Dulce Truths

“Oh?” Anderholt says, as if this surprises him, which it does not.

Jake nods. “Was passing by at the time, heard the commotion and saw the soldiers and figured I’d check to see if everything was alright. Then I pop my head into the room and lying on the floor is the Dutchman, er… Ellis… and he’s dead.”

“And then what?”

Jake shrugs. “I was in shock, and when Carl — he was the one that was in charge — picked up the gun that was near Ellis’s head he said right away, ‘this is Mark’s gun.’ Well, after that he turned the base guards loose and we headed to Mark’s room. We found him there, in bed with one of the women we saved from Dulce, and after taking her away Mark was taken away as well.” Jake shakes his head at this point and lets out a sigh. “Sir, I’m not sure what’s going on, but it sure doesn’t seem right to me. I mean… Mark killing his own father? I just don’t buy it, sir.”

“You’re smart not to,” Anderholt replies, and then leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling. After a few moments of that he leans forward, stubs out his cigar, and then folds his hands together atop his desk. He stares at Jake intently. Finally he shrugs, cocking his eyebrows as he does so, and slowly begins to shake his head before meeting Jake’s eyes. “Jake, you’ve seen too much.”

Jake’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. He’s starting to get a bad feeling about this, however, and wonders if telling the general his thoughts was such a good idea after all. Surely Anderholt can’t be in on it… can he? Jake thinks to himself as the general gets his cigar put out and leaves it in the ashtray.

“You’ve seen too much and there’s just no way we can trust you not to keep looking for answers… like you are now.”

Jake narrows his eyes. “What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean, your use here has run its course, son.” Anderholt reaches below him to a desk drawer he’d already pulled out. Reaching inside, his fingers fall on what he’s seeking and he wraps his hand around it.

“My… use?” Jake says, confused.

“Oh, Jake… why’d you have to ask so many questions?” Anderholt pulls his arm up, and there in his hand is a flashgun. Jake’s eyes go wide.

“Sir,” he says, taking a step back and putting one hand up in front of him, “sir… don’t do this.”

“Do what…” Anderholt asks, “…push this button here and vaporize you into a little pile of ash?”

He has his head cocked to one side as he points down at that button on the flashgun, his eyes going back up to Jake as he finishes. For his part, Jake just stands there, like a deer caught in headlights and unable to move. Then just like that, he decides he’ll make a break for it. He dashes to his left, with the plan to swivel, get down, then get that door open. If he can just–

ZAP!

Anderholt presses the button he’d been pointing at and a laser-like ‘flash’ shoots out, hitting Jake right in the back. And just like that, the soldier winks out of existence, nothing to show for his life but that little pile of ash Anderholt had mentioned earlier.

“Oh, Jake, Jake, Jake,” the general says as he gets up, walking around his desk to look at the pile of ash that was once one of the most decorated heroes from the war in Afghanistan. That war was still another 22 years away, not here in good ol’ 1979 but in the year 2001. That’s where Jake had been from, and once again Anderholt knew his decision of twenty years ago to use soldiers not from this time was one of the best ideas he’d ever had.

No one will miss them, he’d thought at the time, and he thinks that now as he bends over the small pile of ash and blows. The remains of Jake blow toward the doorway and collect at the edges of the filing cabinet, with some even clinging stubbornly to the floor. Anderholt leaves them there, smiling at the thought of the janitor mopping them away later.

No one will miss him, Anderholt thinks again as he returns to his desk and retrieves a fresh cigar, no one at all.

16 — Behind the Curtain

Blue Lake

Friday, May 25, 1979

9:47 AM

The doorknob begins to turn and Mark looks at it wearily. With blurry vision he sees it open, then two figures come in. He can’t make them out, but figures one must be Carl.

“It’s been twenty minutes,” Mark says, a bit sluggishly like he’s coming out of anesthesia.

“Twenty-four, actually,” Carl says, glancing down at his watch, then, “Has the truth serum taken effect yet, Mark?”

“Six minutes ago,” Mark replies, drowsily trying to focus on the two men. He finally does so, and what he sees sends something else coursing through his veins — anger. The adrenaline-fueled emotion isn’t enough to overwhelm the sodium pentothal, but it does awaken him and give him back a bit of his senses. There before him, and standing next to Carl, is General Anderholt.

“Hell, Mark,” the general says, “it’s good to see you again… though under the circumstances…”