Now Trey was dizzy with fear. Maybe he was hyperventilating. He wanted to shout out to Mark, “Don’t tell him anything else! You might get Lee killed!” But he couldn’t speak.
Then the guard did something incredible. He sat down on the bottom step of the stairs.
“I, too, am worried about someone,” he said softly. “Perhaps…
“Perhaps what?” Mark asked. The guard shook his head. “I can’t trust you,” he said.
“I’m about to be killed,” Mark said. “Don’t you think I’d do just about anything to stay alive?”
The guard gave a little, amused snort, as if Mark had told a joke.
“That’s not what I need. I need someone who’d hold on to principle and loyalty, even if it meant death,” he said. “Not that it matters. I need lots of impossible things. Access to secret records. Fake documents. A car.”
“I have a car,” Mark said. “A truck, anyway.”
The guard snorted again, this time in disbelief.
“You’re in a cage,” he said.
Trey strained to hear over the ringing in his ears. He was definitely hyperventilating. He fought against the urge to black out. He needed to think — and to think clearly All he could hear were the guard’s words, echoing in his mind again and again:
He stumbled out from behind the boxes. Act before thinking — that seemed to be his new motto.
Chapter Twenty-Three
They worked out a deal, Mark and Trey and the Population Police guard. Their negotiations seemed to take hours, because all of them were afraid of saying too much.
“How is it that you have a truck?” the guard asked. “And where is it?”
“We can’t tell you,” Mark said.
“Who are you worried about?” Trey asked.
“I will name no names,” the guard said. “It is better for you not to know.”
“What’s your name?” Mark asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” the guard said. Trey tried to sneak covert glances at him, to get a good look at his face, but he stayed carefully in the shadows, the flashlight trained away from his features. And he didn’t have a badge number or other identification on his uniform.
Could Mark and Trey trust him?
They didn’t have much choice.
Trey had to give up one huge, valuable tidbit of information: He told the guard that it. was possible to go between rooms at the Grants’ house by crawling through the heat ducts. The guard nodded soberly at this news.
“So I can get access to the secret records,” he mumbled. “And I can find the documents I want to fake….”
“I’ll do it,” Trey said. “Tell me where to go and I’ll get whatever you want. And then you’ll set Mark free.”
“No,” the guard said. “Somebody else will do that job.”
“Who?” Trey asked.
“Never mind,” the guard said.
Trey was secretly relieved not to have to crawl through the ducts again. But his relief died when he realized what he’d have to do instead: drive the truck.
“My partner and I will have to confer,” Trey announced when the three of them had finished all the planning.
“Fine,” the guard said.
He walked to the other side of the room, but kept his flashlight trained on Mark and Trey.
“Mark, I can’t!” Trey protested as quietly as possible. “Can’t we ask him to put me in the cage and just have you drive?”
Mark looked across the room to where the guard sat, grim-faced.
“He doesn’t trust us as it is,” Mark said. “He’ll think we’re trying to trick him. Or that we’re just bluffing. Besides, it’s easy to drive. Just remember to push the clutch in when you’re changing gears. And, oh yeah, you’ll be driving forward most of the time, so you look out the front window, not the back. .”.
“I need a decision,” the guard said from across the room.
“We’ll do it,” Mark said.
And so it was that ten minutes later, Trey was climbing the stairs out of the basement. He’d changed into a fresh Population Police uniform the guard had given him, transferred his papers between pockets, and then stuffed his original clothes into one of the Grants’ boxes. But this uniform wasn’t the dull gray of a new recruit’s. It was the more ominous-looking black of a prison guard’s.
“I’ll show you to the door,” the guard said, escorting Trey down a dark hall. Other guards stood outside many of the rooms they passed, but they only glanced at Trey and his mysterious guide.
The entryway was empty now, the earlier crowd of recruits gone who-knew-where.
“It’s four in the morning,” the guard whispered as they stood on the doorstep. “If you’re not back by six….
He didn’t have to finish his sentence. If Trey wasn’t back by six, Mark would die.
“I won’t take long,” Try promised.
The guard handed him a clutch of official-looking papers.
“Authorizations,” he said. “Show these at the servants’ entrance when you return. Over there.” He pointed vaguely, but Trey didn’t ask for specifics. Finding the servants’ entrance was the least of his worries.
He stepped out into the chilly night air, and the guard shut the door behind him.
Down the stairs, out the walkway, across the driveway… They moved numbly, his fear of the outdoors trumped by greater fears. At the front gate, a sentry merely grunted at him. Outside the gate, men and boys were still lined up, but they were no longer standing. Most of them appeared to be sleeping, either slumped over or lying down on the hard ground. In the dark, all those motionless bodies made They think of pictures he’d seen of battlegrounds, after the battle was over.
“Hey! No cutting in line!” someone growled at him. A few large bodies shifted menacingly, blocking Trey’s path. Not everyone was asleep after all.
“I–I’m not cutting in line,” Trey stammered. “I’m — I’m already in the Population Police. See?”
He held out the insignia on his uniform, even though it was too dark to make out the circles and the teardrop.
Somebody grabbed Trey’s sleeve, verifying by touch what couldn’t be verified by sight
“He’s telling the truth,” a voice announced, and miraculously, the path cleared ahead of Trey.
“Hey, man, did they feed you good?” another voice called out plaintively
“Yes,” Trey said, though it was a lie, of course. He’d eaten nothing since he and Mark had left the truck, all those hours ago. His stomach felt squeezed together, turned inside out “They’ll feed you when you get inside too,” he added.
‘When’s that going to be?” someone grumbled. But Trey just kept walking, and nobody challenged him. Soon he’d left the long line of desperate men behind.
He and Mark had discussed the best route back to the truck.
“It’ll take too long walking along the river,” Mark had said. “There are streets you can take through the city I remember from the map. I–I was just too scared to go that way before.”
