April 4: A Different Perspective

by Mackey Chandler

  "Why's that?" the Special Agent reasserted himself.

  "Because I don't like to fly back at night, but if I try to fly out in the morning I can get caught in all the jammed up traffic and flight delays from President Wiggen being in town. No telling if she'll leave early or late and I could get stuck sitting in the plane for five or six hours waiting to take off. We moved my flight up to tomorrow, so all that will be sorted out before I board."

  "And do you feel resentment over that, Mr. anderson?" the under agent asked.

  "Don't be a horse's ass." Otis told the younger man. "Of course I resent it. I won't play this childish game of any hint of dissatisfaction being the same as disloyalty. I served with officers who needed help to tie their shoes in the morning. I did my job and ignored what I couldn't fix. I swore an oath to protect the United States and its constitution. That didn't end just because I'm no longer active duty. I don't know Wiggen, but I'd do anything to protect her, or any other serving President, even if she irritates me. Shit, just about everybody irritates me. You sure as hell do. It's almost my frigging hobby. I think your computer will tell you I mean all that."

  "With a probability of 97%," the senior agent agreed. "Nevertheless, I need to follow procedures and ask if we can look around the room and your vehicle."

  "I don't have a car. That's why my local man drove me here and back. I hate rental cars and dealing with them. Feel free to look around. If I make you too nervous here, you can always move me out by the airport and upgrade me to a nicer room. I wouldn't argue with you at all."

  "I doubt my supervisor would buy that. We don't usually get put up in anything this nice when we travel."

  Otis recovered his computer and sat in a chair by the table. Putting his feet up on the other chair. The agents checked under the mattress and in the drawers, It was interesting that one grabbed all the tissues in the bathroom dispenser and checked behind them, as well as in the toilet tank. They looked at the Gideon bible, but just a cursory glance, they didn't fan the pages thoroughly. They're just going through the motions to cover their butts, Otis decided. They didn't check the backs of the curtains or take the grill off the bathroom exhaust fan.

  * * *

  If he were doing these interviews, Otis would leave an underling in place to observe each person interviewed after the agents left. Any precipitous flight or flurry of communications would be a tip off that something was awry. So he leaned back and relaxed to enjoy his book. If they had anything concrete on him he'd be in an interrogation room being sweated, especially anything from the airport.

  Otis believed they really were just scrutinizing anyone with military service who suddenly decided to rush to the same town President Wiggen was visiting. There were always a lot of know mental cases and political extremists to check out too. Probably local cops would be running most of those down. They should have his letter by now, but he didn't expect that to be taken seriously, or to affect their routines until it was validated in the morning.

  Chapter 7

  "We have a new client coming to talk about banking with us tomorrow. I think you will want to be there," Jeff told April. "A Mr. Santos, I believe," he said casually.

  "Papa-san!" April said, face lighting up. "Is his wife with him? Any of his cloud of minions? He came in last week with the lieutenants and he hasn't listed himself on station com and I haven't heard from him. I was starting to wonder if he went back off station," she admitted.

  "I believe you are correct. He and his wife had some business with Jan over at ISSII. However he came back and has rented some industrial cubic. He had a private shuttle flight come in and closed the dock off to public access and view for a few hours while he unloaded it. In fact, he may have been your lieutenants' first security customer, if I'm not mistaken."

  "I knew that. I should have realized that meant no minions. His household had all sorts of interesting people," she said, remembering her trip down to Earth.

  "Well, you can ask him about that, if you come," Jeff suggested.

  "Of course I want to see them, they are dear friends."

  "That's excellent certainly, but don't forget I want you to see them officially, as an officer of the bank. Is 1500 at Heather's OK with you?" he asked, standing up.

  "1500 is fine. Is there anything Gunny shouldn't hear? I would expect to have him along, if that's OK."

  "Sure, why isn't he with you this morning?"

  April looked embarrassed. "I was afraid we might argue more than I wanted him to see. I was pretty hot about the whole royalty thing."

  She never did get around to telling them about her cubic.

  Gunny was there when she got home. She didn't recount her conversation about titles and such, but when she told him about Santos he perked up.

  "I'd like you along," she said plainly, before he thought it was another private conference. They spent most of the remainder of the day in personable silence. April was happy he wasn't mindlessly chatty. On the other hand when he did have something to say she listened up, because she was finding his experience and maturity a valuable asset. Quite different than say, her grandpa, but still valuable in a different way.

  April went to bed in her old room. She realized she wouldn't be doing this much longer. It made her feel funny. It might not even be here soon, unless her mom kept it as a guest room. Her mom might decide to tear it out and blend the cubic back into the common volume, like she was going to do with her April's brother Bob's old room. If she had no morbid nostalgia for that room, she had even less reason to preserve April's.

  In the morning she was still thinking about it. "Gunny," she said on the way to breakfast, "I may get that cubic fixed up and move into it before your month contract runs out. It isn't as big as my folks' place and I can't see splitting it into two bedrooms each with a tiny bath. Especially not for such a short period of time. Would it bother you for a week or so, to share a bath with me? I just might leave that ugly little bath in there until you are gone."

  "That wouldn't bother me, but where would I sleep?"

  "I thought I'd get a sofa bed," she explained. "IKEA has a line that is engineered super-lightweight to ship to remote areas. For a fee they package it even lighter for orbital freight than just air freight. They are a lot more comfortable than the old steel spring and frame sofa beds and don't forget it's on the half G level, so it's a lot more comfortable on just about anything."

  "I can see that working, but I need a little privacy. I don't want to try to dress in a tiny little wet closet bath. If we do that I want some kind of curtain or screen that goes around the corner where this sofa bed goes. I'm not prissy, but I don't want to dress and undress in front of you."

  "That would be easy to do. I can do a curtain on a ceiling track and it would be nice later, if I have overnight guests who'd appreciate a little privacy too."

  "Is your bath in your room the same as the one in your brother Bob's?"

  "Yes it is. I imagine it feels like a coffin to you?"

  "Not as bad as you might think. I've used some mighty cramped lavatories on military planes," he explained. "But you might consider installing two of those. I'd rather somebody else exposed you to all the realities of living with a man. and if I use the shower I'll need to walk there and back to my curtain with at most a towel around me. You may not care for a hairy old man walking about like that and I'm not sure it is a healthy thing, with which I'd be comfortable, for our personal or business relationship."

  "I was planning on a little bigger bath for my place, one that actually has a separate space instead of the shower head in the same enclosure as the toilet. I got kind of spoiled on Earth. It will take up about two and a half square meters, instead of one and a half, I think."

  "Big enough to have a bench to sit and get dressed?" Gunny asked.

  "No, although I could look at that. How about if I had my bath and one like you have right now? With the entry cut off by your privacy screen?"

  "That's four square meters tied up in baths.
Do you want to be stuck with that even after I'm gone?" he asked dubiously.

  "Yes, actually I think I would. If I have dinner guests they can use the other bath instead of sending them into my private bath. Then I can put my entry in my bedroom just like I have it now, which I didn't want to do with one bathroom, because I'd need to send people through my private space in my bedroom."

  "I think I have a better idea. Have two baths but share a common shower stall. Have a frosted glass door on each side and a solid sliding door that is opaque and sound absorbing to cover the shower entry if you want to use your side. When the solid door is shut it locks the glass door too giving you total privacy."

  "That's brilliant," she admitted. "With interlocks so only one side at a time will open. I'll describe it to Jeff and have him detail the design."

  Chapter 8

  Otis had set no wake up call for the morning. He'd gone to bed early and knew his internal clock was still on Atlanta time and he'd be up early whether he wanted to be or not. He took a dip in the hotel pool when he woke at dawn and packed his few things up for the late afternoon flight. The reports he'd requested on Polzinsky and the Home native were in his e-mail and he set it to unencrypt them.

  He wished to be in a public place and visible in a way that could be verified this morning, so Otis left the bag in his room ready to leave and asked the desk for a limo to be scheduled for him to go to the airport at two in the afternoon. The reservation made perfect sense, the FBI might check details like that. The fact that he had scheduled the ride so early would speak well of his intentions. Then he went to the hotel restaurant and ordered an extensive breakfast.

  The television over the bar was visible from his table. He didn't have to ask it be changed to a channel covering the President's visit. That was good, he didn't want to demonstrate an interest. There were already talking heads going over the events of the day and waiting for her to show. The camera briefly showed a hallway that looked industrial, with a bare concrete floor. It ended at the inside of a double steel door, with a foursome of Marine guards posted.

  Otis pulled his web cam up on one of his cell phones and compared the outside of the door he was monitoring. It certainly looked the right size and style. He was pretty confident it was the only doorway she could be using, unless he'd made a huge mistake. He zoomed the outside camera in as tight as it would go until the door appeared a mere ten meters away.

  He placed that phone face down in his attaché case. The camera behind him looked out over his table and the camera at the other end of the room had its view blocked by the upright side of his case. He put it face down just for his waiter. The other cell he primed with the number of the window breaching charge in the room with the rifle. He put it back in his pocket with exaggerated care, like a grenade with the pin pulled. A touch of the send button would wreck the entire scam if not sent at exactly the correct time.

  While the kitchen processed his order he prepared a FedEx envelope addressed to Keith. There was a drop box in the lobby he could use. He dropped an encrypted e-mail on him at his office suggesting he would receive two phones and it would be in everyone's interest for them to be totally destroyed. By the time Keith got them he'd figure out what they were involved with and be very happy to comply.

  Looking at the opened e-mails the identity of the gentleman arrested on the aircraft seemed dubious. The only thing that made Otis believe they had the right man, was several reports of an assassin with similar Polish names. He suspected they were all the same person.

  Over his breakfast he read the file on the man from Home. The fellow appeared to be off Earth right now. That made framing him for the assassination difficult. How would he do it if he were setting up the operation? The best way would be for someone to lift to orbit on commercial transport using the ID. But they had given him the alien's card to leave in the room with the rifle.

  If they intended to lay it at the fellow's feet they had to either have some credible story of this person taking a shuttle up, or they needed to trap the gunman in the room with the ID on him.

  Neither made total sense to him. Of course it was a part of the surrender terms that nobody was supposed to be hindered from lifting to Home. Otis didn't for a moment believe the USNA would honor that, if they could get away with detaining somebody secretly. But if they intended to allow it to happen today, then there was probably some sort of directive to honor the agreement that would be fresh and in effect for one day only and they could 'correct' or 'clarify' it tomorrow. Indeed the idea might be to use the assassination to destroy the free travel agreement too. Today might be the ideal time to make his getaway. Tomorrow might well be much more difficult. The fellow was on the small side for Otis to impersonate, but if he did he should get a buzz cut before trying.

  It would be hard to throw away his books and clothing in his apartment. The few back at his hotel room didn't matter at all. His legal records and business papers too, although he had electronic copies of those. He had a few weapons of which he was fond, but no family heirlooms. The State of New Jersey had confiscated those from his grandfather before he could inherit them.

  It would be hard to just walk away, but this might well be the very best opportunity. Maybe the last. People did after all lose everything in war, or even just from a fire and got on with their life just fine. How much would most of those things mean to a new life off Earth anyway? How many people had the chance to leave the United States of North America with the cash he had sitting in numbered accounts right now? Last he'd heard they were limiting what you could take out of the country physically to a dollar shy of Ten-Thousand. Absence from the country for over a year without government sanction was prima facie evidence of having renounced your citizenship by your actions and triggered fines they took from any accounts you left behind.

  Otis called the Swiss bank and got the same fellow with who he'd worked before. He informed him to expect another deposit today and gave instructions for how it should immediately be dispersed and added a Home bank as a destination. There were only three banks listed in their directory. If none of it came in he'd not be embarrassed. After all deals fall through, payments get cancelled. But if it did go in it would be protected without him rushing to do it manually. He'd not want to be making foreign calls, or might be too busy running.

  What was going to happen when the window breaching charge went off? He'd thought about that yesterday, but he envisioned agents rushing to seal off the room with the shattered window. Now, when he examined the idea again, he had an uneasy feeling the entire building would be sealed off. He and every other person in the building, could be held for seventy two hours. That would mess up his plans to leave Earth. He weighed the odds and changed plans. The talking heads on the TV above the bar speculated the President should arrive in the next ten or fifteen minutes.

  Otis never had trouble being decisive, it was a strength really. He laid money on the table, closed his case and walked out of the restaurant heading for the lobby doors. His computer and his attaché were all that mattered. A bag with a few clothes and toiletries in his room was nothing. The spacer ID in the lamp might never be found. The hidden key card he hated to leave, somebody might misuse it, but he had bigger concerns. He killed the camera feed on the one cell and got Keith online.

  "Keith, Otis here. I need a ride. I'll be at the Pacific Pancake House west of my hotel. Come yourself if you can get away, or send a driver, but I need the ride as soon as possible. Bring a pair of hair clippers and drive the van, so I can use the dash outlet. I can't talk right now," he told him and he set the phone back to the web cam.

  A brisk walk let him beat Keith to the Pancake House and get seated. It was getting past peak for breakfast. They were bussing tables faster than seating new arrivals and it was clearing out. He asked for a booth with a view of the door so he could watch for a business associate.

  It was the sort of restaurant that catered to families, so there was a flat screen TV set in the wall for each booth
that took dollar coins. After ordering an omelet and a pot of coffee he fed it coins and got a news channel. The talking heads were different than those he was watching at the hotel. When they cut away to a view of the doors where the President should appear it was a different angle. None of that mattered to him.

  His server dropped off a carafe of coffee and went away. On the TV they went back to the doors and kept the camera pointed there. On his web cam a procession of heavy vehicles turned off the road and actually drove over the grass right up to the loading dock and rear entry of the building. Two of the Marines inside came out and they propped one of the double doors open all the way against the rail on the landing outside. On TV the bright rectangle of the doorway was just a glare from inside. You couldn't make any detail out through the contrast.

  In the view from his cam the agents formed a corridor. Some faced outward, some clustered around the President as she was walked the three meters from the vehicle to the concrete stairs that climbed to almost the floor level of the building. It was six steps up to a square concrete pad about three meters on a side with a steel rail all around and a slight threshold up into the hall.

  An agent on each side climbed the stairs with the President. They refrained from touching her and she didn't move to take either's arm, but they kept her from using the hand rail on either side by their presence.

  When Otis saw her blond head appear, set lower between the two agents as she neared the top, he reached in his pocket and hit the send bar on the phone. The crack of the window breaching charge came clearly over the TV.

  The unexpected report made the President miss her last step to the top level. Her dress shoe caught the edge but slid on the steel edging pitching her forward. Both agents grabbed at where she'd been, but she was scrambling to catch her balance, past recovery, arms wind-milling.

  Three very fast steps carried her forward, losing ground each step until she hit the slight threshold that fully tripped her. She hit inside flat on her face on the concrete, breaking her nose. The blood that squirted in a double gush down both sides of her white jacket looked far worse than the actual injury.