Chapter 11: The Rescue

Roger Stendhal grumbled in frustration as he showed up to work in the dark of the early morning. He was always the first on one site to relieve the night guards of duty and run the outer checkpoint. He had never really been a morning person, but he tolerated it, knowing that his position was coveted and he was lucky to have a government job. It was better than graveyard shift work at least.

As Roger took his post and the sun began to creep into view outside the building, his mind was mostly on Sarah from accounting. He wondered what time she would clock in today, and what he would say. They hadn't really spoken much since he had embarrassed himself at a work party the previous weekend. All this time, Roger had the impression that things were going well, and that their flirtatious banter might lead somewhere. Sarah was so kind and heartfelt, but given the recent feud she had been having with Sharon in payroll, things had gotten more complicated.

In truth, Roger didn't much remember the things he had said at the party, but he knew he had misstepped somehow. Sarah and Sharon were closer friends than he had gathered, and by taking Sarah's side in their dispute, he guessed that he had come across as mean spirited and spiteful. It was all very confusing. Now Sarah and Sharon were on good terms again, and having heard what he had said about her, Sharon seemed to be souring Sarah on the idea of a friendship with him. Roger sighed.

"Step forward," he said to one of the employees whose name he had forgotten. "Badge please."

The man presented his badge. David. That was his name.

"Go through," said Roger, shouldering his submachine gun and giving a nonchalant wave to the other guards.

A line was beginning to form. Roger didn't like it when that happened. He saw it as a reflection on his ability to do his job quickly and efficiently. What if the director saw, or worse, had to wait in the line? He hurried the next few people through quickly, knowing their names and faces well enough that a quick flash of their badges was enough. A suited man stepped up. By design, no one knew the real names of any of the secret police agents. The man presented a paper with a code on it. Roger cross referenced it with his list of acceptable codes. It matched.

"Have a nice day, sir."

The man said nothing and walked past him into the Central Intelligence building.

The line rapidly grew in size, and at the end of it, Roger spotted Sarah. He shifted nervously. Should he apologize? Maybe he should wait for an opportunity to have lunch with her and clear the air then. Roger waved the next woman through, and gave a start as a woman he didn't recognize stepped up to the checkpoint. She wasn't dressed in the same drab business attire as everyone else, and she looked nervous. Roger held up his palm.

"Halt. State your name."

"Cindy," said the woman quietly, looking embarrassed. "Cindy Marigold."

"What's your business here?"

"Sorry, I'm new. I'm supposed to be the new secretary for Mister… Blaine?"

Roger nodded and gave a glance at Sarah where she stood patiently in line. They didn't make eye contact.

"Mr. Blaine works on floor three in the asset acquisition department. Badge please."

The woman gave a look of horror.

"I thought…" she sputtered.

"Speak up," said Roger, eyeing the way the people in line were nervously checking their wristwatches.

"I didn't realize I needed it on my first day. They said they'd send me the badge in the mail, but I haven't gotten it yet. What should I do?"

Roger sighed. This day was going to be annoying.

"I guess you'll have to wait until they get you the badge," said Roger sternly. "Next!"

The young woman looked distraught. "But won't Mr. Blaine be upset with me? I don't want to not show up on my first day of work. Can you at least pass on the message that I tried to get through and couldn't?"

Roger shifted uncomfortably. He didn't need the attention from a middle manager, especially one as petty as he knew Blaine to be. Better to not tell him at all and just turn the woman away. After all, it wasn't his fault that the people in human resources were always so behind. This wasn't the first time that a new hire didn't have a badge yet. Although usually their boss showed up to wave them through. Roger chanced another look at Sarah, who this time met his gaze inquisitively. He didn't want her to think he was avoiding her by holding up the line.

"It's fine, I'll take her," said Arman, one of the other checkpoint guards. "I just take her up to floor three and clear it with Blaine."

Roger breathed a sigh of relief. He would have to buy Arman a drink later as a thanks. If Blaine wanted a scapegoat for whatever new infraction he had dreamed up, now he had one. Roger was happy to dodge the attention of middle management and hurry the line along. Now he just had to think of what he was going to say when Sarah stepped up. Maybe it was best to just leave it be and let the whole thing blow over.

Minnie thanked Roger and followed the other guard through the checkpoint. Good luck with the whole Sarah and Sharon situation, she thought, with a hint of genuine compassion. The first part of the plan was a success. One of the guards had glanced into her purse to make sure she didn't have any weapons, but all he found was a box of cinnamon rolls from a local bakery. Oblivious to the danger that the cinnamon rolls posed, they had waved her though.

Minnie's heart beat fast as she walked through the lobby and up the stairs after the guard. Wearing shades of yellow and purple, she stood out starkly against the gray colored suits and skirts of the office workers. She drew more than a few curious glances as she passed by groups of people. This has to work, she thought. It has to. Finally, Arman stood before the acquisitions department on the third floor, and gestured for her to enter.

"Just this way to Mr. Blaine. We'll get this all sorted out, Miss."

This was it. If this didn't work, the whole plan would fail, and she'd be apprehended. Her freedom and Mickey's balanced on a razor's edge.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Minnie. "I actually have to use the restroom. Can you direct me to the ladies room?"

"Can it wait?" asked the guard. "I should really be getting back, and clearing you will only take a second."

"I'm afraid it can't," said Minnie. "It's urgent."

"Ok," said the guard with a sigh. "It's down this way. I'll wait outside for you."

"Thank you," said Minnie. "I'll try not to be long."

Minnie entered the ladies room and let the various slices flood her brain with information. The guard outside was impatient. She could tell from the octopus-like structure waving frantically on the lava slice. Currently there were only two other women in the restroom, and neither of them were acceptable targets. She would have to wait. No matter, waiting was part of the plan anyway. Minnie checked her wristwatch. It was 6:30 in the morning. She still had four hours until the next part of her plan would work anyway. Plenty of time to look for a target.

It took twenty five minutes before the guard outside the restroom decided to leave. Minnie breathed a sigh of relief. Arman had weighed his options, and decided that leaving his post for a suspicious amount of time was an exceptionally bad move, and lurking outside the women's room was not a great look, even for a security guard. Surely this woman could find her way to Mr. Blaine when she was finished, given that his name was on the door and she was already on the right floor. If there was any trouble, Mr. Blaine would come to him and he would explain the whole thing.

Minnie spent the next three hours observing the chaos of the workplace on the fourth dimension from the safety of a bathroom stall. There were petty feuds, bitter rivalries, and forbidden romances, but none of it was what she needed. There was a very specific profile she was looking for, that required both an abundance of compassion and a stressful lot in life. And most importantly a change of clothes. Minnie was close to giving up hope that her plan would work when it finally happened. She found her target.

Her name was Riley, and her situation was such that Minnie once again felt guilty for taking advantage of it. Life had not been kind to Riley, and chief among her worries was the health of her beloved great uncle, who had practically raised her. He was hospitalized and his prospects were looking grim. Riley was single and had few friends at the Intelligence Bureau to support her. She was pretty and well spoken, but not very charismatic, and therefore drew the ire of more than a few coworkers. In the past few months, she had spent almost all her free time visiting her great uncle, and her ability to smile pleasantly and ignore the backhanded comments of her colleagues had suffered. She was not oblivious to the plot that several of them had cooked up to get her fired, and it seemed likely to succeed any day now.

It was in this distraught state that Riley entered the third floor restroom and had her daily mental breakdown. Not wanting to give anyone any ammunition to be used against her, Riley had long since learned to cry silently. The woman in the stall to her left apparently had not. Her gentle sobs could be heard clearly despite her efforts to hide them. Riley's heart turned over. She had been so wrapped up in her own problems that it hadn't occurred to her that other people might be struggling just as much as she was. For just a moment, she took her mind off of her great uncle and her career, and she listened to try to tell if she knew the woman crying next to her. She concluded that she didn't and spoke up tentatively.

"Are you… okay?"

The sobs stopped.

"Yeah," said Minnie weakly. "I'm fine. I'm just… going through a lot right now."

Riley considered her options. She could take this as an out and ignore the woman's troubles, but something in her really just wanted to be useful to someone for once.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," said Minnie, strategically pausing, before admitting "yes."

"It's my first day," continued Minnie. "And I was so excited to start work here. I've never been a secretary for the government before, but now it seems like I've messed it up. My boss told me to go home."

"You got fired on your first day?" asked Riley in disbelief.

"Well, not fired exactly," said Minnie. "But he told me my clothes were inappropriate for the workplace and I needed to go home and change. But I don't have any other clothes. I didn't have the money for anything more professional than this."

Riley wiped the residual tears from her face and exited the stall. Minnie exited as well, and Riley looked her over. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her clothes were more akin to what you would wear for a day out on the town than for work at a government bureau. Riley frowned.

"So what are you going to do?"

"Quit, I guess," said Minnie. "It was stupid of me to think a silly girl like me could get such a good job in the first place. I don't belong here."

"Don't say that," said Riley. "You haven't met the people who work here yet. I'm sure you're a great fit. Much better than some of them, that's for sure."

Minnie gave a bitter chuckle. "Thanks, but I think I'm just gonna go home."

"Wait," said Riley. "I've got a spare set of work clothes in my bag. You can take them if they fit. I always bring spare clothes in case I spill something on myself."

"You'd do that?" asked Minnie. "That's so nice of you!"

"It's nothing," said Riley, smiling.

Minnie was half in the act and half out of it when she started to tear up again. She was overwhelmed with a mix of confusing and conflicting emotions. Relief that the plan was going well, guilt that she was manipulating so many people, and genuine concern for all of the people she had analyzed. Her tears were as much for Riley as they were for her own dire situation. To her surprise, Riley stepped forward and hugged her. She had to work not to get caught up in the whirlpool of thoughts and emotions that streamed through the fourth dimension on a hundred different slices. These people work for the regime, she reminded herself. I've got to stay calm and follow the plan. I can't help them right now. Minnie worked to mentally isolate herself from the suffering she observed throughout the building, and steeled her mind.

When Riley felt Minnie had been hugged for long enough, she led her to her office and gave her the clothes, which fit perfectly. Minnie thanked her, and returned to the restroom to change into them. She now looked perfectly like an office worker. Now that she could blend in with the others, she headed to the cafeteria for the next part of her plan. It was eleven o'clock. Minnie had just enough time now, even if the change of clothes had taken longer than she'd hoped.

A half an hour later, Minnie stood in front of the entrance to the bunker at the bottom of the stairwell. Two fierce looking guards frowned down at her. She tried not to let her hands shake as she carried the tray of food. She tried to seem bored instead of scared out of her wits. One of the guards spoke up.

"Where's Carla?" he asked, checking his watch.

"I'm covering for her," said Minnie. "She had a family thing come up."

"Oh," said the guard. "You know which way to go?"

"Yeah," said Minnie. "She gave me the info. Straight back and two levels down to the left."

"Ok," the guard said, eyeing the large tray of cafeteria food. It also carried a half a dozen cinnamon rolls neatly arranged on the side. They looked much better than anything the cafeteria offered.

The two guards pulled out keys and walked to opposite ends of the large vault door. They turned their keys and a loud metal click sounded. The mechanism inside the vault door shifted for a few seconds, and then the two men turned the wheel that slid the massive door open. Minnie stepped into the dim electric light of the bunker. She squinted at her watch. Carla would be arriving to bring food to the prisoners in a half an hour. The plan needed to work before then.

Minnie turned past the rows of interrogation rooms and noted that two secret police agents were in the bunker, questioning various suspected Whitegloves. She checked Donald's position again. He was still far from the Central Intelligence building and showed no signs of coming closer yet. Good. Minnie couldn't risk him recognizing her.

When she entered the prison section of the bunker, Minnie had to stop herself from idly observing everything from the fourth dimension. She knew that this was where the recipients of her letters were being held, but observing their emotions or their physical states would only serve to torture her. She was here for Mickey. There wasn't even a guarantee that she could get him out. Minnie hated herself for leaving them to rot after ruining their lives, but she put the thought aside. There was no room for error, and there would be time for guilt and self loathing later.

At last, Minnie arrived at Mickey's cell. The four armed guards stood outside it, but only one of them mattered. Richard Milan. He was the cornerstone of the entire plan. Minnie greeted them in a saccharine voice as she approached.

"No Carla today?"

"No," said Minnie, "but you'll be happy to know she thought of you!"

One of the guards eyed the cinnamon rolls questioningly. From his cell, Mickey had heard his wife's voice and sat up with a start, but quickly tried to look disinterested. Internally he cursed up a storm at the thought that his reaction might already have blown her cover.

"She baked these for me as a thanks for covering for her today, but she made sure to make extras for all of you!"

"Oh man, cinnamon rolls are my favorite," exclaimed one of the guards. They began to take them. Richard Milan stood ambivalently at his post as the other three tried to hold the rolls without getting frosting on their hands. Minnie's blood turned to ice. If he didn't take one, all of this was for nothing.

"Rich, you gettin in on this?"

"Nah," said Richard, "I had a big breakfast, I'm fine."

Minnie's heart raced and she struggled not to hyperventilate. The others might notice a strange taste and if they did, everything would fall apart. Minnie had about ten seconds to make Richard Milan eat a cinnamon roll, or else Mickey would be trapped forever in a regime cell. Her brain struggled to come up with something. Do something, her mind screamed. Do anything, just do it now!

"Can I tell you a secret, Richard?" said Minnie, attempting to sound coy through a dozen layers of panic. He looked at her quizzically.

"Carla actually has a thing for you."

The other three guards paused their initial nibbles at the cinnamon rolls and burst into giggles and elbow nudges.

"Really? Carla? But she never-"

"She's kinda shy, you know," explained Minnie. "But she was really curious to know what you thought of her cooking. She specifically asked me to check if you liked it."

"Well now you gotta try one," insisted one of the other guards, taking a large bite of his own. He tasted something strange and gave an odd expression. Minnie cringed. Before he could say anything, she picked up a cinnamon roll and placed it in Richard's hands.

"Alright, I'll taste it."

Minnie was about to breathe a sigh of relief when one of the other guards spoke up suddenly.

"It kinda tastes like-"

Minnie immediately cut him off.

"Have you heard what Millicent said about John? It was dreadful. I can't believe she would say something like that."

The men gave confused expressions.

"Oh, so you haven't heard?"

They shook their heads. Minnie rapidly thought up some kind of gossip to keep their attention away from the cinnamon rolls, which a few of the guards had stopped eating already. Even as she spoke, she was watching intently on a few slices to see if the effects were beginning. Mickey was trying hard not to seem like he was paying attention, but his eyes were locked on Minnie. She could tell he desperately wanted to check the fourth dimension and had to settle for the third.

"Does this have shrimp in it?" asked Richard softly.

Minnie ignored him and continued her story. He asked the question again louder.

"I don't think so," said Minnie. "Why would a cinnamon roll have shrimp in it?"

One of the other guards spoke up. "You know, mine did taste a little bit like-"

He was interrupted by a sound like a chair being dragged across a metal floor. It was Richard, trying to breathe in and failing. He tried again, producing a louder sound, but just as unnatural.

"What's wrong?" said one of the guards as Richard clutched at his throat.

Another guard made a sudden realization with a growing look of horror. "Wait, aren't you allergic to-"

"He's choking!" screamed Minnie. Her panic was real and helped sell the act, but she had entirely different reasons for panicking. This part was critical.

"Oh no, look at his face," said another guard, pointing at the bloating that was now contorting Richard's cheeks. "He's having some kind of reaction to the pastries!"

The next few moments were a chaotic mess of shouts and general confusion as the guards crowded around Richard, shouting at him to breathe. None of them seemed to know what to do. Minnie waited just a little longer for that to become apparent before shouting a command.

"Go get help, now! Bring a doctor!"

Two of the guards snapped out of their frozen terror and took off running down the hall.

"I'll stay here with him!" called the third guard. Minnie winced. Everything would be for nothing if he stayed.

"No, go with them."

The guard looked up at her in confusion, crouching down beside Richard, whose breathing was now limited to barely audible wheezes.

"I'll stay with him, you go."

The guard said nothing, but cocked his head questioningly.

This wasn't working. Minnie had to think of something quick.

"Listen," she said, her voice taking on an air of authority. "I've been trained as a nurse. Do you have any medical training? Any at all?"

"No…" admitted the guard.

"Then you'll just be in my way. Go fetch a doctor if you want to be useful."

"But the others are already-"

Minnie pushed him aside and faked checking Richard's pulse. "Do you want him to die?" She snapped.

"No, I-"

"Go!"

The guard nodded, and took off, convinced more by her tone of voice than her logic.

Before the guard was even down the hall, Minnie quickly began extracting the key ring from Richard's belt. Mickey stood up and pulled against the chain that connected him to the wall, getting as close to the bars as he could.

"Minnie!" he called, as she unlocked the door and slid the bars aside.

"There's no time!" she answered, "as soon as I unchain you, take off your clothes!"

"What?"

Minnie didn't have time to explain, but uncuffed Mickey's hands and handed him the key to unlock his ankle cuff. She knelt beside Richard, who at this point had lost consciousness, and removed his shirt and pants. Mickey understood, and rushed over to help her.

"Is he gonna be okay?" asked Mickey, looking at the man whose face was now barely recognizable.

"I'll do what I can while you get dressed," said Minnie. "Help me move him into the cell!"

Minnie had never seen what an allergic reaction looked like in the fourth dimension, but noted that it was hard to miss. It was like someone had set off a thousand fireworks inside a living room. Colorful ripples of utter chaos bounced from slice to slice, themselves causing further chain reactions. Minnie tried to stay calm as she looked for slices associated with the man's windpipe. She needed to reduce the swelling enough to keep him alive, but she couldn't reduce it too much. If he could make a significant amount of noise, the plan wouldn't work. After a few tries, she settled on an amount that probably wouldn't kill him, and breathed the tiniest sigh of relief.

"What now?" asked Mickey, as they dressed the guard in Mickey's jumpsuit and chained him in Mickey's cuffs.

"The hard part. Lay down where he was. Hold your breath."

Minnie compared Mickey and the guard on the relevant slices. "I need your help with this. I need you to make your face swell up."

Mickey responded with a look of sheer confusion. Minnie began to hum today's song at a rapid pace. Once he joined her, she pointed him to the right slices.

"I can't affect your body anywhere near as much as you can. I was barely able to stabilize the guard, and he was unconscious. You need to do it, or it won't work."

Minnie demonstrated on herself, briefly causing her face to swell by performing a complicated set of changes on the right slices. Mickey followed along, struggling to keep up. Minnie could already hear footsteps clattering down the hall. Mickey's face was only half swollen, but it would have to do. She had gotten lucky enough that Mickey and Richard had similar looking faces and builds. A group of nine people, including two men with a stretcher came running towards them. Minnie spotted two of the guards who had run for help and immediately grabbed their attention.

"What did he have for breakfast this morning, did he tell you?"

They sputtered out an answer as Mickey was hoisted onto the stretcher. She had to keep them distracted, as they were the most likely to notice the switch. Their eyes started to wander to Mickey out of concern for their friend. Minnie raised her voice and barraged them with more questions.

"This is important! The doctors will need to know! Did you see him eat anything other than the cinnamon rolls?"

Minnie felt like her heart was going to explode from how fast it was beating, but after ten harrowing seconds, Mickey's body was carted out of their line of sight.

"I don't think he ate anything. It must have been the pastries." said one of the guards.

"Ok, I'll tell them," said Minnie. "You go report this to management. I'm going with the doctors to see if I can help."

Without waiting for an answer, Minnie took off after the growing crowd of panicking people following the stretcher.

"Wait," said one of the guards, trailing after her. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"He's gonna be fine," she called back. "Don't panic."

Minnie tried to follow her own advice. At each checkpoint, the guards struggled to keep control of the situation, arguing with secret police agents, concerned guards from down the hall, and interested onlookers. Minnie and the doctors were waved past without a second's hesitation. No one wanted to hold them up once they got a look at Mickey's swollen face.

Mickey was carried out of the building and rushed into a waiting automobile. Only the driver and the two doctors were allowed in with him, but Minnie didn't mind. He was out of the building. That's what counted. The plan had worked. There was only a little bit left to do now, and the riskiest part was over. Minnie didn't know which hospital he was being driven to, but it didn't matter. She could track him the whole way, and now that he had today's melody, she was sure he could escape a hospital with no security. The harder problem was what would happen after that.

Mickey's automobile had been taken by the regime, and paying someone to take them out of the city wasn't really an option. Minnie was entirely out of money, having spent the last of the bed and breakfast woman's kindness on the cinnamon rolls and shrimp. Mickey probably only had whatever pocket change was in Richard's pants. Still, somehow they needed to get far away. They needed to go on the run. The distant wail of a train whistle caught Minnie's ear.

George sat on a park bench, listening to the sounds of birds and children laughing. His urge to write poetry had returned, but every time he thought of a verse, it sounded harsh, like a curse upon the world. Like a curse upon himself. He preferred not to speak that darkness into existence, and kept it bottled inside, churning and threatening to bubble up to the surface. He heard Donald approach, but didn't know it was him until he sat down on the bench and spoke.

"Mickey escaped," he said, his voice stretched thin with exhaustion.

George said nothing, but frowned. It changed nothing. Sophie still hated him, and the regime would probably catch him and his wife soon enough.

"So I need your help again," said Donald, after realizing he wasn't going to get a response.

George let out a bitter laugh. "There aren't any other blind people for you to manipulate? I'm sure we could find you a beggar on the street somewhere. They'd probably do a better job than me now that I've got no music."

"First off," said Donald in an annoyed tone, "I didn't manipulate you any more than you did. This whole thing was your idea, remember?"

George answered with silence that amounted to bitter agreement.

"Secondly, you're not useless just because you don't have the music. I need you to act as a double agent."

George gave another mirthless laugh. "Are you delusional? What do you expect me to do?"

"Mickey and his wife are on the run. They're going to need allies. You're going to pretend to be their ally."

"I can't find them without the music," George reminded him. "And there's no way they'd trust me. I turned them in, remember?"

"They trusted your wife," said Donald.

"Fiancee," corrected George. "Maybe not even that anymore…"

George furrowed his brow at a terrifying revelation. "I never told you they talked to Sophie."

"No," said Donald. "Sophie did."

"You interrogated her!?"

"I'm a secret police agent, I interrogate everyone."

"I told you to stay away from her," said George. "To leave her out of this."

"And I will," said Donald, "if you help me."

George sighed. "I guess it doesn't matter now. And I've got no choice anyway."

"That's right," said Donald, "none of us do."

Donald stared into the distance at the birds that flitted from tree to tree. For the first time in a long while he felt a creeping doubt in the truth of his words.