by Justin Bell
At least that’s what she had told herself. When they had approached her just over two months ago, she had convinced herself that the country she had known was already gone, and decisions had to be made to reignite the growth. Decisions that would not be easy.
Surgical decisions. When grievous injury occurs and one of the main limbs is infected, sometimes it had to be removed for the body to survive. She believed that, and for the first time in many months, she thought she saw the light at the end of the tunnel. A light that Hyun Ki Park had helped her see.
Standing there, behind her desk, her mind deep in thought, the two secret service agents floating into the nether regions of her memory, she thought for a moment that life was the same as it had been. Nothing had changed.
On her desk, a large, brushed metal device squealed and crackled, a broken voice chopping through the static.
“Director Kramer, this is the office of the president. He is awaiting your call.” She scowled at the old ham radio set. The relic of a previous century taking up valuable real estate on her mahogany desk. Her eyes narrowed, fixated on a deep gouge on the polished surface of her desk, a wound of exposed wood, a scar from the placement of the device. An infernal device from a previous time.
Her hand went to her right pocket, immediately noting the vacant space where normally her smartphone would have been. Smartphones that were now little more than decorative plastic, they themselves relics of a past generation.
A better generation, in Rita’s mind. A generation where information was accessible and ignorance was punished. A previous age, to be sure.
She swiped the radio from the device and pulled it toward her mouth, the coiled cable pulling taught. “This is Director Kramer, please go ahead.”
“Ms. Kramer, thank you. We need your assistance in coordinating events leading up to the First National Summit next month and are hoping you might be available to travel to Washington to discuss.”
Rita let her gaze fall. Travelling to Washington used to be easy. Heck, for something like this they would have done a conference call or WebEx. Now she’d have to coordinate some kind of motorized transport, fill out a dozen fuel ration override forms and carve out two days just to travel there and back. Sometimes this new world really sucked.
“Acknowledged,” she replied. “What days were you thinking?”
She lowered herself down in the uncomfortable chair behind the desk as the conversation continued, a twisting and turning back and forth between her and the president’s executive assistant, trying to coordinate two calendars via ham radio and jotted notes on a pad of paper. This is what her life was like now. Her voice was harsh and clipped as the end of the call neared, and she consciously forced herself to ease the tension. The president had little patience for those who got upset at small problems, especially in the face of what they were currently dealing with as an entire nation. In the grand scheme of things, Kramer had little room to complain. In a world where denizens of Toledo watched their entire city burning to the ground, having to fill out fuel ration forms and coordinate transportation seemed like very small, manageable issues.
But they were issues, and issues that pissed her off to no end, issues she’d have to overcome just to have a simple conversation about the Summit.
The precious First National Summit. The president had labeled it the single most important national meeting of the twenty-first century, and as overdramatic as she thought he was, Kramer couldn’t help but think part of him might be right.
But not for the reasons he thought.
She acknowledged a final message, confirming her travel days to Washington and clicked the radio home, cutting the signal.
“Don’t look so upset,” a figure said from the shadows. Buried within the darkened corner of her small office a man sat in a chair, one leg crossed over the other. So concealed by shadow that she’d almost forgotten he was there, though his presence was never far from her mind.
The secret service agents allowed their gaze to snap toward him, then straighten and level out.
“This is a good thing,” the man continued. He pushed up from his seated position and emerged from the darkened corner, wearing a long, dark coat over equally dark pants. He resembled the shadows he peeled himself from, an extension of the darkness that had concealed him. “The more involved you are in this Summit, the better it is for everyone, right?”
Rita looked at the man. He had close-cropped black hair over a soft-skinned face, the jawline chiseled with age and genetics. He wore a black t-shirt along with the dark colored pants and trench coat, looking like a cast member from The Matrix.
Rita’s eyes glazed over as she thought of the old 1990’s movie. A production of Hollywood, yet another fragment of a past life. When would the next movie ever be made? Long after her death, she supposed. There were other priorities at the moment.
“Of course, you’re right, Hyun,” she said, turning toward him. Hyun Yi Park met her halfway, wrapping her in his arms and holding her there for a moment, the two secret service agents looking tense and uneasy in the area.
Kramer turned toward them. “You can go,” she said. They both nodded and withdrew, letting the office door close behind them.
“You need to be careful,” Rita said. “I know they’re my agents. They’re supplied by Ironclad, but still, we can’t have a North Korean just walking around out in the open.”
“Why is that?” he asked. “Are all Koreans the enemy?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. But you are.”
He smirked and she returned the expression, her cheeks flushing. “Interesting to hear you acknowledge that, Director Kramer, considering our relationship.”
She looked away, feeling that warm nugget lodged in her stomach grow large and enflamed, warmth coating the entire inside of her body. Park had a way of making her feel like a little girl again.
“You’re an agent with the Reconnaissance General Bureau, North Korea’s premier intelligence agency. What else would you be?”
“Your point is fair,” Park replied. “I’ve represented the RGB in the United States for many years. I helped orchestrate much of what has happened over the past few months. By that definition, I suppose I am ‘the enemy’.”
“Except that many would argue what you helped do to the country was something that needed to be done.”
“Would you argue that?”
Kramer looked away as she always felt she had to when he asked her these pointed questions. Could she answer this honestly?
“I think the method was a little… extreme. But in the end, this will be seen as a positive shift in American history. In world history.”
Park nodded. “You are seeing things my way. That makes me happy.”
“I live to make you happy,” Kramer replied with a smile.
He returned the smile. “Now what of the Summit. What have you learned?”
“Not much yet. Not even a date, they’re keeping things very tightly under wraps, though I know it’s happening next month.”
“Do we know where it’s happening yet?”
She shook her head. “Not yet, but after my meeting next week, I believe I will. I believe I’ll have the time and the place.”
“Excellent. The Kruellers will be very pleased.”
Rita glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing. Whenever she heard that name, she felt her insides twist into themselves, knotting like an old, ratty rubber band.
“I’m doing this for you and for the future of the country. Not for them.”
“Fair enough. I believe they are all linked. Good for the country is also good for them. What they want is what the country needs.”
Kramer thought on this for a few moments, then looked Hyun Ki Park straight in the eyes. “What about what you want? What North Korea needs? Seems to me, anything that’s good for the United States might fly in conflict with what’s good for Korea.”
“You might be surprised,” Park replied. “A powerful ally in the wor
ld that aligns with our long term political strategies is very valuable to North Korean interests, especially when it comes to our neighbors in the South. We don’t wish to destroy the United States, only to help them see the value in a stronger partnership with the Democratic Republic. By the time this is over, both goals should be achieved.”
“And you’re not worried about restitution? Counter strikes?”
Park shrugged. “Why would we be? When this new United States rises from the ashes of its predecessor, its citizens will understand and appreciate our relationship and North Korea’s place as a global super power. They will know that what was done can be done again, and far more easily next time. The anger of a broken and ravaged country does little to frighten us.”
Kramer wrapped her arms around herself. “Some would say that an angry and cornered tiger is the most dangerous.”
“Those people would be right, unless that tiger has a bomb tied around its neck.”
The comment hung in the air, the words lingering in the surrounding silence. Park took a step toward Rita and clutched her hands in his, squeezing gently.
“Rita, do not fear. You are on the right side of history.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” she replied.
“You can stop wondering.”
“So many people dead. Our entire nation, brought to its knees. For what?”
Park smiled, a surprisingly warm and engaging smile, considering the topic. “You will see,” he replied. “Everyone will see. Ten years from now, America will bless the ruling class in North Korea. Asia and America will come together in unification to put together a more powerful new world order. Some eggs were broken, yes, but trust in me when I say that the omelet will be delectable.”
Kramer nodded, slowly at first, but then more emphatically. They embraced again, the light crawling in through the open windows, casting looming shadows throughout the office, standing in judgment.
***
The dull, rattling roar of the diesel engine echoed across the cracked pavement as a dull green Humvee eased around the corner, making its way down the narrow street, looking small and alone as it traversed the empty passage. A standard issue combat Humvee, the roof-mounted gun was unmanned and only one shadowed figure was visible behind the driver’s seat as the vehicle twisted around another curve and made its way toward the sprawling warehouse facility.
From a bird’s eye view the warehouse complex was a broad and elaborate series of structures, a central loading building with half a dozen concrete loading docks jutting out from corrugated metal doors. The central building was wide and deep, a huge rectangle of brick and mortar, single level, the front wall peppered with narrow windows. On each side of the main building were two smaller outbuildings, one containing some administrative offices with the second being cold storage. A converted department store distribution center, this large campus provided all of the infrastructure needed to run regional operations for Ironclad as well as Consolidated Tool & Die. Two delivery trucks sat out by the loading docks, both of them unmarked, painted over in black and gunmetal gray.
The Humvee rounded one more corner and Karl Green leaned out the driver’s side window to get a better look at the distribution center as he pulled into the main parking lot. Even from across the parking lot he could see figures scattered along the loading docks, at least a dozen men, most of them carrying assault rifles of some kind, black clad commandos staggered in groups of two all along the edges of the structure and around the doors. Green’s arms tensed as he steered the vehicle toward the docks, a thin sheen of sweat coasting along the wrinkled curve of his forehead. As he neared the docks, a man lowered himself to a crouch and vaulted from the concrete down onto the surface of the parking lot and walked to the approaching Humvee, raising a hand, then directing Green toward a vacant parking spot. He narrowed his eyes through the glare of the windshield and followed the direction of the man’s extended finger, guiding the military vehicle in between the two white lines by one of the empty docks, then letting the engine idle roughly toward silence.
“Mr. Green,” said the man, stepping up to the driver’s side. “Welcome to Philadelphia.”
Karl lifted the round sunglasses from over his eyes and perched them on his bald scalp, regarding the man from underneath his pronounced brow. “Afternoon,” he said with a swift nod. As he stepped from the vehicle, he looked along the edge of the loading dock, his eyes shifting from one weapons-toting man to another. All of the men he saw were dressed in darkly colored combat togs, wearing various models of tactical vests, a few of them even wearing rounded helmets. As his eyes roamed from one man to another, they lingered on more than a few of the men before him, his brow curling into a furrowed scowl.
Slamming the door shut behind him, he turned toward the man who had greeted him. “What’s your name, son?”
“Davidson, Sir.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Davidson.”
“And you, Mr. Green.”
“Can you tell me precisely what is goin’ on here, son?” Green asked, walking toward the nearest loading dock, Davidson pulling up next to him and matching his pace.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You knew I was coming, right?”
The man nodded. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, sir. Very much looking forward to it. You’re a legend among many of us.”
“I don’t know about that, Davidson. I look around, all these other guys are lookin’ at me. Not with respect, but with… I dunno. Mistrust? Can you tell me why that is?”
“Afraid I can’t, sir. I wish I could. They just started showing up a couple of weeks ago, and now I think there are more of them than there are of us.”
“You’re Ironclad, ain’t you?”
“I am, sir.”
“How many others around here are?”
“I can’t confirm that, sir.”
Green huffed in frustration and pulled himself up onto the loading dock with relative grace for a middle-aged man. The Ironclad operative followed close behind.
“This is ridiculous,” he murmured as he strode along the loading dock, heading for one of the doors. As he moved forward, two operatives broke away and intercepted him, coming between him and the entrance door to the distribution center.
Green glared at the two men. They were men he didn’t know, men he didn’t trust. Men who had no business playing this role.
“I suggest you move along out of my way, boys,” he sneered. “I have more right to go in that building than the two of you have living within these borders.”
“Mr. Green,” a voice bellowed from his right. He turned and saw Gerard Krueller pushing his way through another doorway. Gerard Krueller was a large man, almost immense, standing nearly seven feet tall, with shoulders broad and round. His chest was barrel-shaped and filled up every inch of the flannel shirt stretched tight over his frame. He had a large stomach, tree trunk legs and brown steel-toed boots covering a pair of massive feet.
“Mr. Krueller,” Karl replied, nodding to the large man.
“Let’s not start a fight today, hmm?” Krueller asked. “We can all get along here, can’t we?”
Green didn’t look back at the two men he had insulted. Instead, he merely walked toward Krueller and gestured with his head at the door he had exited from.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Green?” Krueller asked in his thick voice, twinged by a distinct western accent.
“Look,” Karl said, glancing around. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on here, but my understanding was Ironclad was handling all of your security business. Since when do we need the help from those people?”
“Those people?” Krueller asked, tilting his head. “Oh, you mean the Koreans?”
Green looked back over toward the two men who had blocked his way, nodding an affirmative at Krueller’s description of them. “Yeah. What I said. Those people.”
“This isn’t us versus them, Karl,” Krueller said. “All of this that we’ve a
ccomplished over the past six months. Everything we’ve done. None of it would have been possible without their help.”
“You don’t think I understand that?” Green asked, his voice raising. “You don’t think I know what we helped them do? What my company helped them do?”
“Mr. Green?” Krueller asked. “Your tone is veering dangerously close to what sounds like… regret. That is a very dangerous sentiment at this juncture.”
Green rolled his eyes and turned away from the other man. “Oh, no. Regret? How could I possibly regret? Millions dead. America crippled and ripe for takeover. I thought I was doing it for the good of American citizens, and now I’ve got North Korean spooks coming out of the woodwork! How could I possibly regret?!”
“I suggest you calm yourself, Karl,” Krueller said, keeping his voice low.
“Yes, we used their help to do what we did. But after that. After it was all said and done, this was supposed to be a domestic operation. Rebuild from the inside out, not some kind of subversive hostile takeover.”
“Rebuild?” Krueller asked. “Rebuild with what? With who? Where is your army right now, Mr. Green? Where are all these Ironclad resources that were supposed to help us rebuild?”
Green narrowed his gaze.
“Are they still in Toledo? Are there buildings left standing that need to be torched? Or are they in Cleveland, killing more American soldiers so they can steal Humvees like that one?” He stabbed a thick finger toward the green vehicle in the parking space not far away.
“I have been trying to protect what we’re doing here,” Karl hissed.
“Whatever Ironclad resources you had, whatever broken remains of that security force existed… where are they now? They’re in Pittsburgh right now. They’re dead and dying, in a pitched battle with the United States Army!”
“We all underestimated the forces in Pittsburgh, Gerard. That’s not just on me, that’s on all of us!”
