Gordon returned the wave and smiled broadly. He could see Hunter was upset, but he knew he’d be fine in the long run.
Hunter lowered his head and walked away.
Gordon waited a minute to see if he’d return but he didn’t. He raised his window and said, “Let’s go.”
OCTOBER 31, 2066
Buenos Aries, Argentina
“Gracias, mi amigo. Mucho gusto,” Conner said after shaking the hand of the new store clerk. He liked to meet every new face that entered his daily routine. Still a cautious man, he looked every person in the eyes and studied their face, hoping to pick up on any clue they might be the one who was sent to kill him. He prided himself on being a human lie detector, and if they meant him harm, he was sure to pick up on it. He swore that his diligence was the sole reason he was still alive fifty years after fleeing Cheyenne.
He left the market, stuffed his overflowing tote bag into a cart, and shuffled down the worn and chipped sidewalk. He could smell the fresh pastries and couldn’t wait to get home to enjoy them. One of his guilty pleasures was a steaming hot cup of Café Americano with several tortas fritas, fried dough dusted with sugar. An old man, over ninety, he didn’t much care if he ate too much. He often joked to himself that dying by sugar and gluttonous indulgence was the way he wanted to go out.
Now a man of torturous routine, he’d lose himself in thoughts of what could have been if he had stayed in power. Always a prideful person, he did believe the United States would still exist if he hadn’t left, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be. It pained him deeply when he watched Old Glory being lowered for the final time in 2029. He didn’t blame Cruz for the ultimate collapse, but he did hold him somewhat responsible. Cruz had proved to be a kind and just leader, but the country needed someone different, and Cruz’s leadership style ushered in more like him.
Connor knew the nation needed a strong man to survive, but it was given weakness and cowards. Nine years after Cruz left, the policies of appeasement and soft hand diplomacy led to the country’s demise. With deep sadness, he watched as states pulled away; one by one they went their own way. When only Wyoming stood alone did the concept and name seem foolish. There was no United States, as there weren’t any states left to unite. It was over when the people of Wyoming voted and officially dissolved what had been the greatest superpower the world had seen.
He never saw Cruz again, and after what happened to the United States, he was content with that. He wasn’t alone in his self-imposed exile though. Schmidt had joined him and for a year had been a good companion until he grew too sick to leave his apartment. Connor had suggested he go to the hospital, but Schmidt’s trademark stubborn behavior and steadfast belief that if it was his time, it was his time prevented him from seeking treatment.
Connor was with Schmidt when he took his last breath. He stared at his lifeless body and felt sad, not for Schmidt but for himself. He was alone in a strange land. Yes, he had a loyal security detail but the last real connection to the United States and his time as president was gone. Schmidt’s death closed the final chapter in his presidency and that made him melancholy.
After Schmidt, the days easily went by and soon the years piled up. One by one he lost the men on his security detail until one day he was truly alone. Enough time had passed that he felt relatively safe, but Connor never took his safety for granted and was vigilant anywhere he went. The threat to him wasn’t because he was a former US president, it was because he was the president who had nuked many world cities, causing the deaths of millions. So, with his detail gone, Connor slipped further into isolation and obscurity. He grew a thick beard and his hair continued to thin to the point he had a defined horseshoe. His belly seemed to add a quarter inch for each year that passed, but he didn’t care. He had plenty of money, enough to last him several lifetimes, and when he needed female attention, his money was always more attractive than his appearance to the prostitutes he’d hire.
He continued to follow geopolitics, but with no one to share his opinions with minus the faded brown paneled walls, he often paced his apartment, citing how he’d handle the drought in southern Europe or the food shortages in the Dixie Federation. Living a life without real purpose, Conner struggled with depression and had even contemplated suicide multiple times, but when he would put action to thoughts, he’d stop himself just short of committing the act.
He arrived at his building and stared up at the windows of his third-floor flat. He raised his brow and said, “Didn’t I leave a light on?” He thought for a moment and shrugged it off. “No, I left before it got dark. It’s tough getting old.”
He unlocked the door and entered the foyer of the apartment building. He came to a second door and unlocked it. Once inside the large lobby, the stale smell of old furniture and floor wax hit him. After all the years, he had grown accustomed to smell and found it welcoming in an odd way.
He shuffled to the elevator and got on. The doors closed and with a hard jerk the car proceeded slowly up until it stopped at the third floor. The bell sounded and the doors opened wide. He lifted the bag and took a big whiff of the pastries, causing his mouth to water. He hurried off towards his apartment. The only thing bouncing around in his mind now was sitting down with a cup of hot tea and a pastry or two.
“Yum, they smell extra good tonight,” he said out loud as he stuck his key in the door and turned the tumblers of the deadbolt. With a loud clack the door unlocked and he entered the dark space. He flicked on the first switch just inside, which turned on a wall sconce. The kitchen was the first door on the left and he rushed in there.
He placed the bag on the counter and with his free hand turned on the electric water pot. Running on auto pilot, he got everything he needed from the cabinets for the tea and set it up. He took out the pastries and opened the box. He raised it to his nose and again took a long whiff. “Can’t wait.”
The teapot beeped, signaling the water was ready. He poured the hot water into his cup. The steam rose and fogged his glasses.
He let the tea steep while he took two pastries from the bag and placed them gingerly on a plate. He could already taste them in his mind.
When the tea was ready, he removed the bag and squeezed it, never one to let a drop go to waste. He was done, his nightly ritual almost complete; now all he needed to do was take it from the kitchen to his cushioned lounge chair.
He exited the kitchen and entered the dark living room. Using his left elbow, he flicked the light switch on the wall on. Several lights came to life and there in front of him a man sat in his lounge chair. He didn’t recognize the man, as the lamp next to the man was off, hiding his identity in the shadows.
Conner flinched. He dropped his teacup, which shattered on the hardwood floor. He turned to flee but the man spoke.
“Stay right where you are,” the man said, raising a pistol.
Seeing the muzzle pointing at him, Conner pleaded, “I have nothing. There’s nothing here of value.”
“I’m here for you not money,” the man said.
“What do you want?” Conner asked, although he knew the answer already.
“Sit down,” the man said and waved the pistol towards a smaller chair feet away from Conner.
Conner did as he said and slowly sat, his eyes fixed on the man and the gun. He was still holding the plate with his pastries and gently laid them on the small table to his right.
“I have a few questions for you,” the man said.
“What?”
“Do you have any regrets, specifically from your days as president?”
“Regrets?”
“Is there anything you wish you hadn’t done, or if you could go back, would you change anything?” the man asked.
“Why?”
The man waved the pistol and said, “Humor me.”
“Who are you?”
“It’s usually the man with the gun who asks the questions.”
“I’m an old man, a very old man, and if you’re here to kill me, the
n just do it.”
“Don’t be so cavalier. If you had a death wish, you would have come back to the States years ago. Now, answer the question.”
Conner thought the man was right, he didn’t have an impending death wish, but when confronted, it was in his demeanor to challenge people who wished to harm or control him. “Regrets? You want to know if I regret anything from those many years ago?”
“Yes.”
“And if I answer, you’ll leave?”
“Maybe, depends on how you answer the question.”
Conner relaxed a bit, his trembling hands clasped, and he lowered his gaze in deep thought. “I’ll be very candid with you. I regret giving up the presidency.”
“Why?”
“Because I had more to contribute, but I gave in to pressure. I let my enemies dictate my actions. I should have just stayed, and if I did, the United States would still exist.”
“Maybe.”
“I disagree. I wouldn’t have allowed it to be taken apart like it was,” Conner insisted firmly.
“Anything else you regret?”
Conner thought and said, “Nothing. That’s it.”
“All the people you’ve killed. You don’t regret that?”
Without hesitating to think, he quickly replied, “No.”
“How can you not regret killing millions of people?”
“I knew what I was doing and my intentions were pure. How can one second-guess a decision made in a place and time? I know people call me horrible names and history wants to judge me, but I kept the United States alive, I kept it relevant. It wasn’t until I left did it soon fall.”
The man lowered the pistol. “I don’t regret either.”
Conner leaned closer and tried to make out this mystery man.
“I’m more like you than you know. I too made decisions. I also left my post before I should have, but I’ve corrected that mistake, but I’ll never regret the people I killed, like you it was a place in time.”
“Who are you?” Conner asked.
With his left hand, the man manually turned on the lamp. The warm glow lit his face, revealing to Conner that this stranger wasn’t that at all but Gordon Van Zandt.
“I know you,” Conner said.
“I would hope so,” Gordon said.
“What are you doing here?” Conner asked, his tone happier in a weird way.
“I’m old like you, my bones hurt, hell, everything hurts and I’m dying, but I made a promise long ago that I’d find you and I have.”
“It might sound strange, but it’s good to see you,” Conner said, relaxing into his chair.
“I’ve thought about you every day,” Gordon admitted.
“Why would you think about me?”
Gordon furrowed his brow and curiously asked, “You really don’t know?”
“For the life of me, no.”
Gordon adjusted in the chair. His right hand still held the pistol, which now lay in his lap. “Don’t you remember what you did to my people in Cascadia?”
“We were foes then. War is hell; it was never personal,” Conner said.
“Never personal?”
Conner grinned and said, “Are you mad at me still for invading Cascadia?”
“I’ve never forgiven you for that and for killing my brother. You murdered him.”
Conner’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought about Sebastian in decades, but now it all made sense. This revelation sent fear coursing through his veins.
“Where’s Schmidt?” Gordon asked.
“He’s been dead for decades now. Died miserably, if that bit of news makes you feel better.”
“How did he die?”
“Cancer.”
“Hmm.”
“You wanted to know if I had regrets in the death of your brother, that’s why you’re here.”
“That’s one part, but I did come here to kill you,” Gordon said revealing his true goal.
Conner’s expression changed from fear to horror as his eyes cut to the left to judge the distance he’d need to clear to escape.
“I will shoot you in the back, so you can try to run. I said we were the same, but we’re not really. While you ordered others to do your bidding, I at least went to war with my men and led from the front. You hid behind others like a coward.”
“I didn’t order Schmidt to kill your brother. That was him; he made the decision.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re a sadistic person.”
“How can you sit there and judge me. I heard the stories about you and you call me sadistic. In fact, that little business I heard on the news that just happened in Cascadia. The one where an opposition leader, that communist, oh, what’s his name?”
“Coleman,” Gordon replied.
“Yeah, him. He killed himself and his inner circle all decide to up and disappear or died in strange circumstances. C’mon, I was a pro at removing my adversaries. I can see a political cleansing when I see one. All of it done on Cascadia’s fiftieth anniversary. Oh, the timing.” Conner laughed.
“Not sure what you’re talking about. I was busy giving testimony and speeches,” Gordon countered.
“That has your name all over it. Your current president is too much of a lightweight to pull that type of thing off,” Conner said.
“Think what you will, I am here now to kill you, so if you have any regrets you’d like to confess, I’m all ears,” Gordon said, raising the pistol.
“Hold on, we can work something out,” Conner said, his hands reaching out towards Gordon. “There must be something I can do for you, something.”
“I’m old like you and dying. This is all I want.”
“You’ll never make it out of here. Someone will hear and the police will come,” Conner blathered.
Gordon stood, the pistol stretched out in front of him. “I was there when Schmidt killed Sebastian. My brother was unarmed like you, but he didn’t grovel, he didn’t beg. He was a man, a good man, and I loved him, but your thirst for power put him squarely in your sights.”
“Gordon, we can work something out. I know I have something you must want or need.”
“You do.”
“Name it, whatever it is,” Conner pleaded, his entire body shaking now.
“I want you to get on your knees and tell me how sorry you are for killing Sebastian.”
“Of course, is that it?” Conner asked as he dropped to his knees, his hands clasped in prayer.
Gordon had closed the distance and now stood over him.
“I’m sorry that Schmidt killed your brother.”
“Not good enough,” Gordon snapped and leveled the pistol at Conner’s head.
With wide eyes and trembling, Conner yelled out, “No, please no!”
“Try again!”
“I’m sorry Schmidt killed your brother!”
Gordon cocked the hammer back on the small revolver. “Not good enough.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“That you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry. Don’t kill me!” Conner screamed.
“What are you sorry for?” Gordon barked.
“I’m sorry I killed your brother! I’m so, so sorry!” Conner grieved, tears streaming down his face.
Gordon lowered the gun. “You’re pathetic, truly disgusting. This is how you want to die?”
“I don’t want to die,” Conner groaned loudly.
A knock came from the front door. “Senor Bradley, estas bien?”
“Ayudame, llamar a la policia!” Conner cried out to the neighbor for help.
The neighbor rushed off, their feet scampering down the hall.
“This is how you leave this world?” Gordon asked.
“Go, you better go. They’re calling the police,” Conner warned.
“This was a problem you had before. You don’t listen. You’re one of those people who sits and waits to talk. You’ve always thought you were the smartest person in the room but you never
were. I told you that I’m dying, I don’t have long anyway, so these threats are meaningless to me.”
Conner looked deeply into Gordon’s eyes and saw the truth right there. He wasn’t lying, he was there to kill him, and his own death meant nothing. How could one stop a person like that?
Gordon began to squeeze the trigger.
Conner lunged at him.
Gordon stepped back and avoided Conner’s grasp.
With a thud, Conner hit the floor, but he kept reaching out, trying to grasp Gordon.
A smile broke on Gordon’s face as he realized he had broken the once great President Conner. As Conner flailed, Gordon watched with delight.
Sirens could be heard in the distance.
“You won’t be able to escape. They’re coming,” Conner barked.
Gordon knew Conner was right and that his time to do what he came to do was dwindling away. He took one more glance at Conner on the floor, crawling towards him, before kicking him hard in the face. “Now get back on your knees.”
“No,” Conner cried, tears rushing down his face.
Gordon grabbed him by the collar and lifted him to his knees. “Look at me.”
Conner was defeated. He raised his chin and gaze towards Gordon. “Do you what you will.”
“I plan on it.”
“I’m not sorry about your brother, damn him and damn you!” Conner snapped. Defiance suddenly burst from Conner as he came to the sobering conclusion he wasn’t getting out of this alive.
Gordon’s glee expanded as he witnessed Conner’s shift in tactics. “There’s the motherfucker I came here to kill. There he is.”
Conner spit blood and saliva at Gordon and barked, “Fuck you and your miserable brother. I’m glad I had that pathetic piece of—”
Gordon had heard enough. He pulled the trigger.
The back of Conner’s head exploded, spraying blood and brains over the floor and chair. He slumped over and fell headfirst onto the floor. His body continued to quiver and shake.
The sirens grew louder until Gordon could tell they were just down on the street below.
Gordon turned back and sat in the lounge chair. He put the gun on his lap, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a picture. It was the picture Haley often gazed upon as she remembered the happy smiling family they once were before the lights went out. Like her, he ran his thumb over the faces, and in a flash, he was transported back to that day over fifty years before. He could still remember it like it was yesterday. Hunter was busy talking about his new Star Wars toys and Haley had just tied her shoes for the first time. Oh, how he wished he could go back to that moment. Haley sat on his knee, proud of herself, and he kissed her repeatedly. The fresh smell of her hair was vivid, as was the glow on Samantha’s face as she walked towards them, having just convinced a passerby to take their photo.
The New World (Book 7): Those Who Remain Page 16
