“Good. We’ve been debating all week. You’ll cast the deciding vote. So: Do you think Mr. Bobby Kennedy knew he was going to fail when he brought the police chief and the protest leader to conference? Or do you think he genuinely believed they’d reach accord?”
“Huh.” It was a good question, Sebastian thought, if under very strange circumstances. He hoped they wouldn’t kill him over it but he knew he needed to answer. Veteran Zero was waiting intently. “I think the key to that scene, to the whole episode really, is when Bobby says, ‘We can only hope. And try.’ So yeah, I think he probably knew the meeting would be unsuccessful. But he went anyway.”
“But he went anyway,” Veteran Zero repeated, turning over the words in his mouth like a gemstone. “Well said, well said.”
The head militant plucked at his beard while one of the guards with a death skull patch smacked another’s shoulder and rubbed his fingers together in the money sign. If nothing else, Sebastian had settled a bet.
“Such a shame, what happened to Bobby,” Veteran Zero mused, holding a beard hair in front of him. “It all could’ve been different. No extended Vietnam. No Mediterranean invasion. None of this bullshit.”
“Next episode should be a good one?” Sebastian offered, hoping to steer the conversation to something resembling a future. “On to the debates.”
Veteran Zero’s mind had already moved on, though, pinging away to the next task. “You know who these men are,” he said, more declaration than question. Sebastian shook his head, not sure what he was getting at.
“In this swirl of fortunate sons and fucking profiteers”—Veteran Zero spat out the word like it was dirty water—“they’re the cherries on top.” Veteran Zero snapped into the air and a bin of cell phones appeared in front of Sebastian. “Pull yours out. You’re going to make a film for us.”
Sebastian rummaged through the bin. He thought about an SOS text to 911 but Maslow’s hierarchy was a motherfucker. Veteran Zero explained that ransoming off the politicos and celebrities had been their plan, but they hadn’t expected such prestige in the crowd. “The war chest of the cause can always use more coin,” he explained.
Sebastian nodded solemnly. He was talking with a lunatic, he was sure of it, one with whims, one with the clean conscience of a serial killer, the kind of insane that turned those around him into collateral damage. There was not a doubt in Sebastian’s mind that Veteran Zero himself had been sent to a rehabilitation colony, with good reason too, and somehow gotten free.
“This is for select media. Se-lect. Understand? Remember this info.” Veteran Zero waved Sebastian to him. He pulled out a jackknife and twirled it around his fingers. Then he cut Sebastian’s cable ties in one firm stroke. “We are not criminals. We are not terrorists. We are patriots.”
“You are not terrorists,” Sebastian said, rubbing at the marks left from the ties. “You are patriots.”
“What’s our mission, son?”
“Getting veterans their due. What the citizenry has failed to honor. Because of the social contract.”
“Good. Don’t forget the part about humiliating the elite.”
“Right. Soak the rich. Eat them.”
Veteran Zero nodded slowly, then tossed the cut cable ties behind him, onto the ground. He shifted in his chair to point to the three hostages onstage. “The cherries. Bernard Gault. Executive vice president at Rubicon Pharmaceuticals, proud member of the Council of Victors. A warfighter himself! An officer, of course. Decorated in Vietnam for valor under fire. And maybe, just maybe, the new Sinai consul. But: Rubicon manufactures maven, which is used at colonies to keep our kin incapacitated and drooling. Management likes its patients easily controlled.
“All that honorable service flushed down the shitter, Mr. Gault. Somewhere, your old platoon sergeant is fucking ashamed of you.”
Gault, a reedy man with a long chin, angled his head toward Veteran Zero. Sebastian recognized him from Mia’s engagement party. They’d talked Vietnam and Orwell. He hadn’t realized then Gault was so important.
“You don’t even know what you don’t know,” Gault said, nostrils flaring. “Maven stimulates brain cells. It’s going to save more traumatized veterans than any treatment program ever could. Money isn’t a panacea. But science can be.”
A guard mussed his hair like he was placating a child. Gault took it. Veteran Zero said, “You’re lucky we follow a holy man who believes in redemption. Otherwise I’d strangle you right now for that lie.” Veteran Zero seemed to take the maven issue personally, Sebastian thought. And what holy man? One of the guards had mentioned someone named “the Chaplain.” What did religion have to do with any of this? The head militant sniffed sharp and loud before continuing.
“In the middle there is Liam Noonan. You must recognize him from TV. He was a Navy SEAL, you see. Where were you for the Palm Sunday attacks?” Veteran Zero didn’t wait for Sebastian to answer. “Liam was a first responder. It’s always the lead sentence of his bio.”
Veteran Zero laughed to himself. Sebastian smiled in appeasement. It didn’t seem like a thing to joke about.
“Look how mad that made him! Opportunists. Never anything selfless about their service.”
Noonan growled like a dog. “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country,” he said.
Brave, Sebastian thought. If deeply stupid.
Veteran Zero laughed again. “As long as that country doesn’t include poors or brown people, right?” He clucked his tongue in disappointment and pointed to Pete. “Last we have the real prize. Odd seeing him in a suit, I know. Justice’s reputation as a fighting man precedes itself. Tried to convince him of the goodness of our cause. But. Too much order and discipline on the brain. You’ll come around, someday, Mr. Swenson, and see how you’re being used the same way we all were.”
“Okay.” Pete shrugged. “Cool.”
“Your adoring masses are gonna see a whole new side of you, Mr. Swenson. A vulnerable side. A tender side.” Veteran Zero removed a pistol holstered at his hip, directing it above the three hostages. The pistol was sleek and compact and plated in gold. Veteran Zero chambered a round. The dark magic of the gun slammed forward.
“A side that says, ‘Three Million Dollars,’ or the big hero becomes worm food.”
Pete took the opportunity to look over at Sebastian, coughing to clear his throat. Then he coughed again. And again. And again. It wasn’t until he arched his eyebrows and grimaced, though, that Sebastian realized what he wanted.
Oh damn, Sebastian thought. He wants me to do something. And he wants me to do something while… invisible. Yes. That’s what he wants.
Fear rose through him like hot air.
“What’s wrong, clown suit?” Veteran Zero lowered his pistol. He seemed to sense something had changed in the ether. Sebastian faced the other man’s bloodshot psychosis and tried not to blink.
“Nothing.” Sebastian swallowed again to wet his throat and hoped no one else could hear the sounds ricocheting around his chest. I’m just a citizen, he thought. I don’t do things like this. I don’t even know how to. Then he thought: well, now you need to.