The Blackfire Protocol by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 31

The time had finally arrived, and Frank, returning from class, noticed his mailbox had been open. Inside, he found an envelope sent by the college. This could be very good or very bad. Refraining from opening it, he ran upstairs and opened the door. As he was about to throw his daypack on the couch, he was stopped by the presence of two men, both dressed in black suits, black ties, and sunglasses. The living room light had already been turned on, with one man standing while the other was seated on the couch. He was more than surprised; he was terrified. It had been roughly three years since Ava had taken her life, and authorities had determined him free of any involvement.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded. “And what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” There were badges and no introductions, but they were very clear who they were and who they represented.

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“Frank Miller,” the seated man began. “Father’s name is Owen, mother’s name Charlotte. You’re from a small town in the Midwest. Your family has been growing wheat for about four generations and selling it to developing nations through the United States government. Is that about right?” Frank was not impressed, knowing that anyone can get any information on anybody’s life from almost any internet source.

“This is bullshit,” he said. “Whoever you are, you can get that shit off the internet. Now show me a badge, or I call the police.”

The man sitting motioned to the other standing only three or four away.

“Frank,” he began. “By the time you put that phone down, we’ll be gone, so you might well listen. And nothing’s going to happen to you, alright? Now, why don’t you have a seat?”

Removing his coat, he cautiously sat on the couch away from the man sitting on the other end. “You’re right, Frank,” he said. “Anyone can get that information, but what about your LSAT scores? You haven’t even opened the letter yet.” He looked at the letter hesitantly, trying to decide if he should open it now or later, when he could react in private.

“Don’t worry about it, Frank,” he continued. “You passed. In fact, your scores were exceptionally high. Go ahead, open it.”

Cautiously, he opened the envelope and removing the letter unfolded it to find that he had, in fact, passed the exam with very high scores. Frank was on his way to law school.

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After absorbing this revelation, he folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. Now, he was confused. How could they know this? Did they have anything to do with his test results? But among these questions, only one needed to be asked. “Alright,” he began. “Who the fuck are you guys?” The man on the couch got to his feet and, throwing the book behind him, gave a vague introduction. “Well, Frank,” he began. “We represent a group of people who have a unique interest in you. We know everything about you. We know about the head injury from your high school days. We know what kinds of books you used to read, and we know where your political ideas are going. Shit, we know more about you than you know about yourself.” Frank was trying not to show how intimidated he was, but another question needed to be asked, one that seemed to be a bit more personal. “So,” he said. “What do you want with me? I’m just a college student.”

Sitting back down, the man picked up the book and, holding out, gave a rather frightening reply. “Oh, no,” the man answered. “You’re not just a college student. When you read something like this, you are no longer just a college student. In fact, you’re very special to us. You’re going places, and we want to help.”

He motioned him over to the couch and, asking him to sit, continued with what Frank found truly unbelievable.

“Frank,” he continued. “You’re going to law school, right? And congratulations, by the way.” He sat in awkward silence as he continued listening to something he would have no escape from.

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“So, here’s what we want you to do. You’re going to get a PhD in constitutional law. That’s just the beginning.”

Frank had already been considering such a path but, interrupting, asked why.

“Because, Frank,” the man replied. “You can’t change what you don’t understand. And by the looks of what you’re reading, you appear to be someone who favors power, control, and authority. Well, we’re giving you the chance to get all those things— and, of course, let’s not forget money. You like money, don’t you, Frank?”

The obvious answer to all of these things was yes. He craved everything that had to do with political power but as with any offer there was a catch. “Alright,” Frank said. “Let’s say I go along with whatever it is you want from me, then what? What is it I’m supposed to do?”

The man smiled faintly before responding. “Frank,” he said. “It’s simple. All you have to do is what we tell you to do.”

Frank was confused. He still didn’t know what they wanted from him, and repeating his question received a startling response.

“Frank,” he said. “We want you to become president.”

President? He was profoundly confused and answered with a bit of sarcasm.

“President of what?” he asked. “The fucking Glee Club?”

Getting up from the couch, Frank walked over to the door and, placing his hand on the doorknob, asked the men to leave. This request was met by a matter-

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of-fact attitude as well as a frightening disclosure as the man walked up to him and stood close. “Frank,” he said. “When I say ‘the president,' I mean the President of the United States.” The unbelievable nature of the conversation left Frank stunned and unable to process what he was hearing. As he opened the door, the man put a hand on it, forcing it shut, and making eye contact offered a vague explanation.

“Frank,” he began. “The country needs young blood, and, of course, people still need to be kept under control, and the people we represent are prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure your rise to power. Frank, you don’t really have much of a choice in the matter. You’re going to become the president.” Frank laughed slightly, realizing that any political venture requires money—a lot of money. But there was still the matter of his cooperation. He had been considering constitutional law for quite some time, but to be forced onto that path was something he found disagreeable. He would not be manipulated or forced into anything. But he soon found out that he indeed had no choice but to participate in what was still a rather vague plan.

“What if I don’t want to do this?” he asked. “What if I just want to tell you to fuck off?” The well-dressed men knew they had the upper hand. All they had to do was make him aware of it, and they proceeded to do so.

“Frank,” the other man said.

Up to this point, he had been silent, but well-trained people of this nature always have a strategy. “Wouldn’t it be a shame for something to happen to your family? Their farm could easily burn to the

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ground, and who knows who might be killed fighting something that big? Yeah, that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

He had become quietly enraged at the idea that these men could, in any way, destroy his family for whatever reason they thought they had. With his mind suddenly seething with fear and anger, Frank agreed to their proposal that he would someday become the President of the United States. But with many curious questions, one stood out. “So,” he began. “How do you plan on doing this? I don’t even have my PhD yet, so what's the rush?” The man who appeared to be in charge had anticipated every question Frank asked, and for every question had an answer.

“You’re right, Frank,” he said. “There’s no rush. You got into law school. You’re already half way there. Just keep working, keep studying, and we’ll do the rest. As far as money is concerned, your scholarship runs out pretty soon. It’s only good for your four-year degree, so we’ll be funding you from now on.”

He felt confused and greatly intimidated that such people seemed to be able to do whatever they wanted, perhaps acting above the law. But he tried not to concern himself with that. The idea of becoming president did seem alluring, but at the same time impossible to achieve. There were so many variables and details to consider. Then there was money. A successful campaign can cost millions, but if these men had the support of the people they had alluded to, then money should not be much of an issue.

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“Alright,” he said. “I guess you got yourself a president.”

The men smiled briefly, and walking to the door, the first gave Frank one important instruction. “One more thing, Frank,” he said. “You don’t talk about this with anyone, understand?” Seriously? Who would believe him? “Hey, you know what happened to me today? Well, two guys broke into my apartment and told me I was going to be the president some day as long as I did what they told me?”

He may as well be reporting UFO’s and aliens having sex on his couch for that matter. It would be just as unbelievable.