Chasing a Waterfall Ch. 02

Moving out into the kitchen, he took a sauce pan out of the rack below the stone. Placing it on the burner, he turned the knob to high and was about to search for something to fry up when he realized that he had not idea what was in the refrigerator. Oddly, it had never occurred for him to look until now. He really had not been hungry over the last few days. What meals he had picked up had been by way of fast food.

Even more troubling, he felt like he was invading another man's privacy. As he grew more and more convinced that he was not Vincent yet again, he began to wonder not only how this was all possible, but who he could rely on. Original, he had actually thought of simply taking the man's identity, given the likelihood that someone had taken his. The trouble with this was that it did not solve the mystery behind it.

At this very moment, he froze in mid thought. What the hell was he thinking? Had he lost it? How was it possible that he was anyone else than Vincent? Sure, the memories were not constant. He did not believe his character to be able of doing some of the things that Michelle had alleged that he had gone. Still, it simply was not possible.

What he had believed was a more likely scenario was that he had undergone some kind of electroconvulsive therapy, and that his youthful appearance had been some ongoing delusional that had been associated with the reason for his original treatment. This seemed rather unlikely now. The comments by Michelle and a series of dreams that he had been having for the last two days went a long way toward disproving this original conjecture.

He now believed it was more likely that he was Michelle's boyfriend, and he did work for Blackfoot Securities. He was not experiencing a split due to stress or shock therapy, but likely had lost memories in an "accident."

Deciding that he needed some air, he switched off the burner and placed the pan in the sink. Going for his coat, he pulled it on and within a brief moment later was a good block away from the place.

It was only a little past five and it was already dark. The air was bitter cold, but the winds were low. A smell of burning wood filled the air from nearby fireplaces he imagined. What stuck him as odd was how normal everything seemed. The neighborhood that he lived in was nothing out of the ordinary; an unlikely lifestyle for a man who likely had great wealth. The only real question was what did the company do? It was obvious that they were in the telecommunications business. They were now of two stratellite providers.

Growing frustrated, he tried to put it out of his mind for the moment. Two blocks down, he made a turn into a local Subway. Opening the glass door, he stepped aside as a family of four. A mom, dad, a young boy and a slightly older girl came out. The usual pleasantries were exchanged. Nothing more was said, nor was any hint of a second glance paid his way.

Entering, he was greeted by the sight of a young college girl, who could not have been more than eighteen, who was standing behind the counter to take his order. Her hair was blond and hung past her shoulders with blue eyes and a friendly, but distant smile. Her mind was on other things. When she noticed him looking at her at bit more than usual, she smiled and looked away. He did as well. This was followed by him stuttering out his order for a BLT and an OJ. A bit unnerved, he paid and left with his order in hand several minutes later.

He felt like a bit of a pervert. She was eighteen or so, and he was what, over thirty according to his records. Though, he didn't look a day over twenty-five. Still, his reaction made him a bit uncomfortable. For her part, she did not seem to have any idea who he was. Continuing to walk, he polished off his sub and drink, tossing the wrapper and drink cup into a recycle bin at a nearby park. He thought of stopping, but continued onward.

Two more stops. One was to an office supply store, the other to a Kwik Trip. By now he was convinced that no one had any idea who he was. Oddly enough, all three were not that far from his neighborhood. Wait, he thought. Let me restate that, "Not to far from Mr. Fairborne's neighborhood." It was his body; his persona was just visiting he thought with a laugh. Still, this extended tour of the neighborhood had proven that he was simply another John Doe or was it Joe Blow? It didn't matter. He was a ghost. No one paid any undue attention to him. It seemed that he kept to himself when he was not on the job.

It was not until his walk back that he began to pick up on what he thought might have been a tail. Two guys, both in suits behind the wheel of a four door Sudan kept their distance, but as he slowed, so did they. His heart began to beat a little faster at that very moment. The rapidness of his heart steadily increased. He accelerated and decelerated his walking pattern.

What he had thought to be a tail, however, proved not to be when they turned off a block him. He was a bit embarrassed and felt foolish. Still, it was a bit strange.

By chance, he slowed considerably to look back at the men, who had since driven off at a considerable pace, and therefore, saw the lights well before they would have seen him as he came to the end of the block. Something in his gut told him that he didn't need to be there at that very moment. Taking cover in a backyard, he ever so carefully traced back and then down the divide between two houses.

Coming to a stop, he took cover behind a fence. To his surprise, even with cracks visible, they paid him no notice. Talk about being able to hide in plain sight. This was a bit surprising given that four police cars were on the street, in front of his townhome. Two officers out in front of his residence interviewing a few of his neighbors, they seemed to be dazed by the line of questing they were getting. Three others emerged from his place with equipment, computer tech and assault weaponry. "Not good, not good at all," he thought, as he turned around and began to walk away from the scene.

He made his way two dozen blocks. He thought of stopping, but moved on. Not really sure where to turn, he caught the bus. Upon getting on, he was a bit nervous. There was a possibility that an all points bulletin had been issued for him. He would later learn that it had, but there was an obvious reason for one no one had taken notice of him.

This, however, had not come to his attention until he was entering the lobby at Solitaire One. The television was playing imagery of the townhome. A man from the regional FBI office was interviewed, a Mr. Stackhouse. This was followed by two local officials. They described Vincent Chase Fairborne as mentally unbalanced, suffering from paranoid schizophrenia and bi-polar was armed and wanted for crimes. "What they meant was schizoaffective disorder," he thought. He began to wonder ever so briefly if they could be correct.

He listened on for a brief moment. He was wanted for crimes against America. They went on to briefly detail how he had been working as a rogue agent within his company to supply an unknown group of men with intelligence and weaponry assets. His overall background was downplayed. The media did not seem to know that much about him, and there were a number of conflicting reports as to his birth, background and military career.

It was not until they played a mug photo and possible current rendering of him that he realized the problem. It was not him. It looked nothing like him really. Well, in truth, it looked vaguely like him, but a bit older and a lot more hardened. By comparison, he looked like he was fresh out of graduate school in his mid to late twenties. They cycled through a series of photos. One had hair, one didn't. One had scars on his face, he didn't. It could have been his older brother. At best there was only a passing resemblance, to a man that looked just about like every other man in America. Alert to his surroundings once more, he realized he needed to get upstairs to see Michelle.

Catching the elevator, he made his way down the hall to Michelle's apartment. He really did not have anywhere else to turn at the moment. He did his best to not be noticed, and no one seemed to. Coming to her door, he knocked twice. She answered. He had not really known what to expect. Still, it surprised him that she was dressed in blue jeans and a black coat. Grasping a hold of him, she moved him inside and closed the door behind him, after peaking out into the hallway.

Startled, he walked forward, not sure what to expect. Coming around the corner of the foyer, he saw Cassandra and two men, whose identities he did not know stood back facing him. Cassandra, like Michelle, wore blue jeans, but had a long white long down coat with a knitted white cap. One man, who looked to be of mid thirties, about six feet with olive skin, a shaved head and a special operation build. The guy next to him was about the same height, but of Russian or Serb lineage.

"Who are you? What is going on?" Vincent said. He thought it best to play dumb on the events of the last hour or so.

The two men looked at each other. The man of Mid Eastern descent gestured toward his colleague. Straightening, the other man blunted said, "Mr. Fairborne, we have been provided by Blackfoot as a security team to place you under protective custody until your security can be established."

A chill went through him, he didn't like this. Something felt wrong about all o this. "Do I have any choice in the matter?" he inquired, while trying to put fourth is best poker face.

The man seemed completely unfazed and shook his head. "In a word, no. Your contract with Blackfoot Industries provides for these emergency protective measures. You knew this beforehand though."

"Of course I did," Vincent dryly, but calmly stated.

"I guess this is the best of the three options available. The first being be caught and taken into custody. The second was to go on the lamb. Third, go into protective custody under the authority of Blackfoot Industries, a NGO that would make the government's jurisdiction over him questionable. Though, it was not like he had diplomatic immunity or anything. There was only so much that private securities detail could do. Further, did he even want to go along with this, given that he was not really Vincent," he thought.

Coming up behind him, Michelle put her arms around him, and whispered in his ear, "Don't let them scare you, you've been through this before." Looking over in the direction of Cassandra, a coy smile came across her face. "If you promise to go along, I'm sure that we accommodate this situation rather nicely."

He tried as best he could to put Michelle's curious statement out of his mind at the moment. Why was she trying to entice him with sex? Looking back at the two men he inquired simply, "When and where?"

The other man looked at his partner and grin. Turning back, he emphasized the situation with the quiet monotone, "The where I can not say. The when, is this very moment. We have to get going sir. I'm sorry." He was pointing towards the door.

Chapter 2, Part 3: "In the end, did any of it really matter?"

The walk out of the apartment unit, down the hall and onto the elevator had been risky. Little time had been wasted to come up with a sound strategy upon their orders to move. With the two men out in front, the three of them had trailed behind. Opening the doors opening into the lobby, a hand had been placed on his shoulder by one of the women, and the two men guided all of them down a secondary corridor. By the looks of the white walled paint job, he got the sense that it was not used as an entrance.

A car had been waiting out in back, the engine running and primed. With no driver in sight, he turned his head, and saw the bald man motion a remote key and unlock the doors. Climbing in, the two security staffers took the front, while he was jammed into the back, between the two ladies.

While the bald man took the car out of park and drove, he overheard what amounted to a bit of an exchange between the two men on what was the best option. It became obvious to him, that this extraction had not been planned very well. Worse, given his amnesia-accident-whatever, it was doubtful that he was any use to him. Only bits and pieces of tactical knowledge seemed to have survived whatever had happened to him.

What was even more unnerving was that Michelle kept on glancing over at him. He was beginning to believe that she wanted him to take command of the situation. Given the current disagreement, it was unlikely that the two men in front were going to be able to come to some kind of consensus on what needed to be done. When he did speak up, she seemed to take notice of his inaction.

"I think the best thing we can do is try and get to Rochester International Airport." Cascading silence fell between them. "We have a company jet, and once we get into the air for intent and purposes, we are safe! At least for the time being," the Russian man barked.

The other man shook his head. It was obvious that he did not agree. "What they are expecting. If getting in the air was our best route, we may as well head to Blackfoot Securities private airfield. Its much closer, the aircraft is not as advanced, but we would avoid the welcoming committee," the bald man shot back.

"So we should head to..."

"No, again that would be too obvious. We get him in the air and he is likely going to meet with an untimely demise. At this very moment employees of Blackfoot Industries have been classified as enemy combatants. I doubt very much if President Collins would have much issue signing a take down order. She has always been a bit of a hawk in military matters. She lost a brother while he was serving in the occupation of Iran. I sure she has already been convinced that our Mr. Fairborne, no offense Sir, is a traitor," the bald man, chirped.

"For what, I am a senior partner with Blackfoot Securities. I handle the logistics of security for the company. What world the feds want with..."

"It would probably have something to do with trafficking of technology to rogue nation states and the selling of military hardware to nonmilitary personnel," the bald man cut in. "You can think of me as ill informed on many matters of company policy, but please don't think of me as dumb Mr. Fairborne." "I don't know what they can prove. I am not a lawyer."

"So where now?" the other man asked.

Clearing his throat, the man behind the wheel dryly said, "I think we need to lay low of the time being. We have a number of safe houses in this town. With due time, I am sure that we can move Mr. Fairborne down to Cuba. The United States government has little jurisdiction there."

He could not believe this, though he had read up on of events of the past few years. The island of Cuba had gone from being a communist stronghold against the every advancing force of colonial capitalism to a free state that exercised almost pure libertarian principles. The United States government had little jurisdiction after a number of wealthy individuals of various Fortune 500 companies had decided to set up shop in the bustling island of Cuba. It had become the new Cayman Islands, though a lot richer and better armed as well. They relied less on legal arguments, and more on a private military corp.

Thinking back, he was beginning to see a pattern taking shape. Vincent was a former devout marine, who had gone rogue after becoming disenfranchised with the current system of government. He had gone off the grid after some kind of schism with the United States government. His journal entries, which made a bit more sense now seemed to make an assertion that he believed that America had turned it's collective back on him while he was serving in Iran.

When a President Caldron had risen to power upon his return, a known atheist he had become further disenfranchised with the United States. He had taken up arms with a small group of capitalist, a private security force while still a member of the United States Marine Corp and helped with logistics with their invasion of Cuba. The goal was to create a free market state that had an adherence to Christian values. It had succeeded beyond their wildest imaginations.

Upon his discharge from the Marine Corps and law school, he had gone to work for Blackfoot Securities. It had become the top Lt. of Mr. Blackstone within a matter of months. Over the next year, the two had planned their operation with the help of other top officers in their subdivision. Their plan had been to overtake Whitewater, Inc. by a secret coup. From here they planned to implement a stratellite network capable of essentially allowing them to have unfiltered communications with the ultimate goal of slowly taking over select countries through the use of well honed tactics employed by others in the past.

The trouble had been that they had been too ambitious. Their first major strategy had been to try to take over Northwestern America. This included most of British Columbia as well. A shadow government had been instituted with connections in Oregon, Washington and BC. They had undercover operatives on the ground in D.C. as well. The succession had failed. The plan had been uncovered before it could be set in motion.

The United States and Canada, however, had been blackmailed into a standstill. It seemed that Blackfoot Securities had knowledge of convert dealings between the United States, Canada and the United Kingdom over a satellite system. Oddly enough, the two groups had seen allied temporary, and he had been assigned the job of cleaner.

Over the course of several weeks he had taken out various operatives or so the journal entries had said. At the time, he honestly believed that what he had been reading was speculative fiction. It, however, now made sense. He had killed a number of members in their own movement. Many of them had been significant politicians with the Canadian and American landscape. He had not really enjoyed it. Nor, had he enjoyed the killing of innocent women and children, but his focus was the mission and the survival of the company.

The last mission that he could remember was not entered into his journal. The assignment was to kill a man by the name of Michael Lincoln. He was a man who had uncovered some money laundering transfers while working at a state bank in Minnesota. Earlier in the morning his group of men had taken out his girlfriend. They, however, had been a bit unprofessional, and he had gone on the lamb. However, a tip through an intelligence channel had revealed that he was being held up in a hotel not more than forty miles from the location of where he worked.

Taking out the local law enforcement had been easy enough. It had all gone as planned until he had gotten a look at the man. Michael it turned out seemed to be a younger carbon copy of him. This had intrigued him. He had paused just long enough, words had been exchanged by his men and before he could get a shot off he had felt something cold on the back of his head and then darkness had followed.

Vincent came to once more. He was visibly shaken by the flashback. None of this made any sense. However, for the time being he was back in the present.

Not more than a few blocks from Solaire One, and they already had a tail, a man and woman, who were dressed in blue. Though he thought it was likely that they had some measure of safety. All five of them were in an unmarked car, on a major artery of city, and driving under the speed limit. Just as the driver behind their wheel became to employ safety measure to try, and get some distance between them and the oncoming car, another two automobiles came into view. They were being tailed by three cars. A chill went down his back; he knew that this was likely not going to end well.