by Michael Priv
“Hey, slow down, man,” I interjected. “We’re on your side, remember? We’re on the same side.”
“Yeah, okay,” Stan agreed reluctantly, not fully convinced. “So, what’s the scoop?” “That’s just it. They’re trying to lay their hands on your transport to destroy it and take over your base. Then they’d probably want to take some of your guys alive to turn as many of you as they can and kill the rest,” I explained.
“Then they’d take over the operation and the report line, using some of your guys,” Linda added. Stan was still dubious. “No, listen, that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Killing us is pointless. We’d remember what happened next lifetime. We’re not cons. We’d get back at them eventually.”
I shrugged. “Don’t flatter yourself. If protective screens are up and Brell’s out of commission, that’s all irrelevant.”
“They’d easily keep it up for quite a while,” Linda agreed. Something must’ve co me in by e-mail. Stan peered intently at his screen, scrolling down some document. Then another. Then another.
“Klimek! Go through…” he yelled in the direction of the door. “What?” His son’s voice on the intercom interrupted Stan midsentence. “ Damn,” Stan muttered under his breath, shaking his head in frustration. Then into the intercom, “Klimek, go through our archives and get me the protoplasmic signatures of the Rockefellers, Rothschilds, World Bank, some top NATO Generals, a few of the CEO’s of the largest corporations in the US and elsewhere at random—you pick which. Mark Top Priority.Go. No, wait! Get Radovan in here on the double. My Internal Security Chief. Bright kid,” Stan explained to us.
The “bright kid” Radovan turned out to be a well-groomed, bespectacled, older meathead with prominent male-pattern baldness in full bloom. Unlike the rest of the Guards, normally attired in work boots and sloppy blue bib overalls over grungy t-shirts, Radovan was wearing expensive-looking brown shoes, well-pressed khaki slacks and a light-blue shirt, which made him resemble a Farmers’ Insurance agent who went to the gym a lot. A whole lot.
Stone-faced, Radovan listened to Stan without interruptions. “We can’t defend the base against a full-scale ground attack,” was his verdict. “We’re good on air defense but not ground. We need a contingency plan. We should probably start thinking about terminations and relocating the base.”
“ Terminations? Kill Roberts and his buddies? Relocate the base? Are you out of your frigging mind?” Stan shook his head. “Takes too long. Preps take way too long, you know.” He was scrolling through reports that had started coming in from Klimek, probably the archives. “Yeah, Rockefeller, World Bank, B of A, WHO, American Express, the FDA, the Petroleum Association, the damn Teamsters Union, fucking Monsanto…” Stan scratched his head thoughtfully and pushed the intercom button. “Klimek, send out Red Alert to all personnel, Code—whatever the fuck—one-one-one-one, eleveneleven,” he started speaking into the device on his desk, when his son’s huge head popped into the door.
“What?” Klimek asked. “Man!” Stan flailed his hands in frustration. “Klimek, if you look real carefully, there is a small device on your desk, just like this one over here. See?” He jabbed his intercom with the chunky index finger. “When I push the button here, you can hear me wa-ay out there. Isn’t it fun? Try it. Hey, later!”
“Okay.” Klimek disappeared. “ Not now! Wait!” Stan pounded the desk with his fist, shaking with rage and muttering something foul. “I said later! Come back, you idiot! You’re already here!”
Klimek’s head popped back in. “First of all, just so you know, I’m not an idiot. I’m an MIT graduate.”
“I don’t give a shit!” Stan bellowed.
“Second, you told me to use the intercom. Make up your own fucking mind, okay?” Klimek’s head disappeared.
“… shoulda done an abortion …” I thought I discerned among Stan’s indistinct frustrated mutter. Linda and I exchanged embarrassed glances. The gamut of emotions played out on the Security Chief’s face at the unfolding family tragedy rivaled that of a Sphinx—the stone, third millennia BC Egyptian drama queen.
“Yes, okay, let’s use the intercom,” Stan spoke to the closed door with a groan, as Klimek had already left. Red in the face and cussing under his breath, Stan pushed the intercom button again, “Klimek!”
“You’re the boss, sure,” Klimek replied, sticking his head into the room again. “You wanna yell like a caveman instead of using the intercom? Who am I to...?”
A stapler, catapulted by Stan ’s considerable horse-powerage, smashed against the doorframe with a loud bang, just as Klimek’s head prudently disappeared. Splinters of the doorframe and mangled parts of the stapler shot in all directions like shrapnel.
“ I tend to agree that we should alert all personnel immediately,” Radovan uttered thoughtfully, brushing a stray staple off his knee. “We should also mobilize the A5B. Let’s see, who else?”
“You want us to fight on your side? Just wanna make sure I’ m hearing correctly, because when time comes, Linda and I both go bye-bye together.” I waved my hand goodbye. “As you well understand. You know what I want.”
“ Ourside? Are you nuts? It’s yourside! You wanna stay alive and have a transport to fly the fuck out of here?” Stan mimicked my bye-bye wave. “If the answer is yes, you guys will have to fight.”
Linda and I exchanged glances. I nodded my agreement. I ’d just committed what was left of the Battalion to a battle against an overwhelming enemy. Was there another choice? And who was I to make such decisions? Indeed, who was I? People kept asking me that question ever since the whole mess started.
“And Roberts and the D OD?” I asked. “We’ll deal with them, time permitting ,” Stan dropped offhandedly, peering into the computer again. “Radovan, you know what to do. Take them both out, if you can do it without too much hustle. We got other things to do.”
PART THREE
BEING
48 At the desk Stan assigned to us in their accounting office, across the room from Zhdana, Stan’s wife, Linda and I sifted through the A5B files under her watchful eye. A handsome woman—smart, blond, and large. She was well-dressed compared to Stan. Everybody was well-dressed in comparison to Stan. Zhdana kept glancing in our direction while typing on her computer.
“Picky, Stan wants to assassinate O’Hara and Roberts, right?” Linda asked. “M -h-m.” I nodded, busily going through the folders of my Battalion comrades, jotting down their contact information, and searching out any clues for which ones had already been recruited by the Priests. Through their spies, the Priests would undoubtedly find us here the minute we started assembling the guys at this base. Unless we succeeded in weeding out the spies. How could I know by looking through the folders? I couldn’t. Then we would have to get the hell out of here very fast.
“So, is it acceptable, you know, from the viewpoint of ethics?” she blurted out. To her it obviously wasn’t, or she wouldn’t be asking. “Is it?” I batted right back, glancing at her bewildered face. Linda thought, then let out a sigh and nodded her head, looking unhappy. “So ‘thou shall not murder’ is a bunch of bologna?” “Well…” I really didn’t want to dwell on those matters right that minute. Time comes when one must do what has to be done for the common good. “I guess it depends on the definition of ‘shall’, you know? Sometimes you shall not but you really must, I guess, and so shall not doubles down on itself turning into yes, you actually shall.”
Linda gave me a long glance and pursued this matter no further, probably sensing my reluctance to continue. “So how does that work?” she asked, changing the subject. “They remember everything when they die. So, they’d just get other bodies and be right back fighting us, right?”
“Who , Roberts and O’Hara? Not right away. Grown bodies are all taken already. Doesn’t work that way. They must get in at birth, or right before or right after. Otherwise, they’re screwed.” “No exceptions?” Linda kept on.
“ Sure. Sometimes after a real bad trauma or something,
the person leaves the dying body when it’s still alive, you know, and the body’s up for grabs. Somebody may grab it and fix it up. It has happened. If the body survives with another spirit in it, you get what’s known as a total amnesia case. The new guy has no clue what’s been happening in that body’s life, doesn’t know any of the people around or any events. See? He just got there.”
“So that’s amnesia!” Linda exclaimed. “ A cool movie idea, right?” I looked up from my files. Linda was all attention. “But you know, such cases are about one in a zillion,” I continued. “Pretty much never happens. Either the dying bodies die, or the true owners return. And who wants somebody else’s dying body anyway?”
“So, if Roberts died, he’d have to find a newborn and start from scratch?” Linda asked. “That’s right. Diapers and all. We’d be free of the jerk for many years. Plenty of time to warn the Baltizor High Command and get the Fact-Finding mission here and that’d be that.”
“If they could deploy a mission that easily, why haven’t they done so in five thousand years?” Once again, Linda’s power of observation struck me. “Good question, hon. I don’t know the answer. They may have liked us being out of the way.”
“They didn’t want you back?” Linda was genuinely surprised. “Not me so much. They don’t care about any of us grunts. But Brell—maybe.”
“So, Bob’s in danger then?”
“Don’t worry about Bob. He can take care of himself.” That was true, Bob really could.
“Okay. Well, then, they’d extract all of these Priests from here?” “Enough to disrupt the operation. Even a good slap on a wrist would do it. The crims would start behaving. You know why?” “Why?”
“The forever-dead sentence. Nobody wants that.
“I agree.” Linda said. “Nobody wants that sentence. Nobody deserves it, either. From an immortal and powerful spirit, they turn you into a monkey. That punishment is really unjust for any crime.”
“Not even Roberts deserves this?” Linda’s depth of compassion surprised me all over again. She never ceased to amaze me. Linda shook her head. “Nobody.”
49 The eclectic A5B crowd trickled in to Siletz, people of all ages, races, genders. Nobody in their right mind would call the congregation troops. Tourists—maybe. Good. Keeping a low profile was essential. However, upon closer examination these tourists had a rather un-touristy air about them. Grasping, penetrating eyes, perhaps, the alertness, seriousness, a sense of purpose, a sense of discipline, excitement. These people were not here for sightseeing, regardless of their age or gender. Too bad they didn’t pay much attention to the scenery. The place was gorgeous.
The 3,700-acre Confederated Tribes of Siletz Indians reservation in Oregon was, in a word, a forest, or in two words, a primordial forest. Primordial forested hills, rather. Other spot-on nouns, such as thicket, timberland, woodland, even jungle would also do fine. Proliferation of life. Abundance of small streams, creeks, rivers, rivulets, waterfalls, lakes, and puddles. Currently in January, it was too cold for the vegetation, and the trees were mostly bare, except for the evergreens.
In the summertime, I could easily imagine this place being described as green, emerald, iridescent, lush, and verdant. With an annual rainfall of about seven inches per month, the vegetation here was thriving. The place was wet.
Radovan greeted the arrivals personally at the tribal conference hall he had rented for a couple of days. His to-the-point briefings focused on the base security procedures, approximate departure schedule and various don’ts. The arrivals had to give up their cell phones, pads, tablets and laptops and subject themselves to electronic scanning and a strip search. Only then were they escorted inside the hill, located about a mile south of the tribal housing structures on the town’s eastern outskirts. There they were briefed on the military action protocol, issued their body armor and weapons, and assigned the locations of assembly in the event of an attack on the base.
I had a great idea all of a sudden, “Hey, why don’t I invite Eugene and his boys to the party? What do you think?” I prodded Linda on her side.
“Why would he want to come here?” Linda asked. “I pitted the Russians agai nst Roberts. They may want to finish what they started.” I already made up my mind. “Let’s see if he wants to come,” I said dialing Eugene’s black phone from one of the Guards’ phones, untraceable, of course. “Hey, Eugene, how’re you doing?”
“Norman? What the hell, man? How are you possibly still alive? Happy to hear your voice despite you abducting my wife, you bastard!” Eugene replied.
“Likewise, my friend. You know I wouldn’t hurt her. Just thought I give you a call and remind you about the million you shorted me on.”
“Oh, yes! I meant to give it to you. I have it right here in my office, come on over and pick it up.”
“No, I tell you what, keep it. I mean it. I don’t want it back. I need a small favor instead. You’ll like it.”
“What now? Last time you got me tangling with the White House.” That wasn’t true, it was Pentagon, but I decided to ignore the White House rebuke. “You know how you kept asking me who I really was?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Well, I can’t tell you who I am, but I ain’t a lab clerk.”
“No! Shocking. And all this time… What are you, a cop of some sort?”
“Kind of. Can you keep a secret?”
“What do you think, Norm? Can I keep a secret?” “Yeah, okay. The Pentagon and Special Forces, among many other things, have been hijacked by a group of smart and dedicated assholes, who are after a super-secret NSA space ship prototype. It’s complicated. You kicked their ass, so they hate you now more than before, but they hated you all along. That space ship prototype is parked in a hangar inside a hill in the woods in Oregon. If they succeed, the life as we know it is over. Curtains, man. We’re all dead, especially you, since you pissed them off so bad.”
“So, why am I talking to you?” Eugene asked. “I should be negotiating with them.” “They don’t need you and won’t ever negotiate with you. They despise your kind. They feel nothing but contempt toward you and yours. That’s who I’ve been fighting with. Linda and I and a bunch of other guys, we’re right now in the woods in Oregon, setting up for a fight. Are you in?”
“Well, personally I don’t believe a word you said. By the way, Norm, what phone are you calling me from? My guys have been trying to trace it, but it just doesn’t exist. Nothing’s there. Like my black phone but better. What is this technology?”
“NSA, man, top secret. I wasn’t joking about any of it.” “So, I just run to Oregon to help you? Are you nuts?”
“I thought you’d want to defend life of freedom and decency, where we live our lives without having to dance to some assholes’ tune all the time, that’s all. Do whatever you want, Eugene. These are bad people. You got kids, you’re a good guy, so you decide.”
“Who is a good guy? Are you crazy? You know what I do for a living?” Eugene laughed.
“I met Clara, Aunt Rosa, your kids.”
“Oleg, too, don’t forget you met Oleg, your jerk,” Eugene reminded me, puffing in frustration just a little bit. “ Sorry about Oleg. Listen, I know you have excellent health plan for your boys, including dental and child care. You can’t fool me. You’re a good guy. Deep down. Shocking, I know. Do you want your little boys to have a life? What do you say?”
“Are you for real?” he finally asked.
“Yes, I am. I can use your help.”
“Need snipers?”
“Sure do.”
“How many?”
“How many you got?”
“Where at in Oregon?” Eugene asked after a lengthy pause. I gave him the address and said goodbye.
“He’ll never come here. He’s a mafia boss. Hello?” Linda knocked on my head. “Hello! Who is there?” I replied, looking at the door. Linda chuckled. “Truth of the matter, I like Eugene and his merry gang of hooligans. I want them to do the right thing. Not e
ven to mention the million dollars he owes me. Did you know he owed us a million bucks?”
Linda just shook her head indifferently, preoccupied now with trying out the body armor suits the Guards gave us, full-body suits, kind of supple and shiny to deflect energy streams but soft to the touch. It accentuated her curves. I loved their body armor already.
“Guaranteed to stop any bullet,” Radovan assured us. Exactly what we needed. Stan ’s mechanics were busy getting the transport ready for takeoff after it’d been parked for many years. The plan worked out with Stan and Radovan included radio surveillance of the nearby National Guard stations in Newport and in Lincoln up the road. We expected an attack by Special Forces with the National Guard pulled in for mission support and containment. In addition to the radio eavesdropping, Stan also initiated the base air-defense system. The airspace around the base was constantly scanned for threats.
Linda and I were busy readying the base weapons arsenal for action. Several hundred assault rifles and other assorted goodies felt mighty reassuring. Linda echoed my sentiments as always.
“Hey, Picky,” she said , cradling a freshly cleaned 50-cal in her arms. “You know, this is a whole lot of firepower. Makes me feel better.”
“Yeah,” I replied, smiling inside at how in sync we were, as usual. “I was thinking the same thing, hon.” I wanted to kiss her, but clearly this wasn’t the time. Or was it? With the upcoming battle and all. Maybe this was precisely the right time. Or, rather, was any time the right time for a hug?
A sudden scream of the siren ripped through the base, startling the living crap out of me. With a yelp, Linda dropped the 50-cal on her foot. More screaming. Too much screaming. I tried to decipher the PA announcement over all the screaming but either it was in Polish, or I naturally couldn’t understand a word even if it was in plain English. One thing was clear—we were under attack.