Last War

by Vincent Heck

  Josh Grambling grinned and with his back straight and chest out, he slowly walked out of the control room.

  

  Fairfax County, Maryland

  Clareese’s house

  "Clareese, I've got an idea: I say we look for him."

  Without moving her head from the TV, Clareese glanced at Christine from the corner of her eye.

  “I don't know, Chrissie – have you lost your mind?" she chuckled. “Doesn’t seem smart.”

  The television played an environmental commercial in the background. Most commercials had become a call for better use of cleaner products.

  "What if he's in trouble, though?"

  "He works for the U.S. Department of Homeland Security."

  "So?"

  "So? So, they deal with terrorist groups, big-bad foreign militaries, random illegal immigrants and all the like. If he is in trouble, don't you think they'd suffice?"

  "And what if the trouble exceeds all of that?"

  "Then, Chrissie, what are two little petite women going to do about it? After all, what can exceed that sort of trouble?"

  Christine knew that she couldn't do much for Jason, but her heart stretched out to her man.

  "I think I'm going. You don't have to if you don't want to."

  "Chrissie?"

  "I've left him behind when, really, I don't think he has ever left me. I should have been patient. With all that he’s been through in his life, I’ve been nothing but terrible to him. I'm not going to leave him again, Clare."

  "Chrissie, please!"

  "I'm going."

  "You're going to get yourself killed. Think about this, Chrissie: Would Jason want you to do this?"

  "I don't know. I know what my heart is telling me, though. All these months, I've been going to Max to feel this way, and now I feel this way about the man I married and I wanna do something about it. I cannot lose him. Not like this, Clare."

  "I understand what you are saying about your heart, but babe, you have to use your head."

  "Sometimes, Clare, your mind can understand intellectually, what the heart can't understand emotionally. I'm going."

  Christine gathered her coat, and still in her gown, she headed for the door. Chasing behind her, Clareese collected her jacket, as well.

  "Oh god, Chrissie, I can’t believe this. Where are we going?"

  

  6:00 p.m.

  Resting in a parking lot just before the massive intersection of Nebraska and Massachusetts Avenues, Jason sat in his Mercedes mapping out his entrance into the DHS building.

  He knew the building very well, but he was certain that he was being watched very closely. His hands were unsteady. His body was charged up; he almost felt as if his body was glowing. He was only a block away from the Homeland Security building headquarters. If they were watching him, surely they were planning on moving in on him at any moment. If they weren't watching him, the fact that he was one block away made it easier for them to locate him. Certainly, by now, they had located him.

  He had to move.

  He had to move, immediately.

  Jason powered up his handheld device. “Sirus. What are my vitals?”

  The computer immediately responded. “Hi, Jason. Your amygdala is hyperactive. Your body temperature is 98.2. Your blood pressure is 133 over 88. You’re taking 23 breaths per minute. Your pulse is at 90 beats per minute . . . you’re a little nervous, Jason. Maybe you should try lighting candles and drinking tea. Do you need me to search places to purchase candles and tea?”

  “No tea, Sirus. I need you to locate the surveillance drones in the area.”

  “Sure, Jason. There are 455 in the current half-mile diameter. 105 are armed. 90 are media. 25 are illegal, unregistered, civilian devices. There are a couple dozen unidentified aerial devices, as well.”

  Jason rubbed his wrist. He’d have to go invisible, as he did in his house’s garage, so the drones couldn’t detect him. He couldn’t do that for the car, this time, as the parking space would have, falsely, appeared empty. That plan gave him an hour, max, to get in and out – which included the walk to the building, the sneak inside the building, the possible dodging everyone who knows his face, and the escape.

  He noticed an armed guard off in the distance by the road. The guard was holding an MR-15 rifle while he paced.

  He’d need more than an hour to get what he needed done. He’d probably need an hour max, just in Tameka’s lab room.

  The new scenario he conjured up was risky, but risk was his only option, these days.

  Instead of hiding from the surveillance drones for the entirety of his mission, he decided to go invisible as he approached and entered the building. That way, he’d be able to use the hour offline while he’s in the building. Of course, he could be discovered in other ways, but it was the best route. It would give the most time.

  He was to begin his journey late night/early morning when the building was sleeping. Until then, he risked being tracked in the parking lot. He sunk down into his leather seat, closed his eyes, and slowed his breathing. “Sirus. Monitor my vitals. Alert me when my amygdala and vitals are at sedation levels.”

  “Alert set.”

  

  A few long days in the Nebraska Complex control room was wearing on the situation defense crew. Grambling called Michael into his office down the hall.

  "We need to review the surveillance footage very closely, frame by frame. I want to know how that little weasel got out of that house. It could be key to getting an upper hand on him; he’s probably lightyears ahead of us by now."

  "Yes, sir. I'll look into it."

  "I'll be in there in a second to help you, but I need you and the men to get started. Gear them up with the DARPA caps. We’ll need their vision to be as good as possible."

  “Sir, those are finished?”

  “They’re BETA. Just do it. They work.”

  Michael walked back into the control room.

  "Ok, fellas, listen up: In addition to reading and analyzing the collected data, we need to look into the footage and see what went wrong. Any suggestions, any abnormalities, anything interesting, point out. No small thought is stupid – if you see it, say it. All the technology we’re using is a system he designed, and likely, he knows the loopholes. Who knows, maybe he even designed it that way.” A group of white coated men walked into the room and sat boxes on the ground.

  “We have new technology from DARPA which you have tested and been trained on. This will help you sift through intelligence much more efficiently. The doctors are going to set these hats on your head, and then we’re going to connect to these streams of data we have running into our surveillance systems.”

  Each doctor unpacked the cloth hats. They all had receptors attached to them in which the doctors plugged wires into.

  Michael continued. This is going to enhance your ability to focus on what we need.”

  A text message came through to his work phone. “Data is ready.” It said.

  “Roll the tapes."

  The footage recycled in rapid pace on the monitors back to the beginning frames, when the agents arrived to Jason’s home.

  "When agent Thompson and his crew of three arrived there, Jason definitely was present. We know that. So, let’s start watching from that point."

  After an hour of panning through the tapes synced with the data collected realtime, Grambling walked in and joined the crew. Seven head men stood around a 200-inch monitor as dozens of minutes passed at a time.

  An agent spoke to Grambling, "Sir, do you think there is anything else more important we have to do than to track this man who is probably half way to Mexico, right now?"

  "Keep watching. If it were anyone else, yes. But, like Michael said, this is Upton, and we’re possibly on the brink of a perfect storm which could lead to an epic collapse. We’re at the climax of this country’s work and progress mixed with being in the midst of the biggest covert operation in the history of the world, and we�
�ve lost the real life James Bond of it all. Nope, not on my watch."

  Michael kept focused on the screen. Numbers panned down the side of the huge monitor; the temperature stayed the same throughout the entire house. Only when two of the agents ran upstairs did the temperature in the house elevate slightly.

  "Sir, I think we have something here." An analyst said.

  "What do you see?" Grambling responded.

  "When agent Thompson walks into the garage, all of his data sensors go offline. Or, at least, it seems so. We have no data recorded from the time he steps in the garage. Not even the atmosphere vital signs, no temperature, no air quality – nothing. The moment he steps out, however, his sensors go back online.”

  "So, what does that mean?"

  “His garage could be a safe room, of sorts. I’m not sure. Let me seek the possibilities, it could mean a lot of things.”

  “A safe room like the one we’re in?” Michael asked.

  “Yeah. Along those lines.”

  “But, how do you explain agent Thompson going in there and not seeing him with his own eyes?” Grambling asked. “Or if he did, how do you explain him not telling us?”

  “We’ll review the footage on Thompson’s helmet cam.” The analyst said.

  “And I’ll speak with him.” Michael said to Grambling, “I'll brief you later on what we find."

  Michael was determined to contact Jason again.

  

  XVII

  Clarke St., Brooklyn Heights

  Saturday, September 8, 2001 9:50 p.m.

  The microfiber on the couch felt soft on the back of Jason’s arm while the woman cuddled inside of it softened his heart. A movie was on the television – a chick-flick – but, Jillian had fallen to sleep. The blanket that was over top of them came to just below her narrow chin. She slept as peaceful as a busy woman would. He could hear Vanessa on the next floor above playing something active in her room.

  “I think, maybe, we should make someone for her to play with.” Jillian said.

  “Oh, so you’re awake?”

  “Barely. I’m struggling.”

  “Is this your new way of telling me you’re in the mood?” Jason laughed.

  Jillian moved her hand up onto the stubble on Jason’s chest. She looked into his eyes. “Maybe.”

  Jason leaned forward to kiss her. Her soft lips and warm tongue was always enough to melt his worries out of the world. Nothing else existed in the moments his body would react to the woman he promised a lifetime to. Jillian pulled away. “But, not tonight.” She chuckled sliding from under the blanket. “I have to be up early. I have to go in at 4 tomorrow. But, I’m serious. We’ve waited too long, already. She’s in middle school, now.”

  “OK. We’ll talk about it.”

  “You had some of my pineapples, didn’t you? I told you not to touch before I dozed off. I can taste it – you did.” She said as she walked up the stairs.

  “They were just sitting there going bad.” He said laughing. “I couldn’t get up to put them away cause you were napping on my lap.”

  “Uh huh. Goodnight.”

  Jason reached for his laptop. He logged into his MyFace.

  A big entertainment story was going to break any moment, now. They had discussed it during the last Brendenhall Group meeting. It was going to be announced that a major music icon and legend had been diagnosed with stage III cancer. He wanted to watch the reaction on social media upon the public learning.

  “Hey, daddy.” He heard, partnered with a rhythmic thump of feet down the steps.

  “Hey, sweetie. You got down those stairs quick.”

  “I’ma ninja” Vanessa laughed. “Teacher said I can talk to the class about your work before we come see you Tuesday.”

  “Oh, really? What did you say?”

  “I don’t know. I told her it’s top secret. Maybe I can tell them that you protect people?”

  “From who?”

  “From the bad guys.”

  “Come have a seat, babes. Let me show you something.”

  Vanessa skipped over to the couch and hopped on it next to Jason. “Even though you can’t tell everyone, I’m going to show you what I do. K? You see these people here on this website?”

  “Yeah. Who are they?”

  “It’s just a random collection of people who I follow on this internet website.”

  “Yeah, MyFace, daddy. I know what it is. But, who are they?”

  “They’re random people I got to know on this website. I haven’t met them a day in my life. Yet, I’ve gotten to know that these people all have their own views, and they all came from different backgrounds and families. Their posts reflect a wide array of those differences. What I do at work, is very similar to what we’re doing now. Except at work it’s a lot more people.”

  “So you watch what people say?”

  “More or less. Yes. And I figure out what’s best for them.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Sometimes protection starts at detection. If you’re able to see someone’s potential, you can act before they do. Most people come from a particular culture, and that culture affects what they say and do, for the most part. When you read between the lines, and see what makes them an individual, then, it gets easier in predicting their next steps.” Jason slid the computer closer to Vanessa. “Watch this. Tell me what you notice about the conversation on here.”

  Jason turned up the TV as the news reported the malignant cancer of the iconic musician.

  “They stopped talking about all the stuff they were talking about. Now they’re all talking about what’s on TV.”

  “That, babygirl, is what’s called social science. If you have a profound thought event, or idea, and a way to mass distribute it, you have the control of people’s thoughts and focus. So, if someone decides to turn that into a weapon, who’s going to protect the American people from a weapon like that?”

  “You?”

  “It’s my favorite part of the job.”

  “People can do that?”

  “There are groups of people who can do that. Yes. But, anyway, let’s get you ready for sleep.”

  Nebraska Complex parking lot

  SUNDAY MARCH 25TH 2003

  8:00 p.m.

  Jason’s eyes opened. Whenever he dreamed flashbacks, he knew he may not have experienced restorative sleep. He sat up in his driver seat and began looking over the items in the tin can from Betsy. He found a ticket to the Baltimore Aquarium and several scrap papers with notes on them. A couple of them had the words from the sentence he saw on the can’s lid: "Fear acknowledges instantly; threats hit." One scrap paper had "Fear" simply written on it and "Threats" on another.

  One scrap paper taped to the inside of the lid of the box had a scripture "1 Thessalonians 5:3" written on it.

  Jason thought maybe he would learn more once he got into her old lab.

  There was a body chip scanner in the box, too. It wasn’t labeled.

  Jason picked up his head to locate the armed guard. The guard wasn't there, anymore. Jason scanned the surroundings with his eyes, first. No guard. “Sirus. I need the feeds for the surveillance drones and satellites for this .25 diameter sent to my handheld. Video and audio.”

  “A channel has been added to your device with the feeds you’ve requested. Anything else, Jason?”

  “No. Thanks, Sirus.”

  He listened through all the audio garble in the surrounding airwaves to see if he heard anything in reference to him.

  ".....I'm in the parking Lo..... B... doing my eight o’ clock rounds....." The transmission he needed faded in and out. He tried to adjust.

  “Sirus, improve signal.” Jason requested.

  The signal improved, slightly. "…in the northwest corner is clear, I'm he..din.g...to the sou....we…t corn...."

  Jason looked for his location. He was in parking lot B, in the southwest corner. Sliding down in his seat he used his mirrors to locate the guard who seemed to have spotte
d his black Mercedes.

  

  The guard approached the Mercedes. He Mic'd back to the control center,

  "I think I have a visual of U007’s car, let me confirm first."

  The guard checked the notes on his handheld device for the license plate numbers. "Z 75290."

  "Yeah, uh, this is GL to HQ we have a confirmation of U007's vehicle in parking lot B southwest, over."

  The guard looked into the window cautiously with his MR-15 aimed and ready to shoot. He couldn't see in, because the tint was impossibly dark. As he moved around the car to the driver side, the door opened as instantly as his Adam’s apple was struck with a powerful force. The guard’s gun was ripped from his hands, and the handle was shoved back into his face, jarring a few teeth loose. His knees were kicked back causing the guard to fall to the ground, in pain. Jason jumped out of the car.

  He threw the gun under the car, picked the guard up off of the ground and put him in a sleeper hold. After the guard dozed off to sleep, Jason stuck his head back into the car. “Sirus, reconnect the DHS communication feeds.”

  “Feeds reconnected.” In as neutral and short of a voice he could muster, he said into the walkie talkie, "Parking lot rounds complete. All check points, all clear."

  

  XVIII

  SUNDAY MARCH 25, 2003

  CURRENT HSAS: ORANGE- HIGH RISK OF TERRORIST ATTACK

  6:37 p.m.

  Christine sped down the turnpike speaking aloud to herself. She was unsure of where to start, or what to do. Her confidence faded in and out, as Jason’s words clearly echoed in her head to stay safe. Nonetheless, here she was diving head-first into a pool of unknown trouble.

  Her mind housed a variety plans which had more twists and turns than the road in front of her. At times, her thoughts and anxiety would crash into each other creating an enormous world war in her brain.

  At which point she would slowly bleed back into reality to hear Clareese talking in circles. She, too, was trying to map out their approach.