The Orion Plan (23 page)

Then they heard a shout behind them.
“Hey! Stop right there!”

A flashlight clicked on, throwing their shadows against the wall. Emilio looked over his shoulder and saw the silhouette of a security guard, about thirty feet away. It was a different guard from the one they saw before—this one was a white guy, shorter and less intimidating. But his size didn't matter. As the guard pointed his flashlight at them he snatched his radio from his belt and raised it to his mouth. He was alerting the other guards, calling for backup.

Emilio was already running, and so was Paco. They bolted at the same moment, both still holding the duffel bag between them. Emilio had to give his homeboy some credit—if Paco wanted to, he could've just let go of the bag's strap and dashed out of sight. But instead he stayed with Emilio and their hundred and fifty pound treasure, which rocked from side to side as they ran down the corridor, away from the security guard.

They turned right, dodging the flashlight beam, and darted into the Hall of Asian Peoples. The guard ran after them, shouting “
Second floor, second floor!
” into his radio. The beam from his flashlight chased them too, sweeping across the display cases, shining on the mannequins of Arab sheikhs and Tibetan monks. Emilio's arm was going numb from the strain of holding the duffel bag, and the muscles in his legs were cramping. As they turned a corner his shoulder banged against the wall and the pain shot through his body, making him stumble. He wanted to drop the bag. He wanted to collapse.

But at the same instant another stream of images rushed through his head. This time, Emilio knew, the images didn't come from the Internet. They weren't pictures of sports cars or videos of tree climbing. They were images of things he didn't recognize, things he'd never seen before. They were so strange he couldn't even begin to describe them. And yet they were also powerfully, magically beautiful. The sight of them filled his mind with new strength and hope. They were images of the future.
His
future.

So Emilio kept running. He leaned forward and took giant strides. He sprinted so fast and pulled the bag so hard that he practically dragged Paco along with him. They burst out of the Hall of Asian Peoples and raced past another stairway. Then they sped down the home stretch, past the sculptures and pottery of Mexico and Central America, their eyes fixed on the giant Olmec head and the steel door that led to the museum's offices. They were just a hundred feet away from the door, and the white security guard was way behind them. He'd never catch up to them in time. They were going to make it.

Then the other guard, the tall, athletic black one, came around a corner up ahead, running straight toward them. He had his flashlight in one hand and his radio in the other. As soon as he saw them he took up position in front of the Olmec head, bracing himself like a wrestler at the start of a match, his knees bent, his shoulders hunched. He was going to knock both of them flat on their asses.

Paco broke stride, his head turning wildly, looking for another way out, but Emilio didn't slow down. Instead, he ran faster. He hurtled toward the guard, and at the same time he grabbed the strap of the duffel bag with both hands and yanked it so violently that the other strap ripped out of Paco's grasp. In that moment the bag felt as light as a slingshot, and as Emilio charged forward he swung the thing in front of him.

The guard held out both his hands, ready to bat the bag away from him, but he obviously wasn't expecting a hundred-and-fifty-pound weight. It was only in the last quarter second, when the bag knocked his hands aside and plowed between his arms, that he realized how goddamn heavy it was. His eyes widened in surprise and he tried to sidestep, but it was too late. The crystal inside the bag struck him square in the chest and sent him flying backward. His heels lifted off the floor and the back of his skull cracked against the Olmec head.

Emilio stood over the body, the bag still swinging in his hands. He was prepared to hit the guard again, but the man lay motionless, bleeding from his ears. For a moment Emilio felt a surge of revulsion in his stomach.
Jesus, what happened? What the fuck did I do?
But then he heard the other security guard behind them, shouting into his radio again. Soon every goddamn guard in the museum would come running. And then the cops would come too.

Frantic, he turned to Paco, who was looking down at the fallen guard. Emilio shoved one of the duffel bag's straps into the boy's hand. “
Vamonos!
We need to
go
!”

They rushed to the steel door, where Emilio's baseball cap was still wedged between the latch and the jamb. Back in the small, messy office, they lifted the bag to the windowsill and heaved it outside. Emilio heard it land with a thump in the grass, and then he and Paco heaved themselves out the window, first dangling from the sill and then dropping to the ground. They picked up the duffel bag and raced back to 81st Street, but they didn't return to the subway. By the time the police cars screamed down Columbus Avenue and pulled up to the museum's entrance, Emilio and Paco were several blocks away, in Riverside Park. Staying in the shadows under the trees, they started walking north, carrying the crystal to Inwood.

*   *   *

It was 6:00
A.M.
when they finally got to Arden Street. The sun was climbing above the neighborhood, already baking the pavement.

Emilio yawned and trembled as he approached his grandmother's building. He was so tired he could barely think. Paco looked just as bad, dragging himself along like a wounded soldier. Their hands were blistered from hauling the duffel bag for two hours. Emilio's feet ached with each step and the muscles in his arms felt like they'd been shredded. But they'd made it home. They'd lugged a hundred-fifty-pound rock at least six miles uptown. That had to be some kind of record.

They staggered through the apartment building's entrance and stood in front of the elevator door. Paco stretched his hand toward the
UP
button, but Emilio nudged it aside and pressed the
DOWN
button instead. “We're not going to Abuela's apartment,” he explained. “We're gonna take it down to the basement.”

“The basement?” Paco narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “Why there?”

“I know a safe place to hide it. Safer than the apartment.”

The elevator door creaked open and they dragged the duffel bag inside. Then they descended to the basement, which was warm and stuffy and deserted. Next to the elevator was the laundry room, and just beyond it was a storage closet that no one in the building used anymore. For years Emilio had avoided going near this closet because he'd once seen a dead cat inside. But he'd peeked into the closet yesterday because it was right next to the laundry room. He'd felt an irresistible need to know what was on the other side of the wall where he'd pulled out the black spike. After looking inside the closet he'd bought a padlock from the hardware store and used it to secure the door. He didn't understand what he'd glimpsed in there, but he knew he had to keep it secret.

Now he stood in front of the closet, fishing in his pocket for the key to the padlock. Paco leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, falling asleep on his feet. “Hurry up,” he muttered. “I'm tired as shit.”

“Just another second.” Emilio found the key and slipped it into the lock. “You might be surprised when you see this. It's … well, it's a little weird, you know?”

“What do you got in there?” Paco lifted one eyelid. Even though they were alone, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “More shit you've stolen?”

“No, not that.” Emilio opened the door but didn't turn on the light in the closet. He hauled the duffel bag inside, then gripped Paco's arm. “I've been keeping this a secret, but I want you to see it.”

As soon as Paco stepped into the closet, Emilio turned on the light and shut the door behind them. Paco's eyes widened as he looked around. The closet's floor and three of its walls were covered with sheets of black metal. The surfaces were flawless, not a scratch or a smudge on them, and they were polished to such a high shine that they looked like dark mirrors. Emilio saw reflections of himself and Paco on all three walls, their faces shining under the light from the naked bulb on the ceiling. Although this wasn't the first time Emilio had stood in front of these mirrors, he was struck once again by their beauty and strangeness. He couldn't help but gape at the reflections, which somehow seemed more real than the solid things they mirrored.

Paco seemed impressed too. He turned his head from one wall to the next, taking it all in. Then he turned to Emilio and smiled. “This is crazy. Did you put up these mirrors?” He pointed at the gleaming metal. “What were you trying to do, build a disco down here? A really small disco?”

He laughed, but he wasn't making fun of Emilio. There was no nastiness in his voice. Paco seemed genuinely amused and curious. Emilio smiled back at him. “I told you it was weird.”

“So what do you use this place for?” Paco bent his knees and twisted his hips, watching himself in the mirror as he did a couple of merengue steps. “Do you come down here to practice your dance moves?”

Now Emilio laughed with him. The two of them were so tired they were acting a little delirious. But in that moment Emilio saw something in Paco that he hadn't seen before, probably because the boy kept it well hidden. Now he realized why Paco had stared so intently at the
Fast & Furious
poster on the subway platform a few hours before. The boy had no interest in sports cars. He was interested in Vin Diesel, the bare-chested actor in the picture.

It was time to act. Emilio stepped closer to Paco, so close he could feel the boy's breath on his face. They stared at each other in silence for several seconds. Then Emilio winked at him. “We can do anything we want down here. That's what this place is for.”

For a moment Emilio thought the boy was going to hit him. Paco's body tensed, just like it did in the museum when Emilio called him a pussy. But then the boy shivered and leaned forward and pressed his lips against Emilio's. They wrapped their arms around each other and opened their mouths. Emilio felt Paco's tongue slide over his own.

Then Emilio felt a horrible pain at the tip of his tongue. At first he thought Paco had bit it, but the boy was in pain too and screaming into Emilio's mouth. Their tongues were stuck together as if a bolt had been driven through them. Something tiny and metallic had carved a path through Emilio's soft tissue and emerged from the tip of his tongue so it could penetrate Paco's. It pierced the underside of the boy's tongue and started boring deeper.

After a second their tongues unlocked and the boys separated, but the horrible pain continued. Emilio fell against the side of the mirrored closet and Paco crumpled to the floor. In the midst of his agony Emilio looked at one of the gleaming walls and saw himself doubled over, his hands clasped over his burning mouth. Paco was doing the same thing, his brother in pain. It was a terrifying sight, but strangely enough it calmed Emilio. He saw the logic behind the pain, and that made it easier to bear. He stopped writhing.

This is how we'll build our army,
he thought.
Now Paco will be as strong and smart as I am. And we can work together to recruit more soldiers.

A moment later a pair of gleaming wires rose from the metallic floor. It was like one of those cartoons where a snake charmer plays a gourd flute and a cobra rises from a basket. As Emilio watched in amazement, the wires tore into the duffel bag like a couple of black snakes, ripping it open. Then they coiled around the crystalline section and pulled it out of the bag. The black wires began to cut the crystal in the same way that Emilio's tool had cut it, slicing off a rodlike piece that was nearly two feet long. One end of the piece was shaped like a disk—about as wide and thin as a silver dollar—and the other end tapered to a sharp point. It looked like a crystalline sword.

And that will be our weapon,
Emilio thought.
We'll use it to drive all the bastard cops out of Manhattan.

As if responding to his thoughts, the wires carried the piece of crystal toward Emilio, with its sharp end pointing at him. At the same time, a third wire coiled around his right arm and pinned it to the floor.

This surprised Emilio. He tried to wrench his arm free, but the wire held it down tight. “
Coño!
What's going on? What—”

The wires brought the crystalline rod closer, aiming it at his right hand. Then the sharp end pierced the skin of his palm and plunged deeper.

Emilio screamed.

 

FOURTEEN

Dorothy rested on a wooden chaise lounge in the garden behind her apartment. It wasn't much of a garden, really. The apartment buildings on her block surrounded a dingy courtyard that was divided by high fences into a dozen modest plots, one for each of the ground-floor apartments. Dorothy's garden was a ten-foot-by-twenty-foot rectangle that lay outside the sliding glass door of her living room. Most of it was covered with patio brick, and the few square yards of soil were crowded with weeds. Nevertheless, this was where she'd decided to spend her final hours.

It was 11:00
A.M.
but the garden still lay in the shade. The surrounding apartment buildings blocked the sun for almost the whole day. From the chaise lounge Dorothy could see only a small patch of sky overhead, a square of hazy blue. She looked up and saw a couple of pigeons fly across the square. A few minutes later she spotted a distant airliner.

She wore nothing but her bathrobe, an old white cotton thing. Any of her neighbors on the upper floors could see her on the chaise lounge if they happened to look out their back windows, but Dorothy was in too much pain to worry about that. The constant ache in her stomach had spread to her back. She felt like she was lying on a fist-sized rock that someone had left on the chaise. She rolled onto her left side, which lessened the pain in her back, and stared at the weeds that had taken over her garden. After a while, though, she felt the rock again, now cutting into the flesh at her waist.