Guardians of the Secret
copyright © 1998 by Cary Shulman
All Rights Reserved
19.
"It happens every time I drink Madeira that's not at least a hundred years old," Hollings had joked by way of explanation for having been out cold. He had first made sure no one had seen him get hit by Tess before he launched into his story. He had a terrible headache, but the night was young and it might improve. It did.
On the ride back to Charleston and their hotel, March filled him in on his discussion with Everett. Hollings heard about Operation Paul Revere and the attack on the 23rd. The FBI was all over him. The militia attack was something he could give them. It was no skin off anybody near and dear and it was patriotic for goodness sakes. It was a good feeling. The thought of making the call almost made his headache go away. Everett was counting on that call.
* * *
Kit took his time making sure he wasn't being followed before he went to see Sumiko. He had hoped it wouldn't just be time lost, that it might give him a chance to use his other contacts to clarify his situation. They didn't, which left him needing her brother's computer expertise.
Sumiko and her brother Akira had been politically and socially anarchistic enough to be an embarrassment to her wealthy family in Osaka. Part of the embarrassment was her casual affair with Kit. She and her brother were set adrift with plenty of money to go far away and stay.
When Kit came to the United States several years later he looked her up. She lived in a high-rise with a view of the Charles river. She had gutted the condo and turned it into an artist's studio. Her painting required a kind of free associative hyped up state encouraged by liters of green tea and breathing exercises refined in the Himalayas.
Kit had a hunch she wouldn't be thrilled about his wanting her brother's help. Sumiko hated computers, that was her brother's domain. They had divided the creative world neatly and absolutely in the manner of Portugal and Spain in the age of discovery. Kit should have known better. Sumiko could move from contradiction to contradiction without breaking stride. Thoughts were just so much fuel for her imagination to gain momentum and reach escape velocity.
"Computers, they're the nave of the future. The world of energy is tragic, not enough to go around, information is infinite. You still have to plug the things in now, but it will get more and more subtle until finally it'll work in the quantum sea of potential, like consciousness."
Kit smiled. "What ever happened to the silicon valley of death?"
"I still believe that," Sumiko replied. She saw Kit's confused look. "You don't understand contradictions. They're wonderful. I love contradictions even more than Nagarjuna did. You know how they say the horns of a dilemma. I did a series of paintings. Dilemma is a very Picasso like bull with glorious horns. You have to see them."
Kit made sure that between Sumiko's verbal cascades and their love making he had her pass along his questions to her brother. Kit wanted anything he could find on Black Forest including the scientist who gave the dealer in technological secrets the papers.
* * *
Michael had followed Everett's Mercedes at increasing distance as they got off the main highway and the roads narrowed and the traffic thinned. The marshy, wooded terrain got denser and denser, the traffic and lights sparser until there was just the two cars engulfed in blackness, seemingly a thousand miles from civilization.
Michael and Tess intently watched the lights of the Mercedes far ahead. They felt the tension of being in a dark, strange, end of the world place. Michael remembered a similar place and recoiled from the memory.
"I've been here before."
"Don't get mystical on me, this is weird enough."
"A place just like this."
Michael was lost in thought as the car passed over a causeway bridge and a swampy river. He remembered the highway was so empty the ambulance wasn't using its siren. Between the pain killers and the adrenaline, it was just like a ride in the country, nothing had happened. Then suddenly he was sitting up, swearing at the attendant to turn the fucking ambulance around so he could go after them. They shot him and he thought for sure his partner and they were getting away. He still couldn't remember if he pulled his gun on the attendant or he was about to when he passed out.
In the distance the Mercedes' brake lights went on. Michael turned his headlights off and slowed down in the almost complete darkness. The Mercedes stopped alongside a heavily wooded area surrounded by an eight foot wire fence marked "Private Property, No Trespassing". A bodyguard unlocked the gate and the Mercedes passed through. Michael drove slowly along the road with his lights off.
"The dealers were tipped because the CIA was letting Noriega run drugs for helping with the Contras. I was set up because I wasn't going along with the program. Years later, I found out Everett was the liaison."
"So Everett got you shot?"
"Indirectly. We were a small price to win the cold war."
Michael pulled off the road and started to get out.
"Let's go. It's not often you get a shot at justice."
"Does the shot include marching through that stuff." Tess pointed toward the woods.
Michael nodded. Tess changed her clothes. She put on a pea coat and tennis shoes and took off her wig. They began making their way through the dense pines and underbrush. The two reached a barbed wire fence. Michael gave Tess a boost and followed her over.
They continued on until they were almost in a clearing before they noticed it. Michael instinctively pulled Tess back behind a tree. Up ahead they saw a flash of light through the trees. Another few steps and Michael and Tess were standing in thick reedlike grass, looking out over an inlet to the Atlantic Ocean.
Michael signaled and they squatted in the cover of the grass. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked out at the water. A large fishing boat was in the middle of the cove. It beamed more flashes of light. In front of it, two rubber rafts were in various stages of reaching the shore. Each raft was filled with what look like professional fisherman.
"What is it?" Tess asked.
Michael finished scanning the beach and handed Tess the binoculars. She peered through them.
"It looks like fishermen having trouble with their boat."
"That's what it's supposed to look like."
Michael took a small infrared camera out and began taking pictures. Tess soon interrupted.
"It's wonderful you'll have something to show your grandchildren, but they're coming this way."
Michael pocketed the camera and Tess handed him the binoculars and pointed down the beach. One raft had reached the shore. The fishermen were heading in their direction. Michael motioned and the two started back into the cover of the trees.
Suddenly everything around them was brilliant light and shadows. They scrambled for more cover as the headlights of three dark green vans parked in the clearing illuminated the woods around them. Their view was obscured by trees, but there was only the sounds of the woods and nobody seemed to be coming toward them.
Michael motioned Tess to follow. Sticking to shadows, they moved for a closer look. Two "fishermen", Memphis and Indy, were digging in an area in front of the vans. Michael pulled out his camera and started taking photographs.
Back along the country road a Georgia State police car pulled to a stop behind Michael's. A cop at the wheel picked up the c.b. Next to him was sitting Martin Arens.
In the clearing four other "fishermen", Randy, Earl, KC and Billings, had joined the other men. Their digging had just uncovered a metal silo. They pulled off the heavy metal lid. The silo was filled with large wooden crates. They began loading them into one of the vans.
"Wonder what we've got here?" KC mused as he and Earl hefted one of the crates.
Billings was nearby and offered an answer. "From what I hear an M2 machine gun."
"The perfect choice to level the playing field," KC commented.
"And enough plastic to move the UN to New Jersey," Billings added.
Michael drew a bead on the four men. He took quick snapshots of them. He watched as they finished loading, got in the van and drove off. Two other fishermen, Austin and Phoenix, appeared and started loading another van. Everett was nowhere to be seen. Michael whispered to Tess.
"Wait here."
Tess watched as Michael disappeared into the woods. He circled behind the vans. Through the trees he saw the men continuing to load. Michael reached the clearing closest to the vans. The van furthest from him was still being loaded. The back of the nearest van was not in their line of sight.
Michael pulled a small transmitter from his pocket and activated its electronics. He dashed to the back of the van and began attaching the transmitter.
Before he could finish, he heard the back door of the van being opened from inside. He scrambled underneath as Memphis jumped out. Michael pulled his gun. He heard Memphis open the driver's door and get in. Michael slid out from under the van. The engine started up and he hurriedly attached the transmitter. As the van pulled away he made a run for the woods.
The Georgia Police car was still parked behind Michael's. Arens was sitting in the driver's seat of Michael's car. He was satisfied, his work was done. He had searched the car and pocketed Michael's tape of Everett and March's conversation. For amusement he began playing one of Nimé's tapes.
He smiled when he heard his voice. Small world. He listened to Nimé's talk about sexual fantasy and shamanism for a few minutes before commenting satirically in a Georgia accent.
"Shaman this, shaman that. The only shaman I'm acquainted with is the one who marched through poor Dixie to the sea. General Shaman."
Tess heard someone in the darkness and readied to fire. It was Michael. Before he could say anything, an intense light flooded the trees, sweeping toward them. A brilliant arc light on top of a van was searching the area. Tess and Michael turned and sprinted into the woods. They heard the sound of men shouting behind them as they crashed through branches and underbrush and kept going.
They finally ran out of the range of the lights. They reached the barbed wire fence, but the shouting behind them was getting closer. Michael hurriedly gave Tess a boost. As they started to climb over, Michael's injured leg was snagged in the wire. Tess looked back at him dangling in pain.
"Keep going," Michael urged.
Tess started to climb up to him. "Always where you're weakest," he swore to himself as he struggled with the wire impaled in his leg. Voices in the darkness were nearing them. Michael pulled the wire free and they scrambled over the fence.
They came running out of the woods and jumped into the car. Michael checked the rearview mirror as he sped away. There was nothing but darkness behind them. They caught their breaths.
"Who were they?" Tess asked.
"Alumni from special services. Something serious is going down, and I bet it's going to happen at midnight."
Tess looked like she'd take Michael up on it.
"Paul Revere's midnight ride."
Suddenly a voice came from the back seat.
"History for five hundred, Alex."
Michael and Tess turned in panic toward the back seat and saw Arens pointing a pistol at them.
"Just when you thought you were out of the woods."
Arens laughed at his own joke.
Michael made a subtle move for the gun in his coat. Arens was way ahead of him.
"You don't want her on my resume."
Michael stopped. Arens motioned.
"Pull over, we've got company."
Michael looked up ahead. There was a causeway bridge which spanned the waterway a half a mile ahead. Michael thought about a quick maneuver, but a police car sped over the bridge, forcing him to pull over.
A Georgia State policeman got out. "Pounds" was his overdetermined nickname, as he was English, fat and violent. His gun looked minuscule in his huge hand as he yanked Michael out of the car. Michael tried to hold on to what little self possession he had by joking feebly.
"Take it easy , Tiny?"
Pounds slammed Michael against the car.
"The name's 'Pounds', get it?"
Pounds began frisking Michael.
"Friends are having a picnic and I'm here to brush away the flies."
Pounds found Michael's gun and hurled it into the woods.
Inside the car, Arens had his gun pressed to the back of Tess' head. From behind, he seductively ran his hand down her body "searching" for her gun.
"Skip the pervert stuff, fuckhead, it's in my coat."
"Getting there is half the fun."
Arens pulled the gun out of Tess' coat while Pounds shoved Michael into the driver's seat. Pounds got in the back and handed Arens Michael's camera and bugs. Pounds was impressed.
"He's a walking emporium."
Arens gave Tess a knowing look.
"It seems both of you are very well equipped."
Michael remembered he had left the screwdriver under the seat. He might be able to reach it Then what? Two guns against a screwdriver. He tried reaching it without moving his body. Nothing doing. He heard Arens sigh.
"I don't know about you, but I've had a day. I guess after last night. A night filled with a white light of excruciating clarity, you know where life has more meaning and beauty than you can stand. But why quibble when fate has finally brought us together. Or I should say the fates have. I don't know about you, but I always saw them as an all girl rock group complete with choreography and monogrammed satin jackets with The Fates in dayglo on the back. I wonder what the gals have in store for the four of us."
Arens looked over the three others and shook his head. "And what a quartet we make. Only Shostakovich could put us to music. Michael. Not enough heart to be a priest. Not enough brains to be an agent. Of course from what I hear of your escapades they're not the best part of your anatomy. And Tess. Mister Proudhon's dreamgirl. If there were a heaven you would have stolen the key to it. Don't get me wrong, I think both of you are enchanting. Such pluck and high spirits. It's just the old story. You have what I want and I have what you want. And then there's my friend Pounds."
Arens repeated it enjoying its sound.
"His nickname has such a nice ring to it. Pounds is definitely a Hobbesian creation, nasty, British, and short. We get along splendidly despite the fact that he has no taste for metaphysics. I find metaphysics is like vinegar on fish and chips. It's tart but it adds a nice dimension to something basically indigestible. I don't have to tell you Michael, you studying for the priesthood, that every day is a good day. But some days it takes a bit of doing to appreciate that fact. The Grind of Being and all that.
"The world is such a funny place. So ingeniously designed. Just pleasurable enough for the hedonists, contentious enough for the politicos, beautiful enough for the artists, competition and power for the movers and shakers, and death and terror for all. Just enough to keep you in the game, but not enough to get your fill and catch on. Ingenious, no? Tom compared it to a hospital. I think it's more along the lines of an institute for the criminally mundane.
"And me?"
Arens pulled out a zippo lighter and began lighting it and relighting it.
"I feel like Diogenes with his little lantern searching the world for an honest man or in this case an honest woman. I love asking questions, don't you? Especially with a gun, it gives it the proper urgency and weight. After all they say an examined life is the only one worth living. So what brought you two together? Love, desperation, fate, mutual interests, good sex?"
Michael and Tess were silent.
"Don't like interviews? It's good practice for what's to come. After all what's the last judgment but the ultimate interview. Don't you find yourself asking yourselves those basic questions, who am I?, why am I here? Incidentally, why are you here?"
More silence.
Arens moved the flame toward Tess.
"Let's play truth or consequences"
Tess turned to face Arens.
"Play with yourself, creep. Maybe your friend here will help you find it."
Arens aimed his gun at Tess' face and started to squeeze the trigger. "Don't," Michael yelled as he lunged toward Arens. Pounds slugged him in the head with his gun. Michael slumped unconscious, bleeding profusely. Arens' gun was still pointed at Tess' face.
"So now it's up to you. Something enlightening would be appreciated."
"Go to hell."
Arens slowly squeezed the trigger. Tess braced for the percussion and the bullet. Instead a squirt of water ran down her face. Arens laughed.
"Fucking asshole", Tess screamed as she went after Arens. Pounds grabbed her right arm and started to break it. Tess winced in pain as Arens admired his squirt gun.
"I think you'll be glad I brought this along."
Arens flicked the lighter and put the flame in the ends of Tess' hair. He let it burn for a moment and put it out with a squirt. He repeated the process, letting the fire go longer each time. Tess trembled from anger and terror, but was stoic. Arens played inquisitor.
"Questions and answers, fire and water, understand?"
Tess glared at him.
"Now let's play Joan of Arc. You can be Joan. First question. Elementary and yet profound. What are you doing here?"
"Amusing a pusbag with eyes."
"That's a bit unflattering, but it's a start. Maybe you didn't care for the existential overtones. So many things to talk about."
Arens put the flame in Tess' hair.
"Let's talk about bellhops."
Tess was silent. Arens doused the fire with a squirt.
"How can you play if you don't understand the rules? I think Wittgenstein said that. It's simple. If you answer, the fire stops. Get it."
Arens relit her hair.
"Where's Kit?"
He's alive Tess thought as the fire grew. She tried to hold out as long as she could. Finally she beat it out with her left sleeve. Pounds wrenched her arm. Tess screamed in agony. Arens patiently continued.
"Let's give Joan one more chance."
Arens lit up Tess' hair. As it spread, she stared at him with an intense hatred. Nobody was going to break her. Arens was disconcerted by her toughness and Tess responded to it. She taunted Pounds.
"Your friend is jealous, Tiny. You've got all the guns, but I've got all the balls."
"End of fucking story," Pounds said as he raised his gun, set to blow Tess' head off. At the same moment, Michael pulled the screwdriver from under the seat, swung around and drove it into Pounds' eye as he fired. Blood sprayed everywhere as the deafening shot just missed Tess.
Bellowing like a wounded bull, Pounds went to fire again at Tess. Michael grabbed his huge arm, trying to wrestle the gun away. Tess ducked, but watched helplessly as the barrel of the gun arced toward her. She screamed as she saw Pounds' hand close on the trigger. Another deafening shot.
Tess felt a burning in her cheek. Shot and going to die went through her head. An instant later she was still watching the two men struggle, trying to anticipate the path of the gun. Their efforts seemed to cancel each other out, serving only to give the gun a frighteningly arbitrary will of its own as it kept shifting and moving, firing and firing. It was a dance of terror, punctuated by explosions of sound as the bullets ripped through the car, smashing the windows.
Arens, suddenly in the line of fire, opened the car door to escape. A stray bullet hit him in the shoulder and he tumbled on to the road.
Pounds, weakening, finally emptied his gun. The click of the hammer ended Tess' absorption in the gun's dance. The burning in her cheek wasn't a gunshot, she was on fire. Tess screamed, trying in vain to beat out her burning hair. Michael held Pounds at bay and turned toward Tess. He saw her hair engulfed in flames, and up ahead the bridge and the river.
Michael pulled away from Pounds. He started the car and slammed the accelerator to the floor as Pounds came after him. Michael sped toward the bridge, using his other arm to ward off Pounds, who was wildly beating on him. Michael yelled to Tess.
"Jump at the bridge!"
Tess frantically reached for the door handle as the car reached the bridge. A half a mile back, Arens, struggling to raise himself, pulled a detonator out of his coat. Inside the car, Pounds overwhelmed Michael's one armed defense, and grabbed for his throat. Michael lost control of the car. It hit the side of the bridge and catapulted over.
The airborne car began to revolve. Tess dove off, her hair flaming in the darkness. As the somersaulting car turned upside down, Michael opened the car door and tumbled out. The gas tank erupted and the car, with Pounds inside, was turned into a rotating fireball.
The fireball hit the water, vaporizing itself in steam and eddies. Pieces of the car floated on the river. Tess came to the surface, but she wasn't moving. Michael appeared, gasping for air. He looked around and saw Tess floating unconscious. Making his way through the debris, he swam over to her and hauled her to the riverbank.
She was still. Already gone. For a moment, in panic, all the procedures, dos and don'ts converged in his mind and he went blank. Michael tried to revive her. He covered her mouth with his and blew air into her lungs. She was so still. An idea that was merely a familiar shadow in childhood, "You can't bring her back", found a voice inside him. He frantically ignored it as he tried again and again.
"Tess! Tess!" The words came inadvertently and seemed to try to reach into a darkness.
Finally with a painful groan Tess began to breathe, to Michael's relief. His relief was wedded with agony as all his childhood strategies of reaching his mother in that defying darkness came back to him. He fought being overcome and looked over at Tess. She appeared to him new as if life had always held her hand and made her journey a sweet one. It was a moment of grace. Painful in its passing as he knew he saw her in a light he had never seen and might never again.
Van lights flickered between the trees in the distance. Michael pulled himself together and struggled to his feet. "They'll be here any minute," Michael urged Tess as he helped her up. She was still painfully catching her breath. The two were wet, burnt, and bloodied as they set off into the woods.
Across the river, Everett and Arens were standing on the causeway bridge surveying the debris. Arens was in a great deal of pain.
"There's no use sitting here speculating, especially when you're in pain."
"He had a camera."
"I assume he wasn't taking pictures of the Georgia wildlife, so get someone to help with the dredging tomorrow. We wouldn't want anything interesting to get misplaced."
Arens nodded .
"You didn't find out what they knew?"
"Relating to the other's needs was an issue."
"If there aren't three bodies pulled out of that river, make sure you resolve it."
Tess and Michael, whose bloody head was wrapped in a torn shirt, struggled through the woods, totally exhausted. They walked on, still shaken by their ordeal, silent with their own thoughts. Life threatened, life saved, a baptism of fire and water. They blunted its power to change everything. They had no time for its dangerous promise. There were more immediate dangers. Tess motioned for a halt.
"I have to rest."
"Five minutes," Michael warned her as the two slumped to the ground, exhausted. He watched as the lights of three vans passed in the distance. He took off his left shoe and removed a wafer size electronic device. He turned it on and there was a high pitched beeping sound. He was surprised it still worked.
"It's old, but cheap and reliable. They'll be out of range soon."
Tess saw the van lights disappear from view.
"They left some people behind, didn't they?"
"Definitely. They're not going to be happy until they personally escort us out of this world."
Tess laid back and closed her eyes, wondering if her nightmare would ever end. Suddenly she heard Michael's voice calling to her.
Tess opened her eyes. Michael was standing over her, hand outstretched. Tess took his hand as he pulled her close to him.
"Thanks for the lifesaving back there. Nobody's ever.."
Michael started to kiss Tess when they heard footsteps. Panicked, Tess looked up. Arens appeared from behind a tree pointing a gun. He smiled as he fired at Tess. Only instead of a bullet, a thin jet of flames streamed toward her as she screamed.
Tess' scream woke her and Michael. It was dawn and they realized they had passed out in each other's arms. Tess was still sorting it out as Michael tried to soothe her.
"It's only a dream, they're gone."
As Michael helped her up, Tess glanced toward the river.
"So are your camera and tapes. There goes the evidence it wasn't all just a bad dream."
"We have to keep after them."
"It's a long walk to the nearest town."
"And they'll have people watching it. We better arrange for some transportation. A couple of times to get out of the immediate area."
"And after that, any bright ideas?"
"Right now a dim hunch is all I've got. Let's get to a phone."
Michael tenderly brushed some soot off of Tess' face. "And get us a new look."
* * *
Hilliard was trying to set up his day so he could leave work early. He had already figured out what files he needed to take home and arranged to be informed if anything came up. The more he tried to speed up meetings and phone calls the more they dragged. It was a certainty like death and taxes. This was no time to be doing this. He had made a commitment to himself to reset his priorities and he knew from experience that some other time never came. Hilliard was rushing through a social call.
"I've got the kids. The older one has got problems. She..."
An intercom buzzed.
"Let me call you later."
Hilliard switched lines. "Who? Mister Coltrane? Oh yeah, I'll take it," Hilliard said clearly not pleased. The person on the other end of the line was in a phone booth in a small town shopping center in Georgia. The center had somehow escaped the ravages of minimall conversion that had spread across the South. It was fast becoming a historical curiosity like Williamsburg, Virginia.
Michael was on the phone. He was wearing new clothes and his head was neatly bandaged. He kept an eye on his surroundings as he talked to Hilliard. Hilliard tried to make it short.
"It's a bad time Michael."
"Wrong decade, I'm sorry."
"Lay off, I've given you plenty."
"You didn't do me any big favors. You probably wanted to smoke out some people and you used me to do it."
"So it helped both of us."
"So you still owe me."
"What is this, a lifetime proposition?"
"Why not, what happened to me was."
"We've been over this. I told you if I knew the way it was going to turn out..."
"You would have done it all differently. So you say."
"All right, you didn't turn me in. Now I'm not turning you in, so we're even."
"Turn me in for what?"
"Killing a Georgia State trooper. We got it this morning."
"Okay, so somebody doesn't like me."
"A lot of people don't like you."
"I have news about Everett with the militia."
"That's not news."
"What do you need, his picture on the wall of a post office?"
"I don't need a damn thing. We've already got it covered ten times over. You're completely out of your depth, please stay out of this. If it makes you feel any better you can send me your evidence."
"It's at the bottom of a river."
"The same river that officer was found."
"I need some files, starting with the agent who was killed. If they don't connect with a militia attack called 'Paul Revere', then call me a liar."
"You're not a liar, Michael. You're a civilian."
Tess, driving a new car, entered the mall and drove up to the phone booth. Her hair had been cut short and she was wearing a new dress. She had called her contact number with Kit hoping he had left a message. He hadn't. Michael admired her as he got into the car.
"Vive la difference."
Tess smiled.
"How'd it go?" Michael asked.
"I picked the car out of a factory parking lot. Hopefully it won't be missed until closing time."
Tess drove out of the mall.
"What about Kit?"
"There was no message. If he's alive, he's not saying so."
"He might be figuring that's the best way to stay that way."
"Check the glove box."
Michael pulled out two hand guns.
"Thank God for American Express and the NRA."
"What did Hilliard say?"
"There's a warrant out for me. Tiny was a cop."
"Obviously there was no written exam."
"Everett's using connections, so it'd be nice to avoid the police."
"Did Hilliard believe you?"
"I'm not sure, but he's getting the files. We're meeting him."
"Do you trust him?"
Michael checked the heft of one of the guns.
"I do now."
* * *
Shortly after the three green vans departed, Everett ordered that all of them be monitored for electronic devices. Memphis discovered Michael's transmitter. Rather than having it destroyed, Everett kept it. He made plans to have it picked up ahead. The three vans separated and took different northerly routes. None of them on a major highway. KC, Memphis and Earl were driving together.
"I never expected to find anything. You think that was for real?" Memphis asked.
"Something to keep us on our toes," Earl suggested.
KC glanced at the crates in the back of the van.
"I'll bet we got enough in just this van, they'll hear it all the way to Washington."
"Hell, George Washington will hear it," Earl joked.
They all laughed. Earl loved getting a laugh, but he was getting impatient. He had expected them to take a direct route. Instead they were taking their time going first through Columbia, South Carolina in what Earl figured was a wide arc through Charleston, West Virginia to New York.
Let's get on with it he felt. Everett must have his reasons. It was more remote and that was an advantage. Maybe there was going to be an unscheduled stop somewhere. More men and supplies.
copyright © 1998 by Cary Shulman
All Rights Reserved