by Robert Clark
‘Please, take a seat. I imagine you are hungry, yes?’ Fenwick said, gesturing to a set of camping chairs that had seen better days. I lowered myself into one, hoping it didn’t tear under my weight. Fenwick took the seat opposite and stared intently at me.
‘So, what are you?’ he asked. ‘Spy, agent, or is the media to be believed?’
‘None of the above, I’m afraid,’ I said. ‘I’m just a man who manages to find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘I’ve known several like that, but you are different. You didn’t happen across us by chance. I saved your life, I think you could stretch so far as to grant me honesty, don’t you?’
I looked at him and thought about how quick he was with a blade. While I’d managed to retrieve my gear, I didn’t bet on my chances against him.
‘The FBI picked me up in Florida,’ I said. ‘They told me they had my wife held hostage. Told me they’d kill her if I didn’t do what they asked.’
He nodded sagely, but said nothing.
‘They told me to do three things. Find their Agent, a woman named Jessica Noble.’
‘Ah yes, I remember her,’ he said.
‘Remember as in what?’ I asked. ‘Is she alive or dead?’
‘I’m afraid I couldn’t answer that. After she was caught spying, they locked her up in the bunker. I haven’t seen her since. To be completely candid, I had forgotten about her entirely. What else did the FBI ask of you?’
‘Find out what Al-Assad was doing here.’
‘And I suppose you have your answer for that?’ asked Fenwick.
‘To an extent, but I’m always open for answers.’
‘Al-Assad died several months ago from acute radiation poisoning,’ said Fenwick. ‘His was not a quick death. Nor a painless one. It would appear fate had its fun with him in the end.’
‘What was he working on?’ I asked.
‘You said you had three objectives from the FBI,’ Fenwick said, ignoring my question. ‘What was the third thing?’
‘To kill Maddox Cage.’
Fenwick exhaled, but said nothing in response to that.
‘What was Al-Assad working on?’ I asked again.
Fenwick stood up and straightened his clothes.
‘You can stay here for the night. There should be adequate supplies for you in those boxes,’ he said, pointing at a stack of boxes to my right. ‘Then I advise you follow the path out and make your way as far from this place as you can. If Cecilia finds out you’re still here, well, I’m sure you can imagine how pleased she will be. My apologies, but I will have to blame you for the two bodies upstairs. I can’t ruin my reputation here. It’s my home, after all.’
‘What if they check down here?’ I asked.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said with a croak of a laugh. ‘Only six people ever knew this place existed. Of them, three are now dead, and two left long ago. We aren’t monsters. If someone turns their back on the cause, they’re free to leave. Now Cage is gone, I’m the last to know this tunnel exists. Well, myself and you now.’
He patted me on the arm.
‘Best of luck to you, Mr Stone,’ he said, turning to leave.
‘I have more questions.’
‘So do we all, but such is life that we seldom get our answers.’
He began to walk away into the darkness, but he stopped. He heard the click of the safety on the pistol in my hands. I didn’t point it at him. Just made a point. He didn’t turn back around.
‘Son, I’m sure you were given some sort of brief about me while you were snuggling up with the FBI, so I’ll give you just one single chance to undo what you just did there,’ he said. His tone was harsh, confident, firm. Like a stern parent.
‘I came a long way to get here,’ I said. ‘I’ve sacrificed a lot. All I want are a couple of answers.’
He turned around and stared at me.
‘I knew a man like you once,’ he said. ‘Young, full of bravado. Confident he could conquer the world single-handedly. He came to me while I was still the head of my company and asked, no, demanded I give him a chance. Not a job. A chance. To revolutionise my company, to prove to the world that he had the stones to sit on the throne. I was younger then. Much younger. I saw a bit of myself in that young man, just as I do with you. I gave him a chance and watched him soar. He flew higher and higher until, just like Icarus, he flew too close to the sun.’
In the dim light, I saw Fenwick’s hand move slightly, brushing past the knife on his belt. I kept the pistol in my hand. Guns beat knives. Well, they do nine times out of ten, at least.
‘The young man tried to play me,’ Fenwick continued. ‘He wanted more. He wanted what I had. And he tried to take it. So, he set up a meeting, lied about how he wanted to go through his plans to shape the future of my company. But when I arrived, I realised it was all a trap. He wanted me out of the way. He wanted me dead, and he came a lot closer to achieving that than you are right now holding that there weapon of yours. But he overcompensated. He was cocky. He got too close to the sun, and his wings all melted up. And as he fell, I plucked him out of the sky. You want to know what I did to him?’
I said nothing. Kept the gun down by my side.
‘I drowned him in oil,’ said Fenwick. ‘I held his head under the surface and watched him suffer. I held him there until his body stopped resisting and he just sunk away into the inky blackness.’
He stared at me, waiting for a response. I didn’t speak.
‘Just as I thought,’ he mused, finally. ‘Head due east from the mouth of the cave and you should have a thirty mile walk to the nearest town.’
And with that, he turned and walked away into the darkness.
I didn’t move until the sounds of echoing footsteps died away to nothing. I just looked at the spot where he had stood and thought. Thought about him, about Cage, about Cece and Gail and Corser and Miles and Whyte and Sophie and Peter. I thought until it hurt my brain to keep thinking.
I pulled out the recording device from my pocket and pressed the button to eject a cassette and inserted the one that had played on my mind the most. That of Tariq Al-Assad.
Then I hit play.
Thirty
The Interview
Several seconds of recorded silence filled my ears. Just the humm of the microphone immortalising the stillness. Then came a voice I recognised all too well.
‘How are you feeling?’ It was Cage. His normally booming tone was reduced to a subtle, gentle shade. It was met with another few seconds of nothing while his guest composed an answer.
‘I have felt better, but given the circumstances, I cannot complain.’ The voice of Tariq Al-Assad was wayworn and groggy. I recalled the photograph Agent Whyte had shown me. He was not a young man, but his voice foretold that of a man far beyond his years.
‘Do you have everything you need?’ asked Cage. ‘Food, water? We can send someone to get anything you want.’
‘That is very kind of you, Maddox, but I am a man of simple tastes. Your people have given me everything I could ask for.’
‘I’m glad you feel that way, but don’t hesitate to ask if there is something we can do for you.’
Another pause. I imagined Al-Assad allowing a quaint, polite smile to drift across his face. Cage spoke again.
‘We have prepared everything as you asked,’ he said. ‘We’re having a little trouble acquiring some electrical components, but I have my best men working on it. We should have everything you need within the month.’
‘Anything you can do to expedite the process, I would advise you do it. I do not expect my condition to improve.’ Al-Assad let out a meek cough at the end of his sentence.
‘I understand that, and I’ll let my people know.’
Another pause.
‘Have you selected your target yet?’ asked Al-Assad.
More silence.
‘You know, my people, we had a saying back home that had stuck with me all these years,’ said Al-Assad. ‘I do
not believe you have an exact translation, but I will try to instil the meaning behind it for you. “The largest stone makes the biggest ripple, but the sharpest strikes the fish.”’
I imagined Al-Assad watching Cage for a response before continuing.
‘Remember this,’ said Al-Assad. ‘Select the correct target, and it will not matter how many casualties there are. The message will be the strongest.’
‘It is only a defensive measure,’ Cage insisted. ‘I thought that had been explained already?’
‘For now perhaps,’ mused Al-Assad. ‘But these things always evolve. What is it you say here in America? “Power always corrupts.” There is only so long men in charge will stand by and say nothing. And then you will be thankful for what I will have done here.’
The sound of squeaky door hinges cut through the conversation, and just as a woman’s voice called out Cage’s name, the recording stopped. I looked down at the device. The cogs were still turning, but the tape was empty. I fast forwarded the tape, playing it at regular intervals to see if the conversation picked up again, but there was nothing else recorded on the tape.
I ejected the cassette and looked at it. I imagined what had come next. Had the conversation continued off the record, or had Cage and Al-Assad called an end to the discussion? I wondered how long ago the recording had been made. How much had changed in the time since? Cage had reiterated his desire for Al-Assad’s work to be a defensive strategy, but had he changed his mind since then, or was it Cece who had mutated it into her deathly desires?
I found the tape with her name on the strip and pushed it into the device.
Silence. Well, almost silence. I could hear the shuffling of what I guessed to be papers on the desk, then a knock at the door.
‘Yes?’ The voice was unmistakably that of Cage, but it was much younger than the voice I was used to. Perhaps it was that of the man who had stood immortalised in oil paints over his desk. The door eased open and a woman spoke.
‘Mr Cage?’ asked another voice I recognised.
‘You must be Cecilia Mendes?’ said Cage. I heard chair legs scrape across the floorboards and imagined Cage standing to shake the hand of the woman who murdered him. ‘Thank you for coming here today.’
‘It is my pleasure,’ said Cece. Her voice was lighter too. Younger, happier. Innocent.
‘How was the journey here?’ asked Cage. ‘We’re felling trees to make a better track up here for guests.’
‘It was fine. I enjoy the outdoors. The smell of the trees. The feel of the earth beneath my feet. It is so beautiful.’
‘I can imagine, given your history. Must be quite the change of scenery?’ He let out an exuberant laugh that sounded more like one of his barks than anything else. Cece did not respond to his comment, so he continued. ‘Now, usually I like to offer our new recruits a chance to rest before they get started, however we are a little short on man power at the moment, so if it’s all the same with you, I’d like to show you to your quarters after we finish up here and you can get started in the morning.’
‘I’m more than happy to start immediately, Mr Cage,’ said Cece.
‘Oh please, call me Maddox,’ boomed Cage. ‘Now, I’ve got you down for a sort of internship with my colleague Fenwick to begin with. He’ll show you the ropes, then I’d like you to take on a couple of houses. We have five to a team, and everyone pitches in. Don’t be afraid, Fenwick knows what he’s doing, so he’ll steer you right. We’ll have you building homes in no time.’
There was a pause while Cece took on board the information. Then she asked a question that I could tell immediately from her tone had been bugging her.
‘Would there be any possibility I might be able to work alone?’ she asked. ‘Given my… history, I don’t think the others would want me around.’
‘Nonsense,’ barked Cage. ‘We have a motto around here. “Your past is your own. You work for the present to help us build a new future.” If anyone gives you shit you come to me. Far as I’m concerned, you’ve proven to me you’re committed to the cause. You’ve served your time inside. Now it's time to live outside. I think you’ll love it here.’
‘Thank you, Maddox,’ she said, and I could hear the bite in her voice as she held back tears.
‘Not at all. You’ve come here to join us. I should be the one thanking you. Given everything we’ve been through, I’m always grateful when a new recruit shows up.’
There was more silence. A question dared not spoken.
‘What is it?’ asked Cage. ‘You have something to say, you’re better off asking it now.’
‘They might,’ she started, before taking another pause. ‘He might come for me.’
‘Who, Parker?’ barked Cage. ‘Let him try. He's had his pound of flesh from you. We have them beat on all sides. Only way in is from the south, or to drop in via helicopter. They won’t get that far. We own this land, and we will fight on every front if they try to take one of ours away from us. Rest assured, Cecilia, we do not give up on our own.’
A quiet sobbing was all I could hear. Cage said nothing.
And then, the recording stopped. Same deal as last time. Nothing else stored on the tape save for silence. I ejected the cassette and placed it on top of Al-Assad’s. I picked up Agent Noble’s cassette and pushed it into the device.
Unlike the previous tapes, this one started mid conversation. I thumbed the rewind button, but it came to a stop almost immediately and picked up at the same point as before.
‘… Dishonourably discharged, I didn’t know what to do.’ The voice was female. Jessica Noble. Alive or dead. ‘I jumped around for a while, but no one wants to hire a CPO with a blot on their record, so I ended up like they all do. Drinking, fighting. You know the type.’ She had a New York accent. She spoke her “on”s like “awn,", adding in w’s hither and yon.
‘I was in the marines a long time ago,’ said Cage. His voice was back to that I recognised. I knew this conversation had taken place in July, if what Miles and Whyte had told me about Noble’s arrival was true.
‘No shit?’ said Noble. ‘What rank?’
‘Made it up to a Colonel. Then I took a slice of one of my soldier’s helmets to the chest when they stepped on a landmine.’
‘Jesus H Christ,’ remarked Noble. ‘You’re lucky to be alive.’
‘Luck is subjective,’ said Cage. ‘The soldier disobeyed my command and nearly got us all killed. Luck would have been a soldier who listens.’
‘Even still, it’s a miracle you survived.’
Cage exhaled noisily.
‘How many did you lose?’ he asked after a spell of silence.
‘Soldiers?’ asked Noble. ‘None. I never deployed to anywhere dangerous. The life of those at sea, we miss most of the heavy stuff.’
‘Twenty-seven,’ said Cage. ‘I lost twenty-seven men in total. All in Vietnam fighting a war we shouldn’t have started. The Vietnamese, they knew what they were doing, and we didn’t know shit. They tore us apart.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Not my fault either. We were all just following orders.’ I heard the groan of leather as he leaned backwards in his seat. ‘Pawns on a chess set. Ready to kill. Ready to die. We didn’t mean shit to anyone.’
‘That’s the system, right?’ said Noble.
‘That’s the system. And what a broken piece of shit it is. That’s why I started this place. I was tired of listening to them. Hearing day in and day out how I was supposed to live my life. I wanted the kind of freedom we used to have. Back when cowboys and Indians ruled the land. You could set up camp wherever you damn well pleased and no one was going to stop you so long as you had a rifle in your hands. That’s how we’re supposed to live. Not this twenty-first century bullshit. Not with cellphones strapped to our hands and eyes glued to television screens. We need to listen to the Earth.’
‘I get that,’ said Noble. ‘Be one with nature.’
‘Exactly. One
with nature. And if nature decides we aren’t worthy of it's fruits, then so be it. We go back to the soil and let a new species reign supreme.’
‘You sound tired, man.’
‘I am tired. Of the whole damn world. You know, I’ve been doing this for nearly thirty years, living off the grid, forging my own way through the world. But there’s no escaping it.’
‘Escaping what?’
‘The government. They always want more more more. They send people here, desperate to find somewhere they can take from us, put some rule in place to tax us for living free from their grasp. It’s relentless. They want to take it all from us, from me. I built this goddamn town with my bare hands. I look around and see my people, working hard for something that will collapse soon enough. They might not know it yet, but it’s coming. The end. I can smell it in the air. The banks will come soon enough and they will take every last cent from us. Why? For no goddamn reason other than that they want control and power and money. And I’m tired of it. It has to change. I have to make it change.’
‘How do you plan on doing that?’ Noble asked, and there was something in her voice. The agent seeping through the disguise. The mission moist on her lips.
Cage sighed, and when he spoke again, he seemed different. Defeated.
‘Who knows?’ he groaned. ‘They’ll always find a way.’
Just as with Al-Assad and Cece, the tape went dead. Just as with the others, I fast forwarded, searching for something else. Just as with the others, there was nothing. I popped out the cassette and picked up one with Lee Corser written in neat black handwriting on the sticker.
‘A sniper, huh?’ asked Cage as I pressed play on the device. ‘What’s your record?’
‘I hit fifteen hundred with a Barrett M82A3 in Iraq.’ Lee said, his stoic, controlled tone relaying no emotion.
‘Fifteen hundred,’ remarked Cage, clearly impressed. ‘I knew a couple of guys back in ‘Nam that could hit eleven hundred, but that was the best they ever got. You’re quite the marksman.’
I could practically hear Lee nodding.
‘You might be wondering why I singled you out,’ said Cage. ‘I interviewed a lot of great soldiers, and picked you for a very specific reason. And no, it’s not because you could take my head off from half a mile away with me none the wiser about it.’ He allowed himself a brief, booming chortle. ‘We have quite a good deal of ex-soldiers here at Second Solace. I think it must be the lifestyle they seek out. Trauma can tear a man apart once they leave the service, and being cramped up inside helps no one. So I’ve helped who I can, but I’m mindful we can’t turn this into a refuge for soldiers. This is a place for anyone who wants to start anew, which can’t be achieved if we allow the macho bullshit that runs rampant amongst the ranks to become commonplace here. So I wanted to stem the flow for a while.’