Devolution (6 page)

What was meant to take minutes took hours. Tony wasn’t even aware his wife was home when she knocked on the door. Dressed in a blue robe tied tightly around her waist, her hair was still damp from an evening shower.

“Honey,” she remarked drowsily, “I am going to bed. Are you coming?”

“Soon.” He swiveled around, careful to block the screen. “I can finish in the morning.”

“What have you been doing up here all night?” She approached him, and he placed his back against the monitor.

“It’s just something for the House.”

Emma was skeptical, but she was also tired. “Please, come to bed soon.”

He rose to kiss her forehead. “I’ll be in soon.”

The second she left, Tony was back to work. Pleased, he placed his hands on his head, leaned back, and inhaled deeply through his nose. A steady release of the breath calmed his nerves. He placed his hand on the mouse and positioned the pointer. Leaning over, he turned on the printer. The green light soon flashed a bright red. He pushed the “print” icon.

The printer slid a page from the bin and processed the command. Seconds later, a replica of the pamphlet Tony had ripped up a few months earlier sat on the tray.

He saved his work, shut down the computer, and went to bed, knowing there would be little sleep. In a few short hours he would rise again to plan his attack.

CHAPTER THREE

“BECAUSE SOMEHOW,
THEY KNOW WHO WE ARE.”

I
t was a mild January day in Cambridge, a welcomed break from the frigid weather that had besieged the city. John Nolan’s red hatchback puttered around the crowded parking garage, eventually squeaking to a stop near the top level. John gathered his things from the passenger seat.

Founded in 1209, the University of Cambridge was the second oldest university in the English-speaking world (behind Oxford). Academically, it was ranked among the world’s best, and was historically the choice of the royal family. Graced with gothic, colonial, and post-modern design, much of the institution lined the River Cam. The manicured grounds and freshly scented air attracted visitors year around.

John strode purposefully across campus.

“Hey stranger.” In his intense focus, he didn’t even notice her. “Aren’t you a sight?”

That Tennessee accent was unmistakable, and John’s heart raced. “April!” She walked towards him, and he nervously lifted his backpack onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even see you. I have a meeting...” He paused to steady his voice.

April found his jitters endearing. “I just got finished with Old Sores myself.”

“And?”

“It went well. Really well.”

At that moment, John noticed a vulnerability—another opportunity. A warm feeling of accomplishment resonated in her eyes.

“I have my meeting with him now.” John nervously rubbed his hands together. “It shouldn’t take long. Want to get together afterward?”
Awkward pause.
“Have a drink or something?” His forehead dripped in a cold sweat.

The corners of her mouth curled up. “Well, I am going to the library now. Here’s my number.” She ripped some paper from her bag and jotted it down. “When you’re finished with Sorenson, I might be ready for a break.”

They shared a pleasant smile as she handed over her number. The caress of her hand on John’s tingled his body.

*

Professor Sorenson looked up from his cluttered desk when John entered. “Mr. Nolan, take a seat.”

The chair creaked in pain as John sat down. Before removing his notes, he glanced up at the room’s overburdened shelves. “I think you are going to like what I have so far.”

Old Sores motioned with an upwards palm.
Let’s see it.

“Well,” John began with confidence, his notes now in his hand. “Before, we talked about the sociology of government.” He scooted forward and sat up straight. “I have researched numerous civilizations and found their downfalls were largely preventable and self-induced.”

John looked at Old Sores in an effort to soften him up before revealing his ultimate plan.

“Professor, I want to write my own Constitution. In fact, I have already started.” The tense young man presented his rough draft. “What better way to predict the future of governance?”

The professor studied his student’s work, and John was unable to decipher the expression on his wrinkled face.

“I have divided the Constitution into six articles,” John went on. “The first three outline the branches of government, or departments as I call them. The fourth describes how the government will operate. The fifth article details with the rights of the people. And the sixth sets forth laws.”

“The Department of Military and State?” the professor questioned.

“Yes,” John replied. “The other two are Treasury and Commerce, and Justice and Law. That’s all that’s needed. I explain why in there.”

The poker-faced professor skimmed though John’s work. His ancient chair moaned in a series of high pitched squeaks and pops as he leaned back to read. The minutes slowly ticked past.

Eventually, Old Sores removed his glasses, leaning forward to toss them onto his desk. The springs of his chair cried even louder.

“This isn’t what we discussed,” he said.

“No, not exactly, sir,” John nervously replied. “But I—”

“It is a stretch to consider this sociology. It’s more political science.”

The empty feeling John associated with academia, reappeared.

“However, you have come so far.”

The void began to fill.

“I have always thought that my primary job as an educator was not to teach sociology, but to help students achieve their fullest potential. If you don’t plan to seek a doctorate in this field, what harm would it do to continue?” The professor shrugged, his stone expression slightly relenting. “Being candid though, I still question the paper’s significance. Your work must be applicable to pass this course.”

“I believe it is, Professor,” John said, doing his best to mask his jubilation. He could sense the old man’s approval. “I will prove it to you.”

“Fine.” Old Sores handed the papers back to his student. “However, your final paper must sell itself. I’m still not convinced. If you need help, don’t hesitate to ask. I expect the finished copy on my desk by April 30.”

“Yes, sir.” John stood up and flung his bag over his shoulder. With a smile that encompassed his whole face, he proudly walked out of the office.

*

“Sir, you have a phone call on your personal line,” Shalid Ali Hannan whispered in his boss’ ear as he finished his prayers. Alam Jabbar required assistance to rise from his southeastern kneel.

“Did they give a name?” Jabbar asked with a thick African accent.

“No, sir. He just asked to speak with you.”

An injury to Jabbar’s leg left had him partially disabled. He limped down the hall to his plush office.

“This is Alam Jabbar,” he said into the telephone receiver, making no attempt to hide his Kikongo dialect. The Arabic emblem of his organization hung proudly on the wall behind him, a bright crescent moon against a black backdrop, surrounded by brighter stars.

“Mr. Jabbar, it is a pleasure. I have something that may be of interest to you,” said a male voice Jabbar did not recognize.

“Really?” Jabbar replied. “To whom am I speaking?”

“I would like to meet with you.”

“I meet with no one I don’t know.”

“Do you know who Captain Brooks is, sir?”

Jabbar was one of few who knew the name well. “What is the point of this? I do not have time for nonsense.”

“Meet me tomorrow night at nine at the corner of St. Andrews and Downing.”

“Why should I?”

CLICK.

Jabbar lowered the phone and laid it onto his desk.

“Who was that, sir?” Hannan asked, re-entering the room with a tea set.

“I do not know,” Jabbar said, slightly agitated. His curiosity, as always, would trump his judgement. “I guess we will find out tomorrow.”

*

“Ready for a break, yet?” John asked April Lynn as he exited the Sociology building.

April sat behind a dozen sprawled out books, her eyes tinted a mellow red. “Sure.”

“How about All Bar One? Edible food. Cheap beer.”

She marked a page with yellow tape. “Give me a few minutes.”

John rushed through campus to arrive first and the pub, which was jammed with students and faculty decompressing after a long semester. John managed to secure a table directly in sight of the door.

All Bar One was your typical English college pub. Its central location on campus made it a Cambridge favorite. The inside was crafted of various shades of stained oak. Pictures of the Royal Family adorned the walls, and it reeked of stale beer.

When April entered, she spotted John and went over to sit with him.

“How’d it go with Sorenson?” she nearly shouted, placing her bag on a chair. The pub was known for being loud.

“Good. Very good!”

John noticed April’s lips were shining a fresh bright red, the buttons on her shirt were no longer closed at the top of her chest, and her silken blonde hair had been released from its tie.

She chuckled. “Thank God, right?” She drew out the ‘i’ as if she had spent her entire life in Tennessee.

“I’ll get your drink orders in a second.” The waitress placed two glasses of water and darted off.

What do you drink?” April asked, her eyes scanning the menu.

John was hesitant to risk a common interest by recommending the wrong cocktail. Plus, he found himself fixated on the loose buttons of her blouse.

“What kind of whiskey do they have?” she said.

Whiskey?
His jaw dropped even more.

“What can I get you guys?” The waitress seamed to appear out of nowhere, and John was not prepared.

“I’ll have a whiskey and soda,” April said. “Light on the soda.”

“And for you, sir?”

“Uhh...” John’s usual light pilsner was suddenly not an option. “Stout. A local stout. The biggest mug you have.”

“Got it.” The husky waitress disappeared amongst the patrons.

John planned to use that day’s crowd to his advantage. It forced them to lean in a little closer as they conversed, which allowed him better access to her provocative perfume—another addition to her character he had never noticed.

“So what’s your topic?” John asked, wanting their conversation to go smoothly, no awkward pauses.

“How families with special needs children socialize.”

“Okay.” John enthusiastically nodded, fighting the urge to peek down her blouse.
Keep your eyes high.

“I’m going to be a social worker,” she went on. “Help families with special needs. My brother has Down Syndrome. It can be hard. My family really needed help growing up, and I want to help others.”

April leaned back to give the waitress room as she lowered their drinks. She pressed out her chest as she arched against the back of the chair. John barely noticed their order had arrived.

“Good for you,” John said when the waitress had walked away.

“It’s a tough industry. We depend on government grants. Politicians are hard to lobby. There aren’t too many votes in our community. You know what I mean?”

April emptied her drink down her throat in one shot. “We’ll see what happens. So, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Uhh...”
Are you kidding me?
“Well, I am writing my own…”
Was there whiskey in that?

April tilted her head in confusion, her hair gently falling off her shoulder. “Your own…?” she prompted.

“Uhh...” He had never seen a woman who looked like her—drink like that. “My own Constitution.”

She now looked even more confused.

“The idea is to create the perfect form of government. One that will last.”

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Good luck with
that.
”

John smiled, while taking another quick peek.

*

Dressed in her blue nightgown with her red hair pulled back, Emma Manning leaned against the doorframe of her newborn’s room, watching her son sleep in his crib.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” she said when her husband walked up behind her, affectionately putting his arms around her waist.

He gently placed his chin on her shoulder. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Emma turned to look at him, wondering. She silently followed Tony down the hall, where he closed his office door behind them.

Emma stood reserved with her arms wrapped in her nightgown.

Tony opened the top desk drawer. “Remember that day I was held hostage?”

The question required no answer.

“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone.” He removed a pamphlet from a manila folder. “But I have to.”

His wife stood perplexed.

“We were not taken hostage by Muslim terrorists,” he explained, walking towards Emma. Her eyes followed him across the room. “We weren’t even taken hostage. We were used as publicity tools so
this
information could get global attention.”

He handed her the pamphlet.

“They worked for MI-6,” he gestured towards the document which had already captured his wife’s attention. “That is what our government
really
does.”

Emma began to tear up as the unknown mounted in her mind.
What does this mean?
The shock forced her mute. Much of what the pamphlet highlighted were well-known events, which now took on new meaning.

“When the military came in and opened fire they didn’t care who they hit.” Tony pulled up a chair for Emma to sit. “If we would have been sitting anywhere but where we were, we would have been killed instantly. I think the only thing that saved us was Cunnington. He got free and called his wife. They couldn’t kill us with her on the other line, but I feel they wanted to.”

Emma continued to study the pamphlet while listening to her husband’s confession, covering her mouth with her free hand.

“When the shooting stopped, some of the captain’s men were still alive. They were taken away. All the dead were put into bags. It happened in a matter of seconds.”

“I never asked you... I figured you would talk when you were ready,” Emma declared, regretting what she now knew.

Tony went on as though he didn’t hear her. “The four of us sat there terrified. We feared our military more than our capturers. Not long after the shooting a man came in and told us to follow him. We walked to a room where they gave us information and told us to memorize it. We stayed in that room until the press conference.”

“Do they know you have this?” Emma asked, the pamphlet shaking in her nervous hands.

“No,” he assured her. “The originals were destroyed. That is a replica.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Emma looked up in fear of the answer.

“I believe this country has a right to know. The government told us to stay quiet. This is why the other guys are stepping down. They can’t trust themselves.”

Emma raised her hand as if to say, ‘stop!’ She handed Tony the pamphlet. What she was about to tell her husband would go against her better judgment and contradict all she believed in—specifically love of country. But ultimately, she saw the significance. Fighting back intense urges to say something completely different, she managed to utter, “God help us.”