Page 50 of Concluded (The Bureau #13)

“Y ou’re an interesting fellow,” Abe said. “More going on in your head than I’d guessed.”

Achilles decided to take this as a compliment. “Okay, good, because I have additional ideas. I’m wondering if there might be more of us in this place. We should find out.”

“So they can be part of our bridge, assuming we have a chance to construct it.”

“Yeah.” They’d already begun walking, arms looped together, which gave Achilles a sense of purpose even if they weren’t truly getting anywhere. “I guess we should try singing. Why do you figure that works better than just shouting?”

“Prayers are sung. So are many enchantments. Maybe music has magical properties of its own.”

That made sense. Achilles knew how well a particular song could evoke a specific memory, and of course nearly everyone had experienced how music affected emotions.

Soldiers sang and so did work crews, and not just because it helped them keep rhythm.

As far as Achilles was aware, music was universal to human cultures and to many NHSs. “You pick the first song, Abe.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Whatever you think is appropriate.”

After a brief pause, Abe started in. He had a very pleasant voice and knew how to project it well, probably a holdover from his days as a stage performer.

The song itself, a plea for a soldier boy to return, wasn’t familiar to Achilles.

“My Thomas fought in the First World War,” Abe explained after he’d finished.

“Birdie—his first love—died in that war.”

“Ah,” said Achilles. “The same Birdie who possessed Townsend?”

“Yes.”

Well, that was messed up. No wonder Abe had never trusted the old chief. “I think it’s a good choice. Try again—I’ll join in this time.”

They’d sung it through four or five times, and Achilles was about to suggest they change their tune, when he thought he heard an answering voice. He stopped suddenly, forcing Abe to stop too, and listened closely. “Alternative Ulster?” he asked, confused.

Abe listened too and then let out a whoop of laughter. “Desmond Hughes!”

The name was familiar but it took a moment for Achilles to place it. “The librarian?”

“I think so.”

When Achilles was first hired, Des Hughes had been the Bureau’s librarian.

He was a big man with an easy smile, a soft Irish brogue, and a sordid past that Achilles had never asked him about.

Hughes had retired a few years later, along with his partner, Agent Kurt Powell.

Achilles had barely known either of them and had no idea what had happened to them postretirement.

After another couple rounds of singing, Achilles and Abe found their way to another prisoner who was, indeed, Des Hughes, and who was pretty emotional about being discovered. “What in bloody hell is going on?” he demanded.

They tried to give him a quick summary, but he interrupted well before they’d finished. “Kurt. They’ve taken Kurt as well and I can’t bloody find him.”

Achilles gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. “We’ll do our best to help.”

Now all three walked arm-in-arm while belting out Des’s Ulster song, and when someone eventually chimed back with “We Shall Overcome,” they broke into cheers.

Desmond was reunited with Kurt amid a healthy fall of tears.

Then they were a marching choir of four.

Achilles was beginning to feel downright positive.

Whatever had caught him the first time he was here and dragged him into despondency might make a reappearance, but it hadn’t yet.

Although Achilles had lived through a lot of strange experiences, this was near the top of the list: walking in complete darkness with several other people, all of them naked, all of them joined in song, all of them hoping to avert the worst disaster imaginable.

None of them grew tired or hungry or sore.

If anything, they gained energy as they went.

In time, three more agents joined them. Achilles was acquainted with them all, although he didn’t know any of them well.

One was an enthusiastic woman named Mazur, who’d joined the Bureau only a year or so ago, and the other two were a much more seasoned man and woman, Buhalis and Lu, respectively.

Everyone was understandably relieved to be found and all were generally mystified about what was going on.

With the exception of Abe, nobody had a particularly great singing voice, but that didn’t stop them.

Achilles noted that all were fully human and, with the exception of Abe, nobody possessed any special abilities.

This was interesting in itself, given the Bureau’s high proportion of NHS agents and employees.

Finally they’d picked up Nathan Pandya, a man who’d joined the Bureau about the same time that Achilles had but who’d retired early due to a back injury.

“Is anyone left outside the black hole?” Achilles wondered aloud. He shuddered to imagine Dee still in the hands of the enemy, without a single potential ally remaining. Nobody in the group had any information to console him.

One piece of good news came to light, however, when they compared stories.

It became clear that they’d all been captured within the same two-week period.

Months might have gone by since then—no way to tell—but this was at least some evidence that not too much time had passed in the real world.

And that there was a good chance that there was still a world left to save.

There wasn’t much else to be positive about.

Achilles felt as if he’d been here forever, and although it was nice to find other prisoners, he didn’t sense that they were getting any closer to building a bridge.

Abe still couldn’t catch more than the faintest hint of spirits.

And after they’d all been singing for a long time without finding anyone new, a sense of hopelessness started to settle in.

Kurt expressed the sentiment that all of them felt: “Can we just find the Tin Man, tap our heels together, and go home already?”

“None of us have slippers, ruby or otherwise,” Lu pointed out. “And this isn’t a movie. It’s real life.”

“This doesn’t feel real at all. More like an endless fucking nightmare.”

“The true nightmare happens if we don’t succeed on this assignment.”

“It’s not a fucking assignment!” Kurt shouted. “Des and I retired years ago and we’ve been minding our own business. I’m seventy-three years old, dammit. Haven’t I earned some rest?”

“You’re but a babe,” Abe butted in. “I’m over a hundred and thirty, and I haven’t had any rest yet.”

Things devolved into one big squabble. They stopped marching.

Achilles, feeling defeated, sat down and sank his face into his hands.

His body felt heavy, as if he were turning to stone.

He was useless. This had been his stupid, half-baked plan because, even after a long career in the Bureau, he hadn’t come up with anything more clever.

Townsend never should have hired him to begin with.

Gods, Achilles should have showed up at his parents’ shop on time that day, and it should have been him that got shot.

The opposite of despair is hope.

At first Achilles thought that someone had whispered in his ear.

But everyone else was still standing over him, arguing without any real point to it, like exhausted siblings stuffed in a back seat during a long drive.

And then the voice spoke again, sounding scratchy and ancient like an antique record: Hope. Love. They sustain us.

Achilles rose to his feet. “Hey! Shut up, everyone. Let me listen.”

Surprisingly, they obeyed. At first there was utter silence; Achilles couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat. Then there was the hint of an exhalation, the trace of a throat clearing, and the slightest suggestion of a single word: Act .

“Someone else is here,” Pandya announced.

“Then let’s bloody well find him,” said Des.

Lu began to sing “Over the Rainbow.” None of them had the range for it except Abe, who didn’t know the words, but they did their best as they resumed the trek.

“He’s humming back!” Mazur exclaimed after a while. “But I don’t recognize the song.”

Abe chuckled. “Sinatra. ‘Witchcraft.’”

The humming was quiet, but it grew louder as the group continued onward, arms linked. Just like Dorothy and her crew, Achilles thought. He figured he was probably the scarecrow. Then he tripped over something and nearly brought the entire chorus line down with him.

The something turned out to be a some one . Even though Achilles was literally on top of the person, their voice was still barely audible. Merely a thin whisper that hurt to listen to. And although Achilles grasped one of their hands in his own, the person made no attempt to get up.

“Are you hurt?” Still unable to see a thing, Achilles was hesitant to grope someone without permission, even if only to check for wounds.

“Who are you?” the person asked.

“Achilles Spanos. And I’m here with… a bunch of other Bureau agents. Who are you?”

“Bureau,” said the person, followed by a drawn-out sigh. “Did you imprison me here?”

“No! Gods, no. We’re stuck here too and trying to find a way out. Are you an agent?”

Another sound that might have been meant as a laugh. “No. I’m John.”

Achilles settled into a seated position and heard the rest of the gang do the same.

They all seemed to be waiting for him to act, which suddenly struck him as odd.

How had he ended up leading this group? His only advantage over them—if you even wanted to call it that—was that he’d visited this place twice before.

But he didn’t really know any more than they did, and he certainly wasn’t any more capable. Yet here he was, in charge.

Maybe the first order of business was figuring out why John was here.

“John, we were all Bureau employees at some point. That’s why we got sent here. Do you know why you did?”

“I was a monster,” John whispered. “Until Harry made me a man.”