I turned to stare into her eyes, our noses nearly touching for a second, and noted the sincerity and concern reflected.
“Thanks,” I said, fully appreciating both her gesture and her proximity to me.
She blinked and quickly backed away from me and returned to scanning the crowd with her binoculars.
I quickly lost track of how many dignitaries took the podium, each conveying their regrets, shock, and determination not to allow the perpetrators to go unpunished. In their own way, each also spoke of the importance of family and loved ones, of the tragic and abrupt loss that had occurred, and of the need for a time of reflection and healing.
I couldn’t deny degrees of validity or appropriateness for what each of the event’s speakers had said; I shared each of those feelings at some level myself. However, I mostly felt a pervasive sense of drive to find and stop anyone associated with the explosion that might also have an agenda that threatened my family.
Or Maria and her family.
Or Megan Sanders.
Or me.
But there was another underlying feeling within me, as well; a need that was both motivational and dark.
Retribution.
As I scanned the litany of faces of special guests and dignitaries on the stage, I noticed one in particular; someone who I’d not seen in a number of years.
My old friend and former member of my fire team in Afghanistan sat between two other politicians.
Paul Criswell, the moderate-minded Democratic congressman from New York.
What’s he doing here?
I was surprised to see him in the audience, not being part of the contingent representing Iowa. In fact, he sat beside another non-Iowan, Republican Senator Benjamin Conway of Utah.
That was definitely an odd pairing.
I had little time to contemplate the matter further as the president was introduced and all eyes and ears focused upon him.
When President Graydon spoke, he captivated the audience with his charming southern drawl, dripping with empathy. Beau Graydon, an ultra-conservative Republican and former senator from South Carolina, was one of the founders and chief proponents of the Land Reclamation and Investment in America Act nearly a decade ago while serving in the senate; the catalyst for Nevis Corners and other corporate cities like it. The historic bill had served as his personal golden ticket into the White House a couple of years ago; swept into office amidst the fervor and promise of a new Golden Age in our economy. He, above many, likely took the terrorist attack in Nevis Corners as a personal affront.
In fact, a portion of his speech suggested as much.
“Americans are a talented, industrious people; born of grit and determination, as well as compassion. We’re prone to neither wrath nor fury,” he said.
“However, when confronted with such a hateful crime as terrorism, Americans gird themselves in their faith and beliefs, ever vigilant against evil powers which lash out against all that we hold sacred; things such as faith, family, and the enduring spirit of freedom that were born of centuries ago.”
“When I look upon the ashes of the Wallace Building and see the faces of so many whose loved ones were ripped from their arms, I feel love and sympathy for the victims and their families. Yet, I also feel a determination that no border, or power, or barrier can withstand; a resolve that such hateful crimes will not go unanswered. I can only promise to my fellow Americans that justice will ultimately be done,” he said.
Following subdued clapping, the president returned to the gentler messages of support and consolation. However, the air felt charged with something quiet and ominous; like calm before a storm.
Then again, maybe it more closely reflected the emotions within me.
The event wrapped up promptly after the president spoke. He quickly exited the building, along with a small army of Secret Service personnel, leaving the rest of us to assert order amidst the waves of people lining up to exit. Denton, Sanders, and I barely managed to negotiate our way to the reserved security area, in fact.
As we exited the center, I spied a glimpse of Paul Criswell as he accompanied a number of fellow politicians out of the building.
“Paul!” I yelled, trying and get his attention.
He looked my direction and nodded, but then turned and made his way in the opposite direction.
Really?
After he’d gone to the trouble to call my mother to ask about me, he couldn’t even spare a moment to say hello?
Yes, he was an important congressman and it was a crazy sort of day, but I couldn’t help feeling as if he’d just disregarded me rather casually.
It kinda’ pissed me off, actually.
“What’s wrong?” Sanders asked as she pressed against my shoulder while negotiating the crowd.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just saw somebody I used to know.”
Chapter 18
Denton and Sanders returned to the office, so I got in the car and headed home. In truth, I still had a mild headache from my earlier attempts at overhearing people’s thoughts on such a grand scale.
When my cell phone rang, I’d just plopped down onto the couch with a cold glass of Gatorade and turned on the TV.
I noted the caller ID and frowned.
It was an elusive person from my past; someone I was still slightly annoyed with at the moment.
“Hello? Bringer speaking,” I said in a practiced tone.
“Hi, Logan. It’s Paul Criswell.”
“Hi, Paul. So nice of you to call,” I said with an edge to my voice.
“Yeah, listen, Bringer, sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk earlier today,” he said. “It was a big to-do and rather tightly scripted; heavy with public expectations and key politicians to shake hands with and elbows to rub. You understand, right?”
“Sure, Paul,” I said.
Actually, his social circles and mine were worlds apart since we both left the Army.
“Logan, I know this is pretty short notice and it’s been long time since we’ve talked, but I’d appreciate it if you and I could meet privately this evening,” he said.
Aside from perhaps calling my sister, my night was destined for just me and the television, so how could I resist?
“Sure,” I said. “When and where?”
“How about an hour from now,” he said. “Meet me at the downtown central park next to the city founders’ display.”
“Okay. Got it.”
“And, Logan, it’s important that you come alone,” he cautioned. “Nobody but my administrative aide and I know we’re meeting, and I’d like to keep this on the QT, if you don’t mind.”
“Got it, Paul,” I said. “See you tonight.”
“Thanks,” he said before our connection ceased.
Just great. Clandestine meetings with politicians. Nothing ever goes wrong when those happen, right?
I half-considered calling Sanders, but then thought better of it. She probably would’ve insisted on coming along, which was exactly what Paul had asked me not to do.
Within the hour, I stood next to the commemorative tribute to the primary corporate players behind the founding of Nevis Corners. The sun had already set by the time that I’d arrived, leaving the park dimly lit beneath sporadic lampposts.
I stared at the elaborate stone and marble structure; an imposing centerpiece near the middle of the picturesque park. It was a huge, gaudy-looking example of corporate self-aggrandizement. The rock base was comprised of large stone chunks from local quarries, as well as large marble slabs serving as the backdrop for the etchings. Copper and some steel accented part of the trim.
In totality, it was a solid reminder that this was a corporate city; a shining beacon of capitalism.
Of course, in my mind, there wasn’t anything wrong with capitalism. But, like most anything, there had to be limits; and right now, in our place and time, corporations were the irresistible giants on Earth.
Or, at least, in America they were.
The partnership between one major contributing corporation, Corners Industries, and multi-billionaire American investor, Nevis Wallace, had been the catalyst for the sprawling city that I now called home.
What was the world coming to when our government was willing to parcel out stretches of privately owned land just to appease monolithic corporations? Was it really just a modern replaying of the Carnegie’s and the Vanderbilt’s all over again?
“Thanks for meeting me, Logan,” came a voice to my right.
I started, silently berating myself for allowing my guard to drop and my mind to wander. That would’ve never happened back in the prime of my army days.
You’re getting lazy, Bringer.
“Hi, Paul,” I said, exchanging a handshake and quick fraternal half-hug with my distant friend and former sergeant who’d saved my life so many years ago.
“How are Denise and the kids?” I asked.
“Doing great, thanks,” he replied.
Paul’s welcoming smile turned serious, and I couldn’t help but wonder why we were meeting so discreetly.
He looked up at the corporate display next to us.
“It seems like a lifetime ago since cities like Nevis Corners sprang up across this country,” he said. “So many hopes and dreams, all waiting to come to fruition and become the catalyst for another hundred years of economic prosperity.”
I frowned.
“You met me out here on a cool night to wax nostalgia over the Land Reclamation and Investment in America Act?” I asked. “Hell, we could’ve had a cold beer in a nice warm bar for that.”
He chuckled.
“Same old, Bringer,” he teased. “Give it to me straight and cut the bullshit.”
I shook my head with a good-natured expression. Paul had always been the visionary one with big dreams in our group.
“Truthfully, I like that beer idea,” he agreed.
“Been a long time since we just talked,” I said, changing the subject. “Been even longer since our days back overseas.”
He nodded and sighed.
“A long time,” he agreed. “Now, here we are again.”
“Why is that, exactly, Paul?”
He paused, glancing up at the stone and marble display, and then turned his back to it to face me.
“I’m really glad your cancer treatments were successful,” he offered. “Your mom was pretty broken up when the traditional chemotherapy and radiation treatments failed.”
I thought back to those days, and the sad truth was that I’d been ready to say goodbye to everyone. Those were rough days, and it about killed me to see my parents and sister in such emotional pain.
Those were dark days.
“Thanks. I was really lucky,” I said.
The faces of my fellow cancer patients who’d lost their lives in the Wallace Building explosion flashed through my mind.
Who knew how many of them might’ve been cured as well, given time?
“Mom really appreciated your phone calls, Paul,” I said.
“Your mother’s an amazing lady,” he agreed. “I still remember the phone call when she asked if there was anything that I could do to help get you into the Nuclegene trials. I was happy to help.”
I looked up sharply and stared into Paul’s eyes.
“You didn’t know?” he asked incredulously.
“No,” I said. “Mom told me that she’d seen some article in a medical journal that Nuclegene was holding trials for a new form of chemotherapy. She directed me to their website to apply for the program, but she never mentioned calling you.”
He appeared just as surprised as I felt, so I didn’t doubt his word. Still, I opened my mind to activate my ability.
…can’t believe she didn’t tell him
, Paul thought.
It was true then.
“You helped me qualify for the Nuclegene trials?” I asked.
“Yes. Listen, Logan, I’m sorry,” he offered. “I hope you’re not upset with your mother. She was just doing anything possible to try and help you. Any parent would’ve done the same.”
I held up my hand.
“I’m not angry, just surprised,” I said. “I love Mom. But now I realize I need to thank her for a lot more than I already have, that’s all.”
He adopted a sheepish expression.
“So, how did you manage to get me into the treatment program, exactly?” I asked.
He paused, as if gathering his thoughts.
…better to tell him everything
, Paul thought.
“I’d just been selected as the Vice-Chairman of the House Science and Technology Committee,” he said. “I wrote a letter to Nuclegene asking that you be seriously considered for the trials. They’d already closed the sample group, but I managed to have them add you onto the list. Hell, we’d already formed a subcommittee to investigate Nuclegene’s proposal, and frankly, the science was impressive cutting edge stuff.”
“Thanks for your help, Paul. I had no idea,” I said.
I was stunned. It occurred to me that without Paul’s help, I might already be dead.
“Glad to help out an old army buddy,” he said. “Or rather, a good friend.”