The Whistleblowing Couriers

CHAPTER TWO - SHAYS' BONUS

Captain Swaminadhan and Dr. Diagne were sitting in relaxed silence against the locust tree, with Noor's eyes trained on the white tent adjacent to the medical tent. There, a giant map of Lower Manhattan was spread out on a plastic table that would have normally been used for a suburban barbecue. Tacked onto the walls with brown duct tape were five additional maps, each depicting one borough and littered with red and green thumbtacks. Even at a considerable distance, Noor could make out the distressing state of the protesters. Staten Island, Queens, and the Bronx were bereft of any green pins, and the men and women huddled around the main map all looked discomfited.

Across the park, the Marines, other soldiers, and veterans made up the largest bulk of the protesters, but expelled college students, disenfranchised voters, disbarred lawyers, fired journalists, on the run immigrants, tortured activists, and blacklisted academics, artists, and authors filled out the rest of the crowd.

"So, what are my chances of seeing tomorrow's sunrise?" Samuel's morbid joke broke her tranquil trance.

Noor glanced at him, and then looked back at the tent. The first response that began in her throat died before reaching her uvula. Her expression had become very bleak.

"I'm sorry – that information in the tent is probably confidential." The hasty apology did not change Noor's demeanor, and so Samuel began to reach for his prosthetic to ensure it would not slip off when he stood.

Noor then turned. "No, I'm sorry. This movement was built on openness. What the leaders are discussing, and have discussed, is public information." She paused, considering the weight of her next words. Samuel shifted to face her, mostly dreading what she was about to say due to her persistent troubled look.

"The last talk I had with the representatives was about two hours back. At that point, we had five demonstration groups left – Tompkins Square Park, Washington Square Park, one at the MoMA, one guarding the Battery Tunnel in Red Hook, and a fifth retreating from Fort Greene to the Brooklyn Bridge. We were, at that time, the sixth and final main protest group."

Samuel interjected, his tone disturbed. "When you say 'at that time', do you think we lost at least one contingent of protesters in the past hour or so?"

"Without a doubt. At that point, the commanders had lost cell phone contact with the Brooklyn Navy Yard unit, whose last communication indicated the national militia had stormed the Williamsburg Bridge. Our SoHo contingent was taking heavy casualties from another HG detachment that had just sealed off the Holland Tunnel. And, the last video call from the Central Park protesters was, frankly, FUBAR. The feed was lost, but only after a considerable amount of blood had spattered onto it."

Noor shifted her body, her eyes refocusing on the tent. Samuel could not respond. He glanced at Noor, frightened by her coldness, and sought to scrutinize his own tent, the red cross comforting his pulsing heart.

"At the lack of any visible moral codes on the other side, I expect both the park units to the north of us to have been taken out. The Central Park killing squad will hit the MoMA protesters, so that leaves two Brooklyn groups to guard two bridges and a tunnel. Frankly, Doctor, I expect only four survivors of this cabal to see tomorrow's sunrise, barring our President suddenly becoming a peacenik."

After another silent minute passed, Samuel spoke, almost in a murmur. "And you have come to peace with that?"

Noor's response was defiant. "No. I cannot abandon, again, my brothers and sisters here."

"So how will you reconcile your schism?"

Noor surveyed the doctor and her lips parted. Then, she shut whatever answer had been forthcoming in the recesses of her windpipe. Her eyes drifted downwards and Samuel assumed he had breached an unspoken barrier. As seconds waxed into a minute, Noor returned her initial gaze and the doctor realized, with a start, that the sergeant had been glancing at his prosthesis.