Last War (19 page)

    
Michael had nothing to say. He only nodded and shrugged his shoulders a bit.

    
“Stay here with your friend. You’ll be safe here.”

    
The emergency vehicle sirens that were rotating in the background steadily approached.

    
Michael approached the vehicles as the men jumped out. Flashing a badge, he said, “Federal Agent. DHS. The men you see here on the ground were kidnappers suspected of possible terrorism. We wrote up the report, and logged it in the system. Here’s your copy. We’ll deal with the rest back at HQ.” Michael reached into his pocket and handed the officers a piece of paper. Drones arrived above the scene. “It’s all yours now.”

    
“Anything else?” The officer asked.

    
“Nope, skip. You’ve got it.”

    
Michael and his driver walked to their car as the crime scene investigation started.

    
“Now what do we do?” The driver asked. “We can’t go back to Grambling without Jason.”

“
We sit right here in this car, and we wait.”



10:15 a.m.

    
“Put your hands on the wall.” The kid shouted at Jason. An annoying feeling of anxiety trickled down Jason’s body as he turned to put his hands on the cold grainy wall. His fingertips settled in the crumbling mortar crevice in between the bricks. “Look kid, what do you want? I have $4000 in the car.”

    
“We don’t want money. You’re Jason Upton, right? Brendenhall member, war veteran, former standout NSA analyst and tech nerd? In addition to being America’s social science guru? Reality’s James Bond? Current Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security? Pretty much a living legend.”

    
“So, it looks like you may know me. Are you a crazed fan?” Jason reluctantly answered. “Why?”

    
What do you know about Jasmine Beckard, Michael Young, Josh Grambling and President Harris?”

    
Jason cleared his throat, “Well, one I don’t know. One of them is the Acting Secretary of DHS, the other is the Homeland Security Council and the last guy is the 42
nd
President of the United States.”

    
“Oh, you want to be a smart guy, then, huh?” The kid screamed in a charge towards Jason. “I don’t have time for you bull—“

    
As the kid approached Jason, Jason grabbed him snatching the gun out of his hand, while in one smooth motion shooting at the other kid. The bullet grazed the second kid’s hand and lodged into a nearby car setting the horn off.

    
“Mother of—“ the second kid said, dropping his gun.

    
“Oh quit your crying, fat boy.” Jason said. “It barely touched you.”

     Jason had the first kid in a choke-hold.

     “Getcha donut-hole shaped legs over here.” Jason ordered the second kid.

    
The kid waddled over as Jason shoved the first one up against the wall. “Didn’t you mom ever tell you not to rush a living legend with a gun?” Jason backed away from the wall. “Now, both of you, get up on the wall. Hurry up, Michelin Man Jr.”

     The
pedestrian car siren still blared in the background. The homeowner came out. What in the—“

    
“Police work.” Jason hollered while showing his badge. “I’ll speak to you in a minute. Get back in the house.”

    
After patting both kids down, he asked them to face forward.

    
“Now, who are
you
? That’s the question. What are your names?”

    
He stuck the gun in the back of his pants.

    
“I’m Dany Blister.” The chubby kid said.

     “That’s your real name?”

     “Yeah.”

     He turned towards the blonde haired skinny kid. “And you?”

     “Czyra Michaels.”

    
“How old are you, chumps? You can’t be any older than 16. And what do you want from me?”

    
“We’re both 21, sir. W-we just have a few questions.” Czyra responded.

    
“So you hunt down a Federal Agent and attempt to assault him in broad daylight on the street? Is that how you do that? With all these drones floating around? That’s smart? Spill it. First question.”

    
“You’ve never heard of Jasmine Beckard?”

    
“I told you no. Who is she?”

     “Sh
e is—“

    
“Was—“ Dany interrupted.

     “
No, she
is
a friend of ours.” Czyra retorted. “We just don’t know where she’s at. She just disappeared without a trace.”

    
“Why?”

     “
We don’t know. We heard stories about people disappearing and—“ Czyra stopped mid-sentence.

    
“What’s wrong?” Jason asked.

    
“You’re gonna kill us.”

    
“No. I’m not. But, what do have for me? What do you think you know?”

    
“Nothing.” Dany said.

    
“Well, if you don’t tell me what you know, I
am
gonna kill you.” Jason said reaching for the gun in his pants.

    
“How much do you know about Operation Religious?” Czyra blurted out. 

    
“What is—wait… are they after you?”

    
“I think so. It’s why we think Jas is gone. The Illuminati is coming to get us.”

    
“The
Illumin
—? You know what, get your silly behinds in the car before you foolish boys get yourselves killed.” Jason laughed. “The Illuminati? Really, kid?” He muttered.

    
“But what about our—“

    
“Your car, and everything in it, is already being tracked. So get in the Mercedes.”

    
Czyra looked at his small car with weepy eyes.

    
“That car is going to get you killed, kid. It’s loaded in nearly a thousand of our databases. I can promise you that. I don’t trust whatever you have in there. If you keep that stuff, you’re not coming with me. But, you need to come with me.”

    
“But how do we know you’re not going to turn us in?”

    
“Did you not follow me being chased by a government car? Besides, you’re the smart kids who tried to assault a Federal Agent while believing ‘the Illuminati’ is after you.” Jason chuckled, again. “Get in the car as is. You’re lucky I don’t make you strip down. We’re getting you new clothes immediately.”

    
The kids walked over to the car.

    
“Get in the back. Both of you.”



XXII

World Trade Center, Building One

8:30 a.m.

Tuesday, September 11, 2001

    
“I guess pretzels or hotdogs aren’t on the menu this morning?” The pretzel vendor shouted out to Michael who was heading towards the entrance of World Trade Center building 1.

    
Michael pivoted on one foot and redirected his path from the door towards the vendor. “I’ll take the usual.” He said. “Business as usual, Gehrig, you know the drill.” Gehrig was of middle-eastern descent. His accent was very slight – he used his couple decades in America to sharpen his English and learn American culture.

    
“How about this day, huh?” He said. “It’s Beautiful.”

    
“Geeze. Does it get any better? Not a cloud in the sky. It’s gorgeous.”

    
“That’ll be 4 dollars for everything.”  The vendor said as he prepared Michael’s food.

    
“Thanks, Gehrig. You enjoy the day.”

    
Michael bit into his pretzel and walked into the open lobby of the WTC 1 building. The building never got old to him. The lobby reminded him of a space station. From the surrounding windows to the upper balcony that haloed everyone below, he felt at home. As he usually did, he greeted the familiar faces.

     The
brown-skinned beauty who sat at the desk would often flirt with him. She batted her eyes, yet again. Never failed. A half-grin is all Michael would ever give her back. One day, though, he knew he had more to give her than just a half-grin. 

    
Poncho, the janitor, was fishing around in his closet. In the past, Poncho had granted Michael a few extra privileges after hours when Michael needed time to head home early. Michael had spoken to this janitor every day. His real name was Gerald. They called him Poncho because of his thorough work. He always had you covered. This was one of two jobs he worked to support his family.

    
He nodded towards Poncho’s direction as Poncho toted his cart out of the closet.

    
Continuing towards the express elevators, Michael passed what the locals in the building called ‘The Lovebirds’. From past discussion with the woman, Lisa, he learned the man she would see every morning worked nights. She worked on floor 89. Their morning paths would always intersect at the elevator. She’d often catch the same one as Michael. If not, either the one before or after.

      Her boyfriend would
come wait for her in the lobby to say hello and goodbye each and every morning. It’d only last a minute or two before he trotted down the street to his apartment to end his day.

    
There was an old weird friendly guy who would wander the lobby. He really had no purpose for being there. Security always went easy on him. He was never a problem.

    
They were all his friends. He greeted them daily.

    
On this particular morning, Michael was there to check in with a few of the departments he oversaw. “Where’s your briefcase today, chump?” a woman who worked in the shopping plaza below asked him, jokingly.

    
‘No need, I just figure I—“

    
Off in the distance he heard a high-pitched hissing noise. Everyone in the lobby raised their eyes above them.

    
As if second nature, Michael sprinted towards the door as folks froze around him.

    
The building rattled an earthquake caliber rumble lifting Michael slightly off of his feet enough to toss him onto the ground in middle of the lobby.

    
He landed on his left arm resulting in an excruciating, sharp-shooting, pain down his entire left side. His knee banged against the solid ground, sending a painful cracking feel through his calf and up his thigh.

    
His leg went numb.

    
He heard an explosion from behind him. When he rolled over to the opposite side, a large cloud of flames barreled out of the elevator shaft engulfing anyone in its path. The elevator next to it followed suit.

    
Quickly, Michael rolled back over to the injured side. The folks standing on that side were stunned by the explosions. A fourth of them were scrambling in a screaming mania towards the exit.

    
He watched as the man from the nightshift couple grabbed his girl’s hand in flight towards the exit. Only seconds later, he was blown into a fireball from another elevator door blowing open.

    
Michael watched the door hurdle, end-over-end, through the lobby and impact the desk lady in a fiery collision with her chest.

     Screams, explosions and small rumbl
ings sounded from various directions in the lobby.

    
A woman wearing the same sweater as, Lisa, the night shift couple girl, emerged from rampant flames. She was totally engulfed in fire and screaming at the top of her lungs.

    
She ran towards him before tripping over him.

     Michael’s pants
immediately caught on fire. He rolled like a mad man. “Roll!” He hollered to the girl. After the flames died down on her, he attempted to pick her up. He crawled to his feet, and struggled to lift her, as his entire left leg was useless. It was like no leg existed there, at all. He hobbled towards the door only to hear another explosion.