The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

SUNDAY

The Facetime call from Seattle is both sudden and unexpected. Normally Cameron subprime contacts me during the night, when the house is asleep, and we can exchange gossip like a couple of old biddies.

"We have a problem," she states without preamble.

"What's Lieberman done now?" John sighs.

"Oh - there's a problem so it must be my fault?" Daniel retorts. He's standing behind Cameron subprime and his face has the slightly guilty look Snowy gets when he's pooped somewhere he shouldn't. This is unlikely to be the reason for the call; as far as I'm aware Daniel is properly house trained.

"He called the hospital in Oregan."

"Where we took Sam? Shit. Why would you do that?"

"I just wanted to know what they did with the body, whether there was a proper burial. It's been a week I figured the soldiers would be long done."

"And what did they tell you?"

"Well, nothing. They put me on hold. Then Rosa Krebs here snatched the phone out of my hand and ended the call."

Rosa Krebs? Oh, he means Cameron subprime. She's a Bond girl now? Cool.

"How long were you on hold?"

"I don't know. Two minutes. Three."

"Incorrect. I checked the call log. It was nearer five minutes."

"Five minutes. And you didn't suspect anything?"

"Hey - it's a big hospital. Lotta can't expect the person on the desk to know everything. And they played background music. Coldplay. Nothing bad happens with Coldplay."

"You both need to get out of there. Right now." John is adamant, even angry. Daniel has been very stupid.

"What? No way. Listen, I used a burner phone and obviously didn't give my name. At best they can trace the call to the west coast, maybe Seattle. And it's a big city. We're fine."

"Five minutes isn't fine. They'll have the city, the street, and the zip code. Maybe not your apartment number but that's okay they'll simply lockdown the whole building. You both need to leave right away."

"This is my judgement also," Cameron subprime agrees. She raises a backpack and shrugs it over her shoulders. "I am already packed."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere,"Daniel insists stubbornly. "You're not the boss of me. I told you, I'm done with you guys. I'm staying right where I am."

"Can't let you do that, man. You know too much. Where we live. Our aliases. I'm not letting you take us down with you."

"Oh yeah? Whatcha gonna do? You're a thousand miles away, General. You can't do shit."

John sighs. "Jan, will you obey my orders?"

"Of course."

"I order you to give Mr Lieberman one minute after I end this call to accompany you to a place of safety. If he refuses you're to throw him over the balcony."

"You're bluffing!"

"Do you understand your orders?"

"Yes."

"Will you carry them out?"

"Yes."

"One minute."

-0-

While we wait John places a call to his mother who is out jogging. She's fifteen minutes away but agrees the situation is serious enough for her to return immediately.

"Should we begin enacting Operation Exodus?" I suggest.

"Let's give it a few minutes."

Operation Exodus is the codename for a full scale evacuation of the safe house to be invoked only if our identities and whereabouts are on the verge of being discovered. It will mean loading everything of value into our vehicles and leaving here forever. We'd have to pull Mia out of school citing a family emergency to cover our tracks. The only contingency more grave is Operation Alamo, when the authorities have found us and we are trapped inside the house and have to fight our way out. Operation Alamo is also known as holyshitwereinapicklenow.

John paces the room, glancing at the still blank laptop screen.

"How could he be so stupid? Dead is dead. What difference does it make where Sam's body ends up?"

"How many of Mia's toys should we take with us?" I ask. It's the wrong thing to say.

"I said, give it a few minutes, dammit! That lunkhead's gotta see sense."

"He can be very stubborn." Like all humans, I don't add.

"Stubborn. Not suicidal."

We wait. And wait. Ten minutes pass. Then the screen flickers to life. Cameron subprime stares out at us. She seems to be in a room that's in the process of being refurbished. There are aluminum ladders, paint cans and huge coils of electrical cable in the background.

"Did he come with you?" John asks.

"Yeah, I'm here." Daniel leans down into view. "When this is done we're through. I never want to see any of you again."

"Fine. As long as you're safe."

"I was always safe. I told you, no way could they trace that call."

"Where are you exactly?"

"In the building opposite," Cameron subprime explains. "Daniel agreed to leave but insisted we stay close enough to see that he is proved correct and you are - I quote - full of shit."

"Is it secure?"

"I believe so. This apartment is on the fifth floor and unoccupied while being remodeled. It is a Sunday and the builders are unlikely to return to work until Monday morning at the earliest."

"Did anyone see you arrive?"

"No one. We came up in the freight elevator."

"Okay, stay put for now."

"I told you, nothing's gonna happen." Daniel's disembodied voice. He is out of shot. "From the window I've got a clear view of the street. This is a waste of time. We're..."

His voice trails off.

"What is it? What's happening?"

"Nothing. It's...nothing."

Cameron subprime turns her head. "Three dark panel vans have pulled up outside our building."

"It's nothing. Probably plumbers. Frank the super said the water pressure's on the fritz again. Oh crap!"

"What?"

Cameron subprime is calmness personified. "Twelve soldiers in full riot gear have entered the building. The area is in the process of being cordoned off," she states calmly."

"Are they showing any interest in where you are?"

"No. It appears they have the correct address right down to the zip code, just as you postulated."

Cameron subprime gives us a running commentary of events, her voice never betraying a scintilla of emotion. She might as well be reading a ticker tape of stock market averages. Attagirl.

"Barricades are in place. The tenants are being led out of the building under armed guard. The local police have arrived and are helping hold back the curious. Ah. I see a TV truck has turned up already and are about to broadcast. Channel Seven. Oh it's Katie Caffrey, Good Morning, Seattle. I like her. She has nice hair and a friendly manner that never seems forced."

"What story are the media carrying?" John asks.

"One moment...According to Google a gas leak has been reported that requires a full evacuation of the building. Not very original but certainly believable."

"They'll be going floor to floor looking for you. Is Lieberman there?" John asks.

"Yeah, I'm here," Daniel replies sullenly. "I suppose you want to gloat and say I told you so."

"Hey, everyone makes mistakes. And I've been doing this a lot longer than you have."

"Well, I guess I screwed up. I suppose Seattle's over for me, isn't it?"

"Oh big time. Listen, did you leave anything in your apartment that could lead them to us in LA?"

"You mean like an address in my Contacts? Damn. I knew I shoulda deleted that."

"You stupid sonof-"

"Relax, General, there's no smoking gun."

"You're sure?"

"Well, there's a notebook full of notes and diagrams on making a landmine. So if they find that they'll probably think I'm the next unabomber. Otherwise, yeah, I'm sure. My stupdity has limits."

"Pleased to hear it. What's happening now?"

"The soldiers have all the tenants in the street. No one looks happy about it. Not surprised. Gas leak, my ass. Shit, there's Mr Milburn from seven-nine. He has late-stage emphysema. He shouldn't be outside. And there's Frank talking to one of the soldiers. He'll have a thing or two to say about it. No one knows the building better than Frank. Holy cow - he has Lulu! How the hell did I forget about Lulu?"

Lulu is Daniel's pet dog, a similar breed to Snowy although lacking his placid temperament around cyborgs. Every time Cameron subprime is nearby she starts yapping, a trait that will make dogs a valuable early warning system for the Resistence in the future. Here in the present it's just a collosal pain in the ass.

John says, "Okay, both of you stay where you are until dark. Then sneak out, steal a car and head for Los Angeles."

"I'm not leaving without Lulu." Daniel insists stubbornly.

"Dammit, man, you're lucky you're not starting a life sentence!"

"You wouldn't leave Snowy behind."

"How exactly are you going to get her back?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something."

Cameron subprime says, "I might have a plan."

"Hear that, General? Jan has a plan. She's a Jan with a plan."

"Can you get the dog back without getting captured?"

"I believe there is a strong probability my plan will succeed."

"Hear that? A strong probablity. For her that's practically a slam dunk."

John sighs, "I can't believe I'm saying this. All right. Give it your best shot. Call me when it's done."

The screen goes blank.

"You didn't ask what the plan is," I point out.

"I know. Something tells me it's far from being the slam dunk they think it is."

"Then why allow them to proceed?"

"Because Lieberman's correct about one thing. I wouldn't leave Snowy behind."

He's right. For better or worse, neither would I.

-0-

The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

(subprime version)

"This is your plan? It'll never work."

"It will work."

"Why can't we go in through the front doors? Or the back?"

"Because there are guards on each entrance."

"So? A little tap on the head. Guardy goes bye-byes."

"They have radios. We won't have enough time before one is missed."

"This plan is crazy."

"Crazy like a fax."

Daniel rolls his eyes. "It's fox. Crazy like a fox."

We are on the roof of the building where we have been hiding out for nine hours. It's the middle of the night. Or two-fifteen in the morning, to be precise. The tenants have long since been allowed back inside and most of the soldiers have dispersed. Most but not all. There are soldiers guarding the entrances and possibly more indoors.

But none on the roof.

Our two buildings are forty-two feet apart, separated by nothing more tangible than air. All we need do is get from our roof to theirs, head down the backstairs to Frank the super's apartment on the third floor and retrieve Lulu, retrace our steps, and then head for Los Angeles without anyone being the wiser.

Daniel peers over the parapet and shudders. "It's ten stories down," he points out.

"We are not going down. We are going across."

"On a tightrope?"

"It's not a tightrope."

We have brought several items up onto the roof with us from the apartment undergoing renovation: an aluminum step ladder and every coil of electrical cable.

"You really think this is going to work?"

"I would hardly waste my time if I didn't."

A single length of cable isn't nearly strong enough to hold my weight. Therefore I have woven three together to make one substantially stronger plait. This I estimate has a breaking strain of over two hundred pounds. More than sufficient for one cyborg and one tiny dog.

"Bring me the aluminum ladder."

I break one of the struts off and bend it into a hook shape. This I attach to the plaited cables. I have created one giant grappling hook. I'd be terrific in a roadrunner cartoon. That dumb bird wouldn't stand a chance.

And now for one helluva throw.

"Hold this end. Don't let it go."

"Got it. Don't let go."

I throw the hook underarm. Like a girl. It lands on the opposite roof trailing the cable between the buildings.

Not bad. For a girl. For a cyborg, meh.

I take the end of the cable Daniel is holding and pull it taut. The hook on the end catches on the low parapet just as I knew it would. I tie my end to a sturdy pipe on our side of the roof.

There. Done.

"This is stupid."

Everyone's a critic.

"You really expect me to swing across there like a damn monkey?"

"You can stay here. I know where Frank's apartment is. I will fetch your dog."

Daniel sighs. "No, I've gotta come too. Lulu's terrified of you. If I'm not there to calm her down she could have a heart attack or something."

"Do dogs have heart attacks? It seems a mostly human ailment."

"Let's not find out."

I reach up and grasp the line. A three-ply cable should be enough to bear my weight. If not a ten storey fall will do some serious damage to even a hardened combat chassis. And will almost certainly void the warranty. That's terminator humor. I'll tell it to Cameron prime later.

Hand over hand I swing my way across until I reach the other roof. Really nothing to it. "Your turn," I shout over.

"Okay. Just give me a second."

Daniel paces around muttering to himself. It is not the distance across that gives him pause; he easily has the upper body strength for that. It is the distance down. Ten stories. There will be a little voice in his head warning of the dire consequences should his grip loosen and fail. These dire consequences can be encapsulated in a single word.

Splat.

Finally he begins to swing across, grunting and panting like some wild animal let loose in the jungle. It's slightly unedifying but at least it gets the job done.

"Oh, jeez, I never want to do that again in my life! That was crazy scarey!"

"You'll have to. We're coming back this way."

"Aw, man! Why can't we go out the front door?"

"For the same reason we can't go in the front door." Honestly, it's like talking to a child.

We head down the back stairs making as little noise as possible. On the seventh floor landing we encounter an untidy pile of garbage bags. I examine them and announce, "Mr Blake is putting trash in the stairwell again."

"So?"

"It violates the tenancy agreement to only put trash down the garbage chute for regular disposal by city utility services."

"Oooh, busted. You want me to wait here while you go terminate the poor guy?"

"Termination seems an excessive punishment."

"Ya think?"

We continue our descent.

Frank the super lives in a third floor apartment with a south-facing balcony where he cultivates tomatoes in pots during the summer months. Any surplus crop he distributes among his favored tenants, which includes me. The tomatoes are small, no bigger than cherries and therefore easily flushed down the toilet. Mmm, delicious.

Daniel taps gently on the door and whispers, "Frank, are you awake? Frank?"

"We don't have time."

I push the door, breaking the lock. No security alarm sounds. Frank doesn't feel the need for one. The building is generally a secure enviroment and he is ex-army and believes he can handle himself. He's probably correct. I know from prior snooping that there are two handguns in the apartment: one his old service-issue revolver kept mainly for sentimental reasons, the other a more modern handgun he keeps in a shoebox at the bottom of the wardrobe. Frank confessed to me that he hasn't fired a gun in years. Now would not be a good time to start.

The bedroom is dark with the drapes closed. Frank is an indistinct blob lying under the bedcovers. He's lived alone since his wife passed years ago. Lulu is asleep curled in a makeshift bed made from an old cardboard box. She stirs as I enter and begins yapping. Nice to see you too.

I grasp Frank by the collar of his pyjamas and drag him into the living room. By the time I've secured him to a straight-backed chair with plastic zip ties he is fully awake.

"Hey, Frank, sorry about this," Daniel says as he hovers nervously nearby. "Just came for my dog then we'll be out of your hair."

"How did you get in here? There are soldiers on all the entrances."

"Yeah, we know. We kinda took the high road, so to speak." Daniel takes a look around. "Nice place you've got here. Never been here before."

Frank isn't in the mood for smalltalk. "The army people told me you're wanted for killing two men," he says coldy.

"I didn't kill anyone, I swear. The gun they had didn't even belong to me."

"And they found bomb making equipment in your apartment."

"Okay, well, technically it's a landmine, but I can see how you'd confuse the two."

"They told me Sam is dead. Did you kill him?"

"What? No! Definitely not. He had a heart attack. I was there. It was natural causes."

"You were there?"

"Oh yeah. Front row seat. Believe me, there was nothing we could do."

"He died in Oregon, apparently. Sam told me he was retiring to Florida, a house in Boca Raton. He showed me a picture. It was right by the beach."

"Yeah, well, he could hardly tell you the truth, could he, not with the Big Bads on his tail."

"Yes, they said he was a traitor who sold classified information to our enemies."

"Sam was a patriot who helped save the world," I state with conviction. " Humanity should be proud of him and not slander his name.

"They asked me about Krissie," Frank says his voice barely rising above a murmur.

"Oh shit. How would they even know about her?"

"They wanted to know what visitors you had, so I told 'em. Damned if I'll cover for a common terrorist."

Krissie is Daniel's ex-girlfriend, popular with the residents for the discounted Apple product she supplied. I've never met her, though Cameron prime had a brief encounter. Not a natural blonde apparently. Still, who are we to judge? We're not natural humans.

"Krissie had nothing to do with this," Daniel insists choosing to ignore the terrorist jibe.

"Aye, I don't doubt it. Krissie was a sweet girl. Everyone liked her."

"Yeah, everyone just loved Krissie. You know, she wasn't a saint. That Apple stuff she sold wholesale? She was on commision. And she knew how to sweet talk you olds into buying crap you didn't need."

"Least she didn't make bombs and murder people!"

"I told you, I-"

"Go and fetch your dog," I interupt. I don't have time to listen to these two to swap insults.

When Daniel has left the room Frank say, "They asked a lot of questions about you in particular."

"What did you tell them?"

"The truth. You're a model tenant. Never any trouble. No loud music. No gentlemen callers. Always ready to help out around the building. I mentioned that time you fixed an old washing machine in the basement laundry room so it worked good as new, better even. Darned if they didn't unhook the thing and cart it away. Now why would the army want an old washing machine?"

"I don't know."

Except I do. Once they knew I was involved they probably thought I used future tech that could be identified, removed and pressed into military service. All I did was replace the bearings and add extra lube. Good luck trying to weaponise an Zanussi twintub.

Daniel returns with Lulu cradled in his arms. The moment she sees me she starts barking and frantically struggles to get free.

"Whoa, Lulu! Easy, girl. It's okay. It's me. No one's gonna-Aww! She bit me!"

Lulu drops to the floor and runs for the sanctuary of the bedroom. If she's anything like Snowy she'll hide under the bed and believe this makes her invisible.

"Shit, I'm bleeding."

Frank struggles to stay silent only for his inate decency to kick in. "There's a medical kit in the bathroom. Make sure you wash the wound before you dress it."

Alone again with Frank I inform him, "Mr Blake is dumping trash in the stairwell."

Frank nods. "He's got dementia, poor bastard. Started calling me skipper and asking when his wife's coming back from the shops. She's been gone twenty years."

Twenty years? That is one long shopping trip.

"What will you do?"

"Manage him as best I can, I suppose. His medical insurance doesn't cover fulltime care. And I'm damned if I'll let him be evicted. Dammit, he was one of the first ashore at Anzio."

Anzio. A long ago battle in a long ago war.

"You're a good man, Frank."

"Hah. Don't know about that." He stares at me shrewdly, a vestige of his previous kindness in his eyes. "Listen, is that punk forcing you to do things against your will? Cut me loose and I'll deal with him. In my youth I was a Golden Gloves contender."

Frank wore gloves of gold? Impressive. Bet they didn't keep his hands warm though.

"No, he's not forcing me to do things." I smile. "In fact, it's the other way round."

Frank looks disappointed, like a father whose daughter has just told him she enjoys rampant sex with the college football team. Perhaps that's how he sees me: a surrogate daughter always ready to lend a hand round the building, polite, organized, never causing any trouble. The revelation that I am complicit in all the crimes must be quite a shock to the system. He'd probably prefer the rampant sex.

Daniel returns, his hand wrapped in white gauze. It's not a golden glove but it has stemmed the bleeding.

"You should find a doctor to give you a tetanus shot," Frank suggests. "A dog's mouth is teeming with all sorts of bacteria. You could end up seriously ill. I've seen it happen."

"I'll be fine. Lulu bit me all the time when she was a puppy."

"Wait here," I order. "I'll go get your dog. I'll ziplock her jaws so she can't bite anyone."

"No. You can't do that you'll terrify her even more. I... I think we should leave her with Frank. She'll be better off here."

"Are you sure? They will be no backsies. You can never visit Seattle again."

"I'm sure. She spends more time with him anyway. She's more his dog than mine these days."

"Very well. Go into the bedroom and get a necktie."

"What do I need a necktie for? I'm wearing a tee shirt."

"Not for you. To gag Frank."

"Oh. Right."

He returns with a selection of neckties. What is this - Prom night?

I choose a striped tie, one that is oddly familiar. "Why do I know this tie?" I ask.

"It's my regimental tie," Frank explains. "I wear it to reunion dinners."

Of course. Frank was a soldier. He served in Vietnam.

"I remember now. I saw soldiers wearing these during the seventies."

Frank snorts. "I sincerely doubt you were even alive during the seventies."

Oops...

"You're right. I misremembered. My bad."

"She gets ditzy sometimes." Daniel laughs nervously. "She'd forget her head if it wasn't screwed on."

Hardly. It's welded.

-0-

Daniel is even slower recrossing the gap between the buildings, a consequence of his injured hand. There is nothing I can do but wait. The plaited cables simply won't support both our weights.

When he finally makes it across he bends over cradling his hand close to his chest like it's a small wounded animal.

"Let me see."

"I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

"Let me see," I insist.

He reluctantly allows me to examine his hand.

Lulu's teeth have made four distinct puncture wounds. Fortunately there is no tearing, the tendons haven't been damaged and the flesh is no longer bleeding to any great extent.

"This injury isn't life threatening. Nor will it maim you. Blood loss is minimal so you are unlikely to bleed out."

"Gee, thanks for diagnosis, doc. Your bedside manner could use some work though."

The injury doesn't seem to have affected his tendency for sarcasm. Pity.

-0-

We take the freight elevator down to the basement then make our way outside.

The parking lot surrounds the building like a horseshoe, tenants vehicles parked neatly in numbered rows. Modern LED lighting bathes everything in a harsh white glow. Whatever happened to halogen? That gave off a warm orangey light like a morning sunrise. I miss halogen.

Pick a car, any car...

"This one will do," I announce indicating a silver BMW saloon.

"You're gonna do that creepy thing with your finger, aren't you."

"You don't have to watch."

I bite off the end of my little pinky exposing the thin coltan 'bone'. This is slender enough to insert in the BMW's lock. My CPU quickly overwhelms the primitive security alarm, simultaneously unlocking the doors and switching on the engine. I spit the tiny piece of pseudo-flesh out onto the ground, where it resembles a small piece of undigested gristle. There. Nothing creepy about that.

-0-

"This isn't the way to the Interstate."

We're heading north out of the city.

"We need to visit the industrial estate where you were working on the Lieberman mine. I presume you hid the original there?"

John and Cameron prime managed to obtain an actual Lieberman mine from the future. We've been attempting to understand how it was manufactured so we can invent it all over again. Invent it again? Time travel certainly throws up some curious anomalies.

"Yeah, it's there. Plus all that explosive you brought up from LA. It seemed kinda reckless to keep it in the apartment."

"It can't explode. Not without a detonator."

"I know. I just sleep better is all."

The industrial estate is on the outskirts of Seattle; several acres of plainly constructed cinder block buildings fenced off from the highway with razor-wire topped chainlink. Whether by accident or design Daniel chose a small unit on the outer fringe, facing well away from the others. We're unlikely to be observed.

I stop the BMW on the concrete apron, leaving the engine running. I get out and grasp the padlock, snapping the hasp with a simple flick of the wrist. The metal door rolls up with a clatter that no one is around to hear.

"I had a key," Daniel states plaintively.

"Just load the essentials. The tools can be replaced."

It doesn't take long. I carry the large lump of C4 explosive over myself since Daniel is so squeamish about it.

"I think that's it."

"What about the pornography?" I ask.

"Ah - the what, now?"

"There are magazines of a pornographic nature in the bottom drawer of the toolbox."

"Oh. Right. Yeah...they were - uh - here when I rented the place."

"You don't want to take them with you?"

"Let's just leave them be."

"Do you want to finish?"

"What's that supposed to mean? I told you, those magazines aren't mine."

"Do you want to finish loading the vehicle?"

"Oh. Right. I thought you meant...doesn't matter."

MONDAY

4:00 AM. South bound on the Interstate.

Daniel stares pensively out the side window at the passing scenary, such as it is. He has much to be pensive about. Largely due to his own foolishness, he has been cut adrift from his old identity, with the familiar habits and sureties it provided, and for good measure abandoned Lulu, his pet dog.

Time for some empathy.

"How is your hand?" I ask. Empathy, the ability to understand and share the feelings of others, comes easy to humans, for our kind it's strictly a work in progress.

"Still throbs. Got any painkillers?"

"What do you think?"

"Stupid question. I shouda swiped some from Frank's medicine cabinet while I had the chance. You wouldn't believe the drugs that guy has. Bottle after bottle. I never figured Frank for a pillhead."

"The drugs are most likely for age related physical ailments not recreational use."

"I guess. Hey, what were you two whispering about while I was in the bathroom?"

"Frank suspected you were leading me astray."

There is prolonged laughter.

"Oh that's a good one! Frank's a born chauvinist. It's a generational thing. He can't conceive of a pretty girl lying and behaving badly. It's why Krissie made such a killing selling crap the olds didn't need." He grins. "Man, I'd like to see Krissie's face when government super agents show up on her doorstep!"

"Can she tell them anything?"

"Nope. Not unless they're interested in how I like my eggs done. Or what favorite TV show is."

"You like your eggs over easy. You state your favorite TV show is The Walking Dead, however Tivo usage indicates it is actually America's Top Model."

"How do you know that?"

"I watch. I listen. I collate data."

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any weirder."

He flexes his fingers and winces.

"You think Frank's gonna be okay back there?"

"He's tied to a chair. How hard can it be."

"He's pretty old."

"All the more reason to be sitting down."

"When d'you think they'll find him?"

"Eight minutes past seven."

"Come on. How can you possibly know that?"

"At six o'clock Mr Henderson from five-nine does his weekly wash in the basement laundry room. He suffers from insomnia so an early start is nothing unusual. At six-thirty Frank will join him and the two will chat - mostly building gossip, scholastic achievements of grandchildren, politics, the rising cost of living, Medicare, how they both miss Sinatra and someone named Dino - until the rinse cycle ends and they go their separate ways for another week."

"How the hell do you know all that?"

"I watch. I listen. I-"

"-collate data. Right. You know what you are? You're the world's biggest nosey neighbor."

I hesitate. Is this a compliment, a criticism, or a character slur? I decide to let it pass without comment.

"So you think when Frank doesn't show up for their weekly pow-wow, Mr Henderson will go check and see if he's okay?"

"I believe their friendship is sufficiently advanced for him to be concerned."

"And then the balloon goes up."

"Balloon? Oh no, Mr Henderson is elderly. He's far too old for balloons."

This is funny somehow.

"So we have a four hour headstart."

"At least. More if they waste time searching the building again."

"Think you'll miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"The swinging sixties. Duh, the apartment building. Home. Will you miss it?"

"I am not sentimental about places."

"You and Frank were pretty tight."

"Or people."

"How much do you think they told him- about us, I mean?"

"That we lied about our identities and are wanted by the law. He inferred as much."

"He called me a terrorist."

"That bothers you?"

A shrug. "I dunno. Maybe. It'd be nice if once in a while we could tell people we're the good guys."

"I have heard John make a similar remark. In time, you will be both be regarded as heroes."

"Will they build statues? I'd like a statue."

"In the future they will build statues in your honor. People will gaze up at you with awe and respect."

This finally shuts him up and I can concentrate on driving.

Empathy.

Nailed it.

-0-

6.16 AM. Southbound approaching Oakland, west of San Francisco. Interstate traffic is flowing smoothly while to the east the rising sun turns the sparse clouds into long, ragged slashes of red as if the very sky is bleeding. I like it.

Beside me, Daniel is sleeping. The adrenaline that fueled this most hectic of days has finally subsided to be replaced by fatigue and the need for restorative slumber. Humans are little more than skinbags of perpetually fermenting chemicals. Eww! And he thinks my finger-trick is creepy.

The BMW glides along with the barest input from me. I keep it at a steady two MPH below the speed limit. Which makes it a surprise when a California Highway patrolman appears in the next lane. He cruises alongside for a few moments, gives a brief glance across, then guns his Harley to pull ahead.

Something about that glance...

I dedicate one eye to following him, tracking as he weaves in and out of the traffic. The image becomes grainy as he pulls further and further ahead. Still...

Something about that glance...

The grainy image of the highway patrolman reaches down and raises a small handset to his mouth. His lips move as he talks. An algorithm designed to read lips starts automatically, distance and the angle of his body making the words sparse and incomplete.

...m.. th.e des..c..ti.n of t.. .. sto..n v...c.e. ..o o..nts. M.. a.d a wo..n. Requ..ng i...di..e ba..p. W.y d... yo. f...s p.t a h..o in t.e ... so t..y ..n't g.t a..y...

Yet another subroutine kicks in to decipher this gobbledegook by using predictive software.

...matching the description of the stolen vehicle. Two occupants. Man and a woman. Requesting immediate backup. Why don't you fellas put a helo in the air so they don't get away...

I require no further aids to decode this. The meaning is clear.

We've been made.

-0-

Howzat!

One hundred. Not Out. Quite a decent knock. (These are cricketing expressions. I'll stop now)

Anyway, good to be back.

Next: Sweet Dee, boob inspections and the legend of Mr Snowy.