“You have to speak to the beast in a language the beast can understand. If the beast shuns love, it is pointless to speak to him from a position of love.”

  “Everybody has the capacity and does in fact love,” said Ju-Long. “The love may be twisted but it is none-the-less a form of love. The white racist loves his whiteness. A man who abuses his lover still loves—it’s a violent sick love—but it is love. You could argue some people love the high of—drugs, sex, money or danger. Even the most depraved, twisted and lost souls love something. They just love incorrectly or love the wrong things. Never give up on love.”

  “I’m not a psychiatrist or some love guru. I don’t know how to fix damaged souls. Maybe the best cure for a damaged soul is to put them out of their misery.”

  Mitchell took another bite of his Peking duck with rice.

  “You mean a mercy killing—sort of like what is done to an injured horse? Where is that in the Bible?”

  “I am not dealing with saints here. The Bible is full of the wicked and evil being stricken down.”

  Ju-Long sighed. “Yes, it is but remember that as long as love lives, there is hope. Never give up on love.”

  “Well, Mr. Chung, you have said it yourself—love means different things to different people. Who am I to judge? Some people will never see or understand a pure form of love. It may be due to their upbringing, life experiences or just inherent to their nature. If that’s the case, we still need to strive to make this world a better place to live. There’s always the ten percent that fucks it up for everybody else. Somebody needs to stand up to that ten percent. Somebody needs to take them down. The ten percent—they are smart and they are ruthless. They will fight tooth and nail. They are slippery. They are often beyond the reach of the police and courts. Yes, I walk a grim lonely path—but someone has to do it.”

  Mitchell took a sip of his sake.

  “What about your wife and sons?”

  “My boys are on board. My wife—she’s a worry wart. She’s a typical woman but her faith is strong. If something happens to me, God will comfort and protect her. She’ll find refuge in the Bible.”

  “I see. If you and your sons die what becomes of your wife? What happens if the enemies you have made come after her?”

  “I am doing everything to protect her. She knows about what we do but not how we do it. They have no reason to harm her. She cannot provide them with any help about how we do what we do or what we are going to do.”

  “You may be right but that won’t stop your enemies from coming after her. They may not want information. Revenge may be their only motive. And what about her love for you and the boys? How will she feel if the three of you die?”

  Mitchell sighed.

  “You may be right. She has done no harm to anyone. I trust that God will look after her and care for her.” Mitchell took in a deep breath and exhaled. “What’s done is done and I’m way too far down this path. There is no turning back. My fate is sealed.”

  “You always have choices, my friend. You can always turn off the road you are on and take another road.”

  “Yes, you can but at this point I don’t think it would change my fate. I might as well complete my mission—even if it is a flawed mission. But it’s not flawed because it’s for God and country. Evil must be defeated.”

  “I see,” said Ju-Long.

  “I enjoy or conversations over dinner,” said Mitchell. “You are a spiritual vagabond. You pick up ideas and traditions from around the world. The cross from Christianity—nag champa from India—Shambhala from Tibet—you are a fascinating man.”

  “Thank you. All peoples and faith have something of value to offer the world.”

  “You were a military man back in China and worked in law enforcement there for seven years. You know why I do what I do.”

  “Yes, we’ve had this conversation before but I sense things are getting more serious,” said Ju-Long. “I was taught by my grandfather to constantly question the world around me. He taught me that one of a person’s main duties in life is to separate illusion from reality. He taught me that a lazy mind is seduced and ultimately falls in love with the illusions of the world. He told me to be careful about whom I lie in bed with—because what you love becomes who you are and defines you. I took his advice. I came to the conclusion that you cannot teach love from the barrel of the gun—that acts of love and words of kindness to the mind and soul are more powerful than a bullet to the brain. So yes, we have a lot in common but I saw a side road that curved away from the direction I was walking and I took it. It’s not too late. You can take another path, my friend…”

  “You told me you killed someone but you’ve never gone into detail.”

  “Yes, I have killed.”

  “I have never killed with my own hands. My creations have killed—but me personally—I’ve never killed.”

  Ju-Long sighed and a grave look came over his face. He took a drink of his sake.

  “Killing never leaves you. It becomes a part of you. It hovers around you like a shadow. You can never go back and redo it. All I can do is try to deter those who try to walk in my old footsteps.”

  “I value your friendship,” said Mitchell. “I love hearing your words of wisdom. I think about our conversations a lot. I agree with most of what you say. Maybe if we would’ve met earlier, I may have taken the other side road like you did. But I passed that road a long time ago. I can’t turn around and go back to it. You are a wise man.”

  Mitchell placed the last bite of food in his mouth.

  “You have challenged me,” said Mitchell. “You have made me a better man. It’s strange—but meeting you has put me at peace. That may not have been your intention—but that has been the end result. I am at peace with who I am—all of my good deeds and my bad ones. I know my imperfections; I acknowledge them and embrace them. I also know these imperfections will ultimately lead to my demise. You once told me that every man should know what he brings to the scales of life when his name is called. If there are no surprises—that man has lived a life of awareness. For good or bad, I am aware. I know who I am. I know what will be sitting on the scale of good and the scale of bad. And I know I have walked with my God. You may not agree with my actions or my interpretation of God—but I am at peace.”

  “That is good. You have at least taken responsibility for the life you have chosen.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Be careful, my friend,” said Ju-Long as he choked up.

  They stood up and clasped each other’s arms—arms parallel—hands on elbows. They smiled at each other and Mitchell left.

  Mitchell and Kevin walked along the beach of Lake Michigan. They were about to part ways and disappear into safe houses.

  “Your synapse driver is now fully developed and is strong,” said Mitchell.

  “I know I can feel it,” said Kevin. “It took a while but I’m ready.”

  The synapse driver was made of gray cells—cells that were the key building blocks of the brain. The gray cells were in each of Kevin’s four clones. Mitchell introduced the gray cells into Kevin’s bloodstream and instructed the cells to multiply and form a web in specific locations of Kevin’s brain. The locations mirrored the web in the brain of the clones. The gray cell web allowed the prime to experience all of the five senses of the clone. It also allowed the prime to override all other thoughts and brain commands to make the clone do and act as the prime wanted.

  “Kevin, you now have a copy of the targets. When I get a location for the hit, I’ll contact you. Remember to check your online dating profile every four hours. Once I send you the message, we’ll meet up on the hotgirls chatroom.”

  “Gotcha, dad. I’m excited about this. We can pull this off. No one will ever know what we did but it’ll be worth it.”

  “Yes, it will, son.”

  “Dad, what did our targets do?”

  “I don’t know, son. Our handler didn’t tell us.”

  “I tried to look up the targets on the web. They seem to be rather bland and non-threatening. They are rich, but still...”

  “Son, all of our other targets were scumbags. We double checked them ourselves. Our handler has not misled us in the past—our handler won’t mislead us now. Whatever they did, they deserve what’s coming to them. Everyone’s bad deeds don’t always end up on the worldwide web.”

  “I know, dad, but—”

  “Did you always know the exact reason why you did things in the military?”

  “No,” replied Kevin.

  “Why?”

  “For mission security—for many things—”

  “You didn’t question missions when you were in the corps—you won’t do it now.”

  “You’re right,” Kevin replied.

  Mitchell Dean Shepherd and Marlena Delucia met while in grad school at Northwestern University. They met in a student Bible study group. They both went straight to graduate school after getting their undergrad degrees and met their first year. Was it love at first sight? No. But the more they talked, the more interested they became in each other. Both of Marlena’s parents were lawyers and she was raised in a middle class area of Chicago. Mitchell was raised in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Marlena was attracted to Mitchell’s confidence, determination and strong will. She knew right away he would be very successful. He was attracted to her physical beauty, her sharp wit and intelligent mind. They were an awkward couple at first, he a white middle class man with limited experience with black people; she, a black middle class woman who had white friends but had never dated a white man. The slow burn soon became a raging fire. Three years later they were married.

  Mitchell Dean Shepherd sat in the small diner in Attica, Indiana eating his cheeseburger and fries. A TV was on in the background broadcasting the latest news. Mitchell wore blue jeans, a red, white and blue-checkered flannel shirt, and a light brown spring jacket.

  “We’ve just become aware of a bizarre, strange, but true situation that has implications for here in the United States and abroad,” said Kara Balzinski of 24 Hour World News. She was a blond who appeared to be in her late 30s or early 40s. She had on a black long sleeved dress. “This man, Mitchell Dean Shepherd, has made clones of himself and is using them as assassins against foreign targets. The U.S. government has denied any involvement whatsoever in this affair and is actively assisting foreign governments in the apprehension of Mr. Shepherd, let’s go now to Andrew Gillings our reporter on this story.”

  “Thank you, Kara,” said the young, dark haired, white man.

  Oh, well, thought Mitchell to himself, it has begun.

  He had wondered for a long time how he would react when the news finally broke. He had rehearsed this moment in his head many times. His gut told him to stay in rural areas and off of the beaten path. Some would argue against this assertion. Everyone knew each other in small towns—disappear into the mass of people of the big city. Nevertheless, he followed his gut. Hopefully, the fake mustache and beard would throw the people of Attica, Indiana off.

  There were two men who appeared to be construction workers and an elderly couple in the diner.

  Mitchell continued to listen to the story. They were doing a thumbnail sketch of the different international hits.

  “Kara, I must stress that nobody in our government has officially acknowledged the veracity of this story. Administration officials have verified the facts off the record. We have also verified the facts with some foreign governments.”

  “Andrew, have they been able to apprehend Mr. Shepherd?” asked Kara.

  “No, that is one of the issues that has upset some of the governments—nobody has been arrested or taken into custody. This story was first leaked by the European avant-garde news service Publisa.”

  “I see, thank you, Andrew. We will continue to get more information on this story and report our findings as they become available.”

  Mitchell finished his meal in a leisurely manner and traveled back to his small farmhouse in rural Indiana.

  The fifteen, expensively dressed, upper crust, white males never had a chance. Kevin Shepherd’s clone hit the luxury hotel suite in Atlanta with mind-bending speed. Quickly applied small chemical explosives blew open the lock on the door. Three strobe grenades followed. The pulsing lights from the grenades first led to confusion and then fried their brains. The bodies of the attendees went from slight shaking to very violent convulsions. The programmed embedded waves in the strobe light attacked the brain synapses and the central nervous system.

  Kevin forced himself to stay and watch the grotesque deaths. There was no blood but their end looked very painful. His father taught him to see all his missions through to the end. “If you are going to take their lives,” he said, “you should at least have the decency to stay and witness their deaths. The word of God says life is sacred. Taking a life should not be done lightly. You should stay and watch so you understand the gravity of your actions. Sometimes you don’t have a choice and you have to beat a hasty retreat. If you can stay, you must. Only a coward runs from his kills.”

  Kevin watched the entire assault through the eyes of his clone. The entire attack took exactly 84 seconds.

  The clone then took off his protective hard hat and his painter’s overalls. Under the disguise, the clone had on a mundane outfit consisting of blue jeans and a white t-shirt. He then had the clone pull the fire alarm. The clone was soon lost in the sea of guests as he ascended the steps. He then left the hotel and blended in with the lunchtime crowd of downtown Atlanta.

  This was the first hit that did not use traditional handguns. Kevin preferred the old weapons but these new weapons could take out multiple people with precision and not cause catastrophic damage to surrounding areas.

  Marlena Shepherd did not resemble her normal self as she sat at a table in back of a café waiting for a friend. A wrinkled prosthetic mask covered the skin of her face making her seem twenty years older. A gray wig covered her natural black hairstyle. A fake prosthetic butt made her seem heavier in her backside. Finally, the sole in her left shoe was thicker changing the gait of her walk.

  Marlena stood up and smiled and waved as she saw her friend walk into Andre’s Bistro. Her friend had a stunned look on her face and then smiled as she walked toward her.

  “You are right,” said Diane Eversall, “I don’t recognize a thing about you except your eyes and smile.”

  “Thank you,” said Marlena, “Michael teaching me how to construct masks and then print them on the holoflask printer was one of the best skills he taught me.”

  Diane Eversall, a lean athletic white woman, sat down. She had shoulder length black hair, and an attractive but sharply defined face.

  “So, Miss Jaguar Johnson, how is life?” asked Marlena. “It’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other.”

  “Yes, it has been too long—and I’m fine. You were right about the Shepherd men. They are very good at what they do.”

  “Thank you. I told you they were very thorough and reliable.”

  The young Arab server in a hijab came to their table. “Are you ready to order yet, ladies?”

  “No, we’ll let you know when we’re ready,” said Marlena.

  “Thank you, just get my attention,” said the server.

  “Now, where were we?” said Marlena to her former law student.

  They had not met face to face in seven years. It had been three years since they talked on the phone. They had their own elaborate way of communicating using the dark web.

  “Thank you for steering me toward your husband. It was perfect timing and a great match. My employers had been wanting to do this for a long time but you have to be discreet.”

  Marlena knew Diane worked for Phillip Steele and Associates. Marlena had met Phillip Steele a few times because he was always hanging around different policy institutes and always had a position on important matters pertaining to foreign affairs. That coupled with his burgeoning business in private security firms stoked Marlena’s interest. Phillip Steele was a rather odd man—being at the forefront of solar energy and algae as a biofuel, and owning a future weapons company, and private security firm.

  So why did Marlena offer her husband and sons up to Phillip Steele? Every family had to stand for something—every family needed a purpose. You may not be able to be the Kennedys, the Bushes or Rockefellers but you could do your part. God did not bring Marlena and Mitchell together to be ordinary. They were put on earth for a greater purpose.

  “You are a remarkable woman. You know your husband well. You know how to push his buttons. Everything you told me to do worked. It was eerie; some of the things you told me he would say he did say almost word for word.”

  “Honey, men aren’t complex. We tend to view them as thinking like us but they don’t. When I met Mitchell, the first thing I did was find out what made him tick. When you know how someone works, you can make them do what you want. If you are thorough, you’ll make them think they’re doing it by their own volition. They’ll think your idea was their own.”

  “You are a remarkable woman, Professor Shepherd.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So are you scared? I mean for your husband and sons—yourself?”

  “No. Well, I am a bit anxious because I’m not stupid. At some point any best laid plan will unravel, but I did go into this with my eyes wide open. My husband and boys did the same. We know the deal but it’s worth it. This country—this planet—humanity will be better off for our sacrifices. That’s what drives us. What about you? What keeps you going? How do you deal with the fear of inevitably being discovered? For us, it is God and the Bible.”

  “I don’t think about it much because I’m just a go between. I am way in the background. I think I’ll be all right.”

 

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