Terra Nova- the Wars of Liberation

by Tom Kratman

  “Not anymore, she isn’t,” Estrella said fiercely, shaking her head. Droplets of water landed on his desk, her damp hair smelling of the rose petal soap her mother preferred. “She likes Julio, and wants him to like her too, so she’s being mean to me.”

  Ah, the Mercurial relationships of six-year-olds. His oldest had been the same at this age. Marko stifled the smile, and allowed his face to take a stern expression. It was hard to do, but he’d had practice.

  “Well, that’s just not right,” he said, hugging her. “Friends like that aren’t worth having.”

  “Estrella,” His wife’s voice came from the doorway. “It’s time for bed.”

  “Yes, Mama, I was just telling Papa about Selina and Julio.”

  “I know, dear heart, but Papa is busy, and you have to be up early.” Isabelle said, smiling. “Now tell Papa goodnight, and off to bed.”

  “Goodnight, Papa, I love you.”

  “And I you, little Star.” Marko said, giving her one last, tight squeeze. “Now go sleep so you can shine brightly tomorrow.”

  He watched her leave, his wife lingering in the doorway.

  “How much more do you have to do tonight?” Her question, delivered in a husky tone, was loaded. “I need to discuss a matter of some urgency with you.”

  “Maybe ten minutes?” Marko felt himself grinning like a fool.

  “Make it five.”

  The look in Isabelle’s eyes made him promise himself it would be no more than three.

  Marko sipped his coffee, savoring the few moments of peace before things got rolling. He had been able to get a lot done, surprising himself with how smoothly everything had gone. The tradesmen he’d contacted had jumped at the chance to join the team, committing themselves to this job over any others for the next two weeks. His initial site walk with the demo and rebuild team was first thing in the morning, with actual labor scheduled to begin that night.

  The fountain itself was still somewhat worrisome, as the sculptor had been dubious of the time frame. Marko knew the man would come through, however, as this was his standard method of getting more money from the buyer. Still, the amount of intricate internal tubing could cause friction between the artiste and the engineers. He was confident that a few large sums of money would smooth over any issues between the two. That meeting was set for tomorrow as well.

  He checked his list. So far so good, only a few other minor details to attend to before the big push. As this was his project, sleep would be a precious commodity over the next few weeks.

  “Mr. Saavedra, I need to speak to you,” a man at his side said, sliding into the booth across from him. “It is about your project.”

  Marko took a moment to examine the man. He had the look of a banker, dressed casually in slacks and a light cotton shirt. Middle-sized, his lightly tanned face lacking wrinkles, it was hard to believe this person had worked outside much in his career, if ever.

  Word traveled fast in the industry, so Marko showed little surprise at the man’s words. He did allow himself to raise an eyebrow at his impertinence.

  “Oh?” he said, sipping the cooling coffee. “And what exactly would you like to discuss?”

  “I’d like to join your crew,” the man said, leaning forward and dropping his voice. “However, the details are best left for a quieter location.”

  The man stood, dropping a note on the table, more than enough to cover Marko’s bill.

  “If you could come with me, please?”

  “I’m really busy, Mr . . . ?”

  “Mister is just fine for right now, and I’m afraid I must insist that you come, quietly.” The man held out one hand in a “right this way” gesture while pulling back the corner of his untucked shirt with the other.

  Marko could easily make out the grip of a small pistol holstered in the man’s waistband. His heart raced, sweat coating his palms. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Something told him it wouldn’t be wise to show fear.

  “Funny,” he said, sliding to the edge of the booth, “I wouldn’t think kidnappers would usually pay for their victim’s meal.”

  The man leaned in again, keeping his voice low at Marko’s ear.

  “Please don’t try anything or make a scene. There are several others nearby that won’t be quite as polite as I am. I assure you, no harm will come to you.”

  Marko took another slow breath, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

  “Well, as it seems I have no choice, please lead the way.”

  The canvas bag over his head was clean, at least. The muted daylight filtering through it showed no signs of being used for any other less fortunate victims. All things considered, Marko had been treated well—no violence, or threats, or even anything less than a firm politeness. Whoever these guys were, they acted with a stoic professionalism that gave him some hope. He kept his breathing slow and deep, and his hands in his lap. It helped to keep his racing heart from jumping into his throat.

  Thirty minutes of riding, with multiple twists, turns, and nothing but the sound of horse-hooves had him thoroughly confused as to their destination. Just as he was about to ask how much longer they would be, the carriage creaked to a stop. Marko held his tongue as he was helped out of the coach and led up what felt like a dirt path.

  “Watch your step, Mr. Saavedra, there are six stairs in front of you.”

  At the top, after crossing a threshold, the bag was removed from his head, his nose assaulted with the smell of human waste. The old house had obviously been home to transients in the past, and hadn’t been cleaned by its new occupants. Marko found himself wishing for the bag again.

  “Mr. Saavedra,” the man from the cafe said, “if you will please come this way.”

  Marko followed the man into what appeared to be the kitchen, thankfully clean, bare except for a few chairs and a table. A coffee pot sat on a counter, half full, its aroma filling the small space.

  The man motioned for Marko to sit, and poured three mugs of the dark brew. He brought all three to the table, placing one in front of Marko.

  “I apologize for interrupting you earlier, Mr. Saavedra. While I realize that a cup of coffee falls far short of making up for these circumstances, it is the best I can do right now.”

  “It’s something, at least,” Marko said, taking a careful sip of the hot liquid. Strong, pleasantly bitter, with a slight acidity, it was high quality. “I would like to know what I’m doing here, though.”

  “Of course. All will be explained, shortly. We’re only waiting for my employer to join us.”

  At his words, a door opened out of Marko’s line of sight. Footsteps came down a hall around the corner.

  A man appeared, dressed in a non-descript beige business suit. Slightly balding, hair at his temples graying, the man could’ve been any mid-level manager at any white collar business. Lean, but not emaciated, aged anywhere between forty and sixty, he was the walking definition of “average.”

  “Mr. Saavedra, it is a pleasure to meet you,” the man said, mopping sweat from his forehead with a linen handkerchief. “I apologize for the less than ideal methods used to bring you here, but one can never be too careful.”

  Marko nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. He had an idea of who he was dealing with, but nothing more than vague rumors and scuttlebutt. None of which helped his nerves.

  “I’ll spare you any more pleasantries and idle chit chat, Mr. Saavedra,” he said, taking a seat. “I have brought you here because we need your help. It has come to our attention that the Shah has hired you to do a job, one that ensure that you will be in the mansion when a certain guest arrives.”

  Marko nodded again.

  “My organization needs to make a statement. One that undermines the Shah’s absolute control over the people of this country. We need you to facilitate this statement.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re asking of me, sir,” Marko said.

  “Allow me to explain, in as much detail as I feel is appropriate for yo
ur safety: The statement is related to the visitor your project is supposed to impress. Our needs are simple—we need one of our men to join your crew, in order make this statement. That is all.”

  “It’s never ‘all,’ sir,” Marko said, “I realize there’s more to this, so let me be blunt: I will not fail at a job I’ve accepted. I’ve essentially made a promise, to not fulfill it would damage my reputation, as well as violate my own personal ethics.”

  “We wouldn’t be asking you to fail on purpose, Mr. Saavedra. In fact, we want you to succeed, and will do what we can to help you do so. In fact, it is of vital importance that you do succeed. All we ask is that our man be allowed access to the Shah’s mansion.”

  “Forgive me for seeming selfish, but what do I get out of this deal?”

  “Your family will never want again, Mr. Saavedra. I understand that you have a daughter about to go to University?” At Marko’s hesitant nod, the man continued. “We can make sure that she is not only accepted, but will receive a substantial scholarship.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Well, I’d hate to imply that anything bad will happen . . . ”

  “But.”

  “. . . but, one can’t be certain of security of those that one deems important.”

  “Security?” Marko’s temper flared. “Are you threatening my family’s safety?”

  “Don’t be crass, Mr. Saavedra. We would never stoop to threatening physical harm to innocents.” The man smiled, tight lipped. “However, accidents do happen.”

  Marko jumped to his feet, white-knuckled hands gripping the table, vision narrowing down to tight focus on the man. The men around him snapped to attention. Something cold and metallic pressed against the back of his neck. Immediately, his rational mind took over, suppressing the anger coursing through him.

  “Mr. Saavedra,” the man from the cafe said softly, “I’d consider your next moves very carefully.”

  Marko inhaled slowly, staring coldly at the man in front of him. He sat down.

  “I don’t appreciate being bullied or threatened, sir.”

  “And I appreciate that, Mr. Saavedra,” the man said. “However, the circumstances require a certain, ah, forcefulness of our offer.”

  “Well, then,” Marko said, fuming, “it appears we have an agreement.”

  “Excellent!” the man said, standing. “My associate will escort you back to the cafe, and give you further contact information. Good day, Mr. Saavedra.”

  “Not that good,” Marko said under his breath.

  Marko passed his hand over his eyes, feeling the beginning of a stress headache forming. The sculptor and the engineer were arguing—again—over the inclusion of the internal tubing.

  “It’s ruining the lines of the piece!” The artist, Cristobal Almeria, shouted, waving a lit cutting torch. “This plebian doesn’t understand how it will affect the emotional effect!”

  He turned to Marko.

  “I can’t work under these conditions, Marko!”

  “If it is to pour correctly,” the engineer said calmly, “this is where and how the lines must run. I can’t have that many turns in steel tubing in such a short space.”

  “But it looks hideous!”

  Marko dropped his hand, throwing a quick glance at his shadow for the last three days. After delivering him, unharmed as promised, back at the cafe, the man had introduced himself as Ricardo Ivey. Since then, he’d been Marko’s constant companion, posing as project manager. To his credit, the man had quietly kept out of the way, only interjecting occasionally to ask pointed questions at the right moments, then making notes on a small pad.

  Marko understood, but hated, the look of mild amusement on Ivey’s face.

  “Gentlemen,” Marko said, “there is always a solution to a problem. Let’s take a step back, breathe deeply, and discuss this calmly.”

  He held up a hand to stall Almeria’s reply. In his experience with the man, it would be passionate, long-winded, and pig-headed.

  “Deep breaths, Cristobal. I won’t let you speak until I see you take them.”

  The engineer made an obvious effort to do just that, though in Marko’s opinion, he wasn’t the one that needed to relax. Marko nodded slightly, to show him he appreciated the gesture, then watched the artist.

  Cristobal rolled his eyes, then took several overly exaggerated lungfuls of air.

  “Happy?”

  Marko made a motion for him to proceed.

  “If the tubing doesn’t bend here, it won’t allow me to make the weld look right,” he said. “It would be akin to a boil on a beautiful woman’s face. It’s a flaw that wouldn’t just be noticeable to the trained eye, but a deformity that any layman would see.”

  “I understand,” Marko said, gesturing to the engineer. “And you say that it won’t function properly if it bends?”

  “Mostly correct, Mr. Saavedra. What he’s suggesting, it restricts the flow, and could cause cracks in the steel.”

  Marko nodded, moving over to the drawings of the fountain at the table. It would be a beautiful piece of work, once finished. Bronzed birds, in various poses of action or inaction, formed the body of the statue. Their open mouths would dispense the drinks—doves for beer, raptors for the liquor, and birds of paradise for the wines. If he could get the two men to agree, that is. He studied to the areas of contention.

  “If we moved this slightly,” he said, pointing to one of the doves, “angling its neck upwards more, would that reduce the sweep of the bend, and allow the weld to be made properly?”

  The engineer squinted slightly as he thought. After a few seconds, he nodded.

  The artist, did the same, begrudgingly.

  “Yes, that could work,” Almeria said, “but it would change the stance, and therefore the meaning. The dove represents peace, which is shown through his passive body language. This would make them appear challenging.”

  “Ah, but true peace is only gained through some aggression, is it not?” Ivey said, breaking his silence. “It seems to me, that by giving your dove a more challenging appearance, that a dichotomy of ideals is achieved.”

  Almeria’s lip curled as he raised a hand to wave dismissively. He stopped short, squinting at the piece, then turned to look at Ivey.

  “You . . . you have a point. I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. His demeanor changed abruptly, a smile replacing the sneer. “I have come to the brilliant deduction that this dove’s aggressive stance represents the struggle of the human condition—to be ready for violence even while working for peace. I, am a genius!”

  Marko turned slightly, rolling his eyes. The others were more or less having the same reaction, hiding smiles behind their hands and stifling “coughs.”

  Artists, Marko thought.

  “It is unquestionably genius,” Ivey said, “and genius should be rewarded, don’t you think, Mr. Saavedra?”

  “Oh, by all means,” Marko said, nodding. He reached into his pocket for the checkbook. “I believe a bonus is definitely in order, to encourage more bursts of inspiration that resolve issues.”

  He quickly wrote two checks, one for the artist, and one for the engineer.

  “Thank you, gentlemen, for your willingness to discuss this rationally, and come to a swift conclusion. I assume that the project will progress on time?”

  Both men nodded, seemingly satisfied with the amounts.

  “Excellent. I will return in a week for the finished piece.” He nodded to Ivey. “We should leave these two to their project.”

  “That was impressive,” Marko said, sitting in his office facing Ivey. “I wouldn’t have considered you an art critic.”

  “You learn more about people and culture by studying their art,” he said. “The more you know about them, the easier it is to infiltrate, manipulate, and further your own goals.”

  “That’s a ruthless slant to take.”

  “Yes, it is,” Ivey said, shrugging. “We live in a ruthless world. I’m a ruthless person. I surviv
e and further my agenda.”

  “Let’s talk about that,” Marko said, leaning forward slightly. “I’m not clear what it is I’m supposed to help you with.”

  “It’s none of your concern, at this point.”

  “I’d beg to differ, sir,” Marko said, meeting the man’s eyes. “This is my family and livelihood at stake. I don’t see what could concern me more.”

  “You are only an end to a means. If you do as we request, you will have nothing to worry about.”

  “And what exactly is that request?”

  “Get me access to the Shah’s mansion, and stay out of my way.”

  “To what end?”

  “Again, none of your concern. Should everything go as planned, you will not be implicated.”

  “Implicated. That doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

  “You have an appointment in an hour at the mansion,” Ivey said, checking his watch. “I’d dare say that is more important than this line of discussion.”

  Marko glared at him, only to be met with stone faced silence. With a snort, he stood and walked to the door. Ivey followed shortly after.

  Security at the mansion was tight, as was to be expected. The guard at the gate held a clipboard, flipping through a list of names slowly, comparing Marko’s ID to each in turn. Marko was thankful for the warm day and bright sun, as it made the cold sweat on his brow less out of place.

  “Mr. Saavedra, you’re cleared, but your . . .” the guard stopped, looking at Ivey suspiciously. “. . . companion isn’t. I’ll need to run a security scan.”

  “How long will this take?” Marko said, frowning. “We have an appointment in less than twenty minutes.”

  The guard shrugged, apparently not knowing or caring what the answer might be.

  Great, Marko thought, this could be trouble if Ivey can’t come in.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Saavedra, I took the liberty of filing the paperwork with the head of security yesterday,” Ivey said. “I’m sure it’s just a minor oversight.”