by Gerry, Frank
The house was a mess. Moving boxes full of everything needed for a home filled the entire first floor. Furniture was left wherever the movers thought it should go. Neither Dylan nor Tien had ever stepped foot in the house before. They had no idea what was in most of the boxes. Nor did they know where any of the furniture should go. They had their work cut out.
Tien walked into the cluttered living room and peered through the curtains left behind by the previous owners. She saw the street was empty. Mrs. Preston was already back in her home. “She's probably on the phone by now, talking to her friends about what nice new neighbors she has,” Tien spoke loudly for Dylan in the other room.
He followed into the living room, shaking his head as he entered. “You know, it's the damnedest thing. I keep trying to remember the building were we spent the last couple of months living in. Nothing. I try to remember the names or faces of the people I met, our superior officers. Nothing. I can't remember a thing. Though, I can remember all of the details of our mission, all of my training, and my entire life.”
Tien moved away from the curtains and started looking over some of the boxes. “It takes getting use to. That's for sure. I don't think I was ever comfortable with the hypnosis until my fourth or fifth mission. I found that not thinking about it helped. Which is tough of course, because when you try not to think about something you end up thinking about it even more.” She let out a big laugh. “Unpacking and getting our house setup will get your mind off of it.”
Tien started looked around the boxes, moving them from side to side, trying to read their labels. “Lets find the boxes marked 'Glassware'. Our ammunition and explosives should be packed in those. Let's get it down into the basement and stored safely. Then we should look for the guns.”
THIRTY NINE
Dylan pulled his silver Chevy sedan into the driveway and drove all the the way to the garage door. Close enough for the recharging cord to reach the plug on the rear passengers side of the car. It was the the forth time that week he managed to make it home at five thirty. Reinforcing the illusion for the neighbors that he was a professional who came home every night for dinner.
He put his v-phone, with all of the days reconnaissance video and audio notes, into his top pocket, grabbed his empty briefcase, and headed into the house. Plugging in the car's recharging cord on his way in.
“Hey, I'm home,” Dylan said, as he closed the front door behind him. He put the briefcase down on the floor, leaning it against the hallway wall. “I'm in the office,” Tien called back. Dylan took off his coat and walked over to the downstairs office. It was really a small den that Tien used for her office. There were bigger bedrooms upstairs she could have taken, though she preferred being downstairs.
Tien was sitting at her desk, engrossed in her paperwork spread out everywhere. The use of computers to store data was only allowed on systems not connected to the internet. Homeland Security could trace everything on the net, every computer, every tablet, every v-phone. Standard operating procedure for the rebellion was simple; don't connect anything.
Dylan walked up behind Tien and put his hands on her shoulders, massaging them as she continued to focus on the documents in front of her. “How are you, sweetie?” Dylan tried to comically mimic what a real businessman would say to his wife after a long day at the office. Tien remained fixed on her work. “Huh..... Oh, I'm fine. I've been working on the McCallister case all day. Did you get the surveillance video on his hotel that I asked for?”
Dylan continued to massage her shoulders. “Yeah I got it.”
Tien never broke her concentration on the papers in front of her. “There's no way we can hit General McCallister. Other than a suicide attack. And I don't even see how we could do that.”
Dylan moved over to her side to look over the paperwork with her.
“The General always travels in motorcades of six cars. We never know which car he's in. The front and back vehicles are armored Humvees with 50 caliber machine guns. And they always travel with escort motorcycles. They're prepared for our motorcycle assassination teams, roadside bombs, weaponized drones.”
Dylan put his left hand on Tien's shoulder. “Looks like you need a break. Get away from it for a while. Take a look at it with fresh eyes later on.” Tien leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms out. Taking Dylan's hand into her own. “You're right. I've been totally obsessed. I'm not going to solve this tonight. What do you want for dinner?” Dylan thought for a moment, “What about Thai. I think I'm in the mood for Crazy Noodles.”
It was getting late in the evening, twenty past nine. Tien was lying against Dylan on the couch. Each of them reading magazines on their tablets while watching one of the new TV shows of the season. Another crime drama. It was a repeat of the pilot episode. Neither one of them were really watching the show. It was just on in the background. Something to relax by and keep them company.
Out of the blue, Dylan blurted out, “I know how to get at General McCallister.” Tien put her tablet down on the coffee table and turned to face Dylan. “So, YOU know how to get the bastard. Nobody at Command can figure it out. I've been working on it for a week. And you spend ten minutes one morning taking a look at his downtown hotel residence and you know how to do it. Well I'm all ears Einstein,” she said with a grin, letting him know she was joking.
A big shit eating grin spread across Dylan's face. “His compound is protected by squads of soldiers. Blast proof walls, bullet proof glass. Every imaginable high tech defensive weapon deployed. Right. Well, think about it. Those high tech weapons are designed to stop other high tech weapons. So …...we use low tech weapons. And I know just what to use.”
“Don't leave me in suspense. Come on...... tell me.” Tien shook Dylan's shirt.
“We use old fashion model airplanes loaded with explosives. The kind that use analog radio signals with control boxes. Homeland Security doesn't have anything to stop them. Their surface to air missiles wouldn't be able to hone in on the heat source from their small engines. Their electronic jamming devices are all designed to shut down digital transmissions. Nobody's used analog systems since the First Pac Rim war. Their radar controlled Gatling guns would never have a target to shoot at. Balsa wood and C4-B explosives wouldn't provide a radar signature.” Dylan looked genuinely pleased with himself.
Tien sat silent for a moment before smiling. “I don't believe it. You're right. This is it.” She thought more about it. “This is how we'll hit McCallister. Alright I'll admit it. You are a fucking genius. OK, so.....we'll need two planes to do the job. We'll fly them right into his hotel room at night while he's sleeping. The first airplane will be used to blow out the bullet proof glass. The second plane would follow directly behind and be detonated inside his bedroom.”
“You can't buy these old model planes anymore, of course. But I know some old timers, friends of my fathers, that have basements full of these planes,” Dylan said.
He leaned closer to Tien and put his arm behind her neck. “Since, you don't have any more work to do tonight. I have just the thing to keep you busy.”
Tien smiled. “I bet you do. You horny devil.”
FORTY
The alarm clock rang, the digital display read seven am. Dylan hit the off button and rolled over to the center of the bed. The bedroom was dark and cold. “Oh, man, I hate winter mornings,” he said aloud, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. Tien was already up. She usually got up at least an hour before him. He lifted the covers and rolled one more time, right out of bed. It was Friday morning and he had a full day of reconnaissance work ahead of him.
He shaved and put his clothes on, then shuffled down to the kitchen. He could smell the coffee as he walked down the stairs. Tien always brewed a big pot, more than enough for both of them. She sat at the small eat-in kitchen table, staring at her cup of coffee. Her eyes were a little red. Seeing him enter the room, she turned and looked up. “We need to talk. I just got a message from Command.” Tien breathed deeply. He stoppe
d in his tracks, becoming fully alert. Her words jolted him awake more than any coffee could.
“What is it?” his mind raced as to what it could be. “It's not my parents is it?”
She shook her head, “No, why don't you sit down and I'll tell you.”
Dylan walked carefully over to the table and sat down. “What is it?”
“Command got word late last night, from one of our inside sources, that Brooks was killed yesterday. I'm so sorry, Dylan.” Tien got up and sat on his lap. She gave him a hug, a long, comforting one. An embrace Dylan didn't want to let go of. A few tears fell from his eyes. He hugged her a while longer before gently pushing her away and standing up from table.
“The official reason was he was shot trying to escape. But our source believes he was intentionally murdered. Ordered from the highest ranks of Homeland Security.”
“Fuck!” Dylan said. He clenched both of his fists and ran them across his head. “It's all my fault. I got Brooksie killed,” he said. Tien walked over to his side, trying to comfort him without saying anything. She knew there wasn't anything she could say.
“Fuck Command too!” Dylan's rage grew. “I can't even remember who those assholes are but I can clearly remember them telling me Brooksie would be safe. Homeland Security wouldn't kill him, they said. He was too valuable. He was their leverage against me.” Dylan leaned with both hands against the kitchen island. “I should have done something. I should have gotten him out of there myself.”
Tien rubbed his back. “There wasn't anything you could have done. There was no way you or anyone could have got Brooksie out. It wasn't your fault.”
Dylan backed away from the kitchen island and faced Tien. “Yes there was. I could have killed Goodman. He's the one that ordered Brooksie's execution. He did it to get back at me. If Goodman was dead, nobody else would have given a shit about Brooksie.” Dylan looked down and shook his head. Tien knew he was right. She searched for more words to try to comfort him, but couldn't find any.
“I made the mistake. No one else. I should have listened to my gut instinct. But I was so wrapped up in myself. Trying to play the part of the good soldier; waving the flag, saluting my senior officers. I was trying to save the world. Where all along I should have been trying to save my friend.”
“I'm so sorry. I should have realized that, as well.” Tien sat back down at the table, putting her hands over her face to stop herself from crying.
“I'm going to kill him, Goodman,” Dylan said matter of factly. “I'm going to kill that motherfucker!” Tien shook her head. “Command will never allow it. Not by you. If they do make that decision, it will be carried out by other agents.”
Dylan half sneered and half laughed. “I'm not requesting permission. I'm not requesting anything from Command. I'm going to do a job. A job on the side that Command doesn't need to know anything about.”
Tien became adamant. “That's not how we do things. You follow your orders. I follow mine. Nothing else. We're in a war and we're soldiers. Like it or not.”
Dylan smiled and looked straight into her eyes. “We're volunteers. We're not professional soldiers. They don't pay us any money. Everything we have around us, it's all to get a job done for them. It's not for us. This time, the war is personal. I'm off the clock. I'm doing this. You can either join me or stay out of my way.”
Listening to how he spoke, Tien knew there was no way she could stop him. She knew he had to do what he had to do. She cleared her throat, “In all likelihood, Goodman killed Brooks to flush you out. He probably calculated the act would enrage you enough to come after him blindly. You would trip up, one way or the other. Trust me on that. He would kill or capture you. And in the end, he would win.” Dylan tried to speak but was stopped by Tien. “If we do this, we do it my way. I'm in command. I'm the Strike Leader. You'll be my specialist. Nothing's changed. Do you understand me?”
Dylan stood frozen, stunned for a second, trying to process everything. “Yes, I agree. And you're right about everything. We need to be careful. Plan everything out very carefully. You're in charge, I trust you completely to get this job done right.”
Tien nodded her head, continuing her instructions, “Good, then we'll take our time. Wait things out. Then hit that motherfucker. In the meantime we'll continue our planning on McCallister. I'm thinking we'll assign that hit to Strike Team D instead of doing it ourselves. That will give us more time to prepare for Goodman.”
“Yes, Sir,” Dylan responded in military fashion to give her a sense that he is on board with her decisions. Tien grinned in acknowledgment. “One more thing. I'm proud of you. I know you're hurt, angry. I know you blame yourself. But I'm proud of you for your emotional intelligence and not flying off into a rage. You vented, but stayed cool. You understand we have to be professionals. And that we're a team. We sink or swim together.”
“Besides,” Tien added, “Once Command finds out about this, we'll both be busted down to paper pushers never leaving headquarters. That is, of course, if we survive this mission.”
FORTY ONE
Agent Goodman sat at his desk in his dimly lit home office swiping his thumb across the display of his Android tablet. He was reading documents for work and got tired of saying, “next page,” or “down page,” while he read. He preferred to swipe the display instead. It was easier. Sometimes newer technology isn't always better.
The upstairs was quiet. No sounds of the high def TV, no laughter, no little feet running around. Goodman had sent his wife and kids away to stay with his parents in upstate New York. It was a precautionary measure. He knew he was a target now and didn't want to risk their lives. He missed them all the same.
At nine thirty five pm the computer signaled an incoming transmission from work. It was Agent Green on the screen. “I'm sorry to disturb you at this time Sir, but we have a person claiming to be Agent Fraser on the phone. Voice and facial recognition is confirming it's Fraser. And he's only willing to speak to you, Sir. We've got traces going on the line right now but I don't think we're going to get anything with it. He's got the transmission pretty well protected.”
Goodman couldn't prevent himself from looking surprised. He never imagined that Fraser would contact him. It took a few seconds to regain his composure. “What do you make of it, Agent?” he asked.
“He wouldn't say anything to me, but honestly, my first thought was we may have made a mistake in our assumptions. He may have been legit the whole time.”
“Transfer the call, let's see what the fuck is going on,” Goodman said, pushing his chair closer to the desk and straightening himself up.
Dylan appeared on the computer screen. His face had a green luminescence from the dashboard of an automobile. Dylan was the first to speak, “You piece of shit motherfucker. You fucking betrayed me. You had no faith in me and you fucking betrayed me. I just wanted to call you and let you know that I had everything under control. I had everything you wanted on the terrorists and more. Now, you don't get squat. Instead I'm going to kill you. Do you understand me.”
Goodman took a breath, trying to gauge the situation. “It was you who betrayed me. You were under strict orders.......” Goodman was cut off from speaking further. “I had to change the plans. I had to improvise to make them believe. And guess what. It worked. They bought me hook, line, and sinker, motherfucker. I had everything for you. Not just a single command center. I obtained information that would shut down the entire rebellion in most of the eastern United States. I got it all. Instead you killed my friend, you ...”
It was Goodman's turn to cut Dylan off, “Dylan, stop and listen to me carefully. Yes, I did think you turned traitor. I was certain of it. But I didn't kill your friend Brooks. He's alive and well. I faked his death. It was a ploy to try to bring you out of hiding. I didn't kill him because I thought he'd be useful to us in the future. Though believe me, after talking with him for a couple of minutes, I wanted to kill him. He's a fucking pain in the ass.”
Dylan's face went bl
ank. He starred at the camera for what seemed at least five seconds. “If that's true, I want to be brought in. I want my life back. I want this nightmare to be over with.”
Goodman smiled, trying to ease Dylan's nerves. “Come into headquarter tomorrow. We can talk there, everything's going to be alright.”
“No,” Dylan said firmly. “I want to see Brooks first. I want to see him in person. Out in the open. And I want to turn myself over to you personally. I don't trust any of your trigger happy henchmen. If I see Brooks, then I'll know you're telling the truth. I'll apologize to you then in person for insulting you. And, ah...... telling you I was going to kill you. I was pretty worked up.”
Goodman countered his offer. “I'll have Brooks out in any public square you want. But I won't be there with him. I'll have Agent Greene outside with Brooks. I'll be nearby. That's my offer.”
Dylan rubbed the tips of his fingers back and forth across his face with one of his hands as he pondered his response. “OK, that sounds fair.” Deliberately waiting another few second, he continued with his demands. “I want to see Brooks in the center of Harvard Square in Cambridge, by the news stand, at ten thirty tomorrow morning. I don't want anyone else around. No policemen, no Homeland security. Just Brooks and Green.”
“I'm glad things have turned out the way they have Dylan. Everything is going to be OK. I'll see you right after you make contact with Agent Greene.”
“One other thing. If I see any cops, if I see any drones, anything at all other than Brooks and Agent Greene you'll never see me or my information ever again,” Dylan spoke in a more solemn tone.