WILLARD PREPARES

Welcome Center, Visitor Area

5 hr 49 min to Birth

Willard was not well qualified as a babysitter for Preeti. A genuine agent of the Distributed Ops program would have been grossly overqualified for the job. And Willard would have preferred doing one-armed pushups on his throbbing right hand to concerning himself with this girl's welfare.

His thoughts were elsewhere: on escape from the island.

Once Flannigan had led the others away to be briefed in the conference room, Willard retired in the direction of his room. He was lugging his massive dufflebag of explosives and cradling his crippled right hand.

He unlocked the door to his room with a keycard and pushed it open with his foot. It closed behind him as he placed his duffle by the bed and lay down on the bedspread, on his back, with a deep sigh. Feels so good, he thought. Don't fall asleep.

The brilliant afternoon sun cast into the room around the window curtains. It was an ordinary-looking hotel room. He would be able to get out of there easily enough. And Flannigan and the others were too busy to notice. But where would he go?

He needed to get to the mainland. If he could get off the island and get to the mainland, he could disappear there. Ecuador, or whichever country it was. If he could make it there, he would sell his explosives on some black market and live on that money.

Was there a boat on the island? A motorboat. If they had a motorboat, maybe he could make it to the mainland. He didn't know how far away the mainland was.

How would he and this lovely boat make their acquaintance? Trying to find it himself by sneaking around seemed too risky. He would get caught, and when he did, he would look guilty.

He stood up from the bed with a grunt. He walked into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He had not bathed recently. He was tired, hungover, drugged. He had recently killed a man. And there was his hand.

(Killing me it's broken.)

He could do it. But he would have to look more like a legitimate agent. He would need to shave and wash up. Get a more convincing outfit. And the bandaging on his hand would have to go. He had to look presentable.

Needing a razor and some fresh clothes, he left his room and walked toward the reception area in search of these supplies.

He walked by a big room and looked in: it was a small pool. More like a motel pool than a hotel pool, but appetizing enough. How nice would it be to get in a hot tub right now, he thought.

To his surprise, Preeti, whom he had completely forgotten about, was in the pool room, walking down the length of the wall. He stopped and looked at her from the hallway with lazy curiosity.

She was wearing a bathing suit. She had a nice body, though there was something unattractive about her manner. Too much of a hippie.

She noticed him and looked up, suspicious. She was holding what appeared to be a sheaf of straw, a bundle of something that looked like straw.

She proceeded slowly down the length of the wall, shaking her sheaf at the wall as she walked like it was a magic wand. She was chanting something quietly to herself.

He shook his head. Hippie nonsense.

He turned and continued to the lobby.