When the Chips Are Down (10 page)

“You don’t get to ask the questions.  You unlawfully entered a deceased man’s
residence and took something that didn’t belong to you.  That’s why you’re here, and unless you want Zane to get shot fleeing from the police, I suggest you start talking,” Slater snapped.

Trent was in another interrogation room, having the same unpleasant experience with the Boise detectives. He was calmer than Brooklyn. He did not let their threats of imprisonment get to him. He kept telling himself over and over again that Zane was still free and somehow, he would save them.

Slater barged into the room. “Your friend just gave you up,” he announced.

“What?” Trent said.

“Brooklyn Wytowski, have you conveniently forgotten who she is? She told us it was you who took the documents from Dr. Eldridge’s home, and she’s going to lead us to them and to Zane,” the chief said, smugly.

“Do you seriou
sly expect me to believe that?  I wouldn’t trust you to tell me the time.  If she told you what you needed to know, you wouldn’t be wasting your time talking to me,” Trent scoffed.

His reaction angered the chief. “Boy, you are playing with fire!” he exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table and moving toward Trent’s face. “We’re going to find your friend Zane and those documents, and when we do, y’all can spend the next fifty years in prison together.  If you think we don’t have the means and the resources to find him, you’re even dumber than I thought.”  A feeling of terror rose up in Trent.  Slater had finally gotten to him.  He started to think about what would happen if they did find Zane.
Zane, please get us out of here, man,
Trent thought.
Don’t get caught.  It’s all up to you now. It’s ALL up to you.

Rachelle had just come home from work when out of the living room window she saw three men approaching her front door.  She walked to the door and opened it before they could knock.  All three were dressed in suits.  One was a short, dark man wearing a trench coat.  “Ms. Devarro, I’m Federal Agent Henley, and this is Detective Watkins and Detective Jones of the Helena PD. We’re wondering if you’ve seen this man,” the man in the trench coat said.  He held a picture of Zane.  “His name is Zane Marsh, and we have reason to believe he is in connection with a series of terrorist crimes,” Henley said. 

The word “terrorist” caused a reaction in Rachelle’s brain she did not understand.  It was as if a current of electrical impulses were firing through her mind.  “We understand you and Mr. Marsh attended the same college in Denver,” Henley said, lowering the picture. 

“
Yes, but I haven’t seen him since graduation,” Rachelle said.  The currents seemed to become more rapid. 

“What
about these individuals?” Henley asked, showing her a picture of Trent and Brooklyn.  Rachelle shook her head.  The currents were worse still!

“Marsh may try to contact you.  He’s probably desperate enough to reach out to old friends and acquaintances in the area.  If you hear from him, please give us a call,” Henley said, handing her his card. 

“I certainly will,” Rachelle replied. 

This
is so strange,
she thought when they had gone.
Why is the FBI looking for Zane? 
She had had a strange impulse to tell the agent that she had seen Zane.  It was a bizarre and uncomfortable feeling, as if an all-powerful voice in her head was telling her what to do, and that she had angered it by not complying.  She fought hard against the voice and the constant dazed feeling she experienced, which clouded her every thought.  Her head ached from the racing currents that had pulsated through her brain earlier.

She rubbed her temples.  The pain didn’t stop.  She bent over to retrieve an aspirin from her purse, which was lying on the floor beside the sofa.  The pain was blinding now, as if she were being stabbed in the head with an ice pick.  She let out a groan and dropped her purse.  She took several steps towards the doorway in agony, then doubled over and collapsed on the floor.

“So, who was right all along?” Mandel said to Sikes when they had climbed into their patrol car.

“Yes, you
are a loyal servant of our government,” Sikes said.

“
These criminals think they can break the laws of our beloved government and simply walk around unnoticed,” Mandel declared. 

“
They’ve got some nerve alright,” Sikes replied.  He radioed their commanding officer. 

“Sir, all paper work has been completed, and our shift has ended,” he reported.

“
Your shift hasn’t even begun,” his commanding officer replied, “I want you to search every jail house, outhouse, and dog house until you find Zane Marsh.  No one is going home tonight until he’s found.”

                          
 
             
Chapter 7

Zane wandered the streets nervously with the hood of his jacket over his head, passing the many stores and businesses nestled in Helena’s historic downtown. They had Trent and Brooklyn, and they would leave no stone unturned until they captured him as well.  After they had come so far, their plan would be ruined; he would rot in jail with Trent and Brooklyn; Ben and Brian would be sent overseas to war and he would never see them again. 

It would not be difficult for the police to find him in Helena.  He stood out badly.  His hair was long, and he could not remember the last time it had been cut; he had a full beard and he was among clean-cut business people.  He looked like he’d been living in a cave.  For the first time in his life, Zane Marsh was worried about fitting in with others. 

He had never felt so alone. He was in a state of near panic as he tried to think of what to do next.  He knew he couldn’t keep walking around in public.  He tried to keep his head down so no one would see his face.  His picture was probably being broadcast over every news station by now.  A woman stepped out of a salon and bumped directly into him.  “Pardon me,” she said and quickly walked away.  Zane stopped and looked through the window of the salon. 
That’s what I need.  I need to change my appearance,
he thought,
but how??
 

He thought hard while staring through the window at the beauticians, who were busily working.  It was a new age salon with pink neon lights and designer furniture. 
This place is too pretentious anyway,
he thought as he walked away.  He was in no way ready to give up.  He had to come up with a plan and fast.  He kept walking down the same brick street, avoiding eye contact with passersby until he turned a corner and spied a different barbershop.

It was a small two story white building with red and white pillars.  “Smitty’s” was painted on the window.  Zane guessed it was the kind of old fashioned barbershop where the barber shaved your face with a straight razor while talking about current events and the weather.  Those were his favorite places to get a hair cut.  Zane walked over and stared through the window.  It was very busy inside.  The waiting area was full of customers, and it looked a bit chaotic.  Zane pulled his hood off of his head and walked inside.  He had an idea now.

It was indeed chaotic inside.  The floor was covered with hair, and the shop was a little disorganized.  Zane walked up to the tall, thin, older man who was sweeping the floor.  “Are you Smitty?” Zane asked. 

“That’s the rumor
,” the man replied. 

“It looks like Chewbacca coughed up a hairball in here,” Zane blurted. 
That was smooth,
he thought sarcastically to himself. 

“Well, that’s what happens when your help up and quits on you without warning,” Smitty
shrugged.  Smitty seemed surprisingly normal. 
Maybe he is among the few who aren’t affected by the chip,
Zane thought to himself.

“You know, I could help you out this evening.  I could keep the place clean and running smooth, so all you’d have to worry about is cutting hair.  All I’d ask for in return is a haircut.  I have a job interview tomorrow and I’m low on funds, so I’d really appreciate it,” Zane said.  Smitty stopped sweeping to look at him. 

“You sure as hell need a haircut. What’s your name?” Smitty said.

“Alan,” Zane said.  He thought it safer to use his middle name.  “So
what do you say?” Zane urged.  Smitty only paused for a moment before responding.

“I’ll give you a haircut first.  I don’t want the customers to see you looking like that.  You can put your things in the back room.” 

“Thanks a lot,” Zane said with a smile.

“How do you want it?” Smitty asked when Zane was in the barber chair. 

“Short,” Zane replied.  Smitty cut Zane’s hair
to a near crew cut length and shaved his face with a straight razor.  “You do good work,” Zane said, admiring himself in the mirror when Smitty had finished. 

“You l
ook like a new man,” Smitty said. 

“T
hat’s what I was hoping for,” Zane grinned.

Zane swept the floor, cleaned instruments, served customers refreshments, worked the register, and did whatever else Smitty told him to do.  He indeed looked different now.  He just hoped it would be enough to fool the police and that every officer in Helena was too busy looking for him tonight to get their hair cut.  It was an excellent hiding place, really.  Who would think to look for him there?

As Zane was serving refreshments, a news bulletin came across the TV in the waiting area.  Every customer sitting in the waiting area turned their heads to watch.  “In local news tonight, Helena police are searching for this man, Zane Marsh,” a female reporter said.  Zane’s picture flashed across the screen.  “He is wanted for a series of terrorist crimes, and he is believed to be within the Helena area.  If you’ve seen Zane Marsh, please contact the Helena Police Department immediately,” the reported stated.

“Contact the Helena Police Department immediately if you’ve seen Zane Marsh,” the customers said in perfect unison as they turned their heads away from the TV.  Zane jumped back with a start, almost spilling the cups of Kool-Aid in his hands.  A chill shot down his spine as he hoped they wouldn’t recognize the picture of the long haired, bearded man on TV as him. 

“Uh, yeah…..contact the Helena police if yo
u’ve seen Zane Marsh,” Zane blurted, in a feeble attempt to fit in.  The customers blinked as if awakening from a trance, and stared at him blankly.  They did not appear to recognize him. 
Good God, these people are brainwashed! This is terrifying,
Zane thought.

The last customers of the evening made their way out.  Smitty locked the door, and shut the blinds.  “You can go now,” Smitty told Zane, who was busying himself by cleaning a stack of combs, “You’ve more than earned your haircut, kid.” 

“I’m in no hurry,” Zane said. 

“Well, it’s closing time, and you should get some rest for your job interview tomorrow,” Smitty replied. 

“I guess you’re right,” Zane said
shaking off the combs in the sink.  He stopped cleaning and reluctantly gathered his belongings.  He shook hands with Smitty at the door, and said goodbye. 

Zane left the barbershop and walked down the street nervously.  He took off his glasses and put them in his shirt pocket.  Night had fallen.  His hiding place was gone.  He was back out onto the streets, back to having nowhere to go, back to thinking about Trent, Brooklyn, Caleb, Ben, and Brian and how everyone’s lives would be ruined if he was arrested now.  NO!  He must not think that way.

If Brooklyn were with him right now, she’d tell him to stop wasting time with “what-if” and not to screw things up now.  She had always been his voice of reason, one of the few people in life he would actually ever listen to.  He loved her, but not as much as Trent loved her.  He knew that.  That’s why he had never tried to come between them, even if Trent was too chicken to tell her how he felt.  Trent was still his friend. 

Zane rounded the corner, and was surprised to see a group of stone faced men walking stiffly and purposefully down the street.  Some were carrying shotguns; others had hand guns in holsters on their belts. They were the most diverse group of people bearing arms he had ever seen. Their clothing ranged from jeans and T-shirts to business suits.  He stared at them in confusion as they passed him looking blankly ahead. “We are to assimilate in times of crisis. We must find Zane Marsh and apprehend him by any means necessary.  He must be brought to the Helena Police Department dead or alive,” the men said robotically in unison.

Zane’s mouth dropped open.  He turned and headed back the way he came, picking up his pace.
They’ve sent civilians after me now.  They must have sent some kind of subliminal message to every male in Helena with a gun permit to hunt me down.  They only want people looking for me who know how to shoot.  They want to make sure if I’m found, I can’t get away, even if it means killing me in the street,
Zane realized.  His speculations had been right.  The government really could command people to do whatever they wanted them to do.  He felt his palms begin to sweat.  He had to find a place to hide right away, but
where
?  He put his hood over his head and darted down a dark alley.