The ride back suddenly had an air of optimism. Rogers switched the tracking device to the A-channel and began guiding Cassiopia toward Alaman’s car without explaining. When they were close enough, she asked her to pull over. “I need you to wait here for me. I’ll need to move fast and stay out of sight on this. It won’t take long. I’ll be on the intercom, but don’t call me unless you really need to. If I get into trouble, I’ll let you know.”
“The bomb isn’t enough. You want this guy, too.”
“Too much to explain. I won’t be long.”
Rogers looked around in every direction, climbed out and closed the door quietly. She went to the nearest corner, briefly looked beyond it, and took off. She walked briskly along the deserted sidewalk and spotted Alaman’s car a block away. She stopped and stood in the recessed entrance of a closed shop and watched the car from the shadows. Ten minutes went by, and no one showed up. Another ten minutes passed, and Rogers cursed under her breath. She could not wait much longer. Finally, to her relief, the third accomplice appeared from a small side street carrying two suitcases. He went to the car, looked carefully around, then raised the trunk and loaded them. He closed it and headed back the way he had come, trying to appear casual, but this time seemingly in a hurry. He disappeared around a building bordering a side street.
Rogers bolted and raced to the corner. She peered carefully up the street in time to see him turn into an alley. She waited as long as she dared, crossed over and went to the alley’s entrance, standing with her back against a building. She had not been able to procure a weapon, but this was Dreamland. Bullets might not harm her. Nevertheless, that was a theory best left untested. Once again, she dared a look around the corner. There was no sign of him. The alley ended at an intersecting street. She moved cautiously along, pausing once more, sheltering herself behind an abutment. With calculated care, she peered up and down the next back street, in time to see the man disappear down into a basement apartment. When she was certain it was safe, she went to it and leaned over to look down into the well at the steps and front door. A light came on in a yellowed, curtained window below. Rogers took her bearings carefully and hastened back.
“Did you get what you needed?” asked Cassiopia when Rogers was back in the safety of the sedan.
“I hope so. I really do. Let’s get the hell out of Dreamland.”
“With pleasure.”
They made their way back to the abandoned office building where it had all begun. This time they broke in the back door and jump-stepped up the stairwell to the empty room where they hoped the robot was still waiting. Cassiopia opened the closet door just in time to see one of the Tel’s mechanical hands bang Alaman’s on the side of his head. She gasped and stepped back.
“Tel, what did you just do.”
“Preservation of subject cataleptic relative to Alpha-Yankee program requirements.”
“You were keeping him unconscious?”
“Affirmative.”
“How did you know to do that?”
“Data input memory block 876374, file 785432, line 1009.”
“Who input that data into your file?”
“Ann Rogers.”
“What data was that?”
“Alpha-Yankee subject status to remain unchanged.”
“What did she say to you, exactly?”
“He’ll remain unconscious for another six hours; then I’ll stick him again.”
Cassiopia stared in disbelief. “Tel, that wasn’t in the original Alpha-Yankee program. How did it become part of that program?”
“Program direction to retain Alpha-Yankee file, and acquired data during execution.”
“So while you were executing Alpha-Yankee, you decided data from a previous conversation was relative to your objective?”
“Affirmative.”
“But wasn’t there supposed to be protection of the human anatomy in your program execution?”
“8.4 foot-pounds applied to the left hemisphere, frontal lobe. No violation of anatomical integrity.”
“So you didn’t hurt him, you just made him unconscious?”
“Affirmative.”
Cassiopia stood dumbfounded. She looked at Rogers and placed one hand on her head. “I don’t believe it.”
Rogers said, “I don’t get it.”
“He started to wake up, so Tel conked him on the head to keep him asleep because upstairs you said the plan was to keep him asleep.”
“Sounds right to me. I’m on his side” Rogers kneeled and pulled a syringe from her satchel. Quickly she injected Alaman.
“No. No, there’s no way a Tel could recall a previous conversation and add information from it to a current, closed program. I am just stupefied.”
“How would he know how to disable a person like that?”
“I am beside myself. It could be something left from the military or something, but it’s just unbelievable.”
“Well, I’m sure glad he did it, and we don’t have time to figure it out. Let’s get going.”
With instructions from Cassiopia, the robot carried Alaman back to the hallway. With the first click of the SCIP recall button, the silvery door reappeared. When Alaman was safely through, the two women took turns passing into the silver membrane and back into the SCIP lab.
When the Tel emerged carrying the limp body of Alaman, Professor Cassell nearly fell over himself as he hurried around to the front of the SCIP doorway. Rogers emerged next, digging in a pocket for her cell phone.
“Did it work?” begged the Professor.
She ignored him and dialed as she came down the ramp, staring at the floor as she listened. Cassiopia came through and in a pleading voice he asked, “Did it work?”
“Yes,” she replied excitedly. “Everything. Everything worked.”
The Professor held one hand to his forehead, stunned by their affirmation. He placed the other hand on his desk and leaned against it as though the intensity of the moment was too much.
Rogers was already in a forceful discussion. The others turned and tried to hear but only caught the end of it.
“I’m heading back to the office now. I’ll give you the details when I get there.” She hung up and looked up at the others. “It gets tricky now. They’re all distracted going after the bomb. I have to get bomb-boy here back to his apartment and into bed so my story will hold up. We’ll be okay as long as they don’t check the cell phone location records. Cassiopia, care to take a fast ride in a van with a blue light? It’s a long haul. I could use a second driver.”
“Let’s go.”
The Professor was beside himself. “But where? How?”
Cassiopia sympathized. “It’s next to the Department of the Treasury building, in a big air-conditioning unit.”
“My God!” was the Professor’s only response, and he stood dazed by the thought of it.
Rogers added, “Remember Professor, we were never here. You don’t know anything about this except what you hear on the news.”
Without stopping to take anything extra, they returned Alaman to the back of the van and covered him. The two women headed out, leaving the Tel and the Professor behind. Still dazed, the Professor realized the SCIP door should not have been left on. He hurried to the lab and shut the system down. Exhausted from the excitement, he went to his study and sat uneasily contemplating how he should spend the remainder of the day. He wondered how the authorities would handle a crisis of this magnitude. Would they keep it quiet? How would they keep it quiet? In a rare moment, the Professor checked the new cell phone Cassiopia had given him, placed it on his desk, and sat staring at it. He studied the seldom-used remote control, and switched on the television to a news station, muted it, and sat waiting.
Less than two hours later, ‘breaking news’ appeared on the screen. A major gas leak had been discovered on 17th Avenue in Washington, D.C. The area was being evacuated and closed off. A storage tank had ruptured. Repair crews were already arriving on the scene.
&nbs
p; Twelve hours later, an unconscious Alaman was back in his bed, still heavily drugged. They had carefully washed him, cleaned his clothes, and tucked him in like a precious child. Rogers took Cassiopia to the nearest airport after making sure a flight back to Orlando was available. With a nervous, heartfelt hug, she promised to return as soon as the depositions were complete, and left her at the gate entrances.
But back on the road, Rogers did not head for her office. She headed for the west side of Washington, D.C., where empty office buildings bore plans for a nuclear bomb, and old garages had bodies hidden within.
Chapter 27