Last War (10 page)

    
“Oh, right.”



New York City

     Up around modern-day mid-town, Manhattan, George Washington sat at his post for the next few days. The British had invaded New York City and had set up camp.

     Most of the British Red Coats were stationed in Staten Island. More of the surly Red Coats had set up shop in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Washington angrily pondered what his next move was going to be.

     Washington’s servant brought him food.

     “Anathang else I can do for ya massa?”

     “No.” Washington grimaced.
“This God-forsaken country. They come over here to steal thy freedom because of our prosper. Little can be done in such a case. The nerve of these men.”

     Washington’s servant could only listen as he stood at attention in front of his master. Washington rubbed his own nose and chin.

     “A navy would serve much purpose. We could have stopped this. And all they give me was a ficken turtle. Now our city burns, and thousands of Red Coats roam our land.”

    
“They try to put you to death, massa?”

     Washington looked up at his servant. He knew treason was definitely punishable by death.

     “I’m from this land. But, for the rest: sometimes where there’s innovation and rebellion, there’s revolution.” Washington answered. He looked into the eye of his servant; the servant who was a slave, himself.

     “Want freedom is in all us
, massa.”

     “Yeah
… ‘tis true.” There was a moderately long silence before a knock at the door.

     The servant promptly made his way to the front door in the next room.

     “Good day. This is for General Washington.” The man stood there in his three cornered hat and handed the servant a message.

    
“One moment, kind sir.” The servant said. He closed the door and brought the letter to Washington.

     Washington grabbed the letter. “What did he call me?”

     “He says, ‘Can I’s speak to Mr. Gener Washington’, sir.” Washington glanced at the envelope which was, also, addressed to “General Washington” from the British army.

     “Take it back.” Washington said without opening. “I shall not accept this.”

     The servant returned the unopened letter to the door. “I’m sorry sir, Mr. Washington is not accepting.” The servant handed the letter back to the messenger. “You have a fine day, sir.”

    
Once the servant returned to Washington’s side, the general spoke.

     “They haven’t come to fight, or enforce law. They’ve come to enslave. They want us to surrender.
This plays well.” He said.“They still wish for us to do all the work and them receive all the benefit. We are a nation, and we will not be forced to surrender.” Washington stood up abruptly. Gather your belongings. We’ve got to move. We’ve got to fight.”



XII

Virginia:
Sunday May 25th 2003 11:30 a.m.

CURRENT HSAS: ORANGE
– HIGH RISK

    
Jason woke up to the sharp beeping of his notebook. His dream had revealed a new reality to him: The 9/11 war games were commissioned by a group he was a former member of: The Brendenhall Group.

     The Brendenhall Group was made up of all
the brightest people in the world from government, media, business and sometimes, even entertainers. They thought of themselves as the new founding forefathers. Twice a year, they would secretly come together to discuss solutions to world issues and the influence they have. The focus was to act in concert to reach any particular world goal. Possibly, they were a part of the mysterious panel that made up “The Summit.”

     Anything that the U.S. government saw as top priority could influence what came down from “The Summit.” Jason, for the first time, cared beyond a fleeting thought about who
that panel of people were.

     His device chimed in aggravation a, seemingly, millionth time before Jason gave it attention.

     ::Twenty-two messages from Maxwell Bradley to Christine Upton.::

    
Jason rubbed the crust out of his eyes to get a better view. He clicked one of the messages. "Hey Christine, I'm sorry we had to cut our night short last night. Is everything OK? I'm worried."

     He clicked another.

     "Hey did you get my message?"

     Another: "Hey Christine, babe."; Another:
"Does this have anything to do with Jason?"

     I forgot to put the
stupid thing back on auto.

    
Jason forwarded all the messages to Christine as he staggered to his feet from his deep sleep of 7 hours. He checked the front door, the men were still gone. Jason needed to figure out where this Operation Faith came from.
Who, exactly, is ‘The Summit’, and what are their plans?

     Typically
, on Sundays, Jason went into work at 12 noon. He wondered if he could waltz into that building as if nothing ever happened. If he went to work, there was no telling if he were coming home that day.

    
But, somehow, he wasn't sure.

      With 11:45 quick
ly approaching, his internal debate concluded -- he wasn't going.

    
He decided to prepare himself for a new life; one of, probably, being on the run.

    
He turned on the TV to see what the news was reporting. He imagined his face on the main news story putting him inside some sort of scheme that would vilify him to the public.

    
The top story at 12 noon had to deal with a major threat from the middle-east.

    
"Officials say that al-Qaeda still have cells in America and are planning a terrorist attack sometime around Super Bowl. They say there is no threat to the game, after more analysing of the intelligence they have. Nonetheless, sources say the threats should be taken seriously and the football commissioner could think about rescheduling the game."

    The football league commissioner spoke next.
Jason turned up the volume as the story continued.

    
“We have been going over options for this year’s Super Bowl,” the NFL commissioner said. “and when we come up with a solution, we will inform you as soon as possible. For now, the games have not been rescheduled, or cancelled.”

      The news reporter returned:
"
The new al-Qaeda tapes are what are called fatwas. The new tape accuses American Christians as devils, repeatedly using the quote: 'kill the pagans wherever ye finds them.'"

     Jason, from his knowledge, didn’t think al-
Qaeda had the means to attack on such a large scale twice in such a short time. It had only been two years after 9/11.  It took them eight years between the 1993 bombings and 9/11 at the World Trade Center. That was the reality. The report concluded with President Harris delivering his thoughts from a separate event he was at that day:

     "America
won't stand idly by with the current conditions of our safety. We plan to take drastic actions against these radicals."

     Jason’s concentrated thought was interrupted by his home phone’s ringtone.

    
Who could, possibly, be calling at this time?
He thought to himself. His conflicting thoughts chaotically mixed in his head so much he couldn’t grab a hold of any of them.

     On a whim, he answered.

     "Jay, don’t hang up, it’s Mike."

      Jason
was at a loss for words. His arm took on a life of its own; he nearly slammed the phone on the hook before the memories of a man picking a 6-inch splinter out of his forearm in Afghanistan softened his initial fear. "Mike, what's going on?" He asked.

    
"A few guys panicked because you saw top secret information."

     "Mike, I'm the Deputy S
ecretary; only one person should know something I don’t know in this department. I run the daily operations, how am I supposed to do my job, if—you know what? What happened?"

    
"Well, ultimately, someone must’ve dropped the ball; could have been me, could have been anyone else.  I’m surprised you didn’t know. I actually don’t believe you, to be honest. Then again, the whole thing is sort of a work in progress. But, you know how these things go. We don’t talk about the most covert things all willy-nilly. You probably were there when we discussed this? I mean,
you
did
stop coming to the meetings.”

     “
Probably?
Was I, or wasn’t I? Cause I don’t remember.”

     
“You’re usually on your toes with this, Jay. You stopped coming after you lost Vanessa. You’re trying to tell me you don’t remember this? Seriously? You’re acting weird.”

     “Who’s The Summit? Brendenhall?”

     “The Summit can be anyone influential, Jay. You know this. You know just as much as I do about The Summit.”

    
Jason sensed a genuine exasperation in Michael’s voice. He was honestly confused with his ignorance.

      
“But, have you ever thought to question that?” Jason asked. “I mean,
who?
Does that mean that if I get enough power I could be a part of The Summit?”

     “To b
e honest, you may, now, be a part of The Summit, and don’t know. With the emails I’ve been getting lately, I believe you have influenced several recent Summit orders. But listen: I need you to say, right now, that you are still OK with things. Go on record – the pledge, remember? It’s important that you’re on board. You’re a key part of this all. We’ll work it all out later. No harm, no foul."

    
"OK, well if I am ok with it, I’ll tell you that. If I’m not I’ll tell you
that.
But, tell me what it is. Is what we’re doing something that went to congress?"

     "No.
What are you doing? You’re acting like you’ve never been--"

    
"What is it, then? Just tell me, Mike."

    
"You’re acting brand new, strike one; strike two: this is not a secure line.”

     “This is a secure line, Mike.”

     “No. It’s not. The person on the opposite end of the phone is not stable.” Still air sat stagnant in between for a half second before Michael continued. “Anyway, we’ve been doing this for decades. We can’t get to the goal line and fumble. We’ve gotta get everyone in this country on to the same page. But, it’s proving difficult with people and their various beliefs. Our forefathers built this land on the utmost of freedom principles, and that separates us from the other great nations of humankind, but it also handicaps us, as well, because whenever we want to make a change, we have to hear everyone piss and moan. The founding principles have been our friend while building this place, but now times are changing, technology is putting a strain on our foundation and we need to update.” Michael laughed a bit. “It’s funny how these people decide times are changing when it comes to their bible, and it doesn’t apply to the new times, but somehow the constitution escapes that principle. But, in the same action, they turn around and cling to their religious beliefs. If only they knew. Either way, we’ve gotta show them we can be trusted.”

    
"That’s how it was designed. We’re supposed to hear lip from them. How do we plan on being trusted, Michael?"

     "Well,
first, we have to show them that they can trust us more than they trust those filthy clergymen. And all those other silly myths spewed to them by the internet and … whatever else.”

    
“I don’t see anyway to do that. It sounds like you’re talking something of major proportions?”

    
“It’s funny how you keep asking these questions as if we haven’t already discussed – you’re recording me, aren’t you?”

     “
No. But, you’re recording me.”

     “This is how leaks happen.” Michael said under his breath.
“Look, Jay, I trust you. There are a lot of things involved with this. There are a lot of strings being pulled, and it’s a domino effect; one that has never failed us, before. It’s the lesser of the two evils that keep us moving ahead. It’s our history, Jay, and we’ve been a part of a handful of these things. This, right here, is history in the making. Don’t start thinking silly stuff. We’re continually evolving. There are a lot of things, over time, that have had to be tweaked from our forefathers until now. Remember the prohibition and what that started? Remember amendment 21 voiding amendment 18? It’s just that over again. We’ve only thrown make-up on the constitution and the bill of rights since then, and it has led to a decaying society. It was only put here to kickstart something. You know this – you know better. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen into this propaganda machine we so brilliantly tweaked. You. Know. Better.”