The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1) (40 page)

“How did he find out where the manor was?”

“I don’t know... He destroyed
everything.
T
he manor is in ruins.” Santos’ eyes grew wide as he recalled the horror. “He had an army with him... They went head-to-head with us and the NYPD. So many killed...and Bruce was among them.”

“Peter...” He put an arm around Santos. “I’m sorry. Bruce was a truly extraordinary person. This is a terrible loss.” Father Christy just then realized that Santos was still wet from the snow. “Peter, let me get you a blanket to dry yourself off. You’ve been through a lot.” As Father Christy stood up to fetch a blanket, Peter suddenly began to recollect aloud:

“In the manor, I was going in and out of consciousness,” Santos said. “From where I was lying, I could see him... Bruce.” Father Christy sat back down. “Right through a hole in the ground-floor ceiling—Bruce was upstairs, and he was fighting with
him
. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything. I don’t even know if I was immobilized by my injuries... Maybe it was my fear...” Santos stared at Father Christy, who didn’t say a word and allowed him to speak his mind. “I don’t know if God exists...but tonight, I think I saw the devil.”

“What are you talking about, Peter?”

“In the manor—I saw something. At least, I think I did.”

Father Christy looked at Santos, concerned. “What did you see?”

Santos opened his mouth, then closed it. He bit down on his lip hesitantly, then shook his head. “Never mind, forget it.”

“Talk to me, Peter.”

Santos stood up. “I’m done talking. I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“There’s nothing here for me anymore. I’m leaving the church. Leaving New York.”

“Wait, you’re not thinking clearly, Peter. Don’t make any rash decisions—you need time.”

Santos stared at Father Christy with a look of disdain. “Time for
what
? I never knew my real family. Bruce was like a brother to me, and now he’s gone.” Santos looked from one end of the church to the other. “I used to find solace here. And now, standing here—all I feel is anger.”

Father Christy studied Santos. “Peter, when you say you’re leaving the church...are you suggesting that you are leaving the faith?”

Santos stared off into the distance and focused on an arbitrary point on the floor. “I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I have to leave New York. I
need
to.” Santos extended his hand. “Thank you for everything, Father.”

Father Christy was stunned. But after a moment’s pause, he shook Peter’s hand. “I wish you the best of luck in your future. Safe travels.”

Santos glanced at the damage he had done to the church bench. “I’ll cover the cost of that somehow.”

Father Christy shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve done a lot for this church and the community. We’re in
your
debt, not the other way around.”

Santos nodded appreciatively. “So long, Father Christy.”

“Wait, let me get you something warm to wear.”

Santos flat-out refused. “No. Thank you.”

Father Christy nodded his head with a halfhearted smile. “Okay.” Santos made his way to the doors. “Goodbye, Peter. When you’re ready, God will call you back.” Santos raised a hand as he walked, to acknowledge that he had heard Father Christy, but he didn’t look back. Father Christy watched Santos walk out of the church and into the cold, snowy night. He didn’t feel good about letting Santos leave in the state of mind he was in. But he had spent decades listening to people’s problems and understanding them. He knew when someone’s mind was made up—when there was nothing to be gained by talking. He said three silent prayers after Peter had left. One for the men and women lost in the Greenwich Village battle. One for Bruce. And one for Peter.

***

Saturday, January 8th, 2000

It had been one week since that fateful day. The masses had gathered from far and wide for Bruce’s funeral—from all over the world to pay tribute to the fallen hero. This small, seldom visited cemetery in New York had never seen such a gathering.

Alex was tuning in and out. For all he knew, he could have been standing on the grounds all by himself. It had been one week, and yet all he could feel since his father’s death was a strange numbness that didn’t seem to lift. The gloomy afternoon with rolling clouds felt like an outward manifestation of the cloudiness in Alex’s own mind. Varick, Frank, Stanley, and Laura were all with him. Even Leonardo was here, with a cast on his rear leg. Charlie Walker, the youngest of Bruce’s foster brothers, had flown in from Los Angeles to attend the funeral. He had come with his wife and two children: Ken and Alice. Ken and Alice were close childhood friends of Alex that grew up with him when the Walkers were still living in Manhattan. They were by his side as well.

Alex had been introduced to so many people since the beginning of the funeral service, that he had fallen into a tedious routine of thanking and accepting consolation without mentally registering names or faces. He was truly grateful for their support, but in the state he was in, he simply could not process it all. Everything washed over him in a blur.

Frank nudged Varick and Charlie and pulled the two aside. “So, has it been decided? Where Alex is going to go?”

“I would be more than happy to have him live with us,” Charlie said. “Ken and Alice would love the arrangement as well.”

“No, I’ll look after him,” Varick stated firmly. “I’ve spoken with Alex about this, and he doesn’t want to leave New York. He wants to continue with his training. I can provide that for him.”

“Are you sure, Varick? Is it safe for him to stay in New York?” Charlie asked.

“Well, he can have more time to think about it, but I don’t think he’s going to change his mind.”

“He’s a brave child.”

“Can I suggest something here?” Frank interjected. “Well, obviously, you’ll need a new place to stay, and it shouldn’t be an advertised location.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“For you and Alex to stay with Stan.”

Varick narrowed his eyes. “Are you joking? With your idiot brother? I’d probably wring his neck within the first week.”

“If you plan to stay in New York, you need to lay low. Staying with Stanley is a good idea.”

“And Stanley would be okay with this?”

“Of course he would. Despite outward appearances, he respects you, Varick.”

Varick sighed. “Well, if Alex doesn’t mind... God, but he just irritates the hell outta me.”

“I think this will be good for Alex too. Regardless of what you may think of Stanley, he’s a good guy. He’s the kind of person that Alex needs to be around to lift his spirits. Because you know for the next few months, it’s going to be hell for Alex.”

Varick nodded and reluctantly gave in. “Fine. I’ll try to put up with him, then.”

“Good.” Frank patted Varick on the back. “By the way, where the hell is Santos? Have you seen him?”

Varick stared back darkly. “No.”

A safe distance from the crowd, Santos was attending the funeral. On an elevated hill he stood, leaning against a tall elm tree. This was his last stop and then he would be off. Everything he wanted to take with him was already packed in the canvas backpack he was wearing. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was going. Maybe down South...

Once the service was over, so too was his time in New York. Santos sighed.
Goodbye, old friend.
He bowed his head for a moment, then hitched up his bag and left on his journey.

Slowly, the crowds began to disperse from the lot. Alex noticed that after Charlie Walker had paid his respects in front of Bruce’s grave, he had done the same at the grave next to Bruce’s. Alex glanced over to where Charlie was standing and read the name on the headstone. It belonged to Douglas Walker.
Bruce never spoke a lot about his past, and it was only recently that he had chosen to divulge stories from it to Alex. Douglas Walker...Charlie’s older brother and the second oldest of Bruce’s foster brothers. He read the date of death on the headstone—it was evident that he didn’t make it back from the war.
 

Soon, it was only Varick, Alex, and Leo in the cemetery. Alex had been standing in the same spot in front of Bruce’s grave for over an hour. He felt strange. He could feel his eyes brimming with tears for the first time since it happened. It was all so surreal for him. And more than grief and sadness, other feelings were rising to the surface first. Varick and Leo were standing back to give Alex his space.

“Hey, Varick...” Alex spoke for the first time since standing in that spot. Varick stepped forward. “They’re going to pay.”

Varick nodded. “You got that right.” Varick watched Alex intently.

Alex clenched his fists, as if trying to puncture his palms. “I’m going to
make
them pay.”

“You and me both, kid.” Varick placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve got a lot to teach you.”

***

July 1975

A heavy rain was pouring. Bruce stood by himself in front of the grave of Douglas Walker. He was one of the most reliable people Bruce had ever known. Strong-willed. Kind. The rain splattered against his umbrella and dripped down the treated polyester.

Bruce had returned back to the States like he had always planned to. For nearly seven years, he had undergone rigorous training at one of the pillars of the Omega Ops Legion. He had journeyed to Tibet with Peter, but had come back to New York by himself. Peter planned to stay there a few more years, and when he returned, he could teach Bruce what he had learned.

Bruce was now a nineteen-year-old man. He hadn’t had contact with his family since leaving for Tibet. After seven years, to his dismay, he found that much had changed. The war was now over, but he had enlisted nevertheless. Three of his brothers fought in that bloody war. Flint Pederson and Ned Crawford were missing in action and presumed dead. Only one came back home...and Bruce was standing in front of him. He closed his eyes and ran his hand down the cold granite headstone.

A gentle sobbing brought Bruce back to this world. He turned to see that he was not alone in the cemetery. There was a girl kneeling by a grave. Her hands were sinking into the mud as she wept. She had no umbrella.

Bruce cautiously approached the girl and held his umbrella over her head. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and looked up to see what had stopped the rain. Bruce looked down at her, concerned. “Are you alright?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t stop hurting.”

Bruce read the gravestone. “He was a soldier in ‘Nam?”

“Yes. Cameron and I were going to be married one day.” She smiled. “Not anytime soon, but we knew...
We knew
.”

“War is a terrible thing. I’m sorry for your loss.”

She bit her lip. “I hate him for going. I told him not to enlist.”

Bruce began to feel a deep sadness for her. That, and something else, which he was compelled to share. “You know, my brother Doug was in the war.” Bruce pointed out the gravestone for her. “He was a smart guy, wise beyond his years. And when he enlisted, I asked him if he was scared...and you know what he did? He
laughed
at me. And then he asked me, ‘What’s there to be scared of?’ ”

The girl scoffed bitterly. “He didn’t care that he would be fighting for his life and that he could die?”

“And that’s
exactly
what I told him. Well, not in those exact words
per se
, but that was the gist of it.” As he reminisced, Bruce shook his head and wore a sombre smile. “He kept all of his feelings bottled up...or at least, I
thought
he did. The negative ones. I’ve never seen him sad
or
crying. He never really got angry... And he never showed fear.”

“For a smart guy, that doesn’t sound too smart...”

“Yeah, maybe. It wouldn’t have been smart if he did repress. But in hindsight, I don’t think he ever did. It was just the way he was wired. To comes to terms with things, accept them as they were, and make the best out of it. And all those negative feelings, they never had a place to grow. So even the prospect of death never really bothered him because, to him, it was just another part of life.”

The girl sniffled and wiped her nose. “I wish I could think like that.”

“Yeah, me too...” Bruce watched the girl. “You know...I actually pressed him that day, as to why he wasn’t scared. I thought he was crazy not to be. And he told me—that we can’t shy away from what we think is right out of fear. Not with the limited time we have. For better or for worse, that’s how you have to live your life...because regret can be a far worse feeling than fear. I guess both Doug and Cameron saw something there in the path of a soldier. And that’s why they took it.”

The girl looked sadly at the grave in front of her. “And now they’re both here. If it was right, then why was their time cut short?” She blinked several times and bit her lip, desperately trying to fight back a fresh wave of tears. “Why?”

“I don’t know... I couldn’t tell you. But maybe we can take consolation in them receiving some sort of truth. Some peace... Some happiness...
Answers
.”

The girl looked at Bruce, puzzled. “Answers?”

Bruce nodded. “To the questions we all ask but can never really know. The most basic and important pieces of knowledge that everyone wants:
Who we are. Where we came from. Our purpose.
What happens when we die
.” He smiled to himself. “It’s kind of funny really, that with everything we know today—our past, present, and future are all still a mystery. We may think we know, but we don’t. And chances are, in our lifetime, no person will ever really know.” He shrugged. “But maybe we’ll find out after it’s over.” The girl was watching him intently. Bruce suddenly felt a slight uneasiness under her gaze. “Well, that’s what Doug thought anyway. Sorry, I was rambling. I don’t know why I told you all of that.”

Despite herself, she let out a small laugh and smiled. “No, don’t be. I think it actually helped. They’re comforting thoughts. Maybe Cameron and your brother
did
find that happiness.”