by Gerry, Frank
Grace stood up and gave Dylan a hug, speaking into his ear, “Thanks.” Dylan said nothing but nodded his head, giving her an acknowledging glance while she opened the door to leave. “I'll see you around,” he said in quiet voice. Dylan smiled as he watched her walk away. I'll be seeing you naked in my bed before long, he couldn't help but think.
At exactly one thirty, Dylan knocked on Senior Agent Goodman's office door. Dylan looked through the glass side widow that ran the length of the door frame to see Goodman talking on his phone. Seeing Dylan, Goodman motioned with an upright forefinger that he'd be with him in a moment.
Dylan had never personally met Goodman. While he was waiting he wondered why Goodman wanted to speak with him. It was fairly common for Investigative Agents to meet with engineers at the start of a new project to go over the specifications. Usually Agents wanted to make sure their requests for certain features in the software or hardware would be included in the final release. Or later in the development process, Agents might want to speak first hand with the engineers to make sure everything was going smoothly. Because after all, the Investigative Agents were the customers.
However, Dylan wasn't currently working on any new development projects. He was doing sustaining work, mostly fixing a number of bugs for the communication systems on Homeland Security's reconnaissance drones. Why an Agent would want to speak with him now was, to say the least, perplexing. Adding to the mystery, there was a temporary placard tacked up next to Goodman's door that read 'Senior Agent'. Since when did a Senior Agent ever have anything to do with DHS software engineers. Never, as far as he knew. The only thing Dylan could think this meeting could be about was possibly being assigned a new development project. Though, new assignments were always made by his manager. It was all very strange.
The office door opened and Mike Goodman stepped out to shake Dylan's hand. “Come on in, Dylan. It's nice to meet you,” Goodman said with a friendly smile. “Hello Agent Goodman. Or do I call you Senior Agent. I've never spoken to a Senior Agent before. I'm not certain how to address you.” Goodman smiled again. He could be as charming and likable as he wanted to be. “Just call me Agent,” he said while waving Dylan into his office.
Goodman closed the door behind the two of them. Then motioned Dylan to sit in the chair that faced the front of his rather large antique wooden desk. “Please, sit down,” Goodman said. Dylan looked around the room as he sat in the chair. The office itself was large. Much larger than the offices for engineers. The desk was positioned in the middle of the room so as to face the doorway. Goodman walked around the desk and sat down, his back to the office windows.
Dylan squinted a bit while he sat facing Goodman. The sun was starting to shine on the side wall of the office, reflecting the light into the room. “Oh, I'm sorry I'll increase the shading,” Goodman said noticing Dylan's discomfort from the glare. “Computer, increase outside window tinting to sixty five percent.” The office grew noticeably darker with the increased gray tint of the windows.
“As you can tell, when it comes to computers,” Goodman said while he pointed with his two open hands over the computer on his desk, “I'm old school. I just can't bring myself to give a name to a machine. Like it was a person.” Dylan nodded his head and gave a slight smile in an attempt to convey his understanding. He didn't know what else to do.
Goodman pushed his seat up to the desk and began typing on the virtual keyboard display to his network computer. His fingers banged away against the glass display for a few seconds before he began speaking, “I apologize for the short notice.” He turned his head to face his guest, “And I apologize, I have to finish this on my computer while we start our meeting.” Goodman turned his head back to face his computer screen.
Dylan responded with an agreeable acknowledgment, forced a somewhat bigger smile, then looked around the room again. He thought to himself how long did he have to wait until Goodman would just get to the point. Finally, Senior Agent Goodman started speaking. “I've been reviewing your record here at DHS. And I have to say I've been very impressed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dylan said, almost as an automatic response.
“Are you happy with your job?” Goodman asked. The question was completely unexpected. Dylan had never heard of Agents asking if engineers liked what they were doing. He was a little dumbfounded and answered the question as best he could, “I don't really know how to answer you. What do you mean?”
Goodman anticipated the uncertainty his meeting would have and was prepared. “Fair enough. Do you like what you're working on. Is it challenging? You feel you earn enough money? There are several reasons I ask. First I want to make sure that someone of your caliber stays here at DHS. We certainly wouldn't want to lose you.” Dylan paused to give these questions some serious thought.
Goodman continued typing at his virtual keyboard display, “Take your time, answer when you're ready.” He was setting up a lie detection system unbeknownst to his guest. It was top secret technology at DHS. A device that utilized a remote, hidden MRI scanner and an infrared heat sensor. Recording brainwave activity was extremely accurate in detecting whether a subject was telling the truth or lying. MRI lie detectors had been around for decades. Though the subject was always required to lie in the machine like a hospital patient. Transmitting and receiving MRI signals across a room was new. Combined with measuring the minute changes of heat emanating from the skin around a subjects eyes made the system one hundred percent accurate.
“I like my job, well enough. More money would be good,” Dylan said with a brief nervous laugh before continuing. “And to be honest, no I'm not challenged enough. I'm a little bored with my projects.”
The MRI system was operational, Goodman began watching Dylan's brainwave activity and skin temperatures in small windows displayed on his computer screen. Yellow, purple, red colors flashed across the outline of a face and a translucent three dimensional grayish skull. Goodman had no idea what the colors signified. The computer performed the analysis, displaying in capital green letters across the bottom of the screen, “TRUTH.”
“OK then.....” Goodman paused, nodding his head and leaning back in his chair. Finally devoting his full attention to Dylan. “The reason I called you here today is because we have an opportunity for an engineer with your skills. I want to offer you the job. I've read your resume. I've talked with your supervisor. And I've talked with some of your colleagues. You're the man for the job. The work involved our highest security projects. If you accepted the position, you'll have to undergo more stringent security background check, of course. We've got some pretty cool stuff in the pipeline. There's no need to give me an answer right away. Think about it. Sleep on it. Take some time to make your decision.”
Dylan delayed his response a few seconds to avoid looking too overly eager. A somber expression spread across his face. “I've already thought about it. The answer is yes. I've wanted a top clearance job since I first started here. Everyone knows those are the best jobs. Working on the newest cutting edge technology. I just never believed I'd get to top secret level this soon.”
A half second later the computer screen flashed the word “TRUTH.” Goodman looked pleased. “We only accept the best and the most loyal. I'm sure you'll appreciate the pay increase, as well. Before we get started with the process I have to ask some preliminary questions.” “Fire away, then,” Dylan grinned.
After asking a series of mundane boilerplate questions, Goodman got to the series of key questions he needed to know. Do you believe in God, are you a Christian, are you politically conservative, are you loyal to President Thompson, are you loyal to the Freedom Party? Dylan responded with the correct answers to each; yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. Goodman's lie detector reported what he had hope to see for each question: TRUTH.
“We'll have investigators look into your records more thoroughly. It's merely a formality at this point. Let me be the first to say congratulations on your new job Mr. Fraser,” Agent Goodman said, leaning ac
ross his desk to shake Dylan's hand.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your confidence. You're not going to be disappointed,” Dylan said. He put on his best poker face trying to hide his excitement.
NINE
At quarter to seven Friday evening, Brooks pulled his car into the driveway outside of Dylan's high rise in the South End. He pulled into the only outside guest parking spot that was available and revved the engine a couple of times to prevent the car from stalling out. Satisfied the engine wasn't going to die, he pulled out his v-phone and called up to Dylan. “Yeah I'm down in front now,.... OK, good.” His old Ford didn't have a built in computer with an in dash video phone. A standard feature in every new car. Actually, his vehicle didn't have much of anything that was still working.
Brooks tapped his fingers on the console while he waited. The glow of the dashboard instrumentation illuminated his face in shades of greens and oranges. A few minutes later Dylan opened the passenger side door and got in. “Hey,” Dylan said, carefully putting a bottle of expensive French vodka on the floor behind his seat. Brooks replied with a quick, “Hey,” before putting the car in reverse. Dylan fumbled with the seat belt. The pulley mechanism that retracted the seat belt was another thing on the list that needed fixing. “Brooksie, man, you need to get a new ca'h, a BMW like all your lawyer pals drive,” Dylan said. He finally managed to get the seat belt clicked into the buckle.
Brooks looked over at his friend and smiled. “How many times have I told you I'm not really into cars. Why waste my money on these things. I walk everywhere I need to go or take public transportation. I should just get rid of this old shit box.”
Dylan shook his head slightly, “With that kind of socialist attitude, no wonder why they never let you join the Party.”
Brooks looked over at Dylan, “You know I love you brotha'h. But you have to quit with that Freedom Party bullshit.” The two friends went silent. They've had this conversation many times. Each recognizing that their friendship was more important than their political differences.
“Open the glove compartment, I've packed the vaporizer with some of that Kamikaze weed I was telling you about,” Brooks said. Dylan banged on the top of the compartment with his fist. The door flung open. He searched through papers and other crap before finding the vaporizer. “I'm good, I already took a hit,” Brooks said.
Dylan took a long look at the vaporizer, shifting the device around in his hand to view it from different angles. “Just what I needed. I was out. I didn't have the chance to get to the store,” Dylan replied. He hit the 'ON' button and waited for the green light.
They headed towards Joanne's apartment in West Cambridge. The party was probably already getting started. As they drove, Brooks told the full story of the military assault he witnessed at the fraternity. It was the first time he had the chance to talk to Dylan about it. “Once I saw that there was nothing on the news about it. I didn't think it was a good idea to say anything over the phone. The last thing I want is my phone conversation flagged by Homeland Security.”
Dylan looked puzzled. “Are you sure about what you saw? Because something like that would have had to be on the news.” Brooks was ready for his friends obvious point. “Exactly! That is the most troubling thing. I mean, the deaths of those student's was bad, of course. But the really troubling thing was why this wasn't reported in the news. I didn't know whether to call the TV stations and find out or just keep my mouth shut.”
Dylan was taking it all in, “Well you were smart not to call anybody.” Brooks thought about what he saw for a few more seconds before adding, “Something really bad is going on. Why wouldn't that have made the news? I mean any news. I searched everything.”
The two friends became silent again as they drove over the Longfellow Bridge towards Cambridge. Dylan wondered to himself if Brooks really wasn't exaggerating an ordinary police bust. He just didn't know what to make of it.
Brooks turned the car onto Joanne's street. At that time of the evening, they'd still be plenty of on street parking available. Most of the residents of the upscale neighborhood were doctor's, lawyers, and other workaholic professionals. “I don't see any spots,” Brooks spoke as he drove slowly, looking for a space. “Over there,” Dylan called out, pointing to an empty area between two cars. “Nope,” Brooks responded after seeing the fire hydrant. They drove past Joanne's apartment building unable to find a space. Brooks continued driving to the end of the street, still nothing. He was about to take a left and try the next side street when Dylan spied a car leaving from the corner parking spot, “On your right, he's leaving.” “Excellent,” Brooks said with a big grin on his face.
After Brooks pulled into the spot, Dylan looked at his friend, “Timing is everything.”
“That's true, hey you want another hit before we go in?” Brooks asked.
“Nah, I don't wanna get too fucked up. You know me. I can't talk to people when I get really high. I have a nice mellow buzz going right now.”
“Me too. Just right,” Brooks added.
Dylan reached back and grabbed his bottle of vodka before climbing out of the car. Brooks pulled out a case of still cold micro-brewed beer from the back seat.
They walked towards Joanne's place carrying the booze. Dylan spoke first, “Lets not talk about the shootings you saw the other night. Let's just have a good time. We'll talk more about that later.” Brooks was in total agreement. “Absolutely, I intend to get laid tonight. I'm not about to bring up any dreary topics that will bring everyone down, including myself.”
“Great, so lets party,” Dylan said. He let out a loud howl like he was a college kid again.
Brooks did the same.
They reached the porch entrance to Joanne's apartment. It was an old triple decker that was beautifully restored, located in one of the last remaining historic neighborhoods of Cambridge. Joanne lived on the third floor. Brooks rang the bell and turned to Dylan, “Oh, I forgot to mention, Joanne has a slice lined up for you tonight.” Dylan shot back, “Yeah she mentioned it to me. But I told her I didn't want to get fixed up. I'd meet her, but no expectations.” Brooks let out a hearty laugh, letting his friend in on the secret, “You don't know women at all do you. Of course she's going to have expectations. She'll just be more nonchalant about doing it.”
Joanne opened the door before Dylan could respond. “Hey you guys. Come on in,” she said. Joanne was feeling good. She looked as if she'd already had a couple glasses of wine. She gave each of them a big hug as they entered the doorway.
The party seemed as if it had been going for quite some time as they made their way through the open doorway to the third floor apartment. Every room had groups of men and women partying while they tried talking to one another over the classic rock music piped in by the sound system. The smell of marijuana floated through the air. Joanne tried to introduce Brooks and Dylan to everyone within earshot as she led them around. People looked up or over and said their “hello's”, though nobody was going to remember each others names.
The apartment itself was decorated in the artsy revisionist 2020's style; big shapes with squares and circles, dominated with the use of vibrant colors. It looked as if a revisionist art student had free reign with the decorations. A little overdone, but overall it gave the apartment a hip atmosphere.
A banned rock tune by The Slashers started playing on the sound system, “Pay up, pay up, pay through your nose.....” Joanne pointed down a hallway, “The bar is in the kitchen over there. I'll catch up with you later.” “Alright, thanks,” Dylan replied. Brooks was already half way down the hallway, still carrying his case of brew.
Dylan caught up to Brooks in the kitchen, who was by then trying to put his beer down on top of the kitchen counters that were already fully packed with everyone's party supplies. He just ended up pushing the case into everything, hoping nothing would come crashing down on the floor. “You want one?” Brooks asked his friend while prying open the top of the case. Dylan found a home for his bottl
e of vodka, putting it next to several other bottles of booze by the sink. “No thanks. I'm gonna have drink,” he said.
While Brooks opened his beer and took a swig, Dylan surveyed the kitchen. A twenty something African American man with wire rimmed glasses sang along with the music as he fixed a drink at the makeshift bar at the end of the kitchen counter. “Rock your bed, as they steal your dead....” An exceedingly attractive young blond swayed to beat of the music as she waited for her drink. She was well on her way to catching a buzz. “Thanks,” she said, as the man handed her the drink to be made. She eyed Brooks while heading out of the kitchen. Giving him a big flirtatious smile. Once she was out of sight, Brooks turned to Dylan, “Oh, yeah, she's mine tonight. But first I gotta keep these beers cold.” He started pulling the bottles out of the cardboard case and bringing them over to a galvanized steel tub filled with ice and beer on the floor next to the refrigerator.
Dylan approached the apparent bartender, “Hi I'm Dylan.” The two men shook hands. “Hi, I'm David Whitney. What can I get for you.” Dylan looked around the makeshift bar. “I think I'll have a vodka tonic. How about using that vodka, it's pretty good.” He pointed to the French vodka he brought. “Pretty good? This stuff is wicked. My personal favorite,” David said. He picked up the bottle and looked it over carefully, as if savoring the sight of the label. He had obviously consumed a couple of his drink creations already.
“Dread, dread, off with your head” David sang the last line from The Slashers tune as he handed the vodka tonic with a wedge of lemon to Dylan.
He took a quick sip, “Awesome drink, man. Thank you.”
“All in the line of duty, my friend,” Whitney said, taking a sip of his own nearly empty drink.
An attractive forty something woman with short blond hair wandered into the kitchen. “Can I have one of your world famous martini's, David,” she said.
