“Oh, I’ll be watched, too. Everyone will be watched. It’s a very democratic system. And it’s inevitable, Thomas. There’s no way it can be stopped. Your sacrifice for some Harlequin is completely meaningless.”
“You’re welcome to your opinion, but I will decide what gives meaning to my life.”
“You’re going to help me, Thomas. There’s no negotiation here. No compromise. You need to deal with the reality of the situation.”
Thomas shook his head sympathetically. “No, my friend. It’s you who are out of touch with reality. You look at me and see an overweight Crow Indian with a broken garbage disposal and no money. And you think: ‘Ahhh, he’s just an ordinary man.’ But I’m telling you that ordinary men and women will see what you’re doing. And we will stand up, rip open the door, and leave your electronic cage.”
Thomas got out of the chair, stepped off the porch, and headed for the driveway. Boone swiveled around on the bench. Holding the automatic with two hands, he blew away his enemy’s right kneecap. Thomas collapsed, rolled onto his back, and stopped moving.
Still holding the gun, Boone walked over to the body. Thomas was conscious, but breathing quickly. His leg was almost severed from the knee down and dark red blood pulsed from the cut artery. As Thomas began to go into shock, he looked up at Boone and spoke slowly. “I’m not frightened of you…”
An intense anger overcame Boone. He pointed his gun at Thomas’s forehead as if he wanted to destroy all the other man’s thoughts and memories, then his finger squeezed the trigger.
The second gunshot seemed unbearably loud, the sound waves expanding out into the world.
31
Michael was being kept in a windowless suite of four rooms. Occasionally he heard muffled noises and the sound of water going through pipes, so he assumed that there were other people in the building. There was a bathroom, a bedroom, a living room, and an outer guardroom where two silent men wearing navy blue blazers blocked him from leaving. He wasn’t sure if he was in America or a foreign country. None of the rooms had a clock and he never knew if it was daytime or night.
The only person who talked to him was Lawrence Takawa, a young Japanese American man who always wore a white shirt and a black necktie. Lawrence was sitting beside Michael’s bed when he woke up from his drugged sleep. A doctor came in a few minutes later and gave Michael a quick physical examination. He whispered something to Lawrence and then never returned.
From that first day, Michael started asking questions. Where am I? Why are you keeping me here? Lawrence smiled pleasantly and always gave the same set of answers. This is a safe place. We’re your new friends. Right now, we’re looking for Gabriel so he can be safe, too.
Michael knew he was a prisoner and they were the enemy. But Lawrence and the two guards spent most of their time making sure he was comfortable. The living room had an expensive television and a rack of DVDs. Cooks were on duty twenty-four hours a day in the building, and they would prepare whatever he wanted to eat. When Michael first got out of bed, Lawrence led him to a walk-in closet and showed him thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes, shoes, and accessories. The dress shirts were made of silk or Egyptian cotton and had his initials discreetly monogrammed on the pocket. The sweaters were woven from the softest cashmere. There were dress shoes, athletic shoes, and slippers-everything in his size.
He asked for exercise equipment. A treadmill and a set of free weights appeared in the living room. If he wanted to read a certain book or magazine, he gave his request to Lawrence and it appeared a few hours later. The food was excellent and he could order from a list of French and domestic wines. Lawrence Takawa assured him that eventually there would be women, too. He had everything he wanted except the freedom to leave. Lawrence said the short-term objective was to make him fit and healthy after his ordeal. Michael was going to meet a very powerful man and this person would tell him what he wanted to know.
Late one afternoon, after Michael took a shower, he left the bathroom and discovered that someone had picked out his clothes and placed them on the bed. Shoes and socks. Gray wool pleated pants and a black knit shirt that fit perfectly. He went into the next room in the suite and found Lawrence drinking a glass of wine while he listened to a jazz CD.
“How are you, Michael? Sleep well?”
“Okay.”
“Any dreams?”
Michael had dreamed that he was flying over an ocean, but there was no reason to describe what had happened. He didn’t want them to know what was going on in his mind. “No dreams. Or, at least, I don’t remember them.”
“This is what you’ve been waiting for. In a few minutes, you’re going to meet Kennard Nash. Do you know who he is?”
Michael recalled a face from a news program on television. “Didn’t he used to be in the government?”
“He was a brigadier general. Since leaving the army, he’s worked for two American presidents. Everyone respects him. Right now, he’s executive director of the Evergreen Foundation.”
“For all generations,” Michael said, quoting the slogan the foundation used when it sponsored programs on television. Their logo was very distinct. There was a film clip of two children, a boy and a girl, bending over a pine seedling, and then everything morphed into a stylized symbol of a tree.
“It’s about six o’clock in the evening. You’re in the administrative building of the foundation’s national research center. The building is in Westchester Country-about a forty-five-minute drive from New York City.”
“So why did you bring me here?”
Lawrence put down his wineglass and smiled. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. “We’re going upstairs to see General Nash. He’ll be glad to answer all your questions.”
The two security men were waiting for them in the guardroom. Without saying a word, they escorted Michael and Lawrence out of the room and down a hallway to a row of elevators. There was a window a few feet away from where they were standing, and Michael realized it was night. When the elevator came, Lawrence motioned him inside. He waved his right hand across a sensor and punched the floor button.
“Listen carefully to General Nash, Michael. He’s a very knowledgeable man.” Lawrence stepped back into the hallway and Michael traveled alone to the top floor.
The elevator opened directly onto a private office. It was a large room that had been decorated to resemble the library of a British men’s club. Oak shelves holding sets of leather-bound books lined the walls, and there were easy chairs and little green reading lamps. The only unusual detail was that three surveillance cameras were mounted on the ceiling. The cameras moved slowly back and forth, monitoring the entire room. They’re watching me, Michael thought. Someone is always watching.
He stepped around the furniture and lamps, trying not to touch anything. In one corner of the room, pinpoint spotlights illuminated an architectural model set on a wooden pedestal. There were two parts to the miniature building: a central tower surrounded by a ring-shaped building. The outer structure was divided into small identical rooms, each with one barred window on the outside wall and another window set in the top half of the entrance door.
It looked as if the tower was a solid monolith, but when Michael moved to the other side of the pedestal, he saw a cross section of the building. It was a maze of doorways and staircases. Strips of balsa wood covered the windows like Venetian blinds.
Michael heard a door squeak open and saw Kennard Nash enter the room. Bald head. Wide shoulders. When Nash smiled, Michael remembered the various times he had seen the general on television talk shows.
“Good evening, Michael. I’m Kennard Nash.”