Now the tracker’s little screen came to life, displaying a three-dimensional plan of the building from the point of view of this spot. It was as if it were a model made of transparent glass. Down near the bottom, the blinking red dot was moving in a crazy spiral, like a poisoned fly. He was going down the stairwell, and making damn good time.
Suddenly, the dot left the building altogether. Richter crossed to the window, with Helm close behind. They spotted Quaid running down an inclined rooftop toward the Commons. “Shit!” Richter exclaimed. “The subway! Go! Go!”
Helm and the other two agents bolted for the door, but Richter remained behind. Silently, he pulled Lori to her feet and into his arms. It had been too long since he’d held her and only God knew when they’d get the next opportunity.
“Pack your stuff and get out,” he said, pulling away from the embrace.
“What if they bring him back?” Lori asked as he headed for the door.
Richter paused in the doorway. He turned, and Lori was frightened by the look in his eyes. “They won’t,” he said. He turned abruptly and was gone.
Quaid breathed a silent sigh of relief as he made it safely to the subway station. He had had his one-minute start, maybe more. What had the fools been doing up there, making time with Lori? If so, he owed her a vote of thanks, ironically, though he was sure it wouldn’t have been voluntary on her part. He was sorry he had had to knock her out, but it had been the only way to keep her from sounding the alarm before the goons even got there. He hadn’t loved her, though he had liked her, and wouldn’t have hurt her for the world—before this business broke. She had seemed too good to be true, and now he knew that she was too good to be true. She was just on an assignment. Six weeks—no wonder his eight-year memory of her hadn’t changed! It was actually a six-week experience.
He had thought his life dull. It sure wasn’t dull now! But at the moment he would gladly have traded to have it back. At least he would be safe, instead of fleeing for his life, with no notion where he was going or who he was. If he had it to do over, he’d stay the hell away from Rekall, keeping his eyes and ears open and quietly investigating his situation, until he knew enough to act without bringing the goons down on his head.
People were staring at him. Quaid slowed down, glancing occasionally over his shoulder. It was better to be lost in the crowd, if the goons weren’t right on his tail. How close were they? He had hoped for a minute’s start and gotten it, but he knew they wouldn’t just let him go. He had to catch a train to nowhere and lose them completely.
Naturally the minutes passed before the train came. He waited beyond the security area, not wanting to commit himself before he had to. Three, four minutes—how long could this hold? He was a sitting duck here! He had gotten a break by escaping the building, but the luck was turning the other way now.
Then he heard the train. He was going to make it! He headed for the entry passage.
He realized that he’d better get rid of the gun; it could be traced, and might have a marker in it they could orient on. Certainly it couldn’t pass through the security area, so he couldn’t get on a train with it.
He glanced back one more time—and saw Richter and company run into the station. Damn! Another thirty seconds and he’d have been clear!
His plan changed instantly. He stayed in line, but kept the gun. What did an alarm matter when the killers had spotted him? He stepped past the panels.
He glanced at the little monitor screen facing the customers in line. He was a walking skeleton, and the gun in his bony hand was glowing bright red! The alarms wailed and red lights flashed. Guards sprang forward to intercept him. There was nothing careless about this security section!
He couldn’t run yet, because of the people ahead of him in the narrow channel. He had thought they would clear out when the alarm went off, but they were confused and standing still. Meanwhile the guards were rounding the screen, their own guns glowing red.
Could he go the other way? On the monitor his skeleton stopped and turned, echoing his indecision. He saw Richter and Helm coming. That was worse!
There was no way out, forward or backward. He turned to the side, jumped the guide rail, and charged the X-ray panel itself. On the monitor his skeleton loomed suddenly larger; then he crashed through his own skeletal image, shattering the screen. There was screaming from the ladies in the station.
That got him out—but not to the train. He had not escaped the goons.Where next?
His hidden other self took over. He sprinted forward, dodged around a crowd of gaping commuters, and vaulted down a staircase. It would take him to the trains traveling at right angles to the ones here, on the next level down. But he still didn’t know where he was going. He could catch a train, sure—but to where?
Richter and his goons arrived at the head of the staircase. He consulted the tracking device. The flashing red dot that was the quarry appeared on the screen, moving steadily downward. Richter panned the device, checking the surroundings. Near the bottom of the staircase were several up escalators.
The quarry would take one of those, trying to sneak back to the street level and lose himself. He wouldn’t want to take a train, because he had nowhere to go. So instead of chasing after him and being just too late, they could surround him. Then he’d really have nowhere to go. It was a messy job; it was awkward as hell trying to take a man out in a public place. But soon it would be done and they would disappear.
He signaled for everyone but Helm to continue on the same level. “Go, go, go,” he bellowed, and to Helm: “You, come with me.” They dashed down the stairs after Quaid.
Quaid reached the bottom of the stairs and looked warily around. No goons. He ran forward, saw an escalator flowing up, and headed for it. Still no goons. But he didn’t trust this. At any moment they would come charging around a corner, guns blazing. Determined to take him out—because he dreamed of Mars? No, because he wasn’t who he thought he was.
None of this seemed to make much sense. He needed time to work it out, to explore every last corner of his fragmented memory and pull out anything that was there. Maybe he’d discover he was a criminal who-but no, they wouldn’t have given a criminal a nice conapt, a decent job, and a woman like Lori. Unless they were keeping him on ice until the time came to testify at a big trial. Yes, that just might make sense. They didn’t want him remembering prematurely, because he might go back to his pals instead of testifying against them.That would explain why Lori, who as it turned out hadn’t cared for him at all, had been so actively friendly. It had been her job to keep his mind occupied. Or his pecker. Same thing, they had figured. They might have been right, but for his Mars dream-girl.
He was on the escalator now, riding the stairs up. He glanced behind, seeing nothing but routine citizens. Where were the goons? They should be here by now!
He glanced forward—and there they were! Four agents arriving at the top landing, looking below. He tried to shrink down, hiding amidst the commuters, but he was too big to manage it. His only hope was that they wouldn’t see him before he got close enough to—
They were peering down, checking the whole region. THEY SAW HIM!
There was no pause, no call for surrender. They simply started shooting.
Quaid feinted to the side. An unlucky commuter caught a door-piercing bullet in the head. He fell backward into Quaid. His face was gone.
There was screaming as the others realized what was happening. All the commuters crouched on the stairs, trying to get out of the line of fire. That left Quaid exposed, the only one standing.