Asher lead the way through the hardware store and
selected a dozen items Brad felt were completely irrelevant
to the rescue mission. When they reached the checkout
counter, Asher insisted Brad pay for the items, which caused
a slight disturbance as Brad saw no reason that he should
have to pay for Asher's home improvement. Asher explained
that everything he had purchased had direct bearing on the
mission, and reminded Brad that he had agreed to pickup the
expenses. He finished by pointing out, once again, that
Brad was already a federal criminal and that over-charging
his credit card was the least of his worries.
From the hardware store they drove back to the hotel,
where Asher took the sack and Brad's key into the room. Ten
minutes later he slowly exited the room and placed the "Do
Not Disturb" sign on the door handle. Before leaving, he
ordered Brad to ask that the maids not to clean the room
because he'd be sleeping during the day. Brad thought it
was a stupid idea to try to fool people into thinking he was
in the room, but did as he was told.
The next stop was a gas station, where Brad's credit
card put twelve dollars of gas into Asher's car. In the
back of his mind Brad was slowly estimating his next month's
bill. It wasn't going to take long to charge his limit.
Asher drove west, then turned north on State Highway 1.
Brad's suspicion that Asher intended on stopping for
supplies was confirmed when he pulled into the driveway of
an expensive beachside condo. He led the way to the door,
which he opened with his own key. The home was nicely
decorated, yet seemed too functional to have been inhabited
by a female. Missing were flower arrangements, throw
pillows, and dainty brick-a-brack that is often found in a
room with 'a woman's touch.'
As Asher walked up the stairs to the second floor, he
explained that he and several other gentlemen had bought the
house as a staging area for their operations. When they
weren't in a jungle in some faraway land, they stayed at the
beach house. It was much cheaper than hotel stays, and as
they all spent too much time out of the country, it didn't
pay for each of them to own a home.
"Who looks after the place when everyone is gone?"
asked Brad, as Asher rummaged through one of the bedrooms
that had been converted to a makeshift supply room.
"We found a man who helps us out. He also takes
messages-- you talked to him the other day."
"You mean the Dude?"
Asher laughed. "Yeah, Bobby's a surffer boy who
doesn't want to work, but wants a house on the beach. He
tried selling dope, but developed a conscience." Asher
paused long enough to place a flop-brimmed cap on Brad's
head. Satisfied with the fit, he continued.
"After that, he tried to be a hitman, but lacked the
finesse to look natural just before blowing-out somebody's
brains. One of my associates caught him trying to pull off
a hit. He was so nervous, the man let him go. A week later
we hired him to watch the house." He handed Brad an old
pair of combat boots and socks for him to try on.
"If Bobby was too nervous to be a hit man, can you
trust him to protect the house?"
"Well, everybody around here knows that the rest of us
are mercenaries, so they figure Bobby is, too. Nobody
messes with him."
Brad finished tying the boots and stood to check the
fit. "What about the police?"
"What about them?"
"What do they think of Bobby?"
"They just think he's crazy. They've searched the
house before and found the uniforms and gear, but there's no
law against owning a camouflaged uniform. We keep the
important equipment well hidden, even from Bobby, or off
premises. I'll show you what I mean in a second," explained
Asher. He stuffed a tan tunic with black and yellow spots
into the top of a rucksack and handed it to Brad. After
grabbing his own ruck, he started down the stairs.
Asher lead Brad to the kitchen, where he opened a
corner cabinet. "See anything unusual?"
"No," answered Brad.
Asher removed the dishes and both the shelves. "Look
again. What do you see now?"
"Still nothing," stated Brad, unaware of even what he
was suppose to be looking for.
Asher reached in a second time and pushed against one
side of the wall. It popped out slightly, and Asher swung
open a false back in the cabinet. Behind it were several
shelves, the wall's studs, and the drywall that comprised
one of the den's walls. Asher removed a cylinder about a
foot long and four inches in diameter. "We've got secret
compartments and false walls all around this place. The
police would practically have to tear the house down to find
all of them."
"Is that some kind of weapon?" inquired Brad.
"This? No... as a matter of fact, this isn't even
illegal." Asher removed the device from it's protective
case. "It is very expensive, however, so we like to keep it
hidden. It's a PVS-2B."
Brad studied it for several moment and determined it
must be similar to a large riflescope. "What's this for?"
"You'll see," offered Asher, placing the device in his
rucksack. Next, he reached in another cabinet and removed
an electronic currency. He placed the stack of twenties in
the tray and switched the machine on. The device made a
whirring sound as it counted the money and incremented its
display. Brad tried to look innocent. "You owe me twenty
bucks," he said when the display showed the stack was one
short. He placed the counter in its place, put the money in
the wall, and replaced the dishes and shelves in the
cabinet.
Brad had been expecting Asher to open another secret
compartment, but was distressed that the man had seemed to
of forgotten the most important pieces of equipment: "Hey,
Asher-- Don't we need some guns?"
"Guns? This is a recon..."
"Yeah, but what if we run into trouble?"
"Look, son, the Air Force isn't going to shoot you for
trespassing. If you run away they may fire a few warning
shots, but they won't shoot you. The only way you're going
to get shot, is if you pull a weapon on them. Besides, I
don't think I trust you to carry a weapon yet."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," interjected Brad
sarcastically as he tossed his rucksack into the Ford's
trunk next to Asher's. Asher returned Brad's comment with a
smile, then climbed into the drivers seat. For several
moments they drove quietly, but when they reached the
interstate Asher broke the silence.
"You ready to tell me about the mission?"
"What do you need to know?" asked Brad.
"You might as well tell me everything. Even the
smallest detail could be the difference between success and
failure."
For a moment Brad considered telling Asher the truth.
The man was a mercenary, so he shouldn't be concerned with
the questions of right and wrong, legal and unlawful. He
shouldn't have even been concerned with whether Brad's
suspicions about the Air Force hold aliens was based on fact
or fantasy. Technically speaking, Asher should have only
been concerned with his five thousand dollars.
Yet, Asher was human. If Brad told him about the
aliens, he would most likely think he was crazy. He had
already made numerous comments about Brad's inexperience at
soldiering, which demonstrated his uncertainty with the
mission. If Brad told him the truth, Asher would probably
back out; but, and as much as he hated to admit it, Brad
needed the man.
"Have you ever heard of an operation known as
MAJESTIC?"
"No."
"MAJESTIC involved the use of psychics as spies. I
don't know whether the government was able to get any useful
information from the psychics, but I've found that they are
holding at least two of them at Nellis Air Force base. If
we can rescue one of them, it will prove what the government
is doing."
"So."
"What do you mean: so?"
"What difference does it make if the government is
using psychics, satellites, or midgets to spy?"
"Don't you understand? The government has no right to
keep these secrets from the people. The constitution is
based on the freedom of the people over government tyranny.
I don't see how you can act like you don't care?" asked Brad
in shock at Asher's social apathy.
"It's very simple: the government is going to do what
the government has to do."
"Yeah-- What it has to do to keep itself out of
trouble."
"Of course, that's the government's first job: ensure
its own survival."
"That's right! So, how can you not care that the
government is keeping secrets from the people?" asked Brad
emphatically.
"Son, I've helped topple many a government in my day,
and I can tell you that one's as good as the next. All of
them keep secrets from the people, all of them spy on each
other and their citizens, and everyone of them have their
share of corrupt politicians. If we get these psychics out
of jail, it may cause a small stink, but the government will
survive. Even if it doesn't, some government will survive.
As for me personally, I don't care whether America is
Communist, a democracy, or a dictatorship, as long as I get
my piece of the action."
"I can't believe you! Don't you have even the
slightest sense of national pride?" asked Brad.
"You're the one I can't believe. On one hand, you're
trying to disgrace and destabilize the government by
exposing military secrets, and on the other hand, you're
spouting freedom of the press and patriotism."
"It is the job of the press to keep the system honest.
That's why the founding fathers ensured freedom of the press
with the First Amendment-- they realized it was the most
fundamental of the rights of society."
"I don't know what school you went to, son, but I was
taught that the First Amendment was freedom of speech, as in
I can say whatever I want and not worry about going to jail
for it."
"Well, old man, one of my journalism professors said
seeing the truth was like looking at a cloud: a dozen people
will see a dozen different things, but no matter what they
imagine it to be, it's still a cloud. You can interpret the
First Amendment any way you want, but no matter how you
slice it, it still grants the press freedom to print the
truth."
Asher could see that arguing with Brad was like
contemplating the meaning of life: the deeper you got, the
more obscure the argument became. To Brad, journalism was a
religion that he accepted with the fervor and dedication of
the Moslem driver of a suicide truck bomb. His mere
existence was enough to prove that God had intended him to
expose the wrongs of the world. I think; therefore, I am.
They scheme; therefore, he exposed.
Brad decided that since Asher made no further comments,
he had accepted the obvious truth. Knowing that he was now
a convert, Brad felt more comfortable with the man's
presence. "How many government's have you toppled?"
"Oh, I don't know. Congo, Zaire, Brazil, The
Philippines. In one way or the other, I've probably taken
part in every major overthrow in the last forty years."
"Have you ever fought for the American government?"
"Sure, dozens of times."
"Actually, I meant in a war."
Asher laughed. "Yeah. I lied about my age to get into
the Marines during World War II. Things were winding down
in Europe, so I ended up in the Pacific fighting the
Japanese. I was part of the occupation army after the war.
Luckily, when the balloon went up in Korea, I was still in
Japan."
"Luckily?" interrupted Brad.
"Yeah, if I'd been Stateside I might have missed the
first six months of fighting. But, alas, Korea petered out
after a few years and I found myself in the peace-time
military again. When the time came to re-up, I chose to go
free-lance."
"It doesn't bother you that you've been killing people
for most of your life?"
"I've never looked at it like that," explained Asher.
"The way I see it, I've just been defending myself against
people who were trying to keep me from doing my job. I kill
people, and you try to discredit the government."
"Now wait a minute! What I do is for the good of
society--"
"Yeah, yeah. You and I aren't that different: I fight
with a rifle, you fight with a pen-- or typewriter."
"Actually it's a word processor, but there is a big
difference between me and you. Motive. You fight for
money, I fight for right."
"Bullshit! How much do you expect to make when you
break this story? What about the fame? Would you be
willing to turn the story over to another reporter? No,
you're looking out for number one just like everyone else.
The fact that you're sitting next to me proves your
motivation."
Brad despised the thought of being compared to Asher,
especially by Asher himself. He knew his motivation: the
fame and fortune were simply a by-product of his job. "My
motivation is pure as the driven snow."
"Yellow snow, more likely. If you really want to get
these people out of the Air Force's grasp, you're going to
have to be willing to kill a few American soldiers. How's
that going to sit with your high and mighty ethics?"
"I've hired you to do the killing-- and if they're
guilty of subversion against the American people, than I
have no pity for them."
"Spoken like a true soldier. You're getting more like
me by the minute." Brad didn't acknowledge Asher's glance
or his smile. "Son, I can tell right now, we're going to
make one helluva team."
Brad could tell it was going to be a long ride to
Vegas.
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