The London Wall was, without a doubt, the most pitiful human construction Rick had ever seen. It dated back to just five years before, and the military wasn’t sure it would last another five.

  The buildings integrated into it were half in ruins. They had withstood numerous explosions during the war and the walls that were still standing were scarred by cracks, with chunks missing in some spots. The glass from the windows had been reduced to shards from enemy fire, leaving just empty window frames.

  Where the steel roofs came together, some of the joints had dissolved away, forming V-shaped gaps whose apexes were getting closer and closer to the ground. At times this state of collapse necessitated the construction of small barricades that contributed even more to the general appearance of deterioration that plagued the wall. Without the threat of a new war, any thoughts of making repairs to the wall were cast into oblivion.

  Its construction had been Gordon’s idea. With a perfectly devised, fear-inducing speech, the major had stressed that, without it, it would be impossible to maintain order in the city without dedicating each and every soldier to this end. It was a smart, strategic move that made him stand out above his competitors for command of the army. As Rick thought back over this, he had to admit Gordon had had the right idea. The wall had required four months of hard work with everyone’s collaboration but the city had seen a major improvement in terms of security since the wall’s inception.

  When the war was over and the borders of the Secure Zone of the North had been established, London became obsessed with defense and protection. An ordinance was established mandating that no one could enter the walls without a city pass. Thus, the wall took on a new significance, representing a division between a world with a relative degree of law and order and a world much closer to chaos and savagery. It wasn’t long before imagination and resourcefulness gave birth to various crimes: falsification of passes, underhanded deals for entering or leaving the city, and a long list of etceteras. The law contributed ingeniously to these crimes by including a new medieval-type punishment: exile under penalty of death.

  Rick drove his car along the rampart, deep in thought. For as much as he’d scrutinized the Tech Underground Corporation, he’d arrived at no conclusions, other than that he was dealing with something beyond his comprehension. Two days before, he’d narrowly escaped some kind of bizarre animal with teeth the size of daggers and a frighteningly strong instinct to break down steel doors. On top of that, the so-called buildings the T.U.C. was erecting were nothing more than shells, Scott had died of something that had reduced the inside of his body to ashes, and the only clue he’d found in the apartment was a medical report about how some woman named Angela Brown had had an operation to remove her uterus three years prior. Baffled by this seemingly unrelated detail, he’d asked Jack about the woman; he’d said he’d never heard the name before.

  And then there was the mirror in which he’d seen his reflection—backwards. That particular detail would not be shared with anyone or they’d think he was a few bullets short of a full chamber. They’d ship him off to a psych ward with the assumption that his trip to another world had scrambled his brain like the other soldier who’d come back with him. And he honestly was beginning to think the whole thing had indeed been a figment of his imagination. After all, it had been very dark . . . yes, that must have been what it was—just his eyes playing tricks on him. It was better to let it go and focus on the investigation.

  Rick had tracked down Robbie Fenton, the former owner of the warehouse Jack had bid on which now, after having been demolished, was rising up as a new T.U.C. building. It surprised him to find out Robbie was living in a house just a block from the decrepit rampart. The majority of people weren’t keen on living so close to it—and justifiably so—for fear their house would one day be blasted to smithereens when a new war broke out.

  He parked the car and got out, looking up at the sky. He hesitated for a few seconds, soaking up the rays of sunlight on his face. It had been a long time since the dense, dark, odd-colored clouds had cleared. Rick glanced at the sun, then stared at it until his eyes hurt. When he finally looked away he felt a pang of nostalgia over the spots in front of his eyes the sun had imprinted on his vision.

  He went up to the door of Robbie’s house and knocked.

  “Coming!” shouted a voice. Rick heard steps approaching from the inside. “Who’s there?”

  “My name is Richard Northon. I spoke with you on the telephone, Mr. Fenton. We have an appointment.”

  Rick heard the latch sliding, and the door opened. A man with thinning gray hair and a friendly face looked him over carefully. Robbie was wrapped in a checkered bathrobe and had house slippers on his feet.

  “You’re Jack’s employee, right?” Rick nodded and Robbie gestured for him to enter. “Come on in, man. I almost forgot about you. Let’s go to the living room and, please, call me Robbie.”

  Rick followed him down a wide hallway decorated with paintings and photos of someone Rick guessed was his wife. The living room was large and inviting. It looked like it belonged to someone who spent a lot of time in there and had taken great care to make it homey.

  “You have a very pretty house,” he commented, taking a seat and looking around. “I don’t think I’ve been in such a cozy place since before the Wave.”

  “Thank you,” said Robbie, quite pleased with the compliment. “People don’t take care of their homes anymore. We’re living in very different times. But I suppose you didn’t come here to talk about interior decorating. How is Jack? I would have enjoyed seeing him.”

  “He’s doing quite well. I understand you two have been acquainted for quite some time.”

  Rick heard sounds coming from another part of the house. He could hear water running from a faucet, then two plates chinking together, and then footsteps. Someone was in the kitchen.

  “That’s right. We did business together a few years back and since then I’ve collaborated with him occasionally.” Robbie flashed a nervous smile and his eyes darted around the room.

  “Actually I wanted to talk about that last business deal that didn’t come together. About a week ago you sold your warehouse to a business called Tech Underground Corporation. I’d like to know why you didn’t accept Jack’s generous offer.”

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  The change in Robbie’s face was impossible to ignore. His eyes dropped and his eyebrows raised, revealing a series of deep wrinkles in his forehead that showed his age. Rick just looked at him, perplexed at how nervous he’d suddenly become.

  “It’s not how it looks,” Robbie blurted out. “You have to tell Jack it wasn’t my intention to hurt his business. He knows I don’t have anything against him. It’s just that—”

  “Calm down,” said Rick, thinking he understood what was going on. He put his hands up in a gesture of understanding. “He didn’t send me here to settle the score or anything like that. In fact, he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m just trying to find out what that company is up to, that’s all.”

  Robbie sighed softly and his face relaxed a little.

  “Of course, I’d like to help you, really.” Robbie sounded sincere. “But to be honest the reason I sold is that I want to get out of business and dedicate myself completely to my family.”

  Rick had ascertained that Robbie was feeling threatened, which gave him a pretty good idea of how Jack tied up loose ends. It was essential for Robbie to trust him or he wouldn’t tell him anything.

  “I completely understand. Family is the most important thing.” Rick smiled his most friendly smile. “It’s just that I’m surprised by your rejection. Jack’s offer was very generous, and if I’m not mistaken, it was a loan from him that kept you afloat a while back. Did the T.U.C. offer you more money?”

  “Not exactly . . .” Robbie was now wringing his hands. “They gave me money, of course. But what I wanted was . . . my family . . . I really can’t explain it to you . . .”

  “It’s all right. You can talk to me.” Robbie put his head in his hands, and Rick thought he was going to completely break down. There was no doubt Robbie was terribly worried about something. “Let’s leave our discussion of the price for later. Can you tell me anything about the T.U.C.? I can’t seem to get their president to agree to see me. Do you know him?”

  “I don’t think so. I only met one of his employees, a guy named Capa. I don’t know his full name. He was really friendly. I closed the deal without talking to anyone about it but him. He took care of everything.

  The name hit Rick like a ton of bricks.

  “This Capa, did he look pretty young?” he asked impatiently, remembering the so-called janitor he’d run into at Scott’s apartment. He’d bet money the guy was wearing a black cloak, too. “Did he talk a lot? And in ridiculously long sentences?”

  “Yes—that’s him. Do you know him?” Robbie sat forward on his chair. He looked a little confused.

  “I met him a few days ago,” trying to make light of it. “Did he mention what he wanted the warehouse for?”

  “He just said he was interested in the land,” Robbie answered. “I believe he was planning to put up an office building or something like that. I honestly didn’t pay much attention to any of that.”

  The sound of a plate crashing on the floor interrupted their conversation. With a look of alarm, Robbie turned his head toward where the sound had come from.

  “Are you all right, honey?” he shouted. “Do you need help with anything?”

  “I just dropped a plate,” answered a woman’s voice. “Everything’s fine.”

  “I know I worry too much,” Robbie confided in Rick. “But it’s just because my wife is pregnant.”

  “Don’t think twice about it, I understand perfectly. I didn’t know Mrs. Fenton was home. And, congratulations on the pregnancy.”

  “Thank you. She’s in the kitchen making us something to eat. I told her she didn’t have to do that, but she insisted. She worries when people come to visit, and about what they’ll think.”

  “I don’t mean to intrude. If you prefer that I come back another time . . .”

  “It’s no trouble. Angela thought you might want to have breakfast with us. This is actually one of the best mornings we’ve have in a long time. I had almost forgotten what the sun looked like.”

  The door to the living room opened and a woman came through it backwards, carrying a tray. Robbie jumped up from the chair and took the tray from her.

  “I’ve told you not to lift anything,” he scolded her. “You should have called me and I would have brought the tray in for you.”

  “You were attending to our guest,” she protested.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Fenton.” Rick stood up as Robbie carefully placed the tray on the table. Breakfast consisted of a pitcher of orange juice—freshly squeezed, from the delicious smell of it—and an assortment of pastries and rolls.

  “Call me Angela,” she said as she sat down, helped by her most attentive husband. She was a thin, middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back in a bun. She was wearing a long dress that came down below her knees and hung loosely in the back, leaving room for her expanding belly—which looked to be at about seven months, by Rick’s calculations.

  “Would you care for a glass of juice?” she asked Rick.

  “I’d love a glass, thank you. Here, why don’t I pour it?” Rick filled three glasses and put one in front of Angela. Then he took his own and sat down at the table.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Please, continue with your conversation. Don’t let me interrupt anything.”

  “We’d just finished,” said Rick. He wasn’t sure it was appropriate to continue with Angela there, although her husband didn’t seem at all bothered by her presence. Quite the contrary; he couldn’t take his eyes off his wife.

  “I don’t know what more I can tell you that would be of any help,” Robbie told him. “I don’t know anything else about the T.U.C. Honestly, I think now you can understand why I wasn’t interested in your business dealings.” He glanced tenderly at his wife. “The only thing that matters to me now is my family. We are finally going to be parents and we want to leave everything else behind. As soon as our son is born we’re going to leave London.” Robbie turned toward Jack, and his voice sounded worried. “I really regret the misunderstanding with Jack. And if I could help you out somehow I would, but I don’t know anything more. As for what they gave us for the warehouse—”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Rick jumped in, suddenly putting it all together. In any other circumstances, this would have been the last thing that would have occurred to him, but with what he’d been through lately . . . “Angela’s maiden name wouldn’t happen to be Brown, would it?”

  The couple exchanged a look of disbelief.

  “How did you know that?” Robbie asked.

  “Let’s just call it a lucky guess,” said Rick, standing up from the table. He had no idea how something like this could be possible, but he’d just had breakfast with Angela Brown. So, this was the great discovery that Scott had made that had caused him to write STERILE in bold, red letters on the medical report. However incredible it seemed, Capa had found a way to make a woman fertile again who’d had her cancer-ridden uterus removed from her body. “Thank you for everything. Good luck to your family. And don’t worry, Robbie; you’ve helped me much more than I would have thought possible,” said Rick from the doorway just before leaving their house.