Last War (7 page)

     The muffled commotion outside of his
cherry oak office door grew to a rumble.

     He continued to listen.

     "Where is the power box?" One analyst said.

     “Don’t do anything without letting Upton know.” Another responded.

     Immediately, the captains of the floor sprung into action the way they had been trained.

     In Jason’s head, he weighed his options.
What to do? What excuse when they realize—if they realize—it’s not a drill.

     Jason’s realization grew -- he had no excuse. If it were some employee under his rank coming to question him it would be no problem. If it were one of
the 4 or 5 men over him, he may, very well, be in trouble.

     Jason crouched back down to the floor, crawled back under his desk and slowly plugged one of the plugs back in; he heard a knock at his door.

    In a haze of confusion, his mind indecisively suggested an array of responses. W
ho’s gonna know it was me?
He thought.
I’m second in command in this particular department.

    
Authority is the way out of this. 

     Jason bounced up from behind his desk, banging his elbow on the side of the chair, nearly tipping it over. He dusted himself off, tucked in his shirt, straightened his slacks, and
walked his calm, authoritive, stride to the door. He swung the door open. It was one of the analysts positioned under him.

     Before the officer could speak, Jaso
n said, “Not a drill – possibly a malfunction; probably a hacker. I'll fix it. Tell the guys I’m on it, then go back to your station."

     He went back into his room and plugged the computers back in. When his computer rebooted,
there wasn’t a single item on the desktop besides the picture of the DHS seal. Jason stared at the screen as the computer finished rebooting.

     Then, seemingly, in nonchalant fashion,
centered at the bottom of the screen, a peaceful but threatening message rested: "Computer tracked and contents seized."

     Jason gathered his blazer, and briskly exited his office. As he walked by the cubicles he addressed the analysts on the floor.

     "There may have been a breach, I will be back. Leave your computers off. I repeat: leave your computers off."



VI

Connecticut Courthouse

      Protest
crowds chanted outside of the courthouse in front of a parade of speakers who took a microphone and tearfully purged their traumatizing rape accounts in front of hundreds.

     Police in military gear encircled the crowd for blocks. Putters of UAVs filled the sky in every direction.

     Czyra Michaels, a young teen from New York City, was no stranger to this sort of activity. He was associated with The Unknown Hactivists.

     He
sought out injustice via the internet and harassed the accused until he got what he saw fit as justice. This time, a town that continually hid rape crimes that their star high school football players would commit.

     “We’re not going to tolerate injustice, anymore.” One masked woman shouted. “Sports does not trump what really matters in this world. You let these boys get away with way too much – we’re tired of it. The Unknowns have come to our help where the authorities and local government has not. This is crazy. People are going
missing. Women and victims are dying. This is mass madness!”

     Czyra stood
tall with his long scraggly blond hair tucked into his hood. His slender nose rested perfectly in a nose protrusion the mask cut out for it. The only thing that showed through to the public were his deep brown eyes. He received the mic from the last speaker and began speaking his thoughts.

     “We’ve got to always remember there is more out here than we think. Have you noticed how so many professional sports players all come from the same general areas and go to the same genera
l colleges all to be filtered to the same places? They’re all friends and, at some point, have met in some similar childhood setting. Is it a conspiracy? Maybe – I have my doubts – but, one thing is for sure: There’s a controlling. At the very least, it’s a broken system. Sports are essential to the American culture, and what happens in this land when something is in demand? It’s fought for, manufactured, processed, coddled, amplified and marketed. No longer will The Unknowns accept unacceptable grades or behaviour in exchange for money and notoriety. Justice will be served. We’ve got our eye on you U.S. government!”

     The crowd roared in the cheers of Czyra’s words. Another Unknown took the mic to speak next. He whispered in Czyra’s ear, “Wow, man. You speak pretty good. Good stuff.”

      “I just speak the truth.”

     The brisk day continued in a lively pep-rally for American justice. The crowd outside of the courthouse continued to grow in number and noise.
More military police showed up – shields in hand.

     Czyra’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He had been waiting on a call the entire day from his girlfriend, Jasmine.

     Some months back, Jasmine and Czyra had applied for jobs in hotels owned by the mighty Brendenhall Group. They had hoped to gain inside access to the Brendenhall’s activity. This was Jasmine’s third month as a housekeeper there. It was gruelling work, but they had made it so far and she was dedicated to the cause her boyfriend had in being an activist.

     “Hello, babe?” Czyra answered.

     “They’re arriving.”

     “You’re still there?”

     “Yes.”

     “Do you see him
, yet?”

     “No. But, everyone else has arrived. I’m in the housekeeper’s closet. In here you can hear every little detail from the conference room they’ll be talking in.”

     “Sweetie, this is going to be great! I’m blown away by you. You’re simply amazing.”

     “Thanks love-bunch. I couldn’t do it without you.”

     “Now, sweetie, you remember the drill, right?”

     “Yeah. I’m recording. I doubt sound will be very good, though. But, I have my notepad and memory.”

     “When they’re done, is there a place you want me and Dany to pick you up?” Czyra asked.

     “
Yes. Gate B, back of the hotel. It’ll let us hit 95 in stride and we’ll glide straight out of country.”

     “Babe, I’m so excited about this. Before we expose Brendenhall and this weasely U.S. government for getting in bed with them, we’ll all go on our get-away, and celebrate this. You’ve earned it – whatever you want.”

     Jasmine sounded exhausted. She barely responded. “Thanks, babe.”

     “Just a few more d
ays, sweets. Maybe just hours … maybe we only need hours. Just get some bombshell recordings and enough that they can’t cover. It’ll be like Dan Ellsberg all over again. Except bigger. Much.”

     “Babe, Mr. Brendenhall just walked into the door, I think.”

     “OK. Lay low.”

     “Yeah, it’s him.” Jasmine whispered very low. “He just walked in and he’s starting the meeting immediately.”

     Czyra could very vaguely hear Brendenhall’s voice in the background. Even through the wall, his deep, loud, voice resonated. The room the group of men had gathered in was a quiet room; a room that blocked all sounds and technology from going in or out. A few, like the one Jasmine had found, had loopholes for spy purposes. Spy purposes that Czyra and Jasmine had stumbled upon. Jasmine listened in quietly as the men moved from their friendly exchanges into business.

     “Babe.” Jasmine whispered. “What’s a security check?”

     “I’m not sure. Where did you hear that? There? Are they going to do a security check?”

     “Yeah. They’re doing it right now.”

     “Anyone leave the room?”

     “Not that I know of.”

     “Find somewhere to tuck away. It’s probably not that extensive.”

     There was a silence over the phone. No background noises, either.

     “Hun?” Czyra whispered to Jasmine. “You there?”

     “Yes.” She responded even lower than before. “It’s so quiet.”

     Czyra heard a door open in the near background on the other end of the phone. “Babe, are you OK? What’s going on?” No response.

    
Suddenly, chaos broke out on Jasmine’s end of the line. All he heard was commotion – no signs of her voice, still. His skin tightened. His heart pounded through his chest. Something was wrong. He didn’t know if he should say something, hang up, or stay on the line. So, he just waited. He and Jasmine had come this far – and if Jasmine had returned, she wouldn’t be able to make a phone call afterwards due to the signal a phone call sends out when first connecting. Certainly, it would breach the security measures of some of these men who are pioneers to world technology.

     So, Czyra just waited. He waited another ten minutes only to hear the beep his cellphone let out when the caller had disconnected the phone call.



VII

Nebraska Complex, Washington D.C.

    
Jason's whole world seemed like a dream. He pressed his thumb on a small pad next to his steering wheel. “Welcome, Mr. Upton.” A computer voice, greeted. She had no clue the trouble he had gotten them into.

     The soft leather on the steering wheel
, and the light in his eye, were the only two of the five senses he still had which told him he wasn't dreaming. He couldn't smell the leather interior as he usually could. The only thing he was able to experience was the marvel of the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Bridge that stretched across Theodore Roosevelt Island. It was a beautiful spring day, that Jason could not experience.

     What will happen?
Jason wondered.

     “Sirus”

     “Yes, Mr. Upton?” The computer responded.

    
“Classified voice log.”

     “You may now begin
your secure voice log.”

     “I’m wondering why a Behaviour Detection Officer was killed? They don't bother anyone, up high, really. And they barely ever even confront the public. I’m not even sure anyone knows what a BDO is.” 

     As Jason passed a church on the left, he approached a bit of traffic. He continued.

     “And ‘Operation Faith’, what the hell is that? The last tab said that it came from the Summit.” 

     Jason returned to his home. As he approached the door an aroma rushed into his brain that eased his anxieties for the moment. He opened his front door to the beautiful scent of his wife.

     "Honey?" He called.

     No answer.

     "Honey, you here?"

     His beautiful wife appeared at the top of the long winding staircase. She placed her hand on the golden brown wooden rail. Her long white gown fit tightly around her slender curvy hips. She looked as if she were attending a dinner at the White House.  She stepped down the steps in a pair of red heels that complimented her feet.

     "Hey, babe, you haven't worn that perfume since..." He took another whiff of it as she approached him. He wanted to jog his own memory.

     "Since our first date." She finished.

     Her half-smile startled him. It warmed his heart, but only a portion of her looked at him the same.

     "I didn’t expect you home, so early.” She said as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The statement was met with no response from Jason. He didn’t know what to say. It left his stomach in knots.

     “I'm going out tonight, Jason."

     He had a million questions for her, and in his heart he wanted to drop everything and spend his life mending whatever had broken between them. But, it wasn’t that simple. In fact, it was far too late. "I had figured you had gotten dressed up to watch an episode of Jeopardy.” Jason joked. “Where ya goin?"

    
Christine laughed. "Just out—wit some friends. I need some time."

     "When will you return?"

     "I don't know."

     Jason felt his saliva thicken. Swallowing hard, he responded.

     "Will you be back at a reasonable hour?"

     Christine moved her eyes down to the floor and shrugged her shoulders.
 

     With that same deep breath in through his nose, Jason straightened himself up. His problems were bigger at the moment. "Ok, well have fun." He responded with an abrupt departure towards the dining room. 

     As stone faced as he can find himself, it was becoming evermore difficult to hold it together.

     He pulled out his phone to find the telecom-interceptor on auto.

     Sitting at his dining room table, he loaded all the Tameka Files into his computer as Christine exited the door.

     His gut told him that their files on Tameka's death could tell him a lot. He missed something, somehow, and he didn’t see how it was possible.

     He searched the police report on the USB and found the recorded tapes between Tameka and the authorities.

     Jason entered a code that encrypted his laptop’s activity, even should anyone be able to gain access to it.

     With that, he pressed play on the filed recordings.

"This is Officer David Daley and I'm responding to a phone call placed Thursday, May 22, 2003 at 8:09 p.m. in Fairfax
county, Maryland."

     The recording started with Tameka’s quivering voice.

"There were two of them, they were both black, only one of them came to my door, the other stood out of my view until...I'm sorry, I'm just a little shaken up." She said.

"It’s ok ma’am. Take your time, then start from the top. I'm recording so state the dates and approximate times."

"Ok, thanks. I was sitting here on Monday, May 20
th
, 2003 at around 6:30 p.m. going through all of the security paperwork, when my doorbell rang. I knew something wasn't right because usually, when someone is waiting on the other side of the door there is at least a little bit of noise."

"You didn't know the man?"

"No, I had no clue. When I went to the door he was standing there dead still."

"Did he say anything?"

"That’s the thing, Officer, I walked softly to the door in suspicion, but as soon as I reached the peep hole he said my full name, 'Tameka Washington' it was very, very, eerie sir. When I answered, he said: 'FBI I've come to talk to you for a moment if I may.'"

"Well it’s a good thing you didn't open the door, he--"

"Could have been anybody."

"Right. Did it end there?"

"Well, being that I work for the government I asked to see a badge, he had one."

"He had one?!"

"Yes but he didn't have a warrant, so I told him to come back with a warrant."

"Did he?"

"We'll that's what’s funny, he left, and I kept watching out of the peep hole when I saw the second guy come from the right and follow him."

"Did he return?"

"The other man did today, May 22nd 2003 at around the same time, six-thirtyish, posed as a Fed Ex employee, saying that I needed to sign for this box, same eerie door bell stance, same routine."

"Ma’am, is there another place you can stay until we sort
 all of this out?" 

"There is. I can stay with my mother Betsy, until all of this pans out, but she lives outside of the city."

     Jason wrote down the name of the mom. He continued to listen to the recording as she described her position at the DHS. 

     David found another voice message from Tameka. He played it.

     "Hello 911? My name is Tameka Washington and there are two stalkers at my door right now..."
She shrieked out loud before continuing.

     "I need someone now they are pounding on my front door, yelling my full name!"

     The call continued until her unsteady, quivering voice whispered.
"I think they are leaving. Please send someone."

     Upon further review of the police report he found that Tameka had placed a few calls that day in reference to the mysterious vicious visitors.

     He pulled up her cell phone records for the month of her death on his computer and printed them out.

     While looking through them
he highlighted key calls at key times. Nothing in his database showed anyone deployed from their working stations in his department at the reported times of the stalkers’ visits. 

     It wasn't anyone from the DHS.

     His computer screen popped up an alert,

:
:Message from Jessica Caldwell to Maxwell Bradford.::



     Max stood at the gangplank marina waiting for his guilty pleasure to arrive. His phone buzzed. Under his breath he mumbled. "Ugh, Jess. I told you I’d be out now. I’m not answering."

     His fingers tapped the side of his leg as he nervously awaited Christine. He had longed to have this date with her. She always seemed reluctant to go forth with their side relationship
, fully.

     His phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't Jess.

     He clicked the ‘read’ button.

   
"Hello, Maxwell Douglas Bradford. Who lives Bowie, MD, My name is Jason Upton, that's right, the one and only. . ."

     Max’s insides kirtled. He hadn’t sign
ed up for the husband to be involved with what was going on. He rather had kept Jason distant; it would make his behavior more acceptable to himself. Another text message came through.

     "Don't you dare tell Chrissie I've contacted you
, or you will have problems. I just want to warn you. Have a good night tonight, but I am watching you from the nation’s capitol; you in your white blazer and black slacks. You with your pale skin and your brown gelled-up hair. You with your green eyes -- such a pretty boy -- ready to take a cruise on the elegant dinner cruise yacht."

     Max double checked his attire in disbelief.

     Another text came through. "Yes, Max, I am a bad man. After this, do not contact my wife ever again, or your life is ruined."

     Max caught a glimpse of Christine as he started to reply to the message. When he focu
sed back to his cell phone, the messages were gone. With his amazing memory, Max remembered Jason's phone number to return the message, "Bite me."

     He took Christine by the arm and French kissed her.

     "Wow, Max. What has gotten into you?"

     "Your beauty, sweetie. Let’s go have a good time."

     The night was approaching and the air was perfect for a cruise. The Washington Monument lit up in the distant background with an orange-pinkish hue from the city lights behind it.

     The boat’s horn sounded as the couple took their table for two on the lito deck. 



     Back at the Nebraska Avenue Complex in the DHS headquarters, investigators searched everything in Jason's office. With each analyst interviewed, the picture became somewhat clearer to the agents looking into the evidence on the floor.

     Michael Young walked into the office.

     "What have we found? It’s not Jason, is it?"

     A gloved agent turning over pictures on Jason’s desk responded, "It’s really not looking good at this point, sir.
Everything points to your friend; we have witnesses here, too."

     "Well, there has to be a perfectly good reason as to why he was snooping around in the files--look he probably wasn't even snooping, sir. He's number two in this whole department with 20 years of faithfully serving this country. He deserves to know about whatever happens here. It’s a non-issue.”

     Michael became annoyed and frustrated the agents who were still rummaging through Jason’s things. “Look, everybody out." He hollered.

     The bustling work of the investigators barely stopped, although they did glimpse back at Michael.

     "Has anyone even tried to contact him?" Michael asked.

     "We've tried tracking him, he continues to cut connection." The nearest agent answered.

     "Tracking? Let me rephrase, for Pete’s sake: Has anyone tried
calling
him?"

     Everyone remained silent.

     "Sir we have a tracking on him now, we have his position, finally."

 
   The exasperation these agents caused Michael wore on his nerve
. Idiots.
All he could do was curl his bottom lip to the point just before his teeth would cut into it. He took a moment to settle before responding, "Alright, let’s see what’s happening, here."



Wednesday, September 5, 2001 10:35 p.m. EDT

     “So, what happened after John and Pocahontas? Did the land thrive after that? Did the men from the other country try to stop John?”

     Jason put his phone on speaker and placed it on his desk. “Indeed, they did, sweetie.”

     “Did they try to kill him?”

     “Not exactly. When the economy of the new land began to pick up, then Britain wanted a piece of the pie. The folks on the new land had developed colonies, businesses, and their own tax system, and they were happy to be self-sufficient separate from the British government. They had been outcasts, and they learned to function without the country that abandoned them. But, the British government wanted to tax the colonies’ goods.”

     “Did they tax them?”

     “They attempted to. But the people refused to pay.”

     “Well, why didn’t they just pay Britain’s taxes and scrap theirs?”

     “It’s not an easy answer. Mainly, the British government wasn’t doing anything beneficial in favor of them, forcing them to earn and thrive on their own, but they wanted money from the people solely because of their own money problems.”

     “So, what happened? Did either side give in?”

     “Nope
. After some rebellious behavior from the colonies, the British sent hundreds of war ships to force the colonies’ hands.”



Manhattan, September 17, 1776

     The colonies, lead by men such as George Washington, John Adams, and Thomas Jefferson made up their mind once and for all that they were going to fully seek their independence—even if it meant war. The group of men had formed their own little
society, and had been planning for a while. On July 4
th
, 1776 they signed a Declaration of Independence and prepared for the worst.

     After protecting the rebellious residents of Boston by driving the British out of that area, Washington took to protecting one of their most potential filled areas on the island of Manhattan with his rag-tag group of rebels. While
continued to heighten, Washington and his men prepared the land for what may occur from the most powerful army on the face of the planet.