"We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike." ~Maya Angelou

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Plan B

     They had known something was wrong from his earliest days with the institute, but no one could exactly pin down what it was, the cause, or how they should address it going forward. They had decided, unofficially, to wait and see; crossing fingers and hoping for the best. As it has turned out, those were not the best options to go with when considering his particular type of neurological imbalance.  Hindsight is of no help in the present situation of course, although the history does need to be documented, somewhere so the facts can be brought into some sort of an ordered whole for teaching purposes later on. I've sent Justin and Candace Oubrey down into the archives to begin the work.  They'll be safer there and there are provisions.
    Now, however, there are certain people who must be taken into hiding and kept safe, along with their research and writings. There are others who must seem to disappear, every single trace of their lives erased and burned. We have protocols, new ones, thank God, that have been drummed into heads with such regularity that there will be no missteps.     
     The Cloud will need to be reorganized in such a way that there there are blocks put in place and cover screens set up and encrypted but in such as way that there seems to be nothing amiss.  Sandsbridge had already called in his rings of Robins and Rats and was well along in the process before anyone in the news community even caught a glimmer of what was happening.  We'll never hear a word, but if anyone can save any of us it will be them. I'll listen for a signal in a weeks time; not before.
       I'm sending word to all of our people that we will be switching to Caladrian-3 scope at midnight tonight, EST.  The grid is not to be trusted and will probably not last the week. Water...I hope Caroline hooked into the reserve, as I asked her to do this morning. She was on her way to drop off Andy at school when I called.  They should be a mile down and safely on their way by now.  I am not to check on them, no matter what. If they are behind schedule, or have had any unforeseen difficulty, my call will only draw attention to them.  She's smarter than I am. She'll figure out what to do; she has all the code in her head, after all.
     I wander past the cubicles, unwrapping a peppermint, and humming softly. All eyes are on the screens, fingers flying; we're trying to anticipate and be ready with appropriate measures; we are buying time; we are rewriting history.
     I see Cordell sauntering toward the restrooms, talking into his earpiece. He doesn't look in my direction.  I cough once, and Steven, a tall, thin young man, rises from his desk and follows Cordell. I hear sirens, more than the usual number, in the streets below, racing toward the bridges.
     After ten minutes, the screens blink out, one by one, and we begin our exodus to the rooftop.  No one hurries, no one speaks, phones are dropped into the burn chute as we leave the room.  Steven joins us, dropping in two, and a thumb drive; so it's Plan B.
     I walk to the west window and set my case on the sill, checking the sky. Here we go.

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