The Click

Oliver Hitchcock was once again at Regis on his way to Mumbai. With Kathy

and a cranky Christopher on either side, the three stepped off the people mover just ahead of Security. Christopher offered one hand to his grandfather but stared off to the side. Hitch stooped down to hug him and with a turn of the head he brought Christopher into eye contact, smiled, and kissed his grandson’s tightened brow. Disappointed, he looked up at Kathy hoping to evoke some kind of sympathy. He received none.

They hugged without words, then he headed toward Security. As a second thought, he turned back and watched them disappear in the crowd, the only family he had left, before reaching an agent who stamped his papers and inspected his carryon luggage. He stepped up to one of many masked eye/hand scanners where all five fingers and both eyes were analyzed. His picture and name appeared on a monitor above the apparatus. A gate automatically opened and he walked through it.

The area around Gate C27 to Mumbai buzzed with excitement as passengers began boarding. Hitch stood under the TV watching Dillon Burber’s press conference when his scud RANG. After edging away from the TV and the crowd, he picked up the call. It was Kathy. He clicked her onto screen-view mode and immediately saw the fear in her eyes.

“On the way out he heard it, Dad. What am I supposed to tell him,” she whispered. And his V-Mark, it’s much bluer … and blacker. Dad, my God. Ninety days! That’s how much time Mother had.”

“This is the final call for Flight 67 to Mumbai. All remaining passenger should board at this …”

“Kathy, maybe he didn’t hear it. Call Delahunt if it doesn’t get better in a day or two and let me know what he says. I have to go.”

“But, Dad …”

Hitch clicked Kathy off in midsentence and hustled into the jetport. Within minutes he found his seat in First Class.

“We will be departing for Mumbai momentarily. Please make sure …”

RING, RING. It was Hitch’s scud again, this time he could see ‘Barnaby Bloom’ across the screen. He put it on ‘voice only’ mode. “Barnaby, what’s …”

“Elana hasn’t returned. I have to call the police.”

Hitchcock cringe, then sighed. “No! Not yet. I will have someone look for her first. He’s a safer bet. … She’ll be fine. I promise.

Barnaby was not happy but agreed to give Oliver one more day before he would involve the police which also meant involving VAMA. Hitch was sure of that. He had to reach Julian before they took off and complete the picture he had not quite finished painting earlier. He did, and Julian assured him he would find Elana if VAMA had her, and even if they didn’t he would find her.

Now he could relax … at least until he reached Mumbai. Rajiv had made all the arrangements. He would be meeting with Ambika Patel in late afternoon. That was his mental segue way back to the Cause … and Elana Wu. Barnaby had been more forthcoming than he expected.

Shortly after graduating from George Washington University, American University hired Elana to work under Barnaby who recruited her into his secret organization. Back then she was an unwilling participant but had a gift for the science they needed like no one else he knew. Eventually she came to trust her mentor even though he was a non-believer, a Jew no less, and she a practicing Ecclesian. That was in part because he had already stepped in to help her on a number of occasions, Barnaby confided in Hitchcock, but also because the mentor and student were truly fond of one another. As a result, he minced no words when the time seemed right. The Cause needed her; God needed her so He or She wouldn’t be made a mockery of; and mostly the human race needed her.

As Barnaby had explained it to Hitch at the café, he had become a chieftain in the war against the world practically at birth. They were all underground of course; Jews,

American Muslims, and atheists. Not Mormons. They couldn’t be trusted. They were still Christians in their own mind, Christians, not Ecclesians , but chose to fight with the Church and the Cūtocracy rather than sit it out on the sidelines. The secret mission of the Cause was to rid humanity of the Click and find an antidote for that dreadful vaccine, that geriatric euthanasia that plagued the world, a mission Barnaby’s grandfather and father began, and both mysteriously disappeared never to be heard from again. Yes, Barnaby Bloom and the others already knew what Oliver Hitchcock had hoped for with no more evidence than linkless references to imagined dissidents, wishful thinking, and several bottles of scotch.

But how do a handful of activists, relatively speaking, fight a sophisticated bureaucracy controlled by the major countries of the world under the watchful eye of an all-powerful Cūtocracy and VAMA, its ubiquitous enforcer. For the longest time Barnaby wasn’t sure … and wasn’t confident their knowledge and their fight would amount to anything, that is, until Oliver Hitchcock and his connections with India and this man Nagasi fell into his lap as if it were meant to be, as if the dissidents could only be quieted for so long.

“What we need with absolute certainty,” Barnaby explained to Oliver at the café, “are a large number of adults who have never been vaccinated. Only then will Elana and the Cause be able to learn how to make the antidote and begin making it in order to unClick large populations. It has to do with infusing clean blood with Click-containing blood in a very sophisticated way and then subjecting the combination to a complex process of DNA swapping.

For years the Cause scoured the planet for such people, but with no success. According to the intelligence developed over the years by the Cause there were hints that such a group, and only one, existed somewhere in the unknown and impenetrable wastelands of India. That’s where Oliver and his newly found discovery, Mr. Nagasi, came in … hopefully.

“So it’s just a matter of finding a large group of unvaccinated souls and the ballgame is over?” Hitch remembered asking.

Barnaby wished it was that easy, but unfortunately it wasn’t. He explained that they had to not only discover large groups of unvaccinated people but first they needed to prove to the world that the vaccine contained the Click, that it wasn’t part of God’s design.

But even if the Cause could prove to the world that the Click was man-made, goodness would not necessarily be drawn to their side. Government after Government and their handpicked population experts paid homage to the Click. Without its presence, divine or not, they argued humanity would swell its way through all its critical resources, eventually into war, and ultimately extinction in the not so distant future. The Click was God’s way of protecting a most valuable creation—the Earth and its inhabitants, and if not God’s or some other higher force like Mother Nature, it still served to keep check on humanity’s inability to temper its procreation needs to reasonable levels. And that’s what the Cause was up against. Barnaby was not going to paint a prettier picture than that for its newest member.

But first things first, Hitch recalled him saying. Hopefully, if they were able to prove the present vaccine contained the Click and could produce an antidote in large quantities, they would then worry about doing battle with goodness and the issue of future overpopulation … especially if the antidote worked on people in the throes of the Click.

By the time Hitch finished that happy thought, he was jolted back to the present by turbulence and a shaking scotch and water on his tray. DING, the ‘fasten seatbelt’ light went on. He thought about Kathy and how abrupt he had been during their last conversation. He would call her as soon as he met with Ambika Patel.

It was early evening when a taxi stopped at the dead end of a cul-de-sac cramped with parked cars. Hitch asked the driver to wait, then got out and took a deep breath. He could hear Indian music before reaching the sidewalk. Just as he weaved around several vehicles double parked, his scud RANG. Barnaby’s face appeared on the screen. He clicked on and before he could acknowledge the call, he was bombarded with concern.

“Oliver, they seized all her work, including her research on ERAM-V. Now they know everything … even that we’re looking for an unvaccinated population.”

Hitch tried to sift through his own thoughts about that revelation while the Indian music continued to blast through the house he was approaching. “Well fuck em. We’ll let the whole world know what it is she, you all, already know. I have to run now but I will shoot you over some contacts at the Washington Post, one in particular. Her name is Amy Winkler. Send her everything that VAMA seized.”

“But …”

“Got a go now, Barnaby. Do as I say and I’ll get back to you later.” Hitch clicked off and KNOCKED hard on the door to compete with the voices and music on the other side.

Ambika Patel opened the door and standing behind her was Rajiv. He followed the two of them into the house ringing with laughter and song through bellowing pungent clouds of smoke from the sweet aroma of Hashish. Several people stood around a piano in one corner singing in their native tongue, Marathi, a language he once could understand if spoken slowly. All the people celebrating were Indian with the exception of several black men.

Mrs. Patel led Hitch into a combination guest bedroom and study at the far end of the house and the two of them sat down between guest wraps thrown across the bed. A few minutes later Rajiv brought in two glasses of red wine and quickly left.

“Welcome to my home, Mr. Hitchcock,” Ambika Patel said with a thick but enchanting accent he recalled from their last meeting as she raised her glass to his. “It is true that my dear husband, Kailash, left us less than three weeks ago and it is equally true that this is how we mourn his passing. He was a school teacher and lived an honest, happy, and productive life—and died a timely and peaceful death. What more could one ask for. We are happy for him and this is how we show it.”

What more could one ask for. Quite possibly ten or fifteen more years of happiness and productivity, Oliver Hitchcock thought. He then explained what brought him to her home, originally planning to talk for at most twenty minutes. It took far longer

than that at his host’s insistence. He described Christopher, his daughter Kathy, and both Barnaby and the Cause. Most important he explained what they knew about the Click and how desperate they were to find large numbers of men and women who had never been vaccinated. All the time, Mrs. Patel listened intently without giving away any of her own thoughts. That made Hitch uneasy. She hadn’t flinched at the idea that the Click was manmade, and yet she hadn’t argued with him. It was as if …

“I don’t know if I can help you, Mr. Hitchcock. I have people I must talk to. In the meantime, please come into the living room and have some refreshments. I am sure Rajiv will join you.”

Hitch followed her into the living room and his old friend was there standing by platters of Indian delicacies he hadn’t enjoyed since leaving his post there a decade ago. Rajima-Chawal, a curried red kidney dish beyond description. Pork Vindaloo, Rogan Josh, and Chungdi Jhola, a spicy gravy based prawn curry, his favorite. Twenty minutes or so later the two black men he had seen earlier, owners of the East Bombay Fishing Company, were introduced to him, relatives of Mrs. Patel by marriage she explained. After the introductions, Mrs. Patel led him back into the guest bedroom and left him alone. He waited patiently but was anxious to learn whether this trip would bear fruit. Who were those men really and what did they have to do with his quest? Before he had a chance to ponder those questions, they appeared and began asking their own questions. They listened to the entire tale that Mrs. Patel heard an hour earlier. The older of the two men asked if he could see a picture of Christopher and Oliver quickly pulled one from his wallet. After smiling at the photo, he asked if Oliver had a picture of Christopher’s V-Mark. Oliver immediately found several on his scud. Both men studied them then the older one looked over at his host and nodded. The relatives by marriage then excused themselves and were gone before Oliver could even digest their presence. Once they left, Mrs. Patel led Oliver to the door and handed him a sealed envelope. Rajiv was nowhere in sight.

“Take this, Mr. Hitchcock and go with God.”

It wasn’t until he climbed into the awaiting taxi that he opened the envelope and read the message.

Seek out Meta DeCarlo in Greve, Italy. Tell her the

fishermen of Bombay sent you.

After he did and before they pulled away, he looked back at the Patel house. In the opened living room window he could see Nagasi standing, smiling, giving him the two-finger peace gesture. He quickly opened his window, extended his arm out and returned the gesture. There was hope after all, he thought as they drove away. He would meet this Meta DeCarlo and Julian would retrieve Elana. Thank God for Julian!