Patriot Deception

by Ross Elder

  I’m checking myself out in the bathroom mirror now. I look a little better. Refreshed, anyway. Still look exhausted in the eyes. “What time is my appointment, dude?” My question brought Max into the bathroom doorway.

  “You don’t have one.” He whispered the words.

  “Huh?”

  “Just finish up so we can get out of here. Come on.”

  Whisked away, into the parking lot, and into Max’s car. At least I think this is what you would describe as whisked away. If there was any more whisking, it would have looked like a Secret Service detail extricating their protectee from a potentially harmful situation. Max is speeding through the parking lot. This is not safe. Not at all. I’m in the passenger seat. Amanda is in the back, seated behind Max. She doesn’t seem bothered by the erratic driving. She’s quite calm, or appears so. She’s looking out her window at the passing vehicles and buildings, perhaps deep in thought.

  “Okay, guys, what’s really going on here? What’s with all of the hostility toward Toni and what’s with dragging me out of the house like this? Jesus! I thought you were going to hit that pothole. Slow down, man. What’s the rush?”

  “Max and I have been doing a lot of talking, Mason. We think there is a lot more to this whole thing than you think. More than you think, the police think, or even Max originally thought.” I’m trying to look over my shoulder at her, but it is too uncomfortable. There is a vanity mirror on the passenger side sun shade, so I pull it down and slide the plastic cover out of the way so I can make eye contact through the mirror. She’s calm but serious.

  “Wait, how are you a part of all of this? Why does, and I mean no offense by this, totally hot, but, how does my landlady know about my past and many things I thought were secrets.” That made her smile. It’s a genuine smile, too. Very pretty.

  “Oh, Mason. You’d be surprised what a man will tell you when he’s lying between your legs.” Now there’s a sparkle in her eyes and the moisture in her mouth is making her teeth glisten. So, hot. Okay, stop it. Stop it!

  “Holy shit,” I murmur. This seems to make her laugh.

  “Amanda!” Max is also giggling. “Come on. Don’t do that.” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Amanda has known you for quite a while, Mason. You aren’t with the Agency. Not anymore. You aren’t doing anything highly classified. You're just careful about your personal security. Apparently, you told her everything.”

  “Very susceptible to a good, old-fashioned, honey trap, darling.” Now she’s making that “tsk-tsk” sound. Still smiling. I fully understand exactly what I saw in her. See in her.

  “Stop it!” Max is using his best chastising tone, but, yeah, he’s still giggling.

  “You guys are killing me.” I’m not sure I’m joking. It’s warm out, somewhere around 80° F, currently. Amanda is pulling off the long-sleeved t-shirt she’s wearing, fully aware that I’m watching her in the mirror. Underneath, she’s wearing a simple tank-top. It’s very becoming. I wonder if she wore the concealing garment just for Toni’s benefit.

  “I need a drink,” Amanda says. Max agrees. I agree. I don’t think Toni would approve.

  Things get a little blurry for a while. It’s unexplainable. It isn’t as though I wasn’t conscious, but it’s as though it happened with me simply as an observer, and in a flashy, fast-forward sort of way. We’re in a bar, the three of us seated at a small, round table. The chairs aren’t very comfortable, but they are sturdy. Amanda is turned slightly toward me in her chair, her knees, one resting upon the other, are pointed in my direction, her left forearm resting on the table. She’s wearing cute, white sandals. Her toenails appear newly painted.

  Max is yammering on about something, maybe the sports program displayed above the bar. It’s a bit loud in here, and I can’t really hear him well. I’m not paying much attention anyway. I’m exploring the surroundings with my eyes, trying to recall if I’ve been here before. I don’t think so. Amanda seems comfortable. I think she has been here. I’ve apparently sipped away about half of a Piña Colada.

  I turn to return my gaze to Amanda, and a hand is entering the frame of my view. A male hand, stretched out, reaching toward Amanda’s face! She seems startled and is pulling her head back. Without thought or contemplation, my left-hand shoots forward and clutches the hand in my grip. I’m squeezing it, twisting it, my grasp so tight I can feel the trembling in my forearm. A swift tug in my direction and a torso appears, bent, leaning over the table, the extended neck pulled into the waiting vice of my available right hand. There is a scream, but I do not know from where. Chairs are scuffing the rough, wooden, flooring around me, and I can feel the gaze of many upon us. The world around me has gone dark, only a tunnel of focus upon the neck in my hand. All sounds are now muffled, as though I’m wearing ear plugs. Squeeze! Crush! Disable!

  “Stop!” The scream comes from little Amanda; a powerful command devoid of anger, yet fearful. Both of my hands release their prey, but I’m rising from my chair now. It falls backward, the seatback thumping against the floor. “Stop! Stop!” she repeats, but softer now. Max moves next to me and places an arm around my waist, his hand clutching my left wrist, which was moving toward the concealed pistol behind my hip. His right hand is in the crook of my right elbow.

  “Easy, killer. Easy. Take a deep breath. Stay calm.” His own tone is calm and quiet. The sounds within the room clear and are no longer muffled. Amanda is standing, reaching for the figure attached to that hand and throat.

  “Oh, my God, are you okay?” Her voice is soothing, her tone concerned. A large man who had been stationed near the entrance of the bar is approaching quickly, his fingers flexing in a display of anticipated aggression. The bouncer. He’s a big dude, maybe 6’ 2”, 250 pounds, built like a football player with broad, rounded shoulders and long limbs.

  Taking him out would be relatively simple. He’s too large to dodge quickly. A couple of hooks to the chin, maybe a crushing stomp to the side of the knee; cause a rupture in the lateral meniscus, or tear the lateral collateral ligament. He’d go down hard and not want to get up. Crush his throat with a hammer fist. Done. Maybe just clock him in the skull with a heavy beer mug. There should be one around here somewhere. Look around.

  “Hey! What’s going on over here?” The bouncer looks menacing, but his voice is a bit strained. He isn’t confident. Imposing character, but lacking the animal instincts necessary to do his job. He should be all over me at this point, ensuring I was not a physical danger. He isn’t. He’s keeping his distance.

  “It’s okay! It’s okay! Just a misunderstanding.” Amanda has her right hand raised, palm outward, in the direction of the bouncer. “Really, Tommy. It’s okay. An accident, really.”

  “Accident? He fucking tried to choke me!” The…intruder…began to protest. I think he would be very happy if I were to be thrown out of here.

  “You better get convincing real fast, people.” Tommy seems worried. He isn’t buying the story.

  “Look, Tommy, my friend here, his name is Morgan, he just got back, you know…from the war? He’s still a little on edge. My friend here, Eric, reached out to say hello and Morgan just…reacted! He thought I was in danger. That’s all. It will be okay. We’ll take care of Eric.” Damn, she’s slick. Awfully quick with a lie, though. What’s up with that? Who is this Eric guy? Shit. Did I really hurt him?

  Tommy is nodding. He’s going to walk away. Good. Amanda is glaring at me. I mean, like, a nasty glare. She’s getting a little stabby. She’s silently mouthing the words, “what the fuck?” to me. All I can do is shake my head because I, in fact, do not know what the fuck. It just happened. I didn’t even think about it. Threat. Response. Put it down. Move on to the next threat.

  In my mind, I can see myself. I am about eight years old. I’m wearing a white Gi with a white belt around my waist. Soon, the belt was yellow, then orange. Purple, brown, and black. I’m older now. Early teens, perhaps. A different Gi, this one more colorful; blue and gold and adorne
d with various patches. This is old stuff to me, the physical prowess and trained reactions. Tae Kwon Do, Jiu-Jitsu, Judo, wrestling, hand to hand combat training. Jesus. Years of it, too. In my memory, I wasn’t the best. I see a lot of third place trophies on the fireplace mantle. Some honorable mentions. I’m no Jackie Chan. I am, though, apparently, a menace.

  I play along with Amanda’s story. I’m very apologetic toward Eric, and I’m helping him right a chair so he can sit down. After hearing that I was a recently returned combat veteran, a totally offensive lie in my mind, he too was apologetic. When Eric inquired as to my unit and where I was “over there,” Amanda again went into fraud-mode.

  “He really doesn’t like to talk about it, Eric. It was…pretty bad. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?” Everyone agreed, especially me, because I had nothing to tell him. I don’t have those lies just sitting idle in my head, waiting to spring forth during a conversation, Amanda.

  Chapter Twenty

  September 20, 2016

  0110 hours

  I fell asleep for a while. After the bar incident, Max and Amanda thought I had been out in public enough for one day, and we shouldn’t overdo it. All the stimuli around me may have been too much. They wanted to think I was okay and could handle it. I could hear that in their voices and see it in their faces. I don’t think they were wrong but, we should take a more conservative approach to things in the future. It seems my mind has decided to either stay blank or pile-drive information into my cranium.

  Max dropped us off at the complex and went on his way, whatever way that was. I have no idea if he is staying in a local hotel, or what. He hasn’t said, and I haven’t asked. For an old friend, I’m apparently not very inviting. I haven’t even offered to let him stay at my place while he’s here.

  Amanda went to her place, and I went to mine. Toni greeted me. She was sitting on the couch in her pajama pants and a tank-top, her bare feet curled up beneath her. She seemed to have gotten over her anger from the earlier argument. I can’t remember if I left the door unlocked when we left. I also can’t remember if I gave Toni a key to this townhouse, so I just act as naturally as I can when I walk in.

  I got a hug, a kiss, and a brief interrogation. How many drinks did I consume? Did I eat anything? How am I feeling? Was it relaxing, or frightening? What happened? All the normal questions one would expect from an overprotective lover or nurse. She informed me that she would have to adjust my nightly medicine dosages to account for the alcohol in my system, as little as it was. She gave me two small pills and some water in a coffee cup. She trotted off to the bathroom after telling me to take them and then get ready for bed.

  I felt fine. I was tired. I was relaxed. I really didn’t feel the need for any sort of sleep aid. As I watched her butt wiggle in the pajamas, I decided not to take them. I wanted to try having a night’s sleep that was not chemically induced. It is imperative I get off the meds. I don’t know much about them, but I just feel like I don’t want them. I don’t know if they are helping. Instead of taking the pills, I drop them down the kitchen sink. I was sipping the water when she exited the bathroom. She didn’t wash her hands. It didn’t bother me. I guess we are like an old, married couple now.

  She tucked me into bed sometime just before midnight. She kissed me softly, telling me she would be up for a little while. She wanted to finish watching something on television. I don’t know what it was. She didn’t say. I fell asleep within minutes. It felt good as I slipped away into nothing. There was a fluttering in my stomach; an excitement I couldn’t explain. I think I was smiling before the world went black.

  I’m awake now because I heard her doing something downstairs. It seems I am a very light sleeper when not medicated. I can’t tell what she’s doing, though. I think she’s fishing around in her backpack. Running water. A drink to place at her bedside, I suppose. I’m not moving. I’m just listening. I’m sleepy and happy. Once she is in bed next to me, I’ll drift away again, I am sure. Her little feet are making muffled sounds on the stairs. She’s in the room. The cup of water touches the nightstand on her side of the bed.

  She’s still moving, coming to my side. I’m turned outward, facing the wall. I don’t have to open my eyes to know what she is doing. I can hear it and feel it and sense it. She’s bending over, looking at me, making sure I’m asleep. I feel her soft, warm hand on my shoulder.

  “Are you asleep, baby?” Her voice is a whisper. What are you supposed to do in that situation? If you were asleep, you couldn’t answer, or the question itself would wake you, so the entire premise is just kind of ridiculous. She wants me to be asleep. I feel giddy and playful so I will play along.

  “MmHmm.”

  “That’s good, baby. It will only be a minute.” I can hear her feet shuffling and the almost undetectable sound of soft cotton sliding on skin. She’s taking off her clothes. That’s a bit strange. She usually sleeps in something, anything. I don’t know why, but most women I’ve known always wear something to bed. Seems silly to me. Maybe I’m the weird one. She’s pulling the covers down, exposing me. I’m going to win this game, though. I’m asleep.

  Her hands are on my right hip, rolling me onto my back. She’s moving my arms to my sides. It’s a little hard to play dead with a sexy woman touching you. I’m doing my best.

  “Still relaxed, Morgan? In a deep sleep?”

  “MmHmm.”

  “That’s good, baby. Just relax. We are going to try again.”

  “Hm?” I’m not sure what she means. The mumbled question was genuine.

  “We have to keep trying. It’s okay. It’s taking longer than I had hoped, but we will find it, okay? Just relax and let me help you remember.” She’s running her hands along my thighs and abdomen. The caress is sensual. I’m getting excited. That seems perfectly normal for a sleeping man, I think. Her hands are on my manhood; massaging, caressing. I groan from the pleasure. I couldn’t stop it. “You like that. That’s good.” She has released me now. “There’s much more.”

  Her weight forces the mattress to sink around me. A soft thigh slides over my hips and then she is astride me. Slowly, agonizingly, she is caressing my most sensitive places with her own softness. She rises, and then lowers herself to me, accepting me into her. The pleasure was intense. I groan again. My hips buck in an unintended spasm.

  “Whoa there, Morgan. Easy. Not yet. We have to do some work first.”

  Work? What?

  “Hm?” I trying my best to play along. There is a grin on my face. I don’t know if she can see it.

  “You have to answer the question, Morgan. They won’t let me keep trying without success. We have to find it. This may be the last chance.”

  What the fuck is she talking about? “Find?’ I whisper.

  “The file, baby. Where is it? Where did you put it?” She rose and fell again, eliciting a deep groan and another buck of my hips.

  “What file?” My voice is clearer now. I’m losing the ability to play along with this weird game. I just want to feel her moving again.

  “The patriot deception, baby. Where is it? Where did you put the files?”

  “Patriot what?” I’m whispering again. Mumbling. If she wants to play this game, I guess I can keep trying. She slides up and pauses before plunging down onto me. God. The palms of her hands are on my abdomen, pressing against me, assisting her movements.

  “The patriot deception, Morgan! Where is it?”

  Fuck, she sounds kind of pissed off now. She’s taking this roleplay thing a bit too far, I think. I mean, it feels great but, geez. “I don’t know.” The words came out as a squeak as I felt her muscles tense around me.

  “Okay, Morgan. I’m out of time here. We have to have a breakthrough tonight.”

  This is the strangest sexual encounter I think I’ve…well, that I can remember. Toni is a kinky one. A hollow-sounding, plastic, ‘POP’ causes my eyes to open. What is that? An ink pen? Is she going to write on me now? What the hell? No. Wait. That isn’t a pen. Her
left hand is pulling away the protective shield of a needle. She’s holding a syringe.

  “What is…?”

  “This isn’t going to be pleasant, Morgan.” Up, pause, down. Rotating hips. Damn. The plastic cap has fallen onto the comforter. The needle is aiming at my abdomen. Jesus Christ! She’s going to stab me with it!

  My left-hand shoots forward, clutching her right wrist. What does that look in her eyes mean? Fear? No, not fear. Surprise? Yes. Shock. It’s shock. This isn’t supposed to happen, but I can’t stop myself. She’s going to scream. Don’t scream, Toni! Don’t! Be quiet. There is pain in my right shoulder and chest. She’s clawing at me with her left hand. It’s brutal and vicious. She isn’t playing. She’s trying to hurt me. The deep breath tells me she’s about to unload that scream. My right-hand wraps around her mouth, attempting to stifle the coming sound. The clawing and struggling intensify.

  Stop fighting me! Stop hurting me. Don’t scream! I can’t control her this way. She is frantically trying to shove the syringe into me. I can’t let that happen. I don’t know why. I just can’t. I buck my hips and rotate left, the hand on her mouth and grip on her wrist assisting me in twisting her downward. I’ve flipped us both. She is beneath me now, her head pressing deep into a pillow from the pressure applied by my hand. She’s thrashing, kicking her legs, and shaking her head. We are still coupled.

  She won’t stop. I must stop her. The weight of my torso aids my left hand in controlling her wrist and the strange injection. She stiffens almost immediately, and the look in her eyes tells me something went horribly wrong. She’s blinking rapidly, and her eyes are searching for something. Oh, my God. The needle. It slipped through the tender flesh of her left breast. She is trying to pull it out, but I am too strong. She can’t. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m fighting my girlfriend; my nurse. What the fuck? I can’t stop myself from pushing with my left hand. My grip slides from her wrist and encircles her hand.