JACK
by
AL LAMANDA
PROLOGUE
It was one of those rare summer days in Virginia
Mild and pleasant enough for a boy to play with his dog in the safety and comfort of his own backyard without having to worry about sunburn or heat stroke or dehydration. Jennifer Grant watched as her nine year old son Jack rolled around on the grass with his dog Button, a three year old Beagle they adopted as a pup. As Jennifer watched Jack and Button wrestle around on the grass, Button climbed on top of Jack and licked his face.
Jennifer smiled at the sight and wished she could take a photograph of the moment, but pictures of her son were strictly forbidden. As was attending school, riding a bike or skateboard, sports of any kind, having friends and just about anything else that was normal activity for a boy Jack’s age.
Button was Jack’s only friend and Jennifer feared that would be the case for the rest of his natural life. Pets in place of people. She fought back a tear and did her best to smile at Jack when he called to her so she could watch Button jump through Jack’s arms. On his knees, Jack held his arms out in a circle and the little Beagle got a running start and jumped through the circle, spun around and jumped through it from the other direction.
Jennifer laughed and clapped her hands. Button jumped on top of Jack and licked the boy’s face again. It was one of those moments, those few and far between moments that should have been captured on film and placed in a scrapbook, but scrapbooks, like just about everything else that gave proof to her and Jack’s existence was prohibited.
Agent 3 appeared beside Jennifer’s lawn chair. “It’s time, Mrs. Grant,” he said.
Also forbidden were the names of the six men who guarded Jack around the clock, so she gave them numbers. Agent’s 1 through 6, that’s what she called them. She selected the order of the numbers by the age of the agents with 1 being the youngest. Of course, she went their appearance since she had no actual knowledge of their real ages, or anything else for that matter.
“Let him have five more minutes,” Jennifer said.
Agent 3 looked at his watch. “Okay, but just five,” he said. “No more.”
“We’ll meet you inside,” Jennifer said.
Agent 3 turned and walked toward the sliding glass windows that led to the kitchen. Jennifer didn’t have to call her son. On his knees with Button licking his face, Jack saw Agent 3 talk to his mother and knew it was time for a car ride.
Jack stood up and patted Button. “Okay, girl, I have to go with my mom now,” he said. “You be good until we get back or no treats.”
Jack walked toward Jennifer and she stood up to take his hand. Together, they entered the kitchen through the sliding glass doors where agents 1 through 4 waited for them. “Does he need anything?” Agent 2 said to Jennifer.
“Apple juice,” Jack said.
Agent 2 opened the refrigerator and removed a small carton of apple juice, peeled off the thin straw, inserted it into the tiny hole atop the carton and handed it to Jack. “Let’s go,” Agent 2 said.
Agent’s 5 and 6 were in the van parked in the driveway of the secluded Virginia
Jennifer and Jack rode on the middle seats with Agent 1 and 2 on their left and right. Agent’s 3 and 4 rode in the back behind them. The windows of the van were bulletproof and tinted so dark it was difficult to tell day from night from the inside. It was the only time Jennifer saw the agents remove their sunglasses while outside the house, when riding in the van.
From the outside, the van appeared old and worn, a faded white with dents and rust. That was a custom job for appearances sake. In reality, the van would stop anything shot at it short of a missile or a tank-busting round and maybe even that, so said Agent 6.
While Jack sipped his apple juice, Agent 6 drove the van along side streets and back roads and avoided the highway north into Maryland
While Jack sipped apple juice, Jennifer closed her eyes and took an unexpected nap on his shoulder. She didn’t wake up until they were at the gate of the warehouse. Located somewhere in the countryside of Maryland, Jennifer was never really sure exactly where, the warehouse stood three stories tall and housed ten thousand square feet of mostly wasted space. There was a comfortable apartment with three bedrooms and a fully furnished kitchen and living room, but the remaining nine thousand square feet sat empty and unused from what little she could determine.
Jennifer and Jack, on several occasions, spent as long as ten hours inside the warehouse, but never stayed overnight. There was never the need. If an appointment was late or didn’t show, they were always driven home rather than spend the night in the apartment.
Agent 5 used a remote to open the motorized gate and a dozen security cameras followed them as the van crept along to the front of the warehouse. A second remote opened the motorized front door and Agent 6 drove the van into the warehouse and turned off the engine.
Agent 5 turned around in his seat and looked at Jack. “Is there anything you need before we get started?”
“I have to pee from the apple juice,” Jack said.
“No problem,” Agent 5 said.
They stepped out of the van into the dimly lite warehouse parking area. With Jennifer and Jack between the 6 agents, Agent 6 opened a door and they stepped into the comfortable, well lit apartment.
“See to the kid while I check on the contact,” Agent 6 said.
Agent 3 walked Jack to the bathroom while Agent 6 entered one of the bedrooms. Jennifer opened the refrigerator for a can of Coke and took a seat at the table. She pulled the tab, took a sip and looked at Agent 4. “Is this going to be a long one?” she said.
Agent 4 shrugged his shoulders inside his black suit. “Depends,” he said. “Well see how it goes.”
Agent 6 returned and looked at Jennifer. “Where’s the boy?”
“The bathroom,” Jennifer said.
“Bring him in when he comes out,” Agent 6 said. “There isn’t much time.”
Agent 5 and 6 entered the bedroom and left the door open. Jennifer took a sip of Coke and a moment later Jack and Agent 3 reappeared. Jennifer stood up and took Jack by the hand. “They’re ready,” she said.
Jennifer led Jack into the bedroom. Agent 5 closed the door behind them. In the bed was an old man of about eighty-five, or so Jennifer put his age as she had no way of really knowing. He appeared on the verge of death and she wondered if a man in his condition would survive her son’s touch.
Two doctors stood beside the bed. Jennifer called them Doctor 1 and Doctor 2. Doctor 2 motioned to Jack, Jennifer released his hand, and the boy walked to Doctor 2. “Are you ready, Jack?” Doctor 2 said.
Jack nodded.
“Good boy,” Doctor 2 said, and then he and Doctor 1 stepped aside.
Jack moved to the head of the bed where the old man’s head rested. The old man opened his eyes and looked at Jack. “Are you he?” the old man said. “The boy?”
“Yes,” Jack said, barely above a whisper.
“Thank God all won’t be lost,” the old man said.
“Don’t move,” Jack said. “This won’t hurt.”
“Should I be afraid?” the old man said.
“Not of me,” Jack said. He raised both hands toward the old man’s face.
“Wait,” the old man said.
Jack paused.
“Promise me you will never use the knowledge for other than what it was intended,” the old man said.
Jack stared at the old man.
“Promise me,” the old man said with the last of his strength.
Jack nodded.
“Good boy,” the old man said.
Jack looked at the two doctors. Doctor 1 gave Jack a tiny nod of his head and Jack placed his hands on the old man’s face. The old man reacted as if his flesh was suddenly on fire and gasped loudly in pain. Jack lowered his face to look at the old man and slowly the old man settled down.
There was a moment of complete silence.
Jack closed his eyes.
Jennifer and Agent’s 5 and 6, as well as the two doctors stood back against the walls and waited. There was a reason the entire warehouse was made of metal and didn’t have a single window. A couple of years ago, Jack blew out every glass pane in the home of a famous mathematician living in Florida . They constructed the metal warehouse without windows or glass of any type specifically for Jack. Even the lights were made of a secret alloy designed by NASA.
Jack held his pose, eyes closed, hands on the old man’s face.
Jennifer looked at the metal walls. There was a creaking sound and then the walls started to contract and expand as if made of gelatin. This went on for several minutes until Jack tilted his head up and opened his eyes. Jennifer didn’t need to look at her son to know that his eyes would be pure white at that moment.
Suddenly, the walls went still and appeared solid again. A second or two later came the burst of pure kinetic energy that vibrated the metal walls and would have blown out the glass windows if there were any.
Jack raised his tiny hands above his head and Jennifer knew the session was over and the old man had died. Jack turned to look at Jennifer. Blood ran down his nose and splattered on his shirt. The doctors rushed to Jack to catch him before he passed out and hit the floor.
The second bedroom was for Jack to rest in as he usually slept for one to two hours following a session. The third bedroom was for Jennifer, but she rarely used it and usually waited for Jack in the kitchen with the agents. Sometimes, as was the case today, Jennifer prepared lunch for the agents just to have something to do while she waited for Jack to regain his strength and come around.
She made western omelets, brewed a pot of fresh coffee, and served the agents on plastic plates at the table. They ate with plastic utensils and drank their coffee from plastic mugs. Today, Jennifer made extra for the doctors who joined them after checking on Jack’s condition.
“How is he?” Jennifer asked as the doctors took seats at the table.
“Fine,” Doctor 1 said.
“Growing stronger as he ages,” Doctor 2 said.
Jennifer looked at Doctor 2. “That worries you?”
“It gives me pause as it should you,” Doctor 2 said.
Jennifer served him an omelet, filled his plastic mug with coffee and turned away to begin washing the dirty pans and plastic cookware.
Ninety minutes after he passed out, Jack wandered into the kitchen and asked for a glass of milk. Jennifer filled a plastic tumbler with milk and he drank it at the table in the company of the two doctors.
“How do you feel, Jack,” Doctor 1 asked.
“Fine.”
“Headache, blurred vision?” Doctor 2 said.
“No.”
“Any weakness?” Doctor 1 said.
“No.”
“Good,” Doctor 2 said. “Good boy.”
Jennifer looked at the doctors. They avoided her eyes and looked at Jack.
Agent 6, the man in charge, entered the kitchen. “Are we ready to go?” he said as a question, but it was really a command.
Three days later, while Jack played with button in the backyard, Agent 5 escorted the two doctors into the kitchen where Jennifer was preparing his lunch. “How is the boy?” Doctor 1 said.
“He’s fine,” Jennifer said.
“We’re ready for him,” Doctor 2 said.
Jennifer glanced out the glass doors to the backyard where Jack and Button rolled around on the grass. “Can it wait until after lunch?” she said. “I made his favorite, franks and beans.”
After lunch, the agents drove Jack and Jennifer to the secret warehouse where they met the subject, a brilliant mathematician from NASA. He was young and in excellent health and hardly screamed at all when Jack placed his hands on the young mathematician’s face and transferred the knowledge given to him by the old man into the young man’s brain.
THE HARBOR
As it had the first time, it took a few revolutions before the music started, which gave Lester time to sit behind Blackwell’s desk The music started and a few moments later, the male began to sing.
At Labrecque’s desk, Stewart picked up the phone and placed a call.
Lester listened to the words and translated the German to English in pen on a notepad. The man sang of the hardships he dealt with in his poverty-stricken town, then the woman started singing in the background about how difficult life was for her and her children.
Lester glanced at Stewart and the deputy was still on the phone.
The record played on. The man and woman sang of their miserable existence and family problems, illness and poverty. But, through it all how their love for each other kept them together and gave them hope.
Lester wrote as quickly as possible, translating each word to English as best he could. Thirty minutes passed until side one ended. As Lester stood up to change sides, Stewart said, “That is some boring ass shit we’re listening to.”
“Do you speak German?” Lester said as he raised the needle arm and flipped the record over.
“Not a word.”
“Then how would you know?”
“Okay, fair enough,” Stewart said. “What are they singing about?”
“Hardship. Strife. How tough life is in turn of the century Germany
“Life is hard anywhere, anytime,” Stewart said. “Even on this tiny Island , so why do I care about some opera from a hundred years ago.”
There was a sudden knock on the door. “Donuts are here,” Stewart said.
Lester placed the needle on side two of the record and continued translating from German to English every word sung in the ninety-minute opera. He consumed four donuts and at least a pot of coffee during the two hours it required for him to jot down in English every word sang or spoken on the second side of the record. When finished, he turned to Stewart who was half-asleep with his chin cradled between both hands. “Deputy, I’m done,” Lester said.
Stewart sat up, yawned and stretched. “So, what did you find out, anything?”
“I don’t know yet,” Lester said. “I was translating, not reading. I’ll do that later in my room.”
Stewart looked at his watch. “Near quitting time. I better give the Sheriff a call.”
***
Lester stopped at a bar on Main Street one block from his bed and breakfast. He ordered a chilled white wine and sipped it lightly as he scanned his notes. Nothing in the words jumped out at him. They were simply the written words to a tragic German opera, composed nearly eighty years ago by Strauss. Nothing more than that.
Lester finished the wine and walked to his bed and breakfast. He felt tired, sluggish. All those donuts topped off with twelve ounces of wine did him little good. It was barely seven in the evening and he was ready for bed.
Well, maybe a good night’s rest was just what he needed, he told himself as he entered the bed and breakfast and walked up to his third floor room. He immediately stripped off his clothes, closed the window to block out the street noise, closed the drapes to block out the two hours of sunlight remaining and crawled into bed.
Gratefully, sleep came almost immediately. Peaceful, restful, necessary sleep. Then he awoke with the sun in his eyes. Confused, Lester sat up in bed and looked at the window. The drapes were open. The window was raised. He must have gotten up during the night to use the bathroom, was hot and opened the window for some air. He got out of bed and went to the window to look out. It was a bright, beautiful morning, the beginning of a gorgeous day on the Island .
Lester checked his watch. It was just after seven thirty. He quickly shaved, showered and dressed, then went downstairs where breakfast was being served in a backyard garden. He brought the notepad with him to read while he ate breakfast.
A cheerful staff served several types of eggs, pancakes, hot and cold cereal, juices and coffee. Lester didn’t realize just how famished he was until he dug in and started eating. Halfway through the meal, he remembered the notebook and flipped it open. He glanced at the first page and it was as if someone kicked him in the stomach and knocked every bit of air from his lungs.
The notes he transcribed into English were in German, every single word of them. German. How? Did he awaken during the night and rewrite the notes back into German? Why? That didn’t make sense. Why would he do that and why didn’t he remember doing it if he had?
Cold beads of sweat broke out on Lester’s face. He dabbed the sweat with a napkin and gulped ice water. He didn’t want to, but he knew that he had to read the notes. Slowly, his eyes went to the first page.
You stole my career and my life, you miserable bastard. I want them back.
This is not possible.
Yes, it is.
Who said that?
Me, Caroline.
That’s impossible. You’re dead.
Only the flesh is dead, Hank. The spirit lives on.
Lives on how? What are you talking about?
You know.
No, I don’t. What do you want?
I already told you, Hank. The career and life you stole from me.
Lester jumped to his feet, grabbing the notepad. “No,” he screamed. “Get away from me. I didn’t steal anything.”
The guests and staff fell silent as Lester ran across the garden and into the back door of the bed and breakfast. He raced up to his room, locked the door, and fell to his knees, gasping for air.
The notepad burned the skin of his right hand and he tossed it away.
Truth hurts, don’t it?
Shut up, please shut up.
You can’t shut up the truth, Hank. Truth will always come out.
Lester covered his ears and rocked back and forth on his knees. “Leave me alone, leave me alone,” he sobbed.
Can’t do that, Hank, so we might as well talk about this.
I don’t want to. Please don’t force me to, please.
Oh, it’s too late for please, Hank. Let’s get it out in the open and tell the world what you did. How as a junior reporter out of college, you seduced the plain Jane reporter assigned to show you the ropes. You saw the story on political corruption in Florida I was working on and I let you because you were the only man who really ever wanted to fuck me. You took my flesh, then you took my story as your own and rode it to a career that was meant for me. And when I threw myself off the roof of my apartment building after you broke my heart, you didn’t even have the decency to attend my funereal, you miserable excuse for a man.
No.
Because you were to busy fucking my boss, that fifty year old cow bitch. She ignored the truth in exchange for a go in the sack and now she’s here with me now and guess what…Hank? We’re both laughing at you.
No. Stop. Please.
Only you can make it stop, Hank. Only you.
Calmness suddenly washed over Lester. He removed his hands from his ears and looked straight ahead at the window.
***
Down in the backyard garden of the bed and breakfast, Harriet and Walter Ward were celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary with a champagne breakfast that cost extra, but neither of them cared. Fifty only comes around once.
As Harriet and Walter raised their champagne glasses to toast their marriage, their five children and seven grandchildren, their love for one another and lifelong commitment, the last thing they expected to happen was for a man to come flying out of a third story window, but that is exactly what happened.
“To us, dear,” Harriet said and paused as a loud scream shattered the quiet of the garden. A moment later, Henry Lester landed on Harriet. Specifically, on her head. All one hundred and eighty pounds of him.
THE HARBOR
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