Spiral

As expected, the phone now rang. Jake answered. The synthesized voice on the other end told him to leave the garage they were in and drive to another garage across town. The phone went dead. Jake did as commanded, sure that the call had been intercepted and a surveillance crew was on its way to the new location.

Jake kept glancing at Kitano. The old man’s features were dead. He had a bandage on his face from his fight with Dunne. He was sweating like hell, a rank odor coming off him. Jake didn’t bother with small talk. Instead he simply drove.

The Air Force guy, Lexington, had told Jake to keep a close eye on the old man. Kitano was here under duress-a sheep offered to the predator-and he might try to run for it. Lexington wanted to cuff Kitano to Jake, but Orchid’s instructions forbade any weapons, ropes, watches, anything at all.

Ten minutes later, they reached the garage. Jake took the little parking ticket from the machine, entered, began ascending the slow spiral upward.

They were on the third level when the phone rang again. Jake answered, and the voice said, “Take the next available slot.” Jake and Kitano did as ordered. “Go to the fourth floor. There is a Red Taurus with Michigan plates. Get in it. Pull down the visor.”

In they went. Jake pulled down the visor.

The card said:

GET OUT.

GO TO THE FIRST LEVEL.

ENTER A GRAY VAN THROUGH THE REAR DOORS.

The interior of the van was outfitted like a cross between a Geek Squad van and an ambulance. Two video cameras looked down from mounts in the corners. A laminated sheet of paper dangled in the center of the van’s storage bay. On it were a series of instructions, to be followed sequentially.

Step one was to strip to the bone. Jake and Kitano did as ordered. Jake soon was naked except for his hands. He slowly unwrapped the gauze covering the burns, the air stinging the wounds.

Per step two, they put all their clothing and possessions in a pair of metal boxes, then stored them in a locker at the back of the van and locked it with a Yale padlock.

On to step three. As instructed, Jake took the battery-powered clippers and trimmed his hair short, tight against his skull. He handed the clippers to Kitano, then turned around before the camera. Kitano trimmed his wisps of hair, his face showing the indignity of being old and naked, a body in decay. Jake felt a twinge of compassion for Kitano, his shrunken arms barely anything, just bits of skin and sinew. But then he thought of Harbin, Unit 731, the torturing, the experiments.

Jake turned away, studied his short-haired reflection in the back window of the van. He felt as though he were nineteen again, a soldier-to-be, not yet schooled in the currency of death.

Step four. Stand before a white panel on the side wall of the van. Some sort of full-body scan, Jake guessed. Altair had assured him that the carbon tracker they’d put in him was invisible to almost anything, but Jake couldn’t help but worry. Engineers always believed in the infallibility of their latest technology, like Icarus, right up until they fell from the sky.

Steps five through seven, according to the laminated sheet: get dressed-jeans, sunglasses, and red shirts for both. Leave the van. Bring the money. Get in the VW Golf with tinted windows parked three spaces down. Instructions on the visor.

Jake and Kitano got in the Golf. Jake pulled down the visor.

OPEN THE GLOVE BOX.

The glove box was completely empty, save for an iPhone.

Jake picked up the phone, and the display lit up. On screen were driving instructions. The first direction said:

LEAVE THE MONEY

IN THE PARKING SPACE.

“Leave the money”?

Jake got out of the car and placed the backpack containing the money on the asphalt, Kitano watching closely from the passenger seat. Jake got back in, put the Golf in gear, backed out, started down the spiral ramp to the exit.

One hundred tracers were now sitting in an empty parking space.

45

ORCHID WALKED ALONE TOWARD THE CABIN. THE SUN CUT through the trees, the snow bright. The air was cold and fresh, a break from the underground shelter. Soon Orchid would be free of that place-it smelled like something had already died down there. Minutes before, she had left Maggie Connor in the shelter. Tied up, her prisoner was shaking uncontrollably and had been for the last half-hour. The hotshot granddaughter looked just as pathetic as the hotshot grandfather had looked at the end… and Orchid wasn’t done with her yet.

Orchid entered the cabin, carrying with her a laptop computer and a folded white robe. She placed the items in the center of the dusty floor. She unfolded the white cloth to reveal a short tantō sword and a World War II vintage Papa Nambu pistol. She rechecked the pistol’s magazine, then pulled back a loose floorboard and hid the handgun underneath. She carefully replaced the board and arranged the folded robe and the sword to cover the spot.