Trellis: Trellis Trilogy (One)

by N. S. Hill

  She folds the map and decides to call it a night even though it was early. She rummages through the groceries she brought, snacked on a few items, and picked up her mess.

  Tomorrow she would pull her hair up taut in a ponytail until she reached the base then she would let it down, being able to hide her face behind the flowing long hair calmed her for some reason. It may be excess but she could never be too cautious when being the most sought after informational weapon in the world.

  The silver wristwatch she had contrived for this project would make any spy agency salivate. She had two small tracking devices that could be dispensed easily tucked in the watch, that with any luck will be planted on a Trellis clone or their guards. That is if she could get close enough and escape with her life. She knew it may not be needed, but she wanted to be prepared.

  She had a drop-point for the motorcycle she had scouted a pizzeria about six miles from the base. She would park the motorcycle there, commandeer someone’s thoughts, and have them drive her to the base. She would do the same on her way back to the bike, after many stops along the way making sure she was not being followed- depending on how smoothly the mission went. She was getting sick of the cat and mouse games she played for her own safety, she wished she could tell the US government ‘No’. Thinking about turning them down physically made her ill, even though she knew they would love to see her locked up in a cell and used at their disposal. How could she turn her back on her own country when they needed her? Where did this sense of patriotism come from, at Trellis she never even heard the name USA used as a country. She thought the name ‘American language’ was just a class she had to take. She had to keep telling herself it wasn’t her country, still she had a strong urge to stand up for America. Why?

  Chapter Fifteen~

  She arrived at the base with her female ‘seized, willing driver’ she picked up at a gas station; they pulled up to a booth at the admission’s gate with armed guards. Coughlin never gave her instructions on how to actually get on the secured army base, assuming he thought she would do what she always did- manipulation. They slow down, a lady walked to the driver side window, she reached for something that wasn’t there, reads the imaginary ID, and motioned for them to enter, and they pass. Easy minds, so far, D hoped the whole day continued that way.

  Once parked she let the lady driver that had brought her this far leave, pushing this from her mind. She was a few hours early but she needed to scope the place out and gather intelligence on what, if anything, Coughlin had planned with Trellis. She walked along the sidewalk to the front entrance passing many men and women dressed in military fatigues. Her hair hung down in her face and she tried not to make eye contact with anyone, not wanting to control anyone’s thoughts unless deemed necessary. Reading every thought within her radius was making that a hard goal. By their thoughts, everyone was on a heightened sense of security and a civilian dressed visitor must be from the press core ready to do a story.

  Once in the building she quickly saw Coughlin’s two lackeys standing by the far wall waiting for her, of course they didn’t recognize her. She sidles up near Agent Sara Drake and Agent Leon Foster listening to their thoughts, hoping to grab on to something of value. Coughlin isn’t dumb, he isn’t going to let them know much, but she only needed a fragment of information leading her to intel on Trellis. She had made it clear to Coughlin that she was only dealing with him. What was he trying to accomplish, besides making her mad? She was certain of one thing, they wouldn’t make a move until after this gold bullion project was over and she was curious about what they had planned. It’s too important to the financial state of this country to risk her not cooperating with their deceptive plot so she didn’t think he would try anything risky right now. However, what does she know, she had been wrong before, albeit not often!

  Back to agent Foster and agent Drake’s thoughts— nothing other than they were waiting for her, watching for her, ready to take her to the banquet area once she made herself known to them.

  ‘It’s too soon,’ she decided to zigzag around through the offices and listen for any thoughts she could hear for now.

  Earlier when she entered the compound she passed the actual depository before reaching the military base and Federal Building and realized the chance of getting in the depository unseen successfully would prove impossible. She would have to trust others to get in. The guard’s secured gate and doorway to the depository were further apart than her mind could reach so she had no idea what she was walking into. It really would be like walking in blindly for her. As she perused around the offices and through the people’s minds, she realized they knew less than she did. Expected.

  She wondered where Coughlin was, knowing he wouldn’t be far. She made her way back through the lobby to the front entrance and something unfamiliar happened. Only a fraction of a thought, so small she couldn’t be sure it was even real. Like a microscopic needle piercing her thoughts. It had to be her imagination. All her senses were on high alert and acting janky, which had to be what she felt. She was sure it was nothing, unless her original instinct was right and someone or something was reading her thoughts!

  She picked up her pace rushing to the entrance of the crowd of people coming through the doors in hopes it would help dilute the neural activity that had splintered into a sudden increase of sensory awareness in her mind. A swiftness took over her stride. D physically pushed her way through the men and women walking through the doorways, shoving through the crowd and out the doorway to the outside. Clean, cool, air hits her face and she tried to regain a normal heartbeat again. The same thing happened on the sidewalk a few days ago when she ducked into the café, a feeling like she was being watched, but this time she felt her personal space, her thoughts invaded. It wound up being nothing; she chalked it up to her imagination. D needed to get a hold of this panicked emotion. It was just anxiety because this was such a big mission she was expected to complete and all was resting on her shoulders. Too, much rested on her shoulders. She couldn’t let whatever happened in there take hold of her and cause fear. It had been her imagination, that was all, she kept telling herself.

  Running her fingers though her hair and scratching her scalp, trying to relieve the pressure in her head, she looked around the courtyard searching for anything out of place. Nothing. She turned and slowly walked back in, blocking out the massive amount of information people were thinking. She needed to focus, calm her thoughts and heartbeat, and calm down. She moved back to the area where she thought the assault on her mind took place. She rounded the corner listening. Silence.

  Coughlin walked up behind her and startled her concentration. She had been trying so hard to concentrate on the recall of the moments before; she had missed his thoughts and registered them insignificant. When she realized she overlooked Coughlin’s thoughts she felt uneasy as if she wasn’t fully able to use her ability.

  ‘I must have been concentrating too hard, that is all. Get it together.’

  Turning to look him dead in the eyes to read what information she could steal from him, she noticed his eyes were bloodshot red, again.

  “Coughlin, not sleeping well?” She asks with little concern in her voice. Whatever was bothering him he was not letting her get to it? How was he able to keep her out of his mind? Not completely jailed out of his thoughts, just more guarded than normal.

  Ignoring her question, he leaped to the next order of concern, “D, the agents are up front. They have to get over to the banquette area for the evaluation of the attendants.” He turned to lead her from the corridor and she followed cautiously, listening to his thoughts. She had guessed for some time now that he was trying with some success to keep her out of certain thoughts and memories, she didn’t know how he was pulling it off. The bloodshot eyes could be an indication of some side effect, some effort, on his part to block her from hearing his thoughts. Dr. Salvaggi had to be behind Coughlin’s bloodshot eyes.

  “When am I going to be told exactly what is expected o
f me. I mean I have a good idea from listening to all the media attention but I haven’t been told,” listening for a channel in to his thoughts. A speck of information she could grab on to fast. Nothing, at least nothing worth her attention. Whatever he and Dr. Salvaggi were up to- its being blocked from her somehow.

  Coughlin turned to her rubbing his irritated eyelids. He was in pain; she could feel his headache pounding in her head now. He was losing control of whatever he was holding on to, and she was waiting for the moment to pounce. He finally ‘thought’ her objective: she was to place pictures of gold bullion in everyone’s head. Billions and billions worth of gold bars stacked to the ceiling in room after room. That the US Dollar was a solid investment.” She also noticed a sputter of a thought he had, ‘The President of this Nation knew nothing about Trellis or the missing gold from the depository.”

  She assumed the President did not know about Trellis, but it stretched further than she had imagined. The President was a talking head, that was all, possibly even he, and his closest cabinet members were in the dark, except Coughlin. The President’s cabinet was given precise information, made to say and do what a select group told them, Trellis being the invisible nucleus of necessity, giving this group a means to grand aspiration’s for political life. What propelled this group’s objective was anyone’s guess at this point, but as with everything, it always leads back to US currency and power. Why don’t morals ever lead the forefront of political gain?

  ‘Coughlin was this group’s biggest asset on information about the State Department. Which means he is a value like nothing she could have guessed. He was also a liability and would never be allowed to retire in peace. He isn’t a dumb man! He had to know this! Why did he take the job!’ D’s thoughts kept coming in succession like a Pandora’s Box she would like to close tight.

  Chapter Sixteen~

  In the banquet room, she walked from table to table listening in on chatter and thoughts, questions from the press core, and the high-ranking officials from other countries here to visually audit their supply of gold. There was quite the gamut of interesting people gathered in the room. Servers dressed in black and white stirred throughout the room serving the people fancy foods and drinks on bright white plates.

  The elite from other countries were suspicious of the fanfare they were witnessing. Most people thought they were being misled, someway but not sure how. They were right. She made her way to every table introducing herself as Stella Stevens and asking simple questions to each seeing if their thoughts were in a language she could understand.

  She arrived at the table reserved for a few members of the Principal Council of Ministers, appointed by European leaders. Upon sitting down she determined immediately one of the women sitting at the table was a covert operative equipped on attaining the inside workings of Fort Knox’s security. What was interesting, her forearm had been surgically fitted with a recording device that was under her skin, undetectable by the human eye. When the x-ray detected the device, she passed it off as once having a broken bone surgically corrected with stainless steel screws. Through a miniscule round opening in her arm there was a camera. Genius and Crazy. The mad science that went into this device would make Dr. Salvaggi jealous that he didn’t come up with it first!

  Of course, D had her removed quietly, searched and assumed they had it removed. No mention would be on the nightly news of this event; the Citizen Control Department would guarantee no one would ever hear about the treachery. You couldn’t blame other countries for trying, though, it was actually pretty clever.

  Brock Billingsley the evening news anchor for the KPA news station maneuvered around the room as if he were floating on air. He knew how to work the room and drum up more excitement from everyone he interviewed. Following him was a young skinny male intern taking notes on what everyone uttered. Instantly she could feel disdain from the young intern for Mr. Brock Billingsley.

  As the news anchor approached her, she could read his thoughts, those thoughts she will not repeat. He was a womanizer and to her surprise not as tall as she thought he would be.

  In the deepest voice that would have made famed news anchor Walter Cronkite envious, he spoke to her, “Miss, I am not sure we have been introduced? I am Brock Billingsley, nightly news commentator for KPA.” With his over-the-top introduction he held out his hand to shake D’s. She really wanted to use her mind control here so she would not have to touch him, but she didn’t.

  “Hello, my name is Sienna. Who is this you have here with you taking notes,” she eagerly asked trying to move his inquisitive nature away from her.

  “My intern, Les. So, Sienna how do you spell that name of yours and do you have a last name.”

  ‘Crud, I am going to have to push this out of his head and Les,’ she sighed.

  She took over the questioning, “So, Mr. Billingsley.”

  He interrupted her, “Please, call me Brock.”

  She forced a tight smile, “Fine, Brock, do you believe that they will find gold in the depository?”

  “Not for me to say. I only report the news. It will be interesting to see everyone’s reaction as we find out.”

  “Yes, it will. I myself, think there will be gold.” Of course, D knew there probably wasn’t gold or she wouldn’t have been hired in the first place. The intern following Brock around was scribbling down every word they were spewing out of their lips.

  She directed her attention to Les, “Do you think there will be gold, Les?”

  Wide-eyed he looked at her then to Brock in an attempt to get permission to speak.

  “Les, Sienna asked you a question,” Brock prompted him. Brock’s thoughts were less than amused; the attention had been taken away from him and given to his less-Les intern.

  Still not sure he should speak he slowly opened his mouth and softly uttered out, “No, ma’am I do not. I think that the government is trying some attempt to regain its status as a dominant monetary force and regain the world’s confidence on backing our dollar. Clearly we must be at a low if we have to invite other countries to check our depository.”

  “Wow, Les, you are more than a lowly intern and more of an authority on the financial position of the United States America. You must not believe in Brock’s anchorman dogma about not having an opinion?” D laughed, letting him know she appreciated his truthful response opposed to Brock’s fluffy reply.

  She admired his forthright answer; she’s almost ashamed she would have to change his mind. From what she could gather, Les was the most honest person in the whole room. This may come in handy if she ever needed to make anything public. What she did next she knew she shouldn’t, but she did it anyway. She placed a thought in Brock’s mind to treat Les better and to give him more responsibility, maybe even give him some offsite reporting for the nightly news. Les, from what he had shown her with his thoughts would hit the task hard and serious. His short brown hair and thin frame made him look younger than he was, although, maybe people would see the energy she saw in Les and not just his baby face.

  Once the meet and greet ended they were ushered out to a bus where Coughlin had been waiting. She assumed he stayed out of the meet and greet banquet to avoid her and the reporters.

  ‘Weenie,’ she murmured.

  She dwindled the large group down to twenty-three, mostly because of language barriers and one spy, now she was able to understand everyone and control them. The anticipation was high, everyone sat on the edge of his or her seat waiting, and watching as the bus lurched forward toward the depositary that was only minutes away. They approached the high electrical fence and several stern looking guards as the bus rolled to a complete stop with a slow screech. The guards came aboard and began checking everyone’s ID’s and papers, everyone’s except D’s that was.

  She watched and listened to Coughlin intensely with optimism on her part that he would give her a glimmer of information she could snag. He had been moved to utter annoyance that he had to show his ID badge to the young guard on duty,
which amused her. For the fun of it, she laced a thought into the young guard’s mind, ‘do a body search of Coughlin’. Coughlin started to yell at the young guard when he realized it had to be D manipulating the situation.

  Coughlin turned to find her a few rows back and angrily shouted, “D, this is not the time! Stop your games!”

  “Fine,” she smiled and pushed the incident from everyone’s minds. ‘Hilarious as it was, he was right~ not the time for a cavity search.’

  There was only one military photojournalist allowed to snap pictures of them outside the Fort Knox Depository and he had been briefed (and by briefed meaning; mind-controlled) to not capture D in any photos. Because Fort Knox was a highly guarded and classified area there were no helicopters filming in the sky, no news reporters standing at the gate with cameras, the only media permitted had to be security approved reporters that were only allowed to bring in pen and paper to write down what they witnessed. She was surprised they allowed even that. Every area of the news media from television to print was vying for a place on that bus. They were probably picked on the complacently of their previous news stories on the subject. Anyone that had painted the current administration in a negative light she assumed had been left out of this governmental outing. Only the popular kids would be on this bus.