A young man wakes up in the desert. The wreckage of an ambulance lies smashed against a boulder and charred to a crisp. By the stitches on his head and face, he assumes he was the patient. But why was an ambulance driving through a desert? Where wa...
Atticus tried to close his office door, only to find Light's foot stalling it at the threshold. She swung it open and invited herself in while Atticus, resigned, sat in his chair and offered her a seat. She shrugged it off, preferring to remain standing.
"What the hell does 'being fine' mean to you?"
Atticus raised his arms in an act of surrender.
"We had no choice. It's a long story."
"It didn't take you long to send him away."
"They set us up. There wasn't much time to react."
Light shook her head subtly, almost to herself.
"And now what will happen to him?"
"We'll make them believe he's there to stay, and we'll pull him out as soon as they buy it."
"When will he return?"
"We've set up the route and timing to run into the fewest possible number of contingencies. So in the best-case scenario, I guess in at least fifty hours he'll be there, too."
"There? What do you mean?"
Atticus stared at her in bewilderment, then dropped a brief sigh and took a sip of his glass of rakia.
"Weren't you at the emergency meeting?"
"What meeting?"
"Forget it. I'll summarize it," Atticus said, sighing again. "We'll move to another safe house, the safest one I have. I had planned to do it tomorrow, but I postponed it as a precaution."
"Why?"
"Because it's possible we are being watched right now, and they could suspect something if they see us moving right after Skyler left. Above all else, I want this to keep looking like a mining station."
"We're being watched?"
"I'm just saying it's possible. I'm taking care of it. By the way, I planned to go to the safe house alone on a secret flight tomorrow morning, but I want you to come with me."
"Why?"
"Because I want to build a replica of your workplace. So I also need you to take stock of all the materials needed to build it, including computer equipment."
"It'll be impossible for you to find certain materials."
"Don't worry about that; no matter how scarce or forbidden, I'll get it."
Light put her hand to her face, tightening her eyelids with her index finger and thumb, and then sighed.
"All right. I don't think it'll take me more than four hours."
She moved her hand from her face, and then she opened her eyes. Atticus was flicking repeatedly and unsuccessfully at the wheel of his Zippo against the cigar between his lips. Two, three, four clicks; just sparks; five, six...Suddenly, a thump made the cigar fly away from his mouth, spinning until it bumped against the wall and fell to the ground in two compact sounds. Atticus looked in disbelief at Light, who hid her hand quickly, as if trying to feign stupidity about having slapped anything.
"Sorry...I don't know...I couldn't help it. I have no excuse."
Light looked away, embarrassed, but Atticus, prisoner of a sudden astonishment, took her by the chin.
"Look at me."
Light obeyed, finding herself under the amazed gaze of a man who didn't hide any signs of catharsis as he scrutinized her face.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
Atticus let go of her chin and rested his back against his chair, run over by the magnitude of his revelation. His gaze remained riveted on Light, looking for any evidence in her to refute himself.
"It can't be," he whispered.
"You're creeping me out."
"Who are you?" he asked quickly.
"What do you mean?"
"What's your education?"
"Graduated in nuclear physics with a PhD from Caltech."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-six."
"What's your full name?"
"Ericka Light."
"Your parents?"
"I'm an orphan."
"Then who took care of you?"
"The government took care of me when they discovered I was a child prodigy. They said I was a promising investment."
"This doesn't add up..." he mumbled to himself. "Let's see. What's the earliest memory you have?"
She blinked repeatedly in a hint of indignation.
"What kind of question is that?"
"Just answer," said Atticus with raw authority.
Light noticed Atticus was asking in all seriousness, a seriousness he hadn't shown in the former questions. She took her hand by instinct to her temple, as if she intended to press a button to unlock a memory she didn't want to remember.
"Let's see...I think I remember...I remember...cold."
"Cold?"
It was as if Light came to. The world seemed to dislodge her from itself, spinning erratically around her center of gravity. She started sighing, in a way she didn't care about being heard.
"Cold, and water. Water around me...everywhere...I couldn't escape from it. There was something in my limbs that didn't let me...move."
An upstream dizziness began to wash over her. Without realizing it, she had propped a hand on the desktop for balance, letting gravity slide her gaze slowly towards the ground.
"Did you feel like you were drowning?"
"No, I...I breathed...and I could hear it...I could hear my breathing."
"Could you see anything?"
"No. It was dark." Light's voice was fading away by the moment. "It was...dark. I just could see...I..."
Light did not finish that sentence. She tried to hold on to something just before collapsing, and were it not for her finding Atticus' hand in time, she would have thudded to the ground, headfirst.
"Ericka, can you hear me? Can you talk?"
But Light could not speak. No matter how much Atticus poked her in the cheeks, she wouldn't wake up. He carried her to the couch and covered her with a blanket, then he went back to his chair and pulled from his suitcase a folder full of intel he always carried with him. It was a black folder with gilded diplomatic edging on both covers. He unlatched it, leafing through the pages with frenetic bewilderment. Then he stopped on a certain page, and his eyes became the embodiment of astonishment.
"What's this supposed to mean?"
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