The Lost Canaries

Chapter 3: Director Del Yunque

CHAPTER THREE – DENBRIGHT

DIRECTOR DEL YUNQUE

"Who should lead CANARY's efforts to find the Red Doves, if not Director Page?"

"Homeland Security will find someone else. CANARY Director is the hottest job in the department."

"Quiet! Page's hearing is coming on—"

"Someone turn on the TV."

The group of cabinet members hush around the conference room table. Silence chills the room as our hovercraft barrels through the sky. I flip on the television mounted on the wall, which shows the vice president clutching a gavel at a raised dais at the head of the Senate chamber thousands of miles away. CANARY Director Malcolm Page, his fleshy lips and shifting eyes oozing sweat under the lights, trembles in his chair below the vice president. Director Page's pudgy midsection presses against the table in front of him, as if he were a pig ready for slaughter. Rows of elected officials sit around the chamber with emotionless faces, waiting for the inevitable.

The vice president clears his throat. "CANARY Director Page, you stand here today accused of high treason. Throughout this impeachment trial, some very troubling activity has come to light." A screen next to the dais shows documents detailing years of bribes from European rebel groups sent to Page's offshore bank accounts. Phone transcripts between Director Page and foreign rebel leaders flash on the screens. Peering over his glasses at Page, the vice president continues, "Were all those rebel bribes worth stalling CANARY's efforts to find the Red Doves here in the States?"

Mumbles of disapproval simmer across the chamber. "Shame!" a senator shouts, followed by angry heckles.

Director Page's fleshy lips search for words. "Mr. Vice President, I didn't act in good faith, but—"

"But nothing, Director." The vice president clicks a remote. The monitor beside the dais switches to images of streets burning. Panicked crowds sprinting for shelter. Diplomatic buildings and city blocks blowing up from explosives. "These photos came out of Britain early this morning. The others are from Finland, Germany, Ireland, Spain... Looks like the Red Doves' message is catching on around the world, thanks to the copycat rebel groups paying you off...."

"But under my leadership at CANARY, we haven't seen any anti-establishment riots like this in America! At least before the lockdown..." Page counters.

The vice president smiles knowingly. "King Tourtombee's Red Doves have much... higher ambitions than their admirers overseas. An unorganized string of riots with no end goal, like these in Europe, is one thing. But biding your time, abducting people one by one to join your fringe group of supporters, that's how a government is truly overthrown. And the longer your organization fails to find the Red Doves, the closer we are to a much more horrific reality than the current lockdown."

Page's frantic eyes, desperately searching for an ally or alibi, flit around the chamber. Even he knows the axe is about to fall. I cannot help but smirk at the television in the dim of the hovercraft conference room.

"Let's all vote," the vice president orders. "All those in favor of Malcolm Page's immediate conviction and removal from his post in the Department of Homeland Security as the Director of CANARY, say 'yea.'" Every voice, in a moment of rare unity, calls in the affirmative.

As soon as the vice president slams his gavel, Page is carted away in handcuffs. Back in the hovercraft, across the conference room table, Stripe General Maddox growls and switches off the television. Maddox, a battle-worn man in his sixties with pale skin, close-cropped black hair, and hawklike eyes, wears his signature disgruntled frown as he stares out at the periwinkle sky. Everyone else around the table falls silent.