CAPTIVES

Sunday, April 26th, 2009 | Uncategorized

“A video file,” she said as Dale and I walked over. Diane held up her hand. “I wouldn’t advise Mr. Price to see this right now. Chris, you’ve at least had direct experience with this sort of thing.”

“And one way or another, Dale’s about to get direct experience with this sort of thing,” I replied. “So right now is as good a time to start as any.“ Diane nodded and clicked on the file.

There they were. Both our alternates were relaxed and smiling. “Hi, bitch,” my alternate told the camera. “Let’s get the housekeeping out of the way. As far as us allowing you to enter our reality, which you couldn’t have done on your own, you’re welcome.

“That kid we killed? We‘re glad you enjoyed it. Most of our five-year-olds, except for that little retard, could take out your entire reality without lifting a finger. The holy prophets, eternal blessings be upon them, have seen to that.

“Did you know that over here, we can look like anyone we want to. We can turn ourselves into an exact duplicate of anyone on your side. Perfect in every detail.

“We can even send over anyone we want.“ The two of them clasped hands and someone who looked like Pope Benedict XVI materialized alongside them. “Once again, perfect in every detail.“ The “Pope” then said something in German exactly like Joseph Ratzinger.

“So watch your back, bitch. And trust no one,“ said alternate Price. “You never know where we might show up. I don’t know what they call you in this reality and I don’t care. We just wanted to let you know that final operations are officially underway.

“And we also wanted to tell you that all realities, every single one of them, have been cleansed of their infestations. All their vermin has either been stored or eliminated and this is the last one. You officially have nowhere left to run. Bitch.”

Frantic, Diane checked some sort of device, the purpose of which I couldn’t begin to fathom. Then she switched everything off, murmured, “Oh God,“ and sat back in her chair, crying, shaking her head slightly and trembling in terror.

“Mr. Johnson and Mr. Price,” my alternate continued. “Assuming the bitch is crying right about now, the two of you know, or should, that you can’t defeat us. We thought we’d tell you that my friend and I REALLY don’t like to waste our time.

“If you respond to this message immediately,” continued the other Price. “We will make your deaths quick and painless.

“But the longer you two delay us…well let’s just say that you can’t begin to even remotely understand the agony that we will put you through.

“So if you have even a little intelligence, you’ll contact us right now. We can be merciful even to animals like the two of you. But this is your ONLY chance.”

“One more thing, Dale” said my alternate. “Dale, I mean the one next to me, and I REALLY appreciate the recent…recreation your wife provided for us. Ta.” As the picture went blank, Price briefly clenched his fist but otherwise said and did nothing.

After several minutes of horrified silence, Diane finally made herself ask, “What…what should I tell them?” She sounded like a frightened little girl.

“Tell them nothing,” I forcefully responded. I wrote down her cell number and then scribbled an e-mail address on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Forward that e-mail there first chance you get along with anything else they send you.”

“They’re gunning for you,” Dale told her, instantly all business. “But they’re gunning for us first. Get back to Washington and stay out of sight. Sullivan, you and Trimble see that she gets back there safely. We will contact you, you are not to contact us.”

I looked at Fuinseoig and Little Myrmidon. “Last chance. In or out?”

Fuinseoig stared back at me unemotionally and didn‘t reply. “Considering the fate they have in store for us,“ Myrmidon said quietly, “death doesn‘t sound half bad. Damn straight we’re in.”

I wrote down Trimble’s and Sullivan’s phone numbers.  We all looked at each other. Then, without a word, Trimble, Sullivan and Diane turned and left the room. Fuinseoig, Myrmidon, Dale and I walked out of the building, loaded our gear into the truck and drove off.

“Where are we going?” asked Fuinseoig.

“I have no idea,” I responded.

“So tell me about these portals,” inquired Little Myrmidon.

“They’re doors between realities,” I said. “If I remember correctly, there are usually two of them. One goes from here to there, the other from there to here.”

“Open both at once,” said Price. “Ballgame, thanks for playing. Or so we thought.”

“Yeah,” I said. “So we have to figure a way around what they‘ve seem to have figured a way around.”

At that point, conversation died down. We made it as far as Boise that evening before deciding to call it a night. I didn’t feel like sleeping right away and Dale and I thought someone should keep awake just in case so I took first shift.

I e-mailed Diane some preliminary security ideas, cc-ing them to Dale, before turning off the lapper. Then I made myself a bourbon-and-soda and took my customary seat by the desk, my feet up, staring out the window.

Twenty minutes later, Fuinseoig came out, poured herself a bourbon, took a seat nearby and put her own feet up on the desk. “Couldn’t sleep,” she said.

“You’re not really Ulster, are you?” I asked.

“No. But I do have an Orangeman or two in me lot. They buy me drinks every July 12^th.”

“Let me guess. Clare?”

“Close. Kerry. Got an aunt in Clare. These days, I’m all over the place, mostly staying as far away from cities as I possibly can. I hate Dublin. You are good.”

“I know. Why did you go to work for MI7?”

“Do you know how to get to the top of Irish Christian investigation? By standing up. Besides, to paraphrase one of your country’s bank robbers, London is where the money is. Now can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

Fuinseoig suddenly seemed nervous. “For a long time…I, um…I know how much Nicole means to you and always will. But if she’s already been…if they’ve already…made a point of…if she isn’t going to be…if she’s already been…would you possibly be…you know?”

I sadly smiled and sipped my drink. “No,“ I said quietly. “Not going to happen. Don’t get me wrong, kid, you’re as hot as it gets. But for one thing, I’m a thousand years too old for you. For another, Genesis 2:24 most emphatically isn‘t Middle Eastern poetry.”

Fuinseoig was silent for a while. “Good to know. Sorry if I got too close.”

“Not a problem at all,“ I said. “The idea’s come up more than once over the last year.”

We both refreshed our drinks and watched an approaching thunderstorm for a while. Then Fuinseoig looked over and said, “They mean to kill you.”

“I know.”

“And that‘s not a problem?”

“Didn‘t say that. But there’s not a whole lot I can do about it. Besides, to be honest with you, I’ve been trying to die ever since I got that call.

“Actually I’ve been trying to die a lot longer than that. I can’t tell you the number of times back when I was a single drunk hopped up on plain-label bourbon that I used to watch funeral processions go by and think, Damn, buddy, who do you know?

“All I can do is give it my best shot. And if I happen to cash in my stack, well, greater love hath no man and all that.”

Fuinseoig took a contemplative sip. “Problem is, if you lay down your life, that means they’ll still be in that void. That’s why I plan on going in guns blazin’.”

Now it was my turn to be silent. The idea hadn’t really occurred to me until just then. If we failed, Nicky, Paul and Dale’s entire family would be sentenced to the most hideous deaths imaginable. And even if we won, all of them might already be dead.

For the first time, it hit me and it hit me hard.

Winning might not matter at all.

“End of the day,” I finally told Fuinseoig. “You can only play the hand you’re dealt, go wherever it takes you and don’t think too far ahead. Because you‘ve got no control over too far ahead.”

“What do you suppose these…beings are?

“No idea. I’ve heard lots of theories since the last time I dealt with this sort of thing. For lack of a better term, dark matter realities, entire dark matter universes, completely inaccessible from this side.”

“Know what occurred to me?” said Fuinseoig, pouring herself one last shot of bourbon. “Maybe Satan’s officially opened final hostilities. Good night.”

She downed her drink in one gulp and went back to bed while I made myself another bourbon-and-soda and continued to stare out the window.

We arrived in Denver on a Sunday morning. There was literally no traffic at all. Dale surprised me when he said, “Big man? If you see a church, pull off, will you? I’d really like to go to Mass.”

“Me too,” said Fuinseoig.

I saw a tall steeple a bit off the road and exited the interstate. As luck would have it, it was St. Michael and All Angels, a Catholic parish, and the service had just started.

The parking lot was full so we parked way at the back. I decided to go in with them; I needed a little peace right about then. Dale opened the church’s great doors and we walked inside.

Suddenly, Price stopped, held up his hand and drew his gun. Instantly, Fuinseoig drew her Glock, Little Myrmidon drew her Smith & Wesson and I drew my Heckler-Koch. “There’s no one in there,” Dale said under his breath.

Dale quietly motioned for Fuinseoig to take the right aisle, Little Myrmidon to take the left aisle and me to take the balcony.

I hurried quietly up the steps. Quickly determining that there was no one in the balcony, I called out, “Clear!” went back downstairs and came up the center aisle behind the other three.

As they reached the transept, Little Myrmidon, looking left, and Fuinseoig, looking right, called out, “Clear!“ one right after the other. Dale took a quick peak around the back of the altar and said, “Clear.”

We met at the altar rail. “The parish hall?” I suggested.

Price looked around.  “It’s got to be through there,” he said, pointing to a door and nodding at Fuinseoig.  The two of them exited and quickly returned. “This place is empty. Let’s get out of here.”

The four of us ran to the truck. Down the street was the Pool of Siloam Full Gospel Assembly, once again with a full parking lot and a service that had just started.

We drove to the church and stopped before the entrance. I ran inside, quickly ran back out and got back behind the wheel. “Empty,“ I told Price as we sped off. “Call Diane.”

“Diane? Dale,“ he said. “It’s started. We’re in Denver and there‘s nobody here.”

“We know,” I heard Diane say. “The news hasn’t gotten out yet. The military has just started to cordon the place off. Are you there?”

“Yeah.”

“Get out. Get out now. I’ll alert the roadblocks to keep an eye out for you.”

We got back on Interstate 70 and sped east. The military roadblock immediately waved us through and we headed into eastern Colorado.

“Now what?” asked Myrmidon.

“We monitor the radio,” I told her as Price switched it on.

The Denver story dominated everything.. “I guess they’re aiming for the cities,” said Dale. “Let’s stay away from them as much as possible.”

“Roger that,” said Fuinseoig.

We got as far as Hays, Kansas that evening. We got a room and ate at The Mall. Then we tried to lose ourselves in a movie but that didn’t work out too well.

Back at the room, I once again took the first shift, poured myself a bourbon-and-soda, put my feet on the desk, turned on the TV and watched it in silence. The story had broken and it was all that was on any channel.

And it was rapidly spreading.

An hour later, the others came back out. None of them could sleep so they all made themselves drinks from the various 40-proof beverages and other essentials that I had purchased at a stop the day before and silently stared at the TV.

“Status?” Price asked me.

“Denver, obviously. Add to that St. Louis, Indianapolis, Chicago, Cincinnati, and Boston.” At the mention of her hometown, Little Myrmidon briefly pursed her lips but said nothing.

“They’re calling them some kind of coordinated worldwide terrorist assaults but they won’t say what the attacks consist of. All they’ll say is that it’s too dangerous to enter any of these places right now.

“Nothing coming out of Los Angeles, San Francisco or Seattle at the moment. Washington’s still there but the government’s scattered to the four winds.

“Nobody can get into or out of London and nobody can contact the British government or the Queen so I assume London’s been taken. There was an announcement that the Irish counties were assuming direct rule so I guess Dublin’s gone.” Fuinseoig didn’t react.

“Paris, Munich, Milan, Warsaw, Rome…”

“All of it?” wondered Dale.

“Yup. The Pope’s nowhere to be found. Tokyo, Beijing, New Delhi, Mumbai, Calcutta, Djakarta, Sydney, Melbourne.

“Johannesburg, Nairobi, Algiers, Cairo, Jerusalem, Mecca and Medina. Muslims everywhere are in meltdown panic mode. There may be others but those are the ones I remember.”

“Recommendations,” said Dale, looking around the room.

“We might as well contact them,” I said. “See what we can find out.”

“Directly?!” asked Fuinseoig, mildly alarmed at the suggestion.

“No, a videoconference.”

Dale nodded. “We all agreed?” he asked. Myrmidon and Fuinseoig tentatively nodded so I e-mailed the suggestion to the sending address on the file Diane had forwarded me.

While I did that, Price contacted David Trimble and put his phone on speaker. “Dear Lord, am I glad to hear from you guys. Are you all okay?” He sounded totally exhausted. “Where are you?”

“None of your business. Where are you?”

“Ditto.”

Dale allowed himself a smile. “Good man. How’s Diane?”

“She’s in a safe place But like all the rest of us, she’s just about defeated. Are you guys close? Do you have any idea where those portals might be?”

“No,” I said. “Listen, Trimble, have the Washington computers been shut down?”

“They’re about to be. They‘re turning off the power in all the places that have been hit.”

“Leave them on. We may need access.”

“You’ve got it. Wait a minute, Mark Sullivan has just come in with some…”–Then Trimble sounded like he wanted to shoot himself–”This just in. New York City is now off the grid. God help us all,” he whispered and hung up.

As the television provided background noise, the four of us sat silently sipping our drinks. Then I glanced at my laptop. “We have an answer,” I said.

It was a video file. I clicked on it and saw my alternate, once again smiling that arrogant smile of his. “My associate couldn’t be here. He’s had a busy day and he’s currently relaxing with your wife this time, Mr. Johnson.

“Figured I owed him one. I’d show her to you but Dale’s getting after it with her at the moment so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

“But I also thought you deserved an answer right away so the mick and that Boston skank could begin to come to terms with their fates. So you’d like a videoconference?

“You had your chance and you don’t get another one. And besides, why would we agree to such a thing when you treat us with such disrespect?

“I’m actually offended, Mr. Johnson. I know I’m WAY better than you are but that’s no reason to be insulting. Do you really think I’m that stupid?

“You know the most basic rule of this line of work. If you don’t want to let them get in your head, get in theirs first. And that’s exactly what you intended to do.

“You’ll mention some of the holy prophets, eternal blessings be upon them, by name. You’ll probably say something insulting about them figuring that it will anger Mr. Price or myself.

“Which it will. You hope to anger us enough so that we will give away some vital information. But you forget something.

“We don’t have to take any of you at all. We can empty this entire reality and then take those two bitches at our leisure.

“Which leaves the two of you. Dale and I got to talking the other day and we think it might be fun just to leave both of you here and then hunt you.

“You can either spend the rest of your miserable existences running for your lives or put bullets in your own heads and take your chances with that sky god of yours.

“Dale and I have studied you two for a long time and we have no doubt that you two are bright enough to find us. But we also know something else.

“We are quite happy to do something the two of you have consistently refused to do. So until you‘re ready to do what you won‘t do, you can‘t stop us. Ever. Ta.” The screen went blank.

The four of us sat silently for a while. “Is that what…is that…” stammered Fuinseoig.

“What you were thinking?” finished Myrmidon.

“Correct in every detail,” I said.

“My God,” whispered Fuinseoig. “They can read our minds. They can’t be stopped.”

“They’re perfect,” said Little Myrmidon who looked like she was about to lose it.

“They’re not perfect,” Dale told her.

“Not perfect?!” exclaimed Myrmidon. “Not perfect?!! They figured Chris out and they don’t make mistakes! That sounds perfect to me!”

“They made at least three mistakes,” Price told her.

“Four, if you count making those videos in the first place,” I added.

“What do you mean?” Fuinseoig demanded.

“Do you know how to identify a great practical joker?”

“No. And what the hell does that have to do with…”

“Distance. Most practical jokers, when they mail you a rigged exploding box filled with chocolate pudding, are going arrange to be somewhere around when you open it.

“A great practical joker isn’t. He’s content to put the package in the mail and then sit in his chair and imagine what will happen when you open that box.”

“If these guys were as good as they think they are,” said Dale, “they wouldn’t have said anything to anybody, they would have just started emptying the planet and kept their mouths shut.

“But they didn’t. Which suggests arrogance. Which also suggests…“ Price’s voice dropped to a whisper. “…the biggest stage in the…” Price grabbed my lapper, tapped into a satellite feed and found New York City.

The five boroughs appeared completely dark. Down a bit farther toward the deck, though, and we noticed a light on in Manhattan.

The Empire State Building.

I immediately called Trimble back. “Two things. You can shut off Washington power, we don’t need it anymore. And has the NYC power grid been shut down?”

“Yeah, it was shut down immediately.”

“Alert who’s ever manning the roadblocks into Manhattan. We’re on our way.”

“What do you need us to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Chris, what’s going to…”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, David. Let’s see how this plays out first,” I said and hung up.

Little Myrmidon was mystified. “I don’t get it. Don’t we have to find those portal things?”

“We just did,” said Dale.

“Mind telling us when?” asked Fuinseoig.

Dale and I reached out and clasped hands. “Boom. Benedict XVI,“ I said. “Not an exact copy, by the way.” I handed the NFD report and the DNA test across to Fuinseoig and Little Myrmidon who examined each, stunned at what they read.

“And when the two of them were…doing…whatever they were doing with Dale‘s wife, altered appearance and everything, I assume they made contact with one another.”

“Her way through,” whispered Little Myrmidon.

“And my alternate couldn’t conjure up my wife just now because…”

“Alternate Price wasn’t there,” said a stunned Myrmidon.

“So we have the portals and we have their location,” said Price who took a long, contemplative sip of his bourbon. His voice became almost inaudible. “And we know what we have to do when we get there.”

Fuinseoig and Myrmidon started for bed while Dale and I remained a while longer with our feet up on the desk. Then Myrmidon stopped and looked back. “One more thing. What was that thing that you have to do but have been unwilling to do up to now?

Dale shut his eyes and leaned his head on his hand. “Chris?” asked Fuinseoig. “What is it? What do you have to do that you‘ve refused to do?”

“Kill someone,” I sadly replied, staring out the window.

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