by David Yates
"Ah,” said Anson, “I understand now. The power this kid's mind has is amazing."
"Actually, all of us have that much power in our minds. It's just that the rest of us aren't bright enough to tap into it and use it. No one has ever been that bright, until Braden came along. There is one other thing you should know, though. Whenever he teleports, he gets exhausted and needs to rest before trying it again, unless it's a short trip. Apparently, the longer the trip is in distance, the more juice he loses from his internal batteries. Gwen says this is normal and expected."
"How long does he need to rest?” Anson asked.
"Gwen says he can do it again after three hours of sleep in a pinch, but she says a full seven or eight hours is better. And like I said, if it's a short enough trip, he can usually just get in and get out without resting."
"What about his physical condition?” Anson asked.
"Dr. Archer says he's perfectly fit. A typical specimen of a healthy 19-year-old red-blooded American male. Of course, both Archer and Braden's instructors have had him on a strict physical workout regimen ever since he began his training. After the first year or so, it was such a habit with him that he has kept up his regimen on his own. He runs no less than five miles every day, plus calisthenics and weight training. And that doesn't include his daily martial-arts workouts. He's in great shape, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I'm surprised he's turned out as stable as he is, considering that he's been isolated here for sixteen years. But he's actually a great kid. He understands the meaning of honor and integrity. Gwen's done a great job with him."
"Yes, I'm sure,” Anson said with unmistakable sarcasm. “I understand Wiley's grown quite attached to him."
"Simply put, she's his mother and he's her son. They love each other very much. Personally, I'm happy to see it."
"And you?” Anson asked. “How do you feel about him?"
"Well, I must admit,” replied Bemis, “that I can't help but feel a bit of a grandfatherly attachment, too. As I've already said, he's a great kid."
"Yes, well, that's very sweet and all, but he's our great kid, and it's time to give him over. You will see to it that all of his gear, including his weapons and his personal belongings, are packed and ready and stowed on the chopper. You will do that right after this conversation is done. Tomorrow morning, you will put Braden aboard the chopper and have Hollingsworth bring him to us. We will email you as to the location where he is to be delivered. Then your work will be done. You and Wiley may spend one more tender evening with your baby boy, but you'd better make it good. After tomorrow, none of you will ever see him again. Is that clear?"
When Anson heard nothing but an angry silence, he continued in a gentler tone. “Look, Bemis, I'm not down playing what your people have accomplished. You've all done a fantastic job. You've sacrificed a huge part of your lives for this Project, and we greatly appreciate it. You will see tangible evidence of that appreciation very shortly in your bank accounts. In fact, you've all done such a great job that we are willing to give each of you a generous bonus, on top of what we have already agreed upon.” After a moment he added, “Please accept my apology for my outburst."
"That's okay,” Bemis said, although he was now beginning to realize that things were far from okay. Your apology was as phony as a three-dollar bill, pal, he thought. “What about the rest of it? Shutting down this place, getting us out of here?"
"Oh, I'll set the wheels in motion today. Over the course of the next week or so, we will be getting your people out one or two at a time. As Director, you will be the last to go. You can tell your people that they will be given their new bank books when they arrive here, and at that time they will be released from duty, to go where they please. As you already know, a few of your troops are already enjoying their wealth."
This was true. Not long after the kid had arrived, all of Espinoza's IT people had been choppered out, with the exception of Manny himself. After all, the search was over and there was no more need for all those computer geeks. Manny had stayed on just in case a good IT person was needed.
"Yes, lucky them,” Bemis muttered distractedly. He felt a headache coming on, and there was a fluttery feeling in his guts. Something is very wrong here, he thought.
"Yes, well, congratulations again on a fine job, Joe. I'll be in contact with you again very soon."
Joe? Joe? Bemis had developed a great dislike for Anson; in fact, for all of the Stooges. Over the years, Bemis had had many dealings with Anson (mostly through emails), who seemed to be the contact between The Orchard and the Stooges. All of their communications had been civil at best. A couple of them had been full-blown battles. He had been called many things by Anson across those years, but Joe? Never.
"Okay, thanks,” Bemis said absently, and hung up the phone. His heartbeat had increased and he felt chilled all over, as if he were coming down with the flu. What the hell's wrong here? What are you up to, Anson
He reclined back in his office chair, trying to relax and get a grip on himself. He sat that way for some time, thinking harder than he had in his entire life. That antsy, something's-wrong feeling wouldn't go away. In fact, it got stronger with every passing moment. He had seen combat during his military days and he remembered getting this same feeling. He had grown to trust that feeling, and it had saved his bacon on more than one occasion. His keyster had been glued to this seat for many years, and it had been much longer than that since he had last felt like this, but here it was again. Hello, old friend, it's been awhile. I see you're doing well. Suddenly, just like that, his decision was made.
He sprang forward in his chair and touched the intercom button which connected him to the entire compound. “Braden, Gwen, and Manny, come to my office now."
The four of them sat in silence, mulling over what had been discussed thus far. For Bemis’ part, he was nearly convinced that the feeling in his guts had been right, as it had been right so many times in his younger days. He still felt that something was terribly askew here, and getting askewer by the minute.
"So what are you saying, Joe?” Gwen asked. She was sitting closely on Braden's right, Manny close on the kid's left, as if to protect him. If Gwen was Braden's mother and he was Braden's grandfather, Bemis was pleased to know that Manny had become Braden's uncle. During their long stay here, the four of them had become as close to a family as four strangers could.
"I'm saying that, in my opinion, the only person here who is going to be alive this time next week will be Braden. I think that they will fly the rest of us out of here, one by one, and summarily execute us. After all we've talked about here, doesn't it make sense?"
Braden looked at Gwen. “I think Pop's right,” he said. He had taken to calling Bemis “Pop” when he was about seven, and it still tickled Bemis today. “It is the only thing that makes sense."
"But other people have left here,” Manny interjected. “Remember my original IT staff?"
"Manny,” Bemis replied, “I have a bad feeling that they're all long dead and rotting in their graves... if they were even lucky enough to get graves. I don't think they ever collected one red cent of the money that was promised to them. And I'm sure that we won't, either."
"I'll go you one better,” Braden said. “I'm sure the original offers they made to all of you were completely counterfeit at the time that they made the offers. They never intended to pay anyone. They intended to kill everyone associated with the Project so that no one would know their dirty little secret."
"Which is?” Gwen asked.
"Me. Their trained assassin. I have no doubt now that they wanted the perfect assassin to use for their own purposes."
Manny asked, “But to kill who?"
"I don't know yet,” Braden said. “Maybe to control some oil-rich country, maybe to place certain chosen people in positions of authority. One thing is certain: whatever their plan is, it's all about power and control."
"And money,” Gwen added.
"Oh, they already have the mon
ey,” Braden said. “And they used it to build me. Now they want to use me to obtain the power."
Bemis now chimed in. “Braden, when they offered me this job, they said they were working in a kind of partnership with some Federal agency. When I asked them which one, they gave me the typical run-around...not-at-liberty-to-say, need-to-know-basis-only, you know. Do you have any idea who it could be? After all, you are the smartest person here."
Braden grinned sheepishly and his chin dropped a few centimeters. Bemis thought, here's a 19-year-old kid, he's the smartest person on the planet, he knows he's the smartest person on the planet, he's also the deadliest person on the planet if he wants to be, and he's still this modest. By God, I guess we did okay in raising him here
"Well, Pop, there's no way to really know that without further investigation.” He said this in an almost apologetic tone, as if he didn't want to disappoint Bemis.
"Yeah, there are a lot of things that need investigating around here. And that's exactly what we're going to do.” He turned to look at Manny, every inch the Colonel again. “Manny, I want you to get into your computers and do what you do best. Dig as deep as you can and be as fast as you can, because they're expecting Braden to be on the chopper tomorrow morning."
"And I take it that's not going to happen?” Manny asked.
"No, it isn't,” Bemis answered. “That is, unless Braden wants to go."
Braden's reaction to this comment was so open and bare, it was ludicrous. He looked at Bemis with wide, staring eyes (he still had the incredibly striking blue eyes of his youth), mouth gaping open, pure innocence. “NO!” Braden exclaimed, as if Bemis really hadn't been sure of his answer. His reaction was so comically priceless the others couldn't help but laugh.
"Okay, then, that's settled,” Bemis said, still smiling. “Manny, off you go, and tell Hollingsworth I need to see him. He'll need to be filled in."
Manny hadn't been gone three minutes before he was back again. He looked like he'd seen a ghost; his face was ashen and he was obviously shaken up. Braden and Gwen were still seated in the office.
"Joe, you were right,” Manny said breathlessly. “All of our suspicions are confirmed."
"What do you mean?"
"When we first got here, before Braden arrived, I set up my computer to intercept any outgoing emails. I set it to scan continuously and to trigger an alarm on my computer if any outgoing emails were detected. As you know, there were blocks on all outgoing emails from the first day, but I put the tracer on it, anyway, just to be on the safe side. You know how thorough I am."
"Go ahead,” Bemis urged.
"Well, when I got back to my desk just now, I saw that the alarm had been activated. I opened the tracer program and saw an email that was just sent a few minutes ago, while we were in here. The email just said ‘Okay, will do', but the sender had clicked ‘reply’ to send his response to an incoming email. Of course, this automatically attached the original incoming email to the reply.” Manny paused to catch his breath, then said, “The original message was from Anson. It issued orders to keep a very close eye on us, and to kill all of us if we tried to leave the compound."
There was a brief silence as this news sunk in. Now Gwen's face was pasty, as well.
Bemis asked, “Were you able to trace the source of the outgoing email?"
Manny nodded and spoke one word.
"Bullard."
Bullard sat in the cafeteria, drinking coffee. He thought about the orders he had received from Anson. He didn't know why they should try to leave the compound; Anson hadn't explained that part. But he was content to just follow his orders and keep an eye on them. After all, following orders had become routine to him by now, and he had known the day would come when he would be called on to eliminate them, anyway. If anything, the email from Anson had made him happy. It meant that this gig was almost over.
Sipping his coffee, he began formulating a plan on how to carry out the executions, if they were needed. Who would go first? Maybe the old man. Yeah, Bemis would be the first one. He was tired of “taking orders” from a washed-up old Army Colonel. True, he had never actually been working for Bemis, but he had been made to act as Bemis’ inferior for far too long. The old man grated on his nerves.
He knew that the kid was partial to the old man, and also to Wiley and Espinoza. He also knew that they had made the kid into some kind of human wrecking machine. He would definitely try to protect any of them if it came down to it. But Bullard didn't think he had much to worry about in that area. He had heard the rumors of how good the kid was, and it was true that he didn't really know for sure what the kid was capable of. He had been denied access to all of the kid's training and therefore had never seen him in action.
But how good can he be? Bullard mused. He's only a kid, and he doesn't have near the experience that I have. Plus, no matter how good he is in a training environment, he's never been in combat. Never even seen a fight in his entire life, much less been in one. And he's certainly never killed anyone. No, I shouldn't have any problem with him.
Bullard got up and poured himself another cup. He had already had so much that his back teeth were floating, but the four of them were still sitting over there, having what looked like a very animated conversation. He couldn't just sit there with an empty cup in front of him.
So he sat back down and continued to sip and watch and think.
"Are you sure it's a good idea to just sit here right under his nose and plan our escape?” Gwen asked, a little nervously.
"Yes, it's fine, Mom,” Braden answered. “This is exactly how we should do it. It's when we start having secret closed-door meetings that he'll get suspicious."
"Let's stay on track,” Bemis said. “Everyone's packed, right?” Nods all around. “Okay.” Bemis turned to Manny. “How about Hollingsworth? Is he ready to go?"
Manny nodded again. “He's on board. He'll meet us at the helipad at 9:30 tonight. He's already stowed his gear on the chopper."
"Can we trust him?” Gwen asked.
"Yes,” Braden replied immediately. “I trust him with my life. And remember, his head is on Anson's chopping block, too."
Gwen said, “Where will we go?"
"We'll figure that out once we're in the air,” Bemis answered.
"And money?” Gwen pressed. “How will we survive?"
Bemis opened his mouth to say We'll have to figure that out later, too, when Manny smiled and said, “I've already taken care of that. Before I came here to this meeting, I hacked into Anson's personal bank account. He's a very rich man. As we sit here now, almost 50 million dollars of Anson's money is flying back and forth through cyberspace. The money is actually sitting in a bank in Grand Cayman, but I already have numerous automatic wire transfers set up. If Anson hires the best computer hacker in the world (and he can't, because that man is me), it would still take him a year or more to trace the money to Grand Cayman, and by that time the money will be in its final resting place in a bank in Spain. I have so many walls and false leads built into each transfer that he will be chasing dead ends for the rest of his life."
"Well, that will make life a little easier,” Bemis said. “Tonight we'll all meet at the chopper at 9:30. Remember to bring whatever you need, but don't bring the whole farm. We don't have the room. We'll all go by separate routes, singly."
"Pop, that's a bad idea. If Bullard catches one of you slinking around with a bag slung over your shoulder, you're dead. We should all go as a group. It'll be much safer."
Manny said, “But if we're all in one group, he could take us all out at once. It would make his job a lot easier."
Braden's large blue eyes went cold. “That won't happen. I'll see to it."
They had all congregated at Manny's suite, which was the closest one to the helipad. Braden and Gwen had left their suite and walked the short distance to Bemis’ room. The three of them had then gone to Manny's suite. They had left as a group and had made their way to the door through which, sixteen years
earlier, Bullard had carried an unconscious boy. Through the window in the top half of the door, they could see the chopper sitting on the helipad about 200 yards away. They were all dressed for the cold Washington night, Bemis wearing his black leather duster. The only thing standing between them and safety was an unlocked door and a large expanse of grass. They were all peering out the window at the chopper.
"Does anyone see Hollingsworth?” Bemis whispered. “It's too dark for me to see anything out there."
"No, I can't see a thing,” Braden replied.
"Me, either,” Manny said.
"Braden, are you strapped?” Bemis asked.
"You know it,” Braden replied, opening his jacket.
Braden was carrying a Sig Sauer .40 on his right hip and another one in a right-handed crossdraw holster. He carried a Glock 9mm in a right-handed shoulder rig. In a left-hand crossdraw holster he had a Smith & Wesson .45 (chrome-plated, no less). In the small of his back he carried a Beretta .380. He had extra clips for all of the weapons lined along his belt. Strapped to his leg was some sort of knife. And the final, surreal touch was a short sword with a paper-thin (and no doubt razor-sharp) blade in a sheath behind his head, a la Blade. The hilt of the sword was concealed underneath the collar of his jacket.
"Jeez, kid!” Manny exclaimed, but he was smiling and Braden smiled back.
They heard a footstep behind them. In unison they turned, one word flashing through all of their minds at the same time (Bullard), but it was only Hollingsworth.
As he approached them, Hollingsworth whispered, “Has anyone seen Bullard? I actually went looking for him, but he's nowhere to be found."
