by Mark Tullius
something to raise a flag.
“Look around you, at your neighbors,” the President said. “They can’t even handle their own problems. You want them handling yours?” The President leaned forward, both fists clenched on his desk, looking like a true leader, not some figurehead who had bowed before the young Preacher. “We cannot allow this nation to fail. There is too much at stake. I will preserve order. Our country will triumph!”
The glass door slid open, revealing the rotunda – an arching dome, marble floors, and brilliant white walls. Huggins said to hold on and disappeared into Dreschner’s office. Walt looked around the room. He felt dizzy. Huggins reappeared and held open the door, pointed to a silver chair in front of Dreschner’s desk. “Take a seat.”
Walt did as he was told. The chair was freezing and uncomfortable. He noticed the framed photographs were gone, nothing on the walls, no trace of what had been here during his last visit. Dreschner still looked sharp with his jet-black hair and winning smile, but something was off. Walt said, “I’m so sorry to hear about your daughter.”
Dreschner nodded. “That’s very kind of you.” He pushed a button on the desk’s console.
Strips of metal shot out from the arms of the chair. Walt couldn’t move fast enough. They wrapped around his throat, chest, ankles, and arms. A mechanical claw crept out from between his legs and guided a syringe with an inch long needle to the side of his neck. He leaned as far as he could to the left, felt the sharp tip tracing over his skin.
Dreschner pressed another button. The needle stopped. “I have a few questions. Give me the right answers and everything’s fine.”
Walt tried to stay calm, didn’t say a word. Maybe it was a test, some kind of new training program.
Dreschner turned to Huggins. “You two can go.”
Huggins glared at Walt. The door opened. Footsteps. Walt couldn’t see if the men had actually left. Walt said, “Sir, I haven’t done anything.”
“Really?” Dreschner studied him. “We’ve all done something.”
Walt wasn’t in any position to argue. He just tried to breathe.
Dreschner pressed his finger to the wall. The blinds snapped shut and his features disappeared in the darkness. “I want to believe you, but I need to be sure.” He pressed the button again and the needle slid into Walt’s neck. “I’m injecting you with P-604. Your answers better match what I already know.”
The serum coursed through Walt’s veins. He scrambled to think of what might be asked. He feared it was about rumors regarding Dreschner’s daughter, why she’d taken her life. He’d heard the awful stories.
Dreschner sat on the desk, clearly waiting for the serum to settle in. “I hate bad news. Don’t you, Walt?”
“Sir,” Walt slurred. Everything slowed. Dreschner’s mouth was moving, but Walt couldn’t make out the words. He just heard his own heartbeat in his ears.
“Walt! When did you last speak with Vincent Morrison?”
“It was…Saturday. No, Friday. I picked up Todd after work.”
“What was discussed?”
“Nothing. Nothing important.”
“What was said?”
“Might’ve asked him how his day was going.”
“And Laura?”
Shit. This couldn’t be about that. They’d been so careful. “She was busy with dinner.”
“But she came to the door?”
“Yes.”
“Did you give her a hug?”
Walt’s stomach flipped. He started to say he couldn’t remember, but every time he touched Laura was permanently engrained. “I think so. Yeah.”
Dreschner’s smile disappeared. “I only want certainties.”
It killed Walt to be talked to this way, especially by a hand-picked puppet for The Way. “Yes, I hugged her.”
“Okay.” Dreschner slid back. “Did you always know what Vincent was planning? Is that why you referred him?”
“Sir?”
“Answer the question.”
“I referred him because he was an excellent Marine and my friend.”
“So you knew him well?”
“Yes.”
“And you expect me to believe you had absolutely no idea what he was up to? Even with all that time you spend at his house?”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
“Okay, you might be telling the truth, but let’s find out.”
He pressed the button and another mechanical claw slithered out from the back of the chair. The needle plunged into the base of Walt’s skull. The effects were immediate, and not like the last time when everything slowed. This time it felt like he was floating away from his body. His mouth was on autopilot. Walt answered each of the same questions. Thankfully, they matched, give or take a word or two.
“Your friend, Vincent, is a traitor.”
Walt swallowed. “No.”
“Yes, he is, and he needs to be brought in. We cannot have terrorists in our midst, especially one of our own. Now, you made this mess by bringing him in, and you will clean it up.”
How could Vince have betrayed anyone? Walt didn’t want to believe it. “You’re wrong about Vince.”
Dreschner stood and said, “October 24. Sacramento. Senator Humphrey’s office.” A screen popped up from the desk. The footage showed Vincent walking away from the building as people filed through the front doors. Three seconds later everything went up in flames.
Dreschner repeated his question. “Can I count on you to do your duty?”
The Controllers didn’t make mistakes. And now he’d seen it with his own eyes.
“This is your last chance, Walt. Can I count on you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I want him alive. I need to know how far this has spread in the agency.”
It calmed Walt to know Vincent wasn’t already sentenced to death. “I will bring him in.”
“And Laura too.”
Walt nodded as much as the restraint allowed.
“And their daughter.”
“Sir?”
“Relax. I want her brought in separately. I’ll make sure to take care of her, place her in a good home.”
Loralei, Walt’s goddaughter, was only twelve. Dreschner’s assurance he’d find her a home didn’t offer any comfort.
Dreschner held his finger over another button. “You sure you can do this? Remember, we’re all replaceable.”
“I will do my duty and defend my country.” The words every agent spoke on the day of graduation.
Dreschner hit the switch. The restraints zipped back into the chair, along with the mechanical claws. “I’m trusting you here. Fulfill your orders and Brian will have a job.”
Walt didn’t buy it. Dreschner was just bringing up his son as another threat.
The drive to Vince’s was the longest and shortest thirty minutes of Walt’s life. He exited the freeway, started down the route he’d driven thousands of times, but instead of turning at the corner, Walt went up a few blocks and made a right. He’d never been on this street before, half the houses with for sale signs, two teenagers with backpacks strolling down the sidewalk.
Another right turn. Different direction, same destination. He parked in front of the three-bedroom townhouse, a lot nicer than his own. Vince’s unmarked black sedan sat in the driveway.
Walt checked his weapon, reholstered it, turned up the radio to drown out his thoughts. Laura was like a mom to his son, Todd, babysitting him every afternoon since his mom died when he was two. Walt first saw a picture of Laura in Afghanistan. Vince had said she was the only woman brave enough and dumb enough to put up with his crap.
Walt stared at his hand on the wheel. The chip embedded near his wrist made him get out of the cruiser. The Controllers were definitely monitoring, they’d know he was stalling. He put on his recog glasses, walked up the driveway, blew out a deep breath.
Before he could even ring the doorbell, Laura answered it. “I thought that was you in the driveway.” She swept
her blond hair from her eyes. “Vincent is actually downstairs. Should I get him?” Walt’s recog glasses showed elevated levels of adrenaline. She was nervous. “I was just about to start dinner. Todd and Loralei should be home from school soon.” Walt didn’t need recog glasses to know she was covering something. This was her “happily married, everything’s wonderful” voice. Vincent was probably in hearing range. “I didn’t expect you so early.”
Walt kept his tone friendly when he said, “I got off early. You said he’s in the basement?”
“Yes.” Quieter than before, she said, “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Boring work stuff. I just wanted to go over it with him before dinner.”
“I’ll get him then.”
Walt stepped inside, grabbed Laura’s arm. “Hold on a sec. I’ll just go down.”
“Really, it’s no trouble. He needs to come up anyway. Been down there all day.”
“I thought he had the flu.”
Laura pulled her arm back. “Is this what happens when your husband calls in sick? Are you interrogating me with your glasses?” She moved toward the basement door, disappeared down the steps. Walt pulled out his gun, started for the basement then looked down the hallway, saw their bedroom. A suitcase and duffle bag near the door.
Vince came up the stairs. “You’re a little early for Todd, aren’t you? Don’t they have art today?”
“Yeah, I came here so we could talk.”
Vincent cocked his head. “Everything okay? What’s with the gun?”
“I’m going to ask you some questions. Questions I don’t want to ask.”
Vince glanced back at the duffle bag by his bedroom, played it cool, walked into the living room. “If you don’t want to ask them, then don’t.” He stood by the end
