by Martha Carr
“I know, I know. We still need to make a stop.”
Biggs pulled the car neatly up to the curb, parking just outside the police tape that now surrounded almost the entire block of Malvern Avenue that contained the little bungalow nestled between two Colonials.
They could see their Lieutenant arguing with a man and woman just outside the taped-off area. Both the detectives recognized them from the courthouse. They were fairly popular lawyers in Richmond, especially the woman.
“She’s like family to us,” yelled Wallis Jones. “We’re all she has, we have a right to go in there,” said Wallis. Her husband, Norman Weiskopf was holding onto her arm.
“Maybe you should take your wife home,” said the Lieutenant, “she seems a little hysterical.” The officer turned away for a moment and whispered something in Wallis’ direction that no one else could hear. She jerked back around and looked like she wanted to start a fight. Her hands were balled into fists.
That’s when Norman let go of her arm, even seemed to nod in her direction like he was giving her the go ahead. Either way, he suddenly stepped between the Lieutenant and his wife as Wallis ducked under the tape and kept running toward the house.
“Bad time to get out of the car,” said Buster, watching the determined woman rush by a startled officer and go quickly into the house.
There was a high-pitched shriek, “Alice!” that came from within the house.
“You might as well let me go in and get her,” said Norman.
“Won’t be necessary,” said the Lieutenant. Moments later, a uniformed officer was leading Wallis out of the house. She wasn’t resisting and even seemed determined to get back to Norman.
“Determined broad,” said Buster.
“They’ve finally killed Alice,” said Wallis. “It’s just like Lily Billings, just like her and it’s our fault, we should have made her stay with us. I knew this would happen.” Wallis was quickly walking away with Norman keeping pace beside her. “They’re finally getting around to tying up loose ends.”
“You don’t know that, Wallis,” he said.
“Don’t ask me to believe in any more fairy tales, Norman. We can’t go back to random anything. You know they did this to her. It’s starting again. We have got to get home and check on Ned.”
“What did that cop say to you?” asked Norman.
“He called me Black Widow,” said Wallis, repeating the old nickname used around the courthouse, mostly by lawyers who were tired of losing to her. Even beat cops knew it. It was also well known by everyone that Wallis hated the name even if they said it more out of a respectable fear than anything else.
Wallis seemed to suddenly notice Biggs and Buster sitting there quietly taking it all in and she glanced behind them at Parrish in the back seat. Biggs turned around for a moment to see Parrish smile and nod in recognition. The color drained from Wallis’ face and she looked like she wanted to say something.
Biggs could barely make out what she said and it made no sense. Wallis had turned to her husband who was also staring at Parrish and said in a lowered voice, “You need to call your brother.”
“None of this is really making sense,” said Buster.
“It will,” said Biggs, looking back at Parrish again, “it will. Give it time, more will be revealed.”
“Yeah, well it’s alphabet soup until then.”
“Where we going next?” said Parrish, who seemed to be enjoying the way things were going.
“We’re going to see a man about a booking,” said Buster. Parrish let out a snort. He had been inside a precinct many times without ever having his pictures or prints preserved for the record.
But both of the detectives knew they had a window of about an hour when they could rush him through and at least get Parrish into the system before the Lieutenant returned. If they could get him into the system they might find allies who could help them keep him there.
There was nothing incriminating on the surface of things that would let them haul in Rodney Parrish, except for the word of a petty thief. Both detectives knew that Ralph was probably going to change his mind anyway about everything he said once he realized it was all connected to some white woman’s murder.
That didn’t matter anymore.
Sometimes it wasn’t about right or wrong, even for a cop. It was about the damned consequences. “What do you think Wallis Jones meant when she said, ‘they killed Alice?” asked Buster.
“I have no idea,” said Biggs, “but it’s a part of this pattern. I knew that poor slob they pinned Lily Billings’ murder on didn’t do it.” Parrish let out another snort and a howl of laughter.
Chapter Four
The pain in his side was getting to Staff Sergeant Leonard Kipling. He shifted the M249 machine gun to the front, strapping it down tighter to keep it from jostling. The pain was rattling down from his waist and into his hip with every step he took. There was no open wound but he was sure he had torn something in his abdomen, maybe even broken a rib. It was gradually getting harder to take a deep breath. The skin was already mottled with crimson patches of red but it didn’t matter. He had to make it up Haskill Mountain before the enemy squads found him.
Sergeant Kipling had never been completely comfortable with using the term, enemy when referring to the other side. They had all grown up in similar neighborhoods after all.
Maybe even some of the same neighborhoods. It wasn’t the country that was dividing them.
That had all changed today when he saw how focused they were on drilling them all full of holes. He was all that was left of his squad.
Kipling had no more doubts. He was an Army Ranger in the Circle, fighting in a very real civil war that was only sanctioned at the top because everyone in the middle knew nothing about it. There were the politicians elected to pass laws and that kept the lesser wheels of a middle class life running smoothly. But the real power had always belonged to others.
Soldiers from both sides, whether it was the Circle or their enemy, the larger menacing Management, knew better than to say anything when they went on leave, back to their suburban homes along quiet streets and cul de sacs.
On the battlefield men and women went on missions to hunt down the enemy, who could be their neighbors back at home. When they were in their communities they made a point of giving everyone a wide berth until new orders came in and they set out again.
If someone came back injured it was from an unfortunate vacation mishap or a car accident. If they were dead the family might suddenly move without an explanation to avoid having to explain at all.
There was talk in the upper levels of the Circle that plans were underway to congregate the families of soldiers in neighborhoods, like open bases hidden in plain sight so that all of this would become easier to keep under wraps.
But for Sergeant Kipling that was all going to have to wait. He was going to have to figure out how to live through today if he wanted to see his family again. He knew that the casualties his battalion was taking were already the worst of the civil war. Something had changed.
The mission for his squad was straightforward. Not easy but very simple. Get a message to a former Circle operative living in Montana. The only known operative to have ever been a part of both sides and left it all behind without having to be put in the ground. He was living a quiet life in the wilderness with his boys and little girl. There were whispers about him on both sides with stories about how he had pulled it off. Some even said he had never really existed but the Sergeant knew that was just folklore.
He had met Whiting once when he was younger and a foster father had introduced them at a Circle meeting back in Richmond, Virginia. It had been a small, quiet gathering of the descendants from the remnants of the original Circle. His father had said Mark Whiting was a very smart man who knew how to think for himself. The Sergeant had never forgotten how in awe his father looked when he said those words. Not too long after that his parents had died in a car accident, leaving just Sergeant Kipling
and his brother Dennis. He pushed the thought aside.
After that, there were too many foster homes to count till he had finally landed in an orphanage run by the Circle. That had been his salvation. He was finally surrounded by people who treated him like family again and he had an entire campus to roam that felt like a small town full of kids who all had something in common with him.
It was only natural that one day he would end up working in the Circle’s system trying to be of service to his country.
“Get to Mark Whiting,” mumbled the Sergeant, licking the blood off of his lip. It was his mission imperative.
He was moving fast across the terrain and didn’t stop to use the satellite phone to let someone know what had happened. It wouldn’t matter anyway. No one was going to try and rescue him. Everyone in his squad had understood that before they set out. No communication until after the mission was complete and they had made it to the next post in Billings.
The Sergeant and his squad of six men had left the Circle base camp that was located in Calgary, one of the largest prairie provinces of Canada. They headed for a soft spot along the U.S. border where they could cross into Montana without being detected by Management drones. The war made it harder but there were still places where Circle held the terrain and could keep out enemy drones and block certain satellites from seeing too much.
Their urban base camp was typical of what had evolved during the combat that was less than a year old and was quietly moving across North America. The war was a new style started by Management and being waged between two old forces who wanted to win at any cost but were hoping to never have to tell the general public.
Everything was contained to small areas so that it could be explained as an industrial accident or if necessary, a terrorist plot that was stopped before it got too far. A body count was tolerable but exposure of the inner workings of either side was not.
The idea of a common man’s democracy meant a lot to most people. If the general populace knew that the lines were drawn in different directions that crossed traditional borders, fear could cause order to break down.
Panic among the middle class might cost both sides to lose too much power. If the infrastructure could stay hidden then neither side, Circle or Management had to give up the idea that they could were right and knew the best way to provide a better life.
Once the war was decided there would still be a prize worth keeping.
It didn’t matter that one side, Management thought that force was occasionally necessary for the greater good. In order to be happy for any length of time in Management it was necessary not to look to hard at what everyone was doing or ask many questions.
People in Management learned how to smile ‘up’ to their superiors and crack the whip to anyone below them. It was a very comfortable life but with fewer choices and generally no out clause, other than death.
The Circle was much easier to get along with but they were idealists and that left them open to almost being wiped out only a couple of generations ago. Only twenty of the original Circle had survived the earlier slaughter but they had instituted a new plan to gather recruits by operating children’s homes, called the Schmetterling Operation and their numbers had been growing and were rumored to be in the thousands.
Things were changing rapidly and for now, the Circle was in the White House. Both sides knew that President Ronald Haynes was likely to win reelection.
Management was apparently taking notice. They were pushing back.
At first it had only been a few direct and deadly hits against suspected Circle operatives. They were ones that Watchers had been keeping track of for years and were just high enough to cause harm without declaring war.
The Watchers were Management’s spies in plain sight who kept track of their neighbor’s movements and over the years had come to know who was most likely working for the other side. Someone within Management had pulled the trigger on a different plan and things had escalated. Recent events had caused the Circle to make a change.
Sergeant Kipling was entrusted with a message to inform Mark Whiting of that change. Alice Watkins had been killed and no one could be sure what she had said before her death. The Sergeant didn’t know who she was and didn’t need to know other than Richmond, Virginia was causing problems for the Circle, again.
The Keeper could be in danger and needed to be hidden away. Mark Whiting was the only person that anyone could think of who had ever outwitted Management. Someone at the top of the food chain had singled him out and now it was Sergeant Kipling’s duty to get the message to him. The Keeper was on his way and needed to be protected. Mark would need to know ahead of his arrival.
Two years ago when a key Circle player, Carol Schaeffer was murdered Management had turned Harry Weiskopf, the son of one of the Circle’s original members, and his betrayal almost cost the Circle their plans to rebuild. The Schmetterling Operation was almost exposed. Thousands of children’s lives were at risk.
The Circle had managed to recapture the thumb drive with the Circle’s long-range plan and the list of up-and-coming operatives they were grooming from childhood but not before both sides had counted up losses.
That was when Mark Whiting had disappeared and taken his family off of the grid, along with a few million dollars of Management’s carefully embezzled funds.
The Schmetterling Operation, or the Butterfly Project, and its system of orphanages also gained a few new members. The day Mark Whiting left his old life he helped rescue a few others. Carol Schaeffer’s widower Robert and their two boys, Trey and Will had fled to the Midwest to an orphanage where they could blend in and finally be forgotten.
Schmetterling was the Circle’s plan to raise their own population to finally have enough members to invade every area of the good life across the Western world, diluting Management’s stranglehold. They would do it right under Management’s watchful eye but in places where no one ever paid much attention.
Carol, the murdered Circle member, had once been a part of the operation, raised on the grounds of one of their bases. Now, her husband, Robert and their children had run to the safety of another base, just ahead of Management hunting them down. They wanted the list and would do anything to get it back. But Robert Schaeffer was never in possession of the thumb drive and it wasn’t long before it had fallen into the attorney, Wallis Jones’ hands.
The new orders had also carefully explained to Sergeant Kipling about the strange confluence of family lineage in the Jones household. Wallis Jones was a descendant of the original creators of Management, daughter of the legendary Walter Jones who was known throughout all of Management’s ranks.
Her husband, Norman Weiskopf was like the Sergeant, a descendant of the Circle’s precious twenty. That made their son, Ned, now a young teenager the most precious commodity of all to both sides. The Sergeant was informed of what had happened just a couple of years ago, because if he survived he was told they would need him in Richmond.
They were moving him up to a higher cell, but that was only if he could survive getting to Mark Whiting. He was either going to be promoted next or honored posthumously.
Wallis had managed to finally, safely deliver the thumb drive back into the hands of the Circle, Sergeant Kipling had been relieved to see, but not until after someone tried to run her off the Nickel Bridge into the James River.
It was all at the cost of her not knowing about her own family lineage, her husband Norman’s own family tree and what it would all eventually mean to their young son, Ned. There was no going back into ignorance.
Fortunately, the Circle’s operation plan, their OPS was finally coming to fruition and perhaps Wallis and Norman would never have to face Ned’s unique lineage. Not much chance of that, thought the Sergeant, trying to focus on the startling story he was told, instead of the pain radiating around his middle.
However, it was true that the numbers of the young men and women in the ranks of the corporate world, the armed services and political
office was climbing just enough to finally sway the balance. If they could stop Management from always moving their new recruits upward into a better life they could take some of the shine off of Management’s lifestyle. Then waving a cushy middle class life in front of parents who were desperate to see their children succeed in a world that had become harder to just stay middle class wouldn’t be so easy.
A previous attempt by Circle to create their own society had ended in carnage just a couple of generations in the past when Management had killed millions, leaving only the twenty. But this time they were within a few years of seeing it all succeed.
All of it almost came to an end a couple of years ago and just as they were starting to create trouble for Management. A lot of brave Circle people had paid with their lives, one of them Sergeant Kipling’s own brother, Dennis.
The traitor’s life, Norman’s older brother, Harry was spared but only because he was the son of one of the original twenty and the brother of Tom, the current Keeper. That news had made the Sergeant angry for a moment till his training got him to focus back on the mission at hand. He was taught that revenge was always a wasted effort that only led to sloppy mistakes.
Besides, Harry was locked away in solitary confinement for the rest of his life. Only a handful of people even knew of his betrayal or of his continued existence.
The thought that the man would only know four bland walls for the rest of his long days made the Sergeant feel better about how his brother had died holding back Management from ever finding the Schaeffers.
Sergeant Kipling had always known that Dennis had died in service to the Circle but it wasn’t until he was read-in for this mission that he learned just how important his brother had been to the survival of their side. He had left for the mission with a heightened sense of pride and duty to the country and his family.
It was a comfort to know that the Keeper, the only one who knew where all of the Circle’s cells were and all of the plans, was safely back in Wisconsin with only a handful of people who knew his real role. Too many knew, really, but still they had managed to keep it between the family, Esther Ackerman, a local bookstore owner who knew how to keep secrets and a family friend, Alice Watkins.
