Terminus (Lee Harden Series (The Remaining Universe) Book 6), page 1
TERMINUS
LEE HARDEN SERIES
BOOK 6
─
D. J. MOLLES
part 1
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Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold
—Second Coming, William Butler Yeats
prologue
─▬▬▬─
THE PROBLEM WITH DEMOCRACY
Secretary of State Erwin Briggs swirled his tumbler of scotch, and wondered what it was. The man from The Corporation, whose office Briggs now stood in, was much too classy to pour straight from a bottle. He struck Briggs as the type to fill his decanters with top-dollar spirits, and let the enigma of his wealth enhance their flavor even more.
Briggs was always of the opinion that a decanter was for hiding the fact that it wasn’t top-dollar spirits. But Briggs was ever a pragmatist.
The man from The Corporation seemed a tad more of an idealist. An idealist with big, world-wide ideas. Dangerous ideas, to be sure. But exciting ones. Things that could change the world, if you could stomach the eggs that had to be broken to make the omelet.
Briggs looked out one of the tall windows with its thick, dark drapes pulled aside. It was a chilly, dismal day in Washington, D.C., and he could only just make out the spire of the Capitol Building in the distance.
The clink of a glass, made distinctly rich by the knowledge that it was being set down on hundred-year-old mahogany. A light sigh. The creak of a leather chair behind a desk.
“I’ve been very pleased with your men’s performance in China,” the man said.
Briggs turned, taking a sip from his glass. He could taste the money as it slid down his throat. “Security is pretty simple stuff for our operatives.”
The man from The Corporation leaned back in his chair, looking so calm and regal. So untouchable. So above it all. The quiet knowledge of knowing that you’re so insulated from any accountability that you can do whatever the hell you want and never have to worry about the consequences.
If he were being honest, it made Briggs a little jealous.
“Oh, it’s not the security that I’m impressed with,” the man said. “Anyone can carry a gun and do sentry duty. I’m impressed with their discretion.”
“Well, I’ll pass that on to my partner, then,” Briggs replied, mildly. “Technically, I’m not the CEO of Cornerstone at this point. But I’m sure he’ll be pleased with the compliment.”
The man nodded, smiled, then quirked his eyebrows in a way that told Briggs there was another shoe that was about to drop. Possibly a rather nasty shoe.
“Unfortunately, our business arrangement is coming to a close.”
Briggs felt the tiny twitch of his facial muscles, but kept them from sinking into a full-blown frown. “You won’t be renewing your contract, then?”
The man motioned lazily with his glass. “We’re reaching a point in our endeavors where it will no longer be conducive to have any outside ties. Even with a company so discrete as yours. I wanted to personally express my appreciation for their discretion, so that you and your partner understand that I hold your operatives in the highest regard. And I may have need of your services again in the future. I didn’t want you to think that my terminating the contract had anything to do with being unsatisfied.”
Briggs took another sip. This one deeper. More for the fortification than for the enjoyment. The Corporation was a whale of a contract, not in the amount of men they were employing, but in the cost of the contract.
After all, discretion came at a high price these days.
Briggs stepped away from the glittering collection of crystal decanters, away from the gloomy view of the capitol, and sat in a plush leather chair across from the man and his mighty desk. He draped his arms on the rests and crossed his legs.
“Again, I’ll be happy to pass on this information,” Briggs said, with a bit of caution in his tone. “But, I reiterate: My partner is really the one you should be speaking to. My duties on the cabinet preclude me from having any direct dealings with Cornerstone. For now.”
“Oh, of course. And I will be notifying your partner as well. And I’ll be cutting a bonus to all of your men.” A tiny sip from his own glass. The man scooted forward, elbows on his desk. “Fifty percent to each operative.”
Briggs kept a good poker face, despite having the urge to drain the rest of his glass in a single gulp. That was in the neighborhood of a hundred grand per operative. And there were thirty operatives working at the facility in China.
Three million dollars was a decent chunk of hush-money. What the hell were they working on there?
For a brief and rather stupid moment, Briggs considered telling him that such exorbitant sums were unnecessary to ensure the discretion of the operatives—Cornerstone prided itself on having the best men, who knew about opsec and could keep their mouths shut…
But he wasn’t about to screw those boys out of their payday.
He went with, “That will certainly…ease the sting of the contract termination.”
All of the sudden, Briggs found himself intensely curious about what The Corporation was doing. And hiding. Oh, he had some general concept, based on his knowledge of the province where The Corporation had seated itself in China, and the type of facility that it was.
The type of facility that took advantage of a combination of lax laws and easily-bribed officials. The type of facility that went deep underground. The type of facility that was built to keep things from escaping it.
Troublesome, microscopic things.
But Briggs knew something about companies like The Corporation. And how secrets were kept. Which wasn’t primarily through money. Money only went so far against people’s consciences. It was really only good for getting people to turn a blind eye. Good for keeping people from getting too curious.
The people that actually knew the secrets? Well, they fell into two categories: The ones that were running the show, and had a vested interest in keeping their secrets from going public…and the disposable ones.
The very fact that The Corporation was shelling out three million to the Cornerstone operatives that ran their security meant that the operatives really didn’t know shit about what they were guarding. The money was to make them happy, and to shush that little angel on their shoulder that told them, “This seems shady as hell.”
Pretty easy to stuff that angel down if it meant a paid off mortgage and maybe a pair of nice Harleys for you and the wife. Your conscience tends not to bother you much when you’re floating in your brand-new, lagoon-style pool, with your children happily splashing and your wife freshly manicured, a new pair of tits bursting from a bikini top the size of an eye patch.
No, Briggs would not be asking any questions, no matter how curious he was. After all, the contract had come with its own fine dividends for he and his partner.
There was something else that he was curious about, though.
“So.” Briggs tilted his head back. “Why am I here? All of this sounds like business between you and my partner.”
The man from The Corporation smiled again, leaning comfortably on one elbow now, while considering his glass, running a finger along the rim.
After a few moments, the man raised his eyes and looked out the window, his smile turning sad. “It’s all so broken, isn’t it?”
Briggs couldn’t keep himself from issuing a derisive snort. He had to remember who he was sitting across from: An idealist. A dreamer. Luckily, the man either didn’t notice, or didn’t much care. He gave no reaction to the rude noise.
“Not just here,” the man continued, his voice quiet and pensive. “Everywhere. It’s all been built up into this glorified edifice, and everyone stares up at it with wonder in their eyes, but very few pay attention to the fact that the base is rotten. It’s moving towards cataclysm. It always has been. It always makes me think of Yeats: ‘Turning and turning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer; things fall apart; the center cannot hold.’” The man’s eyes cinched up in the corners as though distressed by something. “The base cannot support the structure. It’s doomed to crumble from within.” He raised the glass to his lips, his voice hollow inside. “The inevitable implosion of democracy.”
The man drained his glass, set it down, his teeth bared for a moment.
Briggs shifted in his seat. The luxurious leather suddenly felt cloying. “A grim outlook for the free world.”
“Free world,” the man scoffed. “Free of what? Free for whom? Freedom to do…what exactly? While away your pathetic existence, plugged into the system like a drone, fed a constant stream of dopamine-inducing impulses in the form of pleasant pictures and videos and clever jokes? People don’t even know what freedom is anymore.”
Briggs took the last of his whiskey, glanced at the decanter, feeling like this was a conversation that required a good deal more alcohol. “Do tell.”
The man looked at him sharply. “Democracy isn’t freedom. That’s the crux of the issue. Democracy is a flawed concept, built upon the idea that people aren’t idiots. Which we all know to be false. Find me a hundred people, and I’ll find you ten that can think for themselves, and ninety that are utterly inept, slaves to their own whims and emotions. In a democracy, the intelligent ten percent are left beholden
Perhaps the man wasn’t as much of an idealist as Briggs thought. Maybe their philosophies were closer than he’d originally assumed.
Still, Briggs maintained a cautious demeanor. “And I suppose you have a solution?”
The man laughed. “A solution? No. There is no solution. That’s my point. You can’t repair this structure. You know what all the wannabe DIYers say, because they watch too much HGTV: ‘the bones are good.’ Well, the bones of this house are not good.”
He sidled forward to the edge of his chair, his fingers interlacing. “Take, for instance, the current state of our democracy. Half the country at the throat of the other half. Not for any real philosophical differences, but because of a bunch of rhetoric. Any Joe Schmoe can simply hop on the internet whenever he pleases and say whatever he pleases, and there will be a mind-boggling swath of people that actually believe him without ever taking the time to consider whether anything he’s said is true.
“Now, how would one fix this? Every person in this country believes it’s their God-given right to spout whatever bullshit they want without consequence. Do you make the libel and slander laws more stringent? So that people can’t simply make things up about whatever politician they don’t like? Well, that might Band-Aid the issue, but ultimately, you once again negatively affect the worthy few with lowest-common-denominator legislation. And the problem with the lowest common denominator is that, while they’re complete idiots, they’re still perfectly capable of rioting. You ever notice how an idiot never doubts their intelligence?”
He laughed again, this time mirthless. “And that’s the problem with democracy. It propagates a lie that all men are created equal. A fine lie. The best type of lie, really. Because it makes people feel good about themselves. That’s how you get to believing it. But haven’t you ever noticed that the things that feel the best to believe in typically end up being false?”
Briggs smiled and nodded. In fact, he had noticed that.
“The best system of government is a benevolent dictator,” the man from The Corporation concluded. “A wise strongman.”
Briggs squinted at him, as though the thoughts pouring out of the man were a sandstorm. “And are you the wise strongman we’ve all been waiting for?”
“Me?” the man looked genuinely surprised, if not a little flattered. “No, no. I’m an idea man. I’m a fixer. I identify problems and come up with solutions. That’s all.”
“But,” Briggs said, opening his palms. “As you said, this particular problem doesn’t have a solution.”
The man leaned back in his chair once again. Regarded Briggs for a long moment. Crossed one leg over the other. He laid one hand upon his desk and tapped his fingers thoughtfully.
“I like you, Briggs.”
“Well, I’m flattered.”
“You’re a realist. Which is something that dreamers like me always need. People like me, always with our head in the clouds.” A not-quite-self-deprecating smile. He didn’t actually believe the nice words he was saying. He took a big breath, the type of sound that seems to change a conversation. “Anyway, I’ve digressed quite a bit. You were asking why I wanted to meet with you specifically, and all I’ve done is spout philosophy and Cornerstone business. You’ll have to pardon me. Sometimes my thoughts run away with me.”
Briggs gave a slow, forgiving nod.
“Something is…” The man looked upwards, selecting his words from an invisible cloud over his head. “Coming this way. Your business dealings have proven that you’re a man of discretion, otherwise I would not be telling you this.”
Briggs couldn’t help but lean forward in his seat. “What type of thing are we talking about?”
A smile that said my trust doesn’t go that far. “Things will change drastically. Things you might not even believe if I told you. And the only reason I’m telling you this is that I believe—and I have good instincts for these things; I always trust my instincts—I believe you are one of the few. One of the ten out of a hundred.”
Briggs felt a flash of heat on his lower back. A chill of newly-sprouted sweat.
Careful here. Proceed with extreme caution.
“Well, I certainly like to think so,” Briggs said. “But, as you already observed, maybe I’m an idiot that thinks I have everything figured out.”
The man from The Corporation grinned and pointed at Briggs. “Ah, but the idiots never even entertain the possibility that they might be idiots. Which proves you’re not one of them.” The man pushed himself up, opened a desk drawer, and drew out a small, black object. A thumb drive, it looked like. He walked around the desk, and Briggs stood to meet him.
The man held out the thumb drive.
Briggs stared at it for a moment, then took it. “What’s this?”
“It has some useful information on it. Should you see the need for it in the future. Something for a rainy day.”
Briggs kept the thumb drive pinched between his fingers, not sure if he wanted to fully accept it by placing it in his pocket. He began to think about federal regulations and wire taps and who might be listening. He’d done enough shady shit in his life to learn that paranoia usually wasn’t.
The man seemed to recognize Briggs’s thoughts. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing that will get you in trouble,” he said as he crossed back to the mini bar with his empty tumbler. “Consider it a gift. From me to one of the worthy few that…well, who knows.” He sloshed a heavy finger of scotch into his glass. “Might be able to do something good with it.”
Briggs took a deep breath, wished he’d had that second glass. “I have to ask, in my official capacity as Secretary of State: Is there a threat that I need to know about?”
The man sipped his glass, not turning to look at Briggs. Just staring out the window at the capitol, silhouetted by the diffused light coming through. “Greeley, Colorado,” he said, somewhat nonsensically. “Little town. Not much to look at. Fairly private. But just big enough to go unnoticed, if someone like me were to want to stash a little something. A little something that might help a friend though some trying times.”
It didn’t escape Briggs that he hadn’t denied that there was a threat.
But then again, he hadn’t admitted to one either. Which meant that Briggs had done his due diligence, as he saw it.
Greeley, Colorado. How odd.
He finally closed his palm around the thumb drive, and slipped it into his pocket.
one
─▬▬▬─
INCHES
There’s something about an ambush that feels like murder, Sam thought. It’s not the hot-blooded, me-or-them, kill-or-be-killed situation that you might find once the ambush turns into a firefight.
For a few seconds, right at the start of it, it’s just you, killing a person that doesn’t even realize they’re in a fight. Just a tiny difference, a faded gray line between black and white, and Sam knew that he’d stepped over it several times already. But he wasn’t entirely sure it was wrong of him to do.
Morality gets slippery when you’re surviving.
And really, at that moment, with the gray dawn backlighting the man that had stepped into the dilapidated office building that had become their hideout, Sam didn’t really think about any of that. He’d had hours to think about it in the lead up to this moment, watching the teams of newly-conscripted Cornerstone operatives clearing the structures nearby them.
Now, there was no thought. There was just this sliver of time called the present, and everything else fell away. It was just facts at this point.
One man. Four more coming in behind him.
Stillness. Shadowy shapes of rubble and old office equipment. The man’s weaponlight spearing the darkness, sweeping back and forth. Sam’s heart, pounding in his chest. Just one eye peering around the corner of the crumbling support column that he hid behind. Rifle tucked close to his chest, ready to deploy. Ready to snatch another life from another person. No second thoughts. No going back. He was strapped into this moment, and he couldn’t get free of it even if he wanted to.
