by Mike Ramon
Chapter Nineteen
Manhattan, NYC
June 6 -- 16:32 UTC/12:32 pm local time
The day had dawned cool and misty, but by lunchtime it was pleasantly warm, and the sky was a clear, pale blue slate above the city. A never-ending sea of people moved like the tides on the city’s sidewalks, cars and trucks bleared noise like wounded beasts on the streets, and the ceaseless hum of the city buzzed with fervor.
Vera Polk brushed a lock of blond hair away from her face before taking a drink of hot herbal tea. She sported a pair of sleek, dark sunglasses that hid her deep blue eyes, and she wore a loose white dress that caught the light when she moved. It was she who had wanted to take a table on the patio instead of inside.
Across the table sat Ben Chancer, who looked older than his companion; not quite old enough to be her father, but old enough that people who saw them together would look at them in that way that he hated, that way that said, “What is such a lovely young woman doing with a guy like that?”.
Their relationship had begun as a strictly professional one four years previously, when Vera was a twenty-one-year old college student yearning to live dangerously and make some money that she could put away for the future. Ben had known her father, and it was the old man who had asked Ben to take the young woman under his wing. Six months later she dropped out of college, and several months after that their relationship had slipped past the bonds of business. Ben had been afraid of how her father would react, so they had kept the relationship under wraps. Then the old man died after a massive stroke and Ben didn’t have to worry any longer.
He took a drink from his own cup--cappuccino instead of tea--wiping his lips with a napkin after setting the cup down. He picked up the newspaper that he had laid out on the table. There was a story about the media blackout in China. It was all the papers and news networks could talk about lately, prattling on about the sanctity of journalism and the evils of state censorship. The blackout had started weeks earlier with foreign journalists being ordered to stay within certain designated zones, and the movement of foreign nationals being restricted in general. Chinese journalists were warned not to release any news stories that had not been vetted by the authorities beforehand.
The official reason for the blackout had to do with previously unannounced war games being carried out by the People’s Liberation Army. The blogosphere was filled with reports that this was just a cover story. Some blogs that were being run from within China had gone mysteriously dark after casting doubt on the official story.
Ben had reason to believe that the doubters were right. While he didn’t know much about what was going on in that part of the world--it was unprofessional to delve too deeply into the private business of your clients--he thought it might have something to do with the fellows who he and Vera had recently done some work for. Then again maybe it was just a coincidence. It didn’t affect his life much either way. He put the paper down and drained his cup.
“Are you finished?” he asked.
“Yeah. Get the check, honey.”
Ben used his card to pay for their lunch, and he and Vera headed home. It was a five block walk, and they took it slowly, enjoying the day. Vera walked beside him. When they were a block away from home he took her hand in his, and she smiled at him.
Then the peace of the moment was broken as all hell broke loose. Three black SUVs with tinted windows came roaring up, screeching to a halt at the curb. Armed men in blue FBI jackets jumped out, weapons drawn and shouting orders.
“FBI, get down on the ground!” one G-man barked.
Before either Ben or Vera could react they were both tackled from behind. The men who took them down wore civvies instead of FBI jackets; they had evidently been tailing the couple.
“What’s happening?” Vera asked in a panic.
Her sunglasses had been knocked loose and Ben could see her wide, terrified eyes.
“Don’t say anything to them,” Ben said.
One of the men holding him down gave him a shot to the jaw; evidently they didn’t appreciate his unsolicited advice to his companion.
Both Ben and Vera were cuffed, then one at a time they were made to stand and shuffled toward the vehicles. They were put into different SUVs. The FBI agents bundled into the vehicles with them, and they pulled away from the curb.
The cuffs were tight, biting into the flesh of Ben’s wrists. One of the FBI men looked back at Ben from the front seat.
“You’re in big trouble, fuck face,” the man said.
Ben said nothing back. A small smile spread across his lips, and the FBI agent looked away from him. They would get nothing from him. He knew what he had to do; he wondered if Vera would do the same.