by Gerry, Frank
Dylan stopped the stolen Buick sedan in front of the rather plain looking office building. Tien was lying face up on the back seat of the car. He double checked the address that she had written on the note paper. Comparing it with the display of the navigation system. It was the right address. But it sure didn't look like the right place. The building appeared to be deserted. The car's headlights reflected on the glass entrance way of the building. He sat frozen for a moment, carefully studying the stainless steel lettering of the address above the glass doors.
Dylan turned to look at Tien behind him once again. I pray this is the right place, he thought as he put the car in gear and drove over to the entrance of the concrete parking garage. It was dimly lit with only a few dirty light bulbs still shining. He steered the car to the left and down the ramp to the lower parking level. A single car was parked near the middle of the lot. A rusty sign pointed to another lower level. Still not entirely convinced he was at the right place, he drove down the ramp to the bottom parking lot. It was deserted and even less illuminated than the higher parking levels.
Dylan drove the Buick around the parking lot in a wide full circle, looking for something to show him he was in the right place. There was nothing. It looked like an ordinary, crappy garage parking lot: dirty concrete walls, oil stained spots here and there, with a few pieces of liter strewn about. What the hell now, he thought. He stopped the car in the middle of the garage and put it in park. He looked again at Tien and grew more worried. He got out of the car and walked back and forth with his hands raised, swirling around a few times. Nothing happened. He started jumping up and down, waiving his arms frantically in the air, calling out as loud as he dared. Ten seconds passed, fifteen, then twenty. It was futile. He stopped. There was nothing there. Complete silence. Darkness. No sign of anything. His mind raced with what to do. It was time to get out of there and get Tien to a hospital.
Suddenly it occurred to him, If this is the place, they don't know me. And they can't see Tien lying on the back seat. He rushed over to the back passenger side door. The door was locked, he thought to himself he probably locked it automatically to keep her from falling out. He sprinted back to the drivers side and hit the button to unlock all the doors. And just as fast, he sprinted back around to the passenger side. He wanted to pull her out head first.
Dylan carried her with both arms, walking in a wide circle, gently swirling her limp body from time to time. “Is there anyone here,” he called out to the empty parking lot. Several seconds passed. Still nothing happened. He continued moving in circles. Tien's head hung lifelessly back, as a dolls head would. Twenty seconds past, then almost thirty. Nothing happened.
“There's nobody here,” Dylan spoke aloud, letting out a sigh before carrying Tien back to the car. He had almost reached the Buick when he suddenly heard a loud motorized humming noise from behind him. He swung around to see a false door opening on one of the walls of the garage. The door itself was big, wide enough to drive two cars through. Several people sprinted out of the door, four men and a woman. One of the men, carrying a sub machine gun stayed behind the others, sweeping his head back and forth.
Two of the men, without saying a word, took Tien out of Dylan's arms. At the same instant, two other people, a man and a woman rushed out of the secret door pushing a wheeled stretcher. Dylan followed behind, watching the men carefully transferring Tien onto the stretcher. No one said a word, everyone knowing their roles, and acting as quickly as they could.
The silence was broken by the woman who was with the first group of people out the door. “Who are you?” she asked with a serious no nonsense expression on her face. She definitely was in charge of the group. She appeared to be in her middle twenties, shoulder length blond hair, a bit on the thin side and short, probably no more than five feet two inches tall. The man with the sub machine gun stood behind and off to the side of her. His weapon pointed at the ground but in the direction of Dylan.
Dylan looked around at the group, then followed behind as soon as they started moving Tien on the stretcher. “My name's Dylan Fraser. She's Tien-Mu Chang. She's one of yours. She needs medical assistance right away,” he said, trying to keep up with the stretcher. The blond woman's expression eased somewhat. She turned around to face the man holding the machine gun, “Take care of that car.” She had fallen behind a few feet and ran to catch up with Dylan and the group. “We know who she is. We're going to take good care of Tien.” She paused for a moment, then added, “By the way, I'm Helen.”
The group rushed past five armed sentries, the massive door started closing as soon as everyone was inside. Helen maneuvered herself in front of Dylan. She raised her hand to signal him to stop. “We need to let the medical people take care of her for now. You need to follow me,” she said. One of the armed guards took a position to the right of Dylan, another directly behind him.
Dylan shook his head and tried to walk around her. “I'm staying with her.” Helen jumped to the side to get in front of him once more. Dylan stopped. “There's nothing you can do for her. If anything you'd only be in the way. Besides, I'm not asking you. I'm telling you.” Helen said, using both hands to indicate the presence of the two men carrying M4 rifles.
“Let's try this again. Shall we?” Helen said, smiling politely while gesturing with her right arm to their intended direction. Dylan looked past Helen to see Tien being pushed through a set of doors and out of sight. He was worried for her, though he knew this woman was right. He couldn't do anything more to help Tien. He did his part by getting her here. “You'll see her very soon. If they operate, you'll be there when she wakes up. For now, please follow me,” Helen said, turning to walk down a corridor. Dylan followed hesitantly, the two guards trailed behind.
They walked through a labyrinth of office hallways, then down a flight of stairs. The building was buzzing with activity. People walked busily to and fro carrying stacks of folders, or wheeling plastic containers. Soldiers dressed in civilian clothes, their automatic weapons slung over their backs, hung out in small groups, smoking e-cigarettes and joking around. Dylan was amazed by the sight. He never imagined that the insurgency had this many people. From his conversations with people at Homeland Security, the news media, whoever, he always imagined the insurgents where a rag tag group of miscreants hiding and plotting in dingy cellars. He never conceived that they could be operating in this capacity.
Helen brought him into an empty conference room and closed the door behind them. She waved her hand, “Sit down anywhere.” Dylan remained standing. He looked about the room apprehensively. She walked over to the head of the conference room table and took a seat. “Would you like something to drink? Water, coffee?” she said, while leaning forward to move the phone console closer to her. “Yeah, I'll have some coffee. Black. And a bottle of water.” Dylan took a seat next to Helen while she made the call.
They sat together engaged in small talk for a few minutes. The room was a basic no frills conference room that middle managers from a typical corporation would meet in. Cheap, fabric covered office chairs surrounded a twelve foot long blueish gray laminated conference table. Standard issue furniture. Helen flashed a forced smile whenever he looked her way. A knock came on the door, a middle aged woman with graying hair and thick glasses entered. The woman carried a tray with a pot of coffee, mugs, and a bottle of water. She placed the drinks on the table. “Thank you,” Dylan told the woman. She looks like my mother, he thought.
Dylan looked around the room trying to keep occupied while he sipped the steaming hot coffee. After a few minutes of waiting, Dylan finally said aloud what he was thinking. “I take it you're suppose to baby sit me until the brass gets here?”
Helen forced another smile, “That's right.”
Dylan pushed her a little, “So, who am I waiting for?”
“You'll be meeting our commanding officer.”
He continued to look around the room, growing further agitated. “I want to see Tien. I want to know how she's doing.�
�� Helen put her arms on the table and leaned towards Dylan slightly. “Just so you know. Tien is a good friend of mine. I care about her very much. There's no place I'd rather be right now than over in the medical area. But I have a job to do. And whether you like it or not, you'll be required to follow our rules until we figure out what to do with you,” she said, then leaned back in her chair.
They sat facing each other in silence. Neither one knowing exactly what to make of the other. Helen was the first to break the silence, “While you're meeting with the 'brass' as you call it, I'll head over to see how Tien is doing. I'll let you know how she is as soon as you get out of your meeting. Is that OK with you?” Dylan was happy with that arraignment. “Helen, thank you. I don't mean to sound like a jerk. I'm worried about her. It's been a really long couple of days. You have no idea.”
THIRTY FOUR
Dr. Beck walked into the conference room a few minutes after seven pm. In one arm, he carried a stack of folders, stuffed with papers that looked as if they'd fall out any second. In his other hand, he carried an open can of diet soda. Helen and Dylan stood. “Thanks Helen. I'll let you know when I need you.” Helen gave Beck a nod before turning to Dylan. “As I said. I'll check in with the medical staff and see how she's doing.” Dylan smiled, “Thanks.”
Beck plunked down the stack of papers on the table. He reached out to shake Dylan's hand, “Hello Dylan. My name's Doctor Richard Beck. I'm the commanding officer around here. Please, sit down.” Beck motioned for Dylan to sit in his seat.
Dr. Beck actually looked like a real doctor. He was in his mid sixties, a little pudgy around the mid section, average height, with long flowing white hair. His face had a lot of character, as if weathered by years of worry. He was well dressed, wearing an expensive dress shirt and slacks, with a platinum watch. Dylan could make out the name 'Breitling' on the face of the watch, a name he'd never seen before. Dylan's first impression of the man was that we was an old monied aristocrat, born and raised in privilege.
Dr. Beck leaned forward in his chair, putting his arms on the table, his fingers entwined. “Well, it's finally nice to meet you. I've been curious about the man whom Tien cancel her mission for. I've never seen anyone do something like that since I've been in charge here. Which is a long time. So, you must be very special to her.”
“She's very special to me,” he said.
“You've had a rough few days. I've read Tien's report she submitted this morning. Detailing your escape from DHS headquarters. And I've heard a little about your ordeal this afternoon. We've been monitoring Homeland Security communications.”
Dylan straightened his posture slightly as he shifted in his chair. “Yes, Sir. I have. Uh, we have. Tien and I.”
Beck beamed a friendly smile. “You don't have to call me sir. I'm not your commanding officer. You may call me Dr Beck. Some people like to call me Chief. I'm good with that too.”
“OK, I'll try to keep that in mind.”
Beck began sifting through the paperwork piled in front of him. “We've switched back to storing all our documents on old fashion pen and paper. It turns out to be the most secure means of storing data. Nobody can hack into these.” Beck tapped the pile of paperwork with his knuckles, a smile crossed his face.
“I know you're tired. And I know you're worried about Tien. So I'm going to keep this brief. First, a little about myself. I'm a medical doctor. Cardiac surgeon over at Mass General. I'm widowed, no children. And exactly how I ended up as one of the senior officers of this organization, well, let's just say it's a mystery to me,” Beck said, while leaning back in his chair. An awkward few seconds passed, while he studied Dylan intently, sizing him up.
The momentary tension broke as Beck reached forward and took the top folder from the pile in front of him. He scanned the pages quickly. “Paperwork may be secure, but it takes a hell of lot more effort.”
Dylan waited patiently not knowing quite what to make of the man before him.
Beck lifted his eyes away from the documents. “I want to ask you a few questions. Discover what you know, what you think. OK, so, what is your understanding of the terrorist insurgency. What do you believe?” He pulled out what appeared to be an expensive pen from from the top pocket of his shirt and began jotting notes on a blank piece of paper.
Dylan was taken by surprise. He thought he's have to prove himself. Prove somehow that he wasn't working on behalf of Homeland Security. He swiveled his seat back and forth a few times, putting together the pieces of his thoughts on the matter. “OK, uh, if I were to answer your questions last week, I would have said that the terrorists were criminals intent on destroying our country.” Beck didn't respond, he just started writing notes.
Dylan realized the older man wanted more from him. “Well, to go back, for prospective, the War on Terror started decades ago when we fought against the Islamic extremists. The assholes that blew up the New York skyscrapers. But as we all know, the War on Terror expanded to fight the homegrown, American born terrorists. Turning into the War on Terror at Home. This led to the need to reform the Federal government to better handle the war. Keeping America safer. And over the years the number of terrorists have grown until we have reached the point where it can be called a rebellion. But, these last few weeks everything changed. I don't know what's what anymore.”
Beck was pleased with Dylan's honesty so far. “So, up until a few days ago, then. Why would you have thought the terrorists wanted to destroy our country?”
Dylan was quick to answer, hearing the reason a thousand times at school, at work, in the media. “Their goal was turn this country into a God-less cesspool. Take all of our money and property so lazy ass people and immigrants wouldn't have to work. Turn our country into a socialist nightmare. Again, that's what I always believed until recently.”
Dr. Beck probed further, asking the real question he was after. “What made you change you mind?”
Dylan paused, thinking how best to answer. “I met a girl that made me doubt everything I believed. Everything I was taught. A girl who opened my eyes to the truth. Or maybe better put, opened my eyes to who I really was. Though what the truth is, I'm still trying to figure that out.”
Dylan facial expression turned more serious. “There's more to it. What made me decide to throw everything in my life away to try to save Tien was, well, yes, I fell in love with her. But yesterday when Tien was arrested, I didn't know what to believe. I was being torn in two. Then it hit me. They were about to torture Tien. I discovered that Homeland Security tortures people. They torture Americans. And like the proverbial light bulb going off in my head, I realized that a just society does not torture human beings. Not only that, I realized a government that tortures it's own citizens to maintain it's power could never be legitimate. No fucking way. Period. Excuse my French. Once I put the pieces together, that the woman I was in love with, who felt so strongly to fight against this government was about to be tortured, I made my decision in a millisecond.”
Dr. Beck knew Dylan was telling him the truth. He didn't need brain scanning equipment to tell him when someone was honest with him. He spoke to Dylan as a father might speak words of wisdom to his son, “Love will do that to us. Open up our world for us to see things that we may never have otherwise.” Dylan let out a cheerful laugh, nodding in agreement with the older man.
Dr Beck collected his papers, quickly stuffing them into the folders in front of him. “That's it for tonight. We'll talk more tomorrow. Get some rest,” he said, while punching in the numbers to call Helen on his v-phone. “Oh, if you're wondering. All our phones are encrypted. Homeland Security can't listen in on us,” Beck said, seeing that Dylan was looking at his phone with a quizzical expression. “How do you know that they haven't broken your encryption codes? They're pretty good at doing that.” Dylan asked. Beck smiled and shook his head in an agreeable manner. “Two reasons. We're constantly changing the codes and we have agents embedded within DHS. We'd find out if they broke our codes.”
/> Dr Beck rose from his chair, Dylan followed. The men walked out of the room together, making small talk. Outside the conference room, Dylan found the two guards still standing on either side of the door, one holding a 9mm handgun with a silencer. Helen was walking towards them in the hallway.
“One thing you should know,” Dr Beck said. “If I thought you were lying. Hernandez here,” Beck motioned to the man holding the 9mm, “would have put a bullet in your head before you could have gotten out of your seat.” Dylan's facial expression changed to distress.
Dr Beck smiled to ease Dylan's nerves. “I also liked your answer about not knowing what the truth is. I always keep in mind a saying from the Buddha, 'Trust no one who claims to know the truth. Only trust those who claim to seek the truth'. Words I find very useful sometimes.”
“Helen will take care of settling you in, whatever you need. She'll also be handling your debriefing. It was nice meeting you and we'll be talking soon.” Beck shook Dylan's hand, then headed down the corridor carrying his stack of manila folders.
THIRTY FIVE
Tien opened her eyes, though just barely. They were still half closed, but wide enough to see Dylan sleeping in an upholstered chair beside her bed. She looked groggily around her dimly lit makeshift hospital room. A small night light casting a blueish white glow was plugged into the far side of the room near a push cart holding medical supplies. She looked down to see an IV needle inserted into the top of her left hand.
An old analog clock on the wall above a white board read five thirty. Tien wondered if it were morning or night. She had no way of knowing since the converted boardroom had no exterior windows and the doors were closed. She wondered how long she's been there, how long she's been unconscious. Her head began to spin. She felt sleepy. Dylan shifted his position in the chair as he slept. She glanced over at him again, then at the bandages covering her shoulder. There was no pain. The drugs were doing their job, she thought. A moment later she drifted back into unconsciousness.