by Brandt Legg
A group of soldiers suddenly entered the room and stationed themselves at each window and door. The president’s Secret Service detail tensed. Someone handed the Chinese leader a digital tablet, which he studied for several moments before finally turning back to Hudson.
“Forgive me,” he began, his expression still anxious. “These ‘REMies’ have attempted to infiltrate our country for many years. We consider them deadly dangerous.”
“How have you kept them out?” the president asked, relaxing a bit.
“Execution,” he replied, his face angry and bitter.
“Well, you’ve missed a few,” the president said carefully, motioning to the Wizard, who presented the proof Crane had secured of REMie infiltration into most aspects of Chinese society, including their government.
The MSS minister looked on nervously as the Chinese leader tried to hide his embarrassment over their failure, but Hudson explained the history and intent of the REMies, and told them that based on everything they’d learned about the elites, China was the country with the least amount of REMie control.
While that news didn’t quite allow the MSS minister to relax, Hudson did notice the man seemed to stand a little easier. Then the Wizard and Schueller gave a detailed report filled with evidence of the REMies’ MADE events around the world. Again, China ranked among the countries with the fewest major events. However, the entire run-up to war had been created by several top REMies, including Bastendorff. The Wizard provided them with the actual links of how the REMies had created the crisis between the two superpowers, and why.
“We are long past the days when the media could be trusted, when we could believe what we see on television, even in intelligence reports,” Hudson said. “There have been too many wars fought, too many lives lost, for no reason other than to advance the greedy agendas of the global elites.”
The two leaders spoke for hours, and forged an agreement to avoid armed conflict. China’s president also pledged to help Hudson take on the elites, a pledge which could prove to be as important as stopping World War III if the leaders of the two largest economies on the planet could ally in the secret fight against the REMies, and perhaps return the CapStone to the people.
The president would face a firestorm at home for negotiating with the enemy, defying Congress, and making a deal with the Communists, who, according to the media, were bent on dominating the Pacific rim and beyond. “China is the threat” had been hammered into the headlines for years, but the president had chosen to no longer serve the lie.
Hudson had averted war. They were safe. The REMies had lost this one.
Chapter Sixty-Three
“Nice work, cowboy,” Melissa said as they rode in The Beast back to Air Force One. “But you do realize that one day you’ll have to deal with China? They aren’t really on our side, even though right now we share a common enemy.”
“I know. They’re a dictatorship, but hopefully when we expose the REMies to the world, people everywhere will demand more freedom, more say, more openness.”
“You’re a dreamer.”
“Maybe, but we can’t take on the REMies if we’re in the middle of a nuclear war, and we have a much better chance at beating them with the Chinese on our side.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “You usually are.”
He put his arm around her.
“It’s not going to be easy to go after REMies if NorthBridge keeps attacking,” she added. “Now that you know who they are, what are you going to do about it?”
“I have a few ideas,” he said as he held her tightly, humming their song in her ear. Melissa hardly dared to breathe, because for this beautiful moment, he was exactly the man she had fallen in love with. She knew it couldn’t last, but she would enjoy each precious second.
As they flew back to the United States, Hudson reflected on his accomplishments. On Inauguration Day, he’d pledged to himself to free Rochelle, stop NorthBridge, and destroy the REMie hold on the world. Mixed results, but progress across the board. Rochelle was out, but that was as much as he could think about that one. NorthBridge had finally been cracked. He would soon face the task of bringing them down. And the REMies, although still as powerful as ever, had suffered their first major defeat—there would be no war with China.
Schueller came over and sat next to him. “I’m proud of you, Dad. Look at what you’ve done. You’ve stopped the war with China and turned an enemy into an ally in the fight against the REMies—a big and powerful ally.”
“It was a good day.”
“Day?” Schuller echoed. “It’s been a good month! We know who’s behind NorthBridge. Now we’ll be able to stop them.”
“I plan on making Dranick DNI, and he can use FaST to go after the real NorthBridge terrorists,” Hudson said.
“What about Booker and the others?”
Hudson still had to face the two other NorthBridgers Crane had fingered. He didn’t look forward to it, but it was his first priority once they landed in DC. “Dranick will get their side of the story, but there’s no justification. They’ll all end up indicted and jailed.”
“Cherry Tree has a better chance now that Covington is no longer interfering and the Chinese are helping.”
“I hope so, but the government’s still filled with people who don’t want us to succeed in cleaning up the corruption. Loyalists to the REMies, although most don’t even know it’s the REMies, cling to the system that feeds them. Which means that, ultimately, the REMies are no less powerful than before,” Hudson said.
“That’s not true. Your being president makes them less powerful. If we can stop Bastendorff . . . ”
Hudson nodded slowly, but he knew the odds were overwhelmingly against him. The REMies were gunning for him.
How many attacks can I survive?
Later in the flight, the president went and found the Wizard, who’d spent most of the trip reviewing and decoding more of Crane’s work.
“I wanted to thank you again for coming,” Hudson said. “It’s good seeing you in the flesh after two years of seeing only the digital version of you.”
The Wizard smiled. “You too, Dawg.”
“I know you prefer staying in the shadows, especially with someone out there killing all of us who were at the tire shop that night . . . ”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Gouge,” the Wizard said.
“It’s hard for me to breathe when I think about his pain,” Hudson admitted.
“Who would have done it?” the Wizard asked. “Bastendorff wouldn’t want to kill all the witnesses. He’d want to be able to parade all the rednecks out, show how brutal it was, and then say how you let it happen. Killing everyone doesn’t help him.”
“Who does it help?”
“You. And since you’re not doing it, then it has to be one of your supporters,” the Wizard said, stroking his beard.
“But no one knows about it.”
“One person does; a person with the means to get it done . . . Vonner.”
Hudson had thought the same thing himself, but hadn’t wanted to deal with that possibility. Yet with the Wizard making it sound so obvious, he could no longer deny the fact that Vonner was responsible for all those killings, for Gouge’s tortured state, and, presumably, for more things yet to surface.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Hours later, when they were only a few miles from entering US airspace and the plane was dark and quiet, with most of the passengers sleeping, Schueller found his father awake, working in his office.
“Can I interrupt?” Schueller asked.
“Sure, I’ve just been finishing my speech,” Hudson said. “It might be my most important one yet. The media and Congress are going to roast me on this peace mission, but if I can convince the American people that we can trust China, and that war must be avoided . . . ”
“How are you going to do that without telling them about the REMies?”
“I’m working on
it,” Hudson said. “I wish we were ready to unleash Cherry Tree, but Crane’s death has slowed us down a little.”
“That’s exactly what they wanted it to do.”
Hudson nodded sadly.
“Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“About the nine minutes?”
Hudson tensed, but nodded.
“Crane and I had become good friends, and I’m having a tough time . . . I mean, Zackers and Crane were both killed trying to help us.”
“I know, and one day the world will recognize what they did, and know their sacrifice,” Hudson said. “We couldn’t have gotten this far without them.”
“That’s true, but what I’m getting at . . . what I’m trying to ask is more about Mom, I guess.” Schueller was looking away, avoiding his father’s eyes.
Hudson made a point of finding his son’s stare. “Hey, Schueller, what is it?”
“You know,” Schueller said. “You know what happened to Mom, I mean, when she died. What she saw, where she went.”
“Oh, Schueller.” Hudson hugged him. “It’s not . . . I wish it were that simple.”
“Those nine minutes, what did you see?” Schueller asked. “Whatever it was changed your whole world view. You’re infinitely more patient. Believe me, I grew up in your home, I know.”
Hudson flashed a brief smile.
“You went against everyone to stop the war,” Schueller continued. “You quit eating meat, dropped so many of your old conservative ideas, you don’t seem to care about material possessions, and it’s not just all that. I see the change in you.”
Hudson’s face was full of tenderness as he looked at Schueller. He shook his head slowly, not sure he could finish this conversation, but knowing he must.
“Dad, so many people have died for your crusade. And you know . . . ” Schueller repeated.
Hudson thought back on Zackers and Crane, all the Secret Service agents and other law enforcement members who had died, all the people who’d been lost rescuing Rochelle, and all the others. Rage surged through him. Each life seemed too high a price, and yet whenever he considered the millions lost in all the REMie wars over the last hundred years, the countless lives destroyed by poverty, hunger, poor health, because of REMie corruption, he realized the cost was tiny compared to allowing things to continue under REMie rule.
Hudson looked out the window. The lights of the West Coast had just come into view, as if looking into an inverted universe, each city a solar system scattered across a vast black sea; a Hubble deep field stretched and bright. He took a long breath, and turned back to his son. “I saw nothing,” Hudson said slowly.
Schueller, mouth slightly agape, stared back at his father, confused. “Nothing? How can that be?”
Hudson shook his head, anger welling. “NOTHING!” he said, too loudly for the quiet cabin. “Nuuuuuthing.” He looked down at his hands, and then back into Schueller’s eyes. “But I felt myself go,” Hudson said, suddenly whispering. “I was aware of passing.“
Schueller strained to hear every word.
Hudson continued, his tone that of awed reverence. “It wasn’t like dying with finality, more like going into another place, different. The change was subtle, yet marked. Kind of like going outside on a hot day when you’ve been hours in air conditioning.” He checked Schueller for recognition, then leaned closer and lowered his voice even more. “I also became aware of my consciousness, and that it survived. Those nine minutes were an eternity.”
“No tunnel of light?” Schueller asked. “No angels?”
Hudson shook his head. “No visuals, just feelings.” He stared past his son with a faraway look. “Oh, but the truth, the knowing, the peace.”
Schueller searched his father’s eyes for more.
“Mom isn’t gone,” Hudson said. “I know people say stuff like that, and we believe it’s just to comfort those left behind, but I’m here to tell you that death is not what we think. The physical loss is what confuses us, but our essence goes on.”
“You mean the soul?”
“I don’t like that term. People have attached so much meaning—spiritual or religious—to it. But my physical body had died. Think of it this way—if you and I went into an underground cave, completely devoid of light, and we had a whispered conversation, you would still know me.”
Schueller nodded.
“Without my physical body, I was still me. My energy went on, but with so much more force. I could see everything without seeing it—the information, the knowledge, the . . . everything, just flowed into me.”
“Did you sense Mom?”
Hudson nodded. “It’s like being filled with the love of everyone you’ve ever cared about, not just from this lifetime, but across all existence.”
Schueller smiled at the passion in his father’s voice.
“Then it’s suddenly a pull—do I want to go back, or stay in this glorious realm? And that’s when I knew there would be more.”
“More?”
“Lifetimes, but different.” Hudson stood up and looked as if he were searching for something. “I don’t know how to describe it, how to relate much of the experience, but I can tell you this for sure: We. Go. On.”
Schueller nodded, and was silent for a few moments. “So you didn’t have to come back?”
Hudson gazed faraway and shook his head slowly. “No, I didn’t, but even with all that enormity and mysterious awe ahead, it actually makes this life seem even more precious. The best I can do is to describe our life on earth as us being kids, and you wouldn’t want to miss your childhood, would you?”
Chapter Sixty-Five
Hudson waited in The Beast until 007 and the rest of his elite Secret Service detail cleared the building one last time. He had not told them he would be meeting one of the leaders of NorthBridge, just that this was a meeting of the highest sensitivity. The location had been suggested by Schueller. One of his band mates had spotted it when scouting locations for a new studio. Located only a few miles from the White House, the abandoned delivery depot had been outdated by its small size. The same problem made developing it into something else a challenge, so the landlord was looking for unusual uses.
The president walked across the dusty concrete floor, his footsteps echoing off the white painted brick walls. The space, about the size of three or four basketball courts, was mostly empty, save for a few large tables, some scattered chairs, and a pair of large aluminum ladders. Light filtered in from high windows that looked as if they hadn’t been cleaned in his lifetime. Hudson could taste the dust, a musty scent mixed with used motor oil that made him cough.
In the next room, the NorthBridge leader had been searched, and stood waiting for him next to a pair of battered folding chairs.
“AKA Jefferson,” the president said. “Thank you for coming. You’ll excuse me if I don’t shake your hand.”
“But we’re old friends,” Fonda Raton responded with her usual coy smile.
“No,” Hudson said. “Friends don’t lie to each other, don’t conceal the fact that they’re part of the leadership of a ruthless and brutal terror organization that has tried to kill me more than once, and has murdered people who were trying to protect me.”
“Now, hold on!” Fonda fired back. “Those people trying to ‘protect’ you were bad agents who would have killed you or let you die.”
“Save it, Fonda! NorthBridge wanted me dead, and you knew they were trying to assassinate me, didn’t you?”
“No. Yes,” Fonda said. “You don't understand NorthBridge.”
“You're right, I don't understand anything about them except that they kill people. They tried to kill me!” he repeated.
“There are different factions—AKA Adams, AKA Franklin, Washington, Hancock . . . ”
“You say factions, I say criminals.”
Fonda shook her head dismissively. “Some want more action, some less, some of them trusted you, some did not. Vonner is an enemy, a RE
Mie, and you belonged to him.”
“It seems NorthBridge is full of REMies.”
“No, Booker is the only one, and he's not anything like the rest.”
“He’s worse. Booker’s working both sides. He’s nothing better than a war profiteer. He sells the government most of the equipment for Three-D, most of the tech the NSA uses to spy, satellites, drones—it’s a long list—and then he uses NorthBridge to destroy the very materials he sold, and to attack his biggest customer.”
“You don’t get it!” Fonda snapped, trying to keep her voice under control. “We’re in the middle of the final CapWar. There are at least ten REMies going for the CapStone.”
“Including Booker.”
“Sure, Booker, but there are dangerous REMie-backed groups—Omnia, Aylantik, Mirage, Techtrains, others. They must be stopped if we’re ever to regain control from the elites.”
“You’ve told me all this before, but back then I thought you were a journalist.” He glared at her. “We can’t kill our way to freedom.”
“It worked in 1776.”
“That was a war, a revolution.”
“So is this.”
“No,” Hudson said, shaking his finger. “This is terrorism. There’s a difference.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Of course you don’t. At least Thorne—AKA Hancock—is honest about his views, but you’re like two different people.”
“Booker said I shouldn’t have come, that you aren’t strong enough—”
“Strong? Booker and I have different methods. Take DNI David Covington. He was a problem, a REMie tool, so I fired him. But I guess that wasn’t good enough for AKA Washington. So Booker had Covington killed?”
“He did not.” Fonda looked shocked at the accusation. “Booker had nothing to do with his death. Anyway, Covington died of a heart attack.” She winked.
“Then who did?”