The Peace Proxy: Part 1

by Cyril Adams

  When her class adjourned, someone was waiting for her. Robert Stroh, the opponent of the candidate the rally was held for, had been in the audience. He had witnessed the exchange and was impressed. As Katherine left the mathematics building, Robert made introductions and asked if she had a serious interest in politics. He was handsome, slightly graying at the temples, which added a distinguished air to his youthful face. Initially, Katherine was certain he was using the politics angle to ask her out, but as they walked he explained the trouble he was having with his burgeoning campaign and made a point to mention he was married. After determining his interest was legitimate, she seriously considered his request to join his campaign. In the end, she decided it sounded interesting enough to give it a chance. Katherine started working for the campaign within the week and upon her graduation two months later, became the campaign manager. And so, a promising future in physics was traded for a brilliant career in politics. Her political savvy was uncanny and under her leadership, the campaign unseated the incumbent. Robert proved to be a capable man of action in the Senate. When he was appointed to the position of Secretary of State, he took his prized assistant with him.

  Garrett’s childhood was the antithesis of Katherine’s. Orphaned when he was four, with no surviving family, he was raised by a close family friend, Arthur Craig. A refined, gentle man, Arthur saw to Garrett’s needs, but could not substitute for a father. He put Garrett through the one of most prestigious boarding schools in the country. It was a lonely upbringing, but it instilled in Garrett a sense of self-reliance that formed the core of his confidence. As a college freshman, he took an interest in football, a game he had never played. He tried out as a walk-on and, to the surprise of many, earned a position as a wide receiver. By his junior year, he held two school records, and there was already talk of a professional career, but a tackle in the first game of that season left him with a compound fracture of the left femur. The injury became infected and at one point, it was uncertain Garrett would keep his leg. Fortunately, he did recover, but he had lost a year of school. He tried to return to football, but he never regained the speed he could so easily generate before the injury. Suddenly the journalism degree he had been neglecting held extreme significance for his uncertain future. He doubled his course load and graduated six months later than he would have, had his injury not kept him from class for a year.

  Despite their disparate backgrounds, or perhaps due to the same, Katherine and Garrett connected with each other in a way neither had previously experienced. After dating for several months, she moved in with him in New York. She retained her position as the special assistant to the Secretary of State, commuting between New York and Washington D.C. on the Airless Magnetic Levitation Train. Generally called the “A-Lev,” the system housed a Maglev train in an airless tube, eliminating friction and pressure drag.

  Garrett was grateful for the timing of their meeting. The effect of having his reporting success curtailed so abruptly would have been much harder to bear without Katherine, but lately, a distance had grown between them. It was small, but Garrett could feel the emptiness and sensed the divide was expanding. Katherine had subtly indicated she was ready for their relationship to transition to the next level, which meant marriage. Garrett was still trying to recover from the damage he perceived his reputation had suffered after his dismissal from the Tribune. He was not ready to be responsible for someone else’s happiness. He knew the issue would soon reach a level that neither could continue to ignore, and they would have to move forward or move on.

  “Charlie called and said he understood if we didn’t make the party tonight,” Katherine voiced from the bedroom.

  “The party, right.” That explained Katherine’s unusual apparel at this hour. Garrett considered whether he wanted to face a ballroom filled with a majority of his New York counterparts after what had happened. He decided the events had been largely beyond his control and hiding would not change the parts he could have affected. Moreover, Katherine was looking forward to this evening. “I feel up to it, how about you?”

  “I’m not the one who had a rough day at the office,” she teased as she emerged wearing an ankle length, slinky black dress with a slit up one thigh.

  Garrett smiled approvingly. “Well, if you’re going to look that good, I might as well show you off,” he remarked as he got up and walked to the bathroom. “Give me thirty minutes.”

  Garrett stared out the window of the cab as he and Katherine sped off toward their destination. Recounting the day’s events, he found the barely audible hum of the electric motor did little to soothe the growing feeling of chagrin over Governor Weller’s suicide. If the corruption case had been prosecuted, Garrett’s investigative prowess would have been sensationalized through the trial. With the suicide, some would view the Governor as the victim. Garrett’s behavior would now be the focus of his fellow journalists. There might even be an investigation concerning the ethics of confronting a subject with evidence of a crime before sharing that information with the authorities. This was not going to repair his damaged reputation as he had envisioned. Despite his self-pity, he was reminded the outcome was much worse for the Weller family. Tonight, a widow was trying to ease her children’s heartbreak, and Garrett reluctantly acknowledged he had a role in the events that led to that outcome. The notion sent his spirits to new lows.

  Katherine took his hand and asked, “So, what happened?”

  Garrett was silent for a moment before answering, “I played the recording for him, and he shot himself.”

  “It could have been you too, Garrett. Not smart; confronting him like that,” she replied. Although Katherine could be a real sweetheart, she did not let it get in the way of the facts.

  “You think?” Garrett said, with more than a hint of sarcasm, as he continued to stare out the window.

  “Don’t get feisty with me,” she responded playfully. “You know I love you, but…” she trailed off, realizing what she had said. Garrett turned from the window and faced Katherine, the aircar he was watching outside forgotten.

  “Well, actually,” he responded, allowing his broad smile to relay his approval of the use of that term of endearment.

  She returned his smile as she nuzzled against him. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she joked, “you’ll be running for the hills now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Garrett replied as he hugged her closer. They were both quiet for a while. Garrett could sense her need to hear the same from him, but he could not bring forth the words. What troubled him most was he could not understand why. Some part of him would not allow total immersion into what he knew to be true. He did love Katherine, and the idea scared him a little. Growing up in boarding schools had ingrained in him an independence he struggled to surrender. He had subconsciously created a life plan that included becoming a successful professional before starting a family. His psyche was struggling with the possible rearrangement of that sequence of events. The irony of their relationship was without the calamity that derailed his career they would not have met, but if he had met Katherine when his star was on the rise he probably would have already proposed. His inner debate continued until the silence between them became awkward. Anything he said now would sound disingenuous. He was disappointed at letting the moment pass them by and so, not knowing what to say, they finished the ride in silence.

  Promising a night all in attendance would remember, the World Press Alliance had reserved the ballroom at the Millennium Plaza for the annual Christmas party. It occupied the space that would have been the 90th through the 100th floors and was renowned for its extravagance. Neither Garrett nor Katherine had seen it, and each was looking forward to the experience. The doorman directed them to the two elevators used exclusively for the ballroom. The lobby was crowded with people busily going about their preholiday errands, but Garrett saw no one he recognized from the press corps. They were an hour late; everyone else was probably in the ballroom. They made their way to the elevator an
d pressed one of the two buttons. The doors closed. The acceleration was immediate and considerable. To let Garrett know there was no lingering anxiety from their earlier conversation, Katherine kissed him as they reached the top floor.

  The doors opened into a short hallway that led to the ballroom foyer. Even from this distance, one could sense the open space beyond the arched entrance. A door marked with a caricature of a man caught Garrett’s attention and he excused himself from Katherine to use the restroom.

  As Garrett opened the door to leave the restroom, it stopped in mid-swing. A tall figure pushed Garrett back into the room with a smooth, but stern force.

  “What are you doing?” Garrett asked.

  The figure did not reply. He looked over his shoulder, giving the hallway a quick glance before returning his attention to the restroom. He looked at Garrett briefly as he allowed the door to shut. He then checked the room to ensure it was empty.

  Garrett sized up the stranger as he moved further into the restroom. He was tall, about ten years older than Garrett, with broad shoulders framing a physique that was likely muscular twenty years ago, but had run soft with age. It only took a cursory glance to see the man had not shaved for several days, and by the appearance of his attire had not changed clothes during the same period. He was remarkably underdressed for the occasion.

  “All right, you have my attention,” Garrett acknowledged. “What’s going on?”

  The man motioned for Garrett to be quiet while he checked the last stall. Satisfied the room was vacant, the man locked the door.

  “Garrett Richards,” the man began, “you know me as Mercury.”

  Garrett was briefly surprised by the admission, but almost instantly that emotion gave way to rage. Mercury was the code name used by Garrett’s best informant. They had worked together for five years but had never met. On many occasions, Mercury had provided information for the groundbreaking articles that had boosted Garrett’s career. That was until two years ago when Mercury put Garrett on a collision course with Senator Rimes. The construct was elaborate, involving multiple offshore accounts, but simple in its premise. The Senator would purchase undeveloped commercial properties, and the companies wishing to procure his influence would buy them at three or four times the amount paid. In some of the most egregious cases, the company buying the land was the original owner who had sold it to the Senator well below market value at the scheme’s inception. The transactions were always executed through several degrees of separation for both parties. The story broke at the most crucial time in Senator Rimes’ reelection campaign. The campaign did not survive the scandal and, after the truth was revealed, Garrett’s career followed suit. During his investigation, Garrett met with and received depositions from multiple witnesses corroborating the fraud. After the article was published, they disappeared, along with their carefully tailored backgrounds. According to official records, they had never existed. Mercury had provided all the contacts.

  The man offered his hand in that time-honored gesture meant to demonstrate affability for the newly acquainted. Garrett’s emotions were taking his body in another direction. His clenched fist lashed out, contacting the other man’s jaw with a loud crack. When Garrett later recalled the events of this meeting, it seemed that the appendage acted of its own volition, while the rest of him watched with the apathy of a detached bystander. The punch had its intended effect and the man Garrett knew as Mercury fell flat on his back with a resounding thud.

  Garrett stood over the fallen figure. “You set me up,” he accused between ragged breaths.

  The man moaned as he rolled over. Using one hand against the floor, he recovered to his knees while his other hand stemmed the flow of blood from his broken lip.

  With his back still to Garrett, he swore loudly. “Damn it. I didn't set you up.” He stood as he spoke and slowly turned to face Garrett. He met Garrett’s incensed stare as he massaged his jaw with his right hand and added, “We both got burned on that investigation.”

  Garrett sensed the truth of the man’s assertion, but the frustration of struggling for years to reestablish his credibility left his anger unabated. “I didn't read anything in the paper about you losing your job.”

  “Well, that's the downside of being the front man. You get the glory, but you also bear the burden if things go bad.”

  “Interesting philosophy. How do I know you are who you say?” Garrett questioned.

  “I've been working with you for seven years.”

  “Wrong,” Garrett interrupted, “I worked with Mercury for five years.”

  “We're still working together,” the man countered. “Do you think recordings of Governors engaged in embezzlement and their off-shore bank account records are delivered by the information fairy?”

  “I haven't disclosed the bank records yet,” Garrett admitted. Knowing the accusation against Governor Weller would generate considerable intrigue, Charlie had elected to release the financial details in a follow-up article to garner additional attention for the Herald. “So you're the anonymous source?”

  “Yeah, I gave you Weller,” he shot Garrett a sidelong glance. “Actually, you kind of screwed that up.”

  “Everybody's a critic,” Garrett responded dryly. “Is that what this is about?”

  “Nah, what do I care if you killed him instead of wrote a story.”

  “I didn’t…,” Garrett protested, but the man stopped him with a wave of his hand as he laughed.

  “I’m just playing with you,” the man replied. He had a rare, childlike enthusiasm that gave him leave to joke when he was clearly in dire straits. That trait probably contributed to his success as someone who could acquire seemingly impossible to obtain information. “Mike’s the name. The real name,” he smiled as he said it. Mike emanated a gentle, easygoing persona and Garrett begrudgingly acknowledged he liked his mannerisms.

  Garrett was intrigued and, this time, shook the offered hand. “Why are you making contact now?”

  “I’ve got something big this time. Too big, I think. Right now, you knowing who I am may be the only thing that can save my life.” Mike continued as he moved closer, “A couple of days ago someone in my network approached me about a friend who had found something unimaginable about the ARC. He said he had information about some kind of fraud.”

  “In the ARC?” Garrett asked, finding such a proposition difficult to believe. The Alien Research Center, commonly referred to as the “ARC,” was solely responsible for all the military preparations for the impending war. Thirty-one years ago, when the existence of the alien fleet was announced to a stunned world, the United Federation of Nations founded the Alien Research Center as the coordinating agency for advanced technology development. It coordinated research and manufacturing efforts to ensure all the resources at humanity’s disposal were used in the most efficient manner possible to create a viable defense system before the alien force arrived. The future of humanity depended on its success or failure. There had never been a scandal surrounding the ARC and, outside of official press releases, very little independent information existed on the organization. The idea being that to succeed in the upcoming conflict, secrecy would be as important as technology.

  “Yeah, the ARC,” Mike continued. “From what my source told me, planning efforts are being undermined.”

  “Undermined? How?” Garrett asked.

  “I don’t know exactly,” Mike admitted. “Resources are being diverted.”

  “Into what?”

  “Something alien,” Mike responded, deadly serious.

  “Come on Mike, that can’t be right. Look at all the advancements the ARC has brought about in the last thirty-one years.”

  “I didn’t say there wasn’t research. Look at everything the ARC has produced: terraforming, robotics, antimatter, genetics. No direct battle applications,” Mike responded.

  “Well, they would want to keep that kind of thing hidden. No reason to tip our hand to an alien race that has been watching us for
a few hundred years,” Garrett reasoned.

  “I thought the same thing, but my source was adamant that he had proof. Even then, I only played along to keep him calm, but when he was killed two days ago, I took notice. His name was Rubin Talbot. Check it out.” Although the name seemed familiar, Garrett could not place it. Mike continued, “Anyway, I should have the evidence tomorrow. You got a light?” Mike asked as he opened a pack of cigarettes.

  “I don’t smoke,” Garrett informed Mike.

  “Didn’t ask if you did, but I know you carry your father’s lighter for luck.”

  Garrett grinned and gave a small nod of approval as he retrieved the lighter. Mike recognized the acknowledgment for what it was, respect.

  “Come on, you didn’t think I would have picked you to be my front man without doing some research, do you?” Mike questioned as he opened a new pack of cigarettes.

  “Couldn’t someone come in here at any moment?” Garrett asked, giving the entrance a nervous glance.

  “Nah, I hung an ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign on the door.”

  Garrett actually chuckled at the clever deception.

  “So why did you?” Garrett queried.