The Gambit

by Allen Longstreet

  Ding.

  The doors opened, and I slowly meandered through the full room. There were boxes and plaques, rows of file cabinets, and in the far corner of the room I had a massive, iron safe. When I finally reached it, I took a deep breath. I began turning the large, metal dial to put in the combination. The numbers were Emilio’s birthday.

  It showed in the years after his death I had a hard time forgetting about what happened to him. I turned the iron bars and popped it open. Inside there were some belongings, but on the top shelf was a manila folder thick with paper. My heart fluttered as I took it down, and I opened it. I knew my son’s evidence was already in here, but the papers on top were different. They were images of what looked to be shipping containers. The timestamps were from January of 2015.

  This was it. Now, Rachel had everything she needed to write the article. I slid the papers from my interview with Mrs. Bryant inside. It was handwritten. I closed it shut and headed back to the elevator. I rode the elevator up to the parking garage. It was time for me to go. On the way back from Allentown, I called my lawyer and told him to start charging me effective immediately. I offered him a hefty payment if he could accompany me on the flight to Washington. It took off at five, and I had to get these papers to Rachel.

  I reached my car and got inside. The Tesla’s design was nothing short of incredible. It was wicked fast and a zero-emission vehicle. I circled out of the parking garage, slowly making my way up. The falling sun hung in the blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen.

  Something felt different. I smiled, because the sensation began to percolate through my body, and it was wonderful. Although Rachel was behind bars, I knew that the contents of this folder would get her out of there…and maybe, just maybe—we could save the election in time.

  Four white walls surrounded me. There was a square hole in the door I could see out of. It was a sad excuse for a window. I sat on the bed, leaning against the wall. The mattress was more like a wrestling mat and extremely uncomfortable. I could only imagine what it was like to spend a lifetime here. Sometimes, the punishment fit the crime. I wondered how many politicians should have spent time behind these bars, but were never accused of the crimes they committed. I knew why I was here.

  Murder. I killed Veronica Hall, and I didn’t regret it for a second. I just prayed that my mom wasn’t looking down at me ashamed of my actions. I knew Owen would have been happy just at the fact that I made it out alive. I wondered if someone was coming for me. There was no clock in my cell. I had no perception of the passing time, and that was miserable. I think it had at least been six or seven hours. I looked down at my garb.

  ‘Happy Halloween,’ Grey’s voice echoed in my head, and I chuckled. I had gone from assassin to prisoner in less than an hour. Now, my costume was an orange jumpsuit. The guards pushed me around as they led me to my cell and wouldn’t even look me in the eyes. I guess that was how the most wanted woman in America gets treated. My counterpart was dead, and I was the only one left for them to catch.

  I wondered where Grey, Briana, Viktor, and Natasha were. I hoped Viktor made it back to them without getting caught. I was glad they left me. Anything to keep them safe was what I wanted. Our plan worked. Third time’s a charm, right?

  Suddenly, the flap in my cell door opened.

  “Ms. Flores, stick your hands through the opening.”

  I walked slowly and stuck them through. The handcuffs clasped tightly around my wrists. I stepped back, and the door slid open. “Follow me,” he instructed in his gravelly voice. We walked down the same hall that I had come in from, and then we turned a corner. It was hard to make progress when my ankles were shackled together. The man led me to a door, and he pressed a button that opened it. When I was inside, I almost cried from who I saw.

  It was Ian and another man, sitting behind a Plexiglas wall. Tears began to stream down my cheeks, and I sat down in front of them. He hadn’t changed a bit. He still had his salt and pepper hair, which was a little grayer than the last time I saw him, and there were fine wrinkles around his eyes and mouth when he smiled. The man next to him was in a full suit and had a briefcase sitting on the counter. Ian picked up the phone and I did the same.

  “Hello, Rachel,” he said and revealed a comforting smile.

  “Hi, Ian.”

  I tried not to cry. I missed him. He was the only real family I had left.

  “So, I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want to hear first?”

  My heart sank from his words, but how much worse could it get?

  “The bad,” I answered.

  He pressed his lips together before answering.

  “The bad news is, that because the government views you as a threat to National Security, you haven’t been granted a bond. I can’t get you out of here.”

  I felt my lip curl up into a pout as I fought the urge to cry.

  “But, the good news is that I have convinced the magistrate to give you an isolation cell and allow you to have a pen…”

  I locked eyes with him and realized what he was referring to.

  “This is my lawyer, Thomas Gladden—the best legal representation in the Northeast. He is your lawyer now. We are going to work on getting the judge to set you a bond, and once we do, I will pay it.”

  “Ian, you don’t have to do that,” I said, becoming emotional. This man was the father who helped guide me when I felt lost after my own died.

  “I want to. You don’t deserve to be locked up. Veronica should have been locked up a long time ago.”

  I nodded, looking through the glass at them.

  Mr. Gladden opened his briefcase and pulled out a manila folder so thick with papers it bulged out from every side. He handed it to Ian, and Ian slid it underneath an opening in the glass to me. I looked down at it and stared with disbelief. My heart began to race.

  “Open it,” he said.

  I set the phone down and felt my heart flutter before I opened it. The first paper had the logo of the EPA on it. A few more back and there were the images of Viktor’s bomb-less cargo containers. I felt so overwhelmed. Ian tapped on the glass and pointed to the phone. I closed the folder and picked up the phone again.

  “Is that?” I gasped.

  “Yes,” he said, nodding. “That is everything you need to write your story.”

  My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe this day had finally come, even if I was in handcuffs. My hand quivered as I held the phone against my ear.

  “Rachel,” Ian began, pulling me from my thoughts. “You have forty-eight hours to write the story. I will stay here in D.C. in the meantime and work on getting your bond set.”

  “Time’s up,” echoed the guard behind me.

  “I love you,” I said to him.

  He placed his hand on the glass, and I placed mine against his. Mine was so much smaller.

  “I love you too,” he responded. I grabbed the folder and hung up the phone.

  “Rachel!” I heard his muffled voice from behind the Plexiglas. I looked at him confused. He pointed down to the counter. “You’re forgetting something.”

  It was a pen. He pushed it through the small opening, and I grabbed it. I gave him a nod goodbye out of respect. He was the only person fighting for me now.

  The guard came behind and pushed me forward.

  “Keep your hands out where I can see them,” he huffed.

  “Got it,” I said.

  He led me down a new hall, and we took a few turns before he opened a door. It was a different cell. It was newer and cleaner. The bed looked just as uncomfortable. There was a notebook sitting by the deflated-looking pillow.

  “Drop the pen, and stick your hands out of the slot.”

  I tossed the pen on the bed, and within a moment, my hands were freed.

  “You have forty-eight hours until you are returned to your original cell.”

  I didn’t say a word. I just took a deep breath and walked to the bed. The folder was clutched to my chest. I sat down
and held the folder in my lap. I let out a long, exasperated exhale. The pen was sitting next to the notebook, and I knew the moment that slot closed the time was ticking. I wouldn’t sleep if that was what it took to finish in time.

  My eyes started to glisten, and a tear rolled down my cheek. I choked back a laugh as I cried, and I started to smile from the memories as they resurged in my mind.

  All of this began with that one morning at the coffee shop…and to think, I was debating on just going to a drive-thru instead. I couldn’t imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn’t met him. Sure, I would have been safer. I would have been free, but for how long? How long would it have been before the people who caught Owen, did the same thing to everyone else? I went in for a cappuccino and walked out with the most talked-about politician of the twenty-first century. I had no idea that he was standing behind me in line. I still remembered the feeling of when he sat down, and we first locked eyes. I was a bundle of nerves, but something inside told me to stand up and not let the moment pass me by. Opportunity had knocked, and that fateful day, I chose to open the door. I knew he was innocent, and I knew he needed my help. I wished I could have kept him safe. I wished I could have saved him. In a way, though—he saved me. He saved me from leading an average life, from just being a name in bold font at the top of an overlooked section of a local paper.

  I wiped the tears as they flowed down my face. I flipped through all the papers and began reading. I glanced over at the pen, knowing that when I was done, what was to come. My dad’s voice echoed in the back of my head. ‘Justice is like fire; if you cover it with a veil, it still burns.’ It only made me cry harder, and I struggled to keep my vision from blurring.

  I told Owen that morning it was fate that we met. Now, two weeks later, I realized the truth in my words. I wanted to document something that was being covered up by the people who had too much power, who were killing this country. That was all I wanted when I first saw him. I had no idea what I would go through. I had no idea that I would fall in love…

  Owen was gone, but I got what I wanted…and so did he. Above all else, he wanted me to get the truth out there. And now, in this present moment, I was going to write the story that would save us all, in honor of the man who sacrificed his life to make it possible.

  - 24 -

  The cold air whipped around my coat, and I stood there with my hands deep in my pockets. She said she would be here at 9:15. It felt like it had been so long since we were separated that morning at the lab. People walked by without paying me any attention. They were all on their cellphones, sipping on their coffees or listening to music. They had no idea they were walking past the scientist who helped contribute research to uncovering one of the most dangerous lies in the history of the country, but they would know soon enough.

  “Well hey there, stranger!” a delicate voice called from behind.

  I turned around to see Emily, with her short, black hair tucked behind an ear. The rest of it whipped against her neck. A smile tugged at her lips, and I walked over and gave her a big hug. After a few seconds, she pulled her head back to look at me. Her eyes darted across my face, and she revealed a perfect grin.

  “Hello, Emily,”

  “Em,” she corrected.

  I let out a loud laugh, shaking my head.

  “I thought you hated that nickname?”

  “It’s starting to grow on me,” she said with a wink and pulled me closer.

  “Oh, is it now?” I flirted back. I never felt this kind of chemistry between us before, but wherever it came from, I liked it.

  “I believe so.”

  “You know what’s crazy?” I asked.

  “What?” Her eyebrows quirked.

  “This is where you tried to talk me out of testing a second specimen, remember?”

  “Oh, did I now?” she said with a wink. “Don’t let that get to your head, Stefan. I ended up helping you with it anyway.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah, because with me you had a pretty girl to gawk at and do the dirty work in the lab.”

  “Aha, there’s the Emily I remember—sharp as a knife.”

  She looked up at me smiling and let out a laugh.

  “So…” She began hesitantly. “What’s going on with your dad?”

  “Actually, he is in D.C. with Rachel. She is his goddaughter. They had been talking to each other since the beginning when Owen was framed. She is a journalist, and she has all of our evidence. She is writing the story that will reveal the truth.”

  “Oh my God,” she said. “You have a lot to tell me.”

  “That I do,” I said, releasing her from the hug.

  “Who said you could let me go?” she teased. “I’ve missed you.”

  Her voice was almost loving.

  “I’ve missed you too. What happened to you while I was gone? Are you sure someone didn’t kidnap the old you, and replace you with someone else?”

  She laughed. “No. Maybe I just realized what was right in front of me. Our atoms never touch, but I felt something just now, when you held me close. That must mean something.”

  I glanced down at her with a growing smile.

  “Now, is this just a hypothesis, or a theory?”

  She slapped my forearm lightly.

  “Funny, real funny.”

  Her eyes darted across my face again, and she gently bit her lower lip. I got the sense that she was waiting for something, and I leaned in and gave her a kiss. She held it longer than I expected. When we parted, her eyes were glowing.

  “What was that?!” she asked, gasping from surprise.

  I looked down at her slyly.

  “I was testing the hypothesis.”

  “Very clever, Stefan,” she chuckled.

  “You know, we have to test it thousands of times before it’s a theory.”

  Her dimples appeared as she pursed her lips, trying to hold back a smile.

  “Yes, I know. I think I’m okay with that.”

  I gently grabbed her hand, interlacing her fingers in my own.

  “So, do you think the FBI is stalking us anymore?” she asked.

  “No,” I answered. “They are long gone. In a few days, everyone will know what has been going on the past two years. That’s why I was so excited to see you. I wanted so badly to tell you that our research would be used in Rachel’s article. Our resilience paid off, Em. It worked.”

  “That’s what two bright minds can do when they break a few laws. You saw past the lie from the beginning, Stefan. I helped because I knew science trumps any sensationalized rumor.”

  I gazed into her dark eyes lovingly.

  “Thank you, Em,” I said, clutching her hand tighter. “Let’s go inside.”

  - 25 -

  I wrote the article in less than twenty-four hours. I didn’t need forty-eight. I had all the information I could have ever wanted right at my fingertips. He flew back home on the second, and I knew he would take care of any editorial issues. The finishing touches were his job, not mine. I just compiled a tragic story into an eloquent article. I started all the way back at the beginning, before Black Monday, and went all the way to the end. There were many tears throughout the process…but I had never felt a more satisfying feeling than signing my name at the top when I was finished.

  Rachel Flores — 11-02-2016

  It was similar to the feeling you had when you finished a good book, like as if I were mentally parting with the pieces of the story that comprised it. It felt like a funeral, but I knew better. This wasn’t the end of the story…it was the beginning. If my article spread like wildfire, then there would be nothing the government could do to stop it. It was our first amendment right, and I utilized it the best I could. Perhaps, it would be enough to save the election.

  Ian came to pick up the article midday on the second. If what he told me was correct, then the article was published two days ago on the third. I prayed that it was being read
and taken seriously. If people treated it like they did a tabloid, we wouldn’t get very far. I hoped the reputation of the New York Times would help.

  I wasn’t granted a bond. I would be stuck here indefinitely. I passed the hours sleeping and reading. Mainly though, I thought about him. I talked to my mother before I fell asleep every night, and every morning when I woke. I called on their strength to get me through this dark time in my life. I was locked up for twenty-three hours a day, and that was how it would be until Ian found a way out for me, if he ever was able to.

  I could rot in this prison for all I cared. As long as my article worked, I would be fine. That was all that mattered to me, and I realized that further when I wrote the article. Regardless of what happened, the world would remember the cover story of the New York Times on November 3rd, 2016. I authored it, I lived it. It was a part of me, a part of my story.

  I knew it was just past noon because we were at recreation. The one hour of the day we were able to do something other than sit in our cells. Briana was right—a ‘Barbie doll’ like me wouldn’t do well in prison. I almost got beat up my second day out on the quad. So now, I would watch TV in the rec room. Or, I would do exercises on the far side of the quad. Anything to stay away from the larger, more muscular women. Today, I was almost finished with a puzzle in the game room. There was a foosball table, a TV, and many board games and puzzles. The older inmates hung out in here. They didn’t get near the more violent ones.

  Orange was all I saw nowadays. On myself, and on others. I could have never seen the color again and I would have been perfectly happy. I read two books in the past three days, but nothing seemed to pass the time well enough. I sat upright and placed the different pieces in their correct spots, and the picture began to form. It was a cheetah. Now, all I had left to do were the edges.

  “Isn’t that the same girl named Rachel?” I heard someone ask. My forehead scrunched up because I rarely interacted with the other inmates. I had no desire to.

  “Yes, it is,” an older inmate I knew as Betty replied. I didn’t talk to her much, but she was kind enough to befriend me at lunch and dinner. I wasn’t trying to make friends in here, but whatever protection I could get, I would take.