Intercepts

by T.J. Payne

The major story on the news was that the U.S. had killed some big-time arms dealer in Istanbul. It was some Russian guy who had supplied a lot of terrorist groups. Apparently, they found him just moments before he was able to complete the sale of twelve guided missiles, the type that can bring down an airliner from the ground. A major terrorist attack, perhaps several major terrorist attacks, had been averted.

“There was an accident at your father’s office. Many people were killed. Including your dad.” Riley had no reaction. “Did you hear me? Your father is dead. I’m so sorry.” “Hannah?” Riley whispered. “Can I see Hannah?” “Dr. Chao died as well. Again, I am so, so sorry.” He said.

The pills inside rattled around. “If you take one every twelve hours for the next three days, you’ll sleep like a rock. I guarantee it.” He smiled. “One of the side effects is that it may make your short-term memory a little fuzzy. You might forget details of the last few days. The things you remember might seem more like the whispers of a dream before it slips away.

“There’s another option, of course,” Aguirre said, letting his smile drop. “With your dad’s health plan, we can send you to a special facility.

The voice, as wispy as a breeze through the trees, said, “Take the pills. Forget it all. Please, Riley.” It was her father. Of this she had no doubt. The voice filled her with a sense of love deeper and more real than any imaginary trick or horror.

She lifted Moby out of Grandpa’s old Buick and together they crossed the parking area toward the High Knob Trailhead. Her dad always liked to point it out on their many drives between her parents’ two houses. He always wanted to be a forest ranger, or a scoutmaster, or some job that would allow him to be free in the woods. He constantly mentioned how much he wanted to get her into hiking and backpacking, starting with this trailhead. They never got the chance.

In exchange for her signature and promise that she would never speak about her father’s death or job, they granted her a hefty settlement. Enough money to keep her comfortable for life.

The voice came to her then too. It told her to sign. To take the money. To stay quiet.

Riley smiled. “I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad.” A faint response drifted over the hills. The voice simply said, “Too.”

He loaded up the profile of the supervisor from that facility. He really liked her. She was a spitfire.

She was dead now. Her name was Claire Thompson. But Aguirre actually admitted that the name “Bishop” suited her better.

Joe was a good guy. Friendly, professional. That is, before Joe bashed a computer into Aguirre’s head and tied him to a chair. Asshole. He wondered how ol’ Joe was doing these days. “Let’s use Antenna 301,” Aguirre said, looking up from his tablet.

And why, pray tell, did you choose ‘Happy’ for Antenna 301?” “Because… because despite his extensive injuries… he’s always smiling.”

That smile stayed on the Antenna’s face. It was a natural, relaxed smile. Not the sinister, twisted smiles that crept across the features of the other Antennas. This was a smile of contentment. The smile a proud father would have as he gazed upon a daughter who just graduated high school and had been accepted into a very good private college.

Maybe it was from staring at the screen of the smiling Antenna. Maybe it was from too much work and not enough rest. Maybe it was the stress of the job. Whatever it was, a pressure pushed against the back of Mr. Aguirre’s eyes. He hoped it would soon pass because he was experiencing the worst headache of his life. Strange.