End Game (Calm Act Book 1)

by Ginger Booth

We were complicit now, like teenagers smoking in the lav, partners in a little no-no. “What’s your name?” I asked.

  He looked guiltily over his shoulder again, and took another drag. “Mark. But we’re not supposed to say.”

  Someone should have taught Mark why it was that he shouldn’t say. Names have power.

  “Mark,” I repeated. “I love the design of your e-cig. I’m big on steampunk, myself. At home I have a big brass and silver cogwork one.” My fingers described a chubby steampunk pen I owned, not an e-cig.

  “Oh, yeah? Cool.”

  That earned me another turn at the e-cig. “Hey, Mark. I have a foster kid, Alex. I took him in after his mother, you know, suicided on that oxycontin they keep handing out. Just a couple months ago.”

  “Poor kid.”

  “Yeah. Could you let me make a phone call? Just to tell Alex. God, Mark, I don’t want him to think I ran out on him like his mother did. I just want to say good-bye. My phone’s right over there in my bag.”

  “I can’t –”

  “Mark, he’s a fourteen year old boy. He’ll never trust anybody again. Please, Mark.” I was convincing, because it was all true, and all heart-felt.

  And when Mark handed me the phone, I called Jean-Claude Alarie.

  “Jean-Claude, hello Dee?” he answered.

  “Alex! I’m so glad I caught you. Listen, sweetie, I only have 3 minutes.” That was what your one phone call to a lawyer was limited to on cop shows, wasn’t it?

  “Oh, that’s bad. Where are you?” As I’d hoped, Jean-Claude was quick on the uptake.

  “Wallingford.” Mark looked daggers at me. “Um, I meant Broomfield. Look, that doesn’t matter. Honey, I’m not going to make it home. Something happened. They say I violated the Calm Act. They’re not going to let me come home.”

  “Maybe my friends should visit this Wallingford,” Jean-Claude suggested.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Ah, no, you don’t need to do that, sweetie. But I do need you to call Mangal, OK? He’ll get you in touch with Dave to fix the hoses. That’s important. You’ve got to fix the hoses. I’ll give you his number. Got a pen?”

  “Of course.”

  I gave him Alex’s number, twice.

  “And I am to call Mangal to get Dave to fix the hoses,” Jean-Claude confirmed.

  “You’re the best, sweetie. I love you, Alex. God bless.” I touched the call end button.

  But I pretended I hadn’t hung up. “Alex?” I asked worriedly, as though the line had dropped out. I pretended to put the phone on speaker while I held it myopically close and brought up a particular app I’d installed, Fraggit. If it did what I paid for, I could click one button and it would write ‘010101…’ over every shred of memory in my phone, including the GPS, then erase itself and power the phone off. The Fraggit app had wonderful reviews from people with excessive social photo habits and guilty consciences.

  “Huh,” I said. “I lost the signal. Well, I guess I told him everything I needed to say. He’s just so fragile, you know?” And there, the phone screen went black again, though it was still cranking. “Thank you so much, Mark. This,” I hugged the phone to my breast, “this means so much to me.” And it really did.

  Mark held out his hand for the phone. But it was still cranking out 0’s and 1’s, judging from its thrumming.

  “Could I just make one more call? To my fiancé? Please, Mark? It’s just, when Zack and I left off, we had a fight, and –” I was pushing my luck, and Mark’s narrowed eyes were getting suspicious. Thankfully, the phone stopped dead. “Oh!” I said. “That was why. The battery was going dead.” I sighed melodrama, and meekly handed it over to him.

  Not expecting anything from a phone with a dead battery, Mark dropped it back into my overnight bag. We shared a few more puffs on the e-cig, took a bathroom break, collected more coffee, and were quite comfortable when Ms. Humorless returned.

  It was harder then. Not because Ms. Humorless got any more insightful – the woman was stupid, petty, vicious, and pretty much irrelevant. The thing was, I’d held tight to that one remaining ambition, that Amenac would survive me, still do some good. I’d now done all that could be done for that.

  All that was left to do was save my own life. And I didn’t see any way to do that. I’d never known, or even heard of, anyone who escaped Homeland Security after violating the Calm Act.

  “Now we’ll talk about your criminal accomplices,” Ms. Humorless announced.

  “Since I haven’t committed a crime, there aren’t any accomplices,” I replied. Again.

  It was a long afternoon.

  -o-

  Mr. Bad Cop was slightly more convincing than Ms. Humorless. So far as I could tell, she dragged him in simply because 4:30 was the end of her routine ho-hum harass-the-masses workday. The winter sun would set soon.

  “Are you going to threaten to let me live?” I interrupted him.

  “What?” He said it with a sneer. Maybe he didn’t hear me correctly.

  “From what I’ve heard, no one ever escapes you people alive. It doesn’t matter whether they’re innocent or guilty, cooperative or not. So, if you’re not going to let me live no matter what I do, what possible motive could I have to tell you anything? Not that I have anything to confess.”

  “We have ways!”

  “No you don’t. Sure, there’s torture, but you know – or you ought to know – that any information you get by torture, is going to be a lie.”

  Mark unconsciously nodded agreement. That was heartening. These fools were taught some basic facts. I’d been worried about torture. But apparently they were just going to imply it at me.

  “What if I threaten to kill Alex?” He leaned toward me to put his face inside my personal boundary.

  I pushed my face closer to him, which made him reflexively back up a little. “I hope you try it. You personally. Because I’m pretty sure you’ll be the one to die. Not Alex.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  The door banged open. “Well, hell, you were threatening her, and her kid.” A medium-tall, wiry man, with bushy light brown hair, entered already speaking. He dressed in Army camouflage like Zack’s crew, and spoke with a slow and twangy Southern accent. I wondered how much of the exaggerated hillbilly swagger was intentional. He continued, “Turnabout is fair play, huh? Fun time’s over. She’s mine now.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” demanded Mr. Bad Cop.

  I had the same question.

  “Major Emmett MacLaren, head community coordinator, Southern New Haven County. I claim this little lady as an official asset.” He tossed some paperwork on the table. “Sorry, darlin’,” he said to me, “took us a while. You wouldn’t believe the red tape. You can call me Emmett.”

  “You can’t – !” objected Mr. Bad Cop.

  “I can, and I did. Called in a marker. She’s mine. Check it.” Emmett pointed to Mark. “You can get those cuffs off her, and we’ll just be on our way.”

  “We still need her sources –” objected Mr. Bad Cop.

  “Ah, no,” clarified Emmett, finger pointing stiffly at the paperwork. “I own her, and her sources, and the whole Amenac website. They’re all claimed community assets of Southern New Haven County now, and you can’t touch ’em. Sorry, Bubba.” Emmett turned to me again. “Come on, darlin’.”

  Mr. Bad Cop made several further apoplectic objections, but Emmett just ignored him. He tossed my overnight bag over his shoulder, took me by the elbow in southern gentlemanly fashion, and escorted me out the building.

  “Phew-ee,” he commented as we reached his car just outside the boring glass entrance. “Every time I go into HomeSec, I wonder if I’m coming out again. Climb on in, darlin’. Let’s get the hell away from here.”

  “Who are you?” I demanded. Anything beat Homeland Security, though. I climbed in and buckled my seatbelt with alacrity.

  “Major Emmett MacLaren. Zack Harkonnen’s boss.”

  Chapter 21

  Interes
ting fact: Probably the single greatest factor leading to the breakup of NATO was Russia taking on the NATO allies in the Baltic – Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania – plus Turkey and Romania. Russia was increasingly strident in its demands that U.S. forces stay out of any country bordering Russia. The U.S. was already at war in Afghanistan, Iran, and against Global Jihad in the roiling area that was once Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, and Iraq. The U.S. was stretched beyond the breaking point, with no hope of succeeding in all these conflicts. Hawks tried to call it World War III and frenzy the U.S. into World War II era total mobilization, without success. The public just wanted out.

  “Zack was a plant?” I breathed. I remembered wondering that, during our first dinner together. Whether the secret services planted people in protest groups, to sow incompetence, indecision, and ineffectiveness. “He lied to me all along?”

  “Get off your high horse, Dee,” Emmett said cordially. “Zack Harkonnen’s the most honest man I ever met. And you – shit.” He barked a laugh. “I didn’t even have to blow a marker on you. Some guy named Niedermeyer gave me another. On behalf of your other boyfriend. Adam, is it?” He shot me a look out the side of his eye. “Zack didn’t lie to you. You lied to him.”

  “Zack and Adam already know about each other,” I defended.

  “Uh-huh. And the Amenac site came back up an hour ago. We didn’t need to spring you to get that back.”

  “Yes! It worked!” I clenched a fist in victory and thumped my head back against the chair head-rest in relief.

  “Yeah? What exactly was that, Dee Baker, that worked?” Emmett inquired drily.

  “Mmm,” I replied.

  “Yeah, don’t you go calling Zack Harkonnen a liar, darlin’. Cuz you’re a piece of work.”

  I pursed my lips at him. “I still don’t understand. Who are you people? What is a marker? How could you just walk out of Homeland Security with me?”

  “Ah – there’s Zack,” said Emmett. And indeed, Zack was perched on my new electric car, in the twilight gloom by the wiggly snowy wooded road-side, not a mile from the Homeland Security offices. “I thought it’d be safer to leave someone on the outside, just in case. Besides, I thought the two of you might get to arguing, and complicate the extraction.”

  “Zack is not mad at me for anything,” I denied. “Or, well…” We hadn’t really talked since that last complex chat over his house when I told him I was going to visit the ark.

  “Uh-huh,” agreed Emmett laconically. OK, maybe Zack had vented to Emmett about me. Emmett parked the car behind Zack, and got out. “She’s all yours, Harkonnen.”

  Zack ignored me climbing out of the car, instead going straight to Emmett for a heart-felt man-hug – shake hands, hug, bop fists. “I owe you, Emmett. I know it was a lot –”

  “Wasn’t so bad,” Emmett denied.

  “Wait – can you get someone else out?” I interrupted. I’d already pulled my overnight bag out of the car and stood awkwardly a few feet back from their man-bonding.

  “She’s a real nuisance, your girlfriend, Zack,” Emmett observed mildly. “You might want to work on your taste in women.” He made a move back toward his car door.

  Zack scowled at me.

  “Just listen to me, Emmett, three minutes,” I insisted, childishly holding up three fingers in the cold air. “There’s a guy in there. Homeland Security wasn’t after him. He just objected when I was taken, and… Well, he needs to learn when to shut up.”

  “Lotta that going around,” Emmett observed.

  I frowned at him and folded my arms over my chest. “His name’s Tom Aoyama. He’s an infectious disease specialist from MIT. He was supposed to be a resource on the Navy ark, an expert on how to make New York safe again after Ebola, find treatments for new diseases, stuff like that. But he didn’t like them holding him in reserve in an ark, instead of letting him out to cure disease. Please. He’s only in their clutches by accident, because he was trying to defend me.”

  “She really is high maintenance,” Emmett commented to Zack. He looked dolefully back the way we’d come.

  “Yeah,” Zack agreed, followed by a martyred sigh. “But she has good ideas. When she gets this way and I take her advice, it usually turns out she was right. She dreams up solutions I’d never think of.”

  “You don’t have to keep Tom, or anything,” I pleaded. “You could just drop him off somewhere around Yale, and leave him to sink or swim. But no one else is going to give New York a chance. Doesn’t New York deserve a chance? Somebody who’ll fight for them?” Tears were standing in my eyes. I wiped them away angrily.

  “Right. Zack, could you shut her up?”

  “Probably not, but I could put her in the car and leave,” Zack offered.

  “Nah, just get in the car and wait. If I’m not back in an hour,” Emmett snorted, “improvise.”

  “Can do,” Zack agreed. “Good luck. Don’t waste Niedermeyer’s marker, alright? We got a drone strike out of him last time.”

  “Oh, is he the one you got that from? Yeah, that’s too valuable. I’ll think of something,” Emmett muttered, as he got into his car. He did a three-point turn on the empty state highway, and headed back toward the devil’s playground.

  Zack and I were alone in the dark and snow. I jumped when he popped the trunk.

  “Would you like to put your luggage in the trunk?” he suggested, a glint of wry amusement in his eye.

  “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” I stowed the bag, and closed the trunk with slow deliberateness.

  “Did they hurt you?” he asked.

  I shook my head vehemently. “No. They just scared me a little.” I gulped.

  “You’re shocky,” Zack murmured, and pulled me into his arms.

  “No! No, I – I mean – I have questions, and –” I started to shiver, and shudder.

  “Sure you do,” Zack said, and folded my head onto his chest. “Just let go and cry it out. You’re alright, Dee Baker.”

  I fought it a little longer, and then broke down completely, sobbing in his arms. “I didn’t cry this whole time!” I yelled, irate. I even stomped my foot. “I didn’t cry about L.A., or Hawaii, or –”

  “Shhh,” Zack whispered. “You’re doing it right now. Just cry it out.”

  He really was good at that, letting me cry. Not just a little, but all the way, until I couldn’t cry anymore, until I was entirely wrung out of tears and beyond all the scared. I mopped my nose and eyes, and dabbed at the big wet area on his jacket. I always keep tissues in my coat in winter. Cold ears make my nose run.

  “It’s getting too cold out here,” said Zack. He offered me the keys – he’d given me the car after all – but I shuddered in revulsion and slid in through the passenger door.

  After a few minutes’ silence in the car, he took out his phone, dialed it, and handed it to me without comment.

  “Zack?” Adam cried in my ear. “Did you get her out?”

  “It’s Dee, Adam. Yeah, Zack got me out. I’m fine. We’re still trying for Tom Aoyama. My bunkie on the ark? I don’t know yet on Tom. Are you OK?”

  “Yeah. I could kill Niedermeyer, but yeah, I’m OK. Dee, I am so sorry,” he attempted.

  “Not your fault. Hey, I don’t want to talk much right now. Just – I’m out, I’m safe. Thank you.” I end the call and handed the phone back to Zack. “Thanks. And thank you for getting me out of there, Zack.”

  He nodded. He checked his watch. “I’ll call Emmett in another 30 minutes if we haven’t heard from him.”

  “We should suck less at accepting thank you’s and compliments,” I grumbled.

  “You’re welcome,” he said grudgingly.

  I couldn’t exactly apologize for visiting the ark, because I didn’t mean it. But I felt I owed Zack something. “I shouldn’t have gone to visit the ark, Zack. I didn’t know it was loaded.”

  “Fair enough,” he allowed. “I didn’t know it was loaded, either. Of course, I didn’t know what it was loaded with.”

  “I have a
confession to make.”

  Zack growled, “Look, if it’s about sleeping with Adam on that ark, I really don’t want to hear it, Dee.”

  Actually I hadn’t slept with Adam since he left Totoket a month ago. And I wasn’t the slightest bit tempted to discuss that right now. That conversation could only go downhill. “Not that. But – well, never mind.”

  Zack growled louder.

  “Oh, alright. You didn’t need to get me out, is all. To get Amenac back. I managed that from inside there. Emmett said. It worked. So all you got, was my life. Thank you, for saving me.”

  “You were all we were trying for, Dee. You, not Amenac. If Emmett got more, great.”

  “Thank you.” That kind of choked me up, and invited tears to flow again. I squelched them, and swallowed. “Emmett got Amenac, whole hog. He claimed that me, the site, and all its sources are now ‘community assets’ of southern New Haven county. He said he’s your boss.”

  Zack sighed. “You’re not a beta tester on Amenac. You’re one of its principals, aren’t you.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Obviously you have a partner in crime, or you couldn’t have gotten it back up while you were locked away. Mangal?”

  “I’d need to confer with my associates before discussing them. Speaking of associates…” I softened my tone. “About that ‘Emmett is your boss’ thing? What are you, Zack?”

  “I’m a community organizer. That’s all. Emmett is still Army, technically, but I’m retired. ‘Boss’ is kind of stretching it. He’s leader of the local organizers. He’s good. Damned good. I served with him in Estonia. He’s from Missouri, so he’s better as a leader and interface, rather than trying to lead a local community directly, in Connecticut.”

  “But, you planned to do this? To become Captain Zack of Western Totoket? How did that happen?”

  Zack fidgeted with the heater. “About a year ago, the Army started calling me, trying to recruit me back. First they asked if I was willing to suppress public protests, and I told them, ‘Hell, no!’ Then the borders. Then an ark. No, no, and no. I’ve compared notes with the other community organizers. It happened about the same with them. After all that screening, somebody else called, to ask if I wanted to stay right where I was, and protect my home area, and organize people to accomplish that. I told him that’s what I intended to do, if it came to that. So he offered to put me in touch with like-minded people, and resources to be determined along the way. To that I said, ‘Sure.’ Then Emmett called to ask me about Connecticut. A few weeks later we held our first meeting in New Haven.”