by Tom Wheeler
“Yeah, with all the technology we’ve developed, you’d think there would be something to keep our desks clear,” said Margaret, accepting the résumé from Eva’s hand while putting on her stylish glasses.
She studied the paper.
“You worked for Jonah Soul?” she asked, pursing her lips.
“Yes, ma’am. In fact, I still do,” responded Eva, sitting on the edge of her chair.
“I’m so sorry to learn of the recent tragedy at Phoenix Corporation. Did you know Mr. Carbel or Mr. Dawson?” Margaret asked, putting her glasses on the table, her face showing genuine concern.
“I just learned the news this morning when Jonah called me. We are all in shock.”
“I’m surprised you are here,” said Margaret. “Shouldn’t you be in California?”
“I’m headed back after the interview. I guess the news hasn’t sunk in yet. But . . .”
“Go on.”
“It gives me all the more reason to be here, Ms. Genovese. I know technological advances are important, but if we don’t have competent politicians running our country, I fear we may all be in big trouble.”
“True.” Margaret shook her head, grabbed her glasses, and slung them on her face as she looked back at the résumé. “Very impressive. Is it possible to contact Mr. Soul for a recommendation? Obviously it can wait,” she said, setting the paper on her desk.
“He’s already written one,” said Eva, pulling a letter signed by Jonah Soul from her bag, unfolding it, and handing it to Margaret. “But he did say you can call to confirm what he has written. Of course that was before . . .”
“Thank you,” said Margaret, taking the letter.
Margaret stared at the paper.
“Good gosh. Why on earth would he let you go if he feels this way about you?”
“I met someone who I am following to the East Coast,” said Eva. “Something is going on with Mr. Soul that appeared to make the decision amicable, although I could not tell you what that was on his end.”
“A man?”
“Woman, actually.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t probe into your personal business, although that proves you are progressive,” she said with a smile. “And showing up this late speaks about your commitment.”
“It’s time we all got along,” answered Eva as Margaret pursed her lips.
“So, what would you like to do for the congresswoman? It appears there are several areas that suit you,” said Margaret, taking off her glasses, setting them on a stack of papers on her desk, and scrutinizing Eva more intently.
“Anything, I just want to help. But as you may have read, my degree is in public relations.”
“Yes, from the University of Maryland. I did see that.”
“That’s what I did for Jonah. I think the congresswoman will go far on the political scene,” said Eva. “I also believe in her, personally, and her vision for America. I was concerned when the former president made those derogatory remarks. Sometimes I wonder if that is what causes people to snap, like Adam,” Eva said, pausing.
“Yes, well, we have a new president, although the Squad is still in the sights of the Republicans. Are you independently wealthy?” asked Margaret with a slight smile.
“No, ma’am,” Eva answered. “If I have to find other work to supplement my pay, I will.”
“Dedicated, I like that,” Margaret said, nodding. “No wonder Jonah wrote you such a raving recommendation. But we all need to get paid. Are you a US citizen?”
“I am. My family is from Colombia, but I was born in California. They came over looking for a better life in the ’80s.”
“Even better. Well, let me speak with the congresswoman and get back with you. Can I reach you at this number on the résumé?”
“Yes, ma’am. And thank you. When can I expect to hear from you?”
“That will depend on the congresswoman. But I know she is looking to hire someone fairly soon. If you haven’t heard from me in the next week, please feel free to give me a call. Here is my card,” Margaret said as Eva took the card and looked at it with a smile—as did Jonah Soul. “Please deliver our condolences to Mr. Soul,” she added.
“Yes, ma’am. And thank you.”
Eva passed House Speaker Nancy D’Alesandro’s office just a few doors down and continued out the front door of the Capitol Building. Her next stop was Union Station located at First Street NW and Massachusetts Avenue. She slid her Metro SmarTrip pass through the reader, unlocking the gate, and headed toward the subway going to Bethesda Station.
After departing the subway, she made her way up the escalator and to the bench that sat just behind the Metrorail identification stand with a big M at the top and “Bethesda Station” printed down its side.
She waited.
Jonah didn’t consider himself a murderer, but rather a soldier in an elite army trying to keep the world from imploding by insisting his country’s manner of governance trumped American capitalism. He knew most people were naïve—stupid, even; really, really stupid, willing to walk off a cliff if someone was convincing enough. This was why he had ridded the world of Jack and Adam, to leverage the same stupid people whose idea of freedom was more in line with a fictional novel than reality. He admitted that killing them had been a bit more impulsive than he would have liked, but it had worked out. It was also euphoric, something he had wanted to do years ago when he’d caught his fiancée with his father.
“Hello, Ms. Cruise,” Jonah said, approaching her on the bench at 8:45 p.m.
“Mr. Soul,” said Eva, standing up.
“Please, sit down,” he invited. They both took a seat. “It went well,” he said.
“As planned, although the deaths of Adam Carbel and Jack Dawson made her a bit uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, the timing was odd, but you handled it well. I booked you a room at the American Inn. Here is your key pass. Wait until you hear from the congresswoman. Do not engage with anyone.”
“I understand. But I told Ms. Genovese I was heading back to California.”
“She won’t be suspicious, as long as my story holds up. We’ve got time.”
“Yes, sir,” she said as Jonah stood up. “Adjust your hairpiece when you get on the escalator,” she said to Jonah, smiling. “Or are you Roman Gagranovich?”
“Thank you, Ms. Cruise; right now I am Jonah Soul. I will be Roman Gagranovich soon enough. Operatsiya ‘Vrag sredi tebya,’ ” he said.
“How much of your face will they change?” she asked.
“Enough, although I have delayed the surgery. I have to tie up some loose ends,” he said, unsure of what he might need from Mason.
“The surgery is in London?”
“It will be, yes,” he said, and disappeared.
76
Breaking News
October 8
Cape Canaveral, Florida
My phone chimed, jolting me awake. It was 12:45 a.m. I fumbled for the receiver, then lay back down and closed my eyes as I said hello.
“Mason? This is General Crane,” came the voice, snapping me straight up. I hit the light on the nightstand and cleared my throat.
“General,” I said, closing my eyes hard, shaking my head, and then pushing my fingers into my eyes, rubbing them out of their sleepy state. I cleared my throat again.
“I’m sorry to call you so late. And I hate to have to tell you this over the phone.”
“Jonah hasn’t returned my calls,” I said, figuring that was why the general was calling. Presumably he wanted me to head to California despite the late hour, since I’d heard he didn’t go to bed until 1 a.m.; at least, according to Dhilan.
“Dhilan has been shot,” the general said. My heart stopped. I jumped out of bed, eyes wide.
&nb
sp; “What?” I asked, hand on my forehead, my voice cracking. “By whom? Is he okay?”
“I’m sure you’ll hear more about it on the news, which is why I called. There was a riot in Hollywood. Dhilan was waiting for his car to be serviced before heading back to the East Coast. He and his friend were shot. It looks like a hate crime by a random perpetrator,” he said. My mind floated from my body as if I had just entered another nightmare.
“That’s impossible. He didn’t have his car,” I said, feeling like I was falling into the same black hole I had been in more times than I could count. I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them, trying to wake myself.
“As far as we can determine, he was with a friend from Edwards. He stopped to get an oil change. Maybe it was the other fellow’s car, I don’t know. They happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
I gasped for air, without words as I sank to my knees and dropped my head to the floor.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. But . . .”
I crawled toward the side table to grab the remote and turn on the television.
“BREAKING NEWS,” appeared on top of the CNN screen as Wolf Blitzer appeared.
I repeat, the lead scientist for Robonaut, Dr. Dhilan Hannah, an aerospace engineer working on the first manned mission to Mars, has been shot, along with another NASA employee in Hollywood, California, in what is being described as a random act of violence. According to reports, a man dressed as a police officer shot the prestigious rocket scientist in the head after calling him “Rama” as a racial slur. As you can see, the entire block is now in flames as a race riot broke out, apparently because many assumed the police were the assailants. So far three people are confirmed dead, including one police officer. Dr. Hannah was rushed to the hospital, where he is in critical condition.
The video feed looped, showing the same footage over and over.
“Mason?”
“He was shot in the head?” I said. I felt an excruciating pressure of dismay, my eyes instantly filling, my heart broken.
“Yes. He’s in intensive care at Ronald Reagan UCLA, the trauma unit.”
“Does this have anything to do with Adam and Jack?” I asked, beginning to hyperventilate. “Am I next? What’s going on, General?”
“As far as we know, it was a random hate crime. But if you’d like me to send over a protection detail, I will. Just let me know.”
My mind raced. Lord? I asked silently, trying to make sense of the senseless before answering. “No.”
“I’m sorry, Mason. I just thought you should hear it from me. If you change your mind about protection, please call me at this number.”
“Yes, sir.”
I disconnected the phone, threw on some shorts, a shirt, and my flip-flops, and made my way to the beach. The bright moon illuminated the water and gave enough light to show a couple walking down the beach, a group of others sitting on the sand laughing as if nothing had changed in their world. I stared up at the sky noticing the millions of stars I could see as clouds drifted by, the sound of wind in the background. Then I wept.
“Why, Emmanuel, why?” I rasped. “When is this going to end? Dhilan is a good man. He didn’t deserve this! Where are You? Am I next?”
Hours later I woke up to the sun rising on the horizon, my heart groaning with anguish. I managed to stand up. I was sure I looked pathetic, cold from the morning chill, shivering, my eyes red from crying, my face smeared with sand and tears. Otherwise it was just another day to everyone except those dealing with life-altering circumstances that happened in one second . . . on just another day.
I needed to see Dhilan—if he was still alive.
77
Cruise Control
October 9, 2019
Jonah knew the plan all too well, since it was a plan he had concocted many moons ago with Salvo Crutin. What was unknown was how well the scheme would come together, particularly the campaign initiated by the Russians to escort Jordan Crumpler into the presidency of the United States. Of course, who knew the evangelicals would be the very group that would be the icing on the cake, since they were supposedly hearing from the Almighty One Himself, who they said was responsible for Crumpler’s success. Nobody would ever know just how crucial it had been that Crumpler had cracked the door with Russia by siding with Salvo over his own intelligence, except the Russian team responsible. And they weren’t talking.
But that was only the beginning of the long-term plan to take out the United States as a superpower and replace it with the nation that should have had the title all along: Russia. Jonah, like President Crutin, believed the collapse of the Soviet Union via perestroika and glasnost was the greatest geopolitical tragedy of the 20th century, and the failure of one man: Mikhail Gorbachev. And they wanted the Soviet Union back—on their terms.
The United States was too debt-strung to engage in foreign battles, so they were playing the political game while withdrawing from their global influence, allowing Russia to take advantage of critical openings in foreign policy that used to be closed. Under Crutin’s leadership, Russia had annexed the first of 15 targeted states—Ukraine—simultaneously causing so much division in the United States that its destruction was on autopilot, although that wouldn’t change the Russians’ plans. The next state on Crutin’s imperial ambition list was Kazakhstan, although his ambitions far exceeded regaining old territory. He also wanted Alask back. Jonah knew because Salvo Crutin had told him.
As for Eva Cruise, having someone on the inside of the campaign of a presidential candidate was the ultimate step, even if Martinez didn’t win the presidency.
Jonah was in his office at the SVR (Foreign Intelligence Service) in Russia, watching his monitor. He sat forward in his chair, his arms resting on the desk as he stared into the screen, listening.
“Thank you for coming back from the West Coast so quickly, Ms. Cruise,” said the congresswoman, offering her hand.
“Truth be told I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” said Eva.
“I am so sorry about the deaths of Mr. Carbel and Mr. Dawson. Particularly under those circumstances. I actually thought you might reconsider your application to work for me. I’d imagine Jonah needs you.”
“Thank you, Congresswoman Martinez,” said Eva, taking her hand firmly but carefully. “It’s a very difficult time for all of us. But it has increased my resolve all the more.”
“I’m sorry?” asked Martinez—a quizzical look etched on her face.
“I’ve sat on the sidelines long enough,” said Eva, warmly but with intensity. “I watched Jordan Crumpler in office wondering how we got here as a nation without ever considering my own role. I worked for Jonah Soul, but for selfish reasons. Quite frankly, I needed the job and the money. But now I wonder if our freedom isn’t being unhinged by those on the right who claim to be following the Almighty One, while stomping the little guy under their boots. It’s events like the recent tragedy at Phoenix as well as the shooting in L.A. that are unnerving, as if a nuclear explosion on American turf wasn’t enough.”
“You mean the shooting of Dr. Hannah?” the congresswoman asked. Eva nodded. “You’re right, that was awful,” Martinez said, pausing as her face showed her own disgust.
“I told Mr. Soul I’d postpone, but he insisted. Evidently Richard Murphy has stepped in to assist Jonah, and he has his own team. Besides, the police are all over the facility. It’s actually best I am away, although I need to be back Friday for the funerals.”
Martinez nodded.
“I get the feeling you root for the underdog. Am I right?”
“Why would you think that?” asked Eva.
“Just a feeling by the way you are communicating with me.”
“Well, you’re right. My family was born in Colombia. I have felt the sting of racism. I have
known what it’s like to live without. Everyone deserves a fair shot. So yes. And I know you feel the same.”
“Ah, you know me?” asked Martinez, standing up and crossing her arms as if she didn’t like that response. “I was born in the Bronx.”
“I have listened to many of your speeches. I also know your voting record, as well as your experiences. Your family is from Puerto Rico. You attended Yorkmont High School, New York, graduating with honors in 1997, coming in second in an engineering and science fair. You graduated MIT in 2001 with a degree in computer science. They even named an asteroid after you, the 2020Martinez.”
“I also have a law degree from Columbia University, since you are discussing my education,” said Martinez.
“You graduated cum laude before being hired by the law firm Fisch, Fench, and Leih. Right?” Eva asked, and Martinez nodded. “What I wasn’t able to find out was why you left that firm to connect with—”
“Stanley Bernard,” interrupted the congresswoman. “I’m a progressive in all areas. That doesn’t always fit into organizations whose bosses stick to cryptic ideologies,” she said as Eva nodded. “I suppose you know my platform?”
“Medicare for all, without abolishing private insurance for those who choose it; a federal jobs guarantee; and a Green New Deal requiring that all cars and airplanes be developed according to ‘green’ specifications, including environmentally friendly engines,” Eva said. The congresswoman interrupted.
“I still can’t understand how we can have developed a form of ethanol with 77 percent less fuel emissions than ethanol made from corn without requiring oil companies to use it,” Martinez said, looking at Eva as if wanting to see just how bright she was.
“You mean Xyleco’s ethanol?” asked Eva.
“Impressive,” Martinez replied, her eyebrows rising. “Few have even heard of Xyleco, despite their fuel and biodegradable plastic.”
“Politics appears to trump everything these days,” said Eva, “including ecologically responsible decisions for our children and grandchildren.”