by M. L. WILSON
He exited the Pentagon, put on his hat, and flipped up the collar on his overcoat in preparation for the wind chill that was about to hit him. Jacobs walked slowly to his car, extremely proud of the deal he had just struck.
Money and power.
That’s all it takes to get humans interested. Secretary Clayborns whole job was about money and power. But what Clayborn didn’t know was that the deal he just struck with Jacobs was not an isolated agreement.
These deals were being struck with governments all over the world. It was a win-win for the Promelians. Get the human’s assistance in eliminating the Cereleans, pit the humans against each other in a senseless race for supremacy, and then eradicate them when they are at their weakest.
Mr. Jacobs started the car and immediately turned on the heater. He likes the cold, but he still prefers the heat. He took out a communication device from his coat pocket. Time to report the status of his mission.
“Yes,” said a scruffy voiced gentleman with a British accent.
“It’s me. Everything is going as planned. The Americans are on board.”
“And they suspect nothing?”
“They suspect that the Cereleans are the most dangerous threat mankind has ever faced.” Mr. Jacobs says with a smile.
“Excellent. The time grows near when our brothers and sisters will join us. We must work quickly. There must be no evidence of our existence.”
“Yes sir.”
Mr. Jacobs hung up and put his communicator back in his coat pocket. He was very proud of what he had accomplished for his people. When the day came, he knew he would be rewarded for his contributions.
He had a long drive ahead of him. There was still a lot of work to do, and time was short.
Time to listen to some tunes. Mr. Jacobs turned to his favorite radio station; "This is K44 FM, the smoothest jazz in D.C." says the DJ.
“Smoothest jazz in D.C.” Jacobs said as he drove off into the night.
CHAPTER 10
THE UNITED STATES, Russia, China, Europe, everywhere Cereleans called home, they were arrested and executed by government and Promelian forces. They were considered enemies of the state in Russia, while the U.S. called them Communists.
Being accused of conspiring against their own governments, the Cereleans went willingly with government agents. They didn’t want to bring about any unnecessary attention to their presence. Unknown to them, they were being led to the slaughter.
The years went by and Secretary Clayborn was pleased at the progress he had made. He ushered in a new era for the United States and over the next twenty years, America became the most powerful country in the history of mankind.
While political change necessitated his removal as secretary of defense, he still had a considerable amount of power in Washington.
True to their word, the Promelians provided the medical and technological advances they had promised. Many diseases that plagued mankind for centuries became virtually extinct. Their weapons capabilities surpassed those of Americas most formidable enemies. America was the victor in the Cold War. But victory was not enough. The powers that be, grew hungry for more.
Absolute power corrupts absolutely.
As the black limousine came to a stop in the dimly lit alley off of 14th Street, one of Clayborns Secret Service agents got out and opened the passenger door for him as the other two walked the alley and scanned for any threats to the secretary’s life.
The gentleman in the fedora and overcoat waiting under a dim light was expected. Anyone else would have been considered a threat.
After being given the all clear from his agents, Clayborn walked purposefully up to the gentleman. This meeting was far from a social visit. This visit was about power.
“Meetings in dark alleys these days Mr. Clayborn?” Jacobs said, taunting Clayborn for being ousted as secretary of defense.
“Rest assured Mr. Jacobs, I still have a considerable amount of power at my disposal.”
“Of course you do. You have what you wanted. I trust you are satisfied?”
“I am, but this is a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately world your people decided to visit. In short, we want more.”
“More Mr. Clayborn?” Jacobs said with a smile. He’s wasn’t surprised at Clayborns request. The taste of power only increases the hunger for more.
“You are hardly in a position to demand anything, Mr. Clayborn.”
“In time, our enemies will catch up to us,” Clayborn said. “We can’t let that happen.”
“That is not our concern, Mr. Clayborn.”
“Listen to me, you son-of-a-bitch! Without my help, you wouldn’t have the success you’re having. I made the deal. I can shut it off at any time. Make no mistake about that.”
Mr. Jacobs stared angrily at Clayborn for a moment, considering whether or not he should kill him. Clayborn saw the anger in Jacobs eyes and wisely decided to take a step back.
“I must admit, you...humans have been most effective.” Jacobs reluctantly said as he took off his fedora with a smile. He dusted it off as he slowly walked closer to Clayborn. Clayborns security detail immediately stepped forward to protect him.
“Very well Mr. Sec—I mean, Albert. You will have what you need to keep you in power,” he said with a sarcastic smile. The smile, however, didn’t last long. “If you ever talk to me that way again Mr. Clayborn, I will kill you.”
“Good evening to you,” Jacobs said as he put his fedora back on and walked down the alley. For the first time, Clayborn began to regret ever meeting Mr. Jacobs.
PART II
THE WAR’S WE FIGHT
CHAPTER 11
Present Day
RUN!
THAT’S ALL KEVIN Phipps has to do to get out of this mess. A mild-mannered young man in his mid-thirties, Kevin was looking forward to coming home after a hard day’s work and relaxing for the evening. As he was entering his building, he heard a police officer yell, “Halt,“to him with his weapon drawn.
Being a good citizen as he was instructed to, Kevin complied with the officer’s order. The officer fired a shot at Kevin that missed, so Kevin wisely decided that compliance was no longer an option. He took off and ran in the building, up the stairs, and eventually to the fifth floor.
Unsure of why he is being chased, Kevin knows that if he runs top speed, there is no way the police officer who was chasing him would ever catch him. No…human would be able to catch him. Only problem is that he ran upstairs and is now on the fifth floor of a New York apartment complex, and there are too many humans present. He does not want to risk exposing his true nature.
He tries not to be rude, but he’s left with no option but to force his way past the humans who are blocking his path. He knocks down a middle-aged woman who yells an expletive at him in anger. He always wondered about those colorful metaphors the humans are so fond of, but now is not the time to ponder it. Must keep running.
Avoid capture at all cost.
He looks over his shoulder to see if the officer is still in pursuit, and he is. Kevin thinks to himself that the officer is not like other police officers, overweight and out of shape. A result of eating too many jelly-filled doughnuts.
Kevin thinks to himself as he continues to run how strange it is that the officer had not yelled “stop” or “halt” again, or even so much as called for backup for that matter. No time to think about that right now. Avoid capture at all costs.
Kevin knows that if he can get to the ground, there would be no way the officer would catch him. The officer is only human, after all.
There!
At the end of the hallway: a window with a fire escape. Running toward the window, Kevin looks over his shoulder and sees that the officer is still in pursuit. Kevin doesn’t take the time to open the window. He jumps through it and lands on the fire escape. He quickly gets to his feet and begins his descent down the ladder to the alley below. He looks up and sees the officer is still in hot pursuit.
“What do you want with m
e?” yells Kevin.
No response from the officer. Kevin begins to grow desperate. He realizes that being captured means possible exposure of his race’s existence.
Considering mankind’s treatment of one another, it’s unlikely they will openly embrace an alien race. They barely accept their fellow humans if their skin color is different.
Kevin makes it to the ground and begins running confidently down the alley. He stops to see if the officer is still following. Kevin locks eyes with the officer and for the first time, sees the bloodlust in the officer’s eyes. He realizes that if this officer caught him, he would kill him.
CHAPTER 12
KEVIN FEELS A drop of acid fear burning into his heart, and he begins to wonder if he will live to see another day. If he makes it to the street, he can get away easily. Kevin runs top speed down the alley, but is shot from behind and falls to the ground.
In pain and confused, Kevin wonders if the humans are aware of the presence of the Cereleans. He also considers the unthinkable: the Promelians have arrived.
That’s impossible, Kevin thinks to himself. He instantly dismisses the idea. He needs to get away, but realizes that he is bleeding severely from his wound, and it would be difficult to explain to Good Samaritans and emergency medical personnel why his blood is oily black.
He needs help, but he has to consider the consequences of exposure; he has to consider the well-being of his people first. With that, Kevin accepts the fact that he is going to die in that alley today.
But why?
Kevin rolls onto his back to see the officer slowly, methodically approaching him, smiling a maniacal smile.
“Why?” said Kevin. “Why have you done this? I have done nothing.”
The officer smiles as he stands over his victim. “You exist, Cerelean filth. That is a problem to me.”
Blood drips from Kevin’s mouth as he gasps for what would be his last few breaths of air.
“No. It’s not possible,” says Kevin. “My people. Must warn…”
Kevin Phipps goes limp. His breathing becomes labored. Seconds later, Kevin Phipps is dead. All that remains for the Promelian executioner is to disintegrate the body, leave no evidence that Kevin Phipps ever existed. He pulls a small syringe from his pocket that contains the yellow liquid.
As he prepares to inject the liquid into Kevin’s arm, he hears a scream, a young lady, no more than twenty years old. She is a local prostitute and runaway.
Startled by the young woman’s scream, the Promelian drops the syringe and helplessly watches as it shatters on the concrete. The Promelian watches helplessly as the liquid seeps into the concrete, and with it, the Promelians only means of disposing of Phipps body.
“Damn it!” He knows that the consequences of his failure will be severe. He angrily looks up at the young lady.
This is your fault.
It would be very easy to make her disappear. No one will ever miss her. The Promelian executioner starts toward the young lady. I’ll kill her and take the Cereleans body with me. No witnesses.
The young lady watches in horror, afraid to move as the executioner continues to move toward her. He pulls out his gun and points it at her when suddenly, a second young lady shows up and screams. The executioner knows that he could easily kill both of them, but the screams get the attention of other humans.
He stops and immediately runs down the other end of the alley. He’s not concerned with anyone seeing his face. That can easily be changed. He’s more concerned with his victim’s body left in the alley. Leave no evidence behind. That is rule number one for the Promelians. He doesn’t have a choice now.
The executioner makes it to the end of the alley, rounds the corner and is gone, leaving the curious onlookers standing over the body of Kevin Phipps.
He knows he will have much to answer for.
CHAPTER 13
LAURA SAUNDERS LOVES her work as a medical examiner. She considers herself to be the last voice of the dead. Ever since she was a little girl, she loved to solve puzzles but had aspirations of becoming a lawyer. Never in a million years did she see herself studying forensic pathology and carving up dead bodies. Now, at age thirty-two, she has made herself comfortable in her role, and considers it a calling rather than a career by default.
Laura is a jovial woman, dark hair and petite, standing about five feet eight. She doesn’t have much of a social life. She spends most of her time reading Sherlock Holmes and other crime novels. Always a dead body to investigate, always a puzzle to solve.
It’s eleven p.m., and she’s still on the job.
Laura daydreams of having the typical nine-to-five job, off on weekends, going home each day to a loving husband and a house full of children. That life just wasn’t in the cards. The life of a medical examiner is identical to the life of a homicide detective: lonely. Homicides are not scheduled, so those that investigate homicides cannot be held to a schedule either. This includes medical examiners.
Much like police detectives, medical examiners never really emotionally detach themselves from their work. Saunders knows that every victim is someone’s loved one, but when she walks in to do the job, she knows she has to set those thoughts aside for the greater good.
Saunders stares down at the dead body on the table. A young woman, barely in her twenties with a gunshot wound to the head. She imagines what the young lady’s life must have been like, what her dreams were, her goals. Most importantly though, who could have shot her?
Answering the “how” is her job. Finding out why is not her lane.
She does a visual inspection of the victim’s body and notices track marks on both arms.
“Drugs,” Laura says as she shakes her head in frustration. She’s seen this too many times. “What happened to you, sweetie?”
She’ll leave the “why” to someone else. Time to get to work.
Laura powers up her autopsy saw and begins to cut away at the top of the skull. She can never get used to that terrible crunching, grinding sound and the smell of burning flesh. Laura continues on, cutting 360 degrees around the head, freeing the top of the skull. She removes the top portion of the skull and places it in a bowl.
Next, she removes the brain, placing it in a bowl as well. Laura takes the scalpel and cuts down the center of the brain to remove the bullet. Effortlessly, she separates the hemispheres of the victim’s brain and finds the round lodged deeply near the hippocampus.
“Bingo!” she says. Saunders knows that with the bullet, she is another step closer to finding the murderer and getting justice for the victim’s family. If she even has a family. She hasn’t even been reported missing.
Saunders places the round in an evidence bag for ballistics. Almost finished. Sew up the victim, write her report. That’s all that stands between her and some much-needed time off. She loves her job, but she still longs to interact with the living.
Two hours pass and Laura is almost done with her report. Looks like tonight will be an early night for her, after all. Early for a medical examiner, anyway.
Seconds later, the double doors of the autopsy room burst open with a wheeled gurney being pushed by her intern Trevor Andrews. Another dead body.
A twenty-three-year-old medical student, Andrews is in his final year at NYU. He’s eager to please but still skittish around dead bodies. Saunders thinks he will make a good doctor, and she is usually glad to see him.
Not this time.
“Hi, Dr. Saunders,” says Andrews. “Sorry to bring bad news. This one died of a gunshot wound to the chest.”
So much for an early day.
“You ah…want me to stay and help?” Andrews asks, crossing his fingers and hoping Saunders will say no. Work is no place for a twenty-three-year-old on a Friday night.
Saunders recognizes his hesitance to volunteer. He probably has plans with his friends, or maybe a date. Something she has neither of. No sense in both of them suffering.
“No, Trevor. I got it covered. Go home.”
“Thanks!” Trevor says as he quickly runs out the door just in case Saunders changes her mind.
Saunders looks at the body that Trevor just wheeled in. Another gunshot wound. So much for leaving early.
Murphy’s Law.
CHAPTER 14
DECTECTIVE ALAN JUSTICE is young and ambitious, to the point where he has become annoying to some of his peers and superiors. He was constantly telling anyone who would listen that he planned to make detective faster than the average uniformed officer. He showed up unannounced on his off-duty time to volunteer for additional work in the homicide department just to be around the action, just so the decision-makers can put a face with his application. The squeakiest wheel gets the grease, right?
He didn’t set the department’s record like he wanted to, but who cares? He’s here. He made it. After working eight years on patrol, he finally made it. At age thirty-two, Justice is the youngest detective in the homicide department. He’s prepared for the type of welcome he’s going to receive. Hey kid, or hey rookie, go get us some coffee. Gotta earn respect from New York cops.
Justice is six feet two inches tall, with a clean-shaven, boyish look. The boyish look has never demanded any respect from his peers. It certainly won’t with homicide detectives. Fortunately, his height is an attention-getter. He looked down at most of the people he arrested. He will probably look down at his fellow detectives as well. He’s certainly sure to be in better shape.
Justice stares into the mirror and tries to tie a double Windsor knot in his dark-blue necktie. He’s always had trouble getting it just right. Today is no different.
Flip, tuck, pull. Start over. Flip, tuck, pull.
Over and over again until he breaks a sweat. Everything has to be perfect. First impressions are lasting. After about thirty minutes, he finally gets an acceptable knot. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment; self-evaluation time.