by Ezra Sidran
The Authoritarian Man wheeled me out, out, down the long corridor just outside the room where I was held all these days and out into the garden gone to weeds that I had pictured all this time – it was just as I had imagined it – he wheeled me out and Bill dragged that sonofabitch handler behind – and there we were: a high wall behind us, a garden that wasn’t worth a shit around us, me about three feet in front of the Authoritarian Man and Bill at the short end of his harness with the sonofabitch handler about two feet behind.
Bill and I surrounded by stubble and dead weeds; the Authoritarian Man and me thirty-six inches apart; Bill and that sonofabitch handler two feet apart. There was a dark wooden box on a table beside the Authoritarian Man. I did not concern myself with what it contained; probably a hypodermic and some new wonder truth serum I guessed.
"Alea jacta est.", Caesar said when he rolled the dice when he crossed the Rubicon.
The die is cast.
Throw the goddamn dice.
Bill looked at me.
The Authoritarian Man began a smile – the corners of his mouth raised in slow motion - as he moved his right hand to pat my knee.
A butterfly fluttered between us.
The corners of the Authoritarian Man’s mouth began to draw back into a smile.
I turned my head to my left to give Bill the sign.
Bill looked straight at me – there was no mistake - and – swear to God – he winked; oh, Lord he was ready.
You have to take your enemies by surprise.
This is the only rule of warfare.
This is the only rule of the Theory of Games.
Smite your enemies when they least expect it.
And then we rolled the dice….
CHAPTER 6.2
Four things happened simultaneously:
1. I leapt up from the wheelchair – as focused as a torpedo – straight at the Authoritarian Man’s throat – my hands grasping.
2. Bill – a coiled spring of canine muscle – unleashed at the Authoritarian Man; but, once he saw that I was already going for his throat, turned in midair and pirouetted to attack the sonofabitch handler.
3. A streak, bright white and as furious as a meteor, entered stage right – about 3 o’clock from my perspective - and headed straight towards the Authoritarian Man’s forehead.
4. I saw Katelynn (God bless her) and Colt Brankowsky (and God bless him) leap the far garden wall and enter the fray.
It is not enough to simply state that things went into a state of expanded time or slow motion. So many things happened simultaneously that I was confused and Bill was dumbfounded.
First, I think you should know that I was emotionally prepared to rip out the Authoritarian Man’s larynx. I was truly prepared to reach in with my hand and extract a mess of tendons, cords, and pulsing arteries pumping thick, red blood with my bare hands. I want you to know that – I am stating it here, now, for the record - that this is something that I very much wanted to do.
Second, Bill was ready to kill whatever man I did not kill; Authoritarian Man or sonofabitch handler didn’t mean a thing to him; either way there was going to be a pile of ground meat in the garden; it was all the same to Bill.
Third: there was a sound – a thick, rich satisfying whack – when the baseball smashed into the Authoritarian Man’s head, and then the Authoritarian Man crumpled into a heap on the ground.
Simultaneously Bill and I turned to the sonofabitch handler but Katelynn was already bashing his head into mush with her hands and her feet.
I think it is important that you know that Bill and I wanted – very much – to kill that sonofabitch handler – but even as we tried to turn – in midair – Katelynn was already smashing his face into pulp,
And then Colt Brankowsky appeared. He was looking for somebody to hit; but his 98 mile an hour fastball totally smoked the Authoritarian Man and Katelynn was still beating the sonofabitch handler into pulp and Bill and I were left swinging, snapping and snarling but there was nobody left to hit, chomp or bite.
And then time resumed its normal flow.
“Miss O’Brian,” Colt said trying to get Kate’s attention, “I really think we should get going.” Kate continued to pummel the sonofabitch handler. A claxon sounded from the building. I could hear people yelling.
“Miss O’Brian,” Colt put a beefy hand on Kate’s shoulder, “we gotta get out of here now.” Kate stood up and delivered one last savage kick to the sonofabitch handler’s head.
“Kate! Colt! Damn it’s good to see you!” I babbled. I fell into Kate’s arms. Bill furiously wagged his tail and danced around us.
“Doc! Miss O’Brian, we’ve really got to get going,” Colt urgently reminded us again. There was no doubt now that a general alarm had been raised and Junior Authoritarian Men were going to start pouring from the building like fire ants from a disturbed nest.
Kate was instantly in charge. “Okay, everybody, back the way we came,” and she led us towards the wall at the far end of the garden. Still unsteady on my feet, Colt half dragged, half carried me towards the wall. Kate leapt the barrier like a hurdler, Bill cleared it in a bound, Colt had to hurl me over like a sack of potatoes. I hit the ground hard but even before I could catch my breath Colt had picked me up and was carrying me over his shoulder; running as hard as he could towards a break of trees on the horizon.
I could hear Colt’s heavy breathing as we sprinted across the field and then the Junior Authoritarian Men started shooting. “Those ain’t 22s, Doc,” Colt said between gulps of air. Slugs pounded into the trunks of the oak trees just before us and kicked up clods of dirt at our feet.
It sounded like the Junior Authoritarian Men must have slipped into full automatic mode – or maybe they got more guys shooting – because the intensity of their fire ramped up tremendously. I could not imagine how none of us were hit; there was one last furious burst of gunfire and then we had reached the safety of the trees. Twenty yards into the forest it was as good as if we were behind the walls of a fort; I could hear the bullets hitting the trees behind us. Bill ran up ahead of us; first in one direction and then the other. He had no idea where we going but he was going to lead us there.
We stumbled out of the forest and into a clearing where a white Cadillac Escalade with an antenna bolted to its roof was parked. Colt, with me still flung over his right shoulder, reached into his left pocket with his free hand, retrieved his car keys and pressed the remote unlock. The SUV beeped back. Kate sprinted across the clearing and opened the back door; Bill jumped in. You never had to ask Bill twice if he wanted a car ride. Kate got in the front. Colt threw me in the back seat next to Bill and then hopped in the driver’s side and turned the engine over. “All right everybody,” Colt yelled, “hold on and heads down!” He put the Escalade in drive, slammed the accelerator to the floor and we tore off bouncing across the rutted field. For the first time in my life I could actually see a reason for owning a gas-guzzling SUV.
Colt steered towards a dirt track leading out of the clearing; I figured it must have been the way they drove in. Except for the roar of the Escalade’s engine, Bill’s panting and the blood pounding in my brain it was quiet. Incredibly, we must have outrun our pursuers; or, better yet, they had given up.
“We did it!” Katelynn shouted gleefully, “I can’t believe it; we pulled it off!”
And then there was the sharp crack of a high-powered rifle from behind and the back window crashed in showering us with glass. The bullet exited out the driver’s side window scattering more shards and just missing Colt’s head by inches. I foolishly turned around and poked my head over the backseat. Junior Authoritarian Men were racing out of the forest but one, obviously a SWAT team specialist and in full combat gear, was in the classic prone marksman position and taking deliberate aim at us.
I wanted to yell some instructions to Colt but I couldn’t think of anything useful to say that wasn’t painfully obvious: drive faster! Swerve! Colt wrenched the SUV to the right and then the
left; the engine was already redlining. The dirt track was almost within reach.
Another shot followed by an explosion in the back of the Escalade. The SWAT marksman had hit the right rear tire. A horrible sound came from the wheel well as the tire shredded and threw off hunks of steel belted radial. The Escalade lurched sickeningly to the right and then to the left as Colt overcompensated for the blown tire.
“Don’t stop for anything, Colt!” Kate yelled.
“I don’t intend to!” Colt screamed back over the sound of the disintegrating tire.
We made it to the end of the clearing and Colt swung hard to the right and onto the dirt track that threaded its way under a canopy of ancient oaks and, hopefully, the way out of here.
Another shot - now distant and far behind us - and I cringed waiting for the sound of it striking the SUV. It never came.
“We’re going to make it; we’re going to make it!” I thought to myself. I hugged Bill with joy.
Colt raced the Escalade down the dirt road weaving between tree stumps and rocks. Up ahead I could see where the dirt track entered in to a paved road; probably a county highway of some sort. I still had no idea where we were but freedom could now be measured in yards.
CHAPTER 6.3
My brother once said, “freedom cannot be granted; it can only be denied.” I always wondered what he meant by that; until this very moment.
An armored Bradley A1 fighting vehicle painted forest camouflage rolled across the road before us and its ugly little gun turret swiveled in our direction. Colt slammed on the brakes; there was no way around the Bradley and there certainly was no way through it. Escalade with blown right rear tire versus Bradley (albeit the earliest and not upgraded model) was still a no contest.
Colt struggled to keep the SUV from flipping; he furiously turned the wheel into the spin and then back against it. With one back wheel gone we were fishtailing wildly and not slowing down much.
With a bone jarring crash of metal against metal the SUV smashed into the Bradley. The front and side airbags snapped open; white billowing clouds that enveloped Colt and Katelynn in the front. Bill was thrown across the backseat and into my lap with a loud yelp.
The decision of what to do now, of where to flee, of where to run, was abruptly taken from us when the doors to the Escalade were thrown open and men dressed in black body armor thrust their automatic weapons into the SUV. Our run was over.
We were each pulled from the wreck by strong gauntlet covered hands; even Bill, who was quickly muzzled with a roll of duct tape. They dragged us out and threw us on the ground. I looked up to see that we were at the apex of a ring of weapons - as if they were hoplites and the M16s were spears – and we were the vanquished awaiting our fate.
The cuffed us, and put Bill back in his harness, and then the back door of the Bradley swung down and they led us inside. We sat on the benches, two guards for each one of us, and then door swung back up with a final metal clang and I could hear the engine rumble to life and we rolled away.
I knew where we were going; even if I still did not know where we were.
We were going back to the Authoritarian Man. And he was going to very pissed off.
CHAPTER 6.4
I was locked in the same room that I had been imprisoned in for the last week except this time I was not strapped down to the gurney. Another day passed and then I heard a key in the lock.
The door opened and Katelynn walked in with a sheepish grin on her face. She was immediately followed by the Authoritarian Man with a large purple contusion in the middle of his forehead. Man, Colt got him good; it looked like half a baseball was imbedded in his skull.
“Sweetie,” Kate began, “be cool and come with us.” After yesterday I had no doubt that Katelynn wasn’t involved in this conspiracy - regardless of what Gilfoyle said – but her appearance here with the Authoritarian Man was confusing.
I got up from the bed and followed them out of the room. Katelynn surreptitiously grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. We entered the same hallway but instead of taking the turn to the garden we went in the opposite direction; further into the building. We entered a formal library, a log fire burned merrily in a marble fireplace at one end; the walls were lined with leather bound volumes. Colt was sitting in one four wingback chairs before the fire; Bill was lying on the carpet. The same dark mahogany box that I saw yesterday in the garden was on a table before them.
Bill looked up and saw me; he bounded across the room in three mighty leaps and nearly bowled me over. We were reunited again and at least, this time, nobody was shooting us, beating us or dragging us at the end of a prong collar.
“Mr. Grant, Ms. O’Brian please take a seat,” the Authoritarian Man motioned to two empty wingback chairs before the fire. He sat down in the fourth. Kate and I sat down and held hands; Bill lay at our feet.
“Let’s see,” said the Authoritarian Man, “where were we just before your abortive escape attempt, yesterday? Oh, yes, I remember,” and he reached for the dark wooden box. He opened the lid. Inside, lying on a blue velvet cushion was a gold disk attached to a red, white and blue ribbon. “This is our nation’s highest, and most secretive, honor.” the Authoritarian Man began, “It is awarded only to those who at great personal risk and bravery save the Republic from those who would attempt to overthrow it. It has been awarded less than ten times in our nation’s history. For obvious reasons we cannot advertise attempted coups. It is my great honor to present the Hero of the Republic Medal to Bill the Dog.” The Authoritarian Man removed the medal from the box by the ribbon and approached Bill who bared his fangs and let out a low growl.
“Here, let me do that,” Katelynn intervened and slipped the medal around Bill’s neck.
“Yesterday, in the garden, you were going to give us an award?” I stammered.
“I was going to give Bill an award,” the Authoritarian Man answered, “You get nothing. You sold your country out for a dog.”
I guess I couldn’t argue with that because it was true. “Are you going to at least answer a few questions?” I asked the Authoritarian Man.
“I suppose we do owe you that,” he replied.
“WhoareyouwherearewewhatthehellwasgoingonwithGilfoyleandStanhopeandtheNeoSparanswhyhavewebeenheldasprisonerswhothehelldoyouthinkyouare?” I asked.
“Mr. Grant,” the Authoritarian Man replied, “your interrogation skills are minimal, at best. Why don’t I just fill you in as best I can?
I nodded.
“The story, as far as we’re concerned, begins when the Pennsylvania State trooper found you and your dog on Highway 16 outside of Site-R,” the Authoritarian Man began. “It was obvious that you had come from Site-R, your bloody trail led straight back to Portal D; the only problem was that nobody was supposed to be coming from Site-R. A quick investigation by the Military Police discovered the carnage left behind by Bill.” Here the Authoritarian nodded towards Bill who just snarled in return and then wagged his tail when Katelynn scritched him the way he likes and whispered, “My hero!” in his ear.
“Yes, whatever,” the Authoritarian Man continued, “A further investigation by the MPs turned up all the records of the Neo Spartan conspiracy in Stanhope’s office as well as the body of Dr. Park. It appears that there were about a hundred active conspirators; some ex-military, some present military, some mercenary, one a former U. S. Senator and unsuccessful candidate for his party’s presidential nomination; so you can see how deep this thing went and how we can never publicly admit its existence. If the American public knew that a former U. S. Senator was involved in an attempt to violently overthrow the government or that there were conspirators on active duty the stock market would tank, democracy would be threatened and we would lose all respect in the international community.
“The records indicate that the Neo Spartans recruited Dr. Park at least four years ago and Gilfoyle suggested you as a spare for him about a year later. After Bill killed Stanhope the Neo Spartans scattered. We’re still picki
ng them up. Speaking of Gilfoyle, he was apprehended trying to cross the border into Canada. We got Reardon in Mexico. Gilfoyle, by the way, was promised the position of Minister of Education in their new administration.
“Obviously we had to hold on to you,” and here the Authoritarian Man indicated Bill and me, “until we could check out your story. For all we knew you were involved with the Neo Spartans. Maybe you had a falling out with them and that’s why you got shot. We didn’t know. The same went for Ms. O’Brian. By the way, there was no record of Ms. O’Brian being involved with the Neo Spartans – Gilfoyle’s claims to the contrary – of course we didn’t have any proof until her sudden appearance yesterday. However, there is ample evidence that corroborates your stories. In short, you are now free to go.” The Authoritarian Man folded his hands in his lap to indicate that he was done speaking.
“That’s it?” I was dumbfounded. “We’re just free to go like none of this happened? Well, I’ve still got some questions.” The Authoritarian Man raised a quizzically eyebrow. “Number one,” I began, “who are you?”
“That’s classified,” he answered.
“Number two, what organization in the U. S. government can hold me and my dog incommunicado for a week like you did?”
“A lot of them,” he replied, “read the newspaper.”
“Okay, Number three, what organization do you work for?”
“That’s also classified,” he answered.
“Excuse me, Doc,” Colt interrupted, “I’ve got a question.”
“Go ahead, Colt,” I replied, “I’m not getting anywhere.”
Colt shuffled uneasily in his chair, “Mr. Government Man, ah, what about my signing bonus?”
“You’re what?” the Authoritarian Man asked.
Katelynn intervened, “His SUV. He bought it with his signing bonus. His insurance – you do have insurance, don’t you Colt?” Colt nodded. “His insurance,” Kate continued, “probably doesn’t cover it being totaled by a Bradley fighting vehicle while attempting to aid in an escape from a secret government installation.”