Alec’s
sleeping quarters, Terminal City � August 25, 6:00 AM

Terminal City was still and silent just before
dawn.� Only the guards, inside and outside the fence, were awake in
the gray light.�

On
his bedroll, Alec tossed restlessly, dreaming.

In the dream, it was daylight, but Terminal City was deserted.� Alec crept through the sleeping quarters, past Logan�s room.� He glanced in the door and saw Max and Logan on the floor, in a tangle
of sheets, making love. They did not hear or see him.� Noiselessly,
he slipped through an open doorway and out into the streets that led
to the railroad yards.

Inside one of the old boxcars was a shiny
black motorcycle, left behind by one of the protestors.� He climbed
on, turned the key, and rode down a ramp and out the back gate of Terminal City.� No one saw him, no one tried to stop him.� The streets of Seattle were damp and slick from an early-morning rain, and shrouded in fog.� Then
a familiar iron fence and an open gate emerged from the mist.� The
Berrisford estate.

Alec rode up the long driveway.� Suddenly
he was inside the house, once again unseen and unheard, as he moved
through the music room, down the curved staircase, and to the pool.�
There, beside the clear blue water, was Rachel, in white. She held out
her hand and he took it; together they jumped into the pool and surfaced,
laughing. They made love by the water.

Then, abruptly, he was back outside the
iron fence, but this time it surrounded Father Destry’s church.� He put his hand out to open the gate and
Father Destry appeared.� “I’m not Ben,”
Alec tried to shout, but his voice was barely a whisper.�

The priest frowned.� “I know who you
are,” he said.� The church bells began to ring, and Father Destry
turned away. The gate would not open.

The bike was somehow parked right there
on the street.� Alec jumped on it and hit the gas.� Now the streets
were crowded.� He passed sector police, homeless families, hungry
people waiting in food lines.� Then he saw Normal, holding a birthday cake with lit candles.� Normal was shouting something,
but it didn’t make any sense.� Alec couldn’t take his eyes off the candles
and Normal‘s
frantic face.� Then he looked up.

Dead ahead of him, the street had become
a road curving sharply out of the city into the woods.� He was going
far too fast to make the turn.� There was nothing he could do but hang
on as the trees rushed up to him, horribly fast.� A white bird flew
off a branch and while he watched it rise, the bike smashed into the
tree…

Panting,
bathed in sweat, Alec jerked awake.� Light filtered through the grimy
window above his head.� Morning had come to Terminal City.

Seattle Police Headquarters � 9:00 AM

Commander
Ramon Clemente sat in his office, concentrating
on a TV monitor, playing the latest Eyes Only
broadcast over and over again.

�…But
can any of us be free if those who fight for us are treated like slaves?
If we allow them to be enslaved, will we be far
behind? Who will be next�our friends, our neighbors, ourselves? This
has been a Streaming Freedom Video Bulletin via the Eyes Only informant
net. Stay strong in the struggle. Peace. Out.�

Clemente dropped the remote control on the desk, then stood up and opened
the door of his office.� Matt Sung was just arriving, takeout coffee
in one hand and the morning newspaper in the other.� MARINERS CLINCH!
read the headline, but at the bottom of
the front page was a small box with a grainy screen capture of Eyes
Only and the caption, HE’S BA-ACK!

�Pretty
interesting, isn’t it, Detective?” Clemente
asked.� “Why has this guy decided to broadcast again?� I think
it’s time we for a little talk with your friend, Mr. Cale. I want him
in here to answer some questions.”

Matt
Sung didn’t answer.

�Put
out an APB.� I want Cale in here this afternoon.� Understood?�

“Yes,
sir,” Sung said faintly as Clemente returned
to his office.� As the door closed, Sung tossed the paper down on his
desk in disgust.

END
OF PROLOGUE

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