Vs Reality (13 page)

The Backyard

Govinda sits alone in the darkness of his wide, windowless office. As the Director of Operations for the Global Liberty Initiative, he enjoys certain comforts and benefits that are not afforded to the rank and file; one of these luxuries includes a lavishly decorated workspace, furnished with an impressive array of artifacts. Ornate gold and red vases from the Ming Dynasty sit precariously atop narrow columns that flank his wide mahogany desk. Original Monet’s and Picasso’s and Rembrandt’s sweep across the wood paneled walls. And several ancient weapons are mounted throughout the room: maces, flails, swords, spears, and jagged tools of unspeakable torture with names that he can’t pronounce. Unlike the paintings and vases, the weapons are not there for decoration – they’re stark reminders. This is more than just his office, after all. This is his war room. It’s a space where decisions are made, warriors are tasked with impossible missions, and, on certain occasions, where insubordination is dealt with.

Govinda continues to clack away at his laptop when three rapping knocks echo through his office.

“Come in,” he shouts without looking up from his monitor. “There’s no need for formalities at this point.”

The door swings open, filling the room with a hard flourescent glare that spills in from the hallway. Goto breezes in with a calm, easy stride. He foregoes a seat at the far side of the desk and chooses to stand, placing both hands behind his back. “Mister Govinda,” he begins politely (or at least he’s feigning politeness; something Govinda often silently suspected he’d been guilty of). “I assume that you’re aware of Mister Heinreich’s…predicament.”

“
Of course
I’m aware, Mister Goto.” More typing. Still no eye contact. “Nothing happens in The Basement without my knowledge, and I’ve been well informed of his position.”

“I see,” Goto replies with a barely perceptible nod. “And since you’re
so
well informed, you must also be aware that his tracking device has just been disabled. With that in mind we’re operating on a tight timeframe for an extraction. Paige Davenport has certain gifts, according to our data…with access to Mister Heinreich,  they could be pulling valuable information from him, even as we speak.”

Something in his tone strikes Govinda’s ear. The thin layer of conceit that coats Goto’s every word sends a heat wave of anger blistering through his temples. “You’re exceedingly confident for someone who’s skating on thin ice, Mister Goto.” Govinda pushes himself away from his desk, slamming his laptop shut. “You have a very impressive track record with our organization, but I feel it’s my duty to inform you that the goodwill you’ve accumulated from your past efforts is rapidly diminishing.”

“Is it, now?” Goto offers a thin smile and tilts his head to the side; a gesture that Govinda takes as a sign of arrogance, if not outright defiance.

“
Very
much so.” Govinda presses his palms into the surface of desk and he stands, towering more than a foot above his subordinate. “I can forgive your inability to capture Miss Davenport, and as you know, I’m a
very
forgiving person. But how can you explain the incident in the alley? Pulling a gun on her?
Firing
? What would have happened if you had killed her? I shudder to think what The General would have done in that instance. And believe me when I tell you that he’s
far
less forgiving than I am.”

“But there were extenuating circumstances, that—”

“You were incapacitated, I know. I retrieved video surveillance footage from the ATM machine across the street – it caught the entire altercation. A small battery-powered taser, I believe it was?”
Tsk-tsk
, Govinda says with a tiny shake of his head and a wag of his finger. “
Quite
embarrassing. I was also fascinated by the part where Mister Heinreich was tossed across the alley and through a car, rendering him completely defenseless.” Govinda leans across his desk and lowers his voice. Even bent forward he’s still measurably taller than Goto. “Just between you and me, I think he might have lost a step. Collecting is a young man’s game, and he might need to start considering an early retirement.”

A rill of cold sweat drips from Goto’s forehead, streaking his cheekbone. He fidgets as the heat rises in his face, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’s resisting the urge to loosen his scarf, Govinda guesses.

“And now,” Govinda continues, “we find ourselves in yet
another
precarious position. We have their location pinpointed, but since Mister Heinreich has been captured and you’ve once again failed to make a clean extraction, we have no choice but to use brute force. The Global Liberty Initiative is supposed to function as a scalpel, not a chainsaw.”

“I understand perfectly, Mister Govinda.” The layer of conceit seems to have melted from his voice, replaced with a dash of desperation.

“No, Mister Goto, I’m not sure that you
do
understand. Our employer’s time and patience are running short in equal measure, and I don’t have to remind you of what’s at stake. This operation is a one-time deal. If we fail to make the collection on
this
occasion we won’t have another shot; not with these resources at our disposal. And even if we succeed the exposure alone is going to cost us millions.”

“I’m aware that the situation has become somewhat…” Goto pauses for just a moment, searching his mind for just the right euphemism. “Problematic.”

“Ah, that’s an interesting choice of words, Mister Goto. So you think that a shootout in the middle of downtown New York City is going to be problematic? In your professional,
expert
opinion, you believe that group of fat tourists gathered around with a corndog in one hand and a video camera in the other – filming a bloodbath in high definition – could be seen as ‘somewhat of an issue’? I think the word you were searching for is ‘clusterfuck’.”

Goto remains silent as Govinda continues his lecture, now seething with pent up anger.

“I’m going to head up this operation
personally
,” Govinda continues, his voice like rolling thunder, “and see if I can make one, last-ditch effort to collect Miss Davenport without resorting to a full-scale assault. I have a single card left to play before we’ve exhausted every option.”

“So, when do we move out?” Goto asks, pretending to be fascinated with his expensive leather shoes.

“There
is
no ‘we’, Mister Goto. You have been temporarily suspended from active duty until I can come up with an appropriate punishment. I can’t afford another incident like the one in the alley. You’re to stay in The Basement until I give you further instruction. Is that clear?”

Goto tries to compose himself, steadying his voice to avoid raising it to a dangerously insolent level. “Crystal,” he nods.

“That’s wonderful,” Govinda says, turning his back. “Dismissed.”

That one, condescending word
–
dismissed –
scrapes across Goto’s eardrum like a jagged talon. He turns to leave, slamming the door on his way out. The crashing sound of the door hitting the frame resonates down the long concrete hall and through the corridors of The Basement.

Goto leans against the wall and reaches into his breast pocket to extract a cigarette, but he’s startled by a shattering explosion at his back. It’s the sound of a two thousand-year-old porcelain vase smashing to pieces against a heavy wooden door.

New York City
August 26, 2011
7:19 am, Eastern Daylight Time

Dia’s voice comes across sharp and clear, but Paige hears every syllable like she’s underwater; muffled sounds that scarcely resemble words, barely audible through the sloshing liquid that’s filling her ears.

“Come back to me,” Dia pleads, tears streaking her cheeks. “We need to get the hell out of here. They’re
coming!
”

Paige’s mind drifts away, lost in a verdant forest of half-forgotten memories. She reaches out to grasp something –
anything
– that will cleanse herself of the horror. Something pure. What she’d dug out of Heinreich’s mind was too much for her to process; a sensory overload that caused a short circuit.

She sifts through memories like a handful of faded snapshots; jagged, frayed at the edges, ravaged by time. She remembers skipping though a military base with Dia, singing, fingers entwined. She recalls flying their first kite in a lush field of daisies, clouds hanging in the crystal blue sky like wads of cotton, and thinking that life would
never
get more joyous than it was in that very moment. It pains her to think that she might have been right. Time ratchets forward to the day that her childhood vanished, washed away years too soon – it was the day of her mother’s funeral. Family and acquaintances all clad in black, surrounding a pine box being pattered by drizzle. Under the canopy of umbrellas she recognized most of the people attending, but they were shells of themselves. She remembers them looking sadder than she’d ever seen adults look before, and it sent a shiver up her arms. And she can still feel the pit of her stomach drop out when she gazes up and takes in her father’s expression: his cold indifference, unyielding eyes made of polished steel. They never faltered, not for a millisecond. Not even when Paige and Dia’s mother was lowered into the ground.

“Wake up!” Paige reads the words on her sister’s lips, but sound still eludes her. She feels Dia’s hands constrict on her shoulders, squeezing, shaking.

Something snaps.

Paige gasps and then shudders, pupils sparking to life, darting around the crowded room. She reaches out and trails her fingers along Dia’s face like a blind woman reading Braille.

“Oh thank
god,”
Dia exhales, taking her by the wrist. It’s as if she’d been holding her breath since she’d arrived. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Paige staggers to her feet, using the kitchen table for support. Cole offers her some water but Dia is already talking over him, barking orders.

“
Brodie
,” she says sharply, “let’s get ready to jump. Gather as much Muse as you can, and pack up the lighter equipment and the laptops. We’re going to have to leave most of our stuff behind, but if we move quickly we can—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Paige breathes.

Dia spins to face her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me the first time.” She straightens her posture with some help from the tabletop. “I’m not going to run this time. Leave if you want, but I’m staying behind to fight the Collectors. I need to end this.”

“I can’t believe this shit,” Dia shouts, throwing her hands apart. “First Cole wants to go down in a blaze of glory, and now you’ve lost your mind as well? Am I the
only
one here who wants to actually stay alive?”

Brodie raises his hand. “I’m voting  for Dia’s plan, in case anyone is wondering. The whole staying alive thing…
totally
on board.”

Dia grasps her sister’s shoulders once again. “Paige,” she says, voice strained, trying to remain composed. “I don’t think you understand what’s about to go down here.”

“No,
you
don’t understand.” Paige pushes herself away, breaking the grip around her shoulders. “I was inside Heinreich’s head. I saw The Basement. I
felt
it.”

And with those words the oxygen leaves the room. Everyone stares at her transfixed, unsure of how to respond.

“I-I know what they do with the people they ‘collect’,” Paige stammers, her words catching in her throat.

“And
I
don’t want to be one of them,” Dia says. “So let’s all just—”

“
Listen
,” Paige shouts, hammering her fist into the table. “You need to hear this. I saw their prisoners. Most of them are
kids
. Some as young as fourteen, fifteen...and they’re locked in these transparent crates, terrified and hysterical, waiting to be experimented on. Some were
beyond
terror: they’d gone insane. I could hear them pleading, sobbing, calling out for their mothers.” She blinks a pair of tears from her eyes and quickly rubs them clear with the heels of her palms. “And then…nothing. They disappeared. It’s like they’d been deleted.”

Dia’s lips part but she doesn’t produce a sound. Cole, Jens and Brodie exchange stunned glances but no one dares to interject.

“This isn’t going to end,” Paige continues, scanning the faces of everyone in the room with an unnerving intensity. “The Collectors are just going to keep going and going; they’ll keep taking kids, experimenting on them, and erasing them when they’re finished. I can’t live with that.”

“
Of course
I feel like shit about this,” Dia says, steadying her voice. “But there’s nothing we can do here, Paige. They have all the power, all the guns, and a fortress that we can’t break into. Trust me, I was just there.”

Paige stares back at her, defiant. “You’re wrong about one thing, sis. They don’t have
all
the power.” She shoots Brodie a knowing glance. “We have Plan B.”

Dia extends a hand and backs away. “Stop right there, Paige. Don’t say another word.”

“You
knew
we might have to do this one day,” Paige replies. “It’s why we created Plan B in the first place. ‘Break Glass in Case of Emergency’, remember? Well this is the emergency, and it’s time to bring down the goddamned hammer.”

“Okay, you’ve
clearly
just suffered some sort of mental collapse,” Dia says, her voice hot with condescension, “So I’ll explain this slowly, using very small words: Plan B is not an option.
Ev-er
. This is rule number one of our little club, remember?”

“I thought rule number one was that we don’t go on suicide missions?” Brodie interjects.

“It’s the
same
freakin’ thing! Plan B
is
a suicide mission!”

“You can leave if you want,” Paige says flatly, her voice taking on a ghostly calmness. “All of you can. But I can’t live with myself if I don’t see this through.”

Dia has seen the look in her sister’s eyes before; unwavering, unyielding – the gaze like polished steel. She’s made up her mind. She’s going to execute a plan that was always meant as the last resort to end all last resorts. A way to strike a blow to the heart of the corrupt government, the Collectors, and hopefully Govinda himself if they can draw him out. But after an attack of that magnitude they can’t just walk off into the sunset.

Paige, Dia and Brodie all knew this day could one day arrive, and now it’s here. And they’re all aware that once it’s over, once the dust settles and the investigations have concluded, there is only one way to ensure their continued survival: the world has to believe they’re dead.