Dinner had been tedious. The spaghetti didn't appeal to him, but missing two meals in one day seemed like a bad idea, so he forced himself to eat some of it; he only enjoyed the cookie. When the lights went out—Project 2911?—he promptly set to getting ready, continuing to ponder the day's events.
It would be natural for any of Landel's prisoners to be tempted to find satisfaction, even pleasure, in his apparent downfall, but in L's opinion, it would also be foolish to do so without knowing what would take his place. The fact that Aguilar had apparently had oversight of the Institute all along didn't leave much room for optimism. The status quo had been bad enough, and L would be surprised if it improved under Aguilar's direct supervision; rather, his bet was for the situation to take a right turn and then go downhill. The General might be less twisted than Landel—that remained to be seen—but it seemed absurd to anticipate that he might be less strict. Different would not necessarily be better.
L had experienced a niggling sense of irritation with himself all day, a frustration based on the fact that he hadn't already ascertained the extent of military involvement in his predicament. There had been hints all along that the military—a military, at any rate—was involved in the Institute's workings, but there had been no way to tell how current that involvement was, or whether or not the representation of it was all for show. Landel's references to training had become more frequent, more prominent, since Saturday. Before today, it would have been tempting to wonder if the references had any connection to reality, or if they amounted to obfuscation that was targeted at Jill and Marc and the rest of their nebulous group; L was certain there hadn't been enough information for him to make a definite connection, not one that he could believe or use as a real basis for theories, but it still rankled at him. Now, even though "the training" seemed real, or at least more plausible, that conclusion still left a number of questions open.
In the last day or two, Landel had seemed nervous; he must have known that his dismissal was a possibility, maybe even a certainty. There was no record that L was aware of, among the patients, of a previous visit by General Aguilar. The General might have come to the Institute for the sole purpose of removing Landel, which would make it a pre-determined outcome that had nothing to do with the events of the General's visit. (Why bring so many troops, otherwise? In gauging the probability that the takeover had been planned from the beginning, the presence of the soldiers added so much weight to that argument that it wasn't worth calculating. He had all but discarded his early theory that there could have been a purge of previous patients, but now, the presence of armed guards caused the idea to rise again in the back of his mind, shadowy and ominous. He couldn't let fear control him any more than he could give reign to his anger, though; doing so would only remove the last few grains of hope. If he was living on borrowed time, he would try to use it productively.)
With regard to the differences between Landel and Aguilar, the next few days would tell for sure, but the learning process might have a costly effect on the patients. It all depended on variables which would be hard to predict.
He wouldn't make the same mistake tonight that he'd made last night. The Walther would stay locked in the drawer. He'd wear the ring; he had no intention of climbing walls on this outing, so if he was in a situation in which the stone was likely to be broken, the breakage might be an advantage, pulling him to safety without requiring him to make the decision to escape. His white shirt was no longer torn or bloodied. He put it on, but chose a pair of sweatpants instead of his jeans: the pockets were more accomodating. Sneakers would do for indoors. The radio went into his pillowcase, along with a first aid kit and a roll of gauze, and he carried the light and the long blade.
Pocketing his keys, he set out for the meeting point that he and Figaro had arranged at lunch.
M25
It would be natural for any of Landel's prisoners to be tempted to find satisfaction, even pleasure, in his apparent downfall, but in L's opinion, it would also be foolish to do so without knowing what would take his place. The fact that Aguilar had apparently had oversight of the Institute all along didn't leave much room for optimism. The status quo had been bad enough, and L would be surprised if it improved under Aguilar's direct supervision; rather, his bet was for the situation to take a right turn and then go downhill. The General might be less twisted than Landel—that remained to be seen—but it seemed absurd to anticipate that he might be less strict. Different would not necessarily be better.
L had experienced a niggling sense of irritation with himself all day, a frustration based on the fact that he hadn't already ascertained the extent of military involvement in his predicament. There had been hints all along that the military—a military, at any rate—was involved in the Institute's workings, but there had been no way to tell how current that involvement was, or whether or not the representation of it was all for show. Landel's references to training had become more frequent, more prominent, since Saturday. Before today, it would have been tempting to wonder if the references had any connection to reality, or if they amounted to obfuscation that was targeted at Jill and Marc and the rest of their nebulous group; L was certain there hadn't been enough information for him to make a definite connection, not one that he could believe or use as a real basis for theories, but it still rankled at him. Now, even though "the training" seemed real, or at least more plausible, that conclusion still left a number of questions open.
In the last day or two, Landel had seemed nervous; he must have known that his dismissal was a possibility, maybe even a certainty. There was no record that L was aware of, among the patients, of a previous visit by General Aguilar. The General might have come to the Institute for the sole purpose of removing Landel, which would make it a pre-determined outcome that had nothing to do with the events of the General's visit. (Why bring so many troops, otherwise? In gauging the probability that the takeover had been planned from the beginning, the presence of the soldiers added so much weight to that argument that it wasn't worth calculating. He had all but discarded his early theory that there could have been a purge of previous patients, but now, the presence of armed guards caused the idea to rise again in the back of his mind, shadowy and ominous. He couldn't let fear control him any more than he could give reign to his anger, though; doing so would only remove the last few grains of hope. If he was living on borrowed time, he would try to use it productively.)
With regard to the differences between Landel and Aguilar, the next few days would tell for sure, but the learning process might have a costly effect on the patients. It all depended on variables which would be hard to predict.
He wouldn't make the same mistake tonight that he'd made last night. The Walther would stay locked in the drawer. He'd wear the ring; he had no intention of climbing walls on this outing, so if he was in a situation in which the stone was likely to be broken, the breakage might be an advantage, pulling him to safety without requiring him to make the decision to escape. His white shirt was no longer torn or bloodied. He put it on, but chose a pair of sweatpants instead of his jeans: the pockets were more accomodating. Sneakers would do for indoors. The radio went into his pillowcase, along with a first aid kit and a roll of gauze, and he carried the light and the long blade.
Pocketing his keys, he set out for the meeting point that he and Figaro had arranged at lunch.
[Skipping ahead to here.]