Frankenstein

Michael said, “I knew this was the place.”
    From the seat between them, Carson picked up a camera with night-vision technology.
    “What do you see?” Michael asked.
    Eye to the viewfinder, she said, “It’s Beckmann. He’s got an attaché case. This is the swap, all right.”
    “Here comes someone else,” Michael said. “Pan left.”
    Carson panned and saw another man approaching Beckmann from behind a warehouse. “It’s Chang. He’s carrying a shopping bag.”
    “Is there a store name on the bag?”
    “What does it matter? It’s just something to carry the money.”
    “Chang wears cool clothes,” Michael said. “I’ve been wondering where he shops.”
    Zooming in with the camera, clicking off a series of shots, Carson said, “He’s talking to Beckmann. Beckmann is putting down the attaché case. Chang is taking something from the bag.”
    “Make sure you get a clear shot of the bag. We can enhance it till the store name is readable. Hey—something just happen?”
    “Yeah. Chang pulled a gun from the bag and shot Beckmann.”
    “I didn’t see that coming.”
    “He just shot him again. Beckmann’s down.”
    “I don’t hear any shots.”
    “Silencer,” Carson reported.
    “This is so not right.”
    “Chang just knelt, shot him a third time, back of the head.”
    “Now what?”
    Putting down the camera, Carson said, “You know what.”
    “I’m too dad for this stuff.”
    Drawing the pistol from her shoulder rig, she said, “And I’m too mom. But baby needs new shoes.”

    
chapter
4

    The truck departed, carrying the real Erskine, Nancy, and Ariel to their doom. The new Mayor Potter, his efficient wife, and his focused daughter returned to the house.
    Energetic, industrious, and sagacious, the three thoroughly cleaned the kitchen. They reordered the contents of the cabinets, the refrigerator, and the pantry to ensure that every meal could henceforth be prepared as quickly as possible.
    They exchanged not a single word as they worked. Yet they did not duplicate one another’s efforts. Neither did they at any time crowd one another.
    When the kitchen had been put right, they prepared an early breakfast. Erskine cracked, scrambled, and fried a dozen eggs while Nancy fried a pound of bacon.
    Spots of green mold marked the bread. Like every member of the Community, Ariel was loath to waste anything. She prepared twelve browned slices in the four-slot toaster.
    A squeeze-bottle of liquid butter—actually a butter substitute—was thrillingly efficient.
    Erskine plated the eggs. Nancy added the bacon. Ariel poured three glasses of orange juice.
    As Erskine put the plates on the table, Nancy set out the flatware and Ariel put a paper napkin at each place setting.
    With night still pressing at the windows, they sat at the table. They ate.
    Because conversation inhibited the efficient consumption of a meal, they initially dined in silence.
    Eventually, Erskine said, “As mayor, it has been my habit to take my family at least twice a week to restaurants owned by some of my constituents.”
    “Eating at home takes less time,” said Nancy.
    “Yes. But until the Community replaces the current population of Rainbow Falls, we must follow the habits and traditions of the Potter family to avoid arousing suspicion.”
    “When we eat at home,” Ariel said, “we should eat the same thing for breakfast every morning.” Her public role was as a daughter to Erskine and Nancy, but she was neither their daughter nor younger than they were; she was their equal in the classless utopia of the Community. “We should develop a menu for each meal of the day and cook nothing but those menus. Repetition will result in ever more efficient preparation.”
    “Yes,” said Erskine.
    “Agreed,” Nancy said. “And food shopping will be simplified.”
    After finishing breakfast, they cleared the table and rinsed the china. They racked the dishes, the cookware, and the utensils in the dishwasher.
    Soon they must reorganize the other rooms, the garage, and the restof the property as they had already improved the kitchen. They felt no need to consult on an agenda; they must first explore the barn.
    The driveway forked. One lane went to the garage, and the other led to the red barn toward the back of the property.
    Never had the Potter family been farmers. Nancy and Ariel were horsewomen, and the barn served as their equestrian facility.
    The building encompassed about sixteen hundred square feet,