The Theory of Insanity

by Rick Newberry

  “Liz, tell Benson to open up the loading dock door.”

  “Will do.”

  The drone is just above my head. I follow it through the tunnel. It’s so close, I can feel the rush of wind from its eight rotors. The roar of its tiny motors fills my ears, drowning out Dr. Knight’s booming voice. A cone shaped glob of C-4, stuffed with tiny ball bearings, is clearly visible—so is a crude timing device.

  “Liz, tell Benson to roll up bay door number three. Bay door three.”

  “Roger that, boss—bay door three.”

  I take my eyes off the drone and glance ahead at door number three. Lieutenant Benson pushes a button, raising the metal roll-up door.

  “Get away from the door,” I yell at him. He runs to the side. I maneuver the drone downward to just a few inches off the ground. The drone dips under the roll-up door and vanishes into the darkness of the trailer. I hit the deck. The last thing I see is :01 on the iPhone.

  Flames, shrapnel, and debris shoot out the back of the trailer and into the loading dock area through the roll-up door. Lieutenant Benson stands on the left side of the door. I’m on the right. Fragments fly between us and skitter across the concrete floor.

  Benson stares at me through terrified eyes. I do the same.

  “We are one…we are one.” The crowd cheers, oblivious to the peril I’d just guided over their heads. I slow march back to the security office and fall into the chair behind the desk.

  Lucky Turkey burns my mouth and tongue and throat and stomach—which is a good thing. The little voice in my head is pleased—well done.

  XVIII

  The crowd still stands, and has for the past several minutes, even though Dr. Knight is no longer on the stage, having been ushered off by Smitty and Wade. His true fans know he never returns for an encore or curtain call, but the spectators remain on their feet, some shouting, “Bravo,” others just shouting. The final stop of the We Are One world tour is over—a rousing success. Of course, compared to how I’ve been lead to believe the speech ended on eight previous occasions, how could it not be a triumph? I hope Samantha is proud.

  Wade calls out over the ComLink. “Boss, he’s in the green room. The press corps is waiting for him in the conference room.” He seems relieved.

  I get up from behind the desk and stretch, a long, relaxing pose, thankful for my health, my team, and the fact the arena is still standing. “On my way.” I pluck the ComLink from my ear and tuck it into my pocket.

  After locking the door to the security office, I meet Lieutenant Benson in the hallway. “Good job tonight.”

  “Thank you, sir.” His uniform is disheveled, his face pale. “That drone…how did you know…I mean, where did—”

  “Don’t ask. Just know your quick actions saved thousands of lives tonight. Let me ask you something, would you be interested in a career move? Walk with me.” We weave our way through spectators filing out of the arena.

  “I don’t follow, sir.”

  “I’m offering you a job, lieutenant. You’ll be on the ground floor of an amazing opportunity. I could use someone like you.”

  “I…I don’t know. I have to talk to the wife.”

  “Is it a matter of money?” I slow him down by grabbing his elbow, lean in, and utter a figure. “How does that sound?”

  “When do I start?”

  “Right now,” I say as I point to the rafters. “Clean up on aisle one.”

  “Say again?”

  “His name is Gunther Burns and he can shed some light on what happened with that drone. I’m sure Metro would love to have a few words with him. Take someone with you and escort that son of a bitch off the truss. Also, get a hold of as many arena guards as you can and have them meet up in the conference room. We’re going to need a wall of security between Dr. Knight and the press. Have them start checking credentials and searching bags. Then form a perimeter around the—”

  “Wait, you want the arena guards to work past their normal shift?”

  “Don’t worry, the press conference should only last a few minutes. Besides, I happen to know Mr. Benny won’t care about the overtime.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “Welcome aboard…er, what’s your given name? I can’t keep calling you lieutenant.”

  He cleared his throat. “Danger.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? Lieutenant Danger Benson?”

  He shrugs and with a grin says, “What can I say, my parents were free thinkers.”

  “If you say so, lieutenant. Now take off, you’ve got a lot to do.”

  He shouts into his two-way radio and jogs down the hallway. I can usually tell about people, he’s one of the good ones.

  I place the ComLink back in my ear. “Great job tonight, everyone. I’ll be in the green room in one. Junior, is Tilly there?”

  “Roger that, boss.”

  I need to speak to her, alone, about what happened in room 422 of the Mojave Springs Hotel. Besides myself and Gunther Burns, she’s the only one on earth who knows the truth about After World, Sebastian, and the apocalypse.

  A large crowd loiters outside the Green Room, hoping for an autograph, a picture, or a quick word with the good doctor. Smitty puts his hand on my sleeve before opening the door. He whispers, “What happened out there, boss? Somebody said something about an explosion. I’ve got Metro on the way.”

  “We need to keep it quiet—no panic. There was a situation, but it’s under control.”

  “I know the Undersheriff, Bob Corker, we worked together in LA. He’s promised me a few units. Don’t worry, he’ll keep things under wraps if I ask him.”

  With a nod, I shake his hand. “Good job—ask him.” He opens the door and I step from the chaos of the hallway to the chaos in the green room.

  “Boss,” Wade says gathering around me, along with Junior and Richard, “what was that about an explosive drone?”

  “News sure does travel fast.”

  “Are you serious?” Richard says. His eyes are wide, his breathing rapid.

  Wade places a hand on my shoulder. “You okay? What happened?”

  “I’ll fill you in later. Right now, I have an announcement. Liz, patch me in to the team.”

  “You’re live, boss.”

  “Listen up, everyone. We have a new addition to BDI. Lieutenant Danger Benson formerly of the US Data Center Arena. He did a helluva job for us tonight, details to follow.”

  “Boss,” Junior pipes in, expressing the suspicion I’m anticipating from each one of the team, “what do we know about him?”

  “Without him, I wouldn’t be here now, so I know enough. He’s good, people.”

  Wade asks, “Where did he serve?”

  “The loading dock.” My team exhibits a healthy skepticism regarding “strangers” infiltrating our ranks, especially after the loss of JoJo and Gayle. The comradery between my team, following the test of fire we’ve faced on this world tour, fills me with pride. “We’ll work it out tomorrow. Listen up, Smitty’s got Metro on the way and we’re all gonna have to spend some time talking to them. In the meantime, do any of you have any more questions for me?”

  “About a million,” Richard says.

  “Good”—I pat him on the back—“hang on to them.”

  “Roger that, boss.”

  I touch the casing on the ComLink to take myself off line. My conversation with Tilly needs to be private. I glance over Richard’s shoulder and spot her sitting on a tan sectional sofa in the corner of the room. Anwar is next to her. They’re engaged in a private squabble.

  He glances up and we make eye contact. “Ah, Brooks,” he shouts standing and marching near, his hand held out. “Thank you so much for all your hard work during the tour. The sacrifices your team made will never be forgotten.” He pulls me forward into a can’t-breathe-bear-hug and lowers his voice. “I am truly grateful for everything, and shall always have a special place in my heart reserved for JoJo and Gayle.”

  I step back, catching my breath. “Than
k you, sir.”

  The door cracks open. Morton Sully walks in. “Anwar,” he shouts, “what a spectacular speech. You’ve outdone yourself. This is the perfect ending to the world tour.”

  While Dr. Knight and Morton Sully are engaged, I steal my way to Tilly still sitting on the couch—a cigarette in her mouth and cocktail glass in her hand.

  She keeps her eyes glued to me. Drawing near, she holds her hand out—as if that would stop me. “We have nothing to say.”

  “Listen to me,” I whisper squatting on the ottoman in front of her, “whatever problems you and Anwar have, you can either work it out, or not. I don’t really care. Do what normal married people do, get a divorce, or reconcile, or take separate vacations. The point is, do it on your own time. Put it all aside until after the press conference.”

  “Why?” Her expression remains hard.

  “Tilly?” Knight says turning away from Sully, “are you okay, my dear?”

  I lean in to her. “Forget about any of the crazy plans you and Sebastian might have cooked up. None of that’s necessary anymore—the end of the world has been postponed. Do you understand? So, my advice to you is put on a happy face, walk over to Anwar, and take his hand. The sooner the better.”

  Right now, the one most important thing I can do is present a lie to the viewing public. If Anwar insists on cheating on Tilly, if she intends on confronting him, they can deal with it later—not on my watch. My job requires me to get the client through the press conference, and then out of this God-awful arena in one piece. It may not be politically correct but, right now, marital bickering has to take a back seat to public presona.

  She glares at me for a few seconds then puts on a glittering smile. I pride myself in not sticking my nose into anyone’s private business, especially marriage, but there’s a bigger picture here. The world will wake up as usual tomorrow morning—no bomb, no nuclear response, no apocalypse. If we take it one small hurdle at a time, we might get to the finish line.

  Smitty opens the door and nods at me. “The press is ready.” A few photographers push him aside and sneak into the room.

  Dr. Knight and Tilly lift their hands into the air, reminding me of a political gesture instead of a marriage. This is now an alliance of convenience.

  “Thank you, everyone, for your loyalty and support,” he says, “from the bottom of our hearts. And now it’s on to face the press.” He glances at Tilly. “Together.”

  Junior, Wade, Richard and I form a shield around them. I shove a photographer out of the way and shout over the commotion, “Okay, let’s roll.”

  It’s only a short twenty yards to the conference room. I spot Lieutenant Benson standing outside the double doors waving me forward. Junior and I create the business end of a human wedge, setting up blocks through the crowd for Richard, Wade, and the Knights.

  Questions are shouted at Dr. Knight. He hesitates like he wants to answer each and every one, but I can’t let him. My team pushes and pulls him forward, keeping him in motion, always moving him toward the conference room.

  I can’t vouch for anybody in this hallway. Hell! I can’t vouch for anyone in the conference room as far as that goes, but en route to or from is when clients are most vulnerable. Keeping the client on the move is always a better alternative than letting him become a standing target. My blood chills at the thought of Dr. Knight in front of a world audience announcing his new accord, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “This way,” Lieutenant Benson shouts over the roar of the gathering.

  I want to ask him about credentials but he can’t hear me, and it probably wouldn’t matter anyway. We pass through the threshold of the conference room. I glance around at a mass of people shouting at Knight, snapping pictures, holding up their cell phones, and generally getting in the way. The Knights are jostled about by the crowd. I shove against anyone I can in an attempt to establish a path to the podium.

  Glancing up at the ceiling, I note air conditioning registers and camera blinds. There’s only one way in and out of this chamber. Worse, the area has not been fully vetted. I dropped the ball on that. The best we can do is stay close to the client, keep our eyes wide open, and our weapons at the ready.

  “Liz,” I shout into the ComLink, “see if Metro can spare us a few units. This thing is out of control. Come back.”

  She says something, but her words are drowned out by the noise in the room. I shout at Dr. Knight, “We need to turn around. This room isn’t safe.”

  He shakes his head and scowls. This is the moment he’s been waiting for and he will not be denied. Every news outlet in the world is in attendance.

  We cross the threshold, entering what I consider a kill zone. No way out, a thousand-people jammed into a room built to hold half that many, and the client eager to stand alone in front of the world. A fine mist of sweat forms on my brow. I’m panting instead of breathing.

  A line of cameras catches the chaos from the back of the room. Their “on air” lights remind me of the red eyed creatures in The Abyss. We end up behind a long table in the front of the conference room. A podium holding a variety of microphones stands at the center of the table. Junior and Wade place their hand on Dr. Knight, keeping him back from the hundreds of excited press people.

  Morton Sully steps forward, raising his hands, asking for silence. “May I have your attention, please. Quiet, please.” Like a volume switch being turned down, the noise fades until Sully’s voice is the only sound in the room. “Thank you. As you know, tonight successfully concludes Dr. Knight’s We Are One world tour. During the tour, Dr. Knight had the opportunity to meet with various leaders of the free world. Leaders of science, industry, politics, religion, and the arts, to name but a few. During those talks, one common goal was discussed. I’d like to introduce Dr. Knight at this time to further elaborate. Ladies and gentlemen”—he steps aside—“I present Dr. Anwar Knight.”

  Applause erupts in the conference room. Even the press is on board the We Are One train. Knight takes his place behind the podium—alone. Flash pictures explode, blinding us all. I shield my eyes and gaze at the front row of reporters. Some wear credentials around their necks, most do not. In theory, every one of these reporters and photographers has been screened at the door. In reality, however, that doesn’t always happen. In the real world, somebody knows somebody who let’s someone in with a nod and a wink. This is the enemy. The thought gives me shivers. I place my hand on the firearm under my coat and glance at Wade and Junior. They’ve already done the same. We’re totally exposed.

  “Thank you,” Anwar says, his words booming from the speakers. “Tonight marks a turning point in the evolution of mankind. After speaking with hundreds of leaders throughout the world, and securing their signatures on this declaration.” He produces a file from under the flap of his coat and holds it in the air. “It’s my honor to announce the very first Scientific, Spiritual, and Transcendental accord—the first of its kind in the history of the world.”

  An unusual movement from behind the front row of reporters grabs my attention. A jostling of bodies and their complaints, in the form of “hey” and “watch it,” rise up. I follow the progress of a man pushing his way to the front. A camera flash catches me square in the eyes, blinding me for a moment. But in that moment I establish the man’s identity—Major Roberto Flores. He’s holding a pistola.

  Lieutenant Benson lunges for the weapon and shouts, “Gun.”

  I draw my firearm and dive in front of Dr. Knight.

  Major Flores shoots.

  Some people cry, others scream.

  Me? I catch a bullet in the heart. And so it goes…

  Part Three

  A New Beginning

  XXIX

  My vision is blurry, a confusing world of cascading images, both light and dark, and shades of gray. “What happened?” I rub at my eyes, blinking several times, wondering what hospital I’ve been taken to—Sunrise is the nearest trauma center to the arena.

  Samanth
a’s beautiful face comes into focus. She stares at me, her worry lines vanishing little by little until her entire face lights up. “Good job, Brooks. You saved Dr. Knight’s life.”

  “So, I’m…dead—again?”

  “Yes, but this time you saved the world.” She cocks her head. “Did you hear me? You did it, Brooks.”

  My hand races to my chest, searching for the bullet hole that ended my life. I glance down and suck in a long breath of sweet, flavored air. “What about Major Flores? Gunther Burns—are they here?”

  “No, not yet, but have a little patience. They’ll show up sooner or later—everyone does. They’re still stuck in the entanglements of the physical world. In the meantime, there’s someone who wants to see you. This way, Mr. Davis.”

  “Ooo, Mr. Davis. Aren’t we getting formal.”

  She grins at my sarcasm and nods for me to follow.

  We’re standing where I first remember seeing her days ago. At least it seems like days, but it can’t be, can it? Am I meeting her again for the first time? The wide avenue, once filled to the brim with millions of souls wandering the After World, is nearly barren now. “What happened to all the people that were here?”

  Sam scoffs. “They’re on earth, silly, living their lives, going about their normal business, all because you stopped a nuclear war. Now, c’mon, let’s get going. It shouldn’t take us too long to get there.”

  “Where’re we going?”

  “The House of Questions. You must know the drill by now.”

  I don’t know how to tell her, so I just blurt it out. “Sebastian is dead.”

  “I know. C’mon.”

  It takes a few minutes to get my “sea legs” back, but after testing my balance, I’m soon raring to go. “It’s so good to see you, Sam.”