Fracture

Contents

Forward

Prologue

One

Year 2167

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Epilogue

A note from the Author

Forward

We begin in a world that is in turmoil, both with each other and within itself. World War One, the war to end all wars, was followed by World War Two. This was also said to be the last world war. But, as they say, history repeats itself, just not in the ways one might expect.

In the year 2046 relations were not well between America and China. North Korea, too, had issues with the Americans. The beginning of another cold war seemed to have taken hold. The U.N. had been broken into two sectors. America was the leader of the Civil Sector. The other sector had no title; it was simply referred to as the Q Sector. Diplomatic missions had failed for years, and intelligence wars were going on behind the scenes of every attempt at peace.

World War Two, the war to end all world wars, was remembered. In a feud over oil, the Russians launched a nuclear warhead on China. World War Three had begun on August 14th, 2049. It was China, North Korea, and the Q Sector, warring against Russia and the Civil Sector. Estimates of twelve nuclear warheads were launched by both sides combined at this time. This killed countless innocent civilians. Most battles were fought from missile silos, not with infantry. The war went on for years, it lasted a total of thirteen. By the year 2060, neither side had surrendered, but neither side had much in the way of reserves either.

It was a time of terrible suffering. The last nuclear warhead was dropped on New York City, killing over 600,000 of its inhabitants instantly, and another 236,000 from radiation sickness. Finally the leaders of the U.N. met to discuss an end to war in 2062. After months of bickering, finally the leader of the United States proposed something in which all the countries agreed: the loading and demolition of all semi-automatic to automatic weaponry, including missiles. So it was all loaded onto 60,000 different space craft and sent off into the unknowns of the galaxy. Every household weapon was confiscated and demolished as well.

The schematics of how to make weaponry were burned. Law enforcement had guns confiscated as well, but was dealt heavy stun sticks in compensation. Nothing was left, and over the years the law had a tight grip on whoever would try to manufacture guns. Some were killed without trial. Others were tried and found guilty, which ultimately led to the same end.

There were cameras everywhere, watching every move, every breath, and every soft word. For the next one hundred years it was impossible to get a gun, or any type of explosive weaponry. No one knew how to manufacture guns or explosives anymore. It was a world without war, a world without firearms or explosives. All nations joined into provinces, each with their own rule, all governed by a council and president. An International World Order was formed, and so this gave rise to the first global government.

But history takes many forms, and spiritual concepts are lost to those that experience no trials. Thus the fracture that separates the free man from a free life…

Prologue

The man that sat across the desk was a devil of the worst kind, at least that’s what Martin Roves considered him. The deal he was about to make could complete a cycle that started with the first in power long ago. He couldn’t do it alone, no, he needed this wicked snake, but he would do away with him in time.

So, you agree to the terms then?

He looked down at the paper. It looked like the document had been written in blood. Red ink smeared the writing along each margin. It was as if the man sitting across from him with the long scar from his ear to his chin had pricked his finger and then penned the document using his bloodied appendage.

Yes, Martin said absently. You claim that you can come close to the agreement on your end?

The man smirked underneath the black beret that covered his head. He glanced at the door behind Martin and spit into the spittoon by the door, the wad of mucus arced into the golden vase with a ping.

Of course, we are always one hundred percent satisfaction guaranteed.

A smile started to form on Martin’s lips. The transaction would make him a rich and powerful man indeed. He took the pen from the man opposite the desk and scribbled his name on the contract.

There you go, no bickering about it now. It’s a deal.

The scar-faced man stood and thrust out his hand. Down payment then?

Martin grimaced and took the object out of his pocket. It was wrapped in a green cloth that he had stolen from one of the closets at the office. He slid it across the table towards the man.

There you go, that should be down payment enough. He smiled and turned to leave, hesitated, and spun back around. The scar-faced man stood still unheeding to Martin’s sudden offensive. How quickly did you say this is going to work itself out?

The man sat down and stuck a sucker in his mouth. He looked beyond Martin to the door. It will take as long as we decide it will take, but we’ve never failed before, so we don’t appreciate the lack of confidence. He smirked, popped the sucker out of his mouth, and stood. My employer would be very angry if he knew that you doubted him.

Fear fluttered in Martin’s stomach, he stilled it easily with a quick breath, No worries, I was just wondering to satisfy my own curiosity. Thanks again. He stuck out his hand, but the man didn’t flinch. Martin frowned and started to exit the room.

Dr. Roves. That froze him. Make sure you keep your curiosity at a minimum. We need each other, but you need us a lot more than we need you.

Martin grimaced. Maybe this had been a mistake. No, it hadn’t been, he had never made a mistake.

One

Year 2167

Richard Wells scaled the stairs of the International Defense Headquarters; he silently skipped from step to step counting the steps two at a time. Forty, forty-two, forty-four, he had done this routine for the past fifteen years; this though, was a new day. No longer was he in charge of simple defense training, he was now going to train the secret service of the World Government Organization.

Seventy-four, and seventy-six. He pounced on the final step with both his feet, allowing himself to resemble an Olympic athlete that had just stuck a dismount. Richard tugged at the tails of his freshly steamed and ironed sports jacket and walked with confidence for the door that read Employed Personnel Only. He lowered his sunglasses and permitted his eyes to be scanned and his retinal pattern to be affirmed. Next he quickly scanned his entrance card, took a thumb print and DNA scan. The routine was monotonous, but one got good at doing it quickly over a period of time.

A slightly metallic woman’s voice stated, Senior staff and trainer, Richard Wells.

The door flew open, he walked through. Not one second after he walked through, the door slammed behind him noiselessly.

After entering he took a sharp left and threw his jacket into the containment sphere, which subsequently pressed and hung the jacket with the rest of the twenty thousand male employees’. He took off on a small jog down the west wing hallway feeling as vibrant and alive as ever. There was something about starting a new job, even if it was in the same building, that added to life. Not to mention the increase in salary wasn’t too bad either.

His tight performance shirt clung to his upper body, accenting every ripple and flex of his muscular upper half. His legs were proportionate to his massive upper body, but concealed by business pants and the performance shorts he wore underneath them.

Richard had worked in the same building his entire career, starting at sixteen. He remembered the wonder with which he revered this building when he’d first set foot in it as a wide-eyed ambitious teenager from a small town in Texas. His parents had dropped him off without so much as a word, although the tears in his mother’s eyes were telling enough about the emotions that were the whirl-wind of that day. He remembered it as if it were yesterday; the smells, the anxiety, his father’s cold stare all warped together in a tapestry of emotions, some good and some bad. He mostly remembered the bad.

The building had never lost its marvel. It was magnificent, being built in Ireland with the express purpose to resemble a compass, it was supposed to symbolize to the whole world the peace that they enjoyed. Most buildings have four wings with the cardinal directions, but the World Defense Training headquarters was a twenty story building with eight wings. North, Northeast, East, Southeast, South, Southwest, West, and Northwest, with the end of each wing jutting out into an arrow for its particular direction, all in the same marble-white stone, inside and out. He took a deep breath and glanced around at the glossy white walls. It was, indeed, a good day.

Richard. A voice came from behind.

Without stopping, Richard turned and saw John Phelps catching up with him. His associate was dressed in his normal attire. Richard had always thought the white dress shoes with black clinging slacks and blue collared business shirt was rather boring. He had told John as much before, but as was John’s custom, the suggestion was met with a wry smile and a shrug. Richard smirked and politely waved at the man.

Richard!

What is it John? And no, I do not have time to talk about your date last night, I’m close to being late for the first class the way it is. The joke was unheeded and Richard saw the urgency in his associate’s face. Okay, hit me with it, how was she? Richard winked, but again John blew off his sarcasm.

Sir, excuse me, but the thing is, is that, I know you’ve been… The light-hearted atmosphere evaporated and Richard eyed him inquisitively.

Just say it man. Richard slowed to allow his associate to catch up.

The class has been disbanded.

Warmth grew up Richard’s neck, of course, this was his luck. Faithful service from the time he was just sixteen and his first big promotion was halted.

Huh… I don’t think I understand, what do you mean… disbanded? Richard tried, with little success to conceal his frustration. Sweat had started to bead up on his forehead and he swiped at it mindlessly.

Yes sir, we tried to reach you this morning but your Pilotron wasn’t on, or you weren’t picking up.

It’s getting fixed. Now explain to me why this class is cancelled.

Nobody knows sir, it was in a memo this morning from the… John stopped to remove the electronic Stici-note from his pant pocket, President of World Security.

The final words hit Richard like a stun-stick. Keep talking, he said, trying to conceal the concern in his voice.

By now both had come to a complete stop in the middle of the bustling hallway. Men and women hurried past them with their own agendas and talking into their Pilotrons. A woman almost ran into them and tossed an ugly look their way.

Richard had been uneasy about the new President of World Security. There was an air of ugliness about the man, something that had shown itself the second Richard had set eyes on him.

He set up a meeting for all the trainers today, something about international security.

Well. Said Richard.

Well what, sir?

When is this meeting?

That’s what I was trying to tell you, sir, right now. You are the final trainer. You know where Roves’ office…

Panic hit Richard in the gut; his reputation for being late was what had delayed his promotion in the first place. Before John finished he did a quick about-face and sprinted down the hallway.

Even though Richard was a swift sprinter it still took him over five minutes to get to the President of Security’s office, dodging, sometimes unsuccessfully, this person and that person along the way. Once he had actually knocked over a woman who was talking on her Pilotron and dropped it. He would have stopped to help but both the icy glare the woman threw him and the fact that he was late, very late, kept him from doing so.

When he finally arrived he stood and drew in a deep breath. He could hear voices beyond the polished door. Richard gently laid his hand on it, which was slightly warm to the touch despite the appearance of a cool metal. Just as he had feared, they had commenced the meeting without him. He bent over, putting both hands firmly on his knees, and once again drew in a deep breath, sighed, and opened the door.

Richard walked into the room, which was by appearance small, but upon entrance he saw that over seven hundred men and women stood on an elevated platform, each with a hologram of his or her name on the floor. Every eye turned to him, and even Martin Roves stopped lecturing while Richard desperately searched for his designated area. Even the most hardened of men could be brought to their knees in embarrassment. He spotted his area and moved forward on trembling legs.

These meetings had specific spots designated for each individual; if they did not, there would be no accurate way to determine if someone was missing, although it was always quite obvious when someone was late as Richard was now. These holograms were also sensory activated, able to read someone’s DNA from up to four feet away.

He found his spot next to Christina Golfend, and tried to the best of his ability to squeeze into it without attracting too much attention, even though every eye seemed to be on him already. Christina was an attractive lady in her mid-twenties, about five foot six inches with a build that made a world class gymnast look unfit, but still not too bulky. She had high cheek bones and piercing blue eyes accompanied by blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders. Her overall demeanor demanded respect and authority, she was an intimidating woman.

Richard had worked with her only twice before, and had sparred with her once. To his embarrassment she had nearly beat him in the sparring match, he had his suspicions that she had let him win to salvage his masculinity. She was more skilled than he, and quicker, being a level eight, whereas he had only recently earned his level seven status.

His dream was to one day be one of the elite, although with each passing year it seemed that he would never reach that level of experience. These select individuals were as high as level fifteen security agents; however one could be considered elite as low as level ten. It seemed to Richard that he was more likely to get killed on this mission than to ever receive elite status. His father had always discouraged him from this way of life, he intended to prove his father wrong, but it seemed with each year he only supported his father’s calloused statements.

Below them stood a stocky man, about five foot nine or ten inches, weighing about 185 pounds as far as Richard could make out from his seat in the upper level of the stadium-like conference room. His blazing black eyes sent a chill down Richard’s spine, a seemingly friendly smile formed on the man’s face. This was Dr. Martin Roves. Even though he stood at a short height, he made up for it in strength, dexterity, and endurance. The man’s chiseled body could be seen even hiding behind the suit he was currently sporting: form fitting blue slacks accompanied with a navy blue collared shirt and a gold tie. He could handle each person in the room with only his left hand. This man, whom many thought was of ostensible malcontent presently spoke. He shot a condemning glare in Richard’s direction, and subsequently ignored him for the remainder of the lecture.

All of you are confused as to why we are here today, and rightfully so; we have disbanded security classes for the time being because there is an emergency which needs to be held in the strictest of confidence. As none of you know, or should know for that matter, plans of a quite illegal form leaked out from an inside source on how to make a simplistic form of weaponry which we have been able to keep out of use for the past century.

Despite his best attempts to seem business-like, Richard noticed that Dr. Roves had a shakable way in his speech, unaccustomed to public addresses, Richard guessed, or he was genuinely afraid of the situation. The former seemed more likely.

He went on, "The plans were supposedly destroyed after World War Three ended, however, it seems that these particular plans have been stolen. The schematics for a simple handgun, called a Browning Buckmark in the year 2005, these plans are not to be used to make anymore weaponry. We believe that this act of treason was committed by a group of rebels that call themselves The Unseen. Up till now this group has acted as a political party, but they will be tolerated no longer. We are pairing you with one another to look for the responsible party. We are using you instead of our elite agents because we need this as quiet as possible. No one expects trainers to hunt down a gun-threat. As soon as this party is found, report them, and the plans, back to me immediately and they will be dealt with accordingly. We need them alive, I repeat, alive."

Martin Roves turned and left the room. He sagged as he passed through the open doorway exiting the stage. Richard guessed he was the only person who took note. The words Dr. Roves spoke worked their way into Richard’s brain. This was the greatest threat to the International World Order since the revolt of 2097.

By the end of the meeting he had been paired up with Christina, as he figured he would be. She, being the senior officer took the initiative in the planning for the tracking of their section. Richard spoke little during the tactical meeting. Each time he had interjected Christina shot him a glare that shook his confidence. How a woman so pretty could be so cold he would never understand, of course he could hardly understand men let alone women.

He remained silent for the remainder of the meeting and took careful note of the plans, committing them to memory. Apparently, the schematics were last known to be on the continent of North America near the province of Utah, this province was one of the largest, encompassing the former states of California, Oregon, Washington, Nevada, Montana, and Utah. They were to start where the plans were last known to be, in a small town called Leamington. At least they were told that much in their file. All this evidence could be fabricated, why would they be the ones that get to trace the most solid leads? He shook the thought from his mind and continued the meticulous preparation for the mission.

The town of Leamington was, prior to World War Three, the smallest town in the state of Utah. It was now larger, but it was still the smallest town in the province. The town had a population of only about two hundred before the war, but after becoming a relocation town at the war’s end the city grew incredibly to about twenty thousand. However, in the last sixty years, droves of people had been leaving and it had dwindled to a measly fifteen hundred or so. Many believed this was due to the radical group The Unseen. This was pure speculation, though, since this group had been known as nothing more than political or, at the very most, religious. Not many people knew anything about this group, save for those who were in it. Personally Richard liked it that way. As far as he was concerned these religious and political groups could stay in hiding as long as they didn’t poison the world with their nonsensical theories on life and its meaning.

This was where Richard and Christina would fly to on a private jet out of Dublin the next day. Their first bullet on the agenda was to find and interrogate someone that was in league with The Unseen.

Richard closed his eyes and drew in a collective breath, he had never been sent out on the field as an operative. He knew all the rules and could handle himself in combat, but this situation seemed daunting. Even though he was trained for it from the age of sixteen, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of uneasiness about the whole predicament, mostly because of his superior, Dr. Roves, but also because of his partner. Her commanding way seemed reckless to Richard, and there was a look in her eye of reproach towards Richard. That was probably just his mind chasing ghosts, though.

After talking with Christina for a good half of an hour about travel plans and the mission that was set before them, he made his way home. She had taken over the meeting and he felt small after he had left the building, not only because she had taken over but also because his promotion was, yet again, put on hold.

It was nearly dark out and the faint crash of waves on a rock face to his west brought a cool breeze that ruffled his thick black hair. He ran his hand through it and exhaled, popped his neck, and moved towards his car, descending the same steps he had climbed so jovially that morning.

Something about this ordeal didn’t sit well with him. Someone knew how to make a gun, or so it seemed, and if they were too late, the world would be turned upside down. It wasn’t just that, though. Something about the world government didn’t seem right lately either.

About twenty years ago, a new world president had been elected, this man’s name was Seymour Longsten. He’d only been eleven at the time, but he remembered the cheers and the promises left unfulfilled.

Throughout Longsten’s tenure it seemed that he emphasized less production and more security, which in and of itself was not bad, but the measures seemed to become more and more extreme. Two years ago, Longsten passed a law disbanding the rest of the World Council, which many people saw as a good thing. The World Council had been nothing but a hotbed for arguments from old men past their time. Richard had had the privilege of sitting in on one of the final sessions. It was four hours of worthless bickering. Longsten took ownership of all political decisions and added to his regime two more men.

One of these men was the newly appointed head of security, Martin Roves. The third and final addition was made only months ago, a man which had hardly been seen in public. His name was Francis Arazia, he was in charge of domestic surveillance. This man, too, had a mystery about him. No one had heard his name up until the time he was appointed and no one had heard about him or seen him since his inauguration. As far as the world knew, he didn’t exist and the president had taken on his role too.

All other responsibilities lay on the shoulders of President Longsten and his cohorts. This included commerce, agriculture, and energy. Commerce was good, since all retail was controlled by the government and prices were controlled; though they seemed high, there was no competition. This gave the government hold as a monopoly, one day the price of bread could be ten dollars, the next it might raise to twenty.

Pay was decent, but had gone down over the past few years, which made it difficult for some people to even buy the bare minimum. Richard wasn’t complaining though, he had a hefty annual income of nearly 800,000,000 dollars a year.

None of this compared to what had happened just recently, however. President Longsten had just ratified a law that had forbidden all public display of religion. Richard himself could have cared less, because he had never seen the merit in religion. To focus on something so abstract seemed detrimental to ones life. Longsten’s reason however had been a little different than Richard’s. He claimed that religion held ideals contrary to world progress and that if the world were to unify it could not be hindered by difference in religious beliefs.

Richard thought that he had a point, but many people across the world went into an uproar at the divulgement of this law. This is what had apparently led to the formation of The Unseen, it seemed that a group didn’t want to stop meeting. That, as far as Richard could tell was the real reason for the little club, just to continue worshiping whatever god they wished. It seemed strange to Richard that such a small organization would have the resources or even the desire to steal such sensitive material. They had to know that it would not go undetected. Of course most religious types were stupid, at least that’s what he had heard, so why wouldn’t they try it?

Richard’s car pulled into the narrow driveway of his home in Wicklow. Wicklow was but a stone’s throw from Dublin, in his hydro-car it would take nearly twenty minutes at a rate of 195 kilometers per hour. His flight left at five in the morning so he had a good seven hours to sleep when he got home. His eyes weighed heavy from the day’s events and he was in much need of some sleep, as Christina had so generously pointed out to him.

Christina had agreed to meet him at the airport. Since it wasn’t public, it would take only a few minutes to get in the plane and off with the flight. At sub-light, or Mach 15, speed, in which a jet punched out to at or over 5,104 meters per second, it would take only a few hours to reach Leamington from Dublin.

As he walked up the steps to his house, it was a grand sight. He had bought this house upon celebration of his recent promotion. It was, in hindsight, a bad idea. The multilevel four hundred million dollar house was a lonely place for a bachelor, let alone an only child. His father rarely visited from the province of Texas, out of contempt Richard assumed. And his mother, his only true fan, had passed away seven years ago. It would have been a grand house party if Richard divulged in relationships, friendship or otherwise.

Presently he walked toward his door. A light was on in the upper left room of the house, one of the guest bedrooms perhaps, or maybe one of the studies. He hadn’t had time to memorize the diagram of his house, but he was sure he hadn’t gone anywhere other than his bedroom, bathroom and outside before he had left earlier. Still, he must have, it was the only viable option as to why the light remained on.

He went through the morning’s events in his mind. Showering, dressing, and leaving. Nothing pointed to his use of any of the rooms in the upper left corner, seeing as his master bedroom was down two levels and in the right side. Richard gingerly moved forward to his front door. No one could get into his house without his DNA imprint, even then one would have to voice deactivate the alarm and entrapment system.

He moved forward and quietly laid his thumb on the thumbprint/DNA sensor. It beeped twice and a metallic male voice spoke, Voice authorization please.

Richard Wells, Warlord off. A series of beeps and trills followed his statement, then the door swung open, Richard stepped into his house, muscles tense and at the ready. Nothing.

He sighed and reached for his jacket only to come to the realization that he had left it at work. He grunted in anger, cursed under his breath, and ran up the stairs to his room. Richard was stripping himself of his shirt, exposing his strong chest and bulging arms, when he remembered that he had left the door open. He vaulted himself down the stairs, annoyed. He made it to the doorway before he noticed it; a figure in his peripheral vision. He froze.

Richard’s mind raced thoughts of panic and stupidity through him all in an instant. How could he have been so clumsy, he had been trained to expect the unexpected.

He closed his eyes, exhaled and calmed himself, realizing that if he had been in any real danger the figure, whoever it was, would have promptly attacked him, and he would be dead now. Instead it sat, waiting.

Two

Richard Wells spun quickly, but what he saw was something he wasn’t prepared for. It took a lot to freeze a man like him in amazement, but here he was, frozen to the wooden panels of his entryway, forgetting to close the door. He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t muster a breath let alone any words. Nearly forgetting his half-naked appearance, he could hardly believe what, or rather who, it was that sat waiting for him. Who was this anyway? The thought clattered around his mind.

Richard realized that the door remained ajar, but he stood dumbly, frozen in time for a few seconds. Finally, he gathered enough sense to rotate his body, half expecting to be attacked upon his full rotation. He closed the door and continued the rotation, completing the three-sixty. Richard looked at the intruder and examined him, darting his eyes up and down the man’s body, trying to force his muscles to relax.

The man’s face was covered by a book he had apparently retrieved from the library while leaving its light on. Only a tuft of white hair was visible below the cover, otherwise The Art of Subtlety covered the intruder’s face entirely. Two more books were at the man’s side, Gulliver’s Travels, an old relic his mom had given Richard a year before her death, and 12 Signs that Your World is Ending, a book Richard had gotten as a prank from some of his friends in Texas upon leaving for training in Dublin.

How long had the man been waiting for him? He seemed to have finished two books and he was well on the way to finish a third.

As Richard stared, the man lowered the book just enough to reveal soft hazel eyes behind aged skin. He looked to be in his eighties, but did not, however, look senile as might be expected. His eyes were deep with wisdom and vitality. His long white hair and flowing beard looked pure, and though he was aged, he had athleticism about him. It was almost as if Richard was looking at a human portrait of a god. Richard narrowed his eyes to remove blur from this Zeus-like figure that sat upright in his reclining chair. Richard grunted, trying to catch the man’s attention. Was he unaware that he had been caught?

The old man, in response, lifted his hand, After I’m finished with this page, son. He said it in a manner that seemed fatherly; a deep melodious voice that invited Richard to jump on his lap and listen to old farm stories.

Richard dismissed the meaningless thought. This man was no father figure, he was an intruder. A burglar perhaps? But no, he hadn’t taken anything; instead he forced Richard to wait for an explanation. Angry at the sentiment, Richard cleared his throat again, about to reprimand the old geezer. The old man slowly closed the book and peered at Richard, the light from the lamp danced in his eyes playfully.

Patience, my son, something you need to work on. He stood and set the book down. Surprisingly, he didn’t move slowly as Richard assumed he would have, his movement was swift and with purpose. His eyes, deep with wisdom, or at least the appearance of such, peered into Richard’s relentlessly.

You are wondering right now, Richard. So the old man knew his name, this wasn’t some random break in. Richard shifted his weight as the old man continued, Who am I and why am I here? How did I get in here without you or anybody else knowing?

The deep voice rang forward, quietly, yet louder than a whisper. It was a voice unlike any Richard had heard, somehow it brought a sense of comfort. Richard was wondering all this, and more, which unnerved him. He wasn’t sure why the thought of simple deduction unnerved him so; he, too, had been trained in the art of observation. Something behind the old man’s eyes, though, as they stared fixedly at him, made him uneasy.

Yes, was all Richard could muster.

A warm smile formed on the old man’s mouth, and brightness lit his eyes. The look reminded Richard of countless paintings and pictures of a man known as Kris Kringle he had seen as a child.

Uh huh, said the man jovially. My child, technology does not stop the heart.

He said it playfully, like a challenge to a schoolyard buddy. It took Richard off guard. Maybe he had misjudged the man. He didn’t look crazy, but Richard did not dismiss the notion that maybe he was some kook that had escaped from a mental ward down the road. But that wouldn’t explain his ability to sneak in unnoticed. Unless this was some sort of neighborhood prank, an odd way to welcome a new neighbor to the community.

Please, take a seat, my child, we have much to discuss.

Richard noticed that he had only breathed once in the last five minutes, he released the stale air from his lungs and sat plump on the couch across from the old man, collecting himself. You know, he managed slowly, not knowing why he was so afraid, I could kill you in seconds.

All the old man did was smile; the deep look in his eyes penetrated Richard to the core causing an inadvertent shudder.

Yes, you could. You could also notify the authorities of me at any moment, but you haven’t. You have six silent alarms in your house, which directly notify Wicklow security.

Richard sat, dumbfounded, though he quickly masked his surprise. How could he know that? Clearly he had underestimated the old man. Sweat started to bead on his forehead, but he stayed his hands and took a deep breath. He hadn’t been trained by the brightest minds in the world for nothing, there was always a reason and always a way out, it just took a trained eye to notice it, and his eyes had been trained by the best.

It is this fact that brings me here, and you are the only one that can help me, son. I know more about you than you know of yourself.

Richard disregarded the heinous comment and quickly calculated the possibilities of the old man entering his house unbeknownst to him or anyone else. The odds were decidedly stacked against the old man, without a Jackel it was impossible.

Recovering from his shock, Richard took in his setting tactically within a few seconds; the lamppost not ten feet away, useless, a scarf next to Richard on the couch, and an old replica of a medieval long-sword bolted to the wall above the old man’s head, if this was a trap he could grab the scarf and do a quick back flip through the window behind his couch gaining the tactical advantage.

There was no doubt in Richard’s mind that he could move fast enough to out-maneuver the old man. A quick strangle with the scarf if need be, or a simple punch to the throat. He could handle the rest of whoever was after him with the long-sword on the wall. It may be blunt but it still could deliver a devastating blow if properly handled.

He fixed his eyes on the old man and examined his movements, there was no hostility in his posture which meant one of two things: One, he was really here for a nonviolent purpose to reveal something Richard hadn’t known, or two, he masked his intentions well and Richard was underestimating him.

Even now you are finding ways to prevent me from harming you. I know how you think Richard; I know who you are and what you’re doing.

The old man’s knowledge of Richard was admittedly frustrating; anger began to boil beneath his skin. How dare this man break into his house and tell him who he really was.

How did you get in? Richard asked quietly. The old man just smiled again, apparently not taken aback by the snide remark.

Knowing how will not change the fact that I did, Richard. It will not prevent me from doing it again either, so I ask you Richard, why do you wish to know?

Richard scanned the old man, thought, then said the only word that came to mind, Curiosity.

The old man laughed a warm friendly laugh, almost as if it were in jest. It again reminded Richard of old Kris Kringle, Christmas, and the admittedly uneventful holiday seasons with his own family. He wiped the memories from his mind; the focus was on the now, not the then.

Yes, yes, said the old man, clapping his hands twice without rhythm, Curiosity. He emphasized each syllable as if he was teaching a two year old how to say the word and he chuckled again. Well if you must know, even the best technology is subject to a brilliant mind. I simply overrode your encryption via a Jackel chip through a portable diphome and I installed my own parameters for entrance. Now take a seat, let us continue in a civil manner.

Richard nodded his head, this revelation wasn’t a surprise, and really it was the only way it could have been done. What was a surprise, though, was the fact that this man had access to something like a Jackel and had bothered to tell him about it. Either he didn’t view Richard as much of a threat or he was entirely confident in his plan to get away.

The Jackel chip was highly illegal, only four were known to be in existence. The world government had two, and the other two still had not been located. They had come into existence a few years ago for the government to use as surveillance tools, someone decided that it would be worth a lot of money to steal them and sell them privately. This old man, seemed to have one, and he knew how to use it. Jackels’ main purposes were to scramble signals, and delete encrypted codes while simultaneously imprinting their own code into any system. After one did what one had to do with it, say some criminal act or surveillance on unsuspecting citizens, all he or she had to do was reenter the encryptions by reversing the Jackel’s routing process. The use of a Jackel was virtually impossible to track, and it was completely impossible to know when one was being used.

But where are my manners, dear Richard, I am White. Just White, no last name. He flashed a warm smile, I have come to you because there are things you must know, we haven’t much time so listen carefully.

Part of Richard wanted to shoo this old man, White, out of his house and be done with him. The other part of him, the curious part which was captivated by Mr. White’s deep soothing voice, wanted to hear and perhaps believe. The latter part won the struggle of mind and heart and Richard found himself saying, almost as if it were a question, "Go on."

White’s smile grew even larger, and then suddenly his gaze turned stern.

Mr. Wells, what I am about to tell you is something you do not want to hear, and I do not believe you have the capacity to even understand now. However, I hope that soon you will see that I am correct in all I say. The man you serve is not serving what you think he is.

His voice had changed from melodic and deep to tight and strained as he shared his troubles with Richard.

You think he stands for justice and truth, when in fact he stands for the opposite. White broke his gaze, and then continued. "The regime which has been established is a dangerous one. These men will use their power for evil. A greater evil than you or I could imagine. It starts tomorrow. They will tell you of things that you mustn’t believe, and they will work to annihilate anything that stands in the way of progress. Richard, the very thing they have warned you of is what they have become. You must believe me, Richard, and you will. Maybe not now, but you will."

White stood up, deliberately dropped a piece of paper, and left into the blackness of the night.

Richard watched as White left, stunned by the abruptness of the encounter. He absently bent down and picked up the piece of paper that White had dropped on the floor in front of him. The paper had a number and a few phrases scribbled on it.

(333) 777-7777. Live to the end that you believe is the right. Remember Richard, technology does not stop the heart.

What was he to make of the claims that he