JANET

Booker found his shoes beside the couch, and then began digging through the office for whatever he could find. He pulled drawers and looked through the shelves to no avail, listening for the sound of someone approaching from outside the whole time. No one came. He was about to give up his search when the trash can by the desk caught his eye. There was a lumpy pile of clothing sitting on top. Pulling it out, he found it to be an airman uniform. There was blood on the collar and the name patch on the chest read ‘Adams.’

Without thinking, he immediately threw on the uniform. It fit surprisingly well. The problem was the shoes. There were no boots in the trash bin, and his own athletic sneakers stood out like a lighting rod against the olive drab camouflage. But he had no choice. Holding the bundle of clothes items he didn’t need anymore, he went back to the door and peered into the hall.

No one in sight. Trying his best to flatten his hair, Booker darted into the hall and started walking. His heart was pounding, and he had no idea which direction to go, so he went for the stairs. He shoved the bundle of clothes into a trash bin by the stairs and headed down to the next landing.

He needed a plan. But what could he do? He couldn’t trust Doctor Heart. Joanna had drugged him and sent him off to Area 51 for reasons known only to her at this point. If Booker wanted to help his father, he would have to do it on his own. But where to start? There was nothing on the postcard that could help him here. It said, ‘Don’t trust the Doctor,’ so he knew he couldn’t trust Dr. Heart. But then he remembered that the card had said to trust his neighbor. That meant trusting Joanna. Should he still trust her? Would she actually help him?

Booker descended the steps quickly, peering around the bend at each floor to make sure he wouldn’t be seen. On the third floor, he heard voices somewhere down the hall, but didn’t see anyone. On the second-floor landing, he peaked around the bend and saw two men walking together down the hall, chatting in low voices.

He huddled against the wall and waited for them to pass by before he darted down to the first floor. Rounding the bend and peeking toward the first-floor landing, he didn’t see anyone. But the tinny sounds of laughter were somewhere nearby. He slowly descended and was one step away from the tiles of the ground level, when a door opened to his left and a red headed woman in a lab coat emerged. It was Dr. Heart, and she was looking down at a chart in her hands.

Booker turned and sprinted back up the steps as silently as possible, refusing to even breathe. Before he turned away, he caught sight of a few men following behind Doctor Heart and chatting animatedly with her. Could one of them really be the president? Rounding the bend of the stairs he froze and listened as hard a possible for the sound of pursuers.

There were none. He took slow, shaky breaths, struggling to stay silent, and listened to the conversation. Dr. Heart was laughing as a man talked about his backswing and feeling a warm sensation on his side after hitting the ball. “I look down, and sure enough, blood!” said the male voice.

“I did warn you,” said Dr. Heart in a cheery tone.

A second man’s voice said, “Excuse me, Doctor. Is there a restroom nearby?”

“Up the stairs, first door on the left. That’s the closest.”

‘Oh no,’ Booker thought. He hurried further up the stairs as one of the men from the first floor began ascending after him. Peeking up to the second floor, Booker saw two more men standing close by - one wearing olive drab military fatigues just like his own, and the other wearing blue scrubs and a white lab coat. Footsteps behind him were getting closer - he had to make up his mind.

Booker took a deep breath and then walked out onto the second-floor landing, putting his hands in his pockets and walking casually in the opposite direction of the two men, both of whom looked up as he appeared.

The man in the lab coat nodded to him and said, “Sergeant.”

Booker nodded back to him but said nothing. “Hold up a second,” said the man in the military fatigues. Booker’s heart seemed to halt in his chest, and he stopped and was forced to turn around.

The Airman finished his conversation with the man in the lab coat and approached him, looking around subtly. When he reached Booker, he seemed to size him up before saying, “Nice day to visit the clinic. You picking up?”

It was as if Booker’s brain had shut off. He gapped at the man for a moment and was saved from responding as the man from downstairs appeared on the landing. The newcomer wore a black suit. A sidearm and badge were visible on his hip, and he had an earpiece. “Can you guys point me to a restroom?” said the man.

The Airman pointed to a door across the hall, and said, “Right over their chief!” To Booker, in a low voice, he said, “Secret Service - now that’s a job. Better than rotting in this shit hole, am I right?”

Booker forced a small laugh, as the man said, “So how about it? Picking up? I could use a topper, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean,” said Booker, trying and failing to think of a response that wouldn’t help this man sniff him out as an imposter.

“Oh come on,” said the Airman, putting his arm around Booker’s shoulder and guiding him down the hallway. Poking the squadron patch on Booker’s shoulder, he said, “You’re one of Captain Tully’s crew. New guy, right? Come on, we all know the drill. Here’s fifty bucks - let’s do this really fast while no one is around. You have your keycard, right?”

The man pressed a fifty-dollar bill into Booker’s chest pocket as they approached a glass walled room at the end of the hall. Inside was a lab of some kind. There were a few people fiddling with complicated looking instruments and looking through microscopes.

Booker said, “Listen, now is not a good time. I’ve really got to get going, and - “

But the Airman wasn’t listening. He patted Booker on the back and said, “Five minutes - meet me at the usual drop spot? You’re a lifesaver! I owe you one, yeah?”

One of the lab techs inside the room had spotted them and had a suspicious look on his face. “The usual drop spot?” said Booker.

But the Airman was already walking away. He flashed Booker a thumbs up as he went. Booker was alone by the glass door of the lab. A flat, gray card scanner with a red light in the center was secured right next to the handle. He had no keycard. He double-checked all his pockets but didn’t find anything. The lab tech who had spotted him was now approaching the door.

Booker swore under his breath, thinking fast. Should he just walk away? Did the lab tech already know he was not a real Airman? Before Booker could make up his mind, the lab tech opened the door a crack and said, “What do you want?”

“Uh, I was just looking for -” he began. Before he could think of how to end his sentence, they heard a dim echo from shouting voices somewhere down the hall. It had come from the stairway. Booker couldn’t tell if it was from a floor above them or below them, but the shouting continued for a moment.

The lab tech looked down the hall as well, but the echoing shouts died down. Then he said, “Look, you’re the new guy, right?”

“Yeah,” said Booker, nodding slowly.

“You have the money?” said the tech.

The sound of thundering footsteps reached their ears. At the other end of the hall, Booker saw men in olive drab uniforms running up the stairs at full tilt. Sweating profusely now, Booker said, “Actually, I don’t …”

Looking in the opposite direction down the hall, to a second set of steps, Booker saw more uniformed Airmen reaching the second-floor landing. They were fifty yards away, but Booker could hear one of them issuing instructions about sweeping the building and pointing in different directions. ‘They’re looking for me,’ he thought.

Quickly, Booker said, “... But I’m good for it. Let’s get this done, and I’ll bring the money.”

The lab tech rolled his eyes, and said, “Look you guys can’t keep coming in here without payment ready.” Looking left and right, Booker saw airmen approaching from both sides. They were opening office doors and peering through windows to meeting spaces. In front of him, the Lab tech was closing the door, but Booker threw out his arm to catch it.

Taking a deep breath, he said, “Look, I don’t care what you think. My orders are to complete the pickup. We either get it done now, or I come back with the captain. You decide.”

The tech shook his head. The airmen were getting closer on either side. After what felt like an excruciatingly long wait, the tech said, “Fine. Let’s get it done. But tell the captain this is the last time without payment upfront. I don’t think he appreciates the lengths we go through for this operation.”

He opened the lab door wide, and Booker shuffled past him and out of the hallway. As the door swung shut, Booker saw Airmen converging in the middle of the hallway outside the lab. One of them looked at Booker, nodded, and went on his way.

The lab tech said, “Come on then. Let’s get this over with.”

Booker followed him deeper into the lab, listening to the hum of all the equipment around the room and fluorescent lights overhead. A few of the other lab techs stole covert looks at Booker as he navigated through the tables and desks. On the back side of the room was a floor to ceiling storage cabinet with shelves that pulled out for easy access. The lab tech opened one of the drawers and began grabbing bottles of pills and small bags of powder, placing them on a countertop beside them.

“You got a bag?” said Booker, eyeing the different bottles.

“Jesus, you want me to gift wrap them too?” said the lab tech, grabbing a few paper forms and scribbling notes into the text boxes. “If anyone sees you with this stuff, we’re screwed! Did they tell you nothing?”

“No, no - I got this,” said Booker, grabbing the bottles and stuffing them into his pockets. The pills rattled noisily.

“Sign here,” said the tech, sliding a few forms toward him. Booker grabbed the pen, began to sign his own name, then hastily changed it to ‘Adams.’ When he slid the forms back to the lab tech, he said, “Now get out of here. The money better be here before the end of day, or you can tell the captain to piss off, get it?”

“I’ll get your money,” said Booker. He walked briskly back to the door looking left and right for more Airmen patrolling the corridors. There were a few to his right, but none to the left. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He pushed harder, and then saw another gray key card box beside the door handle. The lab tech was there in a flash to swipe his keycard and open the door for him.

“Get out! And don’t forget your keycard next time! I could lose my job for this!” said the tech.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Booker, pushing the door open and hurrying down the hallway. The pills rattled noisily in his pockets, forcing him to slow down. He had no idea where to go or what to do. Would he need a keycard for every door? As he approached the stairs at the end of the hall, an airman emerged onto the second-floor landing and looked right at him.

“You!” said the Airman.

“Yes?” said Booker. He’d faltered for a moment, but kept walking, trying to pretend that he was walking with a purpose.

“See anything down there?” said the Airman.

“Nothing,” said Booker, making as if to walk past the Airman and down the steps. The Airman put a hand on his chest to stop him, saying, “We’ve got two teams sweeping the first floor already. Come with me.”

Booker was forced in a new direction toward the north side of the building. Hospital rooms lined this new corridor, and the Airman pointed to the left saying, “You sweep on that side.” As the airmen pushed open the door to his right, Booker tried and failed to open the door on the left. Another door, another key card reader.

He stood like a fish out of water, alone in the corridor. After a minute, the Airman retired from his sweep and said, “Anything?”

“Nothing,” said Booker as they moved to the next set of doors. Before they opened, two more Airmen appeared at the end of the hallway, marching toward them.

“No sign of the kid?” said one of them, approaching Booker and his new partner.

“He’s here somewhere,” said the Airman beside Booker.

The two Airmen rushed by them and disappeared in the direction Booker and his companion had come from. Booker said, “What’s the big deal anyway? Who is this kid?”

“The hell if I know,” said the Airman. “Captain Tully wants him found. Didn’t you hear about the kid they brought in this afternoon? The one from Vegas?”

“Oh yeah,” said Booker, his heart pounding as the Airman swiped his keycard and peered into the next door. He didn’t go in this time. Booker said, “What’s with that kid anyway?”

The airman laughed. “Beats me. They’re saying the Colonel ordered him to be hand delivered. If that’s the case, he’s smart to be on the run.”

“Yeah?” said Booker, following as the Airman jogged to the next set of doors.

“You ask me, I say the kid’s got a few hours left once we find him. The Colonel will get what he wants, then he’ll get disappeared.” As the Airman swiped his keycard to open the next door, which turned out to be a storage closet. He glanced at Booker and said, “Come on, hurry up! Where’s your key card?”

Booker felt as if his feet were lead. Stuck on the spot, he struggled to think of an answer. The Airman let the storage room door swing shut behind him and looked Booker up and down. His eyes stopped on Booker’s shoes, and a look of dawning comprehension spread across his face.

In the next moment, several things happened in such quick succession, Booker could barely keep up. The Airman reached for the radio on his belt. A hand appeared from inside the storage room door behind the Airman, stopping the door from closing. The Airman said, “Stay right there!” as he raised the radio to his lips. Then, another man emerged from the storage closet behind the Airman. The newcomer put the Airman into a headlock, wrapping both his arms around the airman's neck, covering his mouth and nose with his hands.

Booker watched in stunned silence as the two men struggled violently, but silently in front of him. The newcomer from the storage closest wrestled the Airman to the ground, breathing hard and after several long moments, the Airman struggles weakened and then faded completely. He went limp in the man’s arms.

Sitting against the doorframe of the storage room, the Airman passed out in his lap, the man said, “Thanks for the help! Mind pulling him in here?”

Booker seemed to jolt back to life, and he rushed forward to help drag the airman into the closet. “Who are you?” said Booker, as the storage door closed behind him, leaving the three men in a slightly cramped space.

“Call me Red,” said the Man, sticking out a hand. Red looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. He had dirty blond hair cut short, dark eyes, and a square jaw. He wore blue scrubs and a white lab coat. As they shook, he said, “You must be Booker Dunn.”

“Yeah,” said Booker.

“What’s all that rattling in your pockets?” said Red, grunting as he propped the Airman up into a sitting position and checked his pulls.

Booker pulled out the bottles of pills and the powder to show him. Red looked in disbelief and said, “Where did you get that?”

“I can’t even begin to explain,” said Booker, shrugging. “Why are you helping me?”

“Think of me as a friendly neighbor,” he said, grabbing a powder bag and opening it. After dipping his pinky into the powder and tasting it, he said, “Thought so.” Then he sprinkled some of the powder over the Airman’s jacket and on the tip of his nose. He put the bag into the Airman’s chest pocket, patted it, and started untying the man’s boots.

“What is that?” said Booker, nodding to the powder on the Airman’s chest.

“Cocaine,” said Red. “The lab uses it for all sorts of stuff and Captain Tully’s and his guys have been taking their cut for years.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Booker, eyeing the pill bottle in his hands.

Red tossed him the Airman’s boots and said, “Here, put these on! Quick! We need to get out of here.”

“How do you know who I am?” said Booker, flinging his shoes off and quickly pulling the boots on.

“We’ve got some mutual friends,” said Red. “Dutch McCoy and Joanna Jones.

The boots were slightly too big for him, so Booker pulled hard on the laces, making them as tight as possible. “Friends?” he scoffed. “Yeah, some friends they turned out to be. Joanna drugged me, and now I have the entire Air Force after me!”

“You’ve got a lot more than that after you. Joanna might be the only real friend you’ve got here,” said Red. “How did you get out of the infirmary?”

“What infirmary? I woke up in an office on the fourth floor,” said Booker.

Red was now by the door again. He opened it just a crack to peer out into the hallway. After a moment’s thought he said, “Huh. Well, the way I heard it, you are lying unconscious in the infirmary on the first floor. You don’t look unconscious to me, so you must have busted out somehow. And the uniform?”

“I found it,” said Booker, standing up as well and testing the boots.

“Come on,” said Red, throwing the door wide.

Booker quickly followed out into the hallway, which looked incredibly bright now that he’d spent several minutes in the dark closet. They hurried down the corridor together, and Booker said, in a low voice, “Are you working with them? With Dutch and Joanna?”

“We’re all in this together now,” said Red, pulling him down another corridor lined with hospital rooms. There was a round reception desk at the end of the hall, but no one was around.

“They sent you after me?” said Booker.

“No,” said Red, as they reached the desk. “They sent me after this!” He pulled out a small oblong object from his lab coat pocket and held it up. It was a metal rod with a suction cup at one end and a sharp point that could slide up and down the metal arm.

“A glass cutter?” said Booker, recognizing the object.

“Yup,” said Red. “I just grabbed it from the lab, and while I was here, they asked me to check up on you.”

“Why?” said Booker.

“Because you’re part of this too,” he said, leaning over the reception desk and punching a few codes into a flat box beside the computer. A buzzing sound issued from a nearby door, and then a loud metallic click sounded as the door opened electronically. “In we go,” said Red.

Booker followed him through the door into what looked like a standard hospital room. It had a bathroom, a hospital bed, a couch, and huge windows looking out at the surrounding mountains.

“Joanna didn’t tell me anything about your plan,” said Booker, running a hand through his hair. “She just said that my father was in trouble!”

“Robert?” said Red, walking over to the windows and peering outside.

“Yeah. Robert Dunn. Do you know him?” said Booker.

“Yeah, I know him,” said Red.

“Is he in trouble?” said Booker.

“We’re all in trouble right now, kid,” said Red. “The Colonel’s just about ready to start chopping heads the way I hear it.” Red unclasped the window lock and slid it open. Even from the center of the room, Booker felt the hot desert air whoosh over him. Red jerked his head out the window and said, “Let’s go.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Booker.

“I’m dead serious,” said Red.

Outside the room came the sound of shouting voices. The door had a long, thin window, and Booker caught sight of uniformed Airmen gathered around the reception desk outside the room. Red said, “Now or never, kid.”

Booker ran to the window, looked out, and saw they were about fifteen feet up. At least they were only on the second floor. Below was a patch of grass that extended fifty feet or so before hitting a sidewalk and a small asphalt road. They were at the back of the building, and no one was around. Booker hopped up on the ledge, took a steadying breath, and jumped.

The fall felt terrifyingly long, and he hit the grass hard. Pain shot through his knees and hips as he rolled out of the fall. The wind was slightly knocked out of him, and he lay there on his back for a moment, grimacing. He didn’t have much time to recover though. Red hit the grass right beside him, grunting loudly as he sprawled in the grass. He was up in a flash though, and quickly pulled Booker to his feet.

“Let’s go!” he said. They hurried along the outer wall of the hospital building and around to the front. As they reached the front, both panting hard, Red slowed to a walk and headed down the sidewalk away from the hospital building.

Looking left and right, Booker saw huge hangars across the street, a few cars parked by the curb, and a road leading to what looked like a little town center. There were a few people walking around outside, some in military fatigues, others in scrubs like Red, and still others in civilian clothes. A man in scrubs like Red’s was walking toward them, and he nodded to Red as they walked past him.

But Booker did a double take, staring at the man over his shoulder as he walked by. “That man - he looks just like you!” said Booker.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Red. They were walking to a car parked by the curb, its driver leaning against the driver’s side door, hands in his pockets. Red rapped his knuckles against the roof of the car and the driver looked around.

“What the…” Booker began, under his breath, gaping at the driver, but Red elbowed him in the stomach.

“Mind giving us a lift?” said Red.

The driver, who could have been Red’s twin, grimaced apologetically and said, “Sorry Red. I’ve got orders to stay here and wait for Lieutenant Bradley. They’re sweeping the building for something right now. Might be a minute.

Red said, “Come on. Call it a favor from one Red to another. I’ll owe you one.”

He looked around, considering it, before saying, “Where are you going?”

“Just to the diner,” said Red.

“Alright, hop in. And make it quick!” said the Driver.

Red wrenched the door open and pushed Booker inside. Booker slid over so Red could climb in behind him and then they were setting off. Looking through the rearview mirror, the driver said to Booker, “Afternoon, Sergeant!”

“Afternoon,” said Booker, uneasily. In a low voice, he said to Red, “Is he your brother or something?”

Red rolled his eyes, still looking out the window and surveying the passing scenery. “First timers.”

Booker looked out the back window as they drove away from the hospital, feeling a sudden rush of relief washing over him. It felt as though he’d just run a marathon. He breathed deeply and said, “Thank you. Really, I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Red, who was also breathing hard.

“Did Joanna talk to you?” said Booker.

“No, I haven’t seen her. But Dutch gave me an update on you, on the plan. He also gave me this -” Red pulled a napkin out of his pocket. It was a thin airline napkin with ‘JANET’ spelled out in red letters on the bottom corner. Someone had scribbled notes and a small drawing of a room layout on it.

“What’s that?” said Booker.

“Instructions,” said Red. “I’ll tell you what, we’re flying by the seat of our pants on this one. I knew it would be a scramble, but this is going to be tight.”

“What are you after?” said Booker, eyeing the driver who didn’t seem to be paying the slightest attention.

“No idea,” said Red. Waving the napkin, he said, “But I know where it is. And I know what to do.”

“Where are we going?” said Booker.

“You’ll see,” said Red, stuffing the napkin back into his pocket.