We ate a quick and simple meal, lighting the gas stove with matches that Seth found in a kitchen cupboard and using it to cook rice. The combination of boiled rice and canned sardines tasted execrable, but neither of us complained. As we finished eating, Seth stood up.
“Sorry about this, but I got no choice. I need to take a look around, see if I can find out where they are. I wouldn’t recommend you take off an’ run while I’m gone, though, ’cause if you do I’ll be after you ’til I find you. I really need to know how to use them telomod kits. But just in case you did feel like runnin’, we’ll rule out any crazy ideas like that.” He walked across and picked up a coil of rope from a storage cupboard in the corner, came back, and gestured to me. “Go on through there.”
We went into the bedroom. It faced east, and already the room was dark and gloomy. The bed, as I had already noted, had solid iron rails at foot and headboard. While he tied me, hands and feet, I waited for a moment when I might be able to grab the gun. It never came. Seth was too smart and too wary.
He stepped back, studied his efforts, and retied a couple of the knots. “There. That should do us. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I’ll come back soon as I can. I told you, it won’t do no good to get loose an’ run, even if you can. I’d be right after you ’til I found you. I need to know how to run them tests. An’ don’t go callin’ for help, neither. Other people won’t look after you near as good as I do.”
I forced myself to wait for three minutes after he left. Then I stretched. It would do no good to pull directly on the ropes, that would only make the knots tighter. I had to get my hands around the top bed rail and pull on that directly.
Chance favors the prepared mind. I must stop repeating that cliche, or I will become a bore.
However, in this case it is relevant. The exercises that I had performed at night, quietly, locked away in the subbasement of my house, were both boring and unpleasant; now they also proved to have been necessary.
I stretched, grabbed, and heaved until my joints cracked. A bed, even a well-constructed one, is not designed to withstand such deliberate force. The headboard bent toward me, giving at the place where bolts secured it to the bed frame.
It did not come loose at a first effort; nor did I expect it to. I alternated pulling and pushing, relying on the fact that the bed was an old one. I did not know if the frame was wood or metal. If the former, the bolts would chew their way through it; if the latter, the bolts would themselves weaken from continued bending.
Both my vocation and my avocation had taught me patience. The ten minutes of hard work that it took before the headboard came free of the bed frame were rather less than I had expected.
I could not do the same thing with the foot of the bed. What I could do, with some effort, was lift the headboard, my hands still bound to it, right over my body, so that I could bend far enough to get my fingers to the knots on the ropes at my ankles. Seth had tied them tightly, but I had plenty of incentive. After another five minutes I could walk, still dragging the headboard, through to the kitchen where the paring knife lay on the tabletop.
Half a minute of awkward work, and I was free. And now came the hardest moment of all. My instincts told me to grab Methuselah from the car and run, far and fast. It was night, and the chance that Seth or anyone else would be able to catch me was small.
My instincts said that, but they were animal instincts. They were not the correct response for a thinking, analytical mind. I needed not only immediate freedom, I needed freedom from later pursuit.
That called for the use of valuable time, during which Seth might return, alone or with an unknown number of others. It also required that I perform a task both slightly distasteful and physically demanding.
I examined the garden tools in the lean-to by the house. I selected two, either of which could do the job. Then I headed to the car, opened it, and removed Methuselah. It was important to make as little noise as possible, so I pushed the door to but did not slam it. Carrying Methuselah and tools, I set off down the dirt track toward the main road.
Methuselah proved to be easy. The remains of a rusted barrel sat by the track, a couple of hundred yards from the house. I put Methuselah down inside it. The rim was only six inches high, but box tortoises are not given to athletic feats. He would make no effort to leave until he became hungry. I walked on.
It was two more hours before I could return to the house. By that time I was truly as tired as I had pretended to be earlier in the day. This had been a period of unrelenting and continuous effort, sustained by adrenaline and driven by the need to finish as quickly as possible.
The house was silent and empty as I crept through into the bedroom and thankfully placed my burden on the bed. Then the headboard went back to its original position. Finally, I had to make one more decision. Gas, or oil?
Gas has the disadvantage that it calls for judgment. I might easily blow myself up, along with everything else. So it was oil that I poured liberally onto the floor.
While I allowed time for the boards to saturate, I made one more trip to the car. I reached into one of the boxes in the rear compartment, removed half a dozen sheets of paper, and placed them prominently where no one looking into the car could possibly miss them.
Then it was back into the house, for one final brief act. I paused before I performed it. Had I omitted anything? If so, I certainly could not think what it might be.
True, I had not managed to dispose of Seth, an aspiration of mine since our first meeting. But as Longfellow remarks, life is real, life is earnest. It cannot all be simple pleasures.
I made my way down the hill again to collect Methuselah. It was beginning to rain, and I felt weary. All the same, there was joy in my heart and a spring in my step.
44
The conversion of the big cargo plane into Air Force One was a technical success, but a practical failure. Cargo simply does not have the same needs as humans. One of those needs is warmth. The plane’s interior was not temperature-controlled, and trying to warm it with the available electrical power was like heating a barn with a candle. When Saul stepped out of the aircraft and into the waiting limousine, he felt frozen and semihuman.
Part of the problem was psychological. His mother’s death had been looming closer for three years, ever since the time of her first and minor stroke. The prognosis after the recent stroke had been dismal. Her life had reduced to a misery of sightless, immobile existence, from which he saw her death as a merciful release. In spite of all that, her end still came as a surprise and a defeat.
What was it in the human brain that could see all the evidence of decline, accept it intellectually, and still be shocked viscerally by the final extinction of life?
Saul leaned back as the limousine rolled west into the city. He glanced at his watch. Almost nine o’clock. His meeting with Nick Lopez and Sarah Mander would begin in just over half an hour. Seldom had he felt less up to any challenge.
He went first to his bedroom and ran hot water over his hands. They trembled constantly, and they had almost no feeling in them. He had been awake for thirty-four of the past thirty-eight hours. He examined his face in the mirror. Except for a darkness under the eyes, he looked perfectly normal. That was just as well. Bad enough that he understood his condition, without Lopez and Mander becoming aware of it.