Jane looked to Sheshai. "What happened?"

Sheshai checked the temperatures on the refrigerators, lost to her work and the music in her earbuds while Graham scanned the Deepnet message boards. Ernest emerged from the back, waiting for his presence to earn their attention before speaking.

"I think it's time to go for the Monument."

"Really?" Graham lit up. "You serious?"

"Yeah. It's a month away, but I want to make sure that we have plenty of time." To Sheshai, "I slept over eight hours, and I feel good. This is what we're here for."

A silent sigh as she nodded, turning off the music, silencing Grace and Linda. "Fine, sit. We do this, we follow my rules."

Ernest knew the routine. He sat on the couch and extended his arm. To Graham, "While I am gone, we need details for tomorrow and the day after. Put everything else aside." Sheshai applied a blood pressure cuff. "I'm not going to be able to find this information myself."

Graham rubbed his hands together. "Does this mean I get to do some actual work?"

"You do actual work."

"Not my work. Not what I do. And the problem is, I won't even remember." The cuff was removed and Ernest stood. Sheshai opened the sofa bed and pulled new sheets out. "What is it you want me to do?"

"Get whatever information you can from either the FBI or the DHS."

"Yes. Hot damn, yes. Okay, give me a moment. The date?"

"May 26th," Sheshai said as she finished with the bed and went to the medical bay.

"All right, now. I'm making a note for myself to run my layered rainbow tables."

"Okay." Ernest nodded as if he knew Graham meant. "How long before you break in?"

"It depends; time is fluid," Graham said. "Don't give me that look. This is a brute force attack. You don't brute force the government and expect to get away with it. We're getting caught. Thing is, it don't matter if we're caught in the future, so as long as we ain't caught now. This is essentially cracking combined with time travel."

"It's not time travel."

"For you, it is." Graham directed his attention to Sheshai. "How long do we have?"

Sheshai moved medical monitors close to the bed. "Five minutes or so."

"Okay. This is kind of genius, so I want to explain it to you."

"Want to show off, you mean," she said.

"Okay, yeah. Show off my genius. The point is, there isn't enough time to run through every hash possible. Hashes are like passwords. I'm simplifying here."

"Please," Sheshai said, "Dumb it down as much as possible."

"Oh, I'll try, but I still don't know if you all will get it." He pointed to Sheshai. "I saw that. That was almost a smile."

Ernest lowered his head. "Graham..."

"Okay. Imagine there's only one hundred thousand passwords in the world. There's more than that; this is just an example. A collection of passwords is called a rainbow table. Now, imagine I've divided my rainbow table into one hundred layers, each layer having a thousand passwords, and it takes an hour to run each thousand. Good so far?"

"So far," Sheshai said.

"Okay, so to run the entire list would take one hundred hours, which we're not getting. This is brute force. We're not sneaking through an open window; we're using a battering ram on the front door. We'll probably set off alarms the first minute. From that point, it's about how long it takes them to find us and kick down our door. Let's say five and a half hours.

"Okay, so, the first hour, we get through the first layer, the second hour, the second layer, down to the fifth hour and fifth layer. We start the sixth layer when the feds show. If we don't have the password by then, when you return to now, tell me we're on layer six, so, next time, we don't go through layers one to five again. We do this over and again until we get the password. I can isolate it further, later. All I need from you is to tell me what number we're on."

"The priority needs to be on the information I bring back."

"Which is why I reduced it down to just one number. It's important."

"Fine." Ernest sat on the bed as Sheshai checked his temperature. "Start researching, anything and everything."

"Do you need to use the restroom?" Sheshai asked. "Something to eat, drink?"

"No, I'm good." Sheshai recorded the temperature before applying sensors to his chest. Ernest laid back, closed his eyes, imagined himself ahead in time, and it began.

***

Ernest opened his eyes to view the date on the wall. May eighth. He noted Graham standing before him.

"You were saying?"

"Sorry. Give me a minute," and Ernest closed his eyes.

***

Ernest opened his eyes and looked at the date on the wall. May twenty-fourth. The time was three in the morning. A little further. Ernest closed his eyes once more.

***

Ernest opened his eyes and looked around. He didn't need the date on the wall; his friends' expressions told all. May twenty-sixth. Graham was doing computer stuff while Sheshai sat in a chair watching the news coverage, close to crying. Her face reflected the same sorrow and pain from the day he met her. Ernest floated a hand to her shoulder.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. This isn't now."

They looked to him, confused. "You said it was," Graham said.

"That was before. Different me. Don't worry, this hasn't happened yet." Relief settled in, and he allowed them a moment to compose themselves. "I'm here from April nineteenth about the Monument. You need to run your rainbow layers to get a hashword..."

"I got it. Finally get to do some work."

"Tell me about the nineteenth."

"Sit down," Sheshai said. Ernest did as ordered, moving to the couch. Sheshai checked the file on her computer. "When you first get back, the priority is Romulus, Michigan, which is in Detroit. It has the largest airport in the state. An employee of the Braghen Auto Parts factory named Donald Sygnestryski shoots up the plant, kills thirteen, severely wounds eight."

"Donald Sygnestryski, Romulus, Michigan, Braghen Auto Parts plant."

"Now there's plenty of work in Detroit, but the other thing is Ypsilanti, twenty miles away. An Alzheimer's patient, former war vet and police officer, wanders into the street and is hit by a truck. This will happen across from the only Stop, Shop, Save in the town, and minutes before a shooting where a six-year-old girl is shot and paralyzed from the neck down. It's the first salvo in a gang war, but we have other details that come first."

"Donald Sygnestryski, Romulus, Michigan, Braghen Auto Parts. Ypsilanti, Stop, Shop, Save. Injured girl. Tell me about the Monument."

"First reports are unreliable. Every channel, a different story, different information."

"As usual."

"This is what's consistent. Fireworks were launched near from the Monument. Initial witnesses interviewed stated they believed this was part of an early Memorial Day celebration. It's now believed that these fireworks served a dual purpose. One, it drew some guards away from the Monument; two, the visual spectacle got people to start filming so that the actual explosion would be recorded. So far, there are thirty-plus views in the moments before and after.

"Four motorcycles approached from different directions, converging at the northeast corner. The explosions were remote controlled, assumedly all on one frequency, so that one button detonated all at once. It's believed the motorcycles had every crevice packed with C-4, and the riders probably had suicide vests as well. We don't know who triggered it yet."

"Layer one down," Graham interrupted.

"The Monument did not topple for a minute, but those inside were killed from the shockwave. Shrapnel killed dozens outside. What were you supposed to remember?"

The question was not a surprise, as this was a ritual they performed time and again. Despite this, it didn't mean that Ernest was prepared. "Donald... something starting with an S, the biggest airport in Michigan, an auto parts factory, the Stop, Shop, Save."

"Where is the Stop, Shop, Save?"

"The city with the airport in it."

"No. Ypsilanti. Ypsilanti. Donald Sygnestryski, biggest airport in Michigan is in Romulus, an auto parts factory."

"Romulus is from Star Trek," Graham inserted.

Sheshai nodded as if to imply she knew the details of science-fiction. "What happens near the Stop, Shop, Save?"

"A child is paralyzed in a shooting."
"That's close by, but across the street is a hit-and-run of an Alzheimer patient."

"And we're now past layer two."

"Again."

"Donald Something with an S, biggest airport in Michigan, an auto parts store shooting. Plant, not a store. Yp something near a Stop, Shop, Save, Silver Alert, hit and run, girl gets shot."

"And?" Graham asked.

"And what?

"What else?"

"Motorcycles at base of the Monument, fireworks as distraction."

"And?"

"I don't know."

"Layer two. If you want to get into the government files, layer two. Wait, three, now."

"Ypsilanti is the last city starting with a Y," Sheshai added.

"Okay."

"The girl's name is Megan Calloway. Again."

They continued to review, adding more information with each pass, the data becoming a mantra Ernest repeated until their alarms chirped. "Incoming," Graham said. The others ignored him besides glances at the monitors. Black-clad figures rammed the upstairs door while Ernest kept memorizing. The assault team started down, backing up at the sounds of dogs, and Graham laughed before he called to Ernest, "Layer eleven, wait, twelve now. Twelve, okay?"

Ernest winced as if pained by the overload of information, but nodded. A muted blast and their door fell over. Flashbangs detonated in the room as gas canisters skittered across the floor, white clouds obscuring the intruders. By this time, Ernest, for all intents and purposes, was gone.

***

Ernest awoke in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sheshai brought a microphone near him.

"Donald S-something, long name, in the city with the biggest airport in Michigan, workplace violence at an auto parts plant. The last city with a Y, Stop, Shop, Save, a Silver Alert hit and run. Megan Calloway is shot on Parson Street right after. Crash on the interstate, blue Ford, drunk driver causes tractor trailer to jackknife. Plus, I know the details for the Monument."

"Okay. Give us a moment." Between Sheshai and Graham, the information was printed for Ernest to review. Sheshai positioned herself near his bed again with a remote keyboard in her lap. "Go through it piece by piece."

He looked at the sheet of paper with his comments. "All right. This is two days from now. Donald S-something, long last name, works in an auto plant factory that's shutting down. Wherever the largest airport is, he shoots the place up, killing a dozen or so."

"Graham, contact Monty so he can get the plane ready," Sheshai said. This was their routine, ensuring something wasn't missed because of cancelled flights. "Sorry. Continue."

"In the last city in town starting with a Y, weird name, an Alzheimer patient is hit by a car outside the Stop, Shop, Save. I don't remember his name."

"It's fine. If it's in a Silver Alert, we'll have it then. Megan Calloway."

"Shot twenty minutes later in a drive-by. Bullet aimed at pedestrians went past them and through the wall of her house. Driver and pedestrians may have been gang affiliated, not the girl.

"The semi was cut off by the Taurus, drunk driver, causing an initial crash with two other cars, killing the occupants. The semi's jackknifing caused multiple crashes from behind, as well as a crash on the opposite side of the road by people watching while driving by."

"Do we have a mile marker and direction?"

"Yeah, we did. I just didn't get it this time. Sorry."

"It's fine. Next time. We'll type this up. Graham?"

He approached with a tablet. "Okay, biggest airport city is Romulus."

"That's it. You said something about Star Wars."

"Trek," Graham snapped. "Star Trek. There's a difference. Big difference. Totally different galaxies. Anyways, last Y city in Michigan is Ypsilanti."

"That's it, I think."

"What layer were we on?"

"Oh, geez. I don't know." Ernesto rubbed above his eyebrows. "Eleven, twelve, maybe."

"You're sure it's one or the other?"

"Yeah, it's just that was the last thing you said the cops broke in."

"We'll say eleven. It's not that big a difference, couple of minutes."

"All right," Sheshai said. "Tell us about the Monument."

Ernest recalled everything as best as he could, detailing every news report and rumor. While he spoke, Sheshai kept an eye of his vitals. "So," Ernest asked, "how'd I do, healthwise?"

She checked her notes. "The only aberration was a small spike in your blood pressure and pulse at the end, but if you were in the middle of a SWAT team assault, that's understandable."

"Then we continue?" He was in charge, but she usually had final say in important matters.

"So far, no problems."

Graham pointed to an icon on the computer. "I made a file folder for May 26th. Check it when you get back. I had a note about layer eleven. I think we're good."

"Okay." Ernest lay back down and closed his eyes.

***

Sheshai and Graham were working at their individual jobs. Both looked physically ill as they watched the news feeds. "Hey," Ernest said, "this isn't today. It's April 19th."

Such pronouncements that they were in the future were not uncommon, but rather part of their daily routine. They never knew whether they were functioning in the real world or not. After a few minutes to orient themselves, Graham attacked the DHS while Sheshai opened the May 26th file, reviewing the data from April.

"Layer eleven," she called to Graham, who gave her a thumbs-up. "The most important thing is the shooting. The last name is Sygnestryski, at Braghen Auto Parts. With the semi crash, the direction of the road is north, the mile marker is 46 at 7:42 PM."

"Sygnestryski, Braghen Auto Parts, north 46 at 7:42 at night."

"Right. Next, robbery in a liquor store in Detroit..."

This continued for a while, with Graham increasing one layer every few minutes. They stopped when the doors were kicked in. The last image Ernest had was of Graham pointing at him, shouting, "Layer twenty-three!"

***

Ernest pointed at Graham. Physical cues sometimes helped his memory. "Layer twenty-three. Donald Sygnestryski, Braghen Auto Parts, north at mile marker 46, 7:42 PM, Jackson Milcowski. An hour later, liquor store robbery in Detroit, Bucky's, shooting. Forty minutes later, house fire, two children dead, faulty gas stove, Fromm house on Marshall James St..."

***

The Monument was in rubble. Ernest spoke. "We're on layer twenty-three..."

***

"We're on layer thirty-four..."

***

"We're on layer forty-three..."

***

Ernest went to his memorization as Sheshai fed him new data. They were only ten minutes in when Graham started shouting.

"Yes! We're in!"

"Really," Sheshai said.

"Don't have to sound so surprised. It's what I do. Okay, let me isolate this down."

"Start pulling files," Ernest said.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

Graham waved a hand in their direction, his eyes locked on his screens. "Shut up a minute." Some typing before, "Okay, layer forty-seven. If you remember anything, it has to be forty-seven. The actual password is capital s, one, seven, equal sign, capital k, capital l, four, five, lowercase o, one, lowercase g, seven, capital w. You can remember that, or forty-seven."

"Forty-seven."

"That's what I thought" Graham turned to face them. "Look, we don't have to pull files; the password's what's important. Layer forty-seven, subsection seventeen- hundred fifty-six. With that, we have the password in ten seconds. Layer forty-seven, seventeen, fifty-six."

"Forty-seven, seventeen, fifty-six."

"That's the priority. Memorize, go back and file it, so we can start fresh the next time."

Ernest repeated the numbers to everyone's satisfaction before returning.

***

It was a day after the Washington Monument collapsed. Ernest informed them as to the situation. "We're going to hack the DHS."

"Yes." Graham rubbed his palms together. "Finally, I get to do some work."

"We need to read every file to find the names of everyone involved with the explosion."

Sheshai stepped up. "We're not doing that."

"Huh?"

Sheshai held up a hand, trying not to offend him while she took charge. "I've considered this. From your descriptions, federal agents knocked down our door, usually in a half-hour, but they probably had the area cordoned off beforehand, meaning, we don't have thirty minutes. We might have fifteen. At best, we have thirty minutes for you to open, search, and memorize all the data from a multi-agency investigation? That's not happening." She walked past Ernest to Graham's desk. "How long will it take to find and download the files?"

"Unknown, but if it's less than a terabyte, and if it's not interrupted," and Graham patted his computer, "my rig here can do it in ten, fifteen minutes max. Plenty of time."

""I don't get it," Ernest scratched his head. "We have the password. If you're not breaking in, what's the problem?"

Sheshai pointed at the screen. "This is the code for one of the directors. Because of what happened, it'll probably be all hands on deck, so, more than likely, he'll be in the office working. Once there is a second log-in attempt on another computer, that's when the clock starts."

"But you have a plan," Graham said with that grin of his.

"You leave. When I say you, I mean the two of you. Show me what to do, I'll get the files, copy them, and then I'll find you." She had already moved to a Rolodex on her desk, searching for numbers. She picked up her phone and started dialing. To Ernest, "Start loading the van. Money, IDs, passports, whatever we could use. Graham, program the GPS with the second site, then get your stuff."

"I don't need to go." Graham said with the hint of a whimper. "It's not real. I can stay."

"Don't think. Just do it." Into the phone, she said, "Hello, my name's Edith Alston. I have a deposit to maintain a car... Yes, that's right. We have an emergency meeting this afternoon. Do you know Perdossa's...? Yes. How soon can someone be there? That will be perfect." She hung up and made another call from her roster of numbers.

"Hello, this is Edith Alston. Yes, I have an order on reserve. Yes. Yes, I'll wait..." During the pause, she kept an eye on Graham. His hands developed a tremble and a film of sweat glossed his brow. It was already starting. The hold music died and the saleswoman returned to the phone. "Yes, that's right. Could you repeat the order back to ensure it's what I requested... Correct. Yes, just charge it on my account, and if you don't mind, could you leave the hat and glasses out, and remove the tags. I'll be in a bit of a rush... Thank you. I'll be by shortly."

Another call. "Yes. Our company's flying out next year and we wondered if we could see some of your conference rooms. Are any of them empty today?... Really? That's wonderful..."

"Hello? Yes, we're with your Gold Member club, and would like to rent a car today..."

Sheshai made other calls, backups and redundancies, renting cars and drivers around the city. Once done, she brought an IV bag to the garage where a van, three motorcycles, and four cars awaited. Sheshai pulled keys from the wall cabinet and headed to the van, opening the side door and climbing inside. She hung the IV above the reclining chair before sliding into the front seat to make sure the engine turned over. She checked the fuel and warning lights before turning the van off, leaving the keys in place. She returned to the chair and worked the straps that dangled under the armrests. Ernest showed up with a blue tote and a frazzled look.

"This is pretty much everything." Ernest placed the tote in the van and slid it to the back. "Over thirty thousand dollars, IDs, everything from the safe."

Okay." She faked a smile as she left the van. "Hey, it's going to be okay, all right?"

"Sure."

"Remember, none of this is real. Now, once this starts, you and Graham get to the van. Strap him down and put this into his arm," she said, showing Ernest the needle on the IV tubing. "Remove the plastic cap, flip this switch, and you're good to go. Just follow the GPS, okay?"

"You can't stay."

"I have to. Someone has to handle things here. It won't be a problem."

"We should wait. If you get caught with the files, we automatically fail."

"If I have the files, I can avoid the police quicker on my own."

"I don't know if I can do this by myself."

"You can. You'll do great. Worst case, we start over in an hour, no problem."

"But what if he wakes before we get to the backup site?"

"Well," Sheshai said, "then you'll have a problem."

After testing her motorcycle, Sheshai carried her helmet and gloves to the main room where Graham pounded away at his keyboards. The intensity of his typing spoke more to his fear than the pressure they were under. Sheshai entered the surgical area and started removing equipment. "Where are we at?"

"Roads aren't bad now, no traffic. Can't say what they'll be like an hour from now."

Ernest hovered behind Sheshai as she approached Graham. "Give me your arm." Before he could protest, she had stabbed a vein with the stint and taped it in place. "It's not real, okay; it just feels real," she said, patting his cheek as if a few words would erase a decade of trauma. To Ernest, "You're going to do great." To Graham, "You'll be fine." Both men nodded, though none of the three believed her.

"I need a moment." Graham sat in his chair, eyes closed.

"The clock doesn't start until you start it," Sheshai said. "Take all the time you need. Just remember, this is all no more than a dream. It's not real. When Ernest goes back, it's over."

He nodded and talked with his eyes closed. "Okay. I'll move through their systems, find, select, and copy. After that, we can go. When it's done, just pull out the drive and you're good." He clasped his hands before him and started lightly pounding them into his forehead before standing. "I can do this. It's not real." Graham turned to his computer, entered the password, and went to work. A few moments later and, "That's it; we're good. Do it."

On screen, a window stated that the copy would require five minutes. Sheshai injected a needle into the stint, and the sedative was almost immediate in effect. "Take him. Go."

Ernest left with a shuffling Graham, but they moved well enough through the curtains. Sheshai removed her hijab and donned her gloves, watching various monitors for the download countdown and the men's progress. They neared the van when Graham tried to pull away.

"Come on. You can do it," she muttered. She watched Graham flail and retreat as Ernest failed to restrain him, not a wholly unexpected result. Sheshai lived with the lightness of unending hope and the crushing reality that such hope never materialized. She cursed in Arabic, saw that four minutes remained, and ran through the complex to the garage.

Graham stood near the van's open door, and Ernest was pleading with him when Sheshai flew in. Without breaking pace, she ran into Graham and punched him in his kidney.

"What?" Ernest said, backing up a step as Graham wheezed, clutching his side.

Sheshai pushed Graham so he fell into the van. To Ernest, "Help. Now."

Help didn't come now. Ernest hesitated a few moments while Sheshai wrestled with Graham. He only approached when she started slapping the hacker's face.

"Stop it." Sheshai grabbed Graham's jaw in her hand. "If the police get here, they will take you out to a holding cell, to prison. A prison cell. People in prison. Do you want that?"

He shook his head and fought less as Sheshai and Ernest wrangled him into the chair. Sheshai pushed Ernest back and pointed. "Get in front and start the engine."

Ernest disappeared as Sheshai made quick work of the restraints before attaching the IV to Graham's arm. She exited, slamming the side door and yelling to Ernest, "Go!"

"The door's still down," she heard yelled back.

Frustration rolled through Sheshai. They had practiced this, but Ernest did poorly under pressure. She ran to the passenger side door to point to the remote on the driver side visor, but Ernest had already remembered and the rolling door chugged skyward. "Got it. Sorry," he said.

Sheshai ran back. Two minutes remained in the download. She watched the seconds, trying to relax as each moment rolled away, calming herself with the idea that none of it was real, that now hadn't happened yet. Helmet on, Sheshai stood as a stone while the countdown ticked through time. Thirty seconds left. Anyone entering the room would have thought her a mannequin on display. Twenty seconds. It was unlikely the first patrol cars would be near the garage door. Ten seconds. She was a doctor once. She understood pressure. She could do this.

Download complete.

Sheshai pulled the external hard drive from the computer, hit the desk's garage door remote, and ran to the garage. She jumped on the motorcycle, and sped towards the opening door, ducking low to pass under, causing her to almost hit a speeding car.

A speeding cop car.

The car was heading right, and everything left was clear, but Sheshai had a plan and would follow it. She tried speeding by, but the officer angled his vehicle so she couldn't steer between his car and those along the curb. Any suspicions on his part would be confirmed when she rode between two parked cars onto the sidewalk. The police car pursued and it began.

The police were not going to play the day after a terrorist attack. Racial profiling would be overlooked, overaggressive policing would be ignored, and civil rights would be infringed upon. Usually, Sheshai would have no problem with these attitudes, except for the fact that today, these factors could work against her.

She needed twenty seconds to reach the Bashir Hotel, but additional units made that problematic. One cruiser charged at her from thirty yards away. She drove onto the left sidewalk, and as they neared one another, the officer sent his vehicle over the curb. This may have caught others unprepared, but Sheshai had been hoping for it, as this took his car off the road by a good amount. However, the policeman was better than expected, and his quick reversal caught her by surprise as she tried to weave around him. He clipped her bike and she grazed a fire hydrant, but managed to keep the motorcycle upright. A few more moments and she would be in front of the Bashir.

The hotel was an eight hundred room building built to support conventions, so it was constructed with wide corridors and a lobby that was designed to be warm and inviting.

Sheshai invited herself in.

She motored through the front doors to a lobby less packed than she feared, but more crowded than she liked. The growl of her engine warned most guests of her approach as did her horn, but still she did a good deal of weaving and braking before reaching the empty corridor of the conference rooms. Each hotel operated differently, but at the Bashir, they liked to leave the doors open so prospective clients could look inside at the amenities provided.

Sheshai chose to look inside.

She drove past rows of white clothed tables towards the far set of open doors. A security guard appeared in the far opening, so she gunned the engine. The guard may have been ready to strong-arm a drunk or belligerent guest from the premises, but there was no corporate training on how to stop a speeding motorcycle indoors. He moved left, but not completely out of the way, and Sheshai anticipated some idiotic heroics in the works, so she aimed for the man. He jumped further left and she swung right and continued to the back patio doors.

The door operated on a motion sensor, but they habitually stayed open with the herds of families in bathing suits trampling through. Parents pulled their children aside as she roared past. She regretted terrorizing the vacationers, especially after the previous day's events, but she had a job to do and getting caught was not an option.

She skidded out onto the patio and drove along the edge of the Olympic-sized pool, careful along the wet tiled ground. A waiter had the sense to move out of the way as she flew towards a side exit. With the length of the hotel, Sheshai prayed that all patrol cars would converge on the far side, not expecting someone to appear from the small gated entrance. The patio opened up to a small flight of steps that lead directly to her next destination

The park lay ahead with no patrol cars in sight. She pumped her brakes twice to cross, but once she hit the grass, she was able to go full throttle. Her route involved concrete paths as she chased hand-holding couples and dog walkers into the grass. She was in the center of the park and back out in under a minute, and she rode up to some bushes along the road. Sheshai hopped off the bike, tossed off the helmet, gloves, and jacket, and left the park for the street ahead.

A police car wailed in passing, and she waited before heading to the alley before her. Sheshai jogged the distance but slowed as she approached the other side. She rounded the corner with a casual pace and walked past two storefronts to get to Diderot's clothing boutique.

Sheshai's entrance was greeted with a smile. "Ms. Alston, how good it is to see you again," the salesman said. "We have your order ready."

Thank you," Sheshai said, as she adorned the sunhat and white–rimmed glasses. The driver entered as she signed the receipt, trying to control her trembling hand. The chauffeur took her bags as he held open the door first to the store before to the car. Police cars flew by in search of their wayward suspect.

"Whatever is going on here?" she asked as she entered the car.

"No idea, ma'am," he said as he gently closed the door behind her.

At this point, she felt free to relax. Sheshai leaned back, closed her eyes, and was able to disappear into the crowd. The driver dropped her at the airport, where she picked up her reserve vehicle. It was unlikely she was being followed or tracked yet, but once the bike was discovered, it could lead to the car service, to the airport, and to the rental vehicle. Her escape plan was a line of upright dominoes, and she needed to stay ahead of the tumbling tiles.

She reached a storage facility in forty minutes and had her unit door up in less than three. There was room for two cars; she drove one in, and another out. With the door locked again, she was on the highway once more.

***

Darkness settled in by the time she arrived at the warehouse district of Bethesda. Sheshai guided her car to a garage door, which, as a nice surprise, rolled up of its own volition, and she drove in as it lowered back down.

Ernest scrambled to greet her with a hug. "You're safe."

"Of course. No problems. How is he?"

"Not good. The drugs just wore off."

"Let me take a look."

Sheshai left the garage through another door. Upon opening it, she had to brush away a curtain to enter a replica of their first headquarters. The layout appeared the same, as the draping curtains help create the illusion of walls where none existed. The main room was furnished in the same manner as their other properties, all designed to help Graham acclimate to his new surroundings. He rampaged about, pacing, sitting, standing before sitting again, and ranting the entire time.

"It's no good," he yelled. "It won't work."

"It will work. It's nearly identical."

"It's not. It's different. Don't you hear that hum from the other side of the wall, and the air is wrong. The vent was directly above my station the way I liked it."

"I will find a way to redirect the airflow," Sheshai said without any idea how she would accomplish this miracle, "and you can drown out the noise with your headphones."

"The chair's not right. The cushion's too soft and it just doesn't smell like my chair."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing."

"This isn't funny," Graham snarled.

"I'm not laughing," Sheshai said. "You'd sit in that thing in just your underwear, and sometimes not even that. I dreamt of burning that thing. It was disgusting."

"I have a way I work. I need things- -," but he stopped at the appearance of the hard drive in Sheshai's hand. His shifted from erratic gestures to pinpoint focus in a second. "Is that it?"

"Yes." He reached for it, but she pulled it away at the last moment. "Graham, I need you to look at me." He relaxed his gaze from the drive to meet her eyes. "I had to stop you. I needed to get you in the van. I'm sorry I hit you."

He snatched the drive from her grasp and busied himself with setting it up in his computer. "It's fine. Didn't hurt," he said, putting his headphones on.

Sheshai retrieved a Twinkie from the freezer and placed it next to his arm. He noticed its presence and grabbed it, starting to open the pack when he turned in her direction and gave her a little nod, and she smiled back at him. With Chlorine and Wine in his ears and frozen cake in his belly, Graham would be more sedate and able to lose himself in his computers. She headed to the kitchen to start the coffee. Ernest met her there.

"He going to be okay?"

"Think so. You did good, by the way. I'm really proud of the job you did."

"You're just saying that."

"I wouldn't do that. Why don't you get some rest? It's going to take some time to process everything. It's past twelve. We'll get you up later."

Ernest didn't argue. It was part of their routine. He couldn't have the stress of the evacuation coupled with a dozen or so hours of reading files, and then be expected to memorize the most minute of details. The body needed to recuperate, so he retreated to the duplicate of his bed, lay down, and pushed his mind forward.

***

Ernest awoke at ten forty-five. He padded bare-footed to the kitchen. The setup could have been plucked from a breakfast commercial. The table was draped in a blue cloth with plates, food, and a dandelion in a vase. A perfect stack of pancakes steamed the insides of a glass-covered silver tray, while a chilled bowl cupped oranges, raspberries, blueberries, and banana slices. Graham was chirping at Sheshai, who worked various skillets of eggs, bacon, and sausage. He tapped her arm.

"Hey, Mom. Dad's up."

Sheshai turned her head, her new ponytail flapping back and forth. "Get the coffee." She waved the spatula like a sword in Ernest's direction. "You, sit."

Ernest took a chair. Graham followed suit, coffeepot in hand. Sheshai doled out the contents of each pan in under two minutes before joining in at the table.

"I'd say dig in, but I see you already have."

"What?" Graham mumbled through a mouthful of eggs. "Was I supposed to wait for us to say Grace?"

"What are you doing?" Ernest said.

"We've had this stuff stockpiled in closets and the fridge for months, though I went out for the eggs and fruits. Some were past their 'best by' and 'sell by' dates, and one past the 'use by' date, but those were the biscuits. They should be fine. I can tell; I'm a doctor."

"That's not what I mean."

"Okay." Her voice was a sigh. "We haven't done this in a while, just us. We're together all the time, but our meals either come from a microwaveable tray or a delivery vehicle. I wanted us to sit down, relax, and have a nice meal together, because we got them. We got them."

"You know what I mean. You're not wearing your headscarf, and you shouldn't be handling pork products."

"Well, in my religion, some readings allow for blowing the limbs and faces off women and children, so I'm guessing there's some fucking gray areas."

Ernest didn't like cursing, and Sheshai never used profanity, so Graham floated slowly from his chair and exited the room with his food and drink. "What's going on?" Ernest asked.
Sheshai stabbed into the meat on her plate. "What's going on is that I love the smell of bacon. Always have." She avoided his eyes as she dropped her fork and pushed her plate away. "This is why I do this. After you first found me, helped me, I wanted nothing more than to stop this type of thing from ever happening again. A major terrorist attack on U. S. soil. That has always been my priority. Everyone has their thing. With Monty, it's kids; Graham, hackers. This is mine. Enemies foreign and domestic. We got three enemy names."

"I thought there were four bombers."

"Five. The guy who launched the fireworks had a suicide vest. They think he planned to wait for first responders or a crowd, but shrapnel sliced his throat open. Fingerprints led to a prison record. A frantic mother called 911, fearing her son was involved. DNA from a leg was a genetic match, the mother mentioned a friend of her son, and the friend's computer had ideas for other terrorist activities he planned performing after blowing himself up." She reached from her chair to a spiral notebook on the counter. A pen nestled in the metal rings. "Three names. I know they're hard, but you have to remember them."

"In a minute," and he pushed the notepad aside.

"No, not in a minute. Now. It's important."

"You're important. You said you needed religion because the rules kept you focused. You were afraid that if you didn't follow them, that you might falter down a slippery slope."

"I don't think I said it like that."

"I don't know. I remember 'falter' and 'slippery slope.' I'm saying, you said you needed to devote yourself to being devout. Maybe not those words, but I don't get it. If this really is a great victory, why wouldn't this further solidify your faith instead of, I don't know..."

"Liquefying it?" Sheshai said through a small smile.

"You know what I mean."

"Because we've won. These names with our track record guarantees that they'll get surveilled, and we've won." She looked down at her hands in her lap. "And then I can rest, because I'm tired. I know you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, and I don't know how you bear it, and with a smile, but I need a break. I just need some time to stop being the person I try to be and find who I really am. I just want to be me for a bit, for just a little bit."

"What about your faith?"

"I don't even know what I believe. I don't know if I believe in God, but I do believe in you. Did bad things happen because I sinned, or did they just happen? I don't know. I do know this. When I was at my lowest, my most hopeless, you appeared with magic powers and saved me, so maybe Crazy's right. Maybe you are God. Maybe you're a right hand or an unknowing emissary. I don't know. I don't know if I believe in God, but I do know I believe in you. If you want me to stop, to continue on and go back, I'll do it. I'll do it in a heartbeat. You just have to ask."

"I can't do that." Ernest said "I can't tell you how to make a choice like that."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that." Sheshai rolled a sausage link with her fork before laying the utensil down. She forced another small smile. "Could you at least do me a favor and start memorizing that?"

"Sure," and he took the notepad, removed the pen, and started writing the names on the first line and every succeeding line, over and again, to aid with his memorization. Sheshai left and knocked on Graham's door. He exited with plate and cup in hand.

"I don't know why I have to go to my room just because the parents are fighting."

"Well, you know, this is an abusive household."

"Really?"

She scowled at him. "Do you want me to hit you?"

He raised his free hand defensively and hurried back to his seat. He pointed to her dish. "So, hey, are you going to be eating that?"

Sheshai looked at Ernest before, "No, I guess not."

"Well, then, we can't let it go to waste then," and he placed her dish on top of his empty one and started eating. Sheshai washed her hands, picked up a new dish and fork, and started in on the pancakes and fruit. Ernest smiled and continued transcribing.

After a while, Sheshai stood and went to the monitors to turn on the news. "It's almost eleven. I want to hear if there are any updates." She pointed to her head. "I have to get dressed."

"No one gets their news from the T.V. anymore," Graham said. "That's for old people."

"Let me tell you--"

***

Back in the real world, Ernest awoke in a seizure. His back arched and his limbs flailed. "Hold him," Sheshai yelled to Graham as he tried to restrain Ernest. She pulled a syringe from a drawer and joined Graham's struggle to keep an arm still enough to inject a vein.

"What the hell is happening?"

"He's having a stroke. It's happened before."

"When?"

"The first time." Ernest's vitals began to normalize. "What he can do started that way."

"So, his talent's because of brain damage?" He had to repeat the question as Sheshai was preoccupied with Ernest's condition.

"What? No, MRIs found nothing out of... Hey, relax," she said to Ernest, stroking his hair as he gasped for air, eyes half open. "You're back, you're fine. Relax."

He made a motion with his hand as if he was writing. Sheshai snapped at Graham and pointed to the dresser. He passed her a pen and paper which she handed off to Ernest. He struggled to focus on what he was writing. He dropped pen and pad before passing out.

"What is it?"

She looked at the writing before turning the pad to Graham. "It's three names."