The General, finding himself temporarily outmaneuvered, relents slightly. “But why would you want this? You know what could happen. Without America’s involvement there won’t be a New World Council, and everything goes back to the way it was before; dictatorships, famine, nuclear arms production...we’ll be back on track for World War Three.”
“Do you play golf, General Davenport?”
“Of course not,” he replies dryly.
“Why?”
“Because it’s a huge waste of time, and I have a nation to protect. I have more important things to do than spend an entire afternoon hitting a little white ball into a hole.”
“Exactly,” says Kerrigan, leaning down to retrieve his putter, “it is an incredible waste of time. But we do it anyway, don’t we? People spend thousands of dollars on golf clubs, tens of thousands on a membership, and who knows how much more on green fees, cleats, eating overpriced sandwiches at the clubhouse – not to mention that it takes half the damn day to play a single game. So why do we spend this much time and money smackin’ a little white ball into a hole?”
The General sighs loudly and digs his hands into his pockets. He’s spoken with Kerrigan enough times to know that there is no simple escape from this conversation he’s been unwittingly drawn into. The fastest way to find out what he wants to know is to grit his teeth and play along. “I don’t know. I guess to avoid their wives or get drunk in the middle of the day. Maybe they just really enjoy wearing cardigans.”
“Sure, that’s the reason for some people. But what about the guy who puts in the hours with a professional trainer to improve their swing? The people who wake up at five in the morning to hit the driving range before work? Folks who spend hours online, searching for the newest two thousand dollar driver, that maybe, just maybe will allow them to shave that extra stroke off their round?”
The General knits his brow tightly in frustration, growing tired of the Mayor’s games. “Maybe they have too much time on their hands.”
“I don’t think so,” Kerrigan replies with a chuckle, dropping a new ball at his feet. “I think that they’re out there because they have something to prove. They’re not delusional – they know that there’s no way they’re going to make it into the PGA – but they want to make damn sure that the next time they get together with their friends that they have the lowest score. They want to let everyone know that they’re the best, and that no one is going to beat them. It’s all about proving that they’re one step ahead of the pack.”
With a smooth stroke of his putter Kerrigan taps the ball, sending it across his office floor and into the cup, draining it with a satisfying ping as it makes contact with the porcelain. “You want to know why I said that we should pull out of the New World Council? It was to show you that I can hit a hole-in-one any time I want. One swing is all it takes, and I can end the game. And there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”
“You’re playing with fire,” says The General in a menacing whisper, seething with anger.
The Mayor simply stares into The General’s cold grey eyes with a sense of self-assurance that few possess while in his presence. “I know that your crusade to capture these kids is about more than just national security. I know about the water, and I know about the Cellium Corporation. You’ve got your own agenda here, and I have a feeling that it has to do with your girl Dia, and that little trick where she can tear open a portal…am I gettin’ warm?”
The General doesn’t respond, but his silence is just as revealing to Kerrigan. The Mayor, having built his career on lies, has a preternatural sense for detecting them.
“I have to hand it to you, Doug,” says the Mayor with a hint of admiration in his voice, “you had me going there for a while. Not many people can pull a fast one on me; I genuinely thought that this was just about keeping the Council strong. I didn’t realize you had another end game in mind. I’ll tell you what: you let me know exactly what you want with Dia, and if you can get me what I want, then the Council – and your position as General – goes untouched as long as I’m in office.”
The General leans back against the Mayor’s desk and glances towards his liquor cabinet. “Is it too late to get that drink?”
“Not at all,” Kerrigan replies, sauntering towards the seemingly endless supply of bottles stocked on his ornate mahogany cabinet. “How about I make us a couple of doubles and you start right at the beginning. And don’t skimp on the details.”
“What I’m looking for is a compendium,” says The General.
The Mayor glances back over his shoulder as he carefully removes the stopper from a crystal carafe. “A compendium of what, exactly?”
The General pauses momentarily, and then responds with a single word. And as always, there isn’t any trace of irony in his voice. “Everything.”
Chapter Ten – Truculent
Forks, Washington | August 29, 2011 | 7:59 am, Pacific Daylight Time
A glowing rift opens in a small forest clearing, allowing five travelers to step through from half a world away.
Having teleported through one of Dia’s portals several times, Cole, Brodie and Paige are feeling relatively stable on their feet, no longer suffering from the nausea and dizziness that can result from the transition. Jens is not so fortunate. He stumbles out of the opening, catches his foot on a root, and falls face-first into a shallow puddle. Cole scoops his friend off the ground and slaps him on the back several times. Coughing up a small mouthful of water, Jens wipes his face and brushes the damp leaves from his loose-fitting sweater.
“So this dude lives in the forest?” says Brodie to no one in particular, scanning the area for any signs of civilization. The grey skies and damp chill in the air are in stark contrast with the sunny Parisian weather they were enjoying just moments ago.
Dia shakes her head. “I’ve never been to his house before so I couldn’t pinpoint an exact location for entry. All I had to go on were some photographs of the city, so I got us as close as I could.”
Paige pulls the phone from her back pocket and checks their position with the GPS. “It looks like we’re about forty miles away from his house, but there’s a car rental place just west of here. We can probably walk it in a couple of minutes.”
“I hope it’s a short walk,” says Cole, glancing down at Dia’s large metal briefcase. “Lugging that thing on a long hike though the woods won’t be much fun.”
Dia shrugs. “I doubt this guy will accept a credit card, and I can’t exactly fit two hundred thousand dollars in my handbag.”
“Jesus!” Jens shouts as he holds his chest, his voice still hoarse from coughing violently a moment ago. “You have almost a quarter of a million dollars in there?”
Paige rolls her eyes. “We’re not paying some hack to tell Cole what color his aura is. This guy is the real deal, and there are only a couple of them in the world. I just hope we brought enough cash with us.” Using the compass app on her phone she starts to make her way through the waist-high foliage, brushing the wet leaves aside as she steps. “Now let’s get moving. I don’t want to spend any longer in this hellhole than absolutely necessary.”
“I hear you,” says Brodie with a groan, treading gingerly across the forest floor. He’s hopping from one foot to another as if he can somehow avoid getting dirt on his shoes. “I think I just saw a bug. Not cool.”
After a short walk through the forest they arrive at a small strip mall, including a gas station, convenience store, and a car rental. Trying to avoid detection might be a little more difficult than they had previously anticipated once they start observing the locals making their way through the parking lot. Flannel shirts, denim and trucker hats seem to be the area’s fashion trend. While Jens and Brodie blend in with their sneakers, jeans and worn hoodies, Dia and Paige immediately start drawing stares. The purple streak in Paige’s hair stands out pretty much anywhere, but her combat boots, leather pants and black halter are definitely not what the locals are accustomed to seeing judgin
g by the double-takes. And Dia’s open-backed top that reveals an intricate tattoo of two large angel wings is more than a little conspicuous. Luckily there aren’t many people in the area, and there doesn’t seem to be any sense of recognition on the faces of onlookers – just curiosity.
Dia pulls a few hundred dollars from her pocket and hands it to Brodie. “I don’t want to risk being recognized or caught on a security camera. As far as we know only Paige and I have been on television so far, so you should be okay. Head in and rent a van or an SUV – something with tinted windows if they have it.”
Brodie nods and pockets the cash. “No problem.” He turns to leave with Jens in tow.
Dia’s concerns about being recognized turn out to be unfounded. Inside the rental office there seems to be nothing in terms of surveillance equipment; just a bored teenager sitting behind a large white counter, idly scrolling through his phone as he listens to the pounding bass that blasts from his earphones. The music is so loud that he doesn’t hear the sound of the small bell chiming as Brodie and Jens swing open the front door.
Brodie approaches the counter and asks about the possibility of renting a van or an SUV, and luckily a large six-passenger van is available. The kid runs through all the standard forms, and asks for identification before he can release the keys. Brodie slides him a hundred dollar bill, which is happily accepted instead of a driver’s license.
The kid grabs a set of keys from a rack on the wall and exits through the back door, about to retrieve a van from the gated lot at the back of the building,
Waiting for him to return, Brodie gazes out the window at his companions across the street. “So Jens, what do you think Dia sees in him?”
“You’re talking about Cole, right? You mean besides the bodybuilder physique, boyish good looks, blue eyes that you can almost get lost in…the guy is irresistible. How can Dia not want to date him?”
Brodie raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure that you don’t want to date him?”
“Seriously dude, what’s the difference? I’ve known Cole pretty much my whole life. He’s awesome.”
“Yeah, I know,” says Brodie as he runs his hands through his hair, still peering out the front window, “it’s just that I’ve wanted to make a move for a while now, and just when I think the timing is right you and Cole come into the picture, and…”
“Wait a second,” says Jens, holding his hand in the air. “Are you telling me that you’re crushing on Dia?”
“So she’s out of my league?” Brodie asks rhetorically, not realizing that Jens will answer any question with soul-crushing honesty, whether you want him to or not. Oftentimes he’ll offer an opinion when the question wasn’t even directed towards him in the first place.
“Man, there’s no league. It’s not even like you two are playing the same game. I mean, you have this whole surfer dude thing going for you, with the beard stubble and the messy blond hair…it’s a little mid-90s, but you’re making it work.”
Brodie lets out a short sign of frustration. “Thanks.”
Jens throws his arm around his friend’s shoulder and gestures out the window. “But come on, Dia is like a supermodel. Look at her! The hair, the legs, the skin…and have you smelled her? Dude. It’s like a warm summer breeze blowing past a freshly baked cinnamon roll that just came out of the oven.”
“That was eerily specific. But yes, I’ve smelled her, bro. For years I’ve been smelling her; that’s the problem. I’ve been living on her couch ever since my parents cut me off, and lately I can’t stop thinking about her. I’m not an idiot; I know that she took me in because I was hooking her up with Muse; but I always thought that some day she could see me as more than just her dealer. Then Cole comes along and throws salt on my game.”
“Throws what on your what?” asks Jens, furrowing his brow.
“You know,” Brodie explains, “like when you want to make a move on some hot girl, and a guy comes along and makes you look bad. I’ve been working my game, and he salted it.”
Jens shakes his head. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. From the sound of things you’ve been salting things up pretty good yourself. But chicks are complicated; maybe she’s just into the hero type?”
“That’s the thing!” shouts Brodie, growing more agitated. “I’ve tried to be heroic, but she just sees me as some stoner who sits on her couch, gets drunk and eats all her diet yogurt.”
“Isn’t that what you do?”
“Well, yeah, but that’s not all I do. I invented Plan B and saved all our asses back in New York, and who gets all the credit: Cole. Just because he stayed behind to fight Govinda.”
“You have to admit, that was a pretty bad ass thing to do. And he took a bullet for me. And he threw that motorcycle at the snipers on the building, causing that sick explosion. Oh yeah, and didn’t he save Dia’s life in the alley right before...”
“I get it,” says Brodie, throwing his hands up. “He’s amazing. He should have a big red cape with a capital ‘C’ on it.”
“Look,” says Jens with an uncharacteristic note of sympathy in his voice, “not everyone can do the hero thing. Would I throw myself in front of a bullet to save you right now? Of course not. If a gunman burst in here I would probably use you as a human shield and then run for my life.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” says Brodie without missing a beat.
“No worries. But that’s my point, dude: some people are the heroes, and some are the sidekicks. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Sidekicks?”
“Yeah, the guy who helps out once in a while, but most of the time lets the heroes do the heavy lifting. It’s not a bad role, believe me. I’ve been doing it most of my life and it’s very relaxing.”
“That seems to come pretty naturally to me,” says Brodie. “But I think I’ve mastered the whole ‘relaxing’ thing. It’s time to step things up and take it to the next level. If Dia is going to see me as a real man I need to make an impression. I need to show her that I can protect her; that I can really make a difference.”
Jens seems momentarily inspired, placing his hands on his hips and nods his head slightly at the suggestion. “Yeah, you know what? Maybe it’s time that I step up my game as well. No more sitting around while I wait for something to happen. I’m going to take charge of my life and start kicking asses and taking names!”
A white van with dark tinted windows pulls up in front of the car rental. “This is us,” says Brodie, about to take a step outside.
Jens reaches into the front pockets of his hoodie and produces two cans, extending one towards his friend. “Beer?”
Brodie shrugs. “Sure, why the hell not? I’m not driving.”
Twenty minutes later they’re speeding north towards their destination. Dia drives while Cole sits shotgun. Paige rests comfortably behind them with her earphones in and her legs propped up on the empty seat next to her, and Brodie and Jens are sitting in the back row. As they make their way down the wet, winding road, trucks loaded with logs pass in the opposite lane moving dangerously fast, especially considering the weather conditions.
A light rain begins to fall once again as Jens stares out the window at the endless supply of trees that provide the only scenery on their journey. “I wonder if we’re being tracked right now, or if we’re in any danger of being attacked while we’re here?”
Brodie lets out a groan. He’s as bored and disinterested in the scenery as Jens. “If we do get attacked, it’ll be the first exciting thing that’s ever happened in Forks, I guarantee it.”
“Well think of it this way,” says Dia, glancing in the rearview mirror, “if we draw the fight out long enough maybe The Collectors will just die of boredom?”
A few moments of silence float by and Cole turns to Dia. “So you mentioned before that when we manifest, it’s actually our desires becoming reality.”
“Yeah,” says Dia. “Something like that.”
“So when I started to become bigger, faster and
stronger, it totally made sense. But why can you rip open a portal? What desire did you have that would cause you to trigger that ability?”
“It’s a long story,” she replies softly.
Cole smiles. “I think we have time.”
Dia takes another quick glace in the mirror as she tilts it down slightly, focusing her attention on her sister. She assumes that with an iPod playing and her eyes closed, Paige is likely taking a nap, and won’t eavesdrop on their conversation. Not that she is about to reveal anything especially private, but it might be an awkward conversation for her sister to listen in on. “When Paige and I were kids our dad was a little hard to deal with. He was running the American Army invasions back in the 90s and it was a stressful time. He had just approved an air strike on South America that took out a quarter of a million people, Hungary was stockpiling their nuclear arsenal, and most of Asia was involved in their own battle for land.”
“I remember,” says Cole with a small nod.
“Even for someone made of stone, approving the death of that many innocent people was weighing heavily on him. And my mom wasn’t making things especially easy on him. He was trying to prevent World War Three on a daily basis, and my mom would lay a guilt trip on him every night because he wasn’t helping with the vacuuming and the dishes. In hindsight I think that I sympathize with him a lot more than a lonely housewife with a drinking problem.”
“Sure.”
“So anyway,” Dia continues, “one night their standard post-dinner argument led to shouting, and shouting led to threats. My mom had just polished off her second bottle of wine and in a fit of rage she grabbed a steak knife from the wooden block on the counter and lunged at him.”
“Holy shit; were you there?”
“Yeah, Paige and I were watching from the top of the stairs. We could see everything. She slashed his face, opening up a gash over his eye. There was so much blood I couldn’t tell if she had actually cut out his eye entirely. Paige and I were so shocked we didn’t even scream. We just clapped our hands over our mouths and froze.”
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