“Monteverde is a hundred and twenty-eight kilometers away. With current traffic conditions, estimated time of arrival is about three hours from now.”
Way too slow. “We need to make it in half that time,” I said, pushing the gas pedal down to the floor. Storefronts swept past. Horns honked. “Make sure you tell any cars and pedestrians ahead to clear the road. Say it’s an emergency.”
“Most of them are already aware,” said the ambulance.
No wonder Route 1 had started to clear out. I considered myself incredibly lucky that the police hadn’t clocked my wild exit from the city. I could only assume they still had their hands full cleaning up yesterday’s attack. In the rearview stream, I could see the white high-rises of San José receding behind me as I turned the car toward the mountains. I had no idea what I would do when I reached Sylvia’s location, but it felt good to finally be heading toward something, instead of waiting or running away.
It was a feeling that proved to be short-lived.
ONE THING LEADS TO ANOTHER
AS I WAS ATTEMPTING TO SLALOM through an obstacle course of death, Joel2 was dealing with his own obstacles. In following Sylvia’s GDS location, the golf cart had been forced to go off the paved main mountain road and onto a decidedly unpaved, extremely bumpy cloud forest path.
“My suspension is not equipped for this terrain, sir,” the cart informed him. “Repair fees may be added to your rental price.”
“I don’t care if you get totaled,” said Joel2, ducking as a tree branch nearly clocked him in the face. “Just get me to that location as fast as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
The cart continued to bounce and rattle up the mountain. Joel2 tried to deduce what the Gehinnomites could want with his wife. Anytime he (or I) had a difficult dilemma to tackle, he would visualize a Go board in his mind. Then he would assign causes and effects to the black-and-white pieces.
Causes: Joan What’s-Her-Name blows up the Costa Rica TC. They take down comms in Costa Rica. Sylvia restores me from a backup. Taraval comes down and gives her a guilt trip. Gehinnomites kidnap my wife.
Effects: Everyone’s looking at teleportation right now. Double-checking its procedures and methods. Sylvia feels guilty. Taraval makes Sylvia more upset. I’m going to rescue her—somehow.
Unknowns: Who else knows about this? What was in the message that Sylvia sent this morning? Who did she send it to? What else don’t I know?
He commed Julie again. Her Rosie the Riveter avatar had on a concerned emoji expression.
“Joel. Any news?”
“Yes. Jules, listen, Sylvia’s been kidnapped.”
“What? Now I should definitely alert the authorities, right?”
“No! You can’t tell anyone; I think IT might be complicit in all this. The authorities are definitely on the wrong side of this equation. Listen, now more than ever, it’s really important that you tell me what Sylvia said in her message.”
“I can’t, Joel. I really can’t.”
“Okay.” He leaned sideways as the golf cart tore through a branch, leaving a hairline crack down the windshield. “How about we play a game? I will ask you questions about the message, and you tell me if I’m wrong. If you remain silent when I’m right, you’ll technically be withholding information, not providing it.”
“So—if you’re right, I don’t say anything?”
“Correct. And if I’m wrong, you say no. Either way, you won’t be divulging any confidential information—in fact, you’ll be withholding it.”
The cart scraped over a rock, causing Joel2 to nearly slam his head into the ceiling.
“That seems to fit with my parameters,” Julie finally said.
“Great. Did Sylvia send her message to an ostrich?”
“What? No.”
“Just testing.” “Oh, okay.”
“Did Sylvia send her message to someone in IT?” Silence.
“Did she send her message to Pema Jigme?”
“No.”
“Did she send her message to William Taraval?” Silence.
“Okay. Did her message mention her being kidnapped?”
“No.”
“Did her message mention me?”
Silence.
Why would she be comming with Taraval about me? “Did Taraval reply to her message?”
Silence.
“Did his response mention me?” Silence.
“Did his response mention something bad happening to me?”
Silence.
“I see,” said Joel2, choking on his voice.
The golf cart suddenly veered off the mountain road, bursting through a net of vegetation and out of the cloud forest. It was now speeding down a muddy access path in the middle of a landscaped hillside vineyard. Green unripened grapes drummed against the sides of the cart like tiny pebbles. A few burst on the windshield. Still, the tiny vehicle continued to climb.
Joel2 wasn’t sure how to proceed. He still clung on to hope. Hope that his wife would never volunteer to do “something bad” to him, especially considering what she had done to save his life yesterday. But then again, she also hadn’t told him that she was working on a method to store human beings in the glacier forever, like so many forgotten streams of family gatherings. Was it possible he didn’t even know who Sylvia really was?
Before he could muster an answer to that question, the golf cart came to a rattling stop in front of a large three-story mountaintop villa. The estate was surrounded by a whitewashed wall of adobe, and had views of the cloud forest on three sides. A generous drone parking area covered in moss-ringed pavers stretched out before the mansion, a mosaic-covered fountain bubbling quietly at its center. Two all-terrain vehicles were parked to one side, while on the other was a mud-splattered RV.
Joel2 and Sylvia’s RV.
“Game over, Jules,” he said as he stepped out of the shuddering golf cart. “If you hear anything from Sylvia, tell her—tell her I still love her.” And he did. Even if she was complicit in this—whatever this was—he couldn’t leave her in the hands of the Gehinnomites. He wanted to look her in the face, hold her in his arms, and hear the truth from her own lips before he made any more judgments.
“Will do,” said the AIDE. “And, Joel?” “Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
“Of what?”
“You know I can’t say.”
“Worth a shot.” He shrugged and then hung up.
Guess I’m about to find out anyway. That, or I’ll get killed.
Joel2 glanced down the mountain. A nicely maintained road curved on a gentle incline to a wooden gatehouse about a quarter mile below. “What the hell, there was a paved road to this place?” he said to the golf cart.
“You said you wanted the fastest route possible,” the vehicle reminded him.