Episode 11.3

We make our way between two princesses, Cruella De Vil, a railway engineer, and Piglet; I'm ahead of Charlie, but following in the footsteps of Gillian, who doesn't seem to have any trouble getting past the dozens of character cast members emerging from the area marked "Character Zoo." To our right, she begins to ascend a short carpeted ramp that leads to a French door. In big black letters it says "Central DACS."

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Charlie asks me, deliberately slowing his pace. There is no doubt which of the two is faster. She just tries to stay by my side.

"I'll be fine," I insist.

Charlie, surprised by my tone, studies me carefully.

"Now you're the one getting arrogant."

I'm not arrogant. It's just... I know what I'm doing.

Charlie shakes his head. He doesn't like being on the other side.

"Just be careful, okay?" -OK. I'll be careful. As we reach the ramp, Gillian is very carefully studying the fingerprint scanner that sits by the intercom outside the DACS. Charlie tenses up. Of all the gates we've passed through so far, this is the only one with any kind of security system.

"Is there anyone who no longer has one of these gadgets?" she asks, hitting some of the buttons on the scanner.

"Don't touch it," Charlie warns him.

"Don't tell me what to do," she adds.

Charlie knows how to do things to stay out of a fight.

"You just have to ring the bell," she says.

Gillian fixes him with a look that Charlie will still be aching for tomorrow morning. I'm about to intervene, but I'm no longer sure what to say. The closer we get to those backups, the closer Charlie and Gillian are to blowing up.

"Push the bell again," Charlie orders.

"I already have," she replies dryly.

-Really? So how come no one answers?

She rolls her eyes and pushes the button again.

-What I can help? - the shrill voice of a woman is heard through the intercom.

"Hello, I'm Steven Balizer…from Arthur Stoughton's office," I say, calling on the bigwig name once more.

-Extension? the woman asks. "2538," she replied, praying that she remembered Balizer's direct number correctly.

I squint through the translucent glass and catch a glimpse of the woman looking at me from her desk. Thanks to the smoked glass, however, I am only an amorphous lump with black hair to her. I smile and give him my best musketeer salute.

There is a brief pause, followed by the hum of an electric bell.

Behind me, Gillian is about to open the door, but she cuts it off a moment later. It is not she who will enter that place.

I go forward and Charlie and Gillian go back.

-You are ready? she asks.

-I think so.

"And do you know where you should meet us?" Charlie asks, walking backwards down the ramp.

I nod and head resolutely for the door. The longer I stay out here, the more suspicious my attitude will become.

"Get 'em, bro," Charlie mutters as I turn the knob. Just as I'm about to go inside, I take one last look over his shoulder. Charlie and Gillian have already disappeared, lost in the crowd of river captains and fairy godmothers.

-How are you today? a sweet motherly voice tells me from inside the room.

Following the sound to the reception desk, I see a petite woman wearing plastic-rimmed glasses and an embroidered Little Mermaid blouse. But as I approach the desk, I look to my left and see the computer servers and video screens lining the other three walls. In the center of the room, the servers form corridors like in libraries and cover most of the brown and white checkered floor. Just from the size—each server is almost up to my head—they remind me of an old stereo system, or one of those huge supercomputers you saw in old NASA movies.

Of course, my eyes go directly to the row of older equipment. On the front of each small display case is an unmistakable label: "It's a Very Small World... Carousel of Progress... Pirates of the Caribbean... Peter Pan..." Each attraction on its own vintage computer. Unreal.

They have a computer system that senses storm clouds so they know when to bring out umbrellas and parasols, but when it comes to their most famous attractions, Disney still drives an old Studebaker.

"Amazing, right?" asks the Little Mermaid. But if it's not...

I nod and turn to her desk.

-What can I do for you? - She adds.

"I called about an hour ago; I've come to get those backups for Arthur Stoughton.

The woman searches through a stack of papers that she has on her desk. "And do you remember who you spoke to about that particular matter?"

I take another quick look around the room. To my right is a closed door. The plaque says Ari Daniels. There is no light under the door.

—It was with A. Andre... Ari...

"Typical Ari," the receptionist complains. He has already left.

"Then how could I...?"

"I'll show you how to find a document." I just need your ID.

I feel my chest, then my shirt pocket, then the back pockets of my pants.

"Wow, don't tell me that…" I take out my wallet and feign a frantic search. I have the card on my desk... I swear... you can call them right now. Extension 2538. It's just... when Stoughton loses his temper... you can't understand him... if we can't get this information back up, he'll...

"Relax, honey, I don't want to get a headache either."

The woman pushes her chair away from the desk, walks past the table and toward the double French doors in the far-right corner of the room. Even at Disney World everyone fears the boss.

Through the glass you can see a computer nut's wet dream. Beige cabinets filled with state-of-the-art computers and servers line the walls. Coils of uncut red and blue wires snake across the floor. And, in the center of the room, on a lab-style workbench are six computers, two laptops, a dozen keyboards, power supplies for backups, and a bunch of scattered memory chips. Forget about the old equipment at the entrance, this is where Disney spends its money. As we walk into the room, two technicians—one thick, the other skinny, both astonishingly good-looking—are bent over a super-flat screen monitor. The receptionist waves at them. No one looks up.

"Very nice," I whisper.

"That's why we don't allow them near the guests."

Halfway up the wall to the right is a cabinet labeled "Supplies." Above the doorknob I count three locks. The last one is a secret code keypad. Just like The Cage. Supplies, damn it!

"I still don't get why they don't keep these things in the North Service Area," she grumbles as she pulls out a bunch of keys and enters the secret code into the security lock's keypad.

"Most of it is in there," I say, checking to make sure the guys from the tech department aren't looking. It's just that it's safer to keep the daily stuff here.

When you turn the knob, the door swings open. Inside the room there are two metal shelves with hundreds of recorded tapes. Tapes we want; tapes we will get. There must be about four hundred in all, all laid on their sides so that only the spines of the ribbons stick out. At first they appear to be small, square cassettes, but as we get closer I see that they are more like the digital audio tapes Charlie used to bring home from his old recording sessions.

-What exactly are you looking for? the receptionist asks. "The… Intranet," I say, trying to..

Don't seem overly overwhelmed.

The woman runs her fingertips over the laser-printed labels that are taped to the edges of each shelf. «Alien Encounter...Buzz Lightyear...Country

Bear Jamboree...»

"Dis-web 1," she announces, pointing a collection made up of seven tapes. The spine of each box is labeled with a different day of the week, Monday through Sunday.

"What day does he need?"

If I had the chance, I'd take them all, but for now I'll settle for one.

"Yesterday," I tell him. Exactly yesterday.

The woman pulls out the tape marked "Wednesday," checks to make sure the tape is inside the plastic case, then unhooks a clipboard that's Velcro-attached to the side of the bookcase.

"Fill this out," she says, handing me the clipboard and tape. And don't forget to include your extension.

My hand wraps around the plastic box that protects the backup, and I have to do my best to stay calm. There are many things to do before...

In the room opposite, a humming sound can be clearly heard. Someone rings the bell.

I feel a pain in my groin. I start scribbling on the paper as fast as I can.

"Guys, can one of you handle the gate?" the receptionist tells the two technicians.

Neither of them looks up.

The doorbell rings again and my guide rolls her eyes with an annoyed expression.

"Excuse me a moment," he says and walks over to his desk.

Alone in the little cabinet, I stick my head out and try to hear who has arrived. There are no arguments or fuss. Everything is in order. I glance over my shoulder at the other six tapes. The rest of the test and the only way to be absolutely safe.

I look for the last time at the two technicians. They don't seem to care about anything other than their job. Then I turn to the tapes. If I want to resolve this matter, I must hurry.

I take the tape that says Tuesday off the shelf, open the box, put the tape in my pocket, and put the empty box back on the shelf. I go through the whole week repeating the same action with the rest of the tapes until my pockets are full. When I'm done, I take the tape from Wednesday and...

-Steven...? the receptionist calls me from the other room.

"Now I'm with you!" — She answered, quickly leaving the small room when she heard my false name. Trying not to appear too excited, I walk through the French doors and calmly return to the reception area.

"Right on time," she says. Your friends are here.

I turn the corner of the room and stop. My hands turn into two fists.

"We just wanted to make sure you were okay," Charlie stammers.

"Yes," Gillian adds. They are both standing by the receptionist's desk, but neither of them moves.

What are you doing here? I ask Charlie with a look.

He shakes his head, refusing to answer.

"So it looks like they're having a big party tonight," the receptionist says.

"Party?"

And that's when I see them. They suddenly appear behind Charlie and Gillian. Oh God.

"That's our boy!" exclaims Gallo, advancing with a wide, haunting smile. We were beginning to be worried about you.