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Author: Earnest DeCarrow

Featured Image: Shutterstock Standard License 2439888701 (Dabarti CGI)

About a 14-minute read

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When the bag came off, he could see nothing, only darkness. After several agonizing seconds of silence and confusion, a blinding light bathed him in white but prevented him from seeing any of his surroundings. After several moments more, a silhouetted shape stepped in front of the light and moved toward him. He quickly realized the shape was a person, a man, and that man eventually spoke.

“Wow, this is really great. It’s truly an honor to have you here. I’m a big fan. Macellan Jones, the author of The Patriot series, sitting right here in front of me.”

Macellan shifted uncomfortably, overwhelmed by confusion and the natural fear that comes with being forcibly taken from your home. He still could only see shadow and light.

“What? What’s going on here? Where am I? What are you going to do to me?”

The shadow man did not immediately respond but must have realized how things looked from his guest’s perspective.

“Oh, yeah, apologies!” Then, shouting to someone in the shadows, “Hey, can we get the lights on in here and get our guest some water?!”

Slowly, overhead lights crescendoed to a soft glow and the blinding spotlight was turned off. Macellan gave a look around the emerging room. It was relatively small with a stubby metal desk immediately before him. The walls were devoid of any decoration or interruption to the cinder block pattern save for a door and large single-pane one-way window set in the wall facing him. Between him and that wall, the shadowy man also came into focus.

“Secretary?”

A smile broadened across the man’s face, simultaneously raising the edges of the tattoos barely covered by his crisp shirt collar and scrunching the two teardrop tattoos descending from his left eye.

“Secretary of Defense Belding Stump at your service. Again, it is an absolute honor getting to meet someone of your caliber. I love your books. I’ve read all fourteen in the Patriot series and cannot wait for the next one. I think I already have it pre-ordered. And your hero, Latham Court, has to be one of literature’s great bad asses. I have to admit, he’s been an inspiration to how I live parts of my life. You know, he’s a real man’s man who’s going to subdue all his foes, especially those who underestimate him.”

Macellan could have replayed this scenario a thousand times and likely would have never anticipated being abducted to meet the Secretary of Defense of the United States. He could not keep the surprise and uncertainty from his voice.

“Mr. Secretary, thank you, I guess. What is going on? What happened and why am I here?”

“Hopefully the snatch and gather wasn’t too much for you. It was my idea. I thought you may appreciate the flair, you know, something from Latham Court’s world. Plus, our teams here in the States could always use the practice. They don’t get to do as much snatching as they used to.”

Stump’s smile refused to leave his face, and he talked as though this should be an invigorating experience for Macellan rather than a nightmare. Macellan fought to make sense of   what was going on.

“Okay, but why?”

A knock on the door allowed Stump to procrastinate providing an explanation. He strode to the door and opened it to reveal another suited man holding a tray. It was Macellan’s water and what appeared to be a platter with sandwich fixings. After a brief exchange during which the smile never left the Secretary’s face, he closed the door and sat the tray on the table.

“Baker there figured it had been a while since you’d eaten, and given your typical dietary choices, put together some options for you. If you’d like something else, just say so.”

The Secretary’s statement carried another stunning revelation – “your dietary choices”. How would they know? Macellan looked at the platter, and sure enough, there was an assortment of cold meat, cheese, bread, and mayonnaise – everything he would use to create his go-to meal, a simple cold meat sandwich. The bologna and mayo even appeared to be his preferred brand. He looked from the tray to Stump, who continued wearing an enormous, confident smile that now supported expectant eyes. Macellan tried to infuse his words with gratitude in hopes of finally getting some answers.

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary, this is very generous. I’m sorry though, my appetite isn’t quite there yet. I think the shock from this has me turned upside down.”

Stump gave an understanding nod and sat at the table opposite Macellan.

“I get it. When I trained in these same scenarios with our boys, the adrenaline surge alone kept me wired for almost two days. But that’s why we train for this, so if it does happen, your body can respond appropriately. That’s how you survive and turn the tables. It’s something I’ve always got playing in the back of my mind as someone who’s potentially a target for bad actors.”

Macellan could only nod as Stump continued.

“But let me get into why you’re here so maybe you can start feeling a little better. First, everything we talk about, and this whole experience, is confidential. We can’t have you sharing anything publicly. Now, maybe if you want to use some of this as a little inspiration for one of your books, I think we can make that work. Really though, just assume everything is hush-hush. Legal will come in at some point to have you sign an NDA.”

Macellan already did not like where this was going.

“What if we just stop right here and I go, then I don’t need to sign anything and you don’t need to worry.”

Stump’s smile shrunk, and he ran a tatted hand through his slicked-back peppery hair.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to sign an NDA regardless at this point. You’re behind the curtain now. You’re gonna hear how the sausage is made. And even if you plug your ears, we can’t risk you going on TV to tell the world you were abducted by the government, even if it was for fun.” Stump laughed at his last comment. “Hell, with the bad-asses we had retrieving you, you’ve probably never been safer. I picked them myself.”

Macellan finally found his backbone.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Secretary, but I don’t like any of this. I won’t cause problems for you, but I’d really like some answers and to be on my way.”

Stump’s smile disappeared now, and he gave a hard look into Macellan’s eyes.

“Okay, to business then. The United States is in the midst of carrying out targeted military strikes abroad. The American people are unaware this is happening, but that won’t be the case for long. Me and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs have a press conference in several hours to share our actions with the world, and while we have professional speechwriters for this kind of thing, they’re not the most creative group. Frankly, I want our actions to be elevated to reflect how powerful and cool they really are. While I could have AI punch things up for us, I figured, why not bring in a guy who writes cool stuff for a living? When I read your books, I see it playing out as a movie. The bullets are flying across haze-laden battlefields while highly trained instruments of war dispatch their foes with cool efficiency. That’s what the American people need right now. They need to be transported to that special place where they can believe in their country’s strength and rally around a patriotic cause rather than whine about the inconveniences at home. Your words can do that, and I can lift those words off the page into the zeitgeist of American legend. Plus, I figured because you write like a patriot and must be a friend of the administration, that you could see this as doing your duty for your country.”

Macellan sat in disbelief of the logic and what he was being asked to do. There was an inherent bravado and ignorance dripping from the Secretary’s thought process that most sane individuals would not fathom to comprehend. As a writer, he certainly appreciated compliments of his work, but he would never think to apply his skills to propaganda and falsehoods.

“I’m sorry, Secretary, but you have me figured all wrong. I am not a friend of this administration.”

A scowl immediately clouded over Stump’s face, and his tone hardened.

“What, are you some kind of lefty radical?”

Macellan shook his head and looked down at the table.

“No. I’m actually a registered Republican but believe good politicians can still be effective as moderates. I hesitate to say this given my current situation, but I cannot support a leader who lacks basic intelligence and decency, nor can I support terrible people or the people who work for them. These are the kind of people Latham Court fights against. He doesn’t aggrandize violence; he seeks positive change in the world using the only tools he knows. That’s his gift and his curse.”

The Secretary was clearly taken aback and had no immediate words. He absent-mindedly played with the cuffs of his suit before once again running a hand over his hair. Stump stood and paced the width of the room.

“They say never meet your heroes. I have to say, this is really disappointing. You’re being asked to do something for your country, the country that provides for you and made you successful. When it asks just a little in return, you turn up your nose and make it political. It’s a good thing our boys fighting in harm’s way don’t have the same soft sensibilities you do, or we’d crumble as a country. I’m shocked you hate our troops and don’t appreciate the risks they take every single day ensuring you have the freedoms that make the United States the best and most important nation in the world.”

Macellan closed his eyes to help hold back an immediate retort. There it was, the same rhetoric used to whip up fervor and heap shame upon those who think before they leap. He shook his head before fixing Stump with a hard stare.

“Mr. Secretary, I do not hate our troops. They do vital work home and abroad, and I have nothing but awe and respect for those who take their role seriously and put themselves at risk. Because I have such admiration for them, I loathe when their lives are needlessly endangered or wasted because their leaders need to distract American citizens, hell, probably the world, from the other terrible things they’re doing. That’s just one of the reasons I cannot participate in this charade.”

Macellan could not tell if the Secretary was angry, but he assumed Stump was too dense to acknowledge any perspective other than the hardline nonsense peddled by the administration. The Secretary still held Macellan’s stare as he allowed a slight smile to reemerge.

“Our troops are the best in the world, and you’d be hard-pressed to find one who would speak against what the president is trying to do in making the world a better place. I’ll never understand why your ilk are so against peace or willing to celebrate the brave heroes with the gumption to work toward that end.”

Stump paused but continued looking at Macellan. Macellan could see the disgust in the Secretary’s eyes and wondered if he had gone past a point of no return. The Secretary held all the cards, but Macellan was not going to sully his name or conscience by contributing to their games. He assumed Stump was about to give him his answer.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. You’ll walk out of here today, but I can’t guarantee it will be without consequence. There’s a good chance you’ll lose a large chunk of your readership, but because I’m magnanimous, you can go home with enough extra change to cover the revenue lost to dwindling book sales. All you have to do is give us a slick operational name and a handful of descriptive sentences that highlight the awesome power of our military might. Do that, and you will be paid well and can go home knowing you didn’t completely turn your back on your country.”

Macellan could take insults. Stump was just another in a long line of bullies overcompensating for whatever vacuous belief consumed their personality. They devoured power, abused it, but then could never hold onto it. He knew his words could persevere in the pages of his books, and his actions, while they may only be known to him, would contribute to making the world a better place. Stump, the President, and the administration, however, would have their actions judged by history and the efforts required to undo their damage. There was nothing more for Macellan to do here. It was time to go.

“I’m okay with taking the hit. I won’t contribute to what you’re doing. You already have people for that, or I’m sure AI can give you a cheesy title like ‘Monumental Purge’ with overblown sound bites like ‘the sky was streaked with fire as our valkyries carried forth the instruments of their demise.’ You can stir your base with tales of awesome firepower and show the world that the United States can reach anywhere. You can proclaim a great victory in a war nobody knew was a war. Do what you’re going to do, but I’ll play no part other than praying for our troops’ safety. Have me sign what you need me to sign, then please take me home.”

Stump stared at Macellan for an awkwardly long spell, then nodded.

“Very well, Mr. Jones. I apologize for disrupting your day. One last reminder, however, if you share any of your experience here, the consequences will be severe. You may find yourself appearing prominently in some very unfortunate documents, or worse.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t be the only one.”

The Secretary snorted his derision before exiting the room. Soon after, a group of three lawyers, or at least Macellan assumed they were lawyers, entered the room and presented a lengthy document for him to sign. After a tedious read and the ink dried on his signature, Macellan was led to a black SUV that deposited him at his front door.

Later that day, all the networks broadcast the press conference with Secretary Stump standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs as they described the military actions taken in the Middle East to remove a brutal regime that had apparently been at war with the United States for nearly half a century. Macellan sat straight up in disbelief as they praised the efficacy of Operation Monumental Purge and presented descriptive imagery, such as “a sky alight with the awesome firepower of the United States military”. Despite emphasizing the awesome destruction from the most complex joint strike in the nation’s history, the operation’s outcomes and long-term plan all depended on assessments that would be “forthcoming”.

Macellan felt the angry blood rise to his face, but he was still too stunned to move. His words, words that had been so guarded yet flippantly tossed around to make an unnecessary point, had still found their way into the snake’s mouth, and now he would be forever stained by that connection. It was then that Macellan realized he felt what most Americans likely did in this moment – stuck in an abominable situation against their will with little to no recourse.