Michaela shouted hysterically, demanding that they go back for her father as the car turned the corner away from the scene.

“Shut that kid up,” the driver yelled as he pressed a button on the dash. In the front and the back of the car, the license plates rotated to show a completely different registration from a different state.

“What the...?” answered Lizzie from her position in the back seat behind the driver. “Her father just got shot. What the heck do you expect?”

“Quiet, lady, or you'll live to regret it. And shut that kid up,” the driver repeated. The other agent in the front seat turned and faced Lizzie. His vindictive eyes suggested a threat, and she realized that the driver wore the same visage, and they both reeked of cigarette smoke.

“Do as he says!” the other guy said.

“I demand to speak to Special Agent Regan immediately!” she shouted.

“You're in no position to make demands,” the second man retorted. “I don't work for Regan.”

“Well then, who do you work for?” Lizzie asked. The man just laughed. She said, “You don't work for the FBI or the police, do you?” She posed a statement, not a question.

”No shit, Sherlock!”

“Where are you taking us?” she demanded.

“That's for us to know and for you to find out. You'll see soon enough.”

The driver found another button which rolled up a window between the front seat and the back. “This should shut them up,” he said, as the window rolled closed.

Lizzie turned to Michaela who continued to shout hysterically. Lizzie grabbed her face with both hands to force her to look in her eyes.

“Listen to me! Listen!” she implored. “We can get out of this, but you've got to stop carrying on.”

Michaela stared at her tutor for a long moment, her tears suddenly stopping, and she slowly nodded her water-streaked face.

Lizzie let go and checked the two men up front. They ignored their passengers. She carefully reached down and grabbed her belt buckle, which had an embossed figure on it. Michaela looked closer. Shaped like a person's face, it bore a small gem in the forehead. Lizzie slid the gem to the side and back again. It moved like something in a slot, although Michaela could see no slot. The gem flashed twice and then stopped. Michaela looked quizzically at Lizzie, who smiled and winked back at her. She put her finger to her lips as if to say, “Shhhh!”

A few miles away, an alarm tripped on a computer screen, and the person monitoring the computer spoke into a phone.

“She's activated her GPS transponder now...No, it shows that she's moving away from the scene...No, we have nothing new from our observer at the scene...They're heading north. Looks like they may be headed toward the upper west side...Yes, past the park toward Columbia...I have a team standing by...Will do,” the computer operator said.

He keyed a command into his computer, selected a number of items from a list that popped up, pressed the transmit button on the screen and spoke into a microphone connected to the computer.

“Lizzie's GPS transponder just came on-line. They're headed north along the west side of Central Park, toward Columbia's campus. Let's plan a reception for them at the 116th Street interchange. They should be there within minutes.”

A number of voices responded: “Roger.”

Meanwhile, Michaela quizzed Lizzie. “What can we do?” she whispered.

Lizzie checked up front, but the two men ignored them. She held her finger to her lips once again.

“Shhh! We need to relax and prepare ourselves. Do you want to continue to be a victim of those two guys up front?”

Without hesitation, Michaela shook her head. “Of course not!”

“Neither do I. Some help is on the way. We must get ready to act as soon as it arrives.”

“So what do we do?”

“Well, I've already done the first part. My belt buckle is actually a GPS device. You saw me activate it. Some friends of mine in the Agorist Underground have a computer which monitors the channel 24/7 for the signal. Once they detect it, they'll use the GPS satellite to track our location and come get us. When they get here, we'll need to move quickly.”

“You're part of an underground?!” Michaela asked in astonishment.

“It's just a loose organization of people,” Lizzie assured her, “dedicated to restoring the liberty our country has lost over the past 100 years or so, or at least as much of it as we can possibly save.”

“Do they blow things up and stuff like that?” Michaela asked, awe-stricken.

“No,” Lizzie grinned, “it's not that kind of underground at all. We try to meet and influence people in positions of power to do the right thing.”

“You mean people like Dad? He's pretty powerful!”

Lizzie nodded, smiling, “Yes, people like your father–people who care about other people and about doing the right thing. The AU also provides protection for victims of unscrupulous, powerfully evil people and institutions.”

“They help people like us?”

“Yes,” Lizzie replied, her eyes sparkling now, “people like us. Now get ready to leave this car fast when our friends show up.”

“Got it!” said Michaela, determination filling her face as she concentrated.

Lizzie sighed. Okay, guys, now it's your turn. Please show up soon!

As they reached the northern end of the park, a city truck pulled in front of them before the light turned red. Their driver couldn't pass the truck because a car came up along the left-hand side of them. With parked cars on their right, he had nowhere to go. While he came to a stop, Lizzie peeked outside her window to her left and saw a man with dark brown skin, huge muscles, and a gold tooth beckoning to her from the passenger seat. Lizzie turned to Michaela, who watched wide-eyed.

“Come on, it's my friend AJ,” she whispered. She grabbed the door handle and pulled it. The door opened, AJ opened the back door of his car, and the two of them piled out of the black sedan and into the refreshingly clean back seat of the neighboring car.

Their captors realized what happened and started shouting. Once Lizzie pulled the door tight, the driver of her friend's car pulled out around the line of cars, did a u-turn, and started heading south. The car behind them pulled up, blocking the two men who jumped out of the sedan in their attempt to follow. One of the men pulled out a large gun and pointed it at the driver of the car blocking them, ordering him to move his car, but he quickly realized the driver had nowhere to move it. A small line of cars behind them had also moved up and now blocked his ability to back up. The gunman ran out to the southbound lane, too late to stop the departing car–now more than a block away. He ran back to the sedan, ordered his friend back inside, and as the light turned green he leaned on his horn until the truck in front moved forward through the intersection. Then he cut across traffic and forced his car into the southbound lane.

He saw no sign of the getaway car. He headed south anyway while his companion got on the radio installed in the car.

“They got out of the car, climbed into another car, and are now heading down Broadway,” he said into the microphone.

“Got 'em,” came the reply. “They've turned onto the West Side highway.”

“Let's go!” he said to the driver, and they turned right to find an on ramp.

Meanwhile, Michaela's excitement couldn't be contained.

“We made it! We got away!” she exclaimed.

“Lizzie, turn off your transponder so that they can't pick up the signal,” AJ instructed her. She reached down to her belt buckle and did as he asked.

“Thanks for coming so quickly,” she replied. “That frightened us!”

AJ smiled, his gold tooth flashing as he did so. The fine gold chains hanging around his dark-skinned neck contrasted nicely with his bulging arm and neck muscles.

He said, “You're welcome, but we have no time to celebrate just yet. We gotta get you to a safe location first. Cesar will have us there in about 15 minutes.”

Lizzie saw the driver, a small Hispanic man about her own age with dark hair and eyes and very short hair, nod to them in his rear-view mirror.

“Where are we headed?” Lizzie asked.

“You'll see,” AJ replied in his deep basso voice. “It's a safe house in the Village, set up for use by the AU, run by TST.”

Cesar exited the highway and moved back into the city streets. He turned right onto 7th Avenue heading south again. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the black sedan appeared on their left-hand side. The thug in the passenger seat pointed a gun straight at Cesar's head. He fired, but not before Cesar slammed on the brakes, sending the sedan hurtling past them. The bullet broke the glass window of an empty storefront up ahead.

Cesar swerved and accelerated dangerously across traffic onto a side street, while the sedan behind them attempted to stop and turn around. Michaela screamed, amazed that they didn't hit anything or get hit by another vehicle. He took a couple of quick turns to take them out of view once the sedan reached their street.

“How the hell are they tracking us?” he shouted to AJ as they drove.

“How the hell should I know?” AJ shouted. “Lizzie, are you sure you turned off your transponder?”

“Yes!” she shouted back.

He pulled out a laptop and frantically typed into it.

“Come on!” he urged the machine as it ran slower than he wanted. He entered another command and watched his GPS program load up.

Within seconds, he shouted, “Okay, I'm on-line. Wait a minute...I'm still getting a GPS signal. Give me your belt buckle!” he ordered Lizzie. She ripped the detachable head off the buckle and handed it to him. He checked it quickly, swore under his breath, then reached into a bag and pulled out a small, metal box. He threw the lid open, jammed in the buckle, then closed the cover.

“Damn!” he said, “I'm still getting a signal!”

“That's impossible!” shouted Cesar. “Omigod, they're behind us!” he said as he checked his rear-view mirror.

“What do you mean?” Lizzie asked. She turned and saw that the black sedan had indeed caught up and hovered now a mere half block behind them.

“This is a lead-lined box,” AJ answered. “It should block any radio signal inside, but I'm still getting a GPS signal from our position! It's got a different PRN, but the position is the same. That means there's another transponder here in the car someplace.”

Cesar took a hard left as Michaela suddenly sat up alert and shouted, “Could it be me?”

“No, sweetheart,” Lizzie answered, “It has to be a small electronic device, probably no bigger than your finger tip.”

“No!” Michaela protested. “I mean could it be what's in my arm?”

AJ rotated quickly in his front seat.

“What do you mean?” he demanded. Cesar took another hard right, throwing AJ against the window, then a quick left. The black sedan kept pace with them.

Once the squealing of the tires stopped, Michaela answered, “When I woke up in the strange apartment, my arm hurt, like I had a bug bite. There's a lump on it,” she shouted, showing them her forearm.

AJ grabbed her forearm and studied the red mark in the middle of the top side of her arm. Cesar accelerated, and the car hit some street covers and bounced on uneven pavement. AJ ran his finger over the lump and felt a hard object below the surface, about a centimeter long.

“It must be an RFID chip!” he shouted. “That's how they're tracking us; RFID chips have built-in GPS. We've got to cut it out of there, now, or we'll never escape from them!”

“WHAT??” Michaela pulled her arm back and started to cry, horrified. Lizzie pushed over and hugged her close, reassuring her that everything would be okay, while AJ rummaged around in his bag.

Cesar inserted an ear piece with an attached microphone into his left ear, slapped a button on the dash, waited a moment, then shouted, “Access 13546...Give me Janice, stat!..Janice, we have the packages, but they're tracking us. We have their sedan on our tail right now. One shot fired. We're trying to shake them in mid-town. One parcel has an embedded RFID. We're attempting removal, but we need backup and a diversion once it's out.”

“Found it!” AJ crowed. He pulled out a Swiss army knife and opened the smaller blade.

“What are you going to do?” Michaela cried in panic.

“I'm going to pry that RFID chip out of your arm,” AJ told her.

Michaela screamed, “NO! DON'T HURT ME! PLEASE, LIZZIE, DON'T LET HIM HURT ME!” She huddled away from AJ and his knife.

“We're currently heading east on 34th Street crossing 5th Avenue at Macy's,” shouted Cesar, “Okay, got it...up to Lenox...Right...Burn at 142nd, then continue to Yankee Stadium...Okay, got it.”

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” Lizzie said to Michaela calmly but loudly. “We've got to get that chip out, because it's how those men are tracking us. It's how they knew where to find our car. Once we get it out and disable it, they won't be able to find us anymore.” She tried to be reassuring.

“But it'll hurt!” Michaela pleaded.

Crash! The black sedan rammed them from behind. All four passengers bounced in their seats, and Michaela screamed again.

“Damn!” shouted Cesar. “We're outta here!” He hit the accelerator, turned left onto Madison Avenue heading north, and accelerated again. The sedan kept pace and followed close behind. Although driving through light traffic, Cesar had to constantly change lanes in order to block the black sedan.

AJ shouted over the squealing tires, “I'll do it as quickly as I can so you'll hardly even notice it,” he said. “Yes, it'll hurt a little, but only for a moment.”

“I'll be right here,” Lizzie assured her as she held and comforted her. “It'll be out before you know it.”

Michaela's fear abated a bit, but she nuzzled into Lizzie's shoulder. Lizzie helped her put out her forearm where AJ could work on it, grabbing it tightly so that Michaela couldn't flinch away. AJ breathed a little nervously, but resolute. She gave him a stern nod that said Do it now...and quickly!

The light traffic continued to make it possible for Cesar to bob and weave through the erratic flow of cars heading north. Each lane change caused the passengers to sway severely one way, then the other with the next lane change. The sedan slipped a little back but stayed within shouting distance. The surrounding neighborhood decayed in the vicinity of 96th Street as they passed into Harlem. Lizzie noticed the change but said nothing. She concentrated on soothing Michaela and keeping her calm.

AJ waited for a lane change to finish, then put the point of the blade next to the lump in Michaela's skin and pushed, making a half-inch incision in her arm. Michaela screamed with the pain, and Lizzie held her as tightly as she could. The car hit a bump, but miraculously AJ managed to hold his position, continuing to restrain Michaela's arm as he worked. He got the blade under the chip as Michaela shrieked with pain. He then flicked it up. The chip popped up amid a small pool of blood. He grabbed it with his fingertips and removed it. Then he shoved it into the lead-lined box and closed the lid.

He checked his laptop. The blip disappeared.

“It's neutralized,” he shouted to Cesar, who nodded.

Lizzie reached into her bag and pulled out some tissues, applying them to the wound on Michaela's arm like a compress to stop the bleeding.

“It's okay,” she cooed repeatedly. “It's over. There's no more pain. It's going away.”

She cuddled Michaela very close, kissed her forehead, and ran her hand up and down the teenager's back. The car bounced as it continued its northern trek through Harlem. Michaela's tears subsided as she held the tissues tight to her own arm now, but she gave a little shriek with every sudden movement of the car. Cesar turned left at 125th Street, and Michaela took more of an interest in their surroundings. The renaissance taking place in this part of the city made the streets less frightening than 20 years before, but the unfamiliar neighborhood still unnerved the car's occupants. Even the black sedan behind them drove less aggressively now.

As Cesar turned right again onto Lenox Avenue, he said to his passengers, “We're getting close now. You'll hear a squawk on the radio. When you hear it, close your eyes really tight! Cover them with your hands. Lenox Avenue will light up like a sunny summer's day in a split second. Keep your eyes closed so it doesn't blind you.”

“What will you do?” Lizzie asked. “You're driving. You can't close your eyes!”

“I'll be fine,” said Cesar in a confident voice. “It's a straight shot, and our people have cleared a path for me to go through. The flash won't last more than a few seconds.”

The radio said, “Burning at W142nd Street.”

They passed the Savoy Ballroom on their right. A moment later a loud squawking sound came over the radio. They all covered their eyes (Cesar just closed his) and suddenly Lenox Avenue lit up like a huge sun flooding the entire street all at once, which they could all see through their hands. The sudden burst of light temporarily blinded the driver of the black sedan behind them, and in his panic he swerved into a parked car by the side of the road. The crash sounded terrific. Cesar opened his eyes, which dazzled a bit, but he could see the street just fine in the temporary afterglow of the burst.

“What did they burn?” Lizzie asked as she uncovered her eyes.

“Magnesium powder,” Cesar replied just before he turned right on W 145th Street. A few blocks over, he turned left again and headed up 7th Avenue (known in this section of the city as Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Blvd.) toward the Macombs Dam Bridge which took them across the Harlem River toward the Major Deegan Expressway and Yankee Stadium.

“Shit!” shouted the driver of the black sedan, shaking off the effects of the crash. His eyes still blinded by the wall of white hot fire, he rubbed his knuckles in his eye sockets, trying fruitlessly to restore his sight. Slowly, it started to come back to him.

He glanced over at his partner and asked, “You all right Porter?”

“Can't see anything,” Porter moaned, whose mouth dripped with blood. “Better call for backup.”

Pushing a button on the dash, the driver said, “Base, this is Masters. We lost them. Someone helped them. They lit something like a friggin’ sun, and we couldn't see anything. I don't know what the thing was. Never saw anything like it. It felt like being thrown out into the desert after spending a week in a cave. It blinded us, and we drove into a parked car.”

The voice on the radio squawked back at them: “Any idea who it was?”

“Don't know,” Masters said. “Can't be the feds or the cops, can it?”

“Don't be stupid,” the voice on the radio replied. “We've got two cars dispatched already. Can you move your car?”

Masters tried to start the car. It turned over, but the engine made a nasty clanking sound as it idled. He put the car into reverse and hit the gas. It moved jerkily. He steered it out onto the street and started forward.

A couple of people on the sidewalk shouted out to them, “Hey, where do you think you're going?”

“Barely,” Masters spoke into the radio. “We'll try to get it to the shop. It's only about five blocks from here.”

“Any heat nearby?” the voice on the radio asked.

Masters gazed around and checked his mirrors, then replied, “I don't see any. I want to get this heap off the road before they show up.”

A few minutes later, their luck still held. He turned right, and then left, into an alley. The car groaned as it took the bumps but kept going. A door in the side wall opened, and he pulled in, the door closing automatically after him. He pulled onto a marked parking spot in the middle of the small parking area. As soon as he stopped, the patch of floor they sat on started to descend into the ground, like an elevator. Moments later, they sat ten feet underground. Masters and Porter got out of the car, while a team of mechanics swarmed around the car. They started stripping the car down; they would completely dismantle it within 30 minutes.

“Melt down anything you can't use,” he told the supervisor. “We need wheels. Whatcha got?”

“Nothin' right now,” the supervisor replied. “We just got word that one of your buddies will be here for you in a couple minutes.”

“Right,” Masters answered. “You ready?” he asked, turning to Porter.

“Yeah, let's go,” Porter replied as he dabbed his mouth with a cloth, and the two of them went through outside and up some narrow stairs to ground level. Momentarily, a dark green SUV pulled up. The side door opened, and they jumped in, the car accelerating as Porter's feet left the pavement.

When Cesar's car arrived at E. 161st Street in the South Bronx, they saw the old Yankee Stadium on their right and the new Yankee Stadium on their left. Construction equipment blocked part of the road. They worked their way around, until they reached Joyce Kilmer Park, where a number of automobiles awaited their arrival.

“Okay,” AJ said, “we've reached our transfer point.”

“I don't understand,” Lizzie replied. “I thought we wanted to go to Greenwich Village?”

“We do, but first we need to separate the two of you from this vehicle. The opposition knows its description. They also know yours. Further, we need to create a diversion. So we've got a number of vehicles with women your age in them. All will head out in various directions, helping to mask your destination.”

Indeed, when Lizzie peered closer, she saw that most of the cars had a woman and a teenage girl in the back seats. AJ got out and held the door for them to get out. When they reached the sidewalk, another pair got into the car they vacated, and Cesar drove off with them, heading north.

“We didn't even get to say thank you,” Michaela said.

“That's okay,” AJ smiled. “Cesar knows. He's gotta make tracks to protect himself and his new passengers, too. Come on!”

The three of them climbed quickly into a dark blue car with deeply tinted windows. From the outside, they couldn't see into the car at all, except for the driver, an older woman with straight, steel gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a gaze fixed firmly in front of her. She didn't notice her new passengers and said nothing to them as they entered the vehicle.

At that same moment, the dark green SUV carrying Porter and Masters arrived in time to see a bunch of cars, all carrying a woman and a teenage girl in the back seat, starting off in all directions.

“Which one?” the driver asked. “Which car do I follow?”

“That one!” Porter answered immediately. “The yellow one with the smacked back end.”

They followed Cesar's car, pulling alongside it. Porter checked the back seat. He saw the woman and girl, but closer examination made him realize they had followed the wrong car. The Asian woman clearly didn't resemble Lizzie, and the teenager had black, not blond, hair.

He shouted, “Shit! It's not them. They've changed cars.” The radio confirmed that their friends had similar bad luck with the car they'd picked to follow.

Meanwhile, AJ sat in his familiar position in the front passenger seat, pulling his pack into his lap to open it. As soon as they belted themselves in, the driver immediately took a left-hand turn and traveled up Grand Concourse. He turned left again, heading for the entrance ramp to the Major Deegan Expressway southbound lane. Lizzie turned to look out the rear window as they left the park and saw the other cars departing as well, headed in various directions up and down Grand Concourse on the other side of the park.

“You can relax now,” AJ said as the driver accelerated onto the Expressway. “We should be there in about 25 minutes.”

Michaela felt anything but relaxed, and Lizzie's nerves still jangled too.

About 10 minutes later, as they took the Willis Street exit toward FDR drive, AJ turned back to them and said, “The safe house is intended to be a completely secure location. Only authorized TST team members know it. We'll need to blindfold ourselves.”

Michaela shifted instantly back into panic mode, but this time she reacted a bit more fiercely saying, “What do you mean, blindfold me? No one's going to blindfold me!”

“It's okay,” Lizzie said, trying to calm her again. “We need to have these arrangements to prevent the bank security people from getting to you.”

“Bank security?” Michaela asked, wide-eyed. “You mean Dad's bank did all this to us?”

Lizzie sighed. She suddenly realized they'd had no time to explain any of this to Michaela. Of course, she didn't understand. No one told her! AJ and Cesar had to concentrate on their getaway and couldn’t listen to their passengers.

“I'm sorry, we had no time to tell you the story, and it's a long one, but now isn't the time.”

“When then?” Michaela demanded. “I've been shot at, driven all over New York City, our car rammed from behind, this guy,” she indicated AJ, “stuck a knife in my arm, my Dad got shot, he may be dead, and last I saw he lay on a sidewalk while you and I were kidnapped...again! So if you know what's going on, I want to know!”

“Yes, I will tell you, but right now we've got to get to a safe location. They maintain security by making sure no one, not even the people protected, can find them.”

“You promise to tell me what's going on once we get there, if I put this blindfold on?”

“I promise,” Lizzie replied without hesitation. “What’s more, as far as I know, your father wore a bullet proof vest when he was shot. It’s very possible he wasn't hurt at all.”

Michaela’s eyes went wide with hope, ready to comply with anything they told her. AJ pulled out three blindfolds and three slim pairs of headphones from his knapsack and handed a set each to Michaela and Lizzie.

“The headphones will play some relaxing flute music. They'll also keep us from hearing anything. I'll go first,” he said.

He pulled the blindfold over his eyes and put the headphones over his ears. Then he smiled, closed his eyes, and started to hum, “Georgia On My Mind”.

Michaela's uncertainty showed, but she finally put on the blindfold and then the headphones. After checking Michaela, Lizzie put on the blindfold and headphones herself. AJ was right. The music made her relax very quickly.

The driver checked all of them in her mirror, before turning off the FDR drive to make her way over to the streets of Greenwich Village. Lizzie felt the car make a number of turns, both left and right. She couldn't have said for sure their location. In fact, they might have doubled back on their original track.

A short while later, they turned off a main street onto what felt like a bumpy country road. She knew of no bumpy dirt roads in the city, so she figured they must have turned into an alley or a parking lot. They went downhill and rapidly around a sharp corner. A few seconds later, the car came to a stop and the driver tapped AJ on the knee. He removed his headphones and blindfold, proceeding to help Michaela and Lizzie remove theirs.

“We're here,” he announced.

They opened the car doors and found themselves inside the entrance of a small, basement garage. They saw other cars so tightly packed it seemed impossible for any of them to ever get out. A metal door that obscured any view outside blocked the driveway going up.

“This way,” AJ said, leading the way to a blank door. The driver still hadn't moved, and Lizzie got the impression that she didn't plan on sticking around.

The three of them passed through a door and entered a small room with a desk and a single elevator. A sign over the desk showed a logo, a simple “AU”. Underneath a much smaller sign said, “All guests please sign in here.”

A woman at the desk wearing a security uniform gave them a friendly smile and said, “Welcome to the Agorist Underground. We expected you, of course. If you'll come over here and sit down, we'll prepare your credentials.” She indicated two chairs for Lizzie and Michaela.

Lizzie turned to AJ, who stood over by an ATM-like machine. He placed his thumb on an optical pad and received a laminated photo ID on a soft cloth ribbon, which he pulled over his head.

“Go ahead and sign in. I've been here before, so I've got my credentials. I'll see you in the morning.”

With that, he gave Michaela a friendly wave and pressed the elevator button.

“Wait! Don't go!” Michaela shouted to him.

He stopped and she walked a few steps closer to him.

“You saved us,” she said, both grateful and a little afraid. She studied him for a moment before saying, “But why?”

He smiled. “You needed the help. Lizzie sent us her signal, so we knew to move in.”

Michaela struggled with his answer. “Yes, I know that, but what made you come? You knew that it would be dangerous for you.”

He grinned. “Yes, I suppose I did, but Lizzie is my friend. I couldn't abandon my friend at the moment she needed me most, could I?”

“No I suppose not.”

The elevator arrived, but as he started to get on, she said, “Why are you leaving us now?”

“I'm tired. Aren't you? I'm just going to find my bed. I need to sleep.”

“Will we see you again in the morning?”

“Count on it.”

Michaela still acted troubled.

“What is it?” he asked her finally.

Tears formed in Michaela's eyes. “My Dad was shot tonight. We don't know what happened after that. I don't even know if the bullet-proof vest worked, if he's...he's...still alive,” she said, the tears starting to flow.

Lizzie took her in her arms and held her tight. Suddenly the sobs started pouring out of her. AJ stepped out of the elevator and let its door close behind him and said softly with remorse, “I'm sorry Michaela, I should have told you before, but in all the craziness we went through I forgot. We received word that your father will be all right.”

Michaela practically ripped herself from Lizzie's grasp, turned and shouted, “He will? Where is he? I want to see him!”

“He's in a local hospital being treated. The bullet struck him in the chest but didn't penetrate to do any damage,” AJ started to explain. “The vest did protect him. He's going to be fine.”

Michaela whirled around to face Lizzie, sheer joy eclipsing her tears, and cried, “He's alive! Lizzie, he's alive, he's ALIVE!” Whereupon she threw herself again into Lizzie's grasp and cried even harder, sobbing for all that happened to her that night, for all the trauma, for all the fear, and in gratitude for the miracle of the people she didn't know who came to her rescue, as well as the ones she did know who came, the ones who meant more to her than everyone else in the world. And most of all, she sobbed for the news that her father would recover.

The news caught Lizzie by surprise too. The dual stress of trying to fulfill her role as temporary guardian of her best friend's teenage daughter fought and combined with her overwhelming relief that her employer would end up okay. It swept over her like a tidal wave. AJ could see her dueling fiercely with her emotions.

“Thank you,” she mouthed silently to him, the gratitude shining on her deeply reddening face. A smile of understanding came over him, and he mouthed back to her, “You're welcome.”

“The guard will assign you two a room to sleep in,” he said out loud. “We can meet at breakfast if we're up at the same time, or later if you need more sleep. There's no hurry.”

He turned to press the elevator button again. Michaela broke away from Lizzie and hurried over to him, gripping him tightly in a hug of gratitude, hoping she could express in it all the overwhelming feelings that coursed through her at the moment.

He hugged her back. “Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning.” The elevator still sat waiting for him as he got in and pushed a button, closing the door.

Michaela turned back to Lizzie, who came over and held her for another moment before they turned to walk over to the desk where the security guard waited patiently for them.

After watching the whole interlude, the security guard smiled pleasantly., “Ms. Kohn, since you're already a TST member, your part is easy. Just give me your thumb print, and I'll print up your credentials.”

She indicated a small optical pad. Lizzie pressed her thumb on the pad, and the light above the pad turned from red to green.

“Now, young lady,” the guard said, turning to Michaela. “I believe this is your first time staying with us?”

Michaela nodded wide-eyed, at a rare loss for words.

“Very good. We don't expect you to join our organization or anything like that. However, as our protected guest, we do ask you to agree to a few things. Normally, we would require that your parent or legal guardian approve your application, but obviously we have an unusual situation. We'll accept Lizzie's approval for the moment until we get direct approval from your father. This will give you temporary access to our facility.”

Michaela glanced at Lizzie for reassurance, Lizzie nodded her agreement, and then Michaela nodded too.

“In essence, you agree never to reveal anything about this location or any other secret location we may share with you to anyone, although between you and me we have confidence you'll never know anything important enough that could harm us. We do a pretty good job of maintaining our security. You know Lizzie, of course, and you've met AJ.”

Michaela smiled.

“What's your name?” she asked.

“I'm Carmen,” the guard answered. Michaela studied her face. Carmen's smile and engaging manner easily won Michaela over. She especially liked the way Carmen said her vowels.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“I'm originally from Peru, but that's one of the things you must promise not to ask staff members, okay?”

“Oh, sorry!” Michaela said, a little surprised.

Carmen smiled and continued, “Our staff members go by their first names only. You must agree never to ask for more personal information from staff members, and staff members will never ask for more than your first name. If any staff member ever does, don't trust him or her, and report it as soon as possible! Do you agree to these terms?” she asked pleasantly.

Michaela nodded her head solemnly.

“That's fine,” the guard smiled. “Next, you might meet other guests like yourself during your visit. You may exchange personal information with them if you wish, but you agree to keep that information confidential. You also agree not to discuss AU business with them outside of facilities we control or protect. We require this more for your protection and that of our other guests than for our benefit. Do you agree to this also?”

Again, Michaela nodded.

“Good,” the guard said approvingly. “Third, you must agree to obey all signs you see and verbal instructions you receive from staff while you are here, especially when a sign or a staff member asks you to do something. Do you agree to obey all such requests and directions?” she asked.

For the third time, Michaela nodded yes.

“That's fine,” said the guard. “Normally, we require a cash payment for our protection services, but given these very unusual circumstances, and since your father has not arrived yet, on Lizzie's say so, I'm marking your account payment deferred. I'm sure your father will pay it once he arrives.”

She typed a few things into the computer at her desk and printed out a single page.

She put the printed page in front of Michaela and said, “This contract summarizes what you just agreed to verbally. If you still intend to keep this agreement, please sign and date it at the bottom.”

Michaela checked with Lizzie, saying, “Dad said I should never sign anything without reading it first.”

Lizzie smiled and said, “Your father is quite right. Read it over carefully. Make sure it really does say what the guard here claimed that it says.”

Michaela read the contract over very carefully. In very plain English it said little more than what they already discussed. An added provision said that the Agorist Arbitration Association must settle any disputes or contractual disagreements.

“What's arbitration?” Michaela asked Lizzie.

“It's an alternative to trial where parties agree to appoint an individual or panel to make a binding award or decision based on the evidence and testimony presented,” Lizzie explained. “So if you and the AU have a disagreement about this contract, you both agree that the Agorist Arbitration Association will provide an individual or panel to settle the dispute.”

Michaela thought about it for a moment and signed the contract.

“Very good,” the guard said. “Since your father isn't here, I'll mark this for him to approve when he arrives.”

She asked Michaela to press her thumb on the optical scanner so that it could take a picture of her thumb for future security checks, which she did willingly. After it finished the scan of her thumb, the guard pressed a few more keys and clicked her mouse button. The ATM-like machine on the wall started to make noises again, and moments later, two sets of credentials attached to cloth ribbons waited for them: one for Michaela, and one for Lizzie, both with their photos, their first names, a bar code, and a room number on them. They pulled the lanyards over their heads.

“I see that you hurt yourself,” the guard said. “Would you like to have our medical staff look at it?”

Michaela shook her head no, but Lizzie overruled her and said, “Yes, that would be really good of you.”

“No trouble at all,” the guard said. “When you get upstairs, just turn right and go to the first office on the right. That's our first aid station. Your ID card gives you access to your room. It's just down the hall from the first aid station.”

She smiled and pushed a button. Seconds later, the elevator arrived again. Michaela followed Lizzie into the small booth, and the door closed. She saw no buttons on the wall to push, but instantly the elevator started moving upward. Seconds later, the door opened onto a small, empty sitting room. They turned to the right and quickly found the first aid station.

Opening the door, they found a young Asian man sitting in a desk chair wearing a white coat with a red cross above the breast pocket. He had his feet up while reading.

“Oh! Excuse me,” he said, putting his e-book reader down. He smiled apologetically. “I don't get many visitors at night. What can I do for you?”

“My young friend here had an RFID chip embedded in her arm. I'm afraid we had to dig it out quickly with a Swiss knife, so she has a bit of a hole in her forearm,” Lizzie explained.

“Okay, let me take a look,” he said, gently taking Michaela's arm. The bleeding had long since stopped, but the blood had trickled a bit. “Oh, that's not too bad. We'll just clean it up,” he said, grabbing a piece of cotton and a bottle of some clear liquid, which when uncapped filled the small room with the light aroma of antiseptic.

“Will it hurt like before?” Michaela asked timidly.

“No,” he said with a smile. “We don't need to use anything with alcohol or peroxide in it. That's what stings.”

He soaked the cotton ball and worked gently around the site of the wound. It cleaned up pretty quickly. Michaela relaxed when it didn't hurt. Then he carefully dabbed at the wound itself, cleaning it up within minutes.

“Would you like a colored band aid or a flesh-toned one?”

“Can I get a green one?” she asked him.

“Sure,” he said, smiling. Seconds later, a bright green band aid adorned her arm.

Lizzie asked him, “Should we be concerned about infection?”

He shook his head, “I very much doubt it. The wound looks clean. If it starts to act up, let us know, and we'll give her an antibiotic. However, as a general policy, we try to avoid that kind of thing when not medically necessary.”

“There might be a small scar,” he continued, “but I think it will heal to invisibility. At your age, it takes a really ragged cut to leave a noticeable scar. This one seems pretty clean.”

Lizzie and Michaela thanked him. He shook hands with them, and they left the first aid office. Out in the hall, Lizzie couldn't tell which way to go. She didn't see any signs indicating which way their room awaited them.

Michaela started down the hall. She found numbered doors on either side of the hall. She found Room 12 and tried the handle. It wouldn't budge. She slid her card into the door slot, and it unlocked and opened. She pushed the door wide. They found two queen-sized beds tightly packed into a room with a TV on a small stand, no windows, and a private bath.

“It looks small,” Michaela said doubtfully.

“Well, we're used to big rooms at home,” Lizzie said. “At least we have comfortable beds.”

“Yeah,” Michaela said as she landed in a sitting position on one of them. “They feel pretty good!”

Since they didn't have any luggage with them, they satisfied themselves with simply undressing to their underwear for bed. Michaela climbed under the covers first, but her eyes remained wide open despite circles forming under them. Lizzie went over to sit down next to her.

“Are you okay now?” she asked, and Michaela nodded.

Lizzie said, “We'll find him tomorrow, you know.”

“Okay,” Michaela answered her softly. She solemnly studied Lizzie's face for a moment. She said, “You like Dad, don't you.”

“Of course I do,” Lizzie answered. “He's been very kind to me.”

Michaela shook her head and said, “That's not what I mean. I mean you like him, don't you?”

Lizzie took a short breath and held it, unsure what to say. Her face started to turn red again. Finally, not quite knowing what to say, she said, “Yes, he's a very nice man.”

“You know what I mean,” Michaela said.

Lizzie dismissed the whole conversation by saying, “Go to sleep. We'll try to see him tomorrow if we can. Do you think you can sleep?”

Michaela nodded. Lizzie stroked her hair for a moment and started to get up. Michaela reached out and grabbed Lizzie's arm, stopping her. Lizzie turned her attention back to Michaela, her eyes curious.

“It's okay that you like Dad. I love you,” Michaela said, looking straight into her eyes.

Lizzie felt her equilibrium being knocked about a bit, but she forced herself to steady and replied, “I love you too. Very much.”

With that, Michaela suddenly sat up in bed and gave her a huge hug, refusing to let go for a very long moment. Lizzie hugged her right back and kissed her gently and warmly on the forehead. Michaela turned over and prepared to go to sleep. Lizzie got up and moved to her own bed.

As she pulled the blankets over her, she heard Michaela say, “Thanks for coming to get me.”

The tears threatened to spill down Lizzie's cheeks.

“You're welcome, sweetheart,” she replied softly and gently as she moved to her own bed, with a strong tug of emotion. She turned out the light and lay down in bed. Michaela's breathing quickly changed to the deep, even breaths of slumber. Lizzie wrestled with the notion that she found herself in loco parentis in an entirely new way tonight, thoughts which quickly and gently guided her to an unconscious state of much-needed rest.

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