How I Helped to Change the World

By Tomas Sustaita

Meet Reynaldo Steed. A denizen of the end-times. A native Houstonian living a scant less-than-1200 miles away from the first American city to be destroyed by nuclear weapons.

He is a product of his environment, apathetic but intelligent, an under-achiever but with one great talent. He writes with conviction, empathy, and the ability to summon 'the gift of sincerity at will.' Yet his life is going nowhere until he meets Him. The Man Who Will Become Reynaldo's Employer: The Man Who Will Offer Reynaldo A Chance At Realizing His Life's Work.

And Reynaldo must come to terms with the fact that his Employer is not at all who he seems to be.

But is Reynaldo prepared to face the truth about himself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493179008

Tomas Sustaita

The author is a native Houstonian and a Texan, two places he loves not because they are better than any other place, but because they are his home. "How I Helped To Change the World" is his first published novel. He has published some poetry on-line and has also written two music reviews for Amazon.com. He is currently working on publishing a volume of his poetry and he has plans to eventually publish a second novel.

Book preview

Chapter One

A Dark Beginning

To find your life’s work you have to follow what you are good at. In my case it’s communicating convincingly. Whether it be in the written or spoken word, getting my point across has always been my talent; even when I have no point. It’s a gift you know, being able to wax either poetically or philosophically and still seem as if you know what you are talking about. But then again, that asshole Hitler always said, ‘the bigger the lie the more people will believe it.’ It’s such a commentary on the nature of the world today when lies are treated like truths. Then again, hasn’t this always been the case?

Yet lies are that which became my life’s work: being a spokesperson, no, The Spokesperson for someone I should have never believed in, but I could not help myself. A strange pairing, my employer and I, because by all rights I should have never been hired by him in the first place. Despite my ability, I actually was a bit of a fuck-up, no stable work history, a bit of a substance-abuse problem, I didn’t even possess a Baccalaureate Degree, just a two-bit Associate’s Degree in English.

He saw something in me. As crazy as it sounds he had read some poetry that I had published on some on-line site. Seeing that he researched my name a little further and stumbled upon some reviews that I had written for some music I had also purchased from Amazon. He told me that from that moment he knew in his heart that I should be the one to speak for him and his cause. He said that I had a rare ability that few writer’s could muster at will, sincerity.

I was flattered. The poetry was the product of that impetus that inspires all poets: heartfelt pain. The reviews were written in praise of some of the greatest rock music that I had ever heard in my life. To me those songs were more than just music, they represented what music should aspire to be: a beautiful escape from the ugliness of the world. I was touched that someone so great and powerful could see that my writing was heartfelt. Upon reflection I have to say that when he first came to recruit me there never was any question of me wanting to take the opportunity that he offered. In the end I thanked him for the chance.

Meeting my employer for the first time was indeed a truly heady experience. I had been sitting in my little cell of an apartment, smoking marijuana and trying to relax after realizing that even after having saved the majority of a month’s worth of paychecks I would still be short on the rent. There was a knock on the door and looking out the peephole I was frightened to see what looked like two plainclothes policemen outside. The apartment reeked of pot smoke and my knees grew weak as I understood that my neighbors had finally had enough of me stinking up the air with my constant smoking of weed. Then I saw what looked like the Secretary of State walking up to where the two policemen stood.

The knocking on the door persisted and in spite of my fear that I would be busted by none other than a high-level dignitary of the U.S. government, I was curious, and they knew I was at home. I felt sure of that and stoned as I was I began to think, furiously trying to remember if I had done anything in recent weeks that might have violated national security?

Another knock on the door and this time I could plainly hear the Secretary’s voice from outside. Mr. Steed, please let us in. I just want to talk to you sir. So it was the Secretary. I looked again out the peephole and could see that the parking lot of the apartment building where I lived was full of parked Houston Police cars. Well, the Secretary of State rated this kind of escort, I reasoned to myself. I also figured that it was better to open the door rather than have it kicked in. If I was going down it would be in style. At least my neighbors would be impressed. So I opened the door.

Mr. Reynaldo Steed? One of the plainclothes men asked. I would soon learn that this man’s name was Fuller. I nodded my head and the Secretary’s voice asked, May we come in Mr. Steed? I nodded again and the three men entered my apartment.

What is this all about gentlemen? I asked trying to sound as polite and respectful of law enforcement as only a person caught in the act of getting high could. The other agent accompanying Fuller spoke up. Secret Service sir. Just stay where you are. I have to check out the rest of the apartment.

Agent Fuller spoke again. May I see your identification sir? I fumbled for my wallet, dropping it on the floor, and picking it up I handed my driver’s license to him. He held the card next to my face and never taking his eyes off me he spoke to the Secretary, It’s him sir. After a while the other agent returned and he spoke to Fuller. It’s all clear, he said and they stood facing the Secretary.

Please wait outside gentlemen. The Secretary replied and the two agents exited closing the front door shut behind them.

Mr. Steed, may I sit down? The Secretary asked.

Of course sir. I said wondering if I had recently bought drugs from a terrorist? The Secretary seated himself on the sofa and he motioned for me to sit.

Please join me. he said. Very gently I sat down on the easy chair next to the sofa, my body tense and sweating.

Let me put you at your ease Mr. Steed. He said. We are not here to put you in jail for smoking tea. He winked at me. Tea? I had never heard of marijuana being described as tea before. I stared at him desperately wondering just what the fuck all of this was about?

Of course I was aware of who he was. As the Secretary of State he had made a name for himself because of his outspoken views on the failure of U.S. foreign policy, especially in those areas of the world where the U.S. had somewhat duplicitous relations with governments that had come to fear and mistrust America. Everyone had expected him to be dismissed from his office but he had not. I really was no follower of the political arena, other than what I would read on the front page of a newspaper. Even so, he was a very famous and outspoken individual.

Watching him sitting next to me I realized that he was a direct contrast to me and my rather shoddy life with its lack of achievement. He had risen to the top by way of achievement. How else does one become the Secretary of State? As I listened to him, it dawned on me that you could not help but like him or at least find his presence very agreeable.

He was young, handsome, intelligent, wise, and strangest of all gentle. He had an air of kindness about him. It belied the image of a tough and very capable politician. He regularly defied all the overly aggressive members of government that disagreed with him and his approach to presenting America to the rest of the world. He spoke with an authority and conviction that went way beyond his years. I believe at that time he had just celebrated his 39th birthday, seven years younger than I. He asked me what date my birthday fell on.

The twentieth of March Mr. Secretary. I answered puzzled why this great man would be interested in knowing my birthday?

Ah, the twentieth of March, he replied in an almost sing-song voice. Your birthday is truly significant. Are you aware that day is the first day of Spring? And did you know that astrologically, your birthday signifies the Rebirth of the Dreamer?

That I did not know Mr. Secretary. I said. So the Secretary of State was a believer in astrology? Oh well, I thought to myself, even Nixon and Reagan had consulted psychics.

He looked at me with a benevolent and steely gaze. He went on about how touching he had found my poetry to be. When he spoke of the music reviews I almost interrupted him to ask how any of this could be of importance to him? But he suddenly held up his hand. His voice, still soft, now conveyed an air of authority.

Mr. Steed. I came here to offer you a chance at fulfilling your life’s work.

And how is that Mr. Secretary? I was very curious now and by this time I was beginning to become uncomfortable, doing my best not to squirm under the power of his intense scrutiny.

Like the significance of your birthday, I need someone capable of reinventing themselves. You see Mr. Steed, I’m somewhat of a dreamer too. My dream is a dream of peace, unity for all the peoples of the world to put aside their differences so that we might be able to live our lives safely. For by now Mr. Steed you as well as many others must realize that the world cannot go on the way that it has in the past. People have to find a way to coexist. Just look at how close we came to ending it all. Don’t you realize how many have already died?

My mind reflected on the events that he was referring to. He was right, at that time, on that particular day, the world was still reeling from what had to have been the darkest chapter of the history of mankind. The cause of this was war, nuclear war to be exact, and the reasons for it all added up to one glaring, rude fact: people did not coexist very well.

For any person who remembers those days (and I cannot see how anyone could forget them) there is a word to describe it all: fear. Pure, mind-numbing, awe-inspiring fear that can actually cause a person to die of fright. It was more than just anxiousness or worry. All around the world people were asking themselves how things could ever have become so fucked? Americans, Europeans, Asians, Australians, Africans, everyone just wanted to back away from the edge of hell.

It had all happened so quickly. North Korean Premier Sung-Choo Kim had reacted negatively to the South Korean announcement that Osan Air Base was to become a permanent overseas base for a new generation of U.S. Stealth bombers. In response, Sung had issued an ultimatum that if U.S. forces did not vacate the Korean peninsula within 72 hours then the North would be justified in delivering a pre-emptive nuclear strike on Osan Air Base and all other U.S. military installations throughout South Korea and the Far East that posed a threat to North Korea.

Since Sung had a history of outrageous comments and posturing before the West, no one in the upper echelons of command had taken him seriously. The 72 hours came and went without so much as a comment from either Washington or Seoul. But on the 73rd hour the Unthinkable occurred and Sung authorized his forces to proceed. Within 15 minutes Osan Air Base, Seoul, Guam and nine other military installations in South Korea had been obliterated by tactical nuclear weapons. The United States lost no time in responding in kind and within 30 minutes Pyongyang, Wonsan and practically every major city and military base, airfield and naval station in North Korea had been destroyed in reprisal.

This may have seemed like a victory for the United States but then there was the matter of the North Korean diesel-electric submarine K-H789 which had eluded the Anti-Submarine Warfare forces of the U.S. Pacific fleets. In a last-ditch effort to take revenge, the K-H789 managed to sail around Cape Horn, enter the Atlantic Ocean (once again eluding U.S. and British Anti-Submarine Warfare forces) and sail within five miles off the coast of Florida. On May 17, 2022 it fired a one-megaton nuclear armed cruise missile, destroying the city of Miami.

Afterwards, the KH-789 was immediately sunk by U.S. naval forces but the damage had already been done. Within a week the world had changed even more horribly than it did on September 11, 2001 or any other day of calamity. Suddenly, everyone knew that nowhere in the world was safe anymore. For by the day of May 17, 2022 the nations of the Far East, particularly Japan, China and Russia, were beginning to suffer the consequences of a massive rain of radioactive fallout which killed their citizens by the thousands. Like most calamities abroad, the Korean affair had seemed all so far away to most Americans.

But now in the Southeastern regions of the United States, Americans were beginning to suffer too. The destruction of Miami rained down fallout from the equivalent of one million tons of radioactive TNT being detonated. EMP (Electro Magnetic Pulse) damage rendered all electrical devices useless in the state of Florida. Drinking water and most foodstuffs became poisoned as fallout rained down disease and death. Victims stumbled about the ruins of Miami much like the initial survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had; holding their eyeballs in their hands, seared flesh hanging off their bones, the faddish interest in zombies had taken a most unexpected turn. People were appalled that such things could actually come true. Consequently, fear was the one word that so accurately described it all.

Living in Houston, Texas, we all were scared by the risk of fallout contamination, but fear evokes different reactions from everybody. Some began to wear dust masks and those who could afford it wore military surplus chemical masks when they ventured outside. We Houstonians were somewhat lucky since weather patterns somehow miraculously spared us by blowing most of the fallout out to sea or north into the states immediately north of Florida. We managed to avoid the very worst but everyday isolated cases of radioactive poisoning appeared in the emergency rooms and morgues of the city’s hospitals. The police and National Guard were evident everywhere as refugees from Florida and the affected Southern states were located, collected and shipped off to Relocation camps in the Southwest interior of the United States.

Everybody, no matter who they were, rich or poor, young or old, was frightened. All the more so since the Russians and Chinese had both denounced the nuclear destruction of North Korea, announcing that they too were considering the possibility of safeguarding themselves by policies of pre-emptive prerogatives. The world seemed bent on running, lemming-like, off the cliffs into the chasm of Armageddon.

The internet said that mankind had lived with the threat of nuclear war ever since the fateful year of 1945. The last time humanity had confronted the concept had been 1962 during the Cuban Missile Crisis. I had done some checking, clicking on various articles and documentaries offered by YouTube just to see how people from that time had coped with the threat. What struck me was how similar and hopeless a situation it all really was. Civil Defense and prayers provided no comfort at all. I watched as panic-stricken crowds raced to the grocery stores in order to shove as many canned goods as they could into an all-too small grocery cart. Or maybe they dug frantically in their backyards attempting to build make-shift fallout shelters that would protect them from blasts that yielded temperatures hotter than the surface of the sun. Such futile responses to such an impossible situation. Stop, duck and cover meant you would be burned alive in a fetal-like position. Fallout shelters would be no better than tombs.

Some went to church and lit candles but the more pragmatic went to confession desperately trying to get right with God. Sobering to witness since this announced just how desperate people must have felt during those 13 days in October 1962. Because no matter how powerful a