by Taylor Kole
Adisah extended his arm in a plea for Dalton’s assistance in standing. Once given, he shuffled to the phone.
The man with the cornrows opened the door, exited with the white shirt held high.
Adisah waited for a rifle report. Hearing none was a good sign. The man yelled their impending concession.
The bullhorn reminded, “We ain’t got all day.”
Everyone’s eyes stayed glued on Adisah. Many considered him an icon, the most accomplished African American in recent history, easily the wealthiest.
Behind the desk, he stared at the blinking phone line, and then at the people around him. “I am sorry to have placed you all in harm’s way,” he said. “I cannot promise to know the intentions of the men outside. But I enter negotiations seeking your fair treatment. If you wish to join those who went upstairs, I will not find fault in your decision. We all walk our own path. Each one leads to a brighter future.”
A few of his staff gathered their loved ones into small huddles, and chatted privately. A few more shuffled down the main hall toward the elevator, flashing terse smiles or keeping their heads down and feet moving as they passed. Many more stayed, and for reasons Adisah wouldn’t attempt to articulate, he considered that a good thing. Examining the faces of the remaining people, he lifted the receiver.
He listened and then agreed. Listened, agreed. Listened, and agreed. He then disconnected.
Adisah spoke softly to Dalton. “You must understand, any mercy bestowed upon us is a blessing. Our only option is to trust their word.”
“We do have options,” Dalton said. “We send the women and children to the rear of the building and we make a stand. There are twelve highly trained—”
“Yes, I understand your thinking. However, they have assured me that if I surrender, they will harm no one. And I have agreed. Doing this ends this part, and allows us to begin another, bringing us closer to a return of harmony for the young ones.”
“Don’t go.” Dalton dropped his head. “I’d rather die than see you mistreated.”
“We must think of the others.” Adisah gestured toward the frightened crowd. “Our actions will decide their fate.”
Dalton surveyed the group, and swallowed. “How can you trust them?”
Adisah edged around the corner of the desk. “I am a wealthy man. They will demand things, I will give them, and all of this will blow over.” He rested a hand on Dalton’s enormous triceps. “I am to come out alone.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Now, now, my big friend. Your size will scare off the lot of them.”
Dalton lowered his head and spoke deliberately. “It would be my life’s honor to accompany you.”
Taking in the man’s stone features, Adisah sighed. “Very well, Dalton Lewis. Let us become captives.”
Dalton shared their intentions with the room.
The remaining people formed a procession of sorts toward the door. Each gave thanks, shared encouragement, and tried to hide their concerns.
Adisah placated them with smiles and brief nods. With the door halfway open, Dalton paused. Adisah took a final look at the people he’d shared utopia with for nearly a decade. Sadness entwined his spirits, but even Eden had its downfall, and look at all the wonderful things that followed. With a final smile, he stepped into the daylight.
The afternoon sun floated at the perfect spot to blind, and hide the majority of the parking lot.
What he discerned beneath the golden rays shocked. Armed men pointed weapons at them from various positions: prone, kneeling, and standing. A concert crowd worth of killers.
The squawk. “Very carefully throw down your weapon.”
Using two fingers, Dalton extracted his sidearm, and placed it on the ground. He then raised his arms and kicked the pistol well out of lunging range.
Adisah felt centered, but his legs wobbled. The exertion from holding his arms above his head threatened to collapse him.
Glancing at Dalton, he wondered what they would do to the man afterward.
A force collapsed Adisah’s chest as a boom reached his ears. He crumpled to the ground as if he’d been a robot whose power source had suddenly been severed.
Like many of the stories he’d heard, time slowed and movement stopped, but the key detail omitted from descriptions of being shot in the chest with a high-powered rifle was the overall calm. His form decorated the concrete, but he, Adisah Boomul, spiraled up toward a point, gaining strength and clarity as he twirled. Whether to an end that culminated in blackness, or a warp to a new essence, he couldn’t be sure. As if in answer to his question, a woman’s hand stretched to him from the darkness. He smelled menthol gel, heard the whine and hiss of a distant nebulizer, the beep of a cardiograph. And though his face and body didn’t react, he beamed as he reached for the offered hand.
That the fingers he extended were those of a young boy didn’t surprise him.
A distant knowledge of someone hollering, reached his senses. Adisah felt the energy of Dalton’s shocked rage, but knew the man would overcome this loss. God was good, and every action, no matter how misguided, made the future a better place.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“This like no smart plan, Alex,” Song said as he admired a row of hardcover books in Alex’s library, featuring Darwin, Lewis and Clark, and other tales of exploration.
Alex wondered when Song had abandoned his signature orange hair. Today’s natural black streaked with blue patina presented a more chic look. The familiar sound of his voice, along with his continued enthusiasm for life, comforted Alex.
Over the past two days, as he’d welcomed his old team from Eridu, that sentiment struck again and again, begging the question: why hadn’t he done this sooner? These were the true friends his life lacked—Kole, Denise. Carl. Jason.
They’d spent the previous evenings dabbling in Alex’s new plan—the program he’d mentioned in the L.A. Federal Building, the one designed to keep the world functioning.
The more controversial details—one’s he’d been too scared to share with members of the government—bubbled out of him. Having finally revealed his next-level, affect-every-person-on-the-planet code, he awaited a response from any of the reeling attendants.
Because those present owned healthy shares in Broumgard’s, he worried about misjudging their inner character. His plan would negatively affect their net worths
The possibility of offending his previous underlings’ fundamental beliefs brought equal concern. If one of them left indignant, they could end his ambitions, and jump-start a global catastrophe.
Song’s initial statement lacked confidence. Knowing Song, Alex hoped the words were sarcastic.
Each ticking second frayed another nerve.
Looking from face to face, he tried to gauge at least one reaction.
“Don’t listen to Song, dear,” Denise said as she leaned forward in one of the over-size leather chairs. The woman had lost over a hundred pounds since her Eridu days and openly wore her new found wealth: big-faced Rolex, diamond broach, gaudy rings on each finger. “I, for one, lloovvee the idea.”
“You have something to drink in here?” Kole asked as he rose from an ottoman and opened a nearby cabinet, then another. Judging by the broader shoulders and wider thighs, he’d been spending more time in the gym. His teeth looked whiter, too. Other than that, Kole hadn’t changed much, except that he now dated actresses, models, and ballerinas.
Alex almost told him which cabinet to check, but Kole was only two doors away from figuring it out.
“Anyone else have a thought?” Kole asked as he found the liquor and filled a glass halfway with Jameson. “I mean, this is heavy stuff. The end of cash, lawlessness.”
“Been there, did those,” Song said with a dismissive wave.
“Open them pretty brown eyes, sugar,” Denise said to Kole. “The world is changing. Broumgard did us good and I’m as loyal as anyone in this room, but they in trouble no matter what we do. This shit going
down is bigger than one company. I see what you want to do, Alex. Hand some countries the glass slippers, and others the big F.U. I’m with you though, one hundred percent.”
“Way crazy idea, but I way crazy,” Song echoed as he stood behind Kole, awaiting a drink.
Kole handed him the one he held then poured another. “We know the big man’s in,” he said, jutting his head toward Jason Johnson, who read from a Kindle while resting in a chaise lounge.
Alex laughed at how Jason hadn’t bothered to lose any weight or change to any perceptible degree. His faded New England Patriot’s T-shirt seemed to be a pre-globalization hold over.
Jason completed the line he was reading and looked up. “Of course I’m down. I have yet to visit Cosmic Conflict, and my guys and I are waiting to launch a mermaid world that’s going to restructure our physiology, create a massive… splash.” A blank stare. “I need this pissing match to be over.”
“How ’bout you, Sticks?” Kole said before sipping from the aged whiskey.
Carl Wright’s white hair sported the same bowl cut. Perhaps the top had thinned. His freckles looked less prominent. He waited a tick, looked about nervously, and then replied, “Alex always has the best ideas.”
“That leaves me, and hopefully you all know I’d never miss being a part of this.” Kole lifted his drink. “To old times and monumental reunions.” He upended the Jameson.
“Live long and prosper,” Jason said before returning his eyes to the Kindle.
“Well, I guess it’s settled,” Alex said. “I know it’s a wild idea, and it’ll take all of our effort and resources to saturate the globe in the given time frame, but it can be done. And because of the people in this room, it will be.”
“I’m actually getting excited,” Kole said. “I feel the old juices flowing. It’s world changing time for us, yet again.”
With his team reassembled, Alex’s leadership juices flowed as well. “We’ve all agreed to commit, and I expect everyone to honor that. Forget our past accomplishments or our current lives. We need to go back to working like impoverished interns.”
“So, you want me to smoke hella weed?” Kole said. “And play video games when no one’s watching?”
“Show lots of cleavage to increase my odds of sticking around?” asked Denise.
Alex laughed. “I was thinking more like dedicate every minute. Embrace our deadline and exceed it. Things like that.”
“Gotcha, boss man,” Song said.
“Tomorrow we meet down here at six-thirty, breakfast, then head downtown to the Atrium, where those we trust will be waiting for us. For everything to work smoothly, we need our own people. Remember—keep the end goal as need-to-know only. I don’t want to sound cliché, but the world is counting on us.”
In less than a week, his team would be criss-crossing the globe. Song spoke Mandarin and Korean, giving him that part of the world. Jason headed the London Atrium, putting Europe under his domain. Denise could choose between Australia and India, leaving the other English speaking country for Carl. Kole staked a claim on all of South America.
Every nation had talented programmers more than eager to comply with a well-respected Broumgard employee trying to assist the Lobby.
Alex patted Kole’s back, shook Song’s hand, and left Jason to his book before heading upstairs to his room. As he trekked the glass halls, he thought about his upcoming tour through America—no longer the most divided nation in the world, just one divided country among many. If things went well, he might be able to stop the growing chasm. Perhaps his plan could even stitch the United States, and the globe, back together.
Rosa waited on the sofa, watching the news. Upon seeing him, she smiled, and patted the seat next to her. “How did everything go?”
“Excellent. It’s nice to have the old faces in one room again. To see them embrace my plan, despite its controversy, was special.”
“Well, you’re doing a good thing,” she said. “I’m proud and relieved. The world is losing its way. Technology has been luring us away from God or, in softer terms, away from truth, and our humanity for decades. The Lobby amplified that to the millionth power. You stopping the illegal entries, allowing our government to get a grasp on things, to pull in the reins—that’s important. I’ve wanted to have this talk, ask how you really feel about all this. It’s comforting to see, by your actions, that you value a position I can support.”
Perhaps, but he wondered if she really considered all the possible endings, knew all the details, and some of his selfish thoughts, would she react differently. He wanted to share his true values. And he would share them, when they stopped fluctuating.
“Half of me agrees,” he said. “Our government needs control for it to have leverage. Criminals controlling access frightens me. I’m unsure about technology stealing our humanity. Perhaps technology worst attribute is the digital lynchings, but it offers many conveniences.”
“Alex, before Roy’s death, you’d promised to seek help for an addiction. I want you to consider the possibility that your addiction skews your opinion. I’m positive you’re incapable of thinking clearly on this subject. I’m equally positive that smart phones, texting, selfies, and creating the perfect profile pic are a sickness eating away at reality, at God’s world, at our ability to experience.”
“That could be true, Rosa. But who’s to tell people what’s right; what’s healthy?”
Rosa studied him. He read concern on her features, waited for her to say, “The Bible.” Instead, she smiled in that sad way that caused him to reflect on his position. Perhaps he was cracking up, making poor decisions, and being driven by an unseen force. Rosa squeezed his knee, leaned in and touched her forehead to his.
He exhaled and admitted. “Sometimes I know, am dead certain, that no matter how I approach this Lobby situation, I’m betraying something or someone I love.”
“Alex, you’re doing the right thing. When it’s under wraps, I’ll fight to get you into rehab. Once you’re clear-headed, you’ll see what I’m saying. Just hold on—trust in me—until then.”
“You’re probably right.” But just as likely, you’re wrong.
“I can’t shake this image of mobsters controlling the world with violence and brute force. You’ll be stopping that.”
Internally, he reflected that his task involved transferring power from Peter to Paul. In a perfect world, power would stay in the people’s hands. Could his plan really produce that end?
On the wall converted to a television, President Tanner orated to a crowd. Something he, and every other leader, had been doing daily. Alex pushed aside the magnitude of everything. The idea that his actions might impact the worlds both digital and constructed of matter, frightened him to the point of inactivity. He couldn’t stop a percentage of people from hating him. It felt like every decision he made brought a greater viscosity to the atmosphere around him, making it harder and harder to proceed.
He paddled on, hoping for a rescue.
In a light voice, Rosa said, “Anyway, did you have any luck contacting Adisah?”
An undertow pulled on his lower body. Where was Adisah? “No, I have Victor trying hourly. There’s a problem with the connection at Eridu. Some message plays when you call, asking to respect his privacy.” He licked his lips, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.
Alex needed Adisah’s counsel. Perhaps he’d expound something enlightening enough to lead Alex down an alternate path? Yet Alex understood the desire for privacy. News vans lined Alex’s neighborhood streets for a quarter mile. He couldn’t imagine the types of people trying to access the Montana facility.
“Peter stopped by and brought you some papers,” Rosa said. “He asked me to make sure you look at them ASAP.” She walked to the night stand near their bed.
Alex watched President Tanner wave his enthusiastic end-of-speech wave as he exited the stage.
A montage of tanks, soldiers, and riots led viewers to commercial. He fantasized about what the world would b
e like a year from now. Traveling down each of his two possible forks brought vastly different endings, neither ideal. One ended in global destruction, the other in a collapse of his world.
“Here we go.” Rosa handed him an 8x11 envelope.
Accepting the packet from over his shoulder, he held it at arm’s length, and stared at the presidential seal emblazoned on the front.
Tension floated away as Rosa sat next to him. Her love kept him sane. Wondering whether that would be enough to see him through this stole hours of his sleep each night.
Tearing off the top of the presidential seal, he pulled out a half-inch-thick stack of paper.
A letter in business format sat on top. A scan of the bottom revealed Tara’s signature. He knew she’d been as busy as him over the past few weeks. Eager to learn what consumed her days, he read.
Alex,
I am aware of your current responsibilities in building monitoring stations to insure we control access to the Lobby.
Thank you for what you are doing. Your task may be the most important in a line of monumental assignments. My team has worked closely with our nation’s legal representatives, trying to improve our position for the upcoming summit. I write this with President Tanner’s consent: the rumors are true—conflict is escalating. Not some tit-for-tat posturing, but a global strife that could escalate to the use of nuclear weapons. It appears that interpretating ethics and morality provides the deadliest game of all.
This letter is to invite you to that global summit, on August 6th.
This meeting will involve leaders and representatives of twenty-seven nations.
The summit will take place inside the Lobby’s Honest Meeting Room. We will discuss the future use of the Lobby. Our goal is to remain there until we reach an agreement that staves off military action.
This is only possible if we control Lobby access. You must excel at your duty.
You should know that numerous world leaders have requested your presence. They will want to hear your opinion. Stay focused. Stay vigilant. Do not fail.