by Martha Carr
His father needed to die, the sooner the better.
“Hello Ned,” he said, balancing the phone under his ear while he drove. “There’s something you need to know and I’m going to need the help of the network. There’s something bad coming our way. Really bad. Yeah, it’s my father. He’s venturing out of his normal comfort zones into more of a mass style of destruction. You have a few minutes?”
Chapter 2
“Isn’t this your Bunko night?” asked Norman Weiskopf, as he rubbed spices onto several steaks. He looked up when his wife, Wallis Jones didn’t answer him right away. She was distracted, looking out their kitchen window toward the street.
“Somebody out there?” he asked. He was wearing a bright red apron that said, ‘I’m a Red Hot Chili Pepper’ on it.
He went and stood beside her at the window, holding out his hands covered in dark red spices, trying not to touch anything with them.
“What?” asked Wallis. “No, there’s nothing, which is exactly what seems off. The Watchers usually make their presence known. Like a preemptive warning for whatever they think we’re cooking up this time.”
“Like we ever start these things,” said Norman, wandering back to the kitchen island.
“They don’t know that,” said Wallis, leaning toward the window to get a better view along the street. “What did you ask me?”
“Bunko.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m not very welcome there these days,” she said, leaving her post to come and sit on a stool near Norman. “Julia’s in Management these days, even if she doesn’t really get what that means, and the gossip is pretty thick that I suckered everybody so that Fred Bowers could kill one of their oldest members.”
“All not true,” said Norman, putting the steaks on an iron griddle.
“It doesn’t really matter,” said Wallis, brushing an auburn strand of hair out of her eyes. “Julia will have a way of saying things about me that aren’t flattering and some of my past behavior will unfortunately help her out. It looks like that’s exactly what I did and everything we did only makes it look worse.” She let out a deep sigh.
“It’s been less than a year since I got back home. Give it time,” said Norman.
Wallis reached out and put her hand over his. “Returned to us is more like it. You were kidnapped by Clemente. All to get me to stand up in front of Management and use my dad’s reputation with them to tell them we were interested in a merger with the Circle. A reconciliation between two old enemies. I actually meant that part of what I said, and I could see people were listening.”
“Makes me wonder if Clemente studies us like lab rats before he makes his moves,” said Norman. “He seems to know exactly what strings to pull to get us to do his bidding for him.”
“There’s an ugly thought,” said Wallis. She came around the island and slid her arms around Norman’s waist, swaying to the music playing on the radio sitting on the nearby counter.
“Hey, hey,” said Norman, “you’re going to get this rub on that fancy lawyer suit.”
“Not worried,” said Wallis, “suits can be cleaned,” she said, as she laid her head on his shoulder. Norman wrapped his arms around her, still holding out his hands and kissed the top of his wife’s head.
“Can I ask you a more mundane question?” asked Norman. “You get the bid to fix the foundation in the back of the house? I realize we’re now some kind of spy family but we need to get a few honey-do’s fixed around here too. That cement slab is crumbling on that side and threatens my man cave.”
“Spies,” said Wallis, letting out a small laugh, “and yes, I got a bid. But I added something into the bid. It was Alan Vitek’s idea.”
“Something to do with the whole contingency plan the good Reverend was telling me about?”
“Yep, a way to escape from our own house, just in case. There are even different scenarios,” she said, nuzzling his neck. He kissed the top of her head again.
“Show me after dinner. It can be our pillow talk,” said Norman.
“You know when we were shopping for this house, I didn’t think about whether or not the house was strategic,” she said.
“I did,” said Norman, with a straight face. Wallis let out a laugh into his shoulder, her warm breath blowing against his skin.
“Where’s Ned? Is he home from lacrosse yet?” she said, looking up at the empty space next to them at the kitchen island. Ned could usually be found cooking next to Norman.
“Hey,” said Norman, “it’s average teenagehood that he’s found better things to do. It’s what we wanted. Give him some idea of normalcy in between all of the shootings and kidnappings.”
Wallis heard a car door slam and went back to the window. Ned was getting out of a car at the top of the driveway, waving to someone in the back seat. He came strolling down the hilly yard swinging his lacrosse stick, humming to himself.
“I don’t know how he does it,” said Wallis. “He actually looks unconcerned.”
“Don’t be so sure. I hear him moving around up on his floor late at night.”
Ned’s room sat at the top of the house on the third floor. He had moved out of the room for stretches, at first after Oscar Newman broke into their house and tried to shoot him. That time, his grandmother, Harriet had shot him the deputy first and he had died in their house.
The top floor became too far away for Ned for a while and he moved downstairs for months. Sometimes Norman found him sleeping on the floor at the foot of their bed.
“Lately, he seems more resilient,” said Norman. “He bounces back faster from each new catastrophe. It’s like they’re normal interludes for him.”
“We are terrible parents,” said Wallis, watching Ned disappear around the side of the house in the direction of the back door. “It doesn’t help that he knows his grandmother is always packing the heat.”
“Did she ever bake when you were little?” asked Norman, as he riced sweet potatoes.
“Not even once,” said Wallis. “Domestication was not her deal.”
“That explains a few things, which I will quickly add, I really love about you.”
“Nice save, Weiskopf. Hey, Ned,” said Wallis, as her son came bursting into the kitchen, dropping his lacrosse gear by the back door.
“Carry it all upstairs,” said Norman, trying to use a more parental voice. Ned smiled at him and slowly picked it all back up again.
“What are we having for dinner?” he asked, hugging his mother as he went by. Wallis tried to hide her surprise as quickly as she could and hugged him back. She raised her eyebrows and smiled, as she looked at Norman over Ned’s shoulder.
Norman smiled back and shrugged his shoulders.
“Good day at school?” asked Wallis, trying to push the boundaries of what Ned was willing to say to a parent.
“Not bad, aced a calculus exam, of course.”
“Confidence, I like it,” said Norman, turning a steak. “Weiskopf men know their strengths,” he said, winking at Wallis. She let out a laugh.
“Hey, have you guys noticed there’s no black SUVs on our streets these days. What’s that about?”
“I was just pointing out the same thing to your father. In the spirit of rigorous honesty, which I promised you,” she said, nodding at Ned, “I don’t think it’s good, especially given the way Watchers feel about us these days. This is probably the calm before the storm,” she said, hoping she wasn’t killing the good mood that was slowly bubbling up in the kitchen.
“It’s more like the lulls in between the storms. Don’t think you can call anything as a before if the storms keep coming,” said Ned.
“Ah, the Weiskopf cynicism,” said Wallis, making a face at her husband, as she turned to look out the window. A black SUV cruised slowly past her driveway, reaching out toward their mailbox. She froze for a moment but kept turning back around, putting a smile back on her face.
“Anyone get the mail yet?” she asked. “No? I will volunteer. Let you men finish
the cooking, as nature intended. Ned, can you wake your grandmother?”
“I’m glad she decided to stay with us forever,” said Ned. “She’s a badass old lady with plenty of stories.”
“Very few of them true,” said Wallis, as she made a point of smiling before she headed out the door. “Harriet’s more of a Grandmother Grimm.
She paced herself walking up the driveway in case anyone was watching from a car or from her own house. “This is stupid,” she whispered. “What if it’s a bomb?”
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started to dial Alan Vitek but got his voicemail.
“Hi Alan, it’s Wallis. I think there may be a problem. Call me back as soon as you can. The Watchers are back but there seems to be a new wrinkle.”
Wallis slowed down as she got to the mailbox. She took a look up and down the street but didn’t see a car that seemed out of place. No one was walking along the block.
She put out her hand; it was shaking badly as she slowly opened the mailbox, wincing, waiting for the sound of a click or any other sound that didn’t belong. The mailbox creaked as it opened and Wallis realized she was sweating in the cold fall air.
A broken chess piece sat on top of a few bills and a store circular. It took her a moment before she did anything but look at the piece sitting there. She ducked down to get a better look, and reached in hesitantly, pulling out the two wooden pieces, sawed neatly in half.
She ran her thumb over the sawed edge, feeling how smooth it was. Must have been cut on a machine, she thought.
Her hand was still shaking as she reached underneath the mailbox and felt around for anything else. Her hand felt something sticky and she purposely dropped some of the mail, giving her an excuse to crouch down. She took her time picking it up and looked at the bottom of the mailbox. There was residue from some kind of industrial tape.
She put out her hand again to feel the glue just as her phone rang, making a long shudder pass all the way through her and the mail slip from her hands again.
“Hello?” she said, forgetting to look and see who it was first.
“Wallis, you okay? It’s Alan. What’s happened?”
“I’m probably making more out of this than I should. I saw another black SUV go by the house but this time someone seemed to be doing something to the mailbox. Geez, this sounds stupid.”
“For any family but yours. I’m not even going to pretend you’re not already out by the mailbox by yourself. Did you find anything?”
“I found a broken chess piece inside. I think it’s a queen. I suppose that’s meant for me, or maybe Harriet. There’s some sticky gunk that looks like there must have been something taped there. Seems pretty low tech.”
“You’re unimpressed with their espionage. Don’t be. It was probably a high-tech listening device put on with a low-tech tape that made it easier to remove. The chess piece sounds childish. Meant more to place doubt than anything else, which can be effective except you’ve already seen your way through some pretty horrible things. Did you surprise them or something?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think they realize I saw them. So, they are still watching us,” she said, surprised at how disappointed she felt.
“There’s more to the story. Call Esther and Father Donald. We need to set up a meeting. I’ve heard rumors that the Watchers are planning their own revolt. They’re angry that nothing is being done to even the score. That won’t be good news for you.”
“What is stopping Management from trying harder at just doing away with us?”
“Two things. They have a distraction. George Clemente is still at large planning something. They’re more worried about that right now. And, you are still surrounded by allies on all sides of your house. There’s more of a net of safety around you than you realize.”
“You mean all of my neighbors?” Wallis had learned during a late-night shootout that had cost her the life of a friend that most of her neighbors were really Circle allies. Even Sandra Wilkins who seemed like a Southern belle who was aging well was really a Circle operative who knew how to effectively use small firearms.
Wallis had learned that night that nothing in her world was necessarily what it seemed.
“That’s part of it. You may not like this but I helped the Circle set up electronics around your block to keep an eye on who is coming and going. Didn’t tell you because I was asked not to but also because I noticed more protection seems to increase your worry.”
Wallis let out an exasperated sigh. “I’d argue with you but I know you’re right.”
“Call a meeting. We can talk about all of this.”
“Our own kind of war room. Can you reach Helmut Khroll?” asked Wallis.
“He’s off on his own side mission. We’ll have to have this one without him,” said Alan. Wallis knew he was trying not to let the sound of worry seep into his voice.
Ned watched his mother from his bedroom window. It was the perfect angle and height to get a good panorama of the street. He knew something was up when she decided to go out and get the mail.
He saw her suddenly shake all over while she was looking for something under the mailbox. Something was wrong but he was certain she was trying to figure things out for herself before she’d say anything else. So much was always coming at them from different angles, it seemed they waited until there was a real problem before they said anything to each other.
That wasn’t the best counter-strategy but Ned was willing to let it go, for now. He wasn’t sure he could convince them to change, anyway, and it seemed more important to spend his time building Apollo from scratch and granting Jake, Will, Trey and especially Juliette access so they could be a part of adding to it. The idea was taking form and more and more alumni of the Butterfly Project who were already out in the world in jobs and careers were accessing it through a secure portal and reconnecting with each other.
That’s when Daniel had the idea to make it open source through the site Pastebin to let others add code to improve the security or find better ways to send out alerts.
“Open source is what helped the creation of the internet to reach critical mass,” said Daniel during one of their FaceTime chats. “Tim Berners Lee and Clay Shirky started the whole internet with open source in mind,” he said, his excitement building. “We’ll be like them, building a subset of the internet. Another web for all of the hidden Butterflies.”
Ned knew to just let him go when he started talking tech, at least for a little while. “The printing press was the first kind of open source and the very beginning of democracy. Books let people build on ideas on their own time and then write something else and add to the knowledge base.”
It’s when natural philosophers started to think of themselves as scientists and empirical data, observing something became important. Before that, in the 1600’s when Management was just getting started, the only way to share information was by being an apprentice and then all someone learned was what that one individual could teach them.
“They were like spy cells that didn’t do a very good job of connecting to each other,” said Ned.
“Exactly. We can build an app that every member of the Butterfly Project can have on their phone, accessed by their thumb print. We can use Linux as the base and build from there. That’s the first open source code and it’s the backbone of so many things. Androids, iPhones, Kindles. We can do this,” said Daniel.
“I’m already on board,” Ned had said, smiling. “It’s nice to see you excited about something. Excited about something positive.
The light in Daniel’s eyes dimmed a little as he remembered why they had to build a secure app to communicate with each other. Ned regretted saying anything.
“Well, it’s my father that makes all of this necessary.”
“Look, sure, he’s your biology. I’m not going to act like that’s not true. But, your mom raised you and she raised you around a lot of great people. Maybe all you inherited from your dad is the ability
to organize others and now, you’re going to put that to better use.”
“My better angels,” said Daniel, smiling weakly.
“You broke the family chain,” said Ned. “From what I hear, my Mom’s side of the family has done their fair share of general skulking and shooting. You’ve heard about my grandmother, right?”
“I heard about how she saved your life with one bullet,” said Daniel, lifting his head up.
“Yeah, I was glad on that day that she always comes armed.”
“Must be tough around your table at Thanksgiving. Family arguments and everything.”
“Now that you mention it, my mom and my grandmother trade barbs all the time but I’ve never seen my grandmother level a weapon at her,” said Ned, laughing. He was relieved to see Daniel let out a laugh. It wasn’t long before he was running on again about what they were building.
“It’s like an internet town square but just for us. Just for the Butterflies. Turns Apollo into something more than just a site to reconnect. Wikipedia is a giant open source, you know. The internet lowers the barriers and makes it easier to share all kinds of things. We can even build on it and tap the talents of others in our pool. Like designers or architects. You know, design is normally something done to people. They just decide whether or not they want to use it after it’s already created. We can open source blueprints for things and let others build on it.”
“How does that not turn into chaos?”
“It’s not crowd sourcing where people weigh in with opinions or dollars. It’s open sourcing where our version of family can take projects and actually build on the project at their own speed, in their own time and then post what they’ve improved and how to do it. Takes the least amount of real collaboration, which cuts down on the trolls and the chance of being detected by outsiders.”
“Don’t reinvent the wheel, build on what’s there with a big copy and paste function. Lazy like a fox,” said Ned. “I get it.”