I was just a child.

 

I was just a child.

Why do my memories seem just seconds old when they are years ago?

The murmur of angry voices floods my room, swirling, mixing into the darkest hidden shadows, huge, they find my secret hiding places. I hide, but they pierce my soul, I hear… oh, I hear.

This is a place I dread; I’ve been here many times before. I press my ears with my hands and bedding to stop the sounds.

I pull my clothing tight, seal my ears with my little hands, but the storm is rising before me overwhelming; no one can stop the thunder. 

Dark, boiling clouds shut out any light, any hope.

A clap of thunder loud as a hand strikes a face, a deep thud, like tree limbs hitting the ground, a body blow, the rush of air as lungs collapse from another blow.  Tinkling shards of glass, Mother’s tears.

Doors slamming like the boom of thunder that shakes the house.  The roar of the engine fades in the distance. 

“I was just a child.”

From the Ramblings

t

 Snow ball Earth

The Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC) is a major system of ocean currents in the Atlantic that acts as a giant conveyor belt, moving warm, salty surface water from the tropics to the North Atlantic and returning cold, deep water southward. It regulates the global climate, especially in Europe, by transporting heat and nutrients. 

…………………

The sun would be setting in just a few minutes, and the temperature would drop quickly; it would be deadly for anyone on the surface.

…………………

In 2027, the climate doom mongers were stone-cold wrong. (if you’ll forgive my pun).  We’d had a century-plus of Earth warming, a tenth of a degree here, another in a few years.  They all claimed it was all man-made, and they did everything they could to clamp down on every economy in the World to slow further industrialization: slow or stop the warming was the mantra of the times.  Some even fought to install large sun-screens in space to throw shadows on the Earth. 

In the background, shunned by most, shouted down by others, were a few scientists who were telling of a different future.  They were right.

…………………

September 2027, Granite, Oregon.  We’d moved our makeshift laboratory to Granite because it had a feature that we felt would save us if our predictions were correct: the Granite silver mine.  The mine was dug in the late 1800’s straight into the mountains' solid rock.  The mine entrance started from a small parking lot ringed on three sides by tilling piles, then an iron gate and straight into the mountain for a good 30 yards, then a “Y” either to the right or left, the mine shafts continuing for hundreds of yards, with many offshoots.    

The main shaft was eight feet tall, six feet wide, and narrowed slightly at the Y.   The left shaft ran about 40 feet further on, ending in a large cavern room that had been used as a separation site for the ore.  It was surprisingly large, flat as a pancake, 40’ by 80’, and with a ceiling at about 15’.  It was huge and dry.

The right shaft went on for 100’s of yards with small spaces cut out on both sides as they chased small and large pockets or rich ore, making perfect areas for storage of foodstuffs, supplies of all kinds, and firewood storage for heating the living area. Beyond those shafts, it went on for hundreds of yards in many directions.

The entrance to the mine has a heavy iron gate, rusty but still strong, which closes off the mine to visitors.   A few feet down from the entrance gate, we installed a solid steel insulated door to seal the mine from the weather and the wind that blows through the mine from the fresh air shafts cut up and through the mountain.  It made for a solid home and work area for the team.

…………………

Our initial models showed both the Pacific and the Atlantic Oceans cooling, whereas all accepted models showed the opposite;  this included the Earth's elliptical orbit, tilt obliquity, the Milankovitch cycle, and thousands of hours studying climate data since records were kept.  

What we found was terrifying. 

Our final models showed that the Oceans would cool as much as 5 degrees before the summer of 2028, just months away; we were not going to come out of this winter, everything above the 45^th parallel would be in a deep freeze by fall.  Once the rapid cooling started, it would be in a runaway cooling pattern, and the Earth would be a snowball planet in under 18 months.

…………………

The first thing we did after poring over our data was to plan for the worst.  The first semi pulled up to the mine and had to back up, twisting and turning to get close to the entrance of the mine; at least the parking area was flat.  He finally got as close as he could within the small parking lot and the mountains of tillings.  Without a forklift, we hand-carried and stacked boxes of supplies deep in the right shaft of the complex.  For the next few deliveries, we instructed them to have power dollies, and that helped to fill every square inch with months or years of supplies. Next, we filled one large caveran with water bottles and five-gallon jugs of water.   Another cavern cut into the rock, we stacked gallons of unleaded fuel and propane to run generators and food prep.   The mine was stocked as full as we thought we’d need.  The future would tell.

At the last moment, just a few short weeks ago, we decided to go all-in debt and order three more semi-trucks full of long-lasting food stores.  Deeper in the mine, we stacked four full areas full of foodstuffs and built doors to close them in, protecting the cold storage the mine provided.  Our funds were fully exhausted, and we had no way of covering the expense.  We’d have to stall for our future funding to come in, fully knowing that the freeze was coming sooner.

…………………

During this time, we had a horrible burden of knowing that the local population who was supplying us would be without help as the coming snowball earth came for us all.  We did our best to warn them of the coming doom, which they ignored with pride.  We offered to help them and bring them into our home without even one taking us up on the offer.  We begged them to come in now, before the freeze set in, before we’d have to seal the mine.  They refused…  It wasn’t pride, it was the legacy news that spun a picture of a short-term cool down, supported by all the bought and paid for ecologists of the government; it was a doom loop we could not break.

…………………

December 2027, Winter has arrived and is not leaving.

…………………

The first snow came on exactly the day it normally did.  We watched the weather and closed the mine shaft on December 21^st as the snow level reached five feet and was piling on by the hour.  The closed-circuit TV showed snow falling at a high rate of five inches an hour without stopping. 

To our surprise, our closed-circuit TV showed a small 4x4 pulling up right up to the mine entrance with a female and three small children in the picture.  We broke open the mine, pushing snow to the side, and brought them inside. 

Jan and the three children made a great addition to our family.  We built them a small home on the left side of a large area of the great room and welcomed them to our family.  The next day, the closed-circuit TV showed that the vehicle was under four feet of snow and iced in.

 

Snowball Earth.

 

Our predictions were spot on, which brought tears to all our eyes. 

We have saved ourselves for the time being.  We have enough supplies to last a few years if we are very careful with usage.  January’s snow must have ended even the most prepared, as the snow dumped to twenty feet deep in our area.  Our monitors showed huge areas under unbelievable layers of heavy snow, which would crush most buildings.  We could only pray for those and hope they’d find a way to our home.  None came…

Spring 2028.

May had sprung and we are hopeful that some type of break has happened.  Our instruments show the outside temperature is 10 degrees with heavy winds and blowing snow.  We have used just 5 percent of our supplies over the last winter.  Percentages show we should be able to withstand the next 15 years without a new supply.  We can only hope…

Time will tell…

God’s speed.

The Rambings.

t

Taum Lee, Three, Pay Back.

 

Taum Lee.

Three

Pay back.

The safe house sat in a nondescript neighborhood of modestly priced homes.  Mostly occupied by middle-income families with kids, dogs, and a few chicken coops thrown in.  Basketball hoops every two or three houses faced the street; it's a peaceful, quiet place to raise a family.

2238 NE Brooks sat mid-street, on a slight dip from front to back, making the rear of the house a couple of feet higher than the front.  The builder had thrown in a modest-sized wood deck with railings above the lawn by three steps.  The house had three bedrooms with a double garage, a small formal front room, and a small family room in the rear opening out onto the deck through French-style doors.

The garage took up the right side of the house, and the three bedrooms, one large bath, finished the left side.    A six-foot wood privacy fence started with a gate at the garage to the right, surrounded the small backyard, ending with a second gate on the far left at the house's left corner.

Taum Lee had been living in this Agency home now for nearly six weeks.  He was between jobs and enjoying some free time.  This evening, he had a new girlfriend over and had cooked a wonderful dinner with salad, fried rice, shrimp, along with a nice light white wine.  Amber had rained compliments over the meal.  They sat cozily on the couch, chatting in the family room after the dishes were done, the dishwasher humming in the background.

Leaning over quickly, Lee pressed his left hand over her mouth, his right hand giving her the quiet sign; her eyes were instantly huge with shock.  Pulling his hand from her lips, he pointed sharply at the floor, giving the urgent, “now” motion.  She slid to the floor without a sound.  Reaching under the coffee table, he pulled out a huge black pistol.  Dropping to a sitting position, sandwiched between the couch and the coffee table, putting himself between her and the French doors as they exploded inwards, glass and splintered wood hitting the far wall. 

The first through the door was waving his rifle, trying to find a target.  Taum Lee nearly yelled, “Armor,” as they had during years of training. He saw that the man was covered head to toe in body armor.  

The man was wearing a black bump helmet rather than the normal ballistic helmet most Police and Armed Forces wear.  He knew this was a sign of special combat teams who wore bump helmets rather than ballistic helmets because, against large caliber weapons, ballistic helmets were useless and heavy.

Taum Lee placed one round in the man’s left temple, causing him to pull the rifle's trigger, emptying all 20 rounds, piercing the flooring, through the dividing wall into the formal living room, blowing out the front window and front door, spraying splintered wood and glass into the front lawn. 

The second man through the door ran straight into the back of the lead man as the round hit.  This told Lee that this team had not worked together before this job, as the second man should have passed to the right of the first man, keeping him from running into or tripping over the first man’s feet.  Hitting the dead man, it stopped him with nowhere to go.  Lee's shot hit the man, leaving a perfect round hole in his left ear, straight through his head, adding to the blood painting as it slowly ran down the wall.  Both hit the hardwood floor together.  Number three slid to a stop just inside the blown-out French door, a surprised look on his face.  As he brought his rifle up, Taum Lee shot him twice in the face.  As he crumpled to the floor, he tangled in the window curtain, ripping it off the wall. 

Jumping to his feet, Lee watched as number four turned from the doorway and attempted to flee across the deck.  Taum Lee’s last two rounds caught the fleeing gunman in the lower neck and high in the forehead, flipping him off the deck, landing in the mowed grass below.

Deafened by nearly 30 gunshots in a small area, it took Lee a couple of seconds to realize the high-pitched sound was Amber screaming to his right.   Grabbing her up off the floor, he carried her to the car in the garage and sat her in the passenger seat.   As gently as he could, “It’s all right, you're safe, I’ll be right back, I’ll get you out of here!”   He disappeared back into the house.

Lee grabbed his bag, which he’d been living out of, and his go bag in seconds.  Lastly, throwing off the mattress to the bed, he pulled the rifle case, slinging it over his shoulder.

Running through the house, he threw the bags in the back seat.  “Get down, this is going to be a rough ride!”

Engine roaring to life, he plowed backwards through the garage door, leaving parts of the garage door spread down the driveway into the street.  Hitting the brakes, he could hear sirens in the distance.  Lee could see that the front window of the house directly across the street was shattered from one of the rounds. 

Neighbors were standing in front doors, mouths agape, watching the car disappear down the street.

……………………………..

In the car, making a number of turns and reversing direction, he felt it was safe to head to Amber's apartment.

Lee drove Amber to her front door and pulled her from the car, having to help her to the door.  No words were going to help, so he just said, “Goodbye.”

As he dropped the car into gear, his phone rang.   “Ah Taum, I see you are still with us, what a shame.”

“Will, if it isn’t Grigoriy Rostislav, my friend, how nice to hear from you.  I take it my visitors were of your hire.”

“They professed a much higher level of expertise than they apparently showed.  I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

“Not at all, I hope we will be seeing each other shortly, it’s something I’ve been looking forward to.”

“As I have, old friend.”

The call ended with a click.

……………….

 

At the next bridge, Lee rolled down the window and threw the phone over the rail into the river.  He’d pick up a burner phone in the next day or two.

On Wednesday, the 22^nd, Lee made the call into the “Office”.  Five minutes of verification, he was finally on the phone with his unpopular boss, Theodore Spencer.

“Mister Lee, nice to hear from you.  We got left with a rather large mess, didn’t we?  It’s been a scramble to get it all cleaned up, and the locals are in an uproar that just isn’t quieting down quickly.”

“I had a little run-in with my old friend Grigoriy Rostislav hired people.  They didn’t leave me with much of a choice but to find another place to live.”

“And the reason it took you six or seven days to be in contact with us?” “We really don’t like surprises, especially like this one!”

“We’re compromised.  They have someone inside the organization giving out information, or our computers have been hacked.  There’s no other way they could have found me.”  “I’ll be moving from where I’m at and dumping this phone as soon as we are done here.”

“Okay, let me run this down. Give me a few days.  Make contact via a safe computer or one you can dump.  I’ll send a zip file of what I’ve found and any information I can get about Grigoriy Rostislav that’s recent.”

The phone clicked dead in his ear.

……………….

Dell 15” laptop in hand, Lee signed into the agency's computer banks.  He found the promised zip drive and downloaded it, and immediately signed off.  They’d found the leak, and it was terminated, which brought a smile to Lee’s face; plugged, terminated, ended, and maybe just signed off—small chuckle.

Buried deep in code was an urgent job.  Lee started packing.

……………….

The landing in Denver, as normal, was rough; the wing stabilizers were working hard, flapping like bird wings trying to control the radical bounce of the plane through the vortices of the swirling wind. 

Snow was forecast, the first of the season, and they promised it was going to be a doozy.  Flakes were coming down, blowing in the wind. 

The taxi took the shortest route, Pena Blvd to I-70 to I-25, then a few side streets, dropping him off at the Crawford Hotel on Wynkoop Street.  The street was nearly deserted, with three inches of snow and stacking up fast.  From the curb to the double doors was a blanket of blowing snow that followed Lee into the Hotel lobby.

The Crawford is from a different era, with a huge reception area, gilded staircases, and chandeliers.  Rooms are large with overstuffed furniture, a step back into the twenties.

Lee picked a suite along with the special offer of in-room dining.  Plush, no, opulent came to mind.

 Dinner came at exactly 5:30 pm as he had ordered.  Prime rib rare, all the little extras, and a bottle of Pinot Noir.  Perfection, a well-run business deserving of a large tip.

An hour later, a soft knock at the door.  Through the peephole stood a man with a rectangular box riding on a four-wheeled stainless-steel cart.

No words were exchanged, just a modest tip and the box placed on the floor just inside the hotel room's door.

Grabbing a fresh glass of wine, Lee split the box, dumping the supplied tools on the carpet. He got to work.

……………….

The target sat one table away from the large window of the Café, sipping coffee and reading what looked like a manual.  One foot further into the Café and he would have been hidden behind the café’s name on the big window.

Lee pushed the scope's magnification up to 20 power.  A little higher and he’d be able to read the text.  The crosshairs settled four inches above the target's head, no bounce, no movement side to side.  Lee slowly squeezed the trigger, knowing that the Café window would be a quarter-inch pane, deflecting the bullet eight inches lower than he was aiming.

……………….

With the heavy snow, grabbing a taxi would be hard if not impossible; the downtown streets were just now getting plowed, so Lee walked the four blocks back to the Hotel.  The sirens screamed in the background.

Everyone in the lobby looked up when the double doors opened.  Lee walked to the front desk. “What’s all the excitement about?”

“There’s been a shooting downtown, the news is calling it an assassination.  They are saying an Iranian nuclear engineer was killed.  They think Israel did it!”

……………….

One thing Lee knew, America’s law enforcement would turn every stone over looking for the shooter.  Lee packed his bag and called for a taxi to pick him up at a coffee shop a block from the Hotel in half an hour.   Taking the back door, Lee left the Hotel.  He timed it so he only waited five minutes to be picked up at the front door of the coffee shop.  He had the taxi take him south a dozen blocks.  He paid the driver and walked two blocks, hailing another taxi, taking him to the nearest rental car company.  Hitting I25 south to Colorado Springs and the airport.

……………….

JFK was unusually quiet, almost eerie, and the staff looked bored.  He boarded flight UT1522 and was handed a full glass of Pinot Noir within a couple of minutes of hitting his seat in first-class, the steward openly flirting with him; this was going to be a nice flight.

……………….

The landing was smooth, and taxiing was relatively short at the Mohammed V International Airport, Casablanca, Morocco.  A major airport for the region, it was a short walk to his next flight to N'Djamena International Airport, Chad.

Totally exhausted, he checked into Hotel La Tchadienne, formally known as Novotel,  N’Djamena, Chad.  Concrete with steel railings, the Hotel had zero appeal, but surprisingly, the large picture window of his room was filled with the view of the Grand Mosque, just east towards the City center, the view making him remember his short stay in Libya during the Civil War, ending Gaddafi’s reign.  To the south, the Chari River. 

……………….

Meeting at 10 pm Chad time, Lee caught a ride to the southern part of the city, the Avenue du General Kerim Nasour was heavy with traffic at that hour.   Stopping just a block away from the Yemeni Restaurant, Lee walked the short distance, checking for surveillance.  Entering the restaurant, Lee spotted two tables towards the back on each side of the aisle with three bodyguards each looking at him as he entered the front door.  Lee asked the first man standing, “Sayid Yuad, min fadlika, 'iinah yantaziruni.” (“Mister Yuad, please, he is expecting me”.) 

With a nod, the man took Lee down a narrow hallway ending in a heavy, solid wood door. With a quiet knock, the door opened into a large office area, the walls covered in ancient artwork, and an exact copy of the hominin skull sat on the large desk.  Mr. Yuad sat behind a large desk, making him appear smaller than he actually was.  Standing close behind Mr. Yuad were two large jet-black men and two matching caught Lee as he entered the room.  Both carefully searched Lee, making sure he carried no weapons.  Lee instantly recognized the four as Sudanese special forces, the equivalent of Delta Force in the U.S. They stood between Mr. Yuad and Lee, leaving just a narrow window between Yuad and Lee.  Yuad was taking no chances.

Mr. Lee, I have a dossier that is very important to your people. We have come to a value, a sum if you’d like for it, if it is of interest.

“I’d like to see it if I may, I’ve been instructed to purchase it in the full sum if it is ethnic.”

……………….

Lee scanned the document and was clearly shocked.

……………….

The N'Djamena International Airport was nearly empty as Lee caught the first available flight out, regardless of the destination.  His secure cell phone was glued to his head as he read the dossier to his handler.  World War III had already started.

From the Ramblings.

t

Carl

 

Carl

“Excuse me, Thomas, I’m sorry to wake you, but we have an intruder.”

Coming quickly awake with a jump, the house was pitch black.  The bedside clock dark.  “What, Carl, an intruder? where is he now?”

“I’m sorry, Thomas. It’s unidentifiable, coming down the drive, approximately 200 yards out, moving slowly.”

“Unidentified?  Is the power off?”

“Yes, Thomas, I’ve cut power as prescribed in the Security Level 5 protocol.  The object is not reading any heat signature or power band signals.”

“Go to level 6, activate the bots, open the armory. Load them all up!”

 

 

This building was built over two years as the world spun into chaos: Wars in the Middle East, China in an active war with Japan, the Philippines, South Korea, and Russia moving into Poland.  The worst of all, yet another unknown virus coming out of China is killing millions.  The world is a mess.

Three stories of hardened concrete, it’s uglier than hell. It's not a house, but a standing bunker painted medium flat brown that all but disappears into the trees in the center of 50 acres of flat sagebrush with scattered pine trees. 

Along the main gravel road, small pines grow thick along the edges of the road. Past that, the trees are dense enough to block any sight of the building. The driveway is a sandy two-track with sagebrush growing into it.

Blocking the two-track from the main road is an unassuming rusty chain held up by a couple of small weathered posts.  Most vehicles drive by and never see the little driveway devoid of any tracks.

What you don’t see is the hidden security systems in rows circling from the main road of the property to the center where the building sits.

 

 

“Status?”

“All bots armed, stationed, all at 100% power.  Intruder 150 yards at the drive turn, stationary at this time.”  “Drones on standby.”

“How did you sense him if he’s not putting out any exterior heat or power signals?”

“The moon is in a Waxing Gibbous phase; there was just enough light that he shaded a light sensor.”

“Okay, we wait.  Are we putting out any power signature?”

“No, Thomas, we are at zero power emissions; sensors are showing no leakage.  We are only radiating solar heat emission from the building.”

“Let’s go to the safe room.”

 

 

The building is a rectangle of 30’ X 40’, three stories high, with windows only on the third floor, making for a block house look, and that is exactly what it is.  I named it “Last Stand,” and that’s its purpose.  What doesn’t show is that it has a full basement, making it one deep and three high.  The basement is three-quarters full of electronics, batteries, water tanks, and an ammo dump.  Floors one and two are for storage of foodstuffs, Robot repair, charging facilities, and the armory.  The garage area takes up about a third of the space; our one SUV is parked inside the garage.  Our living quarters, safe room, and computer/security control room are top-level three. 

On top is a fenced-in roof with solar panels, a few satellite dishes, and antennas; useless unless something is up and running somewhere in the world.  The first floor also has a top-of-the-line secure garage door and a man door with a heavy-wired in vestibule. Fuel tanks are buried thirty yards to the South with underground pipes supplying fuel to twin generators and fuel for the truck.  The upper windows are covered in heavy steel screens with security film.  From the basement, there is an escape tunnel running just over one hundred yards from the building, the exit well hidden.

The Government spent 8.5 million dollars of taxpayers' money purchasing the land and building the building. 

I have one main robot, “Carl”.  He’s one of the last Optimus robots built, Series 11, just before the end.  He stands five feet nine inches and can perform thousands of tasks.  Five more robots make up the security team; they are fully security robots purposely built for armed conflict.  Numerous Optimus bots and drones, ranging from four-prop to winged drones completes our team. 

No one outside of just a very few in the Government knows who or what Carl really is.  Carl was funded by dark money skimmed off of one part of the Defense budget.  He’s not what he looks like; an Optimus 11, but internally, he’s very special.  A normal Series 11 has eight terabits of memory.  Carl has 16 Quadrillion megabits of memory.  He has been loaded with nearly the entire history of man: Science, religion, everything that could be downloaded.  He’s like the seed vault, but stocked full of everything man has done or learned.   I’m here to protect him with my life.

We have enough food, water, and fuel for a minimum of five years if it’s just me alone as the only human needing supplies. 

We’ve been stationed here for the last seven months without any contact from the outside world.  In the last two months, everything has gone silent.  If it weren’t for the TV and Web, showing the wars and local riots, I’d think I was the last human alive.  I know better; it’s just a matter of time before they spread out from the failing cities into the far rural areas looking for food and shelter.  I’m not looking forward to that time.

To kill the boredom, Carl and I go for long walks out from the property into the semi-wilderness area that surrounds us on two sides.  I have three security bots with us at all times, in case of any trouble.  It’s been a little boring over the last seven months, but I’m not ready to even consider going to the nearest town.  The risks are too high and could lead to our discovery.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Anything, Carl?”

“He or it is putting out a weak directional signal, very weak, hard to detect.”

“Can you get a fix on the direction?”

“As close as our sensors can tell, the signal is pointing North, North west.  The receiver has to be close with the low power.  No more than a quarter mile.”

 

“CONTACT, CONTACT, incoming drone, quarter mile out, at 500’, 25mph.  Time to overflight 30 seconds!”

“Carl, recommendations?”

“Thomas, let’s continue to play dead.  We’ve shown them nothing to this point; let's see what they want to do.”

The drone came in at 500’, lowering to 100’, slowing to a crawl as it scanned the building and the surrounding area.

“The drone is transmitting and receiving. The receiver is 1330’ slightly North West, stationed on the access road North of the property.  They are not hiding their signals or location.  This is low tech, except the unit sitting along the driveway.”

“Okay, low tech, so not a Nation-sponsored intrusion, that’s good.  Let’s sit tight and see what’s next.”

“Thomas, the drone just notified the operator it has ten minutes of battery power left.  It is returning to the receiver location.  Also, the intruder on our driveway is moving…  Sensor showing it’s an unknown series of bot.  It is also returning towards the access road.”

“Okay, launch a drone, let’s see who we are dealing with.  Let’s make sure they don’t sense it.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Receiver is located in a 2015 Ford half-ton pickup.  License plate returns to Michael Wayne Hughes, local address 5 miles from here.  I have found a newspaper article that listed his name as one of just a few locals working on a government-sponsored aircraft signal station, which was the cover story for our location.  Bank records show one year's worth of paychecks cashed from a Governmental contractor that worked on this building.”

“So, a local looking for anything of usefulness, it’s starting.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Watching the direct feed from the drone overhead, the pickup slowly made its way down the gravel road, stopping and parking at the driveway entrance.

“Carl, send two security bots out to greet him if he enters the property.”

“Thomas, I’m finding more information on Mr. Hughes.  There is a newspaper clipping announcing the birth of twin daughters, who would now be five years old.”

“Shit… Okay, non-lethal if he resists.  Have the bots bring him in. We need to talk.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Twenty feet down the two-track, the two security bots stepped out from the thick trees lining the gravel road.

“HALT!  You’ve entered a restricted zone!” The battle bots were very intimidating, standing at seven feet tall, covered in black and dark gray urban camo, heavily armored with large caliber belt-fed weapons pointed directly at Hughes.  Helmeted heads showing multiple cameras, antennas extending six inches above the tops.

They quickly closed on Hughes, scanning every inch of his body using lidar radar and metal detection sensors. 

Hughes raised his arms over his head, standing stiffly, eyes huge.   “I don’t want any trouble.”

“You will walk with us.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Carl, let's greet our guest with a full breakfast.  Have the bots put out seating for three and a table to eat at here on the apron of the garage, let’s make it formal.”

It took just short of ten minutes for the Security bots and Mr. Hughes to reach the building.  The bots had set a small table with a white cloth cover, napkins, and steaming cups of coffee.

Standing at the table, we met Mr. Hughes, Carl, introducing both of us.

“Mr. Hughes, what do we honor this visit? Please take a seat after removing your firearm.  Please place it on the table.”

Hughes eyes showing surprise, slowly placed the revolver at the far corner of the table and sat down.

“I’m not a thief.  We were robbed; they took nearly everything.”

“And how are Julie and the girls?”

“Is there anything that you don’t know?  They are terrified that another group is going to attack us. We have no food, and we’re hungry.  I was hoping to find some supplies here, that’s all.”

“Carl, please stand down the bots.  The two Security bots can stay, level two, please.”

“Yes, Thomas.  I will check on the food preparations.  You will be staying for breakfast, Mr. Hughes.”  A command, not a question.

“Ummm… Yes, thank you very much.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

We spoke over breakfast for nearly an hour.  It was decided that the Hughes family would move into the Last Stand for protection since the hordes from the city had reached the area.

“Please pack only personal items, clothing, that kind of thing.  We have everything needed here in supply.”

“Carl, will you have a Bot bring Mr. Hughes one of our M4’s with a full loadout and a sidearm, plus a radio, please?”  “Mr. Hughes, you will need to move fast. I want you back here no later than 3 pm.  We will launch an overwatch drone to make sure you don’t have a problem before you can get back here.”

“Thank you so much, I worried sick just being gone this morning.”

“Carl, have the Security bots walk Mr. Hughes back to his truck.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The overwatch drone are able stay aloft for just over eight hours before needing to refuel.  It carries two missiles like the Sidewinders, but smaller, full-spectrum cameras.  They will be as safe as possible in the hours it will take to load and travel to the Last Stand.

“Carl, any other surprises we need to look out for?  Anyone else living in our area?”

“I would suspect there may be others being chased that may end up at our door, but Mr. Hughes had firsthand knowledge that this building was here; others will not.”

“Let's keep a close eye on them while they are moving. I’m worried about them now that they are known.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

1:45 pm.  Overwatch reports: two pickup trucks, seven miles out from the Hughes property. 

“They are one mile from the intersection that will put them on a direct course to the Hughes house.  Bringing up the cameras.”

“Carl, order the launch of a second Drone.  I don’t like the looks of this.  Get Mr. Hughes on the radio, check how long until they can pull out.”

“The second drone will launch in five minutes, Thomas.  It will be on station in ten minutes.  Mr. Hughes reports they will be ready to exit in about ten minutes. Cameras on drone one show pickup #1 took the turn towards the Hughes house, second one following.  Pickup #1 has four people in the truck bed, showing armed.  Number two has three in the bed of the truck, who are also armed with light weapons.  Arrival estimated in twelve minutes.”

“Tell Hughes he has to leave now.  We can always go back and try to get anything they are leaving behind.  He must move the family now!”

“Mr. Hughes reports they are leaving now.  Pickup #1 is five minutes out.  Drone two is on station, drone one is in weapons range of both pickups, and is tracking.  Heavy tree cover is dropping hit percentages to under 50%.  Drone #2 reports Hughes leaving the home area, turning onto the main gravel road heading towards our location.  Pickup #1 is 90 seconds out; they are going to see the dust from Hughes' vehicle and will be able to follow.”

“Ah, freaking hell.  Carl take the fire controls.  Get a good shot in!”

“Pickup #1 is turning into the driveway, #2 is sitting on the main road at the driveway.  Drone one fire controls are hot.  Pickup #1 pulling up to the front of the house.”

“Hit them before they leave the pickup Carl!”

“Missile one away, ten-second burn to target.  Missile two away, fifteen-second burn to pickup #2.  Hit on pickup #1, fireball.  Missile #2 missed; it hit tree branches. Pickup #2 is running, drone two is attempting a fire solution.  Tree cover is heavy, fire solution is zero to 10%, tracking.”

“Damn it, how far is the Hughes ahead of pickup #2?”

“Drone one is in overwatch, distance between vehicles is one mile, closing fast.  Drone two is manuvering attempting a fire solution.”

“That’s going to put them just North of us when they converge.  Bring drone two over and past the chase vehicle. There is a straight stretch about a mile down the road that has less tree cover.  Have it set up to five as both vehicles come into the open area.  Get Hughes on the radio and tell him to hit it hard.”

Hughes' vehicle is kicking up a lot of dust, making accurate fire on them difficult.  Pickup #2 will be in range of small arms fire on Hughes' vehicle in 30 seconds. 

Hughes reports they are under fire.  The intercept point is two minutes out at the current pace.

“Thomas, they aren’t going to make it.”

“Carl, you have permission to use drone one as a kinetic strike on pickup #2!  Slow them down!”

“Drone one diving, we have a small opening in the tree line, we may clip branches.  Clearing Hughes' vehicle, fifteen seconds to impact on pickup #2.  Branches… drone one down short of pickup #2.”

“Carl, any damage to pickup #2?”

“I’m sorry, Thomas, we will have to wait.  Ten seconds to the interception point, drone two fire controls hot.  Drone two cameras are picking up dust in the trees.  Hughes vehicle entering kill zone, no sight of pickup two.”

“Security level seven, go hot on all Security systems. Get Hughes on the radio, tell him to stay on the two-track. Any deviation will put them in the mine fields. All systems are set to lethal.  Release the anti-personnel drones.”

“Drone two is reporting dust in the trees.  Pickup two is slowly entering the kill zone; drone two has a firing solution, 100%.  Damage to the front of the pickup; it must have hit drone one in the road.  Drone two firing, fireball.  Two targets running to the right into the timber.  Firing solution 75%, firing, both targets down.  Hughes' vehicle is two minutes out. Drone two in overwatch.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Epilogue:

The Hughes family has settled in, and the girls are finding the bots fun to play with.  Carl has taken over formal teaching daily.  I’m happy to have the company of humans again.

With the help of the bots, the burnt-out vehicles were cleared from the road and buried, leaving no trace.

Based on our struggles to stop the vehicles on the road, Carl has redesigned our lethal security perimeter, adding tank mines to the main gravel road, activated from our control room. 

As winter set in, it was decided that the Hughes home would be burned, removing any chance of shelter in our immediate area.

This coming spring, we will clear and start a huge garden area for fresh vegetables.  Carl, between classes, is rewriting a number of manuals on off-grid survival and homesteading.

Sensors reported a plane flying from East to West a month ago at high altitude, five miles North of our location.  The airwaves are continuing to be silent; no radio traffic has been detected.  Satellites are pinging, waiting for replies.

Our location has remained hidden; one vehicle passed on the gravel road, not slowing or showing any sign that our two-lane drive was spotted.  Elk and deer herds have reclaimed the forest areas surrounding the property.  Life is good.

From the Ramblings.

t

Jacob Miller

 

Jacob Miller

 

Snatching the mail from the box without pausing was a game, a game that could break your arm if you didn’t pop the box door, swing it down, grab the mail, and slam it shut before you rolled past in the car.  A game he’s won every time until today.

The Urgent Care part of the hospital was packed tight, shoulder to shoulder.  He’d have walked out if it weren’t for his left arm swinging uselessly at his side.  The sick and injured we packed together like sardines; if he left here without catching some type of disease, he’d be very lucky.

A tubby bald guy about 50, pushing a cart with water bottles, small snacks, stopped in front of Jacob.  “Water,” he questioned in a bored voice. 

“I’m fine,” Jacob replied, matching the bored tone.

“Would you like me to look up your position in the queue?”  Same boring voice.

“That would be great, thanks” Jacob said with dreaded enthusiasm.

“Looks like you have five people in front of you, that’s about 45 minutes.”  Tubby turned and walked off to the next person without pause.

50 minutes passed slowly, but the call finally came.  Jacob saw Doctor Michael Strobe, M.D.

“Yep, it’s broken, let's get a couple X-rays and make sure there aren’t any surprises.  So, down to  X-ray, then stop by the Lab, we’ll pull some blood, just to be thorough.”

“Can I just get it cast and go home?

“You're looking at just another hour; we need to know if there are any chips or fragments that I can’t see without the X-rays.  The blood draw is to make sure all the levels are good with nothing out of line.” Doctor Strobe said, showing frustration.  “X-rays, Labs, then come back up here and I’ll see you for two minutes, then straight to the cast room and home.  I promise!”

Two and a half hours later, Jacob pulled into his driveway, giving the mailbox the bird as he rolled by.

……………………………………………

A week of being pissed off, ready to cut the cast off, with five or more weeks to go.  Jacob walked down the driveway to the offending mailbox.  Normal junk with one letter from the doctor's Office requesting that he see Doctor Strobe on Friday, the 9^th, @ 8:00 am, giving him the address, floor, and room number.

“What? Shit.”

Jacob left the house at 7 am, not knowing the traffic or where he was going.  The address was not at the Hospital or his normal doctor's Office.  He asked Siri for directions and, 30 minutes later, was sitting in a small parking lot outside of a nondescript building with only the address numbers above the double glass doors.  Three stories of concrete turned grey from time and elements, small slanted windows made the building look more like a jail than an Office building.  Walking to the double door, a small sign taped in the middle of the left side's glass stated to press the button on the wall next to the Office number you were visiting, wait for the door to buzz, and enter. 

“Oh, this is fucked.”  He pressed 207.

The door buzzed, Jacob grabbed the handle with his broken arm. The pain was instant. “FUCK this is getting worse by the minute.”  He pulled with his right hand.  The door had locked shut.  Louder, “FUCK ME!”

The elevator was in the center right of the small foyer, which hadn’t seen a janitor in months, maybe years.  Grime, leaves, and a few cigarette butts made small piles in the corners.  The walls were bare concrete smoothed with a trowel.  Looking around, he made a decision: “Fuck this, I’m out of here!”

As he fought the locked door, the elevator opened behind him, staying open.  “Christ, I can’t believe this.”

The elevator car smelled of ancient cigarettes and something odd, like old dirty socks, with a hint of puke.  He could feel a gag response nearing as the doors opened, he jumped out, nearly hitting the far wall.  His face inches from the sign showing him rooms 205 – 210 with a little arrow pointing to his right.

Turning to his right, the hallway looked far longer than the building looked from the outside.  The jail-like windows he’d seen were spaced along the outside of the hall to the right, facing the parking lot.  Still narrow and spaced a little too far apart, it just didn’t look right, out of sync with the universe.

“Geezzz, let’s get this over with,” through clenched teeth. 

Room 205 was twenty feet down the hall with no lettering or signage, just plain numbers screwed into the door.  Passing two doors without handles, he found 207 another 30 feet along the hall. 

“Okay… where’d 206 go?” 

Standing in front of Door 207, a small sign said “Please knock.”  The hallway continued another  75 feet, by his best guess.  Remembering the dimensions of the building from outside in the parking lot, this building must connect to the next building internally.  Strange.

Jacob knocked gently twice; the door buzzed.

Stepping into a small space, a woman in a black pant suit, about 50 to 80, totally ageless, with silver hair but with zero wrinkles, greeted him and asked him to step into the next room.  “The Doctor will see you in just a minute.”

Sitting down next to the Hospital bed, the room was equipped with the regular doctor’s office equipment.  Small but larger than the normal examination room.  Three plastic chairs, one of which he sat, and two others, plus the normal black plastic-topped stool, filled in the vacant area.

With a quiet double tap on the door, the Doctor stepped in, introducing himself as Doctor Roberts. Two men in suits entered without introductions and filled the two empty plastic chairs, large men, knees inches from his.

“I thought I was seeing Doctor Strobe?”

“Doctor Strobe will not be joining us today.  We asked you to meet with us today to discuss some rather interesting findings in your recent Labs, specifically a special quality in the healing properties.  You are a universal donor, did you know that?  Your blood can be given directly to another without worries of a mismatch of any kind.  That is remarkable to say in the least.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.  I think this is something I’d rather talk to my regular Doctor about.”

One of the large men placed his hand on Jacob’s knee, squeezing it tightly.

“Mister Miller, your car has been taken back to your home.  We’re making sure everything is secure, including your home.  You will be staying with us for a few days. Your work has been notified of a short absence.  You will be very well taken care of while with us as we run a few tests.” 

“I don’t understand, you can’t just kidnap me!”

“Mister Miller, let me explain how you came to us…  the Lab had an accident while handling your blood sample.  A small drop of your blood was splashed into a vial containing a sample from a person dying from cancer.  When placed under the microscope, that person's blood had zero cancer cells living in the sample.  The technician then placed your blood into another cancer patient's blood sample, and the same thing happened.  Your blood killed the cancer cells nearly instantly.  The technician had once worked for us in his youth and called us immediately.  You are now a special interest to the National Security of the United States.  We’ve received orders to investigate this from the highest levels of the Government.  We can only ask you to willingly participate with us for a few days.  This is of the utmost importance for our County.”

“I’m not a gunny pig for the Government, I know nothing about what you are talking about.  If you want my cooperation, then let me talk to my Doctor, and we can decide what tests we should do.”

“Mister Miller, Jacob, if the properties in your blood are true, the first person you will save is the President of the United States, who has stage four cancer.  You may very well be his last hope.  This has been kept from the people of the United States to this point; we are not in a position to lose him at the moment.  We are asking you to give us just a few days to see if we/you can save him, then you are free to go.”

“I don’t know what to say?”

“Say yes for a few days, We’ll give you a few minutes to think about it.”

…………………………

The boom shook the building; the second dropped half the floor by two inches. The door the Doctor had used hung at an alarming angle, dust filled the air. Jabob's ears ringing he could hear voices; hands clawed at the door edges.  Pulling hard, the door squealed, sliding to one side, Jacob crawled under the bottom into the adjoining room filled with medical equipment.

“This way!” The rest was cut off by automatic gunfire; the sound was close and deafening.  He was grabbed from behind, lifted, and thrown over an overturned cabinet.  One of the suits peered down a hallway and was met with automatic fire.  Pointing, he screamed Go that way as the door jam exploded.  Running across one room into another, throwing doors open, then slamming them shut, turning locks to slow the pursuit, they found themselves in a laundry room.  “Down the chute!” The first suit climbed in and was gone.  Jacob ran to the opening and looked down, about five feet below, the suit was quickly going down with knees against each wall.  He looked up to Jacob.  “Use your knees, come on!”  Jacob followed as fast as he could without falling.

Dropping eight feet into a laundry basket, the suit pulled him to the nearest wall, short-barreled pistol pointing towards the laundry room door.  Suit two dropped into the basket.

Pushed/pulled by the nap of his neck, he was thrown in the back of a car. “Keep your head down, this is going to be shit!” “If I get hit and we crash, you run for your life!”

Yelling over the roar of the engine.  “Where’s your partner?”

“He’s slowing them down!”

Jacob was thrown from one side of the backseat to the other as the suit took numerous corners at high speed, putting as much distance as possible between them and the building.  Then, as quickly as it started, they slowed and matched traffic.

“Where are we going?”

“I have no idea, my phone got dropped somewhere.  Right now, I have no idea where’s safe, someone tipped someone off, and now you are a hot commodity.”

30 minutes of driving, taking numerous turns, backtracking, making sure they are not being followed.  The suit stopped on the side of the road and scanned the sky for drones, none that he could see.   

“I’ve got a friend I think can help us, he’s about an hour away, he’s got a sick daughter, so I know he or his wife will be home, and he’s not closely connected to me or you.”

“Can I set up?”

“I think it’s okay now, jump up front.”  “I’m special agent Thorne.” 

Jacob shook his hand.  “Do you think your partner or any of them made it?”

“No.” Was the only answer he got.  They rode on in silence.

………………………………

The house was down a fairly long driveway that ended after making a sweeping left-hand turn.  Agent Thorne pulled the car around the garage and parked behind the house on the lawn.

“Just park anywhere that feels good, Pete.”  Laughing.

“Sorry, Brian, we’re kind of hiding.  This is Jacob Miller.   I’m trying to keep him alive.  I hope you don’t mind us stopping by.  We kind of need a little help.”

“Mr. Miller, this is Brian Marks, retired Army Scout, Medic.”

…………………………….

The house didn’t look like much from the outside, but stepping in, it was amazing.  Completely redone in a modern style, walls white, trim black, grays of different shades.  Cozy modern came to mind.

Over lunch, Agent Thorne gave Brian a quick rundown on the day's events.  Brian immediately told them they could stay as long as needed.  He winked and hinted that he had all the firepower they could use.

“How’s your daughter doing, with everything going on? I forgot to ask earlier.”

“She’s not doing well.  Jan has her at the Clinic doing another series of IVs.  It’s not looking good.  We’re trying to keep our hopes up.”  Brian was looking at his hands when a small tear started down his face, but he caught it quickly.

“I’m sorry, Brian.”

Jan got home just before dinner with Amy from the hospital and put her right to bed.  Jan looked exhausted, but started dinner right away.

Dinner finished, Jan brought Amy from the back bedroom and sat her just to Jacob’s right.  She was eight but looked like she was eighty.  Skin gray, eyes sunken, she didn’t look like she had long to live.  Dinner went quickly, conversation shallow and short.  Jan helped Amy back to bed.

“Agent Thorne, you heard what the doctor said.  I’m a universal donor, possibly a super healer… You know where I’m going with this?”

“Seeing Amy, the thought had crossed my mind.”

“What’s going on?”  Brian asked with eyes wide open.

………………………….

Brian and Jan were gone, talking for a long time.  Jan stepped into the kitchen with swollen red eyes, hands bright pink from wringing them hard.

“You're sure you can help?”

“No. I don’t know that.  I just found out today after being kidnapped by our Government, maybe the same Government that is trying to kill me now.”

“Honey, it’s a chance, a chance we won’t get again.  We’ve both agreed to try any treatment that might have a possibility to help.” “We’ve tried everything they’ve got; nothing works.”

…………………………

Brian had a medical pack from the Army in the basement.  He had a hard time finding a vein that wasn’t scarred from all the treatments Amy had gone through.  Twenty minutes and Amy was back in bed, quickly falling to sleep.  We all sat in the kitchen looking at one another.  Two drinks later, we all found a place to sleep.

………………………….

Breakfast came early.  Jan was the first up and made pancakes, bacon, and a huge pot of coffee.  

“Let me get Amy up I’ll be right back.”

“Brian!”  Jan's voice from down the hallway sounded in a panic.  Both Jacob and Agent Thorne looked at each other.  Dread filled their hearts.

Footsteps coming down the hall.  Amy was in front, followed by her parents.  She pulled her chair out and grabbed a hotcake.  Jan and Brian just stood in the doorway, mouths agape. 

“Good morning, Amy, did you sleep well?’ Ask Jacob.

That broke the ice; both parents' tears rolled unstopped.  Jacob poured syrup on Amy’s pancake until she said “good”.

………………………….

The small Piper Cub taxied to a parking space feet away from a large hangar.  Stepping from the plane, two men walked to a small man door to the right of the huge doors.  Stepping in, a large jet filled the hangar, leaving little space from wing tip to wing tip of the walls.  The stairs going up to the open door were steep and narrow.

“Hello, Mr. President.”

“Hello, I hear you're my guardian angel.”

“I’m hoping so, Sir.”

“Well, let’s find out, shall we?”

 

From the Ramblings

t

The day I killed myself.

The day I killed myself.

The day I killed myself, I’d had enough; the old saying “enough is enough” played loudly in my head, a never-ending mantra that just wouldn’t stop. I made it stop.

I’d spend hours on how… You ask why, why would you spend so much time and energy on the how? Well… Ask yourself, what would you do if you killed yourself and it didn’t work? What if I didn’t die? What if you maimed yourself and you lived, lived with a broken body you caused, and failed at such an easy thing to do? Can you even imagine what kind of loser you’d be? All you had to do was kill yourself, and you even fucked that up…

I’d thought long and hard on the when's, dates, time, where, of course, how.

Date: The date should have some significance, even if only for me personally. If no one figures it out, that would be fine with me, but I’d like a few close associates to wonder if the date had some deep meaning… note I said associates, I have few friends, even fewer close friends. I’ve just never been able to make good friends. Yeah, a few over the years, friends that you can call and see if they want to stop by the local pub and have a few. Most of those are hoping you’re paying, yeah, I pay so much for decent friends.

Time: Does the time really matter when you kill yourself? Yeah, it does… Mornings are the only time of the day I enjoy. A fresh start of the day, bright skies and morning breezes, birds singing, traffic light at that hour, lack of noise, it’s all good. It lasts about two hours… Two fucking hours of peace before the neighbor freaks wake up and the yelling starts. You know how it goes… Mom’s yelling at the kids, “Hurry up, you’re going to miss the bus, etc., etc.…” Then the night before, drunks are up and screaming at the wives before they hit the road to jobs they hate, but being the only ones bringing in an income, off they go. I hear a wife scream back… the crack of a hard right hand ends that.

Where: Well, where in the hell do you think? Do you think I’m going down to the local Museum and committing suicide on some stupid display of the Crowning achievements of the 18th century? Seriously, I almost left this “Where” out. The only reason is that some have picked a spot where they had strong memories: fun, love, hate, or the ever-present demon of pain. I had a spot I thought about up in the forest area, heading to the coast. I had a girlfriend once who had hiked into an area and then, later in life, buried a loving pet there. We hiked up the steep slope, and she showed me the place. For some reason, it was a special place to her. I have no such place, pity me… fuck off.

How: I’ve covered this… The how has to be for sure; fucking this up would be the perfect way to prove to everyone you’ve ever known that you are the most fucked up piece of shit that ever lived; he/she couldn’t even commit suicide without fucking it up. They should be required to put that on your tombstone when you finally get it right or just die because that’s what the gods finally decided to do with your idiot self. “This idiot finally came to death, not because he/she tried but because we were all finally gifted that.”

Gun, knife, pills, jump off a bridge (covered that), hit by a truck (again covered that), the list is getting slim. You’re either going to do it, or you're gonna find a way to blame it on someone else… That makes you a punk in my book…

Gun: If you don’t freak out and miss or just blow half your head off, it’s one of the for sure ways… mess it up, and there you go with living on with half a head. Nice job… If you don’t think of the cleanup crew, then you are a heartless asshole in my book. How’d you like to have to clean up a spattered asshole with a huge hole in the back of his/her head with goo all over the walls… Nice jerk…

Knife: Oh sure, you’re going to stab yourself in the heart… I don’t think so. Slash your throat… not likely. I’ve heard that if you ice a wrist, you might be able to get along with that as long as you go down the length of the arm deep, not a pussy cut across the wrist; after a few tries, some get it right. Doing it in a nice hot bath keeps the wound open, and if lucky, you bleed out. Not too much of a mess for those who have the job of cleaning up.

Pills: Not a bad idea, if you have the right pills. Again... fuck it up and off to the races you go with anyone that knows you, plus the media will have a ball at your expense. The new designer drug fentanyl is very promising; lots of people are overdosing and dying, might be a winner. Clean, no goo for those people to clean up. The only question is: do you want everyone to think you’re a drug user that fucked up? Only you can answer that question.  Do you even care? I guess I do…

I’m not going to bore you with how I did it… It’s always a personal choice… do it right and you’re dead, if not… live with it.

I got up the next morning and had coffee with cream. Left the house in the bright morning sun, birds were chirping, and the sounds were soft. I walked away from the city and into the wooded area just outside of town. The wind made soft purring sounds in the branches, the grass soft under my feet; I noticed I had no shoes, just didn’t seem to matter. It was a beautiful morning.

I came to a little clearing in the trees with a clear view back towards the town where I’d lived most of my life; it was all gray as though that no longer existed and was fading. I guess for me it didn’t; a thought came to my mind… I hope I didn’t make a mistake.

From the Ramblings.

t

Taum Lee, Two. The deal.

Taum Lee; Two, the deal.

Room 7 deep within a secret Government command building. Called for a mandatory meeting; flight from Budapest was a horror; hot, tired, more than a little pissed. Mandatory meeting? Sitting, waiting in a large room reminiscent of a library from someplace in history, British early 20th Century, bullshit came to mind.

Faint door closing, fainter footsteps. Mumbling voice getting louder. In walks an older man wearing tweed, fitting perfectly into the décor of a hundred plus years ago. “Ahhh, here we are.” Heavy British accent.

Taking a seat behind the large desk, he dug deep in a side drawer, pulling out two glasses and what appeared to be Scotch in a small, finely cut-glass bottle. “A touch, yes?”

Slight nod of the head.

The ghost of time long passed poured two fingers' worth into each glass and slid one across the desk.

He picked up a small pair of half-round cut reading glasses and worked them tight on his nose.

“Mister Lee.” Long seconds pause.

“We’ve asked, then more or less demanded that your old employer release you to us. You have unique skills, we are in dire need of them, would seem.” Theodore Spencer whispered in his crackly old man's voice. “I know this is rather sudden, but we need your skills.”

“Unique?” Taum said with a flat tone. Most people would have a chill run up their spine unless they were brain-dead. A flat one word with tones of impending violence, extreme violence.

“Yes, quite so, you have a rather unique way to read a situation and make multiple assessments that we rather need in an agent of skill.”

“So, if I want to walk out of here?” Dead tone.

“If you want to walk, you walk. If you’d like to hear the deal, stay. It’s up to you, Mr. Lee. But you will not have an employer at this point; you’ve been transferred to us, like it or not.”

“I don’t like… some people will have to answer for this.” “You have five minutes and I walk”

“Grigoriy Rostislav” Theodore let the name hang in the air.

Silence.

Both men stared at each other, neither blinking, complete silence, threatened violence heavy in the still air. Theodore was well aware of Taum Lee's skills; he knew he would be dead in seconds, and Lee would eliminate everyone in his way to the street. Seconds passed; if things went bad, he’d be dead and responsible for several more deaths, and they’d have a rogue killer on their hands.

“Grigoriy Rostislav is your prize if you agree to work for us. We'll make it happen; you’ll call the shots, and we'll fund everything. Other assignments, of course.” Slight pause. “We need your services for five years, then you retire if you’d like, you’ll be forty-five with a huge bank account, invisible to all.”

“24 hours, open the door.” Taum Lee growled.

June 16th, 2024. 2217 Rainham St, London, 8:45 pm.

Finishing dinner, Theodore heard a faint “clink” that came from the sitting room. He brought his left hand to his lips, shushing his wife as he pulled a .380 from his vest pocket. He motioned for her to sit tight.

Moving silently to the door between the kitchen and the sitting room, he saw a shadow figure sitting in his easy chair, sipping bourbon under the dim light of the floor lamp.

“Ah, Mr. Lee, you’ve decided to join us.” Louder, “Mildred, I’ll be in a meeting. Thank you for a wonderful dinner, my dear.” He pulled the slider shut behind him.

“You asked for 24 hours, it’s been three, no four days,” Theodore said with humor.

“Your Bourbon is flat.” Lee’s voice flat, dead tone.

“I’m sorry, I’ve switched to Scotch recently.  I have an unopened bottle if you’d like, no trouble.”

“I’d like,” Lee whispered.

“Mildred, would you bring the new bottle of Bourbon please?” Loud enough to be heard in the kitchen proper.

“Yes, dear, just a moment.”

Faint noise of cabinets opening and closing. Mildred slides the rolling door to the left, carrying a liquor bottle wrapped in a white towel into the sitting room.

Lee raised his left hand, stopping Mildred mid-step as she entered the room. “Please place the firearm on the buffet table.”

She stood dead still, a minor scowl on her face. Her gaze switched to Theodore's face.

“Yes, please, Mildred, this is Mr. Taum Lee, he’s a new employee of the agency. He’s here to go over our personnel agreement.” She laid the 9mm on the buffet table and set the bottle on the table between the two easy chairs.

“I’ll get you a clean glass she said.”

“No, I’ll take care of it, thank you, dear,” Theodore said in a happy upbeat voice. “I’m very happy to have you join us.  Now, what are your terms?”

Lee sipped his fresh Bourbon without ice, the proper way for a man to have Bourbon straight. “Time.”

“Time?” Theodore asked with a hint of confusion.

“Grigoriy will be in Syria in three days. No later than June 20th. Syria is a shit show, stupid. They are falling all over themselves. He will be in Damascus for two days in a meeting over weapons with President Bashar al-Assad. He will need to return no later than June 25th for a meeting in Russia.”

“That’s short notice.”

“That’s my terms; after that, I will take or refuse tasks without complaint from your agency.”

“Done.” Theodore put out his hand to shake. Taum Lee put forward a scarred fist; fist bump, so be it.

The touchdown was smooth, and the 747 glided to a painfully slow approach to the air terminal. Damascus was hot, sticky, running in the high 90s with 85% humidity, late spring, early summer was the worst time to be in Syria, with the rain and stifling heat.

Lee was met at baggage, sliding into the grey Mercedes-Benz rear seat, the air conditioning blowing hard to break the heat.

“Five minutes.” His chauffeur said with a heavy accent.

“Shkrann izlylann”

Looking hard in the rearview mirror. “Shkraan jzylaan.” A clearly surprised look on his face.

The military was everywhere, sandbagged firing positions on nearly every corner; this is a Nation at war. Every block, you could see Army personnel checking the papers of those walking down the streets. One scans the person's papers, two or more with automatic weapons at the ready.

It was a quick drive, Fayez Mansour Street, turning off to Al Rabwah with one more turn on Fawzi Al Laham, stopping across the Street from the Faculty of Economics, Damascus University. The Hotel Al Pasha wasn’t much to look at. Low-rated at one or maybe two stars, it had seen its day pass many decades ago.

Brown brick faded nearly matching the grey bricks that once contrasted, mortar cracked, chunks missing in the corners, wood door framing showing lack of upkeep, paint peeling. Lee stepped into the reception area. The front desk area was so small that opening the door only cleared the front counter by inches, anyone standing there would have been hit as the door opened, shit and more shit crossed Lee’s mind.

The Hotel smelled of week-old socks, with just a hint of sweet spice that hit deep in one’s nose; it wasn’t pleasant.

Lee produced his papers. Mr. Samuel Buel of London. Passport inspected, room number and key exchanged, small talk of dinner places highly recommended with two fingers at the lips with a slight kiss to express the point.

The stairs were threadbare, treads squeaking with each step, cracked risers, some showing through. “I’m going to need bug spray.” Slipped silently from Lee’s lips.

Lee worked the key both directions before it gave way, the door sticky, opening with a wet popping zipper sound along the rubber door seal. The carpet’s age had to match the grand opening of the Hotel, a small bed that clearly showed you’d sleep only in one space, as the sunken center would be impossible to climb; one flat pillow highlighted the restless night to come.

Lee dropped his small suitcase on the bed, and a small smile came to his face as he looked at the bedside table. A rotary phone from God knows when sat nestled up to an old lamp.

The room had on standard 3.0 window with old, shabby drapes. Lee hooked the drapes back and slid the window open, which made a loud squeak as it slid up its tracks. Three soldiers turned to find the noise, machine guns following their eyes. Lee waved at the soldiers and gave the universal wave that it was hot. They continued down the street. It was quite obvious that moving along any street was going to be a problem.

The street seems impossible with the Army smothering every corner, stopping and checking papers of nearly everyone. It’s two full blocks to cover to get to the Syrian Facility of Engineering, where Grigoriy Rostislav meeting would be held in 18 hours. Hanging out the window to his waist, it’s a clear shot in both directions along the street. Mentally setting the yards to prominent objects, a signpost to the right, a paper box to the left. The problem is Grigoriy Rostislav will be sitting in the rear of any car, which could be a hardened car that would withstand small arms fire. He could pick up an RPG in this war-torn Country with little trouble, but still the angle would be difficult to manage.

His watch said exactly at 1000 hrs. Damascus time. Grigoriy Rostislav plane would touch down at reported time of 1100 hrs. Time to take a walk to the airport and see what he’s riding.

“Papers.”

He made exactly 100 steps. “I’m sorry.”

“Your papers now!” Rifles coming to post arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… They are in my breast pocket. Here, let me get them.”

Three Kalashnikov’s now pointing at his chest. “You will not move!”

“I’m sorry, I’m British, I don’t know what you want.” Taum squeaked in his fake scared voice.

The center soldier, showing rank as a Corporal, slung his rifle and grabbed Taum by the jacket. The top jacket button flying over his shoulder, spinning to the rough concrete, bouncing in a high arch, one lesser bounce, down the storm drain grill. Taum turned his head to see it disappear. “OH my!”

The Corporal lessened his grip, completely fooled by the seemingly weak foreigner. “Papers.”

“Yes, yes, right here.”

Ten minutes, two radio calls, and he was set free to continue his walk to the Airport.

Two blocks down, he was stopped again, treated roughly, and sent on his way.

Waving in the air, a taxi pulled to the curb. “Airport, please.” Time to end this, the street would be impossible.

Two-minute ride he stopped the taxi a block before it entered the airport proper. The taxi driver was confused; he tipped heavily.

Five-story nondescript buildings lined Fayez Mansour Blvd, their backs running parallel to the main runway. Walking a short distance up the street, he picked one that should be about midway along the main runway. Entering, there was no front desk, two elevators in a short hallway, unmarked doors, and not a single window. Perfect, he took the stairs.

Five floors up in the unairconditioned stairway left him short of breath and wet. “Well… hello America.” The door to the roof was locked, but what was funny was that it was furnished with a Schlage lock set, straight from an American Company. Pulling his belt off, he unzipped a small compartment sewn in along its length. Removing a mini lock pick set took two minutes on the easy lock, and the door swung open. His greetings were blasting air hot enough to be from a hair dryer.

The rooftop top mostly barren, with heavy tar with minimal sand, allowing the hot tar to stick to everything. The center of the building was taken up with five-foot-tall heating and air conditioning units. Two-foot stub wall along the edges, a few pipes protruding through the roof with little tight 90 bends at the top to keep the water out. Looking in both directions, the roofs looked identical, and heat waves shimmered, dancing in the air. Walking to the stub wall, he had a vast view of the main runway and two additional smaller runways in the distance. One flight sitting at the end of the runway, waiting for a plane on final approach, touched down perfectly on the painted minimal lines. To his left in the medium distance was the airport buildings, and just further on, the control tower. He stepped back to the shade and seclusion of the heat/cooling units, watching a few planes depart and incoming flights land.

Thirty minutes watching the airport, and a plan was solidifying in his head.

11:05 am, a sleek Pilatus PC-12 white with blue stripes made a perfect landing, hitting the first taxiing exit, putting it in line with the VIP plane parking area on the near end of the airport buildings. The plane took no time shutting down, and the door opened with a stair ramp pushed into place. First off was a heavy man towering in the doorway, looking in every direction, checking for anything out of the ordinary.

A second man appeared from the plane, without hesitation, headed down the stair ramp, third, Grigoriy, three steps behind, followed closely by the large man, head on a swivel as they walked the open tarmac to the building’s doors.

A taxi back to the shabby hotel, a secure five-minute telephone call via satellite connection laid the materials needed and timing, it was up to the gods of war for the supplies to arrive in time and secrecy to hold.

1:19am. Soft knock on the hotel room door, a package leaning against the door frame. Taum stood in the doorway for five minutes, waiting and listening for any movement. Silence, he could be the only living being on the floor; it was so quiet, eerily quiet. Carefully opening the package, checking every component, and finally slowly snapping pieces together, it was ready. Pushing the start button, it came to life, going through its start-up procedure, clicks, lights turning on, then off, waiting for commands.

The meeting was set to start at 8:00 am, just a few hundred yards away, one street over, he figured an hour and a half, two at the most. He was now five stories up, hidden alongside the heating/air conditioning units, watching the Pilatus PC-12 sitting in its parking space. Pilot and co-Pilot were moving under the plane, finishing pre-flight checks while the plane was fueled.

The wind was from the North, setting the direction of takeoffs and landings to what it was the morning before, ending one of the last possible defects in the plan.

10:35 am, an aircraft start unit pulled up next to the Pilatus PC-12 and plugged in. Smoke blew from the rear of the jet as the start unit fired the jet engines to life.

The three men walked quickly across the tarmac to the waiting plane, Number one and two talking furiously, number three two steps behind, mostly watching back towards the buildings.

Taum did a quick system check and fired up the program; lights flashing, a slight shutter, system ready green light flashing. Pulling electronic goggles over his eyes, reading system statuses, camera status, all go. He lowered the googles and waited.

The Pilatus PC-12 engines revved to life and spun the plane in a tight 180 taxiing down across the parking tarmac following the arrows to the taxiway to the end of the runway directly in front of Taum’s position. The taxiway was fifty yards closer to the buildings running parallel to the main runway, allowing planes to taxi without plugging up the main runway to their take-off positions.

Taum watched the Pilatus PC-12 taxi fast coming left to right directly in front of his hide. He slid the goggles over his eyes and waited a few seconds. The goggles showed the tar roof being just six inches above the tar, in the near distance was the stub wall across the roof. The camera in the goggles crystal clear.

A flashback two months ago in war-torn Ukraine, mortar shells landing dangerously close as he slowly instructed three Ukrainian soldiers in the art of FPV drone flying…

The drone shot straight up, clearing the stub wall and heading the sixty yards from the buildings to the taxi ramp. Spinning the drone to the left hard, the Pilatus PC-12 was eighty yards coming fast. Taum flew the drone at top speed down the taxi ramp towards the plane, camera showing the plane getting bigger in just seconds. Slight move to the left and lowering the flight path to just eight feet off the pavement, the drone flew straight into the left wing of the Pilatus PC-12. A massive fireball erupted from the wing fuel tank, engulfing the plane. Spinning to the left, the Pilatus PC-12 buried itself in the soft dirt, stopping nearly instantly, nose down, fire spreading.

Taum stuffed the goggles and controls in his small backpack and peeked over the stub wall.  He was pleased with what he saw. The Pilatus PC-12 was melting down from the heat in long trails of molten aluminum, one loud bang as one tire burst into flames from the heat. Black smoke poured from the fuel fire; the left side of the plane was gone in the smoke. The cabin door was obscured, but he saw at least one person fall twenty feet from the plane in the grass, overcome by the smoke.

Sirens screamed in all directions; it was time to go.

 

.....................   

Taum entered the small foyer area, walking a short distance down a side hallway through a glass door marked private. Pushing an intercom button, he was greeted with. “Can I help you?”

“Taum Lee 4,5, Delta 0, 8,4 Lima Lima 6.”

“Hello, Mister Lee, Level 3, Room 4, please.”

Stepping into the elevator, most people expect to go up, he went down.

Elevator stopping on level 3 doors opening to a long white on white corridor, bright LED lighting making his eyes squint.

From the Ramblings.

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