Last War (18 page)

    
“Sorry folks, I had a long night last night. It was definitely a potential national security priority.”

    
Michael slothed into his seat, tightening his tie.  He still had on the suit from the night before.

   
The President focused his attention towards Harold.

    
“Would you like to share with us your thoughts again, now that we have everyone?”

    
Harold, just as passionate as before, began speaking.

    
“It’s just not right to tinker with folks’ freedoms. In 1787 we adopted a constitution. In that constitution, in the name of the people -- to protect the people -- we named ten amendments that balanced protection and freedom. Once we cross that line of freedom, then we have violated the protection our forefathers fought for. With Project F.A.I.T.H., we are heading backwards.”

    
“With the least of the respect due, Mr. Davis,” Grambling interrupted. “Those bill of rights were created with what in mind? And you said it in your little spiel there…”

    
Harold peered into the steady smiling eyes of Grambling, as he continued, “Protection, Harold. The constitution was created to not only give the people freedom, but to protect the people, too.”

     Harold’s
face flush with the color red. “I know!” He shouted. The back of his jaw grinded while he returned to silence.

    
“Harold, what does freedom take a back seat to? Michael, Beckford, our defence gurus, would you folks like to chime in?”

    
Everyone’s attention switched to Michael, and Joseph Beckford; they sat near one another. Harold sat, leaned over in his chair, to the right of them. His face showed an, unmistakened, disbelief.”

    
“Protection.” Michael said before Grambling immediately continued.

    
“Protection!” He slammed his burly paw on the table. “It takes a back seat to safety, Harold. And we have an obligation to do what it takes to keep the citizens of the United States of America safe. Without protection, there’s no freedom. We’ve discussed this plenty of times before. And the respective constituents in various countries also. This is all in the name of freedom, peace and security, Mr. Davis. Never forget that. But, we have to protect first.”

    
Harold began a slow rock in his chair, which gradually crept into a quick twitch. He banged his pen on the wooden table like a gavel, before making his next point.

    
“Ok then, that’s fine, but tell me this: Why do you think the people of America, who have so much pride in all we’ve worked for to get this country where it is, will go for this?”

    
“Well, honestly, Harold,” Josh Grambling said, “The people of the United States always think they know what they want. But, when it comes down to it, they just want to be safe. They want security. They want prosperity. That’s all. And if we can protect that – no matter what it takes to get it – they’ll be just fine. It’s like, we know we all have a craving for freedom. That’s why 16-year-olds look forward to getting their license and 18-year-olds look forward to leaving the house. But, it only goes so far. We give the people the right to bear arms in protection and freedom, but, they cannot just go killing people. It’s a balance. Freedom is a relative thing. They’ll get upset, at first, but then the Super Bowl, or a Jersey Beach character’s suntan, or something, will shut them up.”

    
“Well, why can’t we take baby steps into this sort of thing?”

    
Using the arms of his chair, Grambling pulled himself up. “We have been. It’s a delicate process. So many people are involved. The principle is simple, however: We have to unite this country in a new revolution, and convince them that we are one nation, under god, indivisible. Then we have to redefine liberty and justice for all.”



   Jason opened his eyes to the sun rays beaming through the metal locker door into his cramped hiding space. His bones had ached from four hours of being stuffed like sardines into his metal sleeping place.

     
The men had long left the room after not being able to find anything suspicious. Ultimately, the young guard was going to take the hit. Jason hoped he hadn’t put the young guy’s life in jeopardy.

     More transmission static in his ear jogged his memory.
Chrissie.
 

    
He heightened the frequency of his ear piece, but heard nothing. The rapid thumping under his sternum turned into a thundering pound as he checked his device for text messages sent and received from her phone. Her phone had over two hundred sent and received text messages between her and Max.

    
His desire to be there for her outweighed everything. He had to find a way out of the building, first.

     Being in his temporary prison
gave him time to think. While he was in there, he had pulled out the memory stick he found in Tameka’s tin box.

     After waving the stick over his, currently active, body chip, he became lightheaded. A flash of memory entered his thoughts. Tameka was wearing a lab coat – as if she were a physicist.
Was that a real memory?
Jason thought.
And if so, was that hers? I can see her memories with my body chip?

      Jason suddenly had a random epiphany:
‘Many Educations Give Instruction; Destruction Doesn’t Offer’ was an acronym -- it was an acronym that stood in place for ‘Megiddo.’

    
Once he realized that, he realized, ‘Fear acknowledges instantly; threats hit’, was, also, an acronym for “F.A.I.T.H.”

    
Club Megiddo, with all of their power and money, was the entity pulling the strings behind, Operation F.A.I.T.H.
Now what’s its connection to Tameka, and 9/11?
He thought.

    
He changed the channel on his audio feeds to track the nearby satellites and drones. He heard the guards scoping potential threats, support employees placing phone calls, and the desk man receiving his own general phone calls. There were no signs of executive transmissions.
     
They must be in a meeting.

 
     “Sirus, I’m going invisible.”

     “Hi, Jason. Your body chip will be undetectable for up to one hour.”

    
Jason unlatched the locker, and walked out of the lab room to a couple dozen scientists occupying the floor. No one paid him any attention. He walked to the elevator with his legs aching and weak beyond belief, he struggled to stand on them.

 
    "Hey, Jason, haven't seen ya here the last few days." An unfamiliar man standing next to him said.

 
    Jason could only pull himself to nod.

 
    "Mr. Grambling was here asking us what happened last week when our computers shut down."

 
     "Hmm. Did you find out what happened?"

 
     "They said it was a cyber-attack. But, maybe I should ask again."

 
     "No. Don't ask. Sometimes the only answer you have is the best answer you need. Trust me."

 
     The elevator doors opened. "Well, I guess you would know better than me." The man said.

     The elevator arrived, letting the awaiting riders hit their respective floors; almost all of them going to the ground level.

 
     "I guess that's why you've been gone those last few days. Word is: things are about to take a dramatic change in this department."

 
     Jason only nodded. “Trust me, for now, stay out of it."

 
     "Oh. Ok."

 
     The doors opened for the ground level.

    "Well, it was good seeing you again." The man added.

 
    Jason buckled his lips and gave one last nod before walking with the flow of crowd through the DHS building lobby out onto the street.



XX

8:45 a.m.

    
Christine sped up the 395 Interstate. Though she was driving towards Bowie, she had no clue where she was heading.

    
“Call him.” One of the kidnappers said.

    
“Why?”

    
“Because I want to be sure you’re actually leading us to him. Tell him you’re on your way, or tell him something that will make us believe he’ll stay.” The man said ruffling through her purse.

    
“What are you doing, freak?” Christine said as she attempted to reach for her purse causing her vehicle to swerve, a bit.

    
The man pulled out a gun and pointed at her.      “Have you forgotten what this is, and who has it? Drive, broad.”

    
In the back of the car the other man sat closely to Clareese. His eyes stood fixed on her face – occasionally making their way down to her slender body. 

  
“I see you’ve got yourself a little side piece, huh?” The man in the front laughed. He pulled out a note from Christine’s purse. It was from Max. “’I’ll be there in a few, my love.’” He mocked. “Who’s Max?”

    
“I found that note. I was going to jot something on it but I forgot.” The man continued to jostle through Christine’s purse. Once he found the phone Christine, once again, attempted to snatch it. In her attempt, she slapped the phone to the ground. The man cocked the gun and shot through the driver side window shattering it into Christine’s face and lap.

    
As Christine shut her eyes, glass ricocheted through the entire car causing her to skid violently off of the side of the road. The man reached over with cat-like reflexes in attempt to steady the car, but it swerved off of the road and into the grass.

    
“You crazy bastard.” Christine shouted. “What is wrong with you? We could have all died!”

    
The man collected the phone at his feet and searched through it. “You’re going to listen to me one way or another.  I’m not playing, I’m not afraid of death, and I’m not afraid of killing you. Call him, and tell him something to keep him there.” He continued to look through the phone.

    
“Max is in here, too. Text after text.” The man looked up and cocked his gun. “Don’t you lie to me anymore.” He grinned as he found Jason’s number in her contacts. “No.” he abruptly shouted,  “I’ll tell you what to say, as a matter of fact. Tell him you have a surprise for him and there’s something really important you have to say. Tell him you’ve been a bad wife, and you have a confession to make. How’s that sound?”

    
He thrusted the phone forward as he hit the dial button.

    
The phone rang.

    
“Hello,” Christine said.

    
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m OK. Look, I’m going to be there in about 45 minutes. I have something to tell you.” Christine glanced at the man as he nodded his head so as to have her continue. “I’ve been…I’ve been a bad wife and…and I need to confess something to you.”

    
She was quiet for a second before she continued.

     “No
, babe. I’ll explain when I get there. I’ll just be there in a little. I can’t talk now I’m on the road it’s urgent. OK? Make sure you’re there. Alright. Bye.”

    
She hung up the phone.

    
“Give it back.” The man said pointing his gun. She tossed it into his lap.

    
“Drive.” He demanded.

    
Christine gathered herself, put her seatbelt on, and merged back onto the highway again.



   
9:15 a.m.

    
Jason had returned to his car. Quickly, he popped the trunk and immediately jabbed the guard in his throat. He grabbed the choking by his lapels and tossed him onto the grass in front of the car. “Tell your friends, I said hello.” He said closing his trunk. “Let them know, I’m keeping the gun, too.” He smiled.

     The day was slightly brisk, and many wher
e making their way towards work. Any given time in D.C. could turn out to be a terrible traffic delay.  There was no telling if he’d get to Bowie on time.

    
His car was wired to actively feed his wife’s cell phone activity into his radio. No audio came through, to begin. Nothing but the notorious ruffling sounds of pants pocket—or purse-bottom—the same sounds that intrigued him when someone accidentally butt-dialed his number.

    
He listened to the windy garble, awaiting any indication that called for action.

    
Nothing came through but a faint cough in the distances and what seemed to sound like a bag of chips wrinkling.

    
As he hit another batch of traffic on the jammed-packed D.C. road, he noticed a group of young men in his rearview mirror. They were in a small dark car. They were shouting at one another. It seemed as if whatever they were discussing was eminent. Suddenly, the passenger moved his eye from the argument directly into the direction of Jason.

     They’re talking about me?

     The traffic began to move, and instead of driving with the safe flow, Jason weaved in between a few cars at rapid pace. With the wind flowing in through his sunroof, and cars laying on their horn at his perceived rude impatience, Jason happened to move ahead considerably in what was almost impossible traffic to maneuver in.

    
When he looked back into the rearview mirror, he didn’t see the boys in the car anymore. The traffic came to another halt.

    
Staring into the rearview mirror, Jason saw the glares of road rage from the surrounding drivers. He had forgotten all about the monitor on his radio before he heard a man say, “How much longer?”

    
“Thirty more minutes.” His wife said, obviously shaken up.

    
He couldn’t get to Bowie quick enough.

    
As traffic moved again, Jason approached the first exit. It was his last ditch effort to reach the destination before the men with his wife did. He flashed his lights in the grill of his Benz and put on his sirens as he entered downtown D.C.

    
As the cars pushed aside, he noticed the small black car whiz through the path the civilians had created for him to get through. Those young guys were back. He made a right onto a one way street causing oncoming traffic to have to skid to a stop. Two men leisurely strolling across the street were violently alerted to danger with the sound of a car smashing into a newspaper stand sending it barreling into the path of the men who split to either side.

    
The small car had hit the stand while turning the corner sending it into the path of Jason.

     
Jason swerved slightly, but just enough to miss the stand and both of the men.

    
The small car behind him had to stop briefly and carefully drive around the wreckage before accelerating into top speed, again. A release of adrenaline pleasantly greeted Jason when a small clear path, with no traffic tunneled before his eyes. Without hesitation he pounded his petal to the floor.

    
No more than a few seconds later, he heard the sirens of an unmarked car blaring behind him.

    
The cop car managed to squeeze in between both the small car and his.

     “You’re being pursued by the authority, Jason. Please pull over.” Sirus said.

     “Not now, Sirus.”

    
As Jason made a left turn down a small road, he flipped a green button out of his center cup holder and mashed it in with his palm. The car let out a high-pitched hiss noise before accelerating another 75 mph in 7 seconds. As he flew another long block down the narrow alley he managed to e-break his way back onto another busy road with a lucky break in traffic.

    
His car ramped over the concrete in the center of the road. Skidding to the left, he then, made an immediate right onto a small street. He flipped down a panel located on his doorside console and clicked a small silver switch before parallel parking his car into an open space.

    
He noticed the black unidentified cop car speed beyond the road in his rearview mirror.

     “You are no longer in pursuit of the authority.
The violation you’ve just committed is punishable for up to--”

    
“Sirus. Postpone details.”

     “I will remind you later. Are you hungry? Would you like some food?”

     As Jason settled in his chair, he began to laugh.

     “Have I said something, funny, Jason?” Sirus asked in her soothing machine-woman tone.

      “No. Just thanks for your help, Sirus.
I’m not hungry.”

    
“You’re welcome. Anything else I can do for you, Jason?”

     “Power down the car.”

     “Vehicle powering down.”

    
The car settled in with a slight sigh. Then silence. The alley he had settled in had row houses on the passenger side. Across a narrow road on the driver’s side, there was a brick wall of an abandoned factory building.

    
As Jason laid his head back on the headrest, he felt the rapid thump in his chest die down. “Jason.” Sirus alerted. “Your vital signs are still critical. Maybe you should try some—“

     “I’m fine, Sirus!” He interrupted.

     He flicked three more switches on his dash—one to tint his windows darker, the other to flip his license plate to a new one, and the last one to check his car’s status.

    
“Inspecting vehicle status; restoring.”

     A low garble over his radio reawakened his fears. He turned up the volume.  A yelling man’s voice pierced through his speakers.

     “Where’s he at?”

    
“He’s coming!” His wife said, “We just got here.”

    
“Call him.”

    
There was a brief silence.

    
A knock on Jason’s window startled him. It was the young guy from the small car. The kid pulled out a gun and backed away from the door.

     “Get out the car.” The kid
said.

    
Jason heard another gun cock from the opposite side of his car.

    
“Put your hands in the air.” The second kid screamed at the top of his lungs. “Get out!” He shouted again, impatiently.

    
Jason put his hand on the door.

    
“Pop the door, and put your hand up before you open it. I swear if anything funny happens my friend over there is gonna blow your brains out.”

    
Jason popped the door open. He heard his wife’s scream screech over his radio. An electric pulse surged through his body exploding from the sternum of his chest, ending in the pricking of his skin from the inside out, again.

    
“Show me your hands!” the kid screamed.

    
Jason put his hands up. The kid quickly grabbed the door open and moved towards the opening.

    
“Get out.”

    
Keeping his hands up, Jason stepped out of his car.



Part Three:

Czyra
Michaels



XXI

10:00 a.m.

Washington D.C.

HSAS: ORANGE – HIGH TERRORISM RISK

     “How’d we lose him? He was just here.” The driver asked Michael.

    
“You’re asking me, and you’re the driver? Obviously, he turned up a road we didn’t.”

    
“We’ve gotta go back.”

    
“No. We’ve gotta go to where he’s going. We can’t waste our time chasing his genius. Chasing Jason is pointless. We have to intercept him. We have to catch him at his destination.”

    
Michael phoned the kidnappers with the girls. “What’s the status?”

    
“We’re here, but he’s not.”

    
Michael heard Christine and Clareese’s screams in the background. “Don’t harm her.” Michael shouted. “Wait until I arrive. That’s an order.”

    
As the men arrived to the house, he saw Christine’s car parked under a tree off in a place away from traffic.

    
Bowie wasn’t a big place. It was as rural as it was urban, and where Max lived was very secluded.

    
The women sat in the car. The man in the back held Clareese by her hair with the gun in her side and the man in the front pointed the gun at Christine. As she sat by her shattered window she caught a glimpse of Michael.

    
“Oh my God.” she screeched, “Michael, save us!” Michael stepped out of his vehicle.

    
“Hand them over, boys. We’ll take it from here.”

    
The women scrambled out of the car – Clareese elbowing her kidnapper in the ribs several times before he released her -- and ran over to Michael.

    
Michael looked into the eyes of his driver. The Driver nodded, and walked over to Christine’s car.

    
“What’s in here?” He asked the men who were exiting the car. “Nothing. We found no trace of him.”

    
“Pop the trunk.” The driver said.

    
“Nothing but regular car materials, sir. The crow bar is gon—”

    
The whisp sound of a silencer ended the man’s sentence. The driver, then, turned towards the second kidnapper who immediately tried to reach for his gun, before another whisp ended with a bullet lodged into his skull. Both men lay dead in the street.

    
Michael looked at Christine. “You’re safe now.”

    
“Who were they?”

    
“Disgruntled men who wanted to get back at Jason.”

    
“They weren’t with you? They acted like it.”

    
“Although they thought they were, they weren’t agents.”

    
“Well, where is Jason?”

    
Max’s front door opened.

    
“What is going on out there?” Max asked standing in only jeans and an undershirt. “Christine?”

    
“Max, we were coming here—” Christine started to explain.

    
“Police activity, sir.” Michael interrupted. “Your friend was kidnapped and we had her meet here. You are all safe. We’ve got all the questions we need answered. No worries.”

    
Max began to step off his porch.

    
“Sir.” Michael stopped him, “We’re going to need you to stay there for a while. This is an active investigation scene. Call 911, please.”

    
Michael caressed Christine’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I know what you’re going to ask: How is it I’m here and not Jason… Chrissy, you know he’s got a very important job. He couldn’t come. I’m sorry. He sent me.”

    
Christine’s eyes welled up with tears. Clareese pulled her away from Michael and embraced her.

    
“He told me to tell you he loved you.”

    
Christine hauled off and hit Michael in the chest. “How do you know?” She hollered through the quiver of pain in her chest. “He’s never around. He’s never been around for anyone. I was kidnapped, Mike – at gunpoint – kidnapped. He couldn’t drop what he was doing to come save his wife? He’s never, truly, loved anyone.”