Protocol One

by Jacqueline Druga

  “So he really isn’t your date?”

  “No.” I squealed out.

  Jackson moved to the door and I stopped him.

  “I got this.”

  “What if he’s just a reporter pretending to be your date?”

  “Then he won’t come back. Stay here.” I opened up the bedroom door. My hands shook. I should have called the police. I could have been walking into an ambush.

  Turning the corner into the living room from the bedroom hallway, the man rose from the sofa.

  Of average height and build, my living room bandit, a man in his forties, actually looked like he was dressed for a date. A nice shirt and newer jeans. His dark hair was styled and he wasn’t bad looking. But despite his pleasant appearance, it was something I couldn’t trust. Before he could speak, I extended the hand gun.

  “Who are you and why are you in my house?”

  He lifted his hands to chest level. “I’m your date.”

  “Bullshit, I haven’t had a date in six years.”

  “Well, to be honest, if you greet all dates like this, that would explain the extremely long lag in your social life.”

  “Funny.” I stepped close to him. “Why are you here?”

  “We have a date.” He repeated. “And I’m not here to assassinate you and your son.” He winked. “Your house isn’t that big. Sound travels.” He moved to me. “And really, honestly, if I can give you some advice. If you do have a home intruder and you’re serious about protecting yourself. You may want to turn the safety off and …” He reached out and took the gun from my hand. “For God’s sake, if you’re gonna come out playing Clint Eastwood, at least load a magazine. You can’t shoot anyone with an empty gun.” He placed it on the table.

  “Well, that went well.” I turned my head slightly. “Jackson, call the police!” I yelled.

  “I’m right here,” Jackson said from behind me.

  “I told you to stay put.”

  “Mom, I was worried. You didn’t load the gun.”

  “See,” the man said. “Even your kid knew.” He raised his hands. “Son, she’s fine. You don’t need to call the police.” He moved his hands slowly as he spoke. “I’m not reaching for a weapon, only my phone. Okay? Just my phone.”

  I nodded.

  He reached to his back pocket and pulled out his phone. After fiddling for a second he showed it to me. “Recognize that number?”

  I looked closely. “That’s Gil’s number.”

  “Read the message,” he said.

  I did.

  “What’s it say, Mom?” Jackson asked.

  “It’s says, ‘Anna, I sent him’.”

  “We good?” he asked. “Good. Ok.” He put away his phone. “Right now you have a reporter camping out across the street and two federal agents down the road. If we want this to look legit we really should go.”

  “I still don’t know who you are,” I said. “Gil sent you. I got that. Why?’

  “My name is Anthony Garrison. Call me Tony. The average time in a house to pick up a single mother for a date is …” he looked at his watch. “Six minutes. We’re at that mark. We need to go. Plus, we have a reservation.”

  “For what?”

  “Our date,” he repeated almost annoyed.

  “Gil sent you? He’s finding me dates now? Well, I’m sorry. I had plans.”

  “Mom,” Jackson snickered my name. “You were going to the movies alone.”

  “You were going to the movies alone?” Tony asked.

  “Yes,” I answered defensively.

  “Alone. On a Saturday night. You know how that looks.”

  “Yes, I know how that looks, asshole.”

  “And you find that a better option than going out to dinner?”

  “I don’t know you.” I said.

  “Gil sent me. And this is a little more than a date, ok?”

  I looked at him.

  “Okay?”

  I stared at him. “This isn’t like a prostitution thing, is it?”

  Jackson groaned.

  Tony tossed up his hands. “Oh for the love of God.”

  “Fine, I’ll get my purse.” I walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed my purse. “This is insane.” I kissed my son on the cheek. “I’ll text you. If you don’t hear from me…”

  “I know. I know. Call the police.” Jackson said.

  Tony opened the door for me. “Try to walk out looking like you want to go out.”

  “Fine.” I peered back at Jackson. “I’m killing your father.”

  Once I stepped outside to my small porch, I saw the car across the road and my eyes moved to spot the one down the street.

  If that was a federal agent, why were they watching my house?

  An eerie feeling crept into my gut. Tony placed his hand on my back and whispered ‘look happy’ and walked me to his black SUV.

  The whole thing didn’t make sense and yet, I went along with it.

  I had to truly be insane.

  <><><><>

  I was full of questions when I got in the car, but Tony seemed focus on the fact that not only did the reporter follow us, but so did the federal agent.

  “You have a lot to ask, I know.” Tony said. “We’re going to Wilson’s and that’s only a few minutes away. You can ask me anything there. I promise.”

  “Why can’t we start talking now?”

  “Because I have this thing about talking face to face.”

  “I don’t understand why Gil went to such elaborate measures to make the press think we aren’t getting back together.”

  “It’s a little more than that,” Tony said. “Actually, a lot more than that.”

  “Am I in trouble or danger? I mean, why is a federal agent following us? That’s never happened.”

  “It’s to ensure that Senator Jenner is not passing information to you.” Tony answered. “If they think there’s some sort of relationship rekindling then they can put two and two together. The shopping list, etc. We can’t have them trace the items.”

  “You know about the shopping.”

  “I know about it all.”

  “Then you know what’s going on?”

  “I do,” Tony said.

  “How?”

  “I’ll tell you after we get inside the restaurant.”

  “Can you at least tell me why? Why Gil sent you?”

  “Because of national security, he cannot let things slip. It’s vital. I am more than just a date to throw off the relationship rumors, I’m your contact with Gil. I am your source of information.”

  “Do you know why he cut off contact? Was it because of the me talking to the reporter?”

  “Somewhat, more so a flag,” Tony said. “See, certain individuals are watched. Because every single communication can only be scanned, key words or flag words are placed in the monitoring system. For example, if you have a suspected terrorist, if the word ‘bomb’ is said or texted, it flags the communication. Senator Jenner is watched. You said a flag word. Because of that, all communication with him must be ceased and diverted.”

  I was so engaged in the conversation I hadn’t noticed that we pulled up to the restaurant. “I said a flag word?”

  “More so you sent a text with a flag word.”

  “What was it?”

  Tony shut off the car and looked at me. “Comet.”

  8 – Information Appetizer

  Wilson’s was the place to go if you wanted to spend a ton on a meal. I couldn’t say whether the food was good or not, because before my ‘date’ I had never stepped foot in the place. It wasn’t my thing.

  “Why here?” I asked Tony after leaving the SUV with the valet.

  “Because you can’t just walk in here and grab a table. You need a reservation. So the federal agents on our tail can’t follow us in here. They can,” Tony thanked the doorman as we passed through the entrance. “But anyone who knows this place, knows you need a reservation.”

  “So you’re from around here?�
��

  “No. Do I sound like I’m from Texas? No. Illinois.”

  Silently, I questioned Illinois as we were led to the table. I almost fell out of my chair when I saw the prices on the wine menu and they were for a simple glass not a bottle. I decided right there that I was going to order the most expensive items all the way around. If I was going to be dragged out on a date, then they were going to pay heavily for it.

  The waiter brought out the three shots of bourbon in separate glasses as Tony had requested. He held up a hand to the waiter to get him to stay put, then Tony downed the first one. He handed it to the waiter and then downed the next. “I’m good now, thanks.” He told the waiter, flashing a smile.

  “You aren't downing that one?” I asked.

  “No, I’ll sip it.”

  “Are you an alcoholic? I never saw anyone drink like that.”

  “It’s two shots and you’re not an easy person to handle.”

  “I resent that. I’m very easy going.”

  “So why haven’t you had a date in six years? You’re a fairly attractive woman, it should not have been a problem.”

  My jaw dropped in offense. “I find relationships intrusive. Besides, I had a child to raise.”

  “He’s almost a man.”

  “He’s still my child.”

  “You’re right. They’re always your child. No matter how old.” Tony brought his drink to his lips, took a sip and cleared his throat. The waiter came and took our order, then Tony leaned forward. “So how do you want to do this? Do you just want to ask questions or have me go first? You know what, never mind. I’ll go first. That way if you need to ask me if you’re my prostitute or any other extremely uncomfortable questions, you can just interrupt. Okay?”

  “Yes.” I pulled out my phone.

  “What are you doing? Texting?”

  “No, taking notes.”

  His hand reached for my phone. “You can’t take notes.”

  “I need to take notes. I may forget something I want to ask you.”

  “Just … interrupt when a question pops in your mind.”

  “Fine.” I set down the phone and pushed it aside. “Go.”

  “As you know, my name is Tony Garrison. I own and operate GSS. Global Security Solutions …”

  “How long have you known Gil?”

  “Six years. Anyhow. GSS is a private company that employs former special ops and military men to go into situations that the military wants to publicly avoid.”

  “Are you friends?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You and Gil. Are you friends?”

  “We don’t hang out and have beers, but we have met face to face one time so I’d say …”

  “No.” I interrupted. You've known him for six years but aren’t friends. Probably why he set up this date.”

  “Anna.” He firmly stated my name. “Why are you interrupting so much?”

  “You said to interrupt if I have a question.”

  “I haven’t even started yet. Are you sure you don’t want to go first?”

  “No. Go on. It would be easier if I could take notes.”

  “Then take notes.”

  “Thank you.” I lifted my phone.

  “Anyhow,” Tony exhaled. “Six years ago, Senator Jenner contacted me and we initiated a plan called GSS Protocol I. That was our name for it, because we were able to mask what we were doing under the guise of the rules of the Geneva Convention Protocol I. Understand?”

  I nodded and shook my head. “No.”

  “Basically it protects victims of international conflicts.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” I asked.

  “Nothing. It was a code name. If we came up with something original it would be flagged and people would wonder what we were talking about. This way they just believed I was running a security detail. Following me?”

  “I am now.”

  “Shortly after our first contact, Senator Jenner began to experience deep religious convictions and selflessly started donating his lottery winnings to the Church of Higher Worth, a nonprofit organization located out of Nevada.”

  Admittedly, I was dumbfounded and I held up my hand.

  “You have a question?”

  “No. Stop. I’m no longer following you. Security protocol? Church? Please. While I know you are probably a very detailed orientated man …”

  “I am.”

  “Then can you please stop and cut to the chase,” I said. “You said I used a flag word.”

  “You did.”

  “Meaning, Gil was held to high secrecy and I used a word that may or may not lead whoever is holding him to secrecy, to believe he opened his mouth.”

  “Yes. If they think he opened his mouth, then they could look into what he has done. He can’t have that. Under anti-hoarder laws, not normally enforced, he could have to surrender everything he has been building, especially in the last six months.”

  “Why couldn’t you just say that? Why couldn’t you just say he’s afraid his cover is gonna be blown and he sent you to tell me everything and pretend to be my date to throw them off?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Because I thought you’d want to know the beginning of the story, how he contacted me and how he funded it without anyone knowing.”

  “You didn’t say anything about his funding it.”

  “I did. I said he donated to a church.”

  “So like the aluminum foil he laundered the money through a church.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, if this gets out he’ll never be President.”

  “He’ll never be President anyhow. The elections will never happen.”

  “Since I know the flag word I used, then it’s true?”

  Slowly, Tony nodded. “Yes.”

  “The government does use tabloids as a means to slip information to the public. I saw that in a movie once.”

  “What … are you talking about?” He asked and then suddenly downed his ‘sipping’ shot.

  “The World Inquisitor had the scoop.”

  “Oh my God.” His hand shot to his face.

  “So there isn’t a twelve mile wide comet on a collision course to earth?”

  “Don’t be insane.”

  I exhaled with a ‘whew’ and sat back.

  “It’s more like five point two miles.”

  I grabbed my drink and guzzled it as well.

  Tony signaled the waiter and ordered us both another round.

  9 – Medium Rare Truth

  By the time our meal arrived we got to the meat of the conversation. No pun intended toward the steaks.

  I got it. Because Gil was married to Gwen at the time, he found out about Dempsey’s Comet. A comet nearly as big as the one that reportedly wiped to the dinosaurs. Of course, the ‘I need to be prepared’ person in Gil took over.

  My big question was if Gil was supposed to be secretive, and it was known he was talking with Tony, then how was Tony not spotted as the connection? I would think they would put two and two together. Gil isn’t communicating with his wife, but his security connection is.

  Simply, no one knows who Tony Garrison is.

  The head of GSS isn’t Tony Garrison. Because of what he deals with Tony remains hidden behind a fake face at the company.

  Our conversation went from over dinner, to the bar down the road where we had a few drinks.

  “Everyone was entirely confident,” Tony said. “That the deflection project would work. When it failed, the government and Gil went into high gear. Secretively of course. That Smithsonian Remodeling project was just a ruse for them to put away artifacts.”

  “Why is it a secret? Why not let the world know so they can prepare?”

  “How? Unless you have money. How? We just found out when it was going to hit or at least we think so. We can’t tell for sure because for the last three years it’s been hidden. That’s why anyone with a telescope can’t spot it. But in a couple of weeks, there may be no hiding it
. Imagine the world, right now, if they knew. What would it be like? Keeping it secret keeps the gas flowing to the tanks and the food flowing to the shelves. Hell, I didn’t find out what I was building until the failed attempt.”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “No.” Tony shook his head. “All I knew was I was to locate three, old cold war silos that could be fitted and redesigned for survival. According to sales records, the church found the bunkers and sold them to three different individuals. Construction is complete and has been for over a year. They are partially stocked, with the remainder of the supplies to be shipped to the final destination.”

  “Three locations.”

  “Yes, one north, one east, and one in Germany. We won’t know exactly where the comet will strike until it comes into measurement range. So it will come down to the wire. Once we get a location of impact, the remaining supplies will be moved to the safest location.”

  “So two of the shelters will not be used?” I asked.

  “They’ll be used. GSS people and their families will be able to go there. Some of the chosen construction workers. God willing, the comet hits somewhere that keeps all locations safe.”

  “What about the foil?”

  “It's been shipped. Construction crews have been wrapping all electronics and prepping them for the EMP that will come with the comet. I guess, I don’t know. One man at each station has been doing it. They’re probably nuts by now. Who knows? My job is to be secure. To keep it all a secret and have it ready to go and to get you out when the time comes. I don’t know much about comets.”

  “Well, I do. A lot happens, that’s for sure.”

  “You’ve been studying them for a while?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “About twenty-four hours.”

  “Dr. Fleishmann is really the expert. You’ll have him on hand. He’ll be advising the technical side.

  I gasped loudly.

  “You know him?”

  “He was the leak to the tabloid. Claude Fleishmann. The scientist in Germany.”

  “His name is Peter and he lives in Ohio” I countered.

  “It’s the same man. He’s a good one. His conscience wouldn’t let him live with the secret.”

  “So he let it out via a tabloid?” I asked.