New World Disorder

Chapter Five

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Oran was pretty certain trying be a teenager was a mistake. Two hours into the museum visit accompanied by three real teens and he was ready to run screaming, or to do grievous bodily harm to one or more of his companions.

"Guys, I really don't like Bricks." Alex's nasal voice was surprisingly grating, especially when he was whining.

Which seemed to be more often than not, Pope thought quietly.

"Well where do you want to go?" Hester demanded.

"How about Pepe's," Alex offered. "You love their burnt crust."

"And Oran doesn't," Hester reminded the tall, gangly youth.

"It doesn't always have to be about Oran, you know," Alex said quietly, while offering the shorter boy a guilty look. The tall blond was the oldest of the group, but was possibly the most socially awkward.

Originally Oran probably held that distinction, but Pope had decades of leadership, sales, and public speaking under his belt. While nominally an introvert, or so the tests at the various military staff and war colleges had claimed, he had long ago mastered techniques for overcoming any reticence in social situations. He wondered just how out of character he had been that day. Each of the others had given him odd looks at least once during the morning.

"Not at all," Oran offered in a conciliatory tone. "I'm sure I can find something there."

"Good!" their fourth friend, Alona Reuven, chimed in. She was a chubby eastern European girl with braces and curly black hair who had proved to be even more introverted than the others, which was saying something. For most of the morning she was engaged with the music playing on her headphone while she kept a half an ear on what the others were saying. "There are over 750 eateries within a quarter-mile of the museum. I'd hate to argue over each one."

They all stood on the street looking at each other, waiting for someone to make the final decision. Pope deliberately held back his natural reflex to take up the mantle of leadership. Oran would not have done so. Seconds ticked by as each of the four looked at the others for some hint of disagreement or dissention. They were standing on Columbus Ave., creating a shoal around with the pedestrian traffic flowed.

Before any decision was made two men jumped out of the side doors of a light blue catering van. They dropped a bag over Oran's head and pulled him in to the van. The doors slammed shut and a voice yelled "Go! Go! Go!"

Two stun guns were pressed against Oran's back and he felt the voltage surge into him. Instead of causing paralyzing muscle constrictions and debilitating pain, the flow seemed to energize him instead. It wiped away his lingering fatigue and foot-soreness from the morning wandering the museum. Pope decided to play possum to see what was going on and possibly get some idea of who was behind it. He clenched Oran's body as if the stun gun had had it normal effect. While he was "paralyzed", the abductors quickly fitted him with cuffs and leg shackles. I guess they don't want me going anywhere.

A hand slipped his wallet and phone from his pants. "The ID checks," a man's voice said.

Oran found that he was able to shift his sight so that he could see through the bag over his head. He allowed his head to flop around so that he could get a look at all four of the men in the van. The first thing he saw was his phone being tossed out of a window.

The man examining his wallet was an African American in his late twenties with a shaved head. The driver was a Caucasian in his forties. The other two were Hispanics in their early twenties, one with a flat top and the other with his long hair and sharply styled goatee dyed a flamboyant electric blue. All but the driver were fit and carried tattoos that led Pope to believe they were former military. He could also see they were armed with pistols of some sort and two carried knives as well as the stun guns.