Thursday, February 03, 2011

Butterfly Dreams (46)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.
-(The Story begins HERE)-
A Helluva Plan

Still coughing and all but blinded from the tear gas, I heard the cargo ramp being lowered in the back cabin. Just moments later Brock was helping me to my feet and guiding me to the rear of the plane.

His escape plan was flawed I knew. Wingate and his men would've heard the ramp being lowered and they would be waiting for us at its foot, but there was no way we could remain on the plane.

"Brock," I sputtered, "why didn't give up before? You could've spared us being gassed."

"You'll have to trust me," he replied with muffled voice. He patted my backside as if to tell me that he was in control of the situation.

I felt his hand pushing against my back. Caught off balance, I was suddenly stumbling out of control down the ramp toward he tarmac. Although I was staggering somehow I managed to stay on my feet when I came in contact with level ground.

There was a loud crack and the surface next to my foot exploded in a spray of gypsum fragments. As I feared, Wingate and his men had been waiting at the base of the ramp. I turned and raised my hands above my head.

"Colonel Wingate!" O'Day shouted. "Black is secured."

"Wh ... What are you doing?" I stammered. Although blurred my vision was beginning to return to normal. Through squinting eyes I could see Brock coming down the ramp. His drawn gun was in one hand while the other was pulling something from his head. It was a gas mask.

"Well done, O'Day!" Wingate declared as he stepped into view from around the side of the plane. "Lock him up with the others."

Brock's only response to my stunned glare was to wave his still smoking pistol in the direction of the nearby building. He showed a toothy grin and flashed a curious flutter in one eye. I couldn't help but wonder if it was a cursory wink intended for my eyes only, but I decided not to physically react to the gesture. I mimicked his grin and said, " A helluva plan!"

The Games People Play

When the door closed and locked behind me I studied the faces of my fellow prisoners. Although my vision was somewhat blurred I recognized Baxter, Professor Jordan, David, and the two FBI agents, Landers and Ferrara. Noticeably absent were Susan and Faye.

"The women?" I asked.

"I would gather that they were separated from us for reasons other than that of courtesy," Baxter responded.

"I'm sure," I nodded, "but it's those other reasons that are worrying me."

Landers approached me and waved his arms in the direction of the other detainees. "I'm getting nothing from these people. Perhaps you, Mr. Black, would care to tell me what in the hell is going on."

"Agent Landers, it's all about this," I said tapping my finger on my forehead. "It's all about the mind, the human mind. Control the mind, you control the man. Control the man and you control the world."

"I'm sick and tired of all this crap about mind control!" espoused an angry Ferrara. "It's time for the White House to step in and squash these people!"

Professor Jordan's sarcastic chuckle seemed to ruffle Ferrara's feathers even more. The hair on his neck bristling he shouted at the old man, "You think this is funny? Do think it's all a game?"

Folding his arms across his chest the professor replied sternly, "A very dangerous game, Agent Ferrara. Who do you think is rolling the dice, but Washington?" He fingered the corner of his mustache and looked at each of us in turn. "We, gentlemen, are merely pawns."

I regarded Ferrara for a moment and then turned my attention to his partner. "Landers, do you honestly think that Michelle and I are responsible for all of this ... this conspiracy?"

He shook his head, "Solely? No. But it hit the fan when the two of you sent that e-mail to that reporter Bering."

Perhaps to interrupt the tension in the room David launched himself into an unceremonious and off-key rendition of an old Joe South song. "Oh the games people play now ... ev'ry night and ev'ry day now ... never meaning what they say, yeah ... never saying what they mean." Realizing he had a less than enthralled audience he blushed and stammered, "S-sorry. It just came to me ... just how appropriate those lyrics are ... given our current predicament."

"Speaking of games," Ferrara growled, "just what kind of game is your buddy O'Day playing? He sure picked one helluva time to switch sides."

"Allow me to shed some light on that matter," Baxter interjected. "Brock O'Day once served with Wingate, under the command of General Julius Gates."

"We know all about his military service," interrupted Landers, "but that was in Vietnam over forty years ago. As my partner was hinting at, why has he waited until now to crawl back in bed with him?"

"Wingate and O'Day share a certain kinship. They're both soldiers, part of a brotherhood," Baxter replied. He studied their faces for a moment and continued, "I've seen your dossiers. You and Ferrara never served in the military and as such would not understand that bond. Wingate needed someone with whom he could relate and trust and that someone was O'Day."

"Wait a minute!" Ferrara snapped. "Brotherhood or not, that doesn't explain why O'Day would take up arms with the enemy."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," harrumphed Professor Jordan, "perhaps we'd be better served asking ourselves just who the enemy might be..."

"Indeed," Baxter asserted.

He faced me and I caught sight of the briefest flutter of his left eyelid. It was the same gesture I'd noticed from Brock out on the tarmac. Perhaps, I thought suppressing a grin, Brock's plan was a good one after all.

There was a sudden roar of engines somewhere outside. It was the unmistakable sound of a helicopter approaching the complex. From the proximity of the whining engines it was obvious that the craft was about to land next to the building in which we were imprisoned.

Beyond the locked door there arose a cacophony of excited activity replete with shouts and hurried footfalls. Wingate's voice could be heard above it all. The orders he was barking were interlaced with colorful obscenities. The chorused replies, obvious military affirmatives, were sharp and left little doubt of who was in charge.

The door swung open to reveal Colonel Wingate in his full dress uniform. Standing at stiff attention he bellowed, "Gentlemen, prepare to receive your Commander-in-Chief."

( To be continued

Executive Decision )



Sandee said...

Commander and Chief? Yikes, this is getting more and more twisted. I love it.

Where are the women?

Is O'Day really on the right side?

What really is the right side.

Oh the questions.

Have a terrific day and weekend. :)

Jack K. said...

CIC. Yes, but who is the CIC?

Why is the CIC coming to them?

Where are the women?

What is the connection between Jordan and O'Day?

Is Wingate really the pompous ass you portray him as?

Will the FBI really be able to save the day? snerx.

Can hardly wait for the next installment.

Hale McKay said...


It was inevitable that the President would make an appearance in the plot, don't you think?

"Oh the questions." - LOL

Hale McKay said...


Just who the CIC is - that's the burning question.

Where are the women? What about the other women?