The Initiative: In Harm's Way (Book One)

by Bruce Fottler

  “Okay, so who really shot JFK?”

  Susan folded her arms. “Out of all the things you could have asked, you're seriously going with that? Who's messing with who now?”

  “Okay, sorry. Tell me something mind-blowing.”

  “I can't. Sorry to be a tease, but there are certain oaths I could never break, no matter how close we are.”

  “Oaths or--”

  “Sam, we have knowledge of events that could cause a lot of harm to your cultures. I'll just say that not all of your recorded history is accurate. I'm not allowed to share anything beyond that. We're only supposed to observe and report.”

  “What do you call yourselves, I mean as a race?”

  “If I were to vocalize it, you'd never stop laughing. So let's settle for The Watchers. Simple and easy to remember.”

  “What's your real name?”

  “Susan.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No, but I like Susan much better. So much easier to pronounce. My real name is way too embarrassing to share with you.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “Our language has a lot of odd phonetic vocalizations that accompany certain gesturing that you'd find way too bizarre. It's a lot different and more complex than learning something like Latin. When I was first here and still mastering English, one of my elementary school teachers thought I was autistic because of all the body gestures I kept forgetting not to use when I spoke.”

  “Oh, come on. It's just your name. I promise not to laugh.”

  “Sam, it's a very personal thing that's as much show as it is tell. Trust me, it's not pretty.”

  “Okay. Did you have a family?”

  “Of course. We have a similar family structure to yours. I was the youngest of seven children.”

  “Seven? Do you miss them?”

  “I really didn't know them that well. Our parental and family dynamic works a bit differently. Our children don't stay with their families as long as yours do. I actually like the way your families stay together longer, or at least try to. I was sent to a prestigious education institution at an early age. I called it a convent earlier because that's the closest description I can come up with. We studied and learned about as many cultures as we could because one day we could be called into the Watcher program. I majored in Earth studies, but I'm also familiar with several others.”

  “So, do you like it here?”

  “Maybe more than I should. I was the first one that went through an age reset before I came. It was a new concept that allowed me to go through an Earth education experience to assist with acclimation. It's helped me to form a stronger understanding of your culture sooner than most Watchers are ever able to achieve. I can more accurately convey my observations back into my native language.”

  “What's the biggest difference between us?”

  “Well, besides language, it's how we live our lives. I'm not saying we don't have our problems, but we tend to live our lives as they actually are. Your culture strives to live an idealized life as it's imagined through your media and advertising. This is one of the biggest struggles I've had while adapting here. Would you believe it wasn't until you confronted me last year that I started embracing the concept of paying more attention to my appearance?”

  “I can't be the first one that's ever told you that.”

  “No,” Susan admitted with a smile, “but you're the first who mattered. Most Watchers try to stay detached from their surroundings. I'm a bit different in that regard, but it still takes me a while to develop strong attachments.”

  “I remember the day I met you back at the Bridge House. You looked like someone's little sister who tagged along. You were different from the rest of them, but always in a good way. There wasn't much that ever seemed to fluster you and you always seemed so content.”

  “I miss those days. Do you remember telling me that life in the CYA group would go on after you left? You were right, it did. But you were also wrong. It hasn't been the same without you there. I miss you.”

  “Sues, you and I see and talk to each other more than we ever did before.”

  “Yeah, but it's the group experience that's missing. Neil and I always hoped you'd attach yourself more to church than you did.”

  “It was fun, but I really didn't feel like I belonged.”

  “That was our fault.”

  “There you go again, taking blame for something you didn't have anything to do with.”

  The door buzzer sounded before Susan could reply.

  “That would be our pizza.”

  Thursday, July 27, 1995

  Arlington, Massachusetts

  “So, what do you think?” Laura asked Sam after showing him around her new rental house. It was one side of a two-story Victorian duplex situated on a narrow avenue.

  “Very nice. It has far more character than your old apartment. How's it working out with four of you packed in here?”

  “The off-street parking is a hassle, but there's a lot more room in here than you'd think. Emily loves it and our two new roomies are working out fine. They're recent additions to the CYA group and they both work in downtown Boston. They usually get home late, and Emily spends a lot of time out with her new boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend? When did that happen?”

  “Since she's dropped some weight and looks amazing.”

  “I don't remember seeing her at the memorial service.”

  “Maybe you did but didn't recognize her? She was there but wanted to give you some space. Everyone else was doing the same.”

  “How's her new boyfriend working out?”

  “Great. He's a really nice guy and it's pretty serious. We might have to find a new roomie by next year.”

  Sam sat down on a couch in their living room. “Okay, I'm out of small talk. I suppose it's time for us to finish the talk we started the other night. You know, before we were interrupted.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Laura replied with a grin. “Because murder and kidnapping routinely interrupt our talks.”

  “Welcome to my new life.”

  “I never would've imagined the things you've gotten yourself into. From now on, I think the James Bond theme is going to play in my head when I see you.”

  Sam laughed. “But I'm not nearly as good with a gun. Just good at pointing them with the safety on.”

  “Okay,” Laura said as she sat down next to him. “Let's finish, although I don't know what more we really need to talk about. Wait, I did have one question.”

  “What's that?”

  “Two-beer Laura?”

  Sam cringed. “Oh, yeah. That.”

  “Yeah, that,” Laura teased with a smile.

  “You do remember he was on drugs, right?”

  “It just seemed like something you guys had going between you well before that.”

  “He had going, because I never agreed with him.”

  Laura giggled, noticing Sam's intensifying blush. “Less than two beers? I'm flattered.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Sues is right, you're so fun to tease.”

  Sam smirked and shook his head.

  “Oh, I just remembered something.” Laura stood up and went over to retrieve something from a desk. She came back, sat down, and handed Sam his red Matchbox car. “You handed that to me the other night and I forgot to give it back. Why was that guy in the car holding it?”

  Sam smiled as he held it in his hand like a valuable gemstone. “Thanks. Sues gave it to me. Long story, but it's a sentimental thing that Carlos must have learned would get my attention.”

  “So, what about you and Sues?”

  “What about us?”

  “Seriously, Sam? You're going to pretend that didn't happen the other night?”

  “What part of that are you talking about?”

  “I might have been totally crazy following you in there, but I heard what Carlos said to you. Especially about how he knew that you cared most about Sues.”

  “I
do care about her, but I would've gone in there if it was you, too.”

  “It's about what I saw afterward. I mean, Sam, come on, you put on an amazing display of affection for her. It really choked me up. There's no doubt in my mind.”

  “No doubt about what?”

  “That you're in love with her.”

  Sam laughed. “I think you've got things confused. Sues is like family to me. I care a lot about her, but I just don't feel that way about her.”

  “Sam, I clearly saw the look on your face after we got out. You value her more than anything.”

  “Yeah, I do value her more than anything – like a sister. And that's it. Honest.”

  “You know I'm anything but a romantic, but I think you two have a future with each other.”

  “I hope we do, just not the one you're thinking.” Sam looked at his Matchbox car and sighed. “Angela is the only one I've ever felt that way about. I don't know if there will be anyone who could ever replace her.”

  “Someday, Sam, you'll feel that way about someone else. You just need time to heal.”

  Sam suddenly grew quiet.

  “Sorry,” Laura continued. “Too soon to be talking about that with you?”

  “You know, I never stopped to think about how easy it's been to talk to you lately.”

  “Yeah, I sort of miss the old Sam who always seemed curiously anxious around me. It was actually sort of charming and always made me feel prized. I have to admit that I was jealous of Angela for taking that away.”

  Sam chuckled. “She knew, and to be honest, she relished it.”

  “I'm glad she did.”

  “How's Ron been handling the breakup?”

  “Ouch,” Laura said with a wince. “That transition gave me whiplash.”

  “Sorry, too soon to talk about it with you?” Sam asked with a grin.

  “Touche.”

  “No, seriously. Is everything okay?”

  “Aside from feeling like a total fool? I'm glad to close the book on that short, embarrassing chapter of my rather bleak romantic life. To make it worse, he's actually trying to patch things up. I have way too much on my mind and I just don't want to deal with him right now.”

  “He's really trying to salvage it?”

  “You know him. He's got surrogates trying to subtly twist my arm. But don't worry, I know how to handle it. He'll get the message.”

  “Well, maybe I should have a talk with him to get him off your back? I might actually enjoy that.”

  Laura chuckled. “I think you might enjoy that a little too much, 007. Don't worry about Ron, I'll be able to handle him myself. He'll be distracted for a while anyway. He's got to find a new place to live. The Bridge household is about to come to an end. The owner sold the house.”

  Sam was overcome by surprise. “Really? Sold?”

  “It's sad. I have a lot of good memories there.”

  Friday, July 28, 1995

  Winchester, Massachusetts

  Sam received a sealed interoffice envelop earlier in the day, hand delivered to his office by one of Merrill's administrative assistants. It was a brief summons to meet at Merrill's residence that evening. Sam found it odd that they couldn't simply meet in Merrill's office, but soon realized that doing so would raise too many eyebrows. Lower echelon employees meeting with the CEO wasn't an everyday occurrence at Blanchard. Meeting after-hours at Merrill's home made more sense, but Sam wondered why they couldn't just meet at the safe house in Westford.

  Sam turned off a side road onto a cul-de-sac street. The houses were noticeably larger than those in the surrounding neighborhoods, and each was situated on sizable properties. Most had attached three-car garages, impeccably landscaped yards, and lush green lawns. Merrill's house was located at the very end, off to the left of the circle. It was an oversized colonial that was set back behind a hedge of trees and shrubs. The driveway was gated and a four-foot high stone wall went around the perimeter of the property.

  The gate automatically opened as Sam drove up. The cobblestone driveway snaked past a few sprawling maple and oak trees to a closed up four-bay garage. A well-dressed attendant waited next to the garage as Sam drove up and parked next to a black BMW. The attendant stepped forward to open Sam's car door.

  “Welcome. Mr. Drake is waiting.”

  “Thanks,” Sam replied as he got out.

  The attendant escorted Sam to the front door. As they walked, Sam couldn't help but notice a handgun holster under the attendants suit jacket. He also had an earpiece.

  They entered a large foyer and Sam was led into a spacious living room. It had its own set of double doors, a high ceiling, multiple ceiling fans, and an oversized fireplace. Large, arched windows allowed ample daylight to illuminate the room in the early evening.

  “Good evening, Sam,” Merrill greeted. “Thanks for coming. Please come in and relax.”

  “Is there anything wrong?” Sam asked as he walked further into the room. The attendant nodded to Merrill before retreating from the room, closing them in.

  “No,” Merrill replied with a smile while gesturing for Sam to take a seat on a couch. “Please sit and relax. I'm sorry for the rather cryptic invite. I wanted to carve out some time for the two of us to sit and talk. Do you want a drink?”

  “No thanks,” Sam replied as he sank into a soft leather sofa.

  Merrill stepped over to a mini-bar at the corner of the living room. “Sorry I had to wait until today, but it's the earliest opportunity I could schedule.” Merrill paused and raised up a bottle of bourbon he was going to pour a drink from. “Are you sure you don't want anything? This is a nicely balanced malt from Scotland.”

  “I'm actually trying to lay off the alcohol.”

  “Oh, yes. I'm sorry. Must be something Dr. Huston ordered?”

  “More of a strong recommendation.”

  Merrill nodded as he finished pouring his drink. “I understand. Do you mind if I--”

  “No problem,” Sam interrupted.

  “It's been another long day and I usually like to unwind with a stiff drink.”

  “I understand,” Sam politely replied.

  “I'm actually pleased to see that you're following Dr. Huston's recommendation,” Merrill said as he sat in a sofa opposite Sam. “I can imagine that turning to alcohol would be an overwhelming temptation in light of what you've been through. In fact, I've deeply admired how you've been able to handle the awful situations you've become embroiled in.”

  “Thank you.”

  Merrill took a drink. “Sam, I wanted to sit and talk because this is uncharted territory for both of us. You've been granted a long look at something that you weren’t supposed to see for a few years, assuming you successfully came through the program. Now you know far more about what we really do than most who work at Blanchard ever will. I imagine that Neil has probably told you much about our operation, and me in particular.”

  “He has.”

  “I'm sure that most of what he told you about myself was quite unflattering.”

  Sam smirked. “You two seem to have a lot to work out.”

  Merrill chuckled as he took another drink. “Yes, we do. We were both passionate about building The Initiative, but we let those passions drive a wedge between us.”

  “Was it about the money?”

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “Among other things.”

  “In a way, yes. I wanted to make sure the money was well spent.”

  Sam shifted in his seat. “He suggested you bent a lot of rules to protect it.”

  “Bent rules?” Merrill echoed with a grin. “Oh, Sam, to be young and naive again. Let me explain it to you this way: Imagine winning the largest lottery ever. Now imagine all the friends you didn't know you had coming out of the woodwork and angling to get a piece of it. Multiply that by a hundred and you have a pretty good picture of what my job has been like over the years. So yes, rules were bent because they provide little protection from those who have no regard for ru
les. Neil could afford to take a more simplistic approach to ethics because he wasn't the one tasked with managing the resources that too many people coveted. It wasn't always about the money.”

  “So, this is an ends justifies the means argument?”

  Merrill leaned back and finished his drink. “Don't be too hasty about passing judgment, Sam. It got you where you are now.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “Did Neil neglect to tell you that he personally made some adjustments to our recruiting system to get you your job?”

  Sam snickered. “You know about that?”

  “We found out after tearing our computer systems apart in the aftermath of the test-flight attack.”

  “Honestly, I didn't know anything about it until after I met him.”

  “Don't worry, Sam. I believe you. I'm actually glad Neil did it. If you think about it, your involvement in recent events was a positive game-changer for The Initiative. It's all because someone, Neil of all people, bent the rules.” Merrill paused and tightened his gaze on Sam. “Does that help you understand my modus operandi a little better?”

  “I suppose it does,” Sam reluctantly replied.

  “Sam, I admit that I cheat when I have to. I do it for a bigger, more important purpose. What bothers me about Neil is that he cheats too, but won't ever admit it.”

  “Dissing Neil isn't going to make me distrust him.”

  “That's not my intent. I'm just trying to impress upon you what it takes to achieve success in this endeavor. Now that you're in the middle with us, I think it important that you understand this, too. It's not going to be easy to decipher right from wrong, particularly when wrong sometimes gets you to right.”

  “Fighting fire with fire?” Sam asked in a condescending tone.

  “Sam, the enemy we're up against is morally vacant, which is something they've clearly demonstrated to you in several ways.” Merrill paused and looked angered. “It cost you Angela and very nearly Susan. They even programed your former best friend to get at you. Our response to them has to be equally as determined.”

  “Where's the line in all of this?”