Last War (33 page)

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XXV

Bowie, Maryland

Max and Christine

     The news played in the background as Christine fixed dinner in Max’s spacious kitchen. She had fully settled into her, now, four year relationship with Max to the point of boredom. Her daily routine of work, cook, clean, read, and watch her shows became reminiscent of life with Jason. Max worked long hours, too. Not as long as Jason, however. He was an engineer at a local college.

     Every-so-often
the worry about Jason’s disappearance would creep into her mind.  She still hadn’t known what had happened to Jason. A part of her still felt anger towards him, but the fear still lingered. He just disappeared.

     She knew Jason loved her, and she had seen a lot of things over the time
she was with him.

She learned to suppress the trembles of regret that
occasionally rumbled deep within her
. It’s just institution of marriage
, she thought to herself.
You get the same thing every time. Maybe this whole thing was my fault.

     Anytime her mind barreled down that path, she’d look for ways to steer her brain towards other activities. This time she chose to indulge, a bit.
    

    
She put down the knife she was using to cut her veggies and reached for her phone. Jason’s number was still in there. She hadn’t ever been overly tempted to dial his number until now.

     She called.

     The phone rang continuously until, finally, the same voicemail picked up – still his voice; still an active phone. That had to mean he was still alive, right?

     “Hey, um. It’s me.” She started. “
Yeah, uh, I’m sorry about this, but it’s nagging me—“ Her front door opened. “Let me know if you’re still alive. K? Bye.” She hung up, and tossed her phone into her purse.

     A
rriving back into the kitchen, Max entered through the foyer, and without a word, he walked up the steps.

      She sent a chase-
shout up the steps as he walked into the bedroom. “Dinner’s almost ready.” The bedroom door closed without a peep from him.

     Without hesitation she dropped the knife on the count
er. Her chest swelled. She fought the burn in her nasal cavity and eye-well – she wasn’t going to cry about this today.

     At 33-years-old, she was too old for this, but too young to sit around and waste her life away to someone she wasn’t
even married to.

     She wanted to stick her nose back into the business again.
She wasn’t as afraid as before. She was far removed and had no connections.

    
Michael was her only hope. 

     The muffled sound
from Mince’s mic finally cleared enough to hear an old man’s voice talking.

     “Who’s that?” Czyra asked. “You recognize that voice?”

     “Sounds like the business man I know very well. He owns hotels.”

     “Brendenhall!” Czyra jumped and slapped the table. “I’ve been tracking them. That’s the voice.
He’s here.”

     “OK. Let’s listen in.”

     Jason adjusted the controls on his home office control board to crispen the sound and bolster the volume. The man was talking a mile a minute.

     “Remember, g
overnor, Fear Acknowledges, Instant Threats, Hit. Faith. That’s how we get their attention. What we have here is a tough agenda. We have to, in this election, go for the knockout blow. For six years now, we’ve had them on their heels. Backing them up against the rope with fear. We gave them a black president – now we give them a woman or a business man. Either way, this will continue to represent ‘change’. Like I’ve continued to say, the next 10-20 years is going to challenge all American beliefs but remember, when all else fails use that same formula: Faith Acknowledges, Instant Threats Hit. We’ll always have a copy of that in the back room if you need to refer back to the document as a refresher. Now, start from the top. Let’s see if you’ve got this down.”

     The mic in the auditorium squealed a bit be
fore a giggle sound of through the mic.

     “
Ladies, and gentlemen of America.” Mince began in his moderately loud rehearsal hollering voice. “The time has come to move forward. We’ve got a task to accomplish, and it’s not an easy one. Too many terrorist attacks have happened, too many loopholes exploited. Too many lives lost – senselessly. What we need, here, is a revision. We need to look at things from the standpoint that our founding forefathers did. They didn’t strap themselves to a former idea, they dedicated themselves to an enlightenment. A thought that was revolutionary: ‘freedom, prosperity and moving forward.’ New ideas that were against the popular. Imagine if they would have gotten stuck on Britian’s ideas, then what? It was the best that era had. For them to think they could outdo that government was utterly ridiculous at the time. But, you see, they dared to think outside of the box. They went as far as meeting in secrecy even in the face of the frowning citizens. But, instead of continuing to allow these loopholes to be exploited in us, leaving us in fear of being attacked year in, and year out, how about we rethink our approach. And this is what I bring to you now. Work with me as we revisit the origin of what a real patriot is. A pioneer, like Abraham Lincoln; a leader, like George Washington; an innovator, like Ben Franklin; trailblazers, like Lewis and Clarke; an explorer like Christopher Columbus; and a risk taker like Paul Revere. Let’s show our patriotism by dedicating ourselves to a new American culture. We changed the world, over 200 years ago – let’s show them we can do it again. Let’s stand together freeing ourselves from the false notion that we can not be vulnerable. Some of our most revered American champions, from artists to founders to modern-day sports athletes have expressed the best quality of a perfected craft is the notion of ever-changing; always knowing you could be vulnerable. Making those adjustments where needed. Not getting stuck in the fact that something we decided hundreds of years ago without the lightyears of advancements is unblemished. We need a new foundation built on the same principles. We need your help. Be patriots. Move forward.”

     Czyra had gotten up
during the speech and began to pace.

     “What’s wrong, kid?”

     “I knew this is what they wanted all along. They want to destroy America. We’ve gotta stop them.”

     “Hold your horses there, pal. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Did you catch what project faith was?”

     “Yeah. Seems to be some sort of acronym.”

    
“Yeah. ‘Faith Acknowledges, Instant Threats Hit.’ I found those words in Tameka’s box. They were separated. What if they were stages? I wonder what the stages mean, and what stage we’re in now.”

     “We’ve got to get our hands on that document.”

     “Mr. Brendenhall said it’s in there every meeting, so you know what that means? Road trip. Gonna get in touch with Mince and see what we can work up.”

     “You don’t really think we’ll be able to get in there, do you?
This ‘breach the Brendenhalls’ mission has failed every time I’ve tried it.”

     “No. I don’t think. I
know
we’ll be able to get in there. Let’s listen to the rest of this, then we’ll give Mince a shout later on tonight.”  

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XXVI

Vancouver, BC

CURRENT HOMELAND SECURITY ADVISORY SYSTEM: ORANGE—HIGH TERRORIST RISK

     A slight autumn breeze passed under Michael’s nose from the open window in his office. It smelled like crisp leaves and grass blades. Looking outside to the hardening leaves gave him a sense of an old place. A world before he knew what was going on.

     Back to school; college; time off befor
e finding a real job; the army; meeting his best friend while working in the NSA building.

    
Times were going to change forever within a month, and really, he just longed for the old times back; times when things happened, and it wasn’t his burden to stress.

     A slight knock on his h
ollow wooden door sounded. “Sir.” It was his secretary. “I have a Christine Upton here for you.”

     Michael sat up in his seat. “Well, yeah. Send her in.”

     Christine ambled into the office with her handbag in clutch.

     “Chrissy. Hey. What can I do for ya?” Michael asked.

     “Have you heard from Jason? I haven’t seen him in years and he’s got to be finished with his mission. He wouldn’t just leave. I know it.”

     Michael
rubbed the area around his mouth with his right hand down to the hairs below his chin. Christine walked over to his desk and sat at the chair. “You’ve gotta know where he is, Michael.”

     “What’s this about?”

     “I don’t know. I just – I was wrong, I guess. Neither of us were perfect, but—“

     “But, he loved you, right?” Christine was silent. “I know he did.” Michael got up out of his chair and walked over to his coffee pot. “The truth is, Christine, I just don’t know where he is.”

    “You mean, you know where he is, or you can’t tell me?”

     “No. I
mean I really just don’t know. I’m in the same boat as you, sweetie.” Michael said taking a sip of his coffee while leaning up against the small coffee station counter. “I’m assuming he’s out on mission. I’m assuming he’s doing something of note—you know Jason, he’s not sitting still.”

     Christine laughed.

     “When he comes back, he’ll have something big for us, I’m sure. But, right now, I have no clue. I really don’t.” 

     “Well, what are we going to do?”

     “We’re just going to have to wait, babe.”

     “Well, what if he doesn’t come back?”

     Michael walked over to Christine and scooted one leg up onto the edge of his desk sitting in front of her. “Look.” Michael’s voice softened. “We both know Jason. I know what’s happening around here, and trust me when I say his return is sure. Officially, he’s supposedly on stand down and retired off into New York City somewhere. If I find anything else out, your info is the same, right?”

     “Yes.”

     “OK, sweetie. I’ll look into some things tonight and will be calling.” 

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Vancouver

Brendenhall Hotel

2:50a.m.

     A loud ringing blasted
Mince out of his sleep. Mrs. Mince jolted awake, also. She rolled over and reclosed her eyes after realizing her gangly old man was only reacting to the phone which usually has to be loud enough so his fading ears can make out the sound through the rummage of the daytime.

   Mince picked up the phone to that same mysterious rugged voice.

     “Trick or treat?” Nosaj said.

     “What do you want? And why are you calling at 3 in the morning?”

     “Because opportunity doesn’t wait, old man. You’re heading into rehearsal early this morning, and we need to get in.”

     “Are you—“ Mince remembered his wife and labored out of the bed slipping his robe on. “Are you kidding me?” He
whispered closing the bedroom door behind him upon his exit. “How do you suppose I do that?”

     “We need to be in your car as you enter. We need to
sneak out of the parking lot, let us in your trunk, and we’ll find a way out after you’ve entered the auditorium and everything is started. We need you to keep the people’s attention for 35 minutes. That’s all we ask.”

     “Are you nuts?”

     “That’s beside the point, sir. I just may be. Please unlock your trunk right now with the key, and go back to sleep.”

     “I don’t know about this…I, I could—“

     “You’re going to be in trouble, either way. Who would you rather be in trouble with? Them or us? Unlock the trunk, sir.”