Public Republic

by Mario Kronenberg

Photo: doug88888

October 2 – Sunday, New York

“Every beginning is difficult”

On the day when in 1789 George Washington sent the proposed Constitutional amendments (The United States Bill of Rights) to the States for ratification, the “British Airways” plane from London had a minimum of delay – instead of 11:35 as scheduled, it landed at the “John F. Kennedy” airport at 11:55. Yib took a cab towards downtown, 20 minutes later transfered to another cab, and about an hour later entered the “Grand Central” hall.

He drank some coffee, made sure that nobody followed him, found the storage cell – inside was a car key, car papers and parking number. Found the car – “Toyota Prius”, metallic gray – an ordinary car, as many others in New York. In the glove compartment he found house keys and an address. As he did not know the city, he typed the address in the navigation system and in about an hour he got there – a small house in South Brooklyn. He took a shower, sent two text messages from his mobile phone and got two in reply.

At 16:00 he went to the first address and met with the first one of the six – a young black man, impeccably dressed, in a kind of banker or lawyer. Brian James was a building contractor and got a company in New York. He had won the competition for the renovation of “City Hall” in New York. Official opening was scheduled for October 31 – Halloween. Brian said, that everything goes according to plan, and that after three weeks he will be able to fulfill the request. Yib looked at him with piercing eyes as an x-ray beam, but in response the black man only smiled, showing blindingly white teeth, as if to remind him that October 2nd is the International Day of the Smile. Yib smiled too, but only with his mouth – his eyes blew chill.
The next person on the list was a policeman from the precinct in whose area the City Hall was.

They met in Central Park – because of the nice weather, and since it was Sunday late afternoon, it was full of people there. Karim was a stout, stocky man of middle age. Nobody knew he was an Iranian, he had arrived in the U.S. 15 years ago with a Turkish passport. Karim was dark skinned, had a slightly hooked nose, and a scar on the neck. It was unclear whether by knife or by burning, but Yib didn’t like people with scars – he considered them marked. His eyes looked grumpy beneath bushy eyebrows and eyelids. He said he was eager to fulfill the will of Allah.

October 2 – Sunday, New York

“Beneath the surface of everything that we think we know lies another truth”

87 years after the adoption of the Geneva Protocol prohibiting the use of chemical and bacteriological weapons in war (not prohibiting their production and storage though), Michael felt that something eluded him – he could not sleep well and all night in front of his eyes there was the oily Chaliph’s face with his hooked nose and small fleshy eyes.

It couldn’t be occasional – to arrive in Geneva, to stay in this villa only 24 hours without going anywhere out, and take off again with his private jet to Tehran. Not meeting anyone??? They obviously missed something. Suddenly it hit him like thunder – his wives! His women traveled with him with veiled faces, then went shopping to the market, where they could exchange with everyone – of course!

Without hesitation, he drove right away to the Center. Pierce, of course, was there and most of his colleagues too – there were no holydays for them. Sometimes it seemed that the colonel didn’t sleep at all, and it’s no wonder if he didn’t eat too, as the Indian yoga, Michael had read on the Internet about. In a nutshell, he shared his idea and they began to check local and satellite images. And several hours later it became clear – the gait of the tallest woman at the times of departure and return were different! Apparently the man had entered and left the house as hanum. Elementary, my dear Watson – in his world nothing is what it seems! Unfortunately, there was almost no useful information. Besides his height – average and obviously not very broad shoulders, they knew nothing about him…

October 3 – Monday, New York

“The only way to do nothing wrong is to do nothing at all. But to do nothing is also wrong”

On the day of the first successful launch of ballistic missile in the world “V-2” by Werner von Braun in 1942 – the first man-made object to reach space, as always Yib got up early, made the mandatory 50 push-ups, sent two text messages from his mobile phone, received two in response, took an icy shower, shaved and went out. The previous day he saw the curious and admiring looks of his neighbor – a dark-eyed beauty, apparently with Spanish blood. And today, as she was waiting for him to go out, she passed by on her bicycle and said with a smile:
– Goog morning!
– Goog morning! – he said mechanically, and even unconsciously smiled in response.
This unconscious gesture fixed his mood. He didn’t like that day – National holiday in Iraq – on October 3, 1932 the country was declared independent from England; didn’t like anything related to Iraq.

The traffic on the busy Monday morning was quite busy. It took him nearly an hour to travel 30 km to Newark – the meeting was at West Hudson Park. The third young man was almost a boy – with baggy jeans and shaggy hair. Don was a very good computer hacker, his parents were alcoholics and he was ready to do anything for cash. “Probably stoned – uncertain element in the equation – noted Yib in his mind – Once the work is done, he should disappear …”

The next was perhaps the most important person of them all – he had to activate the bomb. Khosro Toufanpour was an assistant professor in Physics and Mathematics Faculty of the “Fordhem” University in the Bronx. The road to the Bronx took about an hour, about 15 minutes more he needed to find the Physics and Mathematical Faculty.
The professor had a lecture. When he finished, he brought Yib to a small restaurant nearby to had lunch. He didn’t make a good impression – he looked like drugged. In fact, this could be due to many things – his fiancee had died of cancer just a month ago. This was probably one of the reasons to be selected for this task – at least at the moment, obviously he didn’t care whether he’d live or die.

In the afternoon Yib went to “China Town” – got a great massage, the girls offered him also sex services, but he kindly refused. In the evening he took a walk around the building of the City Hall.
As expected, there were a lot of office buildings nearby, some shops and a hotel – “Manhattan Borough President,” “City Bank”, “Bridge Service Corporation”, “Fontaine Penn” hospital, “Greenmarket” and “Models” stores and the “Tweed” court building. This meant enhanced security. He didn’t want to go home so early, so he went up to the roof of “Empire State Building” – he wanted to look at everything from a bird’s eye view. Unfortunately, the City Hall is a low building about 4 km to the south and was closed by the surrounding buildings.

He dined at an Indian restaurant and went home. The evening was unusually warm and tempted out. He went out on the balcony, poured a glass of scotch and opened the laptop. Mechanically, he looked into the other house. The curtains were raised. There were blinds but they were open and he could see through them.

The girl with the bicycle was lying on a sofa before an opened laptop, surfing the Internet and apparently listening to music, carrying huge hi-fi headphones. The light was dim – perhaps emitted by a reading lamp. She was lying on her belly with her back to him, wearing only a shirt and shorts. Her dark brown hair fell in gorgeous waves on her back. A few minutes later he flinched when he realized that he silently admired her. So in the back she terribly reminded him of Sayla…

Suddenly he noticed a shadow behind her. The next moment he saw the figure – it was a muscular man with tattoos, wearing a mask! He was sneaking behind, holding a big knife in the way of someone, trained to kill! She obviously didn’t see and hear him! Yib’s reaction was instant – his gun was in his hand in a split second, he held his breath, aimed and pulled the trigger. The masked man dropped the knife, fell to his knees, and crashed like a sack on the floor.

Apparently the sound of the shot and the shaterred window attracted her attention, she slowly turned around, still with the headphones, saw the masked man, horror appeared in her eyes, and a second later their eyes met. For a moment the horror in hers changed with joy, then maybe with gratitude and longing? He saw in her eyes Sayla – his first and only love, who was killed by American bomb in Iraq.

Reason prevailed – no time for gentle eyes. He had made a grave mistake, fortunately Yib always had a backup plan. He saw how she dialed someone on the phone – probably 911. He thought frantically – the car was compromised – the girl, and probably some of the neighbors saw the car plates. Furthermore per satellite it could easily be traced. He pushed a button on the car remote five times – the car navigation system was destroyed.
No time to wipe his fingerprints in the house, but anyway, they weren’t in any database in the U.S. He took the laptop, put it in the diplomatic suitcase and ran out.

The nearest subway station was “Brighton Beach” – in just three minutes he succeeded to the platform. A minute later the train came, which was a pure luck – the trains generally already pass at greater intervals at that time. As the door closed, he heard the police car sirens. “Quite fast” – he noted silently.
He sent a text message, got a reply, transfered from Green to Blue Line and got off at “Grand Central”. After ensuring that no one followed him, he found and opened the cell with the emergency key. Inside there were papers, money and a car key. He found the car – a battered “Chrysler” – and drove north. The address was already entered in the navigation system – in Inglewood, and the house keys were in the glove compartment.

The house was a smaller one-story and almost hidden among the other two-and three-story buildings. He turned the TV on and waited to see the news for a while, but then decided that the Internet was faster and he was right – there was a little local announcement: A bandit was killed by an unknown man, who the police wanted.

He drank a glass of scotch, felt a strong urge to drink the whole bottle, but it was not reasonable. He took an icy shower and went to bed, but sleep didn’t come for a long time – in front of him was the face of the girl with the beautiful eyes he saved, and her look troubled him. When at dawn he finally fell asleep, the nightmare came – Sayla’s bloody face and her eyes praying: “Yib, kill me, please! I can’t take this pain anymore…”