The Black Seas of Infinity (3 page)

The days piled up, passing with frightening
quickness. Seasons came and went. I carried on, through changing
administrations and the government’s general waning interest. So
many times I thought I was on the verge of a revelation, only to
wind up with nothing. With any other research job, if you didn’t
come up with answers they fired you. But I was dealing with good
old Uncle Sam. As long as I looked busy, they tended to leave me to
my work.

I began a nubile, with about a year on the
job, and left a veteran. We had other crashes come in during that
time, mainly pieces that were barely salvaged wreckage, but I
remained focused. It was my obsession, and eventually it was what
led to my discharge. I fell out of the political game, began to
insult superiors, small men with even smaller minds who just
happened to be in positions of authority. I refused to feed people
the bullshit they lived off of, and they grew to dislike me,
especially those who outranked me. Not that I was ever too
offensive. I maintained a constant, slightly sarcastic wit that
seemed to grate on the very idiots I was directing it at. It was
brilliant. They would get mad, knowing I had talked down to them in
some way, but they could not put their finger on just what the
insult had been. I figured it didn’t really matter. No one else
wanted this work, and certainly no one else had as much time
invested, as much hands-on experience, as me. People would get hot
under the collar, pass me over for promotions and pay raises. And
in the end none of it mattered. I simply didn’t care. This was all
or nothing as far as I was concerned.

Eventually they found a way to get to me.
They took me off the project. After ten years I was replaced, just
like that. They ordered me to hand over all my materials to some
fresh-faced jerk-off straight out of college. Then I was
transferred to Virginia to work on military surveillance drones
again. I tried to quit, right there on the spot. It was made clear
to me, however, that quitting wouldn’t be in my best interest. A
few coworkers I got along with dropped hints, mostly rumors and
hearsay, but it was enough. I was mad, not stupid. So I played
along, letting them pay to relocate me. I took a raise to
compensate for the increased cost of living, not to mention the
aggravation of taking on a new assignment. But I saved my money. I
had plenty left over from my days in North Carolina. Unlike
everyone else, I hadn’t blown it on strippers and hookers—or a
family—and even with my stagnation in the raise and promotions
departments, I made more than enough.

A few times I headed out to parties,
begrudgingly talked into “a night out! A breath of fresh air from
the hermit you’re becoming!” I’d thoughtfully reflect over a beer,
peering at some of the fresh- faced and lively girls, my mind
running through a veritable “what if,” a hastily edited daydream of
a sensual night spent with an irresistible woman. Then I would snap
back to reality. I had a goal and an agenda. How stupid it would be
to let some base desire sabotage all my hopes and dreams. Like a
celebrity caught in a hotel room with a hooker. Everything gone in
the blink of an eye. I was better than that.

With the move, what had once been a distant,
barely formed idea became a quest. I lived frugally and saved like
never before. I played along, renting a small apartment and
stockpiling money for the next three years. I was good at my job.
Some of my surveillance drones were used to explore caves in
Afghanistan in search of terrorists, but my real mission was to
prepare. I went to the target range every week. I worked out every
day. I biked to and from work. I took JKD classes in DC, even
though it meant a long drive several times a week. I rebuilt a CJ5
jeep from the ground up: an AMC V8, JBA headers, Flowmasters, EFI,
t18a tranny, Warn M8 winch, Superswamper thirty-five inch tires,
Safari Snorkel, Detroit lockers in nine-inch Ford axles, Rancho
9000 shocks—the works.

I rented a space in a local garage, a
privilege I hear is becoming less common as owners grow more
fearful of lawsuits—but I had a stroke of luck. The guy I bought
the Jeep from knew a mechanic, and his recommendation got me in the
door. The grease monkeys working there were more than helpful. I
bought them plenty of beer, and that is a sure way to win friends.
I joined a local four-wheeling club and practiced using my truck
for rock climbs, river fording, and mudding. I made friends on the
team who were impressed by my zeal for hitting new terrains and my
endless tech questions. Everything had to be just right. There was
no room for error. I rebuilt an old Mustang—the guys in the garage
really liked that—and drove it down to southern Virginia. Parking
it in a clearing between trees, I stored an extra optima battery
and a couple of gas cans in the trunk. I bided my time.

After all that, I almost ruined everything.
There was a coworker who started talking to me every time I saw
her. She even went out of her way to make sure we ran into each
other, always popping up with her wide smile and sharp tongue.
Initially I didn’t think much of her. She seemed very white and
conservative in style. I actually liked her friend, a thin, tan
Native American girl, much more. But she grew on me. I hit a local
music club with them one night, and it was then I started to take
more notice. To be honest, after a few beers, what really grabbed
me was her cleavage, which was virtually popping out of a low-cut
dress. But her almost blinding grin, small, curvy body, and smooth
dialogue certainly didn’t hurt. After a few more encounters at
work, I convinced myself it wouldn’t hurt to hang out with her, and
we went out for a beer. She knew most everyone at the bar, and her
conversation and skillfully delivered flirtations kept me there
much longer than I had planned. I went home that night filled with
tumultuous thoughts. She was the smartest girl I had ever met,
leaps and bounds above anyone I had dated before, and it didn’t
help that she had become incredibly beautiful to me. But did I
really want to get involved? I liked her too much to be a total cad
about it. I knew there was only one way to play this. I was too
caught up in the novelty of it to ignore her and too trepidatious
to dive right in.

After a few trips to the pub it started to
consume me. Thinking of her would make my breath run shallow, my
chest tighten up. I’d go for a morning run, and like a looped tape,
I’d play the various scenarios over and over. Although I couldn’t
quite focus on the nature of my attraction, I was convinced she was
something unique. What was I to do? Give up my dream? Find some way
to work her into it? It was driving me crazy. Logically I was
headed into traffic going the wrong way. Was I really in love? Try
as I might, I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering. I would
nebulously flit through a broad range of possibilities, only to
keep coming back to her. I chose my clothes with care, changing
uncertainly into and out of outfits. I was totally at her mercy,
and it infuriated me—but I couldn’t pull away. Like a deer in
headlights, I saw my impending doom steadily rolling toward me. It
was almost as if I didn’t even care.

The late-night trips to a local bar quickly
turned into opportunities for us to hang out. At her suggestion we
planned to watch a movie at my house on our day off. She was
bringing a friend over, both for companionship and as a way of
convincing herself that anything serious might occur. At least that
was my take on it. I broke out my expensive new Korean dishware and
eating utensils I had bought on a whim during the period I was
obsessed with Tae Kwon Do. I finally ventured into a bookstore and
bought a Korean cookbook—something I had wanted to do for a long
time. Making a trip to Whole Foods, I spent a good three hours
working on a detailed recipe for a traditional hot pot. I wanted to
impress her, and miraculously I managed to create a savory and
unique dish. No longer much of a drinker, I picked up some liquor
for after-dinner cocktails.

We didn’t even make it through the first half
of the movie. Everyone enjoyed the food, and at her suggestion we
pulled out my blender and started making Mudslides. The liquor
kicked in quickly. Physical closeness on the couch, a slip of the
hand, and that was all she wrote. I’m sure her friend was immensely
uncomfortable as we tangled like snakes beside her. Our inebriated
passion led us from the couch to the kitchen, where she drunkenly
brought the proceedings to a halt as she informed me in a strangely
calm tone that she had another man in her life. It wasn’t really
the time or place for serious deliberation. I was already too
intoxicated and in too deep to stop. In no time we made our way
from the kitchen into the bedroom. Truth be told, it bothered me,
but only a little.

We continued our affair, the tension mounting
within me as I grappled with everything from jealousy, to doubt, to
a less than subtle sense of having been manipulated.

In the end, it didn’t last long. The final
straw was when I woke up naked under her covers and saw her
playfully chatting on the phone with her boyfriend. She sat on the
edge of the bed, putting on an Oscar-worthy performance of rising
alone and getting ready for the day. She gently nudged me to keep
silent. I didn’t overreact immediately, but the gnawing tension had
swelled to a turbulent current. I went home that day, thought it
through, and confronted her the next day. It didn’t go well. We
were both calm and reserved, at least on the outside. She seemed
genuinely distressed, and I delivered an ultimatum. I couldn’t
settle for status quo. I was, almost desperately, hoping she would
make a change and choose me. But it didn’t work out that way.
Slowly, with a series of small, killing steps, she shut me out of
her life.

At first I was resentful. Debating my
decision, I would grow angry and then calm in drawn out spurts. How
could I be so stupid? I was acting like a teenager in heat. I had
been married once before and told myself I should have been beyond
all of this. It’s as if human beings are crippled by their
emotions, all their great accomplishments merely a bizarre
afterthought that occurs between useless rushes of passion. That
was it. My brief flirtation with a normal life was over, and as my
feelings grew calloused and bitter, I resigned myself with renewed
intensity to my mission. This, at least, was bound to succeed, and
the final result would far surpass the possible implications of any
petty human relationship. I had been a loner for much of my life,
not really connecting—or even wanting to deal—with what I saw as
the unwashed, ignorant hordes of humanity. I don’t know what I was
thinking, trying to fit into a box I had always resented. It was
better this way.

CHAPTER
III

MY TAXI DRIVER MOMENT

I couldn’t quit my job without arousing
suspicion—and possibly a visit from the FBI. So I took a month-long
vacation. Suiting up in my apartment, I must have looked like some
special ops agent. I was outfitted in black BDUs, combat boots, a
pocketed work shirt, a holstered gun, a sheathed knife, and a
utility tool secured by a thick military nylon belt. I looked in
the bathroom mirror and channeled Travis Bickle. I even mouthed the
words, “You lookin’ at me?” But whereas Travis had a screw loose
and was living in a state of muddled confusion, I had never felt so
clear-headed in my life. I knew what I had to do. This was
Darwinism in action. Either I won big time or I would live a life
in prison. If I didn’t die trying. It was frightening and
exhilarating at the same time. This was something I had to do.

I started fairly late, even though I had
woken up early, unable to go back to sleep because of the
excitement coursing through my veins. I held out my hand, trying to
hold it steady, but to no avail. Anticipation, mixed with a nagging
fear, was eating away at the corners of my consciousness,
constantly reminding me that if I were wrong—or even unlucky—my
life would be forfeit. The minutes crawled by, and I anxiously
waited for afternoon, not wanting to roll into Fort Bragg too early
and risk arousing suspicion.

When I couldn’t wait any longer, I absconded,
still earlier than I should have. I hopped in the Jeep, cranked the
engine, and began the long drive back to Fort Bragg. I was hoping
that any cop who might stop me would see the giant truck, hear the
accent I had picked up in North Carolina, and figure I was just
some good old boy headed out to the wilderness for a weekend of
fun. I even stuffed camping supplies in the back of the Jeep to
help with my cover.

The drive south seemed to last an eternity.
The road signs and stoplights seemed to multiply, appearing in
unprecedented numbers, all with the express goal of slowing my
odyssey. I turned on the stereo, turned it off, and turned it back
on. All I had was the radio. I wanted this mission to be as
untraceable as possible. We all know that radio is shit. The
banality of the bad songs was made even worse by a churning sense
of unease and stress. I switched off the radio and left it off.

The common road scenes of late night
bombarded me. Sparsely populated interstates, corridors of black
asphalt, brilliantly illuminated by the sweep of headlights, the
walls darkened blurs of trees and underbrush. The traffic picked up
as I neared cities and died down as I reacquired the wilderness,
the grand tide ebbing and flowing, worker ants following the
contours of their daily sugar trail. My mind would start to wander,
dwelling on how pessimistic I had become, how anathema the normal,
everyday course of the human race was to me. It wasn’t like I
thought most people were inherently bad. They were sheep, blindly
following emotions and cravings they barely understood. There were
some people that made me sit up and take notice, real people with
real ideas and plans of action. But it was depressing how few of
them there were. I’d catch a glimpse of a more populated city, a
blur of motion and a hundred lights off to one side of the freeway,
and snap out of it. It was hard not to think in black and white
terms. There were a lot of gray areas, but they would only get in
my way. I couldn’t waver, couldn’t let emotions creep in. They were
just chemical signals that activated base animal instincts, and I
was stronger than that. My thoughts would change course from the
broad and metaphysical, and I’d focus on the immediate task in
front of me.