The Harvester (18 page)

B
ack at the Golden Gate Bridge, the sun rises higher into the sky. I look at my watch and it reads a quarter to six. Any moment, Vega will make his presence known. He’s known for making quite the interesting, even impressive entrances, so we’re ready for anything. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves. I’ve already died once, and I don’t plan on an Underworlder giving me my second death.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said that a line in Ernest Hemingway’s book
A Farewell to Arms
was the greatest ever written. It goes like this: “The world wrecks of everyone.” I certainly believe this to be true and very insightful. In one way or another, it does happen to someone, sometimes a few times over, like to me. But one has to muster enough strength, fortitude, if you will, to continue on. And this transaction will put me to the test.

The commuters on both sides grow restless, impatient, and some are upset that they can’t continue with their commute to work. When they realize we’re Harvesters, they’ll be filled with ire due to them still thinking we abducted the president. Suddenly, a white flash emanates a few yards in front of us and Vega’s White Door emerges from the street. This is it. My adrenaline gets flowing, and I can’t help but to get excited for the battle. If it comes to that. With the president in the mix, that wouldn’t be a good idea. The media tries to focus their cameras on us, but our undercover Harvester cops break their cameras. This causes a raucous amongst the commuters.

First to step out of the door are five Underworlders with swords and guns in hand. That was to be expected. The anticipation of seeing Vega and the president build within me. Next, the President steps out with Vega who has an assault rifle jabbed into his back. Vega looks over at me and sarcastically winks. He knows he has the upper hand on the Agency due to him having the president hostage, one of the Heads as a spy for him, and the fact we still don’t know where his headquarters is located. His ego must be blown up to the size of a blimp. I think to myself that Vega could have any number of tricks up his sleeve. I’ve already found out a few of his new creations he accomplished creating in which we never knew even existed.

He could be planning, plotting anything, and I hope I’m prepared for that. We establish our militaristic style stance. We always fight as a unit like the marines or, even better, the Spartans.

Vega’s number one guy, the Messenger, guards their White Door. The scientists are scared of this confrontation and back a few feet behind us and take cover.

I stare down Vega. “Nice try at demonizing the Agency. It didn’t work.”

Vega chuckles. “Well, half my army are demons, so it makes sense that we gave it the old college try.”

“So how’s this going to go down?” Mr. Herald asks.

“Well, Gerald, it’s going down like this. You, my scientists, and ex-partner come with me, and you get Mr. President back safe and sound and we continue with our lives.”

A single strand on the president’s head rises and is gently plucked. Nobody sees this, but me. Only we know how this act was made possible, and it’s done due the brilliant mind of Djinn. I know there’s no way in hell that we’re going through with Vega’s way. Our way is about to take place, but I must first stall a bit.

“Well, Vega, I know you better than anyone.”

I hear a single beep on my watch, and I look down and what I see makes me happy—confirmation. I nod and instantly, a Black Door shoots up from the street and ten Harvesters rocket out with guns in hand. Vega is discombobulated, an emotion I haven’t seen from him in many centuries. He quickly spins around and lays down cover fire. The ten Harvesters scatter for cover and return fire.

While Vega is occupied, I dash toward the president as my crew returns fire on the Underworlders. The Messenger has the same idea as me, but I get to the president first. I easily pick him up and rocket into the Black Door and vanish. The Messenger tries to pursue, but the Black Door disappears right as he gets to it.

The president and I arrive at the Travel Center within the Agency. We’re met by a few Harvesters and the vice president.

“It actually worked!” the vice president shouts. He shakes the president’s hand. “It’s great to see you, Mr. President.”

“It’s good to be seen other than by Underworlders.” The president turns to me and shakes my hand. “The nation owes you a great deal of gratitude. Your plan worked brilliantly.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. But it takes teamwork and the Agency, all of us achieved this.”

“Of course, of course. The Agency is crucial to mankind as we know it,” the president says with a sincere, genuine tone in his voice. He turns to the vice president and adds, “We need an immediate press conference notifying the world what has happened, who took me hostage, how I was rescued, and who did it.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. President.”

I signal to two of the Harvesters to escort them. They nod in confirmation and lead them down the hall.

A
few hours later, back at my apartment, I was notified via phone what transpired after I took the president into our Black Door. The first thing I was told I found impressive. The rusty Mr. Herald got two Underworlder kills. Nice! Vega escaped with his scientists and three injuries to himself. The media only captured glimpses of the altercation. The commuters caught even less. Only one Harvester is now in the After. All in all, it was a successful mission. I also heard the president went global with a press conference about everything that happened. Thus, vindicating the Agency from any and all wrongdoings. The second Witch Trials, as I dubbed them, was a hardship that nobody, unless you deserve it, should have to go through. Everywhere we went we were harassed, cursed at, and even attacked. Mr. Herald changed my Harvesting status from all cases to solely working on Vega’s case. And what Vega doesn’t know, at least I hope, is that I have a trick up my sleeve in progress. There’s several knocks on my front door, and by the secret timing of them, I know who it is. I grab my sword, put it in my sheath, grab two handguns, and place them into my side holsters. Then I grab my assault rifle and hide it under my leather trench coat in its holster. I move to the front door and open it to reveal Charon, Dorian, Naes, and Kelly Marie. Yes, Kelly Marie. She has proven herself to me, and I made her a part of my crew.

“We ready?” Charon asks.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply. It’s a line I’ve used ever since I heard that song from the group Talking Heads back in the mid 1980s.

In a large room with all the technology one would need to accomplish anything technologically speaking, several of us now are interested in one section of all this technology. And that’s the world’s best tracking device. We view a screen that makes five different beeping noises for Vega’s five scientists we purposely allowed Vega to get back. Each of them have tracking devices inserted in their brains. They don’t even know they are there due to Djinn putting them there after he administered a sleep gas agent.

Djinn is close to locking down on their exact position.

He moves closer to the screen with excitement. “Three, two, one, and . . . bingo!” Djinn exclaims. “Vega’s HQ is in the Mariana Trench,” he continues.

“I knew it!” I shout. I’ve known it all along.

“Gerald, we must get a crew together immediately before Vega finds out we know. And he will.”

He nods. “Djinn, make a precise map of the area within five minutes,” Mr. Herald tells him in an authoritative tone.

“You got it, sir,” he replies to Mr. Herald.

“Also, we’ll need readings from our deep sea penetrating radar to see what kind of security system Vega has in the trench,” he further says.

“No problem, Mr. Herald,” Djinn replies.

I gather Mr. Herald to come closer for more privacy. “Listen, we still don’t know for true if we have an Underworlder spy in our midst. We keep our attack on Vega’s headquarters a secret. Only the ones we truly trust and know can be reliable should know of this.”

“The way you think, Harv, well, I feel you’ll be a Head one day. I agree with you.”

Now I know why Vega showed up at the Golden Gate Bridge in a submarine. He must’ve enhanced its abilities to be able to dive to those depths and also the human scientists wouldn’t be crushed by the weight and power of the water.

T
okyo, Japan, two days later, I sit at a sushi bar with Charon, Dorian, Kelly Marie, and Naes at an outside table only because I feel more comfortable outside rather than inside. Inside, you’re trapped from any sort of attack. Outside, you have avenues of escape. Just because we’re in Japan doesn’t mean the Underworld isn’t here. In fact, I know they are. We recently discovered, due to years of surveillance, Underworlders run one of the most vicious, powerful organized crime syndicates in the world, the Yakuza. So yeah, we’re on high alert.

Not everyone in the Mariana Trench Hit Crew, as I dubbed us, know what exactly the plan is for safety reasons. Only Mr. Herald and I know what’s going to transpire due the Underworld spy situation. They keep asking me when, why, where, what, yada yada.

But I must remain silent for the time being. It’s hard to do so. I want to tell them so badly. When we get to where we need to be, then and only then will I inform them as instructed by Mr. Herald. My mind begins to wander and thinks who might the spy or spies be and which of the Heads is a traitor. I can’t rule out that it could even be my boss and great friend Mr. Gerald Herald. But how? Why?

What does he have to benefit, especially with him so close to retirement? But with him being the Head of North America where Vega and I were stationed together for so long, well, anything’s possible. The allure, temptation of the Underworld is quite captivating, character-changing even.

Vega tried his hardest to get me to flip to his side, but it didn’t work. Is this what happened? I’m not sure yet.

But I’ll find out. I’m very confident in that. And I’m not cocky or arrogant. Rather, well . . . maybe I am a bit cocky and arrogant. But I’ve earned that right for centuries of proving myself. I’ve always backed up whatever I’ve said.

Most can’t say the same.

It’s good to be back in Japan. So many fond memories.

I haven’t been here for a few centuries since Miyamoto Musashi trained me for all those years. No surviving Harvester, or anybody for that matter, can say that they have had his training, wisdom, and intellect. Huh?

That makes me think that the next Harvesters I train, maybe I should include his methods in order to spread his brilliance. The bright neon lights of Tokyo flashing incessantly on my face brings me out of my thought process.

Even at this late of night, foot and vehicle traffic is heavy. It’s unbelievable that after two atomic drops on this small country they came back to be one of the top powerhouse countries of the world. What a test of strength, perseverance. Now I find myself thinking of the Mariana Trench as the others talk and eat and take in the sights.

Like I informed my crew, the Mariana Trench is located just east of the country Guam and the Mariana Islands in the western Pacific Ocean. It is about 2,550 kilometers long, or 1,580 miles, and 69 kilometers wide, or 43 miles, and is 11.03 kilometers deep, or 6.83 miles, which is 30,069 feet deep. Overall, at that depth, it’s one thousand times our atmospheric pressure. You would literally explode without protective devices. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Vega chose that location as the Underworld’s headquarters. One thing I learned years ago is to never underestimate the power of a sick mind.

“Has Mr. Herald found out what type of security Vega has six miles down?” Naes asks me.

“Yeah. The depth of Vega’s headquarters is its only security. He obviously thought it would never come to this.”

Dorian swallows his food and looks at me with a concerned expression. “Are you sure Djinn’s tracking devices are untraceable? It could be a trap we’re walking right into.”

I let out a little chuckle. “You know who Q is in all the James Bond films, right? He creates all the double zero’s gadgets and devices and weapons.”

Everyone nods as if to say “Duh. Of course.”

“Djinn is Q to the hundredth power, easily.”

Japanese Harvester Michael Takahashi—a very deadly, suave, debonair looking and dressed—bellies up to our table. “Harvey, we’re ready to launch.”

“Hai,” I say to him, which, in Japanese, means yes. Some don’t know, but I’m fluent in thirteen languages. It’s mandatory and the Agency’s rule that all Harvesters speak at least six languages. They must speak their native tongue, plus the languages where all six of Agency’s headquarters are located . It has proven to be useful to be able to speak to any Harvester or Head across the world.