Bringer of Fire

by Jaz Primo

  “Here we go again. Situation normal, all fucked up.”

  Then inspiration struck in the form of someone else’s home.

  My sister’s.

  I shaved, got dressed, and grabbed a pair of heavy gloves from the garage as I headed for my car.

  * * *

  By the time I arrived at my sister’s house, I realized it was a good thing I considered stopping by. She and Kevin were already onsite sifting through the rubble.

  They both waved at me as I pulled in front of their wreck of a home. True to his word, my best friend, Travis, had seen to some of the cleanup and recovery. A couple of large portable storage containers were located on the property, one of which Kevin was sorting through.

  Lexi met me at the car and gave me a big hug. In truth, I probably needed it as much as she did.

  “Hey, Sis,” I said. “What’re you doing here?”

  She parted from our hug and shrugged.

  “Kevin and I just couldn’t stay at Mom and Dad’s for much longer,” she said. “It was driving us crazy! So, we left the kids with them and just arrived back in town last night. I planned to call you later today, once we had a chance to go through what’s left here.”

  There were already signs of a teardown taking place. At least their insurance company was on top of things.

  “Yeah, well, it’s still dangerous for you to be here,” I said, though I’d noticed a police car parked in front of a neighbor’s property across the street when I pulled up.

  She sighed.

  “About that,” she said sharply. “We’ve been watching the news reports, and we’re pretty sure you were in some of the footage. I tried texting you a couple of times, but you ignored them. What’s with all the mystery, and when are you planning to tell us what the hell’s going on?”

  I nearly winced from her tone. Drill sergeants had nothing on my sister.

  Still, she had a point.

  I led her over to where Kevin stood in the driveway.

  “All right. What I’m about to tell you stays between us, got it? Not even Mom and Dad can know about this yet.”

  They both nodded.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Let’s walk over to a safer portion of your house,” I said. “I need to show you something.”

  They followed me inside, and then I opened Pandora’s Box for them.

  “Holy shit,” Lexi muttered wide-eyed as I handed her the small ruined picture that had formerly been hanging on the wall of their smoke-damaged study.

  My skills with grabbing nearby objects had definitely improved over the past week or so.

  “Where in hell did you learn to do that?” Kevin demanded, still sporting a shocked expression on his face.

  Lexi stared at me expectantly.

  “It all goes back to Nuclegene and those cancer treatments that I’d been taking,” I said.

  After I’d gone over most everything in detail, both of them were rather speechless. However, I left out the part about the Nuclegene job offer for the time being.

  “So, it’s true then,” Lexi finally said. “That guy they showed on the video clip in Chicago…you were the one who flung him into the air?”

  I shrugged.

  “It wasn’t my finest work to date, but yeah,” I said. “We’re still trying to find the guy. The sooner the better, in fact. He’s an assassin of some kind.”

  A restless feeling coursed through me as I realized that I really needed to be out trying to find that bastard.

  Still, I had to wait for Sanders before I could do much.

  Kevin checked his watch.

  “Aren’t you going to the memorial service, Logan?” he asked.

  I frowned.

  “Memorial service? What memorial service?”

  Lexi gave me a hopeless-looking expression. “You really don’t watch as much TV as I thought, do you, dear brother?”

  “Easy there. I’ve been a little preoccupied, if you hadn’t noticed,” I said.

  “Hey, don’t get snippy,” she teased.

  How she managed to maintain such good humor while standing in the middle of her burned house, I’ll never know.

  “They’ve scheduled a public memorial service downtown for the Wallace Building victims for later this afternoon. The US President, senators, and congressmen are expected to be there, as well as a bunch of state officials. I’m kind of surprised nobody told you about it,” Kevin said.

  It caught me a little off-guard, as well.

  “Well, I guess I’d better go change clothes then,” I said. “You two stay close to those police officers and I’ll call you later.”

  * * *

  When I called Agent Sanders, she said she knew about the memorial service but hadn’t given it a thought as she’d been squarely focused on the investigation at hand. Naturally, I shared her focus.

  However, she was unusually willing to meet me downtown when I told her my intention to be there for it.

  “Why not watch it on TV?” she asked.

  “I’m sort of curious to see who might show up, if you know what I mean.”

  Her silence over the phone spoke volumes.

  “I’ll meet you. Call me once you’re down there,” she said, and abruptly hung up.

  Parking was a nightmare, and I had to walk nearly a mile just to get near the assemblage. To say the police presence was high was an understatement. I spotted no fewer than a dozen snipers on rooftops downtown.

  The event was scheduled to take place at the downtown convention center, though seating was at a premium, so large screens had been set up around the city where people could gather and view the event live. Fortunately, it was a relatively nice day, so at least the weather was cooperating.

  I met Sanders and Agent Denton, who looked appropriately dressed in business suits, standing outside of a small deli, not far from the convention center. Most of the downtown restaurants were filled with customers wanting to sit and watch the memorial service.

  “Let’s go,” Denton quickly instructed, leading the way across the street toward the convention center.

  “You can get us in there?” I asked.

  “Right now, with this investigation in our lap, I can probably get you places you’ve never thought possible,” Denton said.

  I had to admit I was impressed.

  We practically whisked through security by comparison to the other invited guests and citizens who were fortunate enough to secure seating, though it still meant a number of pat-downs and verifications of our credentials.

  Even then, we couldn’t get anywhere near the President’s reserved areas within the building.

  Still, we managed to procure some metal foldout chairs that were hastily placed in a viewing area near a Secret Service gathering point on the second level.

  Denton and Sanders both produced small pairs of binoculars they’d been carrying and started scanning the faces in the crowd.

  “What are you two looking for?” I asked, feeling somewhat inadequate without my own form of vision enhancement.

  “We’re looking for anything that looks suspicious,” Sanders said. “You’re supposed to be watching the event. But let us know if you happen to pick up on anything useful.”

  I swallowed hard at the prospect of opening my mind to thousands of prospective voices in my head. I imagined my head exploding over the attempt.

  Instead, I tried to concentrate on someone near me, hoping to exclude those close by.

  An elderly woman seated a dozen feet from me appeared as a good likely test subject.

  Almost immediately, I was assailed by a cacophony of voices, which forced my hands to the sides of my head as I reeled in my seat.

  “You okay?” Sanders immediately asked.

  “Yeah, just trying something here,” I said, recovering my wits.

  I felt her breath against my ear as she whispered, “Logan, don’t kill yourself, okay? If you can’t, you can’t.”

  I turned to stare into her eyes, our n
oses nearly touching for a second, and noted the sincerity and concern reflected.

  “Thanks,” I said, fully appreciating both her gesture and her proximity to me.

  She blinked and quickly backed away from me and returned to scanning the crowd with her binoculars.

  I quickly lost track of how many dignitaries took the podium, each conveying their regrets, shock, and determination not to allow the perpetrators to go unpunished. In their own way, each also spoke of the importance of family and loved ones, of the tragic and abrupt loss that had occurred, and of the need for a time of reflection and healing.

  I couldn’t deny degrees of validity or appropriateness for what each of the event’s speakers had said; I shared each of those feelings at some level myself. However, I mostly felt a pervasive sense of drive to find and stop anyone associated with the explosion that might also have an agenda that threatened my family.

  Or Maria and her family.

  Or Megan Sanders.

  Or me.

  But there was another underlying feeling within me, as well; a need that was both motivational and dark.

  Retribution.

  As I scanned the litany of faces of special guests and dignitaries on the stage, I noticed one in particular; someone who I’d not seen in a number of years.

  My old friend and former member of my fire team in Afghanistan sat between two other politicians.

  Paul Criswell, the moderate-minded Democratic congressman from New York.

  What’s he doing here?

  I was surprised to see him in the audience, not being part of the contingent representing Iowa. In fact, he sat beside another non-Iowan, Republican Senator Benjamin Conway of Utah.

  That was definitely an odd pairing.

  I had little time to contemplate the matter further as the president was introduced and all eyes and ears focused upon him.

  When President Graydon spoke, he captivated the audience with his charming southern drawl, dripping with empathy. Beau Graydon, an ultra-conservative Republican and former senator from South Carolina, was one of the founders and chief proponents of the Land Reclamation and Investment in America Act nearly a decade ago while serving in the senate; the catalyst for Nevis Corners and other corporate cities like it. The historic bill had served as his personal golden ticket into the White House a couple of years ago; swept into office amidst the fervor and promise of a new Golden Age in our economy. He, above many, likely took the terrorist attack in Nevis Corners as a personal affront.

  In fact, a portion of his speech suggested as much.

  “Americans are a talented, industrious people; born of grit and determination, as well as compassion. We’re prone to neither wrath nor fury,” he said.

  “However, when confronted with such a hateful crime as terrorism, Americans gird themselves in their faith and beliefs, ever vigilant against evil powers which lash out against all that we hold sacred; things such as faith, family, and the enduring spirit of freedom that were born of centuries ago.”

  “When I look upon the ashes of the Wallace Building and see the faces of so many whose loved ones were ripped from their arms, I feel love and sympathy for the victims and their families. Yet, I also feel a determination that no border, or power, or barrier can withstand; a resolve that such hateful crimes will not go unanswered. I can only promise to my fellow Americans that justice will ultimately be done,” he said.

  Following subdued clapping, the president returned to the gentler messages of support and consolation. However, the air felt charged with something quiet and ominous; like calm before a storm.

  Then again, maybe it more closely reflected the emotions within me.

  The event wrapped up promptly after the president spoke. He quickly exited the building, along with a small army of Secret Service personnel, leaving the rest of us to assert order amidst the waves of people lining up to exit. Denton, Sanders, and I barely managed to negotiate our way to the reserved security area, in fact.

  As we exited the center, I spied a glimpse of Paul Criswell as he accompanied a number of fellow politicians out of the building.

  “Paul!” I yelled, trying and get his attention.

  He looked my direction and nodded, but then turned and made his way in the opposite direction.

  Really?

  After he’d gone to the trouble to call my mother to ask about me, he couldn’t even spare a moment to say hello?

  Yes, he was an important congressman and it was a crazy sort of day, but I couldn’t help feeling as if he’d just disregarded me rather casually.

  It kinda’ pissed me off, actually.

  “What’s wrong?” Sanders asked as she pressed against my shoulder while negotiating the crowd.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just saw somebody I used to know.”

  Chapter 18

  Denton and Sanders returned to the office, so I got in the car and headed home. In truth, I still had a mild headache from my earlier attempts at overhearing people’s thoughts on such a grand scale.

  When my cell phone rang, I’d just plopped down onto the couch with a cold glass of Gatorade and turned on the TV.

  I noted the caller ID and frowned.

  It was an elusive person from my past; someone I was still slightly annoyed with at the moment.

  “Hello? Bringer speaking,” I said in a practiced tone.

  “Hi, Logan. It’s Paul Criswell.”

  “Hi, Paul. So nice of you to call,” I said with an edge to my voice.

  “Yeah, listen, Bringer, sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk earlier today,” he said. “It was a big to-do and rather tightly scripted; heavy with public expectations and key politicians to shake hands with and elbows to rub. You understand, right?”

  “Sure, Paul,” I said.

  Actually, his social circles and mine were worlds apart since we both left the Army.

  “Logan, I know this is pretty short notice and it’s been long time since we’ve talked, but I’d appreciate it if you and I could meet privately this evening,” he said.

  Aside from perhaps calling my sister, my night was destined for just me and the television, so how could I resist?

  “Sure,” I said. “When and where?”

  “How about an hour from now,” he said. “Meet me at the downtown central park next to the city founders’ display.”

  “Okay. Got it.”

  “And, Logan, it’s important that you come alone,” he cautioned. “Nobody but my administrative aide and I know we’re meeting, and I’d like to keep this on the QT, if you don’t mind.”

  “Got it, Paul,” I said. “See you tonight.”

  “Thanks,” he said before our connection ceased.

  Just great. Clandestine meetings with politicians. Nothing ever goes wrong when those happen, right?

  I half-considered calling Sanders, but then thought better of it. She probably would’ve insisted on coming along, which was exactly what Paul had asked me not to do.

  Within the hour, I stood next to the commemorative tribute to the primary corporate players behind the founding of Nevis Corners. The sun had already set by the time that I’d arrived, leaving the park dimly lit beneath sporadic lampposts.

  I stared at the elaborate stone and marble structure; an imposing centerpiece near the middle of the picturesque park. It was a huge, gaudy-looking example of corporate self-aggrandizement. The rock base was comprised of large stone chunks from local quarries, as well as large marble slabs serving as the backdrop for the etchings. Copper and some steel accented part of the trim.

  In totality, it was a solid reminder that this was a corporate city; a shining beacon of capitalism.

  Of course, in my mind, there wasn’t anything wrong with capitalism. But, like most anything, there had to be limits; and right now, in our place and time, corporations were the irresistible giants on Earth.

  Or, at least, in America they were.

  The partnership between one major contributing corporation, Corners Industri
es, and multi-billionaire American investor, Nevis Wallace, had been the catalyst for the sprawling city that I now called home.

  What was the world coming to when our government was willing to parcel out stretches of privately owned land just to appease monolithic corporations? Was it really just a modern replaying of the Carnegie’s and the Vanderbilt’s all over again?

  “Thanks for meeting me, Logan,” came a voice to my right.

  I started, silently berating myself for allowing my guard to drop and my mind to wander. That would’ve never happened back in the prime of my army days.

  You’re getting lazy, Bringer.

  “Hi, Paul,” I said, exchanging a handshake and quick fraternal half-hug with my distant friend and former sergeant who’d saved my life so many years ago.

  “How are Denise and the kids?” I asked.

  “Doing great, thanks,” he replied.

  Paul’s welcoming smile turned serious, and I couldn’t help but wonder why we were meeting so discreetly.

  He looked up at the corporate display next to us.

  “It seems like a lifetime ago since cities like Nevis Corners sprang up across this country,” he said. “So many hopes and dreams, all waiting to come to fruition and become the catalyst for another hundred years of economic prosperity.”

  I frowned.

  “You met me out here on a cool night to wax nostalgia over the Land Reclamation and Investment in America Act?” I asked. “Hell, we could’ve had a cold beer in a nice warm bar for that.”

  He chuckled.

  “Same old, Bringer,” he teased. “Give it to me straight and cut the bullshit.”

  I shook my head with a good-natured expression. Paul had always been the visionary one with big dreams in our group.

  “Truthfully, I like that beer idea,” he agreed.

  “Been a long time since we just talked,” I said, changing the subject. “Been even longer since our days back overseas.”

  He nodded and sighed.

  “A long time,” he agreed. “Now, here we are again.”

  “Why is that, exactly, Paul?”

  He paused, glancing up at the stone and marble display, and then turned his back to it to face me.