Volta turned from the mirror and walked slowly to the barred cell door. He could hear the faint rhythmic tap of the blackjack against the sergeant’s leg.
The sergeant, his voice dropped to a cold murmur, warned, ‘Last time, scum-buckets: Who screamed?’
‘Me,’ Volta said.
‘Well pucker up, fuck-face,’ cause you’re next.’
‘No. You’re next,’ Volta promised. ‘That boy just hung himself.’
‘Good,’ the sergeant said. ‘S’posed to cull the weak.’ He yelled over his shoulder to the other guards, ‘Bring a mop’ then turned back to Volta. ‘One, fucking, peep … and you’re going to die trying to escape.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Volta said, starting to laugh, ‘I’ve already escaped.’
‘Yeah, sure looks like it t’ me, you loony fuck.’
Volta gathered enough breath to explain, ‘Appearances are deceiving,’ and then surrendered to the comic beauty of his last escape, finding freedom in jail. He wanted to share his delight with the diamond in the mirror, but the diamond had vanished.
Hours later, Volta was released on bail supplied by AMO. The Alliance also provided lawyers from their in-house ‘firm’ – warmly referred to as Sachs, Pilledge, and Berne – and the charge was quietly dismissed on the court-directed stipulation that Volta receive mental health care. His psychiatrist was Dr Isaac Langmann, a member of AMO’s Star, who agreed with his patient that the best course of treatment was advanced training in the Raven’s arts.
Shortly after Volta completed his training, Dr Langmann offered Volta a job as his field representative on the Pacific coast.
Volta loved the work. Since a field representative functions as a nerve to the Star – mediator, messenger, field general, fixer, and roving trouble-shooter – each day brought new people, places, and problems. The people he worked with were impressed with the clarity of his understanding and the fairness of his judgments. When Isaac Langmann retired from the Star in 1963, he nominated Volta to replace him. Fulfilling its most important function, the appropriate integration of talent and task, the Star unanimously approved Volta on the first poll. At the time of the Livermore explosion, Volta had served with distinction for seventeen years.
Volta was standing at the foot of the bed when Daniel, after nine weeks in a coma, opened his eyes. Daniel looked dully around the hospital room and then, squinting, focused on Volta.
Volta nodded slightly. ‘Welcome back, Daniel.’
Daniel trembled as he tried to speak. Volta waited. When Daniel failed again, Volta said softly, ‘Your mother is dead.’
Daniel lifted his hands as if he were going to cover his face but they collapsed weakly across his chest. He shut his eyes tightly, but couldn’t stop the tears.
‘I share your sorrow,’ Volta said. ‘I appreciate the poverty of condolence at such a loss, but I offer it nonetheless.’
Daniel moaned, arching against the bed as if trying to sit up.
Volta said, ‘I know I’m presuming on the intimacy of your grief and have clearly violated your privacy, but I’m afraid I must.’
Nodding distractedly, Daniel brought his hands to his face, fingertips pressed hard against his closed eyes.
‘My name is Volta. You’ve met two of my most trusted friends, Smiling Jack and Elmo Cutter. I serve AMO as a member of the Star, the Alliance’s facilitating council. I’m here to offer our heartfelt regrets and, if you want it, our wholehearted help.
‘Your situation is complicated, Daniel. You were injured in the explosion; a sliver of metal from the clock’s hand pierced your temple, traveled upward at approximately a forty-degree angle through the edge of the right hemisphere of your brain, and lodged against the skull. Although the EEG and other tests indicate ‘normal’ brain function – whatever that might be – you have been in a coma for nine weeks. There may be damage the tests haven’t revealed, but other than the coma, all indications are excellent.
‘You are nominally under police guard, no visitors allowed, but since the posted guards were withdrawn a month ago, the restrictions are merely formal. When they find you’ve regained consciousness, you’ll likely be arrested. If so, you can expect to be interrogated by people who know how. My advice is to say you don’t remember anything from at least a month before the blast; conditional amnesia is medically consistent with trauma. So is selective recall. It would probably be best if you had no idea that your mother was planting a bomb. All she told you was that she was delivering something for a friend – better yet, a stranger.’
Daniel uncovered his eyes, looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then back at Volta. He wet his lips. ‘How did you know? The bomb? That it wasn’t already there?’
Patiently, Volta explained, ‘I know because Shamus called and told me everything. He was extremely distraught. He blames himself.’
‘They were in love!’ Daniel sobbed. He shook his head helplessly. ‘Oh Mom, Mom, Mom.’
‘Yes,’ Volta said, ‘I know they were in love. I know it hurts.’
Daniel lashed, ‘Tell me who killed her!’
‘Nobody,’ Volta said calmly. ‘By all evidence, it was a faulty bomb.’
‘Nobody? Then why were her last words “Daniel! Run!”’
Volta looked at him sharply. ‘She called to you?’
‘She screamed!’ Daniel sobbed.
‘And then?’
Daniel struggled for composure. ‘The bomb exploded before I could even turn to look. Like her scream set it off. That fast.’
Volta considered the information.
‘She was warning me,’ Daniel said.
‘Clearly. But about what? Did you notice any people or activity immediately prior to her shout?’
‘No. And I was looking.’
As much to himself as Daniel, Volta murmured, ‘She may have sensed something go wrong with the bomb.’
Daniel didn’t respond.
Volta asked, ‘Did she arm the bomb before entering the alley?’
‘No.’
‘Did she have time to do it before it detonated?’
‘She must have. It blew up.’
‘The pavement was wet. Maybe she slipped and dropped it. Heard a connection sputtering.’
‘I don’t know,’ Daniel said weakly. ‘I don’t know. She screamed and it exploded.’
‘If you want, we’ll look into it. It will take time, no doubt, but perhaps less if you know who built the bomb.’
‘I don’t,’ Daniel said. ‘Shamus should, though – ask him.’
‘I’d like to. However, I’ve been trying to locate him for over a month now to discuss your situation, but he seems to have vanished. Any ideas where he might be?’
‘No. But I want to know anything you find about my mother. I want to know what went wrong.’
‘Naturally. You will be kept completely informed – on that you have my word. Which leads to other matters we have to discuss. For instance, your future, and how we might help you.’
‘Help me do what?’
‘First, to escape the thirteen or so charges that will be filed against you. They only have inklings that the bomb was connected to a plutonium theft, so be very careful about what you say.’
‘They haven’t linked her with Shamus?’
Volta lowered his eyes, then looked back up, straight at Daniel. ‘Your mother didn’t leave any fingerprints, Daniel. Everything they know is from paper. They think she was Mrs Wyatt. We’ve cleaned the Baton Rouge connections, the bank account and land titles, and would be grateful if you forgot Dubuque completely.’ Volta kept talking to distract Daniel’s imagination from what the blast must have done to his mother. ‘However, from the snowshoe rental receipt in your pocket – the homemade driver’s license in your wallet had a phony name but the right address – the McKinley Street house was raided before we could cover it, so you also face some forgery and illegal possession charges. You’d be well advised to have an exceptional attorney, and we’d be glad to provide one free if you so choose.’