“Here’s our situation as I see it: the police have a bead on Martin and me, though they don’t have any current descriptions. Jerry and Peter, they don’t seem to know anything about you—though I suspect that’ll change soon if it hasn’t already.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” stammered Jerry.
“Not anything you got to worry about. Peter, on the other hand, they may be looking for you.”
I shrank back. “Why do you say that?” I was ready to bolt for the door if I needed to.
He just looked at me and smiled.
Forty-Three
“Well, for one thing, you’re Martin’s brother. Two, you helped him write that manifesto—and you can just about guarantee they’ve read it. Three, you’ve got that damn blog y’all refused to take down, and they’re probably all over that, too. By the way, I wouldn’t recommend making anymore postings for a while.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause they’ll track your IP address,” drawled Martin. “That’s why.”
I frowned. Where had Martin learned anything about IP addresses? His computer literacy was even worse than his regular literacy, or so I’d thought. Did he really knew what he was talking about, or was he just parroting what someone else had told him?
“You oughtta get yourself one of them address scramblers. That’ll make them work for it, at least,” he added.
“Address scramblers?”
“Yeah, like Torpark? Scrambles your IP address so every time you log in somewhere, it looks like a different computer?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about Torpark, I just—”
“You mind if I finish here?” Grant interrupted.
“Go ahead. Just surprised you’d know about Torpark.”
“Well, I ain’t half the dummy you think I am.”
“That still ain’t saying much.”
“Gentlemen? Shut the hell up. Please?”
We quieted down so he could continue.
“All right, we three, at least, are persona non grata, as far as our names go. I think you and I will be all right going into work, ‘cause they don’t have our faces yet. Jerry, you and Martin are gonna have to lay low until the inauguration. We’ll find a way to get you to the gun.”
“Where is the gun?” I asked.
“Not your concern, Cherry. Ours is still in the Tower. Theirs is in a separate location. You don’t need to know where it is.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause if they do catch us before we take the shot, you won’t be able to tell them where it is.’
“What? What are you saying? I wouldn’t tell them where it is.”
“Oh yes you would. Time they get done with you, you’ll tell them anything they want to know. You’re not trained to withstand interrogation.”
“What about Jerry? He’s not trained either. He knows where our gun is. What happens if he gets caught?”
“Hey, I’m tougher than you think I am.”
Before I could retort, Grant said, “That’s a risk we’re gonna have to take. We didn’t have time to move both guns. Besides, ain’t nothing in your blog mentions Jerry, right?” I nodded. “Then there ain’t no reason to think they know anything about him, or even that he’s here. I think that’s an acceptable risk. Which brings me to my real question.”
“No,” said Martin.
Grant stared at him. “You gonna let me ask it?”
“No.” He got up from the table and paced toward the bathroom. “I ain’t gonna let you ask it, either.”
“Ask what?”
Grant looked from Martin to me then back to Martin. Finally, Martin said, “All right. You can ask it, but the answer’s no.”
“Right,” he said. “That’s your answer. But I think everyone else needs to weigh in on it.”
“What the hell for?”
“Weigh in on what?” I said.
“Because not everyone is as hell-bent as you are. Besides, it’s a logistical question, Martin. It’s why you brought me in.”
He stormed toward us. “And if we don’t do it now, we ain’t never gonna get another chance to.”
“That’s not necessarily true.”
“Like hell it ain’t! They’re already on to us. You think they’re gonna sit around and wait for us to try again? Every day we delay takes us further and further from our objective. We ain’t gonna get another shot at this. Might as well just stick a fork in this country, ‘cause it’s done, otherwise.”
I stared at my brother, his feral eyes flashing anger, his face red and sweaty. I tore my eyes away and turned to Grant. “You’re talking about pulling the plug?”
“Regrouping and trying again another time. If the operation’s blown, there ain’t no sense in pressing forward with it. You’re just courting disaster.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Seriously?”
It was more than I’d hoped for. I honestly thought I’d have to make this argument. I didn’t expect Grant to do it for me.
“The operation isn’t blown,” said Martin, retaking his seat. “Just ‘cause they know we’re out here doesn’t mean they can do anything about it. They know who we are, and they probably know who our target is, but there ain’t no way they got figured out what our plan is. I mean, what are they gonna do? Call off the inauguration? It’s about all they can do. They leave him outside, he’s exposed. They take him inside, might be exactly what our plan is. They don’t know. They got to ask themselves these questions, and you know it’s driving them nuts. Their only hope in preventing us is in catching us before we act—or in discouraging us from acting.” He took a swallow of coffee and set his cup down, tracing the pink and orange logo with his finger. “And that just gives them more time to find us.”
Jerry leaned back in his seat and rubbed his face. “Hell, we’ve come this far. It’s not like any of us can just go home, you know? Especially you two. You all ain’t even got a home.”
“Thanks for pointing that out again, Jer,” I said.
“I’m just saying we burned the ships, right? All in. Let’s play the hand we’re dealt, and pray we beat the house.”
“The odds always favor the house.”
“We knew that going in,” said Martin.
“I say we do it,” said Jerry.
“All right,” said Grant. “Guess that makes three of us. Peter?”
All eyes at the table turned to me. When I finally spoke, my tongue felt thick, my voice sounded small. “I’ve never wanted to do this. I certainly don’t want to go to jail. I don’t know what else to say, guys. I’m out.”
Forty-Four
“What do you mean, ‘Out’?” said Martin.
“What do you think it means?”
Martin smiled broadly. “Grant, Jerry, you two think I could have a moment with my brother?”
Wordlessly, they rose and left the motel room, leaving me alone with him. Martin leaned back in his seat, his hands folded on his chest. “Why, in the name of God, are you pulling out now?”
“They’re on to us.”
“We’ve been over this.”
“So? I don’t want to go to jail.”
“You’re going to jail anyway. Ain’t nothing you can do about that now. You knew this the first time you told me you were in. You’re party to a conspiracy to assassinate the President. That’s high treason. That’s what men like us get hanged for. Our only hope is in going through with it, that we can spark the war that overthrows this corrupt monstrosity we call a government, and come out as heroes on the other side.”
“You really think that’s going to happen?”
“Frankly, I don’t care. I swore an oath to protect my country, and I’m gonna do my damndest to keep that oath. I know who my enemy is, and I know what he is.”
I said nothing. He regarded me coolly.
“Why did you say yes?”
“What choice did I have?”
“I don’t recall holding a gun to your head.”
“No.” I sa
t up. “You didn’t hold a gun to my head. You held a gun to your own.”
He furrowed his brow, like he hadn’t considered this before. I felt emboldened. “What was I supposed to do, Marty? Let you go off and get killed in some stupid plan? You’re all I got left. Do you know what it was like when I heard you got hurt? I found out about it. Heard you were in surgery, and that the rest of the guys in your Humvee had been killed.” I could feel my face flush, but I didn’t care.
“I spent hours on the phone trying to get a hold of somebody who could tell me whether or not you were still alive. And for a while there, I actually thought you were dead. That was the worst feeling in the world, you know? That was even worse than when Dad died, ‘cause then I still had you. But when I thought you were gone...?” I shook my head. “What am I saying? You were gone. You’re still gone. You went to war, and you never came back.”
He smiled at me then, his eyes moist, but my heart nearly stopped when he said, “You got to let me go, Peter.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause I have to do this. I have to.”
“Why?!”
“Because I’m not supposed to be alive. That’s why.” He spat the words at me, but then moderated his tone. “I was in command of that Humvee. Those were my men. I directed us down that road. And when that bomb blew up, it blew right underneath our feet. Felt like the earth had opened up and swallowed us whole. I got shrapnel in my shoulder. Do you know what that is?”
“Shards of metal.”
“No. It ain’t metal that tore into me. It’s bone. Bits and pieces of Private Urban’s head driven into my shoulder by the force of that explosion.”
I felt my eyes widen, my heart stop as he let the weight of his wound bear into me. What had this done to my brother? How do you live, knowing you’ve got somebody’s skull fragments embedded in your flesh?
“I shouldn’t have made it,” he muttered, “unless it was for a reason. Those men and women gave their lives to save my own.” He shook his head, staring out the window. “That’s not supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to do that. The leader gives his life to protect his followers, not the other way around.” He looked back at me. “Do you see? I owe them my life. I owe my country my life. I’ll be damned if I’ll let that debt go unpaid.”
His tone made me suspect he believed that literally. I shook my head. I couldn’t begin to imagine what he went through with all that, but neither could I let it matter. “I already lost you once. I can’t do it again. I can’t let you do this.”
“You can’t stop me. No matter how hard you try.”
“Marty—”
“Peter, I know about the phone call.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“I know you called 9-1-1. I know you turned us in.”
I felt like the walls of the motel room were going to fall in on me and bury me alive. I almost wished they did.
“How?”
“‘Cause I ain’t stupid. I keep telling you that, but you don’t believe me. You’ve been trying to bring this to a stop ever since you signed up. Frankly, I wondered what took you so long.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He shrugged. “Figured you’d bring it up when you were ready. I guess I just blew that, though, didn’t I?” He chuckled, and then smiled sadly. “You can’t save me, Peter. I don’t want you to. Thing is, I know I survived that IED for a reason, and up until a few months ago, I thought I knew what that reason was. But then I saw you shoot. I saw your grace with that gun. You handled it like you were one. Most guys pick up a gun, they use it like a tool. With you? It looked like it belonged in your hands, like it was a part of who you were. You weren’t just hitting those targets, Peter. You were bulls-eyeing every single one of them. Do you know how hard that is? To shoot so effortlessly? That’s when I really knew what my purpose was.”
I remembered the night after I put three shots through the mannequin. “That’s what you were arguing about with Grant.”
He nodded. “Yep. He didn’t think you were ready for it. I had to remind him this was my operation. Like I said, though, he tends to forget. You see, Peter, you were made to do this. You have a God-given talent. My job is to show you the way, and clear the decks so you can fulfill your destiny, and save this country. I will gladly give my life to see that happen.”
“I don’t want the country. I want my brother.”
“I know. I love you, too. That’s why I’m going to do what’s best for you. It’s your destiny.”
“Screw destiny!”
He laughed. “You have to fulfill your destiny. If you run from it, it’ll overtake you just that much quicker.”
“No.”
He scratched his ear. “Suit yourself. But the inauguration is tomorrow, and I’m going to be in position with Jerry.”
Fuming, I thrust away from the table, stalking toward the bathroom. I stopped when I remembered I had no place to go. “I can’t let you do this.”
He regarded me silently, the wildness gone from his eyes, replaced by an odd sadness. “Ain’t nothing you can do about it.”
I swallowed hard. When I spoke, my voice was hoarse. “Yeah, there is.”
Forty-Five
He raised his eyebrows. “You sure you want to do that?”
“What choice do I have?”
He grinned and stood, his eyes still sad. “You know the answer to that. You come with us. You help us do this. That’s your choice, Peter. That’s the one you’re supposed to make.”
“It’s not a choice I can make. I’m not like you, Martin. I can’t just kill a man in cold blood. Even if he’s evil.”
He pursed his lips. “All right.”
“And I can’t let you do it, either. I have to call them.”
“You’re choosing to betray me?”
“No! I’m not betraying you. My God, I’m trying to help you.”
“Don’t want that kind of help.”
“I can’t just let you betray the country. Martin, they’ll kill you.”
“Yeah.”
“I’d rather you were in jail than dead. And I know it’s not noble to say that. I know it’s cowardly and unpatriotic. But it’s honest.”
He winked at me. “That might be the most honest you been with me in a long time. Good-bye, Peter.”
With that, my brother turned around and walked out the door. “Marty!” I rushed toward it, grasping the handle, intending to drag him back inside if need be. Instead of Martin, Grant stood there, a dark look on his face. Wordlessly, he grabbed my shoulder and thrust into my gut. Something sizzled.
I felt a thrilling burn, my muscles immediately tense. I opened my mouth to yell, but all that came out was a sad gurgle. I collapsed to the ground, my body seizing uncontrollably.
The last thing I saw, Grant knelt over me, injecting something into my arm. Then everything faded into a merciful blackness.
***
I came to several hours later. Or was it days? The light was still on in the motel room, but the shades were drawn and the door locked. Groaning, I rolled onto my side, trying to climb to my feet. My muscles ached with every movement, like I’d been hit by a truck. A sharper pain stabbed my shoulder. I remembered the needle, wondering what he’d injected into me. On my abdomen, I felt a stinging burn. I pushed into a sitting position and checked my stomach. Two small marks seared the flesh. He must’ve used a stun gun on me.
Climbing onto the bed, I lay there for a while longer until the room stopped spinning. After a few minutes, I stopped feeling sick. I sat up, unsure whether I’d need to lie down again. I still felt a little dizzy, and very thirsty, but well enough to move.
I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face, taking large gulps from the faucet. I noticed then the bags were gone, including my own. I wondered why they took it.
Coming back into the room, I picked up the phone. They’d disconnected it, completely removing the cord. The clock was off as well, its plug dangling
uselessly beside the outlet. Turning to the television, I found they’d cut the power cord at the back of the set, leaving the tiniest nub of wires hanging off the end.
I had no watch, clock, phone, T.V., or internet. I was utterly cut off from everything. They’d taken my wallet, clothes, and computer, and hadn’t even left me the time of day.
I left the motel room, stepping outside into cool, bright daylight. The sun hung low in the east in a clear blue sky. I couldn’t have been out that long; it was still morning—plenty of time to stop them.
I hurried along the sidewalk to the manager’s office and tugged on the glass door. Locked. I frowned. What kind of motel locked up the manager’s office? A sign on the door said CLOSED.
An analogue clock hung on the office wall, but it read three twenty. That couldn’t be right, not with the sun where it was. Moving around the building, I found another window and peered inside. I could see the manager slumped backward in his desk chair, out of view of the front door. The phone on the desk lay smashed to pieces.
I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. The manager wasn’t moving. Was he dead? Or had they merely incapacitated him the way they’d disabled me? Both the clock and the phone were out of commission, probably along with every other communication device inside. They’d been thorough.
Leaving the motel behind, I started walking, heading back into D.C. along Route 5. Traffic was light, but I stuck out my thumb for every passing car, hoping I didn’t look too rough to pick up. It took about forty minutes of hoofing it before the driver of a Toyota Tundra took pity on me and pulled over to the side. His name was Chris, I learned later, and he drove around doing sales calls for a medical supply company.
“Where you headed?” he said as I ran up to the side.
“D.C.”
“Going to the inauguration?”
“Hope so.”
“Well, you ain’t got much time. Starts in three hours.” He opened the door for me. I climbed in.
“Three hours?” I said as he pulled onto the road.
“Yep. Don’t care much for political stuff myself, but this one will be especially historic.”
I winced at the irony. “Think you can take me there?”
“I can get you close. Traffic will be bad once we get to the city. Most of the inner streets are blocked off.”