by Vincent Heck
Leaning forward, Washington ordered, “Let him in.”
Von Stuben had a seat across from Washington who had just finished looking over some thoughts he had jotted in his journal about his recent experiences.
“Having quite the experience, General? I’m here to assist.”
“It’s kind of you to do this. That much moreso because you’ve refused pay.”
“For the time being.” Von Stuben corrected.
“How does this war appear to you?”
Von Stuben’s wooden chair creaked as he shifted to cross his legs. “These men are undisciplined.” He said, calmly. “They have a spirit like I’ve never seen before. This isn’t a job for them, this is a cause. They’ve survived a blistering winter fighting -- and all on merely a cause. That’s special.”
Washington massaged the stubble on his jaw as his servant walked in with a blade and shaving cream. As Washington shook off his top coat and loosened his shirt, he responded, “What do you think we should do, sir?”
“Well, clearly, the British are too experienced and there are too many of them. You have men who are untrained and although their free-spirit is the strength, they’re untamed. There’s no way you can prevail in this state.”
Washington listened as his servant lathered up more shaving cream and applied it to Washington’s throat.
“That sounds like the intro of a white flag discourse.” Washington said.
“No sir. I’m simply inquiring about the condition of our men. We must have a better structure. I’m wondering if you have some ideas for the spring? Your men seem concerned.”
“Where do you think we went wrong?” Washington asked as his servant began to apply the blade to his throat.
“Well, we give up a lot of experience. Their weapons are better, they’re more disciplined and those things will kill us. We’re not prepared for this weather, the men are getting sick and dying. We have the Red Coats on our tails, but fortunately this snow has postponed the war. If we don’t use this time properly to retool, the inevitable is going to happen.”
Washington put his hand up indicating for his servant to stop shaving. He sat up in his chair.
“So then, we’ll have to make the British inexperienced. We’ll have to make our weapons better, we’ll have to make our army more disciplined than theirs, and we’ll have to fight the sickness. We shall not give in. Not by any means.”
“Indeed. You didn’t think I travelled this far to give in, did you? These men put me out of Philadelphia, also. Now it’s my turn to return the favour.”
“They seek control. Multiple times, I’ve been presented with a treaty by the British government, when they had the upperhand and ability to wipe us off the face of this land.” Washington said. “Each time they’ve held back. Why? They seek victory in control, not victory in depletion. Without us, they lose what they’re fighting for.” He laid back in his chair motioning for the servant to return, as he spoke up again. “It’s a losing situation for them. They want to beat us into submission. I’ve received a series of letters from the British commanders who addressed me as ‘General Washington.’ That, therefore, is progress. They want to call us treasonous but acknowledge our independence. We have made strides. And I do not intend to forfeit them.” The servant took a slow swipe down Washington’s jaw as he finished up.
Von Steuben stood up. “OK. We’re going to change the rules. I’ll be sure to revolutionize the way we fight.”
Washington sat up while dousing his face with a warm rag. “Very well, General.”
As Von Steuben turned to leave he stopped in his tracks. “Have you heard from Ben on the French?”
Washington cracked a smile.
Von Steuben put on his cap and headed for the door. “Good day, sir.”
“So what happened then?” Vanessa asked.
“Well, Baron Van Steuben trained the men. The army put up a bit of resistance, but eventually, things shaped up.”
“Wasn’t it cold, and the men were sick and dying?”
“Yes. But it wasn’t just the cold. You see, they had built shelters to protect them from the cold. Diseases had ravaged through the camp defeating Washington’s crew even more badly than actual combat.”
“So what did they do?”
“As usual with the way this country was formed, risks had to be taken. Lives had to be sacrificed – but fortunately, this worked out. You remember when you were younger and we would take you to the doctors for needles?”
“Yes.”
“Those were called anti-bodies. This was what Washington used to protect his camp. Unfortunately, a lot of men died, but General Washington used the sick people and took a small dosage of the disease out of them and put it into the healthy people.”
“Why would he do that?”
“The body knows how to protect itself. And the small dosage he would put in the healthy person, would teach the body how to kill the disease should it ever return.”
“Oh, but he’d never give more than the body can handle?”
“Exactly. You’ve got it.”
“So is that what those needles were all the time?”
“Yes. But, we’ve come a very long way since then. What we have now is much more advanced.”
“What about the fighting? Did they get better?”
“Yes, they did. As the camp became stronger, they trained harder. They developed a better gameplan and designed more accurate weapons to coincide with their new strategy.”
“What did they do?”
“Well, the weather got warm, they went back to fighting. The Red Coats were used to fighting in open field battles. So, the Americans decided to defeat them as snipers. They hid behind trees with their new deadly accurate rifles that could hit a target from three football fields away.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, and they put swords on the end of their rifles so that if it ever came to hand-to-hand battle, they’d have an extra weapon in one. They were ready to fight. Their first line of business was to take out all the Native American informants that were helping the Red Coats learn the land, then to kill the generals. They were successful.”
“That’s crazy. So eventually, they ended up winning the war and the country got its freedom from Britain?”
A co-worker walked into the bathroom. “Oh, Jason. There you are. Been looking all over the place for you. We need you. There’s a problem with the squawk box. Transmissions are showing up off time.”
Jason motioned with his hand to the co-worker before responding to Vanessa.
“Yup. You’ve got it. Thanks to wily Ben Franklin, the French came and helped us finish them.”
“Well I’m getting sleepy. I’m gonna tryta finish up this timeline and report, then when you get home you can help me with the visuals?”
“Definitely, sweetpea.”
“Loveya, daddy.”
“Love you more. Before you put your mom back on the phone, I want you to remember something. This is what I want you to take from this portion of the story. Keep your eyes open, always, honey. Because you can’t suspect something that you don’t know exists.”
“OK, daddy. I’ll remember. Love you.”
Jason heard the phone switch over to Jill. “Hello?” She said in her dainty voice.
“Something just came up, but, I’m still gonna be able to get there before she goes to bed. OK?”
“Alright, Jason. Please.”
“I love you, babe.”
“Love you, too.”
XV
4439 CHASE CT. ANNANDALE, VIRGINIA, FAIRFAX COUNTY.
CURRENT HSAS: ORANGE-HIGH RISK OF TERRORISM
SUNDAY MARCH 25TH 2003
As Jason pulled up Chase Court, he looked at the piece of paper he held in his hand; a corner torn off of an old tissue box he had in his house. ‘Betsy Washington, (Tameka’s mother) 4439 Chase Ct. Annandale.’ It said.
As he pulled up to the three story town hom
e, Jason pondered how he was going to approach this grieving mother with questions about her daughter's death. He wondered if the mother had suspicion of the government, or if she were clueless to the whole situation.
As he walked closer to the brown faced home, he tried to take notice to anything that would help determine what approach to take with Betsy. The lawn was well manicured, but really, there wasn't much else. There was a well-trimmed bush directly next to the step in front of the door. She was the only house on the row without an American flag out front.
He rung the doorbell and waited. There was a car parked in the space labelled for her home, but he heard no movement in the house.
He rang the doorbell again. He saw the curtain next to the door move, slightly. It could have been a breeze in the house.
"Hello, Ms. Washington? My name is Jason Upton. I need your help."
From behind the door Betsy yelled out, "What’s it you want?"
"I wanna talk. I was Tameka's boss and I'm very concerned. I need your help.”
"Who are you?"
"I said, I used to work where Tameka did. I was her boss and--"
The door cracked open a little bit, so Jason lowered his voice. "…and I need your help."
Betsy peeked her head through the cracked door, she had short black hair about chin length. Although her hair was mostly black it had gray mixed in with it. She stood about 5' 6" and she was in great shape for the age that she was.
"What chu mean used to?"
"That’s exactly what I mean ma'am. I no longer work for the DHS. Now, I need some help from you, cause I can figure this out. And I can help you, too, cause I know you’ve got a lot of questions."
Betsy closed the door and took down the chain lock. She opened the door as she said, "Come in. What can I do for you?"
Jason walked into the house and stood by the door. He could feel that Betsy wasn’t completely comfortable with him.
"I have a suspicion that something isn't right with your daughter’s death."
"Well, what’s it to you?"
"Well, Ms. Washington, that's actually what I'm trying to figure out. But, apparently it means something. I’m having the same experiences she was having before her death.” Jason cleared his throat. “So, tell me, ma’am, before Tameka died, did she stay here?"
"Yea, briefla."
"Did anything funny happen while she was here?"
"Sir, funna thangs always happened when it came to my daughter, she worked for you guys."
"Fair point. Ok. Well try and describe to me some key things that took place before she died."
"Well, she would call me scared a lot. Sayin she couldn't tell me all the details, but two men keep stoppin by, she said it happened ‘bout fo’ times."
"Did she seem to indicate whether she had any clue of why these men stopped by?"
"I assumed she did, but she hadn't specified if she had or not."
Jason was almost certain her death was attached to politics, at this point, but he needed to know why.
Betsy continued, "I do know that she wus huggin and kissin me much mo in the las two weeks of her life."
"So you think it’s safe to say, that she knew something was going down, pretty soon?"
"Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that. Looking back, she had started treating me like she’d never see me again."
"Anything she carried around a lot? Or kept with her? Or a new habit she ha developed?"
"Not realla. She kept her purse, of course, and she always had to have her little pouch too."
"Do you have either of those?"
"No, those things were detained neva to be seen again."
The thought of having to go back to the complex to regain possession of those things caused a storm of anxiety in Jason’s body.
"Oh, then there was this tin box she carried around, give me a moment, I'll go to her room to get it."
Betsy turned to go up stairs before saying,
"Have a seat in the living room."
Further entry into the house brought attention to a bible sitting on the coffee table. He sat on the fluffy brown couch. Pictures of Tameka filled the house. Jason figured she must have been an only child.
Betsy came down the steps with a standard envelope sized tin box. It sat as deep as an average sized novel.
"This is all she left here, she wouldn't ever let me touch it, and then when I finally got the chance to look inside it wasn't really anything juicy. Sometimes she’s funna like dat. Or, maybe it’s something you could use."
Her hand stretched out to him. He recognized the box, immediately; she got it from one of the labs at work. He opened the box and on the inside of the box was the Homeland Security seal. Above the seal were the words, "Project Subtle Illumination". Below the seal, “Final War”.
Inside the box was a piece of paper sitting on top of other random items. The paper had an odd sentence on it: "Fear acknowledges instantly; threats hit."
What kind of sentence is that?
"Ok, Betsy thanks for this. I think this is exactly what I needed. I have to go soon, time is slipping away. Is there anything else that may have been of note, that I should know about in regards to your daughter, Tameka?"
“Yes. I raised her religiously. We studied the bible. She didn’t stick with it, but she was a good girl. She had a boyfriend who died in the World Trade Center attacks, and she was never the same after that. She joined this movement to have an investigation into it.”
“What kind of movement? There are quite a few, actually.”
“I don’t know. It was a bunch of family members who wanted the government to look into the incident. She would come home upset for days because they were denying the families’ requests.”
The woman began to tear up while she continued to speak. “I remember she was so happy when those senators backed the families cause and tried to pass a resolution to start up a committee.”
“That was rejected, too. Wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. She seemed hopeless after that. She gathered all those wives and parents up and stormed down to the White House and they sat there all night. Then they stormed an open 9/11 meeting at the capitol building and all held hands while they stared the White House advisor down. It was wonderful. All twenty-plus of the family members in the capitol building holding hands, silently speaking with the sadness on their face. Finally, she got her commission. She didn’t live long enough to see it through, though. She was relentless. She wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted. Very studious. Determined.”
As the woman’s tears began to flow more, Jason reflected on his experience that day.
“I feel your pain. I’m sorry for your loss. Look, I’ve gotta run. You’ve been a big help, and I promise you I’ll get to the bottom of this. OK?”
"Ok, if I need to get in touch with you, what do I do?"
Jason thought about it. That was a good question. He didn't want to be tracked.
"Send a text message to anyone in your contact book, and I'll get it."
"Huh? Why?"
"Just do it. It’ll work, trust me. But, acknowledge me by name—Jason—in order for it to work."
"Well, will the decoy recipient see it?"
"I will be the recipient. Don’t worry ok? Trust me. Thanks Ms. Washington, you've been a huge help."
Jason walked out of the door, looking for his next destination; he had to find out about this box. This sentence – it reeked of a secret society called, Megiddo. He had to revisit the Headquarters. It was the only place to start; her assigned lab – her computer.
He jumped into his Mercedes and programmed the satellites’ configuration to his car’s signal.
How am I gonna get into that building?
XVI
DHS HEADQUARTERS AT THE NEBRASKA AVENUE COMPLEX: HSAS – ORANGE: HIGH TERRORIST RISK
"How did he get out of that house?! Huh, Michael?"
"Josh, This is Jason Upton we are talking about. Don't act
like you don't know what kind of talent and genius we are dealing with, here. This is your former go-to guy; the single most talented agent we’ve ever had in DC; the man who designed 70 percent of all the current technological tools you use to be a super power. Please, don't act like you are clueless." Michael raised his voice, a bit. “Why is everyone acting brand new around here?” He shouted.
"We've gotta catch him. Why aren’t we keeping tabs on his body chip? Have our analysts figured out what’s going on with the data back from the agents we sent to search the house?"
"I don’t think so. The data is still processing. We only know the vitals of the scene. House temperature was normal, the heat map showed no one but the agents in it. Only electricity running through that house was for the refrigerator and microwave." Michael said, "We'll send out search teams. If he's looking for something, it would have to be in this area. If he's not looking, he's left the area and isn’t concerned with anything but survival."
"Now it’s your turn to not act brand new – we all know he’s looking. So, where would he go? Since you are such a good friend."
"Sir, honestly, I don't know. If he is not in that house, then I couldn't tell you. I-I don’t know how he got out of that house.”
"He'll be back."
"You're probably right."
"And when he does, you had better be ready, Michael. This is crucial. Your job is on the line, son. The American people are counting on you to be legendary. This is your moment; your test in history. I know this is a test of integrity for you, and it wont be easy. But, don’t let this set us back another 200 years. It has that potential."
"I won't disappoint you, sir. I promise."
"Where is his wife? Have you been tracking her whereabouts?"
"Yes, sir, we have, via her cell phone and body chip. Still, no signs of Jason."
"Keep looking. Remember, sir, dead or alive. Protect the operation at all costs."
"Yes, sir."
Josh moved in close to Michael and spoke quietly into Michael’s ear. “This is bigger than you. But, if you fail, I’ll make sure the whole world knows about your issue. Do you remember that? I’ll be sure to make you the fall guy.”