The Spatial Shard
Chapter Nine: Old Faces and Fresh Fruits

“Link established,” the computer verified and the projected monitor screen came up with the face of Bill Brogan looking into the camera.

“Brogan, this is Makeen. Where is Kotai?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, sir,” Brogan replied, looking flustered. “We weren’t five minutes at the site of one Franklin Stewart Edwards, brother-in-law to Timothy Schultz, when Kotai took Kaufman and drove off in the second vehicle.”

“I am sure he had his reasons, Brogan,” Makeen said as he sat behind his desk. “As his subordinate, your first duty is to follow orders.”

“Yes sir!” Brogan said sharply, sitting up straight in his seat.

“Mr. Brogan, I am very much aware of the very American perspective that somehow one is entitled to be angered at being replaced, even when that one has exhibited nothing but gross incompetence and negligence in the field. Let me remind you, I am not American. The outlook of this organization is not American, so much as it is worldly, and the only reason why you are sitting there, frustrated at being put upon by working under a foreign-national, is because that foreign-national asked for you to remain as part of his team. He and I argued at length, as I recall, about our varying viewpoints of your potential.

“So,” Makeen continued, sitting back in his chair and taking out his Smartphone. His voice sounded angry, but there was nothing of that emotion on his face. Makeen knew how to motivate his personnel to perform. “... the question I have for you now is simply this: do you know how close you are to proving me right about you?”

“We are reading five people inside the domicile, sir,” Brogan shot back as he brushed back his short brown hair. “Three males, of which two have been identified as Franklin Edwards and Gordon Schultz, and two females, one of which we know to be Imogene Schultz.”

“You are to refer to her from this point on as the target,” Makeen ordered as he brought up another monitor beside the one he was already using. The file folder that had been labeled ‘Personnel’ was opened.

“Acknowledged, sir,” Brogan replied. “We do not, I repeat, we do not have an ID on the other two individuals in the house.

“Sir,” Brogan said, looking again into the camera, “you should also be advised that when we arrived on the scene, the Sheriff was already at the residence.”

“Very well played, Brogan,” Makeen thought. “Report to me that which Kotai has not and make him look like he is not doing his job well. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

“You know the protocol, Brogan,” Makeen said as he began to read his journal entries. “You should be four now. Take a second operative and leave two to maintain surveillance. Be advised that the target Dr. Seth McEmbree is still at large and considered to be a constant danger.” Brogan looked very much surprised to hear of McEmbree’s status.

“Acknowledged, sir. We’ll keep a lookout for McEmbree. I will hand my findings over to Kotai and-”

“No need, Brogan,” Makeen smiled, shaking his head. “When you have a report, you have my permission to contact me immediately. If Kotai has a problem with that, he can contact me as well.”

“Understood, sir. Brogan out!” the screen went black before the projectors were deactivated. It fell from sight at the same moment Vey walked into Makeen’s office.

“My goodness, you’re smiling,” she said.

“Hardly,” he argued. “This is a grin.”

“It’s all relative, Makeen,” Vey pointed out. “From here you look downright jubilant.”

“The surveillance team that was sent out has been recalled,” Makeen reported as he closed the document he was reading before Vey could gain the perspective of seeing what he was reading. “I replaced them with the Viper Team.”

“Viper Team?” Vey questioned, sitting on the corner of the desk. “Isn’t that the team you had to change up recently?”

Afzal Makeen Shamir wished Samantha Vey was a little more aware of herself. It was one thing to deal with a society of women who did not mind showing their bodies, but it was another matter entirely to deal with a woman who had a body to display. She trained with him and two other personal trainers, insisting on the toughest regimen they could deliver. She was a capable combatant and a very attractive creature; a creature who loved to wear her mini-skirts. It seemed amusing to him in retrospect; how when she was ready to kneel to him she had been wearing pants and a jacket. But that was hours ago, and in that time she had worked out and changed. He looked at her muscle-toned legs and for a very brief moment, his mind drifted American. A blink of the eyes later and he had recovered himself, but Samantha had followed his eyes and she looked down at herself.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, using a hand gesture to make the matter seem insignificant. “You’re not wearing the Berkshire hosiery. It seems out of place, given the Armani. To say nothing of the Kate Spade shoes.”

“Will you ever cease to amaze me?” Vey smiled as she stood up. “Soon as I’m done here, I’ll correct that problem.”

“Do not change on my account,” Makeen was quick to say.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vey argued. “There’s no other account for which I would be moved to change at all. Besides, Mark Greenwald is coming back today, supposedly armed with all sorts of progress he’s made since our last meeting.”

“I would urge you not to take the meeting,” Makeen suggested.

“I know,” Vey said calmly. “The moment he makes his report he is going to expect me to come forward with new technology.”

“No, he would not do that,” Makeen replied, looking sternly at Samantha. “He will not come alone.”

“He never does,” Vey pointed out. “He’s always surrounded with lawyers.”

“No,” Makeen stated, very confident in what he was saying. “These people will be affiliated with the government and they will be acting on an anonymous tip they have received from McEmbree!” Samantha stopped and looked at Makeen as the wind slowly faded from her sails.

“How can one man cause us so much trouble?” she asked.

“Take heart,” Makeen said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I will take the meeting for you and absorb their accusations while advising them I do not have the authority to answer any of their inquiries.”

“That will only make them hungrier,” Samantha said plainly as she shook her head.

“You are doing exactly what he wants,” Makeen said softly and received daggers instead of soft brown eyes. “Our task is not to ask how we can see ourselves out of this quagmire. Our real task is to ask what is the potential goal of McEmbree.”

“You really hate losing,” Samantha said with a slight smile. “Don’t you?”

“I have been playing the fool for long enough,” Makeen said as he reactivated his monitor.

“Playing the fool?” Vey asked as she folded her arms.

“McEmbree has a gifted mind,” Makeen admitted. “There is no question of that. But for him to be as successful as he has been leads me to the same conclusion over and over again. He was here, before he was here.”

Samantha’s eyebrows were lifted in confusion for a moment as she maintained her stare into Makeen’s eyes. As each brow slowly lowered to their normal position, a smile formed on Vey’s face and the brow was lowered to display an evil grin. “An inside man!” she concluded and Makeen smiled, reassured he was not working for an idiot, but rather a very intelligent woman who never made the same mistake twice. But the mistake they had both made once had cost them a great deal and was still levying a cost on their ability to achieve their objectives. “But who?” she asked.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Makeen said as she walked around to his seat, “only one name makes sense.”

Samantha moved her arms akimbo as she looked at the floor in thought.

“Don’t over-think it,” Makeen suggested. “And don’t let the arrogance you have seen men in your position display blur your vision.”

“Makeen!” Samantha whined, hoping she was wrong, but the smile on her Security Chief’s face was stone. He would not give and the more she looked at him, the more she believed that somehow he was right. “No, Makeen, no!”

“Let me give you the piece of evidence that has confirmed my suspicion enough to recall Alpha Team,” Makeen said as he punched commands into his keyboard. A picture of McEmbree came up as it was recorded by the Mark Seven.

“McEmbree,” Samantha said, half questioning where this train of thought was going.

“That is how he looked in Bolivia,” Makeen said, punching a few more buttons. “This is how he looked when he was here.” Another picture came up and was placed beside the first. Only with the pictures side-by-side could Samantha see the contrast.

“Hold on one second,” she said as her arms dropped. She pointed at the picture with one hand while she put the other hand on the back of her hip.

“Actually, I am not done,” Makeen said as he punched a few more keys. “When I saw how he could move in our little game of cat and mouse, I thought something was not right. But, alas, my concentration was fixed on catching McEmbree and it seemed I was drawing close to doing that very thing.”

“And then?” Vey said as she turned to face Makeen.

“And then I received the drop package I had arranged before we left the facility.”

“I’m not following,” Samantha said.

“And neither one of us was meant to,” Makeen stated as he sat on the corner of his desk and shifted his ponytail.

“Man, I wish he would not do that!” Samantha thought as she looked at his hair. Makeen was a beautiful man and had he been anything other than her most trusted friend and employee, their relationship might be different. But she had to respect his religion and the protocol of her corporation.

“The pilot told me there were men moving up on my position,” Makeen continued, too engrossed in his explanation to notice the flare in her eyes. “When they transmitted the feed to my rifle sight, I knew it was Weiss and his people. That was when I knew we had underestimated McEmbree yet again.

“But even with that, he has changed a great deal in a short time,” Makeen said, motioning over to the side-by-side pictures.

“Indeed, but if your earlier stated suspicion is accurate, then it would be par for the course,” Samantha said, looking away from Makeen.

“And with that came another series of questions,” Makeen added. “If he is indeed Etnavas, when did he find time to make the change? We have been looking for the power signature of the Shard and there have been no portalways.”

“That we know of,” Samantha said quickly.

“The fact we were able to read the activity of the Shard in Bolivia supports the theory that a portalway had not been opened previously,” Makeen pointed out.

“Now you’re just talking yourself into a corner,” Samantha warned.

“Only if he needed to go to Five Pointes to receive his training,” Makeen concluded. The room fell silent for Samantha Margaret Vey! She could not even hear the machinery in the office as her ears fell numb in shock. Her mind raced through memories of the events involving the Shard. A side-by-side comparison formed in her thoughts with Hiram’s application of the Shard on one side and her ability to use it on the other. She had been told that hers was the stronger mind and stronger will which was what yielded the best response from the Shard. But Hiram’s portalways were always better, even though he was weaker. The solution to her quandary was clear: Hiram was not a better user. He was a more experienced user. How many trips had he made without her? Her job had been Monday through Friday, nine to five, with a few exceptions for when they made trips during the week. But during the weekends, Samantha had rested and plotted. What if she was not the only one of the two engaged in that activity?

“They are on this side of the Nexus?” she asked softly.

“Depending on his perspective, not necessarily,” Makeen answered. “And in the future,” he said, punching in a few more keys, “please take a stronger mental note of the people you terminate from their positions.” Samantha looked up to see a third picture placed beside the other two. All three were Seth McEmbree… but the last picture was a man of a different name. At least it had been when she fired him for being a lazy good-for-nothing wannabe intellect. The fact that his older brother ran the company did not stay her hand.

“Solomon Seaver,” she whispered, fighting back tears. “Hiram Seaver’s younger brother and a hacker who called himself Set.”

“And in this last picture he was five feet, ten inches tall and weighed two hundred and ninety-six pounds,” Makeen stated. “By the time he was hired as Seth McEmbree he weighed one hundred and fifty pounds. Right about now, I would put his weight right around one hundred eighty-five to ninety pounds.”

“That’s a good load of muscle,” Samantha noted.

“But in line with my suspicions,” Makeen added and Vey nodded.

“I didn’t beat Seaver,” she said softly.

“Do not be too sure,” Makeen explained. “It is clear that the Seavers are working together, but we do not yet know in what capacity. Hiram may or may not have fooled you.”

“Would he have fooled you?” Samantha asked, desperately needing Makeen’s virtuous honesty. “Either of them?”

“Was it not you who said Seth was not real?”

“Well yes, but that is when you were playing the fool!” Samantha barked, getting very angry before realization tapped on her shoulder once again. “By the way, why were you playing the fool?”

“If one of Hiram’s counter plans was getting his brother hired here, what is his aim?” Makeen asked softly. “McEmbree’s continued success has depended on one thing in particular: that we fall for the distractions and never focus on his true aims.”

“Not to mention if he is indeed an Etnavas, there’s no telling just how far into the systems he has infiltrated.”

“Yes, there is,” Makeen answered. “This room is clean, though I had to make it look as if a Binder had misfired to cover all of my bases.”

“You know what path he’s taken, don’t you?” Samantha asked as she wiped the tears away.

“I have my suspicions,” Makeen replied.

“And I take it you have a counter measure you would like to initiate?” Samantha asked and Makeen smiled as he bowed. The tide was turning!

It took some time for Timothy to locate the grocery store. Too much had been built since he was last in San Diego, and he was always guided by landmarks more than street names. He got turned around a couple of times before he found what he was looking for. He tried to focus his thoughts on providing for his children, but he could not get the image of his wife out of his head. He was flying right beside her, glowing in the warmth of her smile! And if it had been a hallucination, it was one he shared with his children simultaneously. He could hear the explanations of reason and logic now: all three minds were susceptible to suggestion.

“So explain how all three minds received the same suggestion at the same time?” he thought. Timothy walked behind his buggy, looking at the list his daughter had provided for him and cursing the predictions his wife had made the day Imogene was born.

“She’s a Virgo,” Eleanor had said when she first received her newborn child.

“Honey, don’t start,” he pleaded.

“Okay, but when she’s rearranging your sock drawer, don’t come crying to me.”

“She’s beautiful, just like her mother,” Timothy smiled, wiping tears from his eyes. He had made the transformation from single man to husband with relative ease. But he attributed that to Eleanor. How any man had missed her was a mystery for the ages! But he was grateful for their incompetence. Still, the latest change, from husband to husband and father, was something for which he was not prepared. The couple, in his eyes, was just starting out. He was just out of school and looking for work.

“The miracle is right here and right now, Daddy,” Eleanor had said, lifting her child up to her husband. She had seen that far-away look before and knew it did not bode well. Her husband was a very good man, but he was self-destructive with his thoughts and especially with his self-critique.

Timothy took hold of his daughter and she cooed. The tears no longer had anything to hold them back and Timothy was back in the room, in the moment, witnessing the miracle.

“Why Imogene?” he had later asked.

“It is the name of a woman very near and dear to me,” Eleanor replied. “Her middle name can be Amanda, after your favorite aunt.” It was years later, when Gordon was being born, that the labor pains took their toll on Eleanor and she came clean that the name Imogene was something she had picked up and fell in love with. The woman near and dear to her was the woman she could see Imogene becoming.

“After she rearranged my sock drawer,” Timothy muttered as he reached for the mustard. His hand met with another and he quickly pulled his back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” a young woman said, multi-tasking herself with her makeup, her phone and grocery shopping. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No doubt,” Timothy smiled.

“Wow,” the woman said as she took a step back and put her phone away. “It’s not often I’m insulted with such charm. Is that what passes for wit around here?” she asked. “Or do I need permission from you to work for a woman who needs four assistants just to pick out her wardrobe?

“Look, it’s not a big deal,” she said, gesturing to the food shelf. “Just get your mustard so the rest of us can get on with living! Sorry for the feeble attempt of coexistence!”

“Whoa! Did we get off on the wrong foot,” Timothy said as he looked around. He was relieved that no one was witnessing this fallout.

“Looking for somebody?” the woman asked.

“Yeah,” Timothy answered as his fist hammered against the woman’s chin. A moment before impact, her face flashed with surprise and her hands tried to come up to deflect the blow. She fell against the far rack of groceries and fell to her knees. “I was looking for your back-up, Fed!” Timothy moved to kick the woman in the face, but she moved her head out of the way at the last moment while lifting his leg. His back met with the floor.

“Rate yourself that high?” the woman said as she moved toward Timothy, but he curled his legs up between them and launched her into the rack that was not that far away. Groceries spilled into the aisle as the woman once again fell to the floor. She was quick to lock her eyes on her opponent, but she could do nothing about the large can of mustard that was already flying toward her head. It hit off her head and bounced high into the air as her head went back into the rack before she fell unconscious.

“I lived with a hippie, woman!” Timothy whispered as he checked the woman’s body and purse. “She taught me how to smell a pig a mile away!

“Uh-oh!” Timothy whispered as he looked at the woman’s identification. She was no law-enforcement officer… she was something worse. She was armed and had a security clearance, and both seemed like they might have some use in the near future, so Timothy took them as he grabbed a few bottles of condiments.

“No way is this woman working alone,” he thought as he got to his feet and walked, with his buggy, toward the end of the aisle. There were people coming toward him, investigating the huge noise the two of them had made. One of the ‘bystanders’ looked away from the attractive woman covered in fallen canned goods and condiments.

“Bull’s-eye,” Timothy thought.

“Somebody help that woman!” Timothy screamed as he ran, still pushing his buggy. “I think she’s having a seizure!”

Donald Kotai could not believe what he was seeing. All of a sudden, what had seemed to be a very good idea had turned chaotic. Kaufman was good and eager, that was why he wanted her on his team. One look at Timothy Schultz getting into his car and she had known she could get inside his head. She had talked Donald into leaving the house and following Schultz. He was happy to see at least one person on his team engaged and enthused to do some good work. Perhaps he had been too happy.

“Sir, calm down!” he said, holding up his hands only to see Timothy faint.

“What in the world…” Donald thought as he looked down the aisle again. Megan was still not moving, but he could tell she was breathing. Her wooden pins had come loose and her red hair covered her face, but there was nothing else in the perimeter. Nothing he saw.

“I’ve got him!” Donald called out as he kneeled down beside Timothy Schultz. “Somebody go and check on that woman!” Donald looked down on Timothy and everything in his world went yellow, followed immediately by an intense burning in his eyes. This was an application of spicy mustard the manufacturers had not counted on.

“Fire number two,” Timothy said as he brought his knees up to his chest and aimed for the Asian man’s face. His foot managed to strike the man in the middle of his face and he went flying back. Timothy was quick to get up. He came out of his jacket pocket with a can of generic ketchup. He threw the can and was glad that his father had insisted on his sons playing some kind of organized sport. The split-finger fastball ricocheted off the man’s face. People started screaming, but they were definitely backing away.

“Cowabunga!” Timothy yelled as he jumped up and landed on the Asian man’s leg. The man screamed out in pain and Timothy tried to stuff his last can into the man’s open mouth. He too fell unconscious, and Timothy was quick to lift the man’s sweater. There were ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’ when the man’s gun was revealed. Tim was quick to take the gun and shove it into his jacket.

“Mister, are you like a spy or something?” one kid said before his worried mother pulled him back toward her.

“Son, I am definitely or something!” Timothy said hectically. “But I am a Barney, with a ‘y’, who’s unafraid to Barnie, with an ‘i-e’.”

“Brosef!” one young man said with a smile on his face. “Way to handle a brodad!”

“They had it comin’,” Timothy said as he looked at the young man and his friends. It only took a moment, but the idea came to him quickly. He smiled at the teenagers who were just too at ease to be shaken by a display of violence. He gave the boys the particulars and they responded without hesitation. After they left the store with a list of chores to do, Timothy ripped out of the parking lot in search of a friend who once told Timothy he could be called upon if he needed anything. Tim Schultz only hoped this occasion was applicable.

She could have never prepared herself for the outcome, but the toasted pizza sandwiches were a big hit! A loaf of fairly old French Bread with only the end slices missing, a one-quarter used jar of spaghetti sauce, a boat load of government cheese and three packs of hot dogs was really all Imogene had to work with. She had her doubts, but with the lack of chatter coming out of the dining room, she was happy with the way things turned out.

“You’re not bad in the kitchen,” Frank said as he took another huge bite. “You didn’t get that from either parent. Thank goodness!”

“Mom was not that bad,” Imogene was quick to defend.

“Oh, sure!” Frank replied. “She could whip up a candle like nobody I’ve known. Trouble is, it tasted just like her macaroni and cheese!” Gordon laughed so hard he lost his bite of food.

“Hey, that’s our Mom he’s talking about!” Imogene reminded her brother, though her smile let Frank know she was not taking it too seriously. That he envied, but he wanted to make sure he was the only one still carrying way too much Eleanor baggage.

“Yeah, I know,” Gordon finally said, still laughing. “The same person who could not figure out why she could not cook in a pot in the microwave oven!” Now Javier and Milania joined in the laughter and Imogene could not hold it in.

“That only happened once!” she argued.

“True,” Gordon agreed. “But we didn’t have a working microwave for her to try again.” Everyone but Frank was laughing. He had felt something: a soft breeze. Normally a good wind made him feel pretty good, but this wind came with the sound of a door being pushed open.

“Is anyone home?” a familiar female voice called out and Imogene stopped laughing.

“Nowaycanitbeher!” she quickly muttered, nearly dropping her plate as she bolted for the front door.

Only the visitor’s head was in the door, but as soon as her brown eyes focused on the tanned young girl running toward her, all bets were off!

“Genie!” Sharon Thaxton yelled as she jumped inside the house and wrapped her arms around her best friend in the world.

At one time, they had looked like twins, only one was white chocolate and the other was dark chocolate. But as the years rolled by, the differences of their appearances became more prominent. Sharon was only a couple of months older, but she had just over seven and a half centimeters of height on Imogene and a good deal more muscle development. They were both willing products of their parents, and they both loved to surf. But while Imogene was learning about nature from a self-proclaimed hippie, Sharon was learning about the world through the eyes of a retired Marine Recon Sniper, better known as Sheriff Thaxton. Imogene was the team goalie and Sharon was a midfielder who led the team in scoring. She could run all day and was lightning fast to boot. She never seemed to tire or slow down for any reason during a game. Coach Thaxton used to brag that between Imogene and his daughter, no one could beat his team. Two championships had gone a long way toward proving him right.

Imogene was lifted up off the floor for a moment, and that shocked her a bit as she screamed. Sharon put her down and the two girls screamed together… for absolutely no reason… but it made sense.

“How did you find me?” Imogene finally asked.

“Wow, you’ve really been in the sun too long, Genie,” Sharon answered as she walked over to Gordon who was already looking for a place to run. When he turned around, however, he ran into Frank who was just beginning to look relaxed. “My father is Deputy Dawg!” Sharon hugged Gordon and placed an especially wet kiss on his cheek. Gordon’s face twisted and he walked in place as he wiped his face. “I tell you, that just doesn’t get old!”

“Obviously you do, Amazon!” Imogene said looking at how her best friend had grown since last they saw each other. “And while I’m diggin’ the cropped Halle Berry approach with the hair, you look like the love-child of Grace Jones and Arnold Schwarzenegger!” Imogene gave a squeeze of her bicep, which did not give much.

“Hey, I’m drinking milk… and orange juice… and apple juice… did I mention milk?” Sharon laughed and Imogene shook her head in disbelief. “Oh, stop it!” Sharon warned, but it was too late as the tears formed in Imogene’s eyes. The two girls embraced again, but they said nothing.

“So, you just came by to make us all cry?” Frank shouted, breaking up the moment.

“No,” Sharon answered, wiping her eyes. “I came by to see if my girl wanted to hit some waves with a few old faces. I still have your board, ya know.”

Imogene’s eyes lit up as she turned to Frank who was already waving her off.

“Oh, wait,” Imogene said as she looked back. “I am so sorry, guys. Sharon, this is Javier and Milania. They’re in from out of town and visiting Uncle Frank.”

“You guys wanna come?” Sharon asked without missing a beat or losing any of her enthusiasm. Perhaps it was that lack of change that moved Javier to join them. “Come on, Gordon, you know you don’t have a choice!”

“Hey, I’m getting a little too old for you to boss around, you know!” Gordon bragged.

“Oh really?” Sharon asked putting a fist on her hip and holding up her other hand, ready to snap her fingers. This was commonly referred to as her Sista Gurl stance. It had multiple applications, but Imogene and Gordon were very familiar with this particular one. Loosely translated, it meant ‘are you sure you want to go there?’ and Gordon thought better of trying his luck. It had been a good day for him and there was no need for him to find out, first-hand, what Coach Thaxton had taught his daughter while the Schultz’s were in Bolivia.

“You wanna come with us to the beach?” Gordon asked Milania and she answered yes before Javier could say anything.

“Did I see that right?” Sharon muttered to Imogene.

“I know!” Imogene beamed. “Aren’t they priceless?!”

“And then some. Come on, girl! It’s a short walk down the beach.”

“Brogan, this is Mansfield. The target is on the move toward the beach.”

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