A Poisoned Mind

by Andre Gonzalez

  Andre Gonzalez

  A Poisoned Mind

  First published by Andre Gonzalez in 2017

  Copyright © Andre Gonzalez, 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  First Edition

  ISBN: 978-0-9977548-2-7 | 978-0-9977548-2-7

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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  1

  Jonathon Browne called in sick for his Friday shift, an action that ran against every grain of his intense work ethic. His perfect attendance throughout high school and college were a great deal of pride he carried into the workforce, but when he awoke dizzy and lightheaded from vomiting all night, he had no choice. The spinning sensation in his head felt a thousand times worse than any hangover he had during his weekends at Stanford.

  He thought back to Thursday, trying to figure out what the hell made him so sick. A bagel and coffee for breakfast, he thought. I skipped lunch to give blood in the afternoon. When he arrived home, his wife, Gianna, had prepared a hefty meal of salad, spaghetti, and garlic bread, all washed down with a glass of wine and tiramisu for dessert.

  "You're cooking classes sure are coming along," he commented as he devoured all the food in front of him, leaving nothing but a trace of marinara sauce smeared across the plate.

  "What can I say? Cooking is actually pretty therapeutic. There's a lot that goes into it," Gianna said.

  Jonathon's job with the government paid a generous salary and provided enough to keep Gianna at home full-time. Despite the healthy checking account, Gianna didn't want to waste her software engineering degree and did freelance work for new startup companies in the D.C. area, helping with website and app designs. She had met Jonathon during their courses at Stanford and became inseparable after sitting next to each other in the back of an advanced computer science class during their final semester.

  Her side job wasn't a constant, so in her down time she took cooking classes at the local culinary arts school after having found a new appreciation for the creation of gourmet meals. A few hours watching the Food Network sparked her curiosity, eventually growing into a passion.

  They lived in a ranch style home in Alexandria, Virginia, a short distance from the Pentagon, but a treacherous drive thanks to the always increasing traffic.

  Jonathon worked for a top secret sect of the United States military called The Crew, a department responsible for the tracking, studying, and battling against extraterrestrial life. He started fresh out of college in the year 2013, now entering his fourth year with the department. President Kennedy founded The Crew and their operation remained a secret to this day.

  With an "off the grid" operation, The Crew's highest ranking officials personally recruited its members.

  The week following his graduation from Stanford, Jonathon spent a drizzly Saturday afternoon in his pajamas, binge watching TV shows from the comforts of his San Jose apartment when his phone chimed to alert of a new email.

  He swiped to open the message with a subject line of United States Department of Defense. The email read:

  "Dear Mr. Browne,

  I am writing to discuss a potential job opportunity with the United States government. The job would be with the Department of Defense.

  We have been following your progress through Stanford after the contest you had entered your junior year in which you built an application for police use. Your use of GPS technology was complex and what ultimately grabbed our attention.

  I would enjoy speaking to you further about the position and discuss how you can help with the United States' security.

  If you're interested and would like to discuss this further, please follow the link at the bottom of this email to fill out an official application via our private servers.

  Regards,

  Col. Griffins, on behalf of the President of the United States"

  The glow of the screen lit up his puzzled face as his bulging, brown eyes grew in disbelief while his hands trembled. He noticed the Presidential Seal next to the Department of Defense official seal at the bottom of the email followed by the link he needed to click.

  Scam? he thought. The sender's address was "recruits@defense.gov". Dot gov? You can't fake that.

  He reread the email, trying to grasp its contents with a clearer mind. On behalf of the President. What the fuck?

  He tapped the link with his thumb and the email gave way to a blank internet browser page that read:

  YOU ARE ENTERING A SECURED SITE, ANY ATTEMPT TO SCREENSHOT THE PAGE WILL BE LOGGED AND MAY BE PUNISHABLE UNDER U.S. LAW. PLEASE CLICK ON "I AGREE" IF YOU UNDERSTAND THE TERMS AND WISH TO PROCEED.

  Jonathon tapped that he agreed, and the screen changed to a more colorful page with the same Department of Defense Seal positioned on a banner across the top.

  He read through the page which explained the steps should he wish to continue the interview process. It asked for his permission to run a thorough background check, view medical records and financial statements, and confirm his personal information. They already had his social security number listed, confirming the email really did come from the government. He consented to all requests and verified his information.

  The screen returned to its blank state and displayed a message of:

  THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME. WE WILL REVIEW ALL DOCUMENTATION AND BE IN TOUCH IF WE WOULD LIKE TO PROCEED WITH AN ON-SITE INTERVIEW.

  Jonathon closed the browser, still trying to figure out the legitimacy of what he just did. He spent the rest of the day on Google, attempting to look up Colonel Griffins and the Pentagon. The colonel didn't appear in any search he ran, and all he found about the Pentagon was general history of the famous government building before he spent hours on the Department of Defense's official website. He learned detailed information about each branch of military and their current public operations. He jumped at the sight of a directory of all the Senior Defense Officials, and skimmed through the hundreds of names listed below portraits of men and women dressed in either business attire or a military uniform as they posed in front of the U.S. flag.

  There was nothing for Colonel Griffins, and some doubt crept back in to his mind about the email he had received.

  Someone sending an email of this nature would have to be on this directory, right? he pondered. He knew the government had many moving pieces, so it would be impossible to be sure.

  Frustration grew, twisting its web of mild anger around Jonathon's mind, so he gave up, and decided to try to sleep the night away after having wasted the remainder of his day and evening on inconclusive research. He skipped dinner as the knot in his stomach denied him of any appetite.

  ********

  Three days had passed before he heard back from the Department of Defense, and Jonathon tried his best to keep his mind occupied from the urge to do more research. He was mostly successful, only taking brief glances at his phone as he clicked through hundreds of pages of search results for "Colonel Griffins Department of Defense Pentagon" with no luck.

  He was in the midst of applying for jobs online when the email came, and he clicked on the message in a hurry when he saw it appear in bold lettering in his inbox. The subject read: U.S. Department of Defense - Onsite Interview

  "Holy shit," he whispered. The message was sent by the impossible-to-find Colonel Griffins and contained a full itinerary for flights to and from Washington D.C. within the same day for the following week. The email explained that Jonathon had
cleared all background checks necessary and was deemed as not a threat to national security, giving way to the planned trip to the capital. The flights were booked with confirmation numbers for the flights and town cars scheduled to pick up and drop off from both airports.

  I don't think a scam would be this elaborate, he thought. This is the real deal.

  ********

  It was the real deal. A black town car picked him up from his apartment and dropped him off at San Francisco International Airport. He slept during his five hour cross-country flight, waking at the gate of Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport.

  Another black town car awaited Jonathon at the curb outside of the airport, this time with a driver that was clearly a government employee, likely part of the Secret Service.

  "Mr. Browne," the man said in a confident tone. "Welcome to Washington. My name is Ciro, and I'll be escorting you to and from the Pentagon today." He didn't extend a hand to shake, and stepped aside to open the door of the car. He stood with his hands crossed, kept a straight face with his hard jawline, and stared straight ahead, eyes covered by thick, black sunglasses. His suit was tailored to perfection and appeared freshly pressed, making Jonathon feel under-dressed within his own personally ironed suit jacket. He debated wearing sunglasses, and was glad he decided against it. He would have look like Ciro's twin as they both had their dark brown hair slicked over.

  "Thank you," Jonathon said, shooting a smile to Ciro that wasn't returned. He bent into the car, resting his suitcase on his lap. Ciro closed the door and circled around, plopping himself down in the driver's seat.

  "Are we going to drive by the White House and Capitol?" Jonathon asked, excited for his first visit to D.C.

  "No, sir," Ciro responded in a flat tone. "That's on the other side of the river." His voice sounded dismissive of such a touristy question, and Jonathon decided to sit in silence for the duration of the five minute car ride. He stared out the window, observing the Potomac River run along the highway and noticed the peak of the Washington Monument across the way.

  They exited and approached the Pentagon. The generic look of its appearance surprised Jonathon; he expected it to look more modern than the plain, light brown office building it was.

  The car turned into the lot and approached an armed gate with military personnel standing guard. Ciro waved his badge out of the window, receiving a nod from the stone faced soldier before the arm raised to let them through. He drove the car away from the main parking lot, circling to the back of the building where a small door blended in with the rest of the building. Jonathon wouldn't have noticed the door if it weren't for another soldier standing guard in front of it.

  He stood as intensely as the first one they passed, except he cradled an M16 assault rifle at his stomach.

  "This is your stop," Ciro said, breaking the long silence. "I'll be here when you're done to take you back to the airport. Check in with the guard, and check in again when you get inside."

  "Thank you," Jonathon said, waiting to see if Ciro would come around to open his door. Ciro didn't flinch, so Jonathon let himself out of the car and approached the hidden door.

  "Name?" the soldier said in a heavy, monotone voice.

  "Jonathon Browne."

  "ID?"

  Jonathon fumbled in his pocket to pull out his wallet and retrieve his license, extending it to the soldier. He studied the ID, not moving anything but his eyes.

  "Keep it out and show it to the guard inside." The soldier took one step aside to clear the path to the door. Jonathon nodded and reached for the door, unsure if everyone in D.C. hated their life or were tense from the nature of their jobs.

  The private entrance led into a bright lobby with shiny white floors and glass walls that provided a glimpse into the rest of the office space behind the lobby. The steady sound of the blowing air conditioning provided a soothing white noise. He could see rows of tall, gray cubicles stretch into the distance and people frantically walking around with a sense of purpose to each step they took. Men in business attire, women in jeans, and plenty of soldiers were a glimpse of what he could see.

  A stainless steel desk stood tall with a log sheet on the edge for guests to sign in. Behind the desk sat another soldier typing away on the computer in front of him. The soldier looked up and grinned.

  A smile!

  "Mr. Browne?" the soldier questioned in the first friendly voice he had heard since stepping off the plane.

  "Yes."

  "The Colonel is expecting you. May I see your identification, please?"

  He handed over his ID and admired the fine quality of the American flag draped behind the soldier's desk.

  The soldier returned the ID. "I'll let the Colonel know you're here. Feel free to take a seat." He gestured to the row of chairs opposite the reception desk, and Jonathon obliged.

  A minute passed before an aging man appeared in the line of sight through the glass. He walked slowly, not quite limping, as he scratched the streaks of gray running through his sandy brown hair that matched his bushy eyebrows. The camouflaged combat uniform fit snugly around his belly, but still managed to look every bit authoritative. Colonel Griffins opened the door to the lobby.

  "Good to meet you in person," the colonel said, extending a hand as Jonathon rose. He met the Colonel's droopy brown eyes that showed every bit of stress he had endured throughout his life.

  Jonathon grinned. "Glad to be here, sir. That was quite the trip, and I'm excited for our interview."

  "As am I. Let's head into my office." Colonel Griffins led him through the glass door, passing the never-ending cubicles to the back where an elevator awaited. Everyone kept their focus on their work in front of them. The colonel strolled through the office as casually as a walk through the park while Jonathon gawked in every direction. "We're gonna take a quick elevator ride to the sixth floor where my office is."

  Sixth floor? The building only has three levels of windows, Jonathon remembered from the view outside.

  The glow of daylight gave way to the sting of artificial, fluorescent lighting as Jonathon felt the elevator descend. Colonel Griffins saw the look of puzzlement on his face.

  "We're going down six levels to where our team office is. Upstairs was general defense staff, nothing special. Even the Pentagon tours go through that lobby."

  The elevator doors opened to an office space that looked no different than the one they had passed through on the ground level. They again walked by an eternity of the tall, gray cubicles before arriving to the colonel's office in the back of the sixth floor. His private space was also separated by a glass enclosure, but had blinds that could be pulled down to keep any curious eyes from looking in.

  Jonathon noted the lack of a view as multiple pictures covered the back, concrete wall within the office. The colonel had scenic photos, along with family portraits, splattered across the wall in the fashion of a middle school collage.

  "Please have a seat," the colonel motioned to the chair in front of his desk while he walked around to his own. The desk was cleared of anything except for a closed laptop. "Let's get right to it, Mr. Browne. I am so impressed with you and would love to see you join our team, but need to review this position with you first due to its sensitive nature. I know your background and skill set, and that you've recently graduated from Stanford. Tell me what is it you're looking to do in life."

  The confidence in the Colonel's tone intimidated Jonathon. Sounds like he knows a lot about me.

  "Well, sir, I want to make a difference," Jonathon said. "I want to do inspired work that never gets boring and constantly challenges me. I believe in impacting others' lives, and I can't think of a better place to start doing that than the government."

  Colonel Griffins was hooked right out the gate with that statement, and the rest of the interview flowed unbelievably smooth. Colonel Griffins had interviewed hundreds of candidates throughout his years leading The Crew, and he had seen every type of person sit across his desk. Most of his inter
viewees arrived fresh out of their Ivy League schools, like Jonathon, but most seemed like nerdy robots who lacked passion towards anything in life outside of school and work. He knew those kids would have no issues finding a high paying job in the corporate world, so he often passed them up for someone with a little more "zazz".

  Jonathon displayed these key traits, separating himself from the typical duds that came in with their degrees in software engineering. Not only did he crack jokes and talk about his serious girlfriend and their dreams, he also showed his ability to remain laid back. The colonel always asked difficult questions to make the candidate uncomfortable. Most would squirm around in their seat and come up with a bullshit response, but Jonathon remained unfazed and carried on as if discussing what he planned to do for summer vacation.

  Colonel Griffins had heard enough and canceled Jonathon's two other interviews with his colleagues. He used those to get second opinions on potential candidates, but was sold on Jonathon and decided to offer him the position before he left back for California.

  "Wow, I'm honored, sir," Jonathon said, unable to hide his excitement. "You still haven't told me what my actual job would be."

  "I like to make sure you are somewhat committed before going into those details...for good reason you'll see. So how are you feeling?"

  "I'm loving everything I've heard so far. The pay is way more than I'd make anywhere else, and your program sounds like it has a major impact on society. Not sure what else I could really need. I accept your offer."

  The Colonel's usual stern face cracked a wide smile. "Son, you are the perfect fit for this organization. The exact mold of a Crew member we strive for. Now as far as what we do..." The Colonel paused, looking down at his thumbs drumming on the desk. "Here at the Crew we operate in top-secret to track extraterrestrial beings that pose a threat to our country. Your specific job would be to develop new technology for our tracking system of these beings. They have become more advanced than us, and we need to do everything to try and keep up the pace."