Virginia Mason Medical Center
Seattle, Washington
Garry Suzuki cradled his broken arm, his eye swollen, his shoulder aching, and hooked up to more leads and tubes than he cared to count. He was lucky to be alive, the sonsabitches having actually cut the tree down. He had been fortunate it had fallen away from the side he was on, allowing him to ride the trunk, rather than have it fall on him. Yet here he was, lucky to be alive, but that poor tree was dead.
I hope they at least make good use of it, rather than let it go to waste.
The FBI agent responsible, Special Agent LaForge, stepped into the hospital room with his partner Alfredson. “Are you ready to talk?”
“Ready? Don’t you mean ‘able,’ you psycho! I’m going to sue your asses, all of you. I’m suing those terrorist loggers, the company they work for, the FBI, everybody I can think of! You’re not going to get away with what you did! I have rights, you know! You can’t do what you did and think you’ll get away with it!”
LaForge pulled out his notepad and pen. “Mr. Suzuki, I already have. I have a dozen witnesses willing to testify that when they arrived, they found you lying on the ground, some unknown person having already cut down the tree. We arrived, effected your rescue, and brought you here for treatment.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it!”
“Yes. And who do you think the judge is going to believe? Two decorated FBI agents, or you, a person of no fixed address with a record a mile long?”
Suzuki glared at him, the heart monitor beeping far faster than it should. He sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, before exhaling slowly, the heart rate easing. “This is the problem with today’s society. The government has too much power.”
“And is that why you did what you did? To try and bring down the government?”
“I sat in a goddamned tree, you psycho! How the hell is that going to bring down the government?” The beeping raced higher.
“Not you, Mr. Suzuki, your organization.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
LaForge motioned to Alfredson, who tapped on a tablet before turning it around. Suzuki watched a recording, his eyes widening as he witnessed the death and chaos occurring, then gasped when the organization he had pledged himself to, took credit.
“Th-that’s impossible! You’re lying. You photoshopped that or something.”
“No, Mr. Suzuki. The Emergency Broadcasting System was hacked and that played on a loop until the system could be shut down. Hundreds are already dead, perhaps thousands, and things are rapidly getting worse. Transportation within our cities is at a standstill, and at the moment, we can’t get supplies in, and millions across the country are fleeing.”
Tears filled Suzuki’s eyes as he imagined the fear and terror those poor people must be going through. “I-I’m sorry to hear that.”
LaForge frowned. “I don’t give a shit if you’re sorry. Your people are responsible, and you’re going to help me put a stop to it.”
Suzuki shook his head, jabbing a finger at the tablet. “I don’t care what that thing says, there’s no way the Utopians are behind this. We’re peaceful. Yes, we advocate a return to a simpler way of life, where we bulldoze the cities and everyone returns to the land, but we want people to do it for themselves. We try to educate them, to show them what they’re missing, to show them how city life is making them sick and miserable. Through education, they’ll voluntarily leave.” He flicked a wrist at the tablet. “But not this! This is chaos. Mayhem. Murder! We would never condone that. Never!”
“Well, somebody is behind it, and until we can eliminate your group, we’re going to assume it’s responsible. We need the names of everybody in your organization.”
Suzuki laughed. “Everybody? Are you nuts? I’ve never met anyone let alone everyone.”
LaForge stared at him. “What do you mean?”
Suzuki shrugged, instantly regretting it as a stabbing pain surged through his upper body. He winced. “I mean, I get a text message telling me where to go and when, and they put some money in my account to cover expenses, along with a stipend.”
LaForge held up a finger. “Wait a minute, they pay you to protest?”
“Sure, that’s how it’s done now. Not everyone, of course, but when you’re trying to bring attention to a cause that isn’t necessarily popular, you need to outsource things.”
“You outsource protesting?”
“Absolutely. It happens all the time. Somebody pays for the bus to take the protesters somewhere, somebody pays to feed them. Our organization and others have taken it a step further by also paying a little bit so we can at least subsist.”
“And just how much are they paying you?”
“Not much. Enough to feed and clothe myself, get from point A to Point B, pay for hotels if necessary, pay for supplies. Cellphone, that type of stuff.”
“So basically everything you need to survive without working.”
Suzuki shook his head, holding up a finger. “Now wait, I work. I protest. I bring attention to the travesties going on around us.”
LaForge grunted. “Bullshit. You go to where you’re told, and protest what you’re told. Do you even believe in what you’re doing, or is it just a job to you?”
“I believe! A hell of a lot more than you do! What have you ever done to save the planet?”
LaForge shook his head. “Okay, we’re getting off topic. You said you get text messages. Have you ever actually talked to someone?”
“Not since the day I was recruited.”
LaForge exchanged a frustrated glance with his partner. “Who did you meet then?”
“Jeff Bixby. He was the founder. That was about ten years ago, I guess. Since then I haven’t actually spoken to anyone. Well, that’s not true. We spoke for the first few years, but then everything went completely digital. Text messages and websites. That’s it.”
“And were you always alone when you protested?”
Suzuki shook his head. “Not all the time, no.”
“And do you have any of their names?”
“Nope. We were always instructed to use first names only. That way if we were ever arrested, we couldn’t name names.”
LaForge glanced at his partner. “Sounds like a terrorist cell if I ever heard one.”
Alfredson agreed.
LaForge jabbed his pen into the pad. “This Jeff Bixby. Where can we find him?”
Suzuki caught himself before he shrugged again. “No idea.” He glanced around the room. “My phone will have the text messages, though. Maybe you can trace the number.”
Alfredson stepped out for a moment, returning with a plastic bag, his personal items inside. She pulled out a shattered cellphone. “Is this it?”
He nodded. “I guess that’s not going to be of much help.”
LaForge exhaled loudly. “Okay, do you remember the number?”
Suzuki grunted. “Who uses numbers anymore?”
LaForge shook his head then stepped toward the door.
“Umm, can I go now?”
LaForge turned. “No. You’re under arrest for terrorism. You’re not going anywhere for a long time.”
“But I didn’t do anything!”
LaForge flipped his notepad closed and left the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving Suzuki to turn his head away and sob. He had been a victim his entire life, and now, once again, karma was biting him on the ass for some cosmic reason he’d never understand.
He just hoped that one day he’d rebalance things, and save his soul.