by Brian Cotton
***
Harvey waited impatiently for Clarke to patch him through to another resistance leader on the laptop. The computer wiz kept telling him that it would only be a few more moments, which was a few too many moments ago already. As he paced back and forth behind Clarke, the man behind the computer didn’t dare tell him to stop. It was one thing to say it to Kaspar, another entirely to tell it to a superior. He simply swallowed hard and got over it.
“You’re patched through.” Clarke said as he stood from his chair.
“About time,” Harvey replied.
Harvey took Clarke’s place on the chair. On the screen in front of him was a live, real time image of Roy Sanders, a former Delta Force operator who was also suckered into the USR’s scheme of setting up rebel squads around the country. His weathered, aged face looked almost tired all the time. On the left side of his head, his hair was singed off almost all the way to the back of his skull. The skin that remained was a crusted red mess that caused Harvey to cringe every time he saw it. The scar was received, from the way Sanders told it, after he got too close to a flame thrower wielding North Korean during the war.
Sanders became close with Harvey once the scheme’s lid was blown off by Robert Clarke and John Paxton’s old crew. Unlike Harvey, Sanders had never worked with Paxton in the past, as they were in different branches of the military. However, they all saw Paxton’s execution on television, and they all vowed that they would continue on with the fight. Their resolve, especially Sanders’s, only grew stronger when Clarke’s encrypted messages were deciphered.
“Hey, Sam, what the hell you gettin’ me up from my wet dreams for?” Sanders demanded.
“I’ve got some information you might find compelling, you old son of a bitch.” Harvey replied, not able to contain the smirk on his face.
“Well, let’s hear it then, Lacey was starting to do her thing.”
“You know that thing we’ve been looking for?”
Sanders looked confused. “What thing? Freedom, liberty, a fucking win in this damned war?”
Harvey started to look from left to right to make sure nobody else besides Clarke happened to be in the tent. Other than Kaspar, who he hoped would keep his own damn mouth shut, he didn’t want anyone else to know quite yet. It was obviously a delicate situation that needed verification. Nonetheless, they would need some help once they got there, and though he had never met the man, Sanders was someone he knew he could trust.
“That thing that cures the other thing…”
“You found something?” Sanders’s demeanor changed completely at the sound of that. His body perked up and he leaned forward almost to the point of head butting his webcam.
“Maybe,” Harvey replied. “Obviously, we need keep this between us for the moment, until we can verify all the facts. I’ve got Clarke forwarding over a report to you as we speak.”
“Okay, let me take a look at it.”
Harvey watched as Sanders looked over to a monitor to the side. The old soldier’s eyes lit up and for a moment the old, tired scowl disappeared. He turned back over to face Harvey through the monitor.
“You think this is for real?” Sanders demanded.
“As real as it gets.” Harvey replied.
“How did you acquire this?”
“Ripped it straight from a USR computer, at the complex we just bombed to hell.”
“Yeah, I heard about that, damn good job out there. But…”
Harvey leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “But, what?”
“I don’t know. Could be a trap.”
“Maybe so, but if this accurate, this could be the key to all of our efforts. Everything we’ve done since learning of that damn terrible experiment. We can cure the women, and not just the wealthy, good to do ones the USR would use that thing for. We also wouldn’t hold it back and use it for a propaganda tool.”
“Let’s say we do get that cure, then what? How would we distribute it?” Sanders wondered.
Harvey unfolded his arms and rested them on his head, holding it up from the desk. There would be no easy way for them to get it out there. Hell, he was even questioning his whole talk about the USR’s propaganda. It would be just as easy for the resistance to use it for their own ends the same way that the USR would.
But, he knew that there were good men in the resistance, and he couldn’t say the same for the USR. They would do positive things if they could get their hands on it. If they didn’t try, they would be in the same boat they were in now, with nothing. They’d still be losing in a war effort that had little chance of success to begin with. This guerilla warfare they were engaged in would eventually meet its end once the mighty USR tightened its grip on them. They needed something. An ace in the hole…a trick up their sleeve…anything.
“I don’t know, yet. But, we’ve got smart people working for us. We can sort all that out later.” Harvey replied.
“You’ve also got to worry about certain soldiers who will get antsy with that in our possession. We would have to play it exactly right.”
“We will.”
“Talk is cheap, Sam, you know that.”
“We’ve got to try, though. Even if everything went to hell once we got it.”
“I agree. What do you need from me?” Sanders asked.
“I’m going to need you and your men.”
“How did I know you were going to ask that?”
“This is a big one. We’re going to need all the help we can get.” Harvey said.
“You want me to get anyone else involved?” Sanders asked.
Harvey pondered the question for a moment. “Better not. We need to be as hush hush about this as possible. We just lost a man and I could use some help, at the very least.”
“Who’d you lose?”
“Steinner.”
“I’m sorry to hear about that. How’s your team holding up?”
Harvey sighed. “They’re shaken, and morale’s kind of low, I’m hoping that we can verify this cure and that’ll boost that. We’re going to give Steinner a proper memorial tomorrow then head for the compound.”
“I see. Well, I’ll get my men ready and we’ll move out. We’ll meet you about halfway to discuss strategy and what not.”
“It’ll be a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Sanders smiled. “The pleasure will be all mine.”
.18
Sullivan made his way into the precinct’s equipment room, which was right next to the weapons cache. He looked around at the different devices available to him as an Agent. The only problem being that he needed to check them all in and out whenever one was in use. And, he would have to come up with a valid reason for having what he came for. There wasn’t one that immediately came to mind, so he would have to use deception. With a swift gesture that was sure to be missed by those watching the cameras, he grabbed a tiny, black device that was circular in shape. As smooth as the best pick pockets and jewel thieves, he slid it into his pants pocket.
After he got what he came for, he moved into the weapons room. Inside, there were rows of weapons from advanced assault rifles to the more conventional side arms and submachine guns. With a firm grip on the handle, he grabbed a replacement Glock 17 then exited the weapons cache.
Next, he would have to check the gun out at the front desk. He walked up and saw an attractive young brunette in her late twenties. She was messing around with her hair as she chomped loudly on her chewing gum. When Sullivan walked up to her counter, the receptionist quickly stopped. She swallowed her chewing gum, and then wheeled her chair to the counter, putting on a fake smile when they made eye contact. Sullivan could tell the poor woman hated her job. He couldn’t blame her.
“You trading in your side arm today?” she asked. Sullivan noticed her name tag.
“Yes, I am, Susan.” Sullivan replied. He handed over his current Glock after unbuckling it from his belt holster.
“What’s wrong with this one?”
Nothing, Sullivan thought, but that would be the truth. The truth was something that he would have to evade for the time being. Hell, he felt like he had never embraced any kind of truth in his entire adult life.
“Keeps jamming on me.”
Susan took the gun and gave it a quick inspection. She typed in the serial number and waited for Sullivan’s mug shot to show up on the computer screen. When it did, she got up from her chair and walked over to a locker in the far end of the office. She pulled out a key and, once the locker door was open, she placed the gun inside, along with all the other malfunctioning ones. After she locked it back up, she returned to her seated position. Sullivan handed her the new gun and, again, she typed in the serial number and attached the gun to his file. When all was done, she handed the gun back to him.
“You have a nice day, detective.” Susan said.
“You, too.” Sullivan replied.
He felt an instant attraction to the young woman. She had a mature, yet youthful look to her. Sullivan found himself staring into her round, light blue eyes. He then noticed the light from above glistening off of her pink lip gloss. Her supple lips tempted the Agent into climbing over the counter in order to press his lips against hers. There was just something about this receptionist that caused a fire to burn in his chest.
It had been so long since he felt anything for a member of the opposite sex. The fact that Julie already hated him when she died made the whole grieving process a lot easier. Who knew? Maybe a night on the town with a pretty girl would be good for him.
Sullivan leaned over the counter and raised an eyebrow. He tried that look that got Julie’s attention all those years ago.
“What time’s your shift over?” he wondered.
“Not interested.” Susan replied.
Sullivan’s heart sank. He had never really experienced an instant rejection from a woman. There was no quick, witty response that came to his mind. It seemed like it would be just another night of apologizing to his son and getting bitched at by his former sister in law.
Maybe next time…