Our car shook and stumbled over the century-old tracks. It reminded me of a kiddie roller coaster -- no ascents, no dives, and no ambient steam engine rumblings. Wes explained that the train ran on some sort of uber-efficient hydrogen-powered motor. The problem was, it was slow. Thirty miles per hour slow. He explained to us that at Cisco, they took pride in being as efficient as they could. He kind of balked when I asked him whether it was a question of pride or necessity.
The three of us sat in a booth that seemed to shake with each section of track the train crossed over. Perkins and I stared at the chicken club sandwiches, the fifth ones that had been put in front of us. We didn't eat them because we simply couldn't fill ourselves with any more; rather, we took them in as a visual thing of beauty. We were fairly frail and sticklike from the years of incarceration. As a side note, that unusual amount of food coupled with that unusual amount of protein and fat made us fart like the fucking breeze that night.
Perkins leaned back. "We haven't been told anything, Wes. What the fuck is happening here? They told us to get on the train, we ate our asses off, I'm still tired as hell from the three years we spent in prison. I'd rather be right here than in there, don't get me wrong, but I don't think I've ever been as angry as I am right now. You sit up there while we sit back here looking at this decor, and listening to that space-age shit you call a train engine, and dealing with your little army or whatever, and Casey and I just end up deciding that we don't know jack shit about what's going on right now after all."
"Yeah. I know. You really don't." Wes took a sip of his drink. "It's because of my dad."
"Your dad."
"Yeah. I was the one who thought of this in the first place. You remember that, don't you?"
I arched forward over the table a little. Wes wore a sober expression and began to gesture, thumping the table with the sides of his palms and outstretched fingers.
"I wasn't forthright. I told you my dad worked in the government. I didn't tell you that he was in the CIA, or that he asked me to suggest it to you guys. He wasn't even in charge of this, really, he's just a guy whose son happened to have the right connections. All four of us -- me, Matt, and you guys -- went to the one of the most prestigious telecom and CIS schools there are. He asked me to build relationships, and keep them. He asked me to suggest this thing to you guys. And you guys got excited about it, especially you." He pointed to Perkins, who looked more bewildered than I'd ever seen him.
Wes continued. "There's been a plan in the works for a while now. Decades, I think. I'm a general, and they don't even tell me much. They wanted to split up this country. I don't why they didn't care what you guys put in those modems, or why they thought--"
He stopped, and without turning his head, eyed as a guard walked down the aisle. He grew annoyed. "You! Fuck off!" The guard wordlessly complied and shuffled with greater haste to the back of the car.
"Anyway. I don't know how they knew all this would wield as much power as it has. But it has. I'm a general at Cisco."
I sneered. "At Cisco. At Cisco? Are you a goddamn sales rep?"
He shrugged. "It's a corporation."
There were a lot of questions that just wouldn't quite come out. We were speechless, which was just as well. The guard ran back up. "General, there's a situation. Radar detects something less than a kilometer out."
"It's probably nothing. Leave me alone." Wes dismissed him with a wave.
After a moment of concern, I laughed. "Kilometer? What's wrong with miles? Grow some nuts, huh?"
Perkins and Wes laughed with me. God, it reminded me so much of the old times. That bar in D.C., or that cafe in Tallahassee.
I looked over Wes' shoulder to the car latched behind ours. A roar was faint at first and quickly grew louder, and the car I was watching burst into flames.