by Michael Priv
I was the only one who ever called her Ussie. Beautiful eyes suddenly large as two saucers right in front of mine. Her legs gave out. She dropped to her knees in front of me, pushing back the scream, tears streaming down her luminous face. I saw incredible anguish mixed with joy and a whole lot of love on that beautiful face. I dropped to my knees in front of her. We hugged. She held me tight to her chest while her whole body convulsed and shuddered in silent weeping. We both wept.
Ussie sang songs on our way home, her eyes brighter than stars in the sky; she was radiating absolute and utter happiness. It was dark by the time we got to her house (my house, actually). It was time to turn in for the night.
I could not sleep on my old horse cloth in the barn, staring into the darkness, thinking how things could have been, when the barn gates creaked, and I heard Ussie’s light steps. She climbed the shaky ladder to the hay loft and groped around for me. Without another word, Ussie fell into my arms. We both cried quietly for a bit. We kissed and cuddled and then made love—finally!—long and sweet, tasting, savoring, and enjoying every square millimeter of each other’s body.
Tragically, we only run into each other about once every thousand years or so. We had spent centuries searching for each other, thinking we’d found one another only to realize we hadn’t. All that while Ursula never remembered anything and so had no idea who she was always searching for. Well, now we were finally together. We savored every moment.
Seemed that I was setting up the cell phone one moment and it was ringing the very next instant—but it was actually over two hours later.
“Yeah . Halloh,” I mumbled my best imitation of a coherent phone greeting. I knew it was Roberts and the call was of crucial importance, but I couldn’t get my eyelids unstuck and my lips working. Adrenaline quitting is a bitch.
“State your name.” That was it? Not even a “hello”? Arrogant bastard, a big shot General in Washington. He knew who I was. “ Who, me? Charley. Charley Brown. The guy who deeply offended the entire troop of Girl Scouts you sent to sell cookies last night. State your name.”
“General Roberts,” the voice stated in a snotty and kind of huffing manner. “DOD Special Ops.” Yes, Department of Defense.
“Whoopee do.”
The General chose to ignore my ever-so-slightly disrespectful retort. “Charley? You mentioned an insect in your message. What was that about?”
“That’d be about A5B. Is this a secure line?”
“As secure as they come. Don’t worry about that right now.”
“Cool. Here is the beef I have with you, Roberts. You tried to kill me, you kidnapped my girlfriend, and you killed my bird. That is unbecoming of a true US Government executive and a Baltizor Confederate officer. I’m disappointed, to say the least. You guys caused the death of two FBI agents and the entire Special Ops operation, complete with their CO, a full Colonel, as well as several innocent bystanders.” The innocent bystanders were the Russian Mafia soldiers, but I decided against discussing the finer points with Roberts. He was so full of himself, he’d never get through his thick skull that they all were, in fact, innocent. The Marines, the Russians— all of them.
“A tragic mistake that I truly regret. I can brief you on that.” If the General was remorseful about all the death and suffering he caused, his voice did not betray his feelings. More likely, he had no feelings whatsoever. None.
“Yes, please, do brief me.”
“The Command orders were to get the computer files from you. They are needed for an upcoming operation of the same sort you’ve been a part of in the past. My orders were to get the files. We tried paying Jane Rosenthal off but failed. When we traced the files to you, we tried to pay you off. We ran into criminal noncompliance on the ground, which resulted in the tragic events and casualties that you cited. Dealing with the kind of people prevalent in this locale, such a turn of events is very unfortunate but hardly surprising, is it? You know what kind of people I’m referring to?”
“The P -3 criminals. Yes, I know—and so did you and the DOD. So why hasn’t the Op been controlled better? Why operate at such risk?” I rubbed my eyes, stifling a yawn. Boy, I was tired. Linda snuffled peacefully behind my back. Cute as ever. These guys were out of control. “Where is Brell?” I asked.
“What is your name and rank, soldier? For the true ID verif.” There we go, the ID verif. I felt my stomach knotting briefly. Next, he’d check if I had the flash drive on me.
“Gunnery Sergeant Grach, 2nd Surface Crawler, A5B.” “OSI battery?”
“No, sir. The Lancer gun. We didn’t have OSIs on the 2nd Crawler.” “Very good, Gunny, pass.”
“So, what’s Brell’s 20?”
“Why do you want to know, Sergeant?”
“I don’t. But you got me into this mess, so now I think I should.”
“I’m taking my orders from General O’Hara. And have been for a very long time. Verylong time. Does that answer your question?” “Yes -s, sir.” The implication was that General Brell, the Commanding Officer of the Advance Battalion was now the Secretary of Defense of the United States. That is what Roberts was telling me.
Gen eralRoberts, that is, one of Brell’s Priests, one of Brell’s closest cohorts from way back when. So why wasn’t I buying that O’Hara was Brell? Because Brell would never have operated so sloppily and ruthlessly, causing the deaths of innocent people and wreaking havoc and mayhem right, left and center. That’s why. How did I know? I knew Brell. But the million-dollar question was why Brell’s identity was so important to the top brass all of a sudden. Important enough to take incredible chances, to lie and kill for?
“Where is the removable data storage device, Gunny?” Kaboom. The other shoe had kicked the bucket.
“I have it on me. How can I get it to you?”
“Where are you?” As if he didn’t know.
I gave him the name of the motel, location, and my room number—not the one we stayed in but the one we were supposed to occupy.
“Stay where you are. I’ll send somebody over in the morning. Say 10:00 a.m.? You probably need some rest.” Not likely. I had no time at all. They’d be here in seconds and kill us both. They could destroy the entire motel from a drone with a missile, I thought, suddenly terrified. No, they wouldn’t. They needed the flash drive. Right. Fear continued squeezing my entire being in that debilitating grip I knew so well.
“Great! I do need rest,” I replied evenly. “Thank you very much, General. Over and out.”
25 Time: 2:15 a.m. Another long night. Roberts was lying and his promise to let us rest till morning was another one of his lies—one of many. I tossed the Colonel’s phone into the toilet and turned to wake Linda, but she was already up, watching me, eyes big as two saucers.
“What’s going on, Norman? Who is this general from the Pentagon? Are you out of your frigging mind?”
“Let’s get out of here first, hon, we are in danger.” “No! You got me into this. I want to know what’s going on first.” Linda was fussing but getting dressed quickly. Ma’ girl.
“Out, Linda, through the bathroom window. Now!” Hopping on one foot and pulling up my pants in the dark, I peeked through the blinds of the front window just as a large van and several SUVs pulled into the motel parking lot. Machine guns on the ready, disembarking faceless people in black took position in front of the room next door—the room where we were supposed to be staying. With no further ado, I rushed after Linda to the bathroom window.
If I were smarter, I would have probably parked the Sienna behind the motel instead of parking it in front. On the other hand, the Sienna, designed primarily for family safety, was not the best getaway car anyway, so having to steal another car opened an opportunity for a nimbler, more muscular car. Optimistically speaking, I may not have been all that dumb leaving the Sienna at the front after all. No, I quickly concluded, I was as dumb as I thought, even dumber. One look around the back parking lot sufficed as the proof. The selection of potential getaway cars was
limited to only two vehicles on the stark asphalt emptiness—a dilapidated pickup truck loaded with empty pallets to twice its height and an ancient, tiny Ford Fiesta with an engine smaller than in most modern lawn mowers. The back seat was stuffed to the top with bags and belongings. A withering look from Linda, as I broke the driver’s window with my elbow, added insult to injury.
“Get in!” I ordered a bit too rough. “Sorry, babe, we got to go.” I softened the rhetoric. She’d had enough roughness lately—way too much.
“That’s all right, Picky, I’ll live. For the record, it’s all your fault,” Linda replied with an accusing glance in my direction. There was no fear in that glance and not much anger, either. Surprisingly, Linda was holding up like a real pro. Who knew?
Should’ve stolenthe truck, I thought, pulling out of the parking lot through the back entrance just as half a dozen commandos turned the corner to cover the back. Sneezing out wafts of smoke, the Fiesta gingerly made her way out onto the back street, sparsely lit by a single lamppost.
“I’ll kill you,” muttered Linda, cramped on the passenger’s seat, clutching the two moneybags. “ Sure, and pocket all the money?” Another withering look. I silently handed her the Glock. “Here, in case we need it.” I nodded back in the direction of the armed grown-ups playing ninja.
“Not in your life!” Linda bristled. “I’m not shooting anybody . I’m not a killer! Besides,” she came down an octave, “I don’t even know how to aim or anything, so…”
“You just wanted to kill me, remember? Not fair!” “Don’t get fresh, Norman . You’re in a heap of trouble with me right now, just so you know. I don’t even wanna talk to you so shut up and drive.” She suddenly punched me on the shoulder, hard. That hurt. Live and learn.
“Yes, dear, so I’ll be just driving here quietly then, okay?” “I have a life. I had a life! I had a job. I had my mom and dad…” She started sobbing.
“But, hon, did you have a million bucks?” She hit me again, painfully. She was right. Joking aside, I was responsible for placing Linda in mortal danger. Even if we emerged victorious at the other end—if we emerged at all, as the case may be—there was plenty of suffering in our near future for us and many others, including but not limited to all the dead and maimed soldiers and even to the owners of the cars I kept stealing. Alas, life as she knew it was over. My heart squeezed painfully. Nothing I could do would change the course of events. I really wanted to hit my head on this pitiful little car’s fender a few times in powerless desperation. Linda, my dear, I wish I could’ve prevented this nightmare.
I kept silent.
26 To confuse the pursuers, I skipped I-80 and kept driving north into the park, then turned east, onto one of the back roads. We couldn’t outrun any mode of transportation with the possible exception of a backhoe. The old Fiesta, floored, barely did fifty-five. Fortunately, we had some hours before the Feds could find us. This car obviously wasn’t up to the task of seeing us through; we needed a better car. I could see nothing but black emptiness all around us.
“Who are these people after us?” Linda asked, whimpering slightly, and wringing her hands. “CIA, NSA, D UI, DMV—some such letters. Who knows?” “But why? Why are they after us?”
“They want the flash drive. This one.” I fished the tiny object from my pocket.
“This little piece of crap? Give it to them! Right now!” Linda yelled through sudden tears. “Don’t you understand? They’ll kill us!” “Too late. They’ll kill us anyway. They already sent t hree teams of Marines after me and that was before we trashed their command center. Now I’m a participant and a witness to all of that.” I shrugged apologetically, stepping on the gas with all my might. “And I messed up four of their guys earlier, too,” I added. “Before it all even started.”
We were almost all the way up to sixty now.
She stared at me through tears as if she was seeing me for the first time. “You killed all their Marines?”
“Well, some are probably in a hospital right now… I hope.” “And the others are— what? Dead? How many did you kill?” I didn’t reply. “What’s on that stupid flash?” she asked sobbing in earnest now, trembling, face in her hands.
“A picture of some hi lls, trees, rain and a poem in some unrecognizable language. Listen, Linda, I’m sorry about all this. You know, I’d never knowingly put you in any danger.”
“Norm, sometimes you’re such an idiot.”
Being crestfallen and apologetic didn’t work either. I had to keep things light and hopeful—for Linda’s sake and mine.
“Relax, hon. I have a plan.” I patted Linda’s knee, but she pushed my hand away. “Oh, yes, murderer, now I feel much better, you have a plan! Who are you planning to kill now? The President of the United States?”
Lacking vital information to answer that question honestly, I answered as truthfully as I could under the circumstances. “I sure hope not, hon.”
Linda ’s despondent sobs confirmed my suspicion that I wasn’t getting anywhere with my attempts of comforting her. With a deep sigh, I concentrated on my driving. That’s when I noticed two pairs of headlights behind us, at a great distance but gaining fast, too fast.
“Shit! How could they have found us so quickly?”
Linda made big eyes at me. “The soldiers?”
“Do you still have your cell phone on you?” I asked. She pulled out her phone and showed it to me. “That’s how they’re tracking us,” I said. Linda unexpectedly threw her phone out the window into the darkness. “No, wait!” I yelled. Too late. We’d have to get off the road in a few seconds, and the phone would serve as a fifty-foot neon sign with a huge arrow pointing at us.
“What? You said they were tracking my phone!”
“That’s okay, honey, never mind. We’ll have to drive off-road now.” It was bumpy driving down the steep embankment with my lights off. The car finally hit the dirt and stalled. It wouldn’t start. Two large dark SUVs whooshed past doing at least ninety and two helicopters, approaching the area, probed the road with their search lights.
“Do you want me to push?” asked Linda, her lips trembling in uncertain moonlight. She seemed terrified.
“No, hon, we’ll leave the car here and go on foot, quick now!” “Leave some money for the owners,” she suddenly said, surprising me. Not nearly as terrified as I thought.
“Not now, Linda, we really must go.” “They need it.” Linda bristled, surprising the living crap out of me yet again. “Here, let’s leave this.” She fished two wrapped wads of hundreds, twenty thousand dollars’ worth in total, from one of the moneybags and stuck it between piles of clothing in the back. That’s
more moneythanthese people haveever seen intheirlife,I thought to myself. The chance of the money ever reaching the Fiesta owners after the Feds were done searching the car was slim, but that failed to diminish the deed in my eyes.
“Linda, did I tell you I love you?”
Linda smiled at me from the darkness. “Can I get a rain check on that? Come on, Picky, tell me later. Don’t forget.” We ducked into the thicket, branches scraping at our skin, my heart pounding. Looking back from some pine-covered hill, I saw several cars where we left the Fiesta. Too close. The helicopters buzzed in circles, illuminating the scene brightly from above. Their circles began to widen. Probably using thermal imaging, too,I thought. I bet they have a satellite over us as well.Their hardware and their proximity would make our escape impossible, except for one redeeming factor—the wet forest with dense undergrowth and lots of large rocks and ravines. I figured, we had a pretty good chance, we just had to move.
The shadowy vastness of the sleeping, damp forest around us was its own mysterious world—a rather uncomfortable one, I thought, as I slipped on the uneven ground and rolled down the hill in the wet darkness all the way, followed by Linda.
“Linda, wait!” I worked on getting my foot out from where it was stuck between some rocks. Nothing was broken. “Keep up,” Linda threw back at me, huf
fing.
“Yes, ma’am.” Ma’girl. Just wow!
At sunrise, chilled to the bone, exhausted and dirty, we finally reached a town of sorts, which consisted predominantly of horse stables. We washed up the best we could in a trough lined with slimy moss, and strolled toward the civilization, following a presumptuous “Downtown” sign, keeping away from the road. Several black SUVs did pass us some two hundred feet away, forcing us to hide behind a stack of hay. The sound of a helicopter overhead made us duck into the culvert and slither from there into a drain pipe. We were quite possibly following the enemy to their destination.
The vast complexity of our situation could be reduced to two key factors that could help us gain any advantage or clarity—a good car and the information contained in the flash drive files. Those were at the heart of our basic and immediate problems. Food and rest reached even deeper into the cosmic existentialism of it all.
We chose the coffee shop for its name, Wi-FiJava.Linda wanted to see the files. Apparently, she’d been great at riddles and crosswords since early childhood. The SUVs were nowhere in sight.
I took a sip of the coffee and almost spit it out. That’s why I preferred Starbucks. Fortunately, this place offered more to the weary travelers than coffee and Internet. Munching on our eggs at their computer, we tried the flash drive only to find the same stormpummeled hills and the document in an unrecognizable language.
“What do you make of this?” I asked. Linda studied the picture in silence. She looked up. “Wait, something’s wrong.” One of the black SUVs suddenly loomed large right in front of us in the shop window. It stopped.
“Linda, we’re leaving!” I threw a hundred on the table—we had no smaller bills—grabbed Linda’s hand as the two of us galloped toward the back door. Linda clutched the flash drive in her hand.