The Aegis Solution (4 page)

Such was his condition: a status which had stubbornly cohered to him for more than two years, like
a disease with no known cure. In a sense it was a disease, a pernicious malady with vile symptoms and
pervasive effects. Yet this blight was not brought about by some malignant, microscopic organism, but
by a single man, a man who had shared the nameless, faceless anonymity of an abominable mutated
virus. But that was all they had in common, for a virus, no matter how execrable its influence, was
unthinking, non-sentient. No conscious motive could possibly be ascribed to its actions. This man, on
the other hand, coldly plotted the most flagitious of acts, knowing fully and relishing the tragedy his
deeds would bring down upon others.

Obsession was far too temperate a concept for describing how Elias felt about this wretched beast.
Hatred, too savorless. It could truthfully be said that he was utterly consumed with the desire to find
this abomination of a human being. Diminished not in the slightest over the past two years, Elias'
thoughts had constructed scene after scene where he identified him, hunted him down, and patiently,
arduously meted out...not justice, for that would be impossible...not revenge; in fact, nothing he could
conceive of would satiate that thirst. No…his efforts would be bent solely upon restoring a minuscule
increment of balance to the world, correcting an asymmetry precipitated by the never-ending succession
of vile deeds perpetrated by this lusus naturae.

There were others, to be sure. For he had recently learned the identities of the others who played
a part in this horrific act, others who had an, as yet unscheduled, appointment with Elias Charon. But
they must patiently wait their turns.

With a sound more closely resembling the bleating of a goat than what it was, the ringing of a
telephone, Elias was shaken from his fugue.

"Yes," he answered, his tone flat.

"Elias, Faulk."

"What is it, Richard?" Elias was aware that his question conveyed irritation, but did not care.

"I need to see you. Can you come in?"

"For what?"

"It's" – Faulk paused for a moment, clearly attempting to phrase his next statement carefully – "a
special project we need you to do."

"Who's ‘we'?"

"Well" – Elias' erstwhile friend tried a soft chuckle to break the obvious tension – "me."

"Why did you say ‘we,' Richard, if you meant it was your idea?"

Ignoring the question, the man stated, "Elias, this job is perfect for you. I can't think of anyone
better."

"So you still have to pitch it to somebody?"

The voice on the other end paused momentarily, again in an effort to best frame his answer. "In
a manner of speaking. Look, Elias, they want me to take care of this…issue. I simply need to get them
to bless my choice, and my choice is you. There are no other candidates, as far as I'm concerned."

Elias cradled the receiver against his shoulder and looked out at the snow, taking his time before
he said, "Richard, you know what I'm working on. I don't want any damn projects. I just want to be left
alone."

His tone deepening, Faulk began, "I know, my friend…."

"I'm not your friend!"

"You've made that clear before. I'm sorry. Bad choice of words. Hear me out, will you? I think this
is something you'll want to do."

Closing his eyes to block out the whitening vista outside, Elias swiveled in his chair to face the desk.
"What is it?"

Seeing the opening, Faulk rushed his words. "I don't really want to go into much detail on the
phone, but it is about Aegis."

Although he hated to admit it, Elias was startled by the last word spoken. "What about Aegis?"

"There's something wrong there."

"No kidding. There's been something wrong there since the day it opened."

"I know. I mean, I know that you've been against it since it was first proposed when Walker was
in the Oval Office, but something new has come up. Something that changes things."

"What?"

"Elias!" Faulk almost barked, sensing that he had succeeded in hooking his former friend. "Not on
the phone. If you don't want to come in, I'll come there."

Holding the handset away from the side of his head for a minute, Elias stared down at the black
blotter on his desk before saying, "No, I'll come in. What time?"

"Now. I'll send a car."

"No. I'll take the Metro. Pick me up at the station."



The snow was falling faster than the taxi's wipers could brush it aside.

Cutting through Elias' reverie, the cabbie asked, "So, do you think they'll ever finish the Silver
Line?"

Without turning his gaze from the side window, Elias answered, "That would be too convenient."

"It'll sure cut down on my fares if they do."

"Well, there is that," Elias commented, reflecting on how different things might look to an
individual depending upon his personal, selfish perspective.

The cab driver tried to continue the conversation, but the monosyllabic answers from his passenger
soon dissuaded him, and silence filled the taxi. Even with all of his years of experience in this weather,
Elias thought, it still intrigued him how even heavy snowfall could arrive with only a whisper of sound.
Were this rain, the inside of the cab would sound like a snare drum played during a performance of
"Taps."

Thankful for the quiet, Elias thought about Aegis. It had been over fourteen years since President
Walker's daughter had killed herself, approximately twelve since the place had opened. Walker had
received the gift of a second term from the electorate, partially out of sympathy but primarily because
the unemployment rate had fallen to 4.6 percent during his first term.

His successor, now in his second term, was definitely not the same kind of President or the same
kind of man. Where Walker had gone through his entire public life seeming to wear his heart on his
sleeve, Jeffery Collinger, the former governor of New Jersey, was a hard-nosed, pragmatic politician who
made a point of never displaying his personal beliefs in public. In several statements, mostly in response
to questions about the institution, Collinger had consistently made it clear that such a place as Aegis
would never have been built on his watch. Yet, he acknowledged the commitment that its very creation
and existence implied and had vowed to keep his hands off.

Until now, apparently, Elias thought to himself.

His mind drifted back over the past twelve years and tried to recall a month or even a week that
Aegis was not a part of the public dialogue. Americans had never been very good at being kept in the
dark; this was no exception. It was obvious that the general public, and especially the members of the
press corps, could not tolerate remaining ignorant of what was happening behind those walls.
Speculation was ever present. The supply of so-called experts, who were plopped in front of a camera
to give their opinions on the facility, its inhabitants, and the various legal and moral issues associated
with it, seemed inexhaustible. Some of them appeared so often they might as well be drawing a weekly
paycheck from the cable networks.

All of this attention spiked to new and dizzying heights whenever it was discovered that another
famous singer or Hollywood celebrity had checked in. Each time, there would be renewed cries for
"access" into Aegis. The public begged the government to allow television camera crews to go in – if
not cameras, at least microphones; if not that, then a removal of the Internet blockade which
encapsulated the facility so that emails could flow in and out. One of the entertainment cable channels
had filed a civil suit in federal court, hoping a judge would order the Feds to open the floodgates. When
the wife of a movie heartthrob checked in, he persuaded the L.A. county attorney to file a writ of habeas
corpus, claiming that she was being held against her will and that Aegis was, in effect, kidnapping her.
The writ was dismissed.

Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson and Luke in Phoenix provided air support enforcing the
no-fly zone over the facility and, more than once, their pilots were forced to chase off helicopters hired
by various media outlets. Some of the interdictions came perilously close to escalating into a messy
situation.

No, Elias thought, people can't stand not knowing something.

As if the ongoing media circus were not enough, not one or two, but three "reality" shows were
broadcast on different channels. The theme for all three was the same: what would it be like inside
Aegis? The respective networks dedicated huge budgets to building sets and creating partial replicas of
the real compound for their casts to live within. The broadcast network aired an edited, two-hour
version seven nights a week. The two cable channels also showed daily condensed programs but, in
addition, offered live coverage, twenty-four hours a day, over the Internet. The networks all proclaimed
that their casts were completely isolated from the rest of the world during the lives of the shows, but
persistent rumors had continued to surface that some of the actors had been spotted at various
restaurants and clubs in Hollywood. Of course, all of them were allowed a brief reprieve from the
alleged sequestration so they could don their tuxedos and gowns for an evening at the Emmy Awards.
And what was the popularity of these supposedly realistic depictions of life inside Aegis? The three
shows occupied the first, second, and third spots in the ratings.

A few months ago, a sixteen-year-old girl, who lived in Racine, Wisconsin, left a note for her
parents, telling them that she could not live in a world without her idol, some television actor whose
name eluded Elias at the moment. Apparently, the news of the object of her teen crush checking himself
into Aegis, because he could no longer cope with the fact that his show was being cancelled, caused her
to buy a bus ticket to Arizona and follow him in.

Both of these incidents, of course, stirred up new rounds of demands from the public. The loss of
the Racine girl did have an effect. Collinger proposed and Congress passed a provision which would
build a new structure at the entrance to Aegis. The addition would be, essentially, a hotel – a hotel with
a difference. All of the rules of Aegis would apply with one exception: new arrivals could not enter the
main complex for thirty days. At any point during that time, they could change their minds and leave,
essentially providing a cooling-off period. Construction on this staging area, as it was called, was just
now beginning. A moratorium on the entrance of minors under the age of eighteen into Aegis was
established and quickly ceased after two teens killed themselves, blaming the moratorium for their
decision.

So lost in thought, Elias did not notice they had arrived until the cab came to a stop and the driver
turned around and announced, "Here we are, West Falls Church Station."

Elias took some bills from his wallet, paid the driver, and climbed out of the back seat, pulling his
coat tightly around his neck to keep out the snow.

The Metro ride into D.C. was fairly smooth, the only jostling occurring as the train rode the rails
laid on the original, 150-year-old Washington & Old Dominion track bed. Although recently reset and
refurbished, that part of the line, which once carried passengers beginning in 1860, seemed determined
to reassert its hard-earned antiquity.

Elias once again focused his eyes on the view through the plexiglass window. The initial portion
of the route did provide some scenery. But as it neared the nation's capital, the train plunged
underground for the balance of the trip. Despite the absence of a vista, Elias continued staring blankly,
lost in his own thoughts, comforted by the steady stream of warm air surging from the slot vent
integrated into the window frame. Not once during the duration of the trip did he glance around at his
few fellow passengers, a corner of his mind thankful that he had boarded the train after the crush of the
morning commute, leaving the adjacent seats vacant.

The train abruptly emerged from the semidarkness of the tunnel and entered the brightly lit D.C.
station. Elias had occupied a window seat on the side opposite the platform, and the bank of
upward-cast fluorescent lighting nestled between the tracks stung his eyes, causing his pupils to rapidly
contract.

He exited the train, his gait neither hurried nor leisurely as he passed the SmarTrip proximity
sensors. As was his tendency, his mind, acting autonomously from his conscious thoughts, subtracted
the fare from his account balance as his eyes gazed upward. The concrete groin ceiling of the station,
with its repetitive, rectilinear design, had been called neoclassical and brutalist, but to Elias it felt as if
he were walking through the interior of the honeycomb fabricated by a new, mutated species of giant
bee.

The long escalator, which took him from the bowels of the subway system, was always a
trustworthy barometer of his mood. In good times – in other words, when he and Leah had been
together – the trip up had seemed like an exit from an elaborate amusement park ride. At others times,
such as this trip, it felt more like a conveyor between Earth and hell.

The interminable ride to the surface completed, he was surprised to see Faulk waiting for him
personally.