“I believe in America. I believe in the White House,” Wilson Burns commanded through the TV. “Years of neglect of our status as a leading force of the world have cost us dearly. Machinations by the one percent have cost us dearly. We cannot allow that to continue. We cannot allow our children to grow up in a country that abuses them, the children of America.
“Student loans forbid the coming generations to ever crawl out from under and build a better world for themselves. Mortgage rates destroy families. And the big companies, corporations, and banks are putting their hands into the pockets of those who cannot bear the cost deeper and deeper.
“I believe that there needs to be a reasonable response to this, a response that keeps the middle income household alive and proper. I believe that we can find a way to make the people and the big companies work together, united, in the spirit of our Founding Fathers and the very name our country carries.”
Marcus shook his head. “Can you believe he is saying that?”
“Hardly, brother,” Jack responded. “These are the very people that have gotten him elected.” He leaned forward in the chair, his fingers going hard at the beer label. “What is going on?”
Marcus himself felt the same way. The situation made very little sense to him. The things Wilson Burns was saying sounded a lot like he wanted to make real change in the world. If he was on the campaign trail, Marcus wouldn’t trust a word he uttered, but this was different. Could it really be true? Could he be aiming for more? The speech continued, making less and less sense as it went on.
“As a politician, brother, you can’t say things plainly,” Jack said. You need to be powerful but obscure. You can’t just straight-up say things. It builds expectations. It creates animosity between you and those you aim to stop or even those who elected you. Before you even begin, they are working against you. What is this guy doing?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Marcus replied. Have actually done it? Maybe we did stop Daniel. Maybe we won.
The camera would often shift from the president-elect to the audience, where they could see Daniel Clarkson, Patrick Don, and even Cristobal Cortez who had gotten an invitation for the event.
“In my first hundred days as the elected president of this great country, as the leader of you, the greatest civilization out there in the world, I vow to lay the foundations for a better America. I vow to make students loans more acceptable, more straight-forward because I firmly believe that the future of this country lays in the hands of the young, not in ours, the old and stubborn. I believe that they are the only people who can create the equal opportunity scenario we all want to see because that is the only way America can return to its true and well-deserved glory.”
Wilson Burns kept his audience and listeners mesmerized for the entirety of his speech. He was straight, direct, honest, and charismatic. He looked like the first real leader of America since Roosevelt. He looked like the man that could truly make America great again.
For decades, the leaders of the US were men of media, people who were able to grab the headlines and throw fake smiles to people. They knew how to play the game and win office, but they were all very incapable, very dishonest, always succumbing to corporate pressure, their terms creating only more problems. Not a single president in decades had appeared as a proper leader, as a man intent on keeping his promises.
“Yo, Markie,” Jack said. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably.”
“Do you think that maybe this guy—maybe, possibly—could be a potential ally of ours? Do you think he would work against Daniel?”
Marcus gave it some thought. “I don’t know, J.J. I don’t think so. I really don’t. Daniel is too powerful and too strong to be made an enemy. Especially by someone who has only four years in office. Maybe eight. Then again... I was thinking the same thing.”
“Right?” Jack said. “Listen to what he is saying. Listen to the way he is saying it.”
“No way he does it,” Didier said. “He is promising a better America, a better world for the generations to come. Now, he needs friends for that. If he doesn’t have friends, then all that he promised is for nothing. Daniel is a necessary friend to have in today’s America.”
“Besides,” Marcus said, “he approved of Wilson Burns on Jim’s ticket. He approved of him when he pushed the new administration in. He did it.” Marcus was conflicted himself. Maybe he was still that hopeless romantic who hoped that the world could one day be beautiful and peaceful, seeing a chance for that in Wilson Burns.
Jack tugged on his beer. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“But don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that there is nothing about Wilson Burns in those documents,” Didier asked. Both Jack and Marcus looked at him. “Jim, who was very dirty, trusted this man right here? We have all the documents, and Arthur has even more, and we still don’t see his name?”
“That’s a good point,” Marcus said.
“He also can’t be that honest,” Didier continued. “Jim was involved in almost every money laundering scheme with George Morrow. He was a part of the bank that had a hand very deep in the CDO pot a decade ago.”
“Look, man, we all know that politicians are dirty, lying sacks of shit and we, more than most, know that. He was doing what he had to do to get where he needs to be,” Jack said. “And we can all relate to that.”
Marcus and Didier nodded. Jack was right. They were all culprits in the world order they were now aiming to stop. They all had a role to play in making the people they loathed become some of the most powerful in the history of the world.
The mood had begun to shift in the room. Wilson’s speech continued like it was nothing, and then he placed his left hand on the Bible and raised his right hand.
As if in some orchestrated move, all of them leaned forward and watched Wilson Burns swear to God that he will be honest and straight for the remainder of his term. They saw the man whom no one expected to be the president become one, replacing Jim, destroying Daniel’s plans.
A salvo of applause echoed through the arena as people clapped and whistled and yelled for their new president, their new leader, their new savior.
“Boys, shit is in the rear view mirror now,” Jack said and sighed. “We forgot that we have actually done it.”
Marcus felt pride fill him up from top to bottom, coursing through his body like a substance. He felt victorious. He felt powerful. He felt alive. “Yes, we have. We beat him in this round. We beat him good.”
Then silence befell the gathered men who were on their way to saving the world before they erupted into laughter. Marcus and Jack looked at each other, then Marcus’ eyes moved over the other two men, filled with love and appreciation. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Tonight we celebrate.”
The TV was muted and the music spilled into the night through the speakers. Empty beer bottles were little used soldiers on the table before they piled up, spreading far and wide, almost across the entire table. They were laughing, dancing, talking, reminiscing and joking. Life, they felt, was going to be good. They were no fools; they knew that the fight was only now beginning, but they deserved to let go for a while, to celebrate, to relax, to enjoy life itself. It was something they had not done in years, something that was truly missing from their lives the past year. They lived like rats, hiding all across the town, constantly on the run, drowning in fear and paranoia. They were the people in the shadows, those who watched and observed learning all they could about their opponent. Now they were men of conviction, of action, successful in their efforts. Neither of them was supposed to be alive. Hell, that was probably true their entire lives.
“Boys, boys,” Jack said, calming them all with his hands. “I hate to interrupt our amazing night that we very much deserve, but I feel that some good words have to be said at this point right here. First things first, through all the treachery and all the pain and suffering we have endured was worth it. All the sacrifices we have made are worth it. Be
cause we did it.”
“Yes,” Chang exclaimed and raised his beer in the air.
“Chang, my dear old friend, we have been together on countless missions. Though I treated you harshly sometimes in the name of the Company, you were always my friend, my ally. Thank you for putting your trust in me for our cause. Thank you, brother.”
“You save me from Triads, from crime, and later from Company. We are brothers.”
“Thank you, Chang. Your forgiveness means the world to me,” Jack said, teary-eyed. He turned to Didier. “Didier, my brother from another mother. No one in this room has been through more than you. You survived two wars in the Ivory Coast, their slums, the later captivity, and the ensuing slavery. I don’t know how anyone could actually survive what you have gone through, but kudos to you, my brother. You did it.
“And, Markie, here is to you as well. We were once brothers. We were once soldiers. Then you went away from me. You ran that night and left me all alone to fend off the assholes that were our future employers. I broke, man, I did. I am too drunk to lie, you know that. When you left, I was alone. I had no one to rely upon. That’s when the Company became by bedrock. I knew they were evil, but it was better to belong to someone who knew how to appreciate me, if only in money, than to trust in people. I don’t know, though, when you came back on the radar, I was hazy, like I had just woken up from a very deep slumber. After that, nothing was the same. And it’s all because of you. Through all that we have been this god-awful year, you stayed true and real, you stayed put, by my side. I can’t tell you in words how much that actually means to me.
“Thank you all. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being who you are. Our goal was accomplished because we were together. And nothing else matters. All that is left now is to crush Daniel. But I feel good, gentlemen. This years is ours. Cheers, boys. To us.”
“To us,” they all toasted.
In a drunken haze, Jack stumbled toward Marcus and leaned into him, letting his drunken breath prickle Marcus’ nostrils. “I love you, brother. Never forget that.” Marcus embraced him and squeezed hard. He felt a great bond with Jack, but he was never strong on words. It was never in him, not even when he was drunk, to talk about his emotions with other people. He found that being open was especially hard when talking to men. In that moment, however, Marcus opened up.
“I love you, too, brother,” he said. “I really love you.” Maybe it was the beers or maybe the whiskey that allowed him to speak his mind, but he was grateful that it happened. It was as if a big load was lifted off of his shoulders. Then he remembered that the last time he told someone he cared about them, that someone betrayed him.
“J.J., do you think we should call Evelyn?”
Jack looked like he had swallowed something sour, his eyes screaming insult. “Why would you mention that bitch now? We were having a moment, man. Come on! That was so uncool.”
Marcus could see that Jack was only half-way joking. “Alright, I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“She betrayed you,” Jack erupted. “And you still think about her. Shee-eet, son. I don’t know how you do it.” He burped. “Now I am thinking about her. God damn it.”
“Alright, alright,” said Marcus. “Forget it.” Suddenly he noticed that Didier was standing by his side, all tall and big. “Were you there the whole time,” Marcus asked. Didier stared back at him without a word. That man looked more sober drunk than without a drop of alcohol. “Aight,” said Marcus as a response to himself.
“Brother,” said Didier in his heavy French-African accent. “It is all good, brother. You are alright. Everything is alright. You won. We won.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “We won. And they can’t do nothin’ to stop us now. No one can. Yeah, son! Did it!”
“I guess we’re saying goodbye to grammar,” Marcus said. The world around him was turning around, or maybe he was swaying—who could really say? As Didier kept shaking Jack into a good mood, Marcus staggered over to the table and grabbed a bottle from the top. He lifted the bottle and saw that it was nearly finished. “Oh, we’re running out,” he said aloud.
“I know, I know,” Chang said. “I go buy now.”
“I didn’t say that you should go buy just because we low,” Marcus said. “I didn’t even know that you were there.”
“I going, going! Alright,” Chang said, drunk himself. As he pulled his pants up that were for some reason off, he rambled in Chinese. Marcus felt it was nothing nice being said about either him or the party.
“Do as you please,” Marcus said, barely holding onto the bottle. “Jack,” he yelled out as he started toward his friend. “Here, brother, here, take the medicine.” Jack grabbed the bottle with a smile and chugged heartily. Didier was laughing at something. Chang came back with another bottle. Didier was explaining to Marcus how the world might be actually flat; he wasn’t saying that he, himself, believes that the world is flat, no, he is only saying that it might be and we should never forget that. Then Marcus faced Jack, laughing with him, raising his glass, pouring another one. Didier and Chang were in the middle of the room, dancing to Kalinka Jack had put on. For some reason, it was working for them to dance to the old Russian dance. Marcus was wondering why they would ever dance like that. Then the door slammed. Then the music changed. Then Didier collapsed in the corner and the blinding white of the toilet was staring Marcus straight in the face as he felt like his stomach was being vacuumed out of his body. Then he saw Chang again going out of the door before the toilet water splashed his face.
An earthquake? No, no, Marcus dreamt. I hate earthquakes. Buildings were collapsing all around him and he was alone in the street, surrounded by abandoned cars, the space filled with screaming and headless running. From a distance, he could hear his name being called out. The angelic voice of the woman he used to call mother was the one he heard. Mother! Mother! He was screaming for her but she was nowhere to be found. His name echoed louder and louder as he ran in the direction of the voice, seeing her figure in the distance, recognizing her. He reached out to grab her, then something hit him and his eyes popped wide open. He turned to the door only to see Jack hovering above him, calling his name like a maniac, telling him to wake up, shaking him. “Come on, quickly. Wake the hell up.”
“What... What is happening?”
“Grab the gun, grab your dick, and let’s bolt, now!”
Marcus couldn’t wrap his head around the situation. Jack was leaning against the wall, peering through the window one second at a time, trying to gauge if anyone is out there. Marcus realized what was happening in that moment and rolled out of bed, swearing, his mind rushing. He put on the boots, tied the laces and got up, already sober and primed, his heart racing a hundred beats per second.
“Get down, you idiot,” Jack said, pulling Marcus behind him.
“What is happening,” Marcus asked.
“They found us,” Jack said. Before Marcus could process what he was told, the boards on the bedroom window were shredded into a trillion little pieces by a high-grade weapon on the outside. He could hear the people outside walking through the forest and directing each other on the ground. He peered through the window for a split second before crouching down as a second wave of gunfire exploded upon the house. He lay on the floor, covering his head with both hands, praying to God, hoping he lives, wondering what the hell to do next. When the firing stopped, a grenade fell to the floor with two hard taps right in front of his face.
SEVENTEEN
M arcus felt like the sight of that grenade was the last thing he was ever going to see. He thought about his life and all that he had done. Mostly he feared about what is going to happen if his mission is left unfinished. The entire year and all the pain and suffering that it brought upon him and the rest of the world will have been for naught and all the pain he had caused to other people will not be justified. He couldn’t let that stand.
He leapt froward like a jungle cat, grabbed the grenade and flung it into the other room. Hi
s brain had processed a mountain of data in less than a second; it was a true testament to the human mind and the irrelevance of time itself.
The grenade exploded before it even hit the floor, making his head hurt and buzz. He was dazed, wanting to peer through the window to see what was happening and run away back to a safe place on all four. Instead, he pulled Jack down, stopping him from doing the exact same thing he wanted to do. He put his finger over his lips. “Let them think we’re dead,” he whispered, then pointed to the other room with his finger.
The two of them crawled like toddlers on the floor, aiming for the other room, hoping their trickery works. Before they even realized it, the men were assembling in front of the door, preparing for a breach. One man took his position on the left of the door, and the other on the right. Their quietness stretched out into eternity. Marcus was trying to control his heavy breathing, his head still buzzing. Then the door blew wide open. Instead of the men charging in, two grenades were flung in and they flashed one after the other. A few more seconds passed before the men carefully went into the house. The idea behind it was to daze their targets to the fullest and shoot them where they stood, but they could see no one in the room. That must have been a scenario they anticipated at least on some level, because they were gunning after fully trained men who were once part of their own organization. With that in mind, the men formed a triangle on their leader’s command. They stood only one foot apart, their back turned to each other, all angles of the house covered. They cleared the house one room at a time, patiently, carefully, and methodically.
“They have to be in here,” one of them said after they cleared two rooms.
The one that looked like the man in charge raised his hand to his mouth and spoke into the mic, calling for the other men. But no response came. Then a thundering blow was heard as the board on one of the windows was broken off and a flash grenade thrown into the room.
All the Company Men: Marcus Grimshaw #2 (The Secret State) Page 16