Untitled

Prologue

“….Amen,” the Priest at the head of the group finished, lifting his head from prayer. The twenty people around him followed in suit; lifting their heads to reveal glistening tears in the bright sunshine. They were casual friends and coworkers of the man who was now being slowly cast down into the four-foot hole. At the top, a large gravestone marked who it was; Lance Williams, 1935-1990, Beloved father and husband.
Lance Jr., the man’s only son, stepped forward and dropped the first hand of dirt onto the coffin, letting the small grains bounce over the coffin. He stepped back quickly and stood next to his wife. She wore a long, black dress and her sightless eyes let tears run freely run down her fair cheeks. They had left their two young sons to be looked after by a neighbor. Lance remembered what his father had told him the week before he had died two days ago:

“You called for me?” Lance Jr. peeked his head around the corner of the office door.
Mr. Williams looked up from his laptop behind the mahogany desk. “Yes, come in.”
Lance dragged a burgundy leather chair to the front of the desk and sat down, and glanced over the array of papers and those expensive pens he had never seen the point of . Mr. Williams leaned forward, folded his hands together, and immediately broke into a coughing fit. His son waited patiently for him to finish, used to the coughing after the past few years. When he spoke, his voice was raspy.
“What do you think is the most effective way to win in a war, Lance?”
“Kill as many people as you can? Become more powerful then any of the other countries in the world?”
“No and no. The answer to that is deception.” He leaped back suddenly in his chair and spread out his arms dramatically, letting the rolling chair almost go into the wall behind the desk. “You can do almost anything with deception! No one can expect something because they think that it cannot possibly happen, but it does.” Mr. Williams paused for a second. “Who are the most deceptive people in the world?”
Lance thought for a minute before answering. “Children,” he said, remembering how one of his sons, though only six, had already pretty much figured out how to get anything he wanted.
“Exactly. Children can get away with anything; there are really no major consequences when they get in trouble. I grounded you tons of times when you were a kid, but to that, there were really no…lasting effects or anything permanent. Now, imagine…” he waited for Lance to nod understandingly. “Imagine that these children have certain…abilities that would help with the deception. Something no one would imagine a kid doing.”
Lance nodded again, crossing his arms over his chest and staring right at his father. What was he getting at?
“Do you think that is all possible, Lance?” Mr. Williams asked. “Tell me the truth.”
Lance shook his head. “Honestly? I don’t think so. Things have been tried like that before, but it never works.”
“Wrong, it is possible.” He pulled a large file from one of his desk drawer, and let it fall with a small flop in front of his son. “This tells everything…I…want you to have it. I don’t want my life’s work go to waste or put in the wrong hands.” He laughed ruefully and shook his head from side to side. “Yeah, I don’t think that would be to good.”
“I don’t understand,” Lance said, weighing the large amount of paper in one hand. “Why?”
Mr. Williams’s face grew serious and he rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “We both know what is happening…there is no use denying it. The monster has taken over and there is no longer a point of trying to drive a knife threw its heart when he had already won.”
Lance nodded, understanding the cancer he was talking about. His father had smoked cigarettes and cigars…those were his favorite… since Lance could remember and had been battling lung cancer for the past two years. Although it had made it worse, he had never given up smoking.
“Imagine the good you could do with that information. Have a good life with your wife and children; live the American dream. Help America see what has been happening beneath its gilded exterior and what other countries have hidden and protect us,” Mr. Williams took out another paper and laid it out for Lance to see in plain sight.
It was his will.
He ignored it and watched his father with caution. “Isn’t that what the government is for? The CIA and the FBI?”
“Yeah, but they do not exactly approve of my methods.” He pulled two business card sized plastic pieces and handed one to Lance. He took it and rubbed one of his fingers alongside the smooth edge while Mr. Williams slid his card threw what looked like an ordinary crack that ran from the floor to about eye height.
A loud buzzing hummed threw the air loudly, but it did not get the attention of any of the workers out side the office. The floor by a bookshelf slid open and revealed a long, dark staircase.
“Follow me,” Mr. Williams grunted, starting down the stairs. Lance looked around, then descended down after his father.
The staircase did not go as far down as he thought that it did, but it was steep and the lack of any kind of lighting made it near to impossible to see. When they reached the bottom, there was a large door with two guards on either side of it, standing straight up and heavily armed. They were not large people, making it hard to picture them doing any kind of harm.
Deception, Lance recognized. His father used deception to manipulate people…using stereotypes. Mr. Williams showed a card to them and motioned toward Lance. They nodded and opened the door to reveal a large, sterile looking room. Desks had been arranged in long rows, each one occupied by a busy person working on a flat-screened computer..
Mr. Williams smiled brightly. “This is my life,” he said. “Everything has taken place here, and probably will always. Everything is set up now, all we need is a test subject.”
Lance eyed all the workers. “How long has this been going on, Dad?” he asked.
He sighed. “Long time. Before you were even born.”
“Wow. Deception, right?”
“Now you are getting it.”
He continued forward, weaving in and out of desks and various workers. A woman in her early thirties soon stopped him. “Oh, Mr. Williams, I have some…” she stopped, noticing Lance. “I see you have brought company,” she said curtly.
“Yes, Lucy, this is my son, Lance. He will be taking over once…” he swallowed, closing his eyes.
Lucy smiled, ignoring Mr. Williams’s sudden change in mood. “Nice to meet you. Well, I better go now, I bet this is all a bit strange. I’ll probably be seeing you around a lot more, now. Your father is a good man” She walked away, red hair bouncing up and down.
Lance turned to his father. “Did Mom ever know anything? Or even at least the people upstairs?”
Mr. Williams looked away, suddenly becoming interested in weather the guards were doing their jobs and looking at some of the papers Lucy had given him.
“I never told your mother about this, but…” he broke up as Lance started talking quickly.
“So, what the hell do you want me to do?” he asked. “Do you want me to lie to Terra like you did Mom? Or how about this, I have two sons, do you want me to lie to them like you did to me for over thirty years like you did to me? I won’t do that! I cant believe that spending more time here then with your family was your top priority.” He took a deep breath, and started leaving towards the stairs.
Mr. Williams followed quickly behind. “Look, Lance…” he said as they reached the top of the stairs. The office came into view; it was like coming out of a completely different world. He grabbed his will off the top of the desk and quickly signed it. “Take it, I want you to have it all.”
“What?”
“Take it.”
“But I just said…”
“I don’t care what you just said, just take it and at least think about it.”

Lance felt the piece of paper in his jacket pocket regretfully. He had taken it, practically telling his father that he was going to carry on his work. A harsh wind blew over the now almost deserted cemetery as people started heading home. The priest walked over.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.
Since Lance did not answer, Terra did. “Thank you very much,” she said warmly.
The priest nodded. “God bless you.” He left, fingering his Bible.
Terra turned to Lance and touched his arm. “Are you ready to go now?”
“No, I think I want to hang around here for a little while,” he said, turning to the upturned dirt.
“Okay, then, I’ll meet you in the car.”
Lance walked threw the cemetery, his shoes making soft imprints on the lush green grass. Gravestones came and went as they were passed on his way to a small stream he knew was in the back. Lance pushed threw some brush, revealing a short, rock beach alongside tranquil water.
So what? Do I feel bad that Dad and I were never close just because of that damned project of his? Do I continue it, doing the same thing Dad did to me? He shook, his head, confused. Is it the right thing to do? Then of course, maybe… About two months ago, Terra and him had gotten a phone call from the doctor confirming their worst thoughts; their youngest son was blind, just like his mother. Things had changed between them since then; conversations were tense and now filled with worry. He would have to go to a special school, like Terra had, and the money that was going to be needed was enormous.
Yes, he thought thinking more of the idea that was growing in his head. I think it might just work.