The Tesla Gate (29 page)

CHAPTER 31

The Plan

“Nothing is more imminent than the impossible …
what we must always foresee is the unforeseen.” 

—Victor Hugo, “Les Miserables”

I grabbed the boys by the hands and led them as discreetly as I could to a bench not too far from the entrance. Patrick was still pulling, trying to get through the door, just as I felt his hand start to slip through mine I reached out and forcibly grabbed his other arm and directed him to the bench. The movement was regrettable. While it was impossible for me to hurt him physically, Impals' feelings are every bit as fragile as any flesher. He looked up at me with shocked surprise, making me feel like the biggest scumbag on the planet.

“I'm sorry,” I said in a low apologetic voice. My sudden violent motion had drawn the ire of several bystanders as they looked at me like I was the biggest jerk on the planet. “We can't go in now; the batteries will set off the metal detectors.”

His hurt and confused expression slowly faded into one of comprehension. Seth climbed in my lap and looked at me with a seriousness that seemed beyond his years, even though his comment was not.

“We can just take them out of our pocket and put them in that little bowl,” he said.

I smiled and hugged him, but when I looked at Patrick, who was maybe a year or two older than Seth, he was shaking his head like that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard.

“You can't, dummy!” he said. “If you get rid of the batteries they can tell what you are!”

I reprimanded Patrick for his name-calling, but then quickly pointed out that he was absolutely right. I don't think he heard my validation of his remark because he sat down on a rock wall near the bench with a scowl on his face.

I racked my brains for several moments while Seth fidgeted impatiently on my lap. Patrick sat with a sullen expression, gazing blankly at the carousel across the street as happy children waved to proud, doting parents each time they completed another lap on their colorful steeds.

I guess I could say that I was vaguely aware of Patrick's unhappiness, but that would not be entirely accurate. The truth is I relegated it to the back of my mind as I pondered our dilemma. We had come too far and overcome too much to be stopped by something like batteries and a metal detector. I was trying hard to be a good father but in the process I was not being a very good surrogate father. Had I not learned anything?

The tunnel vision I had self-imposed before in the name of
financial security for my family
blinded me to the bigger picture of what was really important, what was more important than any monetary reward my absence from their lives could have provided. It seemed that I had pulled the old blinders out again, dusted them off, and renamed them
the mission to make my time with Seth worthwhile.

Hadn't it already been worthwhile? Whether we made it in the museum or not, I would not have traded my last few weeks with Seth for anything. I don't think Seth would have, either. Sure, he would have been disappointed for a while if we couldn't go in, but he would have gotten over it. I guess I couldn't bear the thought of breaking another promise to him, not now … not like this.

My single-minded obsession eventually provided a viable yet dangerous solution. Seth and Patrick may look completely normal now with a pocketful of batteries, but they were still Impals, and that meant they could still pass through solid objects—objects like a museum wall or a window. The problem is that they would have to do it without being seen. That was a huge problem in a place with a lot of people and a lot of security. I had to think … where is the best place to accomplish this? A moment later the answer dawned on me.

My last visit here had been on a business trip when Seth was just four-years-old. I had an afternoon off and was glassy-eyed from a full morning of meetings, so I decided to get out and get some fresh air. I walked up the mall from the hotel and visited the Air and Space Museum. I am not sure why I chose this museum from all the other possible destinations in the capital city, maybe it was because I had watched the movie
Apollo 13
the previous night in my hotel room and I had space on my mind. I had a nice visit, and just as I was preparing to leave, a thunderstorm hit. Having no umbrella and no raincoat, I decided to wait it out in the museum.

After 30 minutes of steady downpour with no letting up in sight, I broke one of my rules that I had vowed I would not do again: I ate fast food. No, I didn't walk to one; as convenience would have it, there was a large McDonalds attached to the museum

This particular restaurant was most unorthodox for a typical McDonald's; it was solid glass from floor to ceiling. It provided an impressive view of the surrounding buildings through the rain streaked glass ceiling. On one side of the restaurant there were rows of tables along the glass windows, windows that ran right up to the sidewalk on the back of the building. On the surface that wouldn't sound like anything noteworthy except for the fact that the tables obstructed lower three feet of the window. I knew this because I had been startled to see a young couple sitting against the outside glass and making out when I sat down with my Big Mac and Coke. It was nearly impossible for someone inside to see a person sitting outside the window or, perhaps, a child crawling through it.

The outside of the window was the rub because it had a clear and unobstructed view from the street. Someone, especially a wanted someone could easily be spotted from outside. But, assuming the place hadn't been remodeled since my last visit and we timed it carefully, this could work.

With exhilaration of newfound hope, I jumped up and grabbed Seth and Patrick by their hands and led them to the sidewalk. Both boys were resistant at first until I sat them down on a bench a good distance from the hustle and bustle of the entrance.

“I thought we were going to the moozem, Daddy,” Seth said in a pitifully sad voice. Patrick didn't say anything; he just looked at me with a mixture of sadness and curiosity.

I explained to both boys my plan in detail, making sure they understood every single aspect, emphasizing the consequences of what could happen if we got caught.

“You mean they would take me away?” Seth asked.

Patrick still did not speak, instead he alternated his gaze between me and Seth for a moment, then smirked and stared at the ground.

I guess I had been operating under the assumption that Seth was fully aware of what was going on. He is a smart kid, and even though I had not come right out and told him he was in danger of being rounded up like a wanted criminal, I assumed that laying low in the back of the SUV with Jackson, narrowly escaping the police after his kidnapping and carjacking, fleeing down an old tunnel with the military in pursuit, hiding in a basement for days, and then having to use batteries to go out in public incognito, well … I assumed he had taken the hint. Kids are trusting and optimistic as a general rule, a little too much at times. It ripped my heart out as I watched his innocence wash away as the truth sank in. He looked at me with terrified eyes.

Tears dropped from Seth's cheeks and then turned to silvery streaks in midair before disappearing without a trace into the sidewalk. Like any good father would, I reached out and pulled Seth tight, taking care not to squeeze too hard, which could give us away to an observant bystander. This did not help Patrick's sullen attitude. He looked at us as if I were a dancing hippopotamus in a tutu, and then he started walking slowly up the street, staring down at his shoes.

We caught up to Patrick before he made it to the end of the block. He didn't look at me but reluctantly took my hand as we made a right turn and around the glass McDonald's attached to the east side of the museum. I could see dozens of people dining on fast food goodness along with a large number of kids running about. It was getting close to lunchtime and the place was packed; this was not going to be easy to do without being spotted.

We made it to the next corner a minute later and made another right turn. A few moments later, we were at a large courtyard area that separated the McDonald's from the sidewalk. The courtyard spanned the length of the restaurant up until a few feet before it connected with the actual museum. It was sparsely populated by small round flower beds, a number of stone benches, and a few trash receptacles. Most of the benches were full of weary tourists and one was occupied by a sleeping homeless man. I did a double-take at the man because there was something unusual about him. Was he…? I didn't have time to ask the question, because before I could fully form the thought, it was answered for me.

A loud screeching of tires behind me made me jump with surprise and when I turned around and saw the police officers piling out of their DC Metro cruisers, I knew what was going on. I grabbed Seth and Patrick, turning them away from the scene and directing their focus to the other side of the courtyard. I believe I was successful in diverting Seth's attention but not Patrick. He watched with fervent curiosity as the hapless man, who was actually a hapless Impal, was cuffed with iron around his neck and wrists, then savagely tossed into the back of the lead police cruiser. I was shocked at what happened next.

A smattering of applause rang out from a good number of the bystanders. Not everyone clapped, though. Several people had looks of disgust on their faces, like me, but it was enough to give me a moment of pause, which quickly turned into a moment of rage. I felt like breaking every single one of their hands. What the hell did they mean by applauding such barbaric behavior? Surely the government had not been this effective with anti-Impal propaganda in such a short period of time.

I guess if you repeat a lie long enough, people will eventually start to believe it. If a person had no Impal acquaintances then really they had no idea what to believe and no choice but to believe the government. Why not believe that Impals are devious, want to take over, and will very shortly cause a population problem? After all, the moniker of ghost or spirit has carried a negative connotation for centuries.

I had not felt this vulnerable on our entire journey as I felt at this exact moment. I was asking two young boys to pull together and potentially reveal themselves to a group of people who obviously despised them, all to go and look at a bunch of old airplanes. Was I crazy? No, I just loved my son too much to disappoint him again. I had to keep my promise. There was no other option.

A pair of Army trucks rumbled by on the street, probably full of Impals, but I did not look. I was determined to have nothing shake my resolve as I led the boys over to a bench, less than a foot from the glass window of McDonald's. I sat them down and began to give them instructions, putting our fate in the hands of two young boys who wouldn't even be old enough to vote if they combined their ages. When I had finished, I stood up and patted both of their heads reassuringly, gave them a wink and the most confident smile I could muster, and then set out for the main entrance on the other side of the building. I looked over my shoulder as I rounded the corner of the restaurant; both boys were still sitting on the bench as I had instructed and swinging their legs with nervous excitement. They passed from view as I made the turn and I focused myself on the task at hand, picking up the pace a little as I headed for the entrance.

A few minutes later, I was in the line for security check. As far as I could tell, I had no more metal on me than the zipper on Mr. Guffey's borrowed slacks. I passed through the metal detector flanked by intimidating security people with solid black uniforms brandishing a museum patch on the right breast, which depicted the Kitty Hawk and the space shuttle. I made it through with not so much as a beep.

I felt a strong tinge of worry when I saw one of the security people looking at me conspicuously, a large black woman with short bobbed hair and a rigid stone face. After a few moments she smirked, shook her head, and turned her attention back to the door. I assumed she was looking at my white ankles exposed by my loaner britches, which were about two inches too short and just slightly snug in the waist. Yes, I looked like a dork. Especially with the brown bowling shirt, but with the millions of people that came through here each year, I was sure they had probably seen worse.

Not wanting to leave Seth and Patrick alone any longer than I had to, I quickly rushed to the gift shop to carry out the next objective of my plan: I bought batteries. I figured about six AAs apiece would suffice; I didn't know how to judge a battery's life expectancy with an Impal anymore than I could explain what was going on with the phenomenon. Sometimes you just have to wing it and hope for the best.

I made my way across the museum as casually and covertly as I could. Until I was passing the Apollo 11 capsule, it didn't sink in how much I had been sweating. The cool, sterile air pumping from the vents high above is common in most museums and something that I appreciate under normal circumstances, but not today. When I passed under the behemoth vent, I felt like 100 Impals had touched me all at the same time. My chest under my saturated shirt, my pasty arms and face not to mention the back of my neck all screamed with shock as the frigid air engulfed me. It was not an overly warm day, but my nervous perspiration made me look like I had just come in from the desert. A young couple passed by, pushing matching strollers, one with an infant and the other with a toddler. The man paused to look at me.

“Are you all right?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“Yes,” I replied as I wiped sweat beads from my brow and the end of my nose. My heart thundered in my chest as another security guard passed, looking at me suspiciously. “I just ran here from the Lincoln Memorial to catch up with my wife and son,” I lied. It must have been a convincing lie because he nodded his head and smiled then continued on with his wife.

The security guard was not as convinced of my benevolence. He continued to look at me for several moments after the couple walked on. I suppose I would have stared at me as well in all my sweat-saturated, high-water pants dorkiness. I stood out and that was not good. As I sat down on a nearby bench to try and collect myself, I stupidly wondered if that would be considered as some sort of illegal profiling. My self-indulgence into politically incorrect humor did little to calm my nerves. The only thing that would do that is time, no … that's not true. The only thing that would do that is to get Seth and Patrick safely back to Mr. Guffey's. When I felt that I had reasonably reduced my perspiration from a downpour to a drizzle, I stood up and set out for the large golden arches on the opposite side of the exhibit hall.