It wasn’t obvious, but there were indicators that Pablo was cracking a little; nothing overt, but in a subdued fashion that Pablo thought he was pulling off. The fact of the matter, he was not and the trepidation was hard to subjugate.
Matt remembered from his old life that whenever he’d caught an employee stealing, the scenario was different than when he caught a shoplifter. Once he could prove an employee was stealing, he was allowed to talk with them. Being able to talk to dishonest employees was a very specialized skill. Matt was shocked to learn the true game—once he had them dead to rights, they would go in one of two directions.
The first was jail. Or second, they were going to pay restitution to the store and lose their job, but with no jail time. Either way though, employees who were caught stealing were going to talk to the Loss Prevention Manager, a person who’d been trained to play mind games with them.
Matt would bring them into the room and sit them down at a desk. The room had already been prepared, with all objects removed from the desk. It was one of the first things an interrogator was taught. If suspects were given anything they could focus on, they would have a mental out. If he left as much as a pencil on the desk, the guilty person would pick it up and focus all their energy on it as a way to avoid eye contact.
Next comes the breaking down of emphatic denial. No one wants to hear the things they’ve done being exposed before him or her, especially coming from an authority figure. So the denials start rolling as a kind of barrier of protection. That’s where the seasoned interrogator cuts it off and starts to rationalize with them that their behavior was not bad. The suspects are primed to the concept that it’s reasonable and quite understandable given how the stores pay so poorly and life gets so hard. His favorite line was, “I understand, it gets hard out there, no one is judging you here.”
Once past that, a well-trained interrogator will get the suspect to admit a little truth. He’ll get them to admit that they’ve made a mistake, but will never use the word steal; that is a bad move, their behavior must be rationalized to fit their circumstance. Then the real mind games start.
If they’re not going to jail, it’s never mentioned until the end. The investigator simply explains what the investigation was, and how long it took, which was sometimes months or even years. If a person were caught up in a big investigation, they wouldn’t get busted the first time they stole; they would get busted when the investigation was over. This is where it got bad for the bad guys.
Matt would inform them that the only way they were staying out of jail was to start talking about “all” the stuff they’d done. He’d let them know he didn’t need anything from them as he had it all (at this point he would slide a manila file onto the desk). He would tell them he refuses to help anyone who won’t be forthcoming. So he would give them one chance to be honest and tell him the truth or he could not guarantee this wasn’t ending with the cops today.
Matt would often say, “I know what you’ve done or you wouldn’t be here. So if you lie to me and fail to tell me something that I know you did, then this interview is over. This is now an attempt by the store to get its money back and we’re not making that offer to liars.”
Matt snapped out of his daydream, realizing where he had seen the look Pablo was wearing right now. In his past, after the verbal confession was obtained, when he slid the statement form across the desk, suspects would have trepidation of putting it in writing. But he was an expert at closing the deal, and so less than five percent stood up and walked out (which was totally within their rights). The other ninety five percent stayed and wrote a reluctant admission statement that had them run through a gamut of emotions as they admitted their guilt on paper.
Matt clearly remembered trepidation being top on that list. It’s one thing to admit your sins, but an entirely different thing to write them out. So right now, that was what Pablo looked like to him. His face had the look just like a perpetrator’s as he slid the confession form over—but why would a man who was driven by God have that emotion now of all times?
Pablo suddenly spoke from the satellite console, “They’ve lost another group, but not before they’ve exposed themselves to each other as having weapons in Space. Felipe, are the Ants motivated and informed that the gloves are off?”
“Yes, Pablo, the gloves are off. They are prepared to attack.”
He detected Vera’s concern over the delay in their plan, “It’s okay. We have time before we push our buttons, Vera, we won’t be super early, but we’ll be fine.”
“Felipe, what are you waiting for, slay the Giant!”
* * *
Julius didn’t need to be told twice that he could evacuate his men. Using small boats, he reduced every crew of his blockade to the very minimum. Of course the Samuel Gompers was a total loss, as they did not take one on the screws, but in the belly. Julius winced because he knew that ship had several female sailors on board.
They still maintained the formation in the same blocking stance it was in when they were hit, everyone dropping anchor on spot as to not sea drift. Two boats had to “tie on,” as their anchors were destroyed in the attack. Julius thought, I still can’t believe it, as they took Lightening War to a level even the Führer would have genuflected. Thank God they decided to pull Admiral Bonnet before I personally strangled the man. He was nothing but a distraction.
His ship’s screws were so badly damaged that a piece of one was sheared off and went airborne. Julius realized, only a trip to Virginia was going to fix this problem, but I still have a shit-load of the most sophisticated fighting craft in the world. Worst-case scenario, we can get everyone airborne and go on an Alpha Strike using our own jamming equipment in an attempt to thwart any attack while we get up. We have to do something soon, as this lame duck thing is chewing me up inside. Julius did not believe that they could take all his fighters at once.
Capitan Julius Washington looked out over the stalled fleet and just couldn’t believe this happened. As goes with all things that were indescribable, when the indescribable happened, it was very hard to quantify. And that was exactly what immediately transpired in real life to Julius Washington, as the first wave of Pablo’s assault hit his carrier group.
First was a massive EMP strike on the group from an invisible source, no ship was spared the detonated devices. Immediately thereafter, the ships blew up, then blew down at nearly the same time, causing an “Obliteration Affect” that was like nothing the seasoned officer had ever seen. The entire fleet was reduced to nothing but ruins inside of thirty seconds, the smoke and madness on a level that has no comparison other than Pearl Harbor or 9/11.
Then he waited for their boom, but it never came. It appeared this was a final warning not to attempt to hurt that satellite again. What firepower they have! What a game changer! Julius gave the order to launch for survivors as he shakily reached for the Video Com. He doubted they’d find many by the looks of things out there.
* * *
Matt was kicking himself. Why didn’t I push the button? They stopped speaking English around him as they were in a different mode now. Fortunately, their Spanish dialect was the one he’d learned, so he understood most of what was being said. He heard that they were not going to take the Bush out, so he waited.
He needed to get the code to that satellite before he ended this and Pablo was just sliding back over. His shoulder blocked Matt’s view, even though he tried to position himself to see. Pablo was currently staring at that screen when he said, “Interesting?” Then his brow furrowed, “The temperature is rising at an alarming rate on the satellite. Now it’s really high!” Then Matt observed Pablo problem solve the situation in a flash. Once done, he took action to fix what was happening.
Pablo immediately programmed new coordinates into the navigation computer and hit enter. Almost immediately the temperature started coming down. He announced to the room, “They were using a laser to try to kill our Satellite.” Pablo seemed to be reflecting at a weird moment as usu
ally he was many steps ahead and didn’t need think out his next move, but he soon snapped out of it with a new resolve, “That’s it, enough generosity. Felipe, kill the Bush!”
* * *
Sandy’s TV was on overload as news from all over the world kept pouring in. He thought it so beyond incredible that his two friends were able to accomplish all this. He felt a twang of guilt, knowing he could have warned people—but who would have really believed him? Not only that, he would have betrayed James and Pablo’s trust and for all he knew, they were following the Word of God. Who am I to go against the Word of God?
In Ecuador, Otavalo was abuzz. News crews had received word of the town’s situation. Not one person was working or conducting any personal business there. The townspeople had all gathered in the square and had been praying for days. Outsiders were bringing in food and water and now the gathering had grown to over one hundred thousand. In London, it was now fifty thousand and growing; and so on in every major city in the world.
The Sheep were rising, and now Moscow was reporting violence from the Sheep followers—but so far they’re the only ones with violence problems. Elsewhere there had been sporadic looting and such, but no violence. Sandy watched with rapt attention to the last story, the one where the Moscow Sheep followers were angry. What happens when that catches on?
* * *
“It’s worth a try,” Eric said.
Lawrence thought about that. “It’s not been real good for me to go against Ray, Eric, but don’t you think this guy is beyond being reached that way?”
“Ray says it will be harder for him to be ruthless if he loses his autonomy. If nothing else, we should broadcast it for that reason. Show empathy for his situation. Rationalize. It could work, if nothing else, it might lessen what he might do.”
The COM line came on and Captain Washington was put live into the room via video conferencing—a room where no one had slept in two days and tempers were running very high. Admiral Anders spoke up first, “Julius, what’s to report?”
There was a silence. “We lost the group.” Now there was a stunned silence on the other side. Julius continued, “It was a three-tiered strike that lasted thirty seconds. There was a coordinated EMP attack and then immediately there was an attack that came from both the sky and sea. The affect was absolute destruction. Obviously, we were spared.”
The President spoke next, “Captain Washington, are you to tell me that your entire carrier group has been sunk?!”
Julius sounded like a man breaking composure, “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Sir. We’re trying to rescue anyone alive, but it looks bleak. This was a lot of firepower. Thank God we evacuated ninety percent of the crews, but now they’re all loaded for one big kill on the Bush, Sir.” For lack of better terms, Lawrence Caulfield was not fucking around with his next words. He looked at his Sec D, who was in the room waiting for the result of the laser and he did not have to say a word, he got the nod, “You are green lighted to take any and all measures to ensure your ship’s safety Captain Washington, am I clear?”
His tone went more conciliatory, “Hang in there, Julius, we’re making contact with their bird as we speak. Once that’s out of the way, we will have evened the playing field out and it will be your turn.” As he turned off the COM, the President got word from General Hatten that explained the reason the group was hit so hard. “The laser failed.”
* * *
Oh God, how good is that? João sent away to Amsterdam to get the seeds and wow was it worth it! The marijuana was called, “White Widow” and it was surely as deadly as the spider. João pulled on the joint and tasted its pungent flavor. The effect immediately washed over him, giving an overwhelming desire to go play some more of the game. This time he wanted to send a Grouper right into the gut of the Bush. Just punch a huge hole in her belly and then send in wave after wave of Ramona into the wound. He might be able to crack her in half if he did it right.
He thought of the time he saw what happens to a cow trying to cross the Amazon in the wrong place. He was flipping channels one night and came across the documentary. He remembered seeing the distraught herder as he watched mini-strike after mini-strike decimate his animal until there was nothing left. It was one of the more enjoyable moments of his TV life. João found it amazing all the things he’d learned watching TV, especially about killing, while watching the History Channel.
He wondered, how many did I kill with that last attack? Starting with his first knife plunge at 16, João had committed a constant string of murders. If he was able to get to the Bush first, before his fellow Ants, then he could have the “all time record!” Then he frowned, unless you count that Puto who dropped the bombs on Japan. I guess he will hold the “all time record,” but João knew he could make a run for second. He was by far the best at the game. He knew why, but they didn’t get it, so he took another hit of “why.”
João contemplated further, I still will have a record if I can get there first I can become the all-time leader in kills by an individual in non-nuclear combat. To hell with that Puto that dropped the nuke bombs, as all he had to do was drop a bomb out of a plane and fly away, but I’m going head to head with the greatest military the Earth has ever known! They must have evacuated seventy percent of those ships to the Bush. She’s loaded to the gills with kills. He inwardly giggled a little. Just because I’m a killer doesn’t mean I can’t catch a joke.
He pulled on the joint again and man did it deliver. He was already stoned after just half the cigarette. He put it out and left it on the stairwell for later. The stairwell held the only doors in the building with locks. So he always propped the door with his pen. Heading back in he put his fingers in the slot and pulled the pen out, but the door slipped from his fingertips. He tried lamely to grab it, but it closed and locked, despite his last second effort to grab the handle. “FUCK!”
* * *
Matt grew up a child of the movies. He loved old movies so much that his dad proclaimed that he had been born in the wrong generation. While other kids were watching Sesame Street, he was watching a John Wayne movie. It was mostly his father Don’s fault, as he had a man cave and a serious movie collection—and not just any movies, but war and spy movies.
It was a source of many an argument at the Hurst house. Sherry hated war and she hated war movies as the next worst thing. The thought of her six-year-old being hooked on them was unsettling and she attempted a ban. Well, that flew like a lead duck and by the time he was a third grader, he just started reading war books at school or the library. It always worked that way for her, as soon as she allowed herself a worst fear. As soon as she quantified it by first having the thought, then the subsequent fear always came to fruition. Just like the real war. She feared her husband would be drafted off to war as so many of her friends’ husbands had been. Not only did Don Hurst end up going to war twice, he was not drafted either time. Much to Sherry’s chagrin, her husband was a patriot.
The result of that movie time was Matt had a never ending assemblage of references to draw from now as an adult. So there was no way he wasn’t having a David Niven at the end of the “Bridge over the River Kwai” moment right now. Matt was having that “Good Lord, what-have-I-done” moment and the time to push the button was here. Yet it remained un-pushed in his pocket. So many things have happened, the one I didn’t expect to happen though is why I’m not pushing the button. Somehow, in the midst of all this madness, I think I’ve had a change in ideology.
Matt envisioned the three way chessboard he’d observed that day he was out with Vera. He hadn’t really thought all the way through on the myriad of angles that a game of three way chess involved, not to mention the emotional gamut he was running. On one hand, he’d be pushing the button on Vera, and with the other he’d be pushing the button on a concept whose time had come.
Neither one of these actions was something he desired to do. Everyone knows the real score. People like him were going to toil their lives away while the one p
ercent really lived. Matt was not blind to the fact that the world was unfair, and he was quite convinced that there would never be a way to undo all the evil that money had created. That was until he met Pablo.
By pushing the button in his pocket, Matt knew he was going to hurt the people closest to him, while helping the world’s oppressors to remain in power.
He and Pablo had long heartfelt talks on the subject over dinner, and albeit Matt was feigning sincerity initially, somehow Pablo’s ideology sank in. He was feeling internally conflicted, and was unsure if what they were doing was really that bad—if he took away the military aspect, that was.
Matt looked at the silent TV that was always on and he saw the unrest starting in Moscow. He spotted the old smash, bash, and burn going on. He envisioned every city in America looking like the L.A. riots of the 90s. It could mean the end of his great country. And that was the clarification right there—the one Matt needed. He needed to remember that these two were going to destroy everything he’d ever known. He couldn’t let that happen. For all the bad his country had ever done, it had done a thousand unnoticed good things as well.
He watched the riot police go into the crowd swinging. No one knew how to stomp out a good uprising like the Russians, except maybe China. Matt envisioned tanks being used on civilians.
He put his mind on a kind of detachment setting that a person must use when ending their life. He wasn’t planning on ending his, but the resolve was the same. If one thought about all the people one would be affecting, and the hole it would leave in their lives, then one would never do it. To commit suicide, one needs to take oneself to a selfish place where one cannot be affected by conscience.
The sonogram in his pocket said he had a baby in her, but he also had a two-year old son who he had never seen waiting for him at home in America, a place these two want to burn to the ground. (Matt looked at the news footage of Moscow as a television was hurdled through a storefront window.) Thanks to Mauricio I even know what Jon looks like.
And the Meek Shall Inherit (Harbinger of Change Book 2) Page 14
