by Ed Hurst
As they came in the door, from behind the cash register she looked up. Placing her arms akimbo, she demanded, “What are you dragging in here, now?”
Michael was stunned by the familiarity of her tone, and was about to make some stiff reply about Burk, but was cut off by the younger man’s surprisingly gruff response in a mock Appalachian accent. “Don’t matter, woman. You jest get us up some grub and be quick about it!” She looked shocked for a mere second, and then both she and Burk burst into laughter. She came out from behind the counter and gave Burk a hug.
“It’s been a long time, Sonny. Where have you been?”
“Lookin’ fer my mama,” he continued the phony Appalachian accent.
“Honey, I’ve been right here all along. You’re the one who keeps wandering off.” She stepped behind the counter and began assembling cups and saucers. As she poured coffee in them, she turned and said, “Sit where you like, boys.”
As they took opposite sides of an empty booth, Michael said, “Well, I didn’t realize I was in famous company.”
Burk grinned. “I try to make friends and treat people right wherever I go. I let them decide if they’d rather be enemies. I don’t like to talk about what happens when things get ugly, but I’m here and don’t have too many scars.”
The woman set their cups of coffee down, then placed a menu in front of Michael. Turning to Burk, she said, “I already know what you want.” Burk shook his head once sharply and grinned. To Michael, “Since you’re his friend, I recommend you try the ocean catfish today.”
That suited Michael, and he took a sip of coffee. While Burk still held his to his mouth, Michael noted, “Now that’s good stuff. I’ll have to remember this place, if only for the great coffee.”
“Mama knows what she’s doing,” Burk agreed quietly.
“I have a brown belt in karate,” Michael began, “but I haven’t had to use it much. I’m glad I didn’t need to try it against you. I’m better at asking questions and typing on computers than fighting.”
“I wish I had access to computers more often.” Burk explained he learned all he knew from library computers and a couple of Internet cafes. “I know just enough to hate Windows.”
“I wish I had time and inclination to learn something else. Macs are popular with a lot of news rooms, but I just can’t see spending that much money on a Mac notebook, when I’m sure I’ll drop it sooner or later. I’ve lost three laptops that way.”
“Ever heard of Linux or BSD?” Burk asked.
“Oh, I’m no hacker. I know my way around the Net really well, and can break into some systems when it really matters. Still, I can’t see myself being a complete computer geek,” Michael snorted.
“It’s not like that,” Burk countered softly. “The main advantage is you can be sure there are no back doors in the system. You know the NSA has keys to every version of Windows so far? Well, researchers keep finding something in the latest version which still responds to outside prompting from certain government servers.”
“Well, it’s not like there aren’t enough security holes anyway. How many active Windows viruses are out there now? A million? Then there’s spyware, rootkits – you name it. I’m more paranoid about taking my company laptop online than I am about investigating drug-running street gangs first person.”
Burk grinned, shaking his head slowly. He looked up as Mama approached with their plates. He spoke again in that faux Appalachian sharp tone: “It’s about time, woman!”
She winked at Michael. “Oh, hush up and eat. You look so starved, I’ll bet your friend could whip you all over the parking lot,” the woman answered playfully.
Grabbing her hand, Burk kissed it and spoke in his normal voice. “You take such good care of me! How did I live before I met you?” She grinned and walked away, just as a large group entered the cafe.
After a few minutes of stuffing their faces, Michael continued. “So you say those other systems aren’t just for geeks?”
Over a mouthful of chicken-fried steak and gravy, Burk managed to say, “No. It’s about people determined to be free from interference. Lots of ordinary people use them.” He swallowed and took a sip of coffee. “I know a guy in Texas, an old disabled veteran. He writes a blog and some articles about the Bible, politics, history, privacy issues – and he does it all on a system he built from spare parts running FreeBSD. Probably knows less about computers then you do, just surfs the web like anyone else. He’s not a guru; he just decided to take the time to learn enough to use it. You’d be surprised how many of those underground patriot militia types run Linux because the government can’t easily snoop their systems.”
“What about viruses?”
Burk took a moment to chew and swallow. “There aren’t very many, and all of them are obsolete. That is, they only work on software nobody runs any more. It takes an active and attentive effort to crack even those poorly secured.”
“You mean their fans aren’t like Windows users, some whom are still running XP, for goodness sakes?”
“The core group of people who use Linux and BSD are better about paying attention to security updates. It’s all free to begin with. You can buy nice boxed sets, but the copyright they all use requires them to offer it free in some form. Nobody owns it; it’s just shared among people who believe it’s important to keep it free and open. People all over the world, and plenty of them hate governments – ours especially – and they’d never knowingly give any secret keys, nor build back doors. There’s no way to hide them, since the source code itself is there for anybody to see.”
Michael’s left hip was beeping out a lilting tune. “Excuse me,” he said as he pulled out a cell phone. Looking at the face of it, he formed a silent “uh-oh.” With a forced cheery note, he said, “Hello, this is...”
He never got to say another word, aside from the occasional “yes” and “mm-hm.” Finally, there was a short, “Okay.” He tapped the screen a couple of times and returned it to carrier mounted on his belt. He stared at the table a moment, with his hands together on the edge, fingers interlaced. The sound of one foot tapping was just audible from under the table.
Burk offered, “I’m not keeping you from your girlfriend, am I?”
Michael looked up with a half-grin. “No such thing. That was work.” Lifting his cup, he took a sip while staring out the window.
By now, Burk had cleaned his plate – literally. During the whole meal, he had kept his fork in his left hand, and his knife in the right. With the latter he cut, and loaded the fork with anything he couldn’t simply stab. The entire meal, gravy and all, had been scraped neatly onto is fork and then poked into his mouth. Michael decided he was finished, and slid out of the seat. He dropped some bills on the table and prepared to leave. Burk had already moved to give Mama a parting hug. “Maybe I’ll see you again in a couple of days.”
“Looking forward to it, big boy.”
Michael lavished praise on the food without slowing and went out the door. He could see his car now sitting level across the highway. Turning, he checked to see Burk hurrying behind him. Making sure to get a receipt from the tire man, Michael quickly got in his car and started the motor. Burk figured if he hadn’t already been buckled in, he’d have been left there, fifty miles short of his goal.
Chapter 5
They rolled through the woods, and then descended into the valley with open fields. Michael seemed far away. Then, as they were just entering the edge of town, he turned suddenly and asked Burk to recite some of the names in the Shadow Government. He listened, and recognized two or three as names of bankers not far from his office.
As they pulled up near the city library, Michael asked, “How would I get hold of you, say, a week from now?”
Burk mulled it over for moment. The thin whiskers attached to his upper chin stood out straight as the boy bit his lower lip a moment. Then he pursed his lips and frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t even have an email address right now. I lost the last one when I didn
’t log in for three months.”
“Here,” Michael said reaching into a briefcase lying on the seat behind him. He pulled out another cell phone, and a cord with a wall wart on one end. “This one is older, but it still works just fine. The battery stays charged pretty well unless you actually use it. Just plug it in whenever you get close to electricity. Surely you can find a pocket to keep it in. The real advantage is it’s got a stronger than average signal and a better receiver. If you are within five miles of a service area, especially on high ground, it should work fine. If I don’t call you by this time next week, you call me. Okay?” He scribbled the number on back of a business card, and passed it over as well.
“Why does it matter so much? These things aren’t cheap, I know.”
“Burk, I may need your help and expertise. That last call was to cancel the story in Portland. That leaves me with another I’ve been mulling, but you’ve given me a much better angle. I’m going to check on that Shadow Government business in my own town. If I can sell the story, I’ll be glad to share the pay with you, or buy you anything you might want or need.”
Burk half-grinned. “Okay. That might be useful.”
Michael added, “Who knows? I might need you along for some of this later.”
Burk looked dubious as he got out of the car. Michael popped the trunk lid from inside. When Burk had gotten his bags and closed it again, Michael knew he had to move right away, or risk getting any more of the police officer’s attention, which appeared about ready to turn around as he passed going the other way. Pulling away, Michael wasted no time hitting Interstate 5 and heading south to beat the sundown getting home.
Burk took a short detour to the alley behind the library, then came in the side entrance and followed the hall around to the front desk area. As he strode in the door, the librarian smiled at him. Burk’s size was imposing, but his round face and fuzzy, never-been-shaved teenager’s beard made people underestimate his real strength – his intellect. As he approached her desk, she pulled out some books she had been saving. He stretched out his hand, his face one big grateful smile, and thanked her profusely for going to so much trouble for him. Patrons like him made her job worthwhile, in her opinion. He retreated to his favorite corner, sliding down into the well-worn soft seat, and lost himself in the first book. It had been translated from French, and went on at length explaining how feudalism contained the seeds of its own destruction.
Having taught himself speed reading, he was nearly finished with the small stack of books when the intercom gently notified him the library was closing in ten minutes. Nine o’clock already?
Once back out in the alley behind, he retrieved his bags from the old lady who kept them for him. They exchanged pleasantries, and he handed her a cling-wrapped stack of homemade cookies Momma had slipped him as he left the cafe. He turned and headed to the reservoir where the hobos camped. Despite having almost no teeth, the old woman had already devoured one of the cookies before he cleared the end of the alleyway.
As the sun was setting out his right window, Michael was praying. Though he hadn’t attended a traditional church in quite some time, he met with a Bible study group when he was in town. The leader arranged to hold meetings at odd times during the week, and Michael usually made at least one in every seven days. Some sessions were in members’ homes, sometimes a private dining area in a restaurant, or wherever they could gather such that quiet singing wouldn’t bother anyone else.
He might not quickly claim the label “Christian,” since it often came with baggage he didn’t own, but Michael considered himself a follower of Jesus. That in itself left more than enough room for debate and study.
“Lord, I was wondering if Burk might be an angel. I realize he’s just a human, but I seem to recall Your friend Paul talked about messengers from You who would provoke significant change, and he called them angels. Somehow, I get the feeling I’ll need to cling to You like never before in the coming days. Please, help me to see what You value in all this.”
Chapter 6
To say he was stunned would be an understatement. With his mouth still hanging open, Michael stared at his editor for long moments. Before he could unleash the piercing questions for which he was famous, the editor, a retired Marine sergeant, snatched Michael by the front of his light rain jacket. This, too, was completely unexpected. The editor dragged Michael out the door, then a short way down the hall between empty cubicles. In one swift motion he snatched open the door to the janitor’s closet and swung Michael in, spinning him around. Before Michael could focus, the powerful middle-aged man stood with his right index finger in Michael’s face. Michael could imagine him wearing a Smokey hat.
It was intense, just above a whisper. “Do you have any idea what you have stirred up? These bankers are not your average businessmen nor bureaucrats. Those kind of people only think they have power; these bankers are power. Not just money, though I assure you any one of them could buy and sell the entire staff of here as individuals, and the whole publishing company, too. Most people want power to get money. These people already have money, and use it to maintain their power. It’s not just a matter of you getting hurt. They can hurt everyone you know, and keep you and them in constant fear and misery over a long course of life!”
Michael swallowed hard and thought up something he hoped would at least give him more information. “I take it you weren’t just a standard combat Marine.”
“Hell, no! I’m not telling you anything about my security work in embassies across Europe. I’m not telling you about the things I had to pretend I didn’t overhear when people who can put God on hold chatted about the things that worried them. I’m not telling how I heard all the same family names you listed in your notes. What I am telling you is you are in way over your head. If you want to fight, pick an enemy in the lower ranks. Find a battle you can afford to lose, and stop putting in jeopardy people you don’t even know.”
The editor’s chest heaved, and the mop closet was getting very close and stuffy. He glanced at his watch. “I have ten minutes to call and tell someone you have cleared the building and aren’t coming back. They will be here to check, and will be ransacking your office and our computers. If they find anything that makes them unhappy, I’ll be the first to come looking for you. Better I should feel bad about killing you quickly than to face what they can dish out, to me and every one in this building. Now move it!”
Some time ago, Michael had already rehearsed the possibility of being fired. This was just a more expedited version of what he imagined. He frequently backed up all his files to a jump drive which seldom left his pocket except to work on the contents. Now it was time to erase the temporary versions from his desktop computer, as well as the company laptop he used. The latter was sitting open and running on the left side of his desk, while the desktop system sat at an angle on his right. On both systems, he clicked an icon which ran a high security file wiper yet one last time on the folders where he had kept his notes, then removed itself the same way. Every scrap of paper he had not already turned over to the editor was neatly bundled in one manila wallet. He pulled that wallet out of the clip which held it to the bottom of his lowest desk drawer.
He took just a moment to make sure he had missed nothing. Then he nearly ran to the back stairs, hesitating to listen a moment. Descending as fast as he safely could, he dropped seven floors, all the way to the basement parking garage. The outside entrance was gated, closed to everyone without an employee parking permit. Even with his efforts to stay in shape, he was somewhat out of breath. Still, he ran to a service door, opened it and stepped into a dusty, darkened room. Feeling his way, he slipped behind the rust-streaked furnaces, just visible in the light of their own fires. Pushing aside an old full-length cabinet door leaning against the wall, he stepped into a narrow stairway behind it, and then put the metal panel back into place. Trying to avoid touching the walls, he descended the narrow stairs to another rusting steel service door. He turned the lock, stepped a
round the door, and reset the lock before closing it firmly.
Standing in an old municipal service tunnel, he stopped to catch his breath. He retrieved a line from an old evangelistic film, whispering, “Pay attention, Jesus!” Then he walked quickly and quietly toward the former city hall, now used for storage. He had learned of the route connecting to his publisher’s building when digging into some shady dealing where a councilman was getting kickbacks from new equipment declared surplus. The councilman had directed it sold to a single dealer without auction. Finally making his way back to the street level, Michael chuckled to himself how his exposure of it created political fireworks.
If even so much as ten percent of what he had learned, and what the editor had told him, were actual fact, there was probably no detail of his life the Shadow Government didn’t know by now – or couldn’t find if they wanted it. Still, he wasn’t taking any chances, he decided. Thus, before starting any research he had already moved a couple of boxes of absolute essentials to the commercial storage facility on the edge of town. An old flame still worked there, and allowed him to leave his compact pickup in one of the units, without fee or contract. It was completely dark by the time the taxicab dropped him there. He had purposely chosen the one taxi outfit everyone, except perhaps the drivers, knew he hated. The owner kept his substandard cars in service by payoffs and favors to the city manager, who had direct control over licensing cab companies.
With his pocket flashlight, he checked to make sure everything was in place, the boxes sealed precisely the same way, an odd pattern he memorized. The camping gear was especially important. Throwing his bundle on the front seat, he started the motor and backed out. Closing the door and locking it back, he drove to the gate with his lights off. There was a mild nostalgic feeling driving the little truck again, with the five-speed manual shift. He didn’t miss the occasional engine stumble while idling, but that was another matter. He parked in the visitor’s lot at the apartment, and made quick work of changing clothes, grabbing a couple of bags, and tossing them in his truck. Zigzagging across town to a truck route which would intersect with Interstate 5 just north of the city, he smiled as he pulled out his cell phone.
