by Martha Carr
“Or want,” said the young mother.
“Sure, what we want, yes,” said Wallis. “That’s a part of all of this. Choice. We’re glad to be here but the day is coming when you will have figured out how to work together and we won’t be needed. We’ll move on to the next town, and that has to be sooner rather than later. The more people we can get to work together…”
“The more the world will change,” said the mayor. Wallis gave her a tight smile, and did her best to act as if she was happy to be in Clifden
Last night, though she found it harder to act as if she didn’t miss her home, a nice two-story Colonial in the suburbs back in the West End, the old nickname for that part of Richmond, Virginia. She wondered how her neighborhood was doing, all of her old friends in the Bunko group, everything that she had thought of as her life.
Her mother, Harriet, who was staying with their old friend and private investigator, Alan Vitek and his wife, insisted that everyone was still standing, even if the world was doing a nice implosion on itself right now.
How had her mother put it?
“No one knows how to figure out if they’re better than or less than the person next to them without all of that debt,” Harriet had said, leaning in a little too closely to the computer screen. “Makes people uncomfortable not to know if they’re getting ahead on any given day.”
Wallis pictured the house full of bullet holes along the siding from the last time they were there. Rogue Watchers from Management had chased them out by way of a hidden tunnel, trying to make Wallis and her family pay for something that George Clemente started. She was framed for the murder of another Management descendant, an elderly silver-haired friend of her father’s, shot in the face by Clemente as a means to an end. To everyone else, who believed a different narrative that Clemente had started, it looked like a cold betrayal instigated by Wallis Jones.
They’d all barely escaped that night with their lives. Wallis had finally ended up doing the one thing she always hoped to avoid. In defense of her life, on the second story of her home, she had shot a Watcher and killed him. He bled out all over the Persian rug she had found on sale in Carytown.
The part that bothered her most was she wasn’t really sorry for the loss. She wanted to be, but she was more relieved than anything. In that moment, one of them was going to die, and that night it wasn’t her. Her mother, who was fond of carrying a forty-five in her Coach bag, said it was about time. One last surge of violence before they embarked on a world-wide peace mission.
Too many people she cared for were already dead. Maureen Bowers, her friend Yvette who was randomly poisoned just to prove a point. All of them led back to George Clemente.
That didn’t even account for the hundreds who died during the civil war that raged on behind the scenes. He had done it all as a distraction to get everyone to look away and not notice his real intention.
He was already making worldwide deals for the water supply on the continents of Asia and Africa and managing to tip the power in his own direction in a way never seen before in the history of humanity.
But the next generation, the members of the Butterfly program saw things differently. They were willing to allow peace. Not even work at it, as much as not get in its way. Force its hand by taking away the playthings of the powerful.
Together, the group had realized the biggest plaything was the chit on everyone else’s debt.
However, take away the underpinnings of how a world works, best to be prepared to given them something to replace it before the opportunistic snake oil salesmen swooped in.
“Let me ask you a question,” said Wallis, lowering her voice knowing it would make people lean in to hear her. It was an old trick she had learned in the courtroom when she wanted a jury to hang on every word.
“How many people here understood the world’s banking system a month ago? How many people here ever expected to pay off the majority of their debt?”
No one was raising their hand, and they had all quieted down. Wallis took a quick glance at Norman who even seemed to be managing a small smile.
“What if things could be different? Don’t bother to answer that one,” she said waving her hand and shaking her head. “That question has already been answered for us. Things are different. Frankly, we can argue about what should be, and what we’re comfortable with, and what we need, as much as we want to but it won’t change things.” Her voice shook a little as she said it. She couldn’t tell them that she knew the real reason why it was also all necessary.
One man’s desire to control had managed to get everyone here.
She couldn’t even be sure if they had managed to stop George Clemente in his tracks. There was always a chance he was already working on a backup plan.
“Despite the internet, despite the twenty-four-hour news cycle, despite knowing how everyone is doing all over the world since the monetary systems collapsed, it still just comes down to all of us in this town. It’s like that for every town, everywhere. The old system was that we waited for the few who were at the top who might’ve been elected, or who might’ve appointed themselves to tell us what we were allowed to do. But things of course, have changed and we have a moment here where we get to bargain with each other.”
She placed her hands flat across her chest, pressing hard.
“We can trust each other on a global scale. I know it sounds naïve and there are a lot of people who would like you to believe it’s an impossible dream. But that’s why we’re here. That’s why Norman and I came here.”
“How did you know when to get here? Tell us that part again,” said Finn, the troublemaker.
“There were rumors it was coming,” said Wallis. She knew better than to give any more details and kept talking as fast as she could, brushing over the question. “There was a group of us that saw the coming nightmare based on information we had received. But we saw something else as well. We saw the possibilities. There was a decision made to break up and travel to as many places as we could, given our numbers and our supplies and see if it might be possible to start something radically different. If there was even a possibility that it was true and that the basic things such as being able to buy a loaf of bread or turn on a tap and expect water to come out,” she said, wincing, “then we knew that there would be a general kind of panic. But, if we can all pause, just long enough,” she said, looking back at Norman who was tap-tapping the back of his head, his common tell when he was nervous, “then we can do something humanity has never been able to pull off. We can all work together for the common good.”
Finn stood up. “So, what you’re trying to say is despite thousands of years of wars that have raged all over the globe at some point. Despite the monarchs that came and went. Despite the different kinds of democracy or communism or whatever other way human beings have come up with in order to hold rule over each other, a small group of Americans had the arrogance to believe that they could help the rest of the world finally trust each other. Like an enormous make-out session.”
“Sit down, Finn Mulligan,” said the Mayor, rising out of her seat, an edge to her voice.
Mulligan, that was his last name, thought Wallis.
“It’s always the Americans who think they have the shiniest, newest, best way for the rest of us,” said Finn.
“I didn’t come here as an American,” said Wallis. “I came here because I heard the rumors, and boundaries weren’t going to work this time. We’re all in the exact same boat at least for a little while. Any kind of nationality or border that you can see is only there because we made it up. So, why can’t we change this?”
The young mother in the front row suddenly lifted her chin and said, “She’s right. The only reason we’re giving her so much resistance is that it’s never been done. Finn, you’re right. Human nature has never proven itself to be all that useful. Somehow, we always seem to revert to our worst nature and want to take to make sure we have more than our neighbor.”
Wallis lis
tened to the young woman’s Irish lilt in her voice.
“But I’m willing to try,” said the young woman. “I’m willing to do it for as long as we can manage to pull it off. Maybe it won’t last forever. Maybe won’t even last a year. But not knowing how long it will last or even if it’ll work isn’t a good enough reason not to try. At the very least, I know that we’re going to have to barter for what we want. Even if we’re bartering with the euros. Frankly, I don’t have much else I can afford to give up in order to get food or heating oil, or anything else.”
“Where do we start,” said the Mayor, loudly, smiling as she turned to Wallis.
“We start by breaking into groups who will take charge of inventory for everything the town already has, and everything you’ll need in the coming months. Another group will have to go out and gather information from the nearby towns about what they need and what they’re willing to trade. You’ll have leaders of each group but they don’t govern, they only act as representatives. Then, you’ll come back together to decide the next part of your new infrastructure. The distribution of the goods.”
“I’ll start,” said Finn. “I’ve been managing a hardware store for years and have managed to keep track of every nut and bolt. I’ll help with inventory. Everyone else who wants to help with inventory meet me in that back corner,” he said, pointing toward the front of the store, not far from the door.
Wallis dared to take in a deep breath and wonder if things could work out, after all. She could feel a dull headache right above her left eye, and gently rubbed the spot.
“We can leave them to it, at least for a little while.” Norman had come up to stand next to her and watch everyone disperse into smaller groups. “We have to trust that they can do some of this on their own. Finn is right. A bunch of traveling Americans don’t have all the good ideas,” he said, smiling.
Their temporary home was in a nearby bed and breakfast run by an older woman who liked to wear her long black hair straight down her back, and was given to impromptu concerts that usually accompanied breakfast. Norman quickly figured out the timing and made sure he was finished eating before the small mandolin came out and the proprietor’s high, tinny voice could be heard for the next hour.
Their room was at the end of the long hall on the second story of the old house, tucked in a corner with a view that overlooked the backyard and the wash line.
Wallis put the over-sized brass key in the lock and gently turned it, listening for the click. It was a tricky lock.
“What if we stay here for the rest of the night,” said Wallis, lying down on the bed and shutting her eyes.
“We should make another appearance at some point, just to take the temperature of the town,” said Norman.
Wallis propped herself up on her elbows. “That’s not normally like you. You’re more of a sink or swim kind of guy.”
“That was under the old order,” said Norman, lying down next to her. “This is the out of order world. Besides, our offspring gave us very specific instructions as the ambassadors for the Butterflies in this part of the world. I take that very seriously.”
“Ned upended the world order. I suppose I could have seen this possibility coming when he was busy rebuilding computers as a toddler,” said Wallis. “Including the part where he doesn’t try to grab the power for himself.”
“Very Weiskopf-like,” said Norman, kissing his wife.
“Doesn’t explain how your brother is the Keeper and in charge of the entire Circle.”
“Tom took the assignment reluctantly, and only after I refused to play,” said Norman, moving his hands along Wallis’ body.
Wallis nuzzled his neck and wrapped her arm around his chest, taking in the familiar smells that she thought of as Norman. She still wasn’t over the day she had found out Clemente had kidnapped him, using Norman to get Wallis to try peace talks with Management. Use her clout as Walter Jones’ daughter. It was all a lie to set her up and tangle her in a murder.
She kissed Norman’s neck and gave him a squeeze before she saw the note propped up on the nightstand behind him.
“I think our hostess left us a note,” said Wallis, reaching across Norman to grab the folded piece of light blue stationery.
“She probably has a call for song requests,” said Norman.
“I wonder if she knows any old Monkees songs,” said Wallis as she unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was neat and spare. Wallis knew who it was from before she even got to the bottom but she hoped she was wrong right up until she read the name.
‘Sincerely, George Clemente.’
She sat up straight and held the note closer, reading it again.
“What is it?” asked Norman.
“We’ve been found,” said Wallis, as she read the note out loud. “I hope this note finds you well. We have a lot to discuss, and soon. I’ve never taken defeat well, and I don’t plan to start. Sincerely, George Clemente. You think he put this here, himself? He’s here in Clifden?” asked Wallis, her eyes growing wide with fear.
“I doubt it,” said Norman, as he sat up and took the note from her, reading the words over and over. He let the paper fall into his lap. “That man has an obsession with us,” he said quietly.
“With me, but why? You know what, I don’t care why. Enough. I know we weren’t running, exactly, when we came here but at times, it’s felt that way,” said Wallis, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ve been trying to act like everything was okay, and then, like I could make it all go back to the way it was, and now like I can walk away for the greater good. To hell with it! I want to fight for the life we used to have and in the town where we’re from. I want to see my son, and my mother and our friends.” She brushed the tear off of her cheek and went to the small desk nearby. “At least he didn’t take our laptop,” said Wallis. “He’s still playing a game with us.”
“What are you doing?” asked Norman, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.
“I’m calling home. I’m done with any kind of running or defending. I want to push back and end this.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” said Norman, reaching out to gently rub her back.
“It has to be,” said Wallis, “even if I have to kill the son of a bitch myself. We’re going home.”
Chapter 2
The old priest held onto the arm of the lanky teenager walking closely next to him, stumbling as the wind pushed steadily against them. The toe of one of his black, rubber-soled shoes pushed against a small grey mound of ice and snow, interrupting the forward momentum of his leg as his body continued on its trajectory.
“It’s everywhere,” muttered the young man.
“What?” The priest looked up, waving his arms, as he tried to right himself.
The young man, Ned Weiskopf, reached out and took the priest’s arm, wrapping the Father’s hand around his own, upper arm. Ned flexed his arm as the elderly priest grabbed on tighter, lifting his foot just high enough to finally clear the ice.
“The ice. It’s everywhere,” said Ned. He reached out with his other arm to steady the Father, keeping a tight grip on the full red metal gas can he was holding, as he made sure not to spill any of the precious heating oil.
He glanced around to see who might have noticed them. The streets were fairly empty, which wasn’t a surprise in the middle of any February in downtown Chicago. The wind chill was dipping down below zero but it wasn’t the only reason everyone was staying indoors.
They were making their way down the wide boulevard of Michigan Avenue in the city of Chicago, blocks from the great lake, Lake Michigan. The avenue was known as the Magnificent Mile full of upscale shops that sold things that were handcrafted, or had precious gems, or were unique and one of a kind. Or at least had been till recently.
The world had changed with the release of a computer virus and no one was sure how to take things just yet. Ned was the architect of that change, even if only around a thousand people knew that fact, a
nd with every passing day he was becoming more aware of the unforeseen consequences of erasing the world’s debt.
The general consensus among the western countries was still being formed around whether or not it was the end of the civilized world and the start of a kind of post-apocalyptic era no one saw coming, or a chance to start over and do things differently. Smaller, poorer countries had started out with wide-spread celebrations that had fizzled out as everyone wondered how to get on with their day without some kind of structure.
That’s what Ned had seen coming and had talked about endlessly with members of the Butterfly Project for months before they had collectively decided the time had come. Some of the members, the Butterflies, were now his closest friends as well as some of his fellow architects of the Apollo Project.
The Butterflies were all hidden away from Management, the secret organization that had existed for hundreds of years. The Circle had almost been once destroyed in the past century and they needed to find a way to fill their ranks again.
The Butterflies were the children of America no one had wanted and they were raised on green acres surrounded by loving staff made up of Circle operatives who treated them as their own children. A generation passed and finally many of the Butterflies were sent out to become members of large corporations, local and national government and take their place in prominent places in society.
Just when they were about to grasp at a normal life, Clemente’s plan was discovered and they were given an opportunity to do something even bigger, to save that chance at a normal existence even if it meant risking what they had built.
But this time the chance to choose would be created for everyone. Even those who were blissfully unaware of any shadow government.
When the Butterfly Project was started, no one could see what a big part they would play in saving the country, or even the world from the constantly churning plans of George Clemente. Once it became clear that Clemente was close to the fulfillment of his lifelong dream to gain power over as much of the world as possible there was no more time to wonder what else they might do.