by Martha Carr
Daniel’s shoulders dropped and Fred noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Everything about him looked a little unkempt. Fred made a note of the wrinkles in his pants as he took off the long, heavy overcoat.
“There’s a lot of chatter,” said Daniel. I’ve noticed that when there’s that much chatter it’s a pretty good sign that none of it is true. Or at least close enough to the truth. Did you shoot all of those people in Richmond?” asked Daniel, a pained look coming across his face.
Father Michael looked up toward the ceiling for a moment as if he was saying a prayer but Fred held up his hand to stop him from saying anything.
“Most people won’t ask me that question directly,” said Fred, “because it never goes well. However, there’s been a lot of chatter about you, as well. I’m told that most of it’s true, which means you have an unluckier life going on than I do. So, yes, in the middle of a war zone, even if it was the West End of Richmond, after soldiers came in and shot up a neighborhood, killing my wife, I purposefully took out their key officers. It wasn’t revenge as much as strategy.”
Father Michael let out a cough and opened his mouth but Fred gave him a hard look and he chose to say nothing.
“Helmut Khroll would be proud of you,” said Father Michael.
Fred looked down at the floor. “I got tired of being angry,” said Fred. He looked up at Daniel. “You’re really George Clemente’s long lost son?”
“Yes,” said Daniel, as he rolled his left shoulder, grimacing as he tucked his left hand in his pocket. “But I think of myself more as Eleanor’s son.”
“What’s that about?” asked Fred, standing up to go take a closer look. “You separated your shoulder, didn’t you? Don’t lie. I’ve done that trick myself, using my pocket to support my arm.”
“Did you run into trouble?” asked Father Michael, exchanging a look with Fred.
“No one followed me here, if that’s what you mean,” said Daniel. “It’s over a day old. I got roughed up on the train to Chicago. It was nothing. Had more to do with wrong place, wrong time.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Fred.
“Some kid tried to grab my iPhone coming up the stairs to the El. Happens every day around these parts,” said Daniel.
Fred was sure he saw Daniel flinch as he turned his head slightly.
“Why don’t you sit down,” said Father Michael.
“Did they get your phone?” asked Fred, ignoring Father Michael’s gestures to try and shoo Daniel into a chair.
Daniel let Father Michael lead him toward a high-backed Bishop’s chair and he lowered himself into the chair, shifting from side to side.
“There is no comfortable chair in this building,” said Fred, an edge to his voice. “The phone?”
“Still have it,” said Daniel, pulling it out as proof. “We ended up going down the stairs together but I held onto it. If it makes you feel better, I think I broke his nose with my elbow. No, not on purpose,” he said, looking at Fred.
“No police?” asked Father Michael, lacing his hands in front of him. Fred recognized it as his usual worry stance.
“Not in the South Loop on the pink line. I got on the next train at Kostner as the doors were closing and didn’t look back. I’ve learned not to trust anything for what it may seem and I know Clemente clones are everywhere,” he said, looking out the window from where he sat, still shifting in his seat.
“We should trade seats,” said Fred, pushing himself out of the deep couch.
Daniel rose uneasily from the chair, pushing off with his right hand against the seat. He bit his lower lip and let out a breath slowly as he went to the window, rejecting Fred’s offer. His eyes seemed to be looking past everything, glazed over and caught in a memory.
“It must be difficult to have so little family in the world,” said Father Michael. “Or at least to feel like you do.”
Fred’s mood grew dark and familiar to him. “This is our path to success?” he said under his breath to Father Michael. “Look at him. He’s spent. We are always left with just one way out, and it’s violent. George Clemente has grasped that idea and run with it and that’s why he’s winning,” said Fred, jabbing his finger in the air.
Father Michael watched Fred as he let all the words spin out, the tension obvious in his face at all. “You’re worried,” said Fred, shaking his head, scowling. “Even you can’t hide it.”
“It’s not worry. It’s much simpler and familiar. Just angina,” said the Father, as he took a small metal pill case out of the deep pocket in his cassock, opened it and took out a little round gold pill. “Nitroglycerine. Happens to me a few times a week. Don’t get started down some dark path, now, Fred. This is family genes, not malevolence,” said Father Michael, as he patted his chest a little, blowing out his cheeks.
“You can’t do the forgiving,” said Daniel, still looking out the window.
“Who said a damn thing about forgiving?” Fred spat out. He could feel the anger rising inside of him. He would need a long walk in a minute if he gave in to the feeling.
“I get why you’re so pissed off,” said Daniel, as he placed his hand flat against the cold glass. Warmth from his hand spread out in every direction, fogging the window. “My mother is dead long before she was an old woman. My father is a fucking lunatic,” he said. His voice sounded eerily calm, worrying Fred.
“I’m from Chicago but it’s probably the least safe place for me to be right now, and here I am, moving around right under their noses. Using my father’s arrogance against him and not running away. The truth is, there’s not really a secure spot for me. Not yet, maybe never will be. That’s why I insisted on leaving Montana and coming here for this meeting.”
Fred felt the anger blow out of him as easily as it had sprung to life.
“You can’t do the forgiving,” Daniel repeated. “It’s too big and too hard, especially when there’s no one saying, I’m sorry. All I can do is get out of the way and let it happen.” He pulled his hand away from the window and sniffed hard, turning around to face the two men.
“No one wants to be forgiven in this scenario,” said Fred, softly. Daniel’s eyes were filled with tears and he was taking deep breaths, trying to hold back more.
“I do,” he said, tapping his chest lightly. “For so many things, for being his son, for being so angry and wasting so much time.” He took another deep breath. “But you’re right, my father doesn’t want to be forgiven. I’m pretty sure the concept doesn’t cross his mind. But I can just let the possibility exist, for my own sanity, and choose my path with that in mind. That it’s even possible. It changes the choices I make and different ideas start to become clear. It’s the only way I can survive all of this. Otherwise, hope for me is lost.”
Father Michael spoke up loudly, cutting off what Fred was about to say.
“You know, this is the best city to experience a snowfall,” he said, gesturing toward the window. The snow was still gently falling in large white flakes making it difficult to see the buildings across the wide street.
“Do you know why? It’s because of what happens after the snow stops and the sun comes back up again. They put a plow on the front of the trains and people come out with shovels and start digging out, helping out their neighbors. Commuters get up and go to work even when there’s been a foot of snow. Schools stay open, life goes on without a lot of complaining. Sure, sure, the usual complaints but no real fist shaking. It doesn’t seem to occur to them.”
“It’s not as inspiring as you think when you try these enlightening moments,” said Fred.
Father Michael let out a laugh, bending over as he guffawed, ending in a cough.
“Yes, well,” he said, straightening back up, “count on you, Fred to remind me to get on with things. But do not miss the wisdom young Mr. Kozak is trying to pass on to you,” he said, his face growing somber.
“The entire world is at risk in ways they have never known before, and very few people even realize
it’s happening,” he said, throwing his arms in the air, shaking his belly. “It’s the most amazing thing to realize this may all end with a prolonged whimper until we get to a surprised gasp. Water will become the new currency and living in that kind of poverty won’t be an option. If you don’t have enough, you die. George Clemente was outsmarting us decades ago and we never got it, till now. Money is a pointless instrument that can be ignored. After all, it’s just a system of bartering when you get right down to it. But water is this one basic substance that has become harder to find and if someone can create a simple infrastructure to control what’s left of it and the path it takes…”
His words trailed off as he scratched his forehead, staring blankly at the floor. “I’m really at a loss for words, and really, at this point I’m just doing the next right thing in front of me. I suppose I’m running on the fumes of faith.”
“There is one move left,” said Daniel, walking unsteadily toward the couch. He sat down slowly, wincing as he let his back fall against the soft cushions. He paused, pressing his eyes shut.
“That needs to get looked at by a doctor,” said Fred.
Daniel opened his eyes. “Not yet. I came to tell you what the Butterfly Project has been doing and an idea to draw my father out into the open. There is one thing left on the table that we can manipulate and people will care. Everyone, across the globe will care.”
“Can’t imagine what that is,” said Father Michael.
“That’s because everyone sees it as a negative and a thing to be avoided. Much like those of us in the Butterfly Project. No one wants to be an orphan so they look away and let us get on with things.”
“Enough with the suspense,” said Fred. “Besides, you’re probably a few minutes from passing out.”
“It’s debt. The world doesn’t run on who has the most money. It runs on who owns the most debt and can enforce it. A worldwide structured system of loan sharks. Some are benevolent, some are violent.”
“Break your kneecaps,” said Fred, rubbing his chin. “Yes, young Ned Weiskopf pointed out all of this to us, already.”
“Yeah, probably more of the violent kind exist, even if they send in something called a diplomat to spell out the consequences of not paying,” said Daniel. “You know, that’s what Clemente is really creating. A production system based on debt, but of water backed by an exchange of something else. A seat in government, even money.”
“Getting in the middle of that could prove to be very difficult, maybe impossible,” said Father Michael.
“Without a lot more violence,” said Fred, “and a worldwide panic like we’ve never seen.”
“Or,” said Daniel, “we ruin everything for him and change the levels of power and who can dish it out by erasing debt, just for a day.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Times have changed,” said Daniel, sinking further into the couch as his eyelids drooped. “Taking something from someone else with a gun is time-consuming, costly and leaves a lot of mess to clean up. Old school. But, if we can erase every kind of debt out there for a twenty-four hour period, think about it. Credit card debt, mortgages, third world loans, corporate debt, and the debt one large first-world country owes another…”
“Then it changes from the base up the decisions the country makes right down to the local level, neighbor to neighbor,” said Father Michael, finishing his sentence, letting out a low whistler.
“Cool idea,” said Fred, “but impossible to execute. How do you erase every record of every debt all at once? Too many safeguards are in place.”
“Actually, not as many as there ought to be,” said Daniel. “The Great Recession and the debt crisis it started exposed the flaw. Banks couldn’t say with a complete degree of certainty who owned what debt and even if someone still did all the time. Human beings are in charge of the system so it has flaws. Big ones. We can exploit those.”
“We? The three of us?”
“No, and Father Michael, you were wrong when you said I move through this world without a family. I have one made up of thousands of brothers and sisters who take me in the moment they realize I’m one of them.”
“The Butterfly Project,” whispered Fred. “What have you people been up to?”
“We have realized what is at stake apparently ahead of the Order,” said Daniel, looking at Father Michael, “and we have decided to stop playing it safe because that doesn’t really exist anymore, anyway.”
“This is going someplace we won’t be able to return from,” said Fred, “isn’t it?”
“We are already on that path, thanks to my father. Maybe we would be eventually anyway as soon as someone else noticed the water shortage. Either way, the point of no return has been passed. So, we’ve accepted that pertinent fact and we’re running with it and not from it,” said Daniel. “We’re working together on an open source method to create a virus that will enter systems worldwide over time and when it’s in a critical number of places, will set itself off and essentially chew up the data.”
“What are the chances for success, if we can call it that?” asked Fred.
“Pretty good,” said Daniel, “and before you say something about needing more assurance, it’s not coming in time. This has to be set in motion before my father’s structure is fully operational or even this may not work and instead of causing the globe to come together, will only help my father to gain a stronger foothold.”
“Cheery thought,” said Fred.
“Does everyone in the Butterfly Project know about this? How do you stop leaks?” asked Father Michael.
“Ultimately, we can’t but there’s not enough time and too much at risk. We need every possible idea and every mind working in one direction. We can only hope that everyone sees how much they stand to lose and stays with us.”
“When does it all start?” asked Fred.
“Oh,” said Daniel, looking up at Fred, “it already has begun.”
Fred’s eyes grew wide as his mouth dropped open.
“I’m not here to ask permission but to bring you up to speed,” said Daniel. “My generation is inheriting the mess that Management and even the Circle has created. We have had the chance to watch from the inside what has happened in a way that the average person walking around doesn’t even know about.”
Fred licked his lip, trying to absorb what was happening. “We may be at the end of the world and for once, that’s not even a fucking dramatic statement.”
“Definitely at the end of what we’ve ever known,” said Father Michael.
“Not the first time,” said Daniel. “It’s impossible to be able to track the virus very far now that it’s been let loose. But our trial runs were largely successful or we wouldn’t have started yet and no one seems to have detected it, yet. We’re keeping a close monitor on all the news and social media. Business as usual, if you want to call it that.”
“How much longer till this happens?” asked Fred. “Suddenly, I feel way past my prime.”
“Days maybe, a few weeks at most. It’s been designed to trip itself into action.”
“Amazing,” whispered Father Michael. “How were you able to come up with something so vast and so clever?”
“By letting thousands of people in on the secret, all at once, and giving them the chance to offer their part of the solution. It was the only way,” said Daniel, slapping his knee, wincing at the sudden surge of pain in his back.
“Time to move you where a doctor can see you,” said Father Michael, as he headed for the door.
“Not yet,” Daniel said loudly. “There’s one more part.”
“How to draw out your father,” said Fred, “so he doesn’t come up with yet another plan.”
“He’s actually been working off this one plan from the beginning,” said Daniel. “The diaries prove that. We just couldn’t see it and he knew we wouldn’t since information was always divided up between cells cutting down on the chances that all the pieces would form a pictu
re.”
“So, what’s the rest before we get you help?” asked Father Michael.
“We do the same thing with him and tell the truth, at least about me, and let his ego do the rest.”
“Let him know he has a son,” said Fred, “and put a bullseye on you.”
“Yes,” said Daniel, “so he can see the bigger picture. I stole his diaries and I got in his way. He’ll come for me, personally. To make sure it’s done.”
“You know you may not survive this plan even if we take out Clemente,” said Fred, pressing his fingers against his mouth to stop himself from saying anything more.
“I probably won’t,” said Daniel, “I get that, but either I survive and can live without looking over my shoulder, or I die trying. That’s my choice. Again, I’m not asking permission just seeking help. There’s going to be a meeting in the next few days. Everyone will be gathering at the home not far from here. There, we will set the next phase of the plan in motion. I came to deliver your invitation in person,” pulling a card out of his pocket. “I’m told you prefer things on paper.”
“We are in weird times,” said Fred, going over to help Daniel to his feet. Daniel stumbled as he rose, inadvertently stomping on Fred’s foot with one of the large Sorel boots.
“Sorry,” said Daniel, as he collapsed into Fred’s arms, falling into unconsciousness.
“Brave young man,” said Father Michael, as Fred lifted Daniel into his arms, following the Father out the door and back down the hall.
“This isn’t like all of the other times the world has done a big reshuffle of itself,” said Fred, grunting as he carried the young man. “This time, we have the ability to kill off each other on a massive scale. That’s different.”
“Or come together on the same sized scale,” said Father Michael.
“At least the consequences are clear,” said Fred, as he stepped sideways to get him through the doorway, back into the larger room.
“Yes, at least there’s that, at last, and a plan.”
“Courtesy of the Butterfly Project made up of untested kids,” said Fred.