Chapter 23
The impact shattered the back window. Glass cut the back of my neck. My hands and head crashed into the steering wheel, while my knees banged against the dash. The air bag deployed, which cushioned my whole body, but I was thrown backward and pressed hard into the seat. When the jostling stopped, I held my breath. My neck hurt like a son of a bitch, but I was still alive. The padding of the Israeli armor likely saved my life.
Thinking of the armor reminded me of the page. Page? Are you okay?
Opening the car door, I fell out from under the airbag. I scrambled to my feet. I knew it wouldn't take long for the cop to do the same, if he was alive.
What are you doing out there? Your systems are going crazy. I'm sure you can see the warning light, but you're going to lose invisibility in a matter of seconds.
I could see the warning light the page talked about; the red letters filled the screen and threatened to blot out everything else. The only problem was if I switched off the armor, I'd have to remove the helmet. Without the systems operating properly, I'd be blind. Minus the helmet, my head would be a perfect target for some gung-ho cop.
I decided to take the chance and flipped the off. Even if I somehow managed to salvage the uniform's invisibility program, all the cops seemed aware that I had armored gear, anyway; no doubt any I encountered would be as prepared as the ones I had met earlier, I removed the helmet and took a deep breath.
Pulling myself upright, I leaned heavily on the hood of the car. The cop car's front-end was mashed. Windshield glass littered the tunnel, and its air bag had ballooned on impact as well. Wails from the siren filled the tunnel.
More police could not be far behind I knew, yet I hesitated. I hated myself for even thinking about leaving behind a cop who was injured and could be dying. I had to remind myself that it was me that caused the officer harm, and that I'd done it to buy myself time – all of which I was wasting, standing here feeling morally corrupt. My feet betrayed my brain and started moving closer to the driver's side window of the cop car.
I've got to get out of here, I told myself, but my step quickened as I moved up to the door. Inside, I could see the officer slumped back in the seat, pinned by the air bag. Blood smeared her forehead. I checked for a pulse at her throat. I found it – weak but steady, thank God. I knew better than to try to move her; her back could be broken. She'd been lucky, and so had I. At least vehicular manslaughter wouldn't be added to my long list of crimes.
Now what to do? There really wasn't anywhere to run. The traffic tunnels went on for kilometers. I only had two options if I decided to try to make it on foot: forward, or back the way I came. The cops would know that and close off both ends. Without a crowd to blend into or a working invisibility suit, I'd be an easy target to trace.
The wreckage of the car I'd stolen looked like a crumpled wad of paper. The bumper hung off the frame at an odd angle, and the lid of the trunk had popped open. Suddenly, an idea hit me.
Without opening the car door, I reached between the cop's legs and pulled the trunk release. Thankfully, despite the crash, the mechanism worked, and the trunk opened with a pop.
I quickly made my way around to the rear end of the vehicle and crawled inside. Pulling the trunk lid down, I wondered how the hell I was going to get out once the lock latched. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the slip of paper that Michael had written his LINK address on.
"Well, he said I should use this in the case of an emergency," I muttered. Putting the paper carefully on the latch, I pulled the lid down as far as it would go and held it there. Now it would look closed, but I wouldn't be trapped. I should be safe, and remain undetected as long as I could hold the lid tightly enough.
Without the helmet to show infrared, the darkness in the trunk was absolute. I had to forcibly remind myself not to let in even a sliver of light. The air smelled like rubber and oil, and I could feel something wet where my cheek pressed against the scratchy upholstery. Shifting my legs around, I tried to find a comfortable position. This was one time I was glad I wasn't overly tall. I settled down to wait.
Deidre?
At the sound of my name, I knocked my head painfully against the rim of the spare wheel. For heaven's sake, Page. I forgot you were there.
I know. His pout was evident even in the darkness. You really know how to make a boy feel appreciated, you know that?
I shut my eyes and let myself go deeper into the connection with the uniform. Making sure I could still sense my body enough to keep track of how tightly I held on to the latch, I called up the image of the page. Behind my eyes, the page looked battered. His hair was mussed, his usually pristine clothes were stained, and his collar was akimbo. The page even went so far as to bruise his cheek. I chuckled under my breath; only a bodiless AI would think of wounds as an affectation.
Page! I decided to give him what he wanted. You look terrible. Are you okay?
No thanks to you, he said, his bottom lip out, arms crossed across his chest. You take crummy care of your equipment.
I'm sorry, I said, as I adjusted my equipment pressed against my temple. My neck was twisted in an odd angle. Holding on to the thin wire, I tried to get comfortable in the cramped space of the trunk. But I'd be nicer to you if I thought you'd help me fight the LINK-Michael
Mouse's page looked taken aback. You think kindness can be bartered? You're worse than Mouse.
Stop pouting, Page. You know I'm teasing you.
Hmph. He recrossed his arms in front of his chest.
However, I said, time is running out. If Michael is going to be released at midnight Greenwich Mean Time, that's – I did some mental calculation – six o'clock in the evening here. Prime time. A coincidence?
Knowing Mouse, probably not, the page grumbled.
Outside, I could hear the siren joined by another. My stomach lurched in fear; they would be here soon. I tugged on the trunk, gripping it tighter.
I have to get a message to Michael. Can we risk going on-line for a microsecond?
Mouse's page pinched his lips together in disgust. If it were really a microsecond, I'd say yes. But you humans can never process anything that fast.
I smiled. Are you volunteering, Page?
The siren cut off. Someone outside had flipped the switch. That could only mean that the police were on the scene. I held my breath and strained to hear the sounds of approaching footsteps.
Okay, the page said. I'll do it only because I can open up a connection, send the message, and get out before you could even finish flipping the go-ahead.
I lifted the latch a hair and removed the paper Michael had given me with his address. A thin shaft of bright light sliced through the darkness. Squinting at the swirling script of Jibril's handwriting, I read off Michael's address to the page. Then, I added, If everything goes well, tell him to meet me at the impound lot.