Mind Games (20 page)

“Stan? I’m not worried. We just need to create a bit of a diversion.” Max walked across the lobby and reared himself behind a large filing cabinet. He started to push. The heavy cabinet screeched against the lobby flooring. “Want to help me with this?”

Cameron walked over and positioned his back against the cabinet. They moved it against the lobby entrance, centering it against the doorframe.

“There,” Max said, dusting off his palms. “See if they can get through that. Here’s the deal Frosty…I didn’t tell you about Blake just to bum you out. I told you because I believe your wife got away from here. I think she escaped.”

“How? What about the trackers?”

“How strong is your wife?”

Cameron chuckled. “She can hold her own.”

“Then listen. If you think someone from here took her – to steal the blueprints and all that – there’s a chance she got away long before they ever reached the forest.”

“But Dallas acted like he didn’t know anything about her.”

“That’s what I mean. Don’t you think that’s strange? He’s probably denying he knew anything because he was responsible for letting her escape. It was probably his fault. Just imagine if The Leader found out.”

“So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying she probably whooped Dallas’s sorry ass and ran away.”

“But she never came home, Max.”

“So what? It probably happened out there on the highway or something.” Max nodded. “I don’t know what it is, Frosty. I just know Dallas is a liar, and I think your wife is looking for you. She’s probably out there right now calling your phone.”

“You don’t get it Max. I’m supposed to find her.”

“But I do get it, Frosty. I do. I can tell right now, just by looking at you, that you’re going to see her again. And not only that. Someday, when we all get out of here and laugh our asses off.”

Then Max did something special. As he walked away from the door, he touched his feet together and pulled them apart, sliding across the lobby floor with a confidence that reminded Cameron of a younger version of himself. The kid ha
d
swagge
r
. But it wasn’t just the way he moved. As Cameron watched Max pick up another blueprint and finish folding it into a paper airplane, he noticed a certain charisma, an almost baffling levity grace Max’s face.

With raised eyebrows and a crafty grin, Max exuded an extraordinary self-assurance. His eyes flashed with an almost villainous quality, and yet, at the same time, displayed a kind of wisdom. Of all the people Cameron met at the cottage, Max seemed to have the strongest sense of his own identity. Instead of letting fears of The Leader drag him down, Max strutted in the space like he owned it. Tossing the blueprint-airplane across the lobby, Max watched the trajectory the way Howard Hughes used to watch one of his specialized aircrafts circle the sky. Cameron looked closer at the spiky-haired kid, and saw something in him that he hadn’t seen for days: hope.

The paper airplane curved around the lobby, finally landing in a smooth slide at Max’s feet. “Now, about this diversion.” Running along the long lobby desk, Max tapped his hands across the surface in a continuous drumroll until he reached the wall near the hallway that led to the fake bank vault. “This!” He rapped against a small metal compartment in the wall. “This is our ticket out of here.”

The
n
... **Knock. Knock. Knock.**

The blockade they placed in front of the door vibrated with each knock causing a rumbling that started in its metal siding and moved through the lobby floor.

“Crap,” Max opened the compartment revealing an electrical breaker board installed into the wall. “That’s probably Stan. Once he enters the code to break in here, that filing cabinet will only buy us a few more seconds.”

**Knock...KNOCK....KNOCK!!**

“Get over here Frosty!” Max ran his fingers down the series of breakers. “Let me see if I can remember…aha!” Max flipped the switch.

Cameron ran over and stood in front of the filing cabinet, pressing his weight against it while Stan pushed from the other side. Along with the furious knocking on the door, Stan’s muffled voice, a mix of anger and concern, vibrated through the steel door.

Max closed the compartment door to the breaker board. “Alright. You can let him in. Then, let’s go to the vault.”

Cameron released his grip on the cabinet and ran over to join Max near the breaker board. They could already hear Stan’s voice growing stronger. And as he opened the steel door, he began to push the cabinet out of the way.

With a swift stride, Max led Cameron into the replica vault and closed the thick door behind them, leaving only a few inches of space between the chrome locking mechanisms.

Then, they waited.

Pushing with all his might, Stan gave the door a final shove, causing the filing cabinet to topple over in a crash. He wedged his tubby body through, and kicked the filing cabinet in frustration. Leaping over the fallen cabinet, he called out, “Max! What the hell is going on down here?” Stan yanked his pants up and bounded across the lobby, peering into the hallway near the fake vault.

And just as he did, Max opened the vault door, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow.

Cameron pretended to be out of breath and held up the stopwatch. “Twelve minutes and eighteen seconds.”

“That’s a new record,” Max chimed in with a smile.

Flushed from fighting the blocked door, Stan huffed and puffed, twisting his pants under his overhung belly. “How dare you, Max
.
Shame on you
!
You thought you could lock me out of the replica? What the hell were you guys doing down here?”

“Practicing.” Max pointed to Cameron’s stopwatch. “Duh. I thought you’d be proud of our time.”

Stan took a step towards Max and folded his arms. “And why was there a filing cabinet jammed up against the door?”

“It’s all part of the training, man. You should know that.”

“Training? It’s a heist, Max. Not a black ops mission.”

“Hey now.” Max slowly closed the vault door behind him with his foot. “I just want us to be prepared. Who knows, the door could be blocked on the night of the real heist. You said it yourself, Stan. We have to be prepared for anything.”

“And what about the blueprints strewn out all over the…” But just then, a beeping came from Stan’s pocket. “What now?” Then he pulled out a remote control – the kind that has two sets of joysticks similar to remotes for toy trucks.

Muttering to himself, Stan pulled on the remote’s antenna, extending it to full length. He slapped the remote against the palm of his hands to stop the annoying beeping, but the remote blared on.
“
Suffering succotash. Darn it to heck
.
” He gave the remote a firm whack on the top of his gelatinous thigh.
“
Son of a hillbilly. Cracking ginger hopper. What in the wild west
?
”

Max always enjoyed watching Stan get upset. Already, the list of Stan’s grumblings topped the previous outburst following the first failed heist mission. Without a risk of punishment from The Leader’s watchful eyes, Max would have concocted more ways of outwitting Stan just to witness the utter nonsense he spewed when he couldn’t get something just right.

“Thi
s
blasted, bended, bitche
d
remote won’t shut up!”

“Hand it over,” Max said. “Let me see if I can get it to work.”

Stan gave the beeping remote another firm whack against his upper thigh before reluctantly handing over the device to Max.

Grabbing the remote, Max flipped it over and unlatched the black piece of plastic under the antenna. Then he popped out the batteries into his other hand. The beeping stopped. “There. Quiet as a mouse.”

“Give me that,” Stan said as he yanked the remote away again. This time, instead of grumbling, Stan just cleared his throat, shoving the batteries into the back of the remote. The green lights on the small LED screen lit back up, but the one on the right blinked red. “Uh oh,” Stan said. “The tree is down. Crap!”

“Tree?” Max pushed for innocence, but only sarcasm came out.

“You know what I’m talking about.” Then Stan looked up. “Did you guys touch anything down here?”

Max looked at Cameron. “You mean besides the filing cabinet, and the blueprints, and this stopwatch, and the vault door, and everything else that we use to run our training exercises? No. We didn’t touch anything.”

Stan cleared his throat again, this time forming a small cough. “Right.” Then he looked towards Cameron. “Well, Cameron, maybe you shouldn’t be spending so much time with this wise-ass, Max. He might be a bad influence on your convergence into Unit Two.”

“He can handle me,” Max said. “Now about that tree.”

Stan eyed the blinking red light on the remote. He flicked the light with his middle finger, but nothing changed except the expression on his face. The annoyance he wore just a moment ago was now a solid frown.
“
Godzill
a
,” he said, stamping his foot and shifting his jaw.
“
Fudge-sickl
e
.”

“You can’t ignore the tree, Stan.” Max widened his stance, exuding confidence. “The Leader will find out. I don’t have to tell you that.”

“You littl
e
dingle shingl
e
.”

Max took a step back, barely holding in his laughter. “Is that supposed to intimidate me, Stan? Wow, I can see you’ve been spending more time with Dallas.” Max held up his hands. “Trash talk me all you want. That light is gonna blink red until you go out there and fix it. You’d better take Dallas with you. I know how much he loves to climb trees.”

You watch your mouth.” Stan jutted out his bottom teeth.

“I know,” Max said. “The tree just needs some new batteries.”

“It doesn’t take batteries
,
dippin’ dot
s
.”

“Stan, you know I love it when you’re angry, but we’re not really gonna stand here all afternoon to talk about your lack of concrete knowledge – even when it comes to remotes…”

Stan’s red face turned a deep purple.

“No,” Max said. “You and Dallas need to go fix the tree before anyone sees it. You know as well as I do…if anyone discovered the mechanical tree, this whole operation could be in jeopardy. And that includes any cut of the money you’d receive from the heist. So, what are you waiting for?”

Stan looked down at the remote and rotated the joysticks with his nubby thumbs. The red light continued to blink on the screen. “Okay,” he said, looking up. “I’ll go check on the hunk of metal. But I’m not taking Dallas with me. I’m taking you two troublemakers. We’ll go tonight.”

SECRETS

Night flew over the forest cottage in a bitter chill.

Most of the puddles of water from the previous string of storms dried up in the heat of the day, but now, as the sun dipped behind the canopy of pine trees, a fierce wind blew in from the north. Mixing in with the swirling debris, the wind spiraled around the pines in a howling drawl, causing the crows that normally circled overhead to cover their faces with their wings, shielding their black eyes.

For a summer evening, the temperature was oddly frigid. The bugs and the serpents that frittered over the leaves sensed the change in barometric pressure, and had since taken shelter in their burrows and bungalows underground long before the chill took hold.

Now, instead of weighted by raindrops or hail, the branches on the tattered oaks cracked from the sheer force of the wind, leaving piles of tinder at the bases of the trunks.

The silver-shrieked moonlight manifested as a haunting glow across the ground, rising and falling in the shadows of the shaken forest.

The wind and curved around the green mound surrounding the camouflaged cottage, engulfing it in a dense cyclone of leaves and whirring helicopter seeds. Even the shingles of the cottage bowed under the ferocious pressure of the coiled gusts. A few shingles, clinging on for dear life, eventually let go and joined the countless particles that warped towards elliptical symmetry around the cottage mound.

Stan, Max, and Cameron gathered in the security room buried twenty feet underground on the first level of the covert compound.

Stan waved an electrode wand over all three of their ankle bracelets. Even as a unit supervisor, Stan was subject to the same strict security measures as the other compound occupants.

“I’m removing the first threshold of tracking detection for the anklets,” Stan said. “This will give us enough flexibility to fix the tree and return before the night is over.”

Cameron watched how the lights on the ankle trackers changed to orange as Stan passed the electronic wand over them.

Stan set the electronic wand on the counter near the organized monitors. “This is simply a routine maintenance job. Nothing more.”

Before long, Stan led Max and Cameron down to the tunnels. They passed the night shift digging crew and exited the main tunnels through the same stainless steel doors Cameron was originally brought in through on his first night. However, exiting the tunnels through this route was an entirely different experience. As they weaved through the curved walls of the tunnels, the space felt tighter to Cameron, and he had to duck ever so often as to not hit his head on the overhead tunnel lights and tree roots.

Since his first time through this particular tunnel had been in a low-riding wheelbarrow, Cameron now saw how claustrophobic the tunnel truly was, noting the way it narrowed ahead of them like the long esophagus of a giant sea monster.

Slanting upward, the headroom in the tunnels gradually decreased until the group had to crouch down, arching their backs in order to advance.

Stan led them to the narrowest and shallowest portion of the tunnel. Then, he unlocked the stump hatch. A strong gust of wind hissed and howled through the opening, forcing itself through the hatch like a phantom.

The group fought their way up the ladder. Once above ground, Stan closed the stump hatch.

The beams of moonlight silhouetted Stan’s pear-shaped figure. Even if the lantern had been made from pure crystal, the light would not have been bright enough to illuminate a visible path amidst the dense, flying particles. Part grass and part dirt, the bits of material created a blending effect, whipping the air into a brownish haze.

The group walked about fifty yards away from the stump hatch. Cameron looked back towards the compound. Though also shrouded in night, the circular hill formed around the cottage almost masked its presence entirely. From this distance, only a few slits of light were visible. The light that did escape was filtered through the boards covering the cottage windows.

Seeing that Stan was far enough ahead, Max ran a few steps in front of Cameron and trusted the wind would mask his words from Stan’s range of hearing. “Don’t look back. You hear me? We’re never coming back here.”

“I know!” Cameron shouted, feeling the wind suck the sound out of his mouth, “Forward.”

This time, withholding any type of downpour, the fierce storm raged against the group with its windshield. And though the flock of crows no longer invaded upon Cameron’s journey, the ruthless clutches of nature still fought him, pushing against him with every stride.

As Cameron passed under the shadows of pines, the darkness swallowed the moonlight. He held up one of his hands and waved it in front of him. But in the dark reaches under the branches, his hand appeared only as a black blur. If not for the streaks of moonlight cutting through the shaking branches, the experience might have been comparable to trying to escape a windy cave. And like an abandoned cave, Cameron noticed that any signs of life had long since cleared out, leaving nothing but a blinding void.

Max jumped over falling branches and strained his neck to watch his feet as to not twist his ankle in a snake hole or bunny burrow. Even though his night vision improved over the two years working underground, Max felt the desperate limits of his of vision.

Sprinting forward, exerting all his core energy for only a second or two, Max caught up to Stan and spread his arms above his head, hollering to the sky, “Is that all you got? This is pathetic! This is...”

A wall of air pushed Max onto his back, smacking his hair against the cold grass. But he just raised his arms again and wooted from his gut. Thankful to be at ground level, even in these conditions, Max began to taste a sort of freedom.

Stan witnessed Max’s fall, but didn’t stop. Instead, he raised the lantern with even more determination, marching on into the gusts.

Cameron blocked the spray of particles with his hands and looked up to the sky. The gray clouds moved with speed, overlapping each other like rippling fabric. Square by square, the giant clouds stitched into a horrific quilt that dipped down into sheets of fog. Max and Cameron ran ahead of Stan for a moment, squinting to the distant trees. Most of the trees were established by age and continued to shake only branches from above, but some of the younger trees weren’t as strong.

In a moment of pure fury, the storm leveled a series of thin trees, snapping their trunks like chopsticks.

Severed from the middle down, the remains of the trunks formed an invisible track from the roars of the storm’s hollow locomotive.

Cameron slipped on a patch of grass and fell into a pile of sharp pine needles. Their pointed bristles stabbed into his skin. They felt like tiny bites. Standing, he brushed off the needles, pulling some from his palms.

In the gaps of wind, Max and Stan gained substantial ground.

Steadily loosing traction, Cameron jogged forward and dug his heels into the grass, determined not to fall again. From his current position, he could see the first hint of the highway ahead. The far-reaching distance caused the highway to appear as a thin strip, only visible when a vehicle zipped past in a streak of light. And the cars, though barely visible, seemed to be scaled down to a matchbox size.

Now, entering a small clearing, Cameron held up his right hand and pinched the highway in his mind’s eye. When he was carried into the forest via wheelbarrow, he didn’t realize the incredible distance the men took him before reaching the hidden stump hatch. And in the conditions that surrounded him, the immensity of the distance seemed even further.

Step by trudging step, Cameron caught up to the others. A large group of thicker pines blocked some of the harsher gusts, allowing the group to advance with less resistance. However, the thickly wooded area also blocked more moonlight. As the shadows fell even deeper around him, Cameron kept his gaze on Stan’s swinging lantern.

The group walked another few acres, carefully weaving between trees. The highway, now closer, provided a goal. From his current vantage point, Cameron also saw semi trucks hauling concealed freight.

As the group neared the slanting ditch just below the highway, the majority of the violent wind became trapped behind them amongst the army of pines. Several more oaks and pines littered the stretch of the ditch, and Cameron recognized the area from when he’d first been pulled from the wreckage.

While Stan forged ahead, Max motioned to Cameron to stay a few yards behind. Then Max leaned against Cameron’s shoulder, speaking through chapped lips. “We’re almost there, Frosty.”

The group stayed hidden from the highway passengers. Stan held the lantern more firmly, holding it up to the dark trunks of the solid oaks. He was checking them. He did this the way a carpenter might scrutinize the different stains on planks of wood. Moving the lantern from left to right, Stan’s sweeping motion caused the shadows of the trunks to sway and bend. Then he walked up the steep incline of the ditch.

After a few more moments of searching, Stan planted his feet in front of an abnormally large trunk. He pressed his hand against the bark. But instead of reaching out to feel a solid strip of bark, Stan’s fingers pressed into the side of the trunk as if it were made of foam rubber. It had a spongy texture. Satisfied with his find, Stan kicked the base of the truck until a thin sheet of metal fell to the slanted grass. Guiding the metal rectangle with his feet, Stan slid it up against the far edge of the highway’s shoulder lane.

Another semi zipped by, this time flinging mini pieces of rubber across the pavement. In the momentary streak of illumination from the semi’s headlights, Cameron caught a glimpse of metal rungs leading up the oak’s thick trunk. Stan placed the wire handle of the lantern in his teeth and began to climb the ladder built into the tree. Cameron stepped closer to the trunk and saw it was crudely painted a range of browns and blacks. He pressed his hand into the foam-like material and watched as Stan climbed up the tree.

When Stan reached the top of the trunk, he climbed over a steel railing and placed the lantern on a metal platform. Looking up, Cameron noticed how the entire platform was carefully concealed by groups of fake branches and leaves.

Max leaned against the tree and spoke to Cameron in the darkness. “We call this The Mechanical Trap.” Holding one of his arms straight up, he turned it parallel to the ground. “It only takes one motion for it to fall across the highway...it’s a hydraulic system.”

In the dim glow of the blue moonlight, Cameron watched Max reach down near the base of the trunk and pull a thick cable from the grass. “This power line leads all the way down to the bank replica.”

“Aha,” Cameron said. “The breaker switch.”

“Exactly. Stan can fiddle all he wants with the remote. He can even dink around with the manuel levers up there. But it won’t work. No power. No trap.”

By the light of the lantern above, Stan yanked a pull cord.

Nothing.

He yanked it again.

Still nothing.

“This is our chance,” Max said, rubbing his hands together.

Cameron saw the speckle of moonlight reflected in Max’s eyes. He was giddy with excitement.

Stan to grumbled to himself. He tried to yank the pull cord one more time. Then, he began to wonder if the abnormally chilly temperatures could have caused friction within the tree’s generator.

Fully aware of how the fake leaves blocked Stan’s sightline to the darkness below, Max and Cameron moved away from the base of the tree. They walked down into the ditch, hiding in shadows.

A few more vehicles zoomed across the highway. Max pushed past several other trunks, leading them about thirty yards away from the mechanical tree. He ran back up the slanted ditch to the shoulder of the road and poked his head out.

A set of headlights approached in the lane closest to them. Max moved his arm across in a rhythm, watching the traffic carefully. The single headlight of a motorcycle rumbled past. Max moved to hide behind a nearby trunk. Checking both directions, he signaled with his arm.

“All clear
.
Let’s go
!
”

Max and Cameron ran across the highway in a single sprint. And as they passed the yellow line down the middle of the pavement, Max raised his arms like an Olympic champion. Once across the other side, Max and Cameron ran down the other ditch, keeping low in their strides.

A pickup pulling a camper clunked above them, and Max pulled Cameron down behind an area of tall grass. “Now, we watch.”

Crouched below the swaying blades, the two friends followed the beam of the pickup’s headlights in the distance. The beam stretched across the highway for twenty seconds before illuminating an underpass further down the road.

“Yes,” Max said. “That’s it. That’s where we need to go.”

Cameron looked across the black highway. The pickup passed under the small bridge and now appeared only as a small dot of light moving away from them.

Pressing off the ground, Max bolted further down into the ditch and hid behind a section of bushes.

“So, what?” Cameron asked. “We just wait here and hitch a ride?”

“That’s the plan. Stan’s got his head so far up his ass, he’ll never find us over here.”