by G L Rockey
Zack jammed a half-pack of Camels into his front pocket. “I’ll call you from the car if I see anything.”
“D-minus.”
“Thanks.” He walked to the door and stopped. “Keep in touch. You might want to call around, see what some other officials are saying, find out what happened to Jimbo. Leave him an email, phone message, something original.”
Mary tilted her head and began sending silent messages. Oh, Boca, if it was just we two, we could go away on your boat, to an island then somehow the thoughts escaped into the air. “And I’d dance for you, peel grapes for you”
“What?”
“Thinking about a boat ride.”
“Mary, forget about that, it just is not going to happen.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Find a nice young man and settle down.”
“There aren’t any nice young men.”
“Who said?”
“Who said what?”
“Who said it looked like one of their cars?”
“Oh, for” She kicked the sofa. “Ouch, damn it. See what you made me do.”
“Yes, whole thing has got me upset, too. I’m going. Keep in touch. If you find anything new, whatever, call me.”
Zack burrowed his gaze into her and an invisible energy moved. “Truth moves like that sometime. Epiphany. Remember as much as you can. Better yet, write it down.”
“Oh, Zackary, can we stop the lecture and go take the final.”
He paused outside the doorway. “And be nice to Ted, he likes you.”
“Okay, but dinner tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Boca, I’m going to insist on that boat ride”
“Bye.”
Chapter Twenty
9:00 p.m. EST
Professor Novak spoke with General MacCallister on a secured line. MacCallister assured the professor that everything was proceeding as scheduled. In fact, eight hours in, the general’s words declared the mission “Clockwork. Like shootin’ gooks in a barrel.”
Pleased, Novak advised the general that Dr. Lande was with the President in the White House pressroom, preparing him for phase two. Novak then informed Mac that the decision on Lande would be made later that night.
Chapter Twenty One
9:15 p.m. EST
The last rays of twilight streaking his windshield, Zack exited The Boca’s parking lot and made a hard left, south on Route 1. He snapped the radio on and punched to the all-news station WAME-AM.
A radio announcer was speaking. “and that’s our national news summary. On the world scene, sources report heightened tensions in the Middle East over an alleged secret nuclear pact among several OPEC nations. According to a statement released by the White House, citizens of major American cities should prepare for impending terrorist activities. The White House statement reports that the President is unshaken by the threats of violence and confirmed his trust in divine guidance. Here is part of what the President said this morning:
“‘This selling, trading of nuclear weapons to terrorists is shameless. The nations doing this, and we know who you are, cannot be allowed to get away with it. The world must be made a safe place for all people. It is my destiny to assure that this be accomplished.
“‘Fellow partners, if we do not act now, we risk our children’s common home’s destruction for the views of a few. That is intolerable. The United States of America, the mightiest nation on the planet, must make earth a safe place for all peoples. And I, as leader of this great nation, and with God’s guidance, shall do just that.
“‘Make no mistake about it, I shall protect our vital interests by seeking out and destroying the true beasts of our time that are blinded by false gods, living in darkness, unable to see the light of a free market that we enjoy.
“‘Make no mistake about it. Wherever they may be, I will seek out and destroy the infidels with whatever means is at our disposal.’”
Radio announcer: “And in other local news, there is growing racial tension here in the Miami area over the assault and murder last night of an African-American female, apparently by two Miami police officers. A video of the incident began airing on local television station WSUN, Channel 10, just after four this afternoon. The exclusive video, in the words of WSUN News Director Douglas Hoffman, came from ‘a reliable source.’”
Zack snapped the radio off. “Now it’s a ‘reliable source.’”
Mulling Armstrong’s broadcast remarks, he recalled Joe Case’s sentiment. “Who made Benny capo di capo tutti of the world?”
After thinking about that, he added his own thoughts. “And another thing, Benny. This ‘I’ thing you keep using is beginning to bore the rice out of me.”
He recalled Armstrong’s speech just the previous week to the National Press Club where Benny rambled ‘I’ all over the planet,“I propose, I believe, I am, I will, I love, I promise, I, I, I. Hollywood Benny strutting his stuff, can’t shut the tofu up. I, my gluteus maximus.”
That brought to mind Armstrong’s autobiography God’s Way, My Way, The Only Way, in particular Part IV of narcissistic rambling—political legacy, sweeping victory in 2016, U.S. President, Commander-in-Chief of the United States of America.
Zack wiped his chin. “Then the son of a bitch really went to work—Executive Order creating a media relations department headed by Dr. Barbara Lande. Lande creates the White House News Corps. A second Executive Order creating his Elite Inner Circle to deal with everything from his Jack Daniels shipments, the global economy, to international terrorists. A National Reconnaissance Office unit never funded by Congress but designated by yet another Executive Order.”
Zack lit a Camel. Can’t overreact, that’s for the TV girls and boys. He remembered Mary’s criticism—stay objective.
“I am objective” He smacked the steering wheel. “How about let’s get some reason and logic injected here and everybody get objective. Stay calm, stay calm.”
He lowered his window to clear his mind. As he turned right on 21st Street, he began to scan the sidewalks. Aside from small groups of two or three people standing on corners, the area seemed quiet. Maybe too quiet, he thought.
In mid-thought, something hard smashed into his windshield. His boxer’s instincts flashed punch back. His mind answered, Forget that.
He said, “Get out of here,” pitched his cigarette out the window and jammed the accelerator to the floor.
As he sped down the empty avenue, a traffic light turned red. He thought stop then noticed a small crowd moving into the intersection.
“Wrong”
Tensed for a possible collision, he blasted over an open space on the sidewalk, past a utility pole and back onto the street. A figure darted out, swished past; and in a moment he heard a tinkling like chimes, then a thump on the backseat. He glanced—a brick.
“What the—no” He looked in the rearview mirror—the back window was shattered. He noticed a more distant white flash and a small bullet hole appeared in his windshield.
“Hey You shot at me” Then he thought, They’re shooting at something bigger than you, Jocko.
Accelerator still jammed to the floor, he glanced up. “Are You seeing this? Are You not just a little enraged over this?”
Zipped through a red light, “That’s what I thought.”
Streaking along at near fifty miles an hour, he felt something coming up from somewhere that he had not experienced before—a lucid scaffolding of light. Then he felt a presence—Joe Case. He glanced at the passenger seat. He touched the seat. Electric energy.
“Uncanny,” he said and thought, Not your everyday rinky-dink root canal. Anyway, this is not the time nor place for soul-searching, introspection, or ghosts.
He braked and turned down 17th Avenue. Dodging cars, he raced through deserted intersections and littered streets. Thinking it was perspiration caused from nerves, he wiped his neck with his hand. He felt further up. The tip of his right ear was wet. He glanced at his fingertips
: blood. He took his handkerchief from his back pocket and held it to his ear.
Calmed by the sight and smell of blood, Strange night, he thought. Better call Ted. He spoke Ted’s preset number.
Two rings, then Ted’s voice: “The Boca, Stallings here.”
“Ted, I’ve just been shot.”
“What”
“Shot.”
“As in blood?”
“You could say that.”
“Where?”
“Ear.”
“Since we’re talking, I assume outer.”
“Funny.”
“Bad?”
“Naw.”
“Where are you?”
“Seventeenth and 21st.”
“Get out of there”
“I am. I am.”
“Jimbo called innothing new. Manny is still denying it.”
Turned left on 836, heading to interstate 95, Zack said, “Can’t find anything on the female victim, huh?”
“Nope-purr, nothing. Basically, Public Information Office theory, same as before, short but sweet—drug-related, staged by opponents of Manny to embarrass the police department. P.I.O. denies those two guys were real cops. Impersonators. Jim is going to keep nosing around.”
“Anything else?”
“Feds issued a terror alert.”
“What else?”
“Cable news guys just flashed a news alert, something coming out of Seattle. And they all been on the thing out of Boston.”
“What thing out of Boston?”
“Pyrotechnics.”
“Pyrotechnics?”
“Yep-purr. Looks like somebody blew up Old Ironsides.”
“What?”
“Yep-purr, U.S.S. Constitution, forty-four gun frigate, most famous vessel in the history of the U.S. Navy, commissioned in 1798”
“Ted, not now.”
“You going to a hospital, home or coming back here?”
“Home, I’ll call you when I get there. Tell me more about Boston, Old Ironsides.”
“Somebody blew the whole damn place up. Cable guys all reports White House sources have terrorists involved”
“White House sources? Were the terrorists dressed like Arabs or Native American Indians?”
“Boston Tea Party—that’s a good one.”
Zack checked his hanky. The bleeding had stopped. He lit a Camel. “Did you happen to hear the President’s latest proclamation on terrorism?”
“Yep-purr, interesting.”
“Interesting is the understatement of the day. I’ll call you when I get home.”
“Yep-purrhold it. NBC. That Seattle incident is coming upholy smokes, will you look at thatI’ll bethis is getting nasty.”
“What?” Zack said.
“Hang on a second.”
Impatient, Zack flipped on his radio that was still tuned to all-news WAME: “initial reports put the number of casualties at over one thousand. White House sources report that the attack at Seattle International was chemical and that foreign terrorists are involved”
Ted came back. “Zack.”
Zack turned his radio down. “Go ahead.”
“Chemical attackdropping like fliesSeattle International closed.”
“I heard, radio.”
“Must have just happened. TV nets are all switching to coverage.”
Zackary’s thoughts were those familiar ping-pong balls bouncing off a cement floor. He reflexively crossed himself then realized what he had done and said, “Haven’t done that for a while.”
What?
Nothing.
“Whata ya think?”
“Unthinkable times we live in,” Zack said.
“Nothing is unthinkable these days, especially the unthinkable.”
“You think?”
“Yep-purr. Oh, by the way, the Internet is out.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Yep, called Yahoo, they’re all out of commission—satellite failure, problems, something. Main terrestrial microwave relays are out, too. I’m gonna call AP—hard-line emergency stuff is still working, fiber optics”
“Right, I’ll call you when I get home.”
Zack turned the phone off and glanced in the rearview mirror. The world looks different through shattered glass, he thought, dragged on his cigarette and turned south on I-95.
Scanning the expressway he noted it empty except for police cruisers going in the opposite direction, red and blue lights flashing.
That anxiety something from somewhere was back.
“What is that?” He rubbed his chin. “Could it be fear trying to tell you something?” He glanced around, “You trying to tell me something?”
He listened for a response, but there was nothing. He touched the passenger seat again. Nothing.
“That’s what I thought. Anyway, I’m listening, just in case. I would definitely like to hear something, anything.”
He glanced at the bullet hole in his windshield, exhaled and continued, “I think I said this before, but with all due respect, do You think that maybe You made a mistakethis whole creation thing—earth, man, woman, Satan, original sin, Genesis, snake—wasn’t there an easier way?”
Zack felt nauseous and thought he heard something. He couldn’t be sure. Then another presence was there, an odor like month-old rotting flesh. The presence raised his level of doubting; and then, he remembered earlier bouts with doubt and always that dank odor hanging around. He had a hunch from where the smell came.
“Is that you?”
Nothing.
“Figures.”
He sped onto 95-South. “So, Jocko, what are you afraid of, Heaven or Hell?”
He answered himself, “Could be.”
He pitched his cigarette out the window and for some reason Joe Case’s presence popped into his mind. He squeezed the steering wheel and raced toward Pompano Marina, Veracity and home.
Chapter Twenty Two
9:45 p.m. EST
Russ Parker’s cohort, the skinny cop on the Channel 10 video, boarded the fifty-foot yacht End Zone for a promised once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Offering him a drink on deck, a buxom hostess assured him that the Dolphin cheerleaders were in the master suite a deck below, with Russ. He smiled and said, “That stud, Russ.”
The hostess told him they would all be up soon.
Food, booze and women—what more could you want? A seven-day cruise to paradise, the Caymans, then on to Cozumel.
Two miles out to sea, on his third Cutty and soda, as he was snacking down a dozen clams casino waiting for the cheerleaders and Russ, a red fire axe severed the cohort’s head just below the Adam’s apple. Toes still twitching, head whole, the eyes retaining a surprised expression, the remains were carried astern and thrown to circling chummed sharks. No one would ever know.
Chapter Twenty Three
10:15 p.m. EST
Home, in the parking lot of Pompano Marina, after inspecting his shattered rear window, Zack made his way over the narrow wood jetty to Veracity. The channel water calm, the dim yellow glow of Miami’s city lights to the north, reflected in the surface of the brackish water. If I didn’t know better, just another night, he thought.
He reached Veracity, boarded and stood on the aft deck. He pondered the past few hours. Two and two kept coming up five and, lousy at math, even he knew something was screwy. On top of that: “This fear thing, combined with a feeling-in-the-bones hunchthe rotten smellis turning into a very bad pain-in-the ass,” he muttered.
He sucked his teeth, went down the three steps into the cabin, snapped a light on, went to the “head’s” mirror and examined his ear. Not that bad, just the tip. He wrapped a Band-Aid around the wound, went to his custom-made two-stool mahogany bar and poured three fingers of Glenlivet into a highball glass. After a sip, he glanced at the video phone at the end of the bar, thought about calling The Boca but instead picked up his TV remote and clicked on a 12-inch television that nest
led in the polished mahogany wall behind the bar. Satellite News Network popped to life.
Drinking, he sat on a bar stool and increased the volume.
At a news desk beside a rectangular monitor a blonde with “Sally Smith” superimposed over her chest talked, “and we have breaking news from the Big Apple. We switch to WNEW’s Paul Winkle for a live report.”
Shot of Winkle breathing heavily, mike in hand, “We just arrived here a few minutes ago, at the corner of 69th and 51st. It’s an incredible scene, unfolding as we speak. Police units are everywhere. As we now have it, a gang of youths stopped the burned-out vehicle you see behind me. They apparently then raped a female passenger and set the car on fire.”
Sally: “Paul, can you hear me?”
Paul: “Yes, Sally.”
Sally: “Who is that man standing beside the burned-out car, the one wailing?”
Paul: “We think that’s the lady’s companion.”
Sally: “Oh. So, what’s the guy wailing about?”
Paul: “Something about his wife.”
Sally: “Can you get him to talk to you?”
Paul: “We tried, but he just breaks down and wails.”
Sally: “Is his wife still, ah, there?”
Paul: “I think she’s, ah, in the car, remains, they’re roping it off, crime scene.
Sally: “Could this be retribution for what happened in Miami?”
Paul: “It would appear to be that, yes.”
Sally: “That does not bode well for the present situation, does it, Paul?”
Zack pressed the mute button. “Do you believe that idiot? ‘Paul, can you get the wailing man to talk to you?’” He shook his head. “What does that TV jackknife expect the man to say? ‘Well, guys, in fact, I’m feeling really quite good, ‘cause, you see, they just raped and killed my wife’”
He looked up.
“It’s me again. Are You seeing this? After six thousand years we’re still not past the cockroaches by much, are we?” Zack stood and shook his head. “Nobody is home.”