The Gambit

by Allen Longstreet

  “Go get her!” the other voice urged. The rec-room was two rooms connected by a short hallway. The TV and couches were in one room, and all the games in the other. I saw Betty walking down the hall, and immediately my heart raced. Betty seemed harmless, but from what I had already seen in this prison, that could change in a second.

  She stopped a foot away from the table and glanced down at my puzzle.

  “Take a break. You need to see this.”

  “Why?” I asked, startled.

  “Just trust me. Remember the story you told me at dinner about why you are in here?”

  My eyes grew wide, and my heart fluttered. She didn’t need to say more. I pushed myself up from the table and I followed her down the hall. I could hear a man’s voice on the TV. When we rounded the corner, I saw three other female inmates surrounding the TV.

  “Make some room,” Betty demanded as we approached.

  “Is that really her name?” one of them asked, glancing at me.

  “Yes,” Betty answered for me. “Look, Rachel…”

  The anchor’s voice was finally clear.

  “…In remembrance of Guy Fawkes Day, every November 5th, people across the country and the globe protest political corruption. In years previous, it has primarily been in Washington, D.C., and many other capital cities around the world. Today is different. Many believe it is due to the article published by the New York Times two days ago regarding the framing of Owen Marina for the bombs at Georgetown, and Viktor Ivankov for the events that took place on Black Monday. Once again, here is an aerial view of what is going on in Times Square. Tens of thousands have shown up to protest, shutting down city streets, and we are getting reports in from Washington, Miami, Los Angeles, Chicago. These protests are nationwide…”

  My mouth was agape. I covered it with my hand in disbelief of what I saw. There were thousands of people chanting in the streets. I saw signs that read, Free Rachel Flores. My eyes began to glisten, and I choked back a cry. There were others, one which read, Viktor is a Hero. Owen is a Hero. I saw another, With One Lie Our Freedom Dies.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The tears streamed down my face as I witnessed this moment. The passion in the voices of the people was unreal, all standing up for us at the same time. The article worked. People knew.

  The camera zoomed in, and I saw a woman holding a huge white sign.

  She Saved Us.

  I couldn’t silence my cries any longer. That sign was about me. If only they could have come along for the journey I had been on and felt the pain. Then, maybe, they would realize that I didn’t save them at all. We saved ourselves. I was just like them. I just knew what I had to do, and I did it. Owen was the real hero of this story, and maybe now his effort wouldn’t be forgotten. Maybe they would remember.

  I stood at the edge of my office, looking down at the crowd of thousands in awe. Emotion welled up inside of me, and I covered my mouth in shock. The floor to ceiling glass gave our office a perfect view of the protests below. The signs were about everything that was in the article, from freeing Rachel, to hailing Viktor and Owen as heroes. It was what they deserved. After what our government put them through, it was more than necessary. Owen gave his life for his party, and this story.

  We could hear the echoes of the voices below, and the photographers in my office were shooting through the windows, and using the roof access to document this moment in history. I knew when I signed my signature approving Rachel’s article to be published, it would galvanize the masses into action.

  Nothing had been written so truthful in decades. I read it dozens of times. It made me cry. Rachel’s writing was so raw—it was a beautiful, yet tragic story. It not only told the series of events that led up to Owen’s death, it touched the hearts of those who read it. Stefan had the same reaction. He called me up shouting in joy.

  The election was in three days, and I was nervous on whether or not we could still beat the democrats. With their chairwoman exposed as the most villainous figure in Washington, I didn’t see how that would be possible. Although Owen’s party hadn’t won yet, I felt like I could finally breathe. Rachel was still in jail, and unfortunately, there was nothing I could do at the moment about that. I just hoped she had access to a TV, so she could see what came about after her article. In all my years, I had never seen anything like this. Today would go down in history as the day when our country finally woke up. Owen and his party helped provide the initial push towards change, and it was somewhat like a spark. Rachel, what she did with her article, was like pouring gasoline and causing a blaze.

  Veronica was dead, and the people involved would soon be held accountable for their treason. The American People wouldn’t settle for anything less, and I was damn proud to have been a part of this. The people knew, and that truth was priceless.

  Emilio would be proud. I knew he would be if he was here, to see the effect his daughter had at such a young age.

  “Ian,” Sharon called from behind me. Her head popped in between the crack in my office door.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She made a confused face and shrugged her shoulders.

  “I mean, I can send it to your voicemail if you want. She doesn’t speak good English.”

  “What is it regarding?”

  “Well, she claims to have met Owen during his journey. She said something about a picture.”

  Although the article was already published, this intrigued me. I figured I would give the lady a chance. Given the popularity of the article, people had been calling en masse to our office. They ranged from people who went to school with Owen, worked in his office, or knew him when he was a child. This though, made me wonder enough to want to speak to the woman.

  “Send it to my line,” I said.

  Sharon nodded her head, and her poufy, blonde curls bounced as she did so.

  I walked over to my desk and let out a long exhale. I hadn’t felt this relieved since I found out Rachel was still alive and well.

  Line four flashed red, and I picked it up.

  “Ian Westlake,” I said.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Westlake,” a woman responded on the other end. Her oriental accent was extremely heavy like Sharon described.

  “Hello there. You mentioned to my assistant that you had a picture of Owen during his journey?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “What is your name, my dear?”

  “My name is Laura Vang, and I meet Owen three weeks ago.”

  “Tell me, Laura. How did you meet him?”

  “Well, he was eating pizza across from me at hotel restaurant in Raleigh. He so handsome, you know. I couldn’t not stare. We end up talking for long time, and he was so kind to me. I know the government frame him all along, and I tell him advice.”

  “Really? How interesting. How did this picture come about?”

  I heard her chuckle, and I couldn’t tell if she was just sniffling, or if she was tearing up.

  “My daughter and I very poor, and Owen needed hair dye and new clothes. He offer me money to get it. He gave me twenty-two hundred dollars, and gave me twenty-eight hundred more when I came back. I bought a camera, and we took a picture together. I read article and decided to call. You know, I cry when Owen die. He asked me not to show the picture to anyone.”

  “Yeah…” I began, with a somber note in my voice. “I heard from a few people he was a very good guy.”

  Rachel…

  “Yes, Mr. Westlake—very good guy. May I email you picture? Maybe, if you publish an article in future, you can use my photo. It would be an honor.”

  “Yes, please. My email is ian.westlake@thetimes.com.”

  “Okay, I send now.”

  “Thank you very much, Ms. Vang. It was a pleasure to hear from you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” her raspy voice crackled.

  The line hung up, and I opened my laptop. Within a few moments, I saw a new email in my inbox. I opened it. There was an attachment, and i
t took only a second to download.

  When it opened, I couldn’t help but grin.

  It was Owen, standing with his arm around this Asian woman with a humungous grin. She had a missing tooth, and the ones that remained were yellow. She wore a green windbreaker and purple pants. He was smiling, too. The whole feeling I got from the photo was genuine. Even better, Owen’s hair was still his natural color—sandy-brown.

  This photo was from the beginning of Owen’s struggle, and now he was no longer on this Earth. Wherever he was, I knew if he could see the thousands upon thousands of people filling the streets of every major city in the country, he would be smiling. He lost his life, but what was gained in the process was something no money could ever buy. He saved his fellow man, risking his own life, and in the end, sacrificed himself for the greater good…because of his bravery, America would not perish. Lady liberty would live on.

  I smiled, and my eyes glistened. The truth was what he was fighting so hard to get out, and it worked. There was also another truth I was aware of, and that was the most important of all.

  A true hero never dies…

  - 26 -

  Today was a special day. I got a letter from Grey. It sat on the wrought iron table in front of me—unopened. I didn’t dare open it at home. If I did, I risked staying in bed all day. It would have brought back too many memories. So, I forced myself out of my flat and came here. I hadn’t talked to any of them since the day I killed Veronica.

  I spent my twenty-fourth birthday in prison. Ian came and visited, and I appreciated that. I had no one left to celebrate it with. Those two and a half months I spent in there were a reminder of why we did this in the first place. It was like living through the Confinement twice. I couldn’t stand to see the color orange anymore. It made me sick. I read probably over a hundred books while I was in there and had a lot of time to think. Too much time.

  Sometimes, the silence was my best friend. Sometimes, it was my worst enemy. In that time in prison, it was my only companion. I grew to know it well. Now, the silence wasn’t as bad. It was calming because I was free, but, deep down, I wished I had someone to talk to. My family was gone, and so were my friends. Glancing down at the American return address on the envelope and seeing the name Grey Maxwell made my stomach tremble. I missed them all terribly. It was a short and tumultuous two weeks, but during that time we made an unbreakable bond. How could one forget the things we went through? It was impossible. I was changed from the experience, and I doubted I would ever feel normal again. Then again, did I really want to? No. The answer was no. I would have done it all over again just to see him one more time. He still visited me in my dreams, and I savored every moment of it.

  I thought in time it would get easier, but I was wrong. I couldn’t think of his name anymore. It just hurt too much. The memory of him lived on in my mind forever, and I was perfectly content with that. I had no desire to forget. I knew if it were reversed, he would do the same thing. He wouldn’t forget me. It wasn’t his nature.

  I sipped on my coffee and stared out at the sea. Its cerulean hue was emphasized by the light of the sun, which beamed down on me. I had a light, long-sleeve shirt on. It was cool, but not cold. This part of France stayed temperate for the majority of the year. I hadn’t even been here two months, but I was slowly adjusting to the way of life. People needed less to make themselves happy. The instant gratification of life in the west was nonexistent. Stores closed at seven, and there was more time off for workers than back home in the States. Sure, there were plenty of things that were different. The language was one, and I was slowly learning. The cars were smaller, and there wasn’t really any fast food. So far, though, I liked it. It reminded me of him.

  The letter beckoned me to rip it open, but I didn’t. I grabbed it and rubbed my fingers along its edges. I had to prepare for the emotions that would come with reading whatever was inside, and hearing Grey’s voice as I read it would be enough to put me over the edge. I wondered whatever wound up of Viktor and Natasha, and I prayed that Briana was healthy and happy.

  I tossed my hair over one shoulder and smoothed it out with my hands. It had begun to grow back out, revealing its natural brown color, and I quickly dyed it again. There was something about having black hair that made me feel whole. I clung to my former self. The reality in which he was still alive. It also matched my soul—black, and empty. Maybe one day I would let it grow out again, but in the meantime there wasn’t a chance in Hell.

  Ian called me one night shortly after I moved. After some small talk, he had asked me why I decided to live here. I didn’t tell him the real truth because he didn’t need to know. I told him it was because of the weather, and that I needed to get away. He was surprised because, after all that had changed from my article, he figured I would have stayed. He couldn’t have been more wrong in that assumption. Why would I have wanted to stay in the country that he gave his life for? I was thankful the rest of the country would be safe, but for me, it was different. Every step I took on that ground was like walking on thorns. It caused my insides to ache after a while. I was living on the land that took the man I loved from me. I couldn’t do it any longer. I knew that the moment I got out I would be gone…and I kept that promise to myself. So now, here I was in Cannes, living in a flat and taking a much-needed break. Ian had no clue why I really came here. It was because of him. Anything I could do to get closer to him, I did.

  “I was thinking more like the French Riviera. Nice, Cannes—maybe spend a night playing blackjack at a casino in Monaco. I can see it now, waking up and having coffee at an outdoor café, basking in the sun on the beach, and finishing the day off with some French Cuisine and a glass of wine.”

  I heard the echo of my own voice that night on the beach. It was my suggestion, but he told me immediately after how he wanted to visit too, because his mother loved French Culture. If only he were here with me, on the vacation he would never get to go on.

  I drew in a sharp inhale and steadied it as I let it out.

  It took everything in my being to hold myself together.

  That was why I came here. It reminded me of him. It was where we were going to go together when all of this was over, and now it was…but I was alone. That, was why I cried falling asleep at night. I fell in love with a man who I only knew for two weeks, and I would never get the chance to have a chance at loving him. It killed me inside.

  The palm trees whipped around in the breeze, and cars beeped their horns as they drove down the road between me and the sea. I was already getting used to this stress-free way of life, but something was missing. He was missing, and I couldn’t get him back.

  On November 8th, it pained me that I couldn’t cast my vote for the Convergence Party, but I knew that up above, wherever he may have been, he knew I did what I could to keep his party alive long enough to make it to the election. My article had touched every corner of the country, and that evening from jail I cried when we heard the news.

  John Goodman was President-Elect. The Convergence Party won—we won. It was the happiest I had been since before he died. I smiled for an entire week it felt like. After everything we had been through, our effort paid off. I did what Owen wanted me to do most, and he was right, it worked. My article worked. I remembered looking up at the ceiling of my jail cell and cheering to the sky, telling him that his party had won. I cried even harder when I realized he wasn’t here to celebrate, and neither was Cole. The founders of the Convergence Party were killed by the hands of a few evil people. I slept easy that night, though, knowing that the people would never have to be awoken in the middle of the night, thrown into flatbed trucks, and brought to Camps. The Confinement was a blemish in our history, and it would never be repeated. The people behind all of it were held to justice. My court date was set for June, but luckily for me, I was pardoned by President John Goodman on January 20th—the same day he took office. It was an amazing feeling to finally be free again, but I didn’t stay long. It hurt too badly to be reminde
d of the things he gave his life for. Sure, I could have lived the rest of my life in the States and enjoyed the fruits of his labor, but I couldn’t. Maybe I would go back someday, but not now. It was too soon. There was nothing left for me over there but pain.

  I took a deep breath and let out a shuddering exhale. I used my finger to open the envelope, and I pulled out some papers. It wasn’t just one. It looked like a letter, and a long one at that. I noticed some of them were photocopies of something, but I decided to start with what I saw first. I found the front page and tried to calm my racing heart before I began.

  Dear Rachel,

  It will probably take you a month to get this letter because you are across the pond, but I hope you do write back. I miss having you around, and I think of the days we all spent together constantly. I have a feeling you do too, and that was why you couldn’t stay around after you were let out…

  Grey—he was always a few steps ahead of everyone. I chuckled from his accurate assumption.

  How is the French Riviera? Are you eating lots of baguettes and drinking lots of wine? Please do, for me. Briana is well. I spoke to her recently. She is back in Orlando and apparently going to college. That is, after she got back from her three-month trip around the globe with her boyfriend. She told me to please tell you that she loves you and misses you, and that she will come visit soon.

  CBS did a Sixty Minutes special on Owen and all of those involved. I decided to give them some of my side of the story, and they dubbed me as the ‘hacker who couldn’t be stopped.’ I wished Natasha would have joined me, because she is just as talented as I am. I have only spoken to Viktor once, but from what he told me he is back in New York with Natasha. He was reunited with his family for the first time in two years, and he said he has no plans on leaving them any time soon. Lucas retired from the CIA and was given an honorary ceremony for his bravery against what Veronica and company were up to. Megan left Washington altogether he told me, and I’m not sure where she went. Vinny and Luke say hello. They are making good use of their money. They are expanding the garage. I hope you are making good use of yours, too.