“He was fleeing the bomb authorities presume he helped create.”
“Yes, and you see here if we zoom in. That is sweat dripping from his hairline. We are all aware now that the other suspect, Alexei Malchikov is deceased, so the CIA has made a statement saying this was an attempted suicide bombing. Attempted, because Owen is still on the run. Maybe the weight of losing his own life was too much to bear?”
My jaw was slowly falling lower and remained agape.
“They are making you out as a coward,” Grey interjected. “The media has gotten a taste for you and they want more.”
“I can tell…” I mumbled, still flabbergasted from the picture the news was painting of me.
“Owen, why did you stand up?”
I turned to look at Grey. He stared at me with distrust behind his brown eyes, and he kept a cold, standoffish disposition. When he spoke, his mouth was hidden behind his scraggly, black beard.
“You have a DVR, right?”
“No. Of course dude, it’s 2016.”
“Rewind it back before I stood up.”
He rewound the newscast to the right spot. He pressed play. I saw my head move to the right, toward Alexei.
“Stop,” I said. “Look.”
“What?” Grey asked, confused.
I stood up and pointed at the blond-headed Alexei.
“He is why I stood up. Minutes before the bombs, in the footage they aren’t airing, I was looking around at my party and realized that I didn’t recognize him. I even asked Cole if he had ever seen him before, at any of our fundraisers or meetings. Cole was at a loss for words, too. He was wearing our colors, Grey…and to top it off, sitting in our section, staring at the debate if he was some fucking emotionless robot!”
Grey seemed perplexed. Like he was piecing together information in his mind.
“Who let him in?” I asked, my voice rising. “That’s the same question I asked Cole, and he replied with, “Relax, he got through security.” About a minute before I stood up, I saw Alexei press a button on his watch, and it was a timer. It started counting up. I had to say something to security because I knew Alexei was bad news. I knew he didn’t belong.”
There was a long pause. I was breathing heavily, and my jaw was clenched in frustration.
“You’ve given them the perfect story, Owen,” Grey announced. “You’ve given them everything they need to make it believable. Your background in chemistry, your knowledge of the layout of Georgetown from having attended there. Those are exactly the kind of pieces the gullible American public would need pieced together for them by the media, in order to turn their political hero, into a terrorist.”
I felt nauseous. His words pierced my mind. I could feel a headache coming on. He was right.
“Owen, you look lightheaded. Sit down, man,” Grey demanded.
He stood up and sat me down on the sofa. The sickening, churning motion I felt in my stomach had not lessened—it was only growing stronger. I tried to exhale slowly to ease my racing heart.
“They have my dad…” I murmured.
Grey stared at me and remained silent.
“Do you think he is safe?”
“If he is being held by the people who created this lie, then no—not at all.”
“…We ask for everyone in the greater Richmond area to let authorities know if they have any information regarding Owen Marina’s whereabouts. He is riding a highly-modified, black Yamaha YZF-R1 with Maryland tags. His tag number is VRE-487. Please call the CIA’s hotline toll-free at 1-888-FIND HIM…”
“Do your neighbors keep to themselves?” I asked.
“Typically, yes, I can have a couple people over, smoke weed on my back porch, and no one ever bothers me. Then again, I’ve never had a wanted fugitive over my house, either,” he answered. Sarcasm riddled his words.
I recalled seeing only four houses, including Grey’s, on the dead-end road he lived on. The street was less than a mile away from the Pocahontas State Park. The area was rural and wooded.
“Let’s hope they keep to themselves today,” I said.
Grey stood up and peeked through the split in the blinds. He turned back to me and slipped his cell phone out of his pocket.
“It’s been fifteen minutes since you got here. If someone saw you and reported it, some form of law enforcement would be here. Fifteen more minutes and we should be in the clear…at least for tonight.”
“You don’t mind me staying?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you don’t have anywhere else to go, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” I answered.
“What made you come here? Out of all places. I’m just curious. We haven’t talked in almost two years.”
His expression was cold as he stated that fact, like he was upset that I hadn’t kept in touch.
“That’s exactly the reason I came here. The last time I talked to you it was on an entirely different phone, and phone number. My dad told me to go somewhere they wouldn’t know to look, to someone I hadn’t talked to in a long time. You were the first person that came to mind.”
He didn’t respond. He just sat across from me and stared. Perhaps he was still absorbing my explanation.
“Well, despite the circumstances, it is nice to see you, Owen. I wish we would have kept in touch more, man. Then again, the Confinement kind of fucked that up. How was the D.C. Camp?”
“Shitty,” I blurted. “How was the Richmond Camp?”
“The same. Sometimes I still have dreams of the groups of people who would riot, and wouldn’t quit once the rubber bullets were used. Did the guards in your camp—”
“Yes,” I said, cutting him short. “They did.”
Grey nodded. His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed.
“So, I guess all the Camps were the same.”
“Didn’t you watch the news at all?” I asked, surprised from his statement.
“After we were released, I tried to avoid the news altogether.”
I blinked, and I saw the image of the mother and daughter holding hands. My breath became shallow and rapid just from the small flashback of the memory. I felt a singeing sensation on my left forearm. Occasionally I would have ghost pain where the cigarette had left its mark.
“I know what you mean,” I consoled.
Grey smiled, shook his head, and began to laugh. “You know, the only time I would watch the news was when you were on it.”
“For real?” I laughed with him.
“Yeah man, I would tell my friends, ‘I used to get in trouble with that guy. We used to cause mayhem back in Midlothian.’”
“Those were the good ole’ days,” I said.
“No shit man, you’re telling me. It was hard enough being a working adult when a degree can’t get you as much as it used to. My student loans kept piling up. Then, after the Confinement it made it twice as difficult. If the Supreme Court wouldn’t have done what they did no one would have been able to return to their jobs. Too much stress in a poorly run world…”
Grey was referring to the kick-start mandate the Supreme Court implemented shortly after releasing the citizens from the Camps. It was a law that all business owners, suppliers, and anything far and few between had to lower costs of goods to the public. They forcefully lowered the inflation to the pre-2000 level. The Government paid the tab. They filled in the gaps wherever they could, in order to get people back into the swing of things. After all the Supreme Court did to help us, it raised the question—who was behind the Confinement?
“You nailed it man. Crime in the cities is just getting worse, and robbery is at the highest it has been in fifty years in Washington.”
“I could imagine…” Grey mumbled.
“So, what do you do nowadays?” I asked. “I know that degree of yours has been serving you well, am I right?”
“Not at first it didn’t. Surprisingly enough, though, after the Confinement I got a job with Wells Fargo working in Richmond.”
“Very nice,
man!” I raised my voice and grinned from his news. “What do you do for them?”
Grey revealed a sly smile as I asked my question.
“Network security. Apparently after the Confinement, the execs of the bank were redirecting money to their own offshore accounts. The financial instability of Post-Confinement America was the reason, or at least, that was their statement in court. The bank lost over one-hundred million dollars during that time. That’s why I was hired. I closed the loop. I created a secure network.”
“Badass!” I said with enthusiasm.
“It pays the bills,” he replied, staying humble. “I get to work from home most days. The only time I go to the bank is for meetings, or when there is something I can’t look into remotely. It’s still not as badass as what you do, though. A founder of the most famous political party in the twenty-first century.”
“Are you kidding me, Grey? Look where that title has landed me.”
Grey’s face lost a shade of color as I mentioned that.
“Would you trade everything you’ve done to not be in this predicament anymore?”
“Of course not,” I answered. “I would never.”
“Exactly, your mark has already been made. What your party has done to unite this country is unprecedented, and I know you are aware of that, too. That’s why I posed the question in the way that I did.”
“Well, in reality I think it was the country that united itself. It was a commonly held distaste for the existing powers that chose to imprison us. Without the Confinement, mine and Cole’s idea would have never resonated with people. We wouldn’t have been able to make an impact, or our mark, as you worded it.”
There was a pause. Grey’s expression was worrisome, and he nodded in the direction of the TV.
“Well, whoever they are, the ones that are behind this lie…they are trying to erase your mark.”
Grey’s cold words swept over me like a frigid winter night. In his dark eyes, I saw that we both knew what he had said was the truth.
“You okay with chili?” Grey asked. “I don’t recall you being a vegan, from what I can remember.”
“Given that I’ve only had a quiche and some coffee all day, I’d eat just about anything at this point.”
“On that note, dinner is served my friend,” Grey announced as he set the steaming bowl in front of me. “It’s been in the slow-cooker all day.”
“Where are your roommates?” I asked.
Grey sat down in front of me. “They’re out of town. Your timing couldn’t have been better.”
I blew air on the spoonful of chili in front of me. The blend of spices and hardy texture created a delicious meal. It was comforting to have at a time like this when I couldn’t relax.
“Oh, nice,” I said.
The clinking of our spoons against the ceramic bowls was the only sound I could hear. Grey kept looking up at me between bites. I was surprised with as bushy his beard was it didn’t get messy.
“So, are you still with that girl? What was her name, Megan?”
I blinked. I didn’t want to tell him the news.
“No, we broke up a little over a year and a half ago.”
“What happened? I thought you both were going to get hitched one day. Weren’t you guys together for like, five years or something?”
My gut twisted as he reminded me of that fact.
“Yes, Grey. Five years.”
Grey’s expression became sullen. His eyes were softer, and his mouth was closed. I think he caught on that Megan wasn’t something I enjoyed talking about.
“Ah, shit man. I’m sorry I brought her up. We can drop it if you want to. Did she cheat on you or something?”
I swallowed. It was so hard for me to say it. It had been a year, and I still felt guilty about what happened.
“She broke up with me for what I became. She couldn’t handle the person I had turned into. She wanted to spend time with me, and I wanted to be at the office. I couldn’t balance the two.”
“No way…” Grey murmured.
“Yes. She made me choose. She made me choose between my party and her. I was livid at the time, for being given that ultimatum, and for the fact that she couldn’t wait until after the election…but back then, there was still a whole year left. She was fed up from being on the back burner while I became the most popular face in Washington. I chose the Convergence over her. I chose my passion over love.”
“Damn dude, that’s rough,” Grey consoled.
“No shit, I thought I was going to marry her, too. You remember we met back while we were in Georgetown.”
“Yep, I remember like it was yesterday. When I came to visit you during your junior year, and we all went out to the bar together, back when it was still a rush to be twenty-one.”
I laughed at the memory. What good times he spoke of.
“I’m surprised my liver made it through those four years.”
“And your GPA,” Grey added.
“Ha, that was a little worse off than my liver was,” I joked.
“We both made it, though, you know. The fact that we are both employed and not out in the streets after the Confinement is an accomplishment in and of itself.”
“That’s exactly what I want to change in Washington. There can’t be another Confinement again. Perhaps when Goodman takes office we will finally get some answers.”
“Aren’t you worried about the polls? I mean, after what happened last night and then today, do you think it might hurt your party in the election?”
I felt the same, crushing feeling I felt at my dad’s when he had mentioned that.
“It probably will…” I admitted.
There was a silence. I was finished with my chili and Grey was still working on his. He kept glancing up at me as he ate his food. Almost like he was afraid to break the tension in the air.
“So, how was the chili?” he asked awkwardly.
“It was great, man, I really appreciate the meal and everything else, too.”
“Anytime, man. What are friends for?”
“I don’t really know anymore. I work too much to have many of them.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Grey said.
“Why?”
“Because you are social, and one of the best flirts I’ve seen with women still to this day.”
“Women are different, man. I’m almost tired of how many know my name in D.C. It’s almost like, how am I supposed to build any kind of relationship when the press makes me out to be this good-looking hero whose shoes I can’t even fill. If only they knew it was just an idea. It all began with an idea. I’m no hero. I’m just like everybody else.”
“Have you been seeing anyone?”
“No, man, unfortunately no. Just one night stands with women I meet out at the bar. That I’ll probably never see again.”
Grey shook his head and laughed. “I wish that was my problem, you cold-hearted bastard.”
“Well, maybe if you’d shave that possum off your face you could get some.”
“You wish you could grow a beautiful beard like this,” he mocked, dramatically caressing his scraggly beard.
“I’ve never tried. I would grow one if I didn’t have to uphold an appearance and could work from home, you lucky shit.”
“I’ll trade places with you, pretty boy.”
I stared at him with a deadpan expression.
The humorous smile faded away from his face.
“Actually. I take that back,” he mumbled.
“I thought so.”
In the background of our conversation, the TV was on low volume, still playing the repetitive stream of information they had been looping all day. A couple hours had passed. Part of me had relaxed, and the other part was worried sick that the CIA would come barging through the door.
“So, Owen…what is your plan?” Grey asked, staring at me from across the table.
“My plan?” I stammered.
“Did I stutter?” he laughed at my zoned
-out response.
“I mean. No, I don’t. I don’t have the slightest idea of what to do, or where to go.”
Hearing my verbal surrender to the situation I was in made me sick. It was against my nature to give up, to quit. It didn’t feel right.
“Well,” he said slowly, with a smirk growing on his face. “Maybe I can help you. Maybe we can make a plan.”
“Elaborate.”
“Owen, do you even realize the gravity of what is going on here?”
“Yes, Grey, I do. I’m the most wanted fugitive in the US. Thank you for pointing out the obvious.”
He shook his head, dismissing me.
“What was the first thing you said to me when I asked you if you did it?”
“Fuck no—that was the first thing I said,” I answered him.
“Then after, you told me how someone must have created this lie, that it wasn’t just a mistake.”
“Yes…”
“Do I really have to piece this together for you, Owen?”
“Oh, come on Grey, stop this storytelling shit and spit it out!”
He grabbed our bowls and put them in the sink, and when he came back he remained standing.
“Owen, think about it. Perhaps the people who were behind the Confinement are behind this lie, too. Why else would they frame an innocent man? You and Cole are the leaders of the party. Don’t you see how your party’s existence threatens the continuity of their own?”
“I’m following you,” I said. Grey was getting worked up. He paced in the dining room and moved his hands around as he spoke.
“Here is the thing, Owen. If they win, if they convince the public long enough that you are the enemy, then you will become the enemy. If the truth never gets out, that it’s all a sham, then your cause will be lost. Everything you worked for will disappear. They will get what they want. Goodman will lose the election.”
I felt rage begin to bubble up inside of me. My heart rate increased.
“Then the question is,” I began, “who is they?”
“That is what we have to find out. Come, follow me to my office.”
“Remember what I told you I do?” Grey asked.
The Gambit Page 6
