Read Allegiance: A Jackson Quick Adventure Online
Authors: Tom Abrahams
Tags: #income taxes, #second amendment, #brad thor, #ut, #oil, #austin, #texas chl, #nanotechnology, #tom abrahams, #gubernatorial, #petrochemicals, #post hill press, #big oil, #rice university, #bill of rights, #aggies, #living presidents, #texas politics, #healthcare, #george h w bush, #texas am, #texas aggies, #taxes, #transcanada, #obamacare, #wendy davis, #gun control, #assassination, #rice owls, #campaign, #politics, #george bush, #texas governor, #ted cruz, #rick perry, #2nd amendment, #right to bear arms, #vince flynn, #alternative energy, #keystone pipeline, #chl, #election, #keystone xl, #longhorns, #phones, #david baldacci, #houston, #texas, #clean fuel, #ipods, #university of texas, #president, #health care, #environment
I ignore the irony.
On George’s phone, there’s a single message, sent from my phone.
i
need
ur
phone
.
trade
w
me
.
k
?
wasnt
asleep
.
awake
whole
trip
.
ur
phone
recorded
everything
.
I erase the message and click the phone back to the home screen.
I look from the screen to George. He smiles.
Wow. Now that’s a reporter for you.
***
Blair Loxley sat next to me in the vice principal’s office. His hand was wrapped and his thumb splinted after a trip to the nurse. Neither of us looked at each other or said anything. The vice principal was on the phone. He’d already called Loxley’s mother, and now he was talking to mine. I could hear her worried voice through the receiver as the vice principal explained the basics. When he hung up, he took a deep breath and exhaled.
“I’m not going to candy coat it for either one of you,’ he said. “There’s a good chance you’re both going to be suspended, maybe expelled.” He leaned forward from behind his desk and adjusted his nameplate.
“I need you to tell me where you put the gun, Jackson.”
I said nothing.
“The police will be here before your parents arrive and they’ll find it,” he warned. “If that happens before you tell me where it is, this is only going to get worse.”
Too late.
The door behind us opened and in walked two uniformed police officers. I remember both of them being tall with thick, rounded shoulders. They looked like the guys who participated in those strongest man competitions on cable. Neither of them smiled as they walked around to the front of the vice principal’s desk.
“I was explaining to the boys how much trouble they’re in,” said the administrator. “But neither of them seems to grasp it.”
“Who brought the gun?” one of them asked. “Where is it?”
The vice principal nodded in my direction. “That’s Jackson. The gun is his. He won’t tell me where he put it.”
“How do we know there’s a gun at all?” asked the second officer. “Since nobody’s seen it.”
“Somebody reported seeing Jackson with it this morning on the way to school,” he said. “An anonymous tip that came in late today. They said he was carrying it under his coat.”
“Why’s the other kid here?” asked the first officer, his Popeye arms folded in front of his chest. “What did he do?”
“They were in a fight. We’re holding both of them here until their parents arrive.”
The second officer knelt known in front of me and looked me straight in the eyes. “Where’s the gun, kid? If you brought a gun to school we need to know where it is.”
I said nothing.
“Why would you bring a gun to school?” asked the first officer. “You know that’s against the law.”
“Where’d you get the gun?” said the second officer, inching more closely to my face. “You know if you got it from a parent, that parent can get in trouble too.”
I hadn’t thought about that. My stupidity was putting my parents in jeopardy. I couldn’t stay quiet.
“He was bullying me,” I nodded toward Loxley and it came pouring out. “I brought it to scare him, but there was a big crowd of people around. I knew I shouldn’t do it. I left it where I put it. It isn’t loaded. It’s hidden. I didn’t point it at anyone.”
The second officer looked at his partner and back at me then stood. With his hands on his hips he walked to my side and put his meat hook of a hand on my shoulder. “Come on kid, show me where it is.”
“Don’t you care that he was bullying me?” I asked. “I mean he beat me up and busted my knee.”
“I care,” said the second officer, “but that’s not what we need to deal with right now. We need to get the gun so somebody doesn’t find it and take it.”
“He beat me up! I was defending myself,” I pleaded. “I was trying to scare him into leaving me alone.”
“I understand,” the officer squeezed my shoulder. “We can talk about that after you show us where you hid the gun. Now what kind of gun is it?”
I sat there, my throat aching from the thick lump that had formed at the base of it. I was doing everything I could not to cry in front of Blair Loxley. A single tear would’ve undone the victory I scored that afternoon. I remember blinking and swallowing to fight it.
“What kind of gun is it?” the second officer repeated. He’d softened his tone again. He knew I was trying not to break down in front of my tormenter. He had to know.
“It’s a rifle,” my voice was barely above a whisper. I swallowed hard.
“What kind of rifle?”
If I told him what it was and where it was, I would lose my rifle. I would lose the prized possession my father had handed down to me. I’d betrayed myself.
Why
did
I
bring
the
gun
?
Why
did
I
do
this
?
“What kind of rifle?” the first officer said, stepping closer to me. “We need to know so we can help you. You don’t want your parents to get in trouble do you?”
I shook my head and blinked. They’d found my weak spot.
“The more you help us,” he added, “the less trouble for your mom and dad.”
“It’s a Henry lever action,” I whispered. “It’s not loaded.”
“Where is it?” the second officer asked again. “Can you take us to it?”
Weak kneed, I led the two officers out of the office and toward the shed near the track.
***
I unlock the door to Charlie’s apartment with the key she’d given me a couple weeks earlier and swing it open to the smell of the citric perfume which intoxicated me the first time I met her.
The sofa in front of me reminds me of the last time I saw her, casually dressed in her Bush-Cheney T-Shirt and those hip-hugging jeans. Inhaling, I remember the taste of her lips, the smell of her hair.
She
played
me
.
I
was
a
pawn
.
On a glass computer desk across the room, sits her laptop. I cross to the desk, drop her duffle bag on the floor, and slip into the heavy wooden chair in front of the desk.
While the computer hums to life, I open the bag and pull out the iPad, the iPod, and the small laptop. I sit the small laptop next to the more substantial one already on her desk and flip it open to turn it on.
Something’s
missing
.
I dig through the bag and find the flash drive attachment that plugs into the iPad, but there’s no drive inserted into it.
The larger laptop boots up and asks for a password. I punch in
twofacedliar
. That doesn’t work. Neither does the misogynist expletive I enter next.
I decide to bypass it. I reboot the computer into Safe Mode with Command Prompt and log in as an administrator. The command prompt appears and I type in
net
user
. A list of Charlie’s computer profiles for the laptop populate the screen.
There are five of them. I look at their names. The first one is
Charlie
Corday
. I skip it. That’s the profile she’d use when I was around. It’s bound to be innocuous.
Next is
Anne
Parillou
. Funny. She played the part of Nikita, the female spy, in Luc Besson’s cult favorite.
I scan down.
Margaretha
Geertruida
Zelle
. Mata Hari’s real name.
Judy
Bethulia
. Her passport identity.
The last name on the list is the profile I need to search:
Emily
West
.
She was the indentured servant who, legend has it, “occupied” Mexican General Santa Ana as the Texans prepared for the Battle of San Jacinto. Because of her, supposedly, General Sam Houston’s troops were able to surprise Santa Ana, defeat him, and win Texas’ independence from Mexico.
She was The Yellow Rose of Texas.
I type
net
user
, a new master password, and reboot. As the computer revs up again, I get up from the desk and walk to her bedroom. The pine sleigh bed is unmade, its white sheets rumpled onto one side. A yellow comforter is folded at the bottom. The ceiling fan is whirring, the pull chain rapping against the attached light fixture in a rhythm.
I get down on all fours and look under the bed. There’s nothing. The nightstand next to her bed has a drawer and a cabinet door. The drawer is stuffed with earbuds, Kleenex, and a television remote. In the cabinet there’s a small safe with a combination lock and a key. I try the key first and it turns.
It’s
unlocked
!
Inside there’s a manila envelope and a flash drive. I toss both of them onto the bed and make my way to her closet. Inside, to the left, there’s a built-in shelf with some of my clothing on it. I pull out a pair of jeans and a Round Rock Express T-shirt. It feels good to change clothing, even without a shower. My sweats find a home balled up in an empty shopping bag on the floor. I grab the bag to dispose of on the street, pick up the drive and the envelope and head back to the computer.
Sitting at the desk, I pull open the envelope. It’s empty.
The computer is still humming, but no home page yet. I take the flash drive and slip it into the iPad attachment.
There’s no code on the iPad, so I hit the icon that opens the drive. The screen fills with a .PDF document labeled
Yellow
Rose
.
I knew it.
The first page reads like fiction:
YELLOW ROSE INITIAL ASSIGNMENT NGTX45617862ATX
**FOR INTERNAL USE, EYES ONLY**
--JOB ACQUIRED AS INSTRUCTED, INDENTITY DOCUMENTS AT DROPBOX #4
--YOU ARE TO DETERMINE EXTENT OF PENETRATION BY TARGET 1 AND EXPLOIT
--TARGET 1 IS NOT ON *KILL* LIST, BUT CLOSE SURVEILLENCE REQUIRED
--DAILY REPORT ON TARGET 1 MANDATORY THROUGH TYPICAL SECURE CHANNEL
--FAMILIARIZE TARGET 2 **NOT PRIORITY**
--GATHER INTEL TARGET 3 AS INSTRUCTED THROUGH UPDATES
--SEE DROPBOX #3 FOR UPDATES. NOTIFICATIONS THROUGH JOINT ACCOUNT
Scrolling down, I see a series of photographs. Target two is Roswell Ripley, Jr. Target three is my boss, the Governor.
Target one is me.
It’s a picture of me sipping a McDonald’s coffee, walking up Congress toward the Capitol. It’s at least six months old.
There are schematics of my apartment, my office, Ripley’s office, the Governor’s mansion and his offices in the Capitol. There are phone numbers, bank account numbers, lists of restaurants I frequent. My taste in movies and music reads like the questionnaire next to the centerfold in a
Playboy
magazine.
Trying not to freak out, I put down the iPad and log into the desktop.
Notifications
through
joint
account
.
I go to the desktop and click on Internet Explorer. The home page pops up for a search engine. My guess is the search engine is also her email provider. I double click the email function. The email loads. The account is
Charliegirl
@
mynetmail
.
com
. That’s probably not it, but I scan her inbox, sent items, deleted folder, and saved mail to be safe. I find nothing. I click the
TOOLS
icon on the top right of the screen. There’s an option for
ADDITIONAL
ACCOUNTS
. I click it and the screen repopulates with an account called
yellowrose1
@
mynetmail
.
com
.
Excited, I quickly click through her emails sent and received and find nothing. Her saved email box is empty. It’s like a dummy account or something.
I find the folder marked UNSENT and click it.
It’s a gold mine.
In the folder, I find a series of at least twenty unsent emails, each one revealing the progression of Charlie’s operation. It appears from the language, every other email is from Charlie to someone overseeing her activities. The alternating messages are replies from that someone.
I randomly click one of them to read it more closely.
RE: NGTX45617862ATX
--TARGET 3 UNCOOPERATIVE
--REASSESSING TARGET 3
--TARGET 1 INTEL BEING INVESTIGATED
--PREP FOR HOUSTON ASSIGNMENT, SEE ATTACHED PHOTO
--MAKE CONTACT WITH OPERATIONAL PARTNER
--RESPOND BY 0600 WITH UPDATE
There’s an attached image labeled DiscGreen. It’s an aerial photograph of what looks like the park near the convention center in downtown Houston; Discovery Green. That’s where Buell was shot.
The next email is from Charlie.
RE: NGTX45617862ATX
--TARGET 1 NO LONGER ACQUIRED. EFFORTING
--TARGET 3 REASSESS CONFIRMED
--OPERATIONAL PARTNER IN LOOP
--HOUSTON ASSIGNMENT PREP ACKNOWLEDGE
She’s clearly referring to my disappearance, to Ripley’s designating as persona-non-grata, and that Crockett was in the picture. She must have worked with him on the Buell shooting.
Reassess
must be code for
kill
. I look at another email from her handler.
RE: NGTX45617862ATX
--YELLOW ROSE ACKNOWLEDGE
--URGENT ACKNOWLEDGE
--REASSESS URGENT
She’s out of the loop. They want her to check in.
I go back to her unsent folder and see there’s another email chain.
I skip to the last email and notice it’s dated this morning.
RE: WILTEDROSE
--ACKNOWLEDGE TARGET 3 ACQUISITION AND TERMINATION
--ACKNOWLEDGE REAQUISTION OF TARGET 1, CONSIDER REASSESSMENT
--REASSESS TARGET 2, ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT OF ATTACHMENT ASAP
--RETRIEVE NEEDED DOCUMENTS DROP #4
Wilted
Rose
? I have no clue what it means. All the notes in this chain are within the last twenty-four hours and are headlined RE: WILTEDROSE. Maybe it signals a change in assignment. Maybe she never checked in? Doesn’t really matter, but there’s a series of photographs attached to the email. All of them are different shots of the same building. Three of them show exterior views and two of them are of the interior. I vaguely recognize the building but can’t quite place it.