by William Oday
Most of the people seated clapped in agreement.
Mason scanned their hands for anything threatening. A half-dozen other agents were doing the same thing. Step one of the OODA loop. Observe, Orient, Decide, Act. Every agent engaged the observe step in a state of focused alertness. Condition Orange, as they called it. It kept everyone switched on and ready for action.
The familiar weight of a Glock 19 inside his suit coat was a reassuring presence. A tacit understanding that if a Condition Red event occurred, it would be handled. He still hadn’t forgiven himself for losing the last pistol in the Red Zone. The sergeant on duty at the Armory had issued him a replacement… after a lengthy round of questions that Mason hadn’t been totally forthright in answering.
“Before we begin the inauguration ceremony though, I first want to relate a positive development in our ongoing fight to reclaim what has been lost. We all know life is not as comfortable as it once was. We’ve lost many of the conveniences and necessities of modern living. Today, I’m happy to tell you one of our infrastructure teams has pulled off a miracle.”
The ambient noise in the crowd fell away, like everyone held their breath at once.
The president reached inside his suit coat and pulled out a mobile phone. He held it up high for everyone to see.
“I know you’re wondering why I’m holding a useless phone. Communication in the city thus far has been a necessarily patchwork affair. We have so many urgent needs and limited resources to address them. Despite the challenges, we’ve taken a big step forward. We now have a cellular network capable of sending and receiving text messages that covers all of the Green Zone.”
“Where’s my phone?” a man seated in the front row shouted. Randall Hurst. The owner of the Daily News Report. The DNR as people called it. The initials also happened to stand for Do Not Resuscitate, which was the general opinion for how the tabloid should be treated.
The paper reflected its owner. Hurst splashed the front page with whatever he thought would make the most noise. But his favorite axe to grind was his outrage with the president. He was part-time cat caller and full-time pain in the administration’s ass.
The president forced a laugh. “Mr. Hurst, as always, it’s good to see you. I was hoping someone would ask that question and, per the usual, your voice yells first and loudest. Everyone, reach under your seats and you’ll find a small package. A gift from your government.”
The hum of voices rose and cries of surprise and glee broke out.
Mason had never watched the Oprah Winfrey show, but there was one part of it that still lingered in the public consciousness to this day.
Free phones for everyone!
You get a phone!
You get a phone!
Yes, you all get free phones!
The president tapped on the screen of his phone. He then made a big show of pushing a button.
“I’ve just sent a text to every phone on the network.”
Four hundred phones beeped at once. People stared at their devices like it was the Second Coming, like Jesus himself had drifted down off a white cotton cloud and personally invited them through the pearly gates.
People really missed their phones.
Mason gritted his teeth. Not about the regard people had for their phones. He shared that. The little buggers were indispensable. His teeth ground together because this was all a surprise, not only to the people but to him as well.
The president had a bad habit of blindsiding him with surprises.
And surprises were an element Mason had a distinct dislike for in his line of work. He’d gone over the details of the event with the president and this little public relations stunt had never come up.
Now, four hundred people waved around black, shiny things in their hands.
It was a security nightmare.
Randall Hurst shouted above the noise, “Are you trying to placate the people so they don’t rebel against your ever-increasing tyranny?”
Quite a few people boo’ed his question.
“Get off your soapbox for two minutes and enjoy the progress, Randall.” The president glared at him for a fraction of a second, and then looked back to the larger crowd. “For now, the public only has access to text messaging. Voice and data communications are currently restricted to government employees. We’re bringing additional bandwidth online and expect to have voice calls available within a month and data service a few months after that. This is one more step in the return to our rightful place in the world.”
If the audience was happy before, they were absolutely delirious now. The president had to wait several minutes for the noise to die down.
“And don’t worry if you weren’t one of the lucky ones with a seat. Over the next week, every adult in every household will receive one. As part of this rollout, we have also resurrected the emergency number, nine-one-one. It works just like it used to. Call in with an emergency and you will be given immediate assistance.”
As perturbed as Mason was with the unexpected nature of the announcement, having blanket telecommunications back up was huge step forward for civilization. Hot showers, hot chow, and telecommunications in the palm of your hand were the hallmarks of modern man.
Maybe life really was going to get better.
Mason’s eye caught something amiss. One figure wasn’t moving like the others. While everyone ogled their phones and showed it off to those nearby, this one individual cut through the crowd with purpose. And he didn’t have a phone in his hand.
He carried a black briefcase.
One that looked a lot like the one he’d seen in the president’s office. But it was hard to tell at this distance and so many looked so similar even when you were up close.
Mason spoke into the transmitter at his cuff. “We’ve got a male in a gray hoodie carrying a black briefcase moving through zone three toward the stage. Check it out.”
The agent covering that zone responded. “On it.” The agent intercepted the individual and took the briefcase. One of the Vice-President’s aids scurried over to retrieve it. She returned it to the Vice-President.
The guy kept track of it like some people used to keep track of car keys and credit cards.
Mason returned his attention to the crowd. Chief Fowler stood at the back texting somebody on his phone.
The agent turned back to the hooded figure and lifted his wrist to his mouth. “All cl—”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Less than thirty feet away, the explosion knocked Mason off his feet. He scrambled back up on his knees with the Glock drawn and in low ready. “All agents on Midas! Lock down the perimeter! No one gets out!”
Across the stage where the Vice-President had been sitting was a nightmare of carnage. There were no survivors. President Cruz lay motionless near the front of the stage.
Mason rushed to his side and knelt to check his vitals. The carotid pulsed rapidly under his fingertips. “Sir, we have to get you out of here.” Not waiting for the president’s consent, he dragged him to his feet.
Miro appeared next to them. He locked laser eyes with Mason. His second-in-command was all business now.
Mason kept the president crouched low as several more agents formed a human shield around him. He glanced back toward where he’d last seen the gray hooded figure.
Long limbs with gray sleeves struggled underneath an unmoving agent. The suspect managed to shove the agent aside and stand up. He looked in Mason’s direction but the hood obscured his face. He turned and ran, disappearing into the mass of people fleeing toward the exits at the back.
But he wasn’t going to get away.
“Miro, get the president inside! Have the ER team ready to receive!”
Miro was already leading Midas toward the rear of the stage on one of the identified escape routes.
Mason sprinted across the stage and leaped off. He sailed through the air and tucked into a roll on the ground six feet below. One revolution and he uncoiled and was back on his feet in an
all out sprint. He crashed into the crowd keeping an eye on the gray hood as it bobbed in and out of view.
Many people wandered around in a daze. But most flooded toward the exits like water building behind a dam.
Mason cut through, dodging left and right shoving between bodies. He was getting closer, now forty feet behind.
The guards at the exits were doing their best to maintain order but the dam was going to crumble any minute.
Mason had to get to the suspect before the failure occurred. If the security fence broke down and hundreds of people spilled out into the streets, there’d be little chance of catching him.
The hood popped up into view again now just twenty feet away.
Mason fought to get through the packed bodies, but the creases were getting fewer and far between. He shouldered people aside and barely managed to avoid bulldozing over an elderly woman that suddenly appeared in his path. He dodged to the side and her wide eyes followed as he past.
The security fencing to the left started swaying back and forth as the panicked crowd compacted toward the exits.
He shoved past a couple of guys blocking his view. Being six-foot himself, they still towered above him. Maybe a couple players from the Golden State Warriors team had made it through the outbreak.
The gray hood appeared just a few feet ahead to the left.
The crowd was crammed so tight Mason couldn’t force his way through. He lunged forward with his arm outstretched and managed to grab a handful of fabric.
The security fencing tipped over and the frantic crowd washed over it. Two bodies crunched together sandwiching his extended arm. Another smashed into the suspect and tore Mason’s grip loose.
The gray hoodie vanished in the chaos.
Like water through a whole in the dam, people flooded through the fallen section of fence.
Mason considered firing shots into the air but the thought of further complicating this already dangerous situation stayed his hand. He bulled his way forward scanning left and right but not seeing anything. He let the crowd push him over the trampled gate and out into the grounds in front of the capital.
With the bottleneck relieved, the escapees fanned out as they continue to put distance between themselves and the explosion. Spaces began to open up between bodies.
If he was going to lose the suspect, it was going to be now.
Mason scanned back and forth with teeth gritted hard enough to shatter them.
There!
A lanky figure in navy pants and a gray hoodie ran along with the rest of the crowd.
But now there was room to maneuver.
Mason kicked it into top gear and blew through a forty yard dash that would’ve made a high school track coach proud. Closing to within a couple feet, he launched through the air and drove the suspect to the ground.
He landed on his back and wrenched each arm behind and secured them in zip tie handcuffs.
People fleeing nearby paused and backed away in a widening circle. They stared as several police officers rushed in to assist.
Mason had him.
The bastard that killed the Vice-President and nearly done the same to the president as well. He’d let the officers arrest him, after he beat some payback into his despicable face. He cocked his right fist and rolled the bastard over.
The hood slipped back revealing a face.
Mason’s world lurched to a stop, his fist froze in the air.
“Elio?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The president stood behind the desk in the Oval Office. Less than two hours after the bombing and he’d already been cleared by the medical staff, had a meeting with his cabinet, and now agreed to a brief private meeting. The guy was nothing if not efficient. He squeezed Mason’s shoulder. “Please, take a seat. You’re not on the clock for the next few minutes.”
“I’m always on the clock,” Mason said as he chose to remain standing in front of the desk.
“I appreciate your dedication,” Cruz said as he rotated an injured shoulder. He winced when the movement hit a particular spot.
“Are you feeling okay, Sir?”
“I was far enough away to avoid any serious injuries. Sadly, the same cannot be said for Bernard. The blast killed him instantly.”
Mason had already been through a preliminary briefing with his team and heard the same. Not that he needed a report to know. The charred evidence of the blast made it clear that its epicenter was the Vice- President’s seat. His mangled body was an additional, unnecessary clue.
“I personally accept responsibility for my team’s oversight.”
“It’s not your fault. We don’t know the whole story, but right now Mr. Lopez is the prime suspect.”
Mason chewed his lip.
Elio? Trying to assassinate the president? And succeeding in killing the vice-president?
It didn’t fit. He’d known the kid since he was a baby. Sure, his association with the Venice Ten didn’t polish his record, but he was no killer. No assassin.
“Sir, that’s what I wanted to talk to about. I know the circumstantial evidence indicates otherwise, but there is no way this boy did this.”
The president narrowed his eyes. “I know you are a consummate professional, Mason. I’ve been the fortunate recipient of your skill set on two occasions. However, I question if it is possible for you to be objective in this matter.”
Mason wrung his hands behind his back. That was the problem. He knew the president was right. But he didn’t need to be objective. He knew Elio Lopez. The awkward, overeager boy courting his daughter. He knew him.
There was no way he did this.
Was there?
Cruz took off his glasses and rubbed the lenses with a cloth. “We’ve got a forensic team sifting through the rubble with a fine tooth comb. We have the boy in custody and being questioned by the DA as we speak. If he had nothing to do with it, then he has nothing to fear.”
Mason wasn’t about to cast doubt on that assertion, given that it was one of the most basic underlying principles of our criminal justice system. That said, he also knew innocent until proven guilty was an imperfect notion because imperfect humans were the ones delivering it.
“I’ve known him since he was born. I served with his father in the Marine Corps. He may have made a few bad choices like any troubled teenager, but there is no way he would do this.”
“I hope you’re right, for his sake. If it turns out you’re wrong, the DA has already said she’ll be seeking the death penalty.”
Mason’s head spun.
Death penalty? Executing Elio Lopez?
How did the world go batshit crazy all of a sudden? Meaning more than the baseline batshit crazy of living in a post-outbreak world.
That was an insanely high level of batshit crazy. But this made it feel absolutely ordinary in comparison.
“I’d like to see him, Sir.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible, Mason. After questioning, he’s being transferred to a more secure location.”
“Why?”
The muscles in the president’s jaws tightened. “Have you seen what is going on outside?”
Mason had been busy with debriefings for the last hour, but he’d gotten updates on the situation outside. But he didn’t need updates to hear it.
Even in the acoustically muffled depths of the Oval Office, Mason heard the chanting.
“There are thousands of people outside screaming for the death of Mr. Lopez. They know he is being held inside this building and they want revenge. It is a delicate and dangerous situation. One that can be mitigated by removing the source of their inflamed passion.”
It made sense. The last thing they needed was thousands of furious people trying to bust inside to get their hands on Elio.
“Where will he be moved to, Sir?”
“We don’t have a location secure enough to hold him.”
“He’s not the Harry Houdini type, Sir.”
“It’s not the getting
out that concerns me.” He cast his eyes up to the ceiling and they both listened to the muffled chanting of the crowd outside.
“Then where?”
“Listen, I agree. I doubt the kid was involved. I’ve arranged for him to be transferred to a monastery in the north. An old friend was, until recently, the abbot there. I have yet to meet the new abbot in person, but we’ve spoken over the phone. He’s assured me that Elio will be cared for. They’ve secured their borders and he’ll be safe while we get this sorted out.”
“Why a monastery?”
“Because we don’t have a better option. They are one of our food suppliers and need more labor. He’ll help them with the crops and they’ll keep him safe.”
“When will the transfer take place, Sir?”
The president glanced over at the clock on the wall. “I’ve asked the DA to expedite her preliminary questioning in light of the situation outside. She should have him on the transport in the next few minutes.”
Years of experience and discipline kept Mason from bolting for the door. He clenched his fists tight behind his back to give the energy focus. “May I see him off, Sir? Miro is on duty at the door and can run the detail while I’m away.”
The president’s mouth twisted to the side. He clearly wasn’t pleased with the request.
Mason wanted to take it back, but he couldn’t. Not because it had already been said, but because his heart wouldn’t allow it.
“Fine. I expect you to report back the instant he departs.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
Mason nodded and then hurried out of the office. He related the news to Miro and then headed for the makeshift detainment cell holding Elio. He texted his wife a message.
MASON:> Elio being transferred out of the city to the north. Bring his mother as fast as you can. I’ll meet you in front of City Hall. Keep a safe distance from the crowd.