Dark Light Present Today
Book Two: Forever Tomorrow
Volume One: The Book of Tomorrows
Alexander Ulysses Thor
Copyright 2014 Alexander Ulysses Thor
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The characters, incidents, and places either are
a product of The Author’s imagination
or used fictitiously, any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
CHAPTER ONE
THINKER TAILORED FRIENDLY SPY
1
“They used to say there are over eight million ways to die in the naked city. Many were brutal, violent, bloody deaths that often deeply scarred the victims loved ones and society itself, spreading a moral decay so pervasively devastating, it eventually left only chaos and disorder behind. Murderously heinous acts go back as far as the beginning of mankind and have remained a major part of our culture ever since. No matter how advanced the civilization or intellectually superior we become, we always seem to revert back to our savage natures when the means is justified by the end.”
“Excuse me. Did you say something, SI Chandra?”
After imparting his bleak appraisal of our darker natures, Special Investigator Raymond Chandra gave his new partner a quick glance before turning his attention back to the blood-spattered crime scene in front of him.
“Oh, just thinking out loud about how the past always seems to catch up with us. Something people start doing once they get to be my age.”
Not real popular with many of his colleagues on account of his hard-edged, dogged personality, this would be his first case working with the young female detective standing at his side. Possessing the unwavering determination of a sly fox on the hunt after catching scent of a nearby chicken coup, the forty-nine year old investigator reserved judgment on his tall, slender, freckle-faced partner, unable to get a clear fix on the shorthaired-brunette. Normally able to read people just like the hardnosed, wily detectives from those old mystery novels he dearly coveted—even molding himself in the image of the old Gumshoe, wearing a long, ruffled, tan overcoat to go along with his propensity to rely on gut instincts to solve crimes—Chandra found the twenty-four year old to be a well-trained officer with a keen eye for detail.
Detective Samantha Archer looked like most modern day law enforcement officers and that might have been what bothered him about her. She wore the standard dark suit and tie, along with the same sensible shoes female detectives have worn since being able to work in a position other than as a dispatcher or a file clerk. Detective Archer also depended on those high-tech gadgets most investigators used to do their jobs for them. Trace element locators, fingerprint scanners, CPU-Notepads, and PDA devices were common tools regularly used by officers in the field, as well as everyday citizens—minus the scanners and locators. SI Chandra took notes the old fashion way, using a pen and pad. He would rather rely on his own acute five senses to find clues, including an uncanny sixth sense enabling him to read any situation and most people. He didn’t care much for cell phones, which he could easily do without, while everyone else would be lost without their PDA to tell them where to go and how to get there.
A short, thin man, he had a receding hairline of light brown hair, a pencil thin mustache, and a visual condition laser surgery couldn’t fix, forcing him to be one of the few people left who wore glasses. He was not bitter about never being matched to anyone by the SBP, figuring he would still be single even back in the 21st century, probably with very few sexual experiences, if any—a real perennial bachelor. A man dedicated to his work, he used his skills as a highly trained investigator to get to the bottom of any mystery, even applying his own deductive reasoning to validate the pragmatically rationalized belief he was born to serve a higher purpose, something more important than procreation.
Waiting for that day over the long, monotonous, uneventful years started to wear thin on SI Chandra’s patience. Eight months away from his mandatory retirement age for working cases in the field, he had the option to leave with full benefits, or if he wanted, he could choose to become a desk jockey, which in his mind amounted to no choice at all. The logic behind taking someone out of the field at age fifty baffled him, especially when their years of experience might prove to be the most valuable tool in solving an important case by finding a missing clue or a piece of overlooked evidence. He could not understand why they wouldn’t let him continue doing what he had been expertly doing for the past thirty years. They weren’t even willing to take into consideration he had not lost a step in all that time, maybe gotten a little tired from the mundane boredom, but remained sharp as ever. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was a violent crime being committed every twenty-three seconds anymore.
The crime rate in New America was almost non-existent, so small they did not bother calculating it. Mostly nonviolent, minor offences of civil disobedience, there were a small number of cases derived from emotionally unstable individuals with mental disorders going off their meds. The offender was held accountable for their actions and then be provided with the proper medical treatment for their illness, instead of serving harsh prison sentences and being subjected to the musings of violent inmates while at the mercy of coldhearted guards. Although rare, an occasional rage killing did spontaneously occur. Usually the kind of thing stemming from two people getting in an argument, then a fight that left somebody dead. But nothing to make a dedicated officer so despondent he would end up eating a bullet while cleaning his gun. Or a legal system more concerned with the rights of the perpetrator over getting justice for the victims. Law officers no longer found themselves driven to the social abuses associated with the drugs and alcohol they once used to drown out the dark horrors of their profession. Sometimes silently suffering from a post-traumatic stress disorder similar to war veterans, which had almost as much of a damaging effect on their families as it did on them.
There were no more premeditated murders, ransom kidnappings, home invasions, organized crime families, sexual deviants, assault and battery muggings, or grand theft larcenies. No more drug or alcohol related deaths and accidents, white collar scams artists on the grift, political corruption, bribery charges, or any psychotic sociopaths who showed no remorse for their bloody deeds as they savored their memories writing bestselling jailhouse memoirs. There also had not been any horrific crime scenes depicting graphically bloody deaths that would forever scar the mind with images that once seen could never been unseen—until now.
In the thirty years he spent on the job, SI Chandra had never seen anything quite like the crime scene he got the call to investigate on that early Sunday morning.
In viewing the gruesome sight of Larry Barbra’s eviscerated corpse, all sprawled out in a bloody ma
ss of ripped opened flesh torn apart by the bomb blast, the disturbing image would forever burn in the back of Chandra’s mind. Standing two hundred feet from the entrance/exit gate of Caesar’s Palace’s parking lot, the diminutive Special Investigator’s sixth sense started working on overdrive.
When SI Chandra first arrived on scene, the ghastly sight already had had an effect on the medical examiner, causing him to run off choking back his breakfast. Surprisingly enough, it did not appear to bother his new female partner, knowing how most of his old male partners would have reacted in a similar manner to the medical examiner. He thought the kid might turn out to be a real spitfire. She already made a better first impression on him than most of his previous partners, but still, much like the crime scene, something about her did not feel right either.
The second he hung up the phone after getting the call telling him where to go and what he would find when he got there, he thought this might be it. The big one he had been waiting for. After waiting such a long time for his moment to arrive, Chandra started to wonder if it ever would, thereby invalidating his whole resolute philosophy about being meant for something bigger. He was a morally righteous man, keenly moved to give his life meaning in the fight for justice—just like the valiant characters in those old stories where the bad guys never wins and good always triumphed over evil.
SI Chandra had never been involved in a case worth the true test of his talents. So on the day he caught scent of something big, he would follow the clues to wherever they led. He just did not want some green-behind-the-ears rookie coming along and contaminating evidence from being inexperienced in fieldwork.
“Why would anyone want to do something like this to a harmless old man? What could the reason be?” Det. Archer asked her new partner, expressing sympathy for the victim, while trying to get a better fix on the man she hardly knew.
“Well, I do not know, Detective Archer. You see, I never met the man, but with that said, I seriously doubt he has any connection to this other than an unlucky case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Chandra thought it was a good idea to check out any new partner you were working with to see if you could depend on them to have your back as you had theirs. One of the first things he looked at was personal information like hobbies, believing you could tell more about a person by what gave them pleasure than from studying educational records, test scores, supervisors’ evaluation reports, and training skills.
“The first thing you need to remember when working a crime scene is to keep asking questions until you get the right answers.” SI Chandra offered an unsolicited bit of tradecraft to his young colleague, leading to her own query.
“But how do you know if you are asking the right questions?”
“That is the easy part. They are always the same questions—who, what, where, when, how, and why. It is the standard six W rule of journalism used to reveal how any story begins and ends. Because you see, that is what we are here to do, tell his story, since he no longer can. If you keep asking those six questions, you will find the indisputable proof needed to solve any mystery. You start with the three most obvious; who, where, and when, and then work your way through what, how, and why.”
Stopping his detective lesson a moment and looking around at their surroundings in a casually observant manner, SI Chandra held up his arms and pointed out the evidently observable.
“For example, we know who our victim is, where he was killed, and the approximate time of death telling us when it happened. But in order to get to the bottom of any mystery, you need to answer the other three crucial questions. What happened? How did it happen? And most importantly, why did it happen? The truth always lies within the whys.”
“I can take a pretty good guess at the most likely reason why.” Det. Archer offered her opinion. “The real motivating force behind the AFW or the FWF, or whatever they want to call themselves these days, comes from their lustful desires for sexually deviant behavior. They would rather give in to their primal natures, wasting their lives embracing an archaic need for animalistic self-gratification, instead of taking advantage of the limitless opportunities available to expand their horizons seeking out knowledge of the world to help with the continued evolutionary growth of our species.”
From SI Chandra’s non-reaction to her theory, Det. Archer could tell he did not put much stock in her opinion. She then opened the door to make room for his response to a puzzling query of her own.
“I would like to know how they did it. What I mean is. Where did they get the materials to build a bomb? It is not like they could get it allocated to them.”
“It is nothing any third rate chemistry student couldn’t make out of everyday house and gardening products,” SI Chandra explained the ease of making bombs without any explosive materials designed for that specific purpose, then admitted. “You are absolutely right about one thing, Det. Archer. It would not make any sense to kill a harmless old man. If the bomb was meant for him, that is. But what if the bomber had someone else in mind? Someone of prominence I believe is who the AFW claimed would be their next target.”
“Oh my, you don’t mean?”
“Guardian Administrator Cain’s motorcade passed right by here last night on the way out from the big wedding celebration for our local hero.”
SI Chandra and Det. Archer walked over to Larry Barbra’s electric haul cart, also caught up in the blast. Chandra crouched down in front of the mangled cart so he could visually examine the wreckage.
“The other three important things you need to know are the beginning, middle, and end to any story. We usually come in at the end of someone’s story, and then we work our way back to the beginning, to the place where it all started. And while this may be the end of his story—whether intended or not, which makes it harder to find out why when things do not go according to plan—it now becomes the beginning of our story.”
“I hope we can finish his story before somebody starts a new one,” Det. Archer added some potential conflict for upcoming chapters.
The medical examiner returned with two assistants to remove the remains. The M.E. stayed off to the side of the coroner’s van with a handkerchief held up to his nose, his shirt and tie stained from a failed attempt to prevent regurgitating his breakfast.
As the coroner’s assistants prepared to remove the deceased, their morbidly awestruck reactions originated more from a fascinated professional curiosity, rather than disgust. Wheeling a gurney over to the corpse, Jay, who was first on scene with the M.E., spoke softly to David, the second assistant they went to go get because the medical examiner refused to touch the body and was presently rethinking his career options.
“This is going to blow your mind when you see it. It is terrible, I know. But the only other place you will see something like this is in those rare, old newsreels of gangland killings and battlefield footage they showed us in med school. Even the once in a blue moon industrial accident we get called to could never compare to the damage done here.”
“The loss of life is a sad and horrible thing. Just a shame it is the only way to study the effects something like this has on the human body.” David concurred with his co-worker, remaining respectful of the dead. But upon seeing what remained of Larry Barbra, he blurted out in pronounced, stunned amazement the first thing that came to his mind. “Hideously wicked, man, it totally gutted him. Poor, guy.”
SI Chandra and Det. Archer made their way back over to the body as the two assistants were lowering the gurney and spreading out a body bag.
“Since Charlie doesn’t seem to have the stomach for it, how about one of you guys giving me your preliminary findings.” SI Chandra said before realizing the unintended pun his comment had in relation to the medical examiner’s weak constitution and the victim’s physical condition.
Feeling like he just got a promotion, Jay gladly took the lead in rendering his medical report. “As you can see, the cause of death was from a direct blast to the abdominal
cavity as most of the center mass has been completely blown away, leaving only some exposed rib bones in the upper torso along with some remnants of the lungs and intestines in the lower torso. The only thing keeping the upper connected to the lower is the spinal cord, also severely damaged in the blast. Death was instantaneous.”
“Very good, thanks guys. You can remove the body now.” SI Chandra informed them before heading back over to the point of origin with Det. Archer.
“Check out the burn pattern on the asphalt. The scorch marks are heading into the parking lot, instead of out. The explosion appears to have gone off in the wrong direction, if you wanted to take out a vehicle passing by at a certain time that is.”
“A controlled explosion might have gone off accidently from the can turning when Mr. Barbra lifted the garbage bag out. That could explain why it went in instead of out.” Det. Archer put forward her own theory for the misdirected blast.
“A reasonable assumption, but what I would like to know is why it didn’t go off when supposed to? If meant to go off in the first place. There is not much left here for the bomb squad boys to sift through, who knows, maybe we will get lucky.”
After noticing an electric cart driving over to them, the irked inspector demanded in a gruff voice. “Hey, who is driving on my crime scene?”
“Oh I forgot to mention, they sent an efficiency expert to poke around.”
“What on earth for?”
Moving across the parking lot, taking a wide berth around the blast area, Ricardo circled round in the electric cart, coming to a stop next to them.
Sizing up the man getting out of the cart, Chandra instantly found nothing he liked about the golden tan, muscle-bound, pretty boy with beady eyes and a goatee. Walking over to them with a confident, commanding stride, holding something in his hand wrapped in a handkerchief, Ricardo stepped up and presented what he knew to be a piece of valuable evidence.
“Det. Archer, I found something you need to see,” Ricardo said.
“Ricardo Danielle, this is Special Investigator Chandra, and he is in charge of the scene.” Det. Archer made the introductions, establishing the chain of command.
“SI Chandra, sir, it is my pleasure. I heard you are a very efficient man who always gets the job done.”
“Efficiency is your game. I prefer to think of myself as being thorough.”
“Well, I am happy to contribute to your investigation in any way I can. Here, I believe you will find this to be an important piece of evidence.” Ricardo said.
Gently unwrapping the handkerchief in his hand, Ricardo revealed what looked like part of a homemade trigger mechanism, partial burned around the edges.
Det. Archer reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a portable fingerprint scanner. Turning it on, she passed it over the trigger.
“I hope you can get a print off of that. The bomb-maker might have assumed there wouldn’t be anything left.” Ricardo said.
After a few seconds, the scanner determined there was a readable print, and it identified someone that caused a double-take moment in Ricardo, making him take a step back.
“Something wrong, Mr. Danielle?” SI Chandra asked, noting his startled reaction.
“I know him.”
“Interesting,” SI Chandra said, seeming to be less fascinated by the importance of the found evidence and more intrigued with his new partner’s connection to its discoverer. Formulating another theory he did not much care for, he knew you should never ignore your gut instincts. And right now his gut was telling him Det. Archer’s early arrival on the scene before him was not meant to make a good impression, rather more to rendezvous with this man for some reason he could not quite fathom as of yet. He began to doubt the veracity of the conveniently found evidence almost immediately.
“Where did you find it?” SI Chandra asked Ricardo.
“If you like, I can show you.”
“No that is okay. Why don’t you and Det. Archer take the evidence back to the lab and log it in with your detailed statement.”
“I do not know how to write any other kind,” Ricardo replied with a confident bravado, feeling he would not be able to break through the inspector’s safely guarded wall of solitude. “I left an evidence marker on the ground where I found and photographed it, about fifty yards North West of here.”
Det. Archer reached back into her bag, pulled out an evidence bag, and held it open for Ricardo. “Here, put it in this.”
After dropping the trigger into the bag, Ricardo and Det. Archer started over to the electric cart they would use to drive back to his car parked in front of Caesar’s Palace.
“Det. Archer, a moment before you go, if you please,” SI Chandra said holding up his hand with his fingers curling back in a directional calling motion.
Det. Archer gave Ricardo a forwarding nod, indicating for him to go on, and she would be along in a minute.
“Detective, I know we have not worked together before, so let me give you a good piece of advice to remember whenever you are working a case. Do not try to guess the reason why a crime has been committed, or what may have motivated it. Because then it becomes harder for you to separate opinion from fact. Once you let in an unconfirmed theory, it can influence the rest of your reasoning, and you might start shaping the investigation to fit your unsubstantiated notion. It is all right to have an opinion, but unless you have some empirical proof to back it up, best keep it to yourself.”
“Yes, sir, thank you for the advice. I will be sure to keep it in mind.”
SI Chandra watched her walk over to the electric cart, noting the slight brush of Ricardo’s hand on her shoulder as she sat down. Thinking about how modern day crime had drastically changed over the years, he knew deep in the hearts and minds of men (and women) the willingness to practice the art of deception still lived on in our natures and probably always would. He sensed somebody was trying to pull the wool over his eyes. Something he was not going to let happen, if he had anything to say about it.
2
Samantha Archer and Ricardo Danielle were childhood friends since infancy. Living next door to each other, born a few days apart, they grew up playing rough games together. Her competitive nature to come out on top always made him try harder to beat her at whatever physically vigorous athletic activity or sport they competed—handball, tennis, martial arts, even the sweet science of boxing. After grappling with the growth pains still prevalent in adolescence, Ricardo and Samantha began to realize how much they cared for each other, how much they loved each other, although more so for their highly skilled, mutually competitive natures, than a wanton physical passion.
Since neither one of them had been matched to anyone, Ricardo believed his calculated actions would permit an exception to the rules, with assistance from his recently acquired, powerful benefactor, who could arrange it so the SBP would match Samantha to him. Other factors contributed to Ricardo’s ironically resolute desire to fight for what those he fought against also wanted so badly. Lost in his tunnel vision of love, the concept of equality blinded him with a hatred for those he believed to be the root cause preventing his happiness—those sexual degenerates who went against their evolutionary nature by copulating with the same sex. He didn’t know what else to call them. They were an aberrant abnormality. Whether they were born with a defect in their genetic code or a mental psychosis brought on by some physical trauma, it did not make sense to him how anyone could be born that way and considered normal. It had to be a design flaw, a blunder in their creative blueprint or some kind of mental disability.
After all the years spent studying the phenomenon, scientists still could not find the elusive gay gene. Although, Ricardo wished they had. So that way, they could eradicate it in the womb before allowing it to fester and spread its cancerous moral decay on our new society, destroying it as it did the old one.
Ricardo could not accept the terms gay or lesbian and preferred the hateful slang words from the 1950’s and 60’s, when they had t
o live in fear of someone bashing in their faggot, queer faces. Born out of the free love era, the homosexual revolution did not fully make its way out of the closet and into the mainstream culture until the end of the 20th century, when the film, music, and television industries all catered to their choice of perverted lifestyle. Even if they claimed, it wasn’t a choice. The only saving grace Ricardo could find existing during that time came from conservative religious groups of every faith, who normally could not agree on anything, but all held the same belief that homosexuality was a grievous sin against god and would lead to their mortal souls being damned to suffer an eternity in hell. Of course, he thought they were just as crazy for their insane beliefs, too.
Before the fall, several states and many other countries recognized gay and lesbian marriages as valid unions, even allowing the perverts to adopt and raise children, indoctrinating them into their sick world. Ricardo thought if he lived back then the insanity of the time would have drove him stark raving mad. Of course, they did not benefit from having the best educational system ever conceived, where ninety-eight percent of the student body graduated with honors. Maybe if they had modern-day sex education classes, like AWAKEN—Abstinence Warranty Academy of Knowledge and Enlightenment Now, they might not have been so confused about their sexuality and seen the error of their ways.
“You know, Sammy, I am not going to be very popular with my roommates after turning in this print to the lab. But it is what it will be.” Ricardo told Samantha using his pet name for her they shared when alone. “The evidence might not be enough to convince Jacob of his friend’s guilt. We are going to have to be careful around him. Chances are he is going to do everything he can to save his friend.”
“Do you think he will cause much trouble?”
Ricardo placed his hand on top of her hand tightly gripping his knee. He loved the sensation of life he felt coursing through her body whenever they touched. “Don’t worry, I can handle him. He may have influential friends, but he is not indestructible, and the burden of celebrity makes him vulnerable to public opinion. Plus, he has no idea what kind of powerful friends I have made.”
“Neither do I.”
“You have to trust me. It is better this way. I will do anything to protect and keep you from harm.”
Holding hands was as far as they dared permit themselves to go, even though their heart’s desire for each other grew stronger every day. Stubbornly dedicated to following the rules, they remained hopeful their loyal actions would allow them to circumvent the SBP system. Fearful of breaking the law, they both knew without order the world would fall back into chaos. Ricardo and Samantha would do anything to prevent that from happening, even if it meant sacrificing what they held most dear.
3
“I need to see you.”
A paused moment, listening.
“Yes, right now.”
Another paused moment, listening.
“Yes, very imperative.”
Last paused moment.
“I will be right over.”
Hanging up the phone, Jacob looked over to Hanna as he concealed the mutual concern visible in her worried eyes behind his stoic countenance. His passionate love for her grew stronger every day, now indebted even further for her timely warning concerning his friend’s troubled future. Hanna was unsure of what to do after coming across the sensitive information. She left work early from her job at the Department of Allocations, utilizing the old-standby excuse of a migraine brought on by menstrual pains. Believing she could not ignore what she just learned, she decided Jacob would know best how to handle the delicate situation.
Sympathetic to Jacob’s friend’s impending troubles, Hanna had to remain careful in her own right. Stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place, Hanna found herself living in a similarly precarious situation as Eve after the FWF prearranged her match to Michael, which only made sense since Hanna was the original recruit the rebel group cherry-picked for Michael. She truly was a spy left out in the cold. Unable to contact her FWF handlers (who didn’t know if she could be trusted, or if she might have been turned and was now working against them), Hanna did not have the option of breaking down and confessing to Jacob. It would be too risky. She didn’t have Eve’s hold card to play, since Jacob wasn’t the Prophet Warrior’s heir, leaving her with no other choice except to suffer in silence for now. Somebody started stirring up the waters, and she could feel a big whirlpool coming to suck down anyone too close to the edge of it.
“He will see you then?” Hanna asked already knowing the answer.
“Yes, and thank you for this,” Jacob said as he reached out taking hold of her hand. “It means a great deal to me the risk you took for my friend.”
“I know you and your old roommates are very close. They are a part of your family, and I have seen what great lengths you will go to help a friend in need. Please promise me, you will tread carefully. I know you and the GAC are very close, but when the barbarians are at the gates and pounding at your door, those in the power will be shielded from blame, while the innocent often get sacrificed.”
“It is just the thing I am going there to prevent from happening. And there is no one I trust more than Alex.” Then after a moment’s pause. “Except for you, that is.”
Hanna closed her eyes in a delayed blink, opening them again with a hidden sadness she didn’t want Jacob seeing, unable to express the guilt she carried with her or the truth she had to bury in her heart.
“Look, don’t worry about a thing. Everything is going to work out fine. I am sure this is some kind of crazy mistake. It has to be a clerical error or a computer malfunction. I just want to save my friend any unnecessary embarrassment.”
Except Jacob knew they did not make mistakes like that anymore. The system was almost perfect. Yet someone could breech any system from the inside, which is what concerned him. It was the only way. Any other possibility was completely absurd. His friend would never be capable of coming up with the concept of being a terrorist bomber, no less follow through with the act. There had to be another explanation, and he was going to find it.
“You are probably right. I’m just being silly. So, tell you what I’m going to do. I am going to make your favorite dinner and have it ready for you when you get back.”
“Sounds great, I should not be too long.” Jacob said giving her a gentle kiss.
A few minutes after Jacob left, Hanna picked up the phone and hit the speed-dial memory button, also muting the video mode. She spoke in a cautious tone the instant somebody answered, barely giving the person time to say hello.
“Please listen very carefully. I have something very important to tell you.”
4
The hidden truth the lovely young woman he recently fell deeply in love with kept locked away was not the only thing Jacob did not know about her. Actually, for someone with excellent journalistic instincts, he would be surprised how all the people closest to him were not just keeping secrets about themselves, but about him, too.
Jacob still believed he owed the GAC a favor for Michael’s rescue operation, when in fact he repaid it with his acceptance of Hanna as his SBP mate. Rebel fringe groups were not the only ones capable of working the system, and the GAC had his own covert plan to put things back on track. He could tell something had gone awry in the way the government provided for the needs of its people.
The relationship between any democratic system of government and its citizens was like a marriage, a commitment by two separate entities to serve the needs of the other, patriotically working together for the good of all. Yet, there were dark forces trying to break up the idyllic, happy marriage, working under a veil of secrecy, formulating conspiratorial plots, and employing methods of deception dating back to the old world days of corruption. Their motivations had little to do with the will of the people to live free, or a love for their system of government, and had more to do with the unquenchable desire to possess and retain control of absolute and everlasting powe
r.
The position of Guardian Administrator was originally created to ensure that someone with a strong moral character of unimpeachable integrity be around to lead the nation until the people caught up with the times. Devised as a temporary safeguard and never meant to last forever, the present GAC felt the time had come to move on and let the good citizens of New America decide if things should change or stay the same. He felt confidently secure about his decision to ride off and fade away into the sunset as long as there were people out there like Jacob and his friend, Michael. The long years of change wore him down, and he now welcomed a long, peaceful rest.
Arriving at the Cherry Creek mansion entrance gate, Jacob took note of the armed guards that were not normally present. They were there to make sure no unwanted visitors came a calling. Stopping at the gate, Jacob opened his passenger side window.
Even though everyone in the country pretty much knew Jacob on sight, the guard still asked him for his ID.
“I am going to need to see your identification card, sir.”
GP Sally lowered the driver’s side window to speak with the guard stationed on his side of the Eco-SUV. Except as soon as the guard recognized who was behind the wheel, he signaled him through right away.
“Open the gate and let them in,” the guard said coming to attention in a way that made the guard on Jacob’s side also snap into place, forgetting all about the requested documents. “Guardian Protector Sally, my apologies, sir. We did not know it was you.”
“Never apologize for doing your job, son. It is a sign of weakness.” GP Sally schooled the guard with words of wisdom coined by an old western icon.
Genuinely impressed by the respect they showed him, Jacob kept thinking as they drove up to the house, ‘there just might be more to Harvey than meets the eye’.
The palatial estate mansion located in one of Denver’s finest neighborhoods served as the official residence for all Guardian Administrators. Allocated by a universal decree, the people still wanted their leaders to live in a big White House appropriate for someone of their position.
As GP Sally circled round the cul-de-sac driveway, Jacob could see his good friend and mentor waiting for him outside on the front porch, instantly telling him something had gone awry. The personal greeting was not how the GAC did things. He would normally wait in his big office-den whenever someone came by to see him on official business. A meeting place reserved for discussing highly sensitive matters and used only during times of upmost importance—hardly a frequent occurrence.
“The situation has become more complicated since we last spoke,” the GAC said, confirming Jacob’s suspicions as he stepped out of the vehicle.
“Harvey, would you please come join us inside? Your presence may prove helpful, and you need to be briefed on the situation as well,” the GAC said to GP Sally, who appeared content to wait in the Eco-SUV.
“Anything I can do, sir, just name it,” the big man said as he stepped out of the Eco-SUV.
“Jacob, I know you already do, but I am going to need you to trust me awhile,” the GAC said in a low voice before GP Sally made it over to them.
“Sure thing, you can always count on my loyalty, Alex.”
“Good man,” the GAC said as GP Sally came over and joined them. “I am going to do everything I can for your friend, but you better come inside to get a clearer picture of where things stand.”
After giving GP Sally a silent nod to go on in ahead, the GAC and Jacob lingered back a moment.
“We may have to expedite our special project.”
“But we were not planning to unveil it until next summer, spring at the earliest,” Jacob said in protest to the rushed plan.
“We are going to have to find a way to move things along more quickly. Others are out there working against us. Others who have nothing to do with rebel groups, which makes time a thing of essence.”
Confused by the cryptic remarks, Jacob decided to wait and see what lay ahead before probing further. They kept their special project strictly between the two of them, and even Jacob did not know everything the GAC had up his sleeve. Assured when the time came, he would fully understand the reasoning behind his mentor’s cagey methods. Conceived from a conversation he had after Michael’s rescue operation, Jacob told the GAC he never understood the true power of love until Eve refused to leave Michael’s bedside at the hospital. The thing he remembered most was the wide smile spreading cross his mentor’s face as he told him. “I believe your time has finally come, my boy.”
Pushing open the huge double-doors to his office-den, the GAC stepped inside with Jacob, followed by GP Sally. Not a curious man, Harvey Sally didn’t need to know the reason why of things, only to have faith in the person giving the orders, which he did. A loyal soldier, he would do his duty until the bitter end, if necessary.
The spacious office-den had the old-fashioned retro-look of a big game hunter’s trophy room, complete with a large marble fireplace, hardwood floors, and oak paneled walls decorated with numerous weapons of destruction in lieu of animal heads. The extensive, wide-ranging variety of instruments of death expanded out from the earliest forms of bows and arrows, spears and knives, to medieval period swords and shields, knight’s armor and maces, then progressed onto the first firearms, leading right up to modern, 21st century rifles, shotguns, handguns, and automatic weapons, along with an assortment of other death dealing objects. The GAC sat down behind a huge oak desk.
“I do not care what kind of evidence they have against him. I know the man. He is not capable of any kind of violent act. He’s a pacifist.” Jacob pleaded his friend’s innocence while pacing back and forth in front of the desk.
“You will have to pardon me for speaking derogatory against the confidence you have in your friend, who it turns out you do not know as well as you think you do.”
Jacob turned at the sound of the familiar voice coming from the doorway. Shooting a vexing gaze at Ricardo, he realized he should have known better. He had been too distracted. Otherwise, he would have seen right through Ricardo’s façade.
“You do not know what you are talking about.” Jacob retorted.
“Not only can I prove Warren Stacy made the bomb meant to kill the Guardian Administrator, I can also provide credible evidence of an ongoing homosexual relationship between him and Owen Sandy, who I also intend to charge as a co-conspirator and fellow member of the AFW with Warren.”
“What do you mean, you are going to charge?” Jacob asked.
“I have been appointed special prosecutor in charge of rooting out the members of these rebel groups trying to subvert our rule of law.”
“Appointed by whom?” the GAC asked as he stood up behind his desk and waited for an answer, which came swiftly.
“By me,” Atera answered from the doorway as she stepped up behind Ricardo, “and by a unanimous vote of the Committee of Experts. You may not be taking these threats against your life seriously, but I certainly am.”
Sitting back down, the GAC kept a patient refrain and bluntly stated. “I am very capable of looking out for my own safety, much more than anyone might suspect.”
A puzzled glint shone in Atera eyes, before she quickly covered it with a serious, concentrated gaze, demonstrating a hardened devotion to her cause, whatever it might be.
After nearly a minute of uncomfortable silence, Jacob’s voice cut through the air.
“I don’t buy Warren as a rebel bomb-maker. He has never complained openly or privately to me against the government or to anyone I know. He loves his work and is a good-natured person who’d never hurt a fly. It doesn’t make sense. Especially when he left by the same route and time we did and would have been at just as much risk.”
“Martyrs are always willing to die for their cause,” Ricardo said.
“Yeah, and what is that?” Jacob replied.
“Their deviant sexual lifestyle not only perverts the flesh, but the mind as well.”
“I think you are the one who
is losing his mind if you expect me to believe that insane story.”
“He had the means to make an improvised explosive device from working around the materials needed, plus he also has a vegetable garden at home giving him access to fertilizers. He had motive based on his homosexuality. And with the wedding, he had the perfect opportunity, almost too good to pass up. There you have it. Means, motive, and opportunity, what more do you want?”
“Nuts. You don’t know why the bomb went off when it did, or why it didn’t when it was supposed to.” Jacob continued protesting Ricardo’s unsubstantiated accusations. “Where is your proof?”
“I have enough hard evidence to get them both charged easier than the old prosecutor’s claim about being able to indict a ham sandwich.” Ricardo said walking over to Jacob and the GAC with a backpack-type bag in his hand.
Setting the bag down on the desk corner, he pulled out the evidence bag Det. Archer provided for the trigger mechanism.
“First, I want you to take a good look at this charred piece of a kitchen timer used to trigger the bomb and found on the scene with Warren Stacy’s fingerprint on it.”
“That doesn’t mean a thing. Anyone could have stolen that off the set of his cooking show. If that is your hard evidence, I think you better go back to law school, because it is circumstantial at best.” Jacob said.
Not deterred by Jacob’s defensive proclamations, Ricardo pulled out another sealed evidence bag with a bed sheet in it.
“This is a sheet from Warren’s bed I had the lab analyze. They found semen stains from Owen Sandy on it. Care to explain that one to me. Because apparently this has been going on right under your nose the whole time, and you are supposed to be this big, hotshot, investigative journalist. When I could tell something was going on from the day I moved in.” Ricardo said, boasting a sense of pride in being smarter than the wonder boy the public adored so much. He never did get it either. Jacob was nobody special. He just talked a good game.
Atera was well aware of Jacob’s popularity with the masses and had no interest in making him a target of this investigation.
“Let’s take a moment to get back to the matter at hand and not waste time squabbling over who should have known what when. Jacob is a very popular public figure. He has other more important things to focus on than his roommates’ home lives. His investigative reports serve the public’s interests by promoting our superior society over old, archaic ways of living. He is a great thinker, tailor-made for the job, who should not be wasting his valuable time playing the inadvertent, friendly spy. Whereas you, Ricardo, you are cut from a different cloth. You’re the sharp tip of the spear we will use to clear away this nuisance. Because now that these rebel groups are resorting to violence, it is time to wield that spear. We could tolerate them when only committing acts of civil disobedience, but now they have gone too far. We need to enact stricter constraints and harsher penalties on these treasonous offenders, and root out this cancer before spreading its infectious disease on everything it touches,” Atera stated what she thought to be their top priorities, suggesting an immediate course of action they needed to take.
“The Guardian Administrator’s wife is absolutely right. We should not let ourselves get bogged down in the deceptive ways of homosexuals to live their lives in secret. They have always been good at hiding in plain sight.” Ricardo acquiesced to Atera’s valid points. “Warrants are being issued as we speak, and I fully expect to have indictments on all charges, with court dates to follow shortly after.”
“On whose authority? Yours?” Jacob demanded in an outraged voice.
“No. Mine.”
Jacob looked over to the GAC with a completely stunned expression, which gave Atera and Ricardo a private joy to witness.
“I had no choice, my boy. The evidence is sufficient enough to warrant the charges. It must be either proven false or true beyond a reasonable doubt in order to properly settle the matter.”
“How are they going to do that? They don’t know anything about the law.”
“Let me suggest what I believe to be an equitable solution. Since Ricardo is prosecuting the case, I think it would only be fair for you to represent your friends as their defense attorney. You both have law degrees neither of you has ever used, mostly because there is not enough crime to justify your time. So are you both up for it?”
“If a trial is the only way to clear Warren and Owen of these false and outrageous allegations, I am more than willing and definitely able.” Jacob said somewhat ashamedly thrilled at the prospect of having the opportunity to live out his secret dream of being a big trial lawyer involved in an important case, something similar to the infamous 1925 Scopes Monkey Trial they studied in law school. He just wished he had different clients.
“I welcome the chance to prove to you firsthand the merits of my case,” Ricardo said, proclaiming victory before ever going to court, which would have made prosecutors of old quite proud.
“Then may I suggest you both start preparing your cases for trial. Jacob, the first thing you need to do is arrange for the peaceful surrender of your clients to the proper authorities. This way the process can begin on a civil note.” The GAC continued delegating the situation in an amicable manner.
“I will go convene a grand jury,” Ricardo said as he started getting the feeling he was no longer a part of the conversation now that they settled things.
“By all means, continue on with your appointed duties,” the GAC replied as he got up and walked over to Jacob, putting his arm around his shoulder. “Let me see you out, my boy, and maybe you will give me some insight into your defense strategy.”
Jacob and the GAC headed down the hall with the ever-present GP Sally falling in behind and taking up the rear guard. Ricardo felt like a shunned child left behind after his father went off fishing with his favorite son.
“I want you to know, Warren and Owen will be treated in a respectful manner and taken into custody unharmed, with as little publicity as possible,” the GAC told Jacob once they were out of hearing range of unwanted listeners.
“I appreciate everything, Alex. But I was hoping we could stop this madness before it got started. It has to be either a gigantic mistake or a deliberately fraudulent act to frame them. But why them?”
“That is the real mystery you have to investigate,” the GAC explained as they reached the door. “I am dubious of this conveniently found evidence, too. Just remember, our special project will make everything else mute. Your main objective must be finding out who planted the evidence and why. That will lead you to the true culprit.”
Jacob left with the thought going through his head, ‘I hate to do it, but I have to give Michael a call. I am going to need his help on this one’.
5
Moving down the Superglide highway in the dark, silent early hours of tonight’s tomorrow morning, the passengers inside the silver Eco-SUV were as dead quiet as the night. The traditionally customary trip should have been a restfully relaxing time, free from dark thoughts creeping into their lives, since revealing all their innermost secrets. Nevertheless, Michael and Eve found it hard to bask in the lap of luxury, up in their mountaintop honeymoon cabin, when others they considered family were going through so much unexpected hardship.
Without the worry of conceiving anything other than a goodtime, Michael and Eve planned on staying out of touch with the world while they took their time exploring each other’s bodies. Putting aside any personal hereditary revelations, the effect it would have on their lives, and what they felt compelled to do about it, they spent most of their honeymoon either in bed or in the Jacuzzi. They even made their own meals, because there was no room service. Actually, there was no service of any kind or anyone else for miles around, which was exactly the way the wanted it.
It was by pure chance they caught the story on the news when checking the weather forecast to see how chilly it was going to get that night. They were contemplating taking a long hike up to the mountaintop, want
ing to watch the sunset from the highest peak they could climb. Then a breaking news story changed their plans. It canvassed the airwaves with reports on the Search and Capture Operation for wanted fugitive Warren Stacy. The term Manhunt, now deemed too inhumane, was no longer a part of the lexicon.
Without a word discussed over what they should do next, Michael and Eve headed home. They left early Monday morning, just two days after arriving, and didn’t want to listen to any more news reports while driving home. It was too surreal, only making them feel helpless and unable to do anything, at least until they got back.
According to the news they already heard, Warren was a wanted fugitive for the attempted murder of Guardian Administrator Cain and manslaughter for the bomb blast that killed Larry Barbra at Caesar’s Palace the morning after their wedding. The report said there was evidence found on the scene incriminating Celebrity Chef Warren Stacy as the bomber. It alleged his motivation derived from his homosexual relationship with his longtime roommate, local sports commentator, Owen Sandy. Charged as an accomplice, Owen was arrested and taken into custody without incident, but Warren fled from his television studio set before being arrested, and he was currently on the run from the law.
The honeymooning couple could not believe it. They were ready to swear it must be a nightmare, but how could two people have the same waking dream. Fortunately, one piece of information provided them with some comfort.
The news also reported that Owen and Warren would have television personality Jacob Rose as their defense counselor, who already proclaimed his clients innocent and falsely accused of the crime. He also asked for a patient refrain in understanding Warren’s erratic reaction, stating confusion and fear caused him to flee, not guilt.
The next bit of news was shockingly believable.
Special prosecutor Ricardo Danielle told reporters Jacob’s friendship with the defendants was clouding his judgment, not wanting to believe the truth about people he knew. Ricardo said their motivations derived from their aberrant sexual desires, causing them act against the system, along with their biological natures. Alleging they spread their degenerate sickness in underground sex clubs, where they were free to explore every form of lustful depravity and openly express any sordid fetish—a modern day Plato’s Retreat.
A few miles from home, Eve broke their stunned, silent journey with a simple statement. “This is just the beginning; they will be coming for us next.”
Before replying, Michael’s phone started playing his Star Trek theme ringtone. Switching to the auxiliary video mode, he answered it as Jacob’s face popped up on the dashboard monitor.
“I take it you heard the news report on Warren and Owen,” Jacob said after noticing where they were receiving his call.
“Yes. We will be home shortly. Is there anything else you can tell us? This whole thing has us shaking our heads. How could something like this happen?” Michael asked, hoping for any updated inside information.
“Not on an open line.”
“Gotcha, where do you want to meet?”
“How about my office, after you drop off Eve?”
“I would like to come along,” Eve stated her wishes against staying home.
“It would be better for now if I could speak with Michael alone, Eve. It is nothing against you. It is more for your protection. Michael can fill you in when he gets back.”
“All right, if you think it best,” Eve conceded.
“Has Warren tried to contact you?” Michael asked.
“No. And I don’t want to know if he tries or tried to contact you?’
“No problem. I understand. I should be at your office in about forty minutes.”
“Great, we will talk more, then,” Jacob said as the video monitor blanked out.
They were only eight miles from home, and his commute to work was just twenty minutes, giving him time to make Eve comfortable before going. He did not know why Jacob didn’t want her to come. Although from the way it sounded, the situation had intensified since Warren’s hurried flight from the law made the news.
Pulling into their driveway with plenty of time to meet Jacob, other determining factors caused Michael to miss his meeting completely. After stepping out of their family Eco-SUV, he noticed something out of place.
While it would not be a problem to go away on vacation and leave your doors unlocked, the neighborhood watch recommended residents secure their homes when away in case a stranger wandered into town. Not wanting to appear paranoid or unsafe, Michael and Eve decided on a fake rock hide-a-key when they were both out. But the rock was not setting in the special place where he left it. Somebody moved it.
“Somebody has been here,” Michael informed Eve as he knelt down to pick up the fake rock to remove the key, except it wasn’t there. “And I think they are still here.”
Eve looked around to see if she could tell if anything else appeared out of place. Everything seemed normal with the front door shut. There were no broken windows or any visibly ajar. Cautiously scanning the front of the house, she caught a slight flutter coming from the second floor window curtain.
Without pointing or making any quick gestures to alert whoever was watching, Eve spoke softly. “The curtain on the second floor window just moved.”
“I think I know who it is,” Michael said.
“You do not mean…”
“Yep. If you think about it, where else was he gonna run.”
“Poor, Owen.”
“Well, let’s go in and try not to spook him. Warren is not cut out to handle this kind of pressure and is probably climbing the walls by now.” Michael said putting the fake rock back and standing up.
Casually walking to the front door, Michael and Eve entered the house through the unlocked door.
A dark silence greeted them inside as they quietly headed upstairs with the lights off. They stopped at the top of the stairs, unsure how to approach their frightened friend. Nodding to Eve, Michael indicated with some hand signals he was going to call out to their scared guest.
“Warren, we know you are here. It is safe to come out now.”
“Please, Warren, you can trust us. We do not mean you any harm,” Eve added the friendly sentiment.
The door to the guest bedroom opened inward a bit, but no one came out.
“C-can you c-come in?” Warren’s stuttering voice called out to them.
As they entered the room, Michael reached over to turn on the light switch located on the wall next to the door, but Warren’s terror stricken voice stopped him.
“No. Please. Leave the light off. I do not want you to see me like this. I…I couldn’t hold it and I…I was too scared to move,” Warren admitted, cowering in the corner next to the bed by the window he looked out.
Seeing a man so close to the edge of his sanity breaking, Eve felt her own sympathetic emotions welling up inside her, and thought it best to make up an excuse to step out for a minute, so she wouldn’t come apart at the seams, too.
“Warren, how about I go make you a nice hot cup of tea to help you feel better. Would you like a cup?” Eve asked, trying to sound as upbeat as possible.
The suggestion seemed to make Warren forget about his troubles, letting out a hopeful sigh of relief as if a cup of tea could solve all the world’s problems.
“Tea? I would really love a cup of tea.”
“You take milk and sugar, right?” Eve asked as a smile crossed her face from the good feeling she got from being able to help out in some small way.
“A little honey would be nice.” Warren answered, gaining a little more control of his faculties than before.
“However you like it, Warren. Even if I have to go knock down a bee hive to get it,” Eve said before leaving to make the tea. A few feet down the hall, she had to hold up a few seconds to choke back her own tears of sorrow.
Noticing her paused exit, Michael held up a moment to see if Eve was okay before turning his attention back to Warren after receiving an acknowledging nod fr
om her to go on.
Walking over to where Warren curled himself up in a sitting fetal position on the floor, Michael knelt down, trying to project a sense of calm.
“Hey, good buddy. You don’t have to worry about anything, anymore. You are safe here. And soon this whole mess will be all behind you.”
Michael’s attempt to calm him down failed as Warren totally came apart, crying out his words in heavy sobs.
“What in the name of all things beautiful is going on? How can this be happening to me? I…I don’t understand any of it. Nothing makes sense anymore. They even arrested poor Owen, and it just kills me to think he might be suffering because of something they are falsely accusing me of doing. Why, Michael? Why me?”
Michael’s heart went out to his sad friend as he reached over and gave him a supportive hug.
“Hey, hey, come on now. Everything is going to be all right. It is just some horrible mistake. You will see. The whole mess will be sorted out before you know it.” Michael said as he gave Warren’s hair a friendly ruffle.
Warren was able to bring himself together, but remained on the edge of losing it.
“Look, don’t go worrying yourself about Owen. He is a big, tough guy, and no one is going to give him a hard time, no matter what lies they say about him.”
Looking straight into Michael’s eyes, Warren told him something he wanted to speak out loud to someone who would not only understand, but also be happy for him. “The part about us being a…well…you know… is true, but not like what they are saying on the news. We don’t frequent underground sex clubs. I never even heard of such a thing. We just enjoy each other’s company. We make each other a whole person.” Warren said as he confessed with a smile and a little laugh, surprised how good it finally felt to tell someone, even under the present circumstances.
“Hey, there is nothing you have to justify or explain to me. If two adult people mutually feel the same way about each other, who am I or anyone else to say they are wrong, especially if a strong love exists.” Michael tried to offer him a little peace of mind in knowing he did not judge his feelings. “Come on now. Let’s get you cleaned up. I have some clothes that should fit you, and I bet your tea is almost ready.”
Michael stood up holding out his hand, and after a thoughtful second, Warren took the helpful hand.
“Tell you what. I’ll give Jacob a call. He will know just what to do. He is probably wondering where I am. He should be expecting me to be there about now.”
“Are you sure we can trust him? He has some pretty powerful friends.” Warren inquired as to where Jacob’s loyalties might lie.
“Of course you can. He is going to defend you if this ever sees the inside of a courtroom, and I sincerely doubt it ever will.” Michael said as he picked out some clothes for Warren before heading to the main bathroom.
“Okay, if you are sure, Michael. Other than Owen, you are the only person I completely trust.”
“Believe me. You can trust Jacob, too. You will see. Everything is going to be fine. Let me check on your tea, while you go wash up,” Michael said before heading to the kitchen as Warren closed the bathroom door and turned on the shower.
Eve arranged a tea set on a serving tray along with three teacups and a jar of honey. Entering the kitchen, the thought of having a cup of tea had not occurred to Michael until seeing the third cup on the tray. Then, the thought of a nice cup of tea warming his insides sounded pretty good, thinking he might try a little bit of honey in his, too.
“How are you holding up? Are you okay with this? I know how high the stakes are. And the tremendous risk you have been through already. The last thing I want to do is bring any more stress into your life. You already had to endure enough on my behalf.” Michael said as he tried to decide if he should split his allegiance between his good friend, who he had no doubt was innocent of the bombing, or his one true love to who the threat of exposure was still a clear and present danger.
“Oh, please don’t worry about me. I will be fine. You need to do whatever you can for Warren. He is family, and that is what we are trying to protect. A good man falsely accused of a crime he would never commit, which is something you do need to be concerned about, Michael. Because if you and I were ever exposed, you would be the one in the most danger, since your very existence is their biggest threat. This is why you should let Jacob take most of the heat this situation is going to generate. He is well insulated as you know, almost fireproof.” Eve explained the risks involved, also showing her good-natured will.
“I better give him a call.” Michael remembered his tardy meeting. “You are certainly right about him. He doesn’t have to worry about being in the public’s eye. He is the public’s eye.”
As they stood in the kitchen discussing the best course of action, Michael took out his phone to call Jacob, but an oddly familiar sound coming from outside made him think of Warren. He could not place the sound at first, until hearing it connected to another very distinct sound, also coming from outside, which alerted Eve to the same conclusion Michael came to as she gave voice to hers.
“Did you just hear our car start up?”
Without another word, they reflexively ran to the front door. As Michael opened it, they could see Warren driving away in their car.