Liberation Day

by Dustin Stevens

  He handed the disc across to Thorn, who accepted it by the opposite corner, his dirty hands smudging the new casing.

  “Okay,” Thorn said, his voice even. “What am I looking for on here?”

  “You’ll see,” Iggy said, pushing herself to full height behind her brother and stretching her hands up high overhead.

  A dozen thoughts about what could be on the disc passed through Thorn’s mind, each as unlikely as the one before it. Looking down, he rotated it over to examine the bottom side, no identifying marks of any kind visible.

  “Why are you giving this to me?” he asked, keeping his gaze on Nio, Iggy in his periphery.

  The faintest hint of a smile pulled at the right side of Nio’s mouth as he started to drift away, his sister matching the movement. “Like I said the other night, I still get the impression you’re not just a security guard.”

  Once more Thorn glanced down at the item in his hand before looking up, turning at the waist to watch the siblings depart, though making no move of his own to join them.

  “And if I need to talk to you afterwards?”

  The question slowed their pace just a bit, Nio crossing his left foot over his right in an exaggerated gait. “What time does your shift start in the evening?”

  “Eight,” Thorn said, his eyebrows pinching together just slightly.

  “What a coincidence, that’s the same time we usually like to have our evening coffee,” Nio said, raising his palms by his side, a smile on his face.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  In total Thorn watched the entirety of the video three times, taking a sum of about five minutes. Each time he did he felt the animosity within him grow a little stronger, his ire aimed at the single figure in the fedora.

  While the two men that preceded him onscreen both appeared proficient, the way they had frozen under his attack proved they were nothing more than hired hands. Everything about the man behind them, from the way he carried himself to the way he dressed, even the fact that he was the one wielding a gun, proved that he was the one in charge.

  It also proved that he was the man to both kill Cyrus and dump the container of refugees into the ocean.

  More than once in his prior life Thorn had dealt with people such as he, those that had a wanton disregard for life. Singularly focused on some distant goal, they used it to justify any and all actions, no matter how heinous, regardless how extensive the collateral damage.

  On the final viewing, Thorn took a still image shot of the man, saving it to his desktop. Upon doing so he brought his video conferencing software to life, calling on Ingram.

  It rang only twice before Ingram’s face appeared before him.

  “Morning, Thorn.”

  “Morning, Coach,” Thorn replied, cutting straight to his main objective for the call. “Everything set for tonight?”

  Ingram shuffled through a few papers atop his desk and said, “It is. There’s a container loaded and en route to Boston as we speak.”

  “Enough to draw interest?”

  “A Viper, a Testarosa, two Corvettes, and an old school Gran Torino with enough under the hood to blow the clothes off a woman ten yards away,” Ingram said, rattling the information off before looking up from the printout in his hand. “That do it?”

  Growing up in a navy town with a naval officer for a father, automobiles received a minimal amount of interest from Thorn at best. Before taking on the Explorer, the last ride he had was a twelve-wheel transport designed for carrying soldiers through coastal towns.

  Still, even to his untrained ear, the list seemed sufficient.

  “That should do it,” Thorn agreed.

  “Any idea on how you intend to draw them in?”

  “Already have,” Thorn said, leaning forward and running a hand along the back of his neck, his short hair feeling like bristles against his palm. “Wrote out a phony purchase order and sent a copy to the dock manager before I went on last night. Told him I found it out on patrol and thought it looked important.

  “After that, I asked my new partner and the guys we relieved if they heard about the big shipment of cars coming in tonight, made a few anonymous online posts. If the merchandise is actually what these guys are interested in, we’ll know it by this time tomorrow.”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  “Then we’ll know that, too,” Thorn said.

  A long moment passed as Ingram considered the argument. “I like it. What else you got?”

  For a long moment Thorn looked away, twisting his head at the neck, watching Abby as she turned in a small circle before settling herself down into a tight ball on the couch.

  He wasn’t sure how to best approach what he’d been given by the Garcia’s, even less certain how well it would be received.

  “I was able to get a copy of the security video from night before last,” he began, opting for a very narrow version of the truth for the time being. “Whoever it was shot out the camera before anything important was recorded, but there was a few seconds of footage at the beginning.”

  The information seemed to gain Ingram’s attention, his eyebrow tracking upward in anticipation. “Anything we can use?”

  “Just one image,” Thorn said, minimizing the window and bringing up his email. “I’m sending it over to you now. Most of the face is blocked by a hat and shadows, but you may be able to pull something from it. I’m assuming we’ve got some pretty high-end facial recognition software lying around somewhere.”

  “Ha!” Ingram coughed out, his voice becoming a bit detached as he went to look in on the file. “You assume correctly.”

  Waiting a long moment, Thorn pulled the video feed back up in silence, watching as his counterpart looked at the image.

  “Could be anybody,” Ingram muttered.

  Thorn offered a grim nod in agreement, having had the same thought just minutes before. The picture told him more about the kind of man he was up against than who he actually was.

  In the end, he had a feeling that information would prove far more valuable.

  “I’ll make it first priority,” Ingram said, his voice returning to the conversation, rising in volume. “Anything else?”

  “Were you able to track down any of the fiber optics I asked for?” Thorn asked.

  A Cheshire smile spread across Ingram’s face as he stared back into the camera, rotating to face forward. “Check your back porch. I have a feeling you might have gotten a little visit from Santa Clause this morning.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  From the second floor of his newly purchased Cape Cod home, Bern Gold sat in his wheelchair and stared out through a bank of tinted glass windows at the proceedings below. Just ten yards beneath him, a large stairwell led onto a stone porch that encompassed the entire length of the mansion. Beyond it, a manicured lawn sprawled in all directions, the smell of fresh flowers in the air.

  On either side of the porch, teams of servants manned their stations. To the right a large buffet was spread out, across from it was an extensive selection of wines and champagnes from around the world. Waiters in pressed white uniforms moved throughout the grounds, offering hors d’oeuvres and relieving guests of any unwanted dishes.

  Among them was Ling, Gold watching as he slipped amongst them without attracting so much as a second glance.

  The crowd was comprised of over fifty people, many of them wives and children of men associated with the project. All were dressed in their outdoor finest, sundresses and sports coats, a festive mood in the air.

  Using an automated joystick, Gold rolled to his computer and made one final check of everything. Content that all was in order, he shrugged on his dinner jacket and took his private elevator down a floor to find Jasper waiting for him. Once there he disengaged his onboard motor and coasted to a stop just as Jasper grabbed the handles and pushed him forward.

  Together the duo emerged from the house onto the veranda, the bright afternoon sun washing over them. Several heads turned at the sight of the pair,
Gold in his wheelchair and Jasper in his trademark aloha shirt, the garish red and gold a stark contrast from those around him.

  Many of the people there, despite being business associates, had never seen Gold in person. Several cast sideways glances as he accepted a glass of wine from a servant, careful not to stare as he passed by.

  The first person brave enough to approach Gold was Ling, offering a sampling from his tray. He bent low as Gold pretended to peruse the options and said, “It appears everyone has agreed to your terms. None of the men are carrying weapons and my men report that they have heard nothing suspicious over the lines.”

  “How many listening devices are in place?” Gold asked, his hand poised above the tray, pretending to be choosing carefully.

  “Over three hundred,” Ling replied. “Hidden in every tray, restroom, and plant on the grounds.”

  “Good,” Gold said. “And in the conference room?”

  “Same. There isn’t an inch of dead air space in there.”

  “Excellent,” Gold said, accepting a crab cake from the tray, the unspoken sign that it was time for Ling to move away.

  Unable to join the guests on the lawn, Gold used the opportunity to remain on the porch and survey everyone present. He recognized many of the men from prior business arrangements and the rest from meticulous study of known photographs.

  The wives and children he couldn’t have cared less about.

  The reception lasted well over an hour, until the sun began to slide down in the western sky. Once it did, an ice sculptor appeared on the lawn and began to give a demonstration, the predetermined signal that the business of the evening was about to begin.

  Recognizing the cue, the wives began to shuffle their children towards the display, their husbands lingering behind before drifting back towards the house.

  Inside, a series of staff in matching black suits directed them through the mansion to a large conference room in the eastern wing. Sparsely decorated, it featured a resplendent cherry table and matching armchairs with a modest spread of refreshments along the back wall. There were no nametags or assigned seats and as the men entered they took up posts in various places around the table, each angling for the optimal power position.

  Gold watched the men enter from the security room down the hall, Ling by his side. Tucked away behind the kitchen, the space was dominated by a half dozen monitors displaying feedback in black and white from cameras hidden around the room. The audio was turned on as well, though the only sounds heard were the occasional scraping of a chair against the polished wood floor.

  When the last of the seats were occupied, Gold maneuvered his chair into the hallway where he was joined by Jasper. He allowed himself to be wheeled into the conference room and positioned at the head of the table before Jasper retreated and closed the door behind him.

  An oversized smile in place, Gold sat at the head of the table and surveyed everyone before him. Present were a dozen of the most powerful, if unknown, people in the world. They ranged in age from early forties to late seventies and represented more than a handful of countries.

  Each met his gaze with equal parts intensity and curiosity, as eager to be in his company as he was theirs.

  “Gentlemen, thank you all so much for making the journey here this evening,” Gold began. “I know many of us have been in communication for some time now, but it is nice to finally set aside the veil of technology.”

  A few heads nodded around the table, though all remained silent.

  “I know you are all busy men, some with very tight travel schedules, so I promise to be as brief as thoroughness will allow. We have been hard at this for quite some time and to short shift ourselves due to petty time constraints would be truly unfortunate.”

  On the desk before him was a short control panel, switches and buttons spread in two even lines, the entire thing encased in silver. Beginning on the far left Gold pressed a single button, the shades on the outer wall immediately beginning a downward descent. Moving his hand just an inch to the right he pushed a second button, the lights overhead dimming to near darkness.

  Jumping to the bottom row on the panel, he flipped a switch, sending a small projector lowering from the ceiling. It threw a blue square on the wall behind Gold as he shifted his chair to the side, turning so he could face both the screen and the table.

  He sat in silence, the men before him waiting in kind, as an image of Earth turning on its axis appeared on the screen.

  “Many of us go back a long ways, while others we are meeting for the first time,” Gold said, forcing his voice to sound warm and welcoming. “For those of us reuniting again I extend heartfelt gladness at seeing you alive and well. I cannot begin to tell you how overjoyed I am that we are able to see the imminent culmination of a work many decades in the making.

  “To those here for the first time, my sincerest apologies for your loss. The fact that you have decided to pick up their life’s work and join us speaks volume to both your families and to the task we have at hand.”

  In the darkness, Gold could see a few heads bobbing, hear a few grunts of agreement. Ignoring them, he moved along to the third button on the top row, the image onscreen rotating to display North America, a blinking red light settling over the city of Boston.

  “I apologize for working without full disclosure these recent months but with such an impending launch date, we have been forced to maximize security in every way. Any one of us in this room could be under surveillance and until now, transcontinental communication was too risky.

  “I promise, that ends here.”

  Without waiting for a response of any kind he pushed forward, the speech one he had committed to memory days before. “The dot you see here is Boston, Massachusetts. Many of you flew over it just hours before, some of you may have even landed there. Its importance to us is that it houses one of the busiest ports on the eastern United States seaboard.”

  Gold pressed another button and a myriad of blue lines ran from Boston out to the rest of the world. “These lines represent every course of transit that originates in Boston. In any given week, over one hundred countries on six continents receive goods from these docks.”

  A second press of the same button brought a myriad of red lines, interspersing throughout the blue, covering the United States like veins on a forearm. “Here you have the transportation routes for goods once they enter the United States. Routes that cover all forty-eight lower states and eventually reach Alaska and Hawaii as well.

  “In total, they connect every major city in the country.”

  There were few things Bern Gold despised more than wanton displays of unnecessary flash, though he had long ago conceded their necessity in his work. Nothing appealed to business partners better than the illusion of preparedness, and nothing seemed to provide it better than an excessive display of bells and whistles.

  His jaw clenched, he moved to the next button in the row, the map on screen shifting from the United States to Western Europe.

  “Liverpool, England,” Gold said, speeding up the process, pressing the button twice more in succession. “As Boston is to America, Liverpool is to England.”

  As he spoke, the same red and blue lines snaked away from Liverpool, scattering towards every corner of the world.

  One by one, Gold outlined the same approach for Marseilles, France; Genoa, Italy; Vladivostok, Russia; and Nagasaki, Japan. By the time he was done he could barely contain his disdain for the tedium of the process, even more so for the growing anticipation of the men around him.

  One last time Gold pulled the screen back to the image of the spinning globe before zeroing in on a particular destination. “And the one we’ve been waiting on. Hamburg, Germany.”

  A low murmur went up around the table, followed by rapt silence as every man stared at the routes connecting Germany to the world.

  “Until this point, many of you have only known that your task was to secure ports in these particular cities. You all did as was asked
of you without question or hesitation and for that, we thank you.

  “Tonight, you learn why this task was of such grave importance.”

  Moving to the last button in the row, Gold depressed it, the map behind him disintegrating. In its place appeared the image of a large shrub, bell-shaped flowers hanging from its limbs. The entire depiction cast of red and green, it threw a new hue over the room, everything much brighter than just a moment before.

  “Brugmansia, more commonly known in its native Chile as Angel Trumpet,” Gold said, reciting the information from memory without turning to look at the screen. “Very rare, the plant is common in the Andes Mountains and nowhere else in the world.”

  He paused just briefly, watching as the men listened, their faces held in wonder at what they saw.

  “Though beautiful in appearance and found in a wide variety of colors, every part of the plant is toxic. Reported effects of ingestion have been known to cause tachycardia, rapid onset cycloplegia, visual and auditory hallucinations, and death.”

  As Gold spoke, he depressed the button repeatedly, each condition he mentioned having a corresponding picture of someone suffering the same effect.

  “The locals first discovered Brugmansia centuries ago when villagers would use the flowers as edible garnishes for feasts. Within hours, many would fall prey to horrific hallucinations, ultimately passing from the heart attacks or strokes they brought on.”

  The next depiction to appear on screen was of a woven wall hanging, the background material for it a faded white, the entire piece stretching ten feet square. On it was sewn a scene of fire sweeping down a mountainside, a fearful village below.

  “For years thereafter, the indigenous peoples of the Andes avoided the plant, fearing the hallucinogenic effects it produced. They stripped away the trees from within their villages and piled them high in the mountains where they would be a threat no longer.”

  Another depression of the button zoomed closer on the hanging, the images sewed thereon coming into focus.