"I can see already it's going to be short."
"But look at the cuffs in the shirt, the pants, and the jacket. They leave lots of hem in 'em so they won't have to make custom-made duds for everybody."
"You do tailoring work too, Zeke?" "Not in front of everybody, and I don't brag on it, but yeah. I do everything. Full-service shop."
Buck found the trousers about two inches short and the waist snug. The shirt was close but needed another inch in the sleeves. Same with the jacket. The cap was way too small. Buck shook his head when Zeke rummaged around and found his sewing kit. It was all he could do to keep from bursting out laughing when the big kid popped a half dozen straight pins in his mouth and knelt to do his work.
"What do you mean, you mix and match?" "Well," Zeke said around the pins, "your ID is probably gonna be from a dead civilian. You've already done your own facial surgery, not on purpose, but you did. I'll dye your hair dark, use dark contacts, and shoot a picture to go with the new papers. You want to find someone you like? You've seen my files before. You pulled Greg North out of that stack. Grab a few. Pick someone about your same size and everything. The less I have to change, the better."
"Can you give me a rank above Albie's?" "No can do," Zeke said. "See the shoulders and the collar on that jacket? That's your basic Peacekeeper. If your collar had another stripe or two and stuck straight up instead of layin' flat, you could be as high as a commander."
"And you can't do that much tailoring."
"That's big-time work. I'd hafta charge you double."
Buck smiled, but Zeke roared. "Did you almost check your wallet to see if you could handle it?"
"Almost."
"Dad says I'm a card." Zeke was suddenly sober.
"Know where your dad is yet?"
Zeke shook his head. "Didn't like what I saw on TV, though. Something about startin' that mark thing with guys they've got behind bars already. Use 'em as test cases." He shook his head.
"Your dad won't take the mark."
"Oh, I know that. No way. Never. Which means I'll probably never see him again."
"Don't think that way, Zeke. There's always hope."
"Well, maybe, and I'm prayin'. But I'll tell ya when there's no more hope, and that's when they line these guys up for the mark. They get a choice, right?"
"That's what I understand."
"Dad won't even think about it. He's already got a mark. I've seen his and he's seen mine-that's how we know. And he won't start wonderin' if he can have both and stay alive. He'd never do a thing that looks like he's a Carpathia guy. He'll say, 'No you don't,' and they'll thump 'im right there. I don't know how they're gonna kill 'em in jails, whether they've got gill-o-teens or if they just shoot 'em. But that's how Dad's gettin' out of jail. In a box."
On the way back to his office, David felt strangely warmed and encouraged. He loved Hannah's personality and way of expressing herself. She would be a good friend. She was older than he but didn't act like it. He had begun to wonder if there was an oasis of good feeling anywhere.
David worked his magic on the computer, patching in to the bug in room 4054. He slipped on earphones and found himself in the middle of a heated argument. He heard the television and Mrs. Wong pleading, "Shh! TV! Shh! TV!"
Her husband shouted back in Chinese. David knew there were many dialects, but he didn't understand even one. It soon became clear that father and son were arguing and that the mother wanted to watch television. The only words David could make out from the males were an occasional GC and Carpathia. The son was soon in tears, the father berating him.
David recorded the conversation in the unlikely event he could download voice-activated software that would not only recognize the language and the dialect, but would also convert it to English or Hebrew, his two languages.
Suddenly he heard the father speak more harshly than ever, the son pleading and-it sounded like-collapsing in tears. The mother pleaded for quiet again, the father barked at her, and then it sounded to David as if someone picked up a phone and punched buttons. Finally, English!
"Missah Akbar, you speak Chinese?… Pakistani? Me no. English OK, OK?… Yes, Wong! Question for you. New worker get loyalty mark first, yah?… OK! How soon?… Not till then?… Maybe sooner, OK! Mrs. Wong and me get too? OK? Son, Chang Wong, want be first to get mark."
The boy cried out in Chinese, and it sounded as if Mr. Wong covered the phone before screaming at him. Someone left the room, David assumed Chang, and slammed a door.
"Missah Akbar, you do mark on boy, mother, father?… You no do? Who?… Moon? Walter Moon?… Not Moon himself?…Moon people, OK! Son first! Picture! Take picture son!… When?… Yes. I talk to Moon people. Bye-bye."
David heard Mr. Wong call out something more calmly, and then something from Chang, muffled. The father was angry again and had the last word. Then he whispered something in Chinese to his wife. She responded with what sounded like resignation.
David wondered if Chang had told his father why he would refuse the mark, or if he simply said no. When the apartment was silent except for the television, David saved the file and forwarded it to Ming Toy with a request. "If it's not too much trouble or too painful, it would help me to know what was said here. I'm guessing your father is pressuring Chang to get himself hired and to be among the first to take the mark. I'll try other sources inside to see how soon they're going to start administering the mark, but help me with this at your earliest convenience, if you would. I regret eavesdropping, but I'm sure you want to preclude this disaster too."
David dialed 4054. Mr. Wong answered. "Chang, please?"
"You want Chang Wong?"
"Yes, please."
"Talk to him about GC job?"
"Yes, sir."
"You Mr. Moon?"
"No. David Hassid. I met you last week."
"Yes! Mr. Hassid! Chang work for you?"
"I don't know yet. That's what I'd like to talk to him about."
"He here. You talk to him. You in computers, yes?"
"Much of my area is computers, yes."
"He best. He help you! Work for you. You talk to him. Wait… Chang!" He switched to Chinese, and the boy argued from the other room. Finally he came to the phone.
"Hello," the boy said, sounding as if he'd lost his best friend.
"Chang, it's David. Just listen. Your sister told me what was going on. Let me try to help. It will get your father off your back if you get interviewed by a director, right?"
"Yes."
"It'll buy us some time. You don't worry, OK?"
"I'll try not to."
"Don't say anything, but we might even find a way to. get you out of here."
"Before the mark?"
"Don't say that, Chang. Just play along for now. Understand?"
"Yes, David."
"Call me Mr. Hassid, OK? We can't sound like friends, and we sure don't want to sound like fellow believers, brothers, right?"
"Right, Mr. Hassid."
"Thataboy, Chang. Let's do this right. You call my assistant tomorrow and arrange for an appointment with me. I'll tell Tiffany to expect your call, and you tell her I asked you to call her. All right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Everything will be all right, Chang."
"I hope so."
"You can trust me."
"Yes, Mr. Hassid."
FOURTEEN
Rayford and the others were invited to listen in as Tsion grilled his former professor and mentor on the history of God's chosen people. Chaim, with the wire finally out of his mouth, slowly worked his jaw and rubbed his face, clearly relieved. He was not animated, however, and hard as it seemed Tsion tried, Chaim appeared still tormented by the same things he had discussed with Rayford a few nights before.
"Come, come, Chaim!" Tsion said. "This is exciting, dramatic, miraculous stuff. This is the greatest story ever told! I know where God has provided a place of refuge for his children, but I am not going to tell you until you are ready. You must be prepared in case God calls you to be a warrior for the Lord, to go into a battle of words and wit. Your knowledge would help carry you, but God would have to be your strength. I believe that if he confirms in your heart that you shall be his vessel, he will empower you with supernatural abilities to fight the satanic miracles of Antichrist. Can you envision the victory, my friend? How I wish I were the one going!"