She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies)

by Adams Irish, Travis

  “Torn The Langley Contour?” Mason asks, leaning forward with a confident smirk. “You’re sending him on a suicide mission. I’ll be glad when that problem is off our radar!”

  The two men pass through the corridors leading up to the Oval Office, and submit to a final security screening by The Secret Service before making their way to the reception area. During this short security screening, Henri passes the envelope back to Mason, having learned all he needs to know.

  “Hello, Ilene,” Henri says with a winning grin as he rounds the corner to the desk of The President’s personal assistant. “I’m here to meet with President Kirkland.”

  “Yes, Congressman Edwards, how are you?” The young Asian woman says by returning a sharp smile, looking astute and classy in her royal blue dress.

  “I am phenomenal, but not nearly as much as you.” The politician evokes in a savory tone with expert delivery, bowing slightly toward the young woman.

  “I’ll let the president know you’re here.” Ilene acknowledges, feeding off his energy before she steps through the side door of the Oval Office, closing it behind her.

  “Well, thank you so much for escorting me down here, General Mason.” Henri offers, reaching out with his right hand to his suspicious colleague.

  “What do you mean?” Mason asks with a disgruntled look of concern. “Am I not going with you? That’s bullshit, Henri!”

  “Now, Mason, the president wants this confidential, and the results are my ass, so this is my brief.” Henri answers with a self-assured stare. “He only wants one man on point for this project!”

  “Don’t screw me, Henri.” Mason says with a bold stare. “I can screw back.”

  “The President will see you now.” Ilene confirms as she returns to the reception area with a polite demeanor.

  “Of course you do, Mason, and I look forward to it!” Henri says with a sinister grin; not really looking at the man, but more through him. “Thanks again for walking me down the aisle on this one, buddy!”

  Mason turns his chiseled face back toward the corridor they just walked through, wishing he could say more to Henri, but deciding instead to keep the faith and smile. He continues to smile for a moment, then takes his leave in an awkward fashion like a corpse coming to life on the expensive blue and red carpet.

  Henri turns back to the lovely receptionist, gesturing with a wink for her to lead the way. As she opens the door to the Oval Office, he feels the air burst forth into his lungs, sucking it in with excitement like a spoiled child inside the world’s largest toy store.

  “Good evening,” Vice President Trent Iverson says with a wholesome expression, approaching Henri to shake his hand, “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

  “Good evening,” Henri replies with clear dissatisfaction, “is President Kirkland running late?”

  “No, not at all,” Iverson jokes with an austere grin, borne from years of professionally not giving a damn, “he’s busy with the family, and wanted me to give you some feedback on your data.”

  “Okay…” Henri says with a betrayed smirk, looking like the bride who was left standing without a groom at her wedding.

  “Have a seat.” Iverson offers, extending his right hand out to an expensive, leather chair in front of the main desk, while he takes the chair opposite of Henri. “You want a drink? I’m sure as shit having one.”

  “No thanks.” Henri declines with a pouty stare, realizing that Kirkland has already denied his proposal, and that this meeting is somewhere between a formality and a hand job.

  Iverson takes a moment to get comfortable in his custom-tailored black suit, straightening his peach and blue striped tie as he finds a suitable position with his left leg crossed over his right. The former Navy Admiral looks healthy, sporting his clean-shaven, bald head and a pair of kind blue eyes. With his strong body and well-groomed appearance he looks young for a man in his early fifties.

  “Okay, well let’s just get right to it!” Iverson says, pouring himself two fingers of bourbon as he continues. “The President went through your data, and doesn’t like the fact that you featured people who were under the influence. Hell, every person in this case study has some type of drug in their system; either at the time of death, or for long periods prior to that.” He retrieves a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolds it to read off a few facts. “For example: May Ivory, pain medication and marijuana; Phil Belfort, marijuana; Ned Lawhorn, whiskey; and Julia Welheim, antipsychotics.”

  “Those were all red flags…” Henri begins, “We flagged those behaviors as part of the evaluation criteria.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Iverson says without flinching. “I have the evaluation criteria right here, and it specifies that ‘people under the influence of drugs and alcohol are to explicitly be excluded.’ Now we feel that you chose people with addictions because it would be easier for them to go sideways, but these are not good results...” He confirms, holding the unfolded piece of paper up for a second.

  “Why not?” Henri asks, twisting his head uncomfortably in the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

  “Because violent behavior for people under the influence has already been established in psychology.” The Vice President replies with a bit of sarcasm, shaking his head somewhat. “We thought you were going to break new ground in gun control research so that we could make a decision based on hard facts, and then we’d get the support to move forward.”

  “What about the violence that took place?” Henri retorts quickly, fencing with his fellow politician. “Those were all crimes of passion.”

  “Yeah, we have some questions there, and the DOJ is looking into how that all went down. We have: five dead in California, three dead in Texas, and one little girl gunned down in Virginia… That is about the most heartbreaking thing we’ve seen in a long time… This is YOUR MESS. Care to explain yourself, Congressman?”

  “Mason had operational control of all military personnel, and if you look at the files from the time he took over, you’ll notice that the body count has grown geometrically… And it was you… That sent me Mason.” Henri replies with a sharp grin, staring Iverson right in the eyes.

  “Is that how you want to play this?” Iverson asks returning Henri’s stare with added frustration. “The President is already going to be under attack for what happened here, and now you want to bat this into the administration’s ball court? What about the casualties you had before Mason took over? Weren’t there three or four?”

  “I’m taking care of that problem.” Henri replies with a cold tone. “If you think bringing down an Army Veteran with counterinsurgency training is easy, then you’ve been hitting that bourbon too hard.”

  “Why did you need to take him down in the first place?” Iverson asks with a subtle smile. “We’d really like to know all the details here because this is ONE HELL of a mess, and it’s going to be swirling around for months. Why didn’t you stop the woman in Virginia before she opened fire?”

  “That was Mason’s call; it was his guys on the ground.” Henri states with a confident gaze.

  “Okay, so that’s one.” Iverson says, holding up his index finger. “What about California?”

  “Crime of passion.” Henri says without breaking eye contact.

  “Okay, that’s two.” He continues, holding up his thumb and index finger. “What about-“

  “Texas was Mason’s call; it was him personally on the ground.” Henri interrupts Iverson before he can ask a third foolish question.

  “What happened there?” Iverson asks, giving Henri a hard look.

  “Your General fucked up, Mr. Vice President, which he has been doing since you sent him to me.” Henri states with corrosive fury. “Now, I’ve answered all your questions, and based on the number of deaths alone, I’d like another shot at getting this program off the ground, so why don’t we get the boss on the phone?”

  Iverson stares at Henri with contempt and curiosity, tapping his finger lightly on the heel of his s
hoe as he contemplates this. After a brief pause, he gets to his feet, straightening his jacket out of habit, having been a man in the public eye for six years now. He steps over to the desk behind Henri and presses a button to call the receptionist.

  “Ilene.” Iverson says quickly into the phone, leaning forward on the desk with both palms down.

  “Yes, Sir?” A voice asks immediately from the speakerphone.

  “Please get President Kirkland on the line; we need to speak with him.” Iverson remits, appearing doubtful and holding his head down a bit at the idea of participating in this phone call.

  “I have President Kirkland for you.” Ilene reports after a long pause.

  “What can I do for you?” The President asks in a dignified and irritated manner, his rough voice pouring out of the speaker like a shovel filled with beach sand.

  “I have Henri Edwards here, Mr. President.” Iverson says slowly, hyper-focused on the desk front of him as he calculates every word that is uttered. “And he’s telling me that Mason has been the source of our woes in these shootings.”

  “Mason, huh?” President Kirkland laughs. “Are you blaming the administration for this, Henri?”

  “No, Mr. President,” Henri says softly, turning in his chair to face the phone, “I’d like to think that this is more proof that we need intrusive gun control screening, and a highly-evolved system of red flags.”

  “This is America, Henri, people are not fond of red flags or red tape.” President Kirkland retorts immediately. “Myself included.”

  “Are people fond of seeing their children shot on the playground?” Henri asks, standing up from his chair to approach the desk in a more dramatic tone. “Do people like going to the movies and being shot at by some emotionally unbalanced man who thinks he’s a comic book villain?”

  “Yeah, I saw your speech the other day, Henri.” President Kirkland reflects sarcastically. “Thanks for that, by the way… This is one hell of a mess, and I thought your program was meant to stop that sort of violence. Now we have the worst series of gun tragedies in the history of this country. Worse yet, they happened within such a short time of one another, the conspiracy theorists are already getting their camera crews ready to make a movie.”

  “That’s a good point, Henri,” Iverson says as he folds his arms across his chest, challenging The Congressman’s position, “I also thought your program was supposed to contain this type of violence?”

  “The program works.” Henri replies with a dignified stance. “Our goal was to red flag and monitor people who might be a threat to this country. Given that all four of our subjects have either been arrested or killed for such acts, I’d say the program is fairly damn airtight.”

  “Yeah, and we can see that,” President Kirkland admits, “but how do you explain three shootings in two days? I mean, what type of circumstances led up to that much violence- all within a few days? It just doesn’t make sense, Henri. So help it to make sense for me?”

  “Well, it’s like you said, they were all under the influence…” Henri begins with a serious demeanor, his pale-blue eyes showing stone cold under a slicked-back mass of fine, silver hair. “I think it’s well established that people under the influence are prone to violence, don’t you? That said, I do know the program works, and I’d like to go back to the drawing board to get you the hard data… With some subjects who are free of drugs and alcohol.”

  “We’re not going to have another mess like this here.” President Kirkland declares, slapping down Henri’s proposal like a deflated volleyball. “I do agree with the theory behind people being under the influence… There is a lot of hard data that will support what happened this week.”

  “I agree with you, Sir.” Henri replies immediately, flicking his jacket nervously with his fingers. “This cannot happen again on American soil. That’s why I’d like to run some studies with subjects who are not under the influence,” he continues, holding up his index finger, “and in an environment that is outside of our borders.” The Congressman displays his index and middle fingers for the Vice President, showing him that their major concerns will be addressed.

  “Okay, Henri,” President Kirkland agrees with cautionary authority, “you have your hunting party, but only if the DOJ doesn’t find anything that points to your involvement in this mess. Further, I want hard data, not something that comes from people being watched from hundreds of miles away. We need intimate details, and I want your people as close to this as possible to see how it mushrooms out, and how we can prevent it in the future… Don’t manage this from an ivory tower like you did in Chicago!”

  “Yes, Mr. President.” Henri says with a convincing smile toward Iverson. “Thank you, Sir!”

  “What about your rogue agent, Devlin McConnelly?” Vice President Iverson asks with a keen appearance, raising his eyebrows at The Congressman.

  “Yes, I’m glad you asked about that,” Henri says as he reaches into his jacket pocket to retrieve a piece of paper folded neatly into thirds, “I’m afraid Devlin McConnelly is a domestic terrorist. We found this letter in his duplex rental with statements that are anti-American, and with promises of violent action against The United States.” He takes a step closer to the desk and hands the letter to Iverson, pointing at it as he confirms his report. “Now that letter is signed by Devlin, and it bears his fingerprints. It is the one piece of evidence you need to get that mall shooting off of the administration’s back.”

  “Thank you for this, Henri,” Vice President Iverson says as he looks the letter over in his well-manicured hands, “this will be extremely helpful. I believe Devlin’s actions also led to some of the other gun violence we had… Because he poisoned your team and kept you from doing your job?”

  “That’s right,” Henri says with rogue austerity, immediately understanding what Iverson plans to do, “he attacked us with chemical weapons on American soil, which prevented us from responding to these shooting threats in time.”

  “Good work, Henri,” President Kirkland evokes proudly from the speaker, clearly sounding more relieved, “you’ll have all the support you need for a new series of studies.”

  “We’ll take care of Mason.” Iverson adds with smiling eyes, looking at Henri like the savior of the city as he walks up to shake his hand. “Go have some fun, Congressman, you’ve had a hell of a day.” He asserts with luminous satisfaction, gripping Henri’s hand tightly. “The country appreciates your service.”

  “Yes, we appreciate your service, Congressman.” President Kirkland parrots in a flat tone, his voice fading fast. “Good luck on your new operation; just get me the hard data that I need… Well, time to get back to my family. Is there anything else?”

  “No, Sir, have a good night!” Iverson exclaims formally.

  “Well, good night then.” President Kirkland replies.

  “Good night, Mr. President.” Henri says with a satisfied grin.

  “Bye.” Iverson mutters as he hangs up the speakerphone, raising his head to look at Henri with a calm smile. “We’ll take it from here, Henri.”

  “Good night, Mr. Vice President.” Henri concedes with a dispassionate stare as he walks toward the exit of the Oval Office.

  “Ilene,” Vice President Iverson speaks into the phone on the desk, waving Henri away casually, “get in touch with our contacts in the media, I want to hold a press conference tonight… We have a domestic terrorist on the loose.”

  XVII. It’s Been a Pleasure

  ‘Her eyes look up at him filled with love, but they don’t see anything,’ Henri thinks to himself as he stands naked in the corner of the bedroom. The Congressman is watching Maurice and Leslie with intense desire, feeling the need to release some pent-up frustration. After investing over $20,000 on dates for these two lovebirds, and waiting over six months, the young lady has finally conceded to give up her treasure. His head twists slightly to the right as he gazes at Maurice with admiration, a man that women can truly fall in love with. Maurice has a tender hear
t, and a gentle way about him, like a protective shepherd wanting the best for every member of his flock.

  As a French artist in his mid-forties, Maurice has a build very similar to that of Henri. His eyes are brown, and he has a full head of hair that is akin in texture to the Congressman’s, except for the short ponytail that lays even with his shoulder blades. The younger man has a distinct crucifix earring from his 80s hair-band days; a shiny silver relic from the decade of excess. His soft eyes are focused on young Leslie in the bed beneath him, lying there in a welcoming state of warm affection. She rubs her hands up and down his chest, feeling nervous about being with a man for the first time. During the past half-hour, she has been extremely vocal with her concerns, ensuring that Maurice tells her that he loves her every step of the way. Although she cannot see Maurice, her affection has grown for him over these past few months. With time and effort, he has been able to convince her that they can be intimate without getting married, and he loves her so much that marriage is inevitable. She feels a bit of discomfort, lying on the bed in just her panties, unable to see her magical love, but knowing that he is unmistakably real.