by Slaton Smith
“Well, he never liked me to begin with.”
“I know that.”
“He says I was insubordinate.”
“Now, that I do believe,” Brian chuckled.
Sean explained everything that happened.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Well, I need to get a job of some sort,” Sean replied
Sean just starred straight ahead.
“You eat yet?” Brian asked him, breaking the silence.
“No.” Sean really had not eaten all day.
“Let’s go get something. I am going to change and we’ll go over to Doc’s, but first call Michelle. I am sick of her messages.”
“Thanks,” Sean mumbled. He had no intention of calling Michelle. “Who would want to?” He thought to himself.
Brian slapped him on the shoulder and headed upstairs. Sean rose, picked up his old Vasque hiking boots next to the front door and pulled them on. Brian came back down in less than five minutes.
“You ready?”
“Yeah,” Sean answered, standing and stretching
“You going to comb your hair or something? A hat maybe?” Brian asked, teasing him slightly.
“No.”
“Have it your way.”
They made their way over to Doc’s and found a place by the window facing Walnut Street. Brian ordered a pitcher of beer, while Sean looked over the menu. He settled on a burger and cheese fries. Brian ordered the same.
“What are you going to do?” Brian asked, taking a sip of the beer. He noticed Sean was gulping his down.
“I guess I will get on LinkedIn in the morning, update my profile and see what I can find. There are a couple of recruiters I can call.”
Sean finished his beer and poured another. It was going right to his head. The lack of food was a factor.
“I can reduce your rent,” Brian offered.
“Too what? $100? I only pay you $150 as it is. That’s not fair to you.”
“It’s not a problem, it’s not like I owe anything on the house.”
“You have to pay taxes,” Sean replied.
“Well, that’s true.”
“I appreciate the offer.”
The food arrived. Sean also ordered another pitcher. He quickly ate everything on his plate and had another beer. Brian’s phone was beeping.
“Sean, did you call Michelle?”
“No.”
“Well, you are not going to have to worry about it. She is on the way over here,” Brian told him.
“Come on! Did you tell her where we are?” Sean asked, making a face and putting down his beer.
“No. But it’s not hard to figure it out. You come here every night.”
Sean shrugged his shoulders. Both of them sat back and watched the TV over the bar. Sean had another beer and Brian was finishing up his burger when Michelle passed by the window.
“Dude, she’s here,” Brian said, nodding towards the door.
Michelle stormed in and stood at the table. Sean looked at her.
“You want a beer?” he asked her.
Michelle ignored him and ripped right into Sean, “Why have you not called me back or texted me?”
“I guess that’s a no.”
Brian started to get up.
“Brian, you can stay there. This will only take a minute.”
Sean looked at her with a smirk on his face.
“You think this is funny? Well, I am tired of it. I think I am the only one who takes this seriously.”
“I take it seriously.”
“No you don’t!” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”
“OK,” he said with both hands on his beer.
“OK? OK? That’s all you have to say?” Now, she was mad.
“Yes.”
“This is what drives me nuts! Goodbye Sean,” she turned and stormed out.
Brian looked at Sean, but didn’t say anything.
“I guess we should get another pitcher,” Sean said, waving at the waitress. He actually felt a little relieved, but it’s never fun getting dumped.
“I am not supporting your over indulgence. I don’t care if you just lost your job and your girlfriend.”
“I am not upset. How many times has she broken up with me?
“I don’t know, but I think she means it this time,” Brian said.
“That’s fine. It was a doomed relationship.”
“Sean, finish up the beer and then we are leaving. I am not going to leave you here to close this place down.” Brian threw down his American Express.
“Thanks for dinner,” Sean said.
“You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do.”
Sean polished off the rest of the beer and they left Doc’s. It was still a bit chilly. You could smell the rain in the air. Another storm was coming in.
They entered the house. Sean stumbled upstairs and Bailey followed. He went into his room, closed the door and threw himself on the bed. Bailey jumped up next to him. He slept straight through the night.
He woke up at 9:50 the next morning. He had a bad case of cottonmouth. He got up and brushed his teeth and took a long drink from the tap. He still had on the clothes from last night. He really didn’t care, after all, where was he going? He looked out the window at the rain. It was really coming down. He went downstairs to let Bailey out. She refused to go out into the yard. He opened the fridge and got out a bottle of water and then turned to see a note on the counter. It was from Brian.
We forgot to put your Jeep in last night. Sorry.
“Shit!” He looked outside. It was pouring and his top was basically a sieve. He grabbed his key and ran out into the rain in his bare feet. He was soaked before he got off the deck. He quickly opened the garage, jumped in the Jeep and was greeted by a drenched seat. Pools of water were on the floorboards. The cup holder was full of water as well. He put the key in the ignition and turned it. All he heard were rapid clicking sounds. Dead battery.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” he screamed. He put his head on the steering wheel, “what next!” He put the Jeep in neutral, got out to try and push it into the garage. He got behind it and started to push, but could not get any momentum going. If anything, it moved backwards.
“Fuck it!” He stopped pushing, reached into the front and pulled the emergency brake. He walked back to the house. Why run? Everything he had on was wet. Just inside the kitchen door, he started pulling his wet clothes off. He opened the basement door and threw them down the stairs. They landed a couple of feet from the washer and dryer. Naked, he went upstairs straight into the shower and turned on the water. He jumped in hoping to wash off the last twenty-four hours. Unfortunately, it would not come off and he got out having to figure out how to solve this new set of problems. He dried off and put on dry jeans and another sweatshirt. Taking his iPad off his dresser he went downstairs, into the kitchen, sat down at the counter and then opened up the LinkedIn app and went to his profile. He looked at his career details and made a few adjustments here and there and ran a quick job search but found very few opportunities. He looked at his phone and turned it on and found nine text messages. Eight were from Michelle. He deleted them. The remaining message was from Cathy letting him know that his money, $6,566, would be in his account on Friday. She also wished him good luck. With the deposit, he would have roughly $9,000. “Could be worse,” he thought to himself. However, he remembered quickly that he would have to buy a new battery today and probably a new top for the Jeep.
He logged into his email and saw nothing of interest. Next, he checked Facebook. He scrolled through a couple of updates. Everyone really enjoyed talking about all the important things they were doing or how drunk they were last week. He wondered if he should talk about losing his job, his girlfriend and his broken-down car. Then he noticed something different. Something had changed. He took a look at his list of friends. Michelle was missing. So was Stacy, her roommate.
“How fucking petty. She un-friend
ed me.” Sean said, looking at Bailey. “So did her bitchy friend. Well, they have no idea what they are missing, not being my friend.”
It was approaching 11 A.M. He wasn’t really hungry, but this is when you ate. So, he ate. He made a quick PB&J, went into the living room and sat down. He flipped through the channels on the TV. Nothing good. Game shows. Talk shows. He turned off the TV and finished his sandwich. He really did not know what to do with himself. He turned and looked out the window. It had stopped raining. He put on a pair of running shoes and went outside to take a look at the Jeep. Bailey followed and was sniffing around the yard. He was in an incredibly foul mood.
“Piece of shit top,” he muttered looking at the Jeep. He began taking it off. It took about ten minutes to get the whole thing off. He did his best to stuff it in the trash, but it wouldn’t fit. He looked at Bailey.
“Spring has arrived!” He said to her, looking at the topless Jeep. Then he took the doors off thinking it would dry out faster.
He looked up at the sky. “Come on sun! I need you.” He set the doors in the back of the garage and looked for a battery charger. He figured it was worth a try to get it going. He found it on the old workbench, hooked it up and walked back to the deck. He opened up a storage box on the deck and took out two cushions for the chairs. The sun was coming out. He set up two chairs facing the sun. He sat in one, Bailey in the other. The sun felt warm on his face. Then it dawned on him. He was going to do absolutely nothing.
“I like doing nothing,” he said aloud.
III
Green Light
Outside of Washington D.C.
April 29, 2011
Robert Waters walked into his boss’ office. He was wearing a gray pinstriped Brooks Brother’s suit, a white button-down shirt, and a red tie. A flag lapel pin finished his look. As usual, he was met by security who wanded him and checked him for listening devices. Waters was meeting with the Deputy Director of the CIA’s National Clandestine Service, George Price.
George Price had worked his way up the food chain at the CIA since joining the agency right out of the University of Florida. Not coming from an Ivy League college, he had a huge chip on his shoulder. He knew people thought he was a hick. To get where he was, he had put in his time in the world’s hellholes and had seen the worst that man can do to other men. He believed that to succeed and win, the United States needed to be just as ruthless and just as cruel. His boss, CIA Director, David O’Connor, did not share his tactics or his philosophies. Price felt he should have the top job and spent a good deal of his brainpower figuring out ways to undermine the director.
Price did not like Waters, but he needed him, he needed him to get things done quietly. Price believed that Waters was created without any sort of moral or ethical compass. He did what needed to get done regardless of those he trampled or killed in the process. Simply put, Waters was the execution end of Price’s strategies. To get things done, Waters regularly went outside of the CIA. He used mercenaries. He blackmailed. He used unapproved facilities. All off book. Price looked the other way. He was getting what he wanted after all. Director O’Connor kept a close eye on both of them, because he believed that both men would trample the Constitution to accomplish their goals.
Waters closed the door behind him as he entered the Deputy Director’s office. The office was not terribly large, but did have room for a table and a couch. The window to the office overlooked nothing in particular.
“Sit down,” Price said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. Price had removed his jacket. He refused to stand.
“How can I help you?” Waters asked, his tone less than enthusiastic.
“We are on the cusp of something great. It is what many will see as victory. I see it as only the beginning,” Price related in the tone of a lecture.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Price. How can I help?”
“We will get to that, Robert. There are people around the world that want to see this country destroyed. There are others that supply the means for those people to do harm to our troops and our people. They provide money. They provide weapons. They protect the people who mean to do us harm. They are a real threat to our nation.”
Waters had heard all of this before.
“And you want them to go away,” Waters interjected.
Price did not answer.
“I have a solution” Waters said, his hands folded in his lap. “I can begin at anytime. I will wait for your call.”
Price again did not respond. He knew the time was near.
They sat in silence for several seconds, a silence that would make most people squirm. Waters liked to just sit in the chair staring at Price, attempting to see if he could make his superior speak first. Price simply returned the glare.
Waters rose and showed himself out.
“Close the door,” Price shouted, as Waters left the office.
Robert Waters didn’t like Price and wanted to bring him down, even if it killed him.
IV
Pittsburgh
May 2, 2011
11:35 PM
Sean and Brian were catching the late SportsCenter when Brian saw an alert on his cell phone.
“Quick, Sean! Flip it over to WTAE!”
“Sure. Hold on. Hold on.” Sean flipped to the Pittsburgh ABC affiliate in time to see President Barack Obama stepping up to the podium. Sean looked at his watch. “It’s 11:35. What’s going on?”
Brian leaned over, took the remote and turned up the volume.
THE PRESIDENT: Good evening. Tonight, I can report to the American people and to the world that the United States has conducted an operation that killed Osama bin Laden, the leader of al Qaeda, and a terrorist who’s responsible for the murder of thousands of innocent men, women and children . . .
“Good!” Brian said, half shouting.
Sean was silent. He was hanging on the President’s every word.
V
Send in the killers
Washington D.C.
May 2, 2011 - 11:45 P.M.
A phone rang. The President had just left the podium.
“This is Waters,” he answered putting the phone to his ear. He was still in his suit and had a drink in his hand. He had just flipped off the TV and was looking out the window of his hotel.
“You may begin,” Price said and hung up without another word.
Robert Waters smiled. The program he was going to jumpstart might seem unsavory, but it was for the greater good. He had convinced himself of that. It didn’t take much. He dialed the man who had brought him the idea, Dr. Seamus McFarland, who picked up on the first ring.
“Hello, Robert. I was expecting your call this evening. I assume we are operational?”
“We are. I am leaving for Boston now. Meet me at the Hanover Street office at 7 A.M. I want to review everything, before we push go.”
“Excellent.”
Waters hung up and finished his drink. He grabbed his overnight bag and headed downstairs. Two ex-Marines named Bill and Bob were waiting to take him to a private airport for a quick trip up to Boston. The Marines would accompany him. Waters used them primarily for security and he knew they had tremendous capacity for violence. According to official Marine records, both men died in Afghanistan in 2009 while awaiting court marshal for conduct un-becoming a U.S. Marine. Waters knew talent when he saw it and had arranged to fake their deaths. Bill and Bob were very interested in getting rich and Waters knew that. They also did not want to spend ten to fifteen years in a cell in Leavenworth. Both were exceptionally loyal to Waters and him alone. Waters had several men of Bill and Bob’s background and skill set on his staff, all off book, of course.
Waters and his group landed in Boston shortly after 3:30 A.M. He went straight to the office, located at the corner of Hanover and Prince Street in Boston’s financial district. The office was half a block down from Policari Park. The facility occupied the top two floors of the building. The top floor held Waters’ office, a situation room and a room
full of mainframes. Right below it was space occupied by Dr. McFarland. The rest of the building was empty. The roof had an unusual number of dishes and antennae, but not enough to draw undue attention. The building also offered underground parking, which was a necessity.
Bill parked the car in the underground garage near the elevator. Waters got out and walked across the damp concrete to a subtle black elevator. The Marines followed close behind. The three took the elevator to the top floor that opened to an office space that looked more like a law firm than a covert CIA facility. Waters traversed the long hall towards his office, passing a break room and a of couple spaces that doubled as sleeping quarters for the teams when they were off duty. Bill and Bob went into one of the rooms to get a couple hours of rest before the day began. Waters flipped on the lights in his office. The office was a replica of his home office in Chestnut Hill. He carefully placed his briefcase on the top left hand corner of his desk, making sure the edges of the briefcase were half an inch from the edge of the desk. He sat in his chair, too excited to rest. He looked at his watch. It was nearly 4:30 in the morning. He wanted to review the program again before Dr. McFarland and his team arrived. He opened the cabinet behind his desk, revealing a small safe. He pressed his thumb on the sensor and a green light came on. He entered a sixteen-digit code and turned the handle counter-clock wise. He reached in and pulled out a thick folder with the words “CLASSIFIED” stamped on the front. Inside was a spiral bound document with the words “DISPOSABLE PATRIOT” and the same “CLASSIFIED” stamp. Waters removed the document and placed it on his desk. Inside, the entire plan was outlined, from the problem to the solution and all of McFarland’s science in between.