Draco Cronnoc II
PG: Brief strong violence, brief strong language
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sure is boring," Luke stated flatly. "Nothin's happened in two weeks!"
Sam continued puffing on his cigarette, granting Luke only a sideways glance. "You want more? I'm sure Boss could have you transferred to Saigon."
"No, no, that's not what I meant," Luke assured him hastily. "I mean, well, there's been no Viet Cong here, not that that's a bad thing, but it makes me bored."
This time Sam didn't even look at Luke. "You're annoyin' me, Luke. If you're bored then go make the kids a paper airplane. We've figured out ya like doin' that."
"I don' wanna make any more planes," Luke complained. "They're borin' too."
"Damn, everythin's boring to you," Sam finally gave Luke a grin. "And we know you aren't dumb, you're like some genius, but you're talkin' dumb. What's up?"
Luke's face shown brightly as Sam finally gave him the attention he desired. "Like I said, Sam, I'm bored. I need somethin' to do. And we certain as hell ain't fightin' no Cong here, we're just here as occupiers. The townspeole are peaceful. We haven't been attacked since we took the town over."
Now Sam began to frown. "Luke, I ain't goin' in the jungle with you for an adventure. I'm happy enough sittin' here without worrying about which person in town's gonna put a machete to my neck at night."
"An' neither do I," Luke agreed, now leaning forward in his seat. "I don' wanta be killed in the jungle, and I don' wanta go to Saigon or Hue. But I want an adventure."
"Then what're you suggestin'?" Sam demanded forcefully, brows furrowed. "Spit it out; you've led me on enough now."
"Fine," Luke could not stop a huge smile from spreading across his face. "Let's have some fun with the women."
Sam suddenly became wide-eyed. "No! Hell no! Other companies might do that, but not ours. Boss would have our balls. What the hell's put that in your mind anyway? You're a sick bastard."
"I know I am," Luke said impatiently. "But Sam, we been here in this shithole for three years! We've survived so much...mortar rounds, bullets, all the Cong in the world, an' yet now we're here and we got nothin'. Used to be my urges were suppressed by all the violence. But now we got none of that. We got nothin'. I'm startin' to pay attention to myself, an' I want satisfaction."
"Hell no!" Sam insisted as he threw his cigarette to the ground and smothered it with his shoe. "Hell no. I won't be a part of it. If you ever talk about this again, I'll make sure you're no longer a first class private. Now I'm outta here," Sam informed a furious Luke as he stood up.
"C'mon, Sam!" Luke yelled. "Don't leave! Just think about it, okay?"
"No, Luke," Sam shook his head slowly, moving his hand to the flap of the tent. "No. Never. If you can't control your urges just whack it in some private spot." Sam turned back to the flap of the tent, but just before he could touch it it was lifted for him.
A total of three people filed into the room. Suddenly Sam's irate expression became one of solemnity. He put his hand to his head and saluted. "'Allo, Sergeant James," he said, addressing the first man that came in.
"Well, hello, Sam," Sergeant James nodded to recognize the salute. "What are you doin' here? I thought you were going to help the people make a church."
Sam moved his mouth, but no sound came out. Luke decided to fill in for Sam. "Oh, Sam was just tellin' me about a plan of his."
Sam shot a warning of unmistakeable pain at Luke. Nevertheless, Luke continued. "Sam wants to have some fun with the ladies of town. It's been so long since he could let it all go..." Luke could not suppress a snigger.
"You asshole!" Sam shrieked, looking wildly from Luke to Sergeant James. "He's a liar, Sarge, I swear it! That's his idea! I said no way!"
"I wouldn't mind it," one of the other men who just came in says. "It has been awhile."
"That's what I thought after hearing his plan," Luke smiled, gripping his chair tightly with delight.
"Don't encourage him, Michael," Sam warned the man who spoke before Luke. He turned back to Sergeant James. "Sarge, I swear to God that this little fucker is lyin'. I don't want to screw any of the native women. That'd just be disgusting."
"What?!" exclaimed Luke. He spoke to Sergeant James much more placidly than Sam. "Well, he's the one who's lying. He thought of the plan, I was just sayin' I think it's a good idea."
The final man who walked in decided to put in his advice. "Sergeant James, it looks to me like Luke's the one who's tellin' the truth. Sam's a nice guy, but I could understand if he's a little nervous admitting his urges to the rest of us." The man guffawed. "Urges, coincidentally, that I share as well. If Mike, Luke, Sam, and I all want to go through with this, why not?"
"You too?" Sam stared at disbelief at the man. "Simon, I never thought you wouldn't believe me. I thought you were my friend."
Sergeant James cleared his throat, and everyone immediately stopped speaking. "Personally, I don't care who's lying. But the United States Army will not stand for abuse of its occupies. So I should naturally go against this plan and punish you all right now." Mike and Simon looked at Sam and Luke with anger.
"However," Sergeant James breathed, and everyone reverted back to him, "You four have been perhaps the best company I've ever led. You've obeyed every command I've given you without questioning, and damn have you completed my tasks well. I'm betting that between the four of you you've killed a hundred Cong. Much better than the rest of the Army, I might add," he snorted.
"And thus, I am going to endorse this plan. But just tonight. Only tonight will you be allowed to do this. But this is a secret between the five of us. If we ever get found out, I will take the responsibility and take a demotion, but won't be dismissed. I'll just make up some bullcrap like I didn't know about it and should pay more attention to you. The truth is that sexual abuse of occupies has happened throughout all of history, and the US has its own history of covering up it's atrocities. Let's go for it."
The four men stared at Sergeant James in disbelief. From the shocked look on their faces it was easy to tell Sergeant James was not an easygoing person and this new approach to the occupation was a not a testement to his good character.
"Works for me," said Luke, breaking the silence. "Let's go."
Everyone except Sam moves to leave the tent, all with excited looks on their faces. Sam barred their way for a moment. "Sergeant James, are you sure about this? Think of the risks!"
Sergeant James looked at Sam with an odd expression. "This was your idea, m'boy! Plus, you really do deserve it. And who the hell cares these people can't even speak English!"
"Right," Sam said nervously, as everyone filed out of the tent.
The five members of James's company exited the tent and found themselves near the center of the Vietnamese town of Graef. The total population of Graef was only thirty; which explained the few soldiers stationed there. Sergeant James always said they were lucky there were only thirty people in Graef, because the Army was stretched so thin they wouldn't have given them any more soldiers had there been one hundred living here.
Still, even Sergeant James had to admit Graef was perhaps the best town in Vietnam to occupy. No attacks on his men so far, and the people were relatively content with the occupation. Didn't argue. Didn't fight. Unlike the stories James heard from his comrades in other parts of the nation...
"Alright boys," Sergeant James said eagerly. "Round up the girl you want, and bring 'er here. Then we'll start."
And with those words, each man went around town searching for the prettiest woman he could find. The five congregated at the same place twenty minutes later. After their search, it appeared Simon had found the best girl.
"Everyone ready?" Luke laughed. "Then let's-hey, what's this?"
Luke pointed down the path at a group of Vietnamese men. Each man brandished either a spear, a club, or a machete. And for the first time since Sergeant James came to Graes, the townspeople did not look happy.
"Looks like we got some trouble, boys," he affirmed. "Get out your guns, and let's show them the might of the United States of America."
Each man took out his gun. "Fire!" Sergeant James shouted. Bullets flew through air, mowing down the Vietnamese men. A crowd of children gathered and watched as the Americans brutally killed their fathers, and raped their mothers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"May I please see the records concerning the army officers situated at the Vietnamese town of Graes on June 23rd, 1967?"
The publicist stared at the speaker for a second. This man had come in, walked meaningfully up to her, and simply demanded to see sensitive articles concerning army veterans durig the Vietnam War. "Who are you?" was all the archive curator could muster.
"I am Argus Minnerit, Senior Deputy of Internal Affairs at the commissions office in San Diego. I have come to review information about Vietnam veterans."
"Yes, you've said that," the archivist stated impatiently, "But what do you think gives you the right to see these? I don't care what your position is, you need written consent from the families in question to see material about their veterans."
"Yes, yes, that's the point," Argus Minnerit responded. "I don't know the names of the people. That's why I need their records."
"Well then you have no business looking it up. That's classfied."
"Well screw that everything's classified these days!" Minnerit erupted, showing the first sign of nerves since he came in stiding confidently. "I need these documents!" Minnerit's face exhibited both anxiety and fear.
"Who put you up to this?" the curator asked as politely as possible.
This question caused even more discomfort to be seen on Minnerit's face. "The government. We're looking into possible crimes concerning the men I'm looking for."
"And why can't the government retrieve information that it classified?"
Minnerit paused for only a second. "We are a small subdivision of the CIA. We haven't yet received permission from our superiors."
The curator closed her eyes, trying to think this through. "Do you at least have some ID?"
"Oh, yes!" Minnerit said, burying his hand in his left pocket. "Right here!" He pulled out an identification card and handed it to the archivist.
The curator rotated the card and put it under light to detect a forgery. "Well-alright, Mr. Minnerit, come with me." The curator handed back the card. "My name is Cindy Delhaf, by the way."
"Thank you," Minnerit calmed down as the card was returned to him. He followed Ms. Delhaf down the hall, past rows and rows of files. Delhaf occassionally looked at the markers on the files to get her bearings, but it seemed she knew the general direction in which she was going.
"Here we are!" Delhaf stopped in midstrides, causing Minnerit to bump into her. The drawer she had stopped at was titled "Southern Vietnam Vets 1965-1970." She pulled the drawer full of documents, fingered through them, and withdrew a total of five papers.
"Here are the names, ranks, and current locations of the company in control of Graes in 1967. Now, just so you know, I'm going to have to report you."
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that," Minnerit said, taking the papers from her. "I'd lose my job."
"How so?" Delhaf demanded. "You said you were here for your job."
"And so I am," Minnerit grinned, taking out a gun from his pocket.
Ms. Cindy Delhaf would not say a word to anyone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So, you must be the new guy?" the entrance guard smiled jovially at the Arabic man who asked where the accounting room was. The guard glanced at the man's card. "You're name is Satish Hamed?"
"Indeed, it is," Hamed replied with no discernible accent. "I believe I was told I'd be working with a Luke Esmodre?"
The guard scatched his head for a moment and then nodded. "Yep. Luke's one of the accountants too. He's a nice fella, I'm sure you'll have plenty of fun working with him. Go to the third floor, make a quick right and keep going stright down that corridor, it's the third door down on your left."
"Right," Hamed said. "Well, thank you, you've been very helpful. See you tomorrow."
Hamed left the guard and entered the building. In it he found a bustling crowd eager to get in an elevator, so he decided he'd take the stairs. Today Satish Hamed needed as much secrecy as possible, and the stairs would probably be faster anyway.
On his way up Hamed met only two people, both of whom greeted him warmly. "Thank you," Hamed responded each time. "I'm happy to see the employees of Rigor Industries can recognize a new face and be kind enough to speak to him."
With this formality Hamed came to the third floor of the building. He followed the guards directions exactly, and soon came to the door that had been discussed. Hamed was pleased to find the door read "Accounting Office 5." Hamed opened the door, and inside were three people: two women and a man. The man was considerably older than the women, he appeared to be nearing fifty.
"Hello!" one of the women said as she looked up from her computer. "You must be Satish Hamed. You're the replacement for John Saliscus? What a terrible accident he suffered, two broken legs in a car crash..."
"Yeah, I met him in the hospital," the man said. "He didn't look so good, he wasn't even awake." The man turned back to Hamed. "These two girls are Roberta Heraz and Ann Dembrow. And I'm Luke Esmodre."
Hamed bristled at the mention of the final name, but no one seemed to notice. "Take a seat," Luke said, motioning to the chair adjacent to himself. Rigidly Hamed sat in the chair.
"You know what you're doing, right?" the woman who had been called Ann asked. "Anything we can do for you?"
"No, not now anyway, I'm good," Hamed answered, taking out a small black box.
"Ooh, what's that?" Roberta asked curiously.
"Lunch," Hamed replied simply. "Thanks to all of you for being so kind, but I think I should get to work."
The other three workers went back to their data-crunching, but Hamed stole a glance at his black box. On the bottom were miniscule number reading "0:12:34."
Hamed quickly looked at the others to see if the noticed what was on the box, but none of them showed any alarm on their face. Content with their reactions, Hamed carefully placed the box in one of the drawers of his desk as discreetly as possible. Again, no one took heed of his actions.
About ten minutes later Luke stretched his arms and yawned. "Man, I'm wasted. Went to a party last night...didn't get home to one, and then I had to screw the wife...I'm pooped. I'll go get some coffee."
Luke stood up and began walking to the door. "Wait!" Hamed stopped him, hastily poking the keys of his computer. "I think something is wrong."
"Then have Roberta fix it."
"I believe not only do you have degrees in accounting and architecture, but you have one in computer repair?" Hamed said, eyebrows raised.
Luke smiled and moved back to Hamed's computer. "I'll see what I can do. But that's a pretty obscure fact to know about me."
"I like to know as much as possible about my co-workers before my first day," Hamed said.
Luke's eyebrows furrowed. "What's this? The computer says you caused this problem!"
"Huh?" Hamed said, looking at his screen. "Why would I hurt my own computer?"
"I don't know. But this problem can only be done manually."
Though Luke Esmodre did not know it, the black box Hamed had taken with him had ended its countdown. The whole building of Rigor Industries collapsed in a giant explosion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"It should be on the news by now," the man said and he turned on the television. "Let's see what's happening in the world."
The man changed the channel to CNN, and his assumption was correct.
"Five simultaneous bombings in different parts of the country," the newsman said. "Two in corporate offices, two at civilians' homes, and one at a school. A total of six-hundred three confirmed deaths in all, with almost half of the casualties occuring at an office in Tennesse. The government is currently trying to establish a connection between the bombings, and the likely force behind the attacks is al-Qaeda, due to their trademark on simultaneous attacks with Arabic citizens doing the bombings."
The man smiled. All the pieces had come together. It was not La Kaida at all who had done this, it was him. But he'd never be found. He had worked his whole life to garner enough money to make this day happen, and then spent all of his savings.
But it was worth it.
It had worked.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sure is boring," Luke stated flatly. "Nothin's happened in two weeks!"
Sam continued puffing on his cigarette, granting Luke only a sideways glance. "You want more? I'm sure Boss could have you transferred to Saigon."
"No, no, that's not what I meant," Luke assured him hastily. "I mean, well, there's been no Viet Cong here, not that that's a bad thing, but it makes me bored."
This time Sam didn't even look at Luke. "You're annoyin' me, Luke. If you're bored then go make the kids a paper airplane. We've figured out ya like doin' that."
"I don' wanna make any more planes," Luke complained. "They're borin' too."
"Damn, everythin's boring to you," Sam finally gave Luke a grin. "And we know you aren't dumb, you're like some genius, but you're talkin' dumb. What's up?"
Luke's face shown brightly as Sam finally gave him the attention he desired. "Like I said, Sam, I'm bored. I need somethin' to do. And we certain as hell ain't fightin' no Cong here, we're just here as occupiers. The townspeole are peaceful. We haven't been attacked since we took the town over."
Now Sam began to frown. "Luke, I ain't goin' in the jungle with you for an adventure. I'm happy enough sittin' here without worrying about which person in town's gonna put a machete to my neck at night."
"An' neither do I," Luke agreed, now leaning forward in his seat. "I don' wanta be killed in the jungle, and I don' wanta go to Saigon or Hue. But I want an adventure."
"Then what're you suggestin'?" Sam demanded forcefully, brows furrowed. "Spit it out; you've led me on enough now."
"Fine," Luke could not stop a huge smile from spreading across his face. "Let's have some fun with the women."
Sam suddenly became wide-eyed. "No! Hell no! Other companies might do that, but not ours. Boss would have our balls. What the hell's put that in your mind anyway? You're a sick bastard."
"I know I am," Luke said impatiently. "But Sam, we been here in this shithole for three years! We've survived so much...mortar rounds, bullets, all the Cong in the world, an' yet now we're here and we got nothin'. Used to be my urges were suppressed by all the violence. But now we got none of that. We got nothin'. I'm startin' to pay attention to myself, an' I want satisfaction."
"Hell no!" Sam insisted as he threw his cigarette to the ground and smothered it with his shoe. "Hell no. I won't be a part of it. If you ever talk about this again, I'll make sure you're no longer a first class private. Now I'm outta here," Sam informed a furious Luke as he stood up.
"C'mon, Sam!" Luke yelled. "Don't leave! Just think about it, okay?"
"No, Luke," Sam shook his head slowly, moving his hand to the flap of the tent. "No. Never. If you can't control your urges just whack it in some private spot." Sam turned back to the flap of the tent, but just before he could touch it it was lifted for him.
A total of three people filed into the room. Suddenly Sam's irate expression became one of solemnity. He put his hand to his head and saluted. "'Allo, Sergeant James," he said, addressing the first man that came in.
"Well, hello, Sam," Sergeant James nodded to recognize the salute. "What are you doin' here? I thought you were going to help the people make a church."
Sam moved his mouth, but no sound came out. Luke decided to fill in for Sam. "Oh, Sam was just tellin' me about a plan of his."
Sam shot a warning of unmistakeable pain at Luke. Nevertheless, Luke continued. "Sam wants to have some fun with the ladies of town. It's been so long since he could let it all go..." Luke could not suppress a snigger.
"You asshole!" Sam shrieked, looking wildly from Luke to Sergeant James. "He's a liar, Sarge, I swear it! That's his idea! I said no way!"
"I wouldn't mind it," one of the other men who just came in says. "It has been awhile."
"That's what I thought after hearing his plan," Luke smiled, gripping his chair tightly with delight.
"Don't encourage him, Michael," Sam warned the man who spoke before Luke. He turned back to Sergeant James. "Sarge, I swear to God that this little fucker is lyin'. I don't want to screw any of the native women. That'd just be disgusting."
"What?!" exclaimed Luke. He spoke to Sergeant James much more placidly than Sam. "Well, he's the one who's lying. He thought of the plan, I was just sayin' I think it's a good idea."
The final man who walked in decided to put in his advice. "Sergeant James, it looks to me like Luke's the one who's tellin' the truth. Sam's a nice guy, but I could understand if he's a little nervous admitting his urges to the rest of us." The man guffawed. "Urges, coincidentally, that I share as well. If Mike, Luke, Sam, and I all want to go through with this, why not?"
"You too?" Sam stared at disbelief at the man. "Simon, I never thought you wouldn't believe me. I thought you were my friend."
Sergeant James cleared his throat, and everyone immediately stopped speaking. "Personally, I don't care who's lying. But the United States Army will not stand for abuse of its occupies. So I should naturally go against this plan and punish you all right now." Mike and Simon looked at Sam and Luke with anger.
"However," Sergeant James breathed, and everyone reverted back to him, "You four have been perhaps the best company I've ever led. You've obeyed every command I've given you without questioning, and damn have you completed my tasks well. I'm betting that between the four of you you've killed a hundred Cong. Much better than the rest of the Army, I might add," he snorted.
"And thus, I am going to endorse this plan. But just tonight. Only tonight will you be allowed to do this. But this is a secret between the five of us. If we ever get found out, I will take the responsibility and take a demotion, but won't be dismissed. I'll just make up some bullcrap like I didn't know about it and should pay more attention to you. The truth is that sexual abuse of occupies has happened throughout all of history, and the US has its own history of covering up it's atrocities. Let's go for it."
The four men stared at Sergeant James in disbelief. From the shocked look on their faces it was easy to tell Sergeant James was not an easygoing person and this new approach to the occupation was a not a testement to his good character.
"Works for me," said Luke, breaking the silence. "Let's go."
Everyone except Sam moves to leave the tent, all with excited looks on their faces. Sam barred their way for a moment. "Sergeant James, are you sure about this? Think of the risks!"
Sergeant James looked at Sam with an odd expression. "This was your idea, m'boy! Plus, you really do deserve it. And who the hell cares these people can't even speak English!"
"Right," Sam said nervously, as everyone filed out of the tent.
The five members of James's company exited the tent and found themselves near the center of the Vietnamese town of Graef. The total population of Graef was only thirty; which explained the few soldiers stationed there. Sergeant James always said they were lucky there were only thirty people in Graef, because the Army was stretched so thin they wouldn't have given them any more soldiers had there been one hundred living here.
Still, even Sergeant James had to admit Graef was perhaps the best town in Vietnam to occupy. No attacks on his men so far, and the people were relatively content with the occupation. Didn't argue. Didn't fight. Unlike the stories James heard from his comrades in other parts of the nation...
"Alright boys," Sergeant James said eagerly. "Round up the girl you want, and bring 'er here. Then we'll start."
And with those words, each man went around town searching for the prettiest woman he could find. The five congregated at the same place twenty minutes later. After their search, it appeared Simon had found the best girl.
"Everyone ready?" Luke laughed. "Then let's-hey, what's this?"
Luke pointed down the path at a group of Vietnamese men. Each man brandished either a spear, a club, or a machete. And for the first time since Sergeant James came to Graes, the townspeople did not look happy.
"Looks like we got some trouble, boys," he affirmed. "Get out your guns, and let's show them the might of the United States of America."
Each man took out his gun. "Fire!" Sergeant James shouted. Bullets flew through air, mowing down the Vietnamese men. A crowd of children gathered and watched as the Americans brutally killed their fathers, and raped their mothers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"May I please see the records concerning the army officers situated at the Vietnamese town of Graes on June 23rd, 1967?"
The publicist stared at the speaker for a second. This man had come in, walked meaningfully up to her, and simply demanded to see sensitive articles concerning army veterans durig the Vietnam War. "Who are you?" was all the archive curator could muster.
"I am Argus Minnerit, Senior Deputy of Internal Affairs at the commissions office in San Diego. I have come to review information about Vietnam veterans."
"Yes, you've said that," the archivist stated impatiently, "But what do you think gives you the right to see these? I don't care what your position is, you need written consent from the families in question to see material about their veterans."
"Yes, yes, that's the point," Argus Minnerit responded. "I don't know the names of the people. That's why I need their records."
"Well then you have no business looking it up. That's classfied."
"Well screw that everything's classified these days!" Minnerit erupted, showing the first sign of nerves since he came in stiding confidently. "I need these documents!" Minnerit's face exhibited both anxiety and fear.
"Who put you up to this?" the curator asked as politely as possible.
This question caused even more discomfort to be seen on Minnerit's face. "The government. We're looking into possible crimes concerning the men I'm looking for."
"And why can't the government retrieve information that it classified?"
Minnerit paused for only a second. "We are a small subdivision of the CIA. We haven't yet received permission from our superiors."
The curator closed her eyes, trying to think this through. "Do you at least have some ID?"
"Oh, yes!" Minnerit said, burying his hand in his left pocket. "Right here!" He pulled out an identification card and handed it to the archivist.
The curator rotated the card and put it under light to detect a forgery. "Well-alright, Mr. Minnerit, come with me." The curator handed back the card. "My name is Cindy Delhaf, by the way."
"Thank you," Minnerit calmed down as the card was returned to him. He followed Ms. Delhaf down the hall, past rows and rows of files. Delhaf occassionally looked at the markers on the files to get her bearings, but it seemed she knew the general direction in which she was going.
"Here we are!" Delhaf stopped in midstrides, causing Minnerit to bump into her. The drawer she had stopped at was titled "Southern Vietnam Vets 1965-1970." She pulled the drawer full of documents, fingered through them, and withdrew a total of five papers.
"Here are the names, ranks, and current locations of the company in control of Graes in 1967. Now, just so you know, I'm going to have to report you."
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that," Minnerit said, taking the papers from her. "I'd lose my job."
"How so?" Delhaf demanded. "You said you were here for your job."
"And so I am," Minnerit grinned, taking out a gun from his pocket.
Ms. Cindy Delhaf would not say a word to anyone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So, you must be the new guy?" the entrance guard smiled jovially at the Arabic man who asked where the accounting room was. The guard glanced at the man's card. "You're name is Satish Hamed?"
"Indeed, it is," Hamed replied with no discernible accent. "I believe I was told I'd be working with a Luke Esmodre?"
The guard scatched his head for a moment and then nodded. "Yep. Luke's one of the accountants too. He's a nice fella, I'm sure you'll have plenty of fun working with him. Go to the third floor, make a quick right and keep going stright down that corridor, it's the third door down on your left."
"Right," Hamed said. "Well, thank you, you've been very helpful. See you tomorrow."
Hamed left the guard and entered the building. In it he found a bustling crowd eager to get in an elevator, so he decided he'd take the stairs. Today Satish Hamed needed as much secrecy as possible, and the stairs would probably be faster anyway.
On his way up Hamed met only two people, both of whom greeted him warmly. "Thank you," Hamed responded each time. "I'm happy to see the employees of Rigor Industries can recognize a new face and be kind enough to speak to him."
With this formality Hamed came to the third floor of the building. He followed the guards directions exactly, and soon came to the door that had been discussed. Hamed was pleased to find the door read "Accounting Office 5." Hamed opened the door, and inside were three people: two women and a man. The man was considerably older than the women, he appeared to be nearing fifty.
"Hello!" one of the women said as she looked up from her computer. "You must be Satish Hamed. You're the replacement for John Saliscus? What a terrible accident he suffered, two broken legs in a car crash..."
"Yeah, I met him in the hospital," the man said. "He didn't look so good, he wasn't even awake." The man turned back to Hamed. "These two girls are Roberta Heraz and Ann Dembrow. And I'm Luke Esmodre."
Hamed bristled at the mention of the final name, but no one seemed to notice. "Take a seat," Luke said, motioning to the chair adjacent to himself. Rigidly Hamed sat in the chair.
"You know what you're doing, right?" the woman who had been called Ann asked. "Anything we can do for you?"
"No, not now anyway, I'm good," Hamed answered, taking out a small black box.
"Ooh, what's that?" Roberta asked curiously.
"Lunch," Hamed replied simply. "Thanks to all of you for being so kind, but I think I should get to work."
The other three workers went back to their data-crunching, but Hamed stole a glance at his black box. On the bottom were miniscule number reading "0:12:34."
Hamed quickly looked at the others to see if the noticed what was on the box, but none of them showed any alarm on their face. Content with their reactions, Hamed carefully placed the box in one of the drawers of his desk as discreetly as possible. Again, no one took heed of his actions.
About ten minutes later Luke stretched his arms and yawned. "Man, I'm wasted. Went to a party last night...didn't get home to one, and then I had to screw the wife...I'm pooped. I'll go get some coffee."
Luke stood up and began walking to the door. "Wait!" Hamed stopped him, hastily poking the keys of his computer. "I think something is wrong."
"Then have Roberta fix it."
"I believe not only do you have degrees in accounting and architecture, but you have one in computer repair?" Hamed said, eyebrows raised.
Luke smiled and moved back to Hamed's computer. "I'll see what I can do. But that's a pretty obscure fact to know about me."
"I like to know as much as possible about my co-workers before my first day," Hamed said.
Luke's eyebrows furrowed. "What's this? The computer says you caused this problem!"
"Huh?" Hamed said, looking at his screen. "Why would I hurt my own computer?"
"I don't know. But this problem can only be done manually."
Though Luke Esmodre did not know it, the black box Hamed had taken with him had ended its countdown. The whole building of Rigor Industries collapsed in a giant explosion.
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"It should be on the news by now," the man said and he turned on the television. "Let's see what's happening in the world."
The man changed the channel to CNN, and his assumption was correct.
"Five simultaneous bombings in different parts of the country," the newsman said. "Two in corporate offices, two at civilians' homes, and one at a school. A total of six-hundred three confirmed deaths in all, with almost half of the casualties occuring at an office in Tennesse. The government is currently trying to establish a connection between the bombings, and the likely force behind the attacks is al-Qaeda, due to their trademark on simultaneous attacks with Arabic citizens doing the bombings."
The man smiled. All the pieces had come together. It was not La Kaida at all who had done this, it was him. But he'd never be found. He had worked his whole life to garner enough money to make this day happen, and then spent all of his savings.
But it was worth it.
It had worked.