Splinter Self

by S L Shelton

  “Before you ask your questions,” he said, derailing my process. “I want you to know that except for the revenge you would most assuredly pursue, I have remained faithful to your cause.”

  “Why would I seek revenge?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

  He looked toward the house, then back to me. “That’s only something I would answer if you’re prepared to leave this place.”

  Anger rose in me again. “Would you mind letting me finish before butting in,” I said, deflecting from the reality of his answer. “It’s rude, and I don’t have the benefit of knowing what you’re thinking.”

  He smiled and nodded.

  “Is there a reason we didn’t have this discussion sooner?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Until now the arrangement was mutually beneficial.”

  “And why is that different now?” I asked.

  He tilted his head to the side and smiled at me.

  “The nightmare,” I said, realizing being paralyzed, unable to breathe wasn’t just a bad dream.

  He nodded again.

  “It was real.”

  “Before we get into that, I need to ask you a question,” he said, then waited for me to acknowledge.

  I nodded.

  “Are you happy here?” he asked. “I mean… are you willing to risk an unpleasant truth that steals this place away from you?”

  I thought about that a moment as I reached out to take my coffee mug from the edge of the fire pit.

  “I don’t know,” I replied.

  “Then our discussion should end now before that line is crossed,” he said gently, apologetically. “At least until you’ve made up your mind.”

  “Will I lose Kathrin?” I asked in almost a whisper.

  “Regardless of what is occurring outside, you will lose this Kathrin,” he replied. “If you leave this place.”

  “I’m not prepared for that,” I said.

  “That’s fine,” he replied as he stood to walk away, leaving his coffee untouched. “But do me a favor. As my control gets weaker, you may find yourself awake more often.”

  “What’s the favor?”

  “Don’t fight me when I try to put you back here.”

  I looked down, suddenly feeling like a draft dodger. A sense of longing for the real world struck me, and I looked up, poised to ask.

  He held his hand up. “Don’t. You’d kill us both. We’d suffocate. You’d be awake long enough to feel the life drain from your body.”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek, trapped between desire, reality, and a dream I didn’t want to release. “I don’t have a whole lot of choice then, do I?”

  “You have choices…just no good ones.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  Wolf looked at the sky then out to the garden. “It really is beautiful here,” he said, then turned to walk away. “And it looks like it’s going to be a nice night as well. Enjoy it.”

  I watched as he walked down the driveway then disappeared around the corner of the house. A moment later, Kathrin walked out and sat where he had been sitting. She pulled her sweater shawl collar up around her neck then caressed her own coffee mug in her hands.

  “Your friend didn’t want his coffee?” she asked.

  “No,” I replied. “He just stopped in to say hi.”

  “Ah,” she said quietly, but clearly didn’t understand. “You should invite him to dinner one evening.”

  I shrugged, trying to suppress the anxiety of my new awareness.

  “You really should have more friends over. You need to be more social.” She smiled.

  I gazed into her beautiful blue eyes and smiled in return. “If I filled my heart with any more love or warmth, it would burst,” I said sincerely, then broke into a mischievous grin. “Then what would you do?”

  That statement struck me hard after I said it. If I left, she would end… and there was no guarantee of any version of Kathrin being in my world if I left this one.

  I quickly pushed the thought aside, standing before she could form a response. “Dinner?”

  Her face lit up. “Ja! I’ve made you the most wonderful omelet.”

  She stood up and hooked her arm through mine. We walked to the house to share another meal. I couldn’t help but ache over the realization that my time with her would be short, and my grief would now taint every moment. Reality had intruded on paradise.

  **

  4:45 p.m. Local Time — Hotel Jouy Aux Arches, Metz, France

  WOLF woke as someone violently grabbed his arms. He lashed out and rolled to his feet throwing his attacker against the wall. As he rushed to subdue the crumpled figure, he realized it was Seifert.

  “What the fuck, man?!” Seifert yelled, rolling to his back and putting his hands up in defense. “I’ve been trying to wake you up for ten minutes!”

  He checked his watch, shaking his head in frustration then reached his hand out to Seifert to help him up.

  Seifert pushed his hand away and climbed to his feet, keeping an eye on Wolf as he moved. “I’ve got it,” he said, sneering at Wolf.

  Wolf sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. That was a violent grab.”

  “Yeah. Whatever.”

  Sustaining a living universe in his head to sate Scott’s emotional outburst had taken more mental resources than he had realized. That was dangerous.

  “I’m sorry. I was trying deep meditation to catch up on our sleep debt,” Wolf lied. “I didn’t know I could go so deep. Won’t happen again.”

  Seifert watched him with distrust in his eyes as he flexed his shoulder where he had struck the wall. “Mac’s awake,” he said, grabbing and tossing Wolf’s duffel bag at him. “We have to move.”

  Wolf nodded and opened the bag, stuffing inside his tablet and three of the four phones he’d acquired the night before. “How is he?”

  “He’s coherent, but the pain meds are making him shaky.”

  “Come in here and ask me!” Mac yelled from the other room.

  Wolf shouldered his bag and leaned through the door. “How are you?”

  “Fuck you! That’s how I’m doing. Fuck you and your fucking—”

  “At ease, Mac,” Seifert said, stepping in behind Wolf. “You can’t blame it all on the pain meds.”

  Mac looked away and muttered. “I didn’t ask for this shit.”

  “Neither did I, pal,” Wolf said stepping in front of him. “I’m doing my best to hold it together though.”

  “Nice work so far,” Mac muttered.

  But even Mac’s sarcasm couldn’t shake the gratitude Wolf felt for his renewed belligerence. It meant the big SEAL was feeling better. “Tell you what… I’ll carry your bag for you.”

  “Fuck you!” Mac said, climbing to his feet. “I’ll carry my own damned bag.”

  Seifert stepped over and yanked the strap from Mac’s hand. “No. If you pop those sutures in your gut, we might not find out about it until you’re already rotten inside.”

  Mac lost his balance and grabbed the sofa arm to steady himself. Wolf watched, poised to swoop in and catch him as he regained his composure.

  “Fine,” Mac said, straightening and then wincing from the action.

  Seifert was likewise keeping a close eye on his larger comrade. When it appeared Mac was able to navigate his way to the kitchenette, Seifert carried his bag to the door. “We’ve got a long drive today,” he said as he laid Mac’s duffel down. “We’ve got pain meds enough to last a few days, but we need to stop and get food.”

  Wolf nodded. “Once we get out of town.”

  Mac poured a cup of coffee and sniffed it once before downing it in one gulp. “Well, I’m ready. Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  Wolf pulled his phone out of his pocket and held a finger up. “I have to check in with John.”

  He pulled up a screen of proxies and copied a script link into his browser settings before logging into his remote message box. There were three voice messa
ges.

  The first was from John: “I’ve reached the first campsite. No sign of bears so I guess this is as good a place as any to set up. Waiting confirmation.”

  Wolf deleted the message and moved on to the next recorded three hours later. It was John again: “Well, it looks like you fellas found bears of your own. I don’t have any confirmation yet, so I don’t even know if you’re still planning on camping. Let me know.”

  He deleted that one as well.

  The third message was from Storc: “Saw the pictures of the party crash. Let me know you’re okay. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Mom’s worried too.”

  He had expected that. After opening a new window and navigating to his Craigslist script through the proxies, he typed out a message for the communal board. “Said good-bye to the goat yesterday. Everyone was sad and a little broken up but we’re hanging in there. Should reach campsite by the end of the day. Tell mom not to worry but that she should make preparations for an injured hiker. Just a sprain, but he’ll need some rest.”

  “John’s at the first safe house site,” Wolf said closing his connection and popping out the SIM card. “He should have everything set up by the time we get there tonight.”

  “Let’s go then,” Mac snapped, leaning against the door, holding his belly.

  Wolf grinned. “Okay, but I call shotgun.”

  Mac shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re following your lead on this shit.”

  “Well if you had actually followed my lead, we’d already be in Lyon and hunting Combine,” Wolf said as he lifted both his and Mac’s bag. “Instead of being one man down and sewing up guts like cheap sausage.”

  Mac lifted his eyebrow.

  “Don’t mistake my good nature for being soft. You fucked up,” Wolf added. “Now, I need you to suck it up and heal so we can get back to work. You’ve already cost us weeks in recovery time.”

  Seifert put his hand on Wolf’s shoulder but he shrugged it off. “No one wants to be in this situation. And everyone was doing their duty when this all fell to shit.”

  Mac looked genuinely remorseful. It was the first time Wolf had ever pressed any of the SEALs with anything close to command posture.

  “I was just cracking your nuts,” Mac said lowering his head ever so slightly. “I know Hawkins is on me.”

  “No, Mac,” Seifert began. “That’s—”

  Wolf held his hand up. “Yes, it is on you.”

  Mac dropped his head further, though he clenched his jaw tightly, clearly angered by the confrontation.

  “With all due respect, sir, you’re full of shit,” Seifert snapped, inserting himself between Wolf and Mac. “And if you don’t mind sticking to protocol, if you have a problem with one of my guys—”

  “There is only one,” Wolf said. “You only have one guy left.”

  Seifert’s face turned red in anger.

  “You only have one left because Hawkins forgot communications protocols and snuck a call to his girlfriend, and Mac here forgot protocol and waited around for hours after the first infraction.”

  “You’ve got some balls, mist—”

  “No,” Mac said, putting his hand on Seifert’s shoulder. “Monkey Wrench is right. And he saved my ass back there.” He looked at Wolf. “I’m sorry. I know I can be a dick… It’s part of my charm. But I’m with you a hundred percent. I won’t fuck up again.”

  Seifert looked at Mac and then Wolf, angry but stymied.

  “I know, Mac,” Wolf said. “But if yesterday proves anything, it’s that the predators are at the door just waiting for us to fuck up.”

  Mac nodded. “We good?”

  “We’re good,” Wolf said, then looked at Seifert. “We good?”

  Seifert curled his lip for a split second then nodded tersely. “We’re good.”

  “Good. Let’s get some food. I’m fucking starving.”

  Wolf checked the peephole in the door before opening it and leading the way out. Seifert waited for Mac to fall in step behind him, then closed the door following. On the way down the stairs, Wolf paused at each landing to look ahead and then waited for Mac to catch up.

  Mac slowed at the top of the last landing as Wolf checked outside, but Wolf could still hear them above.

  “No offense to you brother, but if any more of those crazy-ass ninjas show up, I don’t want him mad at me,” Mac whispered.

  Wolf smiled at the sentiment but then heard Seifert. “If it weren’t for him, those crazy-ass ninjas wouldn’t be looking for us.”

  Well, shit, Wolf thought. So much for unit cohesion.

  **

  6:45 p.m. — The White House Secret Service Office, White House Residence, Ground Floor, Washington DC

  MICHAEL CASEY, head of the President’s protection detail, methodically checked his computer and desk twice before shutting down. He had worked two shifts, leaving him dragging. A hardworking president is hard on the secret service, especially when budget cutbacks from congress force a leaner force. But for twenty years, he had risen through the ranks and become the lead for the most prestigious detail, protecting the highest office.

  He had survived the conversion of the Secret Service from a Department of Treasury Service to Homeland Security in 2003. Not everyone did. The politics were very different at Treasury than they are at Homeland.

  His nostalgia for the old Treasury Agent days made him look more fondly backward than forward. But he did love his job and the dwindling ranks beneath him.

  He flipped the light off and closed the door, ready to head home. He hadn’t seen his wife in four days. She would be pleased, he knew, to see him home for dinner for a change.

  “Agent Casey!” came a voice from behind as he made his way toward the west wing.

  Casey stopped and turned at the exit to the covered walkway that connected the residence to the west wing. The President’s chief of staff, Benjamin Clarke walked toward him with purpose.

  “Yes, sir?” Casey replied, walking back to meet Clarke halfway.

  “Did you get the man-hour authorization on your new agents?” Clarke asked, waving a copy of the order in his hand.

  “Yes, sir, I did,” Casey said, bracing for a frontal assault. “As soon as the backgrounds come back on everyone, I’ll start layering them into the schedule.”

  Clarke’s face betrayed that he didn’t like that answer. He clenched his jaw and spoke only through his lips. “Apparently you didn’t read the whole order.” He raised the sheet of paper and put his reading glasses on. “…to be instituted immediately. DHS clearance can be substituted for standard Secret Service background checks.”

  Casey shifted uncomfortably. “With all due respect, sir, ‘can be’ and ‘should be’ are two very different things. We don’t know anything about these guys.”

  “I’m sorry, Agent Casey. I thought we were concerned about the drop in staffing and were looking to protect the President,” Clarke said with thick sarcasm. “Not getting into intra-agency pissing matches over details.”

  Casey was long used to being on the receiving end of appointee displeasure, especially when it came to how he ran the President’s protection detail. But safety of the President was always first even if it meant delaying new help due to appropriately vetted agents—especially replacements that arrived from private contracting firms.

  “I understand, sir,” Casey said with a thin smile. “I’ll be happy to put extra staff on the background checks so we can get them processed faster.”

  “I don’t think you do understand,” Clarke snapped, his face turning red—he was obviously not used to being told “no” even diplomatically. “You will place these already DHS cleared agents on your protection details, effective immediately.”

  Casey manufactured a sincere-looking expression of regret. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s my responsibility to manage the protection of the President and first family. I’ll be happy to alter our standard process if the President directs me to, but otherwise, I have the final say on all things
protective.”

  Clarke pushed past him without another word and stomped toward the west wing. Casey shook his head, knowing exactly what was coming next. As he exited the residence and walked toward the West Wing parking area, his radio chirped.

  “Eagle’s Nest Alpha, this is watch.”

  Casey stopped and rolled his eyes, lifting his wrist mic to his mouth. “This is Alpha. Go, watch.”

  “Eagle wants to see you on your way out,” the woman said.

  “Roger that. On my way.”

  “He’s on the patio, Alpha.”

  “Roger,” Casey replied, and pushed through the door at the end of the walkway rather than entering the West Wing proper.

  He stepped through the small gap in the patio shrubbery and onto the patio in front of the President.

  The President smiled warmly as Casey arrived and closed the book he was reading. “Mike. That was fast.”

  “I was on my way this direction anyway Mr. President.”

  “I understand your team has been stretched pretty thin lately,” the President said.

  Casey folded his hands in front of him. “Nothing we can’t handle, sir,” he replied, then saw an opportunity to head off an awkward situation. “But the good news is we have new agents being processed. As soon as they’re through the screening, we’ll be flush again.”

  The President nodded and smiled. Not a dumb man, he most assuredly realized what Casey had done just then. “Any way to speed it up a bit?”

  Casey was trapped. He’d already been given permission to go with the Homeland Security background checks for the new members.

  “I’d feel better if we didn’t rush it, sir… it’s a point of pride.” He realized he had screwed up as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “That’s not to say that pride is preventing—”

  “I think we can trust DHS to screen these fellas well enough…and that doesn’t mean you can’t keep running the process after they’ve started.”

  Damn him and his no drama policy. He’s too smart to outmaneuver…ever.

  “Yes, Mr. President. I’ll start layering them into the schedule first thing tomorrow.”