Dreams Unleashed (9 page)

"When I was a boy," he began, "my father had a substantial gun collection. He hunted. When we were old enough, dad taught me and my brother how to hunt." He looked over at the Tom Chambers clone, who he seemed to feel comfortable with, and, meeting his eyes, went on. "We needed the meat, so it was a practical thing, but it was also something fun we did together. By the time I was twelve, I had my own rifle. Dad spent hours teaching me how to shoot it. My brother and I, we were good with our guns, smart, and responsible." Shorty then stared down at the table, his face revealing the memories as he recalled the past. "But then the government started restricting who could own guns. By '77, even though we'd been using guns responsibly our whole lives, we had to get permission from the government to buy them. It was a slap in the face. People like me aren't the people the government should be afraid of, and the people they should be afraid of are going to get their hands on guns whether they're restricted or not."

"So it's because of guns that you're interested in the organization," Tom stated.

"No, not just guns," Shorty replied. "Canada has always been known as a country of liberty; it's our history. I know that I should have a right to bear arms, but the government is now controlling that right. When my dad died, I inherited his gun collection. Then the government informed me that I needed to have each of the guns registered." He paused. "I refused..."

"I can understand that," Tom interrupted.

"I didn't see any reason why I needed to. They were my guns, most of them hunting guns---not handguns---and it's not like I take them everywhere. But it didn't matter to the government. One day I came home to find Lila, my wife, arguing with the local police, who said they had an order to confiscate all my father's guns. I couldn't believe it---they took every single gun from my house." He looked down at the table, gathering his thoughts. "I hired an attorney to fight the order and get the guns back, but it took too long." Shorty took in another deep breath. "My case wasn't scheduled till four months after they confiscated them.

One month before the court date, Lila and I woke up in the middle of the night with intruders in our home. They grabbed us from our bedroom---with Lila screaming---and tied us to our own dining room chairs while they ransacked the house."

He stared at the table again. "They were not professionals; they didn't know what they were doing. One of them said to leave us there. The other said to kill us because we'd seen their faces. In the end they decided to kill us. I watched Lila die, with no way to help her. Then the men heard sirens. I guess one of our neighbors had called the police after hearing Lila's screams." Shorty looked at me steadily. "I'm not a killer, but if I'd had a gun, I would have been able to defend my wife."

"I'm sorry," I sincerely offered.

Shorty looked at me with grief.

"But it's not just that. Last year it became law that all passports would contain a Radio Frequency ID chip, including a digital eye scan. If you have a passport, then the Canadian government can track you. This year, the RFID chip was required in all new drivers' licenses. So now if I attend a gun show, all the government has to do is to hold an RFID reader within a few hundred feet of me, and he could identify my presence at those events because my driver's license is in my wallet. Since it's illegal not to have your driver's license with you when driving, it's really not a viable option to leave it at home. All of these things are an invasion of my privacy, my autonomy, and my rights. I was born here---this is
my
country---yet I see Canada following in America's footsteps with the über control of its citizens. What's next here? The Patriot Act, Canadian-style? I want to be able to go wherever I want within my own country, for whatever purpose I want, without being tracked by my government. It's my right to do so, not because I want to do something illegal---but because I have a right to my own privacy," Shorty paused, wiping spittle from his lips as he swallowed. He was passionate, eyes alight with indignation.

I thought about how to challenge him. "The government can cut you off at the knees by being a part of this organization...they like to use the word treason," I began.

"They can call it whatever they want. If I don't fight, I think my wife will be very upset with me when I get to the other side," he replied, certain.

"What is it that you want to do about it?" the Tom Chambers clone asked Shorty.

"Anything. I want to do absolutely anything that will fight these bullies and change Canada's future. I have nothing to lose---Lila is dead---my children are grown and have families of their own. My bank account is full, and there is nothing I can think of that I want to spend it on. I have two things that are most dear to me: the memory of my wife and my memory of what this country used to be. I figure I'll do what I can."

"If you're caught being part of this organization, you'll be seen as a terrorist by the Canadian government," I warned him.

"It's a risk that I'm willing to take," he said flatly.

I nodded, more to myself than anyone else in the room. He seemed to understand the consequences.

Pressing him, I tried to see if he would break. "The government has endless legal resources, including the ability to change the law to suit their needs. Can you handle that?"

"I tried fighting them once using the legal process, and they killed Lila."

"
They
killed your wife?" I asked.

"As far as I'm concerned, yes. The feds prevented me from having my gun by my side, where it had been year after year, as protection. If it had still been there, I am confident that my wife would be alive today. The reason I want to be a part of this organization is that I don't believe legal recourse has any chance of changing anything. I
want
to change things, and that's why I'm here."

"The Canadian government is serious about pursuing our organization. Do you think you can keep your emotions in check, in order to accomplish the tasks that you're given?" I asked.

"There was no one, besides Lila, who knew how I felt about what our government was doing to Canada."

Then the woman interrupted, nodding to Shorty. "I've known him for more than thirty years. He's the most decent, honest, and forthright person I've known in those years. His passion is fueled by honest-to-goodness patriotism. He's an idealist, like most of us here. He is worthy to be a member of this organization, which is why we're all here now."

"I have 206 bones in my body, and I will fight the government with all of them," Shorty passionately added.

I like him
. It was simply a feeling in my gut. He was right for GOG.

The Tom Chambers clone and I looked at one another, silently sharing one thought.

Time for me to go
. We had pushed him as much as we needed to.

"Thank you," I offered Shorty, along with my hand. He shook it.

I stood then nodded at Tom Chambers and the woman, turned, and walked out the door. I passed the door guard on the other side of the room and made my way through the restaurant toward the front door.

Outside the restaurant, I stopped to set my watch to clock the time. I was expected to call into GOG by phone exactly thirty minutes after I left the meeting. I set my watch alarm to go off in twenty-five minutes, to make sure I got back to the hotel to retrieve a safe phone.

As I left the Gaslight Brasserie, I breathed in the night air as I walked. Listening to the passion of a new GOG candidate was exciting. Here he was, literally willing to risk his life for his country. I'd call him a patriot, and yet his own country would call him a terrorist, a coward. He was a hero in my mind.

I gazed at the full moon, leisurely walking back toward the Pan Pacific. Full moons were always special to me; they had marked some of the most important events of my life. I people-watched as I walked, seeing couples connect, talk, and laugh. It was life.

Two blocks from the hotel, something from the corner of my vision got my attention. Then I heard it---two car doors slam at the same time.

Casually, I looked to the side, verifying my suspicion. Two men in intelligence-issue black suits had gotten out of a black SUV and were following me.

Oh crap
.

As I picked up my pace, so did they.

Who alerted the Canadian authorities? The woman?
I considered my options. I didn't know anyone that I could trust in Canada. I did have GOG's local contact number, but the safe phones were still in my hotel room.

Please don't make me fight you
, I silently warned the men.

Pulling a Taser from my purse, I looped the strap around my wrist and armed it.

I remembered the Gastown steam clock and how the crowd suddenly gathered; I looked at my watch. Two minutes till the hour. Turning the corner, I sprinted toward the clock as fast as my runner's body would take me. As I did so, I turned to see if they were pursuing me; I saw one man run toward me, while the other ran back to the SUV.

Reaching the steam clock, I saw the crowd gathered. I stooped down lower than the height of the crowd, hiding, then quickly made my way through the crowd, hunched over as the steam erupted.

Once on the other side of the crowd, I took off running as fast I could on Cambie Street, heading toward the Vancouver harbor as I heard the whistles signaling the end of the clock's display. I knew that direction was my only choice if I was going to lose my pursuers. As Cambie Street ended, I turned east, sprinting behind the shops that lined Water Street. Looking back, I didn't see any agents. I figured that I had about a mile or so to run before I reached the cutoff toward the waterfront, which would take me to Portside Park. I knew that I could run in an all-out sprint for that distance.

I reached Carall Street and ran smack into one of the agents. He grabbed me by the wrist that my Taser hung from, pulling the Taser loose.

"You're quite the runner, Ann," he snarled, painfully twisting my wrist.

He knows my name
.

I did the only thing I could. I put him down like the CIA trained me to. With my right wrist that he held with his right hand facing me, I turned so that my left side was toward his front, picked up my left leg and stomped down on his right knee as hard as I could.

He screamed in agony and bent forward, spontaneously letting go of my wrist, freeing me. I immediately stepped away, turned a full 180 degrees so that I was facing the other direction, leaned at an angle, lifted my right leg, and delivered a lean away sidekick to his face as he was bent over. He face-planted into the ground with a grunt.

"Betcha didn't think I could do that," I exclaimed.

I looked around for witnesses and to see if his buddy had arrived. It was all clear.

The man was unconscious. With my adrenaline in overdrive, I quickly picked up my purse and Taser. I ran full-on toward Portside Park. When I reached the cutoff road leading to the waterfront, a black SUV slammed on its brakes to cut me off, nearly running me over in the process. Out of reflex, I braced myself against the hood to absorb the shock, jamming my wrist in the process, but I still stood. As fast as I could, I flipped the Taser on.

"Get in," a man demanded from the driver's seat.

I turned to run away.

"Ann, it is Chow. Get in."

I looked at him in shock.

"Ann, they are going to be here very soon. Get in the car so I can get you to safety," he urged.

"How do I know you're not with them?" I spat out.
And how is it that you're here, in front of me, when the only other time I've seen you was in a dream
?

"In our dream, you stayed in the Bund Hotel, room 'Love 9,'" Chow offered.

My mind was reeling. Was it him that I saw at the Pan Pacific, getting out of the elevator? "Tell me what I did the first morning I was there," I demanded, trying to confirm it was really Chow Lai.

"The tai chi class," he answered impatiently, his voice sharp.

I got in the SUV.

"How are you here now?" I asked.

"We cannot talk here."

I sat quietly as Chow sped away, my mind turning over the possibilities. After turning off the Taser, I put it back in my purse, thinking all the while.
How is he here now
? I looked over at him as he drove; it was definitely Chow. We drove for a few minutes, heading back toward my hotel, then he spoke.

"I will park in the hotel's garage, then get your things from the room and bring them down. While I am gone, use a safe phone from the glove compartment to call the valet and tell him to bring your car to the entrance of the garage. Tell him you are meeting a friend there. Wait a couple of minutes, then call the front desk and check out of your room. That will give me enough time to get in your room while the key works. We need to get you out of here tonight."

"My room number is..."

"I know what room it is," Chow interrupted.

You do
?

"When I return, I will see you to your car. Head for the Peace Arch crossing back into the States. Go the speed limit, but get there as quickly as you can. You need to get over the border
now
. And leave the Taser in my car---I don't want you going through border patrol with weapons."