They were breaking down the door. I rushed into the main room and glanced at the front door of the apartment. Slivers of light poked through the emerging cracks on the face of the door. The voices had grown to a small crowd, and the loud thumping continued in steady intervals. The door shook, dust and grit falling from the ceiling of the apartment. The rays of light began to grow bigger, some of them falling on me and illuminating my face. 

Through the cracks, I could see people's faces. Worried onlookers watching as two figures in black trench coats broke down the door, using a standing coat rack as a battering ram. The window looked more and more entertaining as an exit every second.

I padded up to it, throwing up the window and popping out the screen. Snow carried on the roaring wind, swirling through the open window and flakes melting on my face. I stuck my head out and then regretted it instantly. Sleet raked at my eyes and nose. I recoiled, my face stinging warmly. I hesitated, wishing I had the heavy felt trench coat. I scanned the floor of the apartment. Only the silhouette of Arthur's body was visible in the dim light. 

The two men in black coats were halfway through. They had dropped the battering ram and were using their nightsticks to widen the hole. One of the Night Watchmen peeked their head in, his felt police cap catching on the ragged edges of the hole. He cried out and pointed at me. That was when I turned around, gripped the edges of the open window, and took a deep breath. I stuck a leg out of the window and stepped into the bitter cold.

Night Watchmen. Here.

I squinted against the rising storm. It was strong, almost stronger than it had been fifteen minutes ago. And there was sleet. On the face of the building, it was near impossible to find a foothold. Wet snow clung to every corner and pocket of my overcoat. I could feel dampness seeping into my socks and the center of my back, but I kept on creeping along the building face. I scrabbled and clutched at everything and anything that offered a handhold. The ledge directly underneath the window was the only platform for my feet. Despite the foothold I was inching across, the purchase the ledge offered was reduced significantly by the foul weather. 

I found myself slipping several times, my heart skipping a beat every time I lost my footing. The wind seemed to buffet me from all sides, but I kept on going. I looked down. As the wind and snow whipped around me in the darkness, I felt like I was three miles off the ground, instead of three stories. I gritted my teeth and yelped as I felt my foot slip out from underneath me again. But this time, as I searched with my foot, there was only air. I had run out of ledge.

Looking over my shoulder, I saw the silhouette of what looked like a tree. Its scraggly branches protruded up into the heavens. One of those branches bent down and curled towards the point where I was hanging on the building. I smiled. My smile vanished when I heard a man's voice cry out behind me. Even in the howling wind, I heard the Night Watchman peeking his head out of the open window from room 104. 

I looked at him. He stared back. Then he looked at the tree, shook his head and shouted something at me. The wind drowned out his voice and picked at his eight-point hat as I cracked a wild grin at the man in black. He shook his head, realizing what I was about to do, but it was too late. I had already committed in my mind.

I jumped back from the sleet covered edge and fell towards the branch of the tree. I managed to catch the expression of surprise flash across the Night Watchman's face as I jumped. I quickly whipped my body around to face my chest towards the limb. It struck me hard in the chest and I felt the wind knocked out of me for the third time of the night. My head buzzed from the impact and for a second I thought I would just slough off the branch like melting snow. 

But my arms clamped down in rigid desperation, an innate reflex going off in my muscles. I wriggled on the branch, hanging barely ten feet off the ground. I was like a worm, dangling from the end of a hook. I could hear the Night Watchman shouting again, but I couldn't discern the words. Suddenly I heard a loud crack, and I felt a surge of force that rattled my entire body. Before I knew it, I was falling among the swirling winter snow.

I always found the sensation of falling a very horrifying thing. Especially when falling backwards. You didn't know how far away the ground was from where you were in the air. And you didn't have the leisure of watching the earth hurtle towards you. All you had was that visceral gut feeling you were dropping, further and further. Time seemed to grow and everything around your vision shrank as it whipped past. The view of the world became nothing more than a momentary picture that was siphoned into a large funnel that stretched into a pinpoint. 

Nothing seemed real when you fell backwards. I couldn't believe it now. I watched the face of the building being swept away from me. Then I was in the snow, flat on my back, staring up at the shadowy figure of now two Night Watchmen leaning out the window. They both looked at me. I could see their wide eyes from underneath their hat brims, not believing what they had just witnessed. Then they disappeared, like a pair of gophers into a hole.

My back burned with a fierce intensity like that I had never felt before. I made an effort to pull a breath into my lungs, but I couldn't. I just lay there, in the middle of a small snowdrift and stared up into the blackness of the sky. I was half scared, thinking that my vision had somehow been impaired from the height of the fall. But after a few blinks, I was able to see the blurry shapes of the dim street lamps and light coming from the building's windows up above me. 

I tried to take another breath. It was less subdued than the first, but I was able to fill my lungs with whatever small amount of sharp December air I was able to suck in. Propping myself up on one elbow, a loud ringing in my ears, and a prodding pain in my lower back added to the sound of my beating heart as I made an effort to stand. 

I staggered through the snow-covered sidewalk and stumbled forward, hands outstretched against the wind. I took in the sight of the empty streets. It wouldn't be empty for much longer. I knew I had to get out of the area. Knowing the Night Watchmen were nearly on the ground floor of the apartment building behind me, I bolted for the open alleyway across the street. 

As my foot left the sidewalk and touched the street pavement, a bright light shone in my face. It came from my left and I glanced to see twin headlights and one powerful beam positioned on top, creating a triangle of light. It was a Night Watchmen van. It was filled to the brim with a squad of Night Watchmen.

What were they doing here in this part of town? I remembered distinctly that Night Watchmen activity was at an all-time minimum here in the East Bronx. I had staked out this block several times and had made sure. Dianne had made sure.

This isn't right. None of this is right.

I ripped away from my deer-in-the-headlights moment and sprinted into the alley ahead of me. The Night Watchman van had come to a stop, and I heard the doors opening and men shouting at me to stop. I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. Stopping at this point was almost certain death. Something wasn't right. Someone had sold me out. Someone. . .

And then it hit me. As I ran through the gaping mouth of the alleyway and ran past rubbish and refuse, the lady receptionist entered my mind. Her easy looking face, her bright blue eyes. Her alluring smile. Her words. What had she said? "Could you lead the man to Room 104?" I mentally kicked myself for not noticing it earlier. How could she have heard me whispering to Gerald when she was almost fifty yards away? There was no real reflective surface like marble or granite in the lobby, so my voice couldn't have possibly carried that far for her to hear it. 

Then how did she know? Either she had unusually good hearing, even for someone at a young age, or she was working with the Night Watchmen. She must have been a plant, a gatekeeper of some sort. They had expected something to happen. Probably not to this extent, but possibly somebody to come for the blueprints. Arthur Dempsey had been a really important person, despite being an early retiree. I was starting to think that these blueprints were more than just schematics for a shipping vessel.

I fled down the alleyway, brushing past trash cans and a rogue clothesline. Towards the end of the alley, I heard the clomping of boots, and I knew the chase had begun. And a chase the men in black were going to get. I knew these streets like the way the Swiss knew the inner workings of a clock. I jumped hedges, plowed through alleys, and crossed street after street after street. The trick wasn't in making the most convoluted path, but balancing what routes were the most difficult for the watchmen, and what routes were the most difficult for me. 

On most missions, it was rare that I ever had to run from the Watchmen. But then again, this mission was less straightforward than the previous ones. It was as much as a mental game as a physical one, especially in the snow. Choosing alleys over fences, and trash cans over car hoods. Eventually, I had figured I had lost the Night Watchmen when I heard no sounds of boots on slick pavement. I stopped to catch my breath in a small divot of an alleyway access door hidden in the side of a building. I planted my back up against the metal door and let out a heavy sigh.

The sun was already coming up when I got back to my apartment. I had been scurrying around, avoiding various Night Watchmen stops and patrols. Towards the end of curfew, the enforcers usually became more lax, since the sun was coming up and it was the last shift of the night. It was more than easy to avoid any conflict and slip past the patrols. I made sure I wasn't followed before heading straight back to my apartment, doubling around and stopping several times in alleyways. There were points in where I thought I was being followed, and I heard noises of padding feet behind me. 

But when I turned around, no one was there. Still cautious about potential tails, I took a convoluted route that had me go through a crowd of morning crowds, cross several streets, and then boomerang around back towards my apartment. I was sweating, cold, and hungry by the time I set foot in my apartment room and closed the door. My heart wasn't racing, but it did make a steady thump thump thump that made me think it was about to jump out of my chest.

First thing I did was clear the apartment. No matter how careful you could be, you could not afford to take any chances. In my profession, you weren't able to err on the side of caution. You weren't allowed to err. If you did, that meant prison. Or, most of the time, death. For people like me and Dianne, we didn't get a fair trial. If we were caught, no one would hear from us again. We would be rounded up in their black vans and hustled to some deserted part of town, and then shot. Our bodies would be stripped of anything important, our lifeless corpses dumped into the river. 

It happened whenever one of us got careless. When we began slacking. Dianne would give me the details. None of them pretty. It was just another added incentive to never be caught. To never be seen. To never be identified. That's why Dianne always ran around, decked up in her disguises. Perhaps I should be doing the same from now on. The Night Watchmen had seen my face. So had the old man and woman, Thomas and Margaret. Maybe it was time to lay low for another month or two. Or maybe three.

I cleared the apartment. No one was here. No evidence of a sudden search. No sign of anyone tampering with my pantries or desk table. Everything was just as I had left it. That was when I started to relax a bit. Only a bit. I headed towards the kitchen, yearning for a cold cup of water and a slice of bread. My mouth was parched and my headache along with my growling stomach as I padded across the kitchen floor to the pantry and brought out a loaf of bread. 

I turned around and saw Dianne standing in front of the kitchen table. I was surprised that she was out of costume, she was just regular Miss Whitefield. She wore a ruddy long wool skirt, paired with a green blouse, belt, and white silk scarf. A white cloche hat loosely fitted on top of her head, loops of her brown locks peeked out underneath her ears. What I noticed first were her eyes. They were of a burning intensity I had never seen before. She had the same look a giddy child has on Christmas morning. She smiled, opening up her arms in a grandiose gesture.

She said. "Jacob. Glad to see you're still in one piece."

"So am I, Miss Whitfield." I smiled back and reached into my overcoat. She came around the table and clapped her hands excitedly.

"Is that a Christmas present I see?" she asked, holding out a hand. I withdrew the crumpled blueprints. Despite several dents and a few tears, it was intact overall. She took the rolls of paper from me, looking them over. She glanced back at me and said, "Also, you can call me Dianne. Don't feel that we have to be on a last name basis, Jacob."

"Yes, Miss-" I caught myself, then cleared my throat, grinning. "Sure, Dianne." Her first name felt weird coming out of my mouth, especially now that she was in front of me.

"That's better, isn't it?" Dianne said, tilting her head. She took off her hat and let out a pent up breath. She said, "You have something we could use as a paperweight? I want you to see something."

I looked at the loaf of bread in my right hand and looked at Dianne. She let out a soft giggle and I handed it over to her. She opened up the blueprints like unraveling a large scroll, using her white hat and the loaf of bread to keep the curling edges down on the kitchen table. 

The blueprints were what was detailed briefly in the note I had been given by Dianne. They were indeed ship schematics. What was interesting was, they were plans for a large ship. A really large ship. At the top, left corner of the blueprints were the words THE TRIUMPHANT in bold text. I looked over at Dianne and frowned.

"These. . ." I walked up to the kitchen table, pointing with the apple in my hand at the documents. I said. "These are the plans for that ship they're building south of here. I read about that in the paper a year ago."

"And it's about to be finished in two months," Dianne nodded. She chuckled, squinting at something in the blueprints. "And it's going to be enormous. Approximately eight hundred and eighty-two feet long. Just one foot longer than the British ship, the RMS Olympic."

"The biggest ship in the world, and just by one foot. That's very American of them." I commented, then took another bite out of my apple. "What does this have to do with Freedom's Cause?"

Dianne nodded. "Freedom's Cause have it on very good information that, according to their informants, the social elite and notable politicians will be on the Triumphant's maiden voyage. Even some military advisors as well."

The apple dropped from my hand, my mouth wide open. Dianne's hand shot forward and snatched the falling Red Delicious. She brought it up to her lips and took a bite out of the apple. She said. "Nice apple."

"What does Freedom's Cause want to do with these blueprints?" I asked, touching the gray paper. Dianne looked down at the table and then back up at me.

"Isn't it obvious?" Dianne's smile grew. "Jacob, we've been looking for an opportunity like this for years. All of our enemies gathering together in one place at one time? The loud-mouthed politicians, the warmongering military officials, the rich elite? How could we not use this to our ultimate advantage?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"What we mean, Jake," Dianne turned the apple in her hand, examining its shine in the new dawn light coming from the window. 

She continued with a twinkle in her eye. "Is that we're never going to have this opportunity again. When we're at war the way we are now, the best thing to do is try to end it as quickly as possible. You don't want to be on the run for the rest of your life, do you? You don't want to always be looking over your shoulder, wondering whether the Night Watchmen are there?"

I looked down at the blueprints, avoiding Dianne's gaze. I shook my head. I heard her let out a small huff and set the apple down on the face of the blueprints. She jabbed a finger into the drawn-out hull of the Triumphant. 

She spoke in a hushed voice, her voice low and calm. "We're currently planning out an end-all solution. The kind no one has ever thought of before, nor will ever see again. The smart ones on our side think this will turn the war to our favor. Indefinitely."

"What kind of plan are they thinking of?" I gulped, my hands unable to stay still. I shoved them into my front overcoat pockets. Dianne gave me a funny look and then said, "That depends."

I replied. "Depends on what? What aren't you telling me, Dianne?"

Dianne's grin vanished. She stood, the chair behind her shrieking on the linoleum kitchen floor. She sighed and folded her hands in front of her. Turning to the window, she walked towards it slowly. 

She said, "Jacob, things are changing in Freedom's Cause. We've seen the war's progress and truthfully, we don't like where it's going." Dianne stopped, her nose inches away from the glass pane of the window. 

She stared out onto the street, watching men and women and the bustle that was morning traffic outside on the street. 

Dianne continued, "Freedom's Cause isn't that old, you know. We're relatively young; just a few years old. Practically an infant rebellion. But as history shows, rebellions are not new. The ancient Greeks revolted, struggling for power and for the right to exist as a nation. The Jewish people rebelled against the occupation of the Romans. The French grew tired of their rulers. We grew weary of the British."

I cleared my throat, which had become unusually warm. I interjected, "I'm aware of history, Ms. Whitfield."

"Please, first name basis, Jacob."

"Dianne," I said, moving around the table and stepping forward towards the window. I stood behind Dianne and said, "What are you talking about; you're not making any sense."

Silence fell upon the room for a few thoughtful seconds. 

Then Dianne spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "What I'm saying is, rebellion is naturally embedded in the heart of man. Rebellion against injustice. Against dictators. Against unfairness. It is only natural that the essence of the revolution eventually falls upon the generation that least expects it. But under certain circumstances, a generation is ripe with potential. The potential to break off their shackles of oppression and embrace freedom."

"Freedom's Cause." I nodded, remembering the oath I had sworn so long ago. "'To live, to die, to fight. Without peace, there is no justice, and without liberty, there is no freedom. And without freedom, there is no life. For Freedom's Cause, we live. . .'"

Dianne turned around, a glowing smile on her face. She nodded, and finished the creed, saying, "And for Freedom's Cause we die." She looked away from me, her gaze on the open blueprints on the table. 

She continued, "Don't forget why we fight, Jacob. Until there is justice, there will be no peace. Until there is liberty, there will be no freedom. The people of this town, in this city, in this state-this police state are oppressed. Only us, the ones who have had our eyes opened can truly cause change. Real change."

"Real change," I echoed, a faint smile growing on my face. I went back to the table and took a seat. Dianne followed suit, her hands splayed out on the blueprints. 

She let out a small sigh, and said, "I'm glad you're just as devoted to the cause as I am, Jacob. There aren't many like you and me left. They've either been taken away from us or have lost their passion through the years thanks to this awful war. There are not that many men who could have done what you did last night."

I gave her a nonchalant wave of my hand, brushing off the compliment. Dianne continued, "Which is why I have recommended you for the mission."

"Mission?" I said, my eyebrows raised. "What mission?"

"The mission," Dianne replied.

I sighed. "I don't know, I've had a really rough twenty-four hours and-"

Dianne gave me a soft smile, a hint of sadness tainting the edges of her mouth. She moved her hand across the table towards mine. I didn't move as her fingers laid on top of the back of my hand. Her fingertips were soft and elegant like silk grazing across my skin. 

She said, "I know. But the mission for Freedom's Cause requires a man of your talents. We believe-no, I believe that only you can carry out this kind of mission."

I smiled and scratched the back of my head, asking, "What are the details?" She said, "I can only tell you if you are willing to accept. Do you accept?"

"I'd like to know what I'm getting into before I accept."

Dianne pursed her lips. "You know, maybe I was wrong."

I shook my head, sighing, "I would love to do it. Trust me, I would. But I need to know more. That's how I operate."

"Accept the mission, then everything will become clear." Dianne's eyes glinted in the morning light. Rays of sunshine crowned the top of her head, the fringes of her hair illuminated and glistening like the leaves of a rose. I looked down at Dianne's hand on mine. I turned my hand so that my palm faced upwards and I clasped her hand in mine. 

I stared at Dianne, saying, "I accept."