In the voice of the viral honey badger: I get to go first. Thanks, stupid.
The James Bond-ish feeling that surfaced in him when he received that first message from Hunter a couple weeks prior had by then quadrupled. From secret, encoded messages between him and Hunter over archaic networks; to acting as the intermediary in multiple late-night phone calls with Suren and Ken; to getting all packed-up and headed to his hometown near Washington, D.C., so he could take part in some scheme to undermine the United States Department of Defense. He was so excited his brain felt like it was filled with fire ants. He swore if the enthrallment was all some ruse by Hunter to add a little adventure to his quadriplegic life, he was going to find a way to castrate him. Like seriously full on castrate him.
He didn’t think that was the case but he wouldn’t have put it past Hunter. He was Hunter. Even so, that would be taking things a bit far. And now that everything was coming together, it all made sense. About as much sense as a top-secret project could make. Brock knew nothing about it other than the fact that the military killed a man to steal some technology, although he developed it for them. Hunter was brought in to work on the technology but planned to steal it back and give it to the dead man’s wife. Now that he thought about it, no, it didn’t make a damn bit of sense.
It was all a bit more Pink Panther-ish than James Bond-ish. Ugh. Brock hated the Pink Panther. He didn’t know which was worse, the Pink Panther or MASH. Ugh. The MASH theme song made him think of child molesters; he had no idea why.
Brock’s whole honey badger, not-giving-a-shit mood lasted from the minute he got out of the van at the airport from where he departed until he landed in D.C., where he was greeted by another van. A smiling Hunter accompanied the van at Brock’s destination. Hunter stood next to the van with one arm out-stretched, and his open palm gestured at the van’s door. His other hand held a sign with “ELSBETH” printed on it, which was crossed out and above it Hunter crudely scribbled “ELIZABETH.”
Hunter always called him “Brock Elizabeth” or simply “Elizabeth” and Brock always hated it, of course. At the same time, he secretly appreciated it because it reminded him how Hunter never once stopped treating him like he was a regular human. So regularly human that Hunter never cared if he hurt Brock’s feelings. Hunter never let anything cause him to treat Brock any differently than he would treat anyone else, which included subjecting him to the signature Hunter Kennerly jackassery.
Since Brock couldn’t give Hunter the finger, all he could do was stick out his tongue, and so he did.
Hunter ran to him, bent down to hug him, and quietly whispered instructions in his ear.
“Don’t talk about anything in the van, bud.”
Back to James Bond it was, then. Hunter moved around to Brock’s side and walked along as he rolled toward the van. Hunter signaled to the driver, who used a lever to control the lift that slid from under the van and lowered to the ground. Brock rolled onto it and Hunter held his chair to steady him, which was unnecessary. The driver used the lift to raise Brock’s chair until it was even with the van’s floor. Brock rolled inside, applied the parking break, and was ready to go.
On the ride from Reagan International to the home of Brock’s parents—where Brock would stay until Hunter was done with him—Hunter performed the compulsory pointing out of landmarks, monuments, buildings and other D.C. attractions. While Brock was somewhat interested in them, being his first time back in the District since they were teens, he knew if it were only him and Hunter in the van, they’d be talking about entirely different things, so the ride ended up annoying him instead. Brock couldn’t wait to find out what the hell was really going on and why Hunter was so insistent on summoning him there.
The ride was an eternity for the honey badger.
Around two weeks prior to Brock’s arrival in D.C., Suren couldn’t believe what she just heard on the phone. Ken stood next to her and tried to listen in as she held the receiver far enough from her head to allow him to hear. He was too late, though. By the time he realized something about the call was amiss and made it over to Suren, the person on the other end finished and hung up. He didn’t wait long enough for Suren to respond; he simply hung up.
Rude.
The last thing Ken heard from the strange voice was: “I will be in touch again soon. Don’t do anything until then.”
“Do what? Don’t do what?” Ken asked.
“I—I don’t know. I wouldn’t know what to do,” Suren stammered. Although the connection was dropped, she still held the phone to her ear.
Ken took the phone from her and attempted to figure out who called.
“You don’t have caller ID?” he asked. He sounded annoyed with her, which annoyed her in return.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I didn’t even want a home phone. It’s stupid.”
“What’s that code you can punch in to find out the number of the last person who called you?”
“Really, Ken? The only code I remember is star sixty-nine. Who wouldn’t remember that one, though? Come on,” she nervously chuckled. She thought perhaps the wine was still getting to her but that call chilled her terribly. “Ken, the person said someone from the inside wants to help me. Someone from the inside. That’s exactly how they put it. Someone from the inside.”
“Inside the military?” he wondered out loud.
“What other inside could there be?” she asked.
“I mean, shit, I don’t know. What if it’s some kind of trap or something? Like … what if it’s really—them?”
“The military?”
“Shit, I don’t know, woman. Just them. Whoever they are in situations like this. Like the bad them,” he babbled. His speech was slightly but noticeably slurred. In college, when Jin would point out Ken’s slur after a few beers and a couple shots, Ken would claim he was simply speaking in cursive. Yet another joke lost on Blank Stare Jin.
“I think in this case those kinds of ‘thems’ could come in here and do whatever they wanted. I don’t think they need to call first,” she tried to reason.
“Can you tell me exactly what he said?”
“Yeah. Ok. He said my name and that he had a message for me. He asked if Jin was my husband. He asked if Jin was missing. He said someone on the inside knows what happened to Jin and they want to help. He said someone on the inside is on my side … on our side … and they can’t make contact yet but they will soon. He said the first step was finding me. He said, to prove he was for real, it had to do with the letter V as in Victor. He asked if that meant anything to me. He said he’d be in touch again soon and not to do anything. Then he hung up.”
“What in the fuck?” Ken muttered, dumbfounded.
“Uh, you’re telling me.”
“No more wine tonight,” he decided.
Suren looked at him in defiance, as though the madman spoke sheer craziness.
“If I’m going to have to wait, I’m going to need more wine.” She was already headed to the bottle.
Ken had an entire night and day to sober, ruminate, and stew. He knew the effort was pointless but he kept going over the possibilities in his head. Who was the person that called? Who was the inside person? Were they the same person? Is that why the voice was disguised? What information did they have? Did they know who killed Jin? Did they know what happened to Jin’s body? Surely, they knew something about Veil. What all did they know? What did they mean they could help? What did they want in return? Did anyone ever find Carmen Sandiego?
Obviously, Ken hit the wine again that night.
Approximately two weeks later, Hunter was following Brock down the hallway of Brock’s childhood home.
“I hate to do it bud, but I’m gunna have to use you,” were the first words Hunter spoke when they got to Brock’s bedroom. Luckily, Brock’s parents weren’t home, so the two didn’t have to deal with them before they could talk.
“Use me?” Brock asked through his computer as they settled in his bedroom.
> “Here, first things first,” Hunter replied, grabbed a chair, and placed it next to Brock’s wheelchair. He reached down to grab a keyboard Brock rarely used but kept stashed in a pocket on the side of his chair. Brock didn’t need the keyboard to communicate. All he needed to do was use his mind to control the cursor on his computer so he could type directly from the screen. It took a little time, but using the keyboard would take the same amount of time, if not more. Using the keyboard also required uncomfortable wires that had to be inserted in him so he could control the muscles in his arms. Brock definitely preferred the non-intrusive helmet-with-electrodes method, which by then was flexible and the size of a headband.
Hunter turned the computer monitor slightly toward himself so they could both view it.
“Better not to talk out loud,” Hunter typed. “I don’t know if they can actually listen in right now.”
“Even in here?” Brock asked.
“Best not to risk it.”
“Ok,” Brock acknowledged.
“So yeah bud, I’m going to have to use you,” Hunter wrote. “You’re the closest thing I have to a little old lady who no one would think to be suspicious of, since it’s not like I could have my mom come here to help me.”
“That bitch,” Brock typed.
Hunter laughed and quickly wrote, “That she is! So all I have is you. I can roll you right in there and show you off and no one would ever suspect anything. The General included. I hate to use you like that, but no one is going to look at you and think you’re some risk. Like you’re some terrorist or some shit. In a sense, you’ll be invisible to them.”
“You can use me however you want,” Brock replied. As Hunter typed his response, Brock groaned and looked over at him. Hunter stopped and Brock resumed control of the computer to add, “But no gay shit!!!!”
Hunter buckled over with laughter that turned maniacal. He menacingly rubbed his hands together before he typed his response.
“I could do all kinds of gay shit all over you and there’s nothing you could do to stop me.”
Brock looked at Hunter, then back at the screen and slowly typed, “I could pee on you.” He glanced at Hunter, down at his own crotch, back up at Hunter, and then raised his eyebrows a few times.
Hunter got up, tousled Brock’s hair and said out loud, “Speaking of pissing, I’ve needed to go since we left the airport.”
When Hunter finished and returned to Brock’s childhood bedroom, Brock was humming and the monitor was filled with two words.
“Tell me!”
“Oh shit! You still have no idea what is going on, do you?”
“No, asshole.” was Brock’s response.
Neither of them could bring themselves to leave the house until the Tsay home phone rang again the following day. By that point Suren wanted to dismiss the call as some kind of joke or ruse, but Ken argued that the person possessed too many facts and said too many of the right things.
“Look at the whole ‘V’ thing,” he argued. “Obviously that was about Veil. I mean come on.”
“That doesn’t mean the person—whoever they are—can or will help us. In fact, all it’s done is stop us. We haven’t … you haven’t done anything since you got that call. You haven’t even been to the lab.”
“I have everything, Suren,” he rebutted, nearly ten hours after the first call. “I have all the research sitting there, ready to go—ready to build. All I have left to do is buy a few more pieces of equipment, get the mainframe set up, and then make the damn thing. All I have left to do is build it.”
“All you have left to do?” she mocked. “Right, all you have left to do is perform some miracle magic trick without the magician here to show you how it’s done.”
Suren and Ken managed to have four conversations like that between the time they received the first call and the time Suren’s phone rang that second time, exactly twenty-four hours later. Ken thought the timing meant something. It indicated planning. It meant there was a method to it and showed that there was forethought.
“This is it,” Ken whispered after the first ring. He nodded at Suren, who already had her hand on the receiver. “This is legit.”
Suren nodded back and answered the phone.
“Hello?”
Before she finished her greeting, the computerized voice already started.
“There is someone on the inside who was brought in because the military could not understand your husband’s work. This person is on your side, not the military’s. The military doesn’t know that.”
“Our si—” Suren started to ask but the voice interrupted her.
“Please,” the voice began but then hesitated before it continued, that time with longer pauses between each word, which caused it to sound more robotic, like it did during the first call, “don’t interrupt. I can only communicate this way and to avoid delays, I’ve already typed all the information I need you to have. Ok?”
“I understand,” Suren replied.
The computerized voice continued and its pace returned to normal.
“This person wants to get the information back in your hands. The government stole it from your husband and this person does not agree with what they did. This person is deep inside and can’t risk being exposed. I’m going to get information back and forth, but we have to do it all quickly. We can’t risk multiple communications. It increases the risk. This person fears for their life after what the military did to your husband. This person would like to find a way to get the research back to you. Do you understand?”
“Ummm … ummm, hold on please,” Suren responded. Ken was signaling to her and trying to tell her what to say. Suren became flustered. “Actually hold on … here … you need to be talking to someone else.” She handed the phone to Ken.
Ken was startled.
“Uh … my name is Dr. Ken Wise, I was Jin Tsay’s partner up until he contracted for this project. I can understand Jin’s work. What I wanted to say—what I was trying to have Jin’s wife tell you—is that we already have Jin’s work. We already have a copy of it.”
There was a pause and then the voice slowly responded, “I know who you are. You already have the research?”
“Yes, there was a copy of it. Actually, I probably have more information than your person has. I have notes and other details that weren’t in the official documents.” Ken knew he was taking a big risk and placing a lot of faith in the person, but it felt right. It felt legitimate. He believed the person.
After another pause, the voice continued, “Ok, I will have to talk to my contact and see how we should proceed. We were not aware you had the research already and that there might be additional information. I’m not prepared to discuss further until I talk to them. Do you understand?”
“I understand. Let this person know I have it all. I’m willing to work with this person. I’ve been working on it alone. We want to do the same thing. We want to take it back from those murderous thieves by releasing it out into the world and sharing Veil with everyone. They killed Jin. We know that. So we want to do this. We’re ready to do this. All your person has to do is let us know how.”
There was silence, that time longer than the last, and then, “I will let the person know. Please stand by and don’t do anything. I will contact you again in twenty-four hours.”
The call ended abruptly. Ken put the phone back on its base and walked to the kitchen. Another twenty-four hours was going to be torture. He needed some wine.
“Well?” Suren asked and raised her voice. “Hello?”
“Oh,” Ken jumped. He forgot Suren couldn’t hear the voice from the other end of the call since Ken held the receiver up to his ear, unlike Suren who held it away from her head some to ensure Ken could hear the call as well. “They’re going to call back in twenty-four hours. They didn’t know we had the research. They have to talk to their ummm … ummm … person. They’re going to talk to their person and then call us back. So another twenty-four hours.”
�
�Great,” she sighed.
“I know, right?” he agreed. “I need a drink. At least now we know when this person is going to call. So we don’t have to sit by the phone and wait. We can do other stuff.”
Suren tilted her head forward, rolled her eyes up and looked at Ken.
Ken snickered and acknowledged Suren’s incredulousness.
“Not that we’re going to be able to do anything else,” he added in response to her expression. “I just meant at least this time now we know how long we’re going to have to wait. That’s got to count for something.”
“That counts for crap,” she quipped and circled around him to beat him to the wine.
After a few glasses, they did agree on one thing: at least they knew how long they had before they needed to sober up.
Eleven days after that second call to Ken and Suren, Hunter explained the Veil technique to Brock within approximately forty minutes. Afterwards, Brock sat quietly and blankly stared straight ahead. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what Veil was; it was that he was trying to understand what it meant. The whole trip went from James Bond to Total Recall in forty minutes. Brock thought about all the possibilities such a technology would open up.
“Do you realize what all this could change?” he typed.
“Actually, I haven’t thought that much about it,” Hunter admitted. “All I’ve been able to think about is how to get out of this alive. The way I look at it, especially after what they did to Tsay, I could be dead either way. Help them, dead. Don’t help them, dead. Seems the only way not to end up dead is by totally screwing them over and somehow getting away with it. Running away and never looking back.”
Veil Page 15
