Among the Enemy (17 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“You?” Matthias asked. He glanced around frantically. The rest of the car was empty. “Where’s
—?” He stopped himself just in time. He couldn’t give away Nina and Trey.

"Relax," Mike said. "I'm on your side. Didn't you figure that out when I gave you and Nina that great cover story last night?"

Now that Matthias thought about it, Mike had tried awfully hard to keep the other guard from telling the commander.

"I thought you were just obsessed with people having girlfriends," Matthias muttered.

Mike chuckled.

"Everyone wants to believe in love," he said. "Even ugly Population Police guards."

Mike was speeding up. He rounded a bend and hit a staightaway that allowed him to zoom through the woods. Matthias looke cautiously over his shoulder. No

headlights were following them—maybe Matthias could dare to believe that he'd get away safely.

That is, if he was safe with Mike.

'Are we meeting Nina and the others somewhere else?" Matthias asked hesitantly. Mike obviously knew about Nina; it wouldn't be a betrayal to mention just her name.

"Nope," Mike said.

"But the plan—"

"We had to modify it a little," Mike said. "It took everyone working together just to get you and me away from headquarters. Someone to watch you at the front gate and signal the person cutting the wires, someone to plant the dead squirrel beside the cut wires, someone to hide this car outside the fence ... We're just hoping that everyone back at HQ is so busy looking for you that they don't check out any of the other suspicious activities this afternoon."

"Oh," Matthias said.

He still wished Nina were with them, or someone else he was sure he could trust. He shrank lower in his seat. The car was going so fast now, it made him feel a little sick.

"You think the two of us can do everything in time?" Matthias asked.

"Of course not," Mike said calmly. "We're getting help with that. From people who
aren't
on our side."

"What?" Matthias asked, thoroughly confused now.

"There's a zipper on the left side of your seat," Mike said. "It's hard to find, but if you can, open it and pull out one of the flyers."

Matthias obediently felt along the side of his leather seat. The zipper was in a seam near the top, and its teeth gave way reluctantly as Matthias pulled on it. By feel, he found, first, foam stuffing and then a stack of hundreds of papers. He eased one out.

"Here," Mike said, handing Matthias the penlight.

Matthias switched it on and directed the tiny red glow at the paper. In huge letters at the top, the paper read: THE POPULATION POLICE NEED YOUR HELP! Smaller type below proclaimed:

Under the leadership of President Aldous Krakenaur, we have uncovered a plot to steal and/or destroy food that rightfully belongs to all the legal citizens of this great nation. With your assistance, we can protect our food supply. We need all loyal citizens from your sector to go to 108 Warehouse Row at 1:00 a.m. on February 2....

The red light and the tiny words made Matthias feel queasier than ever. He shook his head dizzily.

"This can't be right," he said.

"Why not?" Mike asked.

"This makes it sound like the Population Police are the good guys," Matthias said. "Like they're just trying to pro' tect the food from the rebels. Us. That's wrong—we're the ones who want to hand the food out."

Mike took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot a sharp glance at Matthias.

“And what do you think the people would do if we passed out notes saying, The rebels invite you to take food away from the Population Police'?" Mike asked. "Do you think anybody would show up? I don't know about you, but I think
I'd
cower in my bed.
I'd
avoid Warehouse Row as if my life depended on it."

Mike had a mocking tone in his voice—it was almost like he was mocking Matthias's original idea.

'And there aren't enough of us rebels to pass out all the notes in time," Mike continued. "No, we have to do this under the guise of the Population Police. It's the only way this can work."

Matthias was still shaking his head.

"But . . . does the commander know? Does the president?" he asked.

"Of course not," Mike said. "We're using flunkies who are supposed to think that I'm a top-ranking officer."

Matthias noticed that Mike had extra medals and ribbons pinned to his chest, extra patches sewn to his arm.

More lies,
Matthias thought. He'd seen the food giveaway
as something straightforward:
Here, poor people, take this food that the Population Police have been keeping from you. Go and
starve no more.
But his plan had been tweaked and twisted almost beyond recognition. Did he even want to be a part of the plan now?

What else could he do?

Matthias didn't say anything.

They were out of the woods now and on the outskirts of the city. Burned-out, tumbledown houses gave way to tidy streets. Mike pulled up alongside a low, newly white-washed building with a glittering sign out front proclaiming,
POPULATION POLICE SUBSTATION
—
EASTERN
BRANCH.

"Just when I get away from one Population Police headquarters, we go straight to another one?" Matthias moaned.

"Stick close by me and keep your mouth shut," Mike said. "They're supposed to think you're my servant. So you get to carry all the flyers."

It took Matthias four trips to transport all the papers from the car to a long row of tables inside a meeting room. The job took even longer because each time he went into or out of the building, he had to sign in or sign out and pass through a security screening. Each time Matthias scrawled,
Roger Symmes
on the security pad, he was certain
someone would scream out,
Wait] You're the kid who's missing from main headquarters!

But all the guards were watching Mike. Matthias got the feeling that this particular substation had never received a visit from such a decorated officer before.

"I need all your men assembled in the briefing room!" Mike roared. "Now!"

"Urn, some of them are sleeping, like if they're going to be on guard duty overnight—," a guard timidly started to explain.

Mike cut him off. "I said everyone! Now!"

By the time Matthias had all the flyers lined up on the tables, the room was overflowing with men in uniform— some of them, indeed, looking as though they'd just been awakened. Mike strode to the front of the room, and the room instantly became silent.

"This is an emergency!" Mike screamed.

He gave a quick explanation of the supposed crisis, making the "rebels" who intended to destroy the food supply sound so vile and disgusting that Matthias began picturing them with horns and forked tails.

"My assistant will pass out street assignments for each of you," Mike said, handing Matthias yet another stack of papers. "Go to every habitation—every house, every apartment, every makeshift shed—and give the people their orders for picking up the food."

"But what if the people eat the food?" someone asked.

"Oh, they won't dare do that. They'll know that we're keeping track, and we'll know if they don't return it after the crisis has passed," Mike said. "Is that clear?"

Standing behind Mike, Matthias could see drops of sweat trickling down the back of his neck. But his voice came out clear and confident.

"Why don't we just catch the rebels?" an officer in the front row dared to ask. "Wouldn't that be easier?"

"It's too late for that," Mike burst out. 'And—and we can't take any chances with our food supply."

"Then I'll call for reinforcements," the officer said. He reached for a telephone Matthias hadn't noticed before. Matthias watched with a sinking feeling as the officer put the receiver to his ear, reached down to dial . . . and stopped. "That's odd," he said. "Phone's dead."

Mike's face seemed to turn stark white.

'The rebels cut the wires!" he screamed. "They found out which station we're using! Hurry! Get your assignments and go!"

Pandemonium broke out. The men swarmed forward, grabbing their assignments from Matthias and stacks of flyers from the table. Matthias was sure he'd be crushed. But moments later, he and Mike were left alone in the midst of overturned chairs, flipped tables, ripped papers. Through the window, he could see cars and trucks careening out into the street, their tires squealing.

"Okay, now we head to the warehouse," Mike said calmly.

Back in the car, Matthias dared to ask, "You cut the phone lines yourself, didn't you? How'd you do that when they were watching you the whole time?"

"Maybe we had a friend or two at that substation, after all," Mike said.

Matthias frowned and watched the dark street glide by outside his window for a few minutes.

“Why can’t you just tell me?” he finally said, turning back to Mike. “Nina always keeps secrets from me, and it drives me crazy. 'No, I can't tell you that. It isn't safe.' 'It's
better if you don't know any other names. . . '"

"Nina's right," Mike said. "Secrecy is safer. If our plan works, if you and I both survive the night . . . Well, we wouldn't want to get anyone else in trouble."

Mike thinks we're going to be caught,
Matthias realized.
Caught and tortured, probably, until
we
tell on all of our friends. And then, once again, I'll have hurt someone trying to do some" thing good. Or maybe not. . .
Something new occurred to him.

"I don't know your last name," Matthias said, startled at the thought. "I don't know what name Nina was using at Population Police headquarters. I don't know the name on anyone's I.D. card."

"Good," Mike said grimly, staring straight ahead. "Let's keep it that way."

They arrived at the warehouse. The same collection of trash-covered lumps were scattered along the wall, but this time Matthias recognized them as human right away.

"Let's hope they haven't changed the password," Mike muttered. "Why don't you give it, since you've been here before."

With Mike at his side, Matthias stepped up to the intercom. His hand trembled as he pressed the button.

"Glorious future," he squeaked.

The door opened slowly, as if the guard wasn't quite sure about Matthias. Mike barreled his way through the cracked door, his fists flailing. In seconds, he'd knocked the guard out flat on the floor. Mike stabbed a hypodermic needle into the guard's arm.

"That'll make sure he stays unconscious," Mike said. "Now, let's just hope there really was only one guard...."

Mike slipped a key ring from the guard's belt, and the two of them raced through the building, checking behind every door. There were four levels to the building, so it took a long time. But the building had a simple layout: Every door on the left side of the building led to the food storeroom; every door on the right side led to a room
con-
taining hundreds and thousands of white cards—the I.D.'s.

But Mike and Matthias found no other people any" where else in the building.

"Good thing the commander was so paranoid about secrecy," Mike muttered as they returned to the first floor. "Only one guard for this entire building—it's crazy."

They moved the unconscious guard's body into an alcove off the entryway.

"This way, he won't get trampled," Mike said. "Things are going to be pretty chaotic." He glanced at his watch. "It's a shame I didn't set the times a little earlier. The first group of people won't start arriving to carry away the food for another hour."