Last War

by Vincent Heck

  Jason crawled as fast as he could back towards Czyra. “Get down. He’s not in there.”

  “You think he’s gonna be alright, Jason?”

  Jason could only briefly look up at Czyra’s teary concerned eyes. “I don’t know. He may have gone out through the window. We’ve gotta get outta here, though or we’re going to lose our lives.” He grabbed his bag, and exited the suite.

  Running past the check-in desk, Jason shouted the number of the room he was in. The fire alarms in the building blared from every direction. Once out in the parking lot, the emergency response showed up.

  “They’re here, Czyra.”

  “Who?”

  “You don’t wanna know. But, they’re the ones who set that fire. I have to go. Are you staying or going?”

  “What about Dany? If he’s out there, he’ll be exposed to whomever is after us.”

  “Look, kid. I have something to do. If I get caught, this whole thing is done. So, I don’t have time to risk myself for an Amber alert. Do you want them to get one of us, or all of us? I’m leaving now. Either you’re coming or you’re not.” Jason walked towards the parking garage. Soon after, the sound of Czyra’s feet scrambled behind him.

  When they got into the parking garage, Jason pulled out his keys and pressed a button. A car which resembled his big blue Mercedes chirped.

  “Is this the car we came in?” Czyra asked.

  “Yes. Get in the back.”

  Czyra hopped in the car. This, undoubtedly, was a different car, but he took Jason at his word. “Where are we going?” Czyra asked closing the back door.

  “New York City. 9/11 Commission hearings are going on there, and I need to speak to some people.”

  “Well, isn’t that a prime place for them to capture us?”

  “Look, kid. I didn’t say no risks were going to be involved in this journey; I just know we can’t stay stagnant. And we can’t take unnecessary risks. Now, I wonder how they tracked us.”

  

  Nebraska Avenue Complex

  “So, you burned a whole hotel down, you killed a harmless conspiracy theory kid, and you didn’t get Jason? Is that what you’re telling me?” Grambling griped. “You managed to track him, but instead of attempting to eliminate him quietly, you attempt to do so with a box of matches—and kill a kid in the process. Now we’re going to have to do more than the necessary to clean this up.”

  “I employed skilled assets to get the job done.” Michael said. “And we don’t really know that the kid is dead. He’s just missing.”

  “What kind of assets? Not my assets. Don’t use whoever they were, again. They’re sloppy.”

  Grambling circled the big table at the command post. Banging his fist on the table, he shouted. “We need to get him. This is not funny anymore. I have another meeting with the Brendenall Group, and I can’t tell these men that the proceedings are held up.”

  “Well, how long do I have?” Michael asked.

  “You’ve got two weeks, then we’ll have to go ahead full stream with the plan despite the compromise being out there. Unless you can find me an alternate scenario. We’ve gotta do something about this guy.”

  “I have serious doubts that he has enough info to foil this operation, anyway, sir. But, either way, I think I’ve got another idea.”

  “Great. Another one of your brilliant successful schemes.”

  “No, really. This one could be better.” Michael said. “Let’s work on the signals that are stored in the satellite used for us to track his body chip. Maybe he gave off more frequencies than usual, then we can see if he has another device or two that we can identify and track to gain the best intelligence on him. I’m cooking up a special plan for him.”

  “What is it?”

  “Christine. I’ve gotta take a trip to Bowie. She needs her phone back.”

  

  Bowie, MD

  The smell of breakfast slowly seeped into the bedroom where Christine lay in bed next to Max. Being nestled in his muscular arms didn’t make her feel secure. In fact, it made her more anxious. Her life was in pieces and she felt whatever was going on, Max could not fix. Not physically; not emotionally. This was bigger than all of it.

  “What’s wrong, babe? Don’t worry about what happened the other day. The proper people will take care of it. We have the best in the world right here in this great nation. Obviously Jason and all his pals are on the case. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “I don’t know, Max. Something is different.”

  “Jason never told you anything?”

  “Barely. I know he expressed doubts about staying in the agency.” She slid out of Max’s arms and sat up against the headboard. “But, I never took him seriously. And I know some lady he worked with just died. He told me not to go back to the house, then when I did, I was kidnapped…something isn’t right.”

  The smell of bacon and eggs now permeated the entire room before there was a knock at the door. “May I come in?” Clareese asked.

  Simultaneously Max and Christine both responded with differing answers. Christine with a “no,” Max with a “sure.”

  Clareese stood silent on the other side of the door until Christine changed her mind. “Sure, Clare, come on in.”

  As Clareese entered the room, Christine sat in the bed with only her bra strap and shoulders showing. She wiped her eyes. “Wassup?”

  “I just wanted to let you guys know breakfast is ready and you should probably get it while it’s hot.”

  Max swung his legs out of the bed. Both Clareese and Christine caught a glimpse of his butt as he slipped his boxers on.

  Christine broke the silence with a distraction sentence. “So, how’d ya sleep last night?”

  “Great. I slept great—relatively speaking, I guess. No nightmares or anything.” The awkward moment thickened as the two girls interacted. Max stood by his closet buttoning up his shirt.

  The doorbell rang downstairs.

  “Just in time.” Max said as he made his way out of the room. “Did you make coffee, Clare?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll throw some on while you two get ready.”

  When Max exited, Clareese bounced over to Christine. “What are you doing?” She whispered. “This is not the time for this.”

  “Please, Clare. Spare me. I’m having a hard time, and I just can’t right now.”

  “Your husband is out in the middle of who knows where doing who knows what, and you’re frolicking around here with—“

  “That’s right, Claire.” Christine snapped back. “Who knows where, and who knows what. The man allowed me to get kidnapped for heavens sake. Don’t talk to me about—“

  “Christine.” Max called from downstairs.

  Christine looked at Clareese again before she whispered the rest of her sentence. “Don’t talk to me about what I’m going through right now. You don’t understand.”

  Christine stormed out of the room leaving Clareese standing next to the bed. When she reached the balcony she saw over the second floor rail into the vestibule of Max’s house. He was in conversation with Michael.

  “Oh, hey, Mike. Wassup?” Christine said. Instantly, she felt safer. “I’m so glad to see you, Mike.”

  “Hey, I just realized we still have your phone.” Michael handed her back the phone. It was in evidence. I figured you’d want it back. But, there’s something I should tell you. I don’t know if you want to be alone while I tell you this. Or…”

  Christine looked at Max as he backed away. “Ah, don’t worry.” He said. “I’m gonna let you handle it, Chrissy. If you want to tell me later you can.”

  With Max walking off, Michael wrapped his arm around Christine and escorted her into the adjacent room -- Max’s dining room.

  “Have a seat, Chrissy.” He said. “In the investigation, we found some disturbing things about your phone.”

  Christine became uneasy. “Max?” She knew Michael was Jason’s friend—his only friend, really
.

  “No, Chrissy, not Max. I mean, yeah, that was a shock to me, a little. But, what was more shocking was the surveillance – data collection -- happening on your phone.”

  “What? What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”

  “No. You didn’t. You see, prior to nine-eleven, a court order was needed to be able to tap phones and wire houses and all the like. But, since the Patriot ACT, it became perfectly legal without one and probable cause.”

  “Someone’s been spying on me?”

  “Not just someone, Chrissy…”

  At this point, without Michael even saying anything, Christine got it. She slid away from him. “So, why—what does this mean?”

  “He’s been watching your phone activity for a number of months, even interjecting at times and texting you as whomever you’re talking to.”

  Christine’s insides heated into a boil. “Did you fix it?” She asked.

  “Yes. It’s fixed.” There was a momentary pause as Christine powered up her cell phone. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

  “No. I’m sorry he made you have to do this. It’s OK. I’ll handle it. Thanks for everything, Mike.”

  “No problem, my dear. We’re keeping an eye out on you, OK?”

  “Thanks again.”

  

  NYC -- COMMISSION HEARINGS.

  MARCH 30th, 2003

  HSAS: ORANGE – HIGH TERRORIST RISK

  Jason pulled into the parking lot next to the building where the hearings were being held. Czyra was just awakening from his car nap. “Sit tight.” Jason told Czyra.

  When Czyra cleared his eyes, he was back in the original Mercedes he remembered.

  Jason hopped out of the car and dialed the number given to him by Harold. A man with a monotoned voice, and slight Arabian accent answered the phone.

  “Hello, Nosaj?”

  “Yes. What’s your name, and what do you know?”

  “I’ll use my name as ‘Nosir’. I worked for the Iraqi Embassy here in 2001.” The man cleared his throat and paused for a few seconds. Just as Jason was about to speak, Nosir spoke, again. “One month before the attacks here, I was approached by a C.I.A. asset. It was very strange. I saw her often, but none of these exchanges were this odd.”

  

  August 2, 2001

  Nosir sat at his desk on the phone. He was attempting to finish ordering his lunch from that pesky shop down the road that always gave him trouble.

  The food, however, was what kept him coming back. It reminded him of his mother’s cooking. No place else in America could you get that sort of quality.

  His secretary tapped on the door and held up a sign that indicated he had one guest waiting in the lobby. He motioned for the guest to be sent in. He knew that America had a message for Iraq because the meeting was arranged.

  The woman, a tall, attractive, and curvy, dark-skinned lady, walked in. He knew her. After he finished ordering his lunch, he spoke to the American informant.

  “Tiffany. How are you?”

  “I’m great, and you?”

  Their conversations were always pleasant. This conversation felt no different. Her radiant teeth always shined from her brilliant smile. It complemented her glowing chocolate skin. After they exchanged polite pleasantries, as usual, she opened her file.

  “Our Secretary of Defense, Joel Hubbard, has a request of the Iraqi government. It’s an issue of American national security.”

  “OK. Shoot.”

  “They’ve got some word that there’s going to be an attack on American soil within the next two weeks. Have you heard anything about that?”

  “No. I sure haven’t. I can snoop around and see what’s happening back at the homeland; put some agents and assets on the case, maybe.”

  “Yeah. We’re gonna need you to peep around and see what it is you can figure out for us. Mr. Hubbard says it’s urgent.”

  “I’ll bet. You said two weeks? You guys are on this late. But, I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks, Nosir.”

  

  “We continued some friendly talk, and then she left.” Nosir told Jason.

  “Well, what was so weird about that?” Jason asked.

  “Three days later, she came back screaming at me.”

  “What did she say?”

  “The same freakin’ thing she said the first time! Except, this time, she was angry. Fuming. She demanded that I find something.”

  “What happened in between? What had changed?”

  “Nothing. I was calling around to some of our allies and informants and trying to figure out what was going on.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Absolutely nothing. No one knew anything. I told her that. I told her, I said, ‘the only person that is introducing this idea is you. You’re the only one in the world with intelligence on this attack.’ I know nothing. No one in Pakistan, Israel, Russia, or anywhere has had any knowledge. I sent spies—they found nothing. I called other embassies in the areas. Nothing. The only source I had on the attacks was Tiffany. I told her, if they felt really good about their leads, then it’d be their call. I didn’t find anything.”

  “What did they do after that?” Jason asked.

  “They didn’t do anything until after the terrorist attacks. They moved their troops into Iraq looking for WMD.”

  “Did they suspect Iraqi involvement? Was it retaliation?”

  “It was a follow-up.” Nosir said. “In 1991 the U.N. ordered Iraq destroy their mass weapons of destruction. Iraq didn’t. They hid the MWD from the U.N. which lead to the world’s eventual distrust of Iraq, who had used MWDs irresponsibly.”

  “Was Iraq planning on doing anything else with them? Why did they keep them?”

  “Not that I know of. They kept them to protect themselves from Iran. In doing so, Iraq remained a threat to world peace. America felt they had made a mistake not taking Saddam out of power in the Gulf War. The war in Iraq was strictly about a regime change. 9/11 was used as a way to gain public approval.”

  “So, are you saying this was planned…”

  “No. I’m only saying what I just said. I’m not reading any more into it.”

  “OK, Nosir. Thanks. How about Tiffany? Do you have any idea where can I find Tiffany?”

  “I haven’t heard from Tiffany for two years now. I haven’t the first idea.”

  “OK. Thanks, sir.”

  Jason hung up the phone and dialed Harold Davis, again.

  “How’d it go?” Harold asked.

  “I doubt he knows anything about the operation, but I think I got some good info. Any info is good. Do you have any time tonight? I’m really pressed for time, and I don’t know how many more opportunities I’ll get to see you in person to speak about what we need to talk about.”

  “Yes. Meet me at the 86, now.”

  “OK.” Jason chuckled. “The good ol’ 86. I’m on my way.”

  

  The ringback on his phone made Vice President Fredrick Tyson’s pulse race. A tight clasping of his hands dried his sweaty palms.

  “Hello, Brendenhall Hotel International.”

  “This is the Vice President of the U.S. Fredrick Tyson, and I wanted to speak with the chairman of the Brendenhall Group.”

  “May I have your member number, sir?”

  “Sure. TY345FT098.”

  “One moment.”

  A small elevator jingle played in rotation over the phone earpiece for 15 painstakingly long minutes before a scratchy old voice cut in between.

  “Hello, Mr. Tyson. What’s new on the scene?”

  “Sir, we just wanted to tell you we had to make a few adjustments to Operation F.A.I.T.H. We ran into a roadblock bigger than we expected, and we’ll need to adjust to proceed in the same timeframe as mentioned in our last meeting.”

  “Do we need another emergency meeting? Or can we trust you’re on top of it?”

  “We’re on top of it, sir. We’ve begun t
he adjustment plan now. No worries, just a heads up so that you’ll note.”

  “Do you need our help?”

  “Yes. Your guys at Mercedes, and engineers at Lasheed Marcus will do. And maybe a physicist or two. It’s imperative we get this done immediately. Thanks.”

  “When can we meet?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  

  New York City

  March 2003

  “As the commission exists, our mandate is to look back and learn the vital lessons of 9/11; to look forward, to make recommendations to leave the United States, and its people, safer.” The chairman opened the 9/11 hearings.

  Jason sat in the back of the room with a hat on. He had Czyra next to him. The call for answers projected a silent echo throughout the room, and Jason knew this is where he may quietly get some answers from 9/11. Not because he was confident any of these officials would tell the truth, but because, apparently, he had worked in cahoots with this administration.

  How much was The Summit involved? He was determined to fill in the blanks.

  The first man called to the front was a 9/11 survivor. His entire face was deformed. All but his nose was burned. He sat down slowly, and faced the row of men that comprised the 9/11 commission.

  “Hello, sir. State your name, and your story.”

  “I’m Don Jenkins.”

  “OK, Mr. Jenkins. Where were you when you realized we were under attack?”

  “I was on my way up to the 77th floor, when I heard a crashing sound that threw me against the wall, at about floor 60.”

  He started into his account:

  

  The jolt was so violent, change from his jacket fell to the floor. A fireball flamed through the cracks of the door setting Don on fire. Following that sequence, the elevator began to plummet some twenty floors before catching itself. The immediate stop threw him to the floor. The pain Don felt rolling on the ground -- which was extremely hot -- was not something he knew how to put into words.

  All he could do was scream for help. A cry that would seem to bounce off of the metal elevator walls and reach only his ears.