THE PAST CATCHES UP

June was being held down, screaming, "Don't stop her! Don't stop her! Let her kill the bitch!" The Swiss security were far, far too late responding to our yells: where had they been? Nick was lying on the floor, blood gushing from his neck. Tricia was flailing around, pen in hand, a wild animal held down by Emily - no less. The Ambassador wrestled Emily off of Tricia, she would have killed her, squeezed her neck right off if not.

June had found a shotgun. One of the Swiss guards grabbed it away, then tackled her. It'd not been loaded anyway. A staffer rushed in with bath towels. Tried to staunch Nick's wound.

It was too little, too late. It was then when I must have blacked out.

THE FALLOUT

Tuello told us that the tradecraft Tricia had used, had not been in use since the 1980s. It was byzantine, stuff not looked for, for decades. With the end of the Cold war, he said, 'Numbers Stations' and 'One Time Pads', even those in Braille, had simply been too antiquated.

"Ham Radio buffs listen to them, when they can find them on the dials. Blocks of 5 numbers, twenty or thirty blocks. In a woman's voice, or in Morse Code - starts as abruptly as it ends. No one knows what they mean - apparently you have to have one of these." At that, Tuello held up a notepad. "Without the 'key' which the operative memorizes, no one would know which page in here decodes that day's Numbers Station."

Oliver waited for the silence to linger. He looked at his sister, she nodded so he said, "They say it's not good for mom-Em. She's not spoken since the attack. It'll be at least another month before the psychiatrist reassesses her. This is a nightmare."

The only thing I could think of was what Erin had said when I'd first arrived in Canada. "Blessed be the fruitloops. Gilead does that to you." I didn't utter those bon mots, not now. Erin could get away with it. Me, I wouldn't even try. Neither Luke nor Moira were around any more to 'get the joke' that had taken me, then a new arrival, so long to decipher.

Oliver's sister said to Tuello, "But Tricia was on that refugee's release well before anyone knew Commander Blaine would end up here? Why Blaine?"

Tuello replied, "Best guess? The target had always been Osborne. Mission objective switched when Blaine arrived."

I said, "Pearl Girls, blind women…. how many of these cells are in Canada?"

Tuello said that he and Oliver's sister were leaving soon for the drive over to the PMO, where they were briefing the Prime Minister directly.

Me and Oliver? Yes, we were going to be there for the full hour at the hospital when his mom was allowed visitors. But that was not until this evening.

Me and Oliver, we were headed over to the Ottawa Police Service, Elgin lock-up. We had to be there today - tomorrow Tricia was being transferred to the ICC facilities in Toronto, probably to the cell Serena Joy had once occupied. Not much had changed there over these years.

THE RECKONING

God is merciful in the small things only. Okay, it was not a small thing. Oliver being with me was everything. What I was to hear, I could not hear alone. God bless Oliver. One mom murdered, another in a psych-ward. I wondered, 'How do people survive things like this?' But I was soon to apply that question to myself.

How am I to survive? At my age, is survival even worth it?

Oliver and me, we let her talk.

Fuck you, Rita. After taking care of you on the floor, after being so kind, you repaid me by fucking me - outing me. For Christ's sake, I'd long since realized I was going to be abused no matter what, so I may as well have taken a taser and get something for it. I got you blankets. I nursed you through your fever.

Yes, I remember all of it. Mostly I remember your pious little mouth-shits, when you used to pray. We were in the bowels of hell, you pious bitch. Women were being shot all around us. All you could do was pray. But it was me getting you shit. I tried to help you manage.

What turned me? Because, yes, I was turned. I would have died for those women. I almost did, many times. I was beaten for giving you fucking feminine products.

And what did you do? Do you know what happened to me when you 'outed' me? There's nothing wrong with your memory, you old fool. Nothing. I'd been the president of our university's gay-rights group. I'd told the guardians that I'd been cured. You 'outing' me cost me. Think Dr. Malek.

Thank Tank. Beatings. Rape. Then they took me to the stadium. Lord above, they gave me a gun. I almost used it on them, but there was only one shot in the chamber. Then I thought of using it on myself. It might be my last chance.

But then I thought of you, dear Rita. Yes, you. I'd been kind to you. So before even getting the order to do it, I walked right up to one of the criminal Marthas and shot her, right in the head. I turned to the Guardians and asked for another weapon. Which they gave me. I ended up dispatching 9 criminal Marthas. A Guardian stopped me, said, "Okay, okay, enough already." Did you hear that? A Guardian - stopping me! From that day, I was relentless.

I ended up serving Gilead. All the while thinking of you. I became an instructor in the first women's assault force. Lost my eyes during a training explosion. I'd wanted Gilead to finish me. That's all the reward I wanted. But your precious Nick Blaine, he turned me - again. He asked me to serve Gilead one more time.

Yes - your precious Nick Blaine. He was the commander of another arm of our military. Hero of Chicago. Then he became a heretic. Turned on all that is holy. Spat in God's face. Seduced by that harlot June Osborne. She was the gender traitor.

Someone had to do it. So it was me. All it took was a pen.

Me? I served Gilead. Why? Because you, you bitch, turned on me. I was your friend. You, you are the one who is evil. Incarnate.

WHITHER JUNE OSBORNE

I was helping Oliver and his sister manage their moms' house, now that no one was in it. I couldn't clean like I was used to, my bad heart made me tired too easy. These days in Gilead, I'd have been put out to pasture, in one of those 'progressive' homes for old Marthas. Back in the day, I'd have had a merciful bullet to the head.

Gilead was enduring. Despite us. Tuello was now over at the house there in Toronto. He was saying he was retiring, "This time, for good," he said with resignation.

"Gilead is winning," he said when Oliver returned with tea. "Why?" he asked rhetorically, not waiting for a response, he continued, "Because they are ruthless. For Pete's sake, Tricia is now getting 'due process'. They don't do 'due process' in Gilead. They do 'ruthless' there."

He sipped some tea as the three of us sat silently. He continued, "I'm sick of it. Sick of their complete lack of empathy. Their soul-crushing relentlessness." He said Gilead had not been anything remotely religious, despite their press-clippings and high sounding language. "They are a kleptocracy at the top. Heart and soul, robbing their own State."

He looked at Oliver and his sister. "Apologies for putting it this way, kids. Me, I'm old school. So I'll say it. Tricia? Full on lesbian. Full on gender traitor. Turned into a covert agent of the regime which kills her own people. Now a full on believer. In Gilead."

My guilt was sinking me. Tuello told us of the program within the refugee system, where they'd tried to ferret out fifth columns. "In all these years, we'd found four. Four. Four bona fide agents of Gilead posing as a refugee. We've misidentified about 30. Tricia? Not a hint. Not a very good batting average in either league."

Through the silence, I started that dreaded cough I had. Just wouldn't stop. Oliver would hold me if he was around. Which he was this time. When it finished I said quietly, "I created Tricia."

Tuello sighed. "With due respect, Ms. Blue, I'm tired of people like you. I really am." I'd not expected him to say that. "You're a fucking victim of Gilead, not a perpetrator. Jesus. You're the Christian here. Whatever fantasy you have in your head about 'turning Tricia', you're just not that powerful. You're not. You, my friend, are no match for Gilead's relentlessness. Don't kid yourself."

I said to him, "with all due respect, Mr. Tuello, I am what I am." I did not need him interfering with my nightmares. He'd soon be in Kauai anyway, sipping mojitos with Crazy Janine.

Oliver's sister said, "I'm headed back to Ottawa. There's talk that my guy is soon to be promoted to Minister. The current guy is taking heat for the second Swiss embassy siege. Me, I'll be Chief of Staff to a Minister of the Crown. I think both our moms would be pleased."

She then turned to Tuello, "You're an old warhorse, Mark. A grateful Canada wishes you well - with thanks for your service. And with the respect that you're obviously due, leave Gilead to us. From now on." She stopped then added, "Besides, if Gilead is as relentless as you say, maybe I've got that in my genes. I'll tell you this, they won't see Serena Joy coming for the dust, not until it's too late. That, I promise you."

Lastly, we talked about June Osborne. She'd started all this. It was her audio tapes - rerecorded over Lawrence's music - which had started this. All we knew now was that she was no longer at the Swiss embassy. No need, really. That had been for Nick. Barrie, Ontario, at the hemp farm? Back in Colorado Springs blowing shit up? In Boston consoling Nick's real widow, a widow at 15 years of age? June was a ghost. Again.

This is June's Tale. One with no healing. Remember, her original tale had ended with the prisoner-van door being closed, her trapped inside.

With Nick driving it away. The rest is us on June's coattails.

LIFE PASSES

Rita Blue died of a massive heart-attack two weeks later, was found by Oliver in her suite. She died in her 27th year as a Gilead refugee, since Angel's Flight. The suite in which her slumped body was found, was immaculately clean. There was no alcohol there, not even in the usual hiding places - this pleased Oliver greatly. On her kitchen table was a hand written letter to Tricia, addressed to the ICC Holding Centre in Toronto. Oliver read, then burned it. Then he called the Monsignor. He came, and forgave her, her sins.

Only then did Oliver send a text to Rita's Mark. He never got a response.

What had Oliver learned growing up in this environment? That there was no point trying to get word to June Osborne. At least he'd learned something.

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