Interlude-Brandon (The Game is Life)

  Interlude -

  Brandon

  Terry Schott

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright ©2012 by Terry Schott

  Editing by Alan Seeger

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedication

  April 2013

  Well, I have certainly been writing some words down.

  Stephen King says you should write for a primary reader; someone who gets the way you think and likes your writing enough to read it, and then helps you make it better with your honest feedback. A “First Reader” is what he calls that person.

  Thanks to Karen Schott for being my first reader and my biggest fan ever since I began to post chapters of The Game. Your encouragement, feedback and honest opinions have been extremely valuable to me during this entire process. I could fill a chapter with all the help and encouragement you've given me on this journey of writing… but I will simply say thank you so very much, Karen. I’m truly grateful for your support.

  Next I want to thank my blog readers. To name you all would be difficult, so I will name those of you who posted comments on my blog (hint, hint… post comments on my next book during the blog phase and I will mention you here for your dedication!). Thanks to Sarah-Marie, Xandra, Sean, AJ, Tony, Brittany, Euph, Derek and Cloud Evangelist! If I missed you, please e-mail me and I will revise this.

  Also thanks to those who follow me on Facebook and have left so many encouraging comments! I love to hear from people that like the story so far, and the e-mails and Facebook comments make my day when I get them. Thank you so much, everyone! I appreciate it.

  Thanks also to Alan Seeger for editing this beast, and to Kerstin Campagna for replying to the e-mails when I cry for help and you respond with a new cover for me far better than I could hope to come up with myself!

  I hope you enjoy this one… it was a blast to write.

  Terry

  Chapter 1

  “It would be better if the boy could stay with you, sir. We do our best, but he would certainly have a more normal life with you as his guardian. That’s something he will not receive here at the South Western Children’s Centre.”

  The man felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he looked at the small boy through the one-way glass. Just two years old, with dark brown hair and eyes, the child was sitting on the floor playing with some blocks. Occasionally he would look up and glance around the room as if searching for someone before returning to his task.

  He’s looking for me, the man thought, but quickly shook his head in denial. No, it’s his parents he’s looking for.

  The child’s parents were dead. A horrible accident had claimed them over a year ago. The man had done his best to take care of their son — his nephew — but after struggling for a year, he knew that he couldn’t do it. He was too young to raise a child on his own. He had a business to build, and plans for a future that he could not — would not — sacrifice. He couldn’t offer the boy anything.

  He’ll be better off here, the man repeated the lie once more in his head.

  “Keeping him isn’t an option,” he said. “I’ve researched these facilities and found yours to be best there is.”

  “Even the best of our facilities are lacking in many areas, sir. Perhaps if…”

  “Enough,” the man said. “I have to go. Let’s stop this useless chattering and finish the paperwork.”

  The Centre administrator nodded his head. “Of course, sir.” He pushed three documents across the table to the man, along with a pen. “If you will just sign these release forms, our business will be concluded and you’ll be free to leave. The first transfers control of the funds you are offering. 500,000 credits, to be paid to our facility.”

  “Which will be used to provide for the boy’s needs,” the man said. He'd made this perfectly clear, but wanted to make certain there was no misunderstanding.

  “Absolutely, sir,” the administrator smiled. If the uncle had been paying closer attention, he’d have recognized the lie, but he was distracted.

  “The second form transfers complete guardianship of the boy over to us until he is eighteen years of age.” He waited politely while both were signed. “The third document surrenders any rights you have to ever know where the boy is, or how he is doing. You will not be able to contact him again, sir.”

  The man paused with his pen over the paper. It seemed as if he might ask a question, but then he shook his head and scratched his signature above the line.

  He stood up and looked at the boy through the glass a final time, hoping that he’d done the right thing, and then walked towards the door.

  “Sir?” The administrator called after him. The man paused and turned back to face him.

  “What is the boy’s name?”

  The man almost sobbed. He knew he shouldn’t leave. He knew deep inside that this wouldn’t turn out well, but instead he took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Brandon,” he said. “His name is Brandon.”

  Chapter 2

  “It’s a great honour to meet you, General.”

  “I can assure you that the honour is entirely mine, Mr. Thorn.”

  “Please, General — call me Samson.”

  “Only if you call me Donovan.”

  The two men shook hands and sat beside each other at the long main table of the crowded banquet hall, which was filled with people eating and conversing.

  “So what do you think of the evening so far, Donovan?”

  “I think it’s everything one could expect it to be,” he said. The conversation paused while a servant filled their glasses with red wine.

  “A colossal waste of time and a pain in the ass?” Thorn asked.

  The General laughed loudly, startling those around him and attracting looks from people throughout the room. Thorn smiled politely and took a sip of wine.

  “Your assessment is perfect, Samson,” the General said. “It boggles the mind… how can we be such an intelligent society, and yet remain so pompous?”

  “People enjoy gathering to celebrate their heroes, General,” Thorn said.

  “They’re here tonight to celebrate me, and I thought you were supposed to call me by my name — Mister Thorn.”

  “Right you are,” Thorn smiled. “You deserve this party tonight, Donovan. You’ve led our nation from the brink of world war into an era of absolute peace. That’s cause to celebrate, no matter who you ask.”

  “There’s no such thing as absolute peace,” Donovan said. “We currently have a bigger gun pointed at the rest of the world. When that changes, then this ‘peace’ will quickly disappear.”

  “I agree,” Thorn replied. “I’ve been trying to meet you for months now to discuss exactly this topic, Donovan.”

  “That’s not possible.” The General shook his head. “If you’d requested a meeting, I would have accepted instantly.”

  “Repeated attempts to meet with you have all been denied,” Thorn said.

  “My assistant knows that I’m a fan of yours. If he’s responsible for keeping us apart…”

  “I’m surprised you’ve even heard of me,” Thorn admitted.

  “You’re being modest,” Donovan said. “You’ve taken the world of computing and information processing to miraculou
s levels.”

  “Yes, well, thank you.”

  “No, Samson, thank you.” Donovan leaned in close and whispered. “Did you know that it was your technology which helped to win this war?”

  “What?” Thorn was genuinely surprised. “I had no idea.”

  The General nodded as he reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out a cell phone. He smiled pleasantly as he dialed and then put the phone to his ear. “Yeah, I’ve been waiting for you to contact me. I’m so busy that I never had time to seek you out, but I figured you would come looking to meet me. It’s a horrible excuse, I know, but when you’re in my position you can get away with it.”

  Thorn started to reply, but Donovan held up his hand for silence. “Hello, Brad. No, everything is fine at the dinner. Listen, Brad I’m sitting beside someone who you know I’ve wanted to meet for a long time. No, not him; I’m talking about Samson Thorn.”

  The General smiled as he listened to Brad on the other end of the line. Thorn smiled, too, as he imagined Brad stammering and apologizing, trying to extricate himself from the trouble he was in.

  After a few moments, the General spoke up. “That’s all well and good, Brad, but the fact is that you knew how badly I wanted to meet Mr. Thorn, and yet you have apparently gone out of your way to prevent it.”

  The General listened to Brad’s frantic excuses on the other end of the line, but it was apparent from the look on his face that it was all in vain. “Mm-hmm. Stop talking now, Brad, and listen very carefully to what I’m about to say. Are you listening…? Excellent. You have one-half hour. Good luck to you, Brad.” The General hung up the phone and tucked it back into his pocket.

  “There, now where were we?” he asked.

  “He has one-half hour for what?” Thorn asked.

  The General lowered his voice. “Brad has just been fired. He has a half hour to get as far away from me as he possibly can. Then I will hunt for him. Don’t worry, I won’t hunt that hard. If he’s stupid enough to cross any paths that I influence…”

  “Sounds nasty,” Thorn said.

  “Brad’s a clever guy,” the General shrugged. “He’ll likely be fine. What was it that you wanted to meet with me about?”

  “I’m quite intrigued by your use of games in training and development,” Thorn said.

  “What a coincidence,” The General said. “I wanted to meet with you concerning the exact same thing.”

  “You want to use computers and my knowledge to develop games for your use?” Thorn guessed.

  “Great minds think alike, it seems,” the General smiled.

  “Perhaps we should enjoy this evening and meet soon?”

  “How does tomorrow morning sound?”

  “Tomorrow would be perfect,” Thorn smiled. “Should I just show up at your office, or call for an appointment… with Brad?”

  The General loosed another loud laugh and took a drink from his glass.

  Chapter 3

  Brad sat in first class looking out the window and smiling with pleasure at the progress he’d made. It had been nearly seven hours since he’d spoken to the General, and he was still alive.

  He’d known from day one that becoming the General’s aide was a deferred death sentence. The General had pleasantly disclosed this fact at the beginning of his employment, seven months earlier. The General was a straight shooter who insisted on entering into important agreements with all pertinent information laid out. Like every other person who had optimistically accepted the position of General's aide, Brad was convinced that he would be different. He was extremely intelligent, and there had been no doubt in his mind that he would quickly become indispensable to the General.

  Brad’s dreams had come crashing to a halt just a few hours ago, when he picked up the phone and heard the General speak the dreaded five words, “You have one-half hour.”

  Not one to waste time, Brad had hung up the phone and immediately grabbed his emergency bag. It contained his passport — forged, of course — different types of currency, and several stolen but valid credit cards. He knew the General was a man of his word; there would be no one looking for him until half an hour had passed.

  Brad had walked out the front door of his apartment, walked past his regular automobile, and strolled to another car parked two blocks away. He’d thrown his bag onto the passenger seat and driven away, leaving his old life behind.

  Fifteen minutes later, he’d arrived at the local airport. He’d been busy during the drive, making one call after another on a never-before-used and unregistered cell phone. He pulled up to the main doors of the airport, got out of the car with his bag, and walked calmly into the terminal. He glanced casually behind him and noticed a man already getting into the car he’d left running. The General had a complex network of workers; Brad had learned very well from his boss, and had built a small but effective network of his own.

  By the time his half hour grace period was up, Brad was in the air, flying towards another country. It would be the first of many flights and car rides over the next several hours which would eventually bring him to his final destination.

  Brad went over his escape progress so far, ticking off the tasks that he’d completed during his journey. His first order of business had been to escape the General’s sphere of influence. Second, Brad had contacted the most powerful friends he’d been able to cultivate over the years. He was careful not to talk to anyone he’d met or befriended since his time with the General, as their loyalties would probably lean towards his ex-boss. Brad’s road to becoming the General’s aide had been complex and intricate. A person didn’t acquire a position like this without the assistance of many others. News reporters, politicians, military leaders — Brad had cultivated deep and mutually beneficial relationships with all sorts of people. These were the individuals he’d spoken with during his flight. With the reporters, he’d shared top secret facts and details about his time in the General’s employ. The General would soon be informed of the damaging news stories which would go public if anything unfortunate were to happen to Brad. Next he spoke to his politician contacts. Brad informed them about key strategies that the General and his friends intended to implement over the next few years. Finally, he’d spoken to his military allies. Soon the General would be busy on multiple fronts; he would have no time to pursue Brad.

  He leaned back and smiled with satisfaction. The General had made a mistake firing him, and now Brad was going to show him what kind of damage a truly brilliant opponent could do.

  Brad’s cell phone rang, startling him from his thoughts. He answered it quickly, not wishing to disturb the other passengers in first class.

  “Hello, Brad.” The General’s voice sounded cheerful on the other end of the line.

  “Hello, Donovan.” Brad said.

  “So we’re on a first name basis now, are we?” the General asked.

  “Why not?” Brad asked. “I no longer work for you.”

  The General chuckled. “That’s true. I received instructions from one of your allies. They said to call you at this number, and that’s what I’m doing. What is it that you would like to say to me?”

  “You weren’t supposed to call me for another twelve hours…” Brad was concerned; his instructions required precise timing in these matters.

  “Yes, your source was quite clear on that point. I wish I could have waited that long, but we simply can't wait twelve hours. Time is running out, Brad.”

  “What time is that?” Brad asked.

  “Your severance time,” the General answered.

  “My… severance time?”

  “Yes, I give all of my aides a sort of… bonus package after they are let go.” The General said. “One hour for every month you spent in my employ. You were with me for seven months, so you had seven hours to live, and that time has now run out. Any last words?”

  “You can’t kill me,” Brad sputtered. “I’ve put complex safety measures in place. If I’m harmed, you’ll be ruined. I’m about
to land in your enemies’ territory. They’ll protect me from you. It’s impossible for you to get to me now.”

  “Are you that naive, Brad?” the General asked. “They won’t help you any more than I would help an aide of theirs who tried to defect. As far as the other measures you’ve put into place…I’ve counteracted all of them. If, by some stroke of luck, a couple were missed… that’s of no concern to me. I’m glad you had a fun little game, Brad, but time’s run out.”

  “How?” Brad asked.

  “You have an RFID chip implanted in you.” The General said. “I activate it; you die.”

  Brad believed the General, and instantly his spirit was crushed. “Everything I did was for nothing,” Brad said. “I wasted my time.”

  The General heard the despair and hopelessness in the young man’s voice and he smiled. He pressed the button that activated the chip, knowing that Brad’s implanted device would receive the signal within seconds no matter where he was on the planet.

  “I’m glad you finally learned something, Brad. Goodbye.”

  Chapter 4

  “How can a five-year-old boy get into so much trouble?” the Administrator asked. He looked at the youth worker sitting across from him, waiting for an answer.

  Wesley squirmed in his chair uncomfortably. He knew that stating his opinion would only bring more unwanted attention. During his three years of employment with the Centre, he’d learned a number of startling and disturbing facts about this institution. If anyone discovered how much he’d been able to piece together, they would have him fired…or much worse.

  The South Western Children’s Centre was more than a simple orphanage. Wesley had uncovered evidence that it was a feeding tank for the military. The children were raised and nurtured in specific ways, molded and steered both physically and psychologically, to be used in various military experiments.

  When he’d stumbled onto what was going on, Wesley wanted to quit. After a few days of soul-searching, he chose a different option; he decided to stay and gather information so that he could eventually take it to the public and help free these children from their fates. The key to his success remained being hidden from suspicion, and sitting in front of the Administrator being reprimanded was not a very effective way to fly under on the radar.