by Randy Dutton
She clicked her glass of cider with his beer, and hit play.
The DVD finished two hours later.
“That was amazing! I’m not sure glamorous covers it. I’m so glad you did that for me.”
“You deserve more...but that’s for the memoires.”
“Our children will love seeing how bright and shiny their mommy was. As a child, you looked happy, too. It’s a shame there was such a gap from late high school through college.”
She shrugged. “Except for that European summer when I blew through my dad’s life insurance...who was there to take photos? A disadvantage of being alone I’ve discovered.”
His arm wrapped around her. “I didn’t realize you became a target of paparazzi during your 20s.”
“Usually it was when I was connected with someone powerful, but they seldom got my name. I had more freelancers following me whose work weren’t published, but”—she dipped her head to peer through batting eyelashes—“some had accidents, or their equipment got damaged, or...well, let’s just say they were deterred.”
His brow lifted. “Nobody died did they?”
“Of course not! No paparazzi were killed in the making of this movie.” A smirk formed. “Bruised maybe...a few broken fingers, possibly. And for the record...portable electro-magnets should never be brought close to digital cameras.”
“So you really avoided eliminating people, if possible.”
“I’m pragmatic, Darling. You’re giving me too much credit for scruples. I never eliminated a photographer because...frankly...I didn’t know who else knew his assignment.” She unwrapped another chocolate.
Chapter 73
January 1, the new year
Heyward House
Pop! The cork zinged across the room. It came to rest against one of the many cinnamon-scented candles. Pete topped the champagne glasses with sparkling apple cider, and with a delicate clink, they touched rims. “Happy New Year, Sweetheart!”
“Happy New Year, Honey,” Anna responded with subdued enthusiasm.
Pete clicked off the TV while leaving the sounds of Seattle’s New Year’s celebration to play through the sound system. Candles, a roaring fire in the hearth, and the six-meter Christmas tree’s twinkling lights reflecting off the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated the great room. He gently took Anna’s glass from her hand and placed both glasses onto a side table, then cradled his six-months-pregnant wife’s smiling face with his hands, and kissed her. “Come dance with me, Babe.” He helped her up and, with her hand in his, slowly waltzed her around their great room.
She looked up into his eyes, with hope in her own. Her eyebrows lifted. “Pete, it has been a good year, hasn’t it?”
“Certainly the last half, and I’ve no doubt the rest of our years will be just as good.” He twirled her and pulled her close again. “I plan on dancing with you forever.”
Her head laid against his chest and her arms slid around his waist as they settled into a slow dance.
Her expanded tummy against him warmed him with fatherly pride.
“I hope our future will be as good as you foretell,” she said softly.
“This is a time of celebration, Babe. What’s to worry about?”
“Our future...everyone’s future.”
“We need only concern ourselves with the three of us, right here, right now.”
“I’m serious, Pete.” She pulled back but kept her hands on his arms. Her eyes were sad. “The world news is getting bleaker. Isn’t New Year’s a time of reflection?” She paused, and said adamantly, “Well...I’m reflecting.”
“The fate of the world is not your fault, Anna.” He led her to the sofa where she settled in.
“My nightmares say otherwise.”
“They’ll go away over time.” He started stroking the sides of her shoulders.
Her eyes were downcast as she slowly shook her head. “I don’t know about that. My past is catching up to me. The more Fuzz accumulates, the more dread I feel. The plague’s an indictment against my failure to care.”
“Failure to care?” His eyes narrowed.
“Well, I care now. But, yes.” She picked up her glass of cider and sipped. “Until you came along, I didn’t concern myself about the consequences beyond my own self-interest. I even told Swanson last June that as long as CO2 levels didn’t affect my health, my villa, or my weather, I didn’t care. I just wanted to make a lot of money and continue living the lifestyle to which I had become accustomed.”
“And escape to that small Greek island you wanted to buy?”
“Yeah. Control my involvement with society.... Fly to any party in Europe...or invite the elite to my villa.” She sighed. “Or turn into a hermit.”
“A life with no family?”
“Not much of a life in hindsight.... I had adopted the progressive thought that marriage and children were burdens and rules were situational – everything was in shades of gray. Pretty shallow wasn’t I?”
“Babe, you’re far from shallow.”
“You don’t understand,” she challenged. “I adopted their vision. I was accepted as one of them. The video I made you showed I could get into nearly any party and meet with most any official. There used to be a belief...still is in some quarters...those with wealth, power, and prestige have a moral responsibility to uses their resources to benefit society.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Well, that responsibility morphed into a progressive belief that we should have paternalistic power over the common man. Rather condescending when I evaluate it from the outside.”
“I can see how intoxicating the philosophy appears, but slavery and genocide started that way.”
She nodded. “Yeah, they did. But we rationalized how we would do things differently.”
“Your island and the lifestyle...they sound lonely.”
“Despite having a thousand casual friends...I’ve always felt very alone...and thought I liked it...until I saw that damn painting in the Maldives.”
“What emotions did the painting stir within you...empathy?”
She nodded. “Maybe. Could also be fear, self-loathing, hope. Hard to pinpoint.”
“It may have saved you.”
“Well, it certainly did a number on me. Memories of my father, the assault, and what I’d become cascaded over me.”
“Maybe someday you’ll know exactly what your subconscious felt.”
“Perhaps.... I just wish I could undo the things I put in motion.” She sighed. “I should have stopped Sven.”
“He’s not your fault!”
She pulled back with fierce eyes. “The hell he isn’t!” she barked. She blinked several times and pursed her lips. “Sorry. It’s not you.” She leaned up and kissed him. “You’ve always been my rock.... I enabled him. I didn’t stop him when I had the chance.... Then there’s the manipulation of the world’s science.... The infiltration of the global financial and political decision-making process.” She sighed again. “And the destruction of people who tried to stop us, or just got in our way....”
Her eyes drifted over his shoulder to a silver-framed photo on a shelf containing many moments in time. She shivered as a particular memory intruded. It was his eyes – a victim’s recognition of his attacker just before death...just a month before meeting Pete. So simple to disguise myself as a retired, elderly MIT instructor and synchronize his heart beat to my transceiver. At the time, hacking and manipulating Professor Beecher’s pacemaker and cardioverter-defibrillator software seemed a perfect means to eliminate a threat. I was probably the first to kill someone by wirelessly exploiting a medical device’s security weakness. In the end, it wasn’t even necessary since his UN Maldives special session speech was canceled that very day. His death was so wasteful. I was so proud then...now it tortures me!
I wouldn’t have given it another thought if Pete hadn’t mentioned days after our wedding that Beecher was his mentor and MIT doctoral advisor...and a close friend. Will I always be able to
conceal what I’ve done? Pete could forgive me almost anything, but never this! Damn that photo!
“Anna...Anna...are you okay?” His hands were gripping her shoulders.
She blinked rapidly to clear the mist and looked into his eyes. “Sorry, Honey. I was lost in thought.”
“What about? I’ve never seen you zone out before.”
“Oh, just thinking of someone.”
“Who got in the way?” His brow lifted. “Want to talk about it?”
“No...not really,” she responded weakly. “You were asking about operational actions....”
“Oh, right. Didn’t you see yourself more just as a soldier following orders, and not the general giving them?”
Her head shook and nose wrinkled. In a stronger voice she countered, “No, Darling, I never considered myself as an ordinary soldier.” A forced smile appeared. “Well, maybe the first year I was an exceptional soldier.” She glanced upward. “In my own high self-image, I quickly rose in rank...advancing from the tactical to operational planning through the first couple missions, then to strategic planning after a few years. No, most of the time, I was one of the generals.”
“And the size of the armies?”
“The progressive armies are massive, across a broad spectrum of society.”
“And Swanson?”
“Swanson and his ilk consider themselves philosopher kings.”
“I’ll bet he loved The Republic.”
“He’d quote Plato at times. Said the average person doesn’t have the intellect to determine his own destiny. Claimed he and his friends had to do the planning for them.”
“Such egotism.”
“Honey, the progressives are leading a new crusade, and like those of the Middle Ages, their attempts to manipulate our society are going horribly wrong.”
“And now you can turn your back on their efforts.”
Her voice tensed. “But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m reminded every day of the plagues I set in motion. Fuzz is a physical manifestation of an accumulating evil, even if the world only sees it now as a slight nuisance. It haunts my dreams...distorted faces...starving children wading through it...storm troopers forcing people into re-education camps. And naked forests with nothing but tendrils hanging from leafless trees. It wears me down to look out the window or go outside.” Her eyes expressed regret. “And Pete?”
“What is it, Darling?” His heart ached in sympathy.
“I fear the phytoplankton may be worse. If I had focused on watching Sven last summer, I might have caught on to his attempt to release it. I could have stopped him,” she said sadly.
“Nonsense. You didn’t know his plan. You’re not infallible. If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”
“You?”
“I distracted you from one of your primary missions. But consider what you were able to stop.”
“Operation Prion,” she mumbled.
“Right! I’m not sorry you sabotaged it.”
“It’s a small consolation.” She smiled weakly.
“You also turned your hackers on the financiers gaming the system. Financial news said they lost hundreds of billions of euros,” he grinned.
“And that motivated the enemy to hunt me,” she said.
“Let’s hope they never find you.”
“Like last August?”
He pulled her closer. “I feared I’d lost you.”
Her arms wrapped tighter. “Nothing like my guardian angel coming to the rescue...again.” Her lips pressed against his cheek. “I hope I’ve thanked you for that over the past few months.”
“Oh many, many times!” He smiled back. “I’ll admit some of your close calls have also given me a few bad dreams.”
“I’m sorry, Honey. I always assumed your tossing was related to combat in Iraq. Funny, I never dream about the Russians, though I frequently recall how much that stun shot hurt.”
His finger traced a rough scar on her scalp. “And hitting your head on the rock?”
“That too.”
His hand moved, and his index finger lightly touched some spots on her arms and back. “You know, it wasn’t until you were recovering I started taking inventory of all your scars.”
“Really? All those questions about these round scars and those straight or jagged lines was an inventory?”
“It’s an incomplete history of your life...something you didn’t put on the DVD. I can tell where you were cut with blades, or got shot—”
“One of the two is a ricochet, it hardly counts,” she countered.
Pete grimaced. “...or skin was scrapped off.” His hand brushed her arm. “And I know you don’t want to talk about the faded scars on your wrists and ankles.”
She winced at the mention of them. “That was 20 years ago...the start of a nightmare,” she said tersely.
“But most of the details of the other scars are blank as to the where, when, and why. I’m glad whoever patched you up was very skillful. Few of the scars are visible from more than an arm’s length.”
“Did I ever tell you why I keep medical grade Super Glue in my go-bag?”
“I figure it has a thousand and one uses.”
“One of them is to hold skin together instead of sutures...works better. It’s part of my medical blowout kit.” She smiled. “Most of the repairs, I did in the field.”
“You get these trivia nuggets from your voracious reading?”
She nodded. “Maybe someday I’ll write down my history...to be released 50 years after my death.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!” He chuckled.
The corners of her mouth slightly upturned. “Okay. I may give you an advance copy on our twentieth anniversary.”
“How about our fifth?”
“We’ll see.” Her smile widened. “I’ll give you a preview.” She pulled up the right pant leg to just above her knee revealing a small white line across her kneecap. “This scar?” she teased.
“Yes?” he asked hopefully.
“Is from roller-blading on the Venice Beach boardwalk during college.” She chuckled. “I tried jumping a bench. Actually made it but didn’t realize a homeless guy was sleeping behind it.”
“That doesn’t count!”
“It all counts.” She chewed her lower lip for a moment. “Okay, here’s a mission-related one.” She brushed her right index finger against the back of her left hand. “These faint scars are from jamming my hand in a rock crevice just before a rock fall nearly knocked me off the cliff.”
“Ouch! And then?”
“I’m just telling you how I got the scar, not what I did afterward.... Perhaps I’ll give you another glint of my past...next New Year’s.”
“And you say I taunt you?”
She smiled and cuddled closer. “Pete, you always know how to cheer me up.” She tilted her head to the photo gallery. “Like the 20-dollar Canadian bill you framed.”
“That lake was a special moment.”
She chuckled then turned toward the six-meter Douglas-fir near the windows of their great room. “And spray painting Fuzz strands metallic silver and hanging them on the Christmas tree as tinsel.”
“It’s not always easy being your muse. But I enjoy trying.”
“Don’t stop trying”—she sighed contentedly—“no matter what.” Her smile faded as she took on a more thoughtful demeanor. “Regarding Sven...Swanson was worried about him. I thought Sven was preoccupied with rolling out legitimate products, not these Franken Filters.”
“Franken Filters?”
“Frankenstein’s monsters used to filter carbon, kind of like Franken Foods. I heard it on a press report.”
“Franken Filters. Catchy!” Pete grinned. “Look, we need to focus on our own lives. What’s done is done. Humanity needs to weather the storm until the plagues die out. And you’re spectacular when it comes to adapting.”
“You’re sweet to keep telling me that, but it doesn’t change the facts,” s
he said somberly.
“Babe, quit beating yourself up over this. What Sven did, he would have done regardless. Unleashing these carbon-capturing plagues must have been his goal for over a decade. And if it hadn’t been him, it would have been someone else.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because progressives are insistent in finding any excuse to manipulate humanity. Carbon dioxide fit the bill, and Sven just happened to be the first to succeed. But there were a thousand scientists trying to do the same thing. I’ll bet his products were the first of a wave of similar technologies that were shelved because Snath had gotten the bulk of the UN funding. With his products loose, they’re essentially free now. There’s no financial incentive. Didn’t Swanson give you the initial design requirements when you recruited Sven?”
“Yes.”
“Where’d he get them?”
She cocked her head. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Well he got them from somebody who knew the science. So without you, Swanson would have had someone else recruit someone different to do nearly the same thing. You’re off the hook.”
“By your accounting, not mine. But I’ll stay philosophical about it. By the way Pete, did you hear the Alaska news a few hours ago?”
“No. What have the Russians announced now?”
“As of today, they legally own Alaska.” She sighed. “The Russian president announced they’re leasing much of the mining and oil drilling to the Chinese.”
“What?!” Pete’s widened and his mouth hung open. He sat up and looked at the blank TV screen.
“Uh huh.” Anna gritted her teeth. “Seems the Chinese worked out a deal with Russia last year to pay the $1.1 trillion purchase price. They gave the Russians the US Treasury notes. In return, China gets exclusive rights to mine and to drill for oil. The Chinese also will pay the full cost of development, but get to buy the products at severely discounted prices. Churchill once said ‘Russia didn’t want war but desired the fruits of war, and the indefinite expansion of their power and doctrines.... There is nothing Russia admires more than strength, and nothing which they respect less than weakness.’”
