The Bar Code Prophecy Part 11

With a grateful smile and a nod of appreciation, Grace went across the diner and slipped into the booth beside the woman identified as Aunt Stephanie. "Hi. I have a message for Harry Clemente," she said to the surprised looking woman.

"What's it about?" Aunt Stephanie asked, sipping her coffee.

"Private, only for Harry Clemente."

"I'm his wife."

Grace shrugged apologetically.

The woman took a pen from her bag and scribbled an address onto a napkin. "And tell him to pick up a carton of eggs on his way home tonight," she added, sliding the napkin to Grace.

Grace was quickly on her way. She arrived at a building that seemed abandoned and double-checked the address. Had the woman played some kind of joke on her? Grace walked into the alley and craned her neck to see up to the top, searching for some sign that the building was inhabited, but every window was dark. Reluctantly, she stepped into the shadowy front lobby. The address indicated that Harry Clemente was in apartment 1L. There were no apartments on the lobby level. She hit the elevator b.u.t.ton only to discover that the b.u.t.tons were torn out - all but one. Bas.e.m.e.nt level L.

Taking the car down, Grace realized she was sweating heavily in the closed elevator car but was afraid to remove her jacket. When the door slid open, Grace faced a harshly lit room containing only a man in a dusty-looking velvet maroon armchair. He was very fat and balding, and sat there reading the paper.

"Hot enough for you?" he said as Grace stepped out of the elevator.

"Too hot," Grace replied, stepping into the room.

"And this crazy bright sun, huh?" he continued. "What's that about already?"

"Solar flares. I read about it in the newspaper," Grace offered. "I'm looking for Harry Clemente."

"Speaking."

"You're Harry Clemente?" Grace checked.

"Who's asking?"

Grace didn't know how to answer. She'd forgotten if Eric's instruction to never admit to being a Postman applied to when she'd found her subject.

The man and Grace stared at each other awkwardly. "I have a message for Harry Clemente," Grace ventured. "Could I see some proof that you're him?"

"And you are?" the man pressed.

"A friend - with a message."

The man seemed amused. He picked up something metal that had been wedged between his corpulent leg and the side of the chair and pointed it at Grace.

Panicked, Grace turned back toward the elevator. Its doors had closed and she saw no b.u.t.tons.

The man chortled. "Here's my proof I'm Harry Clemente," the man said, holding the metal piece in the air. The white wall behind him slid open, revealing a large room filled with desks. At each desk, people congregated talking in low, serious whispers. Some read, others wrote. Grace noticed there were no phones or computers.

"Welcome to Decode headquarters," the man said, rising from his chair. "I know who you are. We've been watching you."

Grace sat in Decode headquarters, waiting for Harry Clemente to return with a response. Beside her a wiry, dark-haired young man in his twenties lay on the floor poring over a large book of maps. Noticing Grace reading over his shoulder, he glanced up and smiled. "Hi, I'm Nate. You're new here."

"I'm Grace. Yes, this is my first day."

He looked her over. "I'm guessing from that jacket that you're a Postman."

"You're not supposed to be able to guess that."

"You get an eye for it after a while. The jacket is too conspicuously nondescript."

"What?"

"You're trying too hard to blend in. No one is that bland."

"It's also roasting."

"Take it off," Nate advised. "You're deep enough underground." As she removed the jacket, relieved to be free of it, Nate's eyes went to the silver lining. "You're seventeen," he remarked.

"Yeah. How could you tell?"

"You're chipped. Seventeen-year-olds. It's the newest wave of Global-1 evil."

"It's horrible."

Nate's expression became skeptical. "It's creepy but we're all trackable, with or without the nanochip. Our phones send off signals, all our electronics do. That's why we work without them down here, even though we think it's safe. We're not one hundred percent sure, so we don't take chances. The signal jammers we have are nothing compared to the powerful ones Global-1 has. Ours just mess up their satellite signals for a few minutes."

"But they can find me anywhere," Grace said.

"They can see us all. From way high in the air they can locate our whereabouts and then focus down small enough to read our bar codes if we're unlucky enough to have one. Plus, there are surveillance cameras. We've grown so used to them that we don't even notice them anymore. But they're there. Putting that chip in you guys just eliminates all the guesswork. They don't even have to bother to look for you. You're broadcasting all the time. You're like a dog in one of those electronic fences - step out of line and they'll zap you."

"How long have you worked for Decode?" Grace asked, wanting to change the subject. She didn't like the trapped feeling his words were imparting.

"I was a Drakian at first. Gene Drake, the guy who first tried to blow the whistle on the bar code tattoo, was my house-mate for a while. But I switched to Decode. They're not as dramatic, but I think they're more effective."

Grace pointed to the book of maps spread out in front of him. "What are you doing there?"

"Ever hear of The Bar Code Prophecy?"

From the way he asked, Grace knew he had no idea about her connection to the prophecy. And she wasn't about to tell him.

"I've heard of it, yes," she said.

"Well, Decode is studying the native American Indian lands. We're looking especially at the sacred Hopi places. We think if we can find the second tablet of The Bar Code Prophecy, it might help us fight Global-1." Nate shifted his position and pushed his hair back pensively. "Personally, I think it's got to be underground somewhere. The Hopi had ceremonial dwellings built into the earth. Kivas."

Grace remembered Eric's terrifying climb down Spider Rock to the opening holding the first half of the prophecy. "That makes sense," she agreed.

Harry Clemente came out of a room and approached her. "The boss wants to talk to you," he told Grace.

Nate's eyes widened. "Big day, Grace. You're about to meet David Young."

"The head of Decode?"

"Yep."

Grace followed Harry Clemente into a spare, unadorned office. Behind a metal desk sat a thinly muscular man in his forties, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. A bristly gray and white beard covered the lower half of his chiseled face. Dark eyes sparkled at her. "Welcome, Grace," David Young said, standing and extending a hand to shake. "It's so good to meet you. I'm pleased that you've become a Postman."

Just six months earlier, Grace recalled, Global-1 had nearly killed David Young with their nan.o.bot technology. She had read all about how they'd jailed him and used the tiny robots to stimulate his vagus nerve until it induced thoughts of suicide. Now, though, he struck her as vigorous and bristling with energy, warm and open and intense.

David Young came around and leaned against his desk, inviting Grace to sit on a nearby desk chair. He handed her back the manila envelope Jack had given her. "You've met Jack Kelly?" he inquired.

"Yes," Grace confirmed. "And his partner, Allyson."

"Geniuses, the both of them. My father and I are thrilled to fund them. Not only do we agree that magnetic repulsion technology will be the way to provide free energy for all people, we don't want Global-1 to wind up getting a part of their work. It's too important to humanity."

"Jack and Allyson would never sell out to Global-1," Grace replied. She hadn't known them long, but she felt certain this was true.

"Global-1 is tricky," David Young countered. "They have lots of small subsidiary companies posing as independents, but they all belong to Global-1. They own whole countries."

"What countries?" Grace asked, shocked.

"They're small countries ... so far. They're thinking bigger these days."

"America?" Grace guessed.

"They're almost there," David Young said with a nod. "They own lots of our lawmakers already. That's why my father can't get anywhere with his investigation."

"Is it hopeless?"

David Young's face grew serious. "I don't know. Maybe. We're starting to think so. It's why The Bar Code Prophecy might be our last hope. That's why I wanted to meet you. Eutonah feels somehow that you are the key. She told me about taking you and her son, Eric, to Spider Rock."

"Do you believe in prophecies?" Grace asked him. She still wasn't sure that she did.

"Not normally," David Young admitted. "I'm not superst.i.tious. But I've studied this, and so many of the Hopi prophecies have come to pa.s.s. I remember when British Petroleum dumped all that oil in the Gulf, killing so much wildlife. The Hopi predicted that. We're watching it - carefully. That's all I can say. And that's why we've been watching you."

"Is there something I'm supposed to do?" Grace asked.

"Could be," David Young said. There was something in the way he said it that made Grace nervous. It was as though he was taking her measure, deciding if she was ready to hear what he had to say next.

"I've loaded the fake bar code in that envelope with a great deal of money. I want Jack Kelly and Allyson Minor to set up shop in the Great Basin Desert where he started out, at the Decode caves there. He can run the whole operation on solar power. He knows how and there's no shortage of sun. I want you and Eric to go stay with him in the caves."

"Why?" Grace asked.

"Eutonah tells me there will be a gathering of the tribes at Big Mountain. The tribal elders believe that the time has come for The Bar Code Prophecy to be fulfilled. They believe that somehow the presence of the Brother and his love, the Daughter of the Master of Destruction, will deliver the people."

"His love," Grace echoed softly.

David Young heard her and smiled gently. "I don't know what will happen, Grace. What I'm asking might take a lot of courage. I can't be sure. But in my gut, I feel that's where you should be. It's where we all need you to be."

"Do you know what's happened to my family - the one I was raised with?" Grace asked. "I don't want to go before I find out."

"The Postman didn't tell you?" David Young seemed surprised.

"He wanted to, but the Global-1 police came between us. Is he all right? Eric Chaca is out looking for him now."

"If you don't hear from Eric soon, get word to us. We have a Postman out there who knows where they are, but we usually let the Postmen run themselves. It's safer that way. If there's no central headquarters, Global-1 can't raid it. I give you my personal promise that I will keep tabs on this and get word to you."

David Young seemed like a man she could trust. He had insisted on staying in jail until every last resister picked up in the D.C. raid of the last year had been freed.

"All right," Grace agreed. "If you keep looking for my family, I'll go."

David Young extended his hand to shake and Grace took it. "I give you my word," he said.

When Grace was once more out on the street, the manila envelope tucked in the back waistband of her jeans and under her T-shirt, she headed back toward the subway station, completely lost in thought. What was going to happen? She'd been only four years old during the Mayan calendar doomsday scare of 2012. Nothing had happened, and people laughed about it now. But was Eutonah right? Was the creation of the bar code tattoo the thing that had actually happened in 2012? Had it set in motion a series of events that were now unfolding?

Shielding her eyes, Grace tried to look at the sky but had to turn away. The bright yellow was overlaid with a haze of dirty smog. She saw the sign for the subway just two blocks away on the other side and she cut a diagonal across the street, heading for it. At least her first mission had gone well. Jack and Allyson would be pleased to have so much money for their swing-lo project. Maybe Eric would be there when she returned to the garage and would have news about her family.

As Grace crossed, she noticed two uniformed Global-1 police officers were walking down the street toward her. When she reached the other side she would walk right past them.

Her heartbeat quickened and, to be safe, she turned back to the side of the street she'd just left. There was something in their purposeful stride that had alarmed her.

Without waiting to reach the corner, the officers crossed, fanning out.

Now on high alert, Grace turned back toward Decode headquarters. The G-1 cops began walking with aggressive strides in the same direction.

A drone helicopter appeared in the lemon sky between two skysc.r.a.pers.

How had they found her? Grace's growing fear caused her heart to hammer in her chest. The pounding reminded her of her circulation. The nanochip had most likely circulated outside the jacket's protection. In moments the signal would be blocked by the jacket once more.

The signal jammer was in her pocket, and Grace used it now.

But they'd already established visual contact. It was too late.

Shot threw with adrenaline-fueled fear, Grace broke into an all-out run and the G-1 police did the same. They would soon outrun her. This was the time to use all the free-running skills Eric had taught her.

Remembering Eric's advice, she shut down conscious thought and let her body take over. Leaping, she landed catlike on a railing and then sprang to a low window ledge, gripping with her fingers.

"Grace Morrow! Freeze!" The words boomed from one of the officers on the street below. "Global-1 Police."

Without a backward glance Grace found her footing on a window ledge and moved swiftly to the right until she came to a window that was slightly open. With her foot she lifted it and slipped inside, racing through the apartment, jumping over children sprawled on the floor watching TV.

Out in the hall, she ran toward the stairs, only to see four G-1 cops running up. Reversing directions, she sprinted up a staircase to the roof.

The G-1 drone helicopter hovered there in antic.i.p.ation of her arrival. A red dot played on her chest as the drone sought its target. Grace launched into a forward flip to elude the robotic predator as red laser light scorched the side of her shoulder. The flip brought her to the edge of the building. There was a lower roof, but a leap was required.

The four G-1 police raced out the roof doorway.

Backing up several paces, Grace sprang forward, kicking her arms and legs to drive her body forward, and landed on her side, rolling to standing. She was by the door of this rooftop and ran for it, but found it locked. Looking over the side, she found a fire escape that she was able to drop to and scramble down. She made it to the alley and saw no sign of her pursuers.

But they would soon be upon her. They probably knew where she was already. Grace spied a bas.e.m.e.nt window and, seizing a broken brick in the alley, smashed it so she could reach in and unlock it. Maneuvering carefully through the broken gla.s.s, she sc.r.a.ped her arm anyway as she slipped into the bas.e.m.e.nt, landing on top of a closed washing machine. Her coat was torn and the blood ran in a stream down her arm. Wiping the blood, she thought of the nan.o.bots in it sending signals into s.p.a.ce even as they escaped her body.

The blades of the drone helicopter flapped overhead.

Grace checked that the envelope from David Young was still tucked into the waistband of her jeans and was relieved to find it there.