My heart pounded as I fought against the burly police officers to get a better view. I knew I was risking it all. They could have recognized me, but it didn’t matter. I had to know. I didn’t even notice that I was screaming.
“What did you do to him?!” I screamed a guttural, helpless cry.
The cops broke for just a moment, and what I saw made me freeze.
It was him. Owen. He lay on the street face down, and I caught a glimpse of his black hair identical to mine. I was pushed back violently by the cops, and I fell hard against the asphalt. I was probably scraped up, maybe even bleeding, but I pulled myself up to my feet. The image I just saw burned into my mind as if it were being branded there.
I could have sworn I saw blood. It was pooling up beside him. I couldn’t breathe, and I began to cough and choke. I now walked the same direction as everyone else, but I couldn’t feel my feet. I didn’t know where I was going. Heat flushed over the length of my body, my lower lip trembled, and a rock formed in my throat. To everyone around me, I was just a stranger. They had no idea I was his partner in crime. They had no idea I was his Bonnie.
The thought made me burst into tears. I covered my mouth in an attempt to silence my cries. I grabbed my gut with my other hand because I was almost certain I was going to vomit. The streets were wide and open, but I felt them narrowing. Everything was closing in. Hot tears blurred my vision, and I kept bumping into people. In those first steps, even after what I had saw, it almost felt like it wasn’t real. No, that wasn’t him. That wasn’t Owen. It couldn’t have been real. He was supposed to be in the back of a police car, going to some jail cell. The tears fell, but it hadn’t hit me. Then, like a freight train, it did.
Owen was dead. I saw it with my own eyes. He was bleeding out on the street. I collapsed to my knees and covered my face with my scarf. I sobbed, yet tried to conceal it. Someone reached down to grab my forearm and tried to help me to my feet. I pulled myself up by their grasp and shook them off. The tears dripped down every part of my face.
Owen Marina was dead. My Clyde was dead. The man I loved was dead. The thoughts attacked my mind like a ruthless parasite, and I could barely function. Where was I?
Suddenly, I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders, and through blurred vision I thought I saw the scruff of Grey’s chin. He guided me somewhere, and I heard a door open. I was pushed into the back seat, and I realized I was back in the car. I felt the camera get ripped from my neck.
“What happened? What just happened?” Grey’s voice asked behind the sound of the engine accelerating.
My lower lip trembled, and I sobbed so hard I could barely keep my mouth open. My forehead was so scrunched up it hurt.
“He’s dead!” I screamed, followed by guttural moans. “He—he’s dead! I saw it, he is dead, lying on the street. They shot him! He—he is gone…” My voice stretched out and was distorted from the choking tears.
I could hear Grey coughing, but he didn’t respond.
“Hold on tight,” Viktor’s steady voice instructed. “We have to get out of here, fast. They are going to block off these streets so quickly we will be dead meat if we aren’t quick enough.”
I didn’t remember the car ride. It was a blur. Just as soon as I was pushed in, I was pulled back out just as fast. I couldn’t process much, but I went down some steps. They looked like the steps that led to the basement—Viktor’s hideout. I heard him fiddling with keys, and then he swung open the door. Grey had one arm of mine around his shoulder, and he was supporting me walking. I heard him cry the entire way back. He didn’t say a word. He just cried.
“No—no! Don’t let her in here!” Briana shouted; her voice was frantic.
“What do you mean?” Viktor shot back.
“Natasha, turn it off! Turn it off, now!”
“I’m trying, the button doesn’t work, and I can’t find the remote!”
“What the hell is going on here?” Viktor raised his voice.
“She can’t see this right now, Viktor, please! Natasha, unplug it!”
She…
Was she talking about me? I shook myself out of Grey’s grasp and stumbled forward past the worn couch. The old TV set was behind Briana. She pressed her backside against the screen so I couldn’t see it.
“What don’t you want me to see?” I asked, disoriented.
“Amiga, after what you just saw out there, you can’t see this. Trust me!” I pushed her out of the way. “Please, Rachel! Don’t do this to yourself right now! Trust me!”
I could barely hear the muffled voices of the news anchors behind all of our shouting. I wiped the tears out of my eyes and pointed a finger at Natasha as she neared the outlet.
“Don’t even think about it.” I warned her. She stopped in her tracks and pressed her lips together, turning around. Then, I noticed Briana and Natasha’s faces were wet from tears. Briana began bawling and walked over to the couch. The sound pulled me back into reality a bit because I had never heard her cry like that. I had helped her through dozens of break-ups, but she never cried like that.
“I’m begging you, Rachel! Just wait!” she shouted again between groaning tears.
“Shh!”
I neared the faded image of the old TV set and bent down to hear better.
“…We are covering both stories simultaneously. We will go back to the scene outside of the CNN building in Downtown Atlanta in just a moment, but back to our other breaking news out Melbourne Beach, Florida…”
“No!” Briana shrieked. Her voice was raspy from yelling.
I stared at the TV screen numb, afraid of what was to come next.
“…Marta Cruz, the mother of Rachel Flores, was found dead this morning in her beachside home. Emergency responders found a suicide note vaguely stating her daughter’s involvement with a terrorist was just too much to bear. She said she had failed her family and her daughter…”
The words became garbled. I heard Briana’s violent cries behind me, followed by the muffled voices of Viktor and Grey. My breathing was shallow and rapid, and I could feel my stomach churning. I began to dry heave and retched everything that was in my stomach onto the carpet floor. I felt the clammy hands of someone around my arms, and they dragged me away. The room was closing in, and I felt so hot the sweat must have been dripping from my skin. I dry heaved on an empty stomach, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t listen. I couldn’t hear anybody.
A tremor arose within me, and it was so painful it made all the muscles from my stomach to my forehead contract, and I let out the longest, rawest cry I had ever experienced. Drool slipped out of my mouth which was stuck open, and I groaned and sobbed. I was too numb to feel anger. I was too hurt to feel anything else but pain. I hiccupped and cried violently, and my vision began to turn fuzzy. The room turned yellow, then black. I hit the floor.
I remembered one thought.
They killed my mother.
I locked the door behind me and walked to the far corner of my office, cupping my mouth in order to silence my cries. I hadn’t cried in years…but this, this was something tragic. Rachel’s mother was dead.
I sobbed harder and slammed my fist against the Plexiglas that encircled my office. It bounced and recoiled away, but I ignored the throbbing pain. Even nine-hundred miles away, I could feel Rachel’s anguish. It singed the edges of my soul. I had watched her grow up without her father, and now, her mother was gone. Both of her parents were dead at the age of twenty-three. She didn’t deserve this kind of misery so young.
I walked over to my desk and wiped the tears from my eyes. I grabbed the picture frame and stared at the photo. It only crushed my heart further. To this day, it was my favorite. It was of our families’ picture at one of the Christmas parties here at work. My wife held Stefan, with her poufy brown curls and a brilliant white smile. My two oldest sons clung to my legs, being camera shy as always. Emilio and Marta held Rachel in their arms. She was just a year old in the picture. I had lost my best friend, but my goddaughter had now
lost it all.
“Why?!” I screamed, sobbing harder. I needed to compose myself. My entire staff was just beyond the door, and I couldn’t stay in here forever. I had to remind myself that the anguish I felt was only a fraction of what Rachel was going through. I wished I could have just given her a hug and told her that I loved her. Deep breaths, I told myself. Deep breaths.
Marta was a good woman. She would have never done something like the news suggested she did. Rachel was her only child. The fact that they were even allowing such lies on the air was abhorrent. I was absolutely certain the same people who took down Owen were the ones who killed Marta. They were also the ones who staged the bombs at the final debate and outside of Wall Street on Black Monday. They were the same people who arrested my son for conducting research and framed Viktor Ivankov for letting the radioactive material through the Port of New York.
Like my son proved, the isotopes came from here. Russia was never involved. It was all one monstrous lie. It seemed like it consumed anyone that tried to uncover the truth, and now, my greatest fear was that Rachel would end up like Owen. That, was a possibility I couldn’t let come true.
I turned around, glancing at all the papers strewn about my desk. I had so much information that could take them down, but something was missing. If we had everything we needed, why did this happen? What if I had made Rachel write her article sooner?
Maybe then, Owen would have still been alive. I felt so lost, and I didn’t know where to turn next. I only hoped that the magic piece of the puzzle fell into place soon because we were running out of time. The election was two weeks away, and if we didn’t find a way to reveal the truth to the rest of the country, all of our time would be up. They would win.
This was the happiest I had been in over two years. I could barely recall when that was—it must have been back when we came up with the idea. I still remembered the dimly lit boardroom where it all began. It was a big deal. The President was there in secret. A few volunteered to lead the pack, but I think I was chosen because of my fervor. The President knew I had a cutthroat attitude, and that was exactly the kind of person he wanted. Time had been slipping by far too fast for my liking, and yet I had reaped just a tiny portion of what I sewed. Years of time and effort…for what? Was I better off than when I was just starting off as a paralegal for some chauvinist lawyer here in Washington? No. Men still ran this country, and I was determined to absorb as much power as I possibly could.
When I began my job as the assistant director of finances for the Democratic Party, I was still Ms. Goody two-shoes. I was trying to climb the ladder just like everyone else was, the right way, but it wasn’t getting me anywhere. I dressed nice, was poised, and kept myself knowledgeable in the areas I needed to be, but it was never enough. Sometimes, I watched how the chairman would talk to some of his right-hand men, the ones just beneath him. When they didn’t do what he wanted, he would get rid of them, replacing them with people who did. He talked down to me many times, but his public image was quite the opposite of how he acted in the office. He was kind, charming, and a social butterfly. I studied him for years. All while I was rubbing elbows with the right people.
One day, he stepped down. Ironically enough, it was just shy of a month before the plan began. Sometimes I wondered if he was a kinder person than he made himself out to be, because I would never forget the look on his face when he came back from that half-day meeting. His color was gone, and he immediately stepped down. We never heard of him in Washington again.
I was nominated for the title by a few of my well-connected colleagues. My predecessor must have had a cleaner conscience than me because when I was briefed on the plan, I was all for it. The amount of wealth would be unimaginable. I had few friends. I was a widow with no children. Life had sucked the happiness out of me. If there were people I wanted to include in our safety net, I was sure that I’d be able to.
Being a doormat gets old. I was fast approaching fifty, and that opportunity was the chance I always dreamed of. Why should I be forced to live in the shadows of my counterparts’ successes? I was done being the nice girl because in forty-something odd years it had gotten me nowhere. It was my turn to call the shots.
It became the drug I was still addicted to, and there wasn’t a sweeter high than what I felt right now.
Owen was dead. The chase was finally over. I knew from the very beginning we would win, and I was overjoyed to know that I had succeeded. I had carried out the duties I was given—to eliminate the threat the Convergence Party posed to our plan. It was supposed to have been much easier than this, but I am one to know, there were always bumps in the road. If Cole and Owen would have died at the debate, we would have had no struggle. The public would have just accepted that their favorite political hero was actually a terrorist, and the polls would plummet like we predicted. That happened naturally, even when Owen made it out of the debate alive. Now, we would have to clean up the mess he made. We would have to wipe that video clean off the internet, and the news could never replay it. CNN would regret their decision of not pulling the plug in time just to keep their ratings high. It was embarrassing to be called out like that on national TV, but I would have the last laugh. When the election was behind us, we could finally proceed. This time the Supreme Court would be useless. Our legislative branch would dissolve in a matter of days. The American People would be powerless to change the future we envisioned so long ago. We knew how it needed to be done. Quick and sharp. So fast that they wouldn’t know what happened to them.
Our vision would come true—a totalitarian society. Half of our armed forces could possibly rebel, but the other half were just dumb grunts. They would do whatever they were told. We would quadruple their pay if we had to, to keep them on our side. Once the people were in the Camps again, there would be no getting out. Eventually, we would convert the holding camps into their own little cities. Everyone would be assigned a role. They would have to work if they wanted to be fed.
See, the thing was, we wouldn’t have been hurting ourselves compared to any other countries. They would have followed suit in time. We would pave the way for the others. That was the reason all of this came to be—knowledge. The people were finally waking up and realizing what was really going on in government. The internet was the main contributor to that awakening. With that endless wealth of information, a citizen could essentially find out whatever he or she would like to find. Or rather, they could share it with the world in a single click. That was why the video of Owen spilling the truth had to vanish quickly. With such a global connection, it could be seen around the planet in a matter of hours. Luckily, we had the best of the best working for us. In just a few months, the internet, free and open, would be a thing of the past. We would determine what people could read, watch, and learn. Ten years ago I would have been appalled at the idea, but now it was quite alluring. I had power, but I wanted more.
A few years prior, once I became the chairwoman of the party, I finally saw what went on behind closed doors. The exchanges of large amounts of money, the ridiculous bills written late at night, and the shady deals made in five-star hotels paid by our tax dollars. The longer I was involved, the more I realized the people that surrounded me were hypocrites. They would cut funding to this or that, and yet give themselves pay raises, all while convincing the voters to give them their support.
It made me sick. Hard to believe, I know…but it did. Our government was both a plutocracy and an oligarchy. A small group of individuals with an exorbitant amount of money controlled almost everything that went on in the government. Many in the country, like Owen and Cole, recognized this and grew their following from people who understood what was really going on.
I knew it was going on long before they did. Their vision was noble, in all honestly, but sometimes the good people in this world got suffocated by the ones who played dirty. I was just like Owen at one point, when I was his age, and then this world made me bitter. Everything I saw going on in Washington made me
want to strangle the people committing these heinous acts.
No. I was patient. I took the time needed to climb the ladder, and once I learned how to play their game, I played it better. I played it so well that when I took this position, and when I was briefed on the beginnings of the Confinement, I realized I couldn’t turn back. Fuck doing what was right. I would have ended up just like them—dead.
I couldn’t beat them, so I joined them. Not only did I join them, I led them. To be given temporary control over the CIA was entirely unheard of. It wasn’t like I was going to contest. I will never forget the day the parked van blew up outside of Wall Street. It happened exactly as we had planned, few casualties, and a lot of contamination. FEMA and the EPA started the cleanup, but a few people in both agencies knew what to do with the information that was recorded. It was taken and false evidence was produced instead. It worked seamlessly. All I had to do was wait. Then, the riots began. First it was Los Angeles, then Miami, Chicago, Atlanta, Philadelphia. The list went on and on. Lines of people trying to withdraw their money. When they couldn’t, they set buildings afire, torched cars—it was like an all-out war.
Then, Obama stepped in and signed an executive order to initiate the Confinement. None of it was televised. The citizens were blindsided, but that was exactly what we wanted. January 15th when the clock struck midnight, it began. The people living within a twenty-mile radius of the two-hundred cities with the greatest populations were rounded up like animals and put into the makeshift camps. Then, the fences were erected. The National Guard and the Army helped facilitate the process, and amazingly, it was all done within twenty-four hours. Everything was going as planned until the third party resistance groups began to show up in thousands at their state and local government buildings. Although, many times those cities were smaller, it didn’t matter. The nine Supreme Court justices took notice, and Ruth Bader Ginsburg, along with a few others heard the voices of the people on the outside of the boundaries. Unfortunately for us, the Supreme Court was the one entity that wasn’t in on the plan. They were the law of the land, and many of them couldn’t be bribed. After three months from the date, they overturned Obama’s order. Everyone was released. It was a blow to our morale.
The Gambit Page 41
