Three (Article 5 #3)(59)

We looked at him blankly. All except Jesse, who had begun to glare.

“I knew I recognized you. You were at the protests!”

“Polo,” said Marco with a frown. “We’ve talked about this…”

“You were talking about taking down the Bureau. You scared the hell out of me, man. I nearly ran before I signed the papers.”

“I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else,” said Jesse.

“He mixes things up sometimes,” said Marco.

“No, I’m telling you, I don’t forget a face,” Polo argued. “He was the one who said Restart was behind the bombs, and that they were blaming the insurgents so they could fly in and save the day.”

Project Restart, President Scarboro’s political platform. It was the big spending donors behind Restart that funded his ideas of bringing America back to old-fashioned values. The very ideas that helped spawn the Statutes and put the government in charge of policing morality.

Jesse considered this. “That does sound like me.”

I couldn’t tell if Jesse was admitting to Polo’s claim or just avoiding the question. Either way, I unfolded the carefully worded message from the council and handed it to Marco.

“What’s this?” he asked, his scowl pulling deeper the farther down the page he read.

“Are you writing your memoir?” asked Polo. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“It’s to put in the Statutes,” I said.

Marco folded the paper gently. He looked to Polo and then back to me. “This isn’t what we do.”

“It is now,” said Jesse. Polo frowned.

Marco looked worried. “We’re happy to help fight the good fight and all…”

“They’re orders from Three,” said Chase.

Marco and Polo stopped fidgeting. They stared at us. It was so quiet you could hear the breeze outside rattle the rain gutters.

I opened the top button of my uniform and peeled aside the bandage.

“Whoa,” said Polo. “They’re in deep, Marco.”

“Yes, Polo.” Marco swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And that means we’re in deep, too.”

Polo took a step closer to examine the marks. “Maybe pull that open a little more?” He demonstrated on his own collar, showing off a significant amount of skin.

“All right,” said Chase, pulling me closer to him. “They get the point.” I rebuttoned my shirt, laughing under my breath.

“I guess we’ll get started,” said Marco, looking not very enthusiastic. “I suppose you’ll want to take your delivery and move on.”

“What delivery?” asked Chase with a frown.

Polo did stop then. Silently, the three soldiers led us to the supply room, to the back corner where a trap door I hadn’t seen before was fitted into the corner of the floor. Polo crouched and knocked on the wood three times, then with a heave, Marco pulled the latch back.

A dozen faces stared up at us from the basement.

“They’ve had nowhere to go since the train to the safe house stopped,” said Polo. “You’re here to take them, right?”

“What are we supposed to do with them?” I huddled closer to Chase and his uncle, creating a shield against the almost twenty refugees that stared at us from outside the supply room door. Most of them were probably draft dodgers, but there were families, too, some with young children, and two women holding hands, and a man laying a mat out on the floor to kneel and pray in a language I didn’t know.

“They aren’t on my to-do list,” said Jesse. I was grateful we were the only ones within earshot. Behind him, the printing press was up and running. An hour ago I’d delivered the carefully worded message to Marco, who reformatted the silver lettering by hand, and brought the machines to life with the flip of a switch and an anxious warning: “I’d disappear after this one if I were you. For good this time.”

His words had made me cold, and before I thought too much about them I’d sought out Chase and Jesse.

“We can’t leave them,” I said. “We have to bring them back to Endurance.”

Chase’s thumb dragged absently over his lip. Behind him, Marco and Polo were doling out rations to those who’d been delivered by four different carriers from four different states, who’d heard of the safe house’s fall too late in their journey. Their silent pleas for help weighed heavy on my shoulders.

“Sure, let’s take them with us. Show them the sights,” said Jesse. “We’ve still got work to do, neighbor.”

Chase gave him a warning glance.

“Em’s right,” he said. “We can’t leave them here. If Marco and Polo get caught, this whole operation’s blown.” My mind turned to the new guy who’d gone home shortly after we’d arrived. I hoped he understood the risks, and responsibilities, of these secrets.

My gaze turned to Billy, currently behind the computer in the office searching for the names of the rebels captured by the Chief of Reformation.

“There may be another option,” said Jesse. “A settlement near here. In the mountains,” he added after a moment.

“The Appalachians?” said Chase.

“The Smokies,” clarified Jesse.