Mirror, Mirror at 1600 D.C.

by Edward Galluzzi

  Harrison tidied himself and began his march to the ranch. It was clear that the terrorist was connecting with the main road. Harrison heaved a heavy sigh and headed to the central path. He kept his rifle at the ready and had grenades attached to his waist. A small gun and knife were strapped to his legs hidden away. Harrison slowed his pace, as he did not want to appear overanxious or driven even though that was descriptive of his present state. He soon connected with the main road and walked due north to the ranch. Harrison kept alert for he knew the main road was undoubtedly mined and full of electronic sensors. Unlike his dead predecessor, Harrison did not know the exact locations of the devices, but he had to make it appear like he did when he came into view of the observation post.

  Chapter 23

  No Signature, Man!

  Harrison saw the observation post in the distance and his adrenalin, which traveled like a roller coaster all day, increased once again. He scanned visually as much of an area as he possibly could look for any pattern in the layout of electronic devices and explosives. Harrison may be able to fool the terrorists in the sentry post, but such success would be short lived if he blew himself up several steps beyond the post.

  Harrison continued his slow trek toward the main ranch. He spotted no pattern to the trip wires, mines and sensory devices. Harrison told himself to remain alert and rely on his senses to keep safe, an approach he depended upon many times. There was too much at stake to play it safe. He must confirm the death of President Ashton as confessed by Hawthorne.

  The sentry post grew in size and intimidation as Harrison approached. He counted two men patrolling the circular wooden post. Harrison observed previously that the patrols waved to the sentries as they passed and he planned to mimic their actions. He would glance quickly to acknowledge the sentries, but attempt simultaneously to avoid visual detection. Harrison’s walk became more deliberate as he neared the patrol station. He kept his head down to avoid identification by the magnification of a telephoto lens or binoculars.

  Harrison checked to see that his rifle was ready for firing and patted his right side for access to his small automatic weapon. He felt prepared, but he had a sinking feeling that something was not right. Harrison continued his approach to the sentry post as both men on guard turned toward him. He was spotted, but hopefully not identified.

  Harrison glanced up nervously once more. The position of the guards remained unchanged, but the sentinels now had their automatic weapons at the ready. Harrison walked within five yards of the station. He looked downward for the next several steps before glancing upwards once again. This time Harrison observed that one of the guards had his binoculars trained on him. He developed suddenly an uneasy feeling as he continued walking while looking downwards. He was about even with the tower when he looked upwards briefly and waved his right hand. Harrison neither heard anything nor stopped to await a response. He did not travel far before shots rang out and a spray of bullets skidded by his left side. Harrison stopped dead in his tracks. He knew that his next move was critical and would make the difference between life and death—his!

  Harrison turned slowly and raised his hands in the air. One of the patrols called out in a menacing voice, “Stop right there! Do not move!” While one sentry kept a rifle trained on Harrison, the other made his way down to ground level. The guard carefully approached Harrison. He kept his weapon trained on him as the other sentry made his way down. Once the second terrorist approached, the first sentry lowered his weapon and began frisking Harrison. He grabbed Harrison roughly and stripped him of his weapons and equipment, unceremoniously casting them aside. The guard patted down Harrison and managed to find the small gun and knife hidden on his legs near his ankles. The sentry grasped Harrison and spanned him around so that he faced his enemies. One of the guards spoke, “Would you like to tell us who you are and what you are doing here?” Harrison evaded the question and asked one of his own, “How did you know that I wasn’t one of you?” “No signature, man” said the sentry. “Signature?” echoed Harrison. He guessed that his question was rhetorical as neither terrorist responded. “Let’s take a walk” was all that Harrison heard. With that, a gun at his back pushed him forward. Harrison continued his walk to the main ranch house except that his hands were raised now and he was deprived of his weaponry. He had not planned on confronting Hawthorne on this mission, but it appeared that such an introduction was now unavoidable. It took about five minutes for the group to reach their destination. With the terrorists at his back, Harrison walked up the stairway passing other guards who were stationed by the pillars. For a brief moment, he thought of attempting an escape. However, just as hastily, he realized that such an impulsive act would end in his death and abort any hope of determining the whereabouts of President Ashton or her lifeless body. As Harrison approached the large door to the main house, one of the terrorists commanded, “Stop!” He stopped as demanded while one of the guards walked around him and opened a sensory alarm box. The terrorist flipped several switches and opened the thick door in front of him. The guard behind him poked his gun in Harrison’s back and motioned him forward. Harrison complied and walked through the enormous gateway that lead to a long, narrow corridor. As were the pillars outside, the corridor was lined with heavily armed terrorists stationed about every five yards. No one spoke, but the shove of the gun continued to motion Harrison forward to another large door. He was told to “Stop” once more as he neared the door. One of the terrorists activated an intercom system and awaited a reply. He did not have to wait long as the voice on the other side demanded, “Identify yourself.” The guard complied and said, “Follower 1027; codename Software.” Harrison was greatly irritated upon hearing the bastardization of President Ashton’s codename. The electronic lock on the door opened with a metal clank. Harrison was pushed ahead and walked forward. The corridor gave way to an expansive waiting area. The spacious inner layout of the home belied the smaller appearance of its outer shell. Patrols guarded the waiting area as they did with every other area of the ranch. The sentries maneuvered Harrison toward another door and stopped. One of the patrols knocked on the door. The door opened and Harrison was pushed through it. He walked into another room and was shoved abruptly into an overstuffed chair. A guard stood on either side of him with their guns aimed menacingly at his head.

  Harrison estimated that twenty minutes had passed before a tall gentleman entered the room from a hidden door—at least hidden on the side that he occupied. As the man moved closer, Harrison recognized him as the individual he had under surveillance several hours ago—the man who confessed the murder of Elizabeth Ashton. The man identified as Hawthorne.

  Hawthorne stopped about halfway across from Harrison and motioned for one of the terrorists. The two men whispered back and forth before Hawthorne dismissed him with a wave of his hand. The leader walked up to Harrison and without notice slapped him across the face. Hawthorne smiled and said, “Welcome to my humble home, Mr…?” Harrison shook off the blow on his face and stared at Hawthorne. He did not reply or offer information. Hawthorne continued, “Oh, come now. We are not playing cloak and dagger here. You are trespassing on private property. You did not simply lose your way and stumble on my ranch. You killed one of my men, yes? You confiscated his clothes, yes? You know obviously that I am Jacob Hawthorne. You also may have some idea of the purpose of my organization, yes? You perhaps are looking for Software?”

  Harrison wondered if Hawthorne also knew his name, social security number and blood type. “How did your patrol know that I was not one of you?” asked Harrison. “Easy my friend—no ‘signature’” replied Hawthorne. He continued with a smile upon observing Harrison’s quizzical look: “All my men have an identifier that is lined in their inner wear, their undershirts and briefs, and are read by laser. You showed no 'signature.’ If you steal somebody’s clothes, you should take them all.” Hawthorne laughed heartily at his enemy’s mistake. “Now, Mr…?” demanded Hawthorne once again.

  Harrison sa
w no reason to play it coyly. A group with this sophistication would easily uncover his true identity. He responded, “Rossetti—Harrison Rossetti.” “And you are here, Mr. Rossetti, to find your President?” said Hawthorne coyly. Harrison was perturbed to say the least that this buffoon consistently had the upper hand. He answered Hawthorne wittily, “Does it show on my face?” “Not at all, Mr. Rossetti. Not at all. You are an agent of the United States government. Your codename is Hardware. You are currently assigned special duties involving President Elizabeth Ashton, a.k.a. Software. Your supervisor’s codename is Mentor. Shall I continue, Mr. Rossetti?”

  Harrison was confounded by the information that Hawthorne possessed, not to mention angry and embarrassed. “No,” was his weak reply. Hawthorne continued, “We’ve been expecting you. Our intelligence informed us that you would be paying us a ‘visit’ although we were not sure when or where. You’ll find us very well prepared and informed, Mr. Rossetti. These characteristics are required for an organization and a mission such as ours.” “And what would that be?” asked Harrison unconvincingly. “Oh, come now, Mr. Rossetti. The fact that you are here informs me that you know that the Elizabeth Ashton in power is not President Elizabeth Ashton. What you may or may not know is that my wife, Marilyn Hawthorne, is presently empowered as the President of the United States. A perfect double wouldn’t you say?”

  Harrison did not say. He knew that he was a dead man given that Hawthorne was taking him into his confidence. Harrison would not be allowed to leave the ranch alive although he may be used as a bargaining chip if Elizabeth Ashton is indeed dead. “A perfect double, indeed” replied Harrison. “My compliments to your surgeon.” “Yes, he did do a wonderful job, didn’t he? Too bad he didn’t live long enough to see the results of his skilled, sensitive hands.” The implication was clear: the surgeon was an unnecessary risk and expendable.

  Harrison had to get Hawthorne off balance and gain control of the unfolding events. He stated matter-of-factly, “Yes—and I’m sorry that Clona won’t be returning home.” Hawthorne’s facial expression transferred instantaneously from jovial egocentrism to homicidal anger. “What the hell do you mean?” demanded Hawthorne. Harrison found his opportunity to seize control. He replied to the terrorist, “You’re so good at deciphering information and predicting events, you figure it out!” At that, Hawthorne ripped the rifle from the hands of one of his guards and butted Harrison in the forehead. The blow was sufficiently hard that Harrison collapsed and tumbled to a heap on the floor. Hawthorne raised the rifle in anger once again, but stopped the attack as he started its downward plunge. Hawthorne breathed heavily as he barked out an order to his guards: “Take him to the cell, the one next to our ‘guest.’ If Mr. Rossetti gives you any trouble, kill him. How, I will leave up to your imaginations. Just make sure he dies slowly and painfully!” At that, the two guards that ushered Harrison into the ranch house grabbed the unconscious man by his hands and feet. They unceremoniously carried Harrison out of the room through a hidden panel door. The corridor on the other side of the opening traveled down a staircase and below ground level. They roughly placed Harrison in the cell, tossing him by his hand and feet to the dirt floor. One of the terrorists kicked Harrison in his side where the only response was a low moan. The guards closed the cell door resulting in an echo of clanging steel. The terrorists smiled at each other and headed up the stairway.

  Harrison stirred slowly raising his right hand to his forehead. He did not immediately know where he was, but he knew he had a massive headache and felt blood on his forehead. Harrison did not attempt to sit up, but lay on the dirt floor. He began massaging his temples in an effort to help soothe his pain. Harrison was in no hurry to stand. The recent events were unfolding gradually in his mind and clearing his disorientation. Harrison stood slowly and repeatedly attempted to maintain his balance. He grabbed his head to stop the cell, or his head, or both from spinning. Harrison was uncertain about the passage of time. The cell and its surroundings were lit dimly. Harrison took an accounting of his interned environment and discovered there was little to count. He was in a cell and observed attached cells on either side of him. His cell was lit dimly by a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. There was no furniture, no sleeping cot, no bathroom facilities—nothing, just an empty cell with steel bars on three sides and a brick wall completing side number four.

  Harrison walked to the steel bars that formed the side of one of the adjacent cells. A single bulb hanging from the ceiling dimly lighted it. Like Harrison’s cell, it was empty. He staggered to the other side that formed the side of an adjacent cell. It too was dimly lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. This adjacent cell also appeared empty except for a single piece of rectangular furniture about a foot away and parallel to the brick wall. Harrison thought nothing of the misplaced furniture at first as he continued to massage his temples. Several seconds later, he stopped his self-massage and his heart sank abruptly. Harrison thought that the piece of furniture seemed, at a distance, almost identical to the final resting place of Mary Lou Hawthorne. At that, Harrison collapsed to the dirt floor. His fatigue, lack of food and water, and physical abuse took their toll and he drifted out of consciousness.

  Chapter 24

  “Love, Modem”

  Harrison was unaware of the passage of time as he awoke struggling to open his heavy eyelids. The starkness of his cell quickly brought to mind his circumstances. Harrison raised himself from the ground where he had slept. The cell was dimly lit as before denying Harrison clues as to the time of day or night. As he turned toward one of the adjacent cells, he was reminded of the coffin-like piece of furniture. Harrison walked toward the iron bars that formed a common wall between the two cells. He needed to view the contents of the “unoccupied” cell. Would he find Elizabeth Ashton in her final resting place like he discovered Mary Lou Hawthorne? Or were the contents empty and simply a cruel joke? For Harrison, the answer was in the adjacent cell and he was not.

  Harrison walked the edges of the compartment looking for a weakness that he could defeat. The steel bars were solid and unyielding to the touch. Harrison walked past the jail cell door without giving it a second thought or a try. He was certain that his keepers simply did not leave his cell door unlocked. Harrison took several more steps and stopped. ‘Or would they?’ he thought to himself. He considered the kind of man that Hawthorne projected of himself. Harrison returned to the cell door and gave it a push. To his astonishment, the metal door squeaked and opened with a clank. Harrison walked out cautiously expecting one or more guards to be upon him, but they were not. His eyes widened as he now saw something that he did not see from inside his cell: stockpiles of munitions and other weaponry lining the walls of the dimly lit cellar.

  Harrison walked to the adjacent cell. Would he be able to gain entry there as quickly as he left his own cell? He reached the steel bars and pulled opened the door. The clank and squawks were much the same as before. He walked slowly to the only piece of furniture in the cell. Harrison bent down and felt carefully around it to rule out the setting of explosives. He did not want to make his demise any easier than he already has for his captors.

  Harrison scrutinized the object and discovered nothing lethal. He opened the slide locks on each side and lifted the top. Harrison immediately put his hand over his mouth, as the stench was overwhelming. He tossed the top over the side and peered inside. Harrison’s worst fears were confirmed as he looked down and saw what appeared to be Elizabeth Ashton. It was clearly her form and stature although some decomposition had taken place. Harrison saw something glittering around the neck of the corpse. He bent over and tugged on the gold necklace. As it pulled away from the body, a gold heart was revealed. He uncomfortably pulled the pendant off the poor soul and moved toward the light. An inspection of the locket revealed an inscription. Harrison moved the heart back and forth while squinting his eyes. It took several moments to read fully the inscription that said, “To my candidate and love of my
life. Love, Richard.” ‘Richard Ashton,’ thought Harrison, ‘husband of Elizabeth Ashton.’ He saw the medallion many times before at the White House. Mr. Ashton gave the locket to his wife at the time of her candidacy years ago for the Presidency of the United States as a memento of his love and support for her difficult challenge to the White House. Harrison thought for a moment, actually contemplated several explanations for what he found. However, there was one conclusion he could not explain away: here lay the body of Elizabeth Ashton, President of the United States.

  Harrison bowed his head in respect and prayer. Yet, he hardly could contain his anger, as he was unable to defend his President. He was not given the opportunity to be in the line of fire. He realized that in a short amount of time two people that he knew closely died and he was not able to comfort them or their loved ones. Harrison raised himself and replaced the lid on the resting place of the President. He vowed, however, that this would not be Elizabeth Ashton’s final resting place. If the President’s death was to have any meaning, he would have to free himself from his present confines and expose Hawthorne and “main target.” The battle for Harrison just got personal— very personal.

  Harrison walked up the dimly lit stairway. He was not expecting to just walk out unscathed or even alive for that matter. Harrison figured that Hawthorne’s men knew exactly what he had seen and precisely where he was headed. But why would Hawthorne take such risks? Is Hawthorne that much of an egomaniac that he believed he could wipe Harrison out of existence without a trace at any given moment? Was the planned discovery of the body of Elizabeth Ashton supposed to demoralize him to the point of impotence in carrying out his mission? Or entirely give up his mission?