Charlie's Requiem: Democide (30 page)

The guide, sweat dripping down his reddened face and neck, apologized to the Undersecretary.

“We didn’t anticipate it taking so long to get our generators delivered. Without power, you understand, we couldn’t convert the floor into your living space.”

“How could you be so incompetent?” Bedford scolded. “I gave you free reign to get whatever you needed to complete the job before I arrived. This was to have been started this past summer!”

“But sir,” the nervous man pleaded. “It wasn’t my fault. The generators were supposed to be delivered last week, but they, uh…”

“THEY WHAT!” Bedford shouted. “SPIT IT OUT!”

“They were stolen, sir!” He finally blurted.

“How did they get STOLEN? They were positioned over six months ago!” Bedford shot back.

Six months
! John thought to himself.
How high does this conspiracy go? And what’s with the project starting in the summer?

Sensing that he had given away too much information, Bedford added more to the verbal beat-down he was giving the sweating administrator.

“We’ve known about these terrorists for almost a year now, and done everything we could to prepare for this
POSSIBILITY
!” Bedford emphasized. “How did you not anticipate this?”

“I don’t know how they were stolen, but when I went to the warehouse to begin the recovery effort, we were missing almost a dozen generators!” the man stammered.

Bedford’s pudgy face had now turned a beet red as he stared about the space in front of him.

“Please, sir,” the guide said. “Let me show you what you have now. Much of it was installed weeks ago, and the rest is the best we could do without the generators.”

Turning right, the group found a doorway mounted in a framed in wall that ran the length of the open 4th floor. A biometric lock had been installed and keyed to Bedford’s handprint.

“Place your hand here,” the man said.

Bedford put his hand on the plate and the heavy metal pocket door silently slid to the side, revealing a plush apartment beyond. The last four units on either side of what was once a hallway had been converted into a two-bedroom suite. New wood floors had been put down and the walls were covered with ornate, silk wallpaper. The furniture was antique, French-inspired oak and walnut. The open kitchen was a chef’s dream with a six-burner Vulcan gas stove and a Sub-Zero double-door refrigerator set into the white colonial-style kitchen cabinets. Marble counters finished off the space.

“If you look to the bathrooms, both have jet tubs and your master bath has a walk-in shower with four horizontal and one large vertical soaker. All of these were pre-made to your specifications!” the sweating man blurted. “Please, take a peek. You will find these accommodations acceptable while we finish off the rest of the floor.”

Bedford left his security detail at the entrance and toured the massive apartment with the guide. Returning to the front door, his mood had lightened considerably.

“You know,” Bedford said. “This might actually work out well. Have your men stop their construction and bring me the blueprints tomorrow. I can make some changes to the space now that I’ve had some time to reflect on my needs.”

The guide, obviously in charge of the construction, was visibly relieved. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be by tomorrow. What time should I expect to be here?”

Before Bedford could reply, the room was shaken by a sturdy knock on the door.

Drosky looked to Bedford, who gave him a nod, and after directing the men into a defensive position, he opened the door to find an agent with a concerned look on his face.

“State your business,” John commanded.

“I need to report that we’ve found evidence of a break-in,” the man stammered.

“Where?” Bedford asked. “Where was there a break-in?”

“The north building,” the agent replied.

Bedford regained his lost anger and pointed at the poor administrator.

“What kind of ship are you running here?” He said, pointing an accusing finger at the construction supervisor.

John, seeing an opportunity to find out where Charlie had gone, chimed in.

“Sir,” John started. “With your permission, I would like to investigate the break-in and report directly back to you.”

“Good thinking, Special Agent!” Bedford replied. “It seems that if you want a job done right around here, you have to do it yourself.”

“You should keep someone here until I return. I doubt anyone would have access to this floor, but with the way things are being run around here, I don’t want to trust the security of this building to anyone else until we’ve gone over everything with a fine-toothed comb.”

Bedford nodded with a smile. “I’m glad someone is thinking around here!” He responded. “Now go and report back when you are finished!”

“As you wish, sir.” John replied.

Drosky motioned to the agent who brought the news, and they both made their way to the north tower.

The agent showed John the broken lock on the basement access door. John went through the motions of checking the lock and making notes on all the things he already knew about. When they got to the floor where Charlie and the group had been staying, he took extra time to inspect everything, hoping for a clue on where they went.

“It looks like some vagrants were staying here,” the agent said to John.

“Possibly,” John replied, looking in all the drawers and cabinets in two of the middle rooms. John stepped into the bathroom of the east-facing room and noticed a marking on the sink, where an anchor had been drawn in lipstick inside the bowl. John tore a piece of paper from his notepad and wiped the marking, smearing it so that it wasn’t legible anymore. What an anchor represented was beyond him, but it had definitely been left by one of the group.

After inspecting the floor thoroughly, and doing a perfunctory walk throughout the rest of the building, he walked out of the 4-story structure and started wandering around the building’s periphery.

Where are you?
John thought as he wandered out onto the northern side street. John stared around at the windows of the structures directly in front of him, looking for a signal or sign that they were secreted close by. Not seeing any movement, he looked down the road and saw a large sign for an insurance company. He had just decided that the group was gone for good, when he was struck by the realization that the insurance company was called “Anchor Insurance of Orlando,” and had an anchor for a logo.

John smiled and shook his head. He wasn’t due to meet up with them until 8:00 that night; and unless he pulled night guard duty, he should be able to get to them.

Drosky returned to Bedford’s apartment and reported on his findings. He added details that the first agent had failed to notice, putting him in even higher regard with the Undersecretary.

“Well done,” Bedford stated. “I see I picked well when I chose you!”

“Sir,” John said. “Could I request that we receive an intelligence report on a daily basis. That way, we can better prepare contingency plans based on the threat levels we are advised about.”

“Excellent idea! And, Special Agent Drosky, I need a chief for my protection detail. You are that man. Proceed to headquarters, and I will advise them of your change in status once again. I expect you to have a plan and a list of required assets ready for me tomorrow evening. Are you up for that?”

Without hesitation, John agreed. “Would 5 PM be acceptable, sir?”

“Very acceptable,” Bedford beamed, the power of the position oozing from his pores. “I’m glad I found someone capable and reliable in this city!”

John looked at the men and read their nametags over their left breast.

“Holden, you have the 3rd shift so you can go home for now. Masterson, you stay here until Holden gets back. Night shifts start at 11 PM and end at 7 AM. Samuels, you stay with Undersecretary Bedford until he retires for the evening, then go home. I’ll work out the details with personnel and get more help.”

Drosky turned to Bedford and explained. “At night, we’ll lock the facility down and have a guard just outside your front door. But I want two guards with you when you’re out of this building, the second agent can be like a running back holding his position in the backfield so he can guard the quarterback.”

He knew the pompous man would eat up the quarterback reference; and sure enough, Bedford agreed, as Drosky had quickly become the go-to man for the Undersecretary’s personal security.

John excused himself and made his way back to headquarters. He immediately reported to the Office of Intelligence where up to the minute news was being gathered. He got first-hand information on the position of the gangs DHS was using to clear the city, and the map wasn’t looking too good.

The only area where Homeland hadn’t taken control was to the east and slightly north of downtown. John saw some map symbols he wasn’t familiar with, and learned that the symbols represented battles where two of the gangs were fighting over territory.

“They’re all trying to get the choice neighborhoods,” the intelligence agent said. “You know Winter Park and Maitland, the loot is first class and the Latinos and white supremacists are fighting over the territory. Colonial Drive and McGuire road are all no man’s land. It extends all the way up to Casselberry.”

“Do we have any assets in this area?” John asked, pointing to the seam in gang coverage.

“You kidding?” The agent replied. “I wouldn’t send my worst enemy in there.”

John thanked the man and returned to his apartment. If he found the group, he had no choice but to tell them that their best bet was through that disputed quadrant of the city where they might be able to find a seam to slide through. Otherwise, they needed to give themselves up and take their chances with the system. John sighed and planned his evening around a trip to Anchor Insurance. On one hand he hoped to find Charlie so he would know they were alright, while on the other hand, he didn’t relish the thought of giving them the news he bore. He hated to give bad news, and thought of the irony of the situation. Usually, as a policeman, he gave bad news to families after the event had taken place. Tonight, he would be bearing the news that might well kill them all, before anything actually happened. John thought for a moment and decided he didn’t like either of these options. Being a messenger of bad news sucked, whether it was before or after the calamity had occurred.

Charlie

The darkness took forever to take control of the city. It slowly descended on us like the gravity-defying dance of milkweed’s cotton when it breaks from its brown seed capsule. Once caught in the breeze, it seems to float forever, eventually settling to the ground when gravity finally defeats its wind-driven dance. Tonight, the lingering fuchsia sky gave way to purple, and finally darkness as the daylight was finally devoured by the inky black night sky.

We all knew what was coming, and we all knew that this could be our last night alive. None of us was innocent enough to think that the night walk we were planning would be safe or easy, so we watched in silence as the evening sun died in its daily journey over the western horizon.

We plan to leave about 9 PM, regardless of whether Drosky appears. Checking one of the wind-up clocks we had synchronized with John, I saw that he would either be here in the next half hour, or we would go blindly to the east and take our chances. That prospect didn’t fill me with much hope, since our luck had been poor to date, so I could only hope that John would bring us some good news, because Lord knows, we could use a little of that now.

Most of the group had gathered in the downstairs lobby, quietly conversing with each other in a quest to stay calm. Being locked up together these past many days had allowed us to become more versed on each other’s personal life than I knew even about my own family. I, for one, decided to sit quietly by myself, gazing out of the back window of the office I had taken when we first arrived. The stained glass bled no colors now that the sun had set, but the rising winter moon was just beginning to light up the eastern sky. Its bluish hue cast long shadows in the parking lot that made up my rear window view. It was a cold light and one that did nothing to dispel my fears about our journey tonight.

“What time is it?” A quiet voice said.

I heard Janice gliding into the room. Her distinctive footsteps were among the many nuances I’ve learned since our group had been forced into such tight and stressful quarters.

“Almost that time,” I replied. “John is due at any minute.”

She sat down next to me on the couch, leaning back into the plush leather-pillowed back.

“Charlie,” she began. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” I asked, fully knowing what she was here for. The prior days had given her time to accept Brie’s death and for her to accept her role in it. Garrett had told me she had apologized to him and that she wanted to speak to me as well. I assumed it was probably a cathartic way for her to forgive herself, given the improved mood she had displayed after she had spoken to Garrett.

“The way I handled Brie’s death and for my part in it,” Janice replied. “I am truly sorry.”

“You know that we all had a part in her death,” I began. “But we can talk about that another day.”

I turned to my friend and put my hand on her arm. The dark room, slightly illuminated by the cold azure moonlight, prevented us from seeing each other’s face. But her words were sincere, and sadness seeped from each syllable she uttered.

“Right now, I want you to know that I forgive you, and I know that Brie does too.”

I heard Janice catch her breath; then a quiet sob escaped from her lips. She dropped her head into my lap and her body shook ever so lightly as she allowed her pent-up grief to finally be set free.

I sat there, stroking her long locks of hair, silently giving her the time to grieve, and the space to heal.

A few minutes had gone by when we heard some murmurs and movement from the other three.

“Someone’s coming!” Jorge hissed.

We all found our pre-planned hiding spots in the room and silently waited for our fate to arrive. Garrett, Jorge and I took aim at the front door and waited.

The door’s handle gently shook then turned, and a single figure was framed in the back-glow of the moon’s light as they pushed their way into the building. A piercing white light shot out into the room as the intruder’s flashlight lit up our sanctuary.

“Charlie?” I heard.

John!
I thought, then replied, “Over here! Is that you, John?”

“Yeah!” He said with some relief in his voice. “I’m so glad I found you guys!”

John pointed his flashlight down to the ground and the six of us moved to a side room that faced the adjoining building and where Jorge had blacked out the windows with heavy curtains.

“Any of you guys have a light?” John asked. “There aren’t any patrols due through here until after midnight, so it’s safe.”