Beyond letting the nation know what’s being done, he expresses the hope that his successor will have better fortune in curbing this uniquely American illness than he had. He concludes by assuring the press and the public that solid leads have been gained on this so-called “Peace Movement,” that a terrorist is a terrorist no matter their nationality, and that strong and decisive action could be expected shortly. The events of the night were startling, and upsetting, but Americans should not be intimidated. They would continue forward as they have always done.
Smiley appears behind him and to the right, a large-caliber handgun leveled at the back of the President’s head. In the time it takes a secret service agent to yell “Gun!” the trigger is pulled.
There is a pop, the President flinches, and a flag unfurls from the weapon’s barrel.
It reads: TIME’S UP.
Smiley vanishes before anyone can touch him.
The President is rushed out.
Saturday, 8 October 2016. 9:45 P.M. Monarch Tower. Martin Hatch’s Apartment.
Martin Hatch splashed a finger of fifty-year-old Dalmore into a tumbler of Tuscany crystal. At that moment the walls of his office were transparent, providing a soothing view of the atrium and garden. Shell casings had been swept away. Tomorrow workers with appropriate clearance would repair the bullet holes. Window cleaners were, at that very moment, squeegeeing streaks of Donny from floors forty-nine through forty-six.
“Our final chapter begins with a non sequitur,” he assured Paul. “That’s all this is. The future is written; we both know that. The events of the gala, the destruction of Sofia’s lab, her abduction… this changes nothing.”
Paul was pacing, shaking his head, clearly wanting to rub and soothe his infected hand yet fearing to touch it. “No. The gala: a disaster. The lab: destroyed and the Kim specimen gone with it. The treatments, the research: ash. How did Jack know? How did I not foresee that? In all my explorations, deepening with each foray, how did I not see this happening?”
“Your agitation gains us nothing.”
“Something works against me here. This is wrong.”
“Paul.”
“It’s wrong.”
“Paul.”
Paul’s head flicked up, wild.
“You are prepared. Failing mental cohesion was always going to jeopardize Lifeboat. You laid down clear steps for moving forward. You don’t have to think anymore, or worry. Trust those steps.” Martin sipped, letting the liquor mellow in his mouth before tracing a warm line down his throat. “Let’s get on with laying a strong foundation for the development of Project Lifeboat. Let’s get on with saving the world.”
Rage boiled at the underside of Paul’s skin, but Martin’s words filtered in. Soothed the part of him that was still most like his old self. “Yes.”
“Let’s debrief.”
Martin moved behind his broad desk, the heavy crystal tumbler clinking on the surface of black glass. He tapped a virtual key, transforming the eastern-facing wall from clear to opaque before coming to life as a videoboard, dividing and subdividing into multiple newsfeeds. Dozens of talking heads covered the events at Monarch Tower.
“Our people in Washington have contrived to keep the FBI from our door for a few more hours,” Martin said. “It will be all we need.”
“Sofia,” Paul uttered.
“They took her to the swimming hall, naturally. The helicopter was abandoned and a car stolen. It’ll be a relief to finally take possession of Will’s rusting prototype when this is over.”
“Jack thinks he can change things…”
“I’ve taken steps to bring Sofia back safely and claim that machine for ourselves. I respect the structure of causality as much as you, Paul, but I do wonder if we should have just seized the machine years ago and been done with it.”
Paul was raving. “She was shot in the leg.”
“Sofia?”
Paul shook his head. “No, the woman with Jack. Beth Wilder. When I first met her she told me her name was Beth. She had the same wound. It was fresh. I bandaged it for God’s sake.” He thought of Will’s machine gathering dust at the bottom of that dry pool across town. Monarch had known about it for years, all part of keeping tabs on Will. “She goes through the machine. Everything that happens, happens. It doesn’t matter.”
“Paul? Look.” Martin flicked through the various newsfeeds. All of them reporting a second Peace Movement strike on a Monarch target within twenty-four hours: the Tower itself. First, the university lab, and now the grand unveiling of Monarch’s new innovation: chronon technology.
Martin flipped through the feeds.
“… what is ‘chronon technology’?…”
“… said the hardware demonstrated an ability to be anywhere, at any time…”
“… patient in perfect suspension, and a great advance in medical…”
“… despite the attacks share prices have skyrocketed in the wake of documents and footage released…”
“… terrorist groups interested in the technology…”
“… Hatch was unavailable for comment…”
“… Chronos, of course, being the Greek god of time…”
“… a field of study once widely derided, now seems to be vindicating itself with a vengeance…”
“… States military is said to be interested in exploring applications of the…”
“… this technology renders borders useless…”
“… threat to global peace, some say the survival of our species…”
“… wearing Smiley masks as a joke. Authorities urge people to not…”
“The stage is set,” Martin said, turning to face Paul. “The world knows what Monarch can do.”
He flicked to a different set of feeds and recordings.
“… hard put to explain the ‘Peace’ events, or who this enigmatic group is, but we are assured the footage and the events are authentic…”
“… footage verified by experts. Washington has refused comment…”
“… fear and paranoia across the country tonight, with many still convinced the events are an elaborate hoax…”
“… First Family to an undisclosed location…”
“… speculation that the ‘Peace’ events are a viral campaign to promote Monarch’s new tech…”
“… what is stopping Peace Movement terrorists from appearing anywhere, anytime, with guns or, God forbid, with nuclear weapons?”
“… are our leaders safe? Can anywhere be secured from hostile forces with this technology? With us now is…”
“The audience is groomed, and ready,” Martin continued. “Speculation is rampant. Sidebar: we expect gun sales to spike sharply as a result of this.”
“How are the events of the gala being framed?”
“To our advantage. It’s been married seamlessly to the narrative of the university attack, linking it to the Peace Movement. It’s proving helpful in directing sympathy toward Monarch. So: our two key objectives are achieved: the world knows Monarch is the only organization pursuing chronon development, and the ruthless terrorist group that murdered their way into our university lab is now taking liberties with the laws of the universe.”
Martin finished his drink at a swallow and stood, adjusting his jacket.
“Phase One: the university event successfully framed us as a target and the Peace Movement as the easily recognizable villain. Phase Two: with the aid of your explorations and foreknowledge we were able to choreograph the Peace Movement’s baffling, simultaneous events immaculately. Result: Peace’s every meaningless detail is subject to rampant media speculation: the targets, locations, timing, masks… the name. Showmanship and confusion are performing the vital task of drawing bandwidth away from reason, building alarm and metastasizing public panic. A terrorist-foreign or domestic-could materialize anywhere at any moment. We have taken the first steps toward creating a world in which nowhere and no one can ever feel secure again. All eyes are now on the Peace Movement and Monarch Solutions.”