Danger Close

by James P. Sumner

  The crowd was spread across the intersection with plenty of room to move. Small tents, each containing a unit of GlobaTech operatives, were placed strategically throughout, making it look like a festival. But people seemed glad they were there; some even stopped to talk with them and pose for pictures.

  Miller nodded toward them. “Not as big a turnout as we thought.”

  Jericho shook his head. “No, it’s about right. Easily eight or nine thousand out there. I just made sure the area had capacity for twice that, so it looks smaller than it is.”

  “I see. So, if it all goes to shit, no one gets crushed and trampled on, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Kinda thought there would be more protesting.”

  “From everything the president told me, so did I. But I’m not complaining. I imagine things will get livelier once he arrives.”

  Jericho’s phone began buzzing in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the screen, then turned to Miller. “I should take this.”

  Miller nodded as Jericho stepped away. “Sure thing.”

  Jericho descended the small steps beside the stage and paced away into a quieter corner. Then he answered the phone.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey yourself,” said Julie. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s not so bad. At least, not yet. The president should be arriving in a few minutes. I’ll be glad when this little exercise is over, and I can get him safely back into his palace.”

  “I’m guessing such a public event wasn’t your idea?”

  “Not exactly. It was planned before I arrived. Did the best I could to secure the place. He should be okay.”

  “Is it as bad as Buchanan made it sound?”

  “There’s definitely something in the air. I wouldn’t trust the military as far as I could throw them—even the ones who say they’re loyal to Herrera. But for now, everything seems civilized. The crowd here seems relaxed.”

  “That’ll change once the president arrives.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I think.” He paused to swat a bug away. “How are you doing?”

  Julie sighed. “It’s not quite noon and I’m sitting in a bar, drinking alone.”

  Jericho closed his eyes. His heart felt heavy in his chest, knowing how much she was struggling. He wished he could be there for her.

  “I’m sorry, Julie,” he said. “I can’t imagine…”

  “Oh, I’m fine, honestly. Just… processing it all, I guess.”

  “Your family still in town?”

  “Nah. Most of them headed back the day we left. Kyle’s still here with his girlfriend, but I think he’s going home in the morning.”

  “Kyle? He’s the youngest, right?”

  “Yup. Youngest of my big brothers. Still the most annoying, though.”

  They shared a laugh together, the moment briefly lightened.

  Jericho looked over as the noise of the crowd grew louder. He saw the president’s limo arriving.

  “Jules, I gotta go,” he said regrettably. “He’s just pulled up.”

  “I know,” she replied. “I’m watching the news.”

  “Really?”

  She scoffed. “Hey! We’re not that behind the times here.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I know that. I just meant I didn’t think this would get any major news coverage.”

  “It’s on some international station. The bar has it on in the—hey, I can see you!”

  “Huh?”

  He looked around, confused.

  Julie laughed. “Aww, look at you. You’re like a big, fluffy puppy.”

  Jericho sighed. “Do you mind?”

  “A big, fluffy puppy who’s lost his master. So sweet.”

  “Finished?”

  There was a slight pause, then a giggle. “Yes.”

  He smiled. “Good. Call you later, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  He hung up and stepped forward to meet President Herrera as he approached the stage.

  “Afternoon, sir,” said Jericho.

  “Mr. Stone,” replied the president. “Lovely day for it, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Honestly, it’s like an oven, sir. Nothing lovely about it.”

  Herrera laughed and patted Jericho’s shoulder. “You get used to it. Listen, before I go up there, I wanted to thank you for your confidence and advice yesterday. You made a good point. And seeing how calm and organized it is out here, I can see I was right to listen. Thank you.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. President. I was just doing my job.”

  “Speaking of which, are you happy with me going up there?”

  Jericho shrugged. “As happy as I’ll ever be. You know my concerns, but under the circumstances, it’s as secure as you could hope to be.”

  “And the army?”

  “They’ve done as requested—kept their distance and maintained the wider perimeter around the rally site. The checkpoints to manage the flow of people have worked well. No sign of additional patrols or movement that you didn’t authorize.”

  “Excellent. And what about your men?”

  “All exactly where they need to be, sir. There are a hundred operatives in the crowd, working the respite stations, handing out water where needed. They will make sure people behave while letting them have their say. Just inside the perimeter, forming a soft barrier between the army and the crowd, you have another three hundred. The nearby buildings are secured. Any residential properties are patrolled by your local police. Businesses are closed. Plus, you have myself and twelve men I handpicked personally standing right beside you. You’re good to go, sir. Knock ’em dead.”

  Herrera nodded. His smile was friendly, but it was also the smile of another personality taking over. Jericho had been speaking to Miguel Herrera, the man and proud citizen of Paluga. The man looking back at him now was President Herrera, with his game face on.

  Herrera shook Jericho’s hand. Then he bounded up the steps and took center stage, arms aloft as he greeted the crowd. The noise was deafening. People cheered, waving flags and smiling, happy and proud to see their president.

  Jericho hustled to the back, taking position beside Miller.

  “Everything okay?” whispered Miller.

  Jericho nodded. “We’re good. Eyes open, soldier.”

  “You worried?”

  “Always.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be any hostility out there.”

  Jericho surveyed the crowd. “No. That’s what I’m worried about. We’ve been told how bad it is here, yet it looks like a family fun day out there. I don’t know. Just got a feeling.”

  Miller smiled. “What, like a spider sense?”

  Jericho glared at him sideways but didn’t comment.

  A goddamn spider sense… seriously? he thought.

  Herrera moved to the podium. There was some brief, high-pitched feedback from the microphone as he repositioned it.

  “My friends, it’s so great to see you all here!” he began.

  The crowd cheered louder.

  “Today is another important day for our great nation. Today will see the start of real change in Paluga. We will make a real difference not just for us but for our children and our children’s children. No more empty promises! No more silenced voices! Now is the time. Now is our time to move forward, to leave the past behind us and walk the path of peace and prosperity. It is our time to step into the light and embrace a new way of life and a new start for our people. It’s time to embrace a new democracy!”

  He paused to allow the cheering and thunderous applause to subside.

  “Together, we will bring Paluga back to the world stage, where it belongs. But as with the great Roman Empire of old, this cannot be done in a day. It will take hard work, and that work starts here. It starts at home with your family. It starts with your jobs. It starts with our teachers and our doctors. It starts with government! My promise to you as I stand here today is this: your government will never allow you to be si
lenced. Your government will never allow you to starve. Your government will never allow its power to be undermined, nor its citizens to feel threatened. My friends, today will see the start of real change in Paluga. And it begins with you!”

  The crowd erupted as he spoke his last line. Herrera stepped away from the podium, his arms raised to the skies, his fingers making peace signs.

  Jericho watched intently, casting an impartial, professional eye over everything. He felt the deep vibrations of the noise in his chest.

  “He’s good,” observed Miller beside him.

  Jericho absently murmured his agreement but was distracted by something in the crowd. When he didn’t say anything, Miller followed his gaze.

  “What is it?” he asked, a tremor of uncertainty in his voice.

  Jericho’s eyes were locked on a section of the crowd about halfway back, on the right. A small circle had formed close to the soft perimeter of GlobaTech operatives. Picket signs began to appear, popping up as if sprouting from the cracks like weeds. One read, NO SUCH THING AS CHANGE. Another had YOU CAN’T CORRUPT THE MILITARY written in red. From his raised vantage point, he could see the circle growing, like a pulse that absorbed everything it touched.

  He reached for his radio.

  “Station Six, are you seeing this?” he asked.

  There was a hiss of static, then a voice replied, “I am, sir. They appear to be mostly students. Rowdy but not violent. Say the word and my team will step in.”

  Jericho watched for a moment. “No. Hold your position but stay frosty. Perimeter East, talk to me.”

  More static. Then a voice, which sounded more fraught than the other guy.

  “Sir, this is starting to get out of hand,” said the voice. “It looks like a goddamn circle pit in there.”

  “I see it. Stay calm. Focus. What’s your name?”

  “Johnson, sir.”

  “Okay, Johnson. Listen to me. On the other side of that crowd is a group of our guys stationed at one of the respite tents. They don’t think it looks too bad, so be vigilant, but stand easy for now. Hold your position. Just be ready to move if I tell you. Got it?”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Jericho glanced at Miller, who was looking on with concern.

  “Miller, move to the president’s right side, would you?” said Jericho. “I want to be ready in case this gets nasty and we need to hustle him out of here.”

  Miller nodded. “You got it.”

  Jericho watched him step into position, then turned back to survey the crowd.

  Herrera was still playing to his people, seemingly unaware or unfazed by the tension. The chanting of the protestors began to drown out the cheering of his supporters, causing him to finally look over and acknowledge the growing unrest. He moved back to the podium.

  “I understand your concerns,” he said, shouting to be heard. “Change is difficult. Change is frightening. But just because something is hard doesn’t mean you should shy away from it. We need to run toward it, as one people united by a common dream of a better life. I didn’t come from privilege. I grew up in the Bonagan slums. Like so many of you, I grew up on the very streets on which we stand today. I saw my father murdered by the same corrupt military many of you protest on behalf of. I value all of our freedom. I want you to have a voice. But I also want you to understand. They were controlled by people whose only interests were their own, but my interests are your interests. My hopes are your hopes. My dreams are your dreams. Just because your way of life is all you’ve known does not mean it is the only way. It does not mean it is the best way!”

  The speech was rousing. The crowd were turning back again. Half cheered for the president. The other half were shouting in spite of him.

  Jericho looked out. More pockets of protestors were starting up all over the crowd. No one group was becoming a serious problem, but there were enough small groups that he was growing concerned.

  He reached for his radio again. “All stations within the perimeter, this is Jericho Stone. I want you all in formation around your tents. Form a wide circle and fan out. Show your teeth a little bit. Let the protestors know you’re there. Let the supporters see you too—help put them at ease. Discipline and focus here. We’re peacekeepers, not mercenaries.”

  The two hundred GlobaTech operatives among the crowd moved into position. The clusters of protestors reacted. The movement did nothing to quieten them, but they seemed to settle.

  In his radio, Jericho said, “Perimeter East, sitrep.”

  “Appears steady,” came the reply.

  Jericho looked over at Herrera, who was mid-speech.

  “—for too long. My pledge to you here today is to put this country to work for its people. I will invest in infrastructure, in welfare, and in each and every one of you!” He paused for effect. “And I know what you’re thinking. It would be my first concern too if I were standing out there beside you all. Where is the money coming from? Well, it won’t be coming from higher taxes!”

  The crowd momentarily cheered in unison. Herrera let slip a small, satisfied smile.

  “If we all work hard, pay our taxes, and obey the law, this country will prosper. But the government’s investment in its people cannot begin by asking them to pay more. So, I will begin a five-stage plan to reduce the size of our armed forces, reduce military spending, and put that money to work for you, the people of Paluga.”

  The crowd turned. Herrera’s supporters remained, but the protestors drowned them out with their anger. The roar of disapproval grew. The pockets within the large crowd began shuffling together, forming larger groups with a louder voice.

  Herrera hesitated for a moment, thrown by the reaction, but he quickly recovered and continued. “We will build more schools and hospitals. We will work to boost tourism and create new jobs and opportunities for those who want them.”

  Jericho’s entire body tensed. Herrera was losing them. This needed to end before it turned hostile. He looked to either side of the stage.

  “Men, with me,” he ordered.

  Without hesitation, the eight operatives stepped up and joined him. He began directing them into position.

  “I want one of you next to Miller. Another to the president’s left. The rest of you, form a semi-circle behind him. Go. Now.”

  The men hustled into position.

  Jericho took one last look around, then joined them. He pushed in to stand directly beside Herrera and leaned toward him.

  “Sir, you should wrap this up,” he said.

  Herrera kept his eyes and smile on the crowd. “I agree.”

  The noise continued to grow. Plastic bottles and other small projectiles began whizzing overhead, across the intersection, from one side of the crowd to the other, as if two warring factions were taunting each other.

  A bottle bounced off the podium and landed at Jericho’s feet. He looked down to see it was half-filled with black liquid. Concerned, he crouched to retrieve it.

  The second his legs bent, he heard a sound like a hand grenade going off in the distance. A blast and a crack echoed as it trailed off just as quickly as it had arrived, followed by a high-pitched whirring, like a small drill.

  Jericho’s knee rested on the stage when it registered.

  Gunshot.

  He stood in time to see President Herrera collapse to the ground. Half his head had been removed.

  Jericho’s eyes bulged. The shock was instant. For a moment, he was paralyzed.

  “Everybody down!” he yelled, his senses returning.

  Screams burst forth from the crowd. Chaos erupted as common sense gave way to panic. People began running in all directions.

  It was only when Jericho rushed to Herrera’s side that he realized just how bad the situation was. The man who had been standing to his left was also down. So was the man to Herrera’s right. Jericho looked at the first man, stunned and confused. He followed the splashes of blood and gray matter along the stage, to President Herrera… to the man on the other side
of him… to—

  “Oh, shit. Miller!”

  He stepped over Herrera’s body and over to Miller, who now lay on his side in the same place Jericho had told him to stand only a few minutes earlier. A small pool of blood had formed around his head. He pulled the body toward him, revealing the extent of the damage.

  “Oh, Christ! No, no, no…”

  Most of Miller’s face had been blown apart. Jericho stared at his fallen brother. He heard movement around him but didn’t look up. Instinctively, he knew what remained of the GlobaTech operatives on the stage were forming a tight perimeter around him. Around the dead. Only when they were in position, guns raised, covering all directions, did he look around. Four men were dead. Decimated.

  He frowned, forcing his brain to work. To remember what had just happened. He had heard the shot as he was crouching to pick up the bottle.

  There was only one shot.

  He looked at each of the dead bodies in turn.

  How were four men dead from one shot? Most bullets—even high caliber rounds from a sniper rifle—would struggle to punch through two bodies, let alone four. Especially with distance between each target. No bullet could have done this much damage.

  Jericho looked around. His mind was engaged with renewed purpose, searching for anything that might help. When he found nothing on the ground around him, he realized the answer must lie in his arms. He looked down at what remained of Miller, steeling himself against the horror before him.

  Miller was the last one to drop, which means the bullet stopped with him. He gently tilted what remained of his head to the side, revealing what was previously hidden from view. Jericho’s eyes narrowed as he studied the gaping wound.

  Then he saw it.

  Lodged in the cheekbone, just in front of the ear, something metallic glistened against the deep crimson. With a grimace, he reached inside and plucked it free, holding it between his finger and thumb.

  The bullet was unlike anything he had ever seen. It looked like a drill bit, fashioned to a lethal point at one end. He remembered the noise he had heard a split-second after the gunshot. The whirring.

  He didn’t understand what he was looking at, nor what had happened, but now wasn’t the time to figure it out. He needed to ensure the crowd stayed safe. He also needed to apprehend anyone from the Palugan military who shouldn’t be there. They had to have been behind the attack.