An Unlikely Phoenix

by Frank Zafiro

  Nathalie disappeared into the bedroom for a few minutes while Ryan continued to surf through the channels, searching for information. He was met with local news and standard programming, uninterrupted by events. Some of the channels ran a silent ticker across the bottom of the screen, advising citizens to remain in their homes during this “incidence of minor unrest.”

  It was good advice, Ryan knew. The safest place in a riot was at home, even in the center of activity.

  A thought occurred to him. He looked down to his phone, opening up the app and checking for missed calls. He had one, from Alexander. His brother probably hadn’t even gone to bed yet out on the west coast. There was a text from him as well.

  Safe?

  Ryan texted him back, assuring him that they were all right. He put the phone down as Nathalie returned to the living room. She was about to say something when she noticed his expression.

  “What is it?”

  He shook his head. “They didn’t call me.”

  “Who?”

  “Work. There’s a full scale riot going on and...they didn’t call.” He had a difficult time shaking the emotion attached to those words, though he struggled just as much to properly identify it. Anger? Hurt? Disappointment? Ryan couldn’t be sure, but it burned in his gut all the same.

  “Oh, amour.” Nathalie touched him on the cheek. “Of course they didn’t. You’re still injured. They know this.”

  “I still could have helped. I could have...” He trailed off.

  “This is bigger than just St. Louis,” she told him. “It’s happening all over the country.”

  “How do you know?”

  She gave him a meaningful look.

  He clenched his jaw for a moment, then forced himself to relax his face. “What do you mean?”

  “There are reports of crowds out in multiple cities. Some have been peaceful demonstrations, but there are other riots, too.”

  “Where?”

  “Philadelphia,” she said. “Savannah, Georgia. Madison, Wisconsin. A few others.”

  “What about California?”

  “There were people in the streets of Los Angeles and San Francisco. San Diego, too. But the Governor came on and urged people to remain peaceful, and that seems to have helped. Only L.A. is still dealing with violence.”

  Ryan took in the information. That meant Alex was likely safe. But he wondered...

  “Will this be enough?” he asked, more to himself than to Nathalie, but she answered.

  “No.” Her voice was sad. “Not for most. For most people, it will just be another event to get past in the course of their busy lives.”

  He looked at her. “Such a cynic.”

  “I’m only telling it true. I wish it weren’t, but it is.”

  “Maybe not in California,” he suggested.

  She shrugged. “Maybe not.”

  They were quiet for a while, and then he finally said it. “Maybe it is time to go.”

  She met his gaze, and nodded slowly. “I think so, too.”

  He took a deep breath. “All right. We’ll wait for things to settle down, and we’ll go. I’ll call Alex.”

  “No, don’t.” Nathalie’s tone was sharp, and it surprised him.

  “Why not?”

  “I think...I think it would be better if we were quiet about our plans.”

  “We can trust Alex.”

  “I know, mon ami. But who knows if his phone is under surveillance. Or yours?” She gave him a pleading look. “This is dangerous. As soon as we run, we become felons. Me for violating the Immigration Act, and you for aiding and abetting.”

  “That’s ridiculous. The amnesty deadline is still two weeks away. We can take a vacation to California, if we want. Take Melina to Disneyland.”

  “We can. Theoretically.”

  “No, in reality. This is still a free country.”

  Nathalie sighed. “I don’t know what kind of country it is any more. But what I do know is that they’ve been watching me. You know it, too. And if they’re watching me, it is because they’ve decided I’m some kind of threat. And if I’m a threat, they can justify any action they choose to take. That is the world we are living in.”

  Ryan’s objection died on his lips. She was right.

  “Let’s get packed,” he said.

  THEY WERE CAREFUL IN what they chose to pack, taking only what they would otherwise take on a vacation to the happiest place on earth. Nathalie put a thumb drive containing all of their family photos into the lining of the suitcase, the only exception to this plan.

  Ryan tried to book flights out of St. Louis, but discovered many had been cancelled and that those few airlines still flying were overbooked. He spread his search, and found a direct flight to Anaheim from Nashville. It was almost a five hour drive away, but he purchased the tickets without hesitation.

  While he worked, his phone buzzed. When he’d finished booking the tickets, he checked the message. It was from Gleeson.

  Ryan took a deep breath and opened it. The note was brief and came with an attached file.

  We don’t believe many of the same things, except for this: what is right, is right.

  Ryan frowned, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean. He opened the document, and immediately saw that it was the report of his internal affairs investigation. He scrolled through the first few pages quickly until he reached the executive summary. He read in disbelief.

  “While Officer Derrick adheres to questionable politics,” Gleeson wrote, “the evidence in this case is clear in exonerating him of any wrongdoing, whether purposeful or negligent.”

  Ryan leaned back, letting out a long sigh. He was cleared. At least that was resolved.

  He showed Nathalie, and she smiled and embraced him. “I’m glad this will not follow you.”

  He nodded. Being vindicated didn’t matter anymore for his career. He was leaving that behind. But it felt good all the same.

  They watched the progression of the rioting on the news, trying to decipher what was really happening through the haze of mainstream reporting. Things appeared to be tapering off, and most of the activity seemed to be centered around looting more than any protest.

  Nathalie consulted her dark web sources only once, around dinner time when web traffic peaked. She said it helped camouflage her activity.

  “Most of the protests have ended,” she told him. “There’s still rioting in Philadelphia and Houston, but it sounds like it is coming under control.”

  “Just like here.”

  “Yes,” she said, sadly. “It is as I told you, my love. People lack the resolve we attribute to them.”

  “Not everyone,” he said.

  She didn’t answer.

  Two hours later, his phone rang. It was Aaron Fisher, his sergeant. “They want you to come in, Ryan.”

  “They who?”

  “They, they,” he said impatiently. “I don’t know. The bosses. They’re calling in all assets to finish out this goddamn riot. It’s mostly under control, so we can activate our civilians and modified duty cops like you.”

  “Where do I report?”

  “Nowhere yet. Stand by for another call. They’ll let you know. In the meantime, get ready.”

  “I will, sergeant.”

  Fisher disconnected.

  Ryan told Nathalie about the call. She didn’t like it.

  “You can’t go. We are leaving soon. You have tickets.”

  “For tomorrow,” he said. “And if I don’t go, it’ll look suspicious.”

  “Tell them you’re sick.”

  “It’s too late. If I was sick, I should have told Sergeant Fisher.”

  “They won’t know,” Nathalie insisted. “They’re too busy to notice.”

  Ryan considered. Then he shrugged. “Let’s wait and see who calls me in. If I can book off sick with whoever that is, I will. Okay?”

  She agreed, and they settled in to wait.

  AS ONE HOUR STRETCHED into two, Nathalie dozed on
the couch, leaning against Ryan. He watched the television on mute, believing less than half of what he saw. He’d half-decided that everyone had forgotten about him when there was a loud knocking on the front door.

  Nathalie jolted awake, blinking through her sleep. Her alarmed gaze lighted on Ryan. He held his finger to his lips, standing and shuffling to the door. He tapped the screen to access the porch cam, but it remained black.

  Another knock, this one more insistent.

  “Who is it?” Ryan called through the door.

  “Homeland Security, Officer Derrick. Open the door.”

  Ryan glanced at Nathalie. Her expression was creased with a frown.

  The agents knocked again. “Officer Derrick, open the door!”

  Ryan waited a couple moments, then said, “Just a minute. Let me get some clothes on.”

  There was a pause, and then a reluctant reply. “Make it fast.”

  Ryan recognized the voice. It was Potulny. His eyes snapped to Nathalie’s and he mouthed the lieutenant’s name. Nathalie’s eyes widened, then narrowed. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, speaking volumes in silence. Then Ryan nodded briskly. Nathalie slid from the couch and sprinted lightly for Melina’s bedroom.

  He waited another minute, then opened the front door and stood in the doorway. Lieutenant Potulny stood with two uniformed HSA agents.

  “What is it?” Ryan asked.

  “Let’s talk inside,” Potulny suggested.

  “Let’s talk here,” Ryan countered. “Unless you have a search warrant.”

  Potulny scowled briefly, then shrugged. “Fine. Is your wife home?”

  “Why?”

  “That wouldn’t be any of your business, actually,” Potulny said.

  “She’s my wife.”

  “So she is. Would you mind getting her?”

  He shook his head. “Why do you want her?”

  Potulny sighed. “We already covered this, Officer. Get your wife now, or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction.”

  “Obstruction of what?”

  “Justice.” Potulny held out a signed document in the familiar orange color of arrest warrants. He smiled without a trace of humor. “Bring her to the door, so we can resolve this peaceably.”

  “She’s not here,” Ryan lied.

  “Where is she?”

  “She went to my sister’s in Nebraska. I sent her as soon as the riots started.”

  Potulny shook his head, clucking his tongue. “Cops are such poor liars,” he said, then turned his gaze to both of the agents with him. “Search the place. Find her.”

  “You’re not coming in,” Ryan said, standing in their way.

  The agents hesitated, glancing sidelong at Potulny.

  “Look,” Potulny said. “I have an arrest warrant. That means I can also enter any premise I reasonably believe the wanted person to be. Like her home.”

  “I told you she isn’t here.”

  “And I think it’s entirely reasonable for me to disbelieve you. So if you don’t step aside, you’re going to jail.” Before Ryan could respond, Potulny motioned to the agents.

  Both agents stepped forward warily. Ryan considered fighting, but knew he couldn’t beat the three of them, especially not since his injuries. All he would accomplish would be to get arrested.

  Or give Nat a few moments longer...

  “Wait,” he said. “At least let me—”

  The first agent shouldered him aside, and the second followed quickly. Both drew weapons from their holsters.

  “What the hell!” Ryan shouted.

  “Relax,” Potulny said. “Those are Tasers, not guns.”

  Ryan gave him an astonished look. Relax? He took a step in the direction of the two agents. From behind, Potulny grabbed his elbow and pushed him into the nearby wall. When Ryan turned back to him, Potulny had a Taser in his hand.

  “Don’t make me use this,” he said. “Be a professional.”

  Ryan shifted gears. “What is the warrant for? What’s the charge?”

  A light sneer crossed Potulny’s lips. “Sedition. Treason.”

  “What?”

  “Your wife is an agent provocateur, Officer Derrick. We have proof. The only question is whether or not you knew about it.”

  Ryan glared at Potulny for a moment, then pointed past him and through the open door at nothing. “Did you really need him, too?”

  Potulny’s expression became confused. He glanced over his shoulder.

  As soon as he looked away, Ryan stepped toward Potulny and gave him a hard two-handed shove. The lieutenant staggered backward, and fell off the porch, sprawling on the walkway. Ryan didn’t hesitate, but turned and hurried deeper into the house. He resisted the urge to call out to Nathalie, then realized it didn’t matter at this point.

  “Nat!” he screamed.

  She didn’t answer.

  He burst into Melina’s room. Her blankets were flipped aside, her bed empty.

  “Nat!” he called again, turning and shuffling toward the master bedroom. He ran into one agent coming out of the room. Ryan balled his fist, but before he could throw a punch, the agent raised his weapon. Electricity arced with a sharp clacking sound and fiery pain shot through Ryan’s body. His muscles seized and he toppled to the floor. The force of his landing knocked the breath from him and he saw stars. The smell of ozone filled his nostrils.

  “Hit him again!” Potulny yelled from what seemed like far away.

  More clacking, and the screaming hum of electric pain enveloped him.

  Then darkness.

  Chapter 23

  Not every political movement is entirely transparent about its true core convictions, especially early on its existence. The further away from the cultural norms, the more likely a movement in its infancy will conceal those convictions, or cloak them in euphemisms. Only when the movement has reached a comfortable majority, or at least secured a position of substantial authority, do these convictions become public. Much like the proverbial frog in cold water that is heated slowly, degree by subtle degree, the public, although a numerical majority, sometimes finds itself in boiling water, unable or unwilling to leap out in time to save itself.

  — From An Unlikely Phoenix by Reed Ambrose

  WHEN RYAN WOKE, HE was handcuffed to a chair. The room was bright and stark, and he recognized it immediately. He was in the interrogation room at the precinct.

  His first thought was of Nathalie. Did Potulny find her and Melina? Where had she hidden? He tried to imagine someplace in the house where they could have successfully hidden and couldn’t think of one. Maybe they’d gotten out of the house in time, he consoled himself. Maybe Potulny’s arrogance had resulted in overconfidence, and he hadn’t brought along any more than the two agents Ryan had seen.

  We can hope.

  He tested the cuffs, found them secure, then sat to wait. He knew the cameras in two corners of the room would capture that he was awake. Potulny would be in soon. Or someone would be, at least.

  It took another twenty minutes, but he was proven correct. Lieutenant Potulny entered the room, carrying a notepad and a cup of coffee. He sat down opposite Ryan, plopped the coffee cup down on the table and scratched something on the notepad. In spite of everything, Ryan almost laughed at the ridiculous pantomime.

  Potulny was serious, however. He finally looked up at Ryan and shook his head sadly. “I don’t know whether to feel bad for you or feel like you’re bad, Officer.”

  Ryan wondered how long he’d worked on that opening line. He didn’t reply.

  Potulny didn’t seem to notice. “I mean, either you were completely unaware that you were married to a seditious, treasonous so-called journalist...a foreign journalist, at that...or you were in league with her the entire time.” He held up his hands, mimicking a scale. “So either you were really dumb,” he said, lifting one hand, then the other. “Or you’re a traitor, too.”

  Ryan considered asking for a lawyer, but he knew it would be pointle
ss. He remained silent.

  “Now while it is tempting to go with the first option...” He tilted his head at Ryan and gave him a greasy smile. “And entertaining, I have to say. But given your other behaviors, being a shamer and so forth, it seems to me that the second option is more likely. That you’re a traitor, I mean.”

  Ryan said nothing.

  “Not talking?” Potulny said. “Tongue fried?”

  Ryan glared at him, but didn’t reply. More prepared jabs that weren’t nearly as witty as Potulny thought.

  Potulny shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Your wife is going to see prison if she is lucky, though my recommendation is to simply ship her back to the shithole she was born in. It’s at least as much a prison as any of our penitentiaries, and shipping her there is a one-time cost instead of an ongoing one.”

  Ryan clenched his jaw. He strained against his cuffs momentarily, feeling the cold metal bite into his wrists.

  “And if I’m right about you, well then that’s already one prison bed we’ll be paying for. Plus whatever fostering your orphaned daughter ends up costing us.” Potulny watched Ryan for a response.

  Ryan forced himself to relax his muscles. Potulny was trying to get to him. If he let that happen, Potulny won.

  “Running hasn’t made your wife look any less guilty,” Potulny said. “You know how a jury will see that, don’t you?”

  He did. Only guilty people ran. That was the lie that they were always sold.

  “And you know we’ll find her, right? And charge her for failing to surrender?”

  Ryan felt a jolt of adrenaline. That meant she managed to escape. That gave him hope.

  “Funny thing,” Potulny said. “I checked your file. You don’t have a sister that lives in Nebraska. In fact, you don’t have a sister, period.”

  Ryan shrugged.

  Potulny gave him a disappointed look. “That’s it? A shrug, a tacit admission of your guilt? I expected some sort of snappy comeback, Officer Derrick. You’ve always been so full of them.” He glanced down at his notepad, then back up at Ryan. “Well, I’ll just add it to the list that proves your guilt.”