Weatherspoon knew when his friend was pulling rank. “OK, but I’m telling you, Pete, there’s something going on here.”
The captain just grunted and returned to his reports.
Weatherspoon stomped back to his desk, but continued standing so that his visitors knew that the conversation was over. Through gritted teeth, he stated, “I appreciate you two coming down. I will be sure to keep you in the loop.” He handed out two business cards from the stack on his desk. “Here’s my card. Please feel free to call me if you need anything.” Then he made his face as blank and forbidding as he could to make sure they knew he didn’t mean a word of it.
The detective watched Agent Beel open his mouth in protest, and then shut it like a mousetrap with the simple touch of Eva Fix’s hand on his shoulder.
The woman in black cracked a gentle smile. “Thank you so much for your time, Detective. We’ll get out of your hair now.”
The former offensive tackle reclaimed his desk chair and watched the odd couple exit the station.
Something’s not right there.
Outside the station, Agent Beel fumed. “Why did you let him run over us like that?”
Eva just kept walking to the car without looking back. “Because that old cop wasn’t going to let us in without a lot of effort and time that we don’t have. Besides, we’ve got his cell phone number, which is all we need. Haven’t you and the boys down at the FBI ever heard of a phone tap?”
Chapter 12
Albert rose from his bed and stretched his back, which felt like it had been beaten with sticks by pygmies in the middle of the night. His coddled body was not used to the less than robust support provided by the Travis Farm’s twin guest bed. Looking out the small cross-paned window of his room, Albert noticed that the macabre drip of the farm at night had given way to a lush morning light reminiscent of the horse farms outside of Northfield. Albert could smell the rich scent of azaleas mixed with a faint aroma of eggs and bacon. He heard the bubbling of Ying’s voice below blended with the hum of men’s laughter and hurried downstairs to see what he was missing.
As he crossed the threshold of the Travis Farm’s kitchen, he couldn’t help feeling that he had stumbled into a sequel of The Big Chill. There, sitting and laughing over breakfast at a round cherry-wood kitchen table, was the odd assortment of people from the night before. And at the center of it all was Ying, enthusiastically recounting a story in the fully animated way that was her trademark, with the whole table doubled over in laughter.
Puddles’s eyes first met those of Brick, who converted his broad smile into a menacing frown. Witnessing the sharp change in Sergeant Travis’s face, Turner and the man in the wheelchair stopped laughing and pivoted to see their new guest.
“Maaan, you got some bad taste in ladies, amigo,” shouted the man in the cowboy hat with a smile.
After holding their faces in ill-disguised seriousness, the entire table burst out laughing while looking at Albert.
Puddles smiled the confused smile of a man who knew that a joke was in the offing but had no clue what the joke was. Slowly, he approached the table, socks slipping and sliding along the hardwood floor.
Mercifully, Ying shattered Albert’s befuddlement. “I’m sorry, Professor. I was just telling the guys here about how the love of your life framed you for murder.”
More laughter.
“I’m glad you all get so much joy out of that story.”
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive, Puddles. So, you got your ass kicked by a girl. It’s probably not the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last,” said Brick with an unsympathetic smirk.
“Why don’t you join us for breakfast, Albert, and we’ll introduce you to our new friends here,” said Turner.
Albert reluctantly joined them at the table and dutifully shook hands while pulling out a backless chair.
Turner began, “This, Albert, is the Book Club. The man beside you is Gabe Abernathy.”
Albert carefully sized up the man next to him.
“Gabe knows more about cyber-intelligence than anyone in the game. He and Sergeant Travis met in the Green Zone in Iraq and have been friends ever since. He will be teaching you how to use technology to maximize the Tree’s impact during your training.”
“I’m sorry, did you say training?”
“Of course. I’ve spoken more with Sergeant Travis and the rest of the club here about our situation, and it seems that things are even more dire than we anticipated. We may have to fend for ourselves for a while. So we need to immediately undertake the process of whipping you and Ms. Koh here into shape. The Book Club is here to make that happen.”
Turner continued, “This powerful gentleman here is Captain Raphael Salazar, who is an expert marksman and possesses a deep knowledge of small munitions. He’ll be teaching you how to shoot and use other weapons.”
Salazar tipped his hat and twirled the toothpick that seemed permanently attached to the end of his mouth.
Albert fired a look at Ying. “We’re shooting guns now?”
Ying smiled and nodded furiously, her cheeks bright pink. “I know, isn’t this great?”
Turner returned to his introductions. “This lovely lady next to me is Ariel Kelly. She specializes in psychological warfare.” Even when she was sitting down, Albert could tell that Ariel was a tall woman, well over six feet. She sat with perfect posture, and she looked sidelong at Albert through squinted eyes.
“And, of course, you now know Sergeant Travis. He will be training you in physical conditioning and hand-to-hand combat.”
Albert and Ying nodded at their new colleagues.
Brick began. “The four of us were briefed on your situation last night, and since we don’t have a lot of time, we’re going to throw you into the deep end of the pool. Puddles, I understand you’re a chess player.”
“I was.”
“Well, this is gonna be a lot like chess. There are some basic skills you need to learn, but at the end of the day, the best way to get better is to simply play the game. Each day will consist of basic physical training combined with competitions in each of the major fields that you will need to master. I will compete against you in hand-to-hand combat; Mr. Salazar will compete against you in small-arms fire and protection. Ariel will compete against you in psychological operations. Professor Turner will observe and assist you with each of these modules.”
“You mean we’re going to fight you all?” sputtered Ying.
“That’s right. The professor here thinks his special sauce can make soldiers out of you. Frankly, I’m skeptical, but I’ve learned a lot from this gentleman, so I’m willing to give it a shot. We don’t have a whole lot to work with here, but I’ve set up the old farm as best I could. We’ll do hand-to-hand combat in the old farmhouse down the hill. We’ll use the hay bales out back for shooting practice and strategy. And we’ll go into town for the psyops stuff. Now go change, and we’ll reconvene out back in fifteen minutes.”
The Book Club simultaneously pushed their chairs out and rose from the table. Albert watched, eyes darting back and forth. Ying seemed to be genuinely enjoying the pace of military life.
“Puddles, since you were late, you won’t get to eat this morning,” said Brick.
“Oh, I wouldn’t have anyway,” replied Albert, oblivious of the slight.
“What, you don’t eat?”
“Oh, I eat,” replied Albert. “But I feel that traditional food is haphazard and disorganized. So, I just eat nutrition bars that provide me with my daily values of calories and vitamins.” Albert removed a bar from his pants and slowly unwrapped the wrapper.
Brick stared at the bookish fellow. “You mean to tell me that all you eat is nutrition bars?”
“Nutrition bars, power bars, fruit bars, vegetable bars. To be honest, I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t do it. You always know how many
calories you’ve consumed, and you can regulate your vitamin and mineral intake.”
Brick closed his eyes briefly and then looked at Turner. “It’s going to be a long week.”
Chapter 13
Fifteen minutes later, Albert and Ying were walking with Professor Turner along the back border of the Travis Farm. Tall green grass rolled along for miles, framed by an ocean of trees. Most were still green, but a few sported the flaming reds and bright golds of early fall in Vermont. The lawn was punctuated by long rows of hay bales about twenty yards long and five feet tall. In the middle of the field stood individual hay bales in intermittent squares like the alternating boxes of a chessboard.
Ying and Albert stood in the middle of the shooting range in Brick’s leftover military athletic wear. The outfits gave the unathletic academic and his petite graduate assistant an aura of the absurd. Albert’s pale legs protruded from the slightly too-short shorts like sticks from a scarecrow. And Ying looked more like a child preparing for gym class than a soon-to-be combatant.
Looking at the expressions on the faces of Professor Turner and Sergeant Travis, Albert could see that they were thinking much the same thing. The professor scratched his chin, while Brick merely shook his head and sighed.
“We didn’t give ourselves much to work with, did we, Professor?”
“Well, Sergeant, I’m not much to look at in a T-shirt and shorts either, but I turned out alright.”
“True.”
Turner walked the two of them to one side of the range, stopped next to one of the hay bales, turned to Ying and Albert, and began. “Puddles and Ms. Koh, this is the beginning of your training. From now on, I want you to stop thinking of me as your professor or friend. Think of me as your drill sergeant. As you both well know, we are in an extremely delicate situation, and the best chance we have to get out of it is if you two become fluent in the Tree and its power. As it stands, I am the only one who fully knows what the Tree can do, but I’m getting older, and I won’t have it die with me. I also won’t have it fall into the wrong hands.”
Turner paused and looked around at the peaceful setting. “You know, I once estimated that it would take me a year to teach a student what I’ve come to know about the Tree. Unfortunately, I also estimate that it won’t take more than two weeks for Eva and her team to find us, so for the next two weeks, I need you to be extraordinary. You will be working sixteen-hour days, and every single part of your day will be planned and regimented. You will be learning a set of skills and concepts about which you currently know absolutely nothing. This will be hard for both of you. You will feel pain that you’ve never felt, in parts of your body you’ve forgotten about. You will doubt yourself. You will want to quit. You will certainly decide to quit—more than once. But I want you to remember that what you are doing here will change your life and may end up changing the world. To succeed, you must stop feeling like a human being and start thinking like a logician. No emotions, no anxiety, no pity, no morality, no shame. Just pure tactical reasoning.”
Turner paused again and took a deep breath. His words hung heavy in the crisp country air.
“Before we begin, I need to ask you for one final thing. I need you to agree that you will commit yourself fully to this training and push yourself to the absolute limit of what you are capable of. I can’t and won’t babysit you through this process. I need you to be soldiers, not students. Any doubts you have, you must overcome by yourself and keep to yourself. When you decide to quit, I expect you to talk yourself out of it. And you must never, ever tell anyone what you know. Do I have your commitment?”
“Yes,” said Ying and Albert in unison. Though Albert wasn’t sure he believed it.
“Good,” said Turner, clapping his hands together. “Let us commence. As Brick mentioned, the two of you are going to compete in a series of challenges over the next few weeks. The goal of these challenges is to teach you how to think logically and problem-solve not just mathematics problems but every situation you face. You will be competing against the absolute best in the world in hand-to-hand combat, weapons and strategy, and psychological operations. Without a doubt, you will lose and lose badly at first. However, if you use your logical mind and trust the Tree, eventually, I assure you, you will prevail. Brick was right when he said this is just like chess. You have a goal, and so does your opponent. Your job is to manipulate your opponent so that you achieve your goal.”
The two nodded their agreement, and Turner patted them supportively on the shoulders.
“Now, the first challenge is designed to teach you tactics and strategy. Think of it as a real-life chess match. Behind the hay wall on the other side of the course are Captain Salazar and Sergeant Travis. Each of them has a paint gun. Their job is to do everything in their power to prevent you from crossing over their hay wall. Your job is to cross those walls.”
Albert swallowed deeply and looked at Ying.
“What’s in the bag?” asked Ying, pointing to the big canvas bag slung over Turner’s shoulder.
Turner nodded. “These are your ‘weapons.’ Forgive the randomness of these items, but obviously, Sergeant Travis and I didn’t have much time to prepare, and we had to work with the odds and ends from his personal collection.”
Turner poured out the contents of the bag. On the ground were one small paint pistol, a paint shotgun, a bulletproof vest, and a clear, polycarbonate riot shield.
“What’s the story on the bulletproof vest? If a paint pellet hits me there, does that not count?” asked Albert. He thought he saw a twinkle in the professor’s eyes.
“That’s correct. Also, if you are able to hit Salazar or Travis with the paint pellets, then they are out of the game and can no longer fire at you or prevent you from climbing their wall.”
“And what’s that thing?” asked Ying, pointing to the shield.
Turner grabbed the shield. “This is a bulletproof shield that you can use to protect yourself from the paint pellets. It’s similar to what police use in riots.”
“I like this; it’s like an episode of American Gladiators,” said Ying as she grabbed the paint shotgun.
“It always comes back to television with you, doesn’t it?” replied Albert, trying to disguise his nervousness. He could see that Ying had goose bumps as well.
Ying pumped the shotgun. “Yes, yes, it does. You ready to do this?”
“That’s what you’re going with? The paint shotgun? Shouldn’t we think this through a little bit?”
“I have thought it through. Quite logically, I might add. I am not a very good shot . . . yet . . . and so I took the weapon that requires the least accuracy. This sucker will hit anything.”
Albert looked wholly unconvinced by Ying’s logic but decided not to argue. “OK, I’m going to go with the shield because all I need to do is get over that hay wall without being shot, and the shield will provide me with the best chance of doing that.”
“Whatever. That’s what the hay bales on the field are for. You’ll be thanking me when I’m covering your ass with shotgun fire.” Ying proceeded to fire paint in the air like an honorary member of the A-Team.
Albert simply shrugged.
“It appears that the two of you have made your choices,” said Turner, walking out into the middle of the range. “Let the games begin,” he shouted and blew on his whistle.
Albert’s voice cracked. “Wait, we’re starting now?”
At the sound of the whistle, Ying hurled herself over the hay barrier and into the shooting range all the while unleashing a tribal yell and indiscriminately firing her paintball shotgun in the direction of Sergeant Travis and Captain Salazar, who were carefully crouched behind their barrier, showing little more than rifles and well-trained eyes.
Before Albert could even move his body over the barrier, paint pellets rained down on Ying’s chest, legs, and body.
“Nooooooooo,” she cried o
ut as yellow and blue pellets exploded over her person, creating a seamless collage of color.
While Ying fell to the ground looking like a Jackson Pollock painting, Albert rolled over the hay bale. Holding his shield in front of him, he crept toward a couple of stacked hay bales and crouched low. Paint pellets popped and crackled on his shield and around the hay bales, but Albert looked down at his clothes and noticed that he was clean. He smiled.
These bozos won’t be so hard to handle, thought Albert. All I have to do is stay low, keep my shield in front of me, and I’ll be set. He peered out from behind the hay bale, expecting that the thunder of paint pellets against his shield would resume, but instead he was surprised to see Brick Travis simply walking toward him.
What is he doing? thought Albert. Giving up already? He covered himself with the shield and crouched behind the hay bale to collect his thoughts. But before he realized what was happening, Sergeant Travis walked up behind the hay bale and shot Albert three times in the shin.
“You’re not much of a threat when you don’t have a gun,” said Brick and jogged back to his side of the range.
Albert and Ying returned to their end of the course to find Turner scowling with his arms crossed. The professor shook his head, handed them a paper and pencil, and uttered two sentences. “Think like a logician. Use the Tree.”
Albert took the paper and pulled Ying over to a hay bale. He began sketching a game tree and walked Ying through his logical process.
“OK, that wasn’t our best work. Let’s think this through . . . we have one objective: to cross over their hay wall. Our obstacles to achieving that objective are Brick and Raphael. To overcome these obstacles, we must do one of two things: one, fully protect ourselves so that we can’t be hit by pellets, or two, prevent them from being able to fire pellets.”
The Tree of Knowledge Page 13
