30. Don’t Carry Me Too Far Away

Mateo was sleeping in the lab when Tineye came in.

“Wake up. We’ve songs to go over.”

“Doesn’t this guy ever sleep?” he mumbled under his breath, untangling himself from the bedroll.

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Nothing, nothing.” He joined him at the lab bench, at a respectful distance. He sure didn’t like the guy, but he also didn’t hate him. He was doing a tough job and he could have been a lot meaner to him without his rules. Still wanted to keep a good arm’s length between them.

Nigel must’ve had the same idea, because he was way down at the other end, pouring over a stack of scribbled-on wiring diagrams, earbuds in his ears. He could make the excuse that he was studying the Mp3 player while he tried to figure out the phone if Tineye called him out for goofing around on the clock, but Mateo was pretty sure he just liked some of the music and was being the first person in history to politely shut himself off from the conversation with headphones. What a pioneer.

He liked electroswing, 80s synth pop as long as it wasn’t too weird, Vivaldi, very early Beatles, some Bollywood stuff, and surprisingly, a few Metallica songs. Not a big punk or grunge fan.

Tineye — Mateo made a mental note to think of him as Stephens so “Tineye” wouldn’t accidentally slip out — had taken notes all over the lyrics sheets. He’d used an old-school pen, or heck, maybe a really modern one for the 40s. Either way the ink looked different than Mateo’s ballpoint so they couldn’t mix it up.

“We have some questions.”

Yep, that’s on brand for you, yeah.

“Ok, sir.”

“You’ve cross-referenced these two.” He looked approving. Mateo wouldn’t have believed he could make that expression. “‘Spirit of Radio’ and ‘The Sound of Silence.’”

“Yeah sir, I was writing them down and I realized Radio kinda quotes Sound of Silence.”

“Hm. Is this the same Simon as performed ‘Graceland?’”

“Yeah, he was in a duo with Garfunkel on and off for years.”

They went on like that for a while.

Mateo recognized this approach. Short and Goodacre did it too. He’d been too freaked and confused to spot it at first, but in hindsight... They just chased down every possible lead, took notes like they didn’t know what would be on the exam, and hashed it out after the fact. Apparently it worked. Nigel had kind of hinted that they got info from every spy they busted, which seemed crazy, but maybe everybody screwed up eventually.

Tine—Stephens pushed Nigel a sheet. “Corporal Bowyer has some questions for you of a technical nature.”

“Uh, yes sir!” Nigel took the earbuds from his ears and rattled the paper keenly, looking at Mateo. “What’s a jet airliner?”

“Uh, a big passenger aircraft,” Mateo said. He must be on the Steve Miller Band.

“I gathered that, yes. Could you give more detail?”

“Yeah, th—oh man, you don’t have those yet, do you? Jet engines instead of propellers?”

This he could field. Maybe not enough to build with his own hands, but enough to really explain, unlike computer chips...

“Well, no, they’re not in use on any of our fighter planes.”

Mateo wilted. “But you have the idea? Why aren’t you using it?”

Nigel shrugged. “Production, developing the precise alloys, that sort of thing. I’m sorry.”

“Turboprops?”

“You mean turbine-powered propellers? Much the same situation as jets, I’m afraid.”

“...rats. Radar?”

“Yes, definitely yes. We have that. Very much so. Thank God.”

“Do we have anything that you don’t already have?”

Nigel gestured at the two tiny computers on the bench. “Really? Really.”

“Ok, true. True,” Mateo said.

Tineye — Stephens, dangit — looked amused and got up, collecting the papers.

“I expect detailed notes, corporal. Have Smith-Ramirez sent to the meeting room and come yourself. I shall expect you at 0800 hours sharp.”

“Yes sir!”

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