Mirror, Mirror at 1600 D.C.

by Edward Galluzzi

  Harrison knew that the completion of his mission and the recovery of the body of the President of the United States depended upon the success of contacting Mentor who could dispatch reinforcements. He had completed a major segment of his assignment by determining the sad status of the President. Harrison would need reinforcements to thwart Hawthorne’s conspiracy to control or perhaps even overthrow the United States government and return the body of Elizabeth Ashton to her proper place.

  Again, Harrison thought it was inconceivable that the domestic terrorists were simply going to allow him to walk away from the ranch and conclude his assignment. He wondered how far he would travel before they intervened. Harrison suspected it would not be long before he unearthed the answer. He continued walking up the staircase undetected. He stopped at the door that presumably led to his freedom or perhaps just a delusion. Harrison placed his ear to the door, but he heard nothing. He grasped the door handle and pushed open the gateway as quietly as he could. Harrison was bewildered that he had gone undetected although he observed security cameras mounted around the room. He wondered if Hawthorne wanted him to escape and relate the discovery of his murdered President. ‘No,’ he thought to himself. Hawthorne had nothing to gain from such a disclosure and everything to lose—not the least being the wrath of the American people and those around the world.

  Harrison asked himself, ‘Why was he still alive?’ The egocentric nature of Jacob Hawthorne came to mind— something that he postulated before—the “thrills” of the game itself regardless of the risks. As Harrison stood alone deep in thought, he heard voices coming from outside the room. He darted to conceal himself behind the bar located on the eastside of the room.

  Three men entered the room. Harrison could not see them, but one of the voices was unmistakably that of Hawthorne. He listened intently to their conversation hoping to gain understanding as to why he had not met a similar fate as President Ashton. One of the two insurgents spoke to Hawthorne: “We still don’t understand why the government agent was still alive?” Hawthorne chuckled and challenged the men: “Why don’t you ask Mr. Rossetti himself?” There was a brief pause before Hawthorne asked, “What do you say to that Mr. Rossetti?” Harrison’s hopes of projecting stealth were dashed in an instant. He thought of no reason to remain hidden, as it was obvious that one of the three men knew he was in the room. Harrison stood up from behind the bar. The two terrorists trained their guns on the agent who was in the process of raising his hands in temporary surrender. “Well, I’ll be…” mumbled one of the terrorists. Hawthorne turned slightly to acknowledge Harrison’s presence and asked nonchalantly, “Won’t you join us, Mr. Rossetti?”

  Harrison was disappointed with himself for this was the second time that he was caught by this self-proclaimed leader. This experience was no more tolerable than the former one. He walked slowly to the end of the bar and around its corner. Harrison continued to walk slowly so as not to provide ammunition for receiving a bullet in his head. “Sit down, Rossetti” motioned Hawthorne. Harrison did as he was asked and seated himself directly across from the man he learned to despise.

  “We were just talking about you, Hardware.” The use of his codename disgusted Harrison even more so than hearing those of Software and Mentor uttered by the enemy. Harrison lost control and quipped, “How did a bastard like you make it this far?” Hawthorne did not react to Harrison’s weak attempt to humiliate him. Hawthorne looked directly at the captive agent and said, “These gentlemen are confused because they can’t understand why you are still among the living. Would you care to enlighten them?” ‘Talk about egos,’ thought Harrison. He believed the opportunity to redeem himself and possibly escape was handed to him if he judged correctly why he was still alive.

  Harrison did not alter his focus on Hawthorne. It grew clear why he was still alive. Harrison put down slowly his tired arms, which yielded no reaction from the guards. “Because Hawthorne…” Harrison started confidently, “You’re a sportsman who considers the game itself utmost in your hierarchy of operations. You’re so confident that your men will terminate me before I step beyond the boundaries of your camp that you’re willing to take what no doubt seems to you to be a reasonable risk. However, if you’re wrong, I will have the pleasure of identifying you as the assassin of the President of the United States.”

  Hawthorne managed a nervous smile while slowly and deliberately clapping his hands. “Very good, Rossetti. You’ve captured the true me.” Harrison was smug about his personality analysis of Hawthorne. He also felt partially vindicated despite his capture and predicament. Hawthorne turned to his men and queried, “Did you learn anything, boys, from Mr. Rossetti?” Hawthorne then turned toward Harrison and spoke, “Let there be no mistake, Rossetti, you will not leave this camp alive. Nobody has a clue except you that Elizabeth Ashton is dead—a secret that you will take with you to your eminent death.” “Not much of a sport,” countered Harrison. He smiled and continued, “I will be outgunned in personnel, material and electronics. You certainly don’t think I’m that masterful, do you?”

  Harrison attempted to appeal to Hawthorne’s narcissism for he knew that there was no hope of singly defeating such a formidable force. Hawthorne thought momentarily about Harrison’s taunts and then offered, “You may be right, Mr. Rossetti, you are not that good! What I’m willing to do for this exercise is to turn off our sensory electronics and,” he paused briefly, “I will give you a map of the mines and other explosives,” he paused briefly again, “and I will give you a fifteen minute head start. I think this is more than a generous offer. Wouldn’t you say Rossetti?” Harrison’s taunting had accomplished more than he expected from the vain warlord. He smiled mockingly at Hawthorne and said, “A very generous offer, indeed, Mr. Hawthorne. Perhaps I was wrong about you. On the other hand, how do I know that a homicidal maniac like you who slaughters innocent men and women, including his own wife, will keep his word?”

  Harrison quickly had second thoughts about what he said as the words echoed in his mind. The self-righteous terrorist leader was not amused. Hawthorne responded with ire, “You’re becoming boring and redundant. You will die, Mr. Rossetti. Mark my words…and I will be the executioner! Now, get out of my home before I retract my more than generous offer and kill you here and now!” Hawthorne’s angry eyes were trained on Harrison and unmoving. ‘Perhaps he had gone too far,’ thought Harrison. It would not be the first time that he had pushed the envelope of the window, but if the terrorists had their way, it would be the last time. Hawthorne’s position remained frozen as he commanded his guards, “Get him out of here!” The terrorists, with their guns drawn, motioned Harrison to rise. Harrison walked with them and was escorted out of the main ranch house. They walked together up to the elevated guard post. The terrorist waved to the men on patrol at the post and stopped. They kept their weapons trained on Harrison and motioned him ahead. Harrison walked slowly keeping his hands down to his side. He expected to be dropped by a bullet at any moment and it was unsettling to think that this camp of hate and violence might be his final resting place.

  Chapter 25

  “Alpha - Bravo - Zulu…”

  Harrison knew he had little time to exploit the circumstances that were handed to him. His only advantage, unbeknownst to his captors, was to return to the location from where he maintained surveillance on Hawthorne and ambushed the unsuspecting terrorist. He needed to find the very spot where he buried his survival equipment. Although time was at a premium, Harrison’s rate of travel was tempered by the terrorist’s camouflaged defenses. He told himself that he would be a fool to take Hawthorne at his word—perhaps a dead fool at that.

  Harrison kept a watchful eye as he continued down the main path from the sentry post and the ranch house. He approached the cutoff from which he exited the forest area after killing the unsuspecting terrorist. Harrison kept a steady, but slow pace. At the same time, nothing and everything seemed familiar. Harrison traveled in a southerly direction, straining his sen
ses to a high state of alertness. If he could get word to Mentor about the fate of Elizabeth Ashton and her final resting place, reinforcements would be dispatched and the extremists’ camp secured. Then and only then could the impersonator—the mirror president—be exposed for whom she was and the government returned to its unsuspecting people. A subsequent investigation would be launched to ferret out Hawthorne’s co-conspirators among government ranks.

  Harrison knew that once he made the pivotal contact with Mentor, he would be considered expendable. His subsistence depended on his own espionage and survival skills. Perhaps Harrison would be a minor footnote to world history, but to Hannah, he was an important part of an upcoming momentous event—their wedding. Harrison allowed himself a brief smile, something foreign of late. It was the first time he thought of his beautiful Hannah since he arrived in Sarhea. Although Hannah’s image brought him brief respite and joy, he knew that such intrusions could cost him the honed edge he required for survival. As pleasing and satisfying were Harrison’s thoughts of his fiancée, he dismissed them and concentrated on his upcoming plan of operation.

  Harrison stopped and gazed at the line of trees and bushes to his right. It was here that he believed he exited to head directly for the main ranch house. Harrison stood and examined everything around him. He proceeded guardedly into the brush and searched for the area where he ambushed the terrorist. It was there that Harrison buried his equipment and there where he hoped it remained undisturbed.

  Harrison continued his march forward being ever so careful to scan for trip wires and mines. The map given to him by Hawthorne was unmistakably incorrect. He estimated regrettably that his fifteen-minute grace period had expired. It was open season now assuming that the murderous insurgent leader was a man of his word. The double entendre of truth and murder cohabitating in the same person did not elude Harrison. Yet, he had no time to devote to resolving such ideological viewpoints.

  Harrison sensed that he was near the area where he buried his equipment, his communication lifeline to Mentor and the munitions he required for his own survival. He continued forward several steps before standing frozen on the spot. Harrison heard voices coming up from behind him. Perhaps he did not receive the full fifteen minute’s head start as promised by Hawthorne…or perhaps the patrols had a genuine map of all the mines and devices making travel assured and much faster for them. Harrison darted into some bushes and knelt to the ground. He peered through a small opening in the thicket and waited to discover not who, but how many terrorists were approaching his location. Although Harrison felt no consolation, he knew that whoever found him first will not likely be his executioner. That right undoubtedly belonged to only one man: Jacob Hawthorne.

  As Harrison watched, he counted a patrol of four men. He no longer was kneeling, but lay supine to the ground. Harrison believed that he only needed five more minutes to discover his spot of hidden treasure. He must elude the patrol and decided to head in a different direction than planned. This was his only chance of escaping Hawthorne’s hunters with the hope of doubling back to his present location. Harrison carefully withdrew and headed at an angle away from the patrol thereby reducing the odds that they would turn suddenly toward him. He knew, of course, that the odds were against him for another patrol might approach him from a different direction…and even if they did not, how long could his good fortune hold out of not being caught by a sensory device or blown apart by an explosive mine?

  Harrison felt some relief, as the voices of the patrol grew increasingly faint in the distance. He had no time to waste and headed back to the location that contained his backpack and equipment. Harrison kept a vigilant eye out for trip wires and traps. He hoped to escape further contacts with the terrorist patrols. As Harrison walked through the brush and trees, he saw something familiar yet out of place against the greenery— a bright red berry bush near which he buried his backpack. Harrison quickened his pace as he continued to scan for lethal devices. He glanced around the area and neither saw nor heard the enemy. Of course, that did not mean that he was not under surveillance at this very moment. Hawthorne was not the kind of man who accepted defeat. Yet, neither was Harrison. He found his way to the spot by the bush where he recalled burying his equipment. Harrison grabbed a nearby thick dead tree branch and began digging. He stopped and looked up periodically to watch for unwanted company. Harrison dug at a frantic pace; well, at least as fast as one could with a rudimentary ‘shovel.’

  After five minutes of digging, Harrison hit the top of something familiar. It was his camouflaged dyed backpack. He stopped and glanced around once more to confirm his privacy. Harrison focused his attention on his backpack as he pulled it out of the ground. He patted off the excess dirt and then pushed the dirt into the hole. Harrison padded down the dirt and scuffed the ground around the hole with his feet attempting to make the area blend in with its surroundings. He thought there was no sense in helping his captors by leaving clues to his whereabouts or whereabeens. Harrison knew it was too risky to remain at his present location. He planned to move out as far as possible before attempting contact with Mentor. Harrison removed a semiautomatic weapon and a lethal knife from his backpack before securing the pack to his back. If he was to go, he was not going to go peaceably. Harrison planned to be on the defensive and avoid all contact with the terrorists if he was to have any opportunity of reaching Mentor.

  The grasp of the weapon gave Harrison some needed confidence in regard to his odds for survival. He continued to head further away from the ranch house, stepping around devices and avoiding patrols as he went. Harrison estimated that he survived one hour beyond the threat of being killed personally by Hawthorne. The odds of survival were definitively not in his favor, but there were improving and he felt better about them. Harrison hiked for another thirty minutes and determined that it was time to chance communicating with Mentor. He selected a small area that provided concealment behind heavy brush. Harrison knelt down in the dirt and removed his backpack. He also placed his weapon down, but within easy reach of his right hand. Harrison looked around, twisting his head and neck to scan a full 360 degrees. There was nothing to be seen or heard to the unsupported human senses. To leave nothing to chance, Harrison withdrew his binoculars from the backpack and scrutinized the area as before. He followed a similar procedure with his audio surveillance equipment. Harrison heard voices, but they were muffled and distant.

  Harrison satisfied himself that he was reasonably secure. He removed the portable short wave radio from his backpack. Harrison placed some leaves on the dirt to provide a platform for the radio. He pulled out the antenna as far as it would stretch and tuned the radio. Harrison dialed to 131.0 megahertz, the setting agreed upon earlier with Mentor prior to the start of the mission. He held the microphone to his mouth and called out a short string of code using the international aviation phonetic alphabet. The sequence in the code would verify to Mentor that Harrison was indeed the authentic source of the message, the legitimate agent Hardware: “Alpha – Bravo – Zulu – Alpha – Bravo – Zulu – Uniform – Sierra – Hotel – Whisky – Mike, over.” His message brought no other reply but static. He repeated the coded sequence: “Alpha – Bravo – Zulu – Alpha – Bravo – Zulu – Uniform – Sierra – Hotel – Whisky – Mike, over.” Harrison attempted to wait patiently although seconds seemed like hours under the present circumstances. He placed the mike to his mouth and transmitted once again: “Alpha – Bravo – Zulu – Alpha – Bravo – Zulu – Uniform – Sierra – Hotel – Whisky – Mike, over.” Harrison waited eagerly for the voice of his dear friend, but received only static as before. He thought about the possibilities why Mentor did not respond: that Mentor was not in a position to respond; that Mentor was captured; or that Mentor was assassinated.

  Harrison checked the cycle and confirmed 131.0 megahertz. He then sent the coded sequence for the fourth time: “Alpha - Bravo - Zulu - Alpha - Bravo - Zulu - Uniform -Sierra - Hotel - Whisky - Mike, over.” Harrison listened with ho
peful anticipation for the voice he wanted to hear. As static burned the air, he took his binoculars and scanned the area around him to avoid being surprised by the terrorists or Hawthorne himself. It was then that he spotted Hawthorne with a patrol of five heavily armed men. Upon careful observation, Harrison noted that one of the men carried a radio, perhaps a radio detector. Had Hawthorne assumed (rightly so) that his enemy had some kind of transmitter available to him? He could not be sure. Harrison thought he had little to lose if he moved out, as his transmissions to date have yielded nothing. He shut down the short wave and packed quickly his equipment. Harrison threw the backpack onto a grassy piece of ground. He snapped a branch off a tree and began brushing the dirt in hopes of eradicating any evidence of his presence. He gazed down at the disturbed area of dirt and decided that it blended in with it surroundings, hopefully offering no substantial clues to a passerby.

  Harrison grabbed his backpack and secured it over his shoulders. As before, he headed away at an angle from the approaching Hawthorne and his men. It was imperative that he conceal himself once again and reinitiate his transmission to Mentor as soon as possible. Harrison maintained his alertness looking for hidden explosives and surveillance devices. These observations slowed him down, but he had no choice. He stopped briefly to view the enemy with his binoculars. They continued their patrol on their formerly identified course.

  Harrison continued to watch the terrorists when his heart suddenly skipped a beat. Hawthorne and the man with the radio or radio detector continued on course, but the remaining four men spanned out roughly at equal angles. Harrison knew that the odds were low for escaping this kind of search pattern and even lower if other undetected patrols were nearby. He put away his binoculars and retrieved his weapon. Harrison continued on his course knowing that he would eventually have to take a stance and switch from a defensive to an offensive mode. As he continued his cautious pace, Harrison searched for another location that would temporarily camouflage him. Sending the transmission to Mentor now took top priority, even precedence over his own survival. Harrison could no longer avoid taking even greater risks.