Trial Run (28 page)

T
wo hours later, Trent sat in the rental car's passenger seat. He studied the woman next to him and wondered if he could ever be this calm. Elene Belote did not appear the least infected by nerves. In fact, she seemed totally disconnected from what was about to happen. She sat and stared out at the night and talked in an utterly disconnected manner. She might as well be reading off a shopping list.

“Rod and I went through basic training together. It wasn't anything like as bad as military boot camp. But the effect was largely the same. You disconnect from externals and form a tightly knit group. Some of the ties last through an entire career. Ours did. Rod went off to our listening post in Ankara, then Singapore. I stayed at Langley. Rod came back last year. He hated working at headquarters. He called it the world's biggest fishbowl. Which is why he volunteered for this program. I signed on because I'd never before been offered a chance at ops.”

They sat on the top level of a parking garage. They were high enough to look out over the roofs of the neighboring office/shopping
complex and see the airport beyond. The field separating the periphery road and the runways was inky black. Lights rimmed the landing strips like brilliant jewels. The airport terminal was a distant glowing crown. To Trent's left rose a solitary building ringed by a black metal fence. The lawn surrounding the building was utterly bare, as was the structure itself. It looked like a standard white office block, four stories tall, utterly unremarkable. Elene had said the windows were fake fronts for a solid steel wall.

“So you both volunteered for this program. Whatever it is.” Trent found Elene's accent both subtle and soothing, a trace of somewhere far gentler than this dark night. “Is it okay if I roll down my window?”

“Why not. We're just a couple of old friends enjoying a nighttime chat.” She turned the key, her features softened by the dashboard lights. When his window was down, the car went dark once more. “It was never anything so straightforward as somebody posting a notice requesting volunteers. That's not how Langley works. If there's a direct request, there would be a chain of responsibility. A good analyst sifts through totally disconnected material, searching for the one thread that pulls everything together. That's what happened here. No official notification was ever made that this project even exists. So if things go south, which they have, there's nobody to blame.”

“Deniability.”

“It's the name of the game.” She pulled her hands deeper into the sleeves of her sweater. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why is it that time doesn't seem all that important when I transit?”

“Ascend,” Trent corrected.

“Whatever.” She bundled the sweater up closer to her neck. “I wish I still smoked. There's nothing to make waiting go better than a cigarette.”

“First of all, the whole concept of time's passage is linked to our three-dimensional senses. We are mentally and biologically wired to perceive time in a certain way. We assume that simply because time
seems to pass, moving from past to present to future, that is how time must actually be. But that is totally wrong. For centuries, mathematicians tried to formulate a structure that showed how time worked, and failed. Because they looked at time the wrong way.”

She had turned in her seat so that she could face him. “Do you teach?”

“Some. Why?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

“Everybody who has studied the quantum formula for time comes up with their own individual way of describing it in non-mathematical terms. For me, the easiest way to view time is like the ocean on a very calm day. If you could stand on the shore of a different dimension and see time like we view, say, the planar surface of a two-dimensional field, you would see that time does not flow. Time
is
. Standing on your fifth-dimensional cliff top, you would see time as one glorious sea. At this particular point, 2:15 in the morning, we are here. Located just like we are spatially located in this parking lot beside the airport. You would observe our existence at this point on the sea of time.”

Elene was watching him closely now. “I don't know if I fully get it. But I love the way that sounds.”

“The problem is, so much of our experiences, our way of judging the value of things, how we look at our achievements, all are dependent upon this flawed view of time. Even the power of secrets and confidentiality are built upon the concept of linear movement in time. We have
invested
in . . . ” He noticed she was no longer observing him. Her features had tightened. In the silver luminescence of the runway lights, Trent no longer saw a quietly reserved analyst. He saw danger. “What's the matter?”

“What you said struck a nerve.” She turned and stared out at the airport. “I invested in a pattern of choices because I thought it would take me somewhere. One step after the other. Just like you described.”

Trent listened to the distant rumble of a plane revving for takeoff. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

“No. I need to be hearing this. Go on. Please.”

“I've given this a lot of thought since meeting myself in those dreams. I've had to. Either this older persona has found a way to effectively prove a new construct of time, or I'm talking to aliens, or I've gone completely off-the-edge whacko.”

“You're not whacko,” Elene said. “About the aliens, though, I'm not so certain.”

He was glad to see she had relaxed once more. “Hearing about this transit system—”

“Ascents,” she corrected, smiling now. “You did that on purpose.”

“This offers the first real proof of how human consciousness can be disconnected from a purely linear—”

Trent stopped at the sound of her phone chiming. She checked the readout, said, “It's Charlie.”

She opened the phone, said hello, listened, said yes, then cut the connection and told him, “We're good to go.”

He swallowed hard. “Okay.”

She dialed another number, waited, then said, “Eli, hi, it's me. Yes, Elene. We've arrived. Could you please . . . Tunnel two. Like always. Yes, he's with me. Brett Riffkind. Sure. Thank you.”

She stowed away her phone, opened her door, then glanced over and asked, “Are you clear on what you need to do?”

“Yes.” Trent studied the woman seated next to him. Elene's face had resumed its hard edges. Every vestige of gentleness was erased. Even though her voice kept its slight Southern drawl, the effect now was one of a polite warrior queen. Bloodless. Capable of anything. But now, headed into the unknown, Trent found the effect very comforting. He said, “I'm glad you're on our side.”

T
he building had four underground entrances, according to Elene. There were also two more at ground level—the front entrance, which was permanently locked, and a loading bay. All service personnel entered via the loading bay. It was completely disconnected from the building's main areas. Only the janitorial staff could pass through the double steel doors separating the service areas from the rest of the building, and they were chaperoned by security guards at all times. The kitchen staff connected with the building's interior through a slit in the cafeteria wall. All the service personnel were tightly vetted and their home lives monitored. There was no admin staff and just five on-site security. Everything possible was either handled off-site or electronically controlled.

Elene described all this as they walked the bare-walled tunnel beneath the glaring fluorescent lights. She called it standard ops for a high-clearance site. The design underwent constant alterations as systems evolved. But the basic construct remained the same. Elene
related this in the same calmly disconnected manner she had used in the car.

As they approached an unmarked steel door, Trent asked, “How am I supposed to get in?”

“I told you. It's all taken care of.” The door had no handle or controls of any kind. “I know this is all very strange. And I know you're frightened. But it's important you pay careful attention. From now on, everything you say and do will be recorded. Remember that, and everything will be fine.”

Trent was about to ask how that information made anything fine when a small portal opened in the concrete wall beside Elene. He had not noticed the access panel before. It was painted to disappear in the wall. Now a blue Plexiglas sheet glowed softly within a recessed alcove.

Elene set her hand upon the panel. A line of light flashed up, then down. She said, “Elene Belote.”

The panel beeped once. Elene stepped away. “Now you.”

Trent stepped over and set his hand upon the panel. When the light passed up and down, he licked his lips and spoke the name Charlie had given him. The one Elene had heard him speak in the ascent. “Brett Riffkind.”

The panel took a longer time scanning his hand. Elene said, “There is no record of your palm. But your name is down as someone to be granted access, so it's making a record now of who you are.”

“How do you know—”

The panel beeped a second time. The door slid open. Elene said, “Let's go.”

Eli was waiting for them just on the other side of the inner glass portal. He coded in a number, watching Trent as he did so. When the door slid back, he said, “Riffkind's name was already in the system.”

“Hello, Eli. It's good to see you again.”

Eli looked to be about sixteen, but Trent suspected he was older
than his appearance. He bore the scars of a hard early life. Eli was watching him closely. “What's he doing in the system when he's never been here before?”

“Brett Riffkind helped design the system we used to ascend.” Elene caught herself and corrected, “Transit.”

The kid's eyes grew round. “He's one of them? That crew in Europe?”

“Yes.” She gripped his arm. “How have you been?”

“You brought one of them here? Reese is busy turning Joss and Consuela into an attack team. She's going to let them loose on that crew tomorrow.”

Trent stepped forward. But before he could speak, Elene shot him a look. He subsided.

Eli caught the exchange. “Reese is going to go ballistic.”

“It's okay, Eli. Brett's name is in the system, remember? You said that yourself.” Elene held to the same gentle tone she had used on Trent. A means of dominating through calm. “You say you're fine. But you don't look fine. You look wounded.”

Eli gave her a look that belonged on a man ten times his age. An ancient's weary cynicism. “What's it to you?”

“I'm worried about you.” Her accent turned the words into a chant. “You're a very special person.”

Eli huffed a very angry, “That's why you took off on us, right?”

“No, Eli. I left so I could bring Brett here. And bring my friend back from the darkness that almost swallowed me too.”

The words took a long moment to register. “You brought Rod back?”

“That's right, Eli. Me and my friends. And we're going to do more.” She reached over and took his hand. “Would you go with us to the Treatment Room, Eli?”

“I spend too much time there already,” the kid whined, but he came along.

Trent followed them along the hallway and into a giant atrium full of muted colors and hanging plants and indirect lighting. He thought it looked like a palace of subtle control. Even the air was monitored.
He could not believe he strolled through this place like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn't a thief in the night, here to destroy everything he could get his hands on.

They entered a hallway that faced onto a long room filled with hospital beds. All but one were filled with immobile patients. A bored male nurse sat at a desk on a slightly raised dais, watching television on a computer flat screen. Trent realized the glass fronting the clinic had to be one-way, because the nurse glanced up several times and studied the patients but never once looked their way.

Elene led the kid down to stand before the last bed, the only one that was empty. “I know what you're thinking, Eli.”

“What, you studied up on mind reading while you were AWOL?”

Elene touched the glass. “You're thinking this bed has your name on it.”

“You're nuts.”

“You're thinking it's only a matter of time. And you know what, Eli? You're right.”

The kid's face was a landscape of misery. “You came back. You brought Rod back. You're here for the others.”

“That's right. But you know what else is true? These pals of ours who got lost out there, they'll never leave the nightmare behind. They'll never ascend again.”

“Do what?”

“Transit. They're trapped, Eli. They've lost the touch. Do you want to risk that happening to you?”

“Like I got a choice.”

“But you do, Eli. And that's why I'm here. To take you back with me. Before it's too late. And have you see what can really be done with this new gift of yours.”

He was watching her now. Ignoring the empty bed for the first time. “You're with them, aren't you. The ones Reese is going after.”

Elene met his gaze. “Come with us, Eli.”

The kid just stared at her. Trent clamped down on his impatience.
The longer he stayed in this sterile hallway, the more spooked he became. Because it wasn't the kid he saw climbing into that empty bed. It was Shane.

He was about ready to break in when Elene pointed back to where he stood. “My friend came with me to help make things right. He needs access to a computer plugged into the system.”

Eli turned to study him. “You're going to wreck the place?”

“That's right,” Trent said. “I am.”

Eli stared at the bed a final moment longer. Then, “I can come with you?”

“I won't leave without you,” Elene replied. “Count on it.”