Rebels & Lies

by Brian Cotton

  Chapter .27

   

  Consul Williamson stood in front of the podium; the television cameras filmed his every move. He looked down at the crowd and smiled. The crowd chanted his name; the television cameras panned the audience. Some held up signs that spoke out against organized religion. Others held up Bible’s with the words “EVIL DOCTRINE” tapped over the covers. Williamson held up his hands and motioned for the crowd to quiet down.

  “We have witnessed yet again the rebellion’s love of wickedness and evil. This United States of America founded itself on Christian principles. Thankfully, we are no longer a Christian nation, or a Muslim nation, or a Jewish nation, but we are a nation of non-believers and we are more powerful for it!”

  Williamson held up his fists and the crowd screamed in acceptance of their great leader. They called out saying ‘Religion is evil’ and other chants of that nature. Williamson held up his hands again to quiet the crowd. He looked back into the camera in front of him.

  “This rebellion just saved a religious group who spread their wickedness to an untold amount of people.” Williamson said. The crowd booed and Williamson held up his hands again to quiet them. “They want us to live by the Bible, but what Bible are they reading?

  “Perhaps we should live by Leviticus, which tells us slavery is okay? Or, how about Deuteronomy, which suggests stoning your children? Maybe we should stick by the radical Sermon on the Mount, whose faithful application will lead to our enemies destroying our great nation? I don’t think these fanatics have been reading their Bibles. Or, the scary version is that they are.”

  “ARREST THEM ALL, ARREST THEM ALL!!!” the crowd cried in front of Williamson.

  Williamson smiled and held up his hands once again. The crowd grew restless and continued the chant for several moments before Williamson was able to quiet them down. Williamson stood in silence for a moment and looked down at his followers.

  “We will. We will catch them as we have caught one of their leaders today. Let it be known, once more, that anyone who is caught harboring these fools or practicing their radical religion will be caught and given justice. We know that the evil rebellion, which represents that weak nation we suppressed, helped some of their members to escape. We need you, all of you, to find them and bring them to us. That is all. Long live the USR.”

   

  Kaspar woke from his sleep and rubbed at his eyes. He felt a sense of relief when he felt no pain in his left eye. Nothing but a nasty green mark remained. He moved his body up from the cot and twisted his back which sent a ripple through his vertebrae. He threw on a pair of sweatpants then walked out of his room. He noticed that Li’s door was cracked open a bit. Not a sound could be heard inside. Kaspar wondered what was going on as he gave the door a light tap.

  “Come in,” a low, quiet voice said from inside.

  Kaspar walked in and saw Li, who sat in the middle of the room on a white pillow. There were white candles circled around him. So, this is what the quiet man did every morning. Before Kaspar could get around to figuring out what was going on, he was met by a smile.

  “How are you today?” Li asked.

  “Just fine,” Kaspar replied. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I’m just meditating.”

  “What’s that and why do you do it?”

  “It’s to strengthen my spirit. You just concentrate on nothing but your spirit and it empowers you.”

  Li must have gone off the deep end, Kaspar thought. This explained a lot to him, though. Instead of communicating with his comrades, he communicated with his spirit. Kaspar could remember one time when he communicated with his own spirit. The drugs he experimented with to help with pain did that. He didn’t need meditation.

  “Spirit?” Kaspar asked.

  “Yes, my parents taught me. Care to try?”

  “Not sure if I can,” Kaspar replied. He didn’t really want to, either. Even if it were possible to talk with one’s spirit, he was sure there would be nothing there he would want to see.

  “Come on,” Li said as he motioned with his hand for Kaspar to come over. “It’s not hard. Have a seat.”

  “Okay.”

  Kaspar walked in close and sat down outside of the circle of candles.

  “Just close your eyes and take deep breaths.” Li instructed.

  Kaspar closed his eyes then took a deep breath, he exhaled slowly. He repeated this with his eyes still closed. What was this Li guy talking about? Maybe he had gotten a hold of those pain killing drugs. He did know Danny, after all. A wave of relaxation began to take over him, but nothing in the way of spiritual enlightenment. He was about to open his eyes, there were much better ways to get relaxed that didn’t involve sitting on a hardwood floor. Then, he saw it…the vision caused him to hold his breath in.

  Mother was sitting down on a rocking chair. She moved it back and forth, a look of joy in her eyes. She had in her hand a yellow blanket. Mother carefully knitted around the edges, her project almost completed. Kaspar stared at her, nothing but confusion in his mind. Was this for real?

  Kaspar moved in with a slow stride. He gave a look to their surroundings. There was no floor below, nothing above, nothing to the sides. They were…somewhere in a void of white. He continued to move in, but no words would come out of his mouth. She just sat there and knitted, completely oblivious to her son’s presence here.

  She looked up and forced Kaspar to freeze. Mother stared into his eyes, her eyes wide open, that same look that Kaspar could not get out of his head. He got his wits back about him and moved in closer. Mother shook her head no. No words were spoken by either party. Kaspar tried to move in again, but was met with another head shake no.

  Kaspar opened his eyes and gasped for breath. During the entire vision, he was unable to breath. He felt lightheaded and continued to pant. Li took a break from his own meditation. He looked to Kaspar who had a blank expression towards the cream colored wall. Li’s smile turned into a look of concern.

  “You okay?” Li asked.

  “What?” Kaspar struggled to get out, eyes still to the wall.

  “I asked you if you were okay.”

  Kaspar shook his head, “Yeah…yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Did it work?”

  “You could say that.” Kaspar replied, he rubbed at his eyes.

  “What did you see?”

  “I’d…rather not talk about it, Yung.”

  “That’s good,” Li’s smile returned. “It’s your meditation, your spirit.”

  “I think I’m going to go downstairs now, maybe get some fresh air, or something to drink.”

  “You do that.”

  Kaspar stood up and started to walk out of the room. With each step he felt a wobble in each of his legs. He tried to tell himself to snap out of it, but he couldn’t get the vision out of his head. Why was she shaking her head no? Was he going crazy?

  “Ryan,” Li called.

  Kaspar turned his head, “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For meditating with me,” Li’s head went straight to the ground. “No one here has ever done it.”

  “It’s no problem,” Kaspar replied. “Thank you for showing me.”

  “If you ever want to meditate again, just let me know.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast.”

  Kaspar turned his head and walked out the door. Was that really Mother?

  Sullivan sat at his desk and awaited the next Agent from Civilian Affairs to walk in. He had the next man’s file opened at his desk: Greg Boler. Boler, according to the file, became an Agent five months upon graduation from one of the schools two years ago. He went through the Academy and passed everything with flying colors. After showing great progress and conviction he was transferred to the CA two months ago. Boler carried with him an immaculate record: no citations, write ups, or anything of the sort on his file. The guy was
squeaky clean…and that scared Sullivan.

  “Afternoon, Detective,” Boler said through the open door. “You wanted to see me?”

  “That’s right, Greg.” Sullivan said, he closed the file and set it aside. “Come on in, have a seat.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.”

  “It’s Will.”

  “Thank you, Will.” Boler replied as he sat. “How can I be of service to you?”

  “I’ll get straight to point,” Sullivan leaned forward. “You see that thing about the underground church on the news?”

  “Saw it this morning, just got briefed on it, too. Why?”

  Sullivan studied his subject. Boler just sat there, looked him straight in the eye, acted like everything was just natural. He didn’t look to be worried, nervous, or anything. Much different than the other Agents that Sullivan interviewed during this long, boring process. Something didn’t add up, though. Then again, maybe this guy was just good under pressure. A little too good?

  “Well,” Sullivan continued, “it appears that there were actually more than just the three men we found there. More like ten.”

  “Okay. How’d you find this out?” Boler asked.

  “We questioned the leader. He calls himself Father Francis or some bullshit. He confirmed, with me, that there were more than three.”

  “So, how did the others get away?”

  “You tell me.” Sullivan replied. He studied Boler’s eyes the whole time.

  His subject looked away for a moment, the first sign of nervousness. Sullivan kept his gaze on him, he noticed Boler’s forehead starting to show signs of perspiration. He watched as Boler reached up with is right hand to wipe away the sweat.

  “You need a tissue?” Sullivan asked.

  “No,” Boler replied. “It’s just hot in here.”

  “Feels fine to me, Agent.”

  “It’s your office, I would hope so.”

  “Let’s just stop dodging the question,” Sullivan said. “How do you think they go out?”

  “They heard the sirens coming?” Boler replied.

  Sullivan shook his head, “No way. They were long gone by the time SWAT showed up.”

  “They got help, then, right?”

  “That’s right. They got help from the resistance. At least some of them.”

  “Did this Francis give you any details at? Any identifiable marks or anything?”

  “No, they were wearing masks. Nothing distinguishable, save the breasts of some woman.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but what does this got to do with me?” Boler asked.

  Now, we’re getting somewhere, Sullivan thought. Boler’s sweating continued, he tried to play it off like it was hot or something. Sullivan almost laughed at the thought. He kept his office at a chilly sixty-five degrees. Still, though, nothing definitive. The other Agents, after all, did the same routine. They blamed their sweating on how hot the room was or that their wives made them bad food and they felt sick. None would fess up to the fact that they were nervous, which they had every right to be. They knew what would happen if they were accused of something like aiding the resistance. Sullivan knew all too well what it was like. It made a man want to kill himself before the USR could finish the job.

  Boler kept his eye contact, though. He didn’t look away like most of the others. He swallowed a few more times than usual, too.

  “Everything,” Sullivan replied. “You’re in CA, your department knew about the church, knew the times they met, knew what day the raid would take place, everything. So, when our SWAT guys move in, and the resistance already had the room cleared out, it raises questions.”

  “Are you accusing me?” Boler asked.

  “No, not at all, just wanted to make you aware of what’s going on. Do you know of anybody we should suspect?”

  “I can’t think of anybody right off the top of my head, but I’ll sure keep my eyes open.”

  “Make sure that you do. You come to me first if you see or hear anything out there, you got that?”

  “Yeah, of course, sir.”

  “Good. Be sure to watch out for yourself, too.” Sullivan said.

  “I’m sorry, sir?”

  Sullivan rubbed at his forehead, “I mean, I’d hate for you to end up in the hands of a guy like Travis Forte. He works with me inside of my unit, you hear of this guy?”

  “I know the name, but that’s it, why?”

  “Well, if we find somebody, who we think might be working for them, we turn to Forte. He’s really, really good at getting answers out of people. You see, what he does is, and this is fucked up, by the way. He lines up their fingers and takes out his knife. You know what he does?”

  “What’s that sir?” Boler asked, his eyes wide and voice shaken. “He cut their fingers off?”

  “Close, but not quite, he goes after the fingernails. He digs the knife in and snaps the nail right off. We got some bastard who’s noble and won’t talk…well, let’s just say that after two or three nails, they start talking. Works every time.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “No, sir. But, my eyes and ears are open…wide open.”

  Boler stood and saluted Sullivan. Sullivan returned the gesture. He kept eye contact with his subject. Now, without a doubt, Boler knew he meant business. Sullivan sat back in his chair and breathed in a deep breath. This was the fifth Agent to see him today, the fifth different story he told, as well. The feeling of boredom intensified with each one. He knew it was necessary, but all he wanted was to be out of this damn office and out there, on the streets, hunting down the resistance. Instead, he sat in his office and was lied to by who knew how many men. Fitzpatrick and the others were convinced that there was only one rat, but for all Sullivan knew, the whole department was compromised.

  He reached down for the next file and read the name aloud before he picked up his phone.