by G. R. Cody
Of course, the reception was cut short, which annoyed Elspeth to no end, having to share her big day with a terrorist attack. She and Bradley, her new husband, decided to drive to Miami that very night to catch their cruise ship to the Cayman’s, given planes were grounded Saturday night and Sunday.
In fact, Eve was originally scheduled to fly back to London Sunday night, but flights had just now started back up. Plus, Jerry wanted her to stay in Atlanta for a couple more days to get the original footage from her camera and to get a transcript of everything she could recollect. So, she rescheduled her flight back for Wednesday evening, which Delta was more than happy to do after a full day of groundings.
It was around 10PM on Sunday, and all she wanted to do was soak in a hot bath, then sleep. Eve smeared the apricot mask over her face, then looked down her body. Her shoulders and arms were covered in freckles. Her neck still had a bit of pink from sunburn, but it would be faded by the time she left for England. She had always burned quickly, but this was a small sacrifice for her light hair and fair skin. Eve could not imagine being a brunette. On both women and men, she had always found dark hair to be unattractive, especially on men’s bodies. As she continued to scan down, she realized she was also due for a shave.
Eve had plugged her iPhone in and set it on a foot stool next to the tub. The tub now full and steaming, she shut off the taps and slipped in. The hot water enveloped her, and she could feel her pores opening, releasing what the city had attached to her over the past two days. She grabbed a sponge, lathered it, and scrubbed herself from toe to neck, then spread lotion over her left leg, shaved the full length, then, her right, and lastly her bikini area, leaving just enough to be comfortable but still feel groomed. Then she wiped her face clean with a hot wash rag.
Then, she lay her head back onto the edge of the tub, wiped her hands on a towel, and picked up her phone. She had completely ignored her messages, texts and social media since all the commotion began. There were numerous missed calls and messages from her father, stepmom, and even one from Elspeth just after the bombing, first asking where she was, and then asking if she was okay. Just after that, there were several messages and texts from friends in London and elsewhere that knew she was in Atlanta, and a couple of texts from Arthur that she had missed in the chaos.
She had promised herself that she would not respond to anything until morning; she had already caught up with her family, talked with Arthur and her closest friends, who said they would contact others to say she was fine, and that she would get back with them later in the week. She needed time to herself, to decompress. She could feel the knots in her shoulder blades, and made a mental note to ask the concierge in the morning where she could get a massage.
She put her phone back down on the foot stool and closed her eyes. She hadn’t meant to, but she began to drift off. In that momentary time between conscious thought and dreams, that short time when one can control their mind to think of a real memory and direct its action, she thought of how this entire fiasco had begun. She pictured herself sitting on that bench, in that coral linen dress. Suddenly, the bath felt more humid than hot. She played back those few moments in her mind; looking down at the text from Arthur, looking out at the skyline of Atlanta, then the thunderclap and lightning, followed by the explosion. As she pictured the scene apart from herself, she noted a curious thing. She was holding something up, looking through it.
Then, suddenly, a bolt ran through her. She remembered now that she was looking at the skyline through the camera, and she was FILMING.
Eve’s eyes shot open, and she grabbed her iPhone again. She quickly accessed the camera, and looked at her saved videos. She pressed the last file saved, and watched the scene unfold again. The skyline in the distance, serene and quiet, the only sound footsteps on the cobblestone around her. Then, suddenly, the thunder and the lightning filling the sky. As the lightning abated, there was a brilliant flash of light, quickly followed by stone and glass hurtling from all sides of the building in the center of the frame, fire dancing for a second throughout one full floor.
A mixture of horror, disgust and thrill filled her. She knew that no one had provided any footage of the actual explosion, and here she held it in her hand. Eve carefully placed the phone back on the foot stool, then jumped out of the tub and quickly toweled off. Still naked, she grabbed her phone, unplugged it, and dashed into her bedroom and onto the bed.
She immediately called Jerry.
“Eve! Oh, hello.” Jerry answered after just one ring. His voice was a bit distant, detached, but Eve chalked this up to still being busy and lack of sleep.
“Jerry, you are not going to believe…on my iPhone…I’ve got the explosion! I completely forgot until just now, I was filming from Atlantic Station when it all happened…”
“Eve,” Jerry interrupted in a somber and concerned tone. “Hold on a second. Let’s put a pin in that for the moment. I was actually just about to call you.”
There was silence on both ends for a moment, and in the background she thought she heard someone whisper, “Is that her?”
“Um, okay Jerry,” Eve responded, her emotions turning quickly from excitement to confusion.
“Look, Eve,” Jerry said, “I’m really sorry about this, but I need you to come down here as soon as you can with your camera.”
“But Jerry,” Eve responded. “Why do you need it now? You’ve got the footage from the feed…”
“It’s not me that wants it,” Jerry said in a low murmur. “Look, Eve, there are four men here in black suits claiming to be Homeland Security agents. They have forced us to stop airing your footage as of an hour ago, and they are wanting the camera too.”
“But, why would they…”
“Eve, I don’t know,” Jerry cut across her. “I already tried reading them the riot act about interfering with free press, first amendment, censorship. But they’ve got a letter here signed by Fred Shurner himself, saying to turn it over.”
Eve considered for a second, and then asked again, “But Jerry, why? Why are they doing this? It doesn’t make any sense? Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
“Well, HSA has come by before to review footage, and taken copies of the footage during investigations,” Jerry explained in a whisper. “But I have never seen them force us not to broadcast footage in the heat of the moment, or worse yet to turn over footage. It is like they don’t want anyone seeing it. But they are HSA, and with the CEOs blessing, there is not much I can do.”
Eve cursed under her breath. She didn’t know what choice she had. Her boss was telling her to do this, but something inside her yearned to understand why. After a few seconds of silence, Jerry cut back in.
“Eve,” Jerry was now pleading, “Please, just get your ass down here and give them your camera.”
“Okay,” Eve gave in. “I’ve just got to dress. Shouldn’t be more than 30 minutes before I’m there.”
Annoyed, she didn’t even say goodbye; she just hit disconnect.
For a few seconds, her mind raced, but this wasn’t her decision. The camera technically belonged to her employer anyway.
Eve huffed, then threw on a pair of jeans, a bra and a thin sweatshirt, some half socks and her Nikes. She donned her Chelsea hat again after tying her hair into a damp ponytail. She gathered up her camera bag, grabbed her phone and charger, and stuffed her small traveling snap purse into her back pocket.
She emptied into the lobby and headed out onto 17th Street for the walk over to the train station. Her head was swimming. None of this made any sense, but she didn’t know what else she could do. She ran the scene through her head again, trying to remember anything that would cause Homeland Security to be this interested in suppressing that footage.
About halfway to the train station, her left cheek began to vibrate. Eve stopped on the sidewalk and extracted her iPhone. It was a text from Arthur. As she read it, her face flushed and her heart began to race.
Arthur: I know what’s happ
ening. DO NOT GO! Head straight for the airport. Text me when you get there. DO NOT RESPOND. Just text me when you get there and I’ll instruct.
Eve stared at the text for what felt like minutes, but were only a few seconds. She felt flushed and dizzy. But suddenly, she remembered her training. When you don’t understand a situation, don’t allow others to rush you.
Eve checked her right back pocket. Her wallet was there. Then, she dug through her camera bag and unzipped the inner pocket. Passport there too.
Eve looked around, and saw a taxi with its roof light on…
CHAPTER 4
It had been almost thirty years now, but when he was mentally preoccupied, Felix still raised his left arm to check the time. He cursed under his breath and instead lifted his right arm. 12:30AM. She should be here already.
He wanted a cigarette. He had quit everything in the 90s…tobacco, alcohol, pot, cocaine, ecstasy…but a nice drag on a cigarette still held some sway. The 80s had been like the 60s on airplane fuel, except without a conscience or moral compass, and even though everyone knew that it was all bad for you, there was too much money to be made for people with the advantage of the arbitrage of time that most drugs temporarily gave. There were weeks that he could remember not sleeping; but now all he felt like doing was sleeping.
His armpits were sweating now. He hated the South, its summer heat and humidity. And being on the tarmac of the busiest airport in the world in the commercial delivery international terminal, flights taking off every 30 seconds or so, splashing their exhaust into his face, made him nauseous.
Felix: She’s not here.
He waited a few seconds for his phone to vibrate with an answer.
J: Wait another 15.
Felix couldn’t help think of how much things had changed in 40 years. Back in the late 70s when he started, an exchange such as this, between a man on a runway and MI6 in London, would have required finding a phone, knowing a phone number, hoping they would answer, and carrying around a pocket full of dimes. He grinned a bit.
His hip was aching in the humidity. It was strange how the body worked. Once a part went missing, it was amazing how so many other parts of the body took over, and wore out quicker. Felix quickly refocused on why he was here to avoid the flashback of teeth, blood, high pitched screaming, and sudden cold.
Another brown and gold plane took off just 50 yards away, the deafening roar of the jets filling his ears, and the smell of exhausts hitting his nostrils again, speeding to deliver its packages to some sorting center somewhere else. He sat on the metal stairs leading up to the open door of the cabin of the small Gulfstream to take the pressure off of his hip. His stomach growled and he wondered if there was anything to eat on the plane.
He had received the call about two hours after the bombing. He was watching the coverage from his Manhattan hotel room on CNC when he noticed it. He didn’t know what to make of it, he just knew it was odd.
“Get down to Atlanta,” the section chief had said. “This fits the pattern…”
“I know,” Felix answered gruffly. “I figured you’d call. I’ll be there by morning.”
He had been able to sleep until they had reached the D.C. area, but storms along the southeastern seaboard kept the plane jumping until he landed. He touched down just as the sun was rising.
Felix sat in the terminal with his phone plugged in, awaiting further orders, which came about noon when his phone rang and woke him up. Washington still didn’t trust text messages.
“Felix?” a stern voice announced.
“Yes, I’m here,” Felix said, trying to mask the fact that he had just woken up.
“Stay put,” the voice commanded. “We’re still not sure what’s up, but I want you close and ready to move when we know how we are needed. Keep your phone close.”
“Understood,” Felix answered, and hung up. He unplugged his phone and glanced around for a newsstand to find a Red Bull. He found one, sat back down in front of a TV, and watched the coverage unfold, trying to keep up with the closed captioning.
Being it was a Saturday, the building had been mostly empty. Only about two dozen people had been there when the explosion had occurred, and most of them had been on lower levels and were able to get out quickly. So far, there had only been four reported casualties: the bomber himself, a security guard whom he had evidently shot on his way to the elevators, one Atlanta police officer who had followed him up to the 30th floor, and whose body had been identified on the pavement below after the explosion, and a homeless man across the street that had been crushed by a falling piece of the building. Four other officers were still unaccounted for.
But Felix’s mind was not on the explosion; it was on that footage. After all, it was a Saturday. Those SUVs had no business being there on a Saturday, and the timing was too fortuitous to be coincidence. He should have fully expected news to come in the next couple of days out of Treasury, but his gut told him there would be nothing. Especially given he had been called.
Felix got a text around 10AM.
J: Felix, I have emailed you the protocol. A Gulfstream is waiting for you at T terminal, UPS gate 24. Deliver her to Roosey in Vieques.
Her? Her who?
Felix downloaded the protocol to his phone. Now it made sense, somewhat.
It had been at least 20 years since he had been to Puerto Rico, or anywhere in the Caribbean for that matter. He had heard that the Roosevelt Roads Naval Station had been given up to the Puerto Rican federal government about a decade ago, but the U.S. military never really leaves anywhere.
Felix had been to Vieques back in the early 80s. Vieques, a small island just off the east coast of Puerto Rico’s mainland, was originally claimed by the Spanish in the 1600s, but the island wasn’t of much use to the Spanish other than for mooring, and it became a lighting point for many pirate vessels for the next 200 years. After several attempts by other western European countries to take possession, Spain finally colonized the small island in the early 1800s, and was finally fully annexed into Puerto Rico in 1854. However in 1898, as a result of their defeat in the Spanish-American War, Spain relinquished the islands of Puerto Rico and Vieques to the U.S.
From the turn of the twentieth century until American introduction into World War II, Vieques became economically depressed, and most of its residents emigrated to the mainland or the neighboring Virgin Islands in search of work. In 1941, Franklin Roosevelt signed an executive order as Commander in Chief to purchase the whole of Vieques through the Navy to extend the real estate of the Roosevelt Roads Naval Station, which was just across the bay on the mainland of Puerto Rico. Fearing the spread of Nazi Germany in Western Europe, and Churchill’s grim entreaties to America of Britain’s seemingly futile resistance of the Luftwafa’s bombs, Roosevelt promised the island to Britain as a temporary mooring for their considerable Naval assets. However, this never came to be necessary, and after World War II, the U.S. Navy used Vieques for bombing exercises. But in 1999, a Vieques civilian was killed by an errant jet bomb, which led to civil unrest, and eventually the surrender of the small island by the U.S. Navy to the Puerto Rican government and the U.S. Department of Natural Resources.
Felix had been sent to Puerto Rico in the early ‘80s after local officials and doctors had complained of the rising cancer rate of the people of Vieques, which at that time numbered just under 10,000, over that of residents of the mainland. It was purported that among the bombing activity perpetrated for some 30 years until that point, there must have been nuclear testing as well. Which there had been, of course, but this was never officially acknowledged by the American government. But the nuclear weapons testing, Felix knew, had not been the real issue.
In the mid-50s, the USS Killen, a Fletcher-class destroyer which had been decommissioned after WWII and used as a nuclear bombing testing target in the Pacific, had been moved to Vieques. The Killen was meant to serve as a testing subject for the effects of bombing an already irradiated vessel with a U-235 cargo. As such, the
entire ship’s hull had been irradiated, and close to 15 dozen drums of U-235 were stored in its hold. However, the irradiation of the hull and the barrels contents were never made public. Due to fear of what would actually happen should it be struck, however, the Navy never fired upon it, and it was allowed to sink and decompose in a small bay on Vieques, and was conveniently forgotten until concerns regarding the cancer rate were raised locally.
Felix had led a team to Vieques to strip the Killen of its irradiated hull and claim the U-235 drums. The U.S. government, now fearing that the Soviets or Castro may try to either try to acquire the ship and its cargo, or at the least try to spin the new found knowledge in its favor with the SALT II talks underway, had felt it necessary for the Killen to be extracted, so Felix was called in.
After fully stripping the Killen and extracting the U-235, Felix was given 48 hours of R&R. He had stayed on the mainland while supervising the Killen operation at the Belgica Hotel, where he had met Katherine, who worked as concierge for the Hotel. On his third night, after a couple of brief, innocent exchanges about good places to eat, Katherine had asked Felix if he would like to accompany her to one of her favorite restaurants.
He and Katherine ate and talked until 3AM that night, but had parted without even a hug. It was the most comfortable conversation Felix could remember having with a woman since his wife had passed away just 3 years into their marriage in the mid-70s. Since her death, Felix avoided the pain of expected loss by swearing off love, and women. But Katherine had snuck in under his radar. She was just there, to answer questions, to serve her customer, and then as an acquaintance to dine with so he did not have to eat alone. Felix did not look on her as a woman, as someone to desire and covet, but as just another human being making their way through life, struggling to cope with past joys and heartaches, with a sharp wit, a pleasant laugh and a kind enough heart to go above and beyond for a client.