with his phone’s recorder. By the time Laslo got home from work that day, he had already missed the six o’clock news human-interest story that featured the bystander’s film of his rescue.
The next day Laslo arrived at work oblivious to the beehive of activity going on at the National Security Agency because of his televised rescue.
“Good morning, Laslo.” It was Marion again.
“Good morning, Marion,” returned Dr. Reingard, showing as little interest as possible and hoping that would end the conversation. It did not. Laslo thought of trying his new spanning ability right then, but thought better of it.
“I was wondering if you have seen the movie Avatar yet,” continued the persistent girl. “I was planning to go this weekend, and well, I—”
Laslo cut her off, explaining that he was quite busy and besides, he really had little interest in seeing such a fantasy film, or any film for that matter. He awkwardly thanked her for mentioning it to him.
“If you change your mind,” she blurted out, her hopes clearly dashed, and then thrust the piece of paper she was holding into Laslo’s hand before she turned and headed back to her station. Laslo looked down at the phone number written on the paper, then absent-mindedly crumpled the note and stuffed it into his pocket while he watched her walking away. He felt the comfortable quiet of his own isolation return, but couldn’t help noticing the symmetry of waves in her long chestnut hair that bounced rhythmically as she moved. Being a scientist with a mind so dedicated to linear logic and scientific method, it never occurred to Laslo to go to a movie he didn’t like just for the chance to spend time with such a pretty girl. His logic intact, he returned to his work in the lab.
That afternoon, three men in dark suits came into the research center looking for Laslo. He saw one of them talking to the lab receptionist, who was pointing in his direction. Laslo knew instantly this would be trouble, and panicked. He tried to slip out through the back of the lab, but when he stepped through the door he felt a small pin prick on the side of his neck, and then everything went black.
When he woke up, he was lying face up on a standard hospital bed in a small room, barren except for a chair with his clothes draped over the back and cameras mounted in two of the top corners. A quick search of his clothes confirmed his worst suspicions. His notebook was gone. He called for help and within a few seconds the door opened, and the man he had seen looking for him at the lab came through, locking the door behind him.
Laslo, the scientist, was not skilled at lying. He studied the man’s face carefully before deciding to give it his best shot.
“Is this about the lab equipment I borrowed?” Laslo asked. “It was overstock for the lab, and I assure you I planned to bring it back in a few weeks.”
“Nice try, Doc. My name’s Bradley, from the NSA,” said the man in the blue suit. “Before you start protesting innocence, you should know that we have your good deed on film, and our technicians have already studied it frame by frame. Your notebook, too. I must say, Dr. Reingard, you are quite a remarkable athlete. There was no way you could have gotten to that woman in time—yet you did. Perhaps you could explain.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean. It’s not against the law to help someone, is it?”
“Certainly not, Doctor. In fact, I think you should be commended. But that’s not why you’re here.” Just then, an apparent voice in Agent Bradley’s earpiece interrupted the conversation, and he lifted his head to listen. He turned abruptly and strode to the door. After unlocking it, he turned back to Laslo.
“You don’t want to try my patience, Dr. Reingard. I’m sure you can appreciate that in today’s political climate, one report from me flagged as suspected terrorist activity and you’ll be getting three squares through a small slot in a door for the next, well, let’s say five years, just for starters.” With that, Agent Bradley walked out of the room. Laslo heard the cold metal clank of more than one deadbolt, and then nothing.
Despite his serious predicament, Laslo could not help thinking of his favorite comedic duo, Laurel and Hardy. Oliver Hardy would frown and say, “This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Stanley.” Stanley would then proceed to cry. Laslo smiled at the thought, and wondered what it would take to get free of this mess. His clothes hung over a chair next to the bed, so he got dressed, pondering his next move. He had to get into a more open space before he could make a break for it.
As if on cue, Agent Bradley returned. By this point, the Pentagon brass and the NSA director had been briefed on Laslo’s unique abilities and had seen his notes, and they wanted him taken immediately to a more secure military base in Colorado. Bradley was assigned to the task. “Grab anything you’ve got. We’re leaving,” ordered Bradley. “Sounds like the US government will be rewarding your kind deed, after all. They are planning an all-expenses-paid stay at a government research facility. I’m afraid it’s a little more remote than the place where you currently work. Let’s go.”
They left the room and headed down a long, ugly green hallway, Agent Bradley staying right on Laslo’s shoulder. It turned out they were in the National Naval Medical Center’s psychiatric wing, which had been the closest secure federal building. An elevator ride would get them to the ground floor, where, no doubt, more agents waited to escort him away. Bradley pushed the L button and then stood behind Laslo, clutching him tightly just above the elbow. As the elevator number dropped from 5 to 4 to 3, Laslo’s hopes dropped even faster. With a jolt, the elevator stopped on the second floor and two staff doctors stepped in, chatting away about a patient. Laslo realized it was now or never. He concentrated on the moment, spanned and looked down to where the toes of Agent Bradley’s black broughams stuck out just behind him. Taking a deep breath to gather up as much courage as he could muster, Laslo suddenly stomped hard on top of the agent’s arch, prompting him to let go of Laslo’s arm and yelp. The doors were sliding closed at that precise moment, but Laslo flashed through them before they came together, leaving him alone on the second floor. He exhaled with temporary relief. Inside the elevator one of the doctors turned toward the howling agent, blocking him from reopening the doors. The elevator continued its slow descent.
Laslo raced down the hall and found a set of metal service stairs leading to the first floor rear outside the building. He pulled a fire alarm on the wall, and took the stairs two at a time. Once out the back entrance he moved quickly over the lawn toward the road. Because the medical center was on a military base, under normal circumstances he would have been stopped at the gate. Instead, he spanned again, saw a dump truck about to pull out of the grounds through a temporary construction gap in the fence, and timed it so he could stroll out beside the truck, hidden from sight. He ran for the Metro station just on the other side of Wisconsin Avenue and disappeared into the subway entrance.
The ride on the Red Line subway gave Laslo the chance for the recent events to catch up with him. Panic had overtaken and kicked out the neatly organized logic that normally resided in his head. Every time the train stopped, he found himself nervously eyeing anyone who boarded, fearing the worst. Every face that turned his way meant discovery. He flinched at any sudden movement, like a small frightened animal. His mind turned inward. Now the cat was out of the bag. The government wanted him and his newly found technique, and he knew they would not stop until they had it. Hangtime held the secret to a whole new quantum leap in human ability. The reduction of accidents and injuries would save millions of dollars and many lives. Raised efficiency could multiply productivity many-fold in all fields. He hadn’t even thought about military applications, but that was clearly an oversight of his alone. He thought about it now, and the possibilities were endless. The advantage it would give to every government agent, from spies to outright combat soldiers, was staggering. The idea that his discovery could lead to the creation of super-soldiers, and the visions of carnage they would reap, made Laslo shiver repulsively.
He just needed time to come up with a solution, but free time figured to
be in short supply right now. He’d need a place to hide, somewhere no one would look for him. He remembered the annoying conversation with the lab girl from work, and reached into his pocket for the note he hoped was there. It was! If only he could remember her name … Mary, Madeline … no, Marion, that was it. He smoothed out the piece of paper and saw the phone number was still readable. He got off at the Metro Center station and headed for the payphone on the platform. The phone rang slowly three times while Laslo desperately prayed for Marion to answer.
“Hello?”
For the first time he was glad to hear her voice. Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought it through. What should he say? What could he tell her without freaking her out and losing any chance of enlisting her help?
“Hello?” Marion repeated.
“H—Hello, Marion? This is Laslo Reingard from the laboratory. I—I found your number in my pocket—I didn’t have anyone else to call. I—”
This time Marion interrupted him. “What’s the matter, Laslo? You sound completely out of sorts.”
“Yes, yes, out of sorts,” he said, groping for what to say. “Something awful has happened. I—I need your help,” Laslo stammered, barely