The Good Atheist (24 page)

Jorge nodded. I stepped forward and shook his hand. “Yes,” I said. “The one and only.”

“You’re Marcus’s boy?” He repeated while we shook hands.

“Yes,” I said.

“This is indeed a surprise.”

Jorge cleared his throat. “Ah, Zuebo. I brought him down to meet his father. I was hoping you could help with that.”

Zuebo broke off from the handshake, and his face closed like a gate. “Let’s discuss this inside. First, what do you have for me?”

“Nothing but the finest hothouse tomatoes, and of course a little something for our friend Marcus.”

Zuebo called his two sons, and they helped us carry in the crates from the back of the van. We set them down on a long counter inside the loading dock. Zuebo picked up one of the tomatoes, sniffed it, then gave it a gentle squeeze. “You seem to have a good batch, as usual.”

Zuebo picked through the batch of tomatoes while he and Jorge discussed the organic- vegetable market in general, the weather, then the latest baseball scores before returning to the fascinating topic of tomatoes.

Small talk had never been one of my strong points, and my boredom quickly developed into annoyance. When I’d felt like I’d tolerated it long enough to be polite, I broke in. “I hate to interrupt this scintillating conversation, but I came here to find my father. I’m told you know where he is.”

Zuebo looked around the busy loading dock. “Not here. Follow me.”

We followed him into a glassed-in office at the back of the warehouse and Zuebo shut the door behind us. “Please, have a seat.” He sat down behind a large desk cluttered with papers and a couple of computer screens. We took two chairs in front. Zuebo leaned back in the large leather chair and locked eyes with me. “I’ve known your father for a very long time. He’s spoken very fondly of you over the years.”

Apparently not fondly enough to contact me, I thought. I shoved the bitter thoughts aside. “You know where he is, then?”

“Of course.”

Jorge pulled an envelope from his pocket and put it on the desk. “We’ve brought Euros for him. I’m still working on the electronics he asked for. I’ll bring them with me the next time I’m down.”

Zuebo started to reach for it. I had begun to sense a reluctance in Zuebo regarding my father, so I quickly leaned over the desk and put my hand on the envelope. “I’d like to take this to him myself.”

He withdrew his hand. “I’m sure you would, but that is quite impossible,” he said softly.

“Why’s that? I’m sure he would want to see me.”

“I know for a fact he very desperately wants to see you.”

I felt anger rising up from my chest and warming my throat. “Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s too risky. Your father is at the top of the Tolerance Bureau’s wanted list. They’ve been hunting him for years. How do you know the Bureau has not followed you here?”

Jorge spoke up. “We were very careful, Zuebo. Jack has not been on the grid or used his chip since we left Aylmer. They have no reason to suspect he isn’t still at the cottage.”

“Were you followed down here physically?”

“Why would they think to do that when they don’t know Jack has left Aylmer? But still, it was a long drive on the highway. We weren’t followed.”

Zuebo looked at my right hand, still resting on top of the envelope, then turned his eyes up to Jorge. “He still has the chip? It was foolish of you to bring him. No one with the chip can see Marcus. You know that. The only way he can see his father is to go off grid.”

“You’re on the grid, and you see him.”

“I am the only one. I have to be on the grid to run a legit business and run a legit front for the underground.”

“Look, just get a message to my father that I’m here and let him decide. We’ll wait.”

Zuebo shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know what your father would do. He’d want to see you. He’d rush here to see you. And I can’t allow that.”

My heart quickened and I felt hot anger beginning to burn in the middle of my chest. “Don’t you think that’s his decision to make?”

Zuebo folded his hands on his lap. “Try to understand. This isn’t just about him, or you. He’s one of the most important leaders in the underground. His podcasts encourage and inspire millions. While he sees very few people, his words are heard by millions. His ministry is vital to millions of Christians in hiding, living off the grid. Thousands more find freedom across the border. If he is captured, it would be a devastating blow to the underground church.”

“So you see, I have to make the decision, because this is not a decision I can burden your father with. Of course he’d want to see you. He’d risk exposure and capture. And I can’t allow that. I’m not going to ask your father. I’m not even going to let him know you are here. It is better that way. Better for him that he doesn’t even know. I’m sorry.”

“Zuebo, my friend. There is no need to be like this.” Jorge said. “This isn’t just anyone here. This is his son. I’m sure he would be willing to take the risk.”

“Yes, he would be willing. And that’s precisely the problem.”

“I’d be careful,” I said.

“The only way I could possibly allow it is for Jack to go off grid.” Zuebo looked at me, and his eyes hardened. “Are you willing to take that step?”

Going off grid meant surgically removing the chip from my finger. Sometimes people cut their finger off at the second knuckle. It was a permanent step. You can’t go off, then change your mind and go back on. That got you immediately arrested. Going off grid was the final act of desperation for those on the run. I would never work again, at least legally. I could never go back home, back to my job. And as angry as I was, I wasn’t ready to suddenly cut myself off from Selene. She could join me, but only if she went off grid as well.

“I’m not sure I can do that. I have a wife to think about. A job. A life.”

“Exactly. And I have an entire underground with the lives of thousands of people to think about.”

“I don’t think it’s your decision whether to allow or not allow me to see my father. I think that’s his call, not yours.”

“This is not a decision I can afford to burden Marcus with. His judgment would be clouded by personal feelings for you. That’s why I have to make the decision for him.”

“Will you take those Euros to him?” I asked Zuebo evenly.

“Yes. I have some supplies to take him as well.”

I’d heard enough and it was time to go. I stood up.

“Jack,” Zuebo said.

“Yes?”

“Try to understand. You’d be putting your father at grave danger. I’m sorry, but it’s the only way.”

I turned around and left the room without uttering another word, slamming the door behind me so hard that the glass windows of the office shook.

21

I stood out front on the sidewalk, waiting for Jorge to finish his business with Zuebo. It was well past dark. The sidewalk was packed with trendy, well-dressed men and women. Quiet, intense couples strolled by arm in arm. Loud, laughing packs making their way to the next night club. Singles, walking rapidly with heads down. They flowed around me like water breaking around a rock in the stream.

I used to belong with this carefree crowd, making my way to the bar for drinks or dinner after work. Not a care in the world. Watching them now made we want to scream.  

After a few minutes Jorge met me on the sidewalk. “Well, that didn’t go so well,” he said.

“I can’t go off grid, Jorge,” I shouted, stabbing my finger towards Zuebo’s storefront. “He’s asking me to choose between my wife and my father. If I go off grid now, it’s as good as walking away from Selene.”

Jorge looked around us at the busy sidewalk. “Shhh. Keep your voice down. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting this,” he said.

“I don’t buy it. There’s got to be another way,” I said.

People walked around us, oblivious to our conversation. We could have been plotting murder, and I don’t think anyone would have noticed or cared, even if they overheard us. The most private place in the world is a crowded sidewalk in New York.

“We need to head back in the morning,” Jorge said quietly.

“I’m not going back with you.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Try to locate my father, what do you think?” I said.

“How are you going to do that?”

“Simple. As the saying goes, ‘follow the money’.”

Jorge sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I can talk you out of this?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. I’d probably do the same if it was my father.”

“Can you rent me a car? I don’t want to make any transactions on the grid.”

He rubbed his chin. “You’ll need cash, too. There are plenty of places that will take cash under the table as long as it’s hard currency. I’ll get you some Euros and Yuan.”

“And pen and paper.”

“What?”

“Pen and paper. Most gift and novelty shops still carry pens and real paper.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Jorge hailed a cab and left. I went around back and drove the van out onto the street. I had to drive around the block a couple of times before I got a parking spot across the street from Zuebo’s market. I wanted to keep it in sight.

Two hours later Jorge pulled up behind me in an old gray four-door car. I got out and met Jorge on the sidewalk. I looked at the car. I’d never seen the make before. It looked like a box on wheels.

“What the heck is this?”

“It’s a Lada. Russian-built,” he said.

“It’s ancient. And it’s not a hover.”

“All wheels, sorry. But it’s better this way. You won’t attract attention in an old car, and no one is going to want to steal it.”

He handed me an envelope. “Here’s some Euros. Enough to cover you for several days if you are careful.”

“Where did you get the Euros?”

“Guy I know not far from here. Zuebo and I do business with him.”

“I’ll pay you back when I get home.”

Jorge reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his phone. He handed it to me. “Here, take this. You’re going to need a phone while you’re here that’s not registered to you.”

I put the phone in my pocket. “Thanks, Jorge.” I went back to the van and got my travel bag. I put it in the trunk of the Lada.

We walked back to the van. Jorge climbed into the driver’s seat of the van. I leaned in through the open passenger window. “Thanks for everything, Jorge.”

“Just be careful. Don’t get yourself arrested, or shot, or anything stupid like that. And make darn sure your index finger never gets near a chip reader.”

“What does Zuebo drive?” I asked.

“A white Ford delivery van, with his name and logo on the sides. You can’t miss it. Why?”

“Don’t worry,” I grinned. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

“Just be careful.”

“You know me.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s what I’m worried about,” he said. “And I left you a little present on the front seat.” Then he drove off.

I went back to the Lada and got inside. On the passenger seat next to me I found Jorge’s present. It was a small book next to a pad of paper and a pen. I picked the book up and turned it over. It was a leather-bound New Testament.

I quickly looked up and down the sidewalk to see if anyone had noticed. Then I went to the trunk, hid the book inside my travel bag, and got back into the front seat behind the wheel. 

My plan was simple. Follow the money. I figured Zuebo would not wait long to get the cash to my father, so I’d follow Zuebo while he made his rounds.

So I sat in the cramped Lada across the street and watched Zuebo’s market. I had a good view from where I was parked. There was no rear exit out of the loading dock, so when Zuebo left he had to come out front, onto the street where I sat waiting.

An hour later my stomach was complaining loudly that it had missed dinner. I badly wanted a burger and a coffee, but I dared not leave in case I missed Zuebo. And I didn’t know where to go in this neighborhood with cash. So I hunkered down in the car and stoically ignored my stomach’s loud complaints.

It was almost ten before Zuebo appeared in the lane. The side of his van was emblazoned with ‘Zuebo’s Fresh & All Natural Organic Vegetables’. I could see him clearly behind the wheel. He stopped at the sidewalk and looked both ways before making a left onto the street, heading south. I waited for a break in traffic, then pulled a U-turn and started to follow.

I kept a discreet distance, hoping that Zuebo was not surveillance-conscious. I followed him through the East Village. He made a few turns and we ended up heading south on Allen. A few minutes later we took a left, and soon we were heading across the Williamsburg Bridge into Queens. We followed the Long Island Expressway for several miles. Traffic was light, and I could hang back and keep him in sight. Zuebo exited the Expressway into a worn-out, tired-looking district of old brick townhouses. The neighborhood got progressively more rundown. Boarded-up windows with steel bars. Empty lots of cracked asphalt. Burned-out hulks of long-abandoned buildings.

I slowed down when Zuebo’s brake lights flashed, and he pulled into an empty lot next to a large grey building on 80
^th
Street. I took the first right, drove half a block until I was out of sight, and stopped in front of a small all-night convenience store. Then I walked quickly back to the corner.

I could see the van sitting next to the building with the back doors open. Men came out of a door and helped unload crates and carry them inside. It looked like an old storefront, and it was the only building on the block with lights. Neat rows of tables and chairs were clearly visible through the window. I made a mental note of the location.

Zuebo disappeared inside. Ten minutes later he came outside, got into the van, and drove off.

I ran back to my car and drove around the block, turning right onto 80
^th
just as Zuebo passed. I followed him for several blocks, and he turned left onto Penelope. Several blocks later and a few more turns, Zuebo slowed down in front of a warehouse on 64
^th
and turned into the parking lot next to it.