Here's the latest installment of my current dark scifi project. This is chapter 30. If you're just tuning in, consider starting with chapters 1 and 2. Be advised that this work considers difficult subjects, including suicide. If you're in crisis, please seek help. Help is available here.
When the time came to test his explosives, Special Agent Clipper gave Horace a dummy device armed only with compressed air. Fitting perfectly inside of a cardboard priority mail box, the device could be armed and triggered remotely, by commands texted from a phone. Following Clipper's advice, Horace placed the box in a large pile of loose dirt at a construction site they broke into. Then he led the group to a place behind a mountain of gravel about a hundred feet away.
"But I can't see from here," objected Jam.
"Jam, it's a bomb," said Lori. "If you can see it, it can kill you."
"You sure this is gonna work?" asked Jam.
"The device is now armed," said Horace. "Ready when you are."
"Do it, Go," said Lori.
When Horace texted the detonation code, there was a loud boom and the sound of airborne dirt falling to the ground for several seconds. When they went to inspect the detonation area, they found a large crater in the dirt where the box had been. "Remember, this is without any shrapnel," said Horace. "The real devices will be much more dangerous."
"My man!" said Jam.
"I knew you were the right person for this," said Lori. "And you'll have the rest of them ready in time?"
"All set for March 20," said Horace. "I mean, if everyone's still in." He had kind of been hoping that the successful test would bring the reality of their situation into focus and cause them to abandon the plan.
"We're all in," said Lori. "We're going to make those fucker pay."
Later, in Special Agent Clipper's car, Horace became emotional. "I mean, I get that what they're doing is wrong," he said. "Legally and just in general. But Lori's really a good person wrapped up in bad stuff. You know her dad was wrongfully convicted of armed robbery and lost his legs when prison doctors fucking amputated them instead of just properly treating his infected feet? Isn't there some way we could bring her over to the right side of this? I'm sure I could convince her to cooperate."
"She'll have an opportunity to cooperate after her arrest," said Clipper. "I've heard you on surveillance trying to get her to quit, and I know how she responded every time. You are aware that she might take you out if she found out we were even talking?"
"Yeah she would," admitted Horace. "It's just that she's been so nice after Domonique passed. Helping me with everything and making sure I eat. To be honest, I'm afraid of what'll happen without her around."
"Don't worry," said Clipper. "It's almost over."
Horace knew that wasn't true. There would be months or even years of going over everything again and again with investigators and dealing with court stuff. He tried to focus on the lives he was saving, not the lives he was ruining. That's what he tried to do, with mixed results.
When the day of the planned attack arrived, Lori, Jam and a group member named Gary each gave Horace letters to their families, to be delivered in the event they were killed in the explosions. Six months ago, Gary had taken a job with a corporate courier service. It was his job to deliver the explosive parcels, using his credentials to access two of the buildings where their targets worked.
The third building didn't allow couriers into its offices, relying instead on an internal mail service for all deliveries. The target in this building was Lori's responsibility. Posing as an art broker, she was to convince the doorman that the had to hand deliver a statue to the target, but couldn't open the box except in the target's presence for reasons of provenance.
Once Gary and Lori were clear, they were to trigger the devices with their phones. Waiting in a nearby Starbucks, Jam prepared to send the detonation codes if anything went wrong. Horace sat with Jam, nervously sipping coffee, waiting for everything to happen.
"Just play it cool," said Jam five minutes after the explosions were supposed to have started. "I'm sure they're fine. We'll give it another five before I send the commands."
"I haven't received any confirmation texts," said Horace. "What if they're still too close to the devices."
"We all know the risks," said Jam. "This shit is more important than any one of our lives, or even all of them."
As the appointed time arrived, Jam sent the texts that he believed would trigger the bombs. Thirty seconds later, half of the coffee shop's patrons stood up, pointing guns in their direction. "Don't move, FBI," one shouted. "You're under arrest."
The next twelve hours were a confusing blur of activity. Horace was arrested, but wasn't booked. Agents brought him to an office building and made him write down every detail of his involvement in the conspiracy. Then they had him say all of it on camera, and again to various groups of suits who came and went from the office where he was detained.
Finally, Special Agent Clipper arrived, along with Special Agent Weaver, which surprised Horace. "We got the fuckers," said Clipper, grinning.
"No one will tell me anything," said Horace. "Did anyone get hurt?"
"Gary Weber suffered a concussion while trying to flee," said Clipper. "One of our agents broke a finger giving Mr Weber the concussion. Other than that? The city is safe, largely thanks to you."
"It's not any safer from human rights abusers," said Horace bitterly. "How fucked up is that?"
"It's not great," said Weaver. "But today is a huge win. We'd like to build on that, with you, if you're willing to continue cooperating with us."
"What do you mean?" asked Horace.
"As we speak, a Strike 25 attorney is trying to get you released on the grounds that you were a mere innocent bystander," said Weaver. "And one Dr Winston is trying to get you released on the grounds that only he can continue to effectively treat your 321 Syndrome. We intend to support the medical justification for your release, and to keep your name out of the initial press release."
"Okay," said Horace.
"Point being, to the public, it'll eventually look like you were involved but had to be released because of a system screwup," said Clipper. "Your reputation as an activist will remain intact, and rumors of your involvement here will continue adding strength to this reputation."
"The prevailing opinion is that you could become a valuable asset to us," said Weaver. "When you first learned of the bombing conspiracy, the first thing you did was call me. And I understand you played ball through the whole investigation. But our intelligence indicates that other terrorist actions are being considered by this new wave of activists. We'd like your help with collecting information about these actions and related subjects. Are you up for that?"
"Do I have a choice?" asked Horace. "I mean, my partner is dead, the friend who helped me deal with that is locked up forever. People on the street stop me to high five when they recognize me as Go from Strike 25. If I didn't have to keep going to class, I'd probably just crawl into a bottle and never come out. Don't get me wrong, helping you was the right thing to do and I'll keep doing it if you want me to. But I'm a wreck, hanging by a thread, so you know what you're getting."
(Feature image from Pixabay.)
Read my novels:
See my NFTs:
