Metro (29 page)

But no.

They all eat and rest. Everyone gets a new change of clothes. Mark even gets a new pair of cargo pants, with plenty of pockets. Not shorts this time—pants. Like he's all grown up now. His neck still feels really weird. He chews two more Dilaudids.

Jollie gets a new button-up blouse—a pink one, very cute—and new jeans that barely fit over her hips. Sneakers that go with the pants. Mark can't help but notice how womanly she looks in clothes like that—how the collar frames her neck and peeks her large breasts just right. Andy slips on a bowling shirt and baggy corduroys. He looks like the same old kid, only with lots of white bandages on his face. And Jollie watches over Andy, as he passes out one more time and snores in drugged-out oblivion. Jollie finds some Norco in Darian's drug stash—they threw everything he had in a big plastic bag—and downs two of them to calm her nerves.

She doesn't want to look at Mark anymore.

She doesn't want to feel anything.

CNN is still telling lies about Senator Bob.

Maybe.

• • •

A
t twelve midnight, she turns off the TV and finally looks at Mark again. He's slumped against the headboard of his own queen-size bed, alone. Jollie lies next to Andy, who snores in oblivion.

“It's just now November eleventh,” Jollie says. “Happy almost-birthday.”

“What are the odds?”

“It's all pretty cosmic, Mark. I think it probably means something. We'll be getting on that plane tomorrow at one in the morning, an hour into November twelfth.”

“Maybe it's cosmic, maybe it isn't. I wasn't really born on that day. It's just the day he assigned me. Darian's birthday.”

“Wouldn't it be funny if you actually were born then?”

“Hilarious.”

“Mark . . . I want you to make me a promise.”

“I'll promise you anything.”

“I know you will. But I also want you to keep the promise. Stuff is going down in the world. Big stuff. All this business with Senator Bob, God knows what else. I want you to
stand by me
from now on. I need you to do that. Do you think you can?”

“You want to expose METRO, don't you? With you and your band of merry men?”

“We have to, Mark.”

“You think it's the only way I can repent or whatever?”

“Maybe. But this is so much bigger than us. Look at what they can do, just because they think they can get away with it. Those men came into my home and found out I was behind that man's filibuster, and then they went and
killed him
—maybe just to send a message to
us
.”

“You don't know that. Not for sure.”

“I feel it, Mark. Don't you?”

“It does smell like METRO. And it
is
damn scary.”

“We can't be scared of it. We have to take the battle to
them
. This is something that controls the fate of the entire world. It's the true face of everything. I've been searching for it all my life.”

“It might be too big. Too scary. It's a machine that makes new monsters and bad guys like Darian Stanwell every day.”

“We can use what we know about them, Mark. Peanut can use it. We can work the system back the other way, find out who the bosses really are. We can go straight to the top with a machine gun, just like you said.”

“I did say that.”

“Were you serious, Mark?”

“Of course I was. And I think you could do it. I'll help you however I can.”

“That's not good enough. You have to go beyond that. You have to go
with
us. You and me and Peanut. Even if it means we go straight to our deaths.”

“I could do that too. I owe you.”

“We'll use Peanut's contacts with the Senate. We'll find out who killed Bob. Then we'll work the plot back to the other dictators. We'll smoke out as many operatives as we can along the way. They'll all know something. We'll trace it to the highest level. And when we find out who's really running the whole show . . . you'll
kill them for me
, Mark. That's how you'll pay me back. That's how you'll pay
Jackie
back.”

“What if we shouldn't?”

“I'm sorry, what?”

“What if the world doesn't want to be saved from METRO? What if they were the glue holding the whole damn system together all along? What if every little thing is something they control? Somehow.”

“One agency couldn't possibly have that kind of power, Mark.”

“Yeah they could. If they're not an agency. I think you're coming at this from the wrong perspective, Jollie. You're thinking in terms of traditional politics and black ops. The CIA and all their dirty tricks subbasement bad guys. That's never been the way METRO worked. They're more direct. More brutal. Like a league of super villains.”

“And they all meet in a big ops room in some James Bond super fortress somewhere and tell their underlings where to strike? That's ridiculous.”

“No it isn't. People never see the obvious. Not until that obvious thing is blowing them away in the dark. Or smashing into the World Trade Center.”

“You think 9/11 was METRO?”

“I
know
it was METRO, Jollie. Just like you know they could have killed that senator and made it look like a suicide. That's why the bad guys succeed in controlling everything so well. So what happens if we find that super fortress and destroy it—and then the whole world falls apart around our ears?”

“These people are maniacs and killers, funded by drug money. I've thought a lot about all this. No matter what Darian Stanwell says, even if METRO has been saving us from ourselves for decades, they're still thugs and murderers.”

“Very smart thugs and murderers.”

“We're smart too.”

“Jollie . . . you know that getting out of this town the way you have it set up, it's gonna be really . . .”

“I know.”

“They're hunting for us right now. They might be watching the airport too. If they took out the Senator to send a message, that definitely means they know your name and your face.”

“Maybe.”

“You're still ready to roll those bones?”

“Mark, what choice do we have? They'll kill us just as surely on the open road, won't they? And I won't go back to sleep, just to save our own skins. I just won't.”

“You know . . . the Dictator saw this coming.”

“Who's that?”

“You never met him. Dictator Ken. He was in charge of the safe house I brought you to. He said some things that were really scary. And then he pulled a gun and tried to kill me.”

“Is that what started all that?”

“Some of it.”

“What did he say, Mark?”

“He knew we'd escape somehow. That we'd kill our way to the truth, no matter what it took. He knew I would go home. He knew that the only way to protect his own life, and maybe even your life too . . . was to kill us.”

“That doesn't even make sense.”

“Sure it does. From a certain point of view.”

She laughs bitterly, thinking about
Star Wars
again.

And he looks her right in the eye.

“Yes, Jollie. I'm with you. Let's do what that bastard Ken was afraid of. Let's find them and tear them all down. I'll do it for you. And for Jackie.”

Poor little Jackie . . .

She wants to hate Mark still, wants to be afraid of him still. But she can't back out now. This is too big.

“Okay,” she says.

And then they make their plans, way into the night.

• • •

T
he next afternoon, the FedEx letter arrives at the front desk of the Hilton. Jollie tears into the package. Finds three perfectly forged Philadelphia ID cards, with their faces on the plastic and everything, plus a Visa with several thousand in credit wired to Catherine Tanner's ghost. She uses it to check into their room.

Perfect. Let the bastards figure that one out.

Andy sleeps most of the day—big surprise—on the giant, luxurious bed. This place is the Love Boat compared to that crack house they were in last night. The bathroom is like something out of a spy movie. Jollie cuts her hair at the sink and dyes it blonde. Mark stands next to her and hacks his hair off too, but doesn't dye it. He's reminded of Johnny and Ponyboy in
The Outsiders
. They hardly speak as they count the hours till sundown. They look at each other in the mirror. Strangers.

Then they get ready for their flight.

• • •

M
ark and Jollie go back into the bedroom suite and wake up Andy. Mark says they need to see the package contained in the carry-on.

Unzips the bag and shows it to them both.

Andy cat whistles when he sees the white stuff, still halfway asleep. Jollie gets real nervous, and Mark explains again that the carry-on is something invented by METRO, all full of super-advanced software scramblers and silicone plating that fools the most sophisticated machines currently in place at airport security stations. He's used it a bunch of times on jobs. Gotten on planes and gone all over the world, right under everyone's noses. So long as the transit cops don't search the bag, they'll be fine.

Everybody got that?

• • •

“I
'm still worried,” Jollie says. “Andy's injuries might still bring trouble at the terminal—the bandages and stuff will make him look odd, never mind your wound and sutures.”

“That's a risk, Jollie. But I've been thinking about this. If they really are watching the airport, they won't have any idea what to look for. We all should have died once at the Kingdom, then twice in that big explosion at the lake. And Darian wouldn't have reported anything until he had the package secure. That means we're all supposed to be dead.”

“But if any of us
did
survive that explosion, we'd look just like Andy, wouldn't we?”

“That's why it's still a risk. But November is cold this year. Hats and scarves are in. We'll get through, Jollie. I know it.”

“You don't know. You just hope.”

“It's the only way. At an airport there's only a few sets of eyes to fool. On the road, there's millions. You said it yourself.”

“Yeah. I did. Didn't I?”

She shivers, staring into the eyes of a stranger.

• • •

A
nd so it goes. A big fuzzy secondhand Beastie Boys cap covers Andy's head. Mark wears a wide-collar work shirt and a muffler. The rest is done with makeup. A fake mustache and beard for Mark from the costume shop. Jollie touches them up for a good hour before they leave. Finally, she raises one eyebrow, getting a thought. Goes into her pocket and gets Mark's ring. Slips it on. Holds up her hand and makes a silly face in the mirror, carefully checking out her new look.

Disguises in place, ready now.

Mark smiles and says one last thing to her: “Just like Bruce and Madeleine.”

It's a movie reference, of course, but she doesn't get it, because she never saw
12 Monkeys
. That's a good thing too.

Bruce Willis bought it big time at the metal detector in that film.

• • •

T
hey leave the hotel at exactly 11:30 pm. A porter brings the Ferrari Spider around, and she tips the guy something nice and forgettable. They pull away and she feels the eyes of the world on her.

“Happy almost birthday,” she finally says, remembering today's date. In just thirty minutes, Mark will be forty-one years old.

He smiles. Andy smiles too. It's almost like old times, but not really. November 11 is already over, most everywhere else in the world.

• • •

I
t's not very crowded at Austin-Bergstrom at 11:50.

They park the car in the long-term garage and head next door, into the main front lobby. It's a small airport, but it sounds big, like they all do. Echoes off echoes, vague hints of music, voices tumbling away into the marble canyons. Mark smirks, thinking about Bruce Willis again. Jollie uses the ghost of Catherine Tanner to get their tickets at an automated kiosk near the section of the front desk area dedicated to American Airlines. No baggage to check. Just one carry-on. The Visa card slides and the ghost pays. The tickets spit out one at a time. Nonstop boarding passes for Joe and Cathy Tanner and Rand Nichols. Disco.

“Home free,” she says, almost smiling.

“When we are
very far
from here,” Mark tells her, not smiling at all.

• • •

T
he line at security is not long but these guys are always real serious. The woman at the first checkpoint is an almost-ugly Barbie in G.I. Joe clothes who looks at the fake Philadelphia IDs with more than a second glance, comparing the faces with the photos. Looks at Andy especially seriously.

“What happened to your face?” she says almost causally.

Mark looks back at Andy, almost to the rolling belt of the luggage scanner, and sees that the Boy Prince is saying something under his breath, pointing at his ear. Jollie looks back too, but keeps moving forward. She is relieved when the lady doesn't ask Andy to take off his Beastie Boys cap. G.I. Barbie hands him back his ticket and ID.

Now for the main event.

They all show their papers again, just before being allowed to approach the big machine. They put their shoes and Jollie's duffel bag in those gray plastic tubs and send them on the conveyer belt. Andy still doesn't take his cap off and nobody tells him to. Mark leaves his muffler on and they don't mind that either.

The human X-ray closet, which looks like a coffin standing on end, beeps happily when he gets in and raises his arms.

Jollie follows him and gets the same happy beep.