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The helicopter came closer and closer, forcing the man to stumble backwards to the edge of the bridge. Below, Chesapeake Bay showed him what awaited should he fall into the sea. The shooter on the helicopter began to fire at him, further facilitating the man's retreat towards the edge until he fell...
Washington, D.C.; one week earlier...
A CIA agent and the black guided Simon Lewis, SIS, pass the customs section of Dulles International Airport. The sign on the wall fitted well with his companions, one the master, the other the slave. It read “Welcome to the Confederate States of America”.
In the only country where slavery was legal and Christianity deeply rooted in the lives of its citizens, the CSA could not control its drugs. Smuggled in by Columbian drug cartels, narcotics appealed mainly to slaves and the poor working class. There were also British nationals who would smuggle the stuff back to the UK, so naturally the SIS was willing to work with the Americans. The work for the week was typical early on in an operation. As an analyst, Lewis worked on the profiles of cartel figureheads; he found their private lives to be more interesting than those of the North Korean political elite. The next week was the beginning of the special operations conducted by Delta Force and the SAS. As Lewis was leaving his hotel to watch the deployment, a black receptionist approached him.
“Excuse me, sir, there's a call for you,” the black said and handed Lewis the phone.
“Thank you.” Lewis took the phone and immediately a woman spoke to him.
“Simon Lewis,” the voice said, “If you want to live you will meet me at the Starbucks across the street.”
Lewis has two hours so he went over to the Starbucks. At the end of the café, a woman sat alone with two coffee mugs, one untouched, this was the woman on the phone. She was in her thirties, brunette, and was dressed like a government worker though Lewis found her extremely attractive. He sat across from her and sipped his coffee.
“So, you wanted to see me,” Lewis said. “Be quick, honey, I need to get to work.”
“I don't think so, unless you want your co-workers to shoot off your manhood.” That caught Lewis' attention. “I'm Special Agent Sharon Stone, Confederate Bureau of Investigation.”
“Sounds big, I don't like girls with big titles.”
“That's because you buy yours.”
Lewis could work with this woman, “Right, well what do you want?”
“Read this, I shouldn't speak,” Sharon handed Lewis an envelope, a thick envelope. He read the documents in it, they didn't have any agency seals on them and the contents made them less believable.
“So,” he said, “you expect me to believe that the Cali Cartel, the druggies the CIA is fighting, plans to take over the Columbian government while in America they are going to blow up a joint secession of Congress which President McCain is going to attend; effectively destabilising the Americas? Sounds like a bloody cheap spy novel.”
“It’s real, the next page shows the agencies involved in this conspiracy. In exchange for not attacking them, the Cali Cartel promises to release their prisoners and provide info on rival cartels. Only the CBI is not involved.”
“I think the Russians planted this and made sure it fell into the hands of the CBI,” Lewis noted that Sharon wasn't looking at him. “What?”
“Behind you, three guys in suits and sunglasses.”
“Sweetheart, it could be anyone.”
“Just shut up and come with me,” Sharon pulled Lewis towards the rear of the Starbucks, and exiting into an alley behind the building. Lewis didn’t expect Sharon to be so strong, then again, he never expects women to be strong. There’d be no living with her, Lewis thought. Carefully looking out for anyone following them, he followed Sharon to the parking lot a few blocks over and entered her Ford Taurus. Sharon drove south from Washington; Lewis guessed she was heading towards Richmond.
“So who did you get this from?” he asked.
“I got if off a dead slave behind the J. Edgar Hoover Building, he was named Barrack Obama, the one that was always with McCain during the election.”
“What are we going to do with this and I don’t see how I can help.”
“You’re with the British secret service you could take it back home and give it to the press there and I know a journalist in Richmond with contacts all over the world.”
“Sharon, doing that is dangerous, let me take you back to the UK and we can let SIS see this and deal with it. Does anyone in the CBI know you have this?”
“Only my boss and the director,” Sharon said. “They agree with what I’m doing. And, the SIS is also compromised; I don’t know who’s in this over there.”
Lewis doubted that the SIS was compromised and frankly, he would not believe any of this, unless someone took a shot at him. Looking out of the passenger seat window, Lewis saw a convoy of Army trucks from 101st Airborne to be exact. Lewis recalled that the C.O. of the 101st was a part of the conspiracy. He was reacting too slowly.
“Sharon, get off the bloody freeway,” he said.
“Just bloody do it!” Too late, five Humvees at the front of the convoy made U-turns and headed straight for them. Sharon did likewise and exited the freeway with the Humvees in hot pursuit, firing their .50 caliber machine guns. Bystanders immediately sought cover while a courageous few began filming the chase with their phones. Lewis climbed to the back of the Ford and began shooting at the paratroopers manning the MGs. Sharon eventually told Lewis where her weapons were and he was able to shoot back more effectively with a shotgun, hitting three paratroopers soon after. The Humvees without gunners made way for the ones with, blasting at the unarmoured Ford. The chase diverted them from the main road to Richmond, bringing them through small Virginian towns. Sharon made turns meant to confuse the Humvees, eventually her efforts paid off and their pursuers lost track of them. Sharon was panting and leaned against the wheel, her car was riddled with bullet holes and its windows shattered.
They removed everything for the car, hid it amongst the trees, and headed to the road. Night had fallen and they stood on the road, hitchhiking for several minutes. Finally they were picked up by a group of hippies and where taken to the next town. It was a quiet place, with little activity, particularly at night, though it did have a few hotels. The hotel they were taken to was in the middle of town, and was more modern than the rest of the town. It was an excellent hotel and not filled with bugs unlike many of the motels both Lewis and Sharon have stayed in. They didn’t have to worry about being caught, slaves usually didn’t give people away unless the manager was nearby, which he wasn’t, it was their subtle way of defiance.
“Tomorrow we should rent a car and head towards Virginia Beach,” Sharon said, “then cross the bridge over Chesapeake Bay, going in a circle back to Richmond.”
“Yeah, they’d expect us to go back the way we came.” The room was silent except for the reporter on Fox News who continued to talk about how she almost got pecked to death by a raging Iraqi chicken. Lewis laughed internally whenever he watched Fox News, though the company had good entertainment channels.
“Well, I’m hungry,” said Lewis. “Let’s go down and get dinner.”
“Is that safe?”
“We’re both armed.”
Sharon took Lewis by the arm and they crossed the street to a seafood restaurant. Lewis noticed that most of the servers were black and so were those in every restaurant he ate here.
“What do slaves do here?” Lewis asked.
“All the jobs that most whites don’t want: servants, labourers, and farmers; some are actors and usually play the stupid characters. Slaves can be freed, but only the actors are because the others will end up in debt anyway.”
“Was Will Smith freed?”
“Nice to see you Brits have taste,” Sharon said. “Yeah he was, used to play the dumb characters like all slave actors, now he’s the hero.”
Lewis listened to her talk throughout dinner and found that he had something for her. He was a womaniser in school and after but had never developed any genuine feeling for the girls he’d been with. The one reason why his friends are married and he wasn’t, Lewis didn’t mind, he liked that life. Sadly, however, he could not be with Sharon, his work was too sensitive. Might as well make the most of it tonight, he thought, or quit the SIS; Lewis did have a degree in computer engineering. Tough choices, very tough choices to make.
They were walking back to the hotel when Sharon asked, “Simon, when this crap is all over lets go to New Zealand or something and get away from it all.”
Lewis didn’t answer and wasn’t asked to give one; instead he kissed her passionately all night.
The next morning they drove through Norfolk and headed towards Chesapeake Bay Bridge. The city was strangely quiet for one of its size, but there were still people out doing business and it was a Sunday after all. They drove across the bridge in silence, still feeling awkward about last night. It was then that it hit Lewis, the bridge was empty. They had passed cars early on, but halfway across there were none; again Lewis was reacting too slowly. He was about to tell Sharon when the road in front of them blew up, the explosion temporarily rendering Lewis deaf. Their new car, a BMW, was turned over by the blast. Lewis managed to pull himself and an unconscious Sharon out quickly. Above, an Apache attack helicopter hovered above them, its missiles armed and ready. Behind it came a Black Hawk with some soldiers aboard.
Sharon gained consciousness. “Simon, what’s going on?”
“Sharon, play dead,” Lewis said as he took the documents out of the envelope and gave them to her. “I’m going to trick them and throw you off the bridge.”
“Damn it, Simon, they’ll kill you.”
“No time, play dead.” And with that Lewis lifted Sharon and threw her over the bridge.
On the Black Hawk, the co-pilot saw what had transpired below, but only observed the big picture.
“Dave, what the heck did he just do?” the co-pilot asked.
“Chick’s dead, Ben” said the pilot. “Let’s now get rid of the Brit.”
Dave called to the sniper in the passenger compartment and told him to shoot Lewis. As the Black Hawk moved in for the kill, the sergeant took aim and pulled the trigger but missed; damned wind. He fired again and did not miss. The last they saw of Lewis was a man falling off the bridge, a man who had just saved his first love and a country detested by his government.
“Control, this is Super Six-One,” said Dave. “Target is down, returning to base.”
A Canadian spy witnessed the whole thing from afar and shook his head, typical Americas. He moved in for a closer look when he saw a woman floating on the water. He manoeuvred his boat and fished her out. Pretty attractive woman, he thought, her white shirt was soaked. She suddenly jolted right up, coughing out sea water.
“Easy, ma’am, just rest of a little while,” said the spy.” How did you get there in the first place?”
It was slowly coming back to Sharon, the conspiracy, the druggies, and Lewis. “I need you to take me to Richmond, can you do that?”
“Why sure thing, by the way, do you know what just happened over on the bridge?”
Sharon looked at the rising smoke and said, “No, nothing at all.”
The Canadian nodded and began to sail towards the coast, Sharon kept looking at the bridge, crying.