by Luis Samways
‘I did what you asked. I found nothing.’
The guard’s yellow teeth gleam through his tight bloodless smile.
‘Well if he hasn’t got anything useful to tell us, I don’t think we need him.’
Before Nathan can do anything, the guard pulls out a handgun. As if in slow-motion, Nathan sees the guard raise his arm and place the barrel of the 9MM firmly against John’s head. John’s eyes drift back to face the guard and the heavy set man fires the gun at point blank range into his forehead.
The weapon recoils and jolts the guard’s arm a few milometers up from its shooting position. A faint, but vibrant muzzle flash lights the dimly lit room. The light ricochets off the metallic surface and is replaced with an explosion of red. Shades of John’s life are plastered all over the floor and up the Guard’s arm. Blood drips off the gun barrel.
The guard face’s Nathan and lands a punch squarely in the middle of Nathan’s wide-eyed face.
Thirty One
2006: SIX YEARS BEFORE BOARDING THE TRAIN
‘Okay class. In two weeks, you’ll all graduate. I thought we would have a discussion about what everyone plans on doing after high school. Will you go to college? Will you get a job? I want a serious class discussion! Let’s keep it clean and positive,’ Mrs Gardener said.
Mrs Gardener wears a short, classy dress. Her legs are tanned and she sports knee high black boots. Her white frilled blouse is buttoned up. At 39, she still makes 18 year old boys pay attention in class—probably more to how she looks than what she says.
Jason Bordello sits at his desk at the back of the class with the troublemakers. Jason was at the back of the classroom because he chose to be, it was his decision. That surprised Mrs Gardener, but Jason’s work was adequate for passing grades and his demeanour was quiet. He wasn’t a troublemaker, more a quiet rogue. He stared at her with his deep steely cold blue eyes. She sometimes looked back.
Today, the class lacked enthusiasm. She could empathize; it was near the end of semester. ‘Most of you are tired,’ she told the predominantly male classroom, ‘but this will be an excellent way of marking down your futures. After all, you are all growing up! Some of you will go to college; others have jobs waiting for you when you graduate. I’m interested in hearing what everyone will be up to. This will be the last time many of you will see each other. Wouldn’t it be nice to know what our friends are going to do once they are no longer in your life?’
‘We’re not dying Mrs Gardner,’ a student says.
Mrs Gardner laughs. ‘I know Trent. But I’m going to miss all of you’
She wipes a tear away.
‘We are all dying,’ Jason says quietly. His voice sends a chill through the room, all the way from the back of the classroom. He sits slumped over his desk twiddling a pencil.
Mrs Gardener looks at him. So does the rest of the class.
He sits up and stretches.
‘There’s no need for negativity, Jason,’ Mrs Gardener says.
Jason laughs. The chill in the room is like ice cracking under pressure.
‘There’s nothing negative about the truth. You people live in this bubble of goo and think the world is made of marshmallows and green pillows. The world is not paved with gold. People die horrific deaths every day, and the only thing you all are worried about is what half assed job you are going to get when we leave this shithole. There is no dream job or college. Harvard is just a building; Life is about hardship and struggle. That’s what makes a man. That’s what makes a woman. You can’t build character on good living. Character is built through stressful times of pain and sorrow. Not Saturdays at the mall at a 75% off sale. Fairy tales of happily ever after and once upon a time don’t exist. People need to stop thinking about themselves and start thinking about the greater good. Life is not about what you get out of it, but what you give it. To answer your question, Mrs Gardener, I will be making a difference. Be it good or bad, as long as I make my mark on this world, I will die a happy man. So enjoy your spring breaks, your student loans and your so called education. Because before you know it, you would have learnt everything you did not need to know, and missed out on the only thing you need know. Don’t fucking take notice of what other people are doing, because before you know it everyone will be doing it and it will be old news. Be unique, be the originator. Make sure your slice of apple pie is humble enough that everyone wants a bite.’
The classroom is silent. The silence stems on for a while until the class erupts in cheers and applause. The smile on Mrs Gardner’s face is wider than anyone has ever seen before. The cold look of steel is momentarily gone from Jason’s eyes. He sits half grinning at his ovation while spinning his pencil on the table with one hand.
Thirty Two
‘So you’re here to see who?’ The guard scans Frank’s photo id badge.
Frank ruffles his hand through his hair.
‘I’m here to see Jacob Reach.’
The guard hands the photo ID back.
‘That might be a problem, Mr McKenzie. Not everyone gets a visit with the Defence Minister just like that. I’m going to have to run your name through the system and get clearance.’
The guard reaches for his radio and brings it to his mouth.
Frank stands outside the government building in broad daylight, feeling exposed and in danger. As his hands clench in anger, the voice of Jacob Reach approaches him and the guard.
‘Hey, Harry, don’t worry about it. I have Frank pencilled in for a visit.’ The guard puts his radio back in its holster. Jacob stops beside the guard and says something into his ear.
‘Understood, sir,’ the guard responds quietly.
The uneasy feeling Frank had comes back with a vengeance. He does not like whispering, especially if it is about him. Before Frank can say anything, the big security gates open up and Frank gets back into his car. Jacob walks to the passenger side and tries opening the door. As Frank contemplates whether this is a good idea, he unlocks the door for Jacob and waits till he gets in. They drive off into the government complex in silence.
Thirty Three
The four hours on the train feel like years, and Crystal bites her nails right down to the skin. She is on edge. Opposite Crystal, Jenifer, is now fast asleep, resting her head against the train’s vibrating window. She looks uncomfortable when the train swerves side to side on the tracks.
Jason is next to Jenifer. He isn’t fast asleep, nor facing the window. Jason is staring at Crystal. Crystal’s once immaculate manicure is destroyed. Jason stares a hole in to her that feels evil. She wants to tell him where to stick it, to stop looking at her, but she can’t.
She wonders why she disapproves the promiscuous relationship her friend Jenifer and Jason are having. Jason is a good looking man who has more than charm and looks. He oozes with everything that Hollywood and pop culture says are acceptable. Maybe she is jealous of Jenifer’s new found Romeo.
She giggles.
Jason smiles and leans forward. ‘What’s so funny, Crystal?’ She shakes her head.
‘Nothing. Why would there be anything funny?’
‘Well, call me old fashioned, but the last time I checked when someone giggles, it usually involves something funny!’
She smiles.
‘Oh, she does have a smile then! I was wondering when I was going to see that gorgeous curvy smile again,’ Jason says.
Crystal feels more at ease though still a little uncomfortable.
‘Look Jason, we got off to a bad start.’ Her bounces in time with the train’s movement.
‘You have been nothing but nice to me.’ Jason’s southern accent is soothing and calm.
Crystal flicks her hair away from her eyes. Jason reaches out and lays his hand on top of hers. His touch is comforting and calculated.
‘I don’t have a gripe with someone looking out for a friend. If I was a beautiful girl traveling with a beautiful friend, I’d be cautious as well. You can’t be too careful these days. There are a lot of creeps around. But I
’m not one of them.’
Her hand sweats beneath his from nerves. It feels right, yet so wrong.
‘It’s not that I think you’re a creep, but maybe you’ve chosen the wrong girl’
‘Is that so?’ Jason leans close and inhales as if he’s savouring her perfume. Close enough to seal the deal.
Thirty Four
‘Still no news, Sir. We have an APB out on Frank, but Boston PD can’t seem to get the guy’s ass on our radar. Not even a blip sir!’ Eddie Smith sits in his chair, contemplating having another drink. He stares deeper into the whisky bottle propped on his desk. ‘What do you suggest we do?’ The officer stands straight before him and Eddie is certain the junior officer hopes this might be his lucky break. Eddie eyes the man and gives him a smile.
‘Well Officer…..’ ‘Mullins, Sir, Officer Mullins.’ the officer states his name.
‘Well, Officer Mullins, I suggest you keep on looking for the son of a bitch! What do you want from me? To go out there with you and reel him in?’
‘No sir I…’
‘I’m the District Attorney for Boston, Massachusetts. My job is to prosecute the criminals. You think I have the time to dedicate my entire resources to finding one AWOL detective?’
‘No, Sir, I don’t.’
‘I have you! Seeing that you are so gung-ho, I’m tasking you with this special little mission’
Officer Mullins swallows hard and avoids eye contact with the DA.
‘Aren’t you going to ask what special assignment I have for you?’
The silence in the room lasts only a few seconds
‘What’s my assignment sir?’
‘Do your fucking job. Is that clear, Officer Mullins?’ ‘Yes Sir.’ Mullins tries to compose himself.
‘Now get out there and search harder. Use the whole goddamn Boston PD Reserves if you have to. I want Frank McKenzie in custody as soon as possible. Is that clear?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Good. Get going.’
Officer Mullins leaves, hat in hand, and pride, non-existent. He closes the door behind him, leaving the DA sitting at his desk in silence.
Eddie breaths deeply and reaches into his coat jacket. He pulls out a brand new pack of twenty Lucky Strikes, unwraps the protective packaging and rips open the top half of the cigarette packet. Grabbing one cigarette he quickly lights up.
He blows smoke rings until the cigarette burns down to the filter and flicks the butt into the bin. Pouring himself another drink, he sighs and looks into the full glass of brown liquor.
‘End of the rainbow here I come.’ He raises his glass to his mouth and takes a sip.
Thirty Five
‘Were going live in two minutes, Chase.’ Connor nods at the bulky technician.
Using a crate as a makeshift seat, Connor stares hard into the camera lens. His reflection is distorted, bent through the shiny surface of the 30 x zoom 28 megapixel camera. The camera rests on a tripod, the feet are muddy due to the condition of the floor.
‘Not an ideal studio, ay, boys?’ Connor laughs.
The guards and technicians surrounding him don’t respond.
Connor surveys the DIY studio they have put together in the offices of the M.I.T Building. The place is a mess of loose wiring and clutter. Debris from the trashed computers that once occupied that area is still all over the place. The blood from the execution of Tasha has stained the floor, mixing with dirt and plastic trimmings. The white sheet used as a background is covered in blood.
‘I thought I told you guys to clean this place up. It looks like a slaughter house!’ One of the guards laughs. Connor walks over to the hired hand. ‘Is there something I’m missing?’
The guard shakes his head emphatically.
‘I could have sworn that I heard you laugh at my slaughter house remark.’
‘No, Sir.’ Connor grins.
‘You’re calling me a liar, then?’
The guard emphatically shakes his head again.
‘No, Sir, of course not.’
‘Of course not.’ Chase quickly grabs his gun from his holster, raises it and shoots. The bullet hits the burly man in the chest. Blood trickles from the man’s mouth as he falls to the ground. The area fills with the deafening ringing sound.
‘Of course not,’ he repeats and holsters his weapon once more.
The witnesses stare at him, grim faced.
‘I don’t have time for people who question my actions. I do not have time for people who force me into questionable actions. This operation needs leaders. If you feel I lack those qualities, feel free to walk out. I have my reasons for being here and so do you. Your reasons may not match mine, but I shit you not, mine are the only ones that matter!’
‘When I tell you to do something, do it. I don’t want anyone watching thinking I’m some sort of maniac hell bent on killing people. That’s the wrong sort of message I’m trying to convey.’
‘What we want, gentleman is true freedom and privacy to do what we want, when we want. Our information is not currency. That’s what we are here for. Sometimes there are casualties of war. That is inevitable. So when I tell you to clean it up, it’s not because I want chores done, it’s because it could affect the way people see us. We killed and kill the people for one reason and one reason only. The government did not cooperate. If we have the place looking like a war zone, people won’t blame the government. They will call us terrorists, not revolutionaries! So clean this damn mess up!’
Connor brushes himself down and sits back on the crate. He stares deep into the lens once more.
Thirty six
‘It was risky coming down here, Frank. They have an APB out on you. If anyone reported you, you could go up like a Christmas tree and then what?’ Jacob pours himself a cup of coffee.
Frank sits facing Jacob’s official looking office desk. He looks around the room and notices the large painting of Jacob on the wall. The room resembles a stately home from the eighteen hundreds. Why so much grandeur, he wonders?
Frank has come across a lot of people in the political game in his career. All of them share the same characteristics. Cut from the poor, give to the rich. Media likes to portray politicians as “for the people,” but most of them don’t account for the enormous expenses these men and women need to furnish their buildings, and dress for their functions and ride in limos to the airport to hop aboard private jets for their globetrotting.
‘Nice office, Jacob.’ Jacob looks around his office. ‘Thanks,’ he replies.
‘It’s terribly stately wouldn’t you say?’ ‘It does the job.’
Frank shakes his head in disappointment and lights his second cigarette in twenty minutes. ‘Tell me something, Jacob. Why do you need all these pictures of yourself? Do you forget what you look like? Surely a mirror would do. No need for portraits.’
Jacob nods in agreement and sips his coffee.
‘Just my opinion,’ Frank adds.
‘It is what it is, Frank.’ He examines Frank with his eyes. ‘I’m a successful man. For all my hard work, I get certain perks. That’s life, Frank. Heck, that’s my life! Is it wrong to enjoy success that most people do not reach? No, it’s not. Is it wrong that the government wants to cut your pensions despite your hard work for the state? Yes. Do I give a rat’s ass? No. You’re here to discuss our agreement, not my lifestyle.’
Frank’s face lights with anger. He stretches.
‘You know what Jacob?’ Frank abruptly exhales.
‘What Frank?’
‘Let’s just get on with this. So how are you getting the gear that I need?’
Jacob paces the width of his desk and looks at Frank cautiously.
‘There is no gear Frank. Don’t expect magic from my ass. That’s not how it works. You need to give me time.’
Frank swats Jacob’s comment away with his hand.
‘Don’t give me that shit, Jacob. Why the hell did you agree to me coming here if you were not going to help me out?’
; ‘You can’t work that out, Frank, being a detective and all?’
Frank slams his fist on Jacobs’s desk. ‘Don’t Bullshit me, Jacob!’
‘I’m the damn Defence Minister of the United States of America. I have worked my way up the position since leaving the Marine Corp, seven years ago. I’m a black man doing a white man’s job and we may not get another black President any time soon, but I can assure you, if we do, it will be me. I can’t risk my career, helping a fugitive break into the M.I.T research building. I can’t help you on your personal revenge trip, Frank, even if you happen to be my best friend and former bunk mate at the Corp. Sorry Frank.’
‘You’re sorry? Is that supposed to make me feel any better? If you’re not going to help me? Then why am I here?’
Jacob looks Frank square in the eye. And then looks at the intercom on his desk.
Frank reacts. He covers the intercom so Jacob cannot operate it.
Jacob shakes his head in disappointment.
‘There’s no use trying to stop the inevitable, Frank. You’re going to get caught, sooner or later.’
Frank yanks the intercom chord. The room fills with a staticy buzz for a few seconds.
‘Like every master batsman, Jacob, you’re going to strike out, sooner or later.’
Nose to nose over the desk, the men stare each other down, their hands on the table, waiting for the other to react.
‘Looks like we have a problem,’ Jacob finally speaks. ‘Not only is there a warrant out for your arrest, you are locked down in a government building with highly trained men guarding it. You lay one finger on me, you will be taken down. You may recall me talking to the guard at the gate. I told him that if you are spotted by yourself in the building then they have permission to shoot on sight, you are not leaving here unless I let you go!’
Thirty Seven
Chief Shaw pours himself another double.
‘Whisky in the early afternoon helps me think.’ he tells Commissioner Alvarez, who remains seated reading the newspaper in Shaw’s office.