Black armored hover-craft descended slowly down from the sky and settled to the street in clouds of dust and litter. Gull-wing hatches hissed open and Inquisitors jumped out, in helmets and thick vests.
A few people slipped away, back into shops or down the street. A couple slipped into the alley behind me, but most stayed where they were, either resigned to whatever fate awaited them or just wanting to watch the show.
“This is the first round-up I’ve seen,” a young man next to me said, a traditional office type wearing the usual tight-fitting black slacks, light-colored shirt and narrow tie. He had long pointed red shoes that curled up at the end.
“I see it all the time in Chicago,” I said. “They cordon off a few city blocks and screen everyone inside the net. If you try to run they assume you’re guilty and come after you. Better to just stay put.”
Tolerance Police spread out along the street and entered buildings. Others started screening people on the sidewalk. A pair of large cops crossed the street towards me and my new friend.
“What do we do?” the young man next to me asked, the nerves audible in his voice.
This was probably the fourth time I’d been caught in a sweep. “Just stay calm and answer their questions,” I said. “No matter what happens, don’t panic.”
“Identifications please, Citizens,” the big one barked when he reached us. Grammatically the words were polite, but his tone was anything but. We extended our arms in unison, pointing our index fingers towards the officer.
The other officer watched us carefully, his hand resting lightly on the weapon clipped to his belt, while the first one checked his data pad. Everything about us, all our personal information, legal history, employment records, everywhere we’d travelled, everything we’d bought including what we had for breakfast, would be on his datapad. If he wanted to, he could get into all our social networking sites.
“Alistair Cunningham?”
“Yes sir,” the young man next to me said.
“Do you disavow any and all belief in supernatural deities?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe in any of the following: the god of the Muslims?”
“No.”
“The Christian God, Jesus Christ?”
“No.”
“Any of the Hindu gods?”
“No.”
Then it was my turn.
“Jack Callaghan?”
“That’s my name.”
“Do you disavow any and all belief in supernatural deities?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe in any of the following: the god of the Muslims?”
“No.”
“The Christian God, Jesus Christ?”
I hesitated. Such direct questions were usually enough to flush out believers, especially those of the major religions. No true Christian would deny Christ when asked such a direct question. It made catching believers fairly easy.
Why I hesitated I wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps I was beginning to doubt my doubts about God.
The Tolerance cop was visibly annoyed. “I’ll ask again. Do you believe in God, as he or she is traditionally understood, or in Jesus Christ?”
“No,” I said after a pause.
“You hesitated, Citizen.”
“I suppose I did.”
“Why?”
“Sorry. I guess I was distracted by all the excitement.”
He returned his data pad to his belt. “Next time, don’t hesitate. Be on your way, Citizens.” He dismissed us and moved on down the sidewalk.
Alistair looked my way. “Well, I’d better get back to work. See ya.” He turned and walked away down the sidewalk.
The phone vibrated in my pants pocket and I pulled it out.
“Hey, Jack, my house just got through to me with your message. What’s up?” It was Jorge.
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
“Sorry. I’ve been out of town making arrangements for Paige. I had my phone turned off.” His carefree, cheerful tone sounded out of place for the circumstances.
“Do you know what’s happening?” I asked.
“Great news,” he went on. “I’ve got everything set for Paige. My contacts will be able to get her across the border. We can get her there tonight.”
“That’s what I was calling you about. Paige is gone. She’s been taken by the Tolerance Police.” I told him about the raid on my cottage during the night and the sweep going on in town. Then I got to the part about Clive.
“They got Clive too,” I said. “I was by his place looking for you. He’s been arrested. The sweep is still going on. You better stay where you are until the coast is clear.”
He remained silent for a moment. “I wonder why they didn’t arrest you last night,” he finally said.
“I don’t know. Selene said it was part of the deal for turning Paige in.”
“Yeah, except the Tolerance Bureau doesn’t make deals, and Paige isn’t that important to be used as a bargaining chip.”
“So what are you getting at?”
“You’re the one they really want, my friend.”
“I don’t think so, Jorge. If that was the case, why don’t they just arrest me? They had me last night.”
“That’s not what they want you for,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Where are you right now?” Jorge asked.
“Standing across the street from Rosie’s.”
“Wait for me there.”
“Jorge, haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said? The town is crawling with soldiers and Tolerance goons. There’s a sweep. You might get picked up.”
“They’ll be done in a couple of hours. Just sit tight at Rosie’s for me, will you?”
“I’ll be there,” I said. We disconnected and I crossed the street. The Tolerance truck parked in front of Rosie’s had a few people in the back. I could hear them through the rear hatch, singing “Amazing Grace.”
I took a booth at the back of the restaurant, facing the front door. The place was mostly empty, the mood subdued. Evidently Tolerance sweeps were not good for business.
Lucy arrived at my booth. “What’ll you have, hon?” she drawled around a stick of chewing gum.
“Just a coffee. Dark roast, if you have it.”
“All our coffee is black, hon, unless you add milk.”
“No, I meant dark roast. Never mind. Whatever you have will be fine.”
She rolled her eyes. “Want something to eat?”
Even though I had not eaten all day, I wasn’t hungry. Getting electro-shocked does little for the appetite.
“No thanks.”
“Last of the big spenders,” she quipped and turned away.
17
The Tolerance Interceptor loomed in the street out front. From my seat inside the restaurant I could watch the sweep going on outside through the large front windows. Inquisitors patrolled up and down the street, stopping to question citizens, and occasionally going inside a shop.
About an hour later the Interceptor lifted off, rising straight up into the air. I went outside and looked up at the sky. It was above the buildings and gliding away to the south, out of town. The Inquisitors were gone and the street was returning to normal.
I went back to my booth and passed the time reading a novel on my smart phone. I ordered more coffee. An hour later Jorge walked into the restaurant and sat down across from me.
“I stopped by your place,” he said.
This took me by surprise “What for?”
“Look, Jack, don’t take this the wrong way, but I had to be sure.”
“Sure of what?”
“Your story. Selene is still there. She was in tears, and she told me everything.”
“Damn it, Jorge. I’d already told you everything.”
“I know, but I needed to be sure.”
I got up to go. “Jorge, that’s as good as calling me a liar. I don’t need this.”
“Jack, try to understand. What I’m about to tell you is extremely sensitive, and I had to be certain.”
I stood next to the booth, putting my jacket on. “Don’t worry about it. If you don’t feel you can trust me, I’m not going to stay here and try to convince you. I’ll see you later.” Then I turned and headed towards the door. I had almost reached it when he caught up to me and grabbed my elbow. I stopped and turned around.
“I know where your father is,” he said.
I didn’t move. “I beg your pardon? What did you just say?”
“Let’s sit down. I really don’t think you want to do this at the front of the restaurant.”
We went back to the booth and sat down. I didn’t take my eyes off of him. “You know where my father is?”
Jorge leaned in and lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “What I’m about to tell you needs to stay between us. You can’t tell anyone, understand? Not even your wife.”
I nodded. After last night, I didn’t feel like telling my wife anything, except maybe through a lawyer.
“Your dad is off the grid, hiding in New York.”
I leaned back and took a deep breath. I’d finally found someone who knew where my father was. “New York is a big place. Can you tell me where?” I asked.
“I don’t exactly know. But I know who does.”
“And why are you telling me this now?”
“What happened last night convinced me you could be trusted. I know how badly you want to find him, so I’ve decided to take the risk.”
“He’s my father. Of course you can trust me.”
“No offense, but often family are the first to report offenders.”
“All this time…you’ve known all along I was looking for my dad… and you didn’t say a thing.”
Jorge raised his hands, palms out. “Try to see it from my point of view. We only just met a week ago. I had to think of your father’s safety.”
“Why do you think I’m suddenly trustworthy?”
“Because of what you did for Paige last night, or at least tried to do.”
“You and my grandfather have stayed in touch with him all these years?”
He nodded. “We helped him disappear. We used our contacts with the underground.”
“But you don’t know exactly where he is?”
“No, only that he is in New York somewhere. I don’t want to know more than that. We stay in touch through a mutual contact.”
“That’s how my grandfather exchanged letters with Dad?”
Jorge nodded. “And we’d bring him things he needed. Cash, because he can’t use his chip for electronic payments. He can’t work legally any more. Electronic parts, laptops, recording equipment, books, building materials. Anything he needed, really, from the world.”
“Who’s the contact?”
“A Korean named Zuebo. Runs a small grocery market in New York specializing in organic fruits and vegetables. That’s his front, anyway. He mostly specializes in supplying people in hiding, who are off the grid, with what they need. Like your dad.”
“Can you give me his address?”
“What would you do with it?”
I looked at him in surprise. “What the heck do you think I’d do with it? Go down and see him, that’s what.”
Jorge shook his head. “You can’t go.”
“Why on earth not?”
“Have you asked yourself why they didn’t arrest you? You body slammed a Tolerance officer. That’s not something they normally take kindly to.”
“Selene made a deal with them in exchange for informing on Paige.”
Jorge frowned. “I know, but I’m not convinced that’s the real reason. Paige isn’t important enough for them to cut a deal like this over her and turn a blind eye to what you did.”
“Okay, you tell me.”
“It’s you they were interested in, Jack. Not Paige. Your father was a well-known astronomer, one of the top scientists in the country. When he converted, the Tolerance Police went crazy. It’s the thing that drives them nuts the most – when a scientist converts.”
I remembered seeing him on a television once when I was a kid. Some kind of science documentary. I thought it was pretty cool that my dad was on TV. What I didn’t realize at the time was just how famous he was.
“You’re the son of one of the most wanted turncoats in the history of the Tolerance Commission,” Jorge said. “I think they’re using you to find your father. They want you out there free. You’re the bait at the end of the hook.”
It made infinite sense, and it explained why my father had not tried to contact me. And Selene wouldn’t have had to know any of that.
“You can’t possibly expect me to sit here and do nothing. I’m not giving up on my father. I’m going down there to talk to this Zuebo.”
“That’s exactly what the Tolerance Bureau are waiting for you to do.”
“I’ll be careful not to be followed.”
“They don’t have to follow you. Every time you buy something to eat, stop and put hydrogen in your car, make a phone call, anything, that chip in your finger tells them exactly where you are and what you are doing. If you do this, you will lead them straight to your dad. Is that what you want?”
He was right. I couldn’t use my chip.
“I could go off the grid.”
“If you remove the chip from your finger and go off grid, you’ll never be able to work legally again. Never be able to go back home, return to your wife or your former life. Never access a bank account, buy or sell anything. You’ll have to go to Canada, or spend the rest of your life underground.”
“Jorge, if that’s what it takes, then I will. I need to see my father, and ask him what happened. Why he never contacted me. Why he converted. Do you have any idea what it is like growing up without your dad? It’s a pain I would never wish on anyone.”
I could see in his eyes that he didn’t really know, but he was trying to be sympathetic.
“It leaves a gap, an aching hole in a boy’s life,” I said.
“Jack, if you go off grid, it will only alert them that something is up and give them reason to watch you closer, maybe even physically follow you. Right now they don’t have any reason to. It’s best if we let them keep thinking that way. You’re just the bait they’ve left out for your father, and they are waiting to spring the trap. Don’t help them.”
“Why did you tell me this if you didn’t want me going down there?”
“So you’d know he was okay and take some comfort in knowing where he was.”
Lucy came over and refilled our cups with the black oily goo that passed for coffee. “You boys going to order some food or something, or just sit here taking up a booth all night?”
Jorge made a point of looking around at the empty restaurant. Only one other booth was occupied. “I hate to break this to you, Luce, but people aren’t exactly lining up at the door to get in. So what’s the problem?”