by Paul Moxham
“This is bad-ass, right? Totally bad-ass,” asks Charles.
“Well, better than being a DC beat cop, I’ll tell you that much,” says Jack.
“What? Are you sore I moved and stuck you partnering with some newbie?”
A tiny hint of a smile registers on Jack’s face. He covers quickly, but not before Charles notices. “What?”
“What?”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s a girl! Your new partner is a girl and you…”
“No, I don’t!” Jack tries desperately to change the subject. “Hey, I’m proud of you, Charles. I really am. You’ve come a long way from DC Metro. Not exactly busting kids for stealing candy bars.”
“If you don’t like humping it on the streets, take the detective’s exam again. Get yourself a cheap suit and a notepad, do some real good.”
Jack shakes his head. “That isn’t gonna happen.”
“Don’t give up. Your dad…”
Jack looks at Charles. “Don’t.”
Charles continues. “Had to take the exam three times to pass it, but he did. And you know what? He was the best detective on the force.”
“Was being the operative word,” says Jake. “If he was so great, if being a cop was so great, why did he walk away? Legendary detective Spencer Mitchell up and quits just like that.”
“What’s with this mope-around attitude?” asks Charles. “I mean, you always thought you were the boss, even when I was the senior officer. Figured you’d be the one in the suit and I’d be the one wearing out my shoe leather.”
“It didn’t work out that way. Nothing works out the way it’s supposed to.”
Charles leans back and cocks his head as he keeps eye contact with his old friend. Nothing spoken for a few seconds, then Jack settles down.
“Look, I’m sorry, Charles. It’s not your fault.”
“No, it’s not,” says Charles, gazing down at the roses.
“I just wish things were different.”
“See? Maybe you and your dad are a lot more alike than you realize.”
At the mention of his dad, Jack rolls his eyes. Charles laughs. “Ah, contempt. Very nice.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“No? Then what do you want to do?”
Jack motions toward a room in the distance, the Oval Office. “A tour, buddy.”
“You got it.” Charles leads the way into the hallway and Jack follows. The two of them move quickly, Charles’ eyes darting toward everyone he sees.
“Come on. Just a peek,” pleads Jack.
“Dude, no. Oval Office? They’d can me in a heartbeat.”
“Aw, and take away your black sunglasses and Illuminati ID badge?”
“You know, I’d be insulted by that if I didn’t think you were serious.”
“You want to play big shot, right? That’s why you invited me here? But you can’t even get me through the big door.”
Charles looks at him. “You think it’s that easy to goad me into doing something I shouldn’t?”
Jack grins. “Two words: Julie Stevenson.”
“Okay, okay. Times change, Jack. You know that.”
“The more they change, the more they stay the same. Come on.” Jack nods toward the open door to the Oval Office. “A peek. That’s all.”
Jack shuffles forward, hurrying to the famed office, but he is instantly cut of by Agent Antonio Mendez, trim and stern. “Can I help you?”
Charles looks at him. “It’s okay, Mendez. Just giving him a peek. He was my former partner on the job.”
Mendez nods brusquely, and steps aside as Jack peers into the room. It’s empty, but it’s majestic. And, just like that, the peep show is over. Mendez steps in front of Jack, blocking his view. “Show’s over. Agent Long, if you…”
“Thanks. We’re done here.”
Charles grabs Jack by the crook of his elbow and pulls him away. “Satisfied?”
Jack just turns to him and grins playfully. “Mm. What else you got?”
Charles leads an excited Jack down another corridor. “If the bedroom’s empty, you can step inside. But just for a minute and then we’ve got to make tracks. I may be on the inside but don’t be fooled, these walls have eyes and ears. And this hallway’s restricted to outside guests.”
Jack looks around, sees the countless framed paintings on the walls. All of them seemingly staring at him with their painted eyes.”
“Uh-oh...” says Charles.
Jack spins around, sees Charles tightening up. “My boss.”
Charles throws open a door and shoves Jack into the bedroom. The door shuts quickly, leaving Jack in a nearly dark room, just a thin shaft of light coming from the window.
Jack whips out a tiny light fastened onto the end of his key chain and shines it around the room. A single bed, fireplace, portraits and a bookcase.
Hearing a noise from outside the room, he turns off the light and hurries forward, but he stumbles over his own feet and goes tumbling, reaching out desperately to catch his fall and avoid making a sound. He catches himself on the bookcase and settles. Then he hears a scraping noise.
Jack spins, shines the flashlight and sees the fireplace swiveling around, revealing a hidden passageway beyond! “Holy...” cries out Jack. Suddenly, the doorknob rattles. Keys jangle on the other side as Charles’s muffled voice can be heard, trying to give Jack time. Then, the scraping noise again.
Jack spins back to the fireplace and sees it closing. As it does so, the door begins to open...
Jack shuts off his flashlight and darts behind heavy curtains to hide.
A man walks in just as the fireplace settles back into its normal state. Jack peers out from behind the curtains as the man marches over to the bookcase and starts the fireplace swivel again. The tiniest sliver of light glistens off the man’s cuff link, revealing a cryptic symbol. Jack gazes intently. It’s part flag, part crown, the bars of the flag stretching up to meet the stars as tips on the crown. The symbol of the Ameristocracy.
And just like that, it’s gone, as the man disappears into the hidden corridor. Jack steps out from behind the curtain as the fireplace closes back up, the room restored to its original state. Jack stares at the fireplace for several long seconds, and then makes his move. He just can’t help himself. He marches over to the bookcase and reaches for it…
“Jack!” calls out a voice.
Jack stops short of the bookcase, turning to Charles, who has just stepped into the room. “We better get out of here. C’mon...” Charles pulls Jack out of the room but Jack can’t keep his eyes off the bookcase.
That night, Jack, still dressed in the suit he wore to the White House, sits at his desk, scribbling on a piece of paper, trying to recreate the cryptic flag/crown symbol he saw so fleetingly. Soon, he turns to his computer and starts searching for answers.
Hours pass by as Jack searches the depths of the net and follows countless of dead ends. But then he hits the jackpot.
He comes across one particular site which seems promising and as he starts to instant message the site owner, he smiles as certain words jump out at him. They are secret tunnel, White House, and Ameristocracy.
Chapter 3
A car races down a downtown street, hitting the brakes as it passes a squad car parked next to a sign announcing the speed limit at 35 mph.
Inside the police cruiser, Maggie aims the radar gun through the window. Jack’s in the passenger seat, scribbling on a notepad. “Here we go, here we go...”
A car whizzes past. The radar gun registers... 42. Maggie looks disappointed. “Seven over. Not really worth the effort.”
“You ever hear of the Ameristocracy?” asks Jack.
Maggie doesn’t even look at him. She just stares out the window, waiting for a good speeder to chase. “That’s the barbershop quartet for senators, right?”
Jack’s nervous scribblings increase in intensity just as his rant does. “Not
exactly. They’re connected to the old families in England, think they’re royalty in America. They control major, unelected positions of power, positions that don’t answer to the people and give them great authority. Authority over even those that are elected.”
Another car whizzes past, but slows when they see the cruiser. Red brake lights hit the windshield. The radar gun drops from 41 to 39 to 35 within seconds. Maggie shrugs. “I thought this whole theory was debunked. I saw this thing on 60 Minutes where…”
“60 Minutes?” cries out Jack. “Corporate media, Maggie. They’re safe, complacent. They’re not going to blow the whistle. You won’t expose the powers that be when you are the powers that be.”
Maggie grimly smiles. “I guess I should get my news from bloggers and internet hacks? Some schmoe tapping away at the keyboard in his basement, simultaneously obsessed with secret societies and celebrity gossip? No thanks.”
Maggie lowers the radar gun, turns and sees the hurt in Jack’s eyes from that characterization. She throws her free hand apologetically. “Sorry, Jack, I didn’t mean to…”
“This is different, okay?” breaks in Jack. “This source is for real. He predicted the Beltway Sniper’s last attack the day before it happened. I think he’s an insider.”
Maggie furrows a brow, reconsidering.
“Look, every time the power structure is questioned, every time the people start to rise up and take back the government they pay for, groups like the Ameristocracy pop up and change things, make sure they keep the government in their grip. They did it with Lincoln and Kennedy.”
Maggie looks over at the notepad in front of Jack, at the sketch he’s just put upon it. It’s the symbol from the man’s cuff link: the American flag morphing into a royal crown.
Maggie stares at it for a second, and then looks back up through the windshield as a truck rumbles past. “Expired tags. Bingo.”
She throws the cruiser into drive and whips out into the street, siren blaring and lights flashing. The notepad falls from Jack’s lap, landing in the floorboard.
At the local police station, Police Chief Henry Wilcox, shakes hands and says his goodbyes to a cadre of local politicians before moving toward the front entrance. He stops when he sees Jack walking toward his car, an old beater covered in conspiracy theory bumper stickers. He yells out. “Officer Mitchell!”
Jack turns in his direction and Wilcox moves toward him. “Yes, Chief?”
Wilcox puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder, much as a father would do to a son he was worried about. “Any contact with your dad lately?”
Jack shakes his head. “No, sir. We aren’t exactly in touch these days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” replies Wilcox. “Everything else going alright?”
“Well, actually, there’s something I’m working on.”
“I hope it’s studying up for the detective’s exam.”
“Not exactly,” says Jack. “Sir, what would you do if you thought a crime was going to be committed, or at least that you knew criminals were assembling where they shouldn’t be, but you had no proof and no one seemed to believe you?”
Wilcox regards Jack curiously. “But you truly believe you’re onto something?”
“Definitely,” nods Jack.
“Hunches have long been credited as a part of police work. But the fact of the matter... I’m just offering up some advice to you here, one cop to another... is that hunches don’t close cases. If you’ve got no evidence, then you’ve got no case. Understand what I’m telling you?”
Jack nods.
“Good. If you ever need anything, just ask, okay?”
“Okay, Chief.”
“And if you have any luck getting through to your father, let me know. You’re not the only one who’s concerned about him.” Wilcox turns and heads back into the station.
It’s dinnertime at Jack’s house. Nancy is working through her steak quickly, but Jack’s not eating a bite of his tofu and stir-fried vegetable dinner.
“This is big,” muttered Jack.
Nancy looks at him. “You’re not eating, Jack. I prepared that vegetarian meal just for you.”
Jack doesn’t listen to her. “It’s enormous. A nefarious secret organization working out of the White House. This is so massive.”
“You sound just like your father,” says Nancy.
Jack glances up for the first time. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“He was always so competitive. Had to be better than everyone else. What do you think that great big house in Virginia’s about? Ego. But Jack, please remember, Charles is your friend. He’s only looking out for you. And he’s trained to spot a threat like the one you’re describing…”
“So am I!” yells Jack.
Nancy continues. “So if he thought there was any real issue, you know he would deal with it. So before you start spreading these accusations around…”
“I understand,” breaks in Jack. “I understand just fine. You think I’m crazy. Just like him.”
Ding-dong. The doorbell sounds. Jack grins. “That should be Charles now...” He rushes out of the room and into the hallway.
A few moments later, the two of them are in the living room. Charles stares at Jack. “You can’t be serious.”
“Come on, man,” pleads Jack. “You gotta get me back inside.”
Charles shakes his head. “You really have gone off your nut.”
“I need proof.”
Charles looks at him. “Proof of what?”
“Of what’s going on in there. That the Ameristocracy is operating out of the White House!”
“Ameristocracy?” cries out Charles. “Just listen to you!”
“Don’t play dumb. There’s a secret tunnel connected to that bedroom that leads…”
“Where, Jack? Where would that secret tunnel supposedly lead?”
“That’s exactly what we have to find out.”
Charles shakes his head in disbelief.
“You don’t know what they’re capable of,” pleads Jack.
“Oh, and you do?”
“No, but...”
“But what?”
“But someone should.”
“Forget it, man. I’m not going to risk my job for your wild goose chase.”
“Charles, listen to me. You think I’ve gone off my rocker, right?”
Charles doesn’t answer.
“So then why don’t you get proof? Proof that I’m nutty as a fruitcake. Get me inside again, let me see what’s what. I come up empty, I’ll sign the commitment papers right then and there.”
Charles shakes his head. “Jesus, Jack, that’s not what I’m talking about. I just think you need a little help.”
“I do need help. From a friend. What do you say?”
Charles looks down into his glass. He’s not saying no. Jack can’t help but grin. “I knew I could count on you.”
Chapter 4
Back in the White House, in one of the many hallways, Jack and Charles round a corner and make their way towards the bedroom that Jack once hid inside. With a glance around to make sure they’re not being watched, Charles unlocks the door and they hustle inside.
But the portraits on the wall seem to be watching. Soon, the sound of scraping wafts out from the bedroom. The entrance to the secret tunnel is being opened.
Inside the tunnel is a honeycombing maze of rooms. They look like bunkers. Steel doors with heavy locks on them. Jack scurries toward a big room on the end, with Charles moving slowly behind. But Jack’s enthusiasm wanes when he gets to the door and tries to turn the knob. Locked. He tries another. Same result. And another and another. Until...
“Here we go,” says Jack. The door creaks open and Jack and Charles step into the underground room.
It’s empty. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Nothing but space. No maps, no computers, no people doing devious things. Nothing.
Jack stares. “Empty... Nothing here.”
“What exactly were you ex
pecting?” says Charles.
“I don’t know,” mutters Jack. “Something. Anything.”
Charles looks at him. “Look, Jack, I can’t say that I’m happy it came to this, but at some point you gotta face reality. This isn’t what you think it is.”
But Jack isn’t listening. He’s scanning the room, noticing things. A clean square against an otherwise dusty wall. Lines coming out of phone jacks but leading nowhere. A few errant pens and pencils left unnoticed against the wall.
“They cleaned it out.”
“What?”
“This used to be something but they cleaned it out. Look...” Jack marches over to the corner, staring at a little tiny discarded shred of paper. He picks it up to examine it. It’s a piece of a calendar, a date circled on it: January 29th. “What’s this?”
Charles snatches it out of his hand. “Looks like a calendar.” Then, sarcastically, “Damning evidence. Proof of a conspiracy.”
“Yes!” cries out Jack.
Charles’ jaw goes slack. “What?”
“January 29.”
“A week after Inauguration Day.”
“Exactly! See? Why would that date be circled on a calendar?”
“It’s the White House! There are events every day of the week. Lots of circles on calendars, you know?”
Jack, steeped in thought, heads back out into the tunnel and rushes farther into the bowels of the White House.
Charles appears in the hallway behind him. “Don’t go off the rails now, Jack. Just face the facts.”
“That’s what I’m doing. And what you ought to be doing too.”
“Okay. I think I’ve made my point. Whatever you think is down here, it’s not.”
Jack takes a step back and stares at his old friend in disbelief.
“What?” asks Charles. “Don’t look at me with suspicious eyes, Jack.”
Jack can’t help it. He looks at everyone with suspicious eyes and right now he’s sizing up his old friend.
“You’re pissing me off, you know that?” says Charles.
Jack stares at him and then, without saying a word, turns and heads for the exit.
