by B. C. Tweedt
“Hold on!”
They bumped along, further and further from the gunfire and chaos, skidding around trees and making rough paths, but he was numb. The safety only made him feel worse. He didn’t feel the pain any more. He wasn’t even scared. Wasn’t relieved. Maybe he was in shock. Or maybe he was just too wired to feel anything. Except for one thing. Despite the Georgia heat, he felt cold – as if the soldier’s back was air-conditioned.
“It’s cold. Your back,” Greyson muttered.
The soldier hollered back gruffly. “Confuses heat sensors.”
Greyson’s numb mind scattered for a meaning but suddenly latched like an anchor on one thought.
“Kit! Do you have him? My dog?”
Silence. Their three four-wheelers swerved through the trees.
“My dog! We have to go back!”
Silence.
There was only one thing he could do to make them stop.
“I’ll get off this thing. I’ll – I’ll jump! Watch me – I’ll – I’ll do it.” He pushed at the man’s back and began to squirm.
The goggled man driving for Greyson shook his head and cursed. “Forge, go back and see if his stupid dog’s dead!”
One of the other masked drivers, Forge, turned and gave them a long look between passing trees. Greyson stared at him.
“Ah heck, why not?” Forge veered away, bouncing through the woods.
Greyson hugged his driver’s cold back a little tighter and closed his eyes. The ringing in his ears still sung, like Kit’s whimper on replay. Even with the rushing wind, it was always there. He could hear him crying.
Chapter 45
Avery ran and ran, finally tiring of the chase. She slid down the stair railing, burst toward a hall where a pair of couches looked out to sea, and hid. After a few tense moments, her last pursuers bounded past. She gave it another few seconds until she felt safe enough to emerge. When she did, her friends were just across the hall.
“Hold on!” Sydney shouted, running up to her and grabbing her arm.
“What? Why?” Avery shook free and frantically scanned for pursuers. “We’re almost there; let’s go!”
“No, change of plan,” Sydney commanded. “Give me the watch.”
“Why? I got it. Joey, what’s going on?”
Jarryd shrugged, and Nick stepped in before she could say anything. “We’ve got to give it back. Say it was for fun.”
Avery grasped the watch tightly, but it suddenly buzzed. She held it up as another message lit the screen.
Enraptured by the watch’s sudden life, the kids scrambled around her to read the message.
“Militia attack
on military in GA.
Anticipate highest security.
Plan still a go.”
“Wow,” Jarryd exclaimed. The others nodded their heads in agreement. “The screen is so bright! You could use it as a flashlight if you were stuck in a cave.”
The others shook their heads.
Before Avery could retain her grasp, Nick took the watch from her and waved it at them. “You know what this means?”
Jarryd cocked his head at his brother’s waving hand. “Hello?”
Nick sighed. “No, moron. It means we were right that this is a Plurb watch; but now they know who took it. We’re in a huge mess.”
“Wait, what?” Avery exclaimed. “A Plurb watch?” Her eyes wondered into the past, her face a picture of confusion. “There are Plurbs on the ship?”
Jarryd nodded. “Yup.”
“You really have been hiding things. What else don’t I know?”
“My real name’s Jarryd.”
Her concern turned to fascination. “Jarryd, huh? I like it. It fits you.”
“So do you.”
Avery blushed, and Nick rolled his eyes. “No time to explain everything now,” Nick said, already heading for the stairs. “But they will catch us eventually, so our only hope is to turn ourselves in. We’ve got to apologize and act like we were playing a prank. Like we never knew a thing. You know? Play dumb.”
Sydney smirked at Avery. Shouldn’t be hard for her, she thought.
-----------------
President Foster lowered his signature brown glasses from his nose so that he could rub his eyes. He let out an audible sigh meant more to signal his frustration than anything else. It was late for a sixty-year-old man with bright grey hair and bad knees. And to be interrupted because of yet another terrorist attack irked him as much as it enraged him.
Both the President and Governor Reckhemmer had been in attendance at the fundraiser dinner’s after-party when the secret service had whispered in the President’s ear, and, to the Governor’s surprise, the President had requested his company on the drive to the Situation Room. And no one said no to President Foster.
“I have many voices in my ear as you know, Joshua,” Foster said, still rubbing his eyes inside the luxurious interior of the Presidential SUV. “And most equate to babble. Weak, ignorant babble.”
The Governor listened, anxious for details.
Foster pushed his glasses back into place and looked him straight in the eye. “But I value yours.” Foster was once a more handsome man, but now often commanded a heavy frown.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Well, don’t thank me so quickly,” he said stoically. “Letting you into the situation may dissuade you from putting your hat into the ring.” He gave the Governor a flat smile. “You’ll inherit this mess of mine come a year, if all goes as planned.”
The Governor nodded, trying not to show too much enthusiasm. He did want to inherit his mess – with a fiery passion. He wanted to fix it. He lived to get his hands inside of problems and fix them. And the country had a deep problem. But he didn’t say anything. He would let the President take the lead.
The President explained what he had been told. An attack on a military transport train in Georgia. Dozens of militia, soldiers, and citizens dead. A town on fire. Another nightmare that the President had promised to stop after the wave of attacks just months ago.
When the President had finished, he took a sip of his drink and leaned his head back against the headrest with eyes closed. “So, how would you react if you were me?”
The Governor gathered his thoughts, watching the D.C. traffic out the window. “With patience, sir.”
“Patience?” The President’s eyes opened.
“Yes, sir. American soldiers have been killed on our own soil, by our own citizens. This act deserves justice, and it will come, but our immediate reaction should be one of utmost sorrow for the victims, along with a resolve to do everything in our power to see that it never happens again.”
“I’m thinking more practically here, Josh. The Cabinet will want to move on adding Pluribus to the SDN list tomorrow.”
“I want Pluribus to be labeled a terrorist organization more than anyone, but you said this attack was perpetrated by a Georgia militia, one not going by the name Pluribus. This is an omen of a larger war – it’s more than Pluribus – and we may have to consider that we have pushed our security measures too hard, too fast, driving people to this violence…”
“You believe this ARC nonsense?”
“I do. I didn’t two months ago, but you and I both know, the fear is growing. It’s real, and no longer just the most radical of the radical. And these terrorists, going by whatever name, will resort to anything to get it…even war.”
“The fools.”
“But to justify their secession, they need the big, bad government, to look not just incompetent, but evil. They are trying to provoke us. Religious freedom, gun control, debt are all real issues, but they don’t give them enough backing for war.”
“It certainly seems like it has, Josh. They have already started one.”
“With all due respect, they haven’t. We can decide when this conflict becomes a war. Right now, their followers number in the hundreds. But when you designate Pluribus as terrorists, Americans will see thous
ands of government agents breaking down doors, extinguishing bank accounts, and playing the very part of an oppressive government that Pluribus wanted them to. And if video gets out showing the amount of military hardware you’re moving to the country’s interior…”
President Foster’s brow was frozen in a perplexing fold. “So what would you have me do? Nothing?”
“Condemn the attack, and then keep reminding the people that America is beautiful, her soldiers are heroes, and the militias and the Plurbs are those that are to be hated. Not us. Make the secessionists and the terrorists out to be the same and then isolate them both. Win the war for our country’s hearts and minds.”
“Ah, propaganda.”
“Call it what you like. Make sure the information coming out of Meyer’s Crossing is in our favor. Use the media, buy bloggers, CEOs. And then, quietly, with no fanfare, discredit every Plurb you can.” A spurt of anger sneaked through his restraint. “Find a reason to arrest them. Humiliate them. Then add them to the list in private. If anybody in the press wants to make it public, they’ll look like they’re one of them.” He stiffened his lips. “You swore to protect this nation as its Commander in Chief; there’s no reason you can’t do it in the dark.”
Taking another sip of his drink, President Foster let out a satisfied sigh and licked his lips. “I always value your opinion for that very reason.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The SUV came to a guarded gate and passed through, pulling into the White House’s back drive.
“Now, one last thing. Just a few minutes before I was informed about the attack, I received another call. They informed me a soldier on that very train had caught a boy trying to sneak into one of the train cars. They confirmed that it was one of the child witnesses from the fair. And apparently a standing order had been given for his termination.”
“Yes,” the Governor answered solemnly. “The Plurbs helped him to escape from FBI protection. An agent was shot in cold blood. He’s been on the run since.”
“I was unaware. I don’t like being unaware.”
“That was my failure to inform you. I’ve been supervising the case.”
The President lowered his brow, bottling his annoyance. “You knew of this order?”
The Governor nodded. “It’s unfortunate.”
Foster examined his eyes, searching for deceit, but sensing only regret. Finally his stare relented. “Well, somehow he made it out. He was spotted after the wreck. What’s worse, he had help. Paramilitaries. We don’t know whose; we’re still looking. It’s getting messy.”
Joshua nodded. “May I suggest the security firm, StoneWater?”
“Fight paramilitaries with mercenaries?”
“Security contractors. I’ve hired them for event security before, but they’ll do what you hire them to do. They’ll clean up messes, get dirty so our boys stay clean. To keep this country alive, we must rid it of its cancer, in whatever way possible.”
A secret service agent opened the door to escort the Governor to another vehicle, but President Foster waved for it to be shut. When it was closed he sighed deeply, fingering the rim of his glasses. “Cancer?”
Reckhemmer nodded. “And you will do the necessary surgery. But you must first convince the people that the cancer is more dangerous than the surgery.”
Foster examined him. “I will try. But if there is another attack, there are no guarantees. We would be forced to act.”
“I wouldn’t fault you for that.”
A secret service agent knocked on the President’s window, a reminder he was needed in the situation room. The nation was in another crisis that needed his attention. The President opened the door and took one last look at the governor. “One last thing. I know your reach is growing, Joshua, and I like you – but know your boundaries. This isn’t your office yet.” The President examined his face again, nodded, and shut the door.
---------------
“It was a computer program,” Sam muttered, red-faced and annoyed. “He helped me write it, we installed it on the thumb drive, and then it implanted itself on his laptop when he put it in.”
The secret-service agent stared at him. “And he wanted you to do this?”
Sam eyed the security monitors that provided the only light in the hotel’s tiny security room. “Yes. It was a lesson. He was teaching me. Because he’s my tutor.”
He knew it wouldn’t help to be sassy, but they’d kept him in the security room for twenty minutes already; and, as far as he knew, they hadn’t done anything to find the killer.
“Did he expect you to access his laptop tonight? Was there a time frame?”
“Kind of, yes. He said his girlfriend would be coming over after 10.”
For the first time, the agent seemed interested. He scribbled furiously in his notepad and underlined it. “Do you know anything about this girlfriend of his?”
“No, but it wasn’t her. I told you; it was a guy – a big guy with…”
“Did he mention anything to you that would lead you to think someone may try to kill him? Was he paranoid? Was he hiding anything?”
It struck Sam hard. The thumb drive. Not the one with the program virus on it, but the one he’d given him with the Pluribus documents. His mind reeled, thinking it through.
“What are you thinking?” the man inquired, noticing his face.
Sam grew restless. The room became stifling and small. The heat seemed to radiate from the security monitors. And the man’s gaze bore a hole through him. He felt horrible about hiding anything from them. All they wanted was to help, and the fact that he could have led to the murder sent shivers down his back.
“When will my dad get back?”
“He’s on his way.” The man cleared his throat and leaned closer. “What was he hiding?”
He had to tell him. “My homework drive,” he said at last. “It had the documents taken from the Pluribus headquarters in Des Moines – before the attack on the fair.”
“The same ones you showed your father?”
This man already knew exactly what he wanted.
“Yes.”
“Were there any other copies of these documents that you are aware of?”
The breath halted midway up Sam’s throat. His conscience battled within him. He’d already given them what they needed. They didn’t need to know about the copies.
I don’t trust anyone, Calvin had said. And I don’t think you do either.
He didn’t know exactly why he didn’t trust the man in front of him, but he didn’t, and that’s all that mattered. He put on his best politician face – even with a hint of a smile. “Those were my only copies. You guys said they weren’t important. So why would someone kill…?”
“We’ll need to make sure. Pat you down, double check your laptop. I’m sure you understand. It’s not that we don’t trust you – it’s a matter of national security.”
“I understand completely,” Sam said with a smile, standing up and holding out his arms.
The agent smiled back, patted Sam down, pulled out his pockets, and made him take off his shoes. They only found a few quarters.
“Sorry about that. We’ll get to the bottom of this, Sam. For now, we need you to stay in your room.”
“Can I go now?”
“Sure. Just leave the laptop with us.”
Sam left in a hurry, rushed to his room and removed the thumb drive from his underwear.
----------------
Sammy, Sydney, Avery, and the twins eyed the security monitors in the stuffy security room. They sat across from the youthful Captain Chip, Suk, and Baldy. Even their parents had joined them after Suk had tracked down enough chairs. Avery’s parents were tall, tanned, and a little loopy. Sydney couldn’t stand the smell of alcohol on their clothes.
Jarryd had been the first to share the story: “So we saw one of those awesome watches while we were at dinner and I was like ‘I have to have that fine piece of bling’, but the one guy – what was his name �
�� Shis-Ka-Bob or something – he wouldn’t let me even see it. Then we saw how many of the employees had one and we were like…interested or whatever. And I know you don’t know us, but we like to pretend we’re daring or whatever and do stupid things pretending we’re all super ninjas on an adventure or something.” He gave a dismissive laugh. “So I followed Baldy…you, I mean…to your room one day, and we made a plan. I snuck in while the guy was cleaning, to look for your watch, and then you came in and scared me so I hid. Then I went to grab your watch and we ran. True story.”
“And we’re very sorry,” Nick added.
“Oh, yeah. Yes. Very.” Jarryd nodded with enthusiasm.
Suk continued to ask questions, but the kids stuck to the story. Eventually he turned to Baldy and gave him a hard look. “Do you have any questions for them?”
Baldy’s eyes glazed over each kid with a little fire, but when he glanced at the humiliated parents, they dimmed. A hint of compassion came over him. “I have my watch back. And you can assure me that you didn’t mess with any of the settings or snoop at any of the messages?”
The kids all turned to each other with nods and shrugs. “No, sir. We didn’t get a chance.”
He laughed a little and leaned back.
Avery’s dad took the break in conversation as an opportunity. “I would like to apologize personally for Avery’s behav’ah in all this. It is unacceptable and she will be punished appropriately. And we owe you an apology, too. She is ah’r responsibility and we w’ah having a night out on ah’r own.”
Jarryd gazed at Avery. She had her head down and her eyes closed.
Her dad took a small card from his shirt pocket. “Take this and let me know if th’ahs anything we c’ahn to do to repay you. But we would like to put this night behind us.”
Baldy took a moment to respond, letting Avery’s father hold the card outstretched over the middle of the table. Finally, he reached forward and snagged it with a smirk. “Thank you, Mr. Redmond. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Captain Chip rose from his chair abruptly. “If you’d please just give us one moment.”
