2024-1

The doorbell rang. Anton didn’t hear it. He was laying on a couch in his living room, which was in the back of the house with his eyes closed and the music cranked up to drown out the sounds of the everyday and allow him to decompress. It was something Anton did each day when he returned from the office. Regardless of what time of day it was, the procedure remained the same.

Once Anton arrived home and had pulled his car into the garage, he walked into the kitchen, literally kicked off his shoes, went over to the wet bar, poured himself a glass of single malt scotch whiskey took a sip, loosened his tie, walked into the living room, picked up the remote off the table and immediately the entire room was filled with the most gorgeous music. Not just any music, but it had to be Beethoven. Absolutely nothing else would do, and not only just Beethoven, but in particular his Fourth Symphony. The sound filling the air was Anton’s insulation blanket. He sat down on the couch which was strategically placed between all six speakers and allowed the decompression to begin.

The doorbell rang again. Anton did not hear it. He closed his eyes, laid back on the couch and balanced the glass on his chest. Soon the music permeated every cell of his body, and he was transported to a world in which he was the only occupant. The doorbell rang again, but this time it was immediately followed up with a series of loud bangs on the door. At first, Anton wasn’t sure what it was but decided to ignore it, so he shut his eyes again. The banging continued. Finally, he grabbed his glass swung his legs onto the floor and paused the music. He realised the noise was coming from the front door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but they might continue banging on his door through the night. The sooner he got rid of them the better. Probably some door to door salesman he thought though it was a little late for them.

He turned on the porch light and saw two men dressed in suits standing outside. He unlocked the door and smiled; the two men who remained stoic.

“Can I help you?” he asked not sure whether to open the screen door or not. The man closest to him a middle-aged man wearing cheap suit reached into his jacket pocket and produced a badge.

“Are you Anton Rosenstein?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” replied Anton not one to give away too much information. The man placed the face of the badge on the wire mesh door. Harry Smith, Central Bureau of Investigation. Anton was puzzled. “I won’t be in the office until tomorrow, so if this is an official visit please meet me there.”

“No sir,” the man behind Harry Smith was much younger, he appeared not to have gone through puberty yet and wore an even cheaper looking suit. Anton immediately disliked him. “We would like to talk to you here.”

“Are you with the same outfit?” asked Anton of the younger man who had failed to produce any identification.

“Yes, he is,” replied the older man. Anton unlocked the screen door and stood aside for the two men to walk in. As they passed Harry Smith handed Anton his business card. Anton examined it. He relocked the front door and guided them into the living room. He sat down and the two men remained standing.

“You can sit down if you wish,” though he wanted to tell the younger man he could remain standing, but thought better of it. “How can I help you?” he paused for second while he reread the business card. “Mr Smith.”

“We are here,” he began once they both sat down on the opposite ends of the couch directly across from Anton. “We are here following up on some information that has come to us.” “Information?” asked Anton picking up the remote and toying with the idea of turning the music back on.

“Yes sir,” replied the younger man.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” Anton asked interrupting the man which made him slightly annoyed and delighted Anton. He was right about him.

“John Sibley,” he answered without much emotion.

“Yes, Mr Smith please go on.” Anton sat back on the couch and put the remote back on the table. The two men watched his movements intently.

“We have information that you posted an article on the internet in which you have described the actions taken by the Central Government in the Peabody affair to be moronic.”

“And?” asked Anton failing to understand why that was of concern of the government.

“Well,” continued Harry Smith, “there was a law recently passed by the legislature that made any complaints about the government actions in the Peabody case, or for that matter in any national security, case illegal.”

“I am aware of that,” replied Anton, still failing to see why a post detailing his objections and his reasoning as being something the government would be interested in.

“Well sir,” began the younger man and Anton had to bite his tongue before he said something he would live to regret. “You’re an attorney,” the man continued, “as is your father and you know about the law.”

“Yes, we do. In fact, we have filed papers in the Superior Court challenging the legality of such a law in a free society. We do not believe a free society should have such shackles put on it.”

“But the case hasn’t been heard yet has it?” Oh boy. Anton wanted to go upstairs, retrieve his handgun and deal with the man for once and for all. Anton refused to answer him and turned his attention to the older agent.

“My friend is right,” repeated Harry Smith, “until the case is heard and a decision made by the judge, the law is on the books and has to be complied with.” Anton found it interesting that Harry Smith addressed his compatriot as a friend instead of the usual companion.

“And if I don’t comply with such a ridiculous law then what?”

“Well that’s why we are here. We have a word of warning for both you and your father. If the two of you were just regular Joes, we would have to arrest you. But because your father was a former Attorney General, we are here just to warn you.”

“And if I don’t?” Anton was trying to get the two agents to commit.

“Then we will have to take the matter further.” No, he did not like the younger man. He seemed he was out to make his mark on the world. Harry Smith was a man he could deal with, but not this kid.

“I see,” replied Anton looking to end the conversation and go back to his music. It was as if he had fallen asleep and woken up in 1930s Germany or the Soviet Union. He believed he was living in the freest country in the world, and yet here he was having to defend the posting of his opinion on the internet. But he knew that things had changed ever since the new administration had taken office. Every office holder in this administration wasn’t interested in the betterment of its citizens and were just looking to enrich themselves. He knew the Peabody affair intimately. “What is it you would like me to do Mr Smith?”

“Thank you for seeing the light. Just refrain from posting on the internet and please take down the post.”

Anton made mental note that it was the first time either man had used the word please. Anton got up. “Thank you, gentlemen,” The two agents hesitated for a second. It was as if they weren’t ready to leave, but Anton had had enough. “I have your card Mr Smith. I will call you in the morning.

It was at this point that the other agent reached into his pocket and took out his card. He held it out for Anton. “A little late don’t you think?” Anton cut him off. “No thank you. I’d rather deal with someone with a little more intelligence than you. Thank you gentleman and good night.” Anton opened the door and they left, disappearing into the night.