Allen Longstreet
No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying or recording, or by any storage and retrieval system without permission in writing.
Copyright © 2015 Allen Longstreet
Cover design by Aaron Tallman and Colton Lidey
Table of Contents
Contents:
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Preface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
About the Author
First and foremost, I would like to thank Mr. Campbell for taking the time to meet me at Starbucks in July of 2014 to discuss the idea I had for this book. I had a rough impression of what would take place in the novel, but our conversation was the foundation for this epic thriller. I had thought of the first spark, but you fanned the flame. I appreciate all the brainstorming we have done in the past and I look forward to whatever we talk about next. You are consistently an inspiration in my life.
Ryan, I cannot express my thanks enough for your help with creating the character of Grey. He would have been one shitty hacker if it wasn’t for you. Your intellect is unrivaled, and very few people I know can even touch your level of thought. Thank you for your excitement and encouragement with this project, and I appreciated your willingness to let me read you the scenes that you helped create. This book would not have been the same without your contribution.
Thank you, Daniela Jewell, for your explanation on the effects of radiation on dividing cells and how to properly use an electron microscope. Your knowledge of biology and the lab environment was a great assistance in creating the scenes at MIT.
Melanie Gill, thank you for your tidbit of advice on a certain scene that I will not mention. Let’s just say I had to have your womanly advice.
Lastly, I would like to thank the brave seven who made this story what it is. Owen, Grey, Rachel, Stefan, Ian, Lucas, and Brody—you all will forever be in my heart and mind. I can only hope that you impact the reader the same way you did me. Thank you for speaking to me the times my words fell short. You helped me make an exhilarating story.
To the many men and women who have been delivered injustice by the hands of the unknown. May the truth always reign supreme.
To my mother, my father, and my brother. I love you all dearly.
“In the name of the best within you, do not sacrifice this world to those who are its worst. In the name of the values that keep you alive, do not let your vision of man be distorted by the ugly, the cowardly, the mindless in those who have never achieved his title. Do not lose your knowledge that man's proper estate is an upright posture, an intransigent mind and a step that travels unlimited roads. Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish, in lonely frustration for the life you deserved, but have never been able to reach. Check your road and the nature of your battle. The world you desired can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible, it's yours.”
My heart pounded relentlessly in my chest. I stood behind the double doors of the emergency exit in complete darkness, engulfed in the smell of my own sweat. I could hear the muffled voices of the anchors delivering the daily headlines just a few feet in front of me. I began to wonder—is this even reality? Can I wake up from this nightmare? With everything that had occurred, I knew that was not the case. My ultimatum had already been decided for me. It was unfathomable in my mind to think that I was even in the cross-hair to begin with, let alone being the most wanted criminal in the United States. Thoughts of what I was about to do bombarded my mind and caused a nauseating pit in my stomach to form. My greatest wish was that there was another option, but this was the only way. I knew this was my last stand, a final leap of faith to ensure my struggle was not in vain. My hands perspired and trembled wildly as I held the cold metal push-bar of the double doors. I breathed rapidly and closed my eyes, seeing the images of everything that has happened within the past two weeks. I swallowed hard and remembered the words of a person who I love. Justice is like fire; if you cover it with a veil, it still burns. They are the veil, and I am the fire. I will watch their lies burn, not in vengeance, but in preservation of the only thing that is real in this world—the truth.
- 1 -
Dear Mr. Owen Marina,
You are cordially invited to the 2016 presidential debate for recognition as the co-founder of the Convergence Party and the outstanding contributions your office has made to Senator Paul Goodman, Convergence Party nominee. Congratulations, due to your effort the Convergence Party has claimed fifty-nine percent of the benchmark polls. All three nominees in each party will debate and give their closing statements per status quo. Dress requirement is formal attire; men must wear suit and tie. Women must wear a dress or business attire. The debate will be held at the Georgetown University Amphitheater.
The ticket in this envelope is VIP access marked with the Great Seal of the United States, allowing you seating in the front three rows. These seats are reserved for the families of the candidates, and the democratic, republican, and convergence campaign leaders. The federal government rate is available at the Ritz-Carlton Spa Georgetown for the evening of the event. This ticket allows for one extra admission of a spouse. Join us on this historic night in American History.
I grinned as I held the firm letterhead beneath my fingers. What an honor it was to be given VIP access to such an event. I was thrilled.
“What is it, boss?” my colleague Alexis asked. I tried suppressing my smile before answering.
“It’s an invitation to the final debate next week.”
“No way!” she shouted, “Congratulations, Owen!”
“Hey, everyone, look what Owen got!”
Her voice trailed off as she bounced around the office informing more of my coworkers. She was a petite woman with bleach-blonde hair—one of those people who knew what was going on in the lives of others the moment it happened.
I felt a heavy hand grasp my shoulder.
“My boy! You’re going to the debate?” I spun around in my desk chair to see the chairman of the party looking down at me with an overjoyed expression.
“Well, I guess I am now, Cole.”
“He would get it,” one of our temps Barbara announced. “He has the most passion! He’s the reason we are ahead in the polls.”
I shook my head side to side humbly, laughing under my breath at her comment. For reasons we were all aware of, I did not want recognition for the effort I had put into this campaign. My passion was fueled by much deeper reasons.
Within moments I had half of the office surrounding my desk, the rest were busy at work. Being less than a month away from the most important election in American History, it was incredibly hectic, the sounds of phones ringing filled my ears long after I left work daily.
“Speech! Speech! Speech!” Alexis chanted amongst the circle of our coworkers.
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“No, no, I’d rather not.” I politely declined.
“Aw, come on!” she insisted, “You earned it! Say something, Owen! You worked so hard on this campaign and we all know it.”
I reluctantly stood up out of my desk chair in front of the crowd encircling me.
“Guys, I know I was invited, but with all honesty, you deserve this ticket. Without the help of everyone, this office would be nothing. Barbara, Alexis, Joseph, Nicolas, there are countless others whose names I don’t need to mention because you guys are all important. I accept this ticket humbly. I feel honored to be the leader of this campaign, and if you all know a shred about me you know I am not here for the money or the title. I am here for the security and knowledge that there will never be another Confinement again.”
Half of the faces in the audience became contorted, and a few grimaced from my words.
“Those three months of Hell we all spent in this capital will never occur again. That is the reason why I am so passionate. I have said it many times. In my opinion, it is the prime reason our campaign is invincible. The people do not trust the leaders of our past, it is time for a new America. The atrocity they committed will never be forgotten. We will not grant them power any longer.”
The office applauded in reaction to my speech. A couple of my coworkers stood up and gave me a standing ovation.
“That’s the damn truth if I’ve ever heard it!” Cole shouted while giving me a rough pat on the back. “Everyone stay put, I’ve got a treat and another announcement,” he said, circumventing the crowd and heading to the break room. Knowing Cole, it would involve alcohol. He was a walking testament to the saying work hard, play hard.
When he reemerged, he had two bottles of champagne in his hands, and he weaved his way back beside me.
“Owen, would you help me do the honors?”
As he asked I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Perhaps he had taken a shot when he was in the break room. If there was any alcohol in our building, it would have come from his office and his office only. Spending over three decades in politics was more than enough to wind up in an asylum, and I wasn’t surprised he was an alcoholic.
“My pleasure,” I said.
He handed me the bottle, and I held its weighty glass with the cork facing outward. Cole used his free hand to brush his thin, gray hair out of his eyes. The sweat beaded along his hairline. He always seemed to sweat like a swine when he drank.
“Ahem,” Cole cleared his throat. “Whether you are a volunteer, an intern, or employee in this office, remember the contribution that was made here, in the past year. The Convergence Campaign wouldn’t be where it is today if it wasn’t for your dedication and unwavering belief of what this party stands for. Each and every one of us wakes up every day fueled by the same motivation. Truth in government, removing the corporate ties from the political equation, and civil liberties for every American. Like Owen said, we will not allow another Confinement to happen again! Their reign is over!”
“Yeah!” the crowd shouted in unison.
“In light of our efforts, and with the triumph of Senator Goodman over the other candidates in the last debate, we have claimed over fifty-nine percent of the benchmark polls!”
The entire office erupted into an uproar—cheering, whistling, I could feel myself beginning to grin in the heat of the moment.
“It is time to celebrate!” Cole hollered rambunctiously.
We shook the champagne bottles violently and popped off the corks together, our office scrambling to grab a glass to fill with the effervescent liquid. I saw a few people using their empty coffee cups as a substitution.
I pictured what it would be like if the press were to come in and request a quote from Cole or me on our continued success. They had been popping in and out quite often, and we were always in the headlines of the news. I could see it now—Convergence Headquarters celebrating with drinks before noon. Some might have remarked that we were unconventional, but that was precisely what we intended to be. The American People were championing us. Every day that passed their support only grew stronger. Senator Goodman had a surefire spot in the White House. The only groups which were opposing this political awakening were the democrats and republicans. Valiant were their efforts—if you could call it that—but their attempts to hamper our campaign were futile because their lies were nothing short of slander.
The boisterous voices of my colleagues had turned to a soft chatter. Cole began to raise his glass to make a toast.
“I’d like to make a proposition with all of you in this office. If Goodman takes the polls by a landslide in the election, we are all going to Smith Commons to celebrate on my tab! Free booze on me!”
The combined cheers and hoots were deafening. Once the ruckus settled down, silence reclaimed the office.
“I love that bar,” Alexis whispered to the woman next to her.
“With all of that being said,” Cole began, “I have no doubts whatsoever that the Convergence Party will produce the first independent candidate to take the White House. Nothing will stand in our way. Thank you all for your hard work and carry on with your day.”
Within moments, the phones resumed with their incessant ringing. The chaos of office life was equivalent to watching a colony of ants work together to carry a piece of bread back to the queen. Except this was politics, and ensuring Senator Goodman’s election was our metaphorical queen.
As I sat back down at my desk I felt Cole’s firm hand once again.
“This final debate is the pith of our campaign. Once Goodman hits on the points that caused the Confinement, it’ll be a straight shot to home plate. You’ve done an excellent job running this campaign, Owen. You should be proud of yourself. If you want to come out for some drinks after work they are on me.”
“It has been an honor, Cole. Thanks for funding most of it.”
“Funding? Hell, I’d rather go bankrupt funding this than rot in that prison of a Camp we lived in.”
“No shit, you got that right,” I agreed.
“Well, my boy, I’ll see you Tuesday at the debate. Save my wife and I a seat, will ya?”
“Absolutely,” I responded with a grin as he shook my shoulder roughly and walked back to his office.
I spun around in my chair and faced the desktop screen. My to-do list was always growing—like a pesky weed I would uproot that came back bigger every time. Emails, inquiries from newspapers and magazines for interviews on the recent benchmark polls. I was one man stretched very thin, but I knew that in a month this would all be over. All the coffee, long hours, and little to no sleep would be worthwhile. Goodman’s election would be the beginning of a new America. A memory I could look back on when I was an old man and remember that I took part in history.
I walked out of the office building to see the weather hadn’t changed a bit from this morning. The sky was overcast, painting the world shades of gray. I felt a light drizzle falling. The air was cold and humid. As I breathed in the moisture coated my nose. A soft breeze crept into my button-up and torso, so I zipped up my motorcycle jacket.
“See you later, boss,” I heard from behind me.
When I turned around I saw Alexis ducking into her Volkswagen Beetle with a flirtatious smirk.
“See you,” I responded with an awkward smile before putting on my helmet. I didn’t feed her flirting by returning the action. She was attractive, but I wasn’t going to get involved in interoffice relations. I had already been down that road, and although it was an exhilarating ride, I wasn’t fond of making the same mistake twice. I was quite certain Alexis had a fetish for the boss-and-intern scenario. I could see the lust in her eyes when she looked at me and the fantasies played out in her mind like a porno. The promiscuous intern in skimpy clothing, the boss telling her he needed to see her in his office. The scene played out in my mind was enough to give me a chubby, and get Alexis more worked up than she ought to be. In a month from now, after the election, I’d most likely never see her ag
ain. For those reasons, I chose not to pursue her.
There was one other reason, though. I was straddling it. I turned the key and hit the ignition switch, holding in the clutch and revving the engine. The shrill, metallic growl of the 998 cubic centimeters beneath me were just brimming with raw power, ready to devour the asphalt in front of it.
My YZF-R1 was my baby—my everything. I had an R6 for years, and then I bought this model in 2012, dumping the majority of my money into it in the years before the Confinement. Some people used drugs for a high, but my drug was the speed, the adrenaline that pumped through my veins when I was tucked into the body of a bike, accelerating faster than anything else on the road.
I let the clutch slip slowly and made my way onto New Jersey Avenue. I took it easy because the street was congested, and I wasn’t on my main route yet. I then turned onto Massachusetts Avenue where I hit the daily rush-hour. Traffic in D.C. was a nightmare. The roads were too narrow for a city of this size. We were on some list for worst traffic in the US. Luckily for me, I wasn’t stuck behind this line of cars. If I was it would have made the fifteen-minute trip into half an hour or longer.
I weaved in and out of the traffic. It was like an intricate dance, a pattern. There was something seductive about being exposed, zipping down the street on two wheels, passing all the people stuck…confined in their cars.
When I blinked I saw a flashback—a mother and daughter holding hands. The mother whispered with her voice trembling, “Thank you.”
I whipped around a curve, speeding with anger, and purposely over-blinking to phase back into the present. The word confined drew me back to that memory. It was a memory from a time I wished I could forget.
Shifting into a higher gear, I slalomed between the traffic with finesse. This was innate for me. My motion was fluid. The high-pitched sounds coming from the engine were soothing, they canceled out all other noise that lingered from work, thoughts, and all the bullshit I fought so hard to keep out. Riding was my solace—the peace in my being.
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