The Fold: A Novel (25 page)

“So, to recap,” said Reggie from the tablet, “yesterday half the complex was destroyed, but everything was under control. Today, Neil Warry is dead.”

“We’re pretty sure he died yesterday,” said Mike. “The circumstances were just a bit tough to explain.”

Mike stood at the end of the trailer park. He held the screen so Reggie could see the remains of Site B. Arthur sat a few yards away on the steps of Olaf’s trailer. Olaf stood by him, arms crossed and ready to offer support if needed.

He turned the tablet around, and Reggie scowled at him. “So, having confessed all this, now you want to blow up the other building. Does that cover it?”

“Not the building,” said Mike. “Just the last set of rings on the main floor.”

“Ahhh, right. The rings that I’ve paid about a quarter-billion dollars for in the past year alone.”

“This is bigger than a budget line,” said Mike.

Reggie shook his head. “Give me a minute to process all this.”

“It’d be better if you just took my word for all of it.”

“That’s asking an awful lot right now.”

Mike turned the tablet away from the ruined building and set one of the trailers in his background. “You know how you’re always telling me to trust your gut?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your gut should’ve exploded a few hours ago from everything happening here. So now you have to trust me. Your top man in the field.”

They stared at each other through the screen. Reggie set his hands on the desk in front of him. “What can we salvage from this?”

“This?”

“How much did you get? Files, blueprints, design specs?”

Mike stared at him.

“You’re talking about blowing the whole place up,” said Reggie, “so we need to talk about rebuilding.”

“We can’t rebuild it,” Mike said.

“We’ll be a lot safer this time,” said Reggie. “No more of this half-a-dozen cowboys stuff. We’ll set up in Virginia or something.”

“No, seriously, we can’t.”

“We can. Even if you’ve only got partial information, I can throw enough people at this to fill in the gaps.”

“Have you heard anything I’ve said? About what happens to the people who go through? You need to shut this whole thing down and run all the files through a shredder. We blow it up, bury it, and it never comes up again.”

Reggie shook his head. He lowered his chin. “Arthur’s okay?”

Mike nodded and jerked his head to the left. “He’s about fifteen feet that way. With Olaf. Want me to get him?”

“No. He’ll agree with everything you’ve told me?”

“Yeah. He can probably do it with bigger words, too.”

“Not now,” said Reggie. “No smart-ass stuff now. From what you’re telling me there’s a chance this is my career-ending day if I mess up one thing.”

“I told you, it’s a little bigger than that.”

“Fuck you. And shut it.”

“Sorry.”

Reggie’s fingers made tiny movements on the desk. Mike realized his friend was pressing them against the desk to keep from making fists. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, I know a colonel at Pendleton. I think we’re tight enough that he’ll make this happen and ask for details later. I should be able to have a demolitions team down there in an hour or so. Maybe an hour and a half.”

“There’s a chance we’ll have to defend ourselves. You should get them to send as many soldiers as possible.”

“Never call Marines soldiers,” said Reggie.

“I thought we weren’t being smart-asses?”

“I’m not.” He lifted his hands from the desk and rubbed his eyes. “What do I tell them they’re fighting?”

The ants presented dozens of responses. “Tell them it’s war,” said Mike. “Tell them there’s a chance they’ll be fighting a war.”

“Against what?”

Mike counted to three. “Honestly,” he said, “you won’t believe me.”

Reggie scowled again.

“I’m sorry,” said Mike. “I can explain all of it in more detail later. Me, Jamie, Arthur, everyone. You can debrief us or whatever. But right now I cannot stress how important it is that we destroy those rings.”

“I can’t ask them to mobilize a platoon of Marines without more than that.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike said again.

“You know what this sounds like, right? If I hadn’t known you for most of my life I’d probably be calling Homeland Security right now.”

“I know. And you still might need to if this doesn’t work.”

Reggie pressed his hands against the desk again. “What you were talking about the other day with Ben. The reason he was messed up. It’s true of everyone who went through the Door, isn’t it?”

Mike glanced over at Arthur and Olaf. He took a few steps away. “Yeah,” he said to the tablet. “Yeah it is. Everyone who went through the Albuquerque Door was swapped with a counterpart.”

“Which means me, too.”

“Yeah. And Kelli, your assistant.”

Reggie coughed. “So I’m from another universe.”

“Yeah. And her, too. I think you might be from the same one, since you both went through in one session.”

A long moment stretched out between them.

“I was going to tell you after all this,” said Mike. “I just thought it might be better in person. Maybe over drinks.”

Reggie’s chin made a slight up and down motion. His fingers flexed against the desktop. “So I don’t know you.”

Mike counted to three. “No,” he said. “Not really, no.”

Reggie studied his desktop for a moment, then looked around his office. His gaze slid back to the screen. “Well,” he said, “you’re still a jerk. So don’t get too full of yourself.”

Mike smiled.

“Let me call in some favors,” said Reggie. “I think I can have some boots on the ground there inside of ninety minutes. I’ll ask them to defer to you on everything, no questions asked.”

“That would be fantastic.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“Believe me, anything will help. Make sure they know they’re blowing up something very solid. Assume it’s a tank, just to be safe. And they’ll probably need some kind of timers or remote-control detonator.”

Reggie nodded. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Honestly?” The ants carried out images of the bugman and passages from the Koturovic book and the view he’d glimpsed through the Albuquerque Door. “I don’t know. This could go really bad. For all of us.”

“And here I am worried about if I’ll have a job in a few days.”

“Yeah, well…if they fire you, dinner’s on me next time.”

“If I get thrown under the bus for this, I’m taking you with me. And beating you senseless next time.”

“Well,” Mike said, “I really hope I’m around to be beaten senseless.”

Reggie bit off a response. “Take care of yourself, jerk.”

Mike shrugged. “We’re trying to save the world. It comes with some risk.”

Jamie leaned against the guard hut. “Are you okay?”

Mike looked back at her. “How so?”

“Arthur says you had to tell Reggie he was from another universe.”

“He’d figured it out on his own. He handled it well.”

She nodded. “All the cool people do.”

He turned to the road again.

Jamie nodded and flipped her quarter. “Think he’s going to blame all of this on you?”

“Pretty sure, yeah. He needs to pin it on someone. Arthur’s too famous, and they need him. He can target me but then protect me from the worst of it.”

“Will he?”

“Yeah. I think he’s used to doing it. Protecting me.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Mike shrugged. “Some things he said. He kept asking how I was doing, if I could handle this. I think his Mike’s a bit more fragile.”

“Maybe he won’t need to pin it on anyone.”

He glanced at her. “Did you meet the board?”

“Yeah. Bob had the flu, remember. Other-dimensional flu.”

“Just checking. How do you think they’re going to respond when Reggie tells them we’re shut down and they can’t salvage anything because we blew up the Door to stop an invasion of locust-men from another dimension?”

She managed a weak smile. “So you’re really unemployed now. No high school, no DARPA.”

He chuckled. “Yeah I guess so.”

“Arthur would probably hire you.”

“That’d be great, if we weren’t about to blow up his life’s work.”

She smiled and flipped her coin again.

“And look at that,” said Mike. “Eighty-eight minutes exactly.”

A quartet of Humvees roared down the street. Each one was painted in desert camo patterns. Mike had never understood camouflage as a kid. Even then, his pattern recognition skills were too strong for it to confuse him in the slightest.

The heavy vehicles turned into the entrance and screeched to a stop. Two of them flanked Mike and Jamie on either side. The other two stopped in front of them blocked the northbound lane of the road.

It struck Mike that it could be an offensive or defensive formation, depending on which side of it someone ended up on.

Four Marines piled out of each Humvee. Each one was dressed in full combat gear, with body armor, helmet, and a weapon that was held ready, if not up. Patches on the center of their chests gave their name and rank. Mike felt an odd twist in his gut at how many of them looked only slightly older than his students. Their faces were a mix of determination and confusion as they looked at him and Jamie and the bland building behind them.

“I thought there’d be more,” she said under her breath.

“So did I.”

Pattern recognition kicked in as one of the Marines stepped forward. A man closer to Mike’s age with captain’s markings and the name Black on his patch. He glanced at Jamie and then Mike. “Are you Mr. Erikson?”

“That’s me.”

One of the younger men closer to the Humvees twitched. “Mr. Erikson?”

The ants carried out names, dates, and images. A grade of C+ on an Emily Dickinson quiz. Two overheard conversations in the halls and another one at graduation. He managed a small smile. “Hello, Jim. Or do I need to say Sergeant Duncan?”

The captain glanced back. “You know this man, staff sergeant?”

“Sir,” said the Marine, “this is my old high school teacher, sir. I mean, one of them. One of the smartest guys I’ve ever known.”

Jamie smiled.

The captain frowned. “A schoolteacher?”

“Not anymore,” Mike told him.

“And what are you now?”

“Kind of in a hurry.”

“Understood,” Captain Black said with a curt nod. He gestured behind him, where two Marines stood with olive-green bags slung over their shoulders. One of them was a woman. Her patch said she was a lance corporal named Weaver. “We have your package,” said Black. “Do you have ID?”

“Sorry, what?”

“ID, sir. My orders said to contact you and only you.”

Mike pulled his battered wallet from his pocket, flipped it open, and tugged out his Maine driver’s license. He spun the card in his hand and handed it to the captain.

The captain held it up and compared it to Mike’s face. His eyes flitted back and forth. “Your hair looks different.”

“It’s a driver’s license photo. It’s six years old.”

“Sorry, sir,” he said. Another gesture summoned the Marines with the bags closer. “Your boss wasn’t clear on what you were trying to do, so we’ve got five C4 charges. Should make a good-sized crater in just about anything for you. Just show us where to put ’em.”

Mike gestured at the building. “Inside. Hopefully this can be quick.”

Black glanced at the concrete structure and then at his men. “Is the building compromised, sir?”

“Not exactly.”

“We were told there may be hostiles.”

“That’s correct.”

The Marines looked around. “Are they somewhere on the grounds?”

“It’s complicated.”

Black took a slow breath through his nose and pressed his lips together. “Perhaps you can un-complicate it, sir.”

Mike counted to three. “There’s a machine inside. A highly classified, very dangerous machine. It’s developed a fault and needs to be destroyed. There may be insurgents working against us.”

“We’ll set up a perimeter and—”

“No,” said Mike. “We just need to guard the machine while your people set the explosives.”

Black’s lips became a thin line across his jaw. “Sir,” he said, “I’ve been told to heed your advice, but tactically it’s much better if we have an established perimeter to give us advance warning of any potential attacks.”

“I understand that, captain. That’s why you need to set up inside and guard the machine.”

“It’ll make more sense when we get inside,” Jamie added.

Black gave a stiff nod and turned to the Marines. He gave three quick hand signals, and the group split into two teams. One hung back while the other moved toward the building. “Lead the way, sir, ma’am,” he said.

They started toward the building, and the second group of Marines fell in behind them. “Insurgents?” she whispered to Mike.

“What was I supposed to say?”

ARTHUR WAS WAITING
in the lobby with Olaf and Sasha. Arthur carried his briefcase. A canvas grocery bag packed with at least a dozen old books sat on the front desk. “I thought it might be good to pack up some of the rarer volumes,” said Arthur.

The Marines spread out to each door and hallway, calling back “Clear,” again and again.

“We shouldn’t have any problem until we’re in the lab itself,” Mike said to Black.

The captain glanced at him, but made no move to call back the Marines.

“Where’s Tramp?” asked Jamie.

“I took him down to your trailer,” said Olaf. “I figured better he was out of the way, in case things went wrong.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” said Black, “we’ll take care of things.”

Olaf shot a quick, worried look at Mike. “Do they know?”

“Not yet.”

Black’s lips got thin again. “Know what?”

“The equipment you’re here to destroy,” said Mike, “is a little unusual. Some of your people might find it a bit disturbing.”

“It takes a lot to disturb us, sir,” said Black. “We’re Marines.”

Olaf rolled his eyes. He made no attempt to hide it.

Black ignored him. “I’d like any unnecessary personnel to wait either
here in the lobby or out in the parking lot,” he said. “We’re dealing with explosives, and there is a degree of danger.”

“I think that would be me,” said Arthur. He tapped his cane against the side of his foot. “I’d only slow you down.”

“The rest of us all have technical knowledge about the equipment,” said Mike.

“The equipment we’re blowing up,” said Black.

“Yes.”

“And we would need your technical knowledge because…?”

“It’s unusual equipment, captain.”

Black’s lips became a thin line again. Frustration and anger flickered in his eyes. “Very well,” he said, “but if I see anything I consider dangerous you’re all gone. Even you, sir.”

The last was aimed right at Mike. He nodded.

“I’ll also be taking that Glock,” added Black. He held out his hand. “I’d prefer it if we’re the only ones armed in there.”

“We’re all on the same team,” said Sasha.

“Yes, ma’am. And part of a good team is knowing who should be on first base and who should be in left field.”

“I hate baseball,” she muttered.

Black let out a short chuckle, but his eyes didn’t leave Mike’s, and his hand didn’t move.

Mike reached back, pulled Arthur’s pistol out, and handed it to the captain. Black handed it off to Jim Duncan without looking. Duncan inspected the weapon and it vanished into an oversized pocket on his thigh. He gave his former teacher a polite nod.

Mike gestured them down the hall.

Two Marines led the way, Duncan and a man named Chavez. Two more followed behind them, and then Black, Mike, and the rest of the Door team. Weaver and the other Marine carrying explosives, a sergeant named Dylan, were next.

They moved to the big door. Duncan tried the handle, glanced at the reader, and then back to Mike. “Locked.”

Mike slid between the bulk of bodies and held his card out at arm’s length by the reader. “Things in here might look a little odd,” he told them. “Try not to be freaked out by any of it.”

There were a few snickers and grim smiles.

“If there are any enemy combatants in here, please understand they are strong and fast. They may be wearing masks to hide their faces. They’re also fond of sneak attacks, so watch everywhere.”

A shift rippled through the hallway. The smiles faded and the Marines changed from a small crowd of young men and women to over a dozen hardened professionals. Weapons rose a few inches. Their breathing settled.

Mike swiped his card. The door thumped open, and the Marines poured through onto the main floor. Their boots were surprisingly soft on the concrete.

He went to follow them and a hand settled on his shoulder. “Give them a minute, sir,” Black said.

Mike counted seconds. The team had been on the main floor for eleven of them when he heard a metallic bang, like a minor car crash. There was a flurry of activity, and he picked out four distinct voices. One of them was swearing in Spanish.

“Clear,” yelled Duncan, but there was a note in his voice.

“Staff sergeant?” called Black. He’d heard it, too.

“We’re clear, sir,” said Duncan, “it’s just…they were right.”

Black looked at Mike.

They walked out onto the main floor.

Three identical tool chests stood a few yards from the door. The sides were swollen and pushed outward. One of the chests had strings of ones and zeroes on the labels instead of letters. A drawer in another had burst open, and small fuses poured out of it in a blue and green waterfall.

Duncan walked toward them and pointed at the chest with the binary labels. “This is gonna sound crazy,” he told them, “but I’m pretty sure that one wasn’t here when we walked in.”

The color scheme was reversed on a fourth chest—black trim on brushed-silver metal. As they walked past it, the chest shuddered, and another dent appeared with a bang. The sound echoed in the big room. Olaf and Jamie yelped and stepped back.

“Did that a minute ago, too,” said one of the Marines, a squat, muscle-bound man named Costello. He carried a larger rifle than the rest. Rather than the standard magazine, it had a camouflage bag fastened in front of the trigger.

“Fuck me,” muttered Sasha, glaring at the tool chest.

“Just like Jiffy Pop,” Mike said.

“Yeah, well, let’s not be near it when it bursts.”

Jamie’s gaze ran down the side of the chest. “Do they still make that stuff?”

“What? Jiffy Pop?”

“Yeah?”

“I used to see it all the time back in Maine,” said Staff Sgt. Duncan.

Sasha snorted.

They made their way around the cluster of tool chests. They all flinched when the silver chest dented outward again. This time the shape was long and wide, the blurred outline of a crescent wrench.

The rings stood tall in the middle of the room. The St. Elmo’s fire spiraled along one ring, leaped to the other, and raced back. The air around them shimmered like hot pavement. They were a point of clarity in the middle of a huge double exposure.

The shimmer stretched out from wall to wall and up to the ceiling. The view of Site B spilled out beyond the rings, a crystal clear mirage hanging in the air, just like the view of the dead world had appeared on the security footage. Seven or eight feet out, the image blurred into a shimmering view of the main floor.

“Well,” said Olaf, “this is new.”

“Is this some kind of illusion?” asked Black.

“The instability’s spreading out,” Mike said. “The fold’s getting bigger.”

On the other side of the rings, Mike could see the safety light as it washed over Site B again and again. He watched four passes. On the third one, the light turned amber, then back to red for the fourth.

Hundreds of bright green roaches scurried back and forth across the floor. They traced paths around the workstations and chairs. They ran alongside the cables and hoses that were still stretched across the floor. They retreated from the booted feet, then rushed out onto the floor again.

One of the roaches raced up to them and stopped seven inches from Mike’s toe. Its antennae swayed back and forth in the air. Then it raced past him and vanished beneath one of the black tool chests.

“I think he likes you,” Jamie said.

They made their way toward the rings. The roaches cleared out of their way, dashing aside as each foot came down. The flatscreen Mike had broken on the creature’s head was still on the floor in pieces. It was also on the workstation. One of the chairs lay on its side, while its twin stood next to it. Their bases were tangled together like grasping fingers.

Five of the Marines took up positions around the rings. They kept a healthy distance. Their eyes went back and forth across the glistening air.

“S’like one of those invisibility cloaks I was telling you about,” Costello said to one of the other Marines.

“It’s called optical camouflage,” said Mike.