Chain Guard
by Gary Clifton
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
“Let’s cut the crap, old man. Chain Guard has gone to hell in a billion-dollar wheelbarrow. The Curtain Call inoculations failed. Everyone on the program that was supposed to forget has that same headache... and some have gone rogue... a few, totally nuts. So-called compartmental cranial modification didn’t work for crap. We’re at critical mass. The country faces a dire threat.”
Chain Guard? Curtain Call? Dave squeezed his throbbing forehead. Her name wasn’t Circus. It was “Big Top,” and Voice had attempted to murder her. Why the hell was he still around?
“Chain Guard was your program, Dave. Curtain Call was the acronym for that damned serum designed to eradicate everyone’s memory of it. As I already said, old man, it didn’t work.”
“Sir, I really don’t understand. You called me Freewheel. My name is Dave. Wait, no it really isn’t. My name is—”
“We know your name,” Voice said. “Dave is just fine for now.”
Through the fog, “Chain Guard’” sounded very familiar. Why the hell can’t I recall?
Voice produced a smart phone and punched buttons. The tune from “A Bicycle Built for Two” drifted out of the little machine in a pleasant female alto, adding a final, non-musical course in a flat male monotone that repeated itself several times: “Bicycle built for two, for two, for two.”
At each repetition of the words “for two,” Dave felt a slight burst of memory with a corresponding reduction in the level of pain in his head.
“Chain Guard?” he said softly. “Good God, we were murdering narcotics traffickers and others... Russians... in South America. We were at war. How could I have forgotten that? I’ve killed men. I recall the serum, Curtain Call. I inoculated fifty...”
Voice shot a glance around, then whispered hoarsely, “Cancellations, Dave. We don’t ‘kill,’ we ‘cancel’ enemies of the Chain of Command. Traitors and behind the lines operatives. As a matter of fact, you have six hundred and thirty-three cancellations in your file, all coded and verified.
“That doesn’t count the bomb in the North Korean military barracks in Quito or the troop train outside Rio. And you administered the Curtain Call serum, Doctor, because you were the medical officer.”
Sprocket turned partially back behind the wheel and piped in. “This means we got proof you murdered a bunch of people, dude, so you better listen.”
“Quiet,” Voice commanded sharply. “I don’t want to have to call your mama and tell her you got your head torn off by a guy called Freewheel in some little town in Missouri. Hand me the air freshener, please, old man.”
“Turn this badass loose, I’ll handle him,” the big man snarled.
Suddenly, horrible visions of the faces of terrified men Dave was about to murder tumble-flashed through his consciousness. He felt another nudge in memory. It was The Dream niggling at the edge of his memory.
“Serum was a total failure, Doc.” Voice raised an aerosol can and released a burst. “Bet this will help.” The acrid odor of lavender-scented insect spray wafted back. In the first whiff, Dave’s headache was nearly gone and, by the third breath, his head was clear, the pain obliterated by the smell.
“Clear your sinuses a bit, old man?” Voice said.
Dave said, “I’m finished with that project. We were at war. I’m discharged.”
Voice turned back in his seat. “You’re one of us until we say otherwise, Dave. You recall when you signed on at Genesis back in the summer of 2034... in for a dime, in for a dollar.”
“How did you find me?” Dave leaned forward in his seat.
“Through your sister in Amarillo, Dave. High and Mighty.” He glanced skyward. You cannot escape the satellite.”
Voice flashed several photos of a young woman loading two children into an SUV or standing with a group of adults in front of an elementary school. One of the photos was labeled “faculty and staff.”
“Please, old man, you must know we’d never hurt your sister. We traced her mail and used Google. Somehow, you must have managed to cut out your chip,” Voice leaned backward. The crude surgical scar was not visible beneath Dave’s jacket.
Dave ran a hand over his facial scar. Through diminishing mental mist, he recalled his extreme physical ability to harm other men when need be as he’d done minutes earlier at Clyde’s Discount. Again casually, he said, “And if I thought you were going to make any move against my sister or that hillbilly chick, Ritzy, I solemnly promise you’re two more of those cancellations you’re babbling about, except they won’t be so easy.”
“Dave, Dave, Dave, old man.” Voice smiled wanly in the flashing lights. “You got any idea how hard it was to teach a Harvard girl that hick accent?”
* * *
“Ritzy... Harvard?” Dave leaned back slightly. “Ritzy?”
“She’s one of us, Dave. Your sister in arms, so to speak. Graduated from Genesis last year in the same class as Sprocket here.”
“I’m out,” Dave said, but with less resolve. He felt himself slipping under some strange influence of this unpleasant little man. The urge to bail out and run was overpowering but, in some way, beyond his reach. The overwhelming need to obey was starkly real. The headache surged briefly.
“You were reinstated last week, old man. This is a national security issue times a hundred. Order came directly from Big Top herself. Yeah, she’s moved up a couple of notches at Langley and now runs the entire Western Hemisphere Sector.
“I’m in charge of the new operation: Reboot. The whole Chain Guard program is still in a recess of your mind, thanks to the failure of that stupid Curtain Call injection. You’ll fall in step soon enough, old man.”
“Reboot? What about my stuff... at the apartment... my truck?” The address he’d given Clyde was bogus. Cops would not easily find his place.
“Well, Dave, to begin with, you just killed two men. We’ll fix that with the local cops first, then we’ll gather your personal belongings. As opposed to the cops and your current employer, we know where you live and what you had for lunch.”
“If I thought you sent those two clowns..,” Dave said, teeth clenched.
“We’ll see your stuff is packed and stored, old man, and no, we did not send those two amateurs to Clyde’s. But we’ll cover it.”
Dave didn’t believe the comment, but felt himself weakening. “No way I’m goin’ back inside that monkey cage.”
“Your alternative is to answer to the local law for two dead men, Dave. Fort Bliss first thing in the morning. There is no discharge from your contract. Your attachment to us is like flypaper. Once stuck, always attached.
“Here’s a list of cancellations you need to handle in Columbia first, then we’ll furnish you a manifest of others we need to rein in.” He reached over the seatback and handed Dave a manila envelope and a leather satchel, which obviously contained coins and other heavy metal objects.
Dave took the packages warily, then stuffed the envelope into the satchel. “Are these our own people? You’re askin’ me to murder Americans?”
“Cancel, Dave. Enemies of the State... of the Chain of Command. And we’re not asking. There’s a Smith and Wesson, Model 4506 with silencer, auto burst and full anti-aircraft capacity, a half dozen Mark VII grenades, satellite handsets, morphine, rain gear, and whatever in there.” Voice pointed to the satchel.
Dave repeated, “Americans?” He still couldn’t understand why he didn’t just walk away.
Voice said, “That envelope has tickets, diplomatic passports in several names. The satchel also has enough gold sovereigns to buy a small country... at least in South America. Big Top, Langley, and your country expect your undying loyalty, just as you pledged.”
The word “Flypaper” reverberated inside Dave head along with the twinge of the headache. What the hell is happening? The Dream... Big Top... Circus flooded his mind. There was no circus, only Big Top, the ultimate commander. Dave was a prisoner of his own mind. He could imagine the pain of a razor slash like the one to his face in Bolivia.
“Better follow orders, tough guy.” Sprocket turned back.
Voice raised his hand.
Follow Orders? It was the same phrase the man who’d stabbed the blonde in the dream had used. But, it wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t Big Top! As clearly visible as a flash of lightning against a night sky, he realized he did not recall the blonde’s name. She and Dave had been lovers. And, Mother of God, the man who’d stabbed her to death was sitting directly in front of him.
Sprocket spoke again. “You listening, dummy?”
In a heartbeat of reflex, Dave leaned up, snapped the big man’s neck and slammed his head into the steering wheel. Voice frantically clawed at the door handle as Sprocket gurgled his last earthly sounds.
Voice was smaller and weaker. Dave broke Voice’s neck before the man had had a chance to make any sound. Again, Dave hesitated, surprised at what he had been able to do.
“How well does that stick, old man?” Dave said softly. Shoving both below window level, Dave stepped out into the rain, reaching back to retrieve the leather satchel. He hesitated, then reached over into the front seat, found the can of aerosol, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
Ritzy, parked fifteen feet away, had seen or heard nothing. She looked up, expectantly, as Dave climbed back behind the wheel tossing the satchel on the seat between them. “Ritz, what instructions have you received for this mission?”
“Uh... Voice told you I was one of the group, I guess? Sorry I deceived you, Dave. I guess I make a poor spy, but I’m very attracted to you. Hope you’re not pissed?” Her voice and diction were cultured, educated, the hillbilly accent gone along with the red-rimmed glasses. The long legs were still elegant in the dim light.
“No problem. I need to know if contact with Voice was part of this assignment. What did they tell you about the plan?”
“Only that I’m read in as your assistant, code name ‘Kickstand’... to support your mission however necessary. I think it might involve going to Fort Bliss, then South America. Beyond that...?” She shrugged.
Dave’s mind had found more clarity than he could recall in months, the headache at least temporarily gone, reasoning ability in high gear, and total lack of depression. Voice’s rehabilitation had overachieved and backfired in some perverse way. His libido had apparently taken a turn upward, and he instantly felt a need to get closer to Ritzy. He tapped the satchel.
He continued: “Instructions are for you and me to travel to Fort Bliss, near El Paso, then to South America. We retain the information in that envelope, then set up a medical practice in a remote mountain village in the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico.” He wondered how he could have possibly known that.
“Medical practice? Could this be a trap, Dave?”
“Anything can be a trap, kiddo, but I’ve been there many times. There’s a large rainforest jungle in more or less the center of the Mexican State of Yucatan. We’re to establish a conjugal relationship, stay in the jungle where High and Mighty, the satellite, can’t see, help villagers with their ailments and injuries, and do nothing until we hear back from Langley.
“Until then, we’re to have no contact with Langley. They don’t want... uh, your cover blown. Except we’re not gonna hear back from Voice.” Dave had made up his glut of information based on Voice, lying dead in the rain, and other sources he didn’t understand.
“Conjugal? That mean we’re gonna...?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, “there’s a two hundred fifty-mile by two hundred fifty-mile square patch of jungle there, managed by an old friend of mine. He is a contractor and a major opposition leader and, although his property is theoretically owned by Langley, they don’t dare enter his territory.
“He got religion. He needs medical care for his people, plus some sort of doctor for the poor peasants who surround him. He has a sizeable army; without it, the Mexican government would crush his operation.”
“That’s more than I can process, Dave.”
Copyright © 2026 by Gary Clifton
