Chapter 3
Sheelia shook him awake at 12:30, “Time to get up, sleepy head, and fix breakfast,” she ordered.
“Aww, do I have to, mom?” he whined playfully.
“You spend the night, you cook breakfast, that’s the deal,” she reminded him.
He slowly rolled over and up to a seated position. “When do I get to be Special Agent in Charge so I can make you at least do the dishes?” he joked.
“When you gain ten more years of experience and lose a Y chromosome and become as good as a woman,” she teased.
“I don’t think I could handle being mad at half the human race every second of my life,” he said dryly.
She glared viciously at him for a few seconds, and then smiled. “So, did you find out much this morning?”
“A little. If I were a woman, I’m sure I would have done better though, or perhaps I would have gone to my comfortable bed and slept all morning,” he said as he reached for his shirt and tiredly pulled it over his head.
“Very funny. What did you find?”
Scott moped toward the kitchen, “Well, we’re calling him Eric now…”
Sheelia raised her eyebrows, “Really? You got his name?”
“Sort of. He led me to that name, anyway,” he filled her in, leaving out the details that would lead to his identity, but explained, “He’s at a place where his identity really won’t help us find him, and his entire family is with him so there’s no hope of him contacting them either. Besides, if he did contact anyone he would just do it in an untraceable way, so we’d end up at one of your fellow feminist’s homes again as a joke.”
The partners fixed and ate breakfast together while reading the newspaper. “Who is M.O.D.?” was the headline. The majority of the first section was dedicated to the subject in one way or another.
Sheelia finished first and called her boss. Scott remained silently reading and eating until he heard Sheelia shriek, “You’re kidding!”
He jerked his head to face her, “What is it?”
Sheelia finished her conversation as Scott impatiently waited, then said, “More than 35,000 US troops disappeared last night, along with another few thousand ships, planes, tanks, missiles, explosives, etc. Not surprisingly, nobody knows where any of them went. Planes disappeared from radar, vehicles vanished from the road, and the people… nobody has a clue. That’s not the worst though.”
Scott shrugged, “Nothing will surprise me at this point.”
“Oh yeah? We lost over 800 field agents and a few hundred support crew, technicians, etc. The CIA lost contact with a fourth of their operatives. Even members of the Secret Service are missing. Some of these people had personal transponders embedded in their bodies and they still can’t find them. The Army and Marines have recalled all troops to defend the country. The Air Force and Navy have ordered all ships and planes to return as well. They’re calling up the Reserves, National Guard, and Coast Guard.”
“We’re going to war with ourselves. Great,” Scott said lazily.
“You don’t sound too concerned, Scott.”
“What can we do, Shee? This is fast becoming a military affair. We’re FBI agents; our job is to try to catch the person or persons involved in a substantial federal funds theft, affecting interstate commerce or some bullshit. We don’t have any tactical missiles or stealth bombers, nuclear subs, aircraft carriers…”
“Well then, we should do what we can to catch him before this escalates into a civil war!” she chided.
“Come on, Sheelia, do the math. We don’t have the resources to go after this guy. We haven’t even been able to find him yet. All we can do right now is talk to him and hope he slips up and gives us a clue so we can track him down.”
Sheelia sighed, “You’re right. There’s no way we can apprehend him if we can’t even find him. He could be at the South Pole for all we know.”
Scott stood and carried his dishes to the sink. “Now you’re thinking.”
“No, I’m not thinking. We should try…” she stopped and thought. “How are all of these people disappearing? He has to be recruiting them, don’t you think?”
“Or they are somehow contacting him.”
“I wonder if we could get recruited,” she pondered out loud.
Scott thought for a moment, “You know, this morning he kept hinting that I would fit in. At times it seemed like he was trying to get me to switch sides. He really seems to take a personal interest in you, too,” he revealed.
“I wish we could find out how the others were ‘recruited.’”
Scott leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms. “I think I might have an idea... What if this guy has a program running that will read these people’s e-mails, maybe even listen to their phone calls. He could easily find people who agree with his ideals.”
“That’s impossible, Scott.”
Scott held up his hand, “Everything he’s done thus far seems impossible by our standards, doesn’t it?”
She shook her head yes.
“For example, Abe can do some amazing things that we can’t even imagine. Abe has only been working in the field for six years – he’s 27 years old. This guy has been hacking computers and phone systems for 33 years! Not to mention, he probably wrote half the code that runs these systems. What takes Abe six weeks to accomplish, he may be able to do with a single keystroke. It’s not out of the realm of possibilities. I’ve heard of people hacking into the Pentagon’s ‘unbreakable’ servers for fun.”
Sheelia interrupted, “OK, so anything is possible. So how does this help us?”
Scott smiled, “Assuming he can do these things, maybe we should just start commenting on how we wish to be part of the revolution?”
A light bulb went off in her head. “Ah. Like talk about it on the phone and in e-mails and stuff?”
“Bingo! I think I should go home and access the site so we can both get on. Then we can send each other messages and talk on the phone about it.”
“Gotcha! As soon as you do the dishes,” she deadpanned.
Scott stayed to do the dishes, with Sheelia’s help, and they discussed the matter further, deciding to play a little game pitting him against her, as if he were trying to convince her that the revolution was the only way and she stubbornly clung to the old ways.
After the last dish was rinsed and put in the drainer to dry, he left for the scenic ride down the Old Dixie Highway to his condo where he lived alone with not even a pet goldfish. Scott loved the old road, the only one of its kind in the ever-modernizing city of Vero Beach. The seemingly ancient trees grew over the entire road to block out the sun, forming a sort of natural tunnel through time. The old road was a stark contrast to the rest of the square-blocked city, where each road looked the same: sand, palm trees and thin grass or thick sod imported from somewhere north. Nearly every house was a single-story home with a pool fenced in around back, and man-made canals ran through every few streets in endless lines stretching away from the Indian River. It reminded Scott of old times, times of a proud and confident and honorable America. The main road, US 1, cut through the city, nearly in sight of the Old Dixie Highway, but he never chose that route, he always enjoyed the serenity of the shaded, curvy road, the only curvy road he ever saw in this flat, straight, mountainless state.
Coming to a break in the overhead tree tunnel, Scott pulled into the circular driveway leading to the six-unit building housing his condo. The plain boxy building looked as out of place in the lush landscape as a warthog at a cotillion. At least each unit was provided with a carport, and he pulled his car into his space to protect the plain blue paint from the torturous sun. As soon as he got inside he threw his jacket over the back of the desk chair and immediately logged on M.O.D.’s website to begin checking out new posts. He found a particularly interesting point about the first American Revolution in minutes and copied and pasted it to a message to Sheelia, with a title, “check this out.”
Sheelia wrote back minutes later, saying, “Bullshit, Scott, the British government was taxing us, but not spending any of the money for our benefit – taxation without representation.”
Scott wrote back, “What do you think this government does? It’s the same thing. They are stealing from us to fund their own desires, instead of providing the necessary services of defense and justice.”
The two messaged back and forth for hours, each playing their part flawlessly. After a while, they actually built quite a lot of steam and emotion in their arguments and spilled over into a hot debate over the phone. Scott began viciously defending the whole idea of M.O.D. and finally proclaimed that he wished he could do something to help save this country, too. He explained in rabid detail how he had argued with M.O.D. about the same things, but now realized just how right the man was, and told Sheelia that she, too, would see the brilliance of his plan soon. Sheelia slowly began caving in on some of Scott’s points, but never completely agreeing with any of his positions. Finally, late that evening, they just agreed to quit fighting about it. They were both tired and wanted to go to bed. They said good night and did just that.
Sheelia shook him awake at 12:30, “Time to get up, sleepy head, and fix breakfast,” she ordered.
“Aww, do I have to, mom?” he whined playfully.
“You spend the night, you cook breakfast, that’s the deal,” she reminded him.
He slowly rolled over and up to a seated position. “When do I get to be Special Agent in Charge so I can make you at least do the dishes?” he joked.
“When you gain ten more years of experience and lose a Y chromosome and become as good as a woman,” she teased.
“I don’t think I could handle being mad at half the human race every second of my life,” he said dryly.
She glared viciously at him for a few seconds, and then smiled. “So, did you find out much this morning?”
“A little. If I were a woman, I’m sure I would have done better though, or perhaps I would have gone to my comfortable bed and slept all morning,” he said as he reached for his shirt and tiredly pulled it over his head.
“Very funny. What did you find?”
Scott moped toward the kitchen, “Well, we’re calling him Eric now…”
Sheelia raised her eyebrows, “Really? You got his name?”
“Sort of. He led me to that name, anyway,” he filled her in, leaving out the details that would lead to his identity, but explained, “He’s at a place where his identity really won’t help us find him, and his entire family is with him so there’s no hope of him contacting them either. Besides, if he did contact anyone he would just do it in an untraceable way, so we’d end up at one of your fellow feminist’s homes again as a joke.”
The partners fixed and ate breakfast together while reading the newspaper. “Who is M.O.D.?” was the headline. The majority of the first section was dedicated to the subject in one way or another.
Sheelia finished first and called her boss. Scott remained silently reading and eating until he heard Sheelia shriek, “You’re kidding!”
He jerked his head to face her, “What is it?”
Sheelia finished her conversation as Scott impatiently waited, then said, “More than 35,000 US troops disappeared last night, along with another few thousand ships, planes, tanks, missiles, explosives, etc. Not surprisingly, nobody knows where any of them went. Planes disappeared from radar, vehicles vanished from the road, and the people… nobody has a clue. That’s not the worst though.”
Scott shrugged, “Nothing will surprise me at this point.”
“Oh yeah? We lost over 800 field agents and a few hundred support crew, technicians, etc. The CIA lost contact with a fourth of their operatives. Even members of the Secret Service are missing. Some of these people had personal transponders embedded in their bodies and they still can’t find them. The Army and Marines have recalled all troops to defend the country. The Air Force and Navy have ordered all ships and planes to return as well. They’re calling up the Reserves, National Guard, and Coast Guard.”
“We’re going to war with ourselves. Great,” Scott said lazily.
“You don’t sound too concerned, Scott.”
“What can we do, Shee? This is fast becoming a military affair. We’re FBI agents; our job is to try to catch the person or persons involved in a substantial federal funds theft, affecting interstate commerce or some bullshit. We don’t have any tactical missiles or stealth bombers, nuclear subs, aircraft carriers…”
“Well then, we should do what we can to catch him before this escalates into a civil war!” she chided.
“Come on, Sheelia, do the math. We don’t have the resources to go after this guy. We haven’t even been able to find him yet. All we can do right now is talk to him and hope he slips up and gives us a clue so we can track him down.”
Sheelia sighed, “You’re right. There’s no way we can apprehend him if we can’t even find him. He could be at the South Pole for all we know.”
Scott stood and carried his dishes to the sink. “Now you’re thinking.”
“No, I’m not thinking. We should try…” she stopped and thought. “How are all of these people disappearing? He has to be recruiting them, don’t you think?”
“Or they are somehow contacting him.”
“I wonder if we could get recruited,” she pondered out loud.
Scott thought for a moment, “You know, this morning he kept hinting that I would fit in. At times it seemed like he was trying to get me to switch sides. He really seems to take a personal interest in you, too,” he revealed.
“I wish we could find out how the others were ‘recruited.’”
Scott leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms. “I think I might have an idea... What if this guy has a program running that will read these people’s e-mails, maybe even listen to their phone calls. He could easily find people who agree with his ideals.”
“That’s impossible, Scott.”
Scott held up his hand, “Everything he’s done thus far seems impossible by our standards, doesn’t it?”
She shook her head yes.
“For example, Abe can do some amazing things that we can’t even imagine. Abe has only been working in the field for six years – he’s 27 years old. This guy has been hacking computers and phone systems for 33 years! Not to mention, he probably wrote half the code that runs these systems. What takes Abe six weeks to accomplish, he may be able to do with a single keystroke. It’s not out of the realm of possibilities. I’ve heard of people hacking into the Pentagon’s ‘unbreakable’ servers for fun.”
Sheelia interrupted, “OK, so anything is possible. So how does this help us?”
Scott smiled, “Assuming he can do these things, maybe we should just start commenting on how we wish to be part of the revolution?”
A light bulb went off in her head. “Ah. Like talk about it on the phone and in e-mails and stuff?”
“Bingo! I think I should go home and access the site so we can both get on. Then we can send each other messages and talk on the phone about it.”
“Gotcha! As soon as you do the dishes,” she deadpanned.
Scott stayed to do the dishes, with Sheelia’s help, and they discussed the matter further, deciding to play a little game pitting him against her, as if he were trying to convince her that the revolution was the only way and she stubbornly clung to the old ways.
After the last dish was rinsed and put in the drainer to dry, he left for the scenic ride down the Old Dixie Highway to his condo where he lived alone with not even a pet goldfish. Scott loved the old road, the only one of its kind in the ever-modernizing city of Vero Beach. The seemingly ancient trees grew over the entire road to block out the sun, forming a sort of natural tunnel through time. The old road was a stark contrast to the rest of the square-blocked city, where each road looked the same: sand, palm trees and thin grass or thick sod imported from somewhere north. Nearly every house was a single-story home with a pool fenced in around back, and man-made canals ran through every few streets in endless lines stretching away from the Indian River. It reminded Scott of old times, times of a proud and confident and honorable America. The main road, US 1, cut through the city, nearly in sight of the Old Dixie Highway, but he never chose that route, he always enjoyed the serenity of the shaded, curvy road, the only curvy road he ever saw in this flat, straight, mountainless state.
Coming to a break in the overhead tree tunnel, Scott pulled into the circular driveway leading to the six-unit building housing his condo. The plain boxy building looked as out of place in the lush landscape as a warthog at a cotillion. At least each unit was provided with a carport, and he pulled his car into his space to protect the plain blue paint from the torturous sun. As soon as he got inside he threw his jacket over the back of the desk chair and immediately logged on M.O.D.’s website to begin checking out new posts. He found a particularly interesting point about the first American Revolution in minutes and copied and pasted it to a message to Sheelia, with a title, “check this out.”
Sheelia wrote back minutes later, saying, “Bullshit, Scott, the British government was taxing us, but not spending any of the money for our benefit – taxation without representation.”
Scott wrote back, “What do you think this government does? It’s the same thing. They are stealing from us to fund their own desires, instead of providing the necessary services of defense and justice.”
The two messaged back and forth for hours, each playing their part flawlessly. After a while, they actually built quite a lot of steam and emotion in their arguments and spilled over into a hot debate over the phone. Scott began viciously defending the whole idea of M.O.D. and finally proclaimed that he wished he could do something to help save this country, too. He explained in rabid detail how he had argued with M.O.D. about the same things, but now realized just how right the man was, and told Sheelia that she, too, would see the brilliance of his plan soon. Sheelia slowly began caving in on some of Scott’s points, but never completely agreeing with any of his positions. Finally, late that evening, they just agreed to quit fighting about it. They were both tired and wanted to go to bed. They said good night and did just that.
