CHAPTER TEN
A week of house arrest passed comfortably when confined to a six thousand square foot condominium with over a dozen variety of marine life to observe, an elevated view of a futuristic retreat, and the person you loved most. Yet, because of the government’s presence, the uncertainty of a stable tomorrow punctuated each of Alex’s breaths. Had he committed any wrongdoing? Corporate fraud carried a maximum sentence of thirty years in prison.
Over the past few days, Rosa read, Alex worked offline. They watched the action from the balcony and played Rummy, Stratego, and Tic-Tac-Toe. Until an hour ago, when a military C-141 Starlifter cargo plane reinvigorated their interest by vibrating the entire condo as it passed overhead and then landed.
Having borrowed his lone neighbor, Brad Finder’s, telescope, Alex kept watch of the compound. The mammoth aircraft—which looked big enough for four school buses to enter its belly—sat idle near a hangar. He expected the hatch to drop at any moment, as it had on previous landings. Marines would pour out first, maybe a pair of jeeps after. The FBI arrived on day one, but Alex feared the military had since wrested control away. Confined to his home and parceled information through Victor, he could only guess.
Turning the telescope to the Atrium’s parking lot, he focused the lens and inspected each motor home, trailer, and satellite uplink. Military personnel busied themselves between their makeshift base and the Atrium’s interior.
“What are they delivering this time, more troops?” Rosa’s voice seemed to activate his other senses. With the slider door open, the music of Journey funneled out; he smelled bread crumbs atop a casserole, and licked his lips. “They haven’t opened the back yet.” On previous visits, the plane dumped its cargo within minutes.
Rosa huffed in surprise.
“Is dinner ready?”
“It needs another ten minutes to cool down.” She stepped past him, peered into the telescope. “They’re doing something around that plane.”
Alex resisted his urge to push her aside and look.
As if sensing his desire, she retreated, “I’ll let you know when the table is set.”
Alex nodded as he found the telescope’s eyehole. The plane’s hatch yawned open. A pair of forklifts danced around the asphalt near its tail, retrieving wooden crates from inside the hangar. With dozens stacked in two rows near the open hotel, the forklift drivers debarked, joined together, lit cigarettes.
Get to it! Alex wanted to shout. Show me what you’re doing!
Since these forces invaded, everything they did interested Alex; their actions carried intrinsic importance. If the Starlifter arrived empty—as seemed to be the case—what did it intend to pick-up?
His overwhelming fear: the unmarked crates held servers and access chairs; that the entire apparatus previously known as the Lobby, over the past week, had been dissected more thoroughly than a downed alien spacecraft.
He watched every inhale until the operators flicked their butts. He willed the cargo hold to remain hollow on the return flight, maybe retrieve some of the previously delivered Jeeps. And then resisted the urge to retch as the men returned to their Hi-Los, and loaded the Starlifter with the unmarked boxes he suspected held proprietary Broumgard technology. One thing was certain: the Starlifter’s destination would be as accessible as a distant sub-sector of Area 51.
A startling truth overtook him: he would accept prison and the promise of the Lobby’s continued existence over freedom and its demise.
Rosa’s hand connected with his back, her touch acted like a vortex, pulling him out of his sea of despair.
“Time to eat.”
After a terse nod, they settled at the table.
A succession of bites ended his hunger. Accepting the events out of his control, he disregarded the hijacking. His mind returned to the steps needed to finalize the Battle of Gettysburg’s code. Perhaps completing that world would increase the Lobby’s chances of survival.
1862 Pennsylvania encompassed a strange period in the history of the English language. Men took thirty seconds of dialogue to inquire as to your day. A conversation between aristocrats, or in this case, educated commanders, could take five times the necessary lengths and be as colorful as a peacock streaking through a paint booth. To maintain authenticity, and yet restrain the verbiage from steering the entire world to the farcical, they employed an Old English style of talk more suited for Shakespeare than Colonel Chamberlain.
“You should feed Cain after we eat,” Rosa said.
He experienced a tremor of mirth at the prospect. A six thousand gallon tank that spanned fifty feet, stuffed with living coral, pretty much sustained itself. For continued stability, it needed the occasional PH modification, salt equalizer, rock rearrangement. For pleasure, it needed the introduction of feeder fish or blood worms. Particularly, their moray eel, Cain. Rosa named the long serpent after the famous biblical character because if their Cain wasn’t sated, he ate his brothers.
Her strong Catholic beliefs initially threw Alex for a loop. Not because the teachings of Jesus conflicted with the virtuous and caring woman he had grown to love. It simply represented his first exposure to someone who integrated the Bible into their daily life. She read from it every morning, prayed every night, truly believed its tenets. Whereas, he placed every Biblical story he’d heard in the same category as all the others: good yarns with moral lessons.
He likened the uncomfortable moments—when she attempted to interest him in the Word—to humoring a child with an imaginary friend.
He didn’t regard her faith as a character flaw. Same as the sincere child with the imaginary friend, it endeared her to Alex. He often marveled at her power to forgive any of the multitudes of human monsters. Regardless of Divine authenticity, her levels of empathy, love, and acceptance provided a testament to living as a decent person.
He longed to believe in an afterlife, and by extension, a purpose to waking. Human suffering, corruption, and greed denied him a belief in an omnipotent Being who rooted-on His children.
He understood the counterargument: we were born into sin, possess free will, and must contend with the Devil’s influence. He didn’t buy it.
“We’re going to be okay, Alex. God guides through the heart. Do what’s right, repent when wrong, and you’ll be rewarded.”
He smirked, nodded.
They ate to the sounds of classic rock and utensils scraping on ceramic. Afterward, they cleared the table and washed the dishes together. Alex a scrub nurse to Rosa’s dunk and clean.
Cain’s diet consisted of fish who wandered too close and frozen blood worms, which came in small cubes contained in a plastic tray with the back half protected by a thin layer of aluminum.
Three light taps on the aquarium brought Cain from his hiding spot near the bottom of the rocks. The slender, dragon-like mouth opening and closing fascinated Alex. Something about watching animals eat, captivated him. Maybe seeing the universal necessity created a connection between all species and acted as proof of our commonality. That, or Rosa’s mystical preachings were having an effect.
Rosa watched from the couch, the latest Janet Evanovich novel poised for consumption. Halfway through the feeding, a trill, indicating a telephone call, sounded through their home speakers.
The sound re-routed the synapses in his brain, diverting its attention from the enchantment of feeding, to curiosity at the call.
Victor’s voice followed, “Tara Capaldi is on the line.”
Rosa retrieved the cordless phone from the end of the couch and proffered it to Alex, who rushed over and answered.
“Hello?”
Rosa accepted the blood worms and continued to the tank.
“Alex, how are you?” Tara asked.
“We’re surviving.” However, this phone call could tip him to an extreme—one way or the other. “We’ll be a lot better if you have good news for us.”
“That’s why I’m calling, to give you good news. The best news actually.”
Alex backed into the couch and plopped down.
“It’s over, Alex. They’re going to lift residential confinements in the morning.”
The general statement deflated his nerves as efficiently as if he’d been a balloon held buoyant by a thumb and forefinger, and upon her conclusion, the grip released, allowing the tension to rush out of him.
Leaning back, he limboed between tears and laughter. “And the Lobby, the workers? Broumgard?”
“Everything is okay. And, you’re much more than a worker, Alex. The past week has been one hyper session after the next between our representatives and officials from various departments of government.” She huffed. “A madhouse. Brutal. But we reached an agreement. I’ll proudly state: we won. In emphasis of your importance, you’re my first phone call.”
Rosa stepped into his visual. Still unsure what Tara’s phone call meant, he wiped a tear of joy from his eyes. Rosa headed into the kitchen, presumably to wash her hands.
“Can my team go back to work?” he asked.
“Soon. There’s still mild flux. One of our concessions involves you interacting with an Agent Andrews, the FBI’s software expert. I should warn you, that won’t be fun. The man’s…special.”
“That’s not going to be a problem.” Alex would grant the entire O’Doyle family rule if it meant returning to Lobby code.
“I’m also calling at Adisah’s request, to invite you and Rosa to dinner at his house tonight, seven o’clock. Once there, we will outline the many specifics.”
Having just finished dinner, Alex thought about jamming his fingers down his throat to make room. Maybe force some out the other end. He’d seize on the opportunity to visit Adisah’s pad. Once there, he’d keep things smooth and eat.
Pulling his phone away, he checked the time on the display: 5:07. Plenty of time to build an appetite.
“Sounds great. But to clarify, the Lobby will continue on at the Atrium?”
Tara hesitated, took a deep breath. Alex flushed. “In a manner of speaking, yes.” Before he absorbed the vague response, she added, “it’s not going to be what you’re used to, Alex. That’s all I can say right now. Adisah has such great respect for you, he wants to explain things to you personally, over dinner.”
Perfect for softening a breakup, Alex thought.
“I understand,” he said despondently. “What about the other workers, Rosa, those working at La Berce.”
“We’ll talk tonight,” Tara said. “Dress nice, be on time, and cheer up. We fought hard, and from where we started, and where tings could have gone, you’re going to be a happy, happy, man.”
“Thanks for calling,” he said. “We’ll see you at seven.”
Knowing the Lobby lived-on alleviated much of his stress.
Rosa sat next to him, lifting his spirits further.
Tara’s words echoed. It’s not going to be what you’re used to? You’re going to be a happy, happy, man.
Did the change mean less vacationers? Could the military weaponize the Lobby? Maybe convert it to a training simulator. Allow soldiers to train without fear of satellite recognizance.
The Lobby surviving met his most pressing wants, but he didn’t know if he could spend his life helping soldiers predict outcomes against a people he didn’t accept as villains.
Rosa held his hand, a nonverbal plea to be updated.
“We have a dinner date at Adisah’s; tonight at seven.”
“Tonight? At Adisah’s?”
“Yeah, Tara said to dress nice.”
“And you’re going back to work?”
He shrugged.
“And me?”
Another shrug.
Rosa checked the time on her watch. “We’ve been invited to the secret lair, huh? Dress nice? A shower is in order.”
Hardly anyone visited Adisah’s home. Alex beamed. He was bound for a dinner date where the discussions would impact his and Rosa’s future. Come to think of it, tonight’s discussion might impact the entire world.