John answered, “Well, that’s not necessary, Naomi, but very nice for you to offer.”
“Excellent. What time shall I pick you up?”
John and Gloria looked at each other, agreed on 8 p.m. and asked if that would work.
“That will be fine. See you at eight then. Is there anything else I can do for you today, Senator Turner?”
“The only thing you can do for us," John replied, "is to call us John and Gloria. If you'll do that, we'll accept your offer for a ride.”
“Sir, I don’t want to get in trouble with my boss.”
“This is my request, or rather, my expectation, Naomi. If you get in any trouble, you let me know immediately. We’ll see you at eight.” and with that, he turned and taking Gloria’s arm, they entered the villa.
◆◆◆
That evening after an early dinner, they were dressed and ready to go and at 7:50, Gloria opened the door to take a look out front. Waiting in the drive, she saw the same Rolls Royce that had picked them up at the airport. Naomi was standing next to it with a cell phone at her ear, wearing a beautiful, pink form-hugging dress. John joined Gloria in exiting the house and Naomi turned, saw them, ended her call and provided her usual smile as they approached.
“Naomi," Gloria exclaimed, "you look stunning!”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. ah..., Gloria,” she responded, reflecting unease at using Mrs. Turner’s given name.
They got into the Rolls and were soon exiting it at the entrance to Casino Dominicus. Naomi informed them she would be going into the casino as well, and after walking through the front doors with them, she excused herself.
While there were no real pots of gold being offered at Casino Dominicus, action and excitement were available. The dreamy prospect of winning provided the underlayment. The steady beat of music and ubiquitous casino sounds combined in mesmerizing waves. When free cocktails were added to the mix, the pain of reaching into pockets and purses for the lubrication necessary to tempt fate was eased. Time barely existed in a casino–a critical goal of the gambling machine. No clocks to be found and windows, through which a guest might notice the light of day or the dark of night, were limited in their placement to dining or drinking in a lounge on an upper floor.
The Turners stood just inside, taking in the interior views with sweeping looks. As they were adjusting to the cacophony, a concierge approached them and provided a brief casino layout description, pointing out areas for table games, cocktail and music lounges and restaurant options. As she was concluding her verbal tour, Naomi returned with an envelope that Mr. Hamilton handed her in a cocktail lounge on one side of the main floor.
“These are Player’s cards for your use,” she stated. “They each have fifteen hundred dollars in credit on them, compliments of GTM.”
“You've got to be kidding!” Gloria exclaimed.
“Have fun, good luck, and I’ll see you around," Naomi replied, her smile in place. "I'm going to visit with a friend who works here. When you are ready to leave, ask any of the staff to locate me, and I'll be there in a few moments,” and with that, she did another one of her disappearing acts.
Gloria was a bit numbed by the noise, the lights and a fat credit card representing free money in her hand. They ventured forward into the throng and soon were drinking, having fun, winning and losing, and not caring at all which occurred.
41. SUNGLASSES WITH A TWIST
Mid-morning Wednesday, Gloria had teamed up with other women at one of the poolside cabana lounges. They were wrapped in brightly-colored sarongs, sipping at wine coolers, playing mahjong and chatting amicably about whatever came up.
Meanwhile, in alignment with his own tropical spirit, John sported another island-styled shirt, shorts and a linen porkpie hat. At the moment, he slurped at a coffee, watched golfers teeing off by the clubhouse. He'd been putting his new sunglasses to use daily, having discovered a radio broadcast that featured jazz classics twenty-four-seven, and today was no exception in calling for eye shade. The earbuds and his tympanic membranes vibrated along with Scrapple From The Apple, featuring Charles Bird and Miles Davis.
He noticed three men huddled nearby, looking ready to hit the greens, and one turned a bit, caught John's eye, walked over.
"Hi. I'm Albert. Is there a chance you’re hoping to pick up a game today?”
"Hi Albert, I'm John," he said, standing up, sticking out his hand. They shook. "Id love it! You guys short-handed?"
"Yeah, our fourth fell into a bottle of rum last night." He smiled, shrugged. "Maybe he'll be swinging tomorrow... T-time is just ten minutes from now. Does that work?"
"I only have to grab my bag."
"Okay. Get it and come on over. I'll introduce you to the guys."
John walked back to where he had parked, hooked his bag and then re-joined Albert who was talking with two others. After a few minutes and quick introductions around, they started off, John sharing Albert's golf cart. The two men exchanged small talk. Albert told him that he and his buddies were in an office supply business together, and John told Albert that his business was in electronics. That was much easier than being a senator. Mostly, they chatted about golf, as they moved along in the game. John opted to allow his glasses to continue playing music gently in the background.
On the twelfth tee, John sliced his stroke. At first, the Bridgestone B330 took off down the fairway, actually looking good for the briefest moments. Gotta admit, that's a pretty arc... if only it didn't mess up my average. The ball veered toward the swath of landscaped greenery that bordered the path.
When their cart neared the area, John pointed his thumb, jabbed the air in a hitch-hike gesture.
"This looks about right...," shrugging his head and shoulders in a 'Hey! What can you do?' sort of way. Albert stopped so John could hop out, then moved on toward the twelfth green. John ventured up the slight grade, then along into flowering dwarf camellia shrubs and fan palms. The flowers sprayed pink and red color swatches, fan palms providing green slashes. He walked along the bushes, checking the bases for his errant ball, when he heard a voice.
"Good morning, Senator Turner."
John stood up, looked around but didn’t see anyone, didn’t recognize the voice. His eyes scanned along the shrubbery border, taking a second, better look around. It occurred to him that the music had stopped. Did that voice come from these earbuds?
“Hello?” he asked, and he immediately heard a reply.
“Good morning. How do you like your shades?”
He continued to look around, having trouble believing that this was all coming from the frames of these glasses. The realization that they also transmitted his voice had not yet struck home. He turned to face a palm, feigned at picking at his shoes, not wanting his fellow players to see him appear like he was talking to himself.
“Who's this? Have you been spying on me?"
“First, Senator Turner, let me assure you, while the glasses you are wearing do have transmission capabilities, the transmitter has not been activated until this very moment. I give you my word."
"And whose word is this?" he repeated.
"That's not critical at the moment," the voice replied, and before Turner could respond, it continued, "What is important is that you received an invitation a few days ago. We need your reply. You've had a few days to consider the offer. It's time for your decision.”
John had been giving the invitation serious consideration, and he'd made his decision, but he was totally caught off guard by this vocal invasion into his ear. Is someone with the Alliance broadcasting from this radio station? Where else do they go?
“Don’t say anything now," the voice continued, "but give any final thoughts to the subject as you complete the game you're playing. By the time you've returned to the clubhouse, we'll have your answer...” The voice paused for a moment, but his audience remained quiet.
“You’re going to find a green pennant flag in your golf bag’s bottom pocket. If you accept the offer, add it to th
e whip on the cart. Simply put under the flag already there. That's it. If you've decided to pass on the invitation, there's nothing more you need to do, but enjoy your game.”
“How'd the flag get into my bag? And why should I trust you? I don't even know who the fuck you are!”
There was no reply.
“Hello?” met only silence, and after another moment he realized the voice was gone, or at least, not responding, but the music had returned, providing the same soft background.
John allowed it to percolate into his ear, an easy distraction. For the remainder of the game however, his mind wasn't on music, wasn't on golfing technique. While the round moved toward completion, the Senator stewed in his own private pot.
He'd already decided to accept the offer. Ruminations on second thoughts jabbed at the foggy banks of his brain, as he wafted through the next few holes. The fog lifted with a vagary. This form of contact's fucking discreet! Minimum breadcrumbs... clever.
When the four finished the seventeenth hole and approached the eighteenth tee, none of the other men appeared to notice that one of the carts had gained an extra flag on the whip.
42. IN THE LEATHER
Three thousand miles away, in an eight by twenty air-conditioned steel box without windows, Mr. Olson stood behind, looking over the heads of two private contractors at the control desk. He'd provided coordinates, coded as PB-RPA-DoRe-829-JCT13 to the pilot. The pilot's craft was loitering at about 26,000 feet, roughly five miles above the Atlantic. Two of its cameras were zoomed in on a golf course surrounded by beautiful waters of the Caribbean. As they approached six hours into the shift, the camera operator couldn’t help from commenting.
Olson had just let out a soft “Yes!” and all they'd been doing was watching some guys playing golf in paradise.
“You really enjoy golf that much, Mr. Olson? I’ve always found it kinda boring.” He kept his eyes on the monitor and a hand on the joystick.
“Yeah," Olson replied, "I do too, but this game is one I’ve got a little money on. I thought it'd be interesting to watch it finish up.”
“Really? Seriously? You’re betting on a golf game and you can just tune-in like this?”
He clammed up, shaking his head in amazement, thinking about what it must be costing the American taxpayer for this guy to get his morning wood on sports bet entertainment.
“Don’t you worry about it, Mr. Garcia. It still falls under the heading of national security." Olson turned back to a fold-down desk, grabbed his coffee mug.
"I'm going to get some coffee.” He stepped out of the conex with his cell phone in his other hand.
As the door closed, Garcia muttered, "Sure, okay.”
43. RED HIBISCUS, WHITE SAND, BLUE WATER BALL
The Turners arrived at the El Flamboyan Conference Center to find the entry awash in red hibiscus. Clustered around in vases and strewn about on the floor, the bright red flowers painted the entrance in crimson hues. Directed to follow the flowers, they walked to the doorways leading into the main, large room. They found a lavish, undersea grotto. Walls reflected shimmering colors; jade greens, sky blues, aquamarine. Scattered about the surfaces, sparkles of silver and gold. The floor looked sugar-sand white. Diaphanous jellyfish-ribbon tendrils hung throughout the room, swaying, and ending just over the heads of the tallest of the guests.
"Oh-my-god, John!" Without intention, she stood motionless, her eyes moving in roughly circular, turret-like stop and go motion, looking at the scene as a chameleon would.
"Do you believe this? It's fantastic!" Had she turned to look at her husband at that moment, rather than filling her eyes from the scene ahead of her, she would have seen his mouth agape. John was actually speechless. He had seen party decorations, but this was up there. Now he fully understood how, with the brilliant choreography of delivering costumes to GTM's guests, they were empowered to come together and contribute to a cooperative, artwork display of Neptune's realm.
That morning, a woman had come to the Turner's villa to deliver two garment bags and a couple of small boxes along with what looked like a pitchfork, with small, arrow-tipped tines.
When Gloria opened the first garment bag, she found a beautiful pink and coral gown in her size. Along each side was a false appendage that hung loosely. In the box, a glitter-adorned mask rising up to a blunted point, in matching colors. The total effect was of a starfish. Her enthusiasm about the evening’s event ratcheted up ten-fold as she held it to her front and whirled about, watching John watch her.
She laid it down on the couch and opened the other bag, pulled out a man’s jacket and pants, but that was just the base on which this costume had been built.
The clothing had been layered with dark and light green scales, and a matching mask that featured tube coral-shaped 'beard' coils. With the trident in hand, the wearer would be transformed into a regal 'Poseidon'. They found a note attached to each costume which recommended that they complete their costumes with flip-flops, or similar beach slipper attire. While John had not been as enthusiastic as Gloria at first, he finally had to admit that wearing these costumes was going to be fun.
◆◆◆
Now, standing at the door level, they looked down a couple steps to the main floor, onto the underwater kingdom before them, soft music floating into the crowd.
"Is that actual sand on the floor?" Gloria asked John, as if he knew. Now she realized why it looked 'sugar-sand white'. The main floor was all sand. They were still looking, watching, when a man dressed in brown, a large white snail shell on his back, approached.
"Your Majesty," he bowed to Neptune, turned, "Lady Starfish, please allow me to show you to a table."
He walked them to a round table where others were seated around a centerpiece of exotic-looking shells. As he pulled chairs for them to sit, a second hermit crab appeared behind him carrying a tray.
"May I offer you champagne?" and with their nods, he lifted two flutes from the other's tray, set them on the table. "Have a wonderful evening." He drifted away, back toward the entry.
They were sharing the table with a pair of Angel fish, and a pair of sea turtles. Several couples danced and all sipped at sparkling wine, watched the dancers and exchanged pleasantries and laughter. They quickly learned that the hermit crabs handled the bubbly. Refills came along in a steady stream.
"Let's get something to eat, Dear." Neptune tilted his trident in the direction of the far side of the room, then reached under the table, slipped the trident onto the floor, out of the way.
They found a variety of foods; seafood–finned fish and shellfish in chafing pans, layers of prawn and crab nestled over mounds of ice. Further along, a carving station offered ham and roasted beef, followed by trays of sautéed vegetables, rice, salads and fresh fruits. Finally reaching the sweet stuff, a table displayed chocolate-covered strawberries, petit fours, and pastries. At the far end, a mermaid lounged next to a giant clam. From within it, she daintily pulled scallop shell dishes of sorbets; pineapple, coconut and mango.
They ate (sans masks), drank and enjoyed the live music. John and Gloria danced more that evening than they had in years and Gloria beamed. Seeing her husband smiling, loosening up made her feel like it was all worthwhile. At one point in the evening, the band started to play a cover of "Under The Boardwalk," made famous by The Drifters.
Gloria grabbed John. "Let's go, Buster!" and they swirled gently in the waves. They sang along while they danced. As they were coming off the dance floor, clinging to the fading lyrics... "under the boardwalk, down by the sea-e-e-e-ya", a ‘man-sized’ squid slithered close, bumped John softly. From behind an opaque, translucent silvery-white face with large dark eyes, a slightly muffled voice said to Neptune, “Welcome to the Alliance. We’ll be in touch.” The squid wiggled off, John watching it slip its way into the throng.
PART THREE
44. JCT IN THE REAPER & PREDATOR
TWO YEARS LATER
Justified Control Technologies is represented in semi-co
nductor chips and micro-circuitry, composed of gold, silver, copper, silica and other elemental particles. Those electrical components travel above practically every square mile of the planet during the course of work, inside long-range, highly efficient drones.
The primary focus of their functions–camera operations and interconnected relays for various hardware components. These drones are used in analysis of weather conditions, playing a role in the determination of impact any given storm might have in a number of ways, including commercial air traffic at any time and on any day, which is gold to the FAA.
Other benefits of in-depth weather analysis are valuable to NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) and to the IMO (International Maritime Organization). These agencies are well aware of global climate changes and these eyes way up in the sky, with altitudes as high as fifty-thousand feet, or nine and a half miles, provide perspective unavailable at lower levels. NASA enjoys a longer look at weather conditions–not only in consideration of launch programs or splashdown issues, but in control of satellites that orbit, mostly unseen, around our globe.
The Department of Homeland Security, the ‘new kid on the block’ when it comes to giant security agencies, utilizes these technologies in domestic surveillance programs that can offer products to the Federal Bureau of Investigations, the U.S. Border Patrol, U.S. Marshalls Service, the NSA and other groups. The Department of Defense and Central Intelligence Agency also look at weather, but this is the friendly ‘tip of the iceberg’ when it comes to their military and intelligence use. One of the most dramatic applications of JCT technology is associated with high resolution imagery, in coordination with armament combinations and their respective aiming/firing functions.
The Predator and its cousins can dish out laser-guided, GPS-guided, heat and camera-guided missiles. There is ongoing research into the potential deployment of weaponry still under development, such as the utilization of VHF and VLF emitters, laser and particle beam applications, etc. Due to the high value placed on these types of applications, JCT has deep roots in a niche that would appear unshakeable.
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