“And this will work?” Karl asked.
“I mean, anything works in theory. The thing that will hold it all together, however, is you. You have to stay cool and calm and avoid as much contact as possible. Can you do that?”
Karl swallowed, then nodded. “When do we do this?”
“Soon,” Thompson replied. “They won’t have the place roped off forever, and after that, I doubt there will be any records to sift through.”
“How soon?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll have a couple candidates for your ID lined up.”
Thompson worked tirelessly for over fourteen hours straight to help Karl prepare the plan. They had decided on it with Maynard’s blessing, yet neither living human was eager to go through with it.
The hacker had to leave for about an hour to meet with someone. He gave his friend no details about his appointment, so Karl waited with chilling anxiety for him to return. Just when the psychologist thought the jig was up, Thompson returned with a full police uniform, belt included.
“Where did you get this?” Karl asked as he looked over the clothing with incredulous eyes.
“It’s best if you don’t know,” Thompson said, a bit of a sly smirk painted on his face.
Karl turned and stared at the hacker with doubtful eyes.
“I’ve got a guy,” Thompson explained. “Don’t worry about it.”
Karl looked back over the uniform—it was just his size. Some of the edges were a little frayed and there was a stain on the seat of the trousers. The uniform had been borrowed, Karl decided. It wasn’t just a costume.
“How many felonies are we committing right now?” Karl asked.
Thompson said nothing in response, which only added to the psychologist’s worry. He checked the clock on his C.C. before turning back to his friend.
“You better get that on,” he said. “The ID becomes active in forty minutes, so we have to get you as close to the lab as we can before then. And don’t sweat about your face giving you away. I’ve gone ahead and digitally masked you. As far as anyone with a C.C. is concerned, you’re not Karl Terrace. Good luck.”
It wasn’t hot, but Karl was sweating. The shoes he had been given didn’t fit quite right and slapped a little on the pavement as he walked. His hands were getting so moist from perspiration that he was worried he’d drop the coffee cups he carried with him.
Thompson had dropped him off as close to the scene as he could without taking unnecessary risks. Karl thought he could have gotten a few blocks closer, but he didn’t have the nerve to argue.
“You’re not going to screw this up, are you?” Maynard asked inside his skull.
You know that isn’t helping, right? Karl replied.
“I know, sorry,” Maynard said, his voice a little strained by having to be polite. “Just… you got this. Okay? Don’t panic.”
Thanks.
“Besides, if this goes south, we’ll probably only go to prison. You’re already used to that, so I’d say we’re okay.”
Thanks.
The psychologist stopped in his tracks when he saw the building after turning a corner. It was still a cold, single-story structure without any thought for aesthetic design. But it looked so alien to Karl—like it was something he had only seen in dreams and only now realized it had manifested itself into the real world.
His veins grew a little icy when he spotted the police officers positioned just outside the front door. They were dressed in the usual uniform, which was a relief to Karl, as he’d worried they would be in heavy armor or carrying machine guns. He would look strange among a group of riot police.
“Just like we said,” Maynard spoke up. “Confidence is the key. The more you act like you belong there, the less anyone will question it.”
Karl took a deep breath and let it out slowly through pursed lips. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he started walking.
“Good morning,” he said as he approached the entrance. “Coffee, anyone?” He waggled the cups in his hands in an enticing manner.
“Ooo, over here,” the officer on the left said. She took the cup and thanked Karl before taking an enormous sip like it was the first sustenance she’d had in days.
Karl didn’t break his stride and continued to the door. He placed his hand on the push bar that opened only to those with the correct clearance.
For a couple seconds, the little light over the handle blinked red. Karl could feel droplets of sweat pushing their way out of his forehead pores as he waited.
The locking mechanism finally got the signal from the ID Thompson had installed onto his C.C. The light turned green and the door swung open. Karl couldn’t help but sigh a little as he made his way through.
“Not bad,” Maynard commented. “Pants still dry?”
For now, Karl thought.
“Well that was the hard part,” the I.I. reassured him. “It’s all downhill from here.”
That can be taken two ways.
“I know. Let’s keep moving.”
The hallway seemed longer than any internal corridor should. Each second dragged on for hours and taxed Karl’s mind further. Still, he was calm now that he was in the lab.
“Morning,” he said to a cop, raising his own coffee in a sort of salute.
The officer seemed too distracted by his thoughts to provide a greeting in return. Karl preferred it that way.
He took a couple glances down each direction before slipping into his office. None of the police seemed too invested in what was going on inside the building, so long as they knew who went in and out. He’d expected a much larger presence inside, but found it fairly devoid of life. That brought a pleasant sense of relaxation
