Last War (15 page)

     “You had some of my pineapples, didn’t you? I told you not to touch before I dozed off. I can taste it – you did.” She said as she walked up the stairs.

    “They were just sitting there going bad.” He said laughing.
“I couldn’t get up to put them away cause you were napping on my lap.”

     “Uh huh. Goodnight.”

     Jason reached for his laptop. He logged into his MyFace.

     A big entertainment story was going to break
any moment, now. They had discussed it during the last Brendenhall Group meeting. It was going to be announced that a major music icon and legend had been diagnosed with stage III cancer. He wanted to watch the reaction on social media upon the public learning. 

     “Hey, daddy.”
He heard, partnered with a rhythmic thump of feet down the steps.

    
“Hey, sweetie. You got down those stairs quick.”

     “I’ma ninja” Vanessa laughed. “Teacher said I can talk to the class about your work before we come see you Tuesday.”

     “Oh, really? What did you say?”

     “I don’t know. I told her it’s top secret. Maybe I can tell them that you protect people?”

     “From who?”

     “From the bad guys.”

     “Come have a seat, babes. Let me show you something.”

     Vanessa skipped over to the couch and hopped on it next to Jason. “Even though you can’t tell everyone, I’m going to show you
what I do. K? You see these people here on this website?”

     “Yeah. Who are they?”

     “It’s just a random collection of people who I follow on this internet website.”

     “Yeah, MyFace, daddy. I know what it is.
But, who are they?”

     “They’re random people I got to know on this website. I haven’t met them a day in my life. Yet, I’ve gotten to know that t
hese people all have their own views, and they all came from different backgrounds and families. Their posts reflect a wide array of those differences. What I do at work, is very similar to what we’re doing now. Except at work it’s a lot more people.”

     “So you watch what people say?”

     “More or less. Yes. And I figure out what’s best for them.” 

     “How do you do that?”

     “Sometimes protection starts at detection. If you’re able to see someone’s potential, you can act before they do. Most people come from a particular culture, and that culture affects what they say and do, for the most part. When you read between the lines, and see what makes them an individual, then, it gets easier in predicting their next steps.” Jason slid the computer closer to Vanessa. “Watch this. Tell me what you notice about the conversation on here.”

     Jason turned up the TV as the news reported the malignant cancer of the iconic musician. 

      “They stopped talking about all the stuff they were talking about. Now they’re all talking about what’s on TV.”

     “That, babygirl, is what’s called social science. If you have a profound thought
event, or idea, and a way to mass distribute it, you have the control of people’s thoughts and focus. So, if someone decides to turn that into a weapon, who’s going to protect the American people from a weapon like that?”

     “You?”

     “It’s my favorite part of the job.”

     “People can do that?”

     “There are groups of people who can do that. Yes. But, anyway, let’s get you ready for sleep.”

Nebraska Complex parking lot

SUNDAY MARCH 25
TH
2003

8:00 p.m.

     Jason’s eyes opened. Whenever he dreamed flashbacks, he knew he may not have experienced restorative sleep. He sat up in his driver seat and began looking over the items in the tin can from Betsy. He found a ticket to the Baltimore Aquarium and several scrap papers with notes on them. A couple of them had the words from the sentence he saw on the can’s lid: "Fear acknowledges instantly; threats hit." One scrap paper had "Fear" simply written on it and "Threats" on another.
      One scrap paper taped to the inside of the lid of the box had a scripture "1 Thessalonians 5:3" written on it.

    
Jason thought maybe he would learn more once he got into her old lab.

     There was a body chip scanner in the box, too. It wasn’t labeled.

     Jason picked up his head to locate the armed guard. The guard wasn't there, anymore. Jason scanned the surroundings with his eyes, first. No guard. “Sirus. I need the feeds for the surveillance drones and satellites for this .25 diameter sent to my handheld. Video and audio.”

     “A channel has been added to your device with the feeds you’ve requested. Anything else, Jason?”

     “No. Thanks, Sirus.”

    
He listened through all the audio garble in the surrounding airwaves to see if he heard anything in reference to him.

    
".....I'm in the parking Lo..... B... doing my eight o’ clock rounds....." The transmission he needed faded in and out. He tried to adjust.

     “Sirus, improve signal.” Jason requested.

     The signal improved, slightly. "…in the northwest corner is clear, I'm he..din.g...to the sou....we…t corn...."

    
Jason looked for his location. He was in parking lot B, in the southwest corner. Sliding down in his seat he used his mirrors to locate the guard who seemed to have spotted his black Mercedes.



    
The guard approached the Mercedes. He Mic'd back to the control center,

    
"I think I have a visual of U007’s car, let me confirm first."

    
The guard checked the notes on his handheld device for the license plate numbers. "Z 75290."

    
"Yeah, uh, this is GL to HQ we have a confirmation of U007's vehicle in parking lot B southwest, over."

    
The guard looked into the window cautiously with his MR-15 aimed and ready to shoot. He couldn't see in, because the tint was impossibly dark. As he moved around the car to the driver side, the door opened as instantly as his Adam’s apple was struck with a powerful force. The guard’s gun was ripped from his hands, and the handle was shoved back into his face, jarring a few teeth loose. His knees were kicked back causing the guard to fall to the ground, in pain. Jason jumped out of the car.

    
He threw the gun under the car, picked the guard up off of the ground and put him in a sleeper hold. After the guard dozed off to sleep, Jason stuck his head back into the car. “Sirus, reconnect the DHS communication feeds.”

     “Feeds reconnected.”
In as neutral and short of a voice he could muster, he said into the walkie talkie, "Parking lot rounds complete. All check points, all clear."



XVIII

SUNDAY MARCH 25, 2003

CURRENT  HSAS: ORANGE- HIGH RISK OF TERRORIST ATTACK

6:37 p.m.

     Christine sped down the turnpike speaking aloud to herself. She was unsure of where to start, or what to do. Her confidence faded in and out, as Jason’s words clearly echoed in her head to stay safe. Nonetheless, here she was diving head-first into a pool of unknown trouble.

    
Her mind housed a variety plans which had more twists and turns than the road in front of her. At times, her thoughts and anxiety would crash into each other creating an enormous world war in her brain.

    
At which point she would slowly bleed back into reality to hear Clareese talking in circles. She, too, was trying to map out their approach.

    
"....And when we get there we're gonna have to have something like a pipe, or a broom stick or something, Chrissie, cause I’m not goin out like that! They gon' hav to fight this lady--"

    
"Clare? What are you talking about?"

    
"When we get to your house, there’s sure to be all kinds of murkiness there. I’m sure of it."

    
Christine thought about that.
That’s it! that's obviously where to start.
Her mind rang clear Jason's order not to return to the house. But while she wasn't listening, she may as well break that rule ,too.

     "Ok, Cla
re, we'll grab the crow bar in the back of the car. You feel safe now?"

    
"Safer. But, not ‘safe’."

    
Nothing in the world could stop her from doing this, she felt that she owed it to Jason.

    
"You really think he's in trouble?" Clareese asked.

     "I don't know.
I hope I'm just overreacting."

     Her heart mull
ed over the idea of Jason working on some top secret national affair – some covert sting operation -- and while he's in the company of world officials, his wife barges in the house with her crazy friend and a crowbar.  That would be embarrassing. But, why not come back to the house?

     "He's cheating!" Christine belted
out.

    
"What?!"

    
"That’s why I can't come back to the house. There’s probably nothing going on, at all."

     Christine stepped
on the gas as she approached the turnpike exit for Arlington, Virginia. "I know I’ve been a bad wife, but are you kidding me?!"

    
"Wait calm down, Christine. Tell me why you, all of a sudden, had this epiphany."

    
"I can just feel it. He’s always looking at this stupid little device. He’s always got that stoic awkward stance and he’s addicted to that thing. At night when he’s even home, he’s glued to his technology. He goes into his little room, closes the door, and then it’s silence. Nothing but ‘tap-tap-tap’ on the keyboard."

    
"Well if that's the case then we definitely gon need that crowbar." Clareese said.

    
Christine pulled down the street her and Jason lived on. Everything seemed normal. Her bushes were a little disturbed and her grass was definitely marched through. But everything looked OK at first glance.

    
She pulled up to the front of the house to see that there was a brand new door up.

     By the time t
hey both stepped out of the car, Christine hesitantly approached the new door, to see that it contained the same locks.

    
Clareese ran to get the crowbar out of the trunk.

    
The door was the same exact brand and make of the original, but this one was clearly replaced. There was no scratch in it from the time Jason dropped his hammer out of the window on to the ground and the ricochet mark it should have left was not there.

     She waved her key by the lock pad on
the door; the lock worked, the door handle ejected out, and the alarm was armed as usual. She walked to the alarm box located in the vestibule and shut off the system. Same code.

    
She walked into an utter mess inside the house. Every electronic in the house was unplugged. A lot of them were methodically broken open. The carpet appeared as if a parade route was recently directed straight through her house.

    
"Let’s go upstairs." Christine said.

    
They crept upstairs listening intently to see what they could hear -- only the slight creak of wooden stairs underneath the carpet. With each soft step, Christine felt that she was getting closer to running into something that would turn her life upside down.

     “Why did I marry a government agent, Clare?”

    
At the top of the stairs the vanity table was still standing as tall as it ever had been. The second floor of the house, with the exception of the electronics, seemed just fine. It was only deserted. Eerily quiet. The silence reminded her of midnight – when everything was still and resting.

     Christine and Clareese
entered the master bedroom. The window next to the bathroom entrance was open and a bedsheet rope hung out of it.

     "I wonder w
hat happened here, Clare? Someone must have come in here and this must be how he escaped."

     “No clue. Looks like maybe Jason had to run, and they ransacked the place.”

     “But, only the electronics? Maybe they’re looking for something hidden?” Christine jumbled through the drawers to see if she could find anything that would give her a clue.