Mirror, Mirror at 1600 D.C.

by Edward Galluzzi

  Hannah seemed paralyzed, as she lay in bed unable to move. She pondered where Harrison was at this very moment in time. She also wondered if he was thinking of her as she thought of him. Hannah, however, was secure in her relationship with Harrison. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and threw back the blue satin covers. Hannah turned over once again and stepped out of her comfortable, warm bed. She headed toward the bath to take a shower. Hannah reached through the curtain and turned on the water. The stream splashed against her hand as she adjusted the mix to her desired temperature. Hannah thought, ‘That feels great’ and stepped into the shower. The hot water and steam were relaxing, almost like a sensual sauna. Hannah’s mind began drifting as the water tapped its musical dance on her soft, wet skin.

  Hannah’s thoughts wandered into the not-so-distant future and her wedding day. In the midst, she saw her Harrison waiting down the long bridal pathway to the altar. She smiled as she envisioned Pope Josetta standing near Harrison waiting to celebrate the sacrament of Matrimony. Hannah could not identify the usher standing next to Harrison. She knew him only as ‘Greg,’ the gentleman that her fiancé talked about frequently. Hannah knew that ‘Greg’ worked with her beloved, but did not know his capacity or exact relationship to Harrison. She mused that much about her H. seemed so hushhush.

  A sudden cold change in the water temperature jerked Hannah back to present day reality. The future faded quickly even though it was really never present. Hannah continued her shower and thought of her agenda for the day. She first was going to check on the health status of Pope Josetta and file her column with the Washington Sun in Washington. She hoped that she might have a brief, unscheduled visit with the Pope although she knew that the odds were less than those of getting struck by lightening. Then it would be off for some afternoon shopping at the Piazza de Spagna in the heart of Rome’s most fashionable shopping district. Hannah was determined to find a gift for her fiancé, the man who had everything!

  A woman shopping for a man is a much different experience than a man shopping for a woman, Hannah thought. Indeed! They may pretend, but men do not enjoy shopping— real shopping that is—not going into a single store and coming out 10 minutes later with a single purchase. Such an activity is neither shopping nor even a reasonable facsimile thereof. You cannot expedite shopping. You cannot find the perfect gift on the first try and if you do, it is not the perfect gift. Women know that—men take it for granted! ‘Oh well,’ thought Hannah, ‘Viva la difference!’

  Hannah finished toweling her soft skin dry. She picked out her wardrobe for the day and dressed hurriedly. It was a conservative dress as her first stop this morning would be the Vatican. There was a briefing schedule for nine o’clock this morning to update journalists on the Pope Josetta’s medical condition. Hannah smiled softly as she recalled her recent visit with Harrison’s friend and patriarch of the Roman Catholic Church. It was unfortunate that she had not known Josetta earlier in his reign when his physical health was less debilitating and he was full of vigor.

  As Hannah finished dressing, there was a knock at her door. She walked quickly out of the bedroom and opened the hotel door. It was room service with her breakfast that she had ordered last evening. Hannah motioned in the direction of the dining table and the waiter began emptying the tray of its food contents. He asked if there was anything else she needed. There was not and Hannah opened her purse to tip the kind man. The waiter thanked her and left her hotel suite.

  Hannah returned to the bedroom and completed her morning ritual of adorning makeup. She glanced at the clock and quickened her pace as time was slipping away as it always seemed to do. Hannah finished dressing, left her bedroom and sat at the breakfast table. She spread cherry jam on her toast and poured milk over her cereal. The coffee was still hot to the touch as she poured herself a steaming cup. As Hannah sipped her coffee, she buzzed the front desk and asked for a taxi in half an hour.

  Hannah finished the last of her toast and cereal and headed back to the bedroom. She glanced at the clock and noted the passing of time. She finished the last of her primping and headed out the door. Hannah nodded to the hotel clerk who returned her recognition with a smile. She walked out of the hotel’s main entrance and was greeted by the doorman who hailed her taxi. In moments, Hannah was on her way to Vatican City. As the taxi drove away from the hotel, a black sedan drove up behind her taxi and kept a discreet distance. The sedan turned, as did the taxi. Either the sedan’s occupant was shadowing Hannah or they too were on their way to the Vatican.

  The trip to the Vatican was picturesque. Hannah so admired the Italian countryside. The sedan continued its prowling at a judicious distance. Hannah hoped to find Pope Josetta feeling better. Perhaps His Holiness may desire an unscheduled visit from a friend. She would ask. It would not hurt to ask.

  Hannah arrived at the Vatican with several minutes to spare. She paid the cab driver and walked up the stairs of the Vatican. The black sedan stopped to the side of the road. The lone gentleman seemed satisfied with waiting at the curb across from the Vatican. Hannah presented her credentials and headed to the press briefing room. Fr. Edgar Soergel was scheduled to present the briefing as it had been since its inception. Fr. Soergel had been at Josetta’s side for many years, including ten years before he rose to the papacy.

  The conference room was teaming with print, radio and television journalists. Hannah nodded her greetings to her familiar colleagues and friends. There was a buzz in the room common to such occasions. Hannah glimpsed the Rev. Soergel from the corner of her eye and made her way toward him. She nodded at the holy priest as their eyes met. “How good to see you again, Miss Littleton,” said the holy man. “And you, Father,” replied Hannah. “Have you enjoyed your stay in Rome?” asked the prelate. “Yes, very much” noted Hannah and then added with a broken smile, “Although my fiancé had to leave unexpectedly.” “I’m sorry” was the padre’s sincere concern.

  Hannah had not thought of Harrison since early this morning. She wished that he could not only be here with her, but also with his holy friend, Josetta. Hannah asked, “How is His Holiness?” “I wish I could say that His Holiness was doing better” was the grave response. “I will begin the briefing soon” he continued. “Perhaps the Pontiff might want a visitor today?” Hannah asked hopefully. “You?” inquired the priest. Hannah nodded and the holy man broke into a smile. “Yes, he may indeed want a special visitor today. I will let you know shortly after the briefing.” “Thank you,” Hannah replied warmly. Fr. Soergel nodded once more and made his way to the conference room podium.

  The commotion among the journalists dimmed as they became aware of the prelate’s stance at the podium. The dim murmur soon shifted to silence. Fr. Soergel cleared his throat and welcomed the journalists to the briefing in his rich, baritone voice: “Good morning. On behalf of the Vatican, I thank you for attending this briefing, your sincere interest in the health and well being of His Holiness, and your prayers. As you are aware, Pope Josetta has been ill now for nearly six months. During the course of his illness, the Pontiff has celebrated his 75th birthday. He has had his good days and bad days—some terrible days. Although Pope Josetta’s physical strength has fluctuated accordingly, his emotional and spiritual strength nevertheless has remained intense. We are always concerned about respiratory problems and its complications. In particular, respiratory acidosis has recurred this week and physicians have labored to reduce the level of pulmonary carbon dioxide. We have reported to you before that His Holiness has suffered from headaches and drowsiness. The doctors have treated him with enriched oxygen and, thus far, his condition has not progressed to a stupor or coma, as is the course with many patients with chronic respiratory failure. The Pope has not required mechanically assisted ventilation, which we take as a good sign. He is alert generally, resting comfortably and retaining sufficient nutrients in his daily food intake as not to require ongoing IVs. His Holiness continues to make papal decisions and, as far as he is able, conduct papal b
usiness as patriarch of the Roman Catholic Church with the support of the Curia.”

  Fr. Soergel paused as he took off his glasses and wiped his brow. He returned his glasses to their familiar station and continued, “It is our hope that His Holiness will increase in his strength and vigor. We are thankful to the people of the world for their thoughts, prayers and many wishes that they have sent to the Holy Father. Thank you for your attendance and interest in Pope Josetta. Good Morning.”

  Fr. Soergel left the podium and greeted the journalists as he made his way out of the conference room. Hannah and the prelate’s paths crossed once again. “Ah, Miss Littleton” said the holy man. He continued, “If you would please wait in the outer office, I will see if the Holy Father feels up to having a visitor.” “Thank you,” replied Hannah. She greeted her friends and colleagues as she made her way to the outer office. Fr. Soergel disappeared through another door into the inner sanctum of the Vatican.

  Hannah finally made her way to the outer office and sat awaiting word from Fr. Soergel. Another 20 minutes passed before he appeared with his head bowed. He looked at Hannah and said, “I’m sorry, this is not becoming one of the Holy Father’s ‘good’ days. He is coughing hard and is complaining of a headache. We summoned his physician. Perhaps another day.” Hannah acknowledged the priest with an understanding nod and thanked him before heading toward the exit of the Vatican.

  Hannah walked out into a bright, sunny day in Rome. Unable to see Josetta, she decided to do some serious shopping—the intensive shopping of which she was quite capable. Hannah walked toward the area to hail a cab and was soon greeted by its driver.

  She entered the cab and requested her destination: “Piazza de Spagna.” The driver pulled away slowly from the Vatican and merged with the traffic. The black sedan that had waited patiently across from the holy place resumed its discreet stalking of Hannah. For her part, Hannah was neither aware of its presence nor able to appraise its risks.

  Chapter 12

  Station Zero

  It was twenty three hundred hours and Harrison found himself at Station Zero. Each agent had a Station Zero—a unique place known only to Mentor and his respective agent. It became necessary over the years to identify secured safety houses given the marked advancement and capabilities of electronic eavesdropping technology, not to mention the assassination of numerous agents. Tonight, Harrison hoped to gain clarification about the events that transpired since he left Rome.

  Harrison used his electronic key that not only matched physically the key lock tumblers, but also was encoded with a unique electronic signature to provide additional security. He entered the doorway and realized that he had only thirty seconds to disarm the motion, sound and touch sensors that permeated the home. Harrison extended his left hand and flipped the wall switch that illuminated the passageway. A dim light bathed the room in almost moonlight luminance. Yet, it was sufficient light for Harrison to navigate through the entry room without bumping into the furniture and other objects. He encountered a row of switches and flipped them as well. Other rooms of Station Zero were illuminated in the moonlight glow. Harrison headed quickly toward the security panels to disarm the protective features of the home, but found that Station Zero’s security system had already been disabled.

  Harrison released his gun from its holster and headed for the main meeting room. As he entered the room, he was startled by a lone figure sitting in a chair. Harrison instinctively aimed his gun directly at the figure. “Don’t shoot, Hardware” said a soft voice. The voice was unmistakably that of Mentor. Harrison returned his gun to its holster and stretched out his hand to greet Mentor. “Good evening, sir,” Harrison said. He continued with a wry smile, “I should have known you’d be punctual.”

  Mentor returned the warm handshake and greeting. He spoke tiredly, “Hello, Harrison. I apologize for all the ‘cloak and dagger,’ but as you will soon discover, it has become unfortunately quite a necessity.” “No apology necessary, sir” was Harrison’s reassuring reply. Greg looked weary and drained. It was clear that the day’s events inundated his supervisor and friend.

  Mentor removed a single sheet of paper from a file and laid it slowly in front of Hardware. He motioned for Harrison to review the sheet. Harrison reached out and picked up the single sheet of paper. He began reading its contents to himself and realized readily that it was President Ashton’s ten point plan to assimilate domestic terrorism into American politics:

  “Step one: Review prison cases and release those dissident terrorists in federal prison whose crimes do not include direct acts of violence against the people of the United States;

  Step two: Provide financial compensation to these individuals for time loss on the job and emotional reparation;

  Step three: Discontinue federal wiretaps on suspected terrorists where there is no direct, concrete evidence of intention to commit a crime despite a positive past history of such crimes;

  Step four: Direct the FBI and IRS to no longer use their strong arms in investigating individuals just because their views differ from our government’s stance;

  Step five: Develop a moderated committee whose membership includes people appointed because of their distinct dissident views to provide input to governmental activities, funding and law;

  Step six: Arrange that such a committee is solely responsible and reportable to the President;

  Step seven: Allow for equal access time in all broadcasting media, particularly during federal, state and local elections;

  Step eight: Provide guidelines and sensitivity training to all branches of law enforcement in their exchanges with our country’s dissident terrorists;

  Step nine: Provide guidelines to local governments on how to develop and maintain open forums so that varying viewpoints can be heard, documented and implemented; and lastly,

  Step ten: Reinitiate efforts to support vigorously the right of law-abiding American citizens to carry arms as provided in our Constitution.”

  Upon Harrison’s review of President Ashton’s words, he looked up at Mentor. Neither spoke a word for a moment as if neither wanted to empty the contents of their minds. It was clear that Harrison would not speak first as he ascertained that he would put himself politically and legally at risk if he indeed shared his thoughts. He was determined to wait out his supervisor on this one and reflected that this was the only prudent approach. It was not a good time for his custom impulsivity and to jump right in as it were. Yes, indeed, Harrison would wait out Mentor no matter how long it took.

  As it happened, Harrison did not have to wait long. Mentor knew that it was not Hardware’s place to say what had to be said. Mentor seemed to muster some courage, to delve deep within himself, and broke the silence that permeated the two men: “My friend, our country is in peril for resuming a conflict that ended 140 years ago—a civil war.” Harrison heard the words, but the shock of their content cushioned the inhumanity of their true meaning. Hardware’s gaze was frozen on Mentor as he continued to speak: “Our country will not survive another civil war, not with today’s technology and weaponry—nor will our enemies stand by and allow such a conflict to take its course without intervention based on their own greed and desire to deeply influence if not overthrow the government of the United States. Such a conflict would indeed be an opportunity they politically could not pass up. The stakes are too high and the rewards too great. President Ashton’s plan to assimilate domestic terrorism will be the end of us.”

  Mentor paused to permit Harrison a moment to digest the genuine and unmistakable meaning of his words. Hardware was at best astonished at the specificity of Mentor’s explanation. He did not disagree with his superior, but they both knew that such words were treasonous no matter their source. Both gentlemen had to proceed with extreme caution. Treason in the United States at this level of government was more likely punishable by execution than imprisonment for life without parole—neither sentence appealed to Harrison.

  Harrison had not yet recovered from
the insensibility caused by his superior words when Mentor spoke again: “I believe that the explanation for President Ashton’s stance is that she is not President Elizabeth Ashton!” ‘Forget the treachery,’ thought Harrison; now, he was concerned about his dear friend’s mental stability. Before Hardware could counter, Mentor echoed his thoughts: “I know you must think I’m a madman, but you need to hear me out.”

  Harrison could only nod in agreement as Mentor pitched his defense: “Yesterday, before I contacted you in Rome, Modem asked to meet with me.” Harrison recalled that the codename for President Ashton’s husband, Richard Ashton, was Modem. He returned his attention to his superior explanation. “We met away from the White House. Modem expressed his concern; well, more like his disbelief, that his wife who returned from a weekend-long political fund-raising convention in Montana was not his wife.” Mentor paused for a moment to allow for the incredulous words that he spoke to register with Hardware. For Harrison’s part, he reminded himself that Mentor has always been a credible source of information and he had no reason to question him now, no matter how dubious sounding the data. He peered into the eyes of his superior as he offered the evidence to support his allegation: “Modem does not deny the bodily identification of his wife—she looks physically in every detail and aspect as Elizabeth Ashton—even down to her scar. The President has a one and one-quarter inch scar on her left buttocks that she received from an accident when she fell out of a tree as a young child. Nobody would doubt that they were in the presence of Elizabeth Ashton merely by her physical appearance.” Mentor had Hardware’s complete attention and focus as he continued, “What Modem came to realize and subsequently began to question were the apparent gaps in his wife’s knowledge about their lives and, as a matter of discretion, let’s say more intimate aspects of their relationship.” As Mentor’s words trailed from his lips, Harrison began to formulate his own thoughts on the prospects: ‘brainwashed; an identical twin; a double; possibly surgically altered or…he shook his head and mused slightly as he thought of an extreme possibility, a clone?’