go back down. “I’m going to head back down now. Can you reverse the lift tube field?” Sam asked, changing the subject away from his identity.
“Sure thing. Do you want me to turn on the simulated gravity?” Randy asked.
“Yeah, I’ve never used it before.”
“It takes a little getting used to. Your outside is forced toward the floor, but your inside still kind of feels like you’re in free fall. I’ve reversed the lift tube field and engaged the simulated gravity.”
“Thanks,” Sam said. When he wasn’t immediately forced down, he added, “I don’t feel it yet.”
“I only put it on in the cabin. It’s too weird for me.”
“Oh, right. I’ll get out of your hair now,” Sam said reaching for the lift tube opening with his hand.
“No problem,” Randy replied turning his gaze back to his displays as the fog tube took hold of Sam’s hand and pulled him down out of the cockpit.
Sam started turning and reoriented in a head towards the ceiling position automatically. As he reached the floor, he was standing. He took a step out of the column in to the rest of the room. Immediately he felt heavy, but not heavy. The fog was creating a vector field, like in a lift tube pushing everything downwards. It was like having a really high pressure zone on the upper part of your body that was forcing you in to the ground. It was calibrated to be about the same amount as one would feel on Earth, one standard gravity.
Sam’s insides, on the other hand, were rebelling with the strange sensation. Just as Randy mentioned, your outside felt like it was under real gravity, but your insides felt like they were in free fall. It was weird. Sam walked around the inner part of the room. It felt like he was in a gravitational field as he walked. It took work to move around, but that inner feeling of free fall was still there. One would have to get used to it.
“Thanks, Randy, but can you turn the gravity back off? I think I like it better,” Sam called up.
“Sure thing, Sam.” After a moment the pressure let off and he was floating again.
“Having fun?” Dawson asked. He had turned his chair around and was watching Sam float around.
“Just curious to see what the simulated gravity felt like. I’d heard of it, but I’d never experienced it. It was pretty uncommon when I was backed up,” Sam said trying to swim through the air a little to change his direction.
“Yeah, it’s certainly caught on in space. Almost all transports and space colonies have them. It helps to prevent the physical problems associated with long term weightlessness. The Newbies that own FogWorks are probably really happy now that the technology is being used. It took about five years for the International Safety Board to approve,” Dawson shared.
“I’m sure they are. I think I have some stock in themor had stock in them,” Sam added after remembering that he wasn’t really himself anymore.
Dawson didn’t comment; he just turned around again. After about ten more minutes for Sam of free fall swimming, Randy called down and let them know that they were going to reenter in a minute or so and to please take a seat. It was much more dangerous coming down, and just a fog restraint couldn’t be guaranteed to be enough to protect them. Sam took his seat and felt the chair secure him in place. The capsule began to reorient itself to an aft first position. Apparently the main heat shield was on the bottom.
“I’m going to have to disable the wall view. The nanocams need to be protected when we reenter,” Randy called down.
The walls to the cabin changed back to opaque, with some simulated art work but mostly just a light tan. Both Sam and Agent Dawson swiveled back around to face the center. The capsule gave a slight shudder as it began its plunge into the atmosphere. There was some additional bumping as they descended and a sound that was like a scream but at a much reduced volume. It was a little disconcerting to Sam.
He glanced over at Dawson who had his eyes shut and was gripping the arm rests of his chair even though it would take something really significant for his chair to let go of him anyway.
“Deploying autorotor,” Randy called out.
Then there came a large shock as the capsule extended its autorotors that were helicopter type blades attached to the nose of the craft. The blades slightly hyperextended so that they made a “V” type shape with the nose at the base. The passing air would cause the blades to rotate quickly, and that autorotation would slow the craft down significantly. By the time the craft reached a few thousand feet altitude the blades would go under power and the craft would land like a helicopter anywhere it wanted to set down.
Sam had experienced this a few times before, but it always amazed him that rockets had existed for decades before any one thought up the idea of using autorotation assist. The ability of the super strong carbon nanotube reinforced composites were probably the biggest reason. Before that technology there hadn’t been anything tough and light enough to serve as autorotors effectively. Of course the side effect of these blades was that the dull screaming sound suddenly became a roar. The propellers were noisy things. It wasn’t loud enough to cause hearing damage for the people inside but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near when one of these babies was coming down full force. Fortunately, it was only that loud when it was still ten or twenty miles up.
As soon as they slowed enough the blades started to turn under power which slowed them further. The transparent walls came back and Sam could see the lights of New York City twinkling below them. The sun hadn’t come up quite yet. The craft hovered slowly, traversing the city towards the building in which Damon Harding was waiting.
It only took them a few more minutes to come over top of the roof of their destination. They were still hundreds of stories up when they gently set down on the landing pad atop Harding tower. The blades once again closed up against the side of the capsule, their job finished.
“And we’re here,” Randy called down. “Hope you had a pleasant flight.”
“Thanks, Randy,” Sam responded.
“No problem,” he replied.
Both Sam and Dawson got out of their seats, which had ceased to hold them the moment the craft had come to a complete stop. Dawson headed towards the hatch and pushed the control to open it. The hatch popped open and a ramp came out from their level to the platform several meters below. Dawson walked down the ramp and Sam followed him. It was slightly windy as they came out. Sam imagined that it could become pretty gusty up here, and he wouldn’t want to be wandering around when it was.
They walked across the roof to a door that, once opened, revealed a lift tube. Dawson walked out over the empty space supported by the fog of the lift tube and Sam followed. Once he had gotten inside and the door closed, they began to descend. Harding had the whole penthouse to himself, so the descent was brief. The lift stopped to reveal a small foyer with one doorway on the other side. They stepped out of the lift tube column into the foyer and started towards the doorway. Halfway there they were stopped, immobilized by an invisible force and held there.
Sam took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a security field, checking for weapons,” Agent Dawson apologized, having regained his authoritative demeanor that had been absent during the limo ride.
“Thanks for the warning,” Sam said sarcastically. After a few more moments they were released.
“Sorry about that. It’s my first time here too, but I should have known,” Dawson said, leading on towards the doorway. They stepped through and were greeted by none other than Damon Harding. He was standing in the middle of a large living room of which the far wall was a window that over looked the city. The other walls were decorated with artwork that was probably original instead of simulated. The whole place was ornately decorated.
Well what did I expect of the richest man in the solar system; he can afford it, Sam thought. Harding himself was an imposing figure. He was tall, well dressed in a very expensive looking suit. His hair was short and black, as was probably the style he adopted when he was young. He looked to be about thirty-five, but his display told him that Harding was physically thirty-eight but his true age was three-hundred-eighteen.
Damon walked up to him and extended his hand, which Sam promptly took. “Well, Mr. Storm, it’s good to finally see you, though as you know I would rather see your more recent version.”
“I can imagine,” Sam commented. He automatically disliked the man, but he rationalized that it was more his longstanding dislike of Damon as a public figure and as the physical manifestation of the restoration industry, not just because of his imposing presence.
“Did you enjoy the flight?” Damon asked taking back his hand and looking him up and down.
“It was great, although the reason for it was not entirely agreeable,” Sam replied.
“That is a very interesting sweater, Mr. Storm,” Damon commented.
Sam felt a little embarrassed. “It wasn’t in my preferences file, it was just there,” he shrugged.
Damon gave a short “humph” in acknowledgement and then continued, “Well I deeply regret that you have been brought here without your total consent, but you understand the situation requires discretion for now, and we wouldn’t want your picture posted all over the data sphere. I doubt you’d enjoy being taken into custody and tried for the crimes of your other version.”
“I understand all that, and I am grateful for your help, but just remember that if I am apprehended and identified as Sam 6.7 it will be shortly revealed that I have been restored and am innocent of the crimes of my other version. It’d be easy to tell from my DNA version code,” Sam reminded him. Damon was starting to bug him. He really could prove who he was. His version was coded in to DNA and appended to a section of every DNA strand in his body. It would be conclusive proof of his identity.
“Well that may be true, Mr. Storm, but I should tell you that a technique for counterfeiting a version DNA identifier has been developed in the last three decades and I wouldn’t put it past your other version to do such a thing. That and the fact that everyone is looking for someone to punish for this, most people wouldn’t stop long enough to check your DNA before they harm you. You’re not a well-liked man.” Harding took a seat on one of the couches. Dawson just stood there with his arms behind his back watching them.
Sam sat down across from Damon. “What alternative do I have? I am a man without an identity in a world where one is required for survival.”
“It is an interesting dilemma, I’ll admit. But I think I’ll be able to help you, provided you do something for me in return.” Damon spread his arms on the back of the couch.
“So it’s blackmail, is it?” Sam probed.
“Nothing so crude. I prefer to think of it as a quid-pro-quo. I simply would like you to provide me with any insight you may have as to how to find your other version. In return, I will ensure that you have an identitynot your own, of course, but perhaps you could get your true identity back if your other version were apprehended.”
Sam didn’t like the way things were going at all. No doubt the alternative was a quick apprehension and incarceration. Or he simply wouldn’t be going anywhere. Sam wouldn’t put it past Damon Harding to get rid of him. After all, he didn’t even exist as far as the rest of the world was concerned, and they wouldn’t miss him even if they did know.
“And the alternative, if I don’t want to betray him?” Sam asked.
“Is that your choice?” Damon asked in response, eyes closing into narrow slits.
“No, I just want to know my options.”
“Well you see, Mr. Storm, as I see it, there really aren’t many alternatives, and to help you I would have to do something illegal by providing you with an identity which is not yours. That would require me to take a substantial risk,” Damon explained.
Sam didn’t believe a word of it. He was Damon Harding. If he snapped his fingers, he could have half the senate in here to clean his penthouse, and the president would serve tea. But he was right about one thing; Sam didn’t have a choice.
“All right, I’ll tell you what I would do if I were in his place. But first you provide me with an identity and some means by which to live until I can find a way to support myself,” Sam offered.
“Money, Mr. Storm?” Damon was mocking him.
“What would it matter to you? You have plenty,” Sam challenged.
“That is true. All right, I have already set up your identity. All that remains is for your DNA to be sampled and your retinal scan taken. I will deposit in an account in your new name a sum equivalent to several years of living expenses in the children’s city. Is that satisfactory?” Damon conceded.
“Yes. It’s agreeable.” The scene reminded Sam of some old story about selling your soul to the devil. Harding wasn’t far removed.
“Follow me, Mr. Storm. We can’t do this here,” Damon stood up and Sam followed him out of the large living room through one of the doors along the perimeter. Agent Dawson didn’t follow them.
They passed through several rooms. Each of them was lavishly decorated. Then they reached the end of one of the rooms. It was empty.
“Stand back please,” Damon ordered.
Sam stepped back towards the door. Damon activated something with his neural implant and a rectangular opening appeared in the floor. The rectangle was about the size of a small bed.
Out of the far end of the opening rose a console. It looked like the console that was in a restoration room.
“This is my private restoration machine,” Damon confided.
“I thought the machines weren’t allowed outside the restoration center in Washington,” Sam said smartly.
“There are a few machines outside of Washington. This is one of them. Of course, I can’t reveal the locations of the others. National security, you understand,” Damon replied, still working with the controls.
“Naturally,” Sam commented. It figured that Damon would have his own personal restoration chamber.
Sam wondered if he was one of those people that backed himself up dailyprobably so.
“If you’ll just walk into the fog field, we can get this taken care of quickly,” Damon said, watching the controls.
Sam walked into the rectangular opening. He immediately felt himself begin to turn and to lie down flat. The field lifted him off the ground as it continued to tilt him backward until he was lying down fully suspended in the invisible field.
“Please keep your right eye opened, and we’ll collect your retinal scan. Since your retinal scan is always different, even between versions it will suffice. Although your voice print is a little more tricky, we’ll take care of that too.”
Sam watched as a tube about an inch in diameter lowered from the ceiling. It was an optical scanner. The tube centered right over his eye only about a centimeter away.
“I’m taking the scan now, please don’t move.” Damon ordered. Sam tried to hold perfectly still.
After a few seconds the tube retract in to the ceiling. “Now, Mr. Storm, I will need you to say the following for your voice print, ‘I confirm that I am Gregory Hillman, and am not being coerced or forced in anyway.’”
Gregory, well, it beats having no name. And after this I won’t be so reliant on the kindness of Damon Harding, Sam thought. I’ll get used to it. He repeated the statement.
“Good. Your voice print has been recorded. I’m deactivating the fog field and the equipment. Stand up before the fog drops you please,” Damon said impatiently.
Sam sat up and then stood and walked out of the fog field. The equipment dropped back into the opening in the floor. After a few seconds you couldn’t even tell that it had been there.
“How legitimate is this identity?” Sam asked.
“Mr. Hillman, I’m surprised. It is as good as any ever issued to anyone. The appropriate government records have been created. You are not a legal fiction, Mr. Hillman. You are a person in every respect of the word. In addition the promised compensation has been deposited in to an account in your name at the First Millennium Bank,” Damon said, leading him back out of the room and bringing him back to the living room. Dawson was still there, standing looking out the window. As they entered, he turned back around to face them.
“You don’t have any problem with all this?” Sam asked Dawson.
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Hillman,” Dawson replied.
Mr. Hillman sounded really strange to Sam. His guess was that Dawson had been asked to look the other way by someone above him, but below Damon Harding. He hadn’t witnessed any use of unauthorized restoration equipment.
Ralphie, how extensive is our new background? Sam inquired.
Mr. Harding was correct. You have a history, although your past records, including your companion files, were lost during the virus incident. It gives you a clean start. Your credentials are similar to Sam’s up to the point of your 23.1 backup. It seems like a genuinely clean slate, Ralphie responded.
Good, Sam thought. But now he had to pay the piper.
“So you want to know where I think Sam would be,” Sam began.
“That would be most helpful,” Damon replied taking a seat again.
“If I were him, I would certainly be somewhere off the planet. Somewhere outside of the datasphere so that my interaction with any identification mechanisms were limited to a private network,” Sam said. He didn’t know if it would help them.
“And if you were him? Where would you locate yourself so that you could accomplish this, given almost unlimited means?” Damon asked.
Dawson’s eyebrows rose up briefly as if he couldn’t believe that Damon had said something.
Unlimited means. Sam wasn’t sure what Damon was alluding to. He couldn’t imagine that he could get his hands on enough resources to be called unlimited. Sam considered it for a few minutes as Dawson and Harding waited patiently.
“Well, given unlimited means, and considering the types of actions he has taken, I would want a private facility, past Jupiter. It would be unlikely that my presence could be picked up, as I’m sure I would use a laser com link instead of a radio for my interaction with the datasphere. And I would probably set up some kind of relay system to disguise the origin of the signal. Does that help?” Sam asked.
“Yes, I believe it does. Is there any particular reason that you would pick a location past Jupiter,” Damon asked.
Sam considered the question. He had always been interested in the astronomical objects that were located out past Jupiter, Kupier belt objects they were called. They could range in size from that of a very small house to that of a small moon. Lots of resources to utilize. Sam had thought about what he would do with unlimited means, and using one of these objects would be his style. But he wasn’t sure if he should say this. He did feel some loyalty to his other version. After all, he didn’t know what was going on.
“I can’t really think of a specific reason other than the fact that Saturn has always been a favorite of mine. If I were him, I’d be near there.”
Damon considered this quietly. “Thank you, Mr. Hillman. You’ve been very helpful. I believe that your insight will help us to locate Storm 6.7. Agent Dawson, will you escort Mr. Hillman to the exit please?” Damon said rising from the couch. He extended his hand. “Best of luck to you, Mr. Hillman, in your new life. And do try to stay out of trouble, I don’t want to have to come after you as well.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Mr. Harding. I am counting myself lucky to be alive at all, considering the bizarre circumstances surrounding my restoration. I hope you catch him,” Sam said, referring to his other version while shaking Harding’s hand. But he sincerely hoped he got to talk to his other version before Harding got his claws into him. If he were really hiding out past Jupiter, however, Sam was going to need help to get there.
Dawson came up beside him and Sam followed him back out of the big living room through the fog security field, which didn’t stop them this time, and on to the lift tube. As soon as they were both in the tube, they started downward.
No repeat flight on the suborbital, Sam lamented briefly. Oh, well, at least I’m out of there.
Dawson was silent the entire ride to street level. When they reached the bottom they were in a short corridor with lift tube entrances to either side of them. Dawson walked toward the entrance which Sam could see was not too far ahead. There was a guard desk just beyond the lift tube corridor, and it was manned, which was strange. Not many places had a person for a guard. Dawson flashed his badge at the guard who just grunted and pushed a control that caused the front door to open.
Once they were on the sidewalk, Sam took in his surroundings. There were a lot of people walking around, probably on their way to work or whatever they spent their long lives doing. The sun was just coming up. A quick query to Ralphie and he was informed that it was six-thirty.
Dawson turned to him. “This is where we part company, Mr. Hillman. The subway entrance is one block that way. It’ll get you to the zip tube terminal directly.” He pointed his finger down the block. Sam could make out the sign for the subway stop.
“Well, Agent Dawson, thanks for your help tonight. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah. Don’t get in any trouble, Mr. Storm. I still know who you really are.” There was a slight menace to the comment, and it made Sam more than a little edgy. Dawson turned and walked back in to the building. The door opened for him, but Sam had the feeling that if he tried to reenter the building he would find that impossible. It was just as well he didn’t want to have anything more to do with Damon Harding or Agent Dawson.
