The Fold: A Novel by Peter Clines Page A

other side.”
    Mike walked over to the grave. The word TRAMP was written in Magic Marker on the pale wood. The soil was loose, as if someone had weeded it out.
    The redhead took a few more steps up the path and glanced back. “It was a failure, but if he hadn’t died, we’d’ve never started following this path. We wouldn’t have the Albuquerque Door.”
    He sensed Bob’s desperate desire to change the subject. “So they built this whole complex just for you guys?”
    “Oh, hell no.” Bob shook his head. He waved his hand up at the concrete structure. “They built Site B, but back in the seventies this place used to be a Jack in the Box processing plant. They expanded into a bigger building, and then I think it was used as a warehouse for a while. The government grabbed it up right after Nine-Eleven and it got handed off to SETH back in…late two-thousand-eight, I think.”
    Mike glanced up at the building as they came out into the parking lot. “Jack in the Box? The fast food chain?”
    “Yup. Our control room was part of their marketing office or something like that. The main floor was the meat processing area.”
    Mike smiled. “No symbolism there.”
    “It’s been brought up,” said Bob.

ELEVEN
    Mike debated leaving everything in his bags, but figured it would make a better impression if he unpacked. It took him half an hour to transfer his clothes into the cabinets and spread his shaving kit around the bathroom sink. He heard footsteps and voices outside, and saw Neil and Sasha. They ignored his trailer and headed for their own.
    His stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten a meal since Logan Airport back in Boston. He’d passed eleven restaurants and franchises on the way to the complex, but the closest one was almost two miles away. He thought about using the new smartphone Reggie had equipped him with to find somewhere closer, but he didn’t want to start getting dependent on it. Or addicted. It took him ten minutes to find the Wendy’s two streets up. He put lots of salt and pepper on his fries and ate his chicken sandwich alone at a table.
    Then he was back at the gray trailer.
    Part of him wanted to go through the reports he’d been given and start comparing them to what he’d seen. The ants itched at his mind. They were eager to mix, to bring the elements together and watch them seethe.
    Part of him missed his little apartment. And his summer job down in York, doing maintenance work on the rides at the Wild Kingdom amusement park. And nights just staring out at the Atlantic while the tourists walked around him.
    Then the computer tablet chimed from his pillow. He sat on the edge of the cot, tapped his thumb against the screen, and was shown a pictureof Reggie’s face with his office behind him. “Hey,” said the picture, “it’s me.”
    “Yeah, I know,” Mike said. “I’m looking at you.”
    “Just trying to be polite.”
    “You’re there late.”
    “Some of us work for a living. You have a good flight?”
    “It was okay. Finally got to see the new
Hobbit
movie. Read some of the files you gave me.”
    “Some?”
    “All.”
    “Stop holding back. I’m counting on you for this.”
    “Yeah, I know,” said Mike. He thought of his quiet classroom, almost three thousand miles away, filled with books he hadn’t read in years. “Trying to break a lifetime of bad habits.”
    “Got your car?”
    “Okay flight, got the car, found the place. I’m here now.”
    “So, how’s it going?”
    “Oh, great people. All of them.” Mike used his toes to pry off his shoes. “I’m expecting the first brick through the window later this evening.”
    “That bad?”
    “I think Bob Hitchcock is willing to let me crawl out of here with only a beating, so he’s probably my biggest fan right now.”
    “Are you always this pessimistic when I’m not around?”
    “Well, I’m in a monotone trailer with no appliances and sitting on my one piece of furniture. It deadens the mood a