that if he took much longer anything of interest would already
be said.
When he peeked up to get his bearings, his hand found what he thought was the metal rim of an oil drum, but when his foot
slipped and he instinctively gripped it for balance the hubcap he held flipped through the air and clanged into the side of
another metal drum before clattering to the concrete floor.
“What the
fuck
!” one of the men shouted.
Footsteps slapped across the concrete, heading right for him. Jake scrambled off his backside and felt blindly for the obstacles
in front of him as he dove even deeper into the maze of junk.
19
J AKE MADE IT TO the back wall of the cavernous space and raced along its edge like a rat, praying and feeling for a way out,
sweat breaking out under his arms and on his brow. One of the men retrieved a flashlight from a vehicle and their shouts were
now accompanied by the sweeping probe of light. When his hands found a doorframe, he cast himself through it just as the beam
flashed past. Metal stairs went only down and he took them, placing his feet as carefully as he could and with no idea how
far down the stairs would go and seeing absolutely nothing now.
Even the lightest step of his feet sent a faint echo through the stairwell. Cool dank air filtered up at him and a petroleum
odor laced the rancid smell of standing sewage water. When his feet stumbled on the last step, he splashed forward, groping
for a handhold, finding a broken wall, and keeping himself from falling face-first into the filth. A faint circle of light
cast a gloomy pall through the factory basement. Pipes the size of storm drains lay in ruin and scattered about like a child’s
toys. Jake sloshed toward the source of light and reached the three-foot opening just as he heard the voices above enter the
stairwell.
Feet clanged on the metal stairs and the flashlight’s beams created a panic of shadows. Jake scurried into the piping without
hesitation, relieved by the strong smell of the river. The slight decline and decades of oily slime made it hard for Jake
to keep upright even on his hands and knees. He was halfway to the light when he heard and felt the monstrous pulse of a freighter
out on the river. The damp air pounded into Jake’s ears. He slipped and slid and crawled, frantic to get out. With just five
feet to go an explosion of foam blasted him in the face. Water filled his mouth and nose and the force of the surge pumped
him backward and halfway up the pipe.
Jake choked and banged his head on the top of the pipe, catching the smallest gasp of air before being sucked back out toward
the river. He turned over and grasped with his hands for anything to hold, catching nothing, plummeting down, slamming his
head on a rock, everything turning dark, then nothing.
20
C ASEY APPRECIATED Jake’s concern but couldn’t get too worried about it because she smelled success for the Freedom Project
and that diminished the TV reporter’s conspiracy theories. She spent the afternoon on a conference call with Stacy and the
rest of her staff. They covered a slew of issues, from an appeal for a deportation case to a woman the DA was charging as
an accessory in a robbery, even though the police knew she was nothing more than the unsuspecting driver for her husband and
his friend. Casey lost track of time, and the sudden, harsh knock at her hotel room door made her gasp.
“Are you okay?” Stacy asked.
“Of course,” Casey said. “Just someone at the door. Hang on.”
She set the phone down and quietly swung the security bar over the latch, peering through the peephole. The distorted figure
of a man in a suit shifted from one foot to the other. When she saw him extend a pinkie finger and go for his ear, she threw
aside the security bar and threw open the door.
“Marty?” she said, loud enough so that he jumped. “What are you doing here?”
Marty stammered for a moment, then said, “I
be said.
When he peeked up to get his bearings, his hand found what he thought was the metal rim of an oil drum, but when his foot
slipped and he instinctively gripped it for balance the hubcap he held flipped through the air and clanged into the side of
another metal drum before clattering to the concrete floor.
“What the
fuck
!” one of the men shouted.
Footsteps slapped across the concrete, heading right for him. Jake scrambled off his backside and felt blindly for the obstacles
in front of him as he dove even deeper into the maze of junk.
19
J AKE MADE IT TO the back wall of the cavernous space and raced along its edge like a rat, praying and feeling for a way out,
sweat breaking out under his arms and on his brow. One of the men retrieved a flashlight from a vehicle and their shouts were
now accompanied by the sweeping probe of light. When his hands found a doorframe, he cast himself through it just as the beam
flashed past. Metal stairs went only down and he took them, placing his feet as carefully as he could and with no idea how
far down the stairs would go and seeing absolutely nothing now.
Even the lightest step of his feet sent a faint echo through the stairwell. Cool dank air filtered up at him and a petroleum
odor laced the rancid smell of standing sewage water. When his feet stumbled on the last step, he splashed forward, groping
for a handhold, finding a broken wall, and keeping himself from falling face-first into the filth. A faint circle of light
cast a gloomy pall through the factory basement. Pipes the size of storm drains lay in ruin and scattered about like a child’s
toys. Jake sloshed toward the source of light and reached the three-foot opening just as he heard the voices above enter the
stairwell.
Feet clanged on the metal stairs and the flashlight’s beams created a panic of shadows. Jake scurried into the piping without
hesitation, relieved by the strong smell of the river. The slight decline and decades of oily slime made it hard for Jake
to keep upright even on his hands and knees. He was halfway to the light when he heard and felt the monstrous pulse of a freighter
out on the river. The damp air pounded into Jake’s ears. He slipped and slid and crawled, frantic to get out. With just five
feet to go an explosion of foam blasted him in the face. Water filled his mouth and nose and the force of the surge pumped
him backward and halfway up the pipe.
Jake choked and banged his head on the top of the pipe, catching the smallest gasp of air before being sucked back out toward
the river. He turned over and grasped with his hands for anything to hold, catching nothing, plummeting down, slamming his
head on a rock, everything turning dark, then nothing.
20
C ASEY APPRECIATED Jake’s concern but couldn’t get too worried about it because she smelled success for the Freedom Project
and that diminished the TV reporter’s conspiracy theories. She spent the afternoon on a conference call with Stacy and the
rest of her staff. They covered a slew of issues, from an appeal for a deportation case to a woman the DA was charging as
an accessory in a robbery, even though the police knew she was nothing more than the unsuspecting driver for her husband and
his friend. Casey lost track of time, and the sudden, harsh knock at her hotel room door made her gasp.
“Are you okay?” Stacy asked.
“Of course,” Casey said. “Just someone at the door. Hang on.”
She set the phone down and quietly swung the security bar over the latch, peering through the peephole. The distorted figure
of a man in a suit shifted from one foot to the other. When she saw him extend a pinkie finger and go for his ear, she threw
aside the security bar and threw open the door.
“Marty?” she said, loud enough so that he jumped. “What are you doing here?”
Marty stammered for a moment, then said, “I
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