Children of Paranoia (3 page)

“You're a master, Jared. Truly brilliant work,” I said as I flipped further into the paper past the article about my friends.

“You're not in there, Joe,” Michael said as he continued to watch me flip the pages. “Nothing about your mark at all.” Just another body, I thought. Not newsworthy. Just an average woman killed in an average way. Nothing to see here. “You sure you actually remembered to do your mark?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, I remembered. It was easy.”

“Yeah, but your kill was probably the most dangerous,” Jared said. “Everything was set up for yours. We were just supposed to create noise. You had to take her out, show them that there are consequences.” Jared continued driving down I-295, changing lanes and slipping through traffic. “Her husband had to learn a lesson. You don't take out eight of our guys in one year without repercussions.”

“I read the preliminaries,” I said to Jared. I stared out the window at the faces in the cars that we passed, scanning each one, trying to guess if they were one of us, one of them, or if they were just one of the lucky uninitiated masses. There was no way to tell. We passed a silver Volkswagen Jetta with a cute college-age girl behind the wheel and one of her friends in the passenger seat, passed a big black Escalade driven by a large man with a mustache and a tattoo on his left arm, passed a black couple driving a small red sports car, kept on moving forward, kept on passing people, all potential friends, all potential enemies. All I knew for sure was that I had one more professional killer who had plenty of reason to want me dead.

“What's next on your agenda?” Jared asked me.

“I've got a lecture to do. You guys?”

“A little rest and relaxation for me.” Michael smiled. I looked over at Jared, wondering where he was off to next.

“I've got another job to do. It shouldn't be tough. After that, maybe we should try to get together.” Jared nodded his head toward the passenger seat. “Where exactly are you headed for your vacation, Michael?”

“You know I'm not supposed to tell you two losers. What if you're caught and tortured, you might give me up.” That was protocol. Even meeting for these moments after a job was unorthodox. We were always taught that as few people should know where you are as possible. It was safer that way. Keep moving. Keep quiet. Stay safe. It was boring and lonely as hell. “Besides, you two will probably cramp my style.” There was a pause. “But maybe, I might be headed to Saint Martin—the French side. Great sun, great food. My place is big enough for the five of us. Me, you two, and the two girls I'm bringing home each night.”

“What do you think, Joe? Saint Martin? Sit in the sun, drink liquor through a straw, stare at the beautiful women cruising the beach?” My eyes met Jared's again in the rearview mirror. He was my oldest friend. We'd known each other since long before we knew what type of life we were destined for. When we were in first grade, we played cops and robbers. We pretended to be firemen, astronauts. This, we never imagined. We never played good and evil. Jared looked a little tired, a little worn down.

“I'm in,” I said.

At the airport we went our separate ways again. Michael dropped me off first. He'd drop Jared in a different location and then return the rental car. As they drove away, Michael leaned out of the passenger-side window, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “Remember, young Jedi, the force will be with you always.” I could still hear Michael laughing as I walked through the glass doors into the terminal. From here on out, if the three of us saw each other, we were strangers.

When I got to my terminal, I went to the flight desk and got a seat assignment for a person whose name wasn't mine. I showed them an ID with my picture on it but a stranger's name. Then I boarded a plane to Chicago. It's a shame that it wasn't a longer flight because as soon as I leaned back in my chair, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I didn't budge when we took off. I barely noticed when we landed. It had gotten to the point where the only place I could ever get a deep sleep was on an airplane.

In Chicago, I was supposed to assist in a lecture to some local kids. I knew what to expect. It was more an initiation than a lecture. Each kid would be roughly sixteen years old. They'd still be innocent. They'd still have two years left before their worlds began to collapse around them. They'd have two years to get used to the idea that there were people out there who wanted to kill them. I was invited to these things because I represented death. They didn't know it yet, but I was their future. One of our Intelligence guys would lead the lecture. He would introduce me near the end of his talk. My job was to tell these kids about what I did for a living, to show them what they might one day become. It was kind of like career day for the criminally insane.

The lecture took place in the den of a house in a wealthy Chicago suburb. The kids sat on couches and upholstered dining room chairs that the adults had pulled into the room for the lecture. Everything was set up so that the kids' eyes would be directed toward an empty wall where the television usually was. The man hosting the event had three children, two boys and a girl. The oldest child, one of the boys, would turn sixteen in two months. The father had taken the two younger kids into the city for the day. They'd eventually have to sit through this lecture, too, but not today. Most parents tried to shield their kids from the War for as long as they could.

All told, there were eight kids there, all from around Chicago, all within three months of their sixteenth birthday. There were three girls and five boys. Each of the kid's parents had dropped them off for the lecture, kissing them, promising to come get them in roughly four hours and driving off, probably crying as they drove. This was no bar mitzvah or first communion. This wasn't about ceremony. This really was the end of these kids' innocence. None of them really knew what the lecture would be about, but none of them were clueless either. When you grow up in these families, like I did, you can't help but know things.

I sat in the back of the room on one of the chairs. I'd have to watch most of the lecture, only contributing my part at the end. Then the lecturer and I would take questions. We always got a lot of questions. We answered the ones we could. Some questions just went unanswered. The lecturer today was a guy named Matt from Intelligence. I'd never seen him before. I would probably never see him again. There was no rhyme or reason to our pairing. There never was. Matt wore a dark blue, pinstriped suit. His hair was cut short and he wore silver wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like a banker. These kids, they were our investment.

Matt began his lecture. “Hello, everyone. My name is Matt. I'm here to tell you guys a bit about the world and about how you fit into it. I'm not here to lecture you. This is a talk. Feel free to ask questions at any time. I guess this will kind of be like your high school sex-ed classes, only I'm going to tell you some things that you don't already know.” That's right, butter them up, I thought. His line got a nervous laugh from the kids. They shot quick glances at each other, trying to figure out if it was okay to laugh. It's okay to laugh, kids, I thought. You might as well laugh now while you still can. Matt continued. “Before we get started, I think it would be useful if everyone introduced themselves, first names only. Then tell us a little something about yourself, about clubs you're in, sports, hobbies, favorite band, whatever.” They did this in every lecture that I had attended. I always thought it was strange because from here on out, so much of their world would be shrouded in secrecy. Normally, if you get ten of us in a room together, the idea is to share as little information about each other as possible. There is safety in silence. This was different. This was the first time for these kids. It was important for them to know that they weren't alone. It was important for them to know that there were others out there, people on their side, people dealing with the same issues as them, other people who, like them, would go on to lead lives full of fear and hatred. Matt's eyes turned toward the kid whose house we were in. “Ryan,” he said, as if he were an old friend of the family, “why don't you start?”

Ryan stood up. He was a big kid. He looked like an athlete. He was nervous, though. He put one hand in the pocket of his jeans to try to keep it from shaking. “Hi, my name is Ryan. I'm fifteen, going to be sixteen in two months. This is my house and I play football.” Football. If Matt weren't about to fuck with Ryan's head, Ryan probably could have been a popular kid. Maybe he could have been homecoming king. Maybe he could have dated a cheerleader. Maybe. The girl to his left spoke next. “Hi, my name is Charlotte. I just turned sixteen and I play the violin.” Charlotte glanced at the other kids' faces as she spoke. When she was finished, she quickly turned her gaze back to her lap. It went on like that for the next fifteen minutes: Rob, the hockey player; Steve, the science club president; Joanne, the drama club member. None of these kids knew each other. They had been handpicked for this very reason. Even if they had friends that were on our side, they weren't supposed to know it. Jared and I weren't supposed to know that we were both part of the War. The fact that we'd found out was just dumb luck.

When the kids were done introducing themselves, Matt went on. “Okay, I know you guys are nervous. You're nervous for two reasons. First, you're nervous because you don't know why you're here. Second, you've got an idea about why you're here and you're nervous that you might be right. You all know that you are different. You know your lives are different from your friends'. You can feel it. I know that you've asked your parents questions over the years that they've refused to answer. Well, first let me assure you that they refused to answer your questions because they were trying to protect you.” Matt paused for effect. “I'm here because soon everything is going to change for you. Ignorance will no longer protect you. I'm here to tell you the truth.”

The truth? The word bounced in my head. It echoed there for a moment and then died away before I had time to think too hard about it. Matt jumped right in. “How many people here have had a close family member murdered?” Six of the eight kids raised their hands. Matt raised his hand too. I could have but chose not to. “How many of you have had a parent murdered?” Three of the eight. As they raised their hands, the kids looked around the room, the expressions on their faces a mix of fear and amazement. The names, the clubs, the sports, those things didn't help any one of these kids bond. The death, that's what bonds them together, that's what bonds all of us together.

“Strange, don't you think?” Matt nodded. “Well, my job here today is to tell you who killed your parents”—Matt made eye contact with the three kids who had lost parents—“and your relatives”—he lifted his head and gazed across the broader room. At this point, Matt turned on the projector that he had hooked up to his laptop. It projected an image against the blank white wall. All of the kids were now hooked, their eyes fixated on the picture in front of them. In their wildest dreams, this is not what they expected. When I was in their spot, it wasn't what I had expected. I remember how shocked I was. The picture glowed on the wall. It was a picture of a white man, roughly thirty years old, with blond hair, brushed to the side. He looked like a television star, handsome, strong. The next picture was of a black man, roughly fifty years old, with a white beard and glasses. Matt clicked a button on his keyboard. The next picture was of a dark-haired woman with deep-set eyes and a slightly crooked smile. Another picture, this one of an Indian man wearing a turban, then one of a chubby white man with a crew cut, then one of a young black woman with her hair tied back, a Hispanic woman, a Korean man, another white man, another white woman, a woman wearing a Muslim headscarf, a man with a long beard, a Chinese woman, and on and on. This little slide show lasted nearly twenty minutes. We had video. We had plenty of video, but they'd tested it and the pictures always had more effect. The pictures gave the kids time to ruminate on the faces. I had seen nearly all of these slides before. There were only a few new additions. Each of these people was one of our enemies. We knew it. About half of them had been eliminated already. The rest were still on the list.

When the slide show ended, Matt stood silently. He wasn't going to say anything. He was going to stand there until one of the kids spoke up, even if it took an hour. It never took that long. Rob, the hockey player, raised his hand. “Yes, Rob?” Matt asked.

“So which one did it?”

“Which one did what?” Matt asked. He knew what Rob was asking but he wanted Rob to say the words. He wanted every kid in that room to hear Rob say the words.

“Which one killed my mom?” Rob asked. Then he swallowed so hard I could hear it in the back of the room.

“They all did.” Matt turned the lights back on. He walked slowly to the front of the room. We actually knew who had killed Rob's mom. He was still alive. He lived in St. Louis. They chose not to use the pictures of the people who'd actually killed the kids' family members. They didn't just want to show them one killer. They wanted to make these kids hate them all. “They're all complicit. Do you guys know what
complicit
means?” Each of the kids nodded. Smart group. Matt had their full attention. “They all killed them. They worked together. The scary part is that's only a small portion of them. And they're not done. They'll never be done. They'll stop only when we stop them. They are bloodthirsty killers. They are evil. They are the enemy. This is a war. It's been going on for generations. If you're lucky, it will be your generation that ends it.” I had heard this part of the speech enough times that it had begun to turn my stomach each time I heard it. The propaganda wasn't my style. I always thought that it was unnecessary. I looked at Rob. He was staring at Matt. He had a slight twitch in his left eye and was flexing and unflexing his right fist. I couldn't help but think to myself, just tell the poor kid who killed his mom and send him on his way. You won't have to tell him which side is good and which is bad. As far as he's concerned, he already knew. Matt continued. “Two years from now, when each of you turns eighteen, you, too, will be a part of this War. There is no way out of it, no escape. These people”—Matt spoke the word
people
with disgust, as if it really shouldn't apply, then continued with more confidence, his voice growing louder with each word—“will come after you too. They want you dead. Make no mistake about it—each of you was born into this world with a special destiny. Each of you can work to make this world a better place. Once you turn eighteen you will be a target. You can be killed, just like your parents or your aunts or uncles were killed. You can be murdered, in cold blood, by the enemy. As Joseph here . . .” Matt pointed to me, acknowledging my presence for the first time. All of the kids turned in their seats to look at me. I simply sat there and nodded. Matt continued. “As Joseph will explain later, there are things that you can do about that. Once you turn eighteen, you can be killed, but you can also act to stop the killing. You can stop the violence. You can get revenge.” Now I was interesting. The kids all turned to look at me again. Matt went on unfazed. “There are lots of things you can do to help us defeat the enemy—but more on that later.