Sir Michael O’Callahan chose a spot underneath a concrete overpass scarred black by an explosion. There were chunks of concrete, broken glass, a piece of a bumper and some shredded remains of tires in the street all detritus from confrontations between the Zoners and the Police.
“Park here, James. I’ll walk from here.”
“But, Mr. O’ Callahan, this is too far.”
“It’s OK, James. I have my ID.”
“At least let me go with you.”
“No! He won’t approach me if anyone is around. You know that.”
“Yes, that’s true. Be careful,” he said.
The door to the car closed with a heavy thud, and Sir Michael was soon
engulfed in the darkness of the deserted street. He thought that James would
be safe there. The car was substantial. No street urchin could do more than
scuff its tough surface. The windows were bullet proof. The license protected
it from the Police. They would recognize the emblem of a high council member.
Mr. O’Callahan knew it wasn’t wise for a wealthy man to walk around in this
area. People were starving. They would attack you for a crust of bread or a
single credit. A high council member would be a juicy target for these
freedom fighters. Sir Michael paused a few times and looked around before
continuing. This was the buffer zone between the so-called “free” area, and
the “permit” area. Permits belonged to the Government. They served the
Homeland. If you were a freedom fighter you had no permit. You could not
leave the Zone, or hold a job. You could not speak to a member of The
Government or be seen with more than two of your friends at one time or you
could be killed. Still, Sir Michael was aware that many times Freedom
Fighters did leave the zone, and he was on the alert for trouble.
“Father?”
Mr. O’Callahan turned, and recognized the gaunt figure of his step-son Thomas
O’Callahan, the leader of the Freedom Fighters. Tom’s blue eyes burned through the night with a fire that was clearly visible even in the dim light of one streetlight that by some miracle still worked. The two men embraced, and thudded each other’s backs.
“It’s good to see you, Son.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Dad.”
“Tom, you’re so thin.” Mr. O’Callahan held Tom’s shoulders at arm’s length, and
squeezed with strong hands.
“Food is scarce in the FreeZone, Dad. I give what I can to Jenny and the
baby.”
“How are they?”
“Jenny has a bad cough. The baby is fine.”
“Let me take her to my doctor. He can be very discreet. He should be I pay
him enough.”
“No, she wouldn’t hear of it. She wouldn’t touch any of your money or
anything it could buy. It would be selling out.”
Mr. O'Callahan nodded. "That sounds like our Jenny."
They walked side by side in silence with arms linked and Tom led Mr.
O’Callahan to a hole in the fence alongside the road. They entered the FreeZone and walked a few blocks to a small squat building with one dirty window. A wan pool of light shone on the sidewalk. When Tom opened the door, a cloud of smoke rolled out and enveloped them. A massive man with dark curly hair and a sinister look about him stood barring their way. He recognized Tom and stood aside just enough to let them through the
door eyeing Mr. O'Callahan with a cold eye as he brushed past.
“Evening, Tom.”
“Evening, George. How’s it going?”
“It’s quiet tonight. The Police are all over to the East Side. There’s a
rumor there'll be a gathering.” He smiled.
Tom smiled. “Imagine that.” He said.
The room was dark, and the air was filled with smoke. Men and women sat about
at tables or at the bar along one side of the narrow room. The tinkle of
glasses and the sound of talk and laughter were pleasant. The aroma in the
air might be tobacco, or maybe something else. No one looked up when Mr.
O’Callahan followed Tom to the rear of the room. Tom chose the seat with his back to the wall. George looked their way and then resumed his vigil at the
front door.
Tom spoke first. “You look much older than you did at our last meeting. When
was that – only 10 months ago? ”
Mr. O’Callahan took a deep breath before he replied. “I remember that
meeting, too. I beg you. It’s my grandson. Let me at least feed them. You can’t
possibly win against the Police. Even with all my connections and my wealth I
am not immune to their power. Here in the Zone, I can’t protect them. At the
Sanctuary, they would be safe.”
“I tried to talk to Jenny about it, Dad. When I told her about the meeting tonight she got mad. Winter will soon be here. If something happens to me, who will care for the baby? I don’t know what I’ll do. Nothing I could say would make her change her mind. She is so weak she can barely lift her head. I don’t want to leave them alone for long. I wrapped her and the baby in a blanket, put extra wood near to her hand, and filled the stove. Then I came here to meet you.”
They waited silently as a waitress brought them battered mugs filled with dark
beer. Sir Michael nodded his thanks, took a sip, and smacked his lips.
“This is good,” he said, and raised his mug to Tom who raised his glass as
well, and they drank for a moment. Sir Michael wiped some foam from his lips
before speaking
“Your mother sends her love. She would like to see the baby.” When
Tom began to shake his head, Sir Michael held up his hand. “Will you deny her this? She has a right as his grandmother to at least see him.”
Tom’s shoulders sagged. “I’ve tried, but Jenny won’t do it. You know how
she feels about money and power. You are linked with the Police. She will
never . . .”
Sir Michael interrupted. “Tom, listen! Please – just try it. If she doesn’t like it there, I will see that you and Jenny are returned to the Zone. No-one needs to know. I have friends here. They will help.”
Tom’s forehead wrinkled and he pursed his lips... “I will ask her, but I think it’s useless. She has her mind made up.”
Sir Michael glanced around. People sat about with drinks in their hands. The bartender polished a glass. George stood at the door peering outside through the small dingy window into the night. Sir Michael hunched his shoulders, and leaned forward, his eyes intent on Tom’s face. He spoke in a low voice.
“No-one can know of my plans. To reveal them pre-maturely would be a disaster both for World Motors and for your mother.”
Sir Michael shifted his position in his seat so he could look around the room again. He turned back and focused his eyes on Tom before he continued. Tom leaned forward and nodded.
“I plan to step down from my position on the High Council next week. It has been widely publicized that my health is not good. It will not be unexpected. I also plan very soon afterwards to appoint your mother as sole administrator of World Motors”
Tom sucked in his breath audibly. “Won’t the board challenge her authority
and just vote in the guy they want? The Police have people even within your
organization, I’m sure. “
“Yes, they do, but I have a plan that will effectively neutralize them. You
see, I have evidence that the man they all think will be my successor, has
been embezzling from the company and selling proprietary information to our
competition. The evidence is provided by an impeccable source. When that news
breaks, I will demand that the board remove him. With my opposition
neutralized, I will force the rest of them to vote to sell all their stock to a private foundation I have founded to run World Motors. Your mother will be its administrator. I will then announce my retirement. There will never be another public board to deal with. I will hand the company over to your mother. “
“How can you do that and keep your hands off of it? It’s been your company
from day one. You founded it. You hold all the patents. You have lived your
whole life for that company.”
“That’s true, but I won’t be around to interfere.”
Sir Michael Paused. He watched Tom’s face. It took a moment for Tom to move
from disbelief to realization of what he had said. Tom reached forward and
touched Sir Michael’s hand. He looked at him intently.
“I noticed how pale you are.” He rubbed lightly at a brown spot on his hand.
Sir Michael continued.
“I will be gone by spring. I just hope that I can get World Motors squared
away and provide a sanctuary for your mother and the people who have been loyal to me all these years. I want her to live among people she loves and who love her. Tom, please. Join her. Bring Jenny and the baby and come live at the sanctuary. I can get you out of here. I can get all three of you away from here now, while I still have some power.”
Tom shook his head. “I am the leader. Everyone looks to me for strength. I
can't leave them. Besides, Jenny won’t leave her people.”
“What about the baby? What chance does he have? At the Sanctuary, he will be
warm and loved and well-fed. He will have a chance for an education. He won’t
have to scrounge for food in the streets and hide from the Police every time
they do a sweep.”
Sir Michael fell silent when he realized that Tom wasn’t listening. He waited.
Tom swallowed hard before he spoke.
“You are the only father I have ever known. I can’t get my mind around it. I knew about the infection. I thought it wasn’t natural. I suspected the hand of the Police in this. Your plan will effectively neutralize them for a time. But, World Motors is a fat plumb. It won’t be long before the wolves will sweep in and take it away from Mom.”
Sir Michael made one last appeal. “Remember how we used to take walks out in the woods? Remember how you used to pretend you were an Indian guide? Remember the hunts and the fishing? Let your son know these things, too. Let him grow up in clean air with enough food and lots of room to run and play.”
“I remember. Those were the happiest days of my life. If it wasn’t for Jenny, I would chuck all this and come home, but I love her, Dad. I can’t leave her and she wouldn’t come with me.” He looked at Sir Michael intently. His blue eyes still blazed, but he looked weary. His mouth was set in a firm expression.
Sir Michael stood, and Tom slowly rose as well.
“I may never see you again.” said Tom. They embraced and clung together and
allowed the tears to wash down their cheeks unchecked for long moments.
Mr. O’Callahan gently pulled away, took an envelope from his pocket and
handed it to Tom. “Keep this safe. It could mean a lot to your son some day.”
With one last, brief hug, he turned and strode past George out into the night.
Tom stood there for a few minutes unmoving. His face worked and he brushed away his tears with the back of his hand. He shoved the envelope into his inside coat pocket without glancing at it. Like a sleep-walker, he moved towards the front door. He brushed past George and out the door. George tried to grab Tom’s coat, but Tom shrugged him off. The sound of rapid fire ripped the night apart.
The people in the bar streamed out the door and headed towards Tom O’Callahan, leader of the FreedomZone fighters and step-son to one of the wealthiest men on the planet as he lay there in the street in a pool of blood. He wasn’t moving.
“Oh, my God, Oh my God!” They said.
George was the first to get to the figure in the street, and knelt down
beside him. He hovered over Tom and hid his motions as he removed the
envelope and hid it in his own coat pocket. He looked around, but there was
no sign of the shooter.
“Jesus,” he said.
Mr. O’Callahan was nearly a block away when heard the shots. He stopped, and his body jerked as if he had been struck, then, head down, he ran towards the hole in the fence, ducked through and headed up the street towards the waiting car. His legs churned as fast as they could. His breath came in short bursts that burned his chest. He saw James running towards him, gun in hand.
“James, get back to the car!” he gasped.
They ran the short distance, and James helped Sir Michael into the backseat, slammed the door, and leaped into the front seat behind the wheel. In seconds the tires of the car screamed as they sped away.
“Where to, Sir?”
“Take me to the Sanctuary. Hurry, James.”
“Yes, Sir. Are you OK?”
“Yes, I’m just tired. Get us there the fastest way possible.”
“Do you want me to take you to the heliport? The ‘copter is there and I charged the power-pak. We could be there in an hour or so.”
No, I don’t want anyone to know where I have gone. The ‘copter is too easy to spot. In the car, we are just one of thousands. Besides, World Motors Headquarters is one of the most observed places in the city.” He met James’ gaze in the rearview mirror, and saw his brief nod of agreement.
Sir Michael sank back into the leather cushions of his limousine for a second. He picked up his phone from the console and dialed a number, and held it to his ear while he tapped one finger against the soft leather of the seat with his other hand. After a moment, his head moved towards the phone.
“Are you alone?” He changed the phone to his other hand and pressed it to his other ear. “Good. There were shots fired in the Zone just a few minutes ago near the Pub on the south side. Do you know the one?” He paused just long enough to hear the answer.
“Find out what happened. I’m concerned about Tom.”
He pressed the button and laid the phone on his lap. Within seconds, it rang. He grabbed it and jabbed at the button, and held it to his ear. He held his breath. Sir Michael’s face paled to the point of grayness, and his hand shook so hard he nearly dropped the phone, but his voice remained steady and strong.
“Get the copter over there and airlift him to the Sanctuary! Take the medics with you. Hurry!”
He jabbed the phone with one index finger, and dialed another number. When he heard the voice on the other end he leaned forward in his seat. “Get Mary over to the hospital and prepare for emergency surgery. Tom has been shot. The copter will be there as soon as possible. . . I know it is, but I can’t risk having him in a Government facility. He will be much safer at the Sanctuary. The medics will be on board and the copter is well equipped for emergencies. No time right now. I have to call Mrs. O’Callahan.” He clicked off, and dialed the number in Paris. He waited a long time with the phone at his ear, and then slowly pushed the button. He squeezed his eyes shut until the wrinkles around them spread out over his whole face.
It would be at least a couple of hours before they arrived. He looked out the window into the night for a long time. He rested his head against the smooth leather. He caught a whiff of cigarette smoke from the front compartment. It was somehow comforting. He trusted in James. He would know exactly what to do without being told.
He awoke when he became aware that the motion of the car had changed. He looked outside to see trees and fields and small farmhouses whizzing by. He knew they had left the interstate and were on one of the many country roads that would eventually take them to the sanctuary. He straightened up in the seat, rubbed his eyes, and reached for the phone. He tried the Paris number again, but no-one answered.
“James, do you know the number on board the jet?”
“Yes, I do.”
James called out the number to him from memory and Sir Michael dialed. His face changed when he heard her voice, the voice of Mrs. O’Callahan once Shannon Fitzgerald. He dropped his eyes and his voice softened. He looked down at his knees and his free hand reached inside his coat and rested over his heart.
+++
Mrs. O’Callahan needed to stay in Paris one more day to finish the arrangements for the opening of the Paris office of the new World Motors Foundation European branch. But, something was wrong. She kept hearing Tom’s voice calling her.
“Mom,” he called, “Mom.”
It was not the voice of the man Tom had become, it was the voice of the eight-year old boy, the one she held in her heart. She staggered a little, and nearly tripped over her assistant. He had to stoop to put his arm around her shoulders. She was barely five feet tall, but had the presence of someone much taller. She waved his arm away as he tried to steady her.
“Are you all right?”
“Something is wrong.”
She placed her palm over her temple and moved her head back and forth. Her mind had gone somewhere else leaving this empty shell to deal with the practicalities. For some reason she smelled marigolds where there were none. Her stomach churned, and her chest hurt. Something was wrong with Tom.
“I need to go home right now.”
Without further explanation, she gave her assistant his instructions for the following day’s tasks. She didn’t even go back to the hotel for her clothes. She got the Mercedes and drove directly to the small inn near the private airport just outside of Paris and pounded on the door to the room until the pilot opened it. His black hair was tousled, and he wore only his shorts. His eyes opened wide when he saw her.
“No time for explanations. Get dressed, and get that plane airborne. Take me home.”
In a few minutes the pilot and co-pilot hurried to her waiting car, pulling on their jackets as they ran. At the airport, they ran across the tarmac to the plane. They helped Mrs. O’Callahan up the stairs, pulled the door shut and were air born in record time. The jet had only gotten as far as the coastline when the phone rang. She sat upright in her seat. It was as if her body had taken on the task of flying home on its own.
“Hello, Darling.” She let the sounds bounce off her eardrums, but her mind refused to listen to them. She nodded forgetting that he could not see her nod, and then silently replaced the phone in its holder.
She raised her voice so the pilot could hear.
“How long before we can be at the Sanctuary?”
“About six hours.”
She sat back in her seat and stared out into the night. It would be too late.
Mr. O’Callahan slowly set the phone back on the console, and leaned forward.
“Hey, James, put on some music, will you? Maybe a little Mozart.”
James reached forward to make the selection. Even though Sir Michael had his own control panel in the rear seat, he had never taken the time to figure out how to operate it. The soothing tones of the Piano Concerto No. 15 in B-flat Major wafted through the speakers. Sir Michael leaned back and was soon asleep again. The next time he awoke, the car was bumping along a narrow lane with trees close on either side. James looked in the rear view mirror when Sir Michael straightened himself and stretched.
“We should be there in a few minutes, sir.”
“Good. What time is it?”
“About four o’clock.”
“Should be dawn soon. It would be good to see the sunrise. James, do you know where Mrs. O’Callahan is?”
“Last time I checked, the jet was somewhere over the East Coast. They should be here in about an hour.”
“Did the copter get there OK?”
“Yes, it’s there.”
Mr. O’Callahan paused while he absorbed the tone of this response.
“And Tom – how is Tom?”
James turned in the seat and placed one arm across the back seat and looked at Mr. O’Callahan before he replied softly.
“He didn’t make it, sir.”
Mr. O’Callahan collapsed against the backseat and sobbed out one heart-wrenching cry.
“Dammit all to hell!”
After a glance at his old friend, James turned his attention to the road. He drove slowly over the rough road. There was no hurry to get there now.
They rode in silence for awhile. Then, Mr. O’Callahan pulled himself up, and smoothed his hair with one hand. The sky was getting a dark blue as it became neither night nor day.
“Elizabeth will be . . .”
He couldn’t think of the right word. What would she be? Would she be angry? Would she be grief stricken and despondent? Would she rant and rave or would she get hysterical? He doubted it. She was a strong woman. He thought she would do just as he had always done – whatever needed doing and grieve in private. He cleared his throat.
“Has your wife moved to the Sanctuary yet, James?”
“No sir. There has been some trouble getting my boy out of school. She won’t leave without him. Besides, the house isn’t finished yet.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No, we think we have it handled. There will be a break at Thanksgiving and the boy will come home for the holiday. We’ll have the house all ready and all our things here by then.”
Mr. O’Callahan could think of nothing else to say. His own wife would never see her son in this life again. He would never see his son, he always thought of Tom as his, even though he was almost seven years old when he and Elizabeth first met. He remembered the two of them – both with that special shade of dark red almost black hair they had. But, Tom had blue eyes, while Elizabeth’s were a deep rich brown. That blue was probably a legacy from the dead father, or perhaps some ancestor. Tom’s hair would never lay down obediently no matter how you combed it or wet it somehow it always managed to get unruly within minutes. For some reason, this memory made him feel like laughing even though it was perhaps the saddest day of his life. Maybe the feeling was because it recalled to him the happiest day- the day he realized that he loved her and wanted her – them - always in his life. Now part of them was gone.
“James, did anyone try to find Jenny? Do we know where she and the baby are?”
“I called headquarters and asked them to look as carefully as I could. This phone is not safe. I couldn’t call any of our operatives without blowing their cover. It would be fatal.”
“Yes, of course. As soon as we get there, pull up to the communications building. I need to get a search for them going.”
James nodded.
When the car turned off the lonely country road, there was a small featureless graveled parking lot. On the other side, tall ornate iron gates set into two stone towers connected by a massive stone archway barred their way. A high stone wall topped with ornate iron spikes stretched in both directions as far as one could see. There were carved wooden doors built into the pillars on either side of the gates. A small window on either side revealed a room encased in stone and equipped with remote cameras and microphones and speakers. James pulled the car to a stop under the arches formed by the stone towers, and spoke into a microphone. The cameras scanned the car from all sides. A complete circle of light scanned the car front to back and above and beneath, and a brief flash of neon green light touched his face. After a pause, Paul’s voice came over the speaker.
“Hi, James.”
“Hi, Paul.”
“Who’s in the backseat?”
Sir Michael said “It’s me, Paul.” The green light scanned the interior of the car and flashed briefly into Sir Michael’s eyes through the side window, and then the heavy iron gates swung slowly open. James drove into the Sanctuary.
The light from the headlights showed a fork in the road through dense woods. The way to the left disappeared into the darkness. The way to the right opened into a large graveled parking lot. At the far end was the communications building, a windowless concrete building with a tower atop it festooned with antennae. On one side of the communications building was a hangar with its large doors open, and on the other was a large warehouse. A helicopter sat just outside the hangar. Beyond that the area opened into an airstrip. The landing lights were all lit. Mrs. O’Callaghan’s plane would be arriving soon. There were several vehicles parked near the buildings. There was an ambulance, a jeep, a tow-truck, and a fire truck as well as a couple of pick-up trucks, and a semi trailer and truck. A single light shone above the door to the communications building. A very large black man stood in the pool of light watching their approach. James pulled up next to him, and he leaned down to open the door for Sir Michael. He wore a heavy leather belt with a gun in a holster. His leather jacket shone in the light. His teeth flashed very white against his smooth black face as he smiled in welcome. It was cool and there was a slight mist in the air. It had rained earlier as evidenced by pools of water on the ground. Now, the air was so moist, one could almost see it.
No-one spoke. What could they say? Thomas was dead, and it would be a sad homecoming for Mrs. O’Callahan. James and Paul stood outside near the car. Sir Michael went inside. He took off his long rain coat and draped it over the back of an empty chair in front of the communications console. At the other chair sat a young man with long dark curly hair that seemed to never have seen a comb or brush. He looked up from his monitor and pushed his glasses back onto his nose with one long index finger inquiringly.
“Take a walk, Billy.”
“Yes sir.” Billy stood up. It seemed to take a long time for him to unfold, and his rumpled clothes bagged over his frame.
When the door closed behind him, Sir Michael began to type on the keyboard. His fingers flew over the keys for several long minutes, and then he hit the “send” key. He sat back, lost in thought, going over every word and detail. Had he forgotten anything? He was tired. It wasn’t just the long day, and the anguish of Thomas’s death. The exhaustion went deep into his core. He knew his time was running short. There was so much to do. He thought of Elizabeth, and his heart lurched. It was going to be very hard to tell her that her son was dead. He sat slouched in his chair with his hand over his eyes for what seemed a very long time. Then the computer chimed as an email arrived in his inbox. He straightened, touched the keyboard, and read it.
It came from an obscure source known only as “CodeWord Haven”.
“All is in order.” was all it said.
Satisfied, he typed in a few words, and wiped all record of every keystroke using his own program. When he was finished, he powered the computer down, and restarted it, wiping everything from its memory. Paul opened the door.
“Sir, the plane is here.”
Sir Michael nodded, and rose slowly. When he stepped outside, the plane had taxied into position, and Paul and James were pushing the steps up to its side. First to step out was the co-pilot who held a hand out for Mrs. O’Callahan. She wore a long cream colored coat over the black business suit she had worn in Paris. Her red hair seemed almost black in the darkness, and flew around her in the wind. Her long legs flashed white as she stepped carefully in her high heels down the staircase behind the co-pilot. Sir Michael met her at the bottom, and she stepped into his arms. He was always surprised at how short she was. She always seemed to be six feet tall until you stood next to her. The top of her head barely came up to his shoulder. She stood back and looked into his eyes. He kept his hands on her shoulders as he shook his head. She sagged and he wound his arm around her waist. They leaned together as they stumbled to the car. James stood with the door open. In the car, she sobbed against his shoulder, and he clung to her with all his strength.
As the car’s headlights shone up the pathway to the main house, Elizabeth and Sir Michael were oblivious to anything around them. When the car came to a halt, Sir Michael pulled a clean linen handkerchief from his inside coat pocket and handed it to Elizabeth. She wiped her nose and sniffed loudly as she choked back her sobs. Sir Michael wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, and swallowed hard. When James swung the car door open, they ducked their heads, and hurried up the stone steps into the main house. Sir Michael kept one arm protectively across her shoulders. They disappeared into the ornate elevator and whooshed silently up to their third floor penthouse.
