Chapter Nine
What Happens Next
“What happened at St. Joseph’s Medical College is a tragedy, but we can’t allow it to undermine our faith in this President and what he’s doing to protect us from exactly this kind of murder and terror. Now is not the time to cast stones, it is the time to stand behind our leaders in this war.”
Krenshaw was working himself into a frothy madness. He had been at it for days, ever since the unbelievable tragedy of the terrorist attack on St. Josephs’s. Almost immediately, a group known as El-Hesab had taken responsibility for the attack. Krenshaw had used this as an opportunity not only to encourage support of “his” President, but also to incite some good old fashioned racial hatred at the same time. The more his listeners got worked up, they more they listened. And the more they listened the more his producer could charge for ad time during his show.
“Who is this El-Hesab anyway? Apparently, in their language it means “the bill” or “the check.” The bill for what? For us dragging their sorry behinds out of the stone age? For giving them oil and technology and military support and modern medicine? And what have they given us? The zero? Come on. It makes me wonder if they aren’t working together with those Apatridas nutters. Who knows, maybe they’re all in cahoots.” He had received phone calls from several high ranking politicians politely suggesting that he tie the two movements together as much as possible, which only made sense. After all, it further vilified de Vitoria’s group to be associated with something a little more concrete than the Devastation, and it kept the people from questioning why we were devoting all these resources to attacking some unknown anarchist group from across the world, when there were Arabs here and now murdering unarmed coeds. And of course, Krenshaw was happy to comply. Everybody has a mortgage to pay.
Time to rub some elbows. “Let’s take a caller. Caller, you’re on the air.”
“Yah, this is Mike, I just want to say that I think it’s great that your standing up to all those people in the popular media and the colleges who want us to try and hug the evil out of these people. They don’t get it, these people are just born bad. I’m glad we have people like you to stand up for us and our President.”
“Thanks Mike. We need more men and women like you who see what’s really going on if this country is going to stay strong. Next caller.” Krenshaw reached out and hit the button on his panel to disconnect Mike and bring up someone else. You never wanted to linger with these people, if they revealed just how ignorant they were, it made everyone look bad, and then listeners started tuning out so they wouldn’t have to confront their own reflections.
“Hey Mr. Krenshaw. I think you and your listeners need to ask yourselves why our President is attacking a man like Xavier de Vitoria who hasn’t done anything to anyone when we have these El-Hesab psychos running around shooting up kids at schools. Why aren’t they addressing the real problem.”
He knew this would be coming. But Krenshaw was no fresh fish, he knew how to handle calls like this. “Let me ask you something caller. How do you know de Vitoria is innocent? Cause you speak of him like you know the man. Now our President and our government say he’s guilty, his own government says he’s guilty, but you seem to know better. So tell me caller, what do you know that everyone else seems to have missed?”
“Come on Mr. Krenshaw, of course I don’t know him, but I’ve seen his videos and you can tell he’s not a killer. He specifically speaks out against violence, unlike the members of El-Hesab.” Walked right into it.
“So you’ve been watching his videos huh? You’ve gone out of your way to seek out the propaganda produced by a man accused of the murder of hundreds of innocent people. Surely you didn’t think he was innocent before you looked him up. So what was it that drew you to a mass murderer? What’s so wrong with you that you feel sympathy for a monster like Xavier de Vitoria?” Fish in a barrel.
“Now hold on Mr. Krenshaw,” the caller replied.
But Joseph had the reins now, and he wasn’t letting go. “No you hold on sir. You have supported the enemy of this nation. You have given sanction to his beliefs, which even you must admit include throwing the poor and the sick and the elderly into the streets to die without any help from the government and keeping kids ignorant and without access to free education. We all have to choose sides in this war pal, and you chose yours. You are an enemy of the state as sure as Las Apatridas and El-Hesab. You are no different in principle than the men responsible for the Devastation or the murders of those college kids. Get off my phones.” And with that Krenshaw hung up on the caller without giving him a chance to respond. The calls themselves were unimportant, it was all in how you framed them for the listeners.
“Coming up after the break, we’re going to be speaking to Legislator Grandon, one of the real patriots in our government right now. A man willing to forego party politics to do what is right for this country. We’re going to ask him how the government intends to respond to this most recent attack, and what they’re doing to continue to keep us safe.”
It was a big upgrade from the floor of a cave.
Sitting in a hotel business suite, thirty six floors above the city, Wahlid ibn Malawi was surrounded by his best soldiers and advisors.
Following the attack on the Medical College, he had sent most of the men involved back out of the country, while bringing in soldiers from the lands in the west. Blond haired, blue eyed soldiers raised in the beliefs and traditions of their fathers. It had been an investment of generations, but the diaspora which sent the believers out into the lands of the west was paying off. They had made children with the whores of the infidels, seeking out those women with the most common features in those lands, and brought the sons back to be raised by the priests and soldiers of the one true God.
And now those boys were priests and soldiers themselves, ready to rain God’s infinite justice upon the heads of the unrighteous. And so, in preparation for the next phase of his plan, Wahlid had brought them to him in this hotel, in the very city where he had brought terror and bloodshed to the infidels, to discuss how best to strike.
“The attack at the college was a complete success. We killed many of their best and brightest, managed to put their focus back on our actions and more importantly, we secured enough of the virus for the great attack I have planned.” The men around the table nodded their heads in agreement. These were not the bootlickers and yes men he had left behind in that cave in the desert. These were men of action.
And they deserved to know his plans. “I know many of you are wondering what the great attack will be. It is now time for me to share that knowledge with those of you in this room.”
At his signal one of the soldiers standing off to the side dimmed the lights and another of the young men, who
had been trained in one of the infidel’s own schools, began a computer presentation which was projected on the wall behind Wahlid.
“There are three phases to my plan which will completely destabilize the greatest of our enemies, the Yankee dogs. We will destroy their central command capabilities, and then in two successive strikes we will make them fear in their homes and then in one day spread death throughout their land.
First, we must decapitate their leaders. There is an upcoming summit of world leaders to discuss their new “War on Terror.” Present at this summit will be not only the leaders of several of their allies in the west, but also the heads of each of their intelligence organizations. We will attack this summit.” Behind him, pictures of the key representatives attending the summit were projected over an image of the building where it would take place.
“Unfortunately, their President will not be there, but their Vice President will be, and by killing him and every major intelligence official in their country in one turn, we will completely cripple their ability to defend themselves or counter our maneuvers, while also undermining the faith of their people. If they cannot even defend themselves, people will ask, then how can they be trusted to defend anyone? Their people will begin to know us as the invincible warriors of God that we are.
Next we will launch another attack on their citizens. This time I have selected a small shopping center in the middle of their country. But this will not only be a blow against their vile commercialist culture. We are striking at a small town shopping center for a reason. After the last attack, they will expect us to strike at their capitals, at their great monuments. Instead we will strike at their most vulnerable. We will strike them in their homes. And they will learn true fear.” The images now showed the schematics of a shopping mall with entrances and exits clearly labeled, as well as planned routes the soldiers would take as they moved through the mall towards its center.
“Finally we will unleash the holy wrath of God. At their greatest sporting event, attended by thousands and watched by millions, we will send our righteous soldiers to destroy them. Not with guns or bombs, but with the spoils of our attack on the Medical College.
Dozens of our holy brothers will infect themselves with one of the most deadly diseases and they will use every bathroom, and go to every snack stand, and stand at every entrance, and walk through every parking lot. And when all those people return to their homes throughout their land, they will spread that disease to their neighbors, to their wives, to their children.” And now images of their great sports stadium were juxtaposed with images of people suffering from hemorrhagic fever.
“Within days they will see their entire land devastated in a fire so great that not even their power and their pride can subdue it. Their children will perish, their crops will die in the fields, and no man will walk again in their lands.
All the world will see the cost of their wickedness. And they will know that it was the will of our God and his righteous soldiers that brought them low.”
With another nod, the lights returned.
The men around him were impressed by the scope of his plan. Wahlid knew it was ambitious, but he also knew that this was exactly the kind of action which El-Hesab needed to be taking. They should have embarked on this great work years ago, but it had fallen to him. And the success of the recent attack had gained him the trust of the men who sat at this table with him now.
“We will wipe this land clean of these dogs. And the name of El-Hesab will be remembered by every generation which follows us.”
Wahlid ibn Malawi looked around the expensive hotel suite he was in. Everything about it spoke of excess. The furnishings, the carpeting, even the inlay on the table.
These Yankee dogs had everything. And he would take it all away from them.
Grandon was in his home office with a glass in his hand when he got the call.
He was sitting in his favorite leather chair reading a copy of that morning’s paper. Above the fold there was an article about the ongoing search for those members of El-Hesab who were responsible for the attack on the Medical College. The article described the great work being done by the diligent committed professionals in the field of law enforcement and how they believed that the perpetrators of the tragedy had probably fled the area. It also quoted an “unnamed administration source” who hinted that El-Hesab and Las Apatridas received funding from some of the same charitable fronts, and that an investigation into that very concern was ongoing. Below the fold there was a story detailing some of the efforts which were being made to curtail ‘net users accessing the videos that de Vitoria and his people were somehow continuing to produce and distribute.
Grandon was no fool. He didn’t read the papers to get his news. He read them to make sure they were doing their job. The article about the attack on the Medical College was a simple wool job for the populace. The other was actually the more important.
It was placed there with great care. The purpose of such an article was to create in the mind of the reader the illusion of an all seeing omnipotent state. It was why the article contained so many details about just how they were tracking those visiting the sites which showed de Vitoria’s videos. Someone reading it would think that they couldn’t possibly get away with searching for those videos without incurring the wrath of “big brother,” and so they simply wouldn’t try. The whole point of such things was to engender hopelessness and fear in the people. It kept them docile.
Grandon was just opening up the paper to read the continuation of the story within when his phone began to ring.
He fished around in the inside pocket of his suit coat for a second looking for it, damn things could be such an inconvenience, and then pulled it out and paused for a moment to look at the screen and see who it was before answering.
“Hello mother. Is dad on the line?”
“No son. Dad is out today and can’t join us.” It was Imalt on the other line. Grandon knew better than to discuss business over the phone with his personal paid assassin without verifying first whether or not the line was clean. The last thing he needed was some hot shot do-gooder in one of the Intelligence bureaus making records of these calls.
But if Imalt was calling him, at home no less, it must be important. “All right Kevin. What is this about? You’ve just interrupted me reading the paper.”
The man on the other end of the call made a coughing noise. “You still read the papers? Not just the funnies?”
Grandon smiled a little as he thought about the article he had been reading. “It’s all funny if you know what you’re reading. Why are we talking Kevin? Is this about the attack at the College?”
The other man’s tone grew serious. “Yes. I told you in your office that it was important that this sort of thing not happen. We are trying to direct events to a conclusion of our choosing. These sorts of uncontrolled factors can complicate that.”
“What do you recommend Kevin? Do you have an idea how we can keep this sort of thing from happening?”
“Actually, I do. I happen to know that the man responsible for the hit is named Wahlid Ibn Malawi.” Grandon could hear papers shuffling through the phone, then Kevin began again. “He was recruited into the militant movement at the age of sixteen, mostly as a runner and pigeonman. He served in his nations military during the first war they started with their new neighbors, and after three years he returned to the movement.”
Kevin continued. “Only now he was harder, meaner. We have intel which implicates him in several bombings and assassinations. But it seems he grew disillusioned with the movement, guess they weren't quite militant enough for him. Ten days ago he attended a meeting of the high ranking members and staged a coup. His men killed everyone who could challenge his authority, and he walked away the sole voice in El-Hesab.”
Grandon considered the information his man had just shared. It sounded like El-Hesab had created a monster, one which eventually devoured them. A lesson wise men would heed. “Do we know where he is?”
Kevin grunted. “Currently, he is staying in a hotel only six miles from the College where the attack took place. Right now he is there with eleven of his men. Six of them are high ranking members in his organization, five more are rank and file soldiers chosen for their resemblance to locals. It seems pretty clear that they are planning another attack.”
Kevin wasn’t telling Grandon this because he was concerned about the attack El-Hesab was probably planning right then and there. He was simply concerned with how that attack would affect the plans they themselves were putting in motion.
This was why Grandon employed men like Kevin Imalt. It was the same qualities he recognized in Emil that first day in the “Greater House.” Professionalism. And a complete lack of empathy.
“And what do you recommend?”
“I can have a team in that suite in under an hour. Five men, paid through untraceable channels. We can effectively remove El-Hesab as a viable terrorist organization today.”
Grandon considered it for a moment. Not a terrible idea. It would remove a wild card from the table.
But he didn’t see any way he himself would profit from it. On the other hand.
“No Kevin. Let them go. We can clean up the mess they’ve made, we may even be able to turn it to our advantage with a little effort. I’ll give Gregory a call after I get off with you and see what he has planned. If we’re going to take out this Malawi and his pack of dogs, I want to do it in a way I can take credit for. Once I’m President, we’ll do a little house cleaning to solidify my position. For now, let’s give El-Hesab a little leash and see what they do with it.”
The other man laughed at that. He always seemed to laugh at the wrong part of the conversation. Like everything was a joke he got two minutes later, or he was thinking of something funny he wasn’t sharing with the group. “Sure thing boss. I’ll hire eyes to keep us informed on their whereabouts just in case you change your mind, but for now, hands off. That other thing is progressing nicely. I’ve contacted the men I plan to use, they’ll be arriving slowly over the next week to avoid suspicion. I’d like to meet with Gorsky and discuss the plan.” Kevin never bothered trying to talk Grandon out of a decision once it was made. He did his job like a professional, and expected the same out of his boss. Another quality Grandon liked.
“I’ll contact him and let him know. Expect to be contacted from either him or myself within the next few days. I’m also going to have Gregory call you in case he needs to discuss our reaction the El-Hesab action. If you need to make any changes inform me through the usual channels.”
With that the conversation had reached it’s conclusion. Imalt wasn’t going to ask about his family. “All right boss. Enjoy your funny papers.”
As Grandon put the phone back in his pocket he picked his glass back up from the table where he had sat it down and returned to reading. He took a sip and smiled to himself.
They were funny.
Jennifer was beginning to worry about Thomas’ recent behavior.
It wasn’t that he was being particularly standoffish, and he wasn’t missing work or not taking showers or anything which would seem to indicate a major change. But he had been saying a lot of strange things lately, and it was starting to concern her.
It had begun after he’d started watching those videos on the net, she was sure of it now. There had to be some kind of connection. Jennifer herself hadn’t bothered watching them. Why would she want to waste her time listening to the lies of a mass murderer? But Thomas was curious and for some reason he had looked them up.
She didn’t think it was a good idea, but she wasn’t really all that concerned. After all, this was Thomas. He didn’t even care about politics. If he suddenly had some curiosity about the ramblings of a mad man, well, it was an unusual circumstance, so why not let him get it out of his system?
But he didn’t seem to “get it out of his system.” He seemed to have some kind of fascination with them. And he had kept watching them. And then he had started to ask her some really weird questions.
At first she was excited. She had always respected the fact that he didn’t care about politics, and he had always respected the fact that it was an important part of her life, and so they got along. But it was nice to finally be able to talk politics with her husband, just like she imagined he would be happy if she started caring about sports or muscle cars. And so she jumped into those first discussions with gusto.
But it was like she had jumped into the water without checking the depth first. He had asked her what she thought of the government and she had started telling him how great they were doing and how proud she was of her current President, whom she helped get elected, and how lucky they were to have a society where they got to elect their leaders. She thought it would be fun to finally begin to educate her husband on the importance of politics, and so she started out small thinking she’d have to hold him by the hand.
Thomas did not react like she’d expected. At all. He was curious, and that surprised her, but not at all about the things she wanted to talk about. He started asking her questions about all kinds of things. And she didn’t have answers, which was troubling.
He asked her where government came from, and what purpose it served, and why we needed it, and why anyone was required to obey it. Jennifer didn’t know what to say. It was like he was asking her what color the sky was. Couldn’t he see for himself?
At first she thought his questions were simple, the kinds of questions a child would ask. So she tried to simply skip over them as self evident. But he insisted. So she tried to be patient. But as she began to try to answer his questions, he responded with more questions. And she was finding it harder and harder to come up with answers.
They were driving in the car one day having just such a discussion when he asked her why people paid they’re taxes.
“Well,” she began, “because that’s how the government pays for all the things they give us. For instance, without taxes we wouldn’t have roads, or schools, or the post office, or the police or the military.”
Thomas listened carefully, but he responded quickly with another question. “Do you think we need those things?”
“Of course we do silly.” Jennifer laughed as she looked at him through the rear view mirror. “Are you teasing me?”
“No Jenny. I’m just asking. If we need all those things then why do we need taxes to fund them?”
And this was exactly how these conversations had been going lately. “What do you mean? We need taxes to fund them because that’s how they get paid for, and we need them.”
Thomas shook his head a little. “But Jen, if those things are all so important, then why wouldn’t people just pay for them voluntarily?”
“But that’s what taxes are Thomas.” Now she was starting to get frustrated, but Jennifer tried not to let it show. She wanted to be patient.
“How can taxes be voluntary? What happens if I don’t pay them?”
“But you do pay them Thomas. Because we need all that stuff.”
Thomas pressed her on it though. “But what if I don’t? Do I not get to use those things? Do I get to pay someone else to build roads and provide police protection instead? What happens to me if I don’t pay the taxes that fund those services?”
Jennifer stared at him through the mirror for a moment and then turned her head and looked right at him while she drove. After a second she turned her head back to look at the road in front of her.
“If you don’t pay your taxes you’ll get a fine. And then you’ll have to pay even more.”
“But what if I don’t pay the fine? I mean, if I wasn’t paying in the first place, and all their going to do is send me a bigger bill in response, then I’m just going to keep not paying.”
“Well Tommy, I guess after a while they’d send some police to your house.”
“But what if I tell the police to take their bill and shove it? I mean, I don’t recognize the bill, so I certainly wouldn’t recognize the bill collector. Hypothetically I mean.”
Jennifer thought about that for a second. “Well, I guess eventually they’d arrest you and take you to court and you’d have to pay then.”
“But I’m still not paying Jen. So what happens? They send me a bill, I won’t pay. They send me a bigger bill, I won’t pay. They try to take me to court, I won’t go. They try to take me to jail, I won’t go. So what happens then?”
Finally Jennifer let her growing frustration get the better of her. “Well I guess you’d just get shot Tom. How about that.”
But surprisingly, that seemed to be the answer he was looking for! “You know what Jen, I think you’re right. I think they would shoot me. And if they’d shoot me just for not paying my taxes, then they aren’t really voluntary are they? And if they aren’t voluntary, then we’re being forced at gun point to pay for all those services. But if all those services are so universally believed to be vital to civilization, then why do they have to shoot people to get them to pay for them? I mean, nobody has to shoot me to get me to pay my phone bill, because I think a phone is a necessary expense. So why aren’t all those other necessary expenses funded in the same voluntary fashion.”
Jennifer didn’t have an answer for that, and thankfully Thomas didn’t press her for one that time. They simply drove on in silence for a while until they got to the store, and then Jennifer changed the subject to what they were going to buy for dinner, and Thomas didn’t bring it up again. That night.
But it wasn’t the first or last time they had a conversation like that. It was those damn videos, the more she thought about it the more she was sure of it.
Xavier de Vitoria was ruining her marriage. He was corrupting her husband. And Jennifer didn’t have a clue what to do about it.
It was finally done.
Issacson had been working for weeks, first on the prototype vessel at the larger scale, and then on the new completed vessel. He had even worked through the night the last two nights to complete it, since he could only apply the final few pieces of technology when Lattimer and Paulson were out of the lab because of the security clearances. But finally, it was ready to launch.
Technically they were calling this the “second vessel.” Its model number identified it as such. The prototype vessel wasn’t assigned a sequenced model number like the others were. So after outfitting it with the last automated internal station Issacson was able to seal the vessel with a code keyed to his own unique level 17 clearance badge and call his assistants back into the lab to celebrate.
It took a minute for the security system to fully deactivate, but when it did, Lattimer and Paulson were waiting outside ready to reenter the lab and join their boss.
They all felt a great sense of accomplishment at what they’d achieved. His assistants didn’t feel any resentment at being shut out of some of the more sensitive aspects of the project, they understood the importance of their work and were honored to be trusted with the responsibilities he had assigned them. Everyone could feel the presence of history in the room with them.
Issacson paused to take in the moment. He looked around the room, committing to memory the scene his eyes finally resting on the two men who had worked with him for three years to arrive at this instant.
“We have done it gentlemen.” The two men looked up from the vessel to meet his gaze. “The most important discovery in the history of mankind. We have worked for years to accomplish this great work. And not just us, every man of science who preceded us, every inventor and thinker, is responsible for what we have accomplished in this laboratory. This is not just our success, this is theirs as well.” Issacson laughed to himself as a thought occurred to him.
“Perhaps we can thank them someday.” The other two chuckled at the thought. “But for now, I need to inform the Board that we’re ready to launch the vessel.”
Issacson turned back to his desk and began to collect the written notes he had there. Most of his work was saved in his computer of course, but Issacson had always made notes by hand as he worked. He could simply dictate them into his terminal, or the recorder in his badge, but he found the act of writing them down aided him in the application of his ideas. He would transcribe them into the terminal later, but for now he needed to lock them away. Informational security was paramount.
As he closed the drawer on his safe and activated the security mechanism, Lattimer and Paulson turned to leave the lab. At this stage, they couldn’t be allowed in the lab without his supervision.
Before they got to the door, Lattimer turned back to Issacson. “Do you know where they plan to send it?”
Issacson considered the question. “Where? That’s not really what you’re asking is it?” Issacson was quite for a moment. He’d wondered the same thing himself. “No James. I don’t know what they intend. I can’t tell you everything I’ve added to the vessel, but you two know I’ve been working a lot of late nights. Unfortunately, what they’ve had me doing hasn’t made things any clearer. If anything, the modifications I’ve made have obscured their goals. Perhaps that was the point.”
The three men considered this for a moment. Issacson really didn’t know what more to tell them. There wasn’t much more he even could.
“They’ve told me they will be making the final adjustments without our input, so whatever they have planned is beyond even my clearance level. None the less, there will be more work for us going forward I’m sure. This journey is hardly over my friends.”
With that Issacson clapped his assistants on their shoulders and walked with them from the room.
He took their questions with him as he walked through the campus of PVP towards where the Board would be waiting for the news that the vessel was ready.
Ready for what, Issacson could not be sure.
“I told you those gaddamn camel jockeys would be up to something before to long. I told you and not a damn one of you listened to me.”
Harold was feeling pretty smug. Sure enough, he had warned ‘em that there was gonna be trouble with the Arabs, and now that the attack on that College had happened, he was starting to look like a genius.
Greg swept his hat off his head to reveal the few whisps of hair still clinging beneath and held it over his heart. “A gaddamn genius. That’s what you are Harry. You did warn us about the camel jockies. And to our eternal shame we didn’t do anything to stop em. Will history ever forgive us?” With that he flourished his hat towards the invisible jury of history and plopped it back down on his head with a snort.
Harold leaned back and crossed his arms indignantly. “Fine, make fun of it. But I’m tellin ya. This aint the end. There’s plenty more to come. Way I figure it, we’re jes now getting started.” He nodded affirmatively at Greg before reaching out for his fork and digging in to the eggs Abby had just brought over to his table.
Larkin spoke up from the pile of pancakes he was hiding behind. “Sure sure. We have some idea of who’s involved now, de Vitoria, and these Arab nutters. President Alexander and that Legislator fella who’s been showin up with him all the time lately.”
“Grandon. That’s his name.” Greg interrupted from between sips of coffee.
“Sure, Grandon,” Larkin continued, “him. And you, Harry over there, me, Abby, and every other damn fool else. But we don’t know what’s comin’ down the road. So Harry, enlighten us. You got all the answers, what happens next?”
Harry leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He knew Larkin was funnin him, but he didn’t want to look like a fool either.
“Way I see it Larkin, we can expect more from these El-Hesab fellers. Seems like that Vitoria is willin’ to jes sit back behind his computer and send people nasty letters. Maybe he shot his wad on the Devastation. Sorry for the language Abby.” Harold inclined his head to Abby as she walked by on the way to the kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes in her arms. “Gaddamn Vitoria, hard to say what his plan is, but them Arabs, they seem ready for action. I’d expect something big. Splashy. They got the headlines now, they’re gonna try an ride em.”
Greg considered Harold’s comments. “Could be Harry. I heard some of that letter they sent after they shot all them kids at that College. Real crazy stuff about doing the work a God. Like God got any need for some dirt like that a do his work. You may be right about them wantin a big show. But I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Vitoria ither. I mean, President Alexander said he’s enemy numero uno, can’t just walk away from somethin like that.”
Larkin grunted. “You got it right there Greg. I don’t know what they have planned for that poor bastard, but I wouldn’t want to be him when it comes on home. Course, after the Devastation, hangin’s to good for em, ya ask me.”
They all agreed with that, even Abby. Maybe in their hearts they didn’t know what to believe, but their worlds were only ever going to be peripherally effected by any of this. In the end, it was simply easier for people like the regulars at Maude’s to see the wide world as easily identifiable paper dolls, where you could tell the good from the bad by the color of their hats.
So whether de Vitoria was good or evil, or who El-Hesab were, or what the President had planned was only ever really important to them as a discussion topic over eggs and pancakes and tobacco smoke. None of it was all that real to them in the end. They weren’t going off to fight in a war, and nobody was going to attack a little town like theirs anyway.
Not here in the middle of the country.
Chapter Ten
The Summit
Derik Kensinton recognized the voice of Sean MacMannis, the Head of the National Law Enforcement Association. He closed the folder he had been reading from and turned to greet him. As he reached out to shake Sean’s hand he handed the folder to his assistant.
“Sean. It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you could make it.” Derik had known Sean for years. Being the Director of Domestic Intelligence required him to work closely with many different law enforcement forces over the years and Sean had been a useful friend to have. A phone call to his office had facilitated friendly cooperation in more than one occasion.
And Sean liked to punch above his weight. Rubbing elbows with the Director of Domestic Intelligence was a good career move for him, one he fully intended would pay off sometime soon. “Well, Karen wanted me to spend the weekend with her and the kids, but duty calls.” He laughed while he said that, and Derik laughed along with him, even though it wasn’t really that funny. Derik sighed to himself. Cop humor.
But it was worth his time to indulge Sean. “Well, Karen’s loss is our gain. Have you had a chance to read the briefing?” This weekend would actually have several important meetings, but the one that was about to begin would be an overview of the Administration’s policies with regards to Las Apatridas specifically. Derik had been going over the key notes again when Sean approached him.
“I did. I’m sure you know, but Mitchell Rather has been contacting several of our local law enforcement departments with requests for information or assistance. They’ve been asking for a number of confidential informants and surveillance details. You’re boss has a real hard on for anyone who’s been in contact with de Vitoria’s people over the years.”
Kensinton did know of course. He was in charge of domestic security after all. But he noticed Sean bristle just a bit at the idea of Rather’s people contacting the departments himself. Sean liked those kinds of things to go through him first. It made him feel important. Derik filed all this away. Maybe he’d give Mitchell a head’s up, or maybe he’d use it to keep Sean his own man.
As he was thinking about how best to use that information for himself, he realized that Sean had asked him something and was waiting for a response. Derik scanned back through his head to find out what he was waiting for. “Who’s here? Well, pretty much everyone. The President didn’t make it of course, but Vice President Trilby is here, as well as most of the Directors.”
Sean cocked his head at that. “Most? Who didn’t make it?”
“Stephens. Apparently he’s fallen ill.” Derik made a gesture with his hands as though he didn’t really find the excuse sufficient, but was asking Sean to accept it as valid anyway.
It was after all the first “International Summit on Global Terrorism.” President Alexander had called for action such as this weekend’s work in his speech to the Legislature. Not only were the Vice President and the rest of the Directors present, but most of the industrial west had also sent delegates from both their political and intelligence communities. Kensinton would rather be somewhere else himself on this holiday weekend, but he knew where his job was. Privately he suspected that Stephens was old enough that he didn’t think he needed to bother.
Kensinton didn’t really trust Stephens. The man had been in the infantry. He had carried a gun and presumably even used it. That made him think he was somehow superior to the rest of them. Technically, all the Intelligence Directors shared a common rank and authority, but Derik could tell that Stephens thought he was better than the rest. More of a professional.
Sean shrugged and reached his hand out to place it on Derik’s shoulder. “Well, Stephens won’t be missed, but the rest of us have our work cut out for us this weekend. The itinerary seems fairly full. Perhaps we can find sometime this evening to relax.” Sean looked at something over Derik’s shoulder. Derik turned to see what it was.
He noticed a number of people putting down their drinks and filing into the conference hall behind him. “Looks like the Vice President is about to give his speech. I guess we should go inside and take our seats. Will you be sitting at the head table Derik?”
Director Kensinton turned back to face Sean. He was such a parasite. But a useful one.
As Derik tried to think of a way to brush him off, his assistant came up next to him. “You’re needed inside sir.”
Derik turned back to Sean and offered his palms in a gesture of supplication. “Sorry Sean, apparently I’m needed inside. Give me a call later about tonight.” With that he turned to go and reached out to take the folder holding notes on the speech back from his assistant.
Sean finished his drink and looked around the room one last time. Not seeing anyone left worth his time to approach, he put his glass down on a nearby table and headed in to find his seat.
The lights in the basement were dim and made it difficult to see the looks on the faces of the men around him, but Malawi didn’t need to see in order to know.
These men were handpicked for this mission. Each of them had purified themselves for what was to come. They had spent the previous days fasting and praying, and Wahlid knew that each of them would now be focused completely on today’s great work.
There were nineteen of them. It was important that there be exactly so many for this. It wasn’t always necessary, there could have been more or less, but Wahlid knew that it meant something to his men. For a day such as this, when they would strike such a blow against the infidels, it was important that there be nineteen.
He thought it was auspicious that the event they called the Devastation had happened on the nineteenth. So far he had been unable to determine who was responsible, Wahlid was sure it was not the de Vitoria man the infidels had been so quick to blame, but he knew that it was no accident. It had been the precipitous action which had motivated him to seize control. It had started him on his journey.
And that journey had brought him here, to this dark room with these men, and the bright future which lay just three hundred yards away at the International Summit on Global Terror.
He could hear the men breathing slowly as they checked their weapons. There was no fear in any of them, no reluctance. None of them expected to return from this mission, even Wahlid knew this would not be like the massacre at the college. There would be armed security at the event. But they would be unprepared for an attack like what he had planned, and they would be like sand beneath his feet.
No, none of them expected individually to survive this, but surely some of them would. Wahlid had already made clear what was to be done in the event he fell today. He had no hope of surviving, if it was the will of God that he die today then he would accept his fate, but El-Hesab would survive. And their enemies would be crippled by what transpired here.
As the men finished preparing their weapons they slowly gathered around him and waited for his next instruction. Wahlid did take the time now to look in the faces of each of his brave soldiers. He saw the determination in their eyes. These men were not grim, nor desperate. They were doing the work of God.
For the last time, he called them to prayer, and each of the men knelt in the basement while Wahlid silently chanted the words of the Prophet. It was not supposed to be done like this, in the dark, underground, in silence. But God would know their hearts and forgive them if they were victorious today.
When they finished they rose as one and turned to face the door.
It was important that Wahlid Ibn Malawi was with them. He was no woman to hide in caves and hold press conferences. He was a warrior who led from the front. His men took heart in knowing that he was with them. El-Hesab was something new since his actions that day in the desert, and the leadership of such a man was drawing more and more warriors to its cause.
Wahlid stood still and drank in the moment. Taking a final breath he reached for the handle on the door, and turning it, stepped out of the darkness and into the light.
Vice President Christopher Trilby turned to gesture at the men assembled behind him on the dais. “We’re pleased to be joined here at the first International Summit on Global Terror by our own Directors of Intelligence, heads of state, and captains of industry.” He acknowledged each in turn before turning back to face the audience in front of him.
The speech was going well. Vice President Trilby didn’t really care for these sorts of things, but he understood that this was the role of a Vice President, and it would be worth it if he could parley his boss’s current popularity into a Presidency of his own someday. Besides, these sorts of events always brought out the really expensive whores. He’d find a way to pass the time.
“Our country faces a new threat, but we do not face it alone. Our allies recognize the threat. And we have made new allies of nations which have already suffered the scourge of terrorism.” With that he nodded towards the delegation of Ivans who sat at one of the tables in the front of the room. The ambassador there returned his nod.
“We must work together to end this threat to the peace and tranquility of our lands. We must find ways to cooperate to bring these villains to justice. That is the purpose of our coming together here. It is a great task, but one which we shall rise to face.”
He swept his arm to take in the entirety of the room, and would probably have made a grand statement to accompany the gesture, if a bullet had not hit him in the face just below the left eye at that very moment, shattering his cheekbone, pulverizing the back of his skull, and knocking him backwards and off of the dais.
There was an odd sense of calm as people reacted to the shot. Before people were even able to register what had happened, men armed with compact automatic rifles were sweeping into the room from the three doors leading out into the hall and spraying it with bullets.
After a few seconds, people did begin to scream, but they had been taken so completely by surprise that by that time many of them were already dead or dying. Sean MacMannis stood up from his table and turned towards the entrance to the hall and immediately took six bullets in the chest and head, thowing him over across his table. He would never know it, but that was actually the second time someone had come to kill him in such a setting.
Derik saw Sean go down and wondered to himself how a man stupid enough to stand up with bullets flying through the air could have become the head of the National Law Enforcement Association. He was smart enough at least to stay down. He also wondered where the damned security was, and how these sons of bitches got there in the first place.
After a minute he did hear someone shooting back, presumably someone’s security. At that point, he didn’t really care if it was theirs or one of the foreign delegations. If someone was shooting at whoever was shooting at him, he would welcome the help.
Once he realized what was happening, he jumped down from where he was sitting, and now from behind the dais where he was hiding, he could see that the men firing into the room were in groups of four, two facing out and two facing in, reloading in shifts. The military precision with which they were massacring the bureaucrats and businessmen in the room was obvious, these were professionals.
They stopped firing into the room and he could briefly hear them talking in a language he thought sounded roughly Arabic. At that point, two men from each group moved into the room going from table to table shooting into the bodies.
Kensinton went cold. They were finishing the job.
He took quick stock of the situation. There were a few people huddled around the room, but the shooters were making quick work of survivors. Derik thought he had minutes, maybe less, before they made their way to the dais. He scanned the room for other exits, but it didn’t take long to realize he was boxed in. Maybe whoever was shooting outside the room would make it here before the armed men made it to him, but he doubted it.
For a moment he missed Director Stephens. His experience would probably be valuable just then. He allowed himself a brief chuckle as he thought of Sean’s earlier comments.
The men were almost to the dais by then, and Derik only had one idea. He didn’t really think he was going to make it.
But he didn’t really want to die there either.
Wahlid glanced briefly at his men from just inside the door to the hall as they moved from table to table, finishing their work. He kept his eyes focused on the hall outside, ready to repel the security guards who were positioned now just around the turn in the hall about fifty yards down.
His men had moved into the building from different entrances, waiting until the last possible moment to begin shooting. It was important that they catch the infidels inside the hall where they surround them. They had affixed silencers to their weapons so that when they did begin to fire on the security guards in the lobby who tried to keep them from coming in it wouldn’t alarm the security deeper within.
They’d lost only one man on the way in, but once the security behind them had begun to coordinate their counter assault things had gotten more dangerous. The foreign delegations had their own security, who it turned out were much quicker to fire upon his men. He had lost five men altogether, and now he had six in the room, himself and five others at the doors, and two more men out in the hall crouching behind overturned service carts laying down suppressing fire in the direction of the security forces.
He glanced back into the room as his men moved towards the dais. They were almost done there. No matter what happened now, El-Hesab had taken a great victory here today.
Just as he saw some movement in the room near the dais, the security forces turned towards him from further down the hall pushing beverage carts in front of him.
He turned towards the oncoming forces and opened fire.
The day was not yet over.
Derik Kensinton didn’t have any experience in combat. Unlike Stephens, he’d never served in the military. He didn’t box, or do karate, he didn’t even do pilates.
But when the first man came around the dais, leading with the small automatic rifle he had used to pump round after round into the men and women sitting in the room just minutes before, Derik did the only thing he could think of.
He grabbed the gun with both hands and pulled as hard as he could.
The security forces were moving towards him in the hall, and Wahlid had already lost three more men, when he heard shots being fired from within the room behind him again.
With his attention focused on the shots coming at him, he didn’t register the shots at first. When he did, he assumed his men had just found another survivor hiding under a table. Then he heard the shouts.
Wahlid and the last four men retreated into the room and closed the doors behind themselves. Security would breach the doors momentarily, but they would pause before doing so, knowing there were no other exits from this room.
As Wahlid turned to give his next orders to his men he felt something hit his shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him into the door he had just retreated through.
As he slumped to the floor the shouts he’d been hearing from out in the hall finally registered in his brain. Then he heard a gun going off and saw bullets slam into the door above where he was laying.
Someone was firing on his men from inside the room.
Derik had managed to grab the gun out of the hands of the first shooter who came around the dais. For a moment, they stared at each other, and then the attacker lunged at him just as he managed to turn the gun around and pull the trigger.
Derik had never fired a weapon in his life, and when he did the recoil knocked him backwards onto the ground. He sat there for a moment and stared at the man he had just killed. Then he saw another man coming around the edge of the dais and swung the gun up towards him and opened fire again.
As the second man fell, Derik scrambled to his hands and knees and then crouched down behind the dais again. He tried to catch his breath but it would only come in short spurts. He could feel his body shaking and was slightly dizzy, like he was just pitching forward.
Suddenly he heard the doors to the room closing. Maybe the men thought everyone was dead and were leaving.
Derik poked his head up over the edge of the dais and saw nine heavily armed men standing around the room. They hadn’t retreated out, he realized, they’d retreated in.
And that’s when one of them saw him and turned their gun his direction.
Derik ducked back down behind the dais just as the first bullets whizzed through the air where his head had just been. He heard them bite into the dais above where he was crouching and felt chips of the wood raining down into his hair. Without looking, he thrust the gun up over the dais and fired blindly into the room beyond.
He heard shouts and a thud as someone slammed into the floor and assumed he must have hit something. This time he didn’t look back up, but fired in short bursts in an effort to keep his attackers at bay while he tried to think of a way out.
If they were retreating into the room, then security must be just beyond the doors. Derik risked a brief look over the dais and saw the men crouched behind overturned tables, half pointing in towards him and half pointing out towards the doors. He saw them dragging a body from over by one of the doors to the safety of one of the tables.
He needed those security forces to breach those doors. It was his only hope. Derik fired a short burst of rounds into one of the tables, hoping to hit one of the men crouched behind. They answered with a salvo of their own.
He knew he must be running out of bullets at that point, and he didn’t have much time left. It had only been twelve minutes since the Vice President had prematurely finished his speech, and Kensinton was the only man left alive in the room that hadn’t come in armed.
He needed to do something, and as he scanned the room one more time, he saw a metal beverage cart in the corner of the room, near where the refreshments would have been offered.
If he could make it to that, he might be able to hold out until security breached the room.
For the second time, Derik did the only thing he could think of.
He jumped up, and firing over his shoulder towards the other men in the room, he sprinted for the beverage cart.
The soldiers of El-Hesab saw the infidel running away from the dais and opened fire, but somehow he managed to make his way to the corner and dive behind the steel cart in the corner. Wahlid was bleeding badly, and there were only eight of them left besides him in the room.
They knew security would be coming in through the doors any minute, and they needed to act quickly if they were going to escape. Security would take their time, thinking they had them trapped, but they wouldn’t wait forever.
The men moved slowly to the wall behind the dais, carrying Wahlid with them, several of them scanning the room and covering the doors and the man hiding in the corner with their rifles.
Once they reached the wall, they laid Wahlid down and one of the men slung his pack off his shoulder. Reaching inside he pulled the explosives from within and began arranging them on the wall.
The wall behind the dais bordered an alley behind the building. It was a solid, load bearing firewall, and security wouldn’t even bother stationing men in the alley beyond. The men had carefully surveyed the area in the days before however, and knew that only a few hundred feet down that alley there was a manhole cover which led to a large drainage tunnel which ran for miles under the city.
Once the explosives were in place, the men moved down the wall a short distance and triggered the explosives.
The wall burst out into the alley in a storm of bricks and dry wall, and the men of El-Hesab followed closely behind, carrying Wahlid with them. They moved quickly to the manhole, and opening it, made their way inside.
They were free from the conference hall, but they weren’t home yet, and there was still one thing left to do.
Derik heard the explosion and waited for a moment until he heard the sounds of the men beyond receding into the distance. Finally, he poked his head around the edge of the beverage cart and looked.
The room was empty and there was a gaping whole in the wall behind where he had been hiding only minutes before. At just that moment, the security forces came bursting into the room through each of the three doors, firing canisters of gas in and filling the room with a thick smoke which choked him and made his eyes burn.
Derik tossed the weapon away from himself and lay on his back screaming for help as he heard the sounds of men in heavy boots filling the room.
He had made it. Somehow, alone among all the men in the room, Derik Kensinton, who had never done an act of violence in his life, had killed two of the shooters, injured a third, and survived the assault.
Tears streamed down his face from the gas, and in between his coughs and screams, Derik laughed hysterically at his good fortune.
It wouldn’t take long for security to follow them through the whole in the wall and into the alley, and from there into the drainage tunnels.
The men of El-Hesab knew this, which is why they had spent the last few days surreptitiously placing explosives all over the building. It had been so simple. The security forces and hotel staff had never thought to question any of the blonde, blue eyed men walking amongst them carrying briefcases. They didn’t fit the profile.
The men didn’t even slow as one of them pulled a cellular phone out of his pocket and dialed a number each of the men had committed to memory.
A small shiver ran through the tunnel walls as the building behind and above them exploded in every direction, and then collapsed into its own footprint, killing anyone who remained and burying their bodies with the bodies of the martyrs El-Hesab had left behind.
Chapter Eleven
Something Wrong
It was a real adult dinner, at a nice restaurant, with some of Jennifer’s friends from work.
Jennifer had been concerned lately, about Thomas. It seemed like he was really starting to obsess over those videos he was watching on the net. More and more lately he seemed distant to her, like he was working over a puzzle in his head, and she wanted the old Tommy back again.
So when Dana invited them to go out to dinner with her and her husband Kyle, Jennifer leapt at the chance. It would be nice to get out of the house and go out and do something. Thomas liked Dana and Kyle, they’d been out before, and Jennifer thought this might be just the kind of thing to put things back the way they used to be.
They had arrived at the restaurant a little late, traffic had been a mess on the way over because of the weather, but Dana and Kyle were still standing in the lobby waiting for a table when Jennifer and Thomas walked into the restaurant.
Jennifer walked over to Dana and gave her a hug while Thomas shook the umbrella outside the door to knock off some of the water running down it before carrying it inside. He then turned to Kyle and shook his hand while their wives complained about the rain and the way it affected their hair.
Kyle turned his easy smile on Jennifer. “Well I think you ladies look lovely this evening. I wouldn’t worry about a bit of rain if I were you, it’s all these other ladies who need to be worried. Now that we have the two of you together here, their dates will hardly hear a word from them for the rest of their meals.” Kyle was like that, he had a charisma and charm that let him get away with making ridiculous statements that put people at ease. Around him people just smiled and shook their heads. “Oh Kyle,” was a common refrain.
Jennifer laughed. “Please. The women in here will be feel pretty confident about their dates if they see you in here Kyle. Surely any man must compare favorably to a scoundrel like yourself.” Kyle staggered back with his hands over his chest as though he had just been wounded by her remarks.
The four of them chatted amiably for a few minutes more when a hostess approached them and asked that they follow her to their table.
As they worked their way through the crowded restaurant, Thomas could over hear snippets of conversations around him. It was the sorts of things you would expect on a Friday evening. How was work? What do you have planned for the weekend? As they walked past a table with a man and a woman sitting together he saw the man lean in close to the woman and heard him say, “it wasn’t the fact that he was naked that bothered me, it was what he was holding.”
He would have loved to have paused right there and caught the rest of that story. Instead he’d probably go crazy imagining what he was holding.
It was different than just a few weeks ago. Right after the Devastation, that was all people could talk about. But now, even since the attack on the medical college, it almost seemed like people were becoming inured to the threat of terrorism. They adjusted so quickly. As long as their leaders told them everything was under control, they tended to act as though it was.
Thomas was beginning to doubt that anything was actually under control. In fact, he had been watching a video at his desk earlier that day where de Vitoria carefully pointed out how desperately the government wanted every speeder, and drunk driver, and tax avoider, and drug user to think the all seeing eye of the state was upon them, and how the statistical reality so clearly put the lie to the notion.
Thomas was beginning to think that nothing was under control at all, but that the external control mechanisms he had been raised to view as infallible and natural were simply a kind of psychological placebo intended to domesticate the citizenry. De Vitoria painted a picture of the world as it was which seemed to be the very kind of anarchy which was so universally feared.
Thomas shook his head slightly and tried to focus on the story Kyle was telling as they took their seats at the table. He knew that his newfound fascination with these sorts of things was becoming a point of contention between Jennifer and himself, and he was determined not to bring it up tonight. She deserved a nice night out, without any stress, and Thomas was determined to give her just that.
It was a pleasant restaurant. The kind of place that college kids, families, and young professionals could all go to on a Friday night. Thomas ordered a beer and a water, he wouldn’t be drinking heavily tonight but it was nice after a long week to take the edge off just a little. There was a bunch of kitschy crap all over the walls, something Thomas had never liked, and they had flat screen televisions showing sporting events hanging from the ceiling throughout the room. Thomas intentionally took a chair facing away from them so that he wouldn’t get distracted during dinner. He was really trying.
Kyle was wrapping up his story. “So I told him, you know Ben, people say a lot of bad things about you. All the time. Horrible things. Things that just shouldn’t be said. The kinds of things that, well, that make you die inside when you say them about another human being. But I think they’re exaggerating.” With that they all burst into laughter.
Jennifer was wiping her eyes with her napkin. “Oh Kyle. You are the absolute worst. I could never work with you. I think you’d make me cry.” She giggled as she said it.
Thomas turned to his wife and reached out to take her hand. “I don’t know dear. I think you’re made of sterner stuff than that.” He gave her a smile as he squeezed her hand for just a moment.
As they’re food arrived at the table the discussion continued, with Kyle interjecting amusing anecdotes in between talk of parents and their plans for redecorating their living room. Dana asked Thomas how the car he was working on was coming, which only prompted Jennifer to beg him to tell them about the day he had spent running all over town looking for a specific size wrench which was apparently as difficult to find as the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. As they enjoyed their deserts talk turned to children and who at work was having them. Neither couple had any of their own yet, but Thomas and Jennifer had been thinking about giving it a try.
They had finished desert and Thomas had ordered a hard coffee for after dinner when he heard a plate crash to the floor and shatter. Thomas chuckled. “Hope that’s not coming out of someone’s paycheck.” The other three laughed at that and continued their discussion, but after only a moment Thomas began to feel uneasy.
The atmosphere in the restaurant had changed. Thomas wasn’t sure why, but he realized that all around the room, discussions were faltering and stopping at table after table. His own laughter faded away as he looked around the room.
The first thing he noticed was the servers had stopped moving. Some were carrying platters covered in food, others were empty handed. But they were all just standing and staring. Then he noticed that the people at the other tables were as well.
Jennifer reached out and put her hand on his arm. “What’s wrong Tommy?” He realized the others were looking at him strangely.
Then he realized what was wrong. “Everyone’s looking at the tvs. What’s on the tv?” As he asked, Jennifer, Kyle, and Dana looked up at the tv behind him. Thomas turned around in his chair and craned his neck to see what was drawing everyone’s attention.
The televisions were muted so that customers wouldn’t have to talk over the sound, but the closed captioning was on. Even without it, Thomas knew from the picture that something terrible had happened.
It was an image of a busy city corner. Except there was a building missing. And in its place there was a smoldering pile of rubble. Rescue workers and emergency personnel were swarming all around it. It looked like the scene from Thomas’ dream.
And then he read the caption.
It was the First International Summit on Global Terror. There had been some kind of attack. The anchorman wasn’t giving many details, but he was reporting that the Vice President and several other administration officials had been present, and there was no word yet as to their condition.
For a moment, the whole restaurant sat, staring at muted televisions in silence, reading about the attack. In some strange corner of his mind which still processed surrealism, Thomas wondered how many other restaurants had fallen silent in the same fashion. How many meals would go uneaten as people sat in places just like this and watched the news without a word?
At some point, someone thought to find a remote control and turn the volume up on the televisions. Once the silence was broken, people began to speak again. But there was no more discussion of weekends and work days.
The talk was back to terrorism. And with the possible elimination of most of the civilian leadership, people were suddenly feeling the sense of loss and vulnerability they had experienced immediately after the devastation.
Thomas’ hard coffee never showed, and shortly after they got up and said their goodbyes. Dana and Kyle forced smiles and hugs and handshakes, but they were as distracted as everyone else in the room.
The rain had stopped and Thomas and Jennifer walked out to their car in silence, both of them lamenting the loss of the night they had planned. It was beginning to feel like they would be forever buffeted by circumstances beyond their control, eternal victims of the violence of others.
When they got to the car Thomas went around to the passenger side door to unlock it. As he turned away from the door lock Jennifer suddenly fell into his arms and buried her head on his shoulder. Her body shook as she wept silently.
Thomas held her there, standing in the wet parking lot with the sounds of the cars driving past them, and his jacket soaked up her tears.
Today was the day.
The Board had been pleased with Issacson’s work, and with it finally completed, they had scheduled the launch of the vessel. All of the department heads were present for the launch, and there was a palpable excitement in the air.
Issacson had realized that they wouldn’t be sending a person through the vessel, but he wasn’t sure exactly what to expect out of the afternoon.
The Board members had informed him that prior to the launch they would be making some final adjustments to the equipment in order to ensure completion of their objectives.
Issacson was concerned at first. He knew that they were men of science, he trusted their ability. But the project was his life’s work, and he was disconcerted at the thought of someone else, even the great men of the Board of PVP, making changes without his knowledge.
“I understand your apprehension son.” The Board member had addressed the issue with him earlier that day. “I hope you understand, we have the deepest and most abiding faith in you and your team. We know you’ve done your best, more than we could have hoped, but there are some things which are still beyond your security level. Some of what happens here today is secured at the very highest level. But you will still be a part of this moment. And as you continue your work, more will be revealed to you in time.”
Issacson had left the meeting still apprehensive, but he trusted these men. He may have misgivings, but he could put them aside. He had worked for PVP and the men of the Board for nearly twenty years, and he believed in them, the company, and the mission.
And so when the day of the launch arrived, he quieted his concerns and assembled his team for the launch.
They had transported the vessel to a clean room for transfer. Lattimer and Paulson went through their final checks, making adjustments and checking the calibration of the equipment. When they were done, they nodded to Issacson, stepped out to join everyone else on the observation deck, and the men of the Board entered the clean room.
Within moments, the security features on the room were activated and the clear windows between the observation desk and the clean room turned solidly opaque. For a few minutes, no one could see or hear into the room. Even the cameras, microphones, and digital recording devices which were poised to record the launch were deactivated and locked out. There would be absolutely no record of what transpired within that room. This was security at the absolute highest level.
Suddenly the color faded from the windows and the clean room was visible again. The men of the Board exited to the observation deck and the Board member wearing the black badge stepped up to the podium, as the rest of the Board arrayed themselves behind him,
“Today is a great day. All of our work has led us to this great event. Do not think that you have not each personally played a roll in the successes of this day. In many ways, some vast and obvious, some imperceptible and subtle, all of the work of PVP has brought us to this moment in history. A moment which touches every other both before and after it.”
There was soft applause from the assembled scientists as he stepped down from the podium and joined the other members of the Board where they were standing. He turned to face Issacson. “Doctor Issacson. Please initiate the transfer.”
This was the moment Issacson was waiting for. With a nod to his team, he stepped forward to the controls. Everything would be activated by remote from this room, to ensure there was no contamination of the experiment.
Lattimer and Paulson each took their places at the monitors in front of them. Issacson began to go through the checklist leading to the launch, “Systems check.”
Lattimer’s eyes swept across the screen before him. “I have green lights. All systems. Check?”
Issacson confirmed the information on the monitor in front of him. “Green lights. All systems. Check. Energy reading.”
Paulson turned to face his boss. “Energy affirmative. Reading optimal levels Check?”
“Energy affirmative. Reading optimal levels. Check.” Issacson was ready. There was only one thing left to do.
“Landing coordinates. Thirty nine point three degrees north. Seventy six point six degrees west. Time 0617. Day 109. Year 412 BGE.”
Issacson paused briefly to consider the implications of what he was about to do.
His hand reached for the terminal in front of him.
“Executing vessel transfer.”
Xavier couldn’t help but smile.
Johan had been producing the videos for weeks now, and the response had been overwhelming. Even with the Yankees forcing netsites to remove them and shutting down anyone who didn’t comply, the demand had been so great that they had been able to find plenty of sites who would be willing to host them, at least temporarily.
In fact, for many netsites it had become a bit of a game. Johan would finish a video and upload it to dozens of sites. Word would get out quickly that a new video was up, and there would be a flood of traffic to the sites to view it. By the time the governments got around to applying pressure to the owners of the sites, they’d already have benefited from the increased ad sales, and they would be more than willing to pull the videos, all the while protesting that they couldn’t control what people uploaded to their site.
Sure, they’d delete the accounts that uploaded the videos, but Johan would just make a new account, upload another video, and the whole thing would play out again. The viewers loved it. The sites loved it. The advertisers loved it. And if the Yankee government didn’t, well, they couldn’t move fast enough to stop it either.
And people really did seem to be connecting with the videos. Sure, there was the usual number of people who had simply accepted the state line about his being the devil, but Xavier put those people out of his mind. They would simply accept whatever they were handed, and if everyone else realized the virtue of statelessness, those people would go along with that instead of this. Until they learned to think for themselves, they were really just automatons. They weren’t really combatants in the arena of ideas.
And of course there were as many of them who agreed with him as disagreed. There were always people who thought he was saying “Damn the man,” or “Fight the power.” Which he was of course, but not simply to be anti-authoritarian. He was trying to teach them a new morality, not just raging against the machine.
It was those people in the middle he was most concerned with. The people who neither dismissed his ideas out of hand, nor accepted them because of some misguided anger or penury of compassion. It was the thoughtful ones who asked questions instead of making declarative statements that he was most concerned with. When someone told him it wouldn’t work, he tended to ignore them. When someone asked him how it could work, or why it would work, or even why he didn’t realize that it would never work, that was when Xavier got excited.
Because those people could be reached, and more and more, they were being reached. With every video that Johan uploaded to the net, they were seeing an increase in views, an increase in downloads, an increase in comments. It was a steady and exponential increase in interest. They were truly awakening the minds of the world.
And none of it could have been possible without James Alexander and his brutal oppressions. Without the Devastation, and de Vitoria’s subsequently being blamed for it, it would have taken decades to reach even a fraction of the people who were now discussing his philosophies and visions all over the world. Without meaning to, his greatest enemies had given him his greatest opportunity.
And Xavier de Vitoria was taking full advantage of it. He thought he would have to thank President Alexander if he ever got a chance to meet him.
He turned away from the computer where he had been watching their latest video. This one challenged the oft repeated “truth” that violence was endemic to human nature. As though people used violence not as a means to an end, but simply as an end in and of itself.
It was one of the most common challenges de Vitoria had faced in his time as an anarchistic philosopher, and it had taken him years to understand completely. But like so many of the things he had learned, once it was clear to him, it seemed so obvious he looked back on his prior confusion with a sense of wonder.
It was really very clear. People weren’t violent because they were animals, they only had the capacity for violence because they were animals. The reality was that people were motivated by incentives and goals. They used violence to achieve their goals, not because of their “violent natures,” but because they thought that it was the most effective way to meet those goals.
If a snake was about to bite their child, the parent might swat it away with a broom. But it wasn’t because they were violent, it was because they had a goal, in this case protect their child, and they thought that violence was the best way to achieve that goal. The incentive was to protect the child. If wishing, or telekinesis, or a funny dance worked better and faster, they’d do that instead.
It was all very obvious. After all, the statistical indicators of violent behavior were consistent and predictable. If, as a child, a person was exposed to poverty, or a poor education, or abusive or neglectful parenting, they ended up becoming violent adults. If the “human nature” argument were true at all, then these indicators would be completely irrelevant to predicting future criminal behavior. Instead you would see a nearly exact percentage of people engaging in criminal behavior across all social strata, which simply wasn’t the case. The reality was that there were contributing factors. Of course, they weren’t universal or absolute, but they were consistent and overwhelmingly clear.
All of which, coupled with the fact that people generally used violence as a means in response to incentive and stimuli, and not an end in and of itself, proved that it wasn’t their natures, but rather their methods of conflict resolution, which resulted in the violence. By simply adjusting the incentives and teaching better forms of conflict resolution, interpersonal violent predation could be eliminated.
Of course the state wanted nothing of this, they needed violence to justify their necessity. It was both the method and catalyst of their existence. And so they created a system of inverted morality and incentives which created violence instead of preventing it, and all the while told their victims that it was their own fault, because it was simply their “human nature.”
The evidence against this position was overwhelming. The statistical indicators of future violence were obvious and consistent. Before committing violence, there were often what the experts called, “pre-incident indicators,” or certain behaviors and actions which could be used to determine which individuals would act violently. There was a methodology to violence.
All of which showed quite clearly that it was not simply in the human’s nature to be violent. Certainly, there was a capacity for violence within the human animal, but there was no evidence for a propensity towards it, in fact, quite the opposite.
Xavier believed this idea came from the religionists. They had taught men for thousands of years that he was inherently fallen, wicked, and evil, and that only through the guidance and grace of his creator could he be made whole and shielded from the consequences of his own violent nature. The state had simply co-opted this control mechanism and replaced god with government.
They had declared themselves the only bulwark against violence and convinced everyone it was so.
And so Xavier had made his most recent video and asked, at the end, whether those watching were committing violence in their day to day affairs. Did they use guns to get their jobs, or their girlfriends, or their homes? If they did, then clearly the state was no protection against that kind of behavior. But if they did not, then why not? Was it because they feared the consequences of such actions? If so, then they were simply responding to a system of incentives. A system which, with work, could eliminate crime without the need for the state and all the violence which was inherent to its nature.
Xavier smiled at the thought and turned to face Clementine where he was sitting at a desk with a stack of newspapers in front of him. Clementine was keeping track of the press they were getting, good and bad, and using it to determine the actions of the governments which were currently hunting them. They planted stories in the papers, such as the recent one attempting to link him with the monsters who had attacked the medical college, which betrayed their intentions to anyone who knew what to look for. Clementine looked up and returned his smile, just seconds before the wall behind him exploded inward, showering him with concrete dust and debris.
It all seemed to happen so slowly. Later, Xavier would remember the thought that ran through his head as his fate unfolded around him.
He felt sorrow, because he knew his friends were going to die.
While the dust was still thick in the air, Clementine dove over the desk in front of him and pulled it up to shield him from the men covered head to toe in black who were pouring in through the opening in the wall. They all wore vests and masks, and had semi-automatic weapons with which they scanned the room. Clementine was yelling to Xavier to escape as he grabbed a gun from his waist band and turned towards the men and began to fire.
Xavier didn’t even bother to hide, or try to run. There were no exits from this room that they would not have covered. He knew that he was finished. He saw one of the black suited men fall backwards as a bullet fired from Clementine’s pistol struck him in the chest, but before he could fire a second round three of the semi-automatic weapons turned to face him and their muzzles exploded in short bursts.
Clementine was reunited with his wife and daughter only seconds later, by men just like those who separated them all those years ago.
Johan had fallen from his chair at the sound of the explosion, and being more of a romantic then a soldier, had crawled under the table where his computer equipment was sitting. He was no coward, but he was also unarmed. All he could do was hope that these men would not kill him if he did not resist. It was his only defense.
The men swept into the room. One of them paused briefly to check Clementine’s body for signs of life. After a moment, he looked up to the man who appeared to be in charge and shook his head. He then rose from the body and advanced towards de Vitoria, the barrel of his gun trained on Xavier’s chest.
Behind him, Xavier could hear Johan weeping as they pulled him out from underneath the table. They threw him down to his knees in the center of the room, next to where de Vitoria was standing and surrounded the two men with their weapons pointed at them.
The man who appeared to be in charge reached up and touched a small radio device under his chin. “Three men. The Principle. Two others. Principle and one other in custody, third man eliminated. Orders?”
The men were professionals, none of them took their eyes off of Johan and de Vitoria while their commander listened to the instructions coming over his ear piece.
Xavier looked down at Johan. He had no illusions about what would happen next. He had always expected that this would be how he would meet his end, after all, he had spent his entire life in the opposition to the largest, most violent, most corrupt entity in human history. Surely they would eventually take notice of him and respond the only way they knew how. He felt a little guilty at bringing his friends to the same fate, but they had known the risks of associating with him. Surely some part of Clementine had wished for death ever since that day in the convention hall, and while Johan may have been more of a dreamer, he understood what he had allied himself against.
Johan looked up at him and met his eyes. Xavier’s heart strained to breaking at seeing the fear in his friend, but at the same time Johan seemed to draw strength from his calmness. His tears slowed and his face took on a look of determination. Inwardly, Xavier swelled with pride for his friend. Johan was no coward.
The commander nodded his head as he seemed to get his final instruction. Without a word he turned and approached the two men. Xavier steeled himself for what he knew would happen now. He would meet this blade face on.
The commander looked past de Vitoria to one of the men standing behind him. Then he drew his pistol from the holster at his waist and shot Johan in the head.
The last thing Xavier de Vitoria saw before everything went black was the body of his last true friend pitching over sideways, the life already gone from his eyes.
