Liquid Stone

Liquid Stone - Chapter Two

      I never got comfortable keeping company with those gentlemen. Me, Chaz Archer, trained to join one of the country's top research labs was reduced to being a spy. Oh, many people, including my father, think I should be grateful to be part of the inner circle. I was certainly glad I had fared better than most of my colleagues. We all had set our sights on making a difference in our world. The United States was finally advancing again but there were still cures to find, technologies to advance, and a future to perfect. When the Bidwarren Group surfaced and created the United Order of States, pursuing a career went back to who-you-know.   Those rich educations and brilliant minds of my fellow graduates were wasted selling cars or flipping burgers. Only the elite could run companies or even program everyone's eplate. Order of States meant control, and that is exactly what the group of men before me did. Control everything.

My thoughts were interrupted by the door sweeping opened and a gruff voice.  "Archer! We need that report now!"

These grunt control officers didn't care if I was part of the elite group or not.  They were trained and brainwashed to be robots, programmed to haul in suspicious characters and squeeze information from them for their captains.

I hesitated starting my report on the last six months. I know they questioned my loyalty and every word I entered into the department efile would be dissected. Somehow I had to be evasive enough until I could get Devaney out of their custody. I was sure they had her and Jamie in one of the interrogation rooms downstairs. These lame brains wouldn't understand that I needed her free to show me more. She was keeping something from me and I knew it.

My mind went back to the first meeting with the heads of the Bidwarren Group. All of the top players in one room.  Six other gentlemen, dressed as I was in expensive suits and imported shoes, waited patiently for Mr. Bidwarren to enter.  We sat silently, sipping cognac or port wine, and scattered across the huge library in Bidwarren's Easton Manor.  It was pointless to converse with each other. Nothing was to be discussed without Bidwarren or his son, Kipen, the current president of the UOS, present. To ensure we followed that rule, large,  muscle-bound, secret service in dark suits stood at each corner of the room. To the average eye, it might look ridiculous that they wore their black sunglasses indoors. I knew each pair was equipped with surveillance cameras of the estate. Quite a task.  I almost respected their skill if it wasn't for the detached, inhuman, manner about them.

The room was dimly lit which I found a bit ridiculous for a supposed library. If someone chose to read one of the books from the 20-foot bookcases that completely encompassed the room, they would have to huddle in a leather Queen Anne chair or plush, over-stuffed couch near a green bankers lamp. Of course, valuable and rare printed materials were hardly read anymore since all information was issued on illuminated eplates.  Only these men would have their hands on such materials.  Still, old habits die hard and that is exactly where most of these men sat.  James Scooner, National Security Agency Director, crouched over today's newspaper on his eplate across the room by the thickly draped window. Fitzgerald Walker, Federal Reserve Director, squinted and tilted financial reports away from his eyes from an antique gab-table to my right. Obviously he had not had bifocal implant surgery. Milo Canton, the Federal Order Investigations Director, loomed in a corner.  Three gentlemen, representing the Central Intelligence Agency, State Department, and the Food and Drug Administration, dressed the back wall fidgeting and swooshing their cocktails repeatedly. And, Vice-President, Daniel Archer. My father. Slouching in a comfortable sofa, one foot draped across his knee, good old dad relaxed with his usual pipe between his lips.  My lamp was off. Of course I was concerned why this urgent meeting was called, but I at least knew it had nothing to do with my current assignment.

My cover as a high school teacher at Compton High had been an easy contract so far.  All I had to do was keep an eye on selected students and report any suspicious conversations or activity to the FOI.  These kids hadn't done anything wrong but their parents were suspected of being part of a rebel group. The majority of my recordings of students were nothing but plans for the pep rally, complaints of too  much homework, and which girl was chasing after which boy that particular week. Except for Sergeant Mather's boy, it was pretty calm.   Tim Mather's father was a former US Marine.  He had recruited his son to hack into the school mainframe. The kid turned out to be pretty tough. I never did find out what information he was trying to lift, but it was apparent he had no idea that the school was directly linked to the federal government grid. Bidwarren Group posed his disappearance as a ransom hoping it would draw out the sergeant. Poor kid. It didn't work and he is still sitting in an air cell in DC.

The men in the room stirred and the door burst open. Old man Bidwarren and the president were in mid-discussion as they entered the room.  We all stood and muttered our respects, "Mr. President." Bidwarren silenced his son with a wave of his hand and took a seat behind the huge, intricately-carved, wooden, desk near the window across the room.  President Bidwarren stood to his father's right looking more like a smirky minion than the man in charge of  the world's most powerful and controversial country. Scooner flew from his spot and rushed to a safer perch on an empty sofa. A guard closed the door and returned to his stiff stance. Bidwarren cleared his throat and dove right into his address. All the while, he stared at his desk and occasionally shuffled papers. It is widely known that Bidwarren was old enough to never have adjusted to the prosper of technology. His liked his documents in hand and whispers at the water cooler rumored that an over-sized shredder was his best friend. With the continued silence in the room and no eye contact with his audience, it was almost comical, looking as if this powerful man was actually an insane schizophrenic talking to himself.

"The coordinated efforts of the NSA and FOI led to a country-wide clearing of several suspected secret locations of the Refounders' camps.  Locations in Chicago, Los Angeles, Nashville, Atlanta, and Boston, resulted in a collection of 600 rebels." More desk documents shuffled. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath to continue.  "We were just as fortunate closer to home finding 30 rebels.  Over 60 electronic devices and 300 weapons were confiscated.  I want to commend the NSA and FOI and the well-trained men in the field for making this a successful operation."

A raid. Of course, I wouldn't be briefed on such plans but I wondered who in the room, other than Canton and Scooner, was privy. A quick glance around the room did not show any hint of surprise on the faces before me. This doesn't mean much. We have all perfected our poker face for such occasions.

The old man shifted his weight and finally sat back to peer at his audience. No. He peered at me only. Uh-oh. Why me? Why only me? We locked eyes. Deeply carved wrinkles stretched across his shallow face. Puffy eyelids drooped over black eyes to half-mast.  Lips pressed to a stern, borderline haunting, look flipped my stomach over. Without taking my eyes from Bidwarren and keeping a cool demeanor, I could feel the same piercing look from my father. It seemed an eternity before the man croaked my name.

"Dr. Archer. Chaz, my boy, you might find it as interesting as the rest of us to learn the location of the local raid."

Ok. I'm stumped. What is this creature talking about? As if he expected a response, he kept his stare. I had no response.

"Under your nose, dear boy!" he bellowed. Nobody moved or shifted. Nobody sighed or gasped. They all knew but me. "The basement of Compton High proved a prosperous maneuver, to say the least."

Oh crap. Holy shit.

He stared. Everyone did. My dad grinned and stared.

Words came from somewhere. "There were no signs of such activity in any of my sweeps, sir. My detailed reports were accurate and forth-coming in every way." Oh good. It was me speaking.  

Keep your face and your voice quieted, I told myself.

"I know what you reported, Doctor! That is my point exactly. We don't know whether--"

'We'.  He said 'we'.  We meaning the men in the room and probably several teams unseen. This was a Spanish Inquisition and I was the accused.

"--whether you are traitorous or plain old incompetent.  None the matter," he grunted, waved the issue away with a hand gesture, and sat forward to shuffle his papers again.  Looking down he finished his directive. "You will rectify this immediately. Mr. Canton is ready to meet with you to detail your next endeavor." He lifted his eyes to meet mine again.  His intense bulleted eyes and matter-of-fact tone contradicted. "You will not fail us."