Wisdom Spring (37 page)

I found out that it was the sons and daughters who came up with the idea of starting a training school at Wisdom Spring. Paying off politicians was fine, but what if they could create their own? They were young. They had the luxury of buying politicians now and growing their own for later. Not all of the children at Wisdom Spring were brought in at an age as young as Ben. Most of the older kids’ files were in the folders we had left in the cave. All were from orphanages or youth camps, and were chosen for Wisdom Spring for their intelligence, but more importantly, for their moral character, or lack thereof. By starting out with children of all ages, they could start fitting some of them into their roles within just a few years. The younger ones gave them fodder for the future.

Even many children who didn’t show any moral defects early were kept. A childhood in Wisdom Spring was enough to turn even the best child into someone they could mold. Corbin Mays was brought in early on to act as an instructor and mentor for the older students. He saw the potential in Ben almost immediately and mentored him for his last couple of years there.

Mays had been offered a deal by federal prosecutors where they would take the death penalty off the table if he named his bosses. He refused. But when he realized they had the means to find them by digging into his past, he quickly tried to accept the offer. By then it was too late. When his case eventually went to trial, who knows how far down the line, I was confident they would convict him. If so, he would be sentenced to death. The Indian government was also hot to try him as well, and negotiations were in place to let them have their piece of him.

The bodies in the cave were enough to sicken most people. It was bad enough when it was revealed that the adults in the cave were simply part of the assassins’ training—learning to kill quickly and cleanly. But when it came out that the children—the school rejects—also died as a part of the assassins’ schooling, the nation was outraged. The assassins-in-training were learning the most effective places to inject poison into their victims, and the children became the test subjects. And when it was learned that Hillstrom himself had killed some of the adults, as well as the ten people in Homer, extra guards and police had to be put on to stop people from storming the hospital in search of the previously much-loved politician.

The most amazing thing to come out was how deeply entrenched in American history this plan was. Although the organization was a fairly recent invention—recent in historical terms—the seeds of the plan went back to the mid-1800s with the heads of some of the most powerful monopolies in the country. Their ambition even then was one of total control, and they worked in much the same way as the Wisdom Spring crowd to buy politicians. They just weren’t able to own enough of them. However, their dream lived on in secret writings to their children, and it was those children, and after them their children and others who had gained equal power and total trust who first formed the organization as it was now. They had developed deep ties to corporate heads and heads of state in several other countries. As soon as Hillstrom—and then Gilmore—had the presidency, the dominoes long in place would begin to fall and one by one those countries, in addition to the U.S., would be under the control of the Wisdom Spring organization.

Early on, that group—to keep its secrecy, it had never been given a formal name—had decided to stick with the tried and true forms of record-keeping and steered clear of computers. As a result, there was nothing to hack, nothing to accidentally appear on the Internet, and no trails to follow. It was perfect in its simplicity.

As promised, I called Carl Jenkins and told him he could put his website back up, but he was way ahead of me, adding to his history of Wisdom Spring every day as he learned more about it from the news. He thanked me for the warning, and, even though he had viewed me as a crackpot, he had followed my advice—advice he was now grateful for. I steered the media his way as the local authority on the history of Wisdom Spring, pre-Exchange.

Hillstrom’s wounds were not as life-threatening as Jess’s, but took just as long to heal. He had been shot in the stomach, which caused all kinds of problems and numerous surgeries.

One day he asked to see Jess. At first she was reluctant, but then, at my suggestion, agreed to see him. They wheeled him in to her room, handcuffed to his wheelchair, with two U.S. Marshals at his side.

“Thank you for talking to me,” he said. “Jess, I’m sorry you were hurt. I truly liked you.”

“I’m not looking for an apology,” she answered, stony-faced. “My parents are dead because of you. My friends, too. Maybe you didn’t do it yourself, but you were involved.”

“I know it means nothing to you, but I never knew about your father. I had an inkling from Hutch that someone had found something about my past. And after the ferry accident he made a reference to that person being gone.”

Jess started to interrupt, but Hillstrom held up his hand to stop her.

“But that’s not why I came. You asked me something back at the quarry that I feel a need to answer. You asked me why I was disturbed by the pictures you showed me of the people in the mine, but could so easily kill the ten people in Homer. The fact is, it wasn’t easy to kill those people, especially Erin, who I was quite fond of. It should have been easy. It was the kind of thing I was trained for. I was in touch with my handlers on a regular basis, and they are the ones who told me I’d have to kill those I was closest to because I couldn’t have them identifying me later. My history had to stay a secret. The rest of the town didn’t really know me—it was only my co-workers who knew me well—so they were the only ones who had to go. I didn’t think it would bother me, that I would be ready to kill them when the time came. But I wasn’t. I hesitated with each one. That will mean nothing to you, but it means everything to me. Hesitation was something that wasn’t an option. Someday I’ll write about my life in Wisdom Spring and maybe you’ll understand.”

He was already thinking book contract, I observed. Forever the narcissist.

“I won’t read it,” answered Jess.

A momentary silence. “Early on in Homer I started talking to Clyde. He was more of a sounding board for me. I couldn’t have any deep conversations with him, but in his own way he was deep. He was just a simple, kind man. In many ways he was the friend I had always wanted as a kid. It’s why when the word came down, I couldn’t kill Clyde. And now, to know that he was a key in the downfall of this operation kind of makes me almost smile. Old simple Clyde. Clyde, ‘the dummy’. Boy, if that isn’t karma.…”

I had my own question I needed an answer to. “When you told Clyde where you had come from, you referred to it as a ghost town. Why, when in fact, there were a hundred or more people there?” I asked.

“It was a ghost town to
me
. It had been throughout my whole childhood. It could have had a thousand people and it wouldn’t have changed anything. Besides,” he added, “by the time I left, I knew they were planning to shut it down in a few years. It was only a matter of time before it would become a real ghost town.”

“Why Homer,” I asked. “Why were you there?”

“I had been trained well at Wisdom Spring, but before I could proceed with the ultimate goal of getting into politics, I needed some real-life experience working and interacting with others. The few years in Homer taught me much of what I needed.”

He moved uncomfortably in his wheelchair, still in a fair amount of pain, and focused his attention back on Jess. “The fact is, there’s no doubt about the kind of person I am. I don’t have any illusions there. But you were right. I was being used from the time I was very young. As I got older, I was able to put the killings behind me, knowing that I would never have to personally bloody my hands again. I was being controlled, there’s no doubt about that. But I also deceived myself into thinking that my past was all necessary. I knew that Corbin and his gang didn’t have the best interests of the country in mind, and yet, I really thought I was doing something good in Congress. I really thought that I could be a good president.”

There was a surprising sincerity to his words, but I also knew he would use those same words at trial to win over the jury. Sincerity only went so far with him.

Getting no response from Jess, he continued. “The reason those pictures from the mine bothered me so much was because they made it all clear. To them, we were all disposable. For a brief minute it brought me back to my childhood and how sad I was. These kids, they were my friends, my only friends until I met Clyde. They meant something to me and they were tossed away like trash. Jess, I’m not a good person, but I’m also not a monster. I performed one monstrous act of violence thirty years ago, but I’m not … I’m not …” Tears had welled up in his eyes. He looked down, then back at Jess. “I’d like to see Clyde. Is there anything you can do to help arrange it?”

I could tell what Jess was thinking. It was the same as I was thinking. Despite his narcissism and ability to sway people, here was a man who never had any kind of control in his life. He never had a chance. We all have the freedom to do the right thing, but for Hillstrom it was made almost impossible by this organization. Maybe for the first time in his life, he was telling the truth. And for only the second time maybe since his early childhood was he feeling a genuine emotion.

“I think I could arrange that,” answered Jess. Her hatred of the man was still there, but now I could tell she also felt a little sorry for him. “Providing Jon and I are there as well.”

At the five week mark, Jess and Hillstrom were released within days of each other. Jess, because of her celebrity status, was able to get Hillstrom in to see Clyde. She went in first, with me pushing her in the wheelchair. Clyde was watching TV, as usual.

“Hi Clyde.”

Clyde’s eyes lit up. “It’s Clyde’s friend Jess. Yay. Why are you in a wheelchair, Jess?”

“I had an accident, Clyde. That’s why I haven’t visited you for a while.”

“That’s okay. Clyde knew you would come back.”

“Clyde, I have a surprise for you.”

“Ice cream?”

“No, something else.” She waved toward the door.

A nurse pushed Hillstrom in. I could see the wary U.S. Marshals standing at the door, watching.

“It’s Clyde’s friend Ben Fremont! You came back. Jess said she’d find you.”

“She did, Clyde. How did you know it was me after all these years?”

“Clyde would remember Ben. They were friends.” He looked concerned. “Did you have an accident too?”

“I did. Jess and I had the same accident. How are you, Clyde?”

“Clyde is good now that his two friends are here. Where were you, Ben?” He spied the handcuffs. “Did you do something wrong?”

“I did, Clyde. I did many things wrong. I’m going away to jail and I’m afraid this is the only time I will be able to see you.”

“Why, Ben Fremont? Why did you do things wrong?”

“It’s a long story. But here is the important thing, Clyde. You saved me.”

“Clyde couldn’t have saved you, Ben. Clyde was right here.”

Hillstrom smiled. “I know you were right here, Clyde, but you saved me anyway. Your friendship saved me. Even though I did some bad things, what is going to save me are my memories of my friendship with you. That was the best thing that ever happened to me. I know some people have called you names over the years, but you remember something: You are kind and a good friend. I will always remember that. Thank you, Clyde.”

He held out his hand and they shook. Clyde had tears in his eyes. When I looked back at Hillstrom, he actually had tears running down his cheeks.

*****

It was a month later. Jess was finally out of her wheelchair. She wasn’t pain-free, but was well on the mend. We were still staying with Scott, who was fussing over Jess like a mother hen. Mill had gone home, as had Joe. Mill had a lot of work to do to rebuild his business, and Joe had promised Mill he would be the head of his security. Mill was also writing another book about his experiences as a lawyer, with a large part dedicated to this case. Numerous publishers had offered Jess an obscene amount of money for the rights to her story. At first she declined, but after we talked about it, decided it would be a good way to put closure on the whole event, not to mention provide us with enough to never have to worry about money again. But she agreed only if I would write it with her.

“You know,” said Scott over dinner one night. “I renew my offer. How about you guys build a house on my twenty-five acres. I know the quarry might bring some bad memories, but hell, it’s twenty-five acres. You don’t have to go anywhere near it.”

“Actually, I don’t have a problem with the quarry,” said Jess. “We talked about living up here once, but decided we needed more civilization.” She looked at me. “I’m not so sure that’s still true. How about you?”

“Not at all. I know it’s not fun here in the winter, but we’ll have enough money to go anywhere we want in the cold weather. We could buy property in Hawaii or the Caribbean.”

I looked at Jess, the top of her scar peeking through above her cleavage. She said the scar represented healing for both of us. Healing and the beginning of a new life.

The End

About the Author

Andrew Cunningham is the author of the popular post-apocalyptic novel,
Eden Rising
. Born in England, but raised all over the United States, Andrew is a long-time resident of Cape Cod. A 4
^th
-Degree Master Black Belt in Tang Soo Do, Andrew has worked a variety of careers over the years, including interpreter for the deaf, longtime independent bookseller, and currently a freelance writer and copy editor. He is married, with two grown sons in the military.
Wisdom Spring
is his second novel. He is currently working on another mystery/thriller. Upcoming projects include a sequel to
Eden Rising
and a disaster novel set on Cape Cod.  He can be contacted at
[email protected]
. Also, please visit his website,
www.arcnovels.com
.