by Vincent Heck
“I know. Something’s not adding up.”
“And it seems like you guys were really close – you and Tameka, that is.”
“Yeah. I still had her bedroom the same up until two years ago. It was time for change.”
“You still have her things? Yeah. Nothing of real importance. I think I gave the last important thing to your husband. A box from the lab that had random things in there.”
“When’s the last time you saw her before she died?”
Betsy choked up. “She stayed here a few times before just returning home. I never saw her body again.”
“Not even for a viewing, or to identify?”
“I didn’t want to identify the body. The authorities told me that her whole body had been riddled with bullets and especially was true of her face. They gave us the option, but told us it was really bad. Of course I’m going to elect to not see that. How could I handle it?”
“Did anyone?”
“No. Not in this family.”
The tapping of forks on the plates filled a brief silent gap.
“What about my husband, Jason? Did he say what he was doing with what you gave him?”
“No. But, you know what, he did give me a way to contact him.” Betsy shuffled through a box she had on the ledge of her fireplace. “I can call him if you’d like. I can’t believe I forgot about this.”
“Really?” Christine shrieked. Her phone rang before she could get the answer, though. It was Michael. She answered.
“Hello, Mike! I think I may have found him.”
“That’s what I was calling about, as well. We have too. He’s on his way here from New York City. It was what I thought all along. He was handling undercover business.”
“Can you get me his number?”
“It’s not as simple as that. Where are you?”
“I’m at a friend’s. Can I meet you?”
“No. I need you to go somewhere safe. I promise you you won’t want to be roaming while the next set of events unfold. We’ve tracked your husband. That’s all I can tell you. He’s doing his awesome job, as usual. But, things could get messy, and you need to find somewhere safe. It’s over. No more searching.”
“OK. Mike. Thank you.”
She hung up. “Betsy, can you get me in touch with Jason?”
“Sure thing, baby. He just asked me to dial anyone’s number in the phonebook… and voila!”
Betsy’s call didn’t go through to Jason’s phone. “That’s funny. I thought he said if I call, it’d go through.”
“I think they took his phone and technology from him, Betsy. Thanks, anyway.” The women kept eating. “We’re going to have to be headed out, soon, Betsy. That was an agent calling to tell me to get somewhere safe. Apparently it’s going to be dangerous in the district area, pretty soon. And we have somewhat of a hike back to Bowie.”
“OK, baby. You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like. I’m an old lady all alone.” It couldn’t hurt, anything. It was either going to be the two of them, or the three. And Betsy’s home felt safer than her alternatives. She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess that’s a deal. Hopefully the bad doesn’t last too entirely long.”
“Well, let’s turn on the news and see what’s going on.”
As soon as Betsy turned on the TV, the caption displayed Christine’s worst fear: Her husband’s name next to the word, “dead”.
“Why didn’t Mike tell me, just now?” Christine screamed. “I don’t believe he’s gone, turn the TV off.”
Christine said. “He’s not dead. And when everything calms down, I will continue to look. This is what they do. Betsy, both you and Cinda said that you never saw the body? Well, I want to see the body.
Even if it’s charred, chopped, twisted, or riddled with holes. Show me a body.”
“So now what?” Clareese asked.
“I don’t know, I’ll probably call Michael. In the meantime, I thought I asked you to turn off the TV. I’d appreciate it.”
“I want to see what the president has to say.”
12:03p.m.
“Jason’s train approached 30th Street Station in Philadelphia. His device alerted him to a Betsy call trying to get a hold of him. He ignored it.
Betsy left a message. “Hi, Jason. It’s Betsah. I’ve gotcha wife here, and she’s been lookin for ya for three years. If ya can give me a call back, that’d be great…”
As the Philadelphia riders loaded onto the train, a dark-hair wigged woman sat next to Jason and placed a piece of paper on his lap that said “HANG UP!”
He attempted to listen to the rest of the voicemail, but honestly, he couldn’t concentrate. He hung up the phone.
The woman, without looking at him said, “Sir, this is your stop. You have to get off.”
“What?”
“This is your stop. Get off the train, now.”
“Are you serious?”
The woman got up and walked towards the exit.
“Hey!” Jason shouted. “Come here. Where are you going?” He stood up and grabbed his bags on the shelf above his head. “Hey, come here. Federal agent here. Freeze.”
The woman stepped off the train. With the last of the people packed onto the train, Jason jumped off. But, it was like the woman disappeared. He couldn’t find her anywhere. There were too many people heading in too many directions. He turned to hop back onto the train, but the doors had already clamped shut. With Jason banging on the window, there was nothing he could do. He was in stuck in Philly, now.
The train began to move. He stared through the windows into the train. As it moved faster, he caught a glimpse of the seat he was sitting in. A man wearing the same exact clothing as him, with the same bags was now in his seat.
Jason began another round of yelling trying to gain the man’s attention while running along side the train which eventually heightened to speeds he couldn’t keep up with before he reached the end of the platform.
He was back in the agency’s sights. He had to play smart again.
A woman put her hand on his shoulder. “Michael sent me.” She said. “Come.” She began to walk briskly towards the escalator.
“Who was that on the train? Who are you? Where are we going?”
The room was pitch-black. Mr. Brendenhall spoke into a microphone attached to an earpiece. He always had the most stressful or important phone calls in a particular chair. It was leather. It sat erect enough to keep him alert but was cushioned enough to keep him comforted.
His full concentration was on the voice of a man on the other end of the phone. Brendenhall was being updating the progress of the operations. This was the first time he had heard back on the status of Jason.
“So, Jason has finally returned? I never doubted that he’d be back. He’s too smart to have thought anything other than what we all have already discussed. What was he doing?”
The man on the other side of the line responded, “What he does best, gathering Intel. Apparently he has a few of those hacktivist groups on his side now, and if we play our cards right, we can use it to our advantage.”
“I see. Where’s he at now?”
“We have him with us, we picked him up at 30th and Market in Philadelphia.”
“Do you have the cover stories ready?”
“Yes. We have a death, a plot, a scandal and blackmail all set up ready to execute depending on what he does from here. We’re prepared.”
“Where are you at now?”
“We just left Delaware. We’re in Maryland.”
“Keep me updated. Make sure you keep an eye on him.”
Maryland
12:52p.m.
Jason sat in the back of a black car. A Secret Service agent drove the vehicle.
“Secret Service?” Jason asked the lady. “What? I get POTUS treatment now?”
“This is the highest level of national security we’re talking about. Our best agent in U.S. history now ha
s intel on our biggest obstacle in the biggest operation ever carried out in human history. So, yeah, the security has been risen.”
“Well, your biggest agent ever asked you a question a few times about why I’m here, and what the decoy was for? Cause your biggest, most intelligent agent ever happens to know, decoys are typically used for alibis and/or planned deaths. So, which one is it?”
“We don’t want to alarm people who think you got off in Philly. Your internet friends are pretty good with the technology, and we can’t have them know you’re with us. Speaking of which, what do you have for us? What can you do?”
“What do you need done, and why?”
“Have you been alerted to Operation S.A.F.E.?”
“I have not.”
The woman pulled out a folder of papers with Jason’s name. “Alpha” was written on the front. “Operation S.A.F.E., Security after FAITH engages. Upon the results of this upcoming presidential election, we will determine which route S.A.F.E. will go. If they elect Hilary, then we’ll go with plan A. But, if they elect Milton, then we go with B. Each operation plan calls for switching our F.A.I.T.H. operation, which centered around stirring pride and fear in order to become their only form of hope. Make sure you look at each of the plans because your role is important to making this go as smoothly as possible.”
“Can you give me a summary rundown?”
“Yes. The campaigns that both candidates are running are themed in drama. Governor Hilary will be promising to vamp up what President Harris did first term. Governor Milton will be promising to turn everything around, and introduce bold new, and even mkore taboo, ideas.“
“Which one are we hoping happens?”
“It’d be a much better sign for us if Governor Milton were to get the public’s votes.”
“Why?”
“His changes and proposes would indicate more willingness to flex or change.”
“I see. So while they’re both set up for dramatic changes, Milton would be more of a comfortable indication that Project S.A.F.E. would work.”
“Yes.”
The car pulled up to the new DHS headquarters in DC. “Welp, sir, we’re here. Back at your old home. You ready to get back to work?”
“I have been working.”
They entered the DHS building from the parking garage’s entrance. The woman pressed the pinky-side end of her closed fist on a screen marked with the DHS seal in the background. It sat next to the elevator doors in place of elevator buttons. The elevator made a dull chirp before the door glided open.
“Welcome, Tammy Friesen,” the soothing voice of Sirus greeted. When they walked into the elevator a light flashed into Jason’s eyes. “I see you’ve brought agent Upton with you. Greeting, agent. Where would you two like to go?”
“Everyone who gets into the elevator is iris scanned?” Jason asked.
A harsh noise sounded out of the speaker. “I’m sorry, the voice software does not recognize the voice as Tammy Friesen. Tammy Friesen, where would you like to go?”
“Yes, Sirus.” The woman said. “Take us to six.”
“OK. One moment, please.”
The elevator in one swift fast motion motored them to the floor. The doors opened.
“We’re here? I didn’t even hear a noise.”
Tammy smiled. “Cool, right?”
Once they walked out into the hallway, the woman asked Jason to have a seat in the first room to the left. After the door closed, he heard it engage.
He tried turning the knob.
Locked.
The room was semi-empty. He recognized the design of the room as a room to keep someone contained. Could be a dangerous person, or possibly an important person.
The room was empty. The walls were reinforced with steel. One wall had a small mirror above a tiny shelf. Jason stuck his index finger on the mirror. The separation in between his finger and the reflection told him it was a double-sided window. The tables and chairs were all screwed down. There was a TV, as well. Fastened to the table was an touch tablet. His finger awakened the screen. Illuminated in a vibrant green, ‘Turn on TV’ was at the very top. Under that option, ‘Turn on Input’ next to, “Turn on Cable”.
To distract himself, from his growing anxiety, he turned on the TV. Flicking through the channels, he found a station showing breaking news.
“A follow up on that deadly Amtrak accident. The body of retired Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, Jason Upton has been identified by his wife, Christine Upton. His body was found in one of the carts that were severely twisted up as the train derailed on the bridge. The folks who knew him are understandably very torn up about this.”
“What? Hey!” Jason yelled towards the door. He got up and walked to the locked door and pounded on it with both fists. It was solid steel; it barely made any noise. “Someone come here, now. What’s going on?” His continual request to speak to someone went unanswered for thirty minutes. After he became tired, a voice sounded through the speakers in the room.
“Welcome back, Jason.” Grambling said.
“Really, Grambling? I’m dead.”
“For now.”
“For now? Sir, once you’re dead you’re gone. What? Are we going to tell the public we found the Lazarus cure?”
“That would work with these sheep. But, um… we won’t be needing that. Not this time.”
“What are you talking about? Let me out of here. I have work to do.”
“You didn’t really think I was going to let you back on this operation, did you?” Grambling laughed. “You’ve paraded around here, frolicking with those miscreant terrorists, breaking them beyond into restricted meetings and exposing them to classified documents. You’re guilty of dozens of counts of treason in the last three years, and you think you’re strolling back into my control room? You must be out of your mind.”
“Grambling. Look, you are making a mistake. You’re not going to be able to deal with them –“
Jason was cut off by Grambling’s condescending laugh. “Bottom line, Jason: You work under me. I’m Homeland Security Council on the POTUS administration. You’re Deputy Secretary. This is my call. You sit this out, and then we’ll deal with you after we finish this.”
“You’ll never make it to Operation S.A.F.E., Grambling.”
Grambling laughed, again. “You’re so cute. Listen, Jason. I’ve got a lot to do here at the White House. There are snacks in the refrigerator, there’s vodka in the freezer and you have all the channels you need on that TV. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable.”
A beep noise signaled the end of the transmission. “Conversation terminated.” Sirus informed. “Would you like some vodka from the freezer, Jason?”
Czyra shut off the fan at his office desk. It was blowing the papers of operation F.A.I.T.H. He was studying them, in depth. There had to be some indication in where he needed to strike first. His army was preparing to march down to D.C., but he wanted to be make the right moves.
The files mapped out a systematic way to manipulate the Nation’s atmosphere. A strategic placing of accidents, tragedies, successes, and advertising, supplemented with a sensationalizing of the events in various forms of electronic media.
Its mission statement was to be the constituents’ clear sign of hope. Make the world look hopeless, strike their emotion, and be their last dispenser of hope in the end. Exploiting patriotism and revolution. Within the operation plans, there was a rouge character. Much like the character he remembered them speaking of when spying on one of the Brendenhall meetings with Jason. In the operation files, his code name was: Bond.
A high-ranking accomplice of Czyra’s entered the room. “Hey, wassup?” Czyra asked.
“I know things are difficult for you right now, but I just wanted to encourage you, a bit. I wanna to let you know that I’m very proud of you. You’re, like, the new George Washington, or something.”
Czyra smiled. “Thanks, Keith.”
“What
are you lookin’ at?”
“These files show intention to get the people to turn on anything else that they hold higher than their government. Namely religion. That, and other things – such as just your own notion of what’s right and wrong. They plan to eliminate all those things.”
“How?”
“How have all of the other empires have tried it?”
“I don’t think there’s any way they’ll get away with those sorts of operations these days.”
“This place has perfected it. Oh, they’ll get away with it, alright. They’re going to hide behind the cloak of Democracy. You already see the way people react when we attempt to fill them in on what’s going on; the U.S. government can do no wrong. And when they’ve been caught, all they have to do is false flag us – appeal to our pride, sadness, fear, and/or simply distract us. It’s a very sophisticated operation. The perfect social psychology storm.” Czyra flipped through the pages. “Look.”
Czyra handed Keith a pack of papers. This is the “Fear Acknowledges” portion of the package. “Everything from WWI, to the War on Terror was a part of this.”
“How’s that possible? And for what?”
“There are people pulling strings, as we thought. But, here, it doesn’t look like Brendenhall is behind.”
“So, there’s no ‘Illuminati’?”
“Well, they seem to exist as government code word ‘The Summit’ either the Brendenhall Group or the Megiddos. Probably all of them But, something isn’t right?”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” Czyra slammed his pen on his desk. “Everything is off!” He shouted.
“Calm down, Czyra. What do you mean?”
“Brendenhall and Megiddos aren’t the only putteteers. There’s a force or two missing and I don’t think I have enough info to figure it out.”
“You said there was something you and Jason were supposed to look for? How about you and I do it? Where are the tapes? Let’s listen again.”
Czyra slid his chair over to his dented file cabinet to grab his recordings. He studied them before popping one in the player.
