Last War

by Vincent Heck

"No. What are you doing? You’re acting like you’ve never been--"

  "What is it, then? Just tell me, Mike."

  "You’re acting brand new, strike one; strike two: this is not a secure line.”

  “This is a secure line, Mike.”

  “No. It’s not. The person on the opposite end of the phone is not stable.” Still air sat stagnant in between for a half second before Michael continued. “Anyway, we’ve been doing this for decades. We can’t get to the goal line and fumble. We’ve gotta get everyone in this country on to the same page. But, it’s proving difficult with people and their various beliefs. Our forefathers built this land on the utmost of freedom principles, and that separates us from the other great nations of humankind, but it also handicaps us, as well, because whenever we want to make a change, we have to hear everyone piss and moan. The founding principles have been our friend while building this place, but now times are changing, technology is putting a strain on our foundation and we need to update.” Michael laughed a bit. “It’s funny how these people decide times are changing when it comes to their bible, and it doesn’t apply to the new times, but somehow the constitution escapes that principle. But, in the same action, they turn around and cling to their religious beliefs. If only they knew. Either way, we’ve gotta show them we can be trusted.”

  "That’s how it was designed. We’re supposed to hear lip from them. How do we plan on being trusted, Michael?"

  "Well, first, we have to show them that they can trust us more than they trust those filthy clergymen. And all those other silly myths spewed to them by the internet and … whatever else.”

  “I don’t see anyway to do that. It sounds like you’re talking something of major proportions?”

  “It’s funny how you keep asking these questions as if we haven’t already discussed – you’re recording me, aren’t you?”

  “No. But, you’re recording me.”

  “This is how leaks happen.” Michael said under his breath. “Look, Jay, I trust you. There are a lot of things involved with this. There are a lot of strings being pulled, and it’s a domino effect; one that has never failed us, before. It’s the lesser of the two evils that keep us moving ahead. It’s our history, Jay, and we’ve been a part of a handful of these things. This, right here, is history in the making. Don’t start thinking silly stuff. We’re continually evolving. There are a lot of things, over time, that have had to be tweaked from our forefathers until now. Remember the prohibition and what that started? Remember amendment 21 voiding amendment 18? It’s just that over again. We’ve only thrown make-up on the constitution and the bill of rights since then, and it has led to a decaying society. It was only put here to kickstart something. You know this – you know better. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen into this propaganda machine we so brilliantly tweaked. You. Know. Better.”

  “The constitution was put here to protect the people from us. That’s what it’s here for. What about the Declaration of Independence? Freedom? Democracy? Pursuit of happiness?”

  “You really sound like you’ve fallen victim, Jay. This is heartbreaking. I mean, none of that’s compromised. We can still have that. Not everyone can – it’s impossible. Our documents have been sufficient enough to keep things orderly, but it doesn’t promote betterment. We’ve been stagnant, and you know it. The last few administrations have been setting this up, and we can’t be the administration to kill this. This is decades of work, Jay. We need betterment. We need to strengthen our foundation. Our foundations are clearly the principles in the constitution—but this is the most powerful nation ever set up, we need to move into the next phase. Are you on board?"

  Mike was the only friend and ally Jason had at the moment. But his conscience bothered him. That nagging, reoccurring, intuition of his strengthened. He became dizzy.

  Through an echoed filter, he heard Michael’s voice, again. "Jason? Are you on board?"

  His focus warped back into reality. "No."

  As soon as he said that word, that feeling instantly dissipated. Michael was silent on the other end. Jason hung up the phone and pulled the cord out of the wall. This time he tore the telephone’s cord and jack apart.

  It was time to think of a strategy.

  

  Nebraska Avenue Complex

  "So, he's not on board, huh?" Homeland Security Council and Republican, Josh Grambling, grumbled. Grambling had made his way over to the DHS headquarters after being briefed on the wayward actions of his Deputy Secretary. He stood tall inside the DHS control room.

  He wore a full suit. His feet were spread apart, with his arms folded. His tall, round, body was covered by a loose-fitted suit. "He’s lost.” He barked. “We will have to show him what it’s like to not be on board. Mike, disengage his official security chip and badge. But, keep his body chip active enough to be tracked."

  Michael’s heart was sinking into his stomach, as he knew Jason was digging a deeper hole. Grambling continued, "We can’t have another leak on our hands; can’t afford it. He knows too much, and we don’t know what he’s doing. We want the little traitor to feel comfortable to the point that he may return. So, fall back on Upton and give him a chance to come to us for answers; you know he’ll come. He wont be able to leave it alone."

  An analyst asked, "But, what if he doesn't have questions?"

  "He has questions." Grambling took his slow waddle out of the doorway with a scowl on his pale, wrinkled, face.

  "You know what? Scratch that. Don’t fall back, just stay quiet. Catch him. It’s just that simple, and this is too important. Bring him dead, or alive. But quieter than you did the little black hussy in Fairfax."

  The agents loaded up their .45 calibre pistols and marched out the room, behind him.

  

  XIII

  Christine didn't get any sleep the night before. Still dressed in her gown, she sat in Clareese, her trusted childhood friend’s, townhouse living room

  "So, you don't know what happened to Jason?” Clareese asked.

  "No, I don't. He just told me to tell anyone who questioned, anything I know."

  "Any idea why he would he tell you that? I’d think it’d be the opposite."

  "I suppose I don't know anything that could hurt much. He said it would be best that I cooperate with them."

  "How long will he be gone?"

  "He said 'indefinitely’. Clare, I feel terrible."

  Clareese sat down next to Christine. Wrapping her wiry arms around Christine’s waist she pulled her close. "Don't worry. Everything will be ok. I promise. If there is anything Jason knows, it’s how to do his job."

  Christine chuckled as she thought about the good moments she had with Jason early in their relationship.

  "I know that's right. I remember once, in the middle of the night, Jason getting up and putting on this old military equipment, loading his gun, and booting up his tracking devices because our house alarm went off; he was so paranoid."

  They laughed. "He took his job so seriously.” She said. “He searched the whole entire house. Then he went to the basement to review the video only to find that is was a squirrel."

  Christine and Clareese fell over in laughter on Clareese’s old worn couch.

  "You should have saw him standing there with those night vision goggles and paint on his face--"

  "For a squirrel!" Clareese shouted in laughter.

  "He came back to bed hours later, very embarrassed. I asked him if the ‘coast was clear or breached?’ You should have saw the grumpy look he gave me before pulling the covers up to his neck."

  While Christine and Clareese enjoyed Christine's nostalgic memory, her phone buzzed. It was a text message from Max. Christine looked into Clareese’s eyes, for a moment. Her brown eyes stared back into Christine's. Her expression seemed to say, 'you've gotten yourself into this, I don't know what to tell you.' It was written all over her fair-skinned face.

  Christine, preparing to look at her text, laughed, "You look so cute when-yer stum
ped."

  “Not as stumped as you, woman.” Clareese responded.

  The text said, "Hey." Christine showed the text to Clareese.

  "Max is so sweet and soooo cute. But, I’m worried -- I'm worried about the man who promised me forever."

  Clareese shrugged her shoulders as another message rang through to Christine.

  "I miss you, Chrissie. I wanna see you tonight. I'm worried. Please respond."

  Christine closed her phone up. When she snapped back into reality, she could feel the frozen, confused, expression on her own face as if she could see it -- like she were looking in the mirror.

  "So whattaya gonna do, Chrissie?"

  

  Nebraska Avenue Complex

  Back at the complex, Michael sat in the control chair. He had been there for hours anxiously awaiting the police agents to arrive at Jason’s house with this "dead or alive" order.

  Staring at the lifeless monitor was like watching the wall. Michael couldn't believe this was happening to Jason; one of the government’s most loyal, hardest working, most efficient, employees for a couple decades. Practically, the entire defence system was designed by Jason and his former team of scientists at the Maryland College. Michael would even go so far as to say that Jason worked harder than the President of the United States, himself.

  In the back of his mind, he knew that this new direction the nation was going to head, would change the face and attitudes of the world forever, and he had early previews of what this would look like already.

  "Sir, we have a visual of the four agents approaching the front door." An analyst alerted.

  Switching his brain back into work mode, Michael scooted up in his chair and paged Josh Grambling. When Grambling arrived, he had Vice President, Fredrick Tyson, with him.

  A still anticipation produced not one utterance of sound from the dozens of men working in the control room. They loitered around the main screen while the agents knocked on Jason’s door.

  "Widen the view, a little bit." Michael ordered.

  As the screen views widened, the mechanical buzzing of the insect drone’s wings reached a high pitch. The new views showed the entire property. Everything was as it were before. Nothing had moved or disturbed.

  "Do we have any audio in the house yet?"

  "No.”

  "How many times have the agents knocked?"

  "Six times, sir."

  "Three more knocks then proceed with force." Grambling interrupted. Michael’s whipped his head in Josh's direction.

  "With all due respect sir, umm, I know this man, very well. He has been my partner for many years and I don't think that’s a great move, at all. This isn’t just some civilian we’re moving in on, sir. This isn’t Tameka. I think we should proceed with caution. It’s what’s best for the operation, and what’s best for those agents."

  Grambling held firm, standing in his chest-out authority posture. It was like he totally disregarded Michael’s suggestion. He gazed ahead, with his eyes focused on the three views displayed on the monitor.

  "Agents, disregard that last command." Michael said. Grambling, still without glimpsing at Michael, spoke into the mic again. "Agents, this is Homeland Security Council, Joshua Jacob Grambling, along with the Vice President of the United States, Fredrick Tyson, here representing the presidential administration, and our executive command is to proceed with force after this final knock."

  Silence further enveloped the, already still, room. Stiff analysts tapped on their keyboards without looking anywhere around them. The tension building between the head-honchos standing in the middle of the room thickened. The moment after the last knock felt like an eye of a hurricane. The field agents pulled out their pistols.

  Grambling spoke. "Proceed in five, four, three, two, one. Engage subject. Go!"

  The first agent stepped back and fired at the lock of the door. The bullet ricocheted in the vestibule, but none of the men flinched. The second agent kicked the door in.

  The feed from the agent’s helmet cameras piped back into the control center. All of the electronics in Jason’s house had been broken apart and unplugged.

  Two agents ran upstairs upon entry and two stayed on the first floor. Splitting each way they began their journey to rummage through the entire house. The white walls were bare. Pictures were knocked onto the fluffy carpet. Knick-knacks were swiped off of surfaces; covers and sheets ripped off of beds.

  The agents ruffled through every corner of the house, only to find nothing. The last agent ran into the garage. It was completely empty.

  The agent stood still.

  “Anyone find him, yet?” He whispered into his sleeve microphone.

  “That’s a negative. I don’t think he’s in here.”

  The agent activated the heat sensors on his goggles. "Sir, besides the broken electronics, there is no other indication that he is in here, or has been in here for the last few hours. His car isn’t even in the garage."

  Michael, staring at the monitor of the, now idle, agents, fought back a wide grin.

  "What does that even mean?” Michael asked through a chuckle. “Where would you assume he is, agent? We’ve been staring at this feed, continuously, for hours."

  "I don't know." Another field agent chimed in. "Besides the disconnected electronics, and what we did, nothing else looks touched in this house; nothing suspicious, no safes, and no signs of human anywhere in here."

  "Do you have your heat detection goggles on?" Michael asked.

  "Yes, we do.”

  “And you recorded the entire atmosphere while you searched?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK. Do some more looking and recording, and bring us back the data for the analysts to sort through. We’ll figure it out.”

  After another ten minutes of ransacking through Jason's home, one of the agents looked into their forehead camera and said, "Sir, we’ve got nothing.”

  Grambling slammed his papers on the counter next to him. "How did we miss his car leaving? What were you guys doing? It’s a huge Mercedes. There’s no way he left that house. He’s in there."

  “Well, we need that data they’ve recorded.” Michael said. “Agents, good work. Return to headquarters.”

  

  XIV

  World Trade Center, Building 7

  Thursday September 6, 2001 7:00 p.m.

  Jason gazed into his own reflection in the mirror. His light brown stubble-bearded face stared back at him. His face reminded him of his background.

  Somehow, not looking in the mirror allowed him to become caught up in the now -- someone who he wasn’t, internally – so, every once and a while, when work was too much, or the issues at hand were very deep, he’d take a trip to a mirror.

  The self-awareness always grounded him. That reflection was representative of how people viewed him. It was always sobering.

  The echo of his phone ringing sounded out through the bathroom. It was Jillian – his first wife.

  “Hey, hun. Wassup?”

  “Are you going to be home at a reasonable time tonight?”

  “I’m still trying. What time is it now?”

  “It’s quarter after 7.”

  “I can make it home tonight, for sure. What’s Nessa doing?”

  “She just finished up eating dinner. She’s been working on a project for school. You remember their history class is coming downtown to visit the World Trade Center next Tuesday? Will you be busy? I think they really want to see your office and building.”

  “So, it is, in fact, Tuesday the 11th? Which building were they originally supposed to be visiting?”

  “South Tower, I think. Whichever one has the observatory at the top.”

  “For a girl born and raised in Manhattan, you sure seem to never know anything.” Jason laughed.

  “Oh, hush.”

  “I’m kidding, sweetie. We actually will be kinda busy. Defences are running a few tests that day, but I’ll see if I can carve out some time.”


  Jason heard Vanessa’s little voice off in the distance on the other end of the phone. Jill yelled off into the background, “Yeah, it’s your dad.” Jillian’s small voice returned to the mic of the phone. “Ok. Well, Nessa wants to talk to you.”

  “Ok. Put her on.” A tranquil ease breezed through his body whenever he was able to speak with his daughter after some time away from her. Everything frustrating somehow became OK.

  “Hey, daddy. Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, sweetpea, what is it?”

  “I need to hear the next part of the story now. I’m doing my project on what we’ve been talking about and I want to reach a certain point before I go to bed.”

  “Alright. Where did I leave off?”

  “Washington leaving New York.”

  

  Jason to Vanessa

  February 23, 1778

  The air was blistering cold, and Washington’s army were slowing down due to the lack of sufficient protection from the cold weather. They exited New York before coming into contact with Red Coats in Trenton; an encounter that would prove to be a bloody, but somewhat encouraging, battle.

  With what was left of that narrow escaping, Washington and his gang switched directions slightly inward to flee the British Red Coats. After losing a couple of attempts to regain control of America’s, now captured capitol, Philadelphia, he wanted to buy some time for his ailing, depleting, unfit-for-battle, army.

  They settled in a place just outside of the capitol which was, like New York City, completely under the control of the British. He wanted to be far enough from the city to prevent a surprise attack, but close enough to monitor their doings. He named the winter camp Valley Forge. They only built enough shelters and buildings to settle for a moment and recoup. In the spring, they were to return to battle.

  “General Washington.” An officer called out.

  “Who’s there? Come in.”

  The young soldier opened the door. “General, Baron Von Steuben has arrived.”