Revolution

by Shawn Davis

  You will have what 99.9% of the population in this country will never have; access to the President’s elite circle in the corridors of governmental power. Learn everything you can. Blend in. Adapt. Improvise. You’re good at that. You showed your extraordinary ability to adapt and improvise in the Powerdrome. Yeah, I saw you on video-disc. We have an agent infiltrated as a Level 4 Tech. He sent us a copy. I must admit, your performance was impressive. For a computer geek, you kicked some serious ass. I especially like how you handled the dragon. You’re facing a different kind of dragon now. Equally dangerous, but far more complex. This dragon will require intellect and finesse to defeat. Do what you have to do- whether it takes weeks or months. Then, get out of there and watch the fireworks from a distance.

  Good luck.

  Campion

  Peter finished the note. It was a lot of information to assimilate. He went to the bathroom and cleaned the shallow shoulder wound with soap and water. Then, he applied a bandage from the medicine cabinet. After, he went to the kitchen and made himself two top-of-the-line deli sandwiches. He brought them to the dining room table and ate them as he looked out over the city. The White House and Capitol Building were visible. He attacked the two large sandwiches ravenously and gulped down four glasses of water. When he was finished, he turned his attention to the plan.

  Peter did as he was instructed. Dragging the body to the bathroom, he placed it in the tub behind the second partition.

  I’ll worry about the blood trail on the carpet later.

  Rayne went to the kitchen and retrieved one of the laser knives Campion had recommended using. For long moments he stood above the bathtub with the knife in hand, looking down at the bloody, crumpled body. Switching on the knife, he saw its edge glow red.

  It’s time. I have to do it. The success of the mission depends on it.

  With a trembling hand, Peter reluctantly lowered the knife edge towards the corpse. He aligned it with the right elbow and closed his eyes. He pushed down. He felt the knife slice effortlessly through a soft, yielding substance until it struck the hard bottom of the tub. Opening his eyes, he saw he had cut off Getty’s arm at the elbow. Blood spurted from the wound and soaked the tub. Turning away from the corpse, he tried to compose himself. He felt like he was going to throw up.

  Rayne thought about his executed friend and the frozen people in the cryogenics chambers to motivate himself. Turning back to the corpse, he lined up the knife with the right shoulder, closed his eyes, and pushed down. This time, he felt hot liquid splattering onto his arm and face.

  Peter continued with the operation slowly, taking time out to compose himself every so often. It took a long time. About halfway through, he had to run to the nearby toilet to vomit.

  So much for those deli sandwiches.

  Standing above the toilet, he threw up until he found himself dry-retching.

  I have to finish this. No matter what, I have to finish this.

  Rayne went back to the tub. He didn’t know how long he had been working on the bloody job, but it seemed interminable. Eventually, he finished. He did as Campion instructed and put the pieces into two plastic double-ply trash bags. Looking down at his shirt, he saw it was drenched with blood. Checking Getty’s suitcase in the bedroom, he didn’t find any dark dress shirts. Peter walked to the spacious closet and was surprised when he found it pre-stocked with top-of-the-line clothing in Getty’s exact size. The clothes turned out to be a little loose on him, but close enough to fit.

  Rayne stripped off his bloody shirt and put on a fresh one. He washed up and checked himself in the mirror. There were still bloodstains on his black pants. Returning to the walk-in closet, he picked out a new pair of expensive black dress pants. He put them on and looked for shoes. Tiny blood droplets were drying on his own black shoes. He found a rack of dress shoes below the suits. He took a pair and put them on. He stuffed his bloody clothes and shoes into one of the trash bags containing the body parts.

  Peter didn’t want to be in the vicinity of the body for another moment, so he carried it to the door of the suite. Cracking the door, he listened in the hallway for any sounds. When he didn’t hear any, he poked his head out. It was clear.

  Reaching down, he seized a bag in each hand. Straining from the exertion, he left the suite, walking down the hall as fast as he could with the heavy bundles. It seemed to take forever to reach the end of the hall. He kept expecting someone to exit a suite and catch him performing the suspicious activity. No one did. He crammed the bags into the trash chute and heard a rushing of air as they were automatically sucked in.

  Turning around, Rayne backtracked down the hall, searching the floor for any sign of blood. There was none. He had sealed the trash bags well. He went back to his suite and shut the door. He sighed, leaned against the door, and closed his eyes.

  It’s finally done. No, not quite.

  He still had to clean the rug in the suite. Rayne walked to the kitchen, glancing down at the trail of blood smeared onto the gray carpet from the hallway to the bathroom. He skirted around it so he wouldn’t get any stains on his new shoes. Searching under the sink, he found assorted household cleaners.

  Peter returned to the bedroom and opened Getty’s suitcase. He found a white dress shirt and carried it to the hallway. He applied cleaning agents to the shirt and used it as a rag to clean the floor. After twenty minutes of scrubbing hard, the rug appeared wet, but clean. Not wanting to take any chances, he left the suite again and tossed the blood-soaked shirt down the trash chute.

  Rayne decided he needed to relax. He went to the bathroom and climbed the stairs until he stood at the top of the second tier, looking out at the buildings of the city through the clear glass wall. Adjusting the temperature for the Jacuzzi, he turned it on. Peter stripped and descended the steps into the bubbling pool of water. Closing his eyes, he sighed as the hot water enveloped his body. He leaned his elbows on the edge of the pool and tilted his head back. The soothing water massaged his aching muscles.

  After twenty minutes in the Jacuzzi, Rayne returned to the kitchen and made more sandwiches. After eating, he went to the bedroom to take a nap. The Jacuzzi had relaxed him and dissipated his nervous adrenaline. Now, he only felt exhaustion. He glanced at the 3D clock before he went to sleep. It read 4:40pm.

  When he awoke several hours later, the clock read 8:08pm. He felt a lot better. His muscles still ached, but the Jacuzzi and nap had taken the edge off. He got up and walked over to the large leather suitcase lying in the corner. Opening it, he tried on another one of Getty’s shirts.

  Perfect fit.

  Rayne tried on another pair of pants and found they were half an inch too long.

  I can live with that.

  Peter got dressed in one of Getty’s expensive suits and placed the rest of the clothes in the spacious closet.

  It’s time to find out a little more about myself.

  Rayne found Getty’s pocket computer tucked into the right corner of the suitcase. Taking it out, he brought it to the study. He sat at the desk with the spectacular view and switched it on.

  Chapter 28

  The Meeting

  Rayne cracked Getty’s computer code in under an hour. Campion had been right in her note; Getty’s code was easier to bypass than Prince’s.

  Peter’s eyes widened upon viewing the main menu screen, which read: CRYOGEN INCORPORATED – PLEASE CHOOSE FROM THE FOLLOWING OPTIONS.

  Cryogen Inc? Is Getty’s company responsible for the government’s cryogenics program? According to the files, Cryogen Inc. is one of two companies contracted by the government to run the program. The other company is Cryotech International Inc. The Chief Executive of Cryotech International is a woman named Nicole Brenton.

  Rayne left the corporate files and found Getty’s itinerary for his stay on the island. He typed today’s date; May 6, 2058. The only information for this date was the words ARRIVAL and UNPACK.

  Easy enough. I think I can handle that.

  Peter t
yped up tomorrow’s date; May 7, 2058. His eyes widened.

  According to this itinerary, Getty has a meeting with the President tomorrow morning at 8 AM! That leaves me less than twelve hours to prepare!

  Peter checked the date and time to make sure they were right. He had expected more time to prepare for his role.

  I can’t meet with the President this soon! I’m not ready! I don’t know anything about Getty! I only know some basic information about his company. How am I going to pull this off? What if I’m not convincing as Getty? What if Campion was wrong and the President has met the younger Getty before? What will they do to me if I’m caught?

  For the first time in his mission, Peter felt despair.

  Last time, they tortured me with electric shocks to find out if I was a terrorist. If I get caught again, they will already know I’m one. What will they do to a known terrorist? It’s not too tough to figure out. They will torture me again with the intent of getting me to reveal the names of the rebel conspirators and the location of their secret headquarters. I won’t reveal them, which means a longer torture session than before. This time, they will torture me to death.

  An acute wave of terror swept through Peter’s mind at the thought of returning to the interrogation room and starting another round of shocks. The memory of the abhorrent incident flooded his mind like a wave of sewer water. Rayne imagined the bare walls of the chamber and heard the calm, business-like tone of his interrogator. He could hear the tech on his right flicking switches on the torture device. Worst of all, he still remembered what it felt like.

  I can’t do that again. I don’t have the strength for another round. Should I abandon the mission? I don’t think I will have a problem getting off the island. New Washington’s security system is designed to keep people out, not in. I could walk out of the suite, take the elevator down to the ground lobby, catch an anti-grav shuttle to the docks, and leave on a passenger boat. I could forget all about the rebellion and start a normal life.

  No, I have to go through with the plan. If I quit, I couldn’t live with myself. I would be obsessed by thoughts of what could have been. Despite the risk, I have to go through with it. I’ve been through terrifying experiences before; in Inner City and the Powerdrome. I made it through those intact. Physically, at least. The horror of the torture chamber still lingers like a monster in the shadows. I have to bury that monster and think about the potential positive outcomes of the mission. I have to imagine Campion’s chopper fleet assaulting the capitol city.

  The rebels are going to start a new government and put all the former leaders on trial. That’s something I would like to see. It will be a reformed system of democracy and capitalism that eradicates the plutocratic elements of the old system.

  Peter glanced at the time in the lower right hand corner of the computer screen and saw it was 8:46 PM.

  I have to learn as much as possible about my new self and the company before eight o’clock tomorrow morning. That means I have to treat this situation like cramming for a test.

  Rayne began searching through Getty’s files, studying everything he could find about the company. He found the location of every Cryogen Inc. factory across the globe. Most of them were in third-world countries where the labor costs were even cheaper than in the U.S.

  He discovered a complex outline detailing the management structure of the organization. He found statistics for capital expenditures at all of Cryogen Inc.’s plants. He found statistics for total costs, revenues, and most importantly, profits. They were formidable. According to the files, the Getty family was worth over two billion dollars.

  Rayne studied everything he found in the files related to Getty’s company. His photographic memory was useful for memorizing important numbers and statistics. Peter worked at this task for hours until he found himself falling asleep at around 2 AM. Realizing he wasn’t going to retain anything else he studied, he decided to get some sleep. He switched off the computer and left the study. Going to the bedroom, he took off his suit and went to bed. He set the alarm clock and fell asleep, dreaming about the sordid history of his new, adopted company.

  The obnoxious buzzing of the alarm clock pulled him from his slumber at 7 AM. Peter still felt tired and could have used another few hours of sleep, but he was wide-awake when he remembered what his responsibilities were.

  I am meeting with the President of the United States! That’s the last thing I expected to do in my adventures! For the original mission, I expected some sneaking around and some fighting. But meeting with the President? If I hadn’t been up studying for hours last night, I wouldn’t believe it.

  Rayne didn’t want to be late for the meeting, so he got up and made a quick breakfast of cold cereal. Then, he showered and dressed in one of Getty’s expensive suits, shaved his light beard, brushed his teeth, and slicked back his hair with gel. Looking at himself in the mirror, he thought something was missing.

  Getty’s glasses.

  Rayne retrieved the gold-rimmed glasses from the night table by the bed. They were very thin, so they hardly affected his vision. Perhaps a slight blur, but he hardly noticed it.

  Maybe I actually need glasses and never knew it.

  Looking in the mirror, Peter saw the gold-rimmed glasses complete the picture. He checked the time and saw it was 7:38 AM.

  Perfect. I still have plenty of time for the meeting. According to the itinerary, the meeting is going to take place on the 118th floor of the Presidential Tower.

  Checking himself again in the mirror, Rayne smoothed his slicked back hair and decided it was time to go.

  If I survived the Powerdrome and arena, then I should be able to make it through this meeting. I feel confident that I’ve memorized the important facts and statistics about Getty’s company. The only thing I can’t mimic is Getty’s speech and mannerisms, but the President has never met him before, so that shouldn’t be a problem. I have to go with the flow. I have no other choice.

  Rayne left his suite and strode down the luxuriously decorated hall to the elevator. He glanced at his reflection in gold-gilded mirrors as he walked, and liked what he saw: a typical businessman of the time. Stepping onto the elevator, he pressed the button for the 118th floor. Peter took a deep breath as it ascended. In seconds, the elevator halted and the doors opened. Rayne was greeted by a tall, dark-haired man wearing a black suit.

  “Mr. Getty?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” Rayne replied.

  “Come this way please. The President is expecting you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Rayne followed the plain-clothes guard down the corridor to a large, expensively furnished waiting room. Another suited man sat at a high desk, like a hotel concierge, on the opposite side of the lobby next to a steel door.

  “Please check in with the President’s secretary,” the first guard instructed him.

  “Sure, no problem. Thank you,” Peter said, nodding at the guard.

  The guard returned to his post by the elevator and Rayne approached the secretary. Rayne guessed the guy was not really a secretary when he saw his broad shoulders and heavy muscles bulging under his suit jacket. Rayne was pretty sure the guy had a gun in a shoulder holster under his jacket. Still, the man played a good part. He smiled and spoke pleasantly.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Yes, I’m here to see the President,” Peter said.

  “And your name, sir?”

  “Malcom Getty.”

  The guard posing as the President’s secretary punched some keys on his computer. He scrutinized the screen and then looked up at Peter’s face, studying him intently. Then, he smiled and said, “The President is waiting for you in the conference room, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  The guard entered a code and pushed a button on the computer keyboard, which opened the steel door beside the desk. Rayne adjusted his tie and walked toward the doorway. He entered a long, narrow corridor with twin silver steel beams running down the walls horizont
ally – bisecting the walls at the center. Small blinking red lights were lined up along each beam like a runway landing.

  Rayne recognized the lights from the body-scanning machine he went through at the park. Going to the end of the corridor, he took a deep breath as he approached another steel door. It looked like he was walking into a dead-end until the door rushed open with a hiss of air. Glancing above the door, he saw a closed circuit television camera in the ceiling.

  No big surprise there.

  Rayne wondered how many guards were monitoring the President’s office suite as he walked into a spacious conference room with a long mahogany table in the center. Office chairs were lined up in neat rows along the table. A well-dressed, middle-aged man, examining a pile of papers, sat at the end of the table. His receding black hair was slicked back like most businessmen of the time. He had a light tan as if he had returned recently from the Caribbean.

  The man looked up when Rayne entered. A wide smile stretched across his tan, good-looking face. He stood up from the table, smoothed his hair, and stretched out his hand as he walked toward Rayne. Rayne did the same and shook hands with the President.

  Chapter 29

  Business Proposition

  “Malcom, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from your father,” the President said, gripping Peter’s hand firmly.

  “Likewise, Mr. President,” Peter replied, feeling a surreal calm overcoming him.

  This is so unreal, I feel like a character in a movie acting out a part. I will simply read the lines I think my character would say in this situation.