The barrage of stones batters the fuselage, but nothing breaks the armored steel, nothing cracks the bulletproof glass of the former Air Force One. Then someone tears out the power line connecting the jet to its generator. The lights go out, the air-conditioning shuts down, and the entire jet quickly begins to bake in the broiling sun.
44 Connor
"You murdered Amp, Jeeves, and the rest of the Goldens."
"You're crazy!"
Connor sits outside crate 2933, wiping his brow in the heat. Roland's voice comes from inside, muffled, but loud enough to hear.
"You got rid of them so you could take their place," Connor says.
"I swear, when I get out of here, I'll—"
"You'll what? You'll kill me like you killed them? Like you killed Emby?"
No response from Roland.
"I said I'd make you a deal," says Connor, "and I will. If you confess, I'll make sure the Admiral spares your life."
In response, Roland suggests Connor perform a physical impossibility.
"Confess, Roland. It's the only way I'm letting you out of there." Connor is sure that, if put under enough pressure, Roland will confess to what he's done. The Admiral needs evidence, and what better evidence than a full confession.
"I have nothing to confess to!"
"Fine," says Connor. "I can wait. I have all day."
45 Mob
The fortress of the Admiral's jet is impenetrable. The temperature inside is soaring past one hundred. Risa's handling the heat, but the Admiral doesn't look too good. She still can't open the door, because the mob is relentlessly trying to get in.
Outside, whatever kids aren't swarming over the Admiral's jet are spreading out. If they can't get to the Admiral, then they'll destroy everything else. The study jets, the dormitory jets, even the recreation jet—everything is being torn apart, and whatever can burn is set aflame. They are filled with an insatiable fury, and beneath it is a strange joy that the anger can finally be released. And beneath the joy is more fury.
From halfway across the Graveyard, Cleaver sees the smoke rising in the distance, beckoning him. Cleaver is drawn to mayhem. He must be a witness to it! He gets into his helicopter and flies toward the angry mob.
He sets down as close to the chaos as he dares to get. Have his deeds in any way led to this? He hopes so. He turns off the engine, letting the blades slow, so he can hear the wonderful sounds of havoc. . . . Then the angry Unwinds turn toward him.
"It's Cleaver! He works for the Admiral."
Suddenly, Cleaver is the center of attention. He can't help but feel this is a good thing.
46 Connor
Roland is slowly breaking. He confesses to many things, petty acts of vandalism and theft, that Connor couldn't care less about. But this is going to work. It has to work. Connor has no other plan to bring him to justice—it has to work.
"I've done a lot of things," Roland tells him through the three bullet holes in the crate. "But I never killed anybody!"
Connor just listens. He barely speaks to him anymore. Connor finds the less he speaks, the more Roland does.
"How do you know they're even dead?"
"Because I buried them. Me and the Admiral."
"Then you did it!" says Roland. "You did it, and you're trying to make me take the blame!"
Now Connor begins to see the flaw in his plan. If he lets Roland out without a confession, then he's a dead man. But he can't keep him in there forever. His options are now narrower than the spaces between the crates.
Then a voice calls to them from outside. "Is anyone there? Connor? Roland? Anybody?" It's Hayden.