Children of the Program (22 page)

chapter 32

the war begins

When Dez was away, Neco used his lush musical background to serenade and win the favor of the 1969-reveling sect members.  His campfire jams included classics, from artists like:  Jefferson Airplane, The Rolling Stones and The Doors
. 
His years of siphoning in his father's musical collection had come in handy.  He also wasn't shy about littering in a few original cuts.  Having musical talent gave him an instant connection with the aspiring cult culture and enabled him to captivate the minds of those moved by the pulse of a good vibration.  Neco tried to lasso in the wayward, by reminding them of the peace and love missing from their hippie narrative.

Dez and Neco both strummed the same sermon, but to different ends.  They both understood that the combination of drug use and rhythm could transport any audience to a place far beyond rational thought.  Music was the cornerstone of their manipulation.  It could start a revolution, and sound a battle cry for war.  Its power came through the mad receivers of their fluttering words.  Neco was always penning the songs of tomorrow, by candlelight. 

The Cadence, always flirting with a looming endgame, would soon sound the trumpet for an all-out blitzkrieg.  Though the flames had been stoked, its declaration was a matter of semantics and time.

              Dez was fuming after his brush with the law.  He stormed his trailer and began destroying the fixtures and screaming coarse words.  Crystal, on the run and missing, forced his hand to compensate for his loss of control.  He no longer had time to debate her intentions, nor fear for her life.  If the police came looking, they’d find his compound turned into a Hollywood stage.  Cautiously, Neco approached Dez’s shaky trailer, but was turned away.  His concern for what Crystal may have revealed begged an answer.  For hours, Dez seethed, smoked and prayed for his phone to ring.  When he finally emerged from the trailer, he lassoed an impromptu meeting.

              “This has gone on for long enough!” Dez proclaimed.  “Our war begins tonight.”

              “What do you want us to do?” asked Michelle.

              “I'm not done with you, Michelle.  As a matter of fact, take her to confinement,” he instructed.

              He unraveled a plan that would permanently place the Cadence
on the map.  “The outside knows we're here.  With my citation and Crystal's behavior, the cops will come looking.  We have no time to waste.  I want you to hide the drugs and guns in the underground tunnel.  We will be more effective on the run.  We must disperse from these premises.  We're leaving tonight!”

              “Can they even find us?” asked Neco, hoping to maintain his stay.

              “I'm not willing to take any chances.  Helicopters are an amazing invention.  For all we know, they're already running surveillance and waiting to pounce.  Besides, I'm sure we could all use a nice hotel bed and bath,” said Dez.

              “You don't have to ask me twice!” Neco jested.

              “Just remember, in for a penny, in for a pound,” Dez added.

              The group dispersed and began cleaning up the campsite.  His directives generated more questions than answers.  Tiny whispers filled the lawn's brush, as they mingled about the reality of being on foot, their methods of survival and the danger of being arrested or isolated.  The cult’s challenged faith left them hoping Dez had specific assignments and meeting points in place; though, it was clear he was being reactionary.  Their only consolation lied in their acquisition of the town's money tills.  They had a silo of money to graze from, while hiding in the shadows.

              “Each of you will play a part,” Dez shouted.  They scurried like church mice, fearing the finality of his instruction.  “For now, I will develop a plan and find feasible meeting posts.  It’s time for us to make our move on the world's chess board.  In the meantime, please be diligent and thorough with our clean-up effort.  Burn anything that doesn't pass the sniff test.  Meet back at dusk, and we will prepare to defend our legacy.”

              Neco became increasingly concerned over his relevance to the operation.  Though he wanted to be sure he gathered enough information to keep Ash far from peril, he could feel the magnetism of time's arrow and the heavy sands slipping through his quaking hands.  He knew if Crystal chose to return, Dez would have him killed.  Debating his options, he decided to stay the course, knowing his fellow Programmers, their offspring and his family's safety were more valuable than his own lot.  He could only hope the seeds he'd sowed into Crystal's mind would continue to resonate; though, awaiting their harvest might leave him guilty of a crime by association and behind bars.  Lucky or not, he wasn't given much time to consider his options. 

              At dusk, the Cadence huddled around a final bonfire and awaited Dez to return with a list of operation-specific initiatives.  Without their wished partners, Dez placed them into groups of two and gave his orders.  He understood that separating their interests would create a longing for their reunion and keep everyone's mind focused on the mission — the prize was communion.

Though frustrated with his inability to access the Children of the Program website, Dez knew Grayson had received the Cadence’s sinister message to the world and had made a conscious decision to draw a line in the sand, separating the future villains from the vigilantes.  For security, he tasked Neco with being his sidekick in crime.  He couldn't risk Neco developing a change of heart.  They were to remain on the battlegrounds, awaiting Crystal's return and to run the international operations.  Should the authorities descend, they had just enough room, food and technology, stashed in a secret lower level of the bunker, to survive. 

Like soldiers, the Cadence groups marched from the site, hitched eastbound rides and accepted their orders; the less glamorous side of taking a stand.  Dez fired up the computers, adjusted the surveillance cameras and allowed his racing heart to settle. 

              “It's time to let our story unfold.  Aside from Vietnam, because we lost, can you think of a war that was ever won without a successful leader?  I'm standing down, because I can't risk being captured.  You and I are far too valuable to this mission.  It's bigger than we are, or The Program.  I don't want you to see my directive as cowardice,” said Dez.

              “Our very world depends on us not being seized.  Have we gotten any word back on Ash?” asked Neco.

              “I've had a group scouting her mansion for a couple days now.  It's the same group that took Juno Vestris camping.  They've made contact, and startled her, but they need to make sure their timing is right.  It's not like she's hiding out in a tiny apartment, she’s her own township or capital.  I assure you, she remains our number one target.  A promise is a promise, m’boy!  I understand your betrayal and pain.  At the moment, I couldn't be any closer to that sentiment.  I'm sorry to say, her talents and money probably made it pretty easy for her to leave you.”

              “Way to dig the knife in a little deeper, Dez,” said Neco.

              “I was being candid, not rude.  Let me ask, how were you able to convince Crystal?”

              “By building her trust, while hiding behind the smile of a leveraged guilt.  It was hard to read her sincerity, at first, but I assured her it was the right thing to do.  I figured if I could plant the seeds of doubt, she'd come to the desired resolve, whether it was right or not.  When backed into a corner, people have a tendency to lack conviction,” said Neco.

              “You don't say.”  Dez laughed.

              “You make them question their reasoning, by always offering a counterpoint.  In so, you can typically get them to see your point of view, while convincing them they came to it on their own.  It is basic psychology,” said Neco.

              “It's the Jedi Mind Trick.  You're just as disturbed as I,” assured Dez.

              “We all are.  It just takes the right set of circumstances.”

              “Neco, I haven't heard from her.  I'm actually getting a little worried.” 

              “Don't be.  She's probably worried you're upset with her.  My guess is she's taking care of things, so that when she does call, she can lead with good news.  One thing she made crystal clear, was that she loves you.  Pun intended,” said Neco. 

              “That's what I'm afraid of,” sputtered Dez.

              “Touché.”

+++

              Settling into the bunker, days passed as Dez and Neco awaited news about their unfolding revolution.  The accommodations were stark and militant, but safe.  The main room was blanketed in television monitors.  Video streams from various countries continuously aired news coverage from the major networks.  Exercising patience felt like waterboarding.  Concrete walls encapsulated them, and steel beams separated the desert from the basement.  Three bright industrial grade lights shined overhead.  A year’s worth of rations were stashed in camouflaged lockers.  Even using the bathroom became a war zone, it meant surfacing and not being witnessed by the occasionally passing helicopters. 

              The first blip on the radar came from a broadcaster.  It gave Dez pause.  The anchors touted Ash's painting and offer.  The piece perfectly matched a long-haired version of Neco.  The canvass detail was impossible to ignore, and rattled the core of Dez's trust.  Neco was uncomfortably resting on a portable cot, when the news bulletin first injected itself into his weakening mind.  He immediately suspected the worst.  “Ash screwed you over.  Is that it, Neco?” asked Dez, tossing a metal pale of cold ice water onto his lifeless body. 

              “What?” screamed Neco.  He awakened in a furious panic and rattled by the accusation.

              “Ash! The Scottish girl who left you high and dry in Los Angeles, California?  The girl's head you had asked to be delivered on a food tray.  Do not tell me you've forgotten?  You're a poor poker player, sonny boy,” said Dez.

              “How could I forget?  It's why I'm here.  What has gotten into you?” asked Neco.

              “She's auctioning off a painting worth millions.  The person who delivers you gets the prize,” said Dez.

              “What?” asked Neco.

              “For that kind of money, I might consider unearthing you myself!  You may be worth more to the cult, alive.  Please, amuse me, if you are at such odds, why does she care so much about you?  Why does she paint your likeness with such accuracy and essentially auction it off to the world for millions.  Why does she suddenly go on national television, drawing attention to your potential whereabouts?” asked Dez.

              “Maybe she feels guilty —
maybe
!  If we were still close, she'd know where I am, no?  I know what you're thinking, but if she knew I was with you, and trying to infiltrate the Cadence, do you think she'd risk my deliverance with such a charade?  She'd be writing my death warrant.  I already know enough to destroy you and this plot.  If I planned on bringing you down, I'd have already left.  Think about it, and please, pretty please with sugar on top, throw me one of those fucking towels,” said Neco.

              “I haven't had a chance to think,” he paused, pointing his damning finger at Neco's damp forehead.  “If I so much,” he stopped, turned and hurled a steel economy chair across the bunker.  Grazing Neco's head.  It smashed against the wall behind him.  Blood rained down Neco neck, onto his dirty white t-shirt.

              “Relax.  She's already on our radar,” said Neco, dodging the reaper.  He reached up to feel the warm reminder of his situation and mortality.  Continuing to prance around suspicion, he tried to remain calm.  He could barely hide his racing heart from trying to escape his pounding chest.  “I understand your concern, but you were right to trust me and bring me in.  We need each other.  I still believe you share that sentiment.”

              “Ash is practically on her death bed, Neco.  If you're bluffing, her coffin will rest on your conscious.  You should have ran, while you had the chance.  At this point, you may not be too far behind her.  I'll find her and hunt her, for lifetimes to come,” threatened Dez.

              “What are you waiting for?” asked Neco, hoping to salvage his gamble. 

              “Why don't you come over here and look me in the eyes.  I want to know just how good of a card player you really are.  Surely, you've scored an ID and gone to Vegas.  Have you ever pushed all-in, holding a 7-2 off-suit, while staring the devil in the eyes?” asked Dez.

              It was then, Neco realized his left wrist was tied to a wooden table neighboring the control desk.  As he adjusted and nervously stared into Beelzebub's approaching eyes, Dez calmly moved and clasped his loose hand into the remaining steel bracelet and married it with the desk.  In those tense moments, few words were exchanged.  It wasn't long before Neco's shocked demeanor went from passive to overtly aggressive.  His only hope rested in convincing Dez his anger was justified.  He knew continued submission would warrant further suspicion.

              “I'll be a little more comfortable knowing I can keep an eye on you,” said Dez.