Revolution: Luthecker, #3

by Keith Domingue

  “My name is not important.”

  “You’re an operative for Coalition Assurance. The enforcement arm, or should I say the hit men of the Coalition. What are you, ex-Special Forces? CIA? Are you now part of the Coalition torture squads?”

  “Doctor Kirby, this is simply a debriefing.”

  “I’m chained to a table.”

  “As a precaution.”

  “Precaution for what? You’re a trained killer and I’m a civilian.”

  “Doctor Kirby, if I were you, I’d cease with your hostile tone.”

  “My hostile tone?”

  “I wouldn’t let it descend into an interrogation if I were you. So let’s just answer some questions, shall we? Now—Mr. Turner wants to know why you didn’t report evidence of the missing asset in India.”

  “Gee, I don’t know, maybe because it’s a foreign theater, and I didn’t want you goons showing up and causing a major incident. Like you fools did in Trans Dniester.”

  The man in the suit showed no reaction. “We have interests in that region.”

  “Of course we do.”

  “And no interests in the asset Alex Luthecker.”

  “You have no clue about the asset Alex Luthecker,” Kirby said.

  “You were given a job with specific parameters.”

  “I was laughed at. I wasn’t given the resources to succeed. I wasn’t supposed to come up with anything. I was supposed to disappear.”

  “Nevertheless, when it comes to intelligence of any kind, it is your obligation to keep Mr. Turner up to date in real time.”

  “We are in the early stages of the sixth great extinction in this planet’s history. If the current trajectory remains in place, our species has a less than fifty percent chance of surviving beyond the next two hundred years. How’s that for real time?”

  “That’s not why we’re here.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “The data for what you claim is inconclusive.”

  “You’re an idiot.” Kirby leaned in toward his well-dressed captor. “I believe that the only way to turn this extinction-level reality around and find a way to save our sorry asses is through Alex Luthecker, and even then, it’s a slim possibility,” Kirby continued. “We need his mind on the problem. We need advanced-level thinking on the challenge, not current-level thinking.

  “He needs to be brought in. He needs to be studied. He needs to be understood and accepted as the long-term solution that he is, before what he sees overloads his memory system and breaks him down, which is a real possibility.

  “You tell your boss that I know how to get to him. I know how to convince him to work for us. You tell Mr. Turner that I know how to monetize Alex Luthecker, all in the name of the Coalition.”

  The man in the perfect suit with the visible sidearm tilted his head. The claim of monetization by Kirby was unexpected. “How?”

  Kirby kept himself from reacting. With that one word question, he knew he was getting out of this cell. He knew that he just bought himself some time.

  “You tell Mr. Turner that if he doesn’t want to meet with me, then he’s just going to have to trust me. And there’s one more thing.”

  Kirby kept his eyes locked with his captor. In Kirby’s mind, there was still a closing line to deliver—a signal, one that would signify loyalty, a line that Turner would understand.

  But he wanted the hard-muscled, but soft-brained, knuckle-dragger in the suit to ask. He wanted the larger, stronger man to sense the shift in power, even if he was too dumb to understand it.

  “Which is?” The man in the crisp suit finally asked.

  “You tell Mr. Turner that when I deliver Luthecker, he’s going to have to give me my cut.”

  8

  Cause and Effect

  “I count five cars,” Masha Tereshchenko said to Chris.

  “It’s not just about the number of cars, it’s about remembering all the details. What color are the cars? How fast are they going? What models? Who is driving? Are there any passengers? Try not only to witness these things, try and remember as many details as you can, about everything, in five minutes, and be able to recall all of those details at will. That’s the drill.”

  “I have a phone that I can record this on.”

  “You have one more minute.”

  “This is silly.”

  “Do as Alex instructed—focus on the people first then work your way out.”

  Masha sighed in frustration before scanning the pre-dawn empty streets of downtown Long Beach, one last time. She was relatively new to the group, the one led by the odd and occasionally scary man Alex Luthecker who, along with Nikki Ellis, she had joined in rescuing in Trans Dniester.

  Despite her budding romantic relationship with Chris and the acceptance of her inclusion by the group, her insecurities of still feeling like an outsider made her instinctively defensive. Her reactions were a hard habit to break.

  Chris was aware of the difficulty, had treated her defensiveness playfully, and had always been patient with her, which only made her like him more—itself a source of frustration for Masha. Not having the emotional upper hand when it came to men was as foreign to Masha as was her new country.

  The adjustment to American life, particularly Southern California life, had proven more difficult than Masha’s childhood fantasies had led her to believe it would be. It was not the glamorous “Hollywood” that had mesmerized her by way of a flickering television set in the small apartment she had been raised in.

  Being born to working-class parents and growing up just north of Moscow, the sunny days and pretty people pictured on American TV seemed dreamlike. She discovered that the reality was far less so. It was beautiful, yes. And so were the people, at least on the surface. But the residents of Los Angeles had a quiet and constant anxiety about them, and many were capable of layered deception unlike anything she had seen before, even from her ex-boyfriend Semyon, who in Masha’s mind was the definitive liar.

  When Chris asked Masha to explain what was so different here than from her home, what made her adjustment so difficult, he was charmed by the simplicity of her explanation.

  “In Russia, people are the opposite of L.A. When someone says, ‘Fuck you’ in Russia, they mean ‘have a nice day.’ In Los Angeles, when someone says, ‘Have a nice day,’ they mean ‘Fuck you.’ It is all so very confusing.”

  She remembered her explanation had made Chris smile and that he kissed her right after the fact. Again, with the charm, she thought to herself about her man.

  When she left Russia as a teen and moved to Trans Dniester in search of a better life, she learned the hard way that cruelty and hardship, along with dishonest men, were something she would always have to look out for. It was when she was working for the Russian oligarch Ivan Barbolin, also known as the Barbarian, that Chris and his friends randomly entered her life. Or, as she was beginning to learn, perhaps it was not so random.

  Her well-honed skills for survival sensed opportunity upon first meeting Chris. In part, because right from the start he seemed genuine, almost innocent. Her initial approach was tactical, part of the routine reconnaissance she did while under the Barbarian’s employ.

  She was attracted to the young American almost immediately, however, and she was taken by surprise at how quickly she found herself subscribing to his group’s cause. It quickly went beyond her going along as a way to get out of Trans Dniester and to America.

  The initial adrenaline of the escape proved seductive; that type of action always was for Masha, but that spoke nothing of the effect Alex Luthecker had on her. The man’s ability to see past constructed narratives of personality was surreal. To have someone peer into her soul and reveal exactly who she was made making the major changes in her life—that she hesitated with—suddenly easy. It was unlike anything she had experienced before.

  Before she knew it, Masha was in America.

  But once she settled into her new home with Chris in Los Angeles, the same survival sk
ills that kept her safe from harm in Trans Dniester took over and prevented her from getting too close to anyone, in particular Chris.

  She tried to let go, tried to embrace this new sense of trust and connection that this small group of people seemed to have with one another. More than anything, she wanted to be part of it. But when it came to Chris, she swore to herself that—at the very least—she would keep a part of herself safe from seduction and from falling in love completely. It was the part of her heart she would protect and rely on in case she needed to escape, should her new country prove to be dangerous. For Masha, survival came first.

  “Masha, you have to stop drifting off,” Chris said, interrupting her thoughts. “Being able to focus is part of the exercise. Your time is up, but I’ll give you an extra minute because you haven’t had enough coffee this morning. Now concentrate.”

  Masha took a deep breath and tried to focus. The drill that Alex had given them was harder than she thought. Her mind always ran at 100 miles per hour, except at 5:30 a.m., when it ran at zero. The task seemed simple: Stand on an average street corner, observe, and remember everything to the last detail. Then, report those details back to the group.

  She did not understand how this related to cause and effect, other than the effect made her want to go back to bed. With Chris. Preferably naked. She shook off her distractions and closed her eyes to settle her mind; then opened them.

  The first thing she noticed was the older woman approaching the bus stop. She looked to be in her forties. Perhaps older, Masha considered on second thought, judging by the lines in her face. The puffiness around the woman’s eyes indicated a lack of sleep, but it was offset by determination in her movements. She probably had a family to feed. Her skin was dark, Latin, perhaps Mexican-American.

  She carried a large bag, too heavy for her; it looked to be filled with cleaning equipment. It did not slow her down. She wore a black sweater, worn and faded even from this distance.

  Watching this woman pulled at Masha’s heartstrings. This woman was a housekeeper, or perhaps a cleaning lady. She was waiting for a bus that would take her to someone’s home or business, where she would go about her day, invisible to all who were not like her. Masha had seen this type of woman countless times in Russia. In this woman, she saw her mother. Her aunt.

  Masha was surprised to feel her eyes well up with tears over the connection to her past. She finally understood the purpose of the exercise.

  “What did you hear?” Alex asked Yaw and Camilla.

  The couple, along with Alex and Nikki, Chris and Masha and Joey Nugyen, sat in a circle inside the abandoned warehouse on Terminal Island. Behind them, Mrs. Chen, a woman in her forties who, along with twenty-seven others, had been rescued from a shipping container at the Port of Long Beach less than a year ago, watched over both Kylie, the daughter of Yaw and Camilla, and the ten-year-old girl rescued from Veracruz, Maria.

  “The sound of cars, of traffic, drowned out most of everything,” Yaw began.

  “How many cars?” Alex asked.

  “Too many.” Yaw thought about his answer for a moment. “But occasionally one would break out from the others and be distinct, like the roar of a truck. And then there was the jet that flew overhead.”

  Alex nodded. “Continue.”

  “There was also a loud car horn that lasted about five seconds.” Yaw looked at Alex and smiled. “Someone was angry.”

  “What else?”

  “Not much. I’m sorry, man. I ain’t got your skills.”

  “You have more than you think. Trust your instincts. You have been trained to ignore what matters. I will retrain you. Now close your eyes. Concentrate.”

  Yaw closed his eyes. For several seconds the group was silent. Then Yaw opened his eyes and looked at Alex. “There was a constant hum. It had a rhythm too it, with crescendos and low points. Almost like music. There was never any silence.” Yaw turned to Camilla. “And there was the sound of her breathing.”

  Alex smiled. “That is good. A very good start. Soon, you’ll be able to distinguish the individual harmonies that make up the hum.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do.”

  “My brother, I gotta say, I’m just not sure what we’re doing here.”

  “You already know how to move and fight, Yaw. Now, I’m teaching you how to be still.” Alex turned to Masha. The eyes of the group followed.

  Masha was suddenly overcome with emotion, and she didn’t know why. Chris gently took her hand. The gesture almost caused her to break. She fought the urge to burst into tears and spoke. “I saw my mother,” she began.

  Masha had everyone’s attention.

  “There were cars passing by. Blue, red, black. The expensive ones stood out. The others blended in. It is like that in Russia. Visually, it was like…it was like Yaw said—a certain hum that was constant. I closed my eyes to concentrate, and when I opened them, she was there. Standing on the corner, waiting for the bus. She was worn but determined. I already knew how her day would be. I already knew what her life was about. It was like I could feel it.”

  “And what did you feel?”

  Masha thought about it for several seconds. “Connected. Truly connected.”

  This made Alex smile big. “Connection. That is the first step in not just seeing patterns but understanding them. It is the sense of connection that allows one to see the future before it unfolds. It is the disconnect that makes events appear random when, in fact, they are not. It is in the disconnect that the world itself seems too big to understand. It is when we truly feel the connection to all things that the patterns begin to appear.”

  “But, sir, no offense, we’re not like you,” Joey Nugyen opined. “Not even close. I can’t tell what’s going to happen with someone next. I’m still just trying to learn how to spin the Kali sticks.”

  “The mind is like a muscle, it can be trained. Eighty percent of your mental work is used to block the senses. It does this in order to keep you sane. But you can still see all that is around you. But in order to do this, first you must understand that cause and effect is about accountability. Accountability for the impact of one’s thoughts, words, and deeds, down to the smallest detail. It is in those details that the patterns emerge. And one cannot feel accountable, unless one feels connected. That is the lesson.”

  “But how will this help us in combat?” Joey asked.

  “If you connect yourself to your surroundings, if you pay attention to the details to the degree that you understand cause and effect, you will know when combat is inevitable and when it can be avoided. You will be confident in your ability to see conflict in advance—sometimes by minutes, sometimes by days, sometimes by years. And when you recognize those patterns, you will be able to take the appropriate actions. And from the view of those who are disconnected, it will seem like magic. It will seem as if you are predicting the future.”

  “That sounds really nice.” Masha spoke in a borderline sarcastic tone that her heavy Russian accent made more dramatic.

  All eyes were back on the Ukrainian woman.

  “How you say in America? ‘Kumbaya?’ But to what end is all this connection? When we have slave traders? When we have those who profit from the suffering and death of others? When most of the world is a horrible, horrible place?”

  Chris put his hand on Masha’s shoulder, but she brushed him off and stepped in front of Alex. “I have seen much brutality from those who do not wish to connect with anything other than their own greed,” Masha said.

  “I know what you’ve seen,” Alex softly replied.

  “Yes, you see everything. But what do you plan to do?”

  Alex looked into Masha’s eyes. The fire in them was genuine. And so was the challenge in her words. She stood unwavering, awaiting his answer. If there was any doubt before, there was none now—Masha was a warrior.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Alex finally replied, “because connection starts with inclusion. It is no accident that
you are with us. And we’re going to need you. In the coming conflict, there will be plenty to do. And we’re going to need everyone.”

  9

  Negotiation

  “You have five minutes.” The Coalition CEO sat across from Doctor Mark Kirby and waited for a reply.

  Turner noted that this time Kirby was not sweating.

  “I want my own division, with my own budget, with no questions asked,” Kirby replied.

  Turner briefly thought about having Kirby killed. “Do you understand who you are speaking to?”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  Kirby started to sweat. Perhaps I’ve overreached with my bold demands, he thought. He quickly pushed the thought aside. There was too much at stake to turn back now. Kirby knew he was not a good negotiator, but he also knew this would be his only opportunity.

  “I know who I’m talking to. And I don’t mean to offend you by saying, ‘no questions asked.’ You’re the CEO of the company and have a right to know everything. But understand when dealing with Alex Luthecker, knowing things can be a liability.”

  “Where is he? Where is Alex Luthecker?” Turner interrupted. He was beginning to lose his patience.

  “I don’t know,” Kirby replied. Turner moved to speak, but before he could, Kirby quickly added, “But I don’t have to. He’ll reveal himself.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I’ve been tracing his movements. They form a pattern. And I’ve been in contact with his only living relative.”

  “His mother.”

  “One of them, yes. He has two…”

  “I know his history. Do you think he’s going to come out of hiding for her?”

  “Possibly. I have his medical records. But more importantly, I know what he wants.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Change.”

  “Change of what?”

  “Trajectory.”

  “Doctor Kirby, if you do not start answering in specifics this conversation will not end well for you.”