The door was opened by an MP, who smartly stepped back to allow an officer in. The door remained open as General Hall ventured inside the cell and removed his hat. Beyond, Nimrod could see two MPs waiting outside in profile, each staring at the other’s nose.
Hall saluted, and Nimrod found himself doing the same.
“Captain Nimrod, I’m here to ask you one question and one question only. I hope you’ll answer me truthfully and that you won’t take much time about it, because time is the one damned thing that the whole world is running out of. Do you understand me?”
Nimrod could swear the General spoke with a slight slur, but he couldn’t smell a thing on the man’s breath. He looked Hall up and down, remembering the officer was responsible for the most terrible of weapons the United States had at its disposal. General Hall talking about time running out didn’t fill Nimrod with confidence.
Nimrod’s mustache rolled above his upper lip. “Is that the question, or is there another one coming?”
General Hall’s right eye twitched, the nervous tic so severe it almost closed his eye entirely.
“What?” Hall’s voice was high, fast. Something was playing on his mind.
Nimrod looked Hall in the eye. “Are you working with Evelyn McHale?”
The General flinched as though Nimrod had slapped him, and Nimrod could see his eyes fill with tears.
Then the General smiled widely, like a used car salesman who has found his mark, like a lover over a conquest, like a killer with his finger on the trigger. Nimrod had seen that smile before. The smile of the insane.
“I… met her. She…”
The General closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. Nimrod watched as the general shook his head like he was punch drunk. Then the officer sucked in a wet breath and spoke.
“Can you stop her?” he asked, his eyes still closed.
Nimrod frowned. “Are you feeling quite well, general?”
Hall’s eyes snapped opened and with his free hand he grabbed Nimrod’s lapel.
“Just answer the damn question, Nimrod!”
Nimrod glanced down at the hand gripping his jacket. Then, slowly, he uncurled the General’s fingers himself. Out in the corridor, the two MPs were ignoring a conversation well above their pay grade.
“Perhaps,” said Nimrod, keeping his voice calm, quiet, not because of the MPs outside, but because he could see Hall was fighting against her. He had seen it many times; contact with the Director of Atoms for Peace could break a mind. General Hall had been changed, and he would not be the same again. The only question now was what form Hall’s madness would take, whether he could hold out just long enough.
The General muttered something, and his eyes closed again as he nodded furiously like a child. And then he blinked and straightened up, the model officer. He snapped a salute and Nimrod could see it in his eyes, the spinning blue of eternity, the light of the Fissure.
The General called to the MPs over his shoulder. Nimrod heard their boots snap on the cement floor and the pair marched in.
General Hall looked Nimrod up and down. “Take the prisoner to helipad five. Transport is waiting.”
One of the MPs glanced at his companion, doubt passing over his face. The other’s eyes flicked between the General and Nimrod. But for both of them, years of military life had ingrained the chain of command.
“Sir,” said the first MP, before taking Nimrod by the arm and pulling him towards the cell door. The reluctant MP paused a moment, almost as though he was waiting for a second order from the General, one that fit their earlier instructions regarding the prisoner.
The General smiled, and Nimrod saw the corners of his mouth flecked with white foam.
“Where are we going, General Hall?”
“New York, of course. Sergeant, secure your prisoner. Let’s roll.”
They were alone together in the helicopter. General Hall was a fine pilot, and Nimrod sat next to him in the cockpit, headphones on, watching the officer at the controls. The flight from DC to Manhattan took an hour and a half, and during that time the General remained silent except for the required radio communications.
If Nimrod’s removal from the holding cells had been unauthorized, nobody appeared to have noticed, at least not while General Hall and the two MPs led him, unchained, un-bagged, through the facility. There were several checkpoints and guarded doorways, but at each the personnel on duty merely saluted and let the General through without delay, without a glance