George Washington University soon came into view.  William looked down to check his watch – twenty minutes.  He had to hurry; he did not want to miss a moment of the action.  William wheeled the bike into the parking area behind Tonic and rushed up the sidewalk and into the bar.

As he opened the door and stepped into the establishment, he was greeted by an ambiance that was immediately relaxing.  The temperature was perfect, the lighting was immaculate.  The music was obscure, but tasteful.  He loved everything about the place.

William made his way to the restroom and turned on the faucet.  He splashed water on his face and ran his fingers through his black hair.  He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing as he tried to rein it in, but it was to no avail.  He strolled across the empty room and into one of the stalls.  He sat down on the closed toilet seat, reached into his pocket and retrieved a prescription bottle and a small flask.  He rattled out a cocktail of pills of varying shapes and sizes from the bottle. William chewed the pills up and washed the powder down his throat with the gin and tonic that was in the flask.  He checked his watch again – ten minutes.

He closed his eyes again and allowed the chemicals to work their calming magic on his body.  Within several minutes, he began to relax.  His pulse slowed and his breathing returned to a more normal pace.  He was usually very relaxed, but the night had brought with it an anxiety that he had never experienced before.  Everything hinged on the actions that would be set into motion in a matter of minutes.  Soon, the world would begin to radically evolve, more so than even in the last six months. Soon, he would hasten the transformation by tenfold.

He took one last look in the mirror.  He straightened his collar and tamed the messy helmet hair from the wild ride.  He exited the restroom with a newfound swagger.  His presence was more commanding as he strode to the bar.  People were beginning to filter in for a long night of drinking and reveling, or so they thought.

She had watched him rush into the bar and disappear into the restroom for several minutes before reappearing as a completely different William, the William that she knew so well.  She aimed for him, her heels echoing on the hardwood floor with each purposeful stride.  As she reached him, he turned around with his usual Guinness in one hand and a cabernet sauvignon in his other.

She smiled.  “Were you expecting me?”

He simply handed her the glass and returned the smile.  “Let’s have a seat in the corner tonight.”

They walked over to the secluded nook and sat on the leather sofa.  A flat-screen television was hung above the couch opposite of him.  The television was a stark contrast to the elegantly rustic surroundings.  Normally the contradiction would have annoyed him, but, for the moment, he appreciated its strategic placement.  He sunk deep into the couch cushions and propped his feet on the antique coffee table in front of him.

He brought the tall glass of the rich beer to his lips and savored the first mouthful.  He rolled it in his mouth like a fine wine before swallowing the liquid.  The pills’ effects were in full force now.  He smiled and placed his arm around her.

“William,” she smiled playfully and said, “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“Shhh.” he replied, “Tonight’s not about you, babe; it’s all about me.”

Breaking News flashed across the screen as the regularly scheduled propaganda from the marionettes was interrupted.  The feed was replaced with a new, solemn-faced puppet.  William grabbed the remote and turned the volume up as high as it would go.  Groups were beginning to converge around other televisions within the bar.

“Greetings America,” the teary eyed broadcaster announced, “we have breaking developments from across the country.  Reports are still coming in as we speak, but it appears that a coordinated, terrorist attack has struck numerous targets from coast to coast.  Bridges have been attacked in New York and San Francisco – wait, this just coming in,” she cupped her ear for a moment before continuing, “-a third bridge has just collapsed in Chicago.

The targets vary widely in nature, but appear to all be connected to a single party.  Federal buildings, water treatment facilities, passenger planes – there have been at least a dozen attacks, and more are being reported by the minute.”

She cupped her ear again, straining to hear the speaker, “Oh, we’re cutting to live footage now.”

A camera with a bird’s-eye view circled the collapsed section of the San Mateo Bridge in San Francisco.  The sounds of the helicopter’s blades could faintly be heard behind the broadcaster’s narration of the destruction.  Cars were beginning to pile up on the bridge with nowhere to go.  Suddenly, a second section of the bridge collapsed into the bay.  The crowd in the bar gasped collectively at the horror as cars tumbled into the water.

The footage changed to a scene of scattered wreckage and debris in downtown Boston.  Multiple buildings appeared to have been damaged by the sabotaged Boeing 747.  Hundreds were confirmed dead, but the reporter warned that casualties could reach a thousand before it was over, and there were other plane crashes as well.

The screen returned to the reporter in the newsroom, now sitting behind a desk as other journalists and assistants ran frantically to and fro.  William reasoned it was a ploy to add a sense of drama and urgency to the newsroom, as if such was needed.

“This just in,” the broadcaster announced, “an anonymous source from the Pentagon has reported that they believe the terror attacks have been committed by a right-wing extremist organization.  They further believe that the terror organization may even have ties with foreign governments, due to the complexity and the coordination required for the attacks,” She paused and exchanged a sidebar whisper with a man just off screen, before continuing, “The president has declared a state of emergency for all fifty states and will be mobilizing additional troops throughout the nation, especially in areas sensitive to further terror attacks.”

Silence had fallen across the establishment as the young staffers and lobbyists were breathlessly glued to the reports.  The bartender did not even notice William walk behind the bar and refill the drinks.  He strolled back to the corner and eased back onto the couch.  He was smiling contently as he handed her the glass.

“William,” she said, “I have to say, I’m impressed.  All of this - yours?”

  He propped his feet up and leaned back into the plush cushions of the couch before replying, “This is the opening act; I’m just getting started.”

Chapt er 19

Reese

Washington, D.C.

The man with the blue eyes topped off his coffee and started brewing another pot.  It would surely be a very long night.  He had muted the television long ago.  He couldn’t listen to the ridiculous speculation and commentary from the marionettes anymore.  He didn’t need their opinions on who was behind the terror attacks; he knew exactly who had done this.

He had.

He had acted as an intermediary for William and the counterparty.  He had carefully chosen each target:  the planes, Federal buildings, bridges and banks.  He had coordinated the strike teams and even given the order to proceed.  Then he had contacted his handler, and the agency had done nothing.

The agency had done nothing.

The devices were not even supposed to have been real.  They were supposed to be inert, inactive, neutralized.

T his was not supposed to happen.