Panacea

by Brad Murray

  “Oh my god,” one said. “Is that?” said another.

  The din that had been abuzz when they stepped off the elevator gradually became a soft murmur. Soon, every person in the room had stopped what they were doing and stared up in unison. At first, Jimmy assumed their silent attention was meant for Brumeux; that the appearance of their leader must have been a rare occurrence and therefore worthy of their full attention. But Jimmy soon found his assumption was completely incorrect.

  “Everyone,” bellowed Brumeux to the crowd below. “You are all conducting important work. Your vigilance and attention to detail is more important now than ever. As many of you know, Dr. Minkowski and one of our field agents have gone off the grid. It is extremely likely the Alicante are behind this. The day we have long feared has arrived.”

  Concerned faces nodded in understanding as Brumeux spoke.

  “The future of human existence and our own transcendence rests with you. But I am not afraid. For you are the best the world has to offer. And with the years of training and preparation that all of you have undergone, I know each of you will execute your role with exacting precision.”

  The group politely and robotically applauded, but did not return to their work. They remained fixated, gawking awkwardly upward.

  Brumeux sighed and put his arm around Jimmy. “Apologies James,” he whispered, “but I have to address the elephant in the room.”

  “Now then,” said Brumeux, smiling in his characteristic eloquent style. “It appears you have all noticed that we have a special guest joining us today. Without further ado, I would like to introduce all of you to James Porter.”

  The room erupted in a roar. Thunderous applause and cheerful ovations burst through the room, jarring Jimmy’s eardrums. Men and women clapped their hands above their heads.

  “What the -?” said Jimmy. His faced flushed and his ears turned red.

  “As I’ve tried to explain,” said Brumeux in Jimmy’s ear, “you are so important to us. Many of these people have spent their entire careers trying to protect you. They’ve watched you grow into the man you are today. For them to see you in person,” he said, nodding to the still roaring crowd, “well…this should tell you all you need to know about what you mean to them.”

  Brumeux patted him on the back. “Now then, smile and wave, James. It is time for us to depart.”

  Jimmy waved uncomfortably and offered an awkward looking forced smile. The crowd roared louder, like teens at a rock concert.

  Brumeux tugged at Jimmy’s shoulder, gently pulling him toward the elevator where Stern stood holding the doors open. La’Roi lingered behind and as Jimmy disappeared from their view the din of applause subsided completely. They stared up blankly at La’Roi as he remained.

  “I know him,” said La’Roi, motioning to where Jimmy once stood. “We’re friends.”

  ***

  She had joined because she wanted to make a difference in the world. She joined because she had believed in his message – he was so persuasive; so passionate. Most of all, she joined because he, Benoit Brumeux, wanted her to. And he had a way of making his wants become a reality. He had “big plans” for her, he had said at the time. But the five years since the day he personally came to Penn State University to recruit her hadn’t been all she had imagined. She thought it would be so much more exciting and fulfilling. She thought there would be more action, more meaning, more significance. In a word, she thought there would be…more. She certainly never imagined the tedious, mundane routine that filled her days in this place. Jenny Jordan had grown impatient; frustrated that she hadn’t yet been given the opportunity to make her mark in the Order.

  She trudged through the underground corridor towards the prison bay. It was just another part of her daily routine here in the middle of godforsaken nowhere; this place they called the Outpost. The wheels of the metallic trash cart droned dully across the cement floor as she approached the narrow concrete passageway that connected the heart of the underground complex to the lair of box-like cells where the prisoners were kept. She scanned her badge and paused for the whoosh of air from the opening of the heavy security gate before continuing forward with the cart and into the great golden rotunda that served as a daily reminder of the greatness of the Order.

  There were thirty cells in all; five pods of six cells each. The prison bay was laid out like a tree, with the rotunda being the trunk, and the pods the branches. In Jenny’s time at the Outpost, the most prisoners the bay had ever held was fourteen. Even now there were only nine. This vacancy rate led to Pods 1, 2, and 3 being temporarily mothballed. Only Pods 4 and 5 were in use. She steered the cart down the dank and dreary hallway that housed Pod 5; home to prisoners Uniform through Zulu. She peered through the plexiglass window on prisoner Uniform’s steel door and could see he was balled up in the center of his bed in the fetal position; sound asleep in his eight by ten foot cell. She huffed and pounded her fist on the heavy door, but he didn’t stir. She pounded again, this time harder and with both fists. Uniform roused from his bed and shot her a look before rubbing his red eyes.

  “Need your tray and trash, Uniform. Hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

  He gently extended his middle finger while he continued to rub his eyes with his other hand, and rose to his feet. He passed a plastic food tray, fork, and knife that only looked like real metal through the narrow slot in the door.

  “You know,” he said, as Jenny grabbed the tray and placed it in her cart, “I liked you so much better when you first started.”

  Jenny smirked and shot him a glare that said “I’m not in the mood today,” and started away down the hall.

  “They’re getting to you, aren’t they?” Uniform shouted after her. “They’ll take your spirit and use you up. To them you’re just a commodity!”

  He was correct in some respects. She had lived at the Outpost since she’d taken the assignment; one of only a handful who stayed on-site full time. She found herself envying those who stepped off the jet every day. Their roles must be so much more fulfilling, she thought. They come to work each day with the satisfaction that what they were doing would have meaning, would make a difference. And at the end of their day, they would fly back home, leaving her behind in this forgotten corner of the world to toil in futility.

  She could feel her spirit – her zest for the Order - waning. Every day the same monotonous routine - take the daily roll call of the scientists and other Order employees arriving, bring the prisoners food, return to pick up their trash, shoo away horny fuel delivery guys. Wash, rinse, repeat.

  Growing up the daughter of an affluent family in Philadelphia, Jenny had never wanted for anything in her life. At least not anything tangible. She spent her formative years in Philadelphia’s best private schools, spent her winter vacations skiing in the Alps with her family, and her summers on beaches in exotic corners of the world. But none of that held consequence for Jenny; none of that satisfied her sense of purpose in the grander sense of finding one’s meaning in life.

  Her mother had never done a single, solitary thing on her own to earn her fortune. She was simply born into it; the daughter of old European wealth and power, a genetic lottery winner in life’s game of chance. By the time Jenny graduated from private school, she had lost all respect for her parents, her two younger brothers and one younger sister, and their snobbish, pretentious ways. She had decided to make her own way in life - separate from the influence of her mother’s family name. So she made the most controversial decision her parents could contemplate – their daughter had decided to attend a public university. She stopped accepting their money, advice, and eventually even their phone calls, and never looked back. And now it had been five years since she had seen or even spoken to them, or any member of her extended family for that matter – even her favorite grandmother. She’d clear her own path in life; set her own course without the safety net her family name offered.

  After Penn State, the Order had placed her in the Merritt Scho
ol in New York for a year where she studied psychology. After Merritt, it was six months in the Order’s field agent training program. She immersed herself in firearms training, a variety of hand-to-hand combat disciplines, and covert operational planning and surveillance. She even spent some time learning to pilot small aircraft. She loved each and every second of it. The Order was preparing her, and preparing her for something momentously important it seemed. But, when assignments for field agents came, she was sent to this miserable dungeon; apparently to perform meager waitressing duties for traitors and criminals. All her training and preparation seemed like an enormous waste. And the discouragement was mounting each and every day.

  She continued her routine down Pod 5; pounding on cells and collecting the trays of Prisoners Victor, Whiskey, Xray, and Yankee. She had no idea what their real names were, nor what they had done to get locked up in this place. She wasn’t allowed to know. Fraternization with the prisoners was strictly against protocol. These were enemies of the Order, she was told. Turncoats, defectors, and spies. Some were likely members of the Alicante, she surmised. They were manipulators of the highest order, so engaging in personal conversations was off limits. Victor, the brunette with the fox-like face and Australian accent, and Uniform, the fifty-something white-haired jokester were two prime examples. Always trying to engage in conversation, taking every opportunity to needle her to find her weak spots, to create doubt in Jenny’s mind about the Order. She didn’t need their help.

  Still, there was one prisoner she couldn’t help but have a soft spot for. He was different from the others. Zulu was unassuming and quiet, with kind eyes. He seemed beaten down, sad, tired. She could sense the pit of a deeply personal pain lying beneath the surface. But despite this, Zulu would smile politely whenever Jenny came around. He passed the time by reading and drawing. The walls of his tiny cell were covered in his own charcoal renderings of faces – and good ones too. People he had loved but lost, Jenny assumed.

  Yesterday had been a strange one. Minkowski missing from the jet’s manifest, the conversation with Brumeux, and the unusual order to take Zulu to the Outpost’s barber. There, a mound of long, coarse, grey hair was removed from his head and face, swept into piles, and discarded. As with everything else, hair and beard trims were typically done in-cell. In fact, other than the ten minutes per week on Moving Day, when prisoners were allowed to walk about the prison bay under the escort of two armed guards, prisoners weren’t typically allowed out of their cells. To say it was strange for Zulu to be outside of the walls of the prison bay would be an understatement.

  Jenny had finished picking up the trays from Pod 5 and was making her way over to Pod 4 when her cell phone rang. Caller ID said it was from Order HQ.

  “Jordan,” she answered.

  “Field Agent Jordan,” said a female voice. “This is Agent Gilbert in Command Center. Brumeux is in route to the Outpost. Learjet. Please prepare the hangar for arrival. ETA 45 minutes.”

  “Affirmative,” Jenny said.

  Jenny finished collecting the prisoner’s trays in Pod 4 and delivered them to the Outpost’s massive kitchen, passing by the labyrinth of laboratories, classrooms, and media rooms along the way. The facility was like an underground university, a veritable maze of rooms, hallways, and people. She passed through the security door, first waving her badge and punching in the code like she’d done a million times before. The red light switched yellow and then green and Jenny ascended the stairs to the hangar where she was greeted with the blast furnace that is summer in western Kansas.

  The hangar housed a few aircraft - the small type that belonged in a rural hangar and wouldn’t cause a second look. She pulled open the hangar doors and gazed out at the blue of the eastern horizon. She checked her watch – ten minutes to spare. Wiping her brow, Jenny grabbed a seat in the shade where a nice summer breeze stirred occasionally, and waited for the Learjet to appear, savoring the peace and quiet. She thought about what exactly she would say to him; how she would tell Brumeux that she was over-trained for her assignment and that it wasn’t what she’d hoped. Most importantly, she would summon the courage to ask - no demand - a new assignment. An assignment more suited for her skills and training.

  Right on schedule, the Learjet appeared on the horizon. She watched as it glided in and touched down perfectly in the center of the runway. The plane decelerated quickly and made a sharp turn towards the hangar, pulling inside the open bay doors. The engines spun down and the Learjet’s side door lurched open, dropping towards the ground. Jenny held her breath; she hadn’t seen Brumeux in person in months.

  Brumeux exited the Learjet first. He quickly descended down the plane’s stairs; very spry for a man of his age, Jenny thought. He made eye contact and approached her with a stern expression. She started to greet him but Brumeux cut her off.

  “Miss Jordan,” he said cooly, “how nice to see you again. I would like to introduce you someone.”

  Jenny shifted her gaze to the plane, where a black man in a paramedic’s uniform was stepping off. She looked at Brumeux, confused.

  “No,” laughed Brumeux, “not Mr. Dawkins…him.” Brumeux pointed to the plane.

  A young, tan, athletic man in a white t-shirt and cargo shorts followed the paramedic off the plane. He was definitely good looking, she thought. He stood on the top step and surveyed his surroundings. He did a double take when he saw her – she had grown accustomed to this sort of reaction when meeting men for the first time. But he seemed – different. Yet so familiar.

  He nimbly skipped down the stairs but caught his foot on the bottom step, stumbling forward a few strides on the tarmac. She snickered as his face instantly flushed and –

  “OH MY GOD!” she thought.

  “Holy shit,” she said aloud as he approached, announcing her recognition of his face.

  “Jenny Jordan, allow me to introduce you to James Porter,” smiled Brumeux.

  ***

  The forty-five minute flight was relatively quiet. As they took off from the Order’s headquarters, Jimmy and La’Roi peppered Brumeux with questions but he seemed preoccupied, offering non-answers such as “in due time,” or “I will have to explain later.” Brumeux spent the flight staring out the window, apparently lost in thought.

  Jimmy leaned forward in his plush leather seat and gazed curiously out the window at the endless miles of wheat fields below. As the jet descended, it seemed as if they were going to set down in one of those fields; there wasn’t an airport in sight. But as they positioned for arrival, he caught a glimpse of a long black runway that stretched across a sea of greenish-gold vegetation that rolled like great ocean waves over the countryside. Other than a couple of derelict metal structures adjacent to the runway, there appeared to be no other signs of habitation for miles.

  “Why are we landing here?” demanded Jimmy.

  Brumeux didn’t respond, instead looked out the window distantly.

  “This is some Wizard of Oz shit,” muttered La’Roi, eyeing the wheat as they neared touchdown. Jimmy and La’Roi sat forward with their noses to their windows, sharing an apprehensive glance at each other.

  The jet landed smoothly and the pilot wasted no time in taxiing to one of the rundown rusted metal hangars, its doors wide open - welcoming them. Brumeux hastily unbuckled his seatbelt, pulled the red exit lever on the door, and trotted down the steps. Jimmy followed La’Roi and as he ducked through the exit door, his eyes caught a breathtaking vision. She stood next to Brumeux, her blonde hair streaming in torrents as the gusts of prairie wind streamed across the tarmac. In that fraction of a second the world stopped, his heart skipped, and his breath caught.

  And she was looking at him – she was looking at him in such a way that he felt naked; like she knew everything about him. And yet he knew absolutely nothing about her, which, considering how stunningly gorgeous she was, made him feel all the more awkward and exposed.

  He skipped down the steps as if his feet were on air, trying to act as cool and noncha
lant as possible. But on the final step - that final damned step - he tripped and nearly spilled forward onto his face before catching himself.

  “Sonofabitch,” he thought, mortified. “Pass it off like it was no big deal. Maybe she didn’t notice.” But she clearly did. She snickered. He shot a glance to La’Roi, who shook his head in embarrassment, suppressing a grin.

  Jimmy casually continued forward and approached Brumeux and the woman.

  “Holy shit!” she said. Her melodious voice danced through Jimmy’s eardrums and her intoxicating fragrance filled his nostrils, combining together into a powerful elixir that seemed to pleasantly massage his brain. Brumeux muttered something unintelligible that might as well have been in a foreign language; Jimmy couldn’t pay attention to a word the man said. He was lost in the blueness of her eyes and the light dusting of freckles on her nose.

  He extended his hand and his best smile and said, “Hi. I’m Jimmy Porter. And you are?”

  La’Roi rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  “Snap out of it, dipshit. Brumeux literally told you her name five seconds ago.”

  17

  Yesterday - May 28, 2011

  The ringing of her cell phone shook her from her dream, but she was thankful for the respite. She brought its screen to her nose, squinting her aging eyes to make out the time. She pressed the answer button and groggily delivered her customary greeting.

  “What is it?”she croaked.

  For Letta, the same terrible dream had visited her so many times over the past sixty years that it had become what she thought of as her “dark companion.” He was always with her, lingering in the shadows of her mind, waiting to come into the light, bringing misery with him. With each visit, her dark companion inflicted such genuine mental anguish, it physically affected her. Heart pounding, brow drenched in a cold sweat, it often took her several minutes to regain her faculties and to realize what had seemed so real had in fact just been a dream.