The Mission by Stephen Richter

Sing to me of the man, O Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy.

BOOK XVIII The Beggar-King of Ithaca

July 3rd, 5:08 P.M. San Fransisco, CA. I am a shooter. They announced it on Twitter and over the police radio so it’s true. Things have gotten out of hand. “Back away from the wall! Get down! Everyone down on the floor!” I learned to shoot in the Marine Corps. The 357 magnum I was holding wasn’t mine. “Keep your hands where I can see them!” I aimed at the security guard. Behind him, a sign made of aluminum and glass read NEW ITHACA Work / Live / Play “Down!” The security guard took a knee. “Cereno” was printed on his name tag. He tried to lift his hands but only one arm complied. His other arm was broken. It dangled, useless at his side. Three men and two women huddled together on the floor in front of me. Everyone else in the lobby ran out of the building, screaming into the streets. The sirens grew louder. “Calm down, brother, just calm down,” the security guard said, “It’s gonna be okay.” “Oh, so now I’m your brother?” I cocked the hammer. Cereno’s hand trembled in front of his face, as if to block the round I might fire from his own gun. “Please... please don’t... please,” he said. I looked around the massive lobby. Only one entrance, very little soft cover, no hard cover whatsoever... “Who lives here?!” A thin man with a beard and a sport coat raised his hand. So did a girl who looked like a librarian. “What floor?” “Fourth.” “Seventh,” the librarian said. 7

A fat-body in a pink Polo shirt answered a text. I snatched the phone from his trembling hand. “Everyone on your feet! Let’s go!” I pushed them ahead of me, pointing the pistol. The security guard didn’t move. I aimed at his chest. “That means you, Cereno.” “Come on, man. You don’t want to do this.” He backed away from me. “I’ve got a family-” I pulled the trigger. People screamed. A large pane of glass near the entrance of the lobby shattered. Cereno ran over to join us, his good arm held high. The elevator doors opened. “Into the corner! Face the glass! Tighter, A to stinking B! Don’t look at me! Face the glass!” They all complied. I pushed the 7th floor button then noticed my own reflection. I looked like a homeless person, despite the fresh haircut. I was totally un-sat and in need of a shave. The elevator rose and a flute version of Oye Como Va played over the speakers. I watched the police cruisers down below, screeching to a halt on 22nd. Officers were already blocking off Bartlett. People poured out of the Casa de la Raza projects, across the street. A crowd gathered on the sidewalk. All eyes were on New Ithaca. I looked down at the phone.

Nothing was the way I remembered, except for the projects. The people had changed. The Mission had changed, but the projects stood right where I’d left them when I went off to war. And now, somehow, I was in that “world of shit” we talk about in the Marine Corps, the place you go to when you fuck things up. A bell chimed. The doors opened onto the 7th floor.

I turkey-looked into the hall. It was lined with windows. I shoved the phone into my front pocket. Sirens continued to wail. “Why are you doing this?” said the librarian. We held each other’s gaze. “I didn’t do anything.” I motioned with the pistol. She scrutinized me for a moment then walked out of the elevator. She wore some kind of Japanese anime backpack over her shoulders with “Nausicaä” printed down each side. “Move!” Everyone filed into the hallway with their hands above their heads. They looked back at me. I looked to Nausicaä. “What?” she said. “You mean you want to go to my place?” The expensive lady in the pants suit groaned. “Didn’t you hear a word he said?!” “Sorry, I’m not the one with a gun, okay?” “This isn’t helping, just do what he says!” A Gipsy Kings ringtone played in my pocket. “Excuse me, it’s just... my phone and I know you’re really upset-” “Look man, I ain’t got nothing to do with these people! Why don’t you just let me-” Sunlight reflected into my eyes. “Get down!” I said. I pulled the lady in the pants suit to the floor with me. The window shattered. Nausicaä screamed. The young man with the beard fell flat on his back. His legs twitched violently. A gaping hole in chest cavity sucked air with a sickening sound. Blood pooled over the concrete floor. Cereno waved an arm overhead. I pulled him to the ground just before the next round smacked into the wall. “Goddamnit!” I low crawled to the wounded young man. “Everybody down!” He wore an I.T. badge with a low-res image of his smiling face above a barcode. Cereno crawled away from me. “Get your ass over here, Cereno or I swear to god I’ll shoot you!” The engineer’s chest heaved. Blood filled his mouth. His eyes implored me. “Oh God!” said Nausicaä. She crawled over to us and dug through her backpack.

“Come on, man.” I said, “Stay with me.” I applied direct pressure with my hand. Nausicaä passed me a sandwich bag full of almonds. I placed it over the hole in his chest. “No, I will not hold! They just shot one of the hostages!” The woman in the pants suit said into her phone. “There are hostages up here! Hello?! Hello?!!!” Another round impacted into the wall. “Omar! Get down before you get killed!” she said. Omar dove to the floor. Tears flowed from the young engineer’s eyes. He gripped my hand. “Mom...” he said. Nausicaä looked at me. A gargling sound rose from the engineer’s throat. He stared up at me, terrified. Another round impacted into the wall. Splinters of concrete ricocheted everywhere. A fragment hit Omar in the neck. The engineer died. “How do we get out of here?!” I shouted over the impact of the rounds. Nausicaä low-crawled towards the end of the hall. We all followed her, slithering, sliding across the floor. She crawled down another corridor then stood. Everyone was breathless. “Carole, I think I’m shot!” said Omar. He touched the side of his neck. His pink Polo was covered in blood. “It’s a scratch,” Carole said. She turned to me, “Look, I know you are not a bad person, my son was in the military, and I saw what happened to you downstairs-” “What are you talking about?!” said Cereno, “He assaulted me!” “But you have to turn yourself in, okay?” She touched my forearm. “Please, before more innocent people are killed!” I backed away. “They’ll never let me out of here alive,” I said. “He’s right,” said Nausicaä. “Why don’t you shut your mouth, girl, you ain’t helping!” said Cereno. “And how are you helping?!” said Omar, “You’re the one responsible for this disaster!” “Fuck you, puto! He broke the law, not me!” “It doesn’t matter, you idiot! They were shooting at all of us!” said Nausicaä. “Fuck you too!” I pointed the pistol at Cereno. Everyone raised their arms and stepped back. The engineer’s blood was on all our hands. “Put your hands down.” I said. I lowered the pistol. The Gipsy Kings ringtone played in my pocket again. I tossed Omar his cellphone. He dropped it again. “Sharmoúta!” said Omar. 10

“You’re just a security guard, Benito,” Nausicaä said. “I was fucking there. I know what the police did it in Oakland and I saw them kill Deshon Madison not even two blocks from here.” “So that makes you an expert?” said Cereno. “How does a white girl living in a penthouse know what the cops in the Mission are gonna do?” “Where do you live?” “Redwood City.” “Oh please...” “Stop it!” said Carole. “It’s for you..” said Omar. He held out his phone. Everyone looked at me. “Everybody against the wall, sit down,” I said. Nausicaä pointed to herself, questioning if I meant for her to sit as well. I nodded then pointed to the floor. She sat down next to Carole, offended. I put the phone on speaker. “This is Captain Delano Waters, SFPD. Who am I speaking to?” “Nobody,” I said. “Come on, give me a name. Even if it’s not your real one, just give me something I can call you.” “Call me nobody then.” “Are you armed?” “Yes.” “Does anyone need medical attention?” “Not anymore, thanks to your snipers.” “Are you alone, son?” “Alright, interview’s done. We have an injury to attend to. I will call you back in fifteen minutes. Until then, stay away from the building, Captain.” “Now, hold on a second, talk to me, alright? What injury? You said no one needed medical attention. You don’t want to force my hand here, nobody. Talk to me.” “Do not attempt to breach my perimeter or there will be hell to pay, you understand me?” I said. Nausicaä smiled. “Be advised, we will be recording video of whatever happens from here on out. I’ll call you back in fifteen,” I said. “Hell yeah,” whispered Nausicaä. I hung up. “What are you doing?!” said Carole. 11

“Listen to me,” I said. “Nausicaä’s right.” “Nausicaä? My name’s Athena.” “Athena’s right. They don’t care if they kill every last one of you people as long as they take me out in the process. There’s no way in hell Waters is gonna let me walk out of here alive, not anymore.” “What do you mean?” said Omar. “Take a look...” I slid Omar’s phone across the floor. “Black militants take over New Ithaca?” said Omar. He scrolled down. “Sources claim the siege may be a retaliation for the July second shooting of Deshon Madison, a 16 year old queer African American who was fatally wounded by police officers at the 24th Street and Mission Bart Station.” “The predominately white New Ithaca development has recently come under fire from the #NoCopsNoCondos anti-eviction / anti-gentrification movement?” read Cereno, “Who the hell are the “Black militants?” “Oh my god,” said Athena, “Listen to CNN: Activists and protestors gather at police barricades along 21st and 22nd streets to vocalize frustrations, and in some cases, their support for the armed radicals inside New Ithaca!” “Oh no!” said Carole, “It remains unclear if or how many hostages have been taken, but it is estimated that a group of possibly four armed men and women? have barricaded themselves inside the building after fatally shooting a resident of the multi-million dollar real estate development!? You have to tell them the truth, Sheldon!” “Who’s Sheldon?” “Listen to me!” said Carole, “If you don’t tell them the truth they’ll kill us all! Do you really want that kind of guilt on your head?!” “You just read the truth. Give me your phone,” I said. “You can’t do this, man!” Cereno said. “Give me your phones!” I pointed the pistol. They all complied. “I’ve waited too long and traveled too far to come home to a firing squad because some rent-a-cop wanted to put his hands on me!” “Think about what you are saying, for the love of God!” said Carole. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. I suggest you all start doing the same thing. Come here, Athena. I want you to hold onto these phones for me,” I said. She hurried over and opened up her backpack. I dropped everything inside. 12

“Start turning off GPSs” “I’m on it,” said Athena. “We’re in this together now, people, whether you like it or not,” I said. Athena zipped her pack and put it on her back. “I was a recon Marine, Carole. I know how these situations play out and I promise you they will come in here, full breach, and cut us down like pigs if we stay put and try to negotiate with them.” “Not if you tell them the truth!” “They’d rather see a hundred percent casualties and blame it all on me. They won’t risk the chance of me escaping. That’s a fact.” Omar and Carole looked at each other. “If we are strategic with our communications, if we keep moving and work together, then we may have a chance of getting out of this building alive. If not, there’ll be a slaughter in this hall before we even get a word off.” Omar was shaking. “I can’t handle this!” “Omar, listen to me,” I said. “All we’re gonna do is evade detection while we try to communicate with the outside world. Can we all live with that?” “What other choice you giving us, man?” Cereno said, “You gonna break my other arm?” “Only if you call me white girl again,” said Athena. “Hey! I need you here... Nausicaä.” I pointed to my eyeballs. “Okay,” she said. She leaned over to whisper into my ear, “I just want you to know, I am so fucking down with this.” “What’s it gonna be, people?” I said. “You better swear to me on your mother’s life that you will not let me get hurt,” said Carole. “My mother’s dead.” “I meant-” “I swear I will not let anyone hurt you, Carole. You have my word.” She stared into my eyes. “Alright,” she said, “Can I at least have my phone back?” “No. Nausicaä, you got a computer at your place?” “Yes I do.” “Lead the way. Let’s move!” Athena took off running. Everyone followed. I brought up the rear with Cereno’s 357. Fifteen minutes ago I was the invisible man. No one looked at me. No one listened to me. Now the whole world wanted know my name. We turned down another corridor then sprinted up a hall. Fifteen minutes ago not one of these people would have pissed on me if I was on fire. Now they were depending on me to save their lives. Whoever these people were didn’t matter anymore. Now they were the hard men and women of a terrorist cell of militant activists. Now they had 13

taken over New Ithaca to stick it to the man, the cops, and to the real estate developers who were turning the Mission into a billion dollar ghetto of bistros and coffee houses. It was an absolute lie and the indisputable truth. And who was I? Nobody. I was anybody and everybody. I was the angry black man going absolutely nowhere and everywhere all at once, thanks to the insatiable chatter of millions of people I would never know. We stopped in front of the door to unit 770. Our fifteen minutes were nearly up. Athena dug for her keys. The Gipsy Kings ringtone from Omarâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cellphone played inside her backpack. She opened the door.

Interiors by Proci Design Group

BOOK IX In the One-Eyed Giantâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Cave

It was a spy-palace of glass and concrete, a cavernous sky-palace overlooking Bartlett Street and the future location of “Mercado Plaza” - the proposed epicenter of the “New Mission.” At least that’s what the little brass plaque on the maqueta said. A scale model stood in the middle of what might be called a living room. There were no walls in this penthouse. It looked more like a warehouse that had been converted into an art gallery or something. In the maqueta, a miniature Aztec calendar “street tattoo” dominated the intersection of 22nd and Bartlett. Tiny Mexican American girls in wife-beaters and biker shorts danced folklorico for the farmer’s market patrons, their yellow skirts twirling in the sunshine.

“Don’t worry, it’s not mine,” said Athena. “Cereno! Get away from the windows,” I said. “My arm is broken, man.” Cereno sat down with a grunt. “Oh my god, is this real?” said Omar. He stood in front of a massive Marilyn Monroe diptych by Andy Warhol. “She’s beautiful...” “I hate it” said Athena. “I just crash here.” “How’d you get the key?” “My dad owns it.” “Answer the phone!” said Carole. “What’s wrong with you people?! Oh, for god’s sake, do I have to do everything to keep us from getting killed?” She walked towards Athena, snapping her fingers. Athena unzipped her backpack and tossed Omar’s cellphone to Carole. “Let’s go, negotiator,” said Carole, “negotiate something.” She put the phone on speaker then placed it into my hand. 16

“Hello, Captain Waters?” I said. “What took you so long, Malheur?” I froze. “Private Ulises Malheur? United States Marine Corps?” “Sergeant Malheur,” I said. “That’s not what your commanding officer just told me.” Everyone looked at me. “They handed you a big chicken dinner, Malheur, a Bad Conduct Discharge from the 3rd Marine Division, Okinawa Japan, for conduct unbecoming a United States Marine. The general courts martial was held four days ago at Camp Pendleton, California. The rest is classified. You ready to talk to me now, Oooh-lee-says?” I didn’t answer. I was losing them. I could see it on everyone’s faces except for Athena’s. “Ulises Malheur...” said Captain Waters, “that arabic?” Omar rolled his eyes. “No hablas español, cabrón?” I said. “I don’t understand, Ulises. Help me understand-” “I’m Black and Mexican, born and raised in the Mission, right beneath this freaking building before New Ithaca even existed. Understand that. My daddy was a Marine too, died in Vietnam, don’t even go there! This ain’t about jihadists, captain, it’s about disrespect, monu-fuckingmental disrespect!” “The kind of disrespect the police showed to Deshon Madison!” Athena said. “Shame on you!” said Carole, “You have no right to-” I pointed the pistol at Carole. She sat back down next to Omar on the white leather sofa. Athena crossed the room to a concrete pillar that divided an expanse of windows. She peeked down at the streets and the crowd below. Cereno sat with his back against a beam, cradling his broken arm. His face was covered in sweat. I put Omar’s phone on “mute.” “Let me do the talking,” I said. “Ulises?” said Captain Waters. “Do I make myself clear?” I cocked the hammer of the 357. Everyone nodded except for Athena. She continued to watch the street from behind her pillar. 17

“Ulises, can you hear me?” said Waters. I took the phone off mute. Athena pulled one of the phones from her backpack and began typing. “I’m here, captain,” I said.

“Ulises, listen to me. We mean you no harm, alright? We just want to know why you are doing this, son? What are you trying to accomplish here? Help me understand.” “I’m trying to keep these people alive, Captain. I did not initiate this! Someone assaulted me and I defended myself. Things escalated so quickly, there just wasn’t time to explain before your men started shooting people.” “Well it sounds like what we’ve got here is a failure to communicate, then. We can resolve this, Ulises. I promise you, but you’re going to have to trust me, son.”

Athena gestured wildly with a hand in front her throat. She kicked a cellphone to me across the floor then grabbed Cereno by his collar. She dragged him behind her. I picked up the phone. It showed live news coverage from outside the building. Men in SWAT uniforms were rappelling from the rooftop! I ran past Athena, straight for the wall of windows. “Everybody down!” I said. I fired the 357. The widow shattered. A man in tactical black swung into view. I dove through the open window frame, headfirst, colliding with the officer in mid air. We pendulum swung away 18

from the building. My legs wrapped around his waist. I head-butted him in the face, snatched his submachine gun, then pinned his break-arm against his torso to keep us from plummeting to the ground. We swung back towards the shattered penthouse windows. People in the streets gasped and shouted. Some cheered. I threw the officer’s break-arm away from his body at the last possible moment, allowing the slack in the rope to swing us back inside the building. We hit the concrete floor with a thud. The officer broke my fall. He laid motionless now, unconscious on his back. “Ulises! Jesus christ! What the hell’s going on up there?!” Captain Waters shouted over the speakerphone. “What the hell was that?!” “Tell your men to fall back!” I said. I scrambled to the windows and took cover behind Athena’s pillar. I fired two short bursts from the MP5 up at the rooftop to discourage any other trapeze artists from joining the party. Athena low-crawled over to me with the 357 and a police radio. Carole, Omar, and Cereno hid behind the white sofa. “All units, disengage! Fall back! I repeat, fall back!” said a voice over the police radio. Athena and I sat on the floor with our backs against the concrete pillar, catching our breath. “They could send you to prison for this,” I said. “No they won’t.” “The hell they won’t.” “My dad’s a politician. He’s on the planning commission. He’s got a lotta pull.” She passed me the police radio, “I’d get off anyway for Stockholm syndrome.” “Carole, Omar…Talk to me, you alright over there?” I said. “No!” said Carole, “How could I possibly be alright?!” “You are so fucking bad-ass I can barely handle it,” said Athena. She touched my chest then punched me in the ribs. I peeked back down at the street. It was a freaking zoo. Protestors and police clashed along the 22nd and Bartlett barricade. People carried picket signs. Some were in drag. Others were shirtless, pumping their fists and shouting. There were boots, Birkenstocks, Chuck Taylors, and flip-flops. Black, white, yellow, brown, on the eve of our nation’s independence, people from all over the city descended on the Mission. I guess the people had finally had enough. “I am ordering you to disburse!” said a voice over a bullhorn.

“Justice for Michael Madison!” “No cops no condos, motherfuckers!” 19

“U-li-ses! U-li-ses! U-li-ses!” “I’m serious, Ulises, everyone I know is afraid of me but I’m afraid of you,” said Athena. “That is so hot to me.” “Cereno, how you doing over there, hard charger?!” I said. “I’m fine, man!” “Are you listening to me?” said Athena. “Omar?!” “I’m alright, Ulises!” “Ulises, you should really try listening more and talking less,” Athena said, “All of this might not have happened, you know.” “I’m trying to keep us alive.” I handed the police radio back to Athena. Her forearm was covered in scars from cigarette burns and blade cuts. “U-li-ses! U-li-ses! U-li-ses!” People chanted my name in the streets in front of New Ithaca. “I’m just saying,” said Athena. The SWAT officer was regaining consciousness. He groaned. I ran over and straddled his chest, pinning his arms beneath my knees. “Get over here, Omar.” We’d hit the motherlode: Two Baretta 9 millimeters, 6 concussion grenades, flash bangs, CS gas, extra clips and rounds for the MP5, a taser gun, K-Bar, KY, silver Zippo, Lucky Strike non filtered cigarettes, and a pack of Wrigley’s chewing gum. I stripped the officer butt-naked then handcuffed him on his side. “I’ve got a plan,” I said. All of the lights and power in the building went out. “Cyclops airborne,” said a voice over the police radio. “Ulises are you there?! Are you alright, Ulises?” said Captain Waters. Omar’s cellphone glowed on the floor. I picked it up. “Everybody get down on the floor” I said “Slide up against the corner of a wall, any wall. Face inboard.” “Are you sure, Ulises,” said Carole, “why are we doing this?” “Quickly quickly people! Brace yourselves,” I said. “Oh god,” said Omar. “Brace ourselves for what, Ulises?” “A Battle Drone,” I said.

I took the phone off mute. “Captain Waters, that was a horrific way to treat people, especially when you are telling them to trust you!” “Ulises, I had nothing to do with that attempted breach, you hear me? Those men were FBI,” said Waters. “The chain of command is getting pretty murky out here real quick. We need to resolve this situation while I’m still able to help you, son. What do you say? Let’s talk about your options, Ulises.” An armored quadcopter drone entered the penthouse through the open window frame. A ball shaped camera housing unit rotated on servos beneath the fuselage and turning blades. “How do I know I can trust you, Captain?” I said. The drone searched the room. “Of course you can trust me, Ulises. Where are you…?” I put the phone on mute. “The drone is equipped with thermal imaging,” I said. “Everyone breathe slowly. Your lives depend on it. Now, slow your heart rates down and lower your thermal signatures. Breathe and Relax.” “This is asinine,” said Carole. She took off her heels and stood. “You can’t just fly in someone’s window with a robot and kill people!” said Carole. She threw one of her heels at the quadcopter. It bounced off. “Carole, stand down!” I said. “Ulises, what’s happening in there?! What was that?” said Captain Waters, “Where the hell did everybody go?” the camera on the drone rotated. “This is what I’m talking about, Captain,” I said, “How the hell am I supposed to trust you if you’re the one flying the drones?!” “Well, I’m not flying it,” said Waters. “We’re just trying to find you, son. We need to find you so we can help you, Ulises.” A red laser beam played over the walls and floor. Carole snatched a blanket off a white divan and threw it at the drone. The blanket entangled the props, then brought the quadcopter crashing to the floor. Carole grabbed a broom and beat the blanket-covered drone. “It’s not right!” said Carole, “You hear me?! I’m done with your lies!” “Carole, it’s gonna explode!” I said. I ran for her. “I’m sick of this shit!” said Carole. The broom snapped. She kept beating then stabbed at the blanket with the sharp end of the broken broomstick. “I’m sick of you! You want me dead, don’t you?! When will it ever be about me?!!!”

I tackled Carole to the ground, shielding her with my body. There was a muffled concussion. A puff of black smoke rose from the blanket-covered mound. Carole and I stood. “You alright?” I said. Carole slapped me across the face. “Change your thermal signature?!” said Carole. “It’s true, goddamnit!” “You know, Ulises, my youngest had a quadcopter just like that,” said Carole, “and I did the same thing to his when he decided to get out of line.” She smoothed out my shirtfront. “But it didn’t make one bit of difference, Ulises, and you know why? Because people never listen.” “What?” I said. Athena circled the drone, recording video on her phone. “Get that thing out of here before it explodes or something,” said Carole. “I want to do an interview. The people deserve a face to attach to this tragedy. Athena, I want you to record me.” “That’s brilliant,” said Athena, “Let’s make it personal for them.” “Oh, the humanity? Is that what you think you’re gonna pull here?” said the naked officer on the floor. “Well, you just can’t do shit like this to people and expect to get away with it. I’m sorry. Now, if you surrender yourselves to me, right here and now, just like this, I promise you that you will receive a fair trial.” “Do you have any duct tape, sweetheart?” “Boxes.”

BOOK XIX Penelope and Her Guest

Omar and I held up the battered drone between us. Carole stepped into frame. “This,” she gestured at the drone, “is very wrong. My name is Carole Laistrygonian and I am a law abiding, tax paying citizen of this community. I am not a radical or an activist and neither is Omar over here… Come here, Omar, tell the people.” I don’t know why I did it. Hell, I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I walked to the edge of the blown-open windows, holding that drone out in front of me like the head of Medusa. The crowd in the street went nuts. I let the drone fall to the ground then walked back inside. “What did you just do?!” said Carole. “I got rid of the drone.” “The chest-pounding is not helping us, Ulises,” said Carole. “Okay, Athena, one more time. Ready… Action. Good evening. My name is Carole Laistrygonian and I am a law abiding, tax paying citizen of this community. I am not-” That was when I realized I would probably die in New Ithaca. For me there was pretty much no way out of the building. Well, maybe one way out, but it meant taking the journey in a body bag. My life had proven itself to be one big circle, coming to an end in the very spot where it began. Of course my ass would end up back here in the Mission. That’s how it goes down, no matter how far away you try to run, everyone always comes back, someday. But what about these people, these interlopers, the suitors who had taken over and erased the final traces of my childhood home while I was off defending their freedoms to do it to me. I watched them, pitching and bargaining for their lives in an empty theater with no one in the audience. Carole and Omar spoke into the camera while Athena recorded them. Cereno cradled his broken arm. I felt bad about that. The naked officer’s eyes shot daggers at me from the floor. He said things into the duct tape covering his mouth, his eyes fixed on mine. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” I said. I peeled the duct tape from his mouth. “Look, devil dog, I was a Marine too,” he whispered, “Listen to me. You need to get your ass-” “And neither is Ulises here,” said Carole. She extended me her hand. I joined Carole and Omar in front of the camera. “Thank you, Carole and yes, it’s true, I am not a terrorist either. This has all been one huge misunderstanding,” I said. “A terrible miscommunication,” said Omar. “We just want to make it home to our loved ones tonight,” said Cereno. “So, if you see us out there with our hands in the air this evening,” said Carole, “Please…” “Don’t shoot,” we all said. “cut,” said Carole, “I think we got it.” “That was beautiful,” said Athena, “Oh no.” 24

“What happened?”said Omar “They’ve locked down my all my accounts. I can’t post anything.” “No one can see the video?” said Carole. “Nobody can,” said Captain Waters, “Not a soul. That’s right, over here, Ulises. On the police radio. Pick it up, son.” I picked it up. “Do you have any idea how much a cyclops costs the taxpayers of California?” said CaptainWaters. “No, sir.” “Ulises, there’s someone here who wants to speak with you.” “Hey, U,” said a woman’s voice. Goosebumps spread over my neck and forearms. “Penelope, how you doing?” I said. “What are you doing, Ulises?” “I swear to God this isn’t what it looks like.” “I guess all that screwing you did in those exotic ports of call has finally rotted your brain. Oh, Ulises, why couldn’t you just keep it in your pants, instead of ruining all of these people’s lives?” “I haven’t ruined lives.” “You ruined mine. You ruined poor little Tomás’ life, all those people up there with you, their lives, everyone who gets near you, Ulises, ends up getting fucked pretty bad.” “I’m fighting for my life, Penelope.” “Ten years, Ulises, your son is ten years old and he doesn’t even know his own father. What about his life?” “That’s why I came back.” “You’re a liar.” “Alright, look, I just wanted to ask you and Captain Delano if I could speak with Tomás for a couple of minutes before I turned myself in.” “What’s a few minutes of talking to you in this setting going to do for him, Ulises? Scar him for the rest of his life?” “Do you have any idea what I had to do to make it back here to see my son?” “Everyone knows what you’ve done, Ulises, I’m talking about what you’re doing.” “You have a restraining order, Penelope.” “I was afraid, after the way you were talking to me on the phone.” “Why are you doing this to Tomás? What kind of example-” “Fucking grown men in the ass, Ulises? Is that the kind of example you want your son to see?” “We were exhausted.” 25

“So, the Marines run out of coffee and they start fucking each other in the ass?” “Our mission was-” “The whole world knows about your mission, Ulises.” “I didn’t know we were being recorded.” “You humiliated me in front of everyone I have ever known.” “There is no way you can possibly understand the things we do out there.” “How am I supposed to feel, as your wife?” Everyone stared at me. “How am I supposed to feel?” she said. “Penelope-” “No Ulises, you chose to do this. You traveled all those miles and instead of knocking on our door and coming home to your wife and son who miss you so much, you decide to take over a building at gunpoint. I don’t understand that, Ulises, and I just don’t know who you are anymore. Maybe I never did. I’m sorry, Captain, I… I can’t do this.” “Hello, Ulises?” said Captain Waters. “Take your hands off me,” said Penelope. “Ulises, are you there?” “I know the way out,” said Penelope, “I’m sorry. Thank you officer.”

“Can you give me a second, Captain?” I said.

I walked towards the shattered windows. Outside, the sun sank behind Twin Peaks as the sky purpled with the approaching dark. I had forgotten how beautiful the city could be. My heart raced and I felt infinitely sad and alone. Devices vibrated and chimed behind me, breaking the silence as the word spread across the Mission, over the city, and to the far corners of the world.

Oh, I hated Cereno at that moment but Penelope was right. Ten years had flown by and I had no one else to blame but myself. I’d signed up for everything I’d been issued. Hell, I knew the deal. That’s what USMC stands for: you signed the mother-fucking contract and that I did. Now it was time to pay the devil back for all the years of power, glory and invisibility, to become mortal again and do what Marines do best - to die. I smiled. Athena smiled. No one else smiled but it didn’t matter. I’d been waiting for this moment, from the moment I reached for Cereno’s gun in the lobby, probably even longer than that. “Ulises, are you there?” “Yes I am.” The crowd grew louder outside. The police were wearing thin and the night was coming on like a freight train. “You ready to come out, son?” “Yes, I am.”

BOOK XXII Slaughter in the Hall

“Ulises, are you still there?” I didn’t answer the radio. “Can I ask you all a question?” I said to the New Ithaca 5, “Why do you want to live here?” “I don’t,” said Cereno. “I never wanted to live here,” said Athena. “I’ve fantasized about it, romanticized the idea as an investment maybe but I would never move here,” said Carole. “My restaurant is in the building, Ulises, but I could not live in the Mission,” said Omar. I placed the MP5 on the couch. One by one I put all of my weapons down. “We’re coming downstairs, Captain. We’re unarmed,” I said into the police radio then turned it off. Everyone looked at me like I was insane. “I want to show you something,” I said, “I want to show you why I came into this building today.” The crowd in the streets grew even louder, outside. I headed for the door. “Listen up Devil Dog,” said the naked officer on the floor, “if you’re turning yourself in, let me walk you. They’ll know you’re unarmed and no one will get hurt.” “Semper Fi, hard charger,” I said. I patted him on the ass then walked out the door. Slowly but surely everyone followed me down the hall to the elevators. We filed inside. The second floor button had a label next to it that read “Phaeacian Room.” I pressed it. “This is my restaurant,” said Omar. I stopped near the open door. “When I was ten years old,” I said, “my mother and I lived upstairs in an old Victorian right here on Bartlett, between a warehouse and the old mission theater. It was the third of July and the city was repouring the sidewalk in front of the building before the holiday. I was running around, playing with a friend of mine and I collided with these two guys out in front of the curb and one of them fell. I had this homemade bow and arrow and it was broken on the ground. So the guy gets up, picks up my broken arrow, and writes something in the wet cement with it. He asked me

my name then he pressed the arrowhead into the cement too. He talked me into leaving our handprints there, said it was like the aborigines.” We all looked down at the concrete square beneath our feet. It read, Da tu amor sobre la tierra No hay razón para la guerra Caminemos mano a mano Todos juntos como hermanos Go out and make it better Carlos Santana y Ulises Malheur 7/3/1980 The broken arrow was gone but its imprint was still there. “Here,” I handed the police radio to Carole. She touched my cheek. I headed for the staircase that led down to the lobby. It sounded like a Roman coliseum outside. “I’m coming with you,” said Athena, “They will fucking shoot you, Ulises.” “No they won't. But why don’t you stay here until everything is clear. Tell Waters I am coming down, Carole.” I turned and walked down the stairs. Outside the building, the street was packed with police, demonstrators and news media. A sea of officers in tactical gear waited for me on the other side of the lobby, their weapons at the ready. I wondered which one was Captain Waters, if he was even there. I raised my hands then walked towards them. They shouted for me to stop. I kept walking. I never felt the rounds hit my body.

THE ART OF MODERN ARCHITECTURE The Mission is one of the most energetic, historic and richly layered neighborhoods in the world and the architecture of New Ithaca reflects each of those facets. The fresh, contemporary design and caring craftsmanship are inspired by modern Latin culture – literally weaving the urban fabric of the Mission into the building itself. From the bold, vibrant colors to the way light playfully dances across its stunning façade, New Ithaca echoes the rhythms that those who love the neighborhood know so well. The design melds with the adjacent Art Deco theater marquee to create a dramatic street presence and aesthetic. Come a little closer to the building and you’ll notice a deliberate vertical rhythm to New Ithaca – echoed in both the neighboring marquee and the setbacks on the upper two floors. Just like the Mission itself, the building invites you to explore, uncover and participate in the joy of the local culture.

The Mission

Stephen Richter