Progtopia: Book 1 of The Progtopia Trilogy (16 page)

Twenty-eight

The Year: 2033

Franklin had both of his hands on Camille’s shoulders. Holding her firmly, he looked her straight in the eye. “Are you ready, kiddo? This is the big time.”

Camille stared back at Franklin with determination. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She slung her purse over her shoulder, walking from her small apartment to the bus stop. As she waited on the corner dressed in her Jerry’s Diner uniform, she rehearsed every possible scenario that may confront her in the next few hours. As part of her cover, she had been working at the diner for over a month. She was known to everyone as Jenna Lane who had made her way to Chicago from New York in order to start a new life. As a recovering drug addict without family or friends, she needed to support herself. The owner of the diner had taken pity on her, even though he expected her to only last a week before she relapsed or just didn’t show for work. A month later, not only was he blown away by her work ethic, but she was a customer favorite. With some work, he could even see her managing the diner, giving him more time to spend with his family. Camille didn’t just play the part of Jenna Lane, she became Jenna Lane. She lived from paycheck to paycheck, went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings daily, had a sponsor, and chain smoked to provide a substitute for her supposed addiction. Camille was starting to believe who she had become—which was essential for this operation to work.

Before Camille went undercover, the plastic surgeons at the shire repaired her self-inflicted scars, changed the dimensions of her nose and cheekbones, and created tissue damage on her hands to disguise her fingerprints giving the appearance her hands were burned in a fire. While recovering from her surgeries, the IT team created her new identity. Camille became Jenna, a seventeen-year-old high school dropout who emancipated herself from her parents, making her a legal adult. They added her picture to yearbooks and constructed arrest records for prostitution and drug possession. Medical records detailed the various injuries she sustained as a prostitute, the multiple drug detoxes, and her numerous failed rehab admissions. It was relatively easy to do since some of the resistance worked for the witness protection program.

Peter, whose feelings were growing for her, was hesitant about her undertaking this mission, afraid for her safety. He made her promise that she would make it back to him. It was her promise to him that centered her and kept her head straight during all the lonely times at the apartment in Chicago. Today, the mission depended on her, and she was one step back to Peter.

For the last six weeks, to Camille’s knowledge, she had no interaction or contact with Franklin or anyone from the resistance. Two weeks prior to today’s mission, a regular customer who was a former news anchor in Louisville, Kentucky, wanted to do a story on recovering addicts. As a regular, his background was familiar to Camille. He was at the top of his game when his wife was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. His company no longer had private insurance due to its high cost, and they had settled for the national health system plan. Because her breast cancer had a low survival rate, all treatment was denied. Outraged, he did everything he could to fight the decision, but he never won the battle. Fueled by his desperation over his wife’s plight and rumors of government officials and their family members receiving top-of-the-line health care, he uncovered that Senator Johnson’s wife from New York had the same type of cancer as his wife. However, unlike his wife, the Senator’s wife was provided all available treatments and survived. He wanted to go public with the story, but his boss knew if the story ran with his blessing, the FCC and IRS would use their well-known gestapo-style tactics against the station. Against his boss’ orders, he went on air and exposed the hypocrisy and inequality of the national healthcare system. He was fired on the spot. His wife died a week later, and authorities took their only child, who was three years old, into protective custody. Government officials claimed that his erratic behavior and emotional state made him incapable of caring for his daughter. The message was received loudly and clearly to everyone in the media—do not report negatively about the government, or there will be consequences. Naturally, when he asked Camille to be part of the story he was working on for a small-time paper, she agreed to help him out.

Unknown to Camille, he was part of the resistance. Her story as a recovering addict made its way into the hands of the President’s secretary, Abigail, who suggested he take her along to the G8 to be part of an initiative to help troubled youth. When the President told Abigail that there was no such initiative, her persuasive ways convinced him to start one. He agreed it would be a good political move.

Abigail reminded the President he had several “off book” meetings planned, and Jenna Lane would be the perfect person to assist with them. She was apolitical, young, and clueless. She wouldn’t even know who was present at the meeting. The President considered her points and agreed to the program if Abigail personally supervised her. His secretary could be quite persuasive, and she knew exactly how to coax him in the direction she needed him to go.

Camille got off the bus, walked the block to Jerry’s Diner, and when she arrived, her boss appeared concerned. “Jenna,” he said pointing to the corner table, “those two men specifically requested you. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Although she knew the Secret Service would be interviewing her today, she needed to look surprised by the impromptu visit. She said, “Honest, Jerry, I’ve been clean and working hard. Did they say who they are?”

“Secret Service.”

“Secret Service? Aren’t they, like, the police for the President?” Before Jerry could answer, one of the Secret Service agents pointed to Jenna and beckoned with his hand for her to come over.

“Better not keep them waiting,” Jerry said nervously. “Here, let me take your purse, and you get over there and see what they want.”

Camille walked over to them. “Good morning.” She looked down at the table. “I see you two already have some coffee. Anything else I can get you?”

“We’re fine just with coffee.” He picked it up, took a sip, and placed it back onto the table. “We came here to talk to you about spending some time with the President.”

“Um, like the President of the United States?” Jenna acted nervous, placing her hands in the pocket of her apron as she shifted slightly from side to side. “What would he want with me? Am I in trouble?”

“No, not at all. The President came across a recent article about recovering drug addicts, and he was impressed by the way you are trying to turn around your life. He has just started an initiative for troubled youth who are trying to right their wrongs. He wants to consider you as the first chosen for the program. It would involve accompanying him on an upcoming trip to the G8 because he is interested in promoting youth outreach on that trip. He knows your story and thinks you would be someone who could serve in that role. We are here to extend the invitation and complete a formal background check.”

Camille started to laugh. “There’s no way I’ll be passing any background check. You guys know how many times I’ve been arrested? You should probably tell the President to find someone else.”

The Secret Service agent opened his notepad and started to read. “January 2029, solicitation for prostitution; February 2029, drug possession; April 2029, solicitation for prostitution; September 2029, possession of heroin; February 2030, hospitalization for severe burns to the hands.” He said this as he glanced up at her hands which were still in her apron’s pockets. Ready to continue with the litany of her hospitalizations and arrests, Camille interrupted him.

“The President knows this about me and still wants me to be in this youth program—like some sort of role model or something? Wow!” she said as she removed her hands from her apron. “I can’t believe this. Wait a second,” shaking her head, “this has got to be some sort of joke.” She turned toward Jerry, who was standing at the counter, and shouted, “Did you put these guys up to this?” Jerry looked confused, and he started to walk over to the table. As he was coming over, the Secret Service agent assured her this was not a joke.

“Jenna,” Jerry said as he put his hand on her shoulder, “are you okay?”

“Jerry, they want me to go with the President on a trip as some type of role model for youth outreach.”

“Really? Wow, that is great!” He told the Secret Service agents to give him the dates of the trip so he could fill her spot until she came back.

“Jerry, I know Jenna is working right now, but can we steal her for about thirty minutes to ask her some questions?”

“Take as much time as you need. My waitress,” he said, slapping her on the back, “going to work for the President of the United States.” He walked away shaking his head in partial disbelief and excitement.

With that, the Secret Service agents interviewed Jenna Lane, and once they were satisfied she would not pose a threat to the President, they provided her with a clearance to go on the G8 summit trip.

Twenty-nine

The Year: 2173

The Judge, Jonathan, and his committee were anxiously awaiting the exclusive broadcast interview of Thatcher Kelleher on the
Cassandra Williams Show
. They, along with the rest of the world, were still trying to process the events over the past twenty-four hours, hoping the interview would shed light onto the situation. The Judge stared angrily at his son and said, “You know this interview isn’t good for us. It’s not controlled, and it’s live.”

“Don’t worry, I can manage Cassandra. She understands the parameters of the interview and is aware of what will happen if she strays beyond them.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, son.”

Before Jonathan could answer, the familiar intro music to the
Cassandra Williams Show
started. Everyone in the room leaned toward their virtual reality screen in anticipation of the exclusive interview. Cassandra Williams was seated across from Thatcher Kelleher at an interrogation table. As the camera panned a close-up view of Cassandra, she started her opening remarks about the show.

“Good evening. I’m here tonight for the next thirty minutes with Thatcher Kelleher, known to everyone on the planet as Judge Kelleher’s daughter, Thomas Quinn’s girlfriend, and mover and shaker in the world of Agriculture. Last evening, she received the dubious distinction, to add to her long list of accomplishments, as the first government official ever to be chosen to stand trial. I think I can speak for everyone in saying that last evening’s selection came as quite a shock to everyone who was watching.” The camera, turned to Thatcher as she nodded her head in agreement with Cassandra. “Thatcher,” Cassandra said with concern, “how are you holding up since you’ve been arrested?”

Thatcher realized any sympathy Cassandra demonstrated toward her was fake and only for the audience’s sake. All she cared about was ratings, but Thatcher also knew, just as Cassandra was using her, she could also use Cassandra to her advantage. “Well, I must say that being detained will need some getting used to,” she said with a chuckle.

“What did you do today? Did you have any visitors?”

“I didn’t really do anything,” Thatcher lied, “besides lying on my back staring at the ceiling. No one came to visit me, and frankly, when I received your request to be interviewed, I decided to take it so I could have some companionship today. It’s very lonely sitting in a cell with no one to talk to, no virtual reality to occupy the time, and nothing to do but stare into space.” What Thatcher didn’t reveal to Cassandra was that she had been preparing for this interview all day. Knowing Cassandra would not be able to resist the one-on-one, high-profile discussion with the most famous of
The Trials’
participants, she prepared her answers to all of the potential questions she envisioned Cassandra would ask. Thatcher wasn’t stupid. Having concluded her fate rested in the hands of the public, she had to win them over. This interview was part of that plan.

“There are so many questions people are asking today, and I think the main one is, do you hate your brother?”

“I can see how everyone would immediately jump to that conclusion, but I can honestly say I don’t. That doesn’t mean I agree with what he did, but he thinks he’s doing his job.”

“Thatcher, he charged you with treason! What do you have to say to that charge?”

“It is false. I have never done anything to undermine the State or its people. My concern is only and always has been for the people and their well-being. To me, treason is performing actions that directly result in harm to the people of the State. For example, if I had altered a food policy in the Department of Agriculture that I knew would result in mass starvation of the population,
that
would be treason. I did no such thing. My brother, so cleverly talked about the ripple in the lake last evening, so sticking with that analogy, let us ask the question as to whether or not a new discovery made by scientists should be considered treason. That new discovery would certainly cause a ripple effect in the lake because the ripple, in fact, is really a change in the course of events of history. Certainly, that change may be for good or for bad. It all depends on your perspective. Our savior of the human race, the now deceased Benefactor Burton, spoke of the American Revolution last evening. From the perspective of the American revolutionaries, the ripple in the lake was a positive change, but for the British King, it was a devastating blow to his empire. So you see, one can look at this from different views and come up with very different conclusions. At this point, I don’t know what I even did that has landed me here.”

“So what you’re saying is your brother has not specifically produced your exact crime?”

“No, at this point he has not. Like I said, up to now, the first person I’m speaking with since my arrest is you.”

“You mean, Thomas Quinn hasn’t even come to visit you yet?”

Thatcher, aware this question was coming her way and despite the multiple times she tried rehearsing her answer, the hurt seen on her face was obvious to everyone watching. “No,” she answered in a whisper.

Cassandra, sensing her weakness, wanted to exploit her emotions. “Wow, I’m astonished he didn’t come to see you today, especially since rumor has it he purchased an engagement ring last week. How does it make you feel he hasn’t come to see you since your arrest?”

“Cassandra, I’m sure he has his reasons. I don’t doubt his love for me, and without talking directly to him about why he didn’t show, I don’t feel comfortable commenting on this. I truly believe no matter what the circumstances, one should be able to tell their side of the story before formulating an opinion one way or the other. Frankly, that is what I hope the public does when they watch
The Trials
.”

“So, Thatcher, let’s talk about
The Trials
. Do you know what the mystery punishment is?”

“I don’t, Cassandra. My brother didn’t discuss anything with me, and I guess I now know why,” she said with a relaxed smile.

“Thatcher, for someone who is facing treason and possible death, you seem very calm about this entire situation.”

“If I give that impression, it’s not true. Maybe I’m just comfortable talking to you, but I’m certainly worried about my fate. I know there are officials in the State government who have the ability to represent me and the others but won’t do so for fear of repercussions from the State. Clearly, as everyone on trial does, I will represent myself. I’m here tonight, however, to state publicly that I am capable of representing the others. I’m making that offer to the other three, and if they accept my assistance, I will represent them.”

Back in Judge Kelleher’s office, all those involved in
The Trials
looked anxiously at each other with Thatcher’s announcement. The Judge turned to Jonathan. “She is a ticking time bomb, and you are the one responsible for this. With her representing them, we’re going to lose the upper hand we always enjoy during this charade.”

Cassandra couldn’t believe this turn of events in the interview. Jonathan had specifically instructed her to make it a fluff piece and not get into any of the details of the trial itself. He warned her that Thatcher was smart and manipulative, and he couldn’t afford her turning public opinion against the State. Now, Cassandra was faced with a big decision in the midst of a live interview. She knew if she didn’t pursue questioning regarding Thatcher representing the others, it would appear she was in the pocket of the State, but if she did pursue the questioning, Jonathan may come after her during Marco’s trial. As if Thatcher was reading Cassandra’s mind, she could sense Cassandra was involved in a dilemma. She was smart enough to know her brother was most likely holding Marco over Cassandra. When she thought about the interview earlier in the day while lying in the cell, she fully expected Cassandra to be conflicted when she announced she would represent the others. Without giving Cassandra a chance to ask another question, Thatcher spoke.

“Cassandra, my approach to defending myself as well as the others is to prove their innocence based on principles and logic. My intention is not to point the finger toward other perpetrators or even directly toward the State, but rather demonstrate why the actions of the accused are not criminal. There’s nothing in the law or the rules of
The Trials
that states another criminal is prohibited from representing the others on trial. As their counsel, the State is required to share with me the evidence against them and grant me access to each of the accused in order to prepare their case.”

The Judge was furious, lighting up another cigar as he paced back and forth in his office. Jonathan and the others stared at him. Jonathan, starting to feel sick, clearly underestimated his sister, and they all knew they had to come up with a plan to stop her—and stop her fast.