The Harbinger of Change

by Timothy Jon Reynolds

  “Doug, we need to debrief you,” Callahan said. “We know you’ve been through a lot and probably would like the time to recover, but time is the one thing we don’t have. So I have to ask you to please suck it up, and let’s get through this tonight.”

  Doug lifted his ass so the nurse could slide his underwear on. He didn’t care what situation he was in, the feel of a woman touching him was stimulating, and Nurse Two was a solid 9, which didn’t hurt.

  “Well Ray Callahan of specialized medicine, we might as well do this as it looks like I’m going to be up anyway,” Doug said, giving a lustful look in the direction of Nurse Two.

  * * *

  The President heard Bob Thompson out completely. One of his greatest strengths was that he did not interrupt people, even when they went off on tangents. He figured that to get to this level, a person had to be smart, and hopefully the speaker had a reason to stray off. He always allowed they would be back to make a point. If not, then they looked disjointed and disorganized, which was no sweat off his back.

  It was a very good characteristic that he learned from his father, who’d had five kids to adjudicate over. Lawrence’s father had learned the hard way, as every good father did, that he had better hear both sides of the story and not presume to know the next words out of someone’s mouth. On many occasions a kid had been improperly punished in the Caulfield house until Samuel had learned the proper way to do things. Traits like that just stuck. It still took every bit of that learned skill not to cut Bob off at least three times during his diatribe.

  As soon as he was finished, Lawrence announced, “Gentlemen, as far as I’m concerned, that seals it. Matt Hurst was a conspirator in this crime. He had opportunity after opportunity to get himself out of this. He had control of a gun once he disabled Agent Crawford, and we know he had control of the situation in the hanger after he killed Beck. Doug Sharp confirmed that Hurst fired a round at him—the casing and round were recovered—and we know it came from Crawford’s gun. That shot was done to coerce Doug Sharp into flying that mission. And lastly, Hurst ordered him to fly on a flight plan that he pulled out of a backpack he controlled.”

  President Caulfield immediately put his hand up to stop Bob. He didn’t care who owned the backpack, which was what Bob was trying to interject. He’d had his turn, and now the Commander-in-Chief was speaking. “From this point on, I do not want to hear any more conjecture that Matt Hurst is a good guy, or a patriot in any way!” the President declared. “He just set us back and strengthened our enemy. The dictionary says there’s only one definition of treason and that is it! So Bob, you tell Callahan that he’s free to file that report, and he’s also free to retire right after that.”

  Bob stiffened before calmly responding to the maelstrom. “You can’t suggest that, Mr. President, and you know it.”

  The level of Caulfield’s voice, and the manner in which he was handling Bob, left no doubt to his detractors in the room that he and not Kim, was really in charge. With menacing eyes he told the Old Man, “The hell I can’t, Bob. I’m the fucking President of the United States! I can order you to kill people, so retiring an overzealous shrink shouldn’t be that hard.”

  The look of displeasure on the Old Man’s face was evident, but only if one knew him. His poker face was legendary, and he only had one tell. His only true friend at that table saw his left eye twitch ever so slightly. Stan LaRue knew what that meant.

  It meant Bob didn’t agree with the assessment, and he was going to prove it wrong. Stan held his information, knowing that if he spoke now it would pile onto his friend’s misery.

  Bob sucked up his pride and replied, “Of course, Mr. President. I will suggest to Ray that he take a more conventional approach.”

  President Caulfield wasted no time. “Settled. I want this guy’s whole life put under a microscope. We need to find out all the trips Hurst has taken, who he e-mails, Facebook, hell, even look for foreign correspondence via dating sites, anything that could lead us to a thread to follow. A truck driver shot a video of the two Hornets getting erased and it’s gone viral now, but we have his phone and have blocked access to the sites showing it. It’s not so grainy, as it was shot on a newer iPhone, but initially it’s believed that the early dawn light was not enough to make out too much detail.”

  The President refocused the group. “People, we will play this by the numbers and we will find out who did this to us. Then we will respond in kind. I don’t care who they are!”

  That drew the hidden smiles of every war man at the table. Maybe I could learn to like this President after all, thought Steve Hatten.

  “Stan, let’s give Homeland a shot at Hurst’s wife,” the President continued, “she’s got to know something, even if she doesn’t know she knows. I want reports back from everyone, but none more than from the Navy Forensics Team. I want to know what hit us, then I want to know who hit us. Now let’s get at it.”

  As the room emptied of people heading out to get things done, Stan LaRue strode by Bob Thompson and said, “We need to talk.”

  No sooner had Bob settled at his desk, than his visitor was with him in his office. LaRue cleared his voice before speaking, “I didn’t want to say this in open court just yet.”

  “I appreciate that, Stan,” Thompson replied, “since I can only assume you are covering my ass here or something.”

  “Not exactly, just muddying the waters a bit, but I knew your wise old ass would think of a why.”

  “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  LaRue began, “Our team in Tahoe was doing its due diligence and found the room Hurst and Chavez occupied for a few hours. You guys were briefed on almost all of it, but there was one thing that you were not.”

  “What’s that? And by the way, good find. How did you guys find it so quickly?”

  “Well, first, we found semen trace on the sheets. We’re matching it to Hurst’s DNA, but it looks like they were lovers after all. We found it so quickly because one of our agents was ‘almost as pretty as the lady in 104, only her hair was blonde.’ Fortunately the agent who heard that compliment didn’t just take it and go, especially seeing the lady behind the counter was nearly blind. The agent inquired more about the ‘pretty lady,’ asked to see the registry, and it went from there.”

  “Nice,” Bob responded. However, the other information was not as nice. Those two being lovers was a really telling thing. But what did it tell? LaRue looked at him working it out.

  “Well?” LaRue asked. “What do you think about it? Because I was leaning in with you and Ray, but if this information was available, your situation in there would have been worse.”

  “Agreed. How long do I have before this goes mainstream?”

  “Only hours, but it’s really moot at this point. Your angle has already been shelved.”

  “Yes, it has, Stan. And if I’m ever going to get it un-shelved, then I’m going to have to figure out yet one more problem. I really appreciate the heads-up on this. I’m not sure where it’s going to lead, but I’ve never known Ray to be wrong about something he felt so strongly about. And you know, Stan, I hate it when they so quickly forget that Ray has paid his dues and has earned a place of respect in our community.”

  Stan knew the story and he agreed—that’s why he was here. They shook hands. While Stan was departing, Bob thought, LaRue will never know the kind of loyalty he just earned to watch his back—that is, as long as I’m around, which could be in jeopardy if my luck doesn’t change soon. Bob Thompson knew that Stan coming here had been unheard of, especially after the way Ken Beck did those guys at DHS. I guess good guys are that way no matter what.

  * * *

  Pablo was listening to their military chatter from multiple sources. He had hurt them. Now they were angry and they were scrambling. The Mexican authorities had put on a show of force, but to no avail, and Vera had made it out of their country quite easily. Soon she will be here. I can finally see her.

  Until now, his internal conflict with
Eva had been on the backburner, but having Vera so close to being here made him think of her, and the way he had left her two years before. It wasn’t easy being a woman in his life, or hell, anyone else in his life, for that matter. People tended to not last long around him. It had taken a while for Pablo to figure out how to fill the void of his absence for Eva, and then he had realized exactly how he could do it. It had also occurred to him that his intended action could serve another purpose as well.

  He had recently purchased a company in Japan that was already near beta on some very advanced robots. Pablo had taken over their engineering department after the purchase, and things had been moving along.

  At first his Japanese subordinates had thought it was some kind of joke, but they had soon learned he held the keys to gates they would otherwise have been unlocking twenty years from today. His side project had cost him sleep as he brought it to fruition, but it would be well worth it.

  It had not been easy building something this complicated alongside all the other things he was doing. But then it had been finished, and he had been proud of his accomplishment. This might actually be my finest work to date, he had thought. His special project crates would have arrived at the Hedge by now. He had known Eva was technically challenged, so he had left a set of instructions for her to follow, wording the enclosed letter to be tailored to her brand of logic and intellect. He could only hope what laid within could be a balm for her soul. He longed for her touch, but he knew it was pointless as they were still far off from a reunion.

  He had drifted one last time to that day he had been shot. He remembered it had hurt like hell to get shot. Pablo had never been the kid that got hurt—that had been his brother’s Ernesto’s job as the daredevil of the family. Pablo remembered one year when Ernesto had gotten a Superman cape for Christmas. He had run around like he was invincible until one of the neighborhood kids had dared him to jump off the fence. So Ernesto had climbed up and jumped to fly, falling straight down and hitting his head on a rock. As soon as he had gotten up, blood had just started pouring out of his forehead. All the kids there had scattered in an instant, like in a cartoon.

  Pablo had never been that kid, and when he had gotten shot, it had hurt like he had never felt before. At least he had never felt that kind of physical pain—his soul was another matter.

  He remembered the last night they had been together, Eva had been asleep to his left snoring contently, her face cherubic. He had loved to watch her sleep. He had been saddened that he would have to leave her, but he had been resolved to do so. She was a sheep, and the wolves would rip her to pieces if they knew of their connection.

  He would return to France and James’s chateau. The only reasons they had left at all were James’s treatments, the banks, and the fact that there were so many people around Yvoire all the time. James had just figured that the long-term chances of going undetected were better behind the Hedge.

  Pablo had loved Eva immensely, so he was confused how God could have chosen someone else for him to do this with. He had seen the woman’s face in the fugue, and it was definitely not Eva. Pablo had just connected the biblical reference, realizing that Eva sure was close to Eve. But it was not her that God had chosen for this. It was another woman who had held his hand in the fugue. Eva apparently had not been in his immediate future, so he had needed to protect her from the wolves by leaving her alone.

  Pablo had remembered that physically, he had recovered quickly. Her butterfly sutures had been perfect for letting some air in the wound to help it heal. She had kept it clean constantly, saying, “A clean wound heals.”

  Some women say they love a man, but do little in the way to show it. Eva Heldergarten had not been one of them. She had been a hard working woman, who went that extra mile for her man, making leaving her both heart-wrenching and physically unbearable at times for Pablo. He had suddenly found himself in a huge house with no one but himself and James’s unbelievable computer system. He might have sunk into depression if he hadn’t had a mission to complete.

  Alone with his thoughts, he had realized that dying quickly was too good for those diablos, so he was going to have to find a way for them to have a muerte lenta. Then he’d had another idea all together, one that would be more rapido, but still slow enough to have the prolonged suffering they deserved.

  He’d heard of rumors that such a weapon had been for sale in the past. Now he’d had the money to try to buy it, or in the more difficult scenario, make one himself.

  Speaking of that, it was time to make a $110 million into a hundred times that. He was going to need a lot more money to pull this off.

  In the now, Pablo stood in the place where God instructed him to be. He was now looking down, and he had never felt more connected to this mission.

  To his right, outside on the window frame, another spider had built a web. He could see that a hapless insect had flown into this new spider’s web. It struggled helplessly as its maker descended on it, its piercing bite inflicting a deathblow. Pablo then watched the spider’s legs expertly spin its helpless victim into a cocoon with startling rapidity. It quickly pulled the insect back into its lair. Pablo observed that the spider didn’t even take the time to enjoy his meal before repairing its web for the next unsuspecting victim.

  Pablo’s mind drifted back to the day he had been shot in Zurich. For some reason it had taken him two full weeks to think it through. He reasoned now that it might have been the sex that had clouded his mind. Never before had his mind been so controlled by one thing.

  A month after James died, Eva’s parents had taken a trip at her urging. They had known she was coming of age, and being European they had not had an issue with the honesty and love in the situation. She had been amazing, and he had offered all the plentiful exuberance of youth.

  He had gotten lost in her. Sometimes at night, when he had lain in her arms, the buzzing had stopped, and he had gone peacefully to sleep without having to connect the thousand strains of thought and tie them to the right storage files. He realized he was doing it again just thinking about her. He refocused.

  Pablo’s mind went back to the bank, replaying every minute detail. When he got to the stairs and replayed the scene in his head, he clearly saw the man was surprised. He was surprised that I was there and that I recognized him. So why was he there if not to be hunting for me?

  Pablo thought it out in his special way, and within minutes he had the answer. His uncle had hidden money in the Habib Bank, and they had been tracking it down. How improbable! It was definitely the work of God and the Devil playing it out on Earth: one trying to advance, the other trying to stop him, and all his followers.

  He remembered so clearly that he could just feel the otherworldly residue on the day, like he was supposed to have been there for a reason. Now he knew what that reason was. Pablo was absolutely certain the incident at the bank had been no happenstance. He had interpreted it as a reminder that since the beginning of time, anyone who has tried to serve the Word of God on earth has been persecuted by whatever regime held power.

  The first issue he had to deal with was getting rid of the alias Arturo Castanada. That meant the money, the bank, and the name James created were all dead now. Pablo’s real identity still lay in the safe in Yvoire, but from this moment on, he decided to have a web of names and blinds that would take a small army of hackers just to get through the first passcode.

  Pablo would build his empire by acquiring companies that could help grow his funds, and his endeavors—companies all purchased to provide one piece of the needed puzzle. It wouldn’t be a crash and burn operation. He’d make sure that he purchased wisely, growing the companies so he could fund his endeavor without budget concerns.

  Pablo had watched in disbelief as another insect flew into the spider’s web. His thoughts immediately jumped to his future military action, and he wondered if his enemies would also be so dumb. In his life, Pablo had now played both roles, predator and prey. He had been the insect in the web, bu
t unlike the insects he was witnessing now, he had gotten away. That man with the hat, Octavio Mendoza, he hunts me like that spider today, but tomorrow, I will make sure he knows what that feels like, as I build my web for him.

  Pablo came out of his daydream and was done walking through the past. Today was the day of what the future holds, so he made a vow to give the past a rest for a while and work on his future.

  * * *

  Bob Thompson told Stan’s tale to Ray Callahan. In conclusion he asked, “So what do you think?”

  “I don’t think it means what you think it does, Bob,” Ray replied. “I think it strengthens my case.”

  “Strengthens your case? I think you’re taking the ‘glass is half full’ concept a little far here. Don’t you, Ray?”

  “No, not at all. Not if we’re accepting that this above-average person understood our role and methods when he enlisted himself into the service of his country. Bob, Matt was drafted, but he wasn’t drafted into the Army. He enlisted himself into a field where deep-cover agents are trained a very specific way, a way that absolutely immerses them into a culture, sometimes for years, with languages almost always involved. Listen, if this kid is the real deal, and we’re assuming that he is, then he obviously took the opportunity to curry closeness with her to garner her trust; trust that will gain him the inside. Face it, he did very well, better than we ever could have hoped for. Crawford will live, and he killed Beck on purpose, I believe. Don’t you see this?”

  Ray slid a file across the desk to Bob.

  After looking over the file, Bob said, “So what’s this prove? He was a good community college student?”

  “Look at the last class: firearms with Russell Peltz. He got an A, Bob.”

  “Point being, Ray?”