Chapter Seven
Mike might not have been all that high on their list of priorities, but the NADF must have been quietly tracking him down for months. And so it was that as he parked his car after work one night in late October, he found himself suddenly surrounded by a squad of soldiers in slate-blue uniforms, all of them holding rifles pointed directly at his chest.
For a second he wondered how they could possibly have found him, and then decided it didn’t matter. They had a million tell-tale clues, if they were determined enough. His Jeep tracks through the woods, the hole in the Containment Zone fence, perhaps even something with his name on it at the house in Arkadelphia or the title transfer when he sold his Jeep to the collector. There was no telling, really.
There was no point in thinking about escape, either. He meekly put his hands up high and offered no objection while they searched him for weapons. Then he found himself hustled away in handcuffs and leg irons; a humiliating spectacle for the neighbors to witness, no doubt.
They took him by van to a large white office building somewhere downtown, although it wasn’t the jail or anything he recognized as a government facility. Just an unmarked, nondescript kind of place that seemed designed specifically for the purpose of attracting as little attention as possible.
The guards led him inside, and he was quickly taken up to a bare white room on the fortieth floor. It contained nothing but a wooden table with two chairs on opposite sides, and he was none-too-gently made to sit in one of these. It reminded him of an interrogation room, but for a long time there was no interrogation forthcoming. He simply had to sit there at the table alone. He knew this was a psychological ploy, to make him as nervous as possible before the interrogator came in to question him. Joey had talked about things like that now and then, and he’d seen it on TV lots of times. The only problem was, even though he knew exactly what they were doing, that still didn’t keep it from working.
Eventually, a man in the same slate-blue uniform as the soldiers entered the room, flanked by two armed guards and carrying a tablet computer. He looked to be about thirty, but he had the dark gray eyes of a man much older, cold and hard as tempered steel. The name on his badge read Luke Bartow, Lt. Col, NADF.
The man sat down silently across the table from Mike, looking at files on the computer and sometimes frowning at whatever he saw. This was more manipulation, of course, and Mike tried not to let it affect him. Eventually the man looked up at him and cleared his throat.
“Your name is Micah McGrath, correct?” the man asked, his voice inflectionless and cool.
“Yes, sir,” Mike agreed.
“Dr. McGrath, my name is Lieutenant Luke Bartow, with the North American Defense Forces. I’m afraid we have several serious matters to discuss. You do realize you’re in violation of Union Code 38-6-229, and a dozen other laws relating to national security because of your recent trespassing in the William Clark Containment Zone, do you not?” the man asked mildly, polishing his gold-rimmed spectacles. Mike could only shrug.
“You further realize that, if we chose, we would be perfectly within our legal rights to execute you on the spot, or to incarcerate you for as long as we felt necessary?” he went on. Again Mike said nothing, though the words chilled him to the bone. Lieutenant Bartow seemed not to notice his silence.
“However, in your particular case, that isn’t necessarily what we’d like to do. Is it true that you’ve recently been working on a device to read future events?” the man asked. Mike couldn’t imagine how they might have found out about that, but there was no point in lying.
“Yes, sir,” he said, and Lieutenant Bartow leaned closer across the table.
“Dr. McGrath, we believe your device is the reason for the original explosion which required the creation of the Containment Zone in the first place, and, more recently, for the reappearance of part of what was lost. We’d very much like to understand how that device works, and re-create it if possible,” he said.
I bet you would, Mike thought to himself, but only nodded.
“You may be thinking of the unfortunate events of last April, when the remaining townsfolk were killed. That was a regrettable misunderstanding; the local commander had standing orders to shoot all trespassers on sight, and he was overzealous in carrying them out, I’m afraid. He has since been relieved of his duties,” Lieutenant Bartow said.
“I see,” Mike said, and the other man sighed.
“Let me be honest with you for a moment, Dr. McGrath. This is a dangerous world you’ve come to, a fact which I don’t think you fully appreciate yet. There are new dangers all the time, some of which, if they ever came to pass, would make that little incident in Arkansas look like a Sunday School picnic. There are fanatical groups right this very minute, Dr. McGrath, who would lay waste the entire world if they got the chance. There are nuclear and biological threats of the most deadly kinds imaginable, and only swift and stern action by our Defense Forces has enabled us to survive as long as we have, with any level of civilization at all. Other parts of the world have not always been so lucky. I hope you appreciate the seriousness of what I’m saying,” Lieutenant Bartow said.
Mike nodded. He did appreciate that much, all too well. He was himself supposed to be posing as a refugee from the radioactive desert of South Africa, and the nightly news was full of horror stories almost as bad as that. Some of it might be propaganda, of course, but Mike didn’t doubt the basic truth of what Lieutenant Bartow had said. The world was indeed a dangerous place nowadays.
Nevertheless, he said nothing.
“That being the case, I hope you also understand what an invaluable tool for fighting these things your machine could be,” Lieutenant Bartow went on.
“Yes, sir. I can see that,” Mike agreed.
“Good; I’m glad we can agree on that much at least. Now, we really brought you here today because we’re willing to offer you a deal, Dr. McGrath,” Lieutenant Bartow said.
“What kind of a deal?” Mike asked, though he suspected he already knew.
“We want you to work on rebuilding your machine for us. We realize that the original has been lost, along with your notes and research. We know it will take some time to reconstitute that loss. What we’re offering you is a state-of-the-art lab facility, with unlimited funds to continue your work. Anything you need will be provided. Moreover, we recognize the importance of your personal life, also. We’re prepared to grant you immediate legal citizenship in the North American Union, not only for you but for your lady friend also. You may keep your job at the University if you wish, and your salary will be quite generous. If there’s anything else you’d like, we might be able to make that happen, also. All we ask is that you work diligently on your research, give us regular status reports, and share it with no one else. I’ll be your handler and your sole point of contact with the Defense Forces; you’ll make your reports to me, along with any requests for money or materials or whatnot. You’ll be doing something incredibly important for your country, and for the future of mankind, and making a good life for yourself in the meantime,” Lieutenant Bartow said.
“I see. And if I don’t agree?” Mike asked. It was a cheeky thing to say, but Lieutenant Bartow only smiled slightly, and it wasn’t a very nice smile, either.
“I strongly advise you to agree, Dr. McGrath,” he said, and the unspoken threat was crystal clear. The man didn’t need to specify exactly what might happen, but Mike got the message plain as day. They surely had ways of enforcing their wishes, and if the carrot didn’t work then the stick would have to do.
Mike much preferred the carrot.
“All right. I’ll do it,” he agreed.
Nightfall Page 7
