by Luis Samways
He sees her attraction to him. ‘That’s a relief; I thought I’d have to stay at the station another day or two. This train isn’t as regular as it should be’ he says.
Both girls smile. The brunette Jason tapped on the shoulder looks confused. ‘I thought there were trains every hour to Boston?’ He smiles at finally knowing what she sounds like. ‘It’s not that there aren’t regular trains,’ he says. ‘But I don’t like traveling at night. Too many weirdoes. I have an appointment tomorrow so I can’t miss this train.’ His voice is as smooth as leather.
The brunette nods and her friend nudges her. ‘We don’t like travelling at night for the same reasons. There are a lot of creeps out there and we seem to attract them all,’ The brunette smiles and Jason wonders if her near perfect white teeth could be visible from the other end of the platform. ‘My name’s Crystal,’ the pretty brunette says impulsively. ‘And this is my friend Jenifer,’ ‘The name’s Jason.’
The girls laugh shyly.
‘We both go to college at B-Mass,’ Crystal says as if she needs something to say.
‘Is that so? I’m going there for my meeting tomorrow. I got a job there as the computer technician a few weeks ago. The job briefing is tomorrow.’
‘Wow, you’re a professor?’ Jenifer asks.
Jason gives Jenifer a twinkling gleam.
‘I’m just going to fix the PC’s and reroute the network.’
‘Oh, I feel silly now,’ says Jenifer
Jason touches her shoulder. ‘Don’t’ worry, it’s alright.’
‘You must be pretty good at fixing things, then?’ asks Crystal
‘I’m particularly good at what I do, let’s just say that.’ Jason winks.
Crystal and Jenifer look at each other and then back at Jason. He doesn’t doubt for a minute that both of them are intensely attracted to him.
‘Wanna ride with us to Boston?’ Crystal asks, ‘We could do with the company. It’s a long ride.’ ‘Sure. My IPOD is running low on juice. I’m going to be pretty bored without it. The two of you will have to keep me entertained.’
Crystal and Jenifer both giggle. Jason escorts them back to the rickety seat he’s been sitting on for the past few hours and invites them to share it. Jason certainly is good at what he does.
Seventeen
The news room Sandra stood in was quiet for the first time in over 6 years. Usually loud and energetic with people reeling for the next big scoop, the past 24 hours had been absolute chaos. The massacre at Stella Avenue on the outskirts of Boston was big news for the community and especially big news for the station. Boston’s outskirts were well known for being Channel 72’s territory, a fact that annoyed the 20 something workforce who worked there. They were usually relegated to fluff about yard sales raising money for charity and missing dogs. No one in Boston watched, until today.
Now, they had the advantage over their competition with the breaking the news in the Rixton area. They’d reported on the massacre at Rixton, 25 minutes before the more prominent channels with alphabet jumbled names showed up. That meant the other channels had to keep up by using the live feed from channel 72 with a nice little courtesy image that said, “Channel 72 news feed.” The exposure was good for the struggling news channel; selling the ‘live feed’ was quite lucrative.
‘Today has been a monumental day for channel 72 news.’ Sandra stood in front of her colleagues to address the situation at hand. ‘Our hard work has provided the world with uninterrupted coverage of the shocking events at Rixton. We’ve succeeded at presenting a professional news cast with our small workforce. Today’s success has been possible because of you. Without all of you, we would have sunk long before today. That being said, I have some bad news.’ She had everyone’s rapt attention, the cameramen, the journalists, even Bob Sinclair’s, the station owner. ‘The FBI and local police have announced the censorship of the Rixton massacre. No news station, including ours, can run a story on this case. The statement from the authorities is that they believe if we ignore the story, the extremists who have taken M.I.T hostages will not have the spotlight they need to succeed in starting a revolution and public uprising. The censorship means we cannot broadcast Connor Chase’s live video link when he addresses the public about his crimes every hour for the next 12 hours.’
Bob Sinclair’s reaction mirrors the general response in the room. He shakes his head.
‘We cannot broadcast any of those hourly video streams,’ Sandra reiterates. ‘The authorities insist the lack of publicity will help flush him out. They have profiled him as killer who murders to make a statement. So taking the cameras and coverage away from him will take away his ability to make one,’ she finishes.
‘What if it forces him to make a bigger statement?’ Bob Sinclair mutters and shakes his head again. ‘Remember he did not have cameras on him when he murdered those 15 people at his house.’
Eighteen
The M.I.T building is turned inside out. The PC’s and paper files dealing with the business of the company is piled in the middle foyer of the building. The mass of computers and hard drives form an incoherent pyramid that almost reaches the ceiling. A man on a ladder with a hammer is searching for something. He finds it and swings the hammer at the fire sprinkler just above the mass of hardware piled underneath. The thud echoes off the walls and only one swing is needed to completely destroy the sprinkler.
The man’s satisfied gaze follows the plastic and metal debris from his handiwork to the floor.
He makes his way down the ladder and stands in front of the pyramid pileup, then grabs a large gas can from beside the pile. Pouring gas around the base of the pile of documents, he forms a crude circle with the gas and throws the empty can onto the heap. With a box of matches from his pocket, he lights a cigarette and takes a couple of drags. He smiles as he flicks the cigarette onto the heap of documents and walks toward the atrium, closing the heavy security door behind him.
‘The fire is lit sir,’ he says to the man waiting for him. ‘All of the documents and hardware are being destroyed,’ ‘Ah good,’ Conner Chase responds. ‘You sure the fire won’t reach us here?’ ‘The metal door will stop the fire from spreading here, and once it reaches the outside of the building, we’ll be long gone But if you ask me, it’s a bit risky to set fire to a building you plan to occupy for another 10 hours.’
‘That’s the whole point. We’ll block out any attempts at gaining entry to the building. The feds will have to come to the front passage of the building’
‘What about the fire exits?’
‘They are armed with sensors that will set off a kilo of C4. The blast will take out anything in a 400 yard radius. Five men are on the roof and each of them is armed with a stinger missile launcher.’ ‘What if they come in from one of the exits? Do we get blown up as well?’
‘We’re situated in the middle of the building, 7 stories up. There are no fire exits on this floor, only lift shafts and two stairwells. They’re barricaded off until our job is done here. Then with covering fire and support of the five sentry guards on the roof, an Apache will land and take us away to our destination.’
The man nodded in understanding.
‘Let’s get this show on the road then,’ Connor says.
Nineteen
Frank sits near the phone waiting. He knows Connor Chase will be majorly pissed that they’ve cut his line to the press. Frank isn’t sure anymore whether it’s a good idea or not. The one sure thing is that nobody else will witness Connor’s heinous crimes and copy them but there is still the danger that Chase will go nuts and kill all the hostages.
Conner did not demand to be the center of the news, however. And no matter how many hostages Chase holds, the State will not be agreeing to create a new amendment for such a violent lobbyist.
The DA’s personal office is quiet and Frank wonders if the only reason Eddie loaned him the office was because of the guilt he feels for firing Frank.
Frank’s rambling thoughts make
him decide to turn on the TV. Were any of the news channels finding ways to get the big story out despite the cease and desist order the Boston PD had pressed on them?
He skimmed through the listings. They were all complying. Most of them were reporting on other world events. The prime minister of England’s car crash a few days ago was old news, but they had to make do with what they had. Frank lit up a cigarette and smoked it slowly. He was running low. His pack now had a mere 3 cigarettes in it, including the upside down one for good luck.
The door to the office abruptly opened and Chief Shaw walked in.
‘Alright laddie. No time for small talk. You need to come to the incident room.’
Frank sprang from his chair, trying to look alert.
‘Are you okay?’ Shaw eyes him closely.
‘Just feeling the long hours, Chief.’
Shaw laughs out loud. ‘You never cease to amaze me, Frank. I’m nearly double your age, and I’ve yet to fall asleep with a cigarette in my mouth. You burned a damn hole into your jacket!’
Frank looks down at his jacket and shakes his head. One more casualty of the day.
Twenty
Crystal and Jenifer had been on the train for 3 minutes, waiting for it to start moving. On this line, it wasn’t uncommon for the drivers to get out of the cab and go for a break. No one really minded the 10 minute break because it gave them time to put luggage in compartments or to go to the toilet without fear of falling as the train gained speed.
Jason Bordello took advantage of the train being idle and stood and looked at them with smiling eyes.
‘I need to let the hose out. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
The reference to “hose” made the two girls blush as Jason walked off down the aisle toward the toilet. They watched until he was out of sight.
‘Damn, I wish I would have gotten one of those cabins instead of this open seating,’ Jenifer says.
Crystal gives her a confused look. ‘Why on earth would you want a cabin? These seats are fine.’
‘Hello! A gorgeous guy and a cabin equal a much more entertaining train journey.’
Crystal looks shocked at her friend’s outlandish comment.
‘You can’t just sleep with a guy you just met. Plus you don’t know him from anywhere. He could be a creep for all you know.’
‘Who said anything about sleeping with him? He’s hot anyway. What’s wrong with having a little fun?’
‘There’s fun and there’s danger, I’d rather stay on the safe side than jump on every guy I see.’
‘You’re so lame, Crystal. That father of yours puts too many bows around your life. Live a little, maybe Jason would enjoy the both of us giving him something to smile about.’
‘God sakes, girl, I am not into that sort of thing. I’m seriously not recognising you anymore. You’re changing from the girl I’ve always known to someone I’m not sure I want to know.’
‘Quiet. He’s coming back.’
Jason walks back. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘I’m just admiring the view,’ Jenifer says, looking at Jason’s rear.
Jason grins and settles opposite her, while Crystal saves face behind a book.
Twenty One
The incident room is in turmoil. Phones ring off the hook, left, right and center. A group of officers and detectives stare at the large screen where Connor Chase is about to give his hourly report. The insignia on the top right of the screen says “LIVE”.
‘What’s going on?’ Frank asks. ‘I thought we cut Chase’s media connection? Who’s broadcasting this?’ Shaw turns abruptly.
‘YouTube, lad. Chase has put up a live stream on every paramount video website on the internet: Justin.tv, YouTube, Dailymotion, Livestream. He’s even streaming on some pornography websites. There isn’t one video streaming website that isn’t streaming this, including news networks out of the country like Al Jazeera and the BBC.’
‘We can’t do anything about it?’
‘We are Boston’s finest; Frank, but we are not the world police. We can’t shut down the internet just like that.’
Frank shakes his head in disbelief.
‘I was under the impression we could do just that. I know we have the capability.’
Chief Shaw nods in agreement.
‘We do have the capability, but we can’t step on other people’s toes.’
‘I hardly think it’s the time to worry about Public Relations, Chief,’ Frank says scornfully.
‘Believe it or not, laddie, it’s always the right time for Public Relations. You make one wrong decision and it impacts the investigation. Before you know it, we have every Tom, Dick, and Harry poking their peckers into our business.’
Frank is growing impatient and refrains from continuing his opinionated stance on the matter. He walks towards the TV to get a better view of what is happening. Connor Chase is once again on the center of the screen. His scrawny body unnaturally engulfs the area, which Frank knows is the cheap quality cameras. A banner pops up on the TV: Connor Chase speaks in 1 minute.
Connor is biding time until his live stream spreads virally and the whole world is watching. Frank looks at the viewer count at the bottom of the screen: 37,987,233 Viewers. Not quite the whole world, but more than enough to spread a message and many more viewers than most videos going live for the first time get. Could this man’s following be dangerous?
‘Hello again. For the people who don’t know me, my name is Connor Chase. I am armed and so are my men. We have hostages and are situated at the M.I.T Public Relations building in downtown Boston. We have rigged the building with explosives to keep people out, as well as in. There is no escape for the hostages and all are bound and gagged. We mean them no harm…unless our demands are not met.
If our demands are not complied with, we will kill each hostage, one by one, live on this stream. I am going to show you how serious we are,’ Connor says.
A woman is shoved into the camera’s view. Connor catches her before she falls when she is pushed toward him.
Frank comes out of his chair when he sees that the woman being manhandled on the live stream is Tasha, Connors Boss.
Connor smiles up at the camera as he grips Tasha’s hair. She gags on the duct tape around her mouth while trying to catch a breath.
‘This is Tasha Mitchel. She is my ex-boss. Not only that, she was working with the police to help them capture me. She never counted on the fact that my reach is longer than she thinks. I’m not here to divulge secrets, but she is. So I’m afraid…’
Connor pulls a hand gun from his jacket with his left hand, still holding Tasha’s head with his right. He aim’s the gun squarely at her forehead as the shiny metal glistens from the light cascading from the crude lights in the background. He pulls the trigger. Tasha’s head explodes splitting in two as a vast vapour puff of blood hangs in the air. Her lifeless body disappears from the camera’s view as the sound of a bullet echoing off the walls is followed by screams.
Connor’s white jacket bears the last fractions of Tasha’s life and he smiles a crooked smile at the camera.
‘She had to go’ he says.
He puts the gun back into his classy, now spattered, white tux.
‘A 28th amendment will fix the wrongs of this anti-privacy government we live under. If I do not hear about progress from someone in the next hour, I shall shoot someone else. I’m not saying I want the law passed in an hour. I just want a courtesy call to show me someone is taking this seriously. Might I add that if you are not taking this seriously, I will kill all of the hostages. Message understood, I hope.’ The shot of Connor Chase is replaced with a distasteful card that reads: “REVOLUTION TV WILL BE BACK WITH YOU SHORTLY.” Beneath the words, a cartoon picture of “Uncle Sam” flips the bird.
Frank stares at the TV screen trying to piece together what just happened. The whole room is filled with a shocked silence. But no one is more shocked than Frank. He felt a connection to Tasha, sexual or not, it was still
a connection. He feels sick.
Twenty Two
Frank stares into the bowl he’s been vomiting in. His knees hurt because of the length of time he’s spent kneeling before the toilet. He flushes the toilet, gets up and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks 10 years older than he did 27 hours ago.
Frank turns on the tap and sprinkles water into his hair trying to refresh himself. He notices the cigarette burn. It is still there and annoying him. He tries to peel the shirt fabric surrounding the smelted burn off but it feels like hardened, melted plastic.
Catching another woeful glimpse of himself in the mirror, he gives up tidying his appearance. He feels dirty and cold. He always does, he realizes when he sees a reflection of himself. The harsh reality of who he is and what he has done always settle in hard when he observes his soulless eyes and rigid complexion.
The voices are back; this time the whispering turns into a shout in his head. ‘Get a grip, Frank.’ he tells himself, trying for an equal balance of sanity and authority.
‘It’s no good whispering, Frank. We can still hear you,’ the voice says.
‘Leave me alone!’ Frank shouts, grabbing his head and shaking it, trying to get rid of the sounds he is hearing.
Laughter replaces the whispering sound and it takes pleasure in making Frank’s life hell.
Frank moans in agony and grabs the sink for stability. ‘Fuck you!’ he screams, taking a forceful swing at the mirror. It shatters and leaves behind a spider web imprint.
Frank drops to the floor and huddles, gripping his knees with his bleeding hand. The skin on his knuckles hangs from the impact with the mirror. He moans aloud and crawls to the toilet in pain. He vomits once again and the strain on his stomach is so hard he feels like he has been stabbed.
Twenty Three
Nathan’s nerve is as steady as ever. In his past life, he’s been commended for his nerve, and, in fact, believes it is the reason he is successful; this day is no different from any other. He has been summoned to Chase’s makeshift office and is waiting for someone to let him through. The office that Connor Chase uses is the office Tasha Mitchel occupied before her untimely death at the hands of Chase. Nathan notices that Tasha’s name on the office door has been chiselled out and replaced with a crude plaque that reads: The man with the Plan.