by Len Melvin
“You know what I mean. What about me?”
Malouf set the coffee cup on the table the plate of food to the side on the bed. “Beaux, I’ve told you. I have to go back. I don’t have a choice.”
“When?”
“After the event.”
“Are you ever coming back?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not like it’s a commercial flight. You don’t get to come and go as you want. It’s very official and very restricted. And expensive. Not to mention the process is difficult and painful. That’s why it’s mostly androids.”
“I see.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t plan this.”
Beaux rose from the chair and went to the window. She turned and looked at Malouf who hadn’t moved. “Why are ‘The Laws of Baseball’ in a file on the table?”
Malouf smiled. “I see you were busy when I was sleeping.”
“And ‘The Rules of Golf?”’
“Those are games without conflict. It was thought that diversions were needed from work and these games seem to be competitive and interesting and had strategy without being too confrontational.”
“What about the golf bag and the equipment over there?”
“I can take one object back with me.”
“Kind of like one free carry-on?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Beaux made a dismissive gesture with her hand.
“We can’t take electronics. I had to buy my laptop here.”
“You’re taking a golf bag back with you to the future?”
“We have some of that stuff there but there’s disagreement as to what’s official and what’s not. We can now see exactly how to make the equipment.”
“You’re a documentarian of assassinations and you’re taking athletic gear back with you?”
“It’s part of learning from the past also. We know a little about those games but not a lot. We’ve read about them in some of the books that were left but no one can agree on the exact rules and equipment.”
“You couldn’t look in a book? Or the internet?”
“Our databases and most of the books are all new. It might be like you trying to find out the rules of a game that the Mayans used to play.”
“Except that was hundreds of years ago. How come you couldn’t know the rules of a game or how to make the equipment when it was just thirty years from now?”
Malouf began to say something but stopped. He rose from the bed, went to a counter and picked up a shirt. He pulled it on, ran a hand through his hair, and turned to face Beaux. He stared at her for a moment and then gave an audible sigh. “There was an occurrence. More than one, actually. Lots of stuff was wiped out. The technology survived barely and we were able to build on that but there are lots of holes that need filling in. We know a lot about this time but there are other things we don’t know. And there’s a lot that’s conjecture and supposition and myth. It’s one of the reasons for this mission and others like this. Basically, we’re trying to learn and also to find out what is and isn’t the truth. We’re trying to fill in the gaps so that we can make our time period better and also so that the mistakes made in this time might be averted or eliminated in our time.”
“Occurrence? What do you mean an occurrence?”
Malouf shrugged. “It’s really all I can say.” He crossed the room to Beaux, pulled her up and into his arms, and held her. Beaux slid her hands around his waist and they stood together in the middle of the room.
“I won’t see you again?”
“No.”
Beaux buried her head down into Malouf’s shoulder. Finally, she took a deep breath, then raised up and kissed him. “Okay, I gotta go.” She went slowly to the corner of the room and picked her overnight bag from the floor. She turned to Malouf. “Can you come by the restaurant tonight? I’d like to see you one more time, at least.”
Malouf hesitated. “Sure.”
“I mean, you have to eat.”
Malouf smiled. “That’s true.”
Beaux turned and headed toward the door but then stopped. She exhaled, her head down and without looking back said, “I love you, Malouf.”
“Okay.”
“No, I mean it. I love you.”
“How can you love me after only knowing me for this short amount of time?”
“I just do. A girl knows sometimes.”
Malouf studied her in silence, his expression impassive. “Okay.”
Beaux crossed the room, opened the door, and turned to him one last time. “And I always will.”
Malouf was silent.
She hesitated, then pulled the door shut behind her. She opened it after a moment and peered back into the room. “Anything you can tell me about these occurrences? Like what happened and when? Or maybe how to avoid them?”
“Don’t go to Jacksonville or Dallas. Ever.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay.” Beaux held her gaze on Malouf, watching him, and when he didn’t respond, she hiked her overnight bag up on her shoulder. “See you.” She closed the door, dropped the bag to the floor and knelt in the hall, both hands over her face. After a moment she rubbed a sleeve across her eyes, picked up the bag and in a slow, halting manner, walked down the hall.
Malouf stared at the door for a long moment and then went and sat in the chair at the table. He began typing on his laptop but stopped and stared at the door again. He swore under his breath, pushed the laptop to the side and put his head in his hands.
◆◆◆
Connor sat in an oversized red velvet chair at the coffee shop across from Fondren Hall. He held a tablet in his lap filled with images from the internet but he wasn’t interested in that. He was watching from as close a viewpoint as possible, the preparations being made for the rally. He noted the barriers and checkpoints and the electric fences that were already installed and he smiled. None of those measures would be of any help when people with automatic weapons began popping out of the ground within the perimeter and they might actually impede the response from authorities.
He glanced every now and then at the parking lot of the coffee shop in search of black SUVs with darkened windows. He had a pistol on him in case. He had heard all about the secret prisons and the torture expended out in them and had no intention of being taken alive. He sipped from a bottle of water and watched the drones hovering on each side of the field in front of Fondren Hall. Federal agents, assault weapons strapped around their shoulders, and guns on their hips, in full effrontery, strode the yard and huddled in small groups. They spoke into their lapels or with other agents, their hands in front of their mouths. Agents in blue uniforms walked with metal detectors, making wide sweeping motions over wide swaths of ground.
Connor was on edge. Six of the eight cameras set up around the yard had gone dark. It was hard to believe they had been detected, they were so small. Two of the cameras were still operational but their view was limited and so they would be basically be operating in the blind. And there was no way he could set them up again without risking detection. He would tell the others when they met tonight and see what their reaction was. He wasn’t pulling out, no matter what, but he would give them the option. It’s a helluva of a thing to have to bust out of the ground in the middle of a massive security apparatus in the blind. Fuck. What could have happened to those cameras. Maybe they had malfunctioned, but six?
The position of the platform also bothered him. It was in a different place than he thought it would be. He wondered if that might affect the attack by the other cell. There was so much that could go wrong. It was a plan with a lot of reward and a lot of risk.
He surveyed the parking lot again, watching for anything that might be unusual. As he did, he noticed a man with a sign approaching the secured area. From behind him appeared others and then more as they came over a rise. Connor sat up in his seat, alert. Though he was inside he could hear them chanting. Some
of them waved signs and raised fists in protest.
There were at least thirty of them. They stood on a corner across the street from Fondren Hall jeering at the Federals. More people joined them and the clamor began to grow. Connor saw the agents in conversation and one of them pointed to the protestors. A lone siren sounded in the distance and then another. A large, square white truck pulled up to the curb and men dressed in black exited. They gathered across the street in formation and then upon a shouted order rushed the protestors. Wielding truncheons, they waded into the group, who quickly dispersed and ran. The protestors were chased and those who were caught were dragged back to the white truck. A group of the uniformed men stood near the door of the truck and beat them further as they were forced inside.
One protester ran into a wooded area followed by two of the uniformed men. There were shots and then the uniformed men exited the wooded area alone. It was over in ten minutes and the corner was empty as if nothing had happened. In my country, thought Connor. There were a lot of risks in the plan but as he stared at the wooded area he thought, What is there to lose?
He turned to the agents standing in silence in front of Fondren Hall. He knew they were the professionals, most likely the highest echelon of the Secret Service; not the jackbooted thugs who had just been unleashed on peaceful protestors. He wondered how they felt about what they had just seen.
◆◆◆
Cori lay in bed with her two pit bulls, the curtains pulled, rap music playing in the next room and tried to sleep. It was difficult to sleep in the daytime and her boys had clambered into bed in hesitation, unsure at the change in schedule, but everyone was to meet at three in the morning and she had to get some rest. It would be too risky to assemble and go underground in the light of day. She rose for the third time and eased one of the curtains back, thinking she had heard a sound. She went to the case that was leaning against the wall in the corner, took out her bow and assembled it for the third time, just to be sure. She stuck her hand down into the case, fingered the four sticks of dynamite to make sure they were there and then put the bow back into the case.
They had figured out how to attach a clamp to the bow that would hold a stick of dynamite and she had spent most of her off-time from work in the national forest twenty miles down the road. It had taken a while to get used to the added weight of the stick and the awkward flight path but she had gotten better after a week. And it wasn’t like it had to be a direct hit. “Just get it close,” Connor had said.
She most likely would be inflicting the most damage but her job was actually the easiest. She would be further from the target than the others, who would come from their holes close to the platform. All she had to do was drop two sticks of dynamite into where the President would be and get back down the hole and back to the cavern. Connor had been explicit; two sticks of dynamite and get out.
Cori smiled as she eased back into bed and put her hand on the Zombie Knife that was under her pillow. She had no intention of getting out.
Malouf and his four companions entered the restaurant and stood in the crowded doorway. Malouf indicated for them to wait and then went to the bar. He tapped Bobby on the shoulder. “Have you seen Beaux?”
Bobby turned from the chess board. “Probably hiding in the kitchen. I’ve beaten her twice already tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, either she’s got something on her mind, or I’ve gotten a lot better since yesterday.”
“It’s really busy tonight.”
“Or it might be that. She’s been running around like crazy.” He set his glasses on top of his head and scanned the room. “It’s because of the rally tomorrow. People are flooding into town. Hope you’re not hungry. There’s a two hour wait.”
Malouf glanced at his watch. They couldn’t wait for two hours.
Beaux came from the kitchen, using her shoulder to push the doors open, two plates balanced in either hand. She paused in front of him. “That empty table in the corner is yours. Go sit in it quick. I’ve already taken a lot of grief from mom and customers over why I have an open table with a two hour wait.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“How come you’re so late?”
“Lots to do today.”
Beaux scowled impatiently, then continued across the restaurant to a four-top sitting against the far wall. Malouf turned to the androids and jerked a thumb toward the table. They remained in the doorway, unsure at what to do. Malouf jabbed his finger repeatedly in the direction of the empty table. “Droids,” he murmured under his breath.
“What?” asked Bobby.
“Nothing.”
They started forward slowly and then with a glance back, entered the booth, two on each side. Malouf clapped Bobby on the back and made his way through the crowd to the table. He pulled a chair from another table and sat at the end, his back to the bar. An old Charlie Daniels song hummed in the background amid the buzz of the crowd, the noise level rising whenever something happened in the football game that played from every TV.
Beaux laid a hand on Malouf’s shoulder as she placed a menu on the table. She motioned to the androids. “I don’t guess they’re hungry tonight.”
Malouf opened the menu. “No.”
“Then order something quick. It looks bad that I saved a five-top for just one person who’s actually eating.”
“Okay, a beer.” He surveyed the menu. “How’s the chicken-fried steak?”
“It’s great. You want it with gravy?”
“I guess so.”
“Trust me, you do.” Beaux glanced at the androids. “Anything boys?” They all shook their head in unison. She leaned down and whispered in Malouf’s ear. “Next assassination, break into the funds and buy these guys some clothes. They look so geeky. And teach them how to eat or drink something.”
Malouf grinned and looked around the table. The droids were all dressed in khaki pants and buttoned-down, blue long-sleeved shirts that were tucked tightly into the pants that were pulled up high above their waists. He stuck up a thumb. “Will do.”
Beaux gave a small snort of disapproval as she shook her head in a barely noticeable manner. She turned and left for the kitchen, ignoring a request from Bobby as she passed him.
The android closest to Malouf leaned in and behind a hand held over his mouth whispered, “What did she say?”
“She was complimenting you all on your choice of clothes,” Malouf replied. “She said that she wished that I dressed like all of you.”
“I told you that you would stand out dressed like that. We found in our research that this is the way people dress in this era but you wouldn’t listen.”
“Like always,” the android to Malouf’s left said.
Malouf twisted in his direction. “You taking a shot at me over there?”
“Not at all, sir. But it does seem that even though we’re programmed to help you, that you rarely listen.”
“I’ll try to do better.” He turned back to the original android. “So where did you do this search for the correct clothing of this era?”
“We found an old Sears catalogue.”
“Ah,” Malouf nodded. “That was shrewd.”
“Thank you, sir. Apparently, it’s a popular place to shop in this era.”
One of the twins glided by, a wet bar towel draped over one shoulder, and plopped a Bud Light on the table in front of Malouf. He moved on without a word.
◆◆◆
“There.” Bobby took his hand from the chess piece. “There,” he said again. “Beaux.”
“Sorry.” Beaux glanced at the board, and then turned her attention back to Malouf’s table. She lapsed back into silence until Bobby touched her on the arm. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“Maybe you’re thinking too much.” A deep voice sounded from behind Beaux.
Beaux turned. Behind her, a short, broad-shouldered man with a long ponytail stood with a wide grin on his face. She rushed to him, jumped into his arms and flung her arm
s around his neck. He turned around in a half circle as he hugged her and her feet scraped the ground as she burrowed her head in his neck. He let her down, reached for her chin, swiveled it one way and then another. “Christ, you are beautiful. How old are you now?”
“I just turned eighteen.” Beaux smiled, wiped a tear from her eye and threw her arms around him again. She squeezed him tight, then, backed up, swiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just been so long.”
Simon rested his hands on Beaux’s shoulders. “That’s my fault. But I promise you I won’t let that happen again.”
“Okay.” Beaux dipped her head, somewhat embarrassed and rubbed the collar of her shirt across her eyes. “Be sure you don’t.”
Simon took a step back as he looked her over. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown. Christ…” Simon muttered aloud. “Hey, where’s my sister?”
“In the kitchen. Where’s Christina?”
“She’ll be here in a moment. She’s feeling a little under the weather.”
“I really like her. She’s cool.” Beaux extended her hand. “C’mon, let’s go see Mom.”
“Shameless,” Bobby said. “It now appears you’ll do anything to get out of another defeat.”
“Uncle Simon, this is Bobby, one of the regulars.”
Simon extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you.” Bobby took the hand. “So you’re the famous Secret Service agent. Beaux talks about you all the time.”
“Nothing can be proved.” Simon motioned to the board. “So, you're beating her in chess?”
“Finally. It’s the first time ever.”
“You’ve never beat her before tonight?”
“Nope. And now I’ve beaten her two straight.”
Simon turned to Beaux. “Having an off night?”
“It’s just been really busy. I couldn’t concentrate.”
“Bullshit,” Bobby suppressed a burp. He put a hand to his mouth. “Excuse me.” He cleared his throat.
“Why bullshit?” Simon mused.
“It’s always busy and she always beats my ass.”
Simon turned to Beaux. “Something bothering you tonight?”
