5 Years After (Book 2.5): Smoke & Mirrors

by Correll, Richard

  “But sir…….” Birk was caught off guard.

  “Do it, son.” The commander made harsh eye contact and turned away to end the conversation. “That’s an order.”

  Birk retreated back into the chopper after the commander had walked away. His face had been muddied with confusion. The commander felt no regret for his order. Instead, there was a sense of closure, that all things were now where they must be.

  *

  Molly felt that sense of gravity defied in the pit of her stomach as the helicopter rose up. She was seated close to the Kentucky militia, they were quiet and subdued. She thought they were going to strike up conversation but they seemed to be exchanging words in whispers. Molly tried to listen in but the thrumb of the helicopter motors made any form of eavesdropping impossible.

  She finally let her eyes scan the cabin. A large, muscular soldier with a square jaw was bent over a stretcher with an orderly as they checked and doubled checked a woman who was sedated. There was a way the soldier behaved that bespoke something above comradeship for the wounded woman. But, I guess only a lady can see that, Molly felt her sense of humor begin to return.

  A second soldier was trying to get some sleep while he stared at the ceiling. He was lost in thought. Was he thinking of home or those he had just left behind at Fort Knox? Either way, he was barely aware of his surroundings. A nurse with short cut blond hair sat beside him studying a chart and other paper work.

  A woman of perhaps sixty sat alone and stared into space among the militia as they continued what seemed to be a sad discussion. A few nods here and there, faces turned downwards and inside out. Her eyes scanned past Hatch and the stealth helicopter crew. They seemed out of place and they knew it.

  “Where’s Bryant?” Molly sat up for a second.

  There was a pause among the militia, it was a good few seconds before the big man with the beard replied. “Ma’am, he killed himself before we left.” There was a nod from two others.

  “How?” Molly could feel something stirring inside her. This is not right. This is not right.

  “He cut his wrists in the shower.” The leader said solemnly. “It’s how we found him just half an hour ago.”

  There was a numb sensation in her face. A fluttering sense of vertigo seemed to bounce around inside Molly. It was always like this when something didn’t add up. Her eyes slowly found the figure of Hatch twenty yards away. He was sitting in his chair, feet apart and head down. The lines of his face seemed to have deepened in the few days since they had first met. Self-recrimination was in his posture. Molly remembered his face a few inches from hers just an hour ago. There was that musty smell, She remembered it finally……

  Blood…….it’s the smell of blood…….you bastard…..

  BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!! It was like a thunder cloud had erupted right beside the helicopter. There was a second of turbulence. Another thunder clap sent shock waves through the passengers. Faces moved toward windows, pressing for information.

  The cloud rising above the spot where Fort Knox had been had a thickness to it. You could watch it expanding quickly from the force of the detonation, the dirty clouds were almost like magical monsters as they expanded and grew. The expanding aura of debris and destruction began to blot out anything they remembered in the compound.

  It made perfect sense in a sickening sort of way. How do you save yourself when the secret might get out? Destroy the evidence. A white flash in the sky caught a glimmer of sunlight before it was gone.

  BOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!! Another cloud began to sprout skywards with a cumulus billowing skyward. The chopper rattled as the shockwave from the latest explosion roared past them.

  “Cruise missiles,” The handsome soldier who had been tending to his wounded comrade was now at the window beside Molly. “That has to be four cruise missiles.”

  BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!

  “Jesus Christ,” The big militia man with the beard had both eyes wide open and his jaw had lost all muscular control.

  A six and seventh missile flashed in the sunlight briefly before completing their journey. The dark clouds expanded over tiny figures standing perfectly still. They did not move or turn away, the debris, dust and destruction just enveloped them like the cape of a magician through sleight of hand. The helicopter slowly lumbered away, shaking and swaying to shockwaves. Molly had to sit down slowly, she swore for a second Hatch looked up at her to try to explain, plead his case. But, he then abruptly lowered his head and continued staring at the floor just a foot past his feet.

  There was a silence where words failed or were swallowed up by an invisible wall of shock. Eyes were staring forward but were no longer seeing. The engines droned on while Fort Knox faded into the distance. The sunlight was jaded by clouds that hung close to the ground. Military vehicles would be advancing soon, a final inspection before reporting back on the mission. Would there be survivors? Of course not, not officially anyway.

  *

  “You have....two ....new messages. Press one to....” Molly’s finger touched the button on her phone and hit the speaker control while the tunes played on and she poured another glass of wine.

  “Hi Molly,” It was Ron Ellis, head of the news department at CBS. “It’s about your story.”

  “It wasn’t my decision,” She could almost see Ellis passing a hand over his fore head, “I don’t know what to say, take a day or two off and we’ll talk about what to do, okay?”

  Ellis was taking it hard, but this was just real. It was the only time Molly ever saw the point of censorship. She had gone so far as to suggest all copies of what she had filmed there be destroyed. Except for the ones she had privately stashed away, of course. You never know when a girl might need some leverage.

  “Next message........”

  “Hello Miss Hunter, It’s Harry at the front desk.” He had one of the friendliest tones Molly had ever heard. “Yes, we still do shooting practice at a range on some Saturdays. Frankly, I never even knew you owned a gun. I guess you can’t be too careful with those things around.”

  “It’s not those things I’m worried about.” Molly had a moment where she remembered the face of Hatch so close to hers. It was an image she had pondered all the way through the second leg of their flight to Washington. She remembered the lines on his face, the creases and crevices that were the aftermath of a heavy soul. She had known people like Hatch. They would fill themselves with booze or pills to replace the slow draining of their insides to nothingness. They’d have raging moments of anger, sadness and punch out walls at the slightest provocation. Then they would just tell you they were “Alright” and walk away.

  Why had he not killed you? Be honest, your disappearance would attract too much attention. They have to trust you, for now......

  Molly had poured another glass of wine and let the music get into her. She had talked to Maggie earlier. It had been time to divulge a family secret. Molly paused and had to laugh again at Maggie’s reaction. Where would I be without her? God, it felt uplifting to hear her voice. Molly wondered if she could ever talk about Fort Knox. No, it was a dream, a place that had once been here and was off the conversational radar. But, what had Maggie said?

  “It’s far from over….”

  Ellis said take a day or two off and then we’ll talk. She knew there would be changes to the story. This wasn’t news anymore, it was an alibi. Her take had been worked out after a long bath in silence. Beauragard’s forces were defeated in a battle with Kentucky National Guard units and Fort Knox had been destroyed in the process. The gold had been moved to a safer location. No, we do not wish to divulge that location due to security reasons etc, etc, Yes. That would fly.

  So, she watched the skyline from her window. We’re in the lying business now. Of course, there are some who have thought we were in the innuendo and half-truth business for some time. This would be just a natural evolutionary step. It really hit Molly for the first time.

  You are killing a story in the n
ational interest. What’s more, you almost died because of your proximity to the truth.

  That was a moment to ponder. Molly was aware she would never be the first journalist to be in that position. It just felt strange that this was America. The land of the 1st Amendment, her thoughts felt lost in the currents of hard reality and the need for emotional clarity. What happens next? When will we have this little sit down again over national security and the best interest of the country? She understood the reason this time, but would she understand next time? Then what would happen if she spoke up? It was like a can of worms had been opened on her carpet and the thoughts were winding themselves in a million different directions. None of them seemed for the better.

  How many meetings like this did you have before the news service was a propaganda ministry? Maybe it sounded weird to say it, but Molly felt it was her job to think like that. She could not bear to even look in the direction of the Capitol building for fear it might crumble into dust. The fragility of all things was on her mind right now. It all seemed like an illusion, a game that had already been decided by fate. Yet, the cards were still played to the end. We have come to this, the edge, the precipice where our balance is no longer sure and we don’t dare to look down and see how far we will fall. What happens when it gets out that our money, that everything is worthless? The world was out of kilter, a planetary body on a doomsday collision course.

  ....And what can you do about it? Nothing, of course, the slow, gradual grind toward oblivion continued and all you can do is just keep on keeping on. The lingerie she slipped into had helped lighten her mood. Agent Provocateur had never let her down, the wine called out her spirit to recover and dance while Rome burned, was it really that bad? Of course, it was.

  Molly felt her hips sway to the music, and the song played on:

  It’s the end of the world as we know it.....

  It’s the end of the world as we know it....

  It’s the end of the world as we know it...

  BAKER, CHARLESWORTH & NESTLETON

  It always took a while to set up the right shot. Molly made a point to never show impatience when the crews were laboriously preparing. This was their art, the moment for them to make it just right. Molly loved to remind them of the times when their attention to detail had harvested perfection. There was a board room at CBS that featured row upon row of Emmy statues. When they got it right she would go in and run her fingers along those golden symbols of influence and the warmth of winning.

  Sometimes you were tired, sometimes your mind was on a million things. It all didn’t matter. Molly concentrated and forced her world into slow motion and retro-grade if necessary. She would sit there for an hour at times letting them get just the right focus, highlight and elements. What are you doing? A flustered, impatient anchorman would ask.

  “I’m just sitting here makin’ money.” Molly replied.

  “Ms. Hunter,” Ted, part of her camera and direction crew for years had a request, “If we could just get you to give us a bit of a different angle.”

  “Sure, T.” Molly profiled, carefully turning her head until he got what he needed.

  “That’s perfect, thank you.”

  The quiet of the studio was calming for now. It gave her a moment to actually put the brakes on the last few weeks. Her thoughts were scattered about like brittle leaves on a windy autumn day. She kept seeing the clear, beautiful eyes of Nelson Anson Bryant. Big Mac as well, she found some time one afternoon to sit by his grave and ponder the passing of events. The way things were becoming.

  You need to watch your step, girl.

  They were different now at the Pentagon. They seemed more calculating. The cards were closer to their chest. Why? The reason was plain to her over time. The drive out to Huntington was her first clue. No, we are not even half as in control of this situation as we claim to be. Big Mac had practically said it before she left. We’re losing, slowly but surely we are being strangled into oblivion. There were things to hide now. Complicity in failure needed to be erased, reputations protected, a conspiracy of a currency’s value, and above all, masking how bad it was. Like the blame game was hardly going to matter if we lost, some habits would never die.

  This is new ground. She was seeing the face of Hatch now. His cruel features were etched like a stone that had weathered the pain of time. Okay, game change, how are you going to play along?

  You had to play, there was no maybe here, but perhaps you could play at a distance. The idea seemed attractive, let this phase of political maneuvering play out. There was a vast landscape of stories to be mined. You just had to find them, sometimes after a few glasses of Pinot Noir or Chardonnay. Story topics had come to Molly in the bath tub when was soaking off the shock of Fort Knox.

  Yeah, they killed him, they really killed Bryant.

  Who was to say you weren’t next if you made any noise about what happened? Keep that in mind, her lips were suddenly dry. She ran her tongue on them absently and it produced an instant look of horror from her make-up crew.

  “Damn, sorry.” Molly apologized as the ruby red was re-applied. They were using Bourgeois Rouge by Grand Cru. It felt smart and sophisticated in an under stated way. The napkin touched her lips, it was perfect.

  “We’re ready, Miss Hunter.” The cameramen had multiple angles to think about. The director had decided to film them all at once, like a sports event. After all, there were no take twos in this story. It would all be edited together later.

  “….And we’re rolling, Miss Hunter.” Ted’s eyes met hers and he gave her a cue. Deadly serious now, this is money time.

  “It has been said so many ways.” Molly’s almond eyes invited the audience. “We live in terrible times, trying times, historic times or the end of times.”

  Molly let the introduction sink in while she turned to camera 2 with a thoughtful expression. The arched eyebrows that had been shaped double wing style, they were perfect. The camera always loved that facial expression. Hell, it was the one they used for Vogue.

  “If you are from a city like me, you know the feeling. “ Molly let the emotion go understated like talking about a fatal illness with a patient. Be calm, professional and feel what they feel. “They keep telling us we can’t go back.”

  “We will have to get used to living for a few years at least with only the memories of our neighborhoods.” Molly let her eyes glance sideways as if in thought. “For now, the photographs and old recordings will have to do.”

  “But what if you tried to go back?” She was facing camera one again. “What would you find if you just called your old number out of the blue?”

  “We’re going to do that tonight.” The camera panned back and caught her Jaynce cotton pinstripe blazer. The wine red men’s cut shirt with necktie was sheer, rebellious fashion. A phone was in her hand, the kind that used to sit on executive desks. The cradle and push buttons were perfect for the mood. “What happens when we call home?”

  “We’re going to start on the west coast.” Her fingers touched the buttons on the old school key pad and she brought the phone to her ear. The sound engineer listened to the call through headphones. A microphone line set up earlier patched the phone directly to his sound board.

  There were three rings, each in perfect rhythm to the others. Then, a dial tone, the sound engineer let the sound hold for a few seconds before bringing it down.

  “Los Ángeles,” Molly looked up from the receiver. “If you call there, you get no connection at all. If you are from there, I am not here to tell you what to think or how to feel about that.”

  “How you feel, it’s a personal issue. If you want to share your feelings, our email address at 60 minutes has not changed. ”She paused and let her eyes lock in on her viewers, then, she continued; “Seattle, Washington.”

  Seattle rang on into eternity. Molly let it go for a minute and listened to the constant muttering of the phone line. Was there really a phone somewhere in Seattle ringing away or were the telephone sounds
just a manufactured prop?

  “At least we’re getting a ring.” Molly observed. This was less a story and more therapy for some, she understood that. She reassured quickly. “At least we’re getting a ring”.

  “Chicago, Illinois.”

  Molly tapped out the number on the keyboard, each call felt strange. There was an almost surreal feeling. You’re calling a black hole in our country, a place where there is no life, maybe forever.

  “State the business of your call.” It was a man’s voice, clipped and harsh, the layman’s attempt at professionalism.

  “Hello,” Molly recovered quickly from the surprise. “Who is this?”

  “You are calling United States military territory.” The voice ordered. “State the business of your call.”

  “I’m not calling Military territory.” Molly retorted. “I’m calling Chicago.”

  “State the business of your call,”

  “State the reason you’re calling Chicago military territory.” Molly thought a fast ball reply would derail the duty train and get the person on the other end talking.

  There was a pause, two seconds, four seconds then a sound like a low crump occurred. Silence followed for a second or two before a dial tone filled her ears. You just gave someone the jitters. She tried to keep her face calm.

  So much for watching your step………….

  Molly took the receiver from her ear and stared at it for a second before slowly shaking her head. Nice piece of drama, she looked up to the camera and made a face of confusion. “That was Chicago.”

  “Boston, Massachusetts.” There wasn’t even a ring. Instead, an ultra-loud busy signal blasted away. The sound engineer brought his slider pot down half an inch and tried to ignore the pain in his ears. It felt like the city was screaming to be left alone. The ghosts and specters that haunted in spirit cried out to be lonely in their misery. All the places in Boston seemed to play in front of Molly’s imagination, draped in black, forever in mourning. How many children were buried there? It was a thought she decided not to share.