The Arrival

by J W Brazier

  He handed her his notepad. She wrote her telephone numbers on it and handed the pad back.

  “There you go, Mr. Cohen—I mean, Dean. Until we meet again …”

  Ann gave a little smile and walked away, waving good-bye to Pearlette as she emerged from the kitchen.

  Dean just stood there, taking a deep breath of her lingering perfume. Meal ticket in hand, he stuffed the letter from Ann’s mother into his jacket and headed for the cash register.

  *

  Dean lingered a moment at the cash register, watching Ann walk to her car and leave. Pearlette waited, then cleared her throat. He turned and looked at the grinning Pearlette, realizing he had been ogling Ann like some schoolboy. Now he cleared his throat, then handed her his ticket, even as he felt his face flush because she’d caught him enjoying an obvious enraptured moment.

  “Sorry, I meant no disrespect toward your friend,” Dean said. “But she is a beautiful woman.”

  Pearlette rolled her eyes. “Umm-huh is what I’m saying.”

  He ignored her playful tease and pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, and then handed her the money with his bill.

  “Apparently that’ll be an antique pretty soon,” she said, eyeing the cash.

  Dean eyed her, waiting for the punch line, but her statement had sounded sincere.

  “What do you mean, Pearlette?”

  “Banks around here are going cashless, hon. I got a call from my bank first thing this morning. No warning—nothing. They said it was some sort of new ‘trial economy’ they’re going to test and that White River was chosen as the first place in the US. Supposed to make our lives simpler, but I don’t trust any of that banker garbage.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Mm-hmm. Something to do with linking up with the launch of new satellites. If you ask me, the bankers found a new way to squeeze more money out of us poor folk. If you stay around town long enough, get ready.”

  “Pearlette, you’re sure about this?”

  “Well, hon, I don’t have a say or choice in the matter, now do I?”

  Dean gave a little shrug. If this was true, what could she do? Nothing … if she wanted to eat, pay her bills, and stay in business.

  “You’re right,” Dean said. “Huh. Still seems hard to swallow. I mean, cities on the East Coast tested smart chip technology in limited markets, but that was ages ago. I wasn’t aware a total cashless monetary test of this caliber was in the works … and I’m a reporter.”

  “Hum, testing back East maybe, but right here in rural White River, they’re about to go whole hog, like it or not. Now this is where it scares me. My bank said that the UN and International Monetary Fund are involved with setting up the secure equipment linked with their new satellite systems. Supposed to eliminate fraud worldwide with a more accurate and safe system. Those UN people will be here tomorrow to start issuing the new trial card or chip implants. You’ll see them, they’ll be wearing their blue armbands. Why the UN is what I want to know.”

  Dean could only shake his head, still trying to take all of this in.

  “The only thing I do like about it,” Pearlette said, “is the free incentives—something I didn’t expect. Merchants will get five thousand dollars added to their accounts and citizens one thousand. They said to think of it like a stimulus kick start.”

  “What? Really? All of this is for real?”

  Pearlette half-frowned and nodded. “Well, I’m more than concerned … I’m scared! And listen to this. It’ll make your hair stand up—it did mine. The girls at the DMV told me we’ll have a DNA data number linked with our bank accounts. Now ain’t that special?”

  Dean blinked and reached out for the counter to steady himself.

  “Are you alright, sugar? You need some water?”

  He stared at her, wondering how in the world all of this could be happening. “Oh, uh … I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that … all of what you’ve said … Wow, it really caught me off guard.”

  “Surprised me too and scares me. Tell you what, baby. The breakfast is on me today. It’s a welcome to White River. Miss Ann’s a special girlfriend of mine. So, here, don’t forget your breakfast.” She handed him a Styrofoam container.

  “Thank you, Pearlette. And you’re right about Ann. She’s a nice lady. I’ll be back again. I believe my work in White River is just getting started … and will keep me longer than my editor anticipated.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that, Dean—Oh, I didn’t mean about your extra work, but that you’ll stay longer. You and Miss Ann come back together real soon, ya hear?”

  Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, I will, Miss Pearlette. You can count on it. Good-bye.”

  “Bye for now, hon.”

  Dean exited the café and headed to his car. Even without turning his head, he could see a black Suburban with dark windows parked in the alley next to the new mall. The Suburban was too obvious to be anything but a pointed, subtle message.

  So … Dean wondered, is it me interviewing Ann, or Ann herself that interests them?

  Both scenarios troubled him.

  Chapter 12

  “Excuse me, Governor. Your two guests are waiting in your private study. Will they be joining you for lunch?”

  Governor Clayton looked up from his work. “What?” he said. He felt his left eyebrow twitch, as it always did when he was upset. “Did you say guests in my private study, Nancy?”

  Nancy raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Yes, sir. I assumed you were expecting them.”

  Clayton frowned and clenched his fists atop his desk.

  “Sir, you … you mean, you didn’t know?” Nancy asked.

  Clayton shoved away from his desk and walked around to face Nancy Bloomberg, his third-term personal secretary. He could see Nancy tensing up, and her hands fiddled with a file folder.

  “Did they have the courtesy to say who they were?” he asked.

  Nancy lowered her eyes. “Uh, I’m sorry, Governor, but no, they didn’t say … and I didn’t ask.”

  Clayton pursed his lips and then nodded. “Fine. I’ll handle this, Nancy. But … how did they get past security? Is everyone asleep out there?”

  Looking relieved, Nancy could only shrug her shoulders. “I honestly don’t know, sir.”

  Clayton turned on his heels and strode toward his study, feeling his face getting hot. “Nancy, get security in here now, or I’ll fire the lot of them!”

  Nancy rushed to the telephone and picked it up. “Sir, there’s no dial tone.”

  “Then go find them!”

  She ran out the door and into the hall, calling for the security detail even as Clayton himself burst into his study. Before he could say anything, the man standing at the window with his back to the governor said, “Close the door, Governor. We haven’t much time.”

  Clayton stood there, searching his memory. The distinct voice sounded familiar, and then he noticed a tall second man to his left. The tan-skinned man walked behind Clayton and closed the study door. Seconds later, the doors flew open again. Three security guards took up an aggressive stance at the threshold, with weapons drawn on the two intruders while Nancy stood behind them with mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

  “Call off your dogs, Governor,” the man at the window said. He continued to keep his back to the governor, seemingly unaffected by the presence of the security guards.

  Governor Clayton raised his right arm and waved off his guards. “It’s alright, gentlemen.”

  The security agents relaxed their defensive posture, but kept their weapons in plain view.

  The man at the window turned around, and Clayton’s jaw dropped.

  “Hello, Jim,” the man said. “It’s been awhile.”

  The man’s raven-black hair glistened in the light, showing only slight graying around his temples. His piercing dark eyes and smooth features appeared chiseled to perfection.

  Clayton shook his head. “Well, my goodness, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t the in
famous—and what appears ageless—Abram Solomon. It’s been years indeed, my friend!”

  The governor stepped forward with an extended hand, eyeing the much taller Solomon.

  Damn, look at him, Clayton thought. Hasn’t aged a day in twenty-plus years. Like to know his secret.

  Solomon stepped forward, shook Clayton’s hand, and embraced him with a half-hug and backslap.

  “Jim, my sincere apologies for the secrecy surrounding my visit, but it was imperative my presence here today stay confidential. Given the task before us, I’m sure you understand.”

  With no idea what Solomon was talking about, Clayton tried to project his best expression at understanding and congeniality. Clayton did know, though, that Abram Solomon was a cunning and ruthless individual, and if crossed, his powerful influence and capabilities knew no bounds.

  “Abram, you’ve always been somewhat of an enigma, so nothing with your fingerprints on it surprises me. Have you had lunch?” the governor asked.

  “I’ve pressing engagements elsewhere, Jim. But thank you, another time perhaps.”

  “Yes, of course, another time.” Clayton turned and dismissed his secretary and the security guards with a flick of his hand.

  “Thank you, gentlemen, you may go. Nancy, hold all my calls, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nancy said, and then scooted out of the room with the security guards, closing the door behind her.

  Clayton turned to face Abram and found him gesturing toward the tan-skinned man.

  “Governor, may I introduce Jamal Rashid, our project’s FBI contact. Special Agent Rashid keeps Washington in the loop, and will join our White River operation during its final phase.”

  Jamal stepped forward and offered his hand to Clayton, who grasped the agent’s hand.

  “Jamal Rashid … Muslim, I take it? No offense intended, though … just curious,” Clayton said, smiling.

  “None taken,” Jamal said, “and yes, sir, I am a Muslim, but American born. My parents were native Palestinians. They immigrated to the US and became citizens.”

  “Well, then, welcome to the buckle of the Bible belt, Mr. Rashid,” Jim said.

  “Thank you, Governor,” Jamal said.

  Governor Clayton turned to Abram and gestured toward two leather chairs near a marble fireplace. “Abram, I know you to keep tight schedules. You’re not here for idle chitchat, so let’s get to it, my friend. Take a seat.” Jim Clayton then motioned to Agent Rashid. “Mr. Rashid, please, drag up another chair and join us.”

  Abram sat and jumped right in, as Jim expected. Abram was nothing short of a refined diplomat, with precise diction—yet another jealousy for Jim to deal with, as he himself struggled to curb his obvious Southern drawl.

  “Jim,” Abram said, “we’ve known each other a long while. You’ve remained a staunch advocate for a unified global government under the United Nations leadership.”

  Governor Clayton nodded with a grin, finally feeling appreciated by someone.

  “You’re among a vanguard of modern progressive Democrats,” Abram said. “The goal being realignment under unified world governance. You support the framework to nudge America, as it were, away from its constitutional Republic.”

  Jim drew himself up a bit taller in the chair and took in a deep breath. “You got that right, Abram, I have. The UN should stand as the twenty-first century’s premier leader to that effect. I’ve said as much in public.”

  Abram’s eyes seemed to glisten with satisfaction, and Jim could only smile back at him as he began to suspect that something about all this suddenly didn’t sit so well in his stomach. He looked over at Agent Rashid. Jamal listened, but showed no reaction. Jim swallowed and tried to maintain his smile, but his insides began twisting a bit.

  “Trust me, my friend,” Abram said, “your support and devotion to a one-world authority hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

  Jim nodded, thinking, Hope he’s actually telling the truth.

  “I appreciate all you’ve said, Abram, but let’s shift gears, if you don’t mind. Your visit, I suspect, is in regard to the terrorist training exercises planned for my state.”

  Now Abram smiled. “I like the way you cut right to the chase, as you Southerners like to say. Yes, the exercise … my purpose indeed. My superior asked that I assist you and the president directly. GEM-Tech facilities and property are at your disposal. The new improvements, I think you’ll find … interesting.”

  “Hmm, interesting,” Jim said. “And, yes, so I was told, but I had no idea that you, of all people, answered to a higher authority. I’d like to meet this ‘superior’ of yours. I’ve never known anyone to give you orders, even the president.” Jim threw in what he hoped looked like a crafty wink and not a sign of country crudeness.

  “I’d be happy to arrange the meeting,” Abram said. “And I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”

  “Good. After this little experiment thing is finished, I’d like that. But back to business. What’s on your mind?”

  Abram crossed his legs. “I’m excited about the prospects of Operation Chameleon. Keep in mind that your president’s election was no mere fluke. As instructed, he’s coalesced and solidified the public’s perception of the inevitability of more and more stringent government controls. The results achieved from Operation Chameleon will spread across the globe.

  “Key partners within your government support our same agenda. Progressives are in control, and together, we will change the fundamental foundations of America. Our successes so far have been phenomenal. We’re one generation away from America’s acceptance of a new world order.”

  Jim couldn’t stop himself from clearing his throat and opening his eyes wider. Abram and Jamal clearly noticed.

  “Jim, I spoke with the president earlier today. He said he’d briefed you, but I sense your apprehensions. My superior asked that I clarify any lingering questions you may have. Perhaps I can calm your trepidations.”

  The governor shifted his bulging body in his chair. Before he could answer, he looked up and smiled, seeing his inconspicuous secretary roll in an ornate cart saddled with refreshments. Nancy positioned the cart and left the office as quietly as she’d entered.

  “Shall we take a moment for a drink and a bite to eat?” Jim said.

  The three fixed themselves cups of tea and coffee and returned to their seats. Jim sipped from his coffee as Abram and Jamal watched him. Jim understood the seriousness of his choice. If Operation Chameleon failed, the president would deny everything and Jim would be among the first players hung out to dry.

  But the president was about to sanction a subversive operation … with the UN … on American soil … in direct and willful disregard for America’s Constitution and its sovereignty.

  Jim cleared his throat again. From the way Abram smiled, he apparently enjoyed watching the governor squirm.

  Finally, Jim nodded. “You can tell your superior, and the president, that this good old boy from Arkansas is as committed as it gets. I’ve no further questions. I’m all in.”

  “That’s good to hear, Jim,” Abram said. “My superior pays close attention to a person’s choices. He’ll be pleased when I tell him of your commitment.”

  Governor Clayton nodded, his eyes low, head bowed in submission. He picked up his coffee cup and turned his attention to the FBI special agent sipping his tea.

  “Mr. Rashid, I’ll assume you were briefed about Operation Chameleon. What’s your take—or should I say, the Bureau’s take on all this?”

  Jamal set his cup on the table. Abram relaxed and smiled again, seeming ready to enjoy the two men’s banter.

  “Yes, sir, I was.” Jamal paused, considering his words. “Sir, the South is known for … well …”

  “Good grief, man,” Jim said. “Don’t tiptoe around. Spit it out.”

  “Governor, the South in general—your state in particular—is high on our list of havens for radical subversive groups. The Bureau fears Operation Chameleon will flush them out
and that we’ll thus face strong resistance.”

  Jim shook his head. “Agent Rashid, when it comes to profiling America’s subversives, I’d say the Bureau relies on flawed analyses. Fiascos like their Project Megiddo, for example. You boys and girls need to move on with fresh ideas. So get to your point.”

  Jamal’s jaw clinched. “Sir, the Bureau is concerned our UN partners may find themselves on unfamiliar ground. They could overreact with lethal force in response to any challenges or subversive acts. The Domestic Terrorist Agency does not want this project escalated into an armed conflict. Our position can’t be one of defense, if that scenario happens. We wouldn’t want to explain to Congress why foreign troops killed Americans in a covert training exercise.”

  Jim let his eyes drift to the floor, then back to Jamal while formulating a palatable response. Abram, meanwhile, just sat there and listened.

  “Agent Rashid,” Jim said, “I’m confident in saying the UN contingent won’t find any surprises. I suspect subversive types in their countries mirror our American radicals and they’ll know how to handle any malcontents. You FBI boys, I assure you, are the ones overreacting. I’m predicting White River citizens will react different than you’ve envisioned, and here’s why.

  “Americans are mad as hell, Mr. Rashid. Our economy is hanging on by a thread. Folks are paying out the nose for their utilities and groceries. The commodity and stock markets are all over the boards. Retirement accounts dwindling. Our dollar is devalued. Spending is a hundred percent of GDP, and taxes are astronomical, moving towardsseventy percent of wages. Our US economy is trillions in debt and ready to tank any day despite what those bureaucratic liars are feeding the American public. America is on the brink of bankruptcy.

  “Plus, Americans are feeling the rippling effects of global economies crumbling, and ours is next in line. They want somebody to fix it, even if it means giving up a few freedoms. They feel helpless and that’s where Operation Chameleon is important. We’re going to fix it, and nudge them in the right direction. If they resist, we’ll drag or legislate them into a new world order.”

  “You sound confident in your assessment, Governor,” Jamal said.