Nicole saw me and smiled, tight-lipped. She stopped and squatted down in front of Teddy. They had a brief conversation, and I saw Teddy steal a couple of tentative glances in my direction. Nicole kissed him, then stood up and strode towards me, Teddy in tow. Time slowed then jerked forward. My mind was taking photographs to preserve this memory. Then they were upon me.
I stood and immediately felt dizzy. I widened my stance in search of equilibrium. He was a small boy. Had our green eyes and my nose. He glanced up at me, then looked rapidly away. I was mesmerized. I think my gawking made him all the more uncomfortable. He tucked himself partially behind his mother’s leg to shield himself from the strange man.
“Teddy, this is… a friend of mine, Frank,” Nicole said, taking charge in the midst of this exquisite awkwardness. “Frank, this is my son Teddy.”
He wouldn’t look at me. I swallowed the lump in my throat. My eyes stung. My fingertips tingled. I bit down hard on my molars, which set my jaw and helped keep my emotions at bay. I looked at Nicole and she gave me a quick head nod intended to get me back on task.
I bent down to his eye level and offered him my hand. “Nice to meet you, Teddy.” My voice sounded faint in my ears.
Teddy turned away from me, tucked closer into Nicole.
“Teddy,” Nicole paused to slide the boy out from behind her leg, “Frank is a friend of mine. Say hello to him.”
Teddy looked at his shoes and shook his head no.
“Teddy, go on, say hello to the nice man.”
Teddy mumbled a hello without looking up.
Nicole and I exchanged looks.
“It’s okay. He’s just a little shy around people. Especially people he doesn’t know. But his therapist is working on that. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” She tousled his hair. He leaned against her leg. “He’s even got a new friend at school. Brad.”
“Brandon,” Teddy said in a soft voice, addressing his mother.
They joined me on my granite bench. Nicole placed Teddy between us, a courtesy for which I was grateful. It was thrilling to have him so close. His silky dark hair, side parted and neatly combed. His feet hanging off the bench, swinging six inches above the ground. It took all I had not to wrap an arm around his small shoulders. Tell him everything.
We started with small talk, Nicole and I. Mostly pantomimed conversation for Teddy’s benefit. He seemed to gradually relax in my presence. Nicole got him talking to me, one or two words here and there, but it felt good. He resisted my attempts at conversation. I fished for topics.
“Your momma says you like to play with army men,” I said. “Is that right?”
Teddy nodded.
“Yeah, me too. Your momma told me you want to be an army man when you grow up.”
Teddy shrugged.
I took a deep breath and tried to think of another topic, fast.
“My daddy was brave. That’s what Mama says.” Teddy looked up at me. “He won lots of medals.”
My gut clenched. I flicked a look at Nicole. Saw her sad eyes and set jaw. She was gritting through this.
“The president gave my daddy a big medal. ’Cause he was really brave.”
So my son did know me. The best part of me. I wanted so badly to tell him more.
I swallowed hard. “Teddy… I… he… your daddy… He…”
Nicole was shaking her head, eyes wide.
Teddy was looking up at me now. This time he didn’t turn away. He wanted to know what I had to say about his daddy. He waited for me to finish what I had started. My ears buzzed; my eyes began to water. I bit down hard on the insides of my cheeks to stop this avalanche of emotion. Hard enough to draw blood, slick against my tongue. I flicked at the corner of my eye and leaned down towards my son.
“Yes, Teddy,” I said. “I knew your daddy. He was a very brave man.” I cleared my throat. “And I know he loved you very much.”
Nicole began to sob, with a hand to her face to muffle the sound lest Teddy turn around. She shook herself, forcefully wiped her tears way. She gave me a weak smile and mouthed “Thank you.” I nodded.
I turned back to my son. “Hey, Teddy, I’ve got an idea. Maybe you and me can be friends. Like you and Brandon. What do you say?”
Teddy shrugged.
“C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
“What kind of fun?”
“Whatever kind of fun you want. Sound good?”
This time he nodded. A bit of a smile curled the corners of his mouth.
“Friends then,” I said, extending my hand.
Teddy shook it. His small hand felt soft in mine. I placed my other hand over the top of our handshake. It was as close to a hug as I would come.
This friendship pact ended our meeting. We closed with some more small talk, but Nicole and I were wrung out. We all stood.
“Time to go, sweetheart,” Nicole said. “Say goodbye to your new friend.”
My son took a step towards me and stuck out his hand. I almost stared bawling but held it together. I grabbed his hand and shook.
“Frank’s a war hero, Teddy, just like your daddy,” Nicole said.
I let go of his small hand. “I’ll see you again, Teddy. And remember, we’re friends now.”
He nodded. I got another smile out of him.
Nicole approached me. Her eyes welled with tears. She threw her arms around me, held me tight.
“Thank you, Frank,” she whispered, her lips to my ear.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could think to say.
I slipped it into her pocket. The weight of it tugged her light jacket down. Nicole searched my eyes. She reached in and pulled out my Medal of Honor. She gasped at the sight of it.
“Give it to Teddy,” I said. “When he’s older. When he understands. Tell him his father was once brave, and that he loved him very much.”
I turned and left, knowing not to look back.
I walked aimlessly, hands in pockets, eyes downcast, back towards Mr. Lincoln. Past happy tourist families I could not bear to see. I waited for tears that never came. Just a smothering emptiness. An infinite dark universe I was now ready to navigate in search of life.
My life.
Chapter Sixteen
September 10, 2016
Parkview Market
Petworth, NW WDC
The Nordic man pulled off the black hood and tossed it skyward. It fluttered down to the floor next to the man now blinking hard against the light from the bare bulb overhead. He was tied to the chair that was bolted into the floor. His face was swollen, his bottom lip split. He was a big man. He rocked violently in the chair, but the straps held. This chair had been designed to tame big violent men.
“Oh, Tommy,” Prisha said, patting the man’s arm as it strained against the straps. “Did you really think this was going to work?” She chuckled and shook her head.
Boone was wide-eyed. His thinning hair stood up tall on top of his head, from the static electricity of the hood removal. His bulging eyes went from Prisha to the Viking to his right, then back to Prisha.
“Where am I?” Boone asked.
Silence.
“Who is he?” Boone asked, flicking his big bucket head towards the Viking.
“That, my dearest Tommy, is Henrik Karlsson, my head of security. He’s the man who put you in that chair.”
Boone grumbled and shook against his restraints.
“U.S. Marine, yes?” Karlsson asked. “I myself was Swedish SOG—Special Operations Group.” Karlsson took a step closer to Boone. “You fought well, my friend. There is no shame in being bested by the better man.”
Karlsson had porcelain-white skin and pale, wide-set blue eyes. He had keen features, a jawline hard enough to crush walnuts. At thirty-six, his two hundred fifteen pounds were well distributed over his six-foot, four-inch frame. All broad shoulders and tapered waist. He had the physique of a rower: long ropey muscles, all sinew and no show. He moved with the grace and efficiency of a tiger. Karlsson was intense, laconic. Not given to
bluster or grandstanding. A Swedish iceberg. His danger lay below the surface.
“You gotta admit, Tommy, this plan was asinine, even by your standards,” Prisha said.
“What was I supposed to do?” Boone shouted. “You CIA motherfuckers don’t put your phone numbers on your website.”
Prisha got a genuine laugh out of this. Even Karlsson snickered. Boone joined in, and the three shared a moment of brief mutual revelry.
He had driven nonstop from Arkansas to Virginia. Boone had figured he’d find a number for Prisha, then pass along his demands and payment instructions. When he couldn’t find any number for her online, he’d simply shown up at Langley and demanded to see her. The CIA security guards had detained him and contacted Prisha, who, in turn, had contacted Karlsson. It was Karlsson, not Prisha, who had come down to get Boone. He had subdued Boone without breaking a sweat.
The forced laughter abated as suddenly as it had begun, and with it any pretense that Boone was going to get what he wanted. It was time for Karlsson to get to business. He and Prisha began to question Boone to determine the extent of his knowledge. They took him for a dope but couldn’t be sure. At first Boone resisted, foolish pride masquerading as bravery, but this soon gave way once Karlsson applied a few advanced interrogation techniques. Boone came clean. Told them all he knew—Prisha’s Wahhabi extremist background, her green-card immigration fraud, his suspicions that she was up to something.
“What is it you think I’m up to, Tommy?” Prisha asked.
“I dunno. Something shady. Maybe you’re a terrorist. A sleeper.” Boone looked to Karlsson. His face was impassive. He turned back to Prisha. “I dunno. Don’t care. Just give me my money and I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”
“Anything else, Tommy?” Karlsson asked.
Bone nodded his head vigorously. “No. That’s it. That’s all I know.”
Karlsson and Prisha exchanged glances.
“Did you tell anyone about this, Tommy?” Prisha asked. “Does anyone know you were coming to see me?”
“No!” Boone shouted, with the innocence of a child.
Prisha believed him. Karlsson dipped his chin. He believed him too. Too bad for Boone. He had just given away the last leverage he had. It was clear to both Prisha and Karlsson that Boone knew nothing of ODYSSEUS. At least not yet.
Boone misinterpreted the silence. He smiled, thinking things had turned in his favor. Prisha almost felt sorry for him. She returned his smile, then signaled Karlsson. Karlsson pulled a small canister from his front pants pocket. He covered his nose and mouth with his free hand. Prisha stepped back and covered up as well. In one smooth motion, Karlsson brought the canister up and sprayed a fine mist in Boone’s face, then jumped back next to Prisha. Boone coughed and whipped his head from side to side. He slumped in the chair and was fast asleep in thirty seconds.
Karlsson and Prisha retreated to the far end of the room, waited for the mist to dissipate. Karlsson looped the sheer mask over his nose and mouth and approached Boone. He put an ear to his chest and took a neck pulse. Got nose to nose with Boone. He watched and waited, then rejoined Prisha. The room was small and windowless, its walls and floor of poured concrete several feet thick. This “interview” room was behind a steel door adjacent to Ahmad’s much larger laboratory in the basement of the Parkview Market.
“He’s asleep,” Karlsson said.
Prisha removed a cellular phone and two sets of earbuds from a latched case. She instructed Karlsson to put the buds in, with a tight seal in the ear canals. She did the same. They traded thumbs-up. They both approached Boone, who was still out. Prisha activated the ODYSSEUS app on the telephone and placed it next to Boone. She headed to the basement staircase, motioning for Karlsson to follow her. When they reached the top, they closed the basement door tightly, double-checked it, then went to a small storage room behind the front desk of the bodega. They grabbed a couple of Huggies diaper boxes and sat down opposite each other, close enough for their knees to touch.
The earbuds they wore were ODYSSEUS prototypes, made to block all sound waves coming from the app but permitting environmental noise. They were also paired so that wearers could talk to one another. Karlsson went first.
“Let’s hope these earbuds work, and we do not succumb to the siren’s song.” He permitted himself a small smile.
“We’ve both been tested multiple times, and both of us are immune to suggestion,” Prisha stated. “This only works on the weak-minded, the impressionable.”
“How do we know it will work on him?”
They exchanged bemused looks and laughed. Yeah, it would work on Boone, all right.
The ODYSSEUS sleep app they were now beta testing on Boone allowed for the delivery of sound waves, encoded with suggestive messages, to the sleeping brain. This was the first test of this technology outside the lab on a live subject. If it worked, if Boone’s brain received and acted on the encoded suggestion, it would be a major step forward for ODYSSEUS. Having full access to Americans while they slept would broaden their bandwidth by a third.
In truth, this app was not ready for testing, but Boone had presented himself at an opportune time and Prisha could not resist.
Prisha checked her watch. They had a few minutes.
She regarded Karlsson. He was a striking man, a man she would have pursued under different circumstances. But she needed him, and most men she bedded became disposable.
“Why do you do this, Henrik?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“There must be a reason.”
Karlsson thought. “When I was with SOG, I was a very good soldier,” he said, breaking the silence. “I loved my team and loved Sweden. My country put me in military prison—two years—for putting an officer in the hospital. He gave me an order that would harm my men. I told him so. He didn’t hear my words, so I had to get my point across another way. Some of my men testified against me at trial. When I left prison, I walked away from all of it. God. Country. Honor—as they see it. None of it mattered. So I took my skills to the open market.”
“So you’re a nihilist, then?” Prisha asked. “Life has no objective meaning or purpose? No intrinsic value… pointless?”
“If you say so, Prisha.” Karlsson grinned.
“Okay, then, why do you do it?”
“Let’s say it’s for the money.”
“I don’t believe that for a second, Henrik.”
Karlsson was quiet for a few moments before speaking again. “Why are you doing this, Prisha?”
Prisha thought about how to answer Karlsson. Wondered what answer he would like to hear. She knew exactly who she was. What she was. She couldn’t let Karlsson see her. Not yet.
“For the money, like you,” Prisha responded at last. Both of them were equally comfortable with her lie, and the conversation ended.
Prisha heard a loud thump on the ceiling. She looked up, as did Karlsson. It was the Muslim family, from Prisha’s village in Saudi, who had been selected by her benefactors to be the caretakers of this bodega.
“How do you know the app sound waves won’t go upstairs?” Karlsson asked.
“The basement’s soundproof,” Prisha responded.
“What if it’s not?”
“Then we’re going to have a bigger mess to clean up tonight than we thought.” She checked her watch. “Okay. He’s had enough time. The test was at maximum calibration; strong waves, short duration. High velocity. If we can get Tommy to do this, we can get them to do anything. Any time of day or night.”
Prisha led Karlsson back down into the basement. Prisha went right to the phone and turned off the app, then double-checked it before telling Karlsson they were good. They both masked up and Karlsson sprayed another mist into Boone’s face, this one the antidote to the first. They stepped back and waited for Boone to wake up. It took less than two minutes.
Boone awoke with a start, in a groggy stupor, eyes wild in his slack face. He struggled to focus. Prisha asked him simple questi
ons at first. To get his mind back online, as it were. It didn’t take long before he was back to full Boone.
It was then that Prisha started to warm him up. Reminded him how sad and pathetic his life was. How he had betrayed his country, and she him. Reminded him of what a failure he was, and how he had failed at this ridiculous blackmail attempt—his last shot. Suggested that no one would miss him were he gone.
This went on for fifteen minutes. Prisha pacing in front of Boone, talking. Boone listening in silence, head bowed, allowing this poison into his brain.
“How do you feel now, Tommy?” Prisha asked when she’d finished.
Boone just shook his head and began to sob. His big shoulders shuddered as he wept.
“What’s the matter, Tommy?” Prisha knew what the matter was, of course. At her order, the suggestive message encoded for this particular beta test was suicide. Do it now, Tommy! DO IT NOW!
“Look at me, Tommy,” she said in her sweetest voice. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Look at me now.”
Boone snorted and choked, then went silent. He looked up at Prisha and again burst into tears.
Prisha smiled and stepped to his side. She stroked his hair.
“It’s okay, Tommy. No one will think less of you if you do it. It’s the only way. You know that, right?”
Boone nodded.
“You’re ready, aren’t you?”
Boone nodded again.
“Henrik’s going to loosen the strap now. Okay?”
Another nod. Karlsson approached and released Boone’s right arm from the straps. Boone rotated it in two lackadaisical circles and let his hand fall to his lap.
Karlsson produced a Glock 9mm pistol with silencer. Prisha held out her hand. Karlsson spun it around and handed it to her grip first. Prisha regarded the weapon in her hands as she tightened her grip. Karlsson drew his own pistol and held it at waist level, muzzle lowered in Boone’s direction. Prisha turned to face Boone.
“You want this, don’t you, Tommy?” she said in a calm voice.
Silence.
“Say it, Tommy. Tell me you want it.”
Boone whispered something.
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