“Markie, baby,” Jack hesitated. “You’ve been out for four months.” Jack was suddenly brought into focus, everything standing still in the room as the number four flashed in Marcus’ mind’s eye. He leaned back in the chair, still feeling an urge to vomit, but in charge of the space he occupied. “I need some food first. Some dry, solid food. And then you can tell me what’s going on. Very slowly.”
TWO
W hen a man is out of touch with the world for a while, he realizes, to his great detriment, that the world keeps on moving without him. He realizes that he is but a small part in an otherwise infinite and indifferent universe. When he steps out, the world doesn’t notice. In the words of a great philosopher, time waits for no man. He had no idea what Daniel was after and that there had been a sort-of resistance in place against him and his plans—and horrible plans at that. Four months were enough for his schemes to materialize, four months of unprecedented times because of a forced pandemic, one he had orchestrated. Did he do it because he wanted to make his dreams into reality? Or did he only use an opportunity? Marcus knew that Daniel had big plans for America and the world, but he had no clue that the whole world would suffer because of it.
Four months that could change the whole world, Marcus thought as he looked out of the window, at the dying trees outside, seeing the reflection of the entire world in them. A president, a bloody president. The audacity of it, the years that had gone into planning it, the meticulous moves that were made, and the unsettling amount of patience behind the masterplan shook Marcus. Daniel Clarkson will have successfully infiltrated the White House, putting his own man in charge of a struggling nuclear superpower of the world. What could he want then? Power? More money? What could be the meaning of it all?
And then there was Evelyn. She betrayed him. She took the reins of Dark Forest, siding with Daniel Clarkson to... do what? Take the world? Destroy the world? He tried to understand, hurting as he did.
Then he realized that no matter what Daniel’s ambitions and goals are with this move, he has to be stopped. And there was only one week left before the 46th President of the United States of America is chosen.
Marcus rolled out of the bed and went to the bathroom. In the mirror he examined his bandages, unrolling them gently, grunting. The bullet holes were closed up, though the contusions around the wounds were different shades of blue and purple. He was healing, which was a very good thing, but he was still in pain. He splashed water on the holes, rubbing his hands against them, testing how much pressure he can exert onto them, just to assess, at least theoretically, how much pain he could take. There was no way he could sit idly in his bed while the world went straight into a black hole. He had to act. His mission was to kill Thoros and avenge his father; that was done. But it brought him neither pleasure nor closure. By leaking the documents, he had hoped that the world would react, revolt maybe, finally realizing how deep the games of those above went. His exhausted reflection stared back at him in the mirror. Don’t you judge me, he thought. I tried my best. I did. It wasn’t his fault that the Company was so powerful that they were censoring all the negative articles about them, replacing them by conspiracy theories that worked against them, changing the conventional wisdom of the people. He always knew whom he was going against, so why was he now acting so surprised?
The door to his room opened and he exited the bathroom, seeing Jack at the door.
“Hey, Markie,” he said. “How you’re doing?”
“Better, I guess. I’m healing.” Marcus walked to his bed and sat at the edge of it. “What happened with the drive I told you to take?”
“I sent it to Arthur, as you requested. It turned out that it’s all encrypted, and all he had to run on were the photos you sent him that night.” Jack took a seat in the chair across from Marcus. “He has done a pretty decent job with them, creating a lot of upset. The public roared and complained, but you know how these things usually go.”
“It’s all a conspiracy. Wake up sheeple. The people divided,” Marcus said with a heavy voice.
“Even if he had the documents decoded to the fullest, which Arthur is actively pursuing, we won’t get anywhere with them.”
Marcus sighed. “You can stop, J.J. I’ll do what I can to help aid this cause. I keep thinking about Daniel, Thoros, my father, Evelyn, and everyone else involved, realizing that all of this is a silly farce that must be stopped for the greater good of the world.”
“What does your father have to do with all of this?” Jack asked confused.
Marcus said nothing in response. He thought it was best to keep some things close to his chest.
“Well, look, you need to rest a while longer. In four days we head out to the gala to see if our assumption is right. We have to see who the other major players in the game are.”
“Do you really think he has a president in his pocket?”
Jack hesitated. “I wouldn’t put anything past that man, especially not now. He might have the White House, he might not. Either way, he is planning something. It might be to take over the world. It might be to grow America to its old gigantic proportions and restore their imperial place in the world. I don’t know.”
“But he has to be stopped,” Marcus said.
“He sure does,” Jack replied.
“Tell me, Jack, what did you find in those files that made want to stop them?”
Jack froze in place, only blinking, his eyes glazed over. He looked at Marcus with the corner of his eye, hesitant to speak. “Look, I have to go back to the office now. We’ll talk some other time.”
“You’re still working,” Marcus asked, resisting the urge to ask Jack what he was hiding. Every man has a right to his secrets.
“Yeah. It turns out they don’t know about me. I just kept coming into work like everything is fine, scouring the Earth for you.” Jack cackled. “It is all necessary, Markie. Whatever happens, it’s necessary. We owe a debt to the world, especially the two of us.” With his last three words, Jack looked Marcus straight in the eye. “We owe a debt,” he said.
Marcus nodded at his words, meeting his eyes.
“Well,” Jack said. “I’ll see you later, I guess. Stay inside. If you’re hungry, there’s some leftovers in the fridge. I’ll bring food when I return.”
“Thank you, J.J. You were always a good friend.”
“Well, not always.”
Marcus met his gaze and nodded. Not everything had to be said.
Jack left the room, and then the house. A car rumbled at the driveway and went away as exhaustion overcame Marcus. He hated the cycle in which a wounded person falls; you need medication and painkillers to dull the pain, but when you wake up you can barely keep your eyes open. With a sigh, Marcus put the needle of the IV back into his arm and took the remote. As his bed adjusted to what he deemed most comfortable, Marcus turned on the TV, looking for a distraction. He flipped through the channels in quick succession, stopping at CNN. Arthur was on a little screen window to the left engaged in a heated debate with Patrick Don to his right. Patrick was the man Evelyn informed him was one of the most important people in Daniel’s circle.
“Look, I am not saying that Coronavirus isn’t a real virus—that it is indeed,” Arthur was saying. “What I am saying is that it was all part of a meticulous plan. Here, look,” he raised the printed photographs on the camera, “it’s dated back to 2018, over a year before the pandemic. How do you explain that?”
“Fake news,” Patrick Don responded, making a dramatic pause. “Anyone can print out a bunch of photographs and photoshop everything onto it. If you want, I’ll make my assistant draw you up official documents that Area 51 is a prison for aliens. Are you saying that I would be right? Would you say the same if I provided you with documents that prove 9/11 was an inside job?”
“You sound like the current administration, Mr. Don. Deflecting and creating conspiracies,” Arthur yelled over Mr. Don.
“You said,” Patrick changed his tone, “that the Chinese gov
ernment is behind this. You said that. You said it yourself. And now you’re attacking the United States of America? Whose side are you on, Sir? How can China and the United States of America, the proudest and most free nation in the world, work with a country that oppresses its citizens, lies to them, and tries to undermine the greatest country in the world?”
Arthur whistled, waving the pages in the air. “Here is the proof, Mr. Don. I am still waiting on you to prove that I am a liar and that these documents are falsified. I have it in black and white. What do you have?”
Marcus was cheery to see Arthur play the game so well.
“You, sir, are undermining the very essence of what it is to be American. You have taken those documents, whose validity you swear to, and leaked it into the public, so all our enemies can see it. How dare you?”
“Finally,” Arthur exclaimed, “you admit that these documents are of import to the the US government, thereby countering your previous claim that the files in my hand are illegitimate. You have just dismantled you own argument, Mr. Don, and have acknowledged that the US government was well aware of these plans, proving that there, indeed, was foreknowledge and the US government is lying to its people—again!”
When Patrick Don said nothing, Arthur continued. “This new government is supposed to be different that the one that came before. Jim Morris, the Democratic candidate, is supposed to be different than his predecessor—Donald Trump. You, Mr. Don, are the likely candidate to become the new Attorney General, and if this is the way you will behave, then why should people vote for you? Why should anyone trust you; you, who have poisoned the world with a deadly virus; you, who have brought these dark times onto our heads. You, Sir, are named in the document. You, yourself, sit on the board of directors of the Dark Forest Investment Fund, and you have signed off on this deal. How can we trust anything you say?”
Marcus was enjoying the debate, lost in the back and forth between the two men. He assumed that the argument Arthur made had beaten the Nobel laureate and the potential future Attorney General, but to his amazement, and most likely to the amazement of every other viewer out there, Patrick Don burst into a sincere laughter.
“Dear Mr. Erickson,” Patrick Don calmly said. “I have not accepted this invitation to defend a blameless victim that is the United States. I have not accepted the invitation to prove anything to you. I wanted you, Sir, to prove to everyone the ridiculousness of your claims by making your empty, unfortified claims. The American people are smart, and they will see you for the fraud that you are, seeding discord between them. And for what? For fame. For vanity. For your ego.
“You claim that you are here to fight for the good of the world, but you didn’t exist until these horrible circumstances befall our beautiful ball of water and dirt. Seeing no other alternative to make your mark upon the world, you resort to milking the present situation as much as you could—and that, I can prove. In all your three months in journalism, you have not written a single article or published anything of repute. You have put your ludicrous, unsubstantiated theories before other people, never providing a shred of evidence or source material, losing your job in the end. You cannot prove your theory of a grand conspiracy more than anyone else can. Because it doesn’t exist. Because you are a fraud, Mr. Erickson. You.”
Arthur was quiet. The host stared blankly at the camera. Patrick Don appeared to be absolutely cool and at peace, like he had no place to be. He had owned his station and earned his cabinet, proving deserving of the Nobel Peace Prize he had received years back; Marcus, himself, knowing full well that Arthur was right and that Patrick Don was at the heart of the whole affair, believed the words he had heard.
The unbearable silence was broken by the host. “Have you anything to say in response, Mr. Erickson?”
Arthur was evidently hurt. “Just that through all of his speeches and monologuing, Mr. Don has as of yet failed to disprove the documents he has called false. Though you may judge me, I am not the source of these documents. So I ask you again, Mr. Don, what do you have to say about that?”
Though the argument made by Arthur wasn’t bad, it was nonetheless weak. The winner of the debate was clear, and the key points people are going to take away was that the US is great, that Patrick Don is a wonderful diplomat that neither backs down nor attacks first while still concluding a discussion on good terms, and that Arthur was not a serious, credible source of any information. No one is going to care about the documents, apart from the conspiracy lunatics. Unable to watch anymore, Marcus turned off the TV and settled into the bed.
What he had seen and what lays behind it—the censoring, the suppression of information, the flooding of the world with fake news—was yet another reason he needed to become a part of the mission to stop Daniel Clarkson. No amount of public assaults will stop his plans, as was evident by the past three months. There needed to be affirmative action, a force that he will not be able to deflect, one that will fight fire with fire.
Marcus turned toward the window, waiting to fall into a deep slumber that just wouldn’t come. All he could think was I am not supposed to be here as the leafless trees swayed in the wind.
THREE
T he dark cloud of paranoia loomed over Jack as he walked into the building. Coming to work had become dangerous for him. He feared that they—the ominous They—knew what he was up to. It is only a matter of time before they get to me, he thought. Despite all that, he still smiled and greeted the people from the office. That haunting fear had to be pushed to the side to keep up appearances. As far as everyone else was concerned, he was Jack Johnson, the top agent of the Company and a simple man who comes in to work when he is expected. His first stop, as always, was Erica.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said as he leaned against her desk. “What’s up?”
Erica smiled at him and took the coffee he always brought for her. “Oh, nothin’, you know, just workin’.”
“Listen, I got to ask you for a favor,” he said.
“You come by only when you need something,” she sassed him. “What is it this time?”
“Oh, come on, girl, you know it ain’t like that,” he said. “I love coming around to see you hard at work, your pretty eyes flashing at me.”
She moved her hair behind her ear and hid her smile.
“Seriously, though, have you heard the girls talking about anything lately?”
“Nothing much,” Erica said. “Just the usual chatter. I hear that Karen from the top floor had to take a leave for a time. The word is she done lost her mind for some reason. Some say that Thoros was her lover and when that heart attack struck him, her heart broke.”
“Sounds interesting,” Jack said.
“Nah, it’s all some story. They say that Thoros never had a heart attack. Apparently,” she leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial fashion, “the remodeling of the top floor wasn’t actual remodeling. One of the workers said there was blood and bullets up there.”
Jack made a mental note of that. “Juicy,” he said.
“You know something about all that?”
“I don’t want to ruin the romance,” he said with a charming smile. “Let it be blood and gore. It’s better than remodeling.”
“Sure is. So, we seeing each other tonight?”
“I don’t see a reason why not.”
Erica’s phone rang. “Yeah,” her face went serious. “Mhm, he’s here with me right now. Okay. Sure. I’ll let him know.”
“What’s that all about?”
“Well,” Erica said, “apparently the whole office knows about us. Apart from that, Mrs. Evelyn wants to see you.”
“Really,” he said, pulling his phone out to check for any message, finding none. An alarm bell rang inside of his head. “Okay, well, I have to run,” he hid his fears, “see you tonight.”
“Sure thing, tiger,” Erica said and turned back to her work.
Jack put his phone in his pocket and headed to the elevator. He exchanged a polite greeting with
a few people that passed him, keeping his cool. He pressed the top button on the board and the elevator went up. The camera in the corner was staring right at him, filming him whistling and mouthing a song like he had nothing to hide, though he was wondering in that very moment whether Evelyn had known about his double game all along. A shudder climbed from his stomach to his shoulders.
When the door opened, Jack walked across the room with purpose, firm and proud. He went straight to Evelyn’s office, acknowledging only the girl at the front desk with a short greeting.
“Miss Evelyn,” he said from the door. “You wanted to see me?”
She brought her head up from her work and waved him in, returning to her tablet immediately after. Jack took a chair across from her desk and sat down, cool but professional. He patiently waited while Evelyn tapped her tablet, doing her work—or pretending to work. His eyes went over the wall and the desk, the images of the room from months before flashing in his mind; it was as if nothing had ever happened. Apart from a few workers, the top floor looked exactly the same as it did as far back as Jack can recall.
“Well, yes,” Evelyn said, putting her device to the side. “Thank you for coming, Jack.”
Evelyn had grown cold and distant since she assumed her position on top of The Company, no longer friendly, never joining him in the garage, or calling his J.J. like everyone else does. A part of him hated the new Evelyn and missed the old. The price of success, he thought.
“What can I do for you,” he asked.
“How is Erica,” she asked in return.
“She’s fine. Great, actually. She has a good job and me for a lover.”
Evelyn showed no reaction, and Jack wasn’t trying to be funny; he was trying to prove a point. “You guys getting serious?”
“Well, who can say what is serious with seriousness? To some people casual sex is exactly like being in a relationship. To other people, everything is a child’s play until marriage. So maybe we are, though I can’t really say.”
All the Company Men: Marcus Grimshaw #2 (The Secret State) Page 3