The Trigger Mechanism

by Scott McEwen

  “Shouldn’t our government have that technology and not some privateer?”

  “A lot of people feel that way, but John Darsie has beaten all his critics and made billions. He’s one of the most powerful people in the U.S. and the world…”

  “And so this billionaire private-sector spy who’s a Valor alum is associated with Julie Chen, who’s possibly associated with Encyte?” Wyatt asked. “Sounds like something we need to be all over.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Yellow said. “Of course, with Darsie’s connections in the government we will need to tread lightly. But we will investigate.” Yellow looked at Avi, who nodded. “But tell me, why would Jalen keep this from the cops? This could really help his case.”

  “He’s a young, impressionable kid.” Wyatt shrugged. “And in the gaming world, this girl—Hi Kyto—is royalty. He didn’t want to rat out his star crush.”

  “Crush?” Avi said. “Idiot.”

  “Avi, you know Darsie, right?” Mr. Yellow asked.

  “I do.”

  “We may need you to reach out to him,” Mr. Yellow said.

  Avi nodded and looked again at Wyatt. “Was there any connection to Glowworm Gaming?”

  “Jalen didn’t seem to think so. It’s possible Encyte might’ve been a developer there, but I haven’t seen anything to indicate it.”

  “What about Hallsy? Did Jalen mention him?” Avi jotted some notes on a cocktail napkin.

  Wyatt shook his head, then glared at Mr. Yellow. “He’s the one who’s supposed to be looking for Hallsy. Maybe you should ask him.”

  “I told you earlier. We’re still pursuing leads, putting out feelers,” Mr. Yellow said, addressing the question he’d hoped to avoid. “Gotta be something on this damn plane other than Sprite.” He pushed up from his seat and bumped his way to the front of the cabin.

  Wyatt turned to Avi. “Come on, man. You’ve got some skin in this game, too. You want Hallsy, so shoot me straight.”

  Avi turned from the window and looked at him. “Of course I want him. I think about my brother every day … what Hallsy did to him. And one day, I will avenge him.”

  Avi blamed Hallsy for his brother’s death, and rightfully so. Avi’s brother was part of the security team when Eldon was kidnapped. He was the driver, trying to get Eldon out of Israel. But the escape was a setup. Hallsy had learned of a fifteen-million-dollar bounty placed on Eldon by the Glowworm, and that was enough for him to betray his lifelong friend.

  Wyatt checked behind him, making sure Mr. Yellow was out of earshot. “Enough sitting on the sidelines. We need to be part of the hunt, Avi. You and me. Let’s get in the game.”

  Avi flexed his jaw and returned his gaze to the window. “Mr. Yellow seems to think Hallsy’s made it to South America.”

  “South America?” Wyatt sighed. “Well, that really narrows things down.”

  Outside, more clouds and the craggy browns of West Virginia somewhere below them.

  “Do I have any reason to believe they’ll find him?” Wyatt said.

  “Well…” Avi let out a breath, calculating. “Given the time he’s been gone … I’d say you’ve got a three percent chance.”

  * * *

  It was just before midnight when Wyatt approached his house and saw a light still glowing in the kitchen window and a TV flickering inside. The full moon hung in a clear sky. Haloed in the far distance was Monticello: an architectural masterpiece, the plantation home Thomas Jefferson designed and had built for himself. As a student in Charlottesville, Wyatt had taken several field trips to the home and learned many things about Jefferson. Not only was he a Founding Father and a chief author of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, Jefferson was also a scientist and inventor, a collector and a tinkerer. Monticello itself contained many items that, at the time, were considered almost futuristic. Like the dumbwaiter for his wine, and the Great Clock that could be heard from nearly three miles away.

  Wyatt stared at the glowing dome and wondered if, in his wildest imaginings, Jefferson could have conceived of the world today—computers in everyone’s pocket, nuclear weapons, automobiles, self-driving ones at that. Cars that could be hacked and used to kill. Jefferson was a diplomat. He had an interest in spy craft and cryptography. What would he have thought of Camp Valor? Of the small army of child soldiers using the latest technology to protect the ideas that he and the Founding Fathers had etched into parchment with a quill and iron gall ink? Wyatt thought Jefferson would’ve thoroughly approved.

  Wyatt pushed open the door and found his father at the kitchen table with a decaf coffee. The TV played quietly and Eldon’s head was craned toward the screen. It was the same loop that had been playing for the last three days of the news cycle. A talking head was interviewing the new secretary of defense.

  “Madam Secretary,” the interviewer said. “It goes without saying, this administration has seen some … turbulence. Under the current president, officials have been leaving office right and left. The terrorist known as Encyte has carried out one of the most horrific attacks in U.S. history. As secretary of defense, what are you going to do about it?”

  “Well, I can tell you one thing, I’m not going anywhere.” The SecDef was a small woman, but she had a commanding voice and a villain’s polished smile. “And the answer to your question is a multifaceted one. Of course, we’re going to work to protect our freedoms and make Americans feel safe again. But we’re also going to clean house and initiate reforms. My job is to get our military back on track. No one loves the bureaucratic process, but I think we all saw—with the previous administration—the chaos that occurs when leashes get too long and we have too much freedom.”

  “Too much freedom … ridiculous,” Eldon groaned. “This damn administration.” He snapped off the TV and turned his attention to his son. “I was trying to work, but I got distracted. Easy to do lately. How are you?”

  “Good.” Wyatt locked the dead bolt behind him. “Hungry.”

  “Mom wanted to make sure you ate that.” Eldon motioned to the meat loaf, mashed potatoes, sautéed string beans wrapped in cellophane.

  “She still making you sleep downstairs?” Wyatt popped the plate in the microwave.

  “You’re too young to know about that stuff.”

  “Come on, Dad. Mom’s pissed.”

  “She’ll be fine. She just needs some time to adjust.”

  As Wyatt smelled the food warming, he realized it had been almost twelve hours since he’d had a bite to eat. He sat down next to his father and began tucking into his dinner.

  “How was Detroit?”

  “Avi didn’t brief you?” Wyatt raised his eyebrows at his dad. “I know he helps you keep tabs.”

  Eldon shrugged. “He said you might’ve found a link that’ll help the Encyte case.”

  “Yeah, so that gamer kid, Jalen…” Wyatt stalled, considering his words. “Think we could find a place for him at Valor?”

  “I don’t know.” Eldon sighed. “Camp is a few days away. Candidates have been selected, and from what Avi told me, this kid’s legal battle hasn’t even started yet.”

  “I’m talking about him redeeming himself. Right now, the kid probably wishes he could go to jail.”

  Eldon slugged the last of his coffee. “I’ll think about it.”

  “He’s a good kid.”

  “You think that now, but—”

  “No. I know it. He’s scared to death. He isn’t Encyte. He was a total pawn. He’s smart, and if someone doesn’t intervene, he’ll be lost. And you know what gamers can be like if they’re lost.”

  Eldon didn’t look up but Wyatt could see he’d struck a nerve. At one time, Eldon’s best friend had been the infamous Glowworm. They were teenagers together in the ’80s, and their love of the early games was part of what made them best friends.

  “I’ll bother Avi about it in the morning.”

  “Thank you.” Wyatt set his fork on his empty plate and pushed back from the table. “Look, Dad, I’ve d
one what I can to help with Encyte, but truthfully, it’s not my problem. I’m going back to camp, but I’m going on my terms … I wanna find Hallsy.”

  “Wyatt, there will be a time and a place—”

  “I’m done waiting. I’m going after him.”

  “The most elite operators in the world have turned up nothing in nine months, and you think you can just waltz in and find him?”

  “They don’t care like I do.” Wyatt’s eyes narrowed.

  “We’ll get a team together, but right now, you need to finish training. You need to be there for the next round of campers—”

  “Cody is gonna be fine.”

  “I’m not just talking about your brother. We follow a code. You’re a part of the Valor community. You don’t get to choose your orders.”

  “But Mr. Yellow—”

  “Let me tell you something about Mr. Yellow. Sure, he’s our ally, but he’s not your friend. And things can get pretty dangerous for you pretty quickly if you take the assets the government has invested in you and you go rogue. People do that and they disappear. And I can’t help you.”

  Wyatt nodded.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Ten-four, Dad,” Wyatt said as he went toward the stairs. “I’ll go and I’ll do what I’m told. But you should know, I’m not sure I believe in this place anymore.”

  Wyatt walked down the creaky stairs toward his bedroom. For the first time that day, he felt the stiffening from his lacrosse game that afternoon. He cranked on the shower and stepped under the hot spigot. Water coursing down his back, he thought about the day—Jalen Rose, the massacre, Hallsy—all of it tumbled around in his head.

  He toweled off, dressed, went back to his room, and knelt beside his bed. Wyatt waited for his father’s steps to retreat down the hallway before grabbing the headboard and pulling the bed from the wall. He reached down to the molding, feeling around behind the base of the headboard until he found the spot. He pressed into the wall, lifting it up and out, and then retrieved an encrypted cell phone from a cavity inside the wall. He pressed the power button and the phone glowed to life.

  Wyatt scrolled down his list of contacts until he found Avi’s name. He texted: I wanna move on Hallsy. We can’t wait. Find someone who can help us get him.

  Wyatt returned the phone to the hiding spot and pulled out the photo of Dolly, bound and gagged. He studied her as he did every night, using the fear in her dark eyes as fuel for revenge. He would find Hallsy and bring him to justice, even if it meant dragging him back by his broken neck.

  In his dreams, that night, once again the scene was the same—the gray lake, the echo of birds in the wet, green treetops, the girl: tall and athletic, she had something slung on her back. It looked like a weapon—a rocket launcher—that jangled as she ran. Wyatt ran behind her, down a path in a thick wood, and then it was dark. The girl was wading into water. He followed her, the cool water rising above his waist. She waited for him, and he swam out to her and pulled her close to him, her body warm against his.

  “Never let go of me,” she whispered into his ear.

  “I won’t.” He pulled her in tighter, but his arms collapsed against his own chest. He opened his eyes. He saw her—her face pale, almost greenish. Her eyes, terrified. She reached out to him, but something grabbed her, pulling her away. Wyatt swam, but the harder he kicked, the faster she was dragged into a watery abyss. Wyatt felt his lungs burning—deeper, deeper, until he could bear it no more and he turned and swam for the surface.

  CHAPTER 6

  The secretary of defense, Rear Admiral Elaine Becker, sat down for a rare quiet dinner at the Boatyard Bar and Grill not far from the United States Naval Academy, her alma mater. It was early for dinner, blue-plate-special hour, and her security detail had effectively shut down the restaurant to all other visitors, save for her predecessor, Admiral Henry McCray, also a Naval Academy graduate. McCray lived in Annapolis, where he was taking a year to write a tell-all memoir about his time at the White House and his work as a contributor to Fox News.

  Though he’d been the one to ask for the meeting, he’d arrived late enough for his successor to have a glass of wine and get annoyed. When he finally arrived, he was wearing khaki pants and a T-shirt and entered the restaurant carrying a glass of rosé. After greeting his former bodyguards, he gave the current secretary a kiss on the cheek and slid into the chair across from her. “Elaine, good to see you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Sorry I’m late. I was just wrapping up a fly-fishing class.”

  “Fly-fishing?”

  “Yep. Never had time for a hobby,” he said, fanning the white dinner napkin across his lap. “Figured I’d pick one that was time consuming and photogenic.”

  “You like it?”

  “Mehhh.” The former two-star admiral shrugged. “I spend a lot of time swearing and getting my flies out of hairy messes. Kinda like being the secretary of defense.” He winked.

  “Well, I have a few messes. That’s for sure,” she said.

  “From what I’ve read, it sounds like you’ve been cutting the messes out. Heard you shut down some black sites.”

  “Cleaning up what you left behind has taken me several months, but that’s the easy part. That’s not what’s keeping me up at night. Our homegrown terrorist is doing that.”

  McCray looked into her eyes. “This Encyte—does anyone in any of the agencies have any leads?”

  “Classified,” the SecDef said with a flat smile. “If I knew, I couldn’t tell you, but the truth is—no. No one has any clue. I need some suggestions, Henry. I gotta find this guy.”

  McCray tapped his fingernail on the table. “Wish I could help you there,” he finally said. “My only advice—be careful what programs you cut. The job of today’s military is like fishing. And you’re not going to catch anything without three things: time on the water, numbers, and luck.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Elaine said dryly. “Nice catching up, but why did you want to meet?”

  “Nothing like getting to it,” he said. “So you’ve heard the story of Khrushchev? The two letters he was given by his predecessor which he then gave to his successor?”

  “Yes, Khrushchev wrote two letters to his successor that he should open when things got really bad. The first one read, ‘Blame it on me,’ the second one said, ‘Sit down and write a letter.’” Elaine rolled her eyes. “You here to give me that advice?”

  “No.” McCray leaned in. “But I’m going to tell you something my predecessor told me, and it’s far more valuable than the Khrushchev trick.”

  “What’s that?” Elaine raised her thin eyebrows.

  McCray looked over his shoulder, then whispered, “Are you recording this or being recorded?”

  Elaine could smell his breath—summer sausage and wine. I never want to retire, she thought. His breath smelled like wasted time.

  “No,” she said. “I’m going to need to get going.”

  “There’s an elite training program the United States has been secretly developing and covertly funding since 1941. Its existence is only known to the president—though some presidents are not informed—to the secretary of defense, to those who’ve attended the camp, and to a handful of people in the espionage business. But it must be kept secret. If its existence were public, it would be incredibly damaging to the program and to the administration.”

  “Is it legal?” Even after a second glass of wine, she’d suddenly straightened up in her chair.

  McCray tossed another look over his shoulder. “Not by a long shot.”

  “So why are you telling me about it?”

  “Because it’s an incredibly powerful tool for you to deploy or destroy. But know that it can also destroy you.” McCray swigged his rosé. “Remember the rumor last year that the Glowworm Gaming Network, which had been blackmailing politicians, was broken up by a group of covert operators?”

  “Yes, I remember being debriefed on that.”

  “The th
reat was real and it was dismantled by these warriors I’m talking about.”

  “Sounds great,” Elaine said. “So what’s the problem?”

  “They’re kids. Teenagers. Some younger.” He leaned back and shot her a squinty-eyed smile.

  “Children?” she said, her voice loaded with indignation. “And you supported this effort?”

  “Absolutely. They’re not just kids. They’re bad kids. Juvenile delinquents given a second chance. And they deliver.”

  “I’m not sure I want to be hearing this.” She started to rise.

  He reached out and touched her wrist. “Wait. Sit down.”

  She wanted to slug him, but she sat. “What?”

  “I’m old school,” he said, tossing back his wine. “So I don’t get rattled like some of the new blood does when a couple rules are broken. Members of this organization have assassinated world leaders on behalf of the U.S., they’ve collected intelligence, prevented horrendous crimes and catastrophes.”

  She scoffed. “As the United States of America, we can’t have children doing that on our behalf. I can’t let our president be exposed to something like this. I can’t condone—”

  “Shhh.” McCray held his finger to his lips.

  Elaine glared.

  “It’s your right to shut it down. But before you do, I strongly suggest you take a look. Eighty years of your predecessors have supported this program.”

  “And ninety years of U.S. presidents chose not to abolish slavery!”

  “Listen, Elaine,” McCray said, rising to his feet, which she noticed were in flip-flops. “One thing you’re going to learn if you haven’t already is that this country is not made secure by laws—because we’re playing everything safe and fair—it’s because a select few chose to defend our freedoms. This group deserves medals, not your disdain.”

  “You must be drunk.”

  McCray belly laughed and rose to his feet. “You betcha.”

  “What’s the group called and how do I find it?”