|
Elijah
Jun 2, 2010 12:50:56 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 2, 2010 12:50:56 GMT -6
ELIJAH
PROLOGUE
“Dear Katya: “I am writing this letter in the hope that it will get to you somehow. After leaving you I was taken in a vehicle with blackened windows to an underground holding facility. I have no idea where I am, or how long they intend to hold me before taking me to trial. I have not talked to anyone in the past two weeks. They don’t seem to be interested in anything I have to say. “I wish things could have turned out differently, but I have continuing faith in God. I know that He continues to use me, and will use me as long as I submit to His will. I stand faithful as each day I surrender to Him. I ask that you place your faith and trust in Him as well. “I cherish the few moments we had together in the elevator. They have taken everything away from me, but I managed to keep the photo you gave me of my son. That photo and the few seconds we had together were the best gift I have received in years. With God’s blessing, they will sustain me until this adventure is resolved. “God bless you. I will write when I can. “Your loving husband, Harris.”
Seventeen-year-old Ruth waited for a long moment on the phone after she finished reading the letter. She knew that it was hard for Katya to absorb the words, and she secretly hoped that Katya would break the silence. Instead she heard only sniffling from the other end, which she presumed accompanied Katya’s crying. Finally, Ruth decided to speak. “That letter was smuggled out to us by a sympathetic guard a few weeks ago. When we heard where Harris was being held captive, we planned a prison break. We had everything planned and were two days from execution when we got word from our inside informant that he had been moved to another prison.” “Where?” Katya asked. “We’re still working on that. As far as we can tell, it’s off the grid. Bobby, our hacker, can’t find any trace of Harris, or Elijah Brown or any other pseudonym they might have used for him in the Federal Correctional Facility database, in the Homeland Security database, or in the FBI website. But we will keep trying.” Another sniff. “Ruth, you have no idea how much I appreciate all the work you and the others are doing in finding Harris. I just wish I were closer so that I could help out.” “You did the right thing in leaving the country as quickly as you did. The way I hear it, Universal and their friends had the borders and airports locked down looking for you within 24 hours. You can’t let them use you or your son as leverage on Harris.” Ruth waited for more from Katya, but could tell the conversation was winding down. “What now? What can I do to help?” Katya said finally. Ruth shook her head, as if Katya could see her gesture 10,000 miles away in Russia. “You’re doing it. Stay out of sight. Keep a low profile. In the meantime, be assured that we will never, NEVER give up the search for your husband. We all owe him too much.” Ruth flipped the cell phone closed and sighed, looking across the table at the three other Heretics. Her 15-year-old brother Josh sat impatiently, his knee jiggling up and down in a nervous tic. The others, Esther and James, were finishing their plates of spaghetti. They were the same age as Ruth and Josh, and had somewhat the same spotty history of living on the streets, minor police records, abuse and salvation from the hand of Harris Borden and his Heretics. The Italian restaurant where they had met was empty other than one waiter, who stood patiently in the far corner, and Mac, the owner and chef who worked in back. Mac had become sympathetic to their cause. Not only did they find the usually empty restaurant a convenient place to meet, Mac provided them with all the spaghetti they could eat, free of charge. Ruth looked at the other three, who continued to look at their plates. “Something wrong?” Ruth asked, raising an eyebrow. She pushed her shaggy blue hair back from her face and leaned forward. “You guys OK?” “Esther and James have had second thoughts,” Josh said. “This isn’t like any of the other times.” “You mean you’re nervous because the Boss is gone,” Ruth said sharply. “We’ve already talked about this. Harris wouldn’t want us to sit down and wait for the end just because he is gone. We’re still doing God’s work, after all.” “Are we?” Esther said, leaning forward over the table, her long black hair spilling forward. “Did God come to you and tell you that we are supposed to hit this freighter? I don’t recall anyone getting messages from God but Harris. Or maybe there’s something you haven’t shared with us.” “Look, we all voted Ruth in charge,” Josh said. “Just because you guys are getting cold feet doesn’t mean you can change things.” Ruth held out her hand to hush her little brother. “Nevermind, Josh. You guys want me to step down? I will, in a heartbeat. I never wanted to be in charge.” Esther shook her head. “You know that’s not what we want. I just want to make sure we are doing the right thing here.” Ruth nodded. “All our intel says that there are over 200 teenager girls on that Albanian freighter. It sets sail tomorrow morning for Marsailles. Those girls will be sold into slavery and their lives will be over. You want them to live the life that we went through on the streets, Esther? Selling your body for a crust of bread? Is that what you want for them?” Esther didn’t answer, but looked down, and Ruth knew she had made her point. “OK, then we strike in exactly two hours. Josh and his team will take out the dock gang and get us through the gates. Daniel’s team will take out the ship’s crew in their cabins and on deck. Esther and I will lead the others below to the hold to get the girls. We will have 15 minutes for the entire operation.” Ruth gave each of them two sheets of paper; one with the map of the dock area and the two ramps leading onto the old freighter, the other with a diagram of the four levels of the ship. They spent the next 20 minutes answering all their questions, then stood to leave. Ruth waved to Mac in the back and then turned back to the rest of them. “Look, let’s pray on this one,” she said. “It’s the first rescue we’ve put together since…well, since.” The others nodded and Ruth led them in a simple prayer. She tried to put forward a look of confidence to the others, but the reality was, she was as frightened, if not more, than any of the others. Like all the others, she had leaned heavily on Harris’ training and confidence. Now the Heretics were without their usual leader, but had just as much of a challenge before them as when he was in charge. God, protect us all, she whispered to herself.
The foursome got into her black Chevy freight van with the darkened windows and drove to the rally point. It was already a major achievement, she told herself. Heretics from all over the country had come to show their support for this rescue. She recognized a few of them, but most were strangers to her, and were probably known only to Harris as being sheep from the same fold. Fact is, everyone was hurting with the loss of Harris. This rescue was important to show them that they weren’t lost without Borden, and that there was still hope. The rally point was inside an abandoned warehouse just six blocks from the docks. They drove the van into the opened door and into the middle of the main floor of the big building. The four of them stepped from the van amid cheers from the crowd of Heretics. Ruth waved her hand for silence, and she felt a wave of nausea roll over her stomach as she opened her mouth to speak. Josh looked at her as she shut her mouth and leaned hard against the van. “You OK?” he asked. She inhaled through her nose and nodded quickly. She turned back to the crowd and opened her mouth to speak. Instead of words, out of her mouth came an eruption of vomit. She folded in half as the stream of fluid and half-eaten spaghetti flew from her mouth. “Whoa!” the crowd said in one voice and backed away. Josh grabbed her shoulder and led her around to the other side of the van. Ruth’s stomach twisted within her, and she opened her mouth to vomit and vomit again. Every time she thought the nausea was over and she opened her mouth to speak, another wave caught her and she covered the floor in front of her. After a long fifteen minutes, the nausea started to subside. “We’re running…running behind schedule,” she got out, speaking to Josh, and to Esther, who had joined them. “I’m OK. I will be fine.” She tried to stand and pushed against Josh, who pushed her back down into a sitting position. “You’re not OK,” Josh said. “You’re white as a sheet and can’t even stand.” He turned to Esther. “I think we need to scrub the mission.” “No!” Ruth said, looking up at the other two. “You can’t do that. That ship sails at dawn. You guys are the only chance those girls have.” “You guys?” Esther repeated to Ruth. Ruth nodded. “Josh is right. I’m in no condition to lead. I would only slow you all down. I’m putting you in charge, Esther.” Esther looked at Josh, who paused, then nodded. Esther shrugged and turned back to the others. Josh looked at his sister, who waved him away. “I’m all right,” she said. “Just leave me. I will listen to your progress on the radio.” Josh nodded, then joined the others. Ruth retched again. “Mac, what did you feed me?” Then she remembered that Mac had recommended his new mushroom sauce and she had been the only one who had ordered it. “”I’ll never eat mushrooms again,” she moaned. She listened to Esther giving a quick overview to the others, and realized that she had made the right decision. She felt proud when Josh took over and told the others that they would be using a combination of homemade tear gas and stun guns to immobilize the guards and sailors they would meet. Bobby was there as well, letting them know that he would go to the bridge to search the ship logs and make sure they didn’t leave anyone or anything important behind. “They’ll be fine,” Ruth told herself, as she watched the teams leave the warehouse and head for the docks. Yet she wasn’t sure if the queasy feeling in her stomach was from the food poisoning or from a feeling of apprehension. A few minutes later, she used the side of the van to help support herself as she walked/crawled around to the driver’s seat. She climbed inside and switched on the CB radio. “Team one in place,” she heard James’ voice say finally. “Resistance is futile. I mean, taken out.” Ruth rolled her eyes at the last comment, knowing that James was a big Star Trek fan. “By the numbers, Team One,” she heard Esther say to James. In other words, get serious, Dude. “Team two in place,” she heard Josh say a few minutes later. “Minimal resistance. Be aware, they have Uzis.” Uzis? Ruth thought. Why would Armenian sailors in San Pedro Harbor be carrying machine pistols? Something’s not right, she thought. “Team three and four proceed below decks,” Esther said. Ruth tried to visualize the rescue teams taking the stairwell down below decks and to the forward compartment where the captives were supposed to be held. “Be aware that the radio probably won’t work below decks,” Bobby said. Ruth knew that he was headed for the bridge as he spoke. There was a long moment of silence, and Ruth waited for any signal that they had been successful. In the meantime she continued to think about the automatic guns they had found. What did this mean? As she thought, she heard the sound of trucks outside. She opened the door of the van and stepped carefully over to the half-opened door to the warehouse. When she got there, she saw that a line of Humvees and black sedans was driving outside on the street in the direction of the dock. It’s a trap, she realized. Someone knew their plan. Forgetting her nausea, she ran back to the van and tore open the driver’s door. She reached for the microphone on the CB and pushed the button. “All teams,” she shouted. “This is Ruth. Abort! I say again, abort. It is a trap!” There was no response from the CB. Instead, she began the hear the sharp crack of automatic rifle fire coming from the freighter. Her stomach went up to her throat, and not because she had been vomiting. She jumped into the front seat of the van and slammed the door shut. She turned the key and started it, shoving it quickly into gear. Then she floored it. The black van hit the half-opened door at the edge of the large entrance. The door responded by ripping from its hinged and tearing away. Silver metal screamed around her as it folded over the top of the van. Ruth pushed the accelerator harder and the van leaped out into the street. She made a quick left and then a right onto the street where she had seen the Humvees pass by. She saw two vehicles pulled across the street ahead of her, blocking her way. She realized that she would have to go on foot. She stopped her engine and shut off the engine. She listened on the CB channel they had set aside for communication, but all she got was static. She realized that someone was purposely jamming that channel, so she switched to other channels. She finally found some voices on channel 2. “Get off the ship,” she heard Esther’s voice say. “Get to the deck and jump off the ship. It’s your only--.” Esther’s words were interrupted as Ruth heard a strange, deep whumping sound. It happened twice, and then she saw a huge fireball rise in the sky from where she knew the freighter was docked. A second later, she felt a blast of hot air, and the whumping became a kaboom. The shock wave that followed next shook the van she was in. As she watched, two men, apparently Federal officials of some sort, were thrown to the ground behind the Humvees. Another fireball, this one many times bigger, rose in the sky, lighting the night like the Fourth of July. Pieces of burning debris flew through the air. Ruth watched as a burning chair fell out of the sky and landed just feet in front of her van. And two thoughts came into her mind. First, no one could have survived a blast like that. Second, her brother was on that ship.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jun 14, 2010 15:44:24 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2010 15:44:24 GMT -6
CHAPTER 1 TWELVE YEARS LATER
The United States House of Representatives was about to open for a new session. The usual excitement of beginning was enhanced by the fact that there were so many new faces in Washington D.C. Even though President Walter B. Webb had been reelected in a landslide, there had been a sizeable turnover in both the House and in the Senate. Amid the natural confusion as to where people were supposed to sit, there was the added craziness of a new political party in power in the House. The outgoing Speaker of the House stood to begin proceedings, and got everyone’s attention by banging the official gavel on the podium. Representatives, their assistants and interns all found their seats quickly, and the Speaker smiled thinly. “On the morning of my last day of officiating these proceedings, I will ask you all to stand for a brief moment of meditation.” The traditional opening prayer to begin the session had been replaced by a moment of silence just a few years before, following a successful lawsuit by the ACLU and three other organizations. Four hundred and four representatives and their staffs stood silently. Some bowed their heads and closed their eyes; most just looked straight ahead, their faces mirrored in boredom. Finally, the Speaker raised his head and smiled at the session. “We have another session before us, my fellow representatives, and as always, it is a great honor to stand here in Congress and speak in the stead of the voters who have entrusted us with this responsibility. Although this is my fourth session--.” He paused as a murmur broke out in the Chamber, which rapidly became filled with shouting voices. “Order! Order!” the Speaker shouted, banging his gavel. He then realized that several people were pointing at the wall behind him, their faces white with fear. He turned to see letters in Hebrew written in what looked like blood: As he watched, the letters seemed to appear and become clearer. He looked at the wall, then at the people around him. One long-time representative from Delaware, Rep. Abraham Berkowitz, stood behind him on the platform. He looked as if here were ready to have a heart attack. “Are you all right, Abe?” the Speaker said to the old man. Berkowitz shook his head, his lips moving in a silent prayer. Finally he spoke aloud. “It’s a pronouncement of our doom,” he whispered harshly. “Our actions have been seen by Yahweh, and he is telling us that our doom is upon us.” The Speaker looked at the old man, obviously in distress, and then and the shouting mass of people below him. Finally he looked at the Hebrew letters that grew more bold with every passing moment. It was going to be a very strange session of Congress.
“In what appears to be a monumental hoax, incoming members of Congress were welcomed to an ominous phrase written in what appeared to be blood: ‘Mene mene tekel upharsin.’ The words are from the book of Daniel in the Old Testament. Simply put, it means, ‘You have been weighed in the balance and found wanting.’ Secret service, FBI and D.C. police are still looking for the pranksters responsible for the action.” Vice President Peter Annaway hit the mute button on the flatscreen TV in his private office and looked at the other two people in the room. The Washington mall was clearly visible from the window behind him. “Police forensics teams are saying it was a special dye that was put on the fabric on the wall. It reacted to the lights and heat of the room. It could have put on days or even weeks before.” Attorney General Miriam Case-Hudson looked up from her overstuffed chair as she nursed her coffee laced with gin. “So it just happened to have the appearance of blood?” Annaway shook his head. “No, my gut tells me that was intentional. Someone was making a statement.” “Have they dusted for fingerprints, or gotten any other leads on who might have done this?” Supreme Court Justice Aaron McBride asked from the end of the couch where he sat drinking his black coffee, sans alcohol. Case-Hudson shook her head. “No fingerprints, of course. Their best lead will be checking the logs. No one goes in or out of the Chamber without putting their name on the log.” “On the other hand, no one is allowed in there without proper identification and a guard escort,” added Annaway. The three of them fell silent as they watched a CNN reporter interview the representative from New Mexico. Their lips moved in mute mode, but all three of them could imagine what words were coming out of the mouth of the politician. As a member of the political party that had fallen out of favor, the representative was no doubt quick to criticize the majority party as being irresponsible. “Things never change,” McBride said. “Or, the more they change, the more they stay the same.” “Whoever did this was no college freshman pulling a fraternity stunt,” said Case-Hudson. “They had to have security clearance to get in there—to get in the whole building, for that matter. And then they had to be alone long enough to write that mess on the wall. Which means it was done after hours.” “But why?” McBride said. “What did they hope to accomplish by risking their life and writing some Old Testament curse on the wall of Congress?” “It’s got to be some religious kook,” Case-Hudson said. The two men in the room looked at each other, then at the attorney general. “You don’t think…?” McBride started to ask, and Case-Hudson was quick to shake her head. “Not likely.” “Not…likely? Not likely?” Annaway leaped to his feet from the desk he had been leaning on. “The man has been locked up in solitary confinement for 12 years. He’s not listed in any of the correctional system databases. No one sees him. No one. And you say, not likely? You had better be a lot more confident than that, Madam Attorney General.” “Sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed. “I mean, it’s impossible. The man is under constant surveillance. We three are only part of a handful who know where he is. It didn’t happen.” “And yet,” Annaway said, his voice slowing as he thought to himself. “The man has a history of being resourceful, of being underestimated.” “No,” McBride said. “There’s no way anyone could get out of that hellhole we have him in. No frigging way.” “What success have we had in turning him?” Annaway asked. “I mean, we’ve had 12 years. He should have gone crazy by now.” “Oh, he’s a loon all right,” Case-Hudson said. “I’ve seen the video. And yet, we haven’t gotten him to change his mind about his so-called calling.” “Twelve years,” muttered Annaway. “Maybe it’s time we take another approach with him.” “He’s crazy, I tell you,” Case-Hudson said, putting down her coffee. “You’re wasting your time.” “Maybe,” Annaway said. “But I’d still like to see what a professional can do with him. Let’s call in Beldon.” “So what’s the verdict?” McBride asked. “Was it him?” “In the Chamber?” Annaway shook his head. “No, there’s no way. It has to be someone else.” McBride looked at Case-Hudson. “His group? The Heretics? Could they have done it?” Case-Hudson laughed. “They are long gone. We took care of them in San Pedro. We haven’t heard a peep about Elijah Brown or seen any evidence of activity on their part in 12 years.” “Then who?” asked McBride. The three of them looked at each other in silence. CNN droned on in mute mode while they deliberated, an overview of the session displayed with the red letters glowing on the wall in the background. Finally Annaway spoke, his words chosen carefully. “Has anyone considered why it happened here?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, why here? Why not the Senate Chamber? Why not the Oval Office? What is so special about the Representatives Chamber?” They paused, then Case-Hudson spoke up. “Do you think they know about the Homeowners Reform Bill? That’s still in subcommittee. It hasn’t even been made public yet.” Annaway looked at her, one eyebrow raising. “I’m more concerned about Project Kryptonite. If that got out, it would ruin all of us.” Case-Hudson and McBride stared at the Vice President and nodded. “It sounds like we need to notify General Medfield,” Case-Hudson said. “Get White Raven on the case.” “Do you think that’s wise?” McBride asked. “McBride, how did you get as far as you have without taking any risks? You are a Supreme Court justice. Time to be a man,” Case-Hudson looked with disdain at the judge. She then turned to Annaway. “You want me to make the call?” she asked. Annaway nodded. “If it’s not Borden, then it’s his Heretics. If it’s not the Heretics, then it’s someone else. In any case, it needs to be dealt with. “Colleagues, if we are truly going to change history, then we need to make sure that all our dominoes are correctly placed. Let’s make sure they are. Starting with Harris Borden.”
The prison cell looked like no other in the world. It had a strange antiseptic look about it. The fluorescent lights remained on at all times, and shone brightly and cheerfully in the 10 by 12 foot cell. The cinder block walls were painted a flat white, reflecting the fluorescent light into the entire room. Furniture for the room consisted of a simple cot, a sink and a toilet. The only other additions to the room were two doors with no handles on them, two smaller hatches in the wall, also with no way of opening them, and a video camera hung high in one corner that took in everything that happened in that cell. It had been the same way, day after day, night after night for 12 years. A prisoner who awoke in the cell would have absolutely no way of telling what time it was, what day it was, or what year. That, at least, was the plan. What they didn’t count on were the extraordinary survival skills of Harris Borden, aka Elijah Brown. As Vice President Peter Annaway, Attorney General Miriam Case-Hudson, and Supreme Court Justice Aaron McBride met in Annaway’s office, discussing the status of Harris Borden, Harris was asleep. In response to the constant light bombarding from the fluorescent lamps in the high ceiling, Harris had resorted to sleeping on the cold floor beneath the cot. It wasn’t totally dark, but it was shaded from the harsh light above. Whether it was a small indication of mercy on the part of his guards, or just the fact that they strictly followed orders, which made no reference to where Harris slept, they left him alone. And that made all the difference to Harris. A click came from one of the smaller doors next to the sink, waking Harris. It was breakfast, he knew, and the start of another day. He lay in the shade of the cot and mentally calculated. It had been 4,115 days since he had come to this facility. Add that to the 37 days he had survived at the first prison, and he had been imprisoned 4,152 days, or 12 years, three months and four days. Since the Super Bowl had been on February 4, that made today’s date May 8. He smiled at that fact, still disturbed that somewhere along the line he had lost track of the day of the week. No matter. He was a strict believer in observing one day a week as God’s Sabbath, but here, he worshipped God every day. Once he knew what day it was, he patted the slip of paper on the bottom of the cot and slid out onto the open floor, in full view of the camera. He looked up and waved to the camera. “Good morning,” he said quietly, smiling slightly. Then he turned in the opposite direction and looked at the ceiling, waving again. “Good morning, Lord,” he said. “Thank you for another day of life.” He knelt against the side of the bed, folded his hands in front of him and bowed his head. “Gracious God, it is a privilege to serve you, no matter in which vineyard you put me. The harvest here is unknown, but I will continue to sow as well as I can, and reap when I have the opportunity. Yours is all power and glory. In all things you are Master. I love you, Lord, and praise your name….” His prayer was said aloud and went on for close to 30 minutes. In the meantime, the black lens of the video camera recorded every word he said and every action he made. Harris finished his prayer and then promptly fell to the floor, his hands catching his upper body as he lay with prone, facing the floor. He began doing push ups, and counted them off to himself as he did them. When he got to 100, he stopped. His body had lost much of its massive musculature, and where a clean-shaven young man with broad shoulders and powerful thighs had entered the cell 12 years before, now an older man with long beard and streaks of grey with the build of a marathon runner lived out each day. Harris ate what they gave him, exercised when he could, and did everything he could to keep himself healthy and sane. But more than a decade in solitary confinement and without seeing the sun had taken its toll on him. He stood again and did deep knee bends, inhaling and exhaling regularly. After that, he spent time doing yoga, then running through a variety of katas he remembered from his martial arts training that the first Elijah Brown had given him. After an hour of exercise, he finally gave himself permission to eat. He went to the small door and opened it slowly. The food had been sitting there for 90 minutes, and had gotten cold, but he didn’t care. The psychology of prison was built around taking control away from the prisoners, and Harris was determined to follow his own daily regimen, regardless of what rewards he might miss or sacrifices he might have to make. He looked at the scrambled eggs, hashed browns, cold brown toast and canned pears loaded onto the rectangular plastic tray. Again, his captors expected him to eat his food without any utensils. Harris had become so used to the notion that he smiled when he realized that he probably wouldn’t know how to use a knife and fork anymore. Fifteen minutes later, Harris had finished his breakfast. He loaded the tray into the compartment, which closed after he dropped it in. Then he went to the toilet for his morning constitutional. Finally, he went to the sink. There was no mirror above the stainless steel sink, but the sink did have a built-in stopper. Harris washed his face, then pulled his white T-shirt off and splashed water on his chest and under his arms. One of the things Harris missed most of all was a toothbrush. He was not allowed any writing instruments, any eating utensils, and no personal items, including soap or a toothbrush. Once a week, the door next to his cot clicked open. Harris took off all of his clothes, and was provided the luxury of a cold shower with soap. The shower was automated, and he was allowed ten minutes to rinse, lather up, then rise again. He tried to be meticulous in cleaning his face and hair, but the shower clicked off twice in the first few months when he had taken too long. He spent the next week itching from the residual soap that he was unable to rinse off in time. Once a month, Harris was somehow drugged while he was asleep. He suspected that they gassed him so he would not wake up. He woke up later, with fresh clothes, trimmed hair and beard, and his teeth cleaned. As much as he had always hated the dentist, he now longed for the personal contact that had come in the past. As it was, he had not seen another living person in more than 12 years. But Harris realized early on that he was not alone. Although his captors didn’t want him in contact with other human beings, they had made one mistake. He did not have the luxury of hearing another person’s voice or seeing their face. But he knew that other people saw his face and heard his voice. He saw the unblinking camera in the corner of the room, and knew that he had an audience. And for 12 years, he had played to that captive audience. Harris paused after washing and bowed his head over the sink. His captors probably thought that he was praying again; heaven knows he did that enough each day. But what he was doing was giving himself the luxury of looking in the only mirror that he had. He looked down into the water of the sink. Looking back at him was an old, grey man who was only a shadow of the man who had led a church as a pastor, who had challenged an international corporation, who had saved hundreds from wasted lives as homeless, gang bangers, or prostitutes, and who had stood as God’s champion before the mighty of hell itself. He stared for a long minute, then shook his head. “Enough self pity,” he whispered to himself. He knew that he had no privacy, that he was always watched. But he embraced the constant surveillance for what it was; a chance to be a 24 hour a day witness to those who observed him. “Where did we leave off?” he said aloud, looking directly at the camera. “Ah yes, we were talking about Elijah. “In case you missed our sermon yesterday, Elijah was a righteous man called by God to speak to the king and queen of that time. They were wicked and God told them that he would withhold his blessing of rain. Seven years went by without rain, and the land suffered. Finally, God told him to meet the king and his wicked priests on the top of Mount Carmel. There God demonstrated that all power was his, by sending fire from heaven to consume the sacrifice and altar than had been erected there, while Baal’s forces were unable to do the same. “You would think that after seven years of God taking care of Elijah, keeping him safe and fed, while others died from lack of water and food, that he would trust God. You would think that after Elijah challenged the king and all the powerful priests of Baal that he would depend on God. You’d think that after Elijah saw fire fall down from heaven, sent from God himself that he would know that the Master would take care of things. “But get your Bibles out. Take a look at First Kings, chapter 19.” Harris stood as if he held a Bible in his hand, held out in front of him. In his mind, he could see the Bible there, the old black NIV version that he always used to preach from. And as he saw it, he was able to quote from it, word for word: “Now Ahab told Jezebel everything Elijah had done and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. So Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah to say, ‘May the gods deal with me, be it ever so severely, if by this time tomorrow I do not make your life like that of one of them.’ Elijah was afraid and ran for his life.” Harris paused and lowered his invisible Bible. “Have you ever been afraid, truly afraid?” he asked the camera in the corner of the room. “I know I have. And the funny thing about fear is that it isn’t logical, it isn’t rational, it’s not even predictable. A man who has survived hurricanes and great battles without a whimper can be brought to his knees simply by having the lights go out. We all have our weakness, and we often fall victim to that weakness. Trust me, I have my own weaknesses, and they are many.” His voice trailed off as Harris was caught in memories of things he had done and wished that he had done. Then he realized that he had an audience and continued. “And so Elijah ran, and he ran, and he ran. And God came to him and told him, verse 11: The LORD said, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.’ “Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave. “Then a voice said to him, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’” Harris paused and looked up, again remembering. “Years ago, I was impressed to ask God to use me in a special way. In my own ignorance, I didn’t realize that He was already using me. I just didn’t see it. It wasn’t until two things happened that I came to realize what God wanted me to do. “First, I was called by God. Not in a powerful wind that tore mountains apart. Not in an earthquake or a fire. But in a gentle whisper. God came to me—He continues to come to me—in a gentle whisper.” Harris’ mind went back to his first prison experience when he was thrown in The Hole for 47 days. It was there that he first really heard God’s voice, and he learned that it was only through complete dependence on Him that he would be able to stand as God’s Champion. “Second, it was there in prison that I became Elijah Brown. I helped someone else, and in return, he helped me. My new name came with an identity. I was no longer Harris Borden, pastor who couldn’t preach, didn’t believe, and was filled with doubt. I was Elijah—Elijah Brown. And by taking that name, I took the responsibility that comes with it. “God doesn’t come to all of us the same way. But He does come to us. And whether He blows us over like a mighty wind, shakes us up like an earthquake, fills us with fire or just whispers to us in a very personal way, He will talk to us. All we have to listen. No, that’s not all we have to do. But that’s a good start.” The sermon went on for hours. Harris Borden continued to preach to his invisible congregation, just as he had done for the past 12 years. And he was no longer filled with doubt, pulled by responsibilities, or distracted by other duties. His sermon was all he had, and he put all of himself into it. Finally, spent, Harris stopped. The hatch clicked, signaling that lunch had arrived. Harris looked again at the camera. “Let’s end this service with a rousing version of “Amazing Grace,” then I will close with prayer.” Harris finished the service and ate his lunch, once again praying over it. The plastic tray held mashed potatoes, a nondescript meat patty of some sort, and green beans. He ate it with gusto, then put the tray back into the door, which clicked closed after him. Then Harris went through his physical exercises again. Finally it was time for a nap. Harris would return to his preaching in the afternoon, but the physical exercise and the preaching called for him to take a rest before he began his next service. He lay flat on the floor and slid his thin body under the cot. The camera lens recorded that he followed the routine that he had followed every day of his life for the past 12 years. What they couldn’t see—or know—was what was happening under the safety of the cot. For Harris didn’t have the luxury of a toothbrush, a pencil or even a fork to eat with. But he did have one treasure that his captors didn’t know about. Had they known, he was sure he would lose it. On the bottom of the mattress, tucked between the wires that supported it, was a photograph of a young boy. It was Harris Borden Jr. He had never met his son, at least not in person. But he spent every private moment looking into his eyes, following the curve of his chin and his ears, and wondering at his curly hair. It was the last gift anyone had ever given him. It was a present from his wife, Katya. It was all he had of a life that existed long ago and far away. Above him, the black lens of the video camera recorded an empty cell, with only the outline of a lone, thin prisoner quietly lying beneath his single cot.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jun 14, 2010 15:45:24 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2010 15:45:24 GMT -6
Chapter 2
The long black limousine pulled up to the curb outside the east entrance and front steps of the U.S. Capital building. A young attractive woman dressed in a tightly fit business suit pushed the valet out of the way and opened the back door herself. Out stepped a young black man in a blue Brooks Brothers suit, followed by an attractive white woman in her late 20s. The man shook the outstretched hand of the woman who met him, then raised his hand to wave at the media, who were gathered on the steps above. “Was this absolutely necessary?” he said to her, the smile plastered on his face, but not intended for the woman he was talking to. “Mr. Washington, it is standard procedure. I am Ashley Kuyper with the media liaison office for incoming congressional representatives. I know that you have a lot of things on your plate, sir, but it is important that we have a media presence for all our new people. That especially goes for someone with such a dramatic flair as you.” “I just got sworn in as a congressman not fifteen minutes ago. I haven’t even had a chance to see my office or meet my staff yet.” “D.J.,” the woman beside him said, gently touching his arm. “I think it would be best if we played along.” They shared a knowing glance with each other, and Douglas Washington, the newest U.S. representative from the state of Nevada, nodded yes. Douglas and his wife, Melanie, followed Kuyper up the stairs to the podium that had been set up for the short press conference. Kuyper introduced the Washingtons, and Douglas stepped forward. “I appreciate the hearty welcome to our nation’s capital. To tell you the truth, this is my first visit here. Before this, the closest I ever got was a short stop in LaGuardia Airport. But Melanie and I are happy to be here, and we look forward to doing great things in Congress for the people of Nevada and of all the United States.” He started to step back, but saw that several reporters already had their hands up for questions. “Mr. Washington, your political opponent in Nevada, Harvey Wagidall, has issued a statement saying that the special election was fixed, and that he would fight the decision to the supreme court if necessary. What is your reaction to this?” Douglas smiled thinly. “Mr. Wagidall is welcome to pursue any course of action he thinks is fair and just. However, I need to remind him that we are here to serve the voters of our state and all the states. Being here is a responsibility as well as a privilege.” Another reporter held up his hand. “Have you been in contact with any of your fellow representatives from your state? How do they feel about you taking the place of Congressman Wilson?” Douglas’ face lost its smile. “I’m sorry that my arrival here is the result of such a tragedy. I wish the family of Congressman Wilson well, and vow to do my best to fill his very big shoes.” “Have you been in contact with his widow?” “Yes, I have. She wished me well after the election results came in.” Someone else raised their hand. “Congressman, how do you feel about the prank that was pulled on the wall of the congressional chamber just last week?” Douglas smiled again. “Well, it’s no secret that we weren’t able to be here for the opening session due to the technicalities with the election back home in Nevada. But I hear it was quite a show.” There was a chuckle from the crowd. “Seriously, though, I think this sort of thing is a travesty and the perpetrators should be arrested and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.” A blonde woman in the back raised her hand. “I’d like to hear from Mrs. Washington.” Melanie’s head perked up and she stepped forward to join her husband. “Mrs. Washington--.” “Melanie, please,” she said. “Melanie. Neither you or your husband have any political background so to speak. Aren’t you afraid that the behind-the-scenes politics will be hard on you and on your marriage?” Melanie smiled thinly. “Douglas and I are very young, but we have been through a lot together. I have found that good, honest conversation between a husband and wife can cure a lot of ills.” The same woman raised her hand again. “I did some research on your past, Mrs. Washington. Is it true that you had a spotty period as a teenager, and even have a police record?” Douglas stepped forward and spoke before Melanie could step forward. “We all have done things as teenagers that we aren’t proud of. My wife’s juvenile record was expunged.” “But didn’t you have a brother who died in a horrible fire as a result of being involved with a teen gang?” Melanie started to speak, but Douglas pulled her away. “Thank you for your warm welcome to Washington. I look forward to seeing you all again soon.” He grabbed one of Melanie’s arms, and Ms. Kuyper led the way to the waiting limousine. All of them got in. Ms. Kuyper gestured for the limo driver to wait at the curb. “Why did you do that?” Melanie said, obviously irritated. “I wanted to answer that question.” “That line of questioning would have gotten us nowhere,” Douglas said. “This press conference was about me, or was supposed to be.” “Congressman Washington is right,” Ms. Kuyper said. “I know that particular reporter. Her specialty is scandals. We don’t want to give her any information for her to run with.” Kuyper turned toward Douglas. “Good job out there. You’ll be doing a lot more posturing during the next two years here. Welcome to the game.” She reached out and shook Douglas’ hand, then Melanie’s. Then she opened the door and stepped out. The limo took that as the cue for him to pull away from the curb. “Two years,” Douglas said to himself quietly. “Just two years.” “You play your cards right and you will be here for a lot longer than that,” Melanie said. “Is that what you want, Ruth? You want to be a Washington elitist?” Melanie smiled crookedly. “Sure beats driving an old beater 90 miles an hour through the streets of San Francisco on a Saturday night.” Douglas grinned at that one. “That, my dear, brings back some major memories.” He put his arm around his wife. “I saw that they touched a nerve when they talked about Josh.” Melanie stared out the limo window. “Yeah, she caught me off guard. I will need to watch that in the future.” Douglas nodded. “Because you know if she brought it up, it is bound to reappear in the future.” He noticed that the limo had stopped in the underground garage for the Congressional office building. “Want to come and see my new office, meet the staff?” Melanie shook her head. “The first visit should be all you. You need to win them over with that D.J. charm. The stuff you used to win over Lila, remember?” She elbowed her husband. “I think I would rather remember how I won you over,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Or was it you winning me over. I forget.” “Come here, silly,” Melanie said, and Douglas leaned over to kiss her. He stepped out of the limousine and nodded to his wife. “Now I want all those boxes unpacked and in the place by the time I get home tonight,” he said, shaking his finger in a mock scolding. “Yeah, right,” she said. “Just get home tonight, if you know what’s good for you.” Douglas slammed the door shut and watched as it drove away. He then turned to see an eager, dark-skinned young man in a suit waiting for him. “Congressman Washington?” he said, rocking backward and forward on the toes of his shoes as he talked. He held out his hand. “I am your intern.” Douglas held out his hand. “Do you have a name, or do I just call you intern?” The intern jumped as he realized his mistake and shook his hands as if they had been placed in hot water. “Ohh, sorry, sorry, I did this all wrong,” he said hurriedly. “My name is Prodyat Maytrovinishi. You can call my Paddy.” “OK, Paddy,” Douglas said, smiling. “The first thing I want you to do is relax. This your first time in Washington?” Paddy shook his head. “Oh, no. I have been in school here for the past three years. I know the city inside and out.” “Well, Paddy then you are one up on me. I think my wife and I will hire you to show us around.” “And the second thing?” “Excuse me? “Pardon me, Congressman Washington, but you said the first thing was you wanted me to relax. That inferred that there was a second thing.” “Right,” Douglas said. “Well, believe it or not, I am probably as nervous as you. This is my first job in Washington and I don’t want to mess it up. It’s proper protocol for you to call me by my title around here, at least in public.” “Oh, yes sir,” he said. “Well, you would do me a great favor if when we are together, just the two of us you could just call me D.J. Can you do that for me?” The intern stared at the congressman. “Is that too much to ask?” Douglas said. “It would make me feel a lot more comfortable, believe you me.” “I…I…I guess so,” the intern said, then added, perhaps a little guiltily. “D.J.” Douglas chuckled, and slapped the small intern on the shoulder. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”
# # # The first thing Ruth did when she got out of the limo at their new townhome was change into some old jeans and a T-shirt. Try as she might, she never was comfortable wearing formal wear. But in deference to the needs of her new husband and their assignment, she played the part that was expected of her in the glittering spotlight of congressional Washington. After changing, she took a look at the mail that was stacked on a silver platter beside the door. They had asked the doorman to bring the mail up to their townhouse and put it where they would be sure to see it, rather than giving other people access to their private letters. She thumbed through the countless letters of congratulations for her and D.J. and a few minor bills. Finally she stopped as she found a postcard addressed to her as Melanie Berkowitz Washington. The photo on the cover showed a street scene in Los Angeles that looked familiar to her. She turned it over to see what it said on the other side. Written in block letters were three words: “Eat at Mac’s.” # # # Douglas followed Paddy into the elevator that was guarded by two massive men in blue blazers. They stood on either side of the elevator as if they were bored, but Douglas suspected that they were a lot more alert than they appeared. Paddy pushed the elevator button marked 1, and the elevator began ascending. A few second later, they were on the main level of the Sam Rayburn House Office Building. “Welcome to your home away from home for the next two years,” Paddy said to Douglas as they walked. “There are underground tunnels from here to the Capital building so that you can come and go without having to be seen on the street. As you can see,” he said, as they stepped through a doorway and were immediately confronted by three more guards and a metal detector entryway. Paddy showed the guards his identification, but Douglas didn’t have his yet. “New congressman from the State of Nevada,” Paddy said to them officially. “Meet Douglas Washington.” The guards were cordial as they realized that they were dealing with a congressman. “Sorry, Sir. You’ll need to go to the main security office here on first floor as soon as you can. Thank you, sir.” “I don’t think I have been called sir so many times in one day in my entire life,” muttered Douglas as they walked down the hallway. “Don’t worry about security,” Paddy said. “Erma’s got it taken care of.” “Erma?” “Your office assistant.” “I thought you were my office assistant.” Paddy shook his head. “I wish. I’m the intern. I do what I am told, just about anything from getting coffee to walking your dog. Do you have a dog, sir?” “No.” “Well, if you had a dog, I could take care of it for you. Erma, on the other hand, runs your office. She screens visitors, keeps your schedule, makes travel arrangements, and in a pinch can do some politicking of her own. She’s really, really good at what she does.” Douglas looked at the spacious offices they passed as they walked briskly down the hall. Staff members passed by them, doing a variety of errands for the representatives, who for the most part, were in session across the street. “If she’s so good, how come she’s not working with one of the established representatives? I mean, she could be part of a big staff here.” “Erma’s worked here for close to 20 years, and served on staff for some of the major representatives. But she does her best work with a smaller staff, or so she says. And there are other things, some which will be pretty obvious when you meet her.” “Other things?” Douglas repeated. Paddy stopped at the end of the hall before the doorway to a stairwell and turned to Douglas. “I think it’s better that you meet her and make your own decisions. After all, I am just an intern here. And I would like to continue being an intern as long as I can.” Douglas stared at Paddy. “Aren’t I the one who does the hiring and firing?” Paddy smiled at Douglas and shook a finger. “Did you hire me?” Douglas looked at Paddy, thinking, as he stomped down the stairs. “Where are you going?” “Down to your office,” Paddy said, already out of sight down the stairs. “Where is it? In the sub-basement?” Douglas followed Paddy down three flights of stairs to the bottom of the stairwell. “This is where they put all freshmen congressmen,” Paddy said. “The concept of working your way up is taken very literally here.” Douglas followed Paddy down the narrow hallway of a set of offices. The lights had changed from the cheery incandescent lights and sunlight on a golden brown carpet and beige walls to a dim fluorescent glow on a dingy red carpet with white walls that looked like they hadn’t been painted in years. Paddy led Douglas to the last door on the hallway and opened it. Inside a woman in her late 40s sat at the front desk on the phone. A young man of about 20 sat in a wooden chair on the other side, his hands folded politely in his lap. He turned and looked at Douglas as they entered, but made no move to get up. “Erma, this is….” Paddy said, but stopped when Erma’s index finger as she kept talking on the phone. Paddy looked embarrassed by the interruption, but Douglas found it amusing. “No, Beatrice, that is not acceptable,” she was saying. “I understand that he is only a freshman representative, but he is an elected official from the state of Nevada, one of the few states that you can remind the President and his staff that they did not carry in the last election. If the President wants to start off on the right foot, then tell him that he needs to take his representatives seriously. And it starts with seating.” Pause. “Yes, that will do. Thank you, Beatrice, you are a jewel.” She hung the receiver up and turned to Paddy and Douglas. “You have seats at the President’s table for the congressional ball next month,” Erma said, matter of factly to Douglas. “I do? That’s good,” Douglas said quietly. Paddy stepped forward. “Erma, this is….” “Douglas Washington, I think that’s pretty obvious, Paddy,” she said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a sheet on a clipboard. “I work best if I have personal information on you, sir. Please fill this out as soon as you can and return it to me.” Douglas reached out and took the clipboard. “OK, I see I have homework already, and I haven’t even been in session yet.” “Oh, and sir, Representative Doyle is expecting you in his office at 3 this afternoon. In the meantime, he has sent over three bills for your review before tomorrow. I have taken the liberty of scanning them and putting them in PDF format on your laptop in your office. Perhaps I should ask, do you prefer to read on paper or screen? Douglas shrugged. “Screen is OK. Coffee?” “I can have any coffee you want here within two minutes. Your preferences are part of the checklist I gave you on the clipboard.” “In the meantime, just get me some good old black coffee, please.” Erma nodded, then turned to Paddy. He stared at them, absentmindedly, then nodded. “Back in a jif,” he said, and disappeared out the doorway. Douglas turned and looked at the young man who sat in the chair, expectantly. Then he turned back to Erma, and raised an eyebrow. “I normally let our freshmen congressmen get used to their offices and their workload before I allow visitors in here,” she said, turning to the young man. “But this is a special case. I think you will want to meet with this young man.” Douglas looked at the young man and shrugged. He stepped forward and held out his hand. “Douglas Washington. How can I help you?” The man leaped up as if he had sat on a tack. “My name is Vasily Dubrovik,” he said with a thick accent. “I have come from St. Petersburg. In Russia.” “Well, Vasily, you’re a long way from home. Come into my office.” Douglas led Vasily into the dark office. A motion sensor flicked the lights on as they entered. The office was a lot more plush than the hallway or even the reception area outside. Douglas saw to a wraparound curved blonde-wood desk with a overstuffed red leather chair behind it. Opposite the desk stood a matching couch and coffee table. “Well, apparently I have a nice office,” he said to Vasily. “Let’s sit down at the couch.” As they sat down, Paddy returned with coffee for both Douglas and his visitor. “Tell me how I can help you,” repeated Douglas, who looked closely at the nervous boy. Medium tall and thin, Vasily had sandy brown hair and an angular face. But his eyes somehow looked familiar to Douglas. “My mother’s name is Dubrovik, and for reasons that will become apparent, I have taken her name. But I was born with the name Harris Borden Junior.” The name hit Douglas like a landslide. Fortunately, the young man paused long enough for Douglas to regain his composure. “I understand that you have had contact with my father since his first imprisonment,” Vasily said. “I…I had contact…yes. I did talk to him a couple of times before he was recaptured. I had some contact with the Heretics about the same time. But that was 12 years ago. Lots has changed since then.” “I want you to help me find my father. I want to get him pardoned by the president.” Douglas watched the young man in silence, finally speaking. “That’s a pretty big goal. You think because I knew your father and that I am now a congressman, it is automatic that I can do these things?” “You owe my father. I know that.” Douglas paused, looking at the young man. “I owe your father a lot. But there’s no evidence that he is even alive. In fact, all indications are that he isn’t.” “So you’re not going to even try?” Douglas shook his head. “I didn’t say that. You need to learn a little patience, Vasily.” “I have been patient for 19 years. I have never seen my father. I have only heard stories, lots of stories. And now I know someone who is part of the government that has him imprisoned. Please. Help me. Help him.” Douglas paused again, trying to find a way out of this mess. “Look, Vasily,” he said. “And for your safety and mine, I think we should continue calling you by that name. Look, I will do what I can. But you have to understand that this is my first day on the job. I am the lowest elected official in this anthill called Congress. I don’t even know how things work around here. I will do what I can. But it might—no, will—take a long time.” He frowned and looked at the young man. “You know what I would do if I were you?” he said finally. “My mother, rest her soul, always told me never to put all of my eggs in one basket. Do you know what that means?” Vasily shook his head. “It means, you need to be working many different angles on this. I can do what a congressman can do. But that doesn’t mean other people can’t help.” As he spoke, he pulled his briefcase up to his lap and opened it. “Who do you recommend I talk to about this?” Vasily asked. “It isn’t like I know someone at the New York Times.” “No, I have someone better in mind,” Douglas said. He handed Vasily a hardbound book entitled, “Redemption.” On the back cover of the book was the photo of a striking blonde woman in her 40s. The name under the photo said Michelle Kinkaid. “Find her,” Douglas told Vasily. “She will help you.” Douglas saw Vasily to the door and they shook hands in the outer office. He watched the young man disappear as the phone behind him began to ring. “Sir,” Erma said behind him. “Your wife is on line two.” Douglas nodded and walked back into his office to his desk. “Yes, Melanie,” he said. “Douglas, I have to fly back to Los Angeles,” she said. “When?” “Today,” she said. “I have some unexpected family business to attend to.” “Uncle Frank?” he asked. “Not this time,” she said. “But family business even so.” Douglas paused, knowing what the phrase “family business” meant. If it didn’t involve Uncle Frank—their code for the Foundation—then he wasn’t sure what she was talking about, But he knew that Melanie—Ruth—could take care of herself. “When will you be back?” “Not sure. I will call when I know more.” Douglas felt a familiar chill come over him, and thought back to their adventures on the streets of San Francisco 12 years ago. “Be safe,” he said to her.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jun 14, 2010 15:46:05 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2010 15:46:05 GMT -6
Chapter 3
“This is WGGY Baltimore, and you are listening to the Get Smart talk show with your host, Willie White. Today we have a returning guest, author, journalist and political activist Michelle Kinkaid. Her book “Redemption” just spent 14 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list. Most authors at this point would be resting on their laurels, savoring the limelight and collecting their paychecks. But those who were with us two months ago know that Ms. Kinkaid is not like most authors. In addition to spending time on her national tour to promote her book, she is investing a major portion of her proceeds in a variety of legal battles. Welcome, Ms. Kinkaid.” Michelle Kinkaid sat back in her isolation chamber and spoke into the microphone. It was something that she had gotten very used to in the past three months. “Thank you for having me, Willie. And please, call me Michelle.” “Fine, Michelle. Can you update our audience on the status of your legal battles?” “Well, Willie, I can’t give you lots of information, since those lawsuits are still pending, but I can tell you that we haven’t given up the fight.” “Doesn’t it seem unusual that a corporation that has declared bankruptcy—I’m speaking of course of Universal Worldwide and its subsidiaries—should still be involved in allegations of slander? It would make sense if it were an individual, but the corporation doesn’t even exist anymore.” “Believe me, Willie, Universal is still there. If you follow the money and the people who were involved at the top, you will see those funds and executives reappearing in unlikely places. And some of those places might scare you.” “For example?” “Spencer Walker, president of Universal Worldwide Records, is now on the board of TFI Video, which specialized in finding new talent for both the music industry and films. Bob Westbrook, who used to be manager for Tori Ash, is now a lobbyist in Washington D.C.” “Lobbyist? For whom?” “He talks to congressmen and senators about the recording industry. At least on the surface.” “On the surface? What do you mean?” “If you look at his financial records, you will see that he accepts money from a variety of sources, including some that are, shall I say, nefarious?” She paused. “I really can’t say more than that, simply because Mr. Westbrook is one of the defendants in the slander suit.” “I understand,” Willie said. “Tell me, why do you continue to pursue this? And what is your ultimate goal?” “Willie, I am first and foremost a journalist. For years, I have pursued this particular organization and reported on their activities with varying levels of success. After the debacle at the Super Bowl 12 years ago, I decided that rather than involving another publisher in all this mess, I would go out on my own.” “That’s why you decided to publish the book yourself.” “Exactly. What I didn’t expect was for a major publisher to pick it up and distribute it worldwide. I want you to know that I have been forthright with the publishers from the beginning and have let them know all about my sordid past.” Willie laughed out loud and Michelle chuckled as well. Then she continued. “Fortunately, they weren’t scared off. Even with the lawsuits, they have been completely supportive of my endeavors.” “Well, they have capitalized on the gamble, haven’t they?” said Willie. “How goes the search for Harris Borden?” “The government continues to stonewall. The Federal Correctional System and the FBI still claim that he is not in their system, and therefore, doesn’t exist. The only conclusion that I can come to is that he is imprisoned by a private army somewhere. That’s the only way to keep him captive without it being known.” “Universal again?” Michelle shrugged in front of the microphone. “Maybe not the organization, which, as you say, doesn’t exist anymore. But that doesn’t the mean the money isn’t still there, or the people.” “Follow the money,” said Willie. “Follow the money,” repeated Michelle. “So all this effort goes beyond just trying to sell a book.” “Willie, the book was a means to an end. As I mentioned, the story is Harris Borden. He was a pastor. He was the original person to blow the lid on Universal, and for his efforts, he got put in prison, not once, but twice. Universal may be invisible these days, but that doesn’t mean that the evil they represent isn’t still dangerous. It’s more dangerous, in fact.”
# # #
Miriam Case-Hudson, attorney general of the United States of America, looked up as Psychiatrist Hugh Beldon entered the office. She shook his hand and gestured for him to sit down in one of two chairs before her desk. She had never met the famous psychiatrist, but knew him from reputation. Her eyebrows raised as she saw that she was at least two inches taller than the small, baldheaded man. “Welcome, Dr. Beldon,” she said. “Can I have the secretary get you anything? Coffee? A soft drink, perhaps?” He shook his head. “No, thank you. I have to say that I have never had the privilege of working with the Federal Government here in Washington before.” “But you have worked with the Army, and you have a singular reputation with them.” “Singular?” he shook his head and smiled. “I doubt that.” “Oh, come on. Your success with behavioral modification with captives at Guantanamo and in Iraq is required reading anymore.” “Thank you,” he said. “But I prefer to draw attention to my work with the mentally impaired. I think I have been quite successful in working with schizophrenia.” “Exactly,” said Case-Hudson. “That is why we have brought you in. We have a special case for you. This individual is highly dangerous and is being kept in strict isolation. National security requires me to limit your contact with him at this point. Let’s just call him Patient 101.” Beldon frowned and shook his head. “If I can’t have contact with the patient, how can I help him?” “One step at a time, Dr. Beldon,” she said. “Because of the unique nature of this individual, we would prefer you strictly observe him for a while before you meet him face to face. I am going to give you a URL and a temporary password. This information is highly confidential, but it will give you access to him in realtime via the internet. There is also a link where you can see recording of him for further study.” “How far back to the recording go back?” “All the way back,” she said. “Twelve years.” “Twelve…you mean this prisoner has been in isolation for 12 years? No wonder you think he is schizophrenic.” “Doctor, it is our job to determine what the appropriate punishment is for this prisoner. It is your job to observe and tell us what you think can be done with him.” Pause. “I understand. I will do what I can.” “Remember, the identity and the very existence of this prisoner is a matter of national security. You have been given your security clearance already. Be aware that if this information is passed on to anyone, it will be considered an act of treason.” He nodded slowly. Beldon suddenly wondered if working for the Federal Government was really worth it.
Thirty minutes after Dr. Beldon left Miriam Case-Hudson’s office, her intercom buzzed on her desk. Before the secretary’s voice came over the intercom, she knew who was there to see her. She could feel his presence like a dark storm cloud approaching over a dry countryside, not because it promised rain, but because of the static electricity in the air, and the ominous potential for imminent destruction. “General Medfield is here to see you, Ma’am,” the secretary said. She paused before answering, and didn’t know why. “Send…show the general in,” she said. A moment later, her office door opened. A massive man in a green general’s Army uniform stepped in the door. His face was unlined and it was difficult to determine how old he really was. His hands however, were lined, as if used to hard work. He had black hair with just a tinge of grey at the temples. Two gold stars were on his lapels, and his chest was ablaze with ribbons. While Case-Hudson has been casual about the entrance of the psychiatrist, she paid strict attention to this man. Acting without thinking, she stood when he entered and came around to the other side of the desk. She held out a chair for the big man, who took it without a word. “Thank you for inviting me to visit you,” he purred at her, his voice a deep bass. “My pleasure,” she said nervously. “We have need of your services.” “You know that I stand ready to serve my country whenever I am of value.” “You are always of value, general,” she said. “This is a special case.” “They are always special,” he said. “Go on.” “You are familiar with the incident in the congressional chamber last week? The Hebrew letters on the wall?” “I am,” he said. “A despicable act.” “We think this act is merely an indication that other things—undesirable things—are on the horizon.” The general stared at Case-Hudson intently. “You are concerned with things that might be embarrassing to the cause?” “Embarrassing to say the least,” she said. “We suspect that the Heretics may be not as dead as we think they are.” The general took the news without emotion. He stared at the wall for a long moment before responding. “What would you like me to do?” “At this point, we are only asking that you begin preliminary mobilization of White Raven. We are in the process of gathering more information. Once we have that, we will know how serious this challenge is. It may be nothing, or it may be….” “Something,” he said, completing her thought. “If it is, something, will you allow me to do what is necessary to complete the job?” She paused, then nodded. “That’s the advantage of a private company doing military work. Complete deniability. But let’s not go into extermination mode until we know it is necessary. Discretion, General Medfield, discretion.” He stared at her, and for a long moment, Miriam Case-Hudson wondered if she had crossed the line. The general was notorious for losing his temper when people didn’t show the proper respect. She shifted slightly in her seat. “Very well,” he said quietly. “Is that all?” Case-Hudson nodded, again feeling nervous. “We’ll be in touch.”
# # #
Michelle Kinkaid took off her headphones and waved to Willie White through the double-paned glass of the radio station’s on-air studio. She stood and stepped into the hallway, headed for the lobby and her Mazda Miata parked outside. The receptionist—she remembered her name was Linda—stopped her in the hallway, a look of urgency on her face. “There’s someone in the lobby, waiting for you,” she said. “He said he heard you on the interview and drove all the way from Washington D.C. in the past hour. He says you should know him.” “What did he say his name was?” “That’s the funny part. He said his name was Vasily Dubrovik. He’s from Russia.” Michelle stared at Linda for a long moment. Dubrovik. Why did that sound familiar? Then the truth dawned on her. “Thank you, Linda,” Michelle said. “I’ll take care of it.” She stepped past the receptionist and entered the lobby. Waiting for her there was a young man in a brown suit. He looked up at her as she entered the room, then down at the photo on the back of the book he was carrying, then back at Michelle. “Ms. Kinkaid,” he said, holding out his hand to shake hers. “My name is Vasily--.” He never got his last name out. Instead, Michelle Kinkaid wrapped him in an embrace as if he were a long lost child. Which, to her, he was.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jun 14, 2010 15:46:45 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2010 15:46:45 GMT -6
Chapter 4 Vasily was overwhelmed by this strange woman who had captured him in a massive embrace without so much as an introduction. But then he thought about what his mother had told him about the impulsive, determined reporter, and he realized that she was likely the closest thing to family that he would find in the United States. Until he found his father, of course. “Sorry for grabbing you like that,” Michelle gasped after holding him for a long moment. Vasily pulled away and saw that the woman was crying. He wondered what he had done. “Ah, I’m a mess,” she said, letting go of him and grabbing a tissue out of a box on the receptionist’s desk. “Vasily? Is that the name you go by?” He nodded and started to explain, but Michelle held up a finger. “That’s probably wise, young man. You never know who is listening.” “That is what Congressman Washington told me.” “You met with D.J. Washington?” Michelle asked. “My, but you are a busy young man.” “He wasn’t much help,” Vasily said. Michelle shrugged. “He’s bought into the Washington scene. If he is going to survive in that jungle, he’s going to dress like the rest of the baboons down there.” Vasily’s eyebrows went up, and Michelle grinned at him. “Come on, let’s go somewhere where we can talk.”
A few minutes later, they were in a coffee shop down the street from the radio station. Michelle picked a table that had rock music playing overhead. After they sat down, she pulled out a small metal box that looked like a transistor radio, placed it in the middle of the table and turned it on. Vasily waited for some noise to come on, but heard nothing. He looked at Michelle and raised an eyebrow, but she just smiled. “It’s an electronic jammer,” she said. “The music above us will scramble anyone’s efforts to hear us. The jammer will prevent any radio and wireless signals from coming out of here as well. I’ve learned over the years to be pretty careful.” She leaned forward and grasped Vasily’s hand. He looked up and she looked into his face intently. “You have your father’s eyes…and hair,” she said. “But you have the bone structure and the bearing of your mother. I was always so jealous of Katya. She was always such a beautiful woman.” “She still is,” Vasily said. “Although she has been sick the past two years. That is one of the main reasons I have come to the United States. She always told me that my father would be released and would come to us in God’s time. But time is running out for her. I have decided to take this task on myself. Mother wishes to see Father one more time before she…is gone.” Michelle stared at him. Finally she shook her head. “It’s just not fair,” she said. “The two of them have done so much. They have touched so many lives. And yet they have never had the peace they deserve. It’s not fair.” “Mother said that Father knew what he was doing when he chose this road. She also says that the price they have paid is worth it, because God gave me to her. I don’t see that I am that much of a gift.” “Oh, believe me, Vasily. You are. I remember how overjoyed she was to have you.” “Tell me about my father, Ms. Kinkaid.” “I’d be happy to, Vasily. And please, it’s Michelle. “I first talked to your father—oh, it must be 20 years ago now—when he left a message on my phone asking about Universal Finance, a credit card company that I had been investigating. I called him back, then later met with him and Katya in a restaurant much like this one. I warned them that the people they were confronting were very dangerous. That didn’t seem to intimidate your father, and your mother was brave, too. “Early one morning some time later I woke from a sound sleep with a message from God. I don’t know why God chose me to give the message to Harr...your father…One never knows why God does what He does. But I delivered it. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have confronted them again, and he wouldn’t have been sent to prison. But then, we don’t know what other things might have happened if he hadn’t as well. “He spent the next two years in prison, and I saw him one more time after that. It was at his probation hearing. At that point, we had all been told that your mother was dead. Your father believed it as well. The news and the years in prison had changed him. He had also been attacked in prison, and almost killed. He was such a quiet, mild pastor before this. Now he had this hard edge to him. I saw him at the hearing, and I almost didn’t recognize him. “It was right after that that he escaped from prison. Eight years later, I met him again. He had spent the time living on the streets. He was not the man I had known. He was still a man of God, but the hard edge that I had seen before had become diamond sharp. God had tempered him like a weapons maker tempers a sword. He was a tool of God created for only one purpose—or so I thought. In the eight years on the street, he had created an army of followers. They called themselves The Heretics. “I worked with your father during the Super Bowl incident 12 years ago. We once again pulled the nice guy mask off of Universal and exposed them for what they were. He was a true hero. I was thrilled that he was reunited with your mother, if only for a few minutes. Right after that, he was taken by Universal and disappeared. No one has seen him since.” Michelle looked at the young man staring intently at her, then smiled and looked down. “I’m sure your mother has told you all of this many times.” Vasily shook his head. “It all seems different, hearing it from you.” This time, he was the one to put his hand on Michelle’s hand. “Michelle…I have a favor to ask of you. This is not God calling you, but maybe it is. For I truly believe it is God’s will that we find a way to rescue my father.” Michelle’s lips stretched thin across her mouth and she smiled without emotion. “I would like nothing better than that to happen, Vasily. I can promise you that I will do everything in my power to help make that happen. But that, unfortunately, isn’t very much.” “But your book has sold millions of copies. You must know people.” Michelle smiled thinly again. “Not as many as you might suspect. D.J. Washington is probably the highest ranked political person I know.” “And he has already told me that he can’t help.” Vasily hung his head and looked at the floor. “Well, don’t give up hope,” Michelle said, patting his shoulder. “I suspect that he probably will be of more help than he gives himself credit for.” # # # Ruth had taken the first flight to L.A. that she could arrange from Washington’s National Airport. She landed at 11:30 that evening, flying under an assumed name. Knowing that it was important to leave her identity behind her, she refrained from hiring a rental car, because she knew they required a credit card. She had stopped at the ATM before she left Washington, and withdrew $600, the maximum amount of cash her bank would allow. She flew with only one small carry-on bag, and was out at the curb and hailing a cab within ten minutes of leaving the gate. “Compton, please,” she told the cabby. “Compton, you sure?” the black cabby asked her, startled. “Alameda and 155th Street,” she insisted, and pressed a $50 bill through the window to him. “Lady, I live in Compton, and I don’t recommend any nice white lady like you going there, especially in the middle of the night.” Ruth stared at the man and frowned. “Look, I know how to take care of myself. Now, are you going to take me to Compton or do I need to find another cab?” The man stared at her another minute, then shrugged. He turned and put the cab in gear.
Thirty minutes later, the cabby drove up to the curb at the address she had given him. Much of Compton had been going through renovation as residents had organized to push street gangs out of the neighborhood. But the gangs hadn’t given up completely, and this block looked as if it had been a battleground in past years. Since then, most of the shops and residents had moved out, and many of the doors and windows were boarded up. “This is fine, just let me out here,” she said. The cabby turned again and looked at her. “Ma’am, I am a God-fearing man who goes to church every week,” he said. “And my conscience won’t let me let you out here. You are in a dangerous neighborhood here.” Ruth smiled back at him. “I am a Christian too. And I believe that God takes care of his sheep, even those of us who wander.” She looked out the windshield and pointed at the second shop facing them. “Now see that shop there? I am supposed to meet someone there. If you are uncomfortable leaving me here, just stay in here and shine your headlights on the building. If no one shows up, then I will come back and let you take me somewhere else.” The cabby’s eyes narrowed, but eventually he nodded. “Deal,” he said. Ruth took her bag with her and walked forward into the path of the headlights that shone on the old building that used to be Mac’s Fine Italian Food. She was dressed in her jeans and a T-shirt with an American flag waving on the front, with deck sneakers on. She had pulled her hair back and tied it, not knowing what to expect from her visit. She climbed the front steps of the eatery and peered into the dirty window. She couldn’t see inside, and she realized that the lights from the cab were blinding her to what was inside. She turned and waved cheerfully back to the cabby. “Thank you!” she shouted. “Have a nice night!” The cabby was reluctant to leave, but was also uncomfortable to stay. He paused, then waved his hand, put the cab in gear and drove off. Ruth her him mutter “crazy woman” as he went by. She stood and watched as the cab traveled several blocks down the street and then turned left. And then she was alone. The streetlights on that block had been shot out or burned out some time before. In any case, the only light around her came from the skyline behind her and the lights of houses several blocks away. She had been in similar circumstances many times before, she told herself. But the reality was, she hadn’t done this in more than a decade. The windows had boards over them in several places, but the door did not. She tried to remember what Mac had told her about getting into the restaurant in an emergency. She remembered that there was a second key hidden by the kitchen entrance. The only question was: would it still be there after all this time? She went down the alley between the restaurant and the next shop and looked for the kitchen entrance. Outside the kitchen entrance was a stone entryway. She knew that the stone on the right was loose, and beneath it should be a key. Fortunately, the moon was up and full, and she used its light to help her find the key. She slid the stone back where it belonged and looked at the rusty key. She was just about to put it into the lock when she heard a voice behind her. “The restaurant is closed until further notice.” She whirled to see a hooded figure looking at her. It stepped out of the shadows and then the young man dropped his hood. “By the way, I would avoid the spaghetti with mushroom sauce,” said her brother Josh.
Joshua led Ruth into the dark restaurant and found that it was lit inside by candles. When they got into the kitchen, she saw that they had kerosene lanterns hung for more light. Three other people waited for them inside. A quick glance told her that she couldn’t see in the front window, because it had been draped with black plastic on the inside. A curious person peering in would only see darkness, and believe, as she had, that the light outside was what prevented them from seeing inside. She was amazed to see that the burners were lit and saw that her ever-resourceful brother had hooked them up to a large propane tank on wheels. Large steel pots left over from the day of Mac’s restaurant were on the burners. One, she could see, was boiling water. The other, she suspected, held spaghetti sauce. “Just like the old days, huh?” she said to him. “Not quite,” he murmured. The light allowed her to see her brother a little better now. She had grabbed him and hugged him when he first approached her, but he had held back stiffly. Now she saw part of the reason why. “Here, let me get a little closer so you can have a better look,” Josh muttered when he saw her staring. He stepped forward and she saw the burn scars running down the left side of her brother’s face. The left ear looked as if it had been partially burned off as well. There was some scar tissue around his left eye as well, which seemed to droop a little. She gasped, then tried to hug him again. This time, he responded by putting his hand on her shoulder carefully. “I suppose I should be grateful,” Josh said. “I got by a lot better off than most of the others. Present company excepted, of course.” “Mac didn’t know he was doing me a favor by giving me food poisoning,” Ruth murmured. “What about the others?” Josh shook his head. “All gone. Except Bobby. You’ll see him in a bit. These are the new guys. Rojo—,” he gestured at a big burly Hispanic man with a red goatee in the corner. “Sandra, she’s our wannabe mother.” He motioned at a woman in her 40s, who stirred the sauce. And then there’s Pee-wee over there.” He gestured at another clean shaven and bald burly man, this one who looked like a Pacific Islander. “Well, look who came to visit. We have royalty,” said a voice, and Ruth turned to see Bobby rolling in in a wheelchair. His legs were curled under him and seemed small and shriveled. “Bobby!” Ruth gasped and ran over to hug him. Again, Bobby pushed her away before she hardly had the chance to embrace him. “Careful,” he hissed. “You don’t want to get too close to the hired help. You might catch some disease.” Ruth backed away and looked at Bobby strangely. “Did I miss something?” “Don’t mind him, Ruth. He’s got unresolved issues.” “Ha!” Bobby said. “I have issues. Look who’s talking.” Bobby turned to Ruth, and wheeled into the room. “Ruth, look at it from our point of view. We suffer burns, get shot or blown up. You walk away from the fire unscathed, untouched. Now, 12 years later, we are living like diseased rats in an abandoned building while you live as a congressman’s wife in Washington D.C. While you are going to balls and banquets, we are still getting shot at and just trying to survive. Now, does that seem fair?” Ruth stared at Bobby, then looked at the others in the room. “Unfair? I’ll tell you what’s unfair. Unfair is living with the memory of everyone you know and love being blown up while you are helpless to do anything. Unfair is knowing that if you hadn’t gotten sick you might have been able to do something to prevent it all. Unfair is the nightmares I have every night, seeing my brother and all my friends burn to death. That’s what’s unfair!” She picked up a towel and threw it at Bobby. The others watched her silently, as the tears ran down her face. Finally, Josh stepped forward and hugged her. This time, she was the one who resisted, but then wrapped her arms around her younger brother. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said. “No!” she said. “Don’t you even go there. I am the one who is sorry. If things had been different--.” “If things were different, we all could have been dead,” Josh said. “As it is, some of us survived.” “And some of us are in places where they can do some good,” Bobby said. Ruth saw Bobby looking at her. “Oh, shut your trap,” she snapped at him. “I have not sold out. Despite what you may believe.” “No, Bobby is right,” Josh said. “We all think it is providential that you are where you are. I don’t know your husband, but to have one of the old Heretics in the middle of Washington political circles, that’s, why that’s a miracle.” “Not a miracle,” she said, calming down. “But we do believe it is part of God’s plan. Josh, you met Douglas that Saturday night at Fisherman’s Wharf.” “The singer?” “That’s him,” she said. “After the Super Bowl, we kept in touch. And after what happened in San Pedro, he was the only person I really knew. One thing led to another, and--.” “And little brother didn’t even get an invitation.” Ruth smiled and elbowed him. “You would have—if only I had known you were still alive. Actually it was a small affair in Round Rock, Nevada. That’s where we met Uncle Frank.” “Uncle Frank?” “Dr. Frank Hollis. He is—was—a multimillionaire. He saw what happened at the Super Bowl and set up a Foundation. That money has just been sitting and gaining interest since then. He spent a little of it to help get D.J. elected into Congress, but the rest of it, well, it’s ready for Heretic business.” “Who do we have to kiss to get this money?” asked Bobby. “And how much money are we talking about?” “How much money by now is close to eight figures,” she said. “And I should know, because I’m the person you have to kiss to get it.” “Well, come on, sister and pucker up,” said Bobby. “We got plans for you.” # # # Despite having two offices, one in New York and another in San Francisco, Dr. Hugh Beldon did most of his work out of his own home. His offices were there for contact with clients; when he needed them for consultation, the facilities in both places were unexcelled. But when he needed to get away from clients and focus on research, or in this case, reviewing videotape, he found the solitude of home a lot more convenient. Home was, of course, in the Hamptons. His “bungalow” was a 4,000-square-foot two story overlooking the beach at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was as secluded as he could make it, with a high steel and brick fence with electronic surveillance. In that, his home was just like all the others around it. And in the anonymity of being just like everyone else, Beldon found his quietude. Four thousand square feet ensured that his study was quiet, even though he knew his wife was somewhere else in the house. He took national security seriously, and he definitely took the attorney general’s talk about treason seriously as well. But he had started his career as a marriage and family counselor—a very, very successful one—and he knew that his curious wife would have problems with him telling her that she couldn’t be in the house while he reviewed videos. She would think he was into porn, or something worse. No, the best plan was to assume a business as usual approach. She would pursue her interests, and he would pursue his. He logged onto the website that Case-Hudson had given him, and put in his temporary password. To be safe, he immediately changed the password to one that he could memorize. When the live camera feed appeared, he immediately became interested in the 50ish bearded man who was preaching to the camera. To be safe, however, he put earbuds in his ears and continued to listen to the sermon. It was the earbuds that prevented him from hearing his wife when she came into the room. Ambrosia was exceedingly fond—and especially proud—of her husband. It was his success as a consultant and a bestselling author that had taken them from being a young, struggling couple living in Brooklyn to where they were today. She stood in the doorway and watched her husband review the video of a bearded man preaching for a long while. He was totally absorbed by what the man was saying. She saw that he had pulled out a lined yellow pad as usual to take notes, but in ten minutes he had not written on it once. Finally, curious, she stepped forward and tapped her husband on the shoulder. Dr. Beldon leaped from his chair as if he had been touched by a high voltage cable. She in turn leaped back as well. He ripped the earbuds from his head and looked at her wildly. She swore that he looked as if she had caught him doing something dishonest, or at least embarrassing. “Honey, what are you doing!” he shouted at her. “I was just going to ask you the same thing!” she shouted back. “Why are you yelling at me?” He stared at her, catching his breath. “I’m sorry, baby, but you scared the living bejeebus out of me.” “Why? What would make you so frightened? What are you doing?” “Oh,” he said, self-consciously. He flipped the top of the laptop down so she couldn’t see it. “This is classified stuff I am doing for the government. You’re not supposed to see it.” “Really?” she said, suddenly very interested. She stepped forward and tried to pull the screen up on the laptop, but he held it down. “What, you can’t even share it with your wife?” “Do you even understand the word classified?” he said. “The attorney general used words like ‘treason’ just in case I thought I might share this info with anyone.” “That…that just looked like some bearded old man preaching. What, is he a terrorist or something?” Dr. Beldon shrugged. “Probably. Don’t know. They call him Prisoner 101. I am supposed to give my opinion on him.” “Well, you listened to him. Was he preaching?” Beldon shook his head. “You are incorrigible, you know that? You really want me to end up in prison for telling my wife about a classified case?” “It’s just that…you know, we’ve talked about someday looking into church and religion. And this guy looked like he had a different approach than most of those preachers out there. From what I could see.” “Different, yes. But different isn’t necessarily better,” he said. “Now will you please, please, go somewhere else so that I can do my work? We bought this place for its peace and quiet. I’m about to think that Manhattan is quieter.” “Ok, ok, spoilsport,” she said, turning back to leave. “I was just going to ask when you wanted lunch.” “Later!” he said, putting his earbuds back in his ears. “Much later.” Dr. Beldon was soon once again engrossed in the sermon that Prisoner 101 was presenting. So engrossed that he didn’t notice that his wife had returned and stood in the doorway, watching intently.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jun 14, 2010 15:47:28 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2010 15:47:28 GMT -6
Chapter 5
At 3 that afternoon, Douglas was taken upstairs and into the office of Congressman Byron Doyle, representative from New York. His office was a study of contrasts from what Douglas had seen of his own office. While Douglas was totally happy with the sub-basement office and thrilled with his new staff, it was obvious that Doyle was never satisfied with either his staff of 12 or the spacious room they had given him. His seniority—he was entering his 28th year as a United States representative—was reflected both in his luxurious surrounding and his continuing dissatisfaction with same. The short, obese man with prominent jowls had straight black hair that dumped down across his forehead. Douglas smiled to himself as he first saw it. He would never say so in public, but it reminded him of Adolf Hitler. He took a seat alongside four other freshmen congressman—all of the same political party—who had recently joined the ranks of Congress. Doyle worked his way down the row of representatives, as his assistant closed the door to the reception area. Finally, Doyle stood in front of Douglas and reached out his hand. “Douglas Washington, good to finally meet you,” he said. “Young fella, you have a reputation as a scrapper. Good job on that election, taking out that competition. I like that in my young representatives.” Douglas nodded and shook his hand. “And I believe congratulations are in order for you too, sir,” he said. “Congratulations?” “Or are my congratulations premature? I thought by now they would have confirmed you as Speaker of the House.” Doyle laughed heartily at that one. “No, that’s not happened yet. But between you and me--.” He leaned into Douglas as if sharing a secret. “Thanks for the congratulations. I suspect we will hear the official word tomorrow.” Douglas nodded and Doyle continued to talk as he trotted around the massive granite and oak desk and took his seat behind it. “Now boys, I know that you will have a lot of paperwork coming your way. As far as I am concerned—heck, as far as any of you are concerned—there are only two bills that you need to really be concerned with. One of them comes up for vote next week. That’s the funding for our military overseas. The Pentagon has had a hard time of it, fighting three wars in three separate countries. A lot of people are getting tired of it, tired of the bloodshed, tired of the bad news, tired of the expense. But there’s a reason why we are over there, and you all know what that is. It’s because it’s in our national interest.” He paused, and grew serious. His eyes swept across the four of them. “Do you understand those words? National interest.” “Sir,” the representative from Oregon said, meekly raising his hand. “That is a somewhat vague term. We have a lot of people back home saying that we are over there because American corporations have too much money invested for us to pull out. Is that what you call national interest?” “Son, when I say national interest, I am talking about the American way of life. It’s not just fighting terrorists—although we have found plenty of them in all three countries. It’s doing what we have to do to put gas in our cars, groceries in our stores, and steel in our backbones. We want the other countries of the world to respect us. That’s worth a few American lives, isn’t it? I expect you all to vote in favor of this bill come next week. Now who here is ready to commit to that?” Doyle started at the end of the line, pointing at one representative after the other. For all the courage and fighting spirit the young men had shown to get elected, they were all intimidated by the forceful senior congressman from New York. Finally he pointed at Douglas, who nodded affirmative as well. “Here’s the second bill that’s coming up, and it’s a ways off yet,” said Doyle. “It’s called the Landowner Reform Act. It is just coming out of subcommittee, so you four are some of the first ones to see it as it is made public. One of the things you will notice is that it really doesn’t say much about land owning. It’s really about voting, and who we should let vote.” Douglas’ ears pricked up at that. “I thought the naming of who could vote was constitutional,” he said. “Why support a bill that will only get shot down by the Supreme Court?” “That’s the rub, isn’t it,” said Doyle. “If you read your United States history, you will notice that it was the landowners who originally were given the right to vote. That’s really what the Founding Fathers had in mind. With all this stuff about everyone being equal, we’ve lost sight of that original intention.” “But sir, once again, regardless of what the bill says, it is unconstitutional,” repeated Douglas. “Funny thing about the constitution,” said Doyle. “You study U.S. history and you will see that the Constitution says what the Supreme Court says it says.” He stared at the four young men silently for a long while. “Now these ideas are going to be new to you, so I won’t ask for a commitment today,” he said. “But read them over. This is a significant bill—historical. Read over it and I will expect your commitment soon.” Douglas sat and thought about it while the others got up to leave. It would never be passed by the Supreme Court. Never. Unless….he thought. # # # A slow week of reviewing videos and live streaming of Patient 101’s behavior had led to a flurry of unexpected activity. At the end of the week, Dr. Belden had returned to the attorney general’s office with his report. It was his evaluation that Patient 101 was borderline schizophrenic. Present conditions wouldn’t push him one way or the other. Depending on the results they were looking for, any further progress couldn’t be made without hands-on treatment of the patient. “What we are looking for,” Case-Hudson had said to him. “Is a malleable personality. We want him to buy into whatever reality we give him. This is a very dangerous person we are dealing with.” “Pardon me, but if he is so dangerous, why not just lock him up and throw away the key. Or if he deserves it, just execute him.” A black anger fluttered across Case-Hudson’s face for just an instant, one that Beldon recognized immediately. He knew better than to react to it, however. The look told him that this was not just a matter of national security. The look was one of rage; this person had done something that Case-Hudson wanted retribution for. But what greater retribution could be found than isolating a man from all human contact for 12 years? Beldon had had several flashes of regret during the past week; he wondered if he should have taken the case. But not that regret was turning into something else. Beldon was lost in those thoughts as he sat in the back of the Humvee with the blackened windows. The conversation with Case-Hudson had resulted in him being whisked to Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington. He boarded a C-47 in the dark of night and was airlifted within 15 minutes. Four hours later, he landed at this location, wherever it was. Based on the time constraints, he suspected that it was either in Europe, probably Germany, or on the West Coast. He had just a glimpse of his surroundings when he left the C-47 and entered the back seat of the Humvee. It was still dark, but the surroundings told him that he wasn’t in Germany. A glimpse of high mountains on one side of the base and the dry, warm air around him told him that he was in the desert. The sergeant who welcomed him to the Humvee, closed the door behind him and entered the driver’s seat, rolled a glass partition down between the seats. “We’ve got about a 90-minute drive ahead of us,” the sergeant said. “There are some MREs there in the seat if you are hungry. You have a digital audio player back there if you get bored. And the light switch is right on the back of the seat if you want to work on anything.” “Where are we?” Beldon asked. “Sorry, sir, I am not authorized to answer that.” “You can’t tell me where we are? Am I a prisoner too?” “No sir, you’re not. You’re a guest of the United States Air Force and the White Raven Corporation. You’ll have all of your answers when we arrive in 90 minutes, sir,” he said. “Or at least, some of them.” He accented the last words by flipping a switch. Beldon watched the glass partition raise between them, cutting him off from the sergeant. Beldon always said that his wife was curious, but Beldon knew that he was just as curious. Years of education and a career of investigation had led him to hone not only his curiosity but his ability to discern the truth based on the minutest facts. So what did the evidence tell him? He was at an army base, no, an Air Force base, the sergeant had said. And he said he was a guest of the White Raven Corporation as well. What did he know about White Raven? Not much. He knew that White Raven did a lot of security work for the federal government, which was especially crucial in this day when almost everyone in the military was committed to the three wars the U.S. was fighting, or to the staging areas in Central Asia and the Middle East. Initially, White Raven did some support work in the combat area, but more and more they were taking over military functions in the United States. Come to think of it, it had been a long time since he had seen the National Guard mentioned in the media as being active in the United States. Whenever there was a disaster or a riot, it always seemed that White Raven was somehow involved. And then about two years ago, some retired general took over White Raven. What was his name? Started with an M or a K, he thought. Oh well, it was probably nothing. Beldon flipped through the selection of music available and found nothing to his taste. He wasn’t into country or rock, and apparently whoever supplied the music didn’t think anyone listened to classical anymore. He flipped it off and sat in the dark of the back and closed his eyes. With his eyes closed, Beldon realized that the Humvee had changed direction. It slowed down and turned to the left. When it did, he heard the tires move from asphalt to what sounded like dirt or fine gravel. He waited for a pothole to change the rhythm of the tires on the surface, but it continued on in monotony. There were no turns, and no inclines to break the pattern. Suddenly Beldon realized that they very likely were driving over a salt flat or a dried lakebed. Beldon waited for them to slow down or stop at a checkpoint, as if they were leaving the base, but they never did. So his calculating mind put the mounting evidence together. Where was there a United States Air Force Base in the desert, large enough that a Humvee could drive for 90 miles without turning on what might be a dried lake bed? From that evidence, and the fact that they were likely in the West somewhere, he suspected that they were in Nevada, Utah or possibly the Mojave Desert in southern California. He tried to think of which Air Force bases were out there. Edwards AFB came to mind, which was north of Los Angeles. The other one he could think of was Nellis AFB, which was near Las Vegas. Both were possibilities, as were many others that he wasn’t aware of. No other clues came to him. Just about the time he thought the sun should be coming up, he felt the Humvee slow down and stop finally. He heard the driver talk to someone outside the window, then speed up. A few seconds later, the Humvee lurched forward, and Beldon realized that he was going downhill. The sound of the tired changed too, and Beldon realized that they were going down an artificial ramp of some sort. The driver turned left and continued turning. The sound of the tires was echoed outside, and Beldon suddenly realized that they were inside an underground parking area. Finally, the Humvee slowed and stopped. The door opened and Beldon looked out into a brightly lit concrete parking area. He stepped out and looked around. All he could see were a mixture of drab green military sedans and Humvees. Off in the distance, perhaps on a level above, he heard the chugging sound of a deuce-and-a-half truck carrying some heavy load. There was the smell of burned diesel around them. “Dr. Beldon, welcome,” a young woman in a white lab coat said to him, shaking his hand. “I am Connie Franklin. I am here to help you get settled.”
# # #
“Twelve years is a long time,” Ruth said to her brother when they were finally alone. They were in the old restaurant, but the others had gone on errands. “Don’t tell me you have just been hiding out all this time.” “Long story,” Josh said. “I found Bobby in the water after the explosion. With everyone dead—everyone but you, of course—we didn’t know who to trust.” “And you weren’t even sure you could trust me,” Ruth said, looking into his eyes. Josh nodded slightly. “It sounds terrible, but that’s the reality of it. You suddenly had an excuse to not be there. Someone had to have tipped them off, so you were the prime candidate.” He looked up at his big sister, and put his hand on hers. “Sorry.” Ruth shook her head. “Let’s not go down that path again. So then what happened?” “I dragged Bobby over to a pier some distance away. I got him out of the water and lay him out on the wooden pier. Then I went back to see if anyone else survived.” “A wasted trip,” Ruth said, and he nodded. “We struggled for several months. Bobby had a friend from college who was in veterinary medicine school, so we dropped in him for some antibiotics and some bandages. Then we hightailed it for Mexico.” “Mexico? Why Mexico?” “Bobby had all kinds of connections from his time in college. One of his friends had connections with some smugglers down there. We ended up staying down there a couple of years.” “You lived with smugglers? What about the mission? What about the Heretics?” “What Heretics? As far as we knew, the Heretics were dead. The mission was dead. We were survivors. That’s all we knew.” He looked down at the floor, and Ruth didn’t push him. “Well, the Heretics are alive again, it appears,” she said finally. “How come they don’t have Bible names like before?” “I always thought that was kind of stupid, and the others resisted. They don’t have histories that can be traced back to anything. So we stuck with what we had. “Yeah, the five of us are it. At least for now. We spent the past ten years helping out with the Children of God and their soup kitchens all over the country. We have found many young people who were eager to put their lives on the line and be Heretics. But I just couldn’t bring myself to put them in danger. I didn’t want to see young people die again.” “So the five of you?” Josh shrugged. “We’re together because we have nowhere else to go. Bobby has tried time and again to get us back on mission, but I think just being together is enough.” Ruth shook her head. “It’s not enough. You know that. Remember why we joined in the first place. Remember what Harris taught us. God has a place for all of us. When you are a Heretic, you put your past life and your independence aside. We live and die for the Cause.” Josh shook his head. “That’s easy enough to say.” “But hard to do, I know.” She put her arm around her brother. “I know.” “Mind if I break up this love fest?” Bobby said, wheeling his chair into the room. “Sure Bobby, what do you need?” “What do I need?” he echoed. He threw a written list down in front of Ruth. “That’s what I need.” Ruth stared at the list, and Josh whistled. “Do you have any idea what this is going to cost you?” “Me? Nothing. The Foundation? Lots. But we are talking about top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art primo stuff here.” “An MRI machine?” asked Josh. “What in the world would you do with an MRI machine?” Bobby grinned. “That’s to make my ultimate weapon. A portable EMP cannon.” Josh and Ruth stared at Bobby. “You ‘re insane, you know,” Josh said to Bobby. “You are absolutely friggin’ insane.” “Perhaps,” Bobby said, still grinning. “But I have a lot of fun being there.” “Bobby, this is a lot of money,” Ruth said quietly. Bobby shrugged. “You’ve got the money. You’ve told me that. Are you deciding to hold out on us?” Ruth shook her head. “That’s not the point. Ever hear of a little thing called the Patriot Act? One of the items in there was that anytime more than $10,000 changes hands, red flags go up at the IRS. Add a couple of zeroes to that, and I think we might be expecting some visitors.” “Bring ‘em on!” shouted Bobby. “Just get me my cannon.” “You will get your cannon, Bobby, but the first thing I need to do it teach you the fine art of laundering money. Let me set up an account for you. We’ll go through Children of God—the Foundation has been good to them in years past, so there’s an established connection. That will eliminate some of the suspicion. I will talk to them about putting a mission project together that we can use to funnel these funds.” “How long is this going to take?” asked Bobby impatiently. Ruth shrugged. “A few days, maybe. Once we have it established, I will give you a debit card that you can use to withdraw funds from the project account. But you will need to be careful with how you do it. Just don’t go crazy all at one time.” “Crazy? Me?” Bobby asked, and the other two rolled their eyes.
# # #
“It’s going to be a few more days,” Ruth said on her cellphone to Douglas. “I’ve met some old friends and have a lot of catching up to do.” “That doesn’t sound like work to me,” Douglas said. He was speaking on a disposable cell phone, which Ruth had realized immediately when she didn’t recognize the number. “Well, believe it or not, it’s Foundation-related,” she said. “We have a new client that has some definitely serious needs.” Douglas stiffened when Ruth mentioned the Foundation. Up to this point, money had been modestly donated to Children of God projects on a quarterly basis. Having a new client—coupled with her emergency flight to the West Coast could only mean one thing. “Well, tell your client that we have some serious needs of our own here in Washington. In fact, you might encourage your client to come visit us here pretty soon.” “How soon?” Ruth asked, realizing that something was up. “Not right away, but soon enough,” he said. “Maybe this new client can use the new Foundation support to get ready for said visit, say, in a few weeks?” “I will share that information with the client,” she said. “I know that he will be happy to help out.” “Hurry home,” Douglas said to her. “I will,” she replied. “I love you.” The last words were cut off as Douglas hung up the phone.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jun 14, 2010 15:48:29 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2010 15:48:29 GMT -6
Chapter 6
It had all been some terrible nightmare. Harris Borden woke to the sound of an intercom. “Paging Dr. Friedman, paging Dr. Friedman,” he heard above him. He woke up and he found himself in a hospital room. Sunlight streamed from the window beside him, and it felt good. He looked around the room and realized that the hospital bed he was in was the only bed occupying the normal room. Curtains were folded against the wall beside his head. He could see the footsteps of people walking by outside his closed door. He looked at his right arm and saw that an IV line was attached to the top of his right hand, with a needle stuck into a vein on top. He reached his left arm over to touch the IV and realized that both hands were restrained at the wrist. He then realized that his ankles were restrained as well. “That’s for your own good,” a middle-aged man in a white labcoat said as he entered the room. “How do you feel?” Harris blinked at the man and stared. “It’s a simple question, Pastor Borden. How are you feeling this morning?” Harris continued to stare at the man. Finally, the man nodded. “I see. You are having the aftereffects of your hallucinations. A bit of disorientation, I suppose?” Harris nodded mutely. “Well, let me assure you, I am not a hallucination,” he said. “I am Dr. Hugh Beldon, your psychiatrist. Here.” He took his hand and put it where Harris could feel the skin. “I’m just are real as you.” Harris felt his skin and nodded. It felt familiar, yet strange, as if he had not had contact with another human for a long time. “What do you remember?” Dr. Beldon asked Harris. “I…I remember preaching,” he said hesitantly. “That’s good,” Beldon said. “A pastor should remember his livelihood. What else?” “I remember a white room. And a photograph of a small boy.” Harris stared at the light streaming in through the miniblinds on the room. “And I remember being alone. Terribly alone.” He looked at the light, then turned to the psychiatrist. “Anything else?” Harris shook his head. “There’s a big blank.” Dr. Beldon smiled thinly. “It should come back to you gradually. Actually, your amnesia is a good sign. It indicates that your medicine is working.” “Medicine? What medicine?” “You’ve been a very sick man for a very long while,” Beldon said. “You’ve had significant trauma and you have fallen into a version of schizophrenia. You’ve been in the hospital here for 20 years, Pastor Borden.” “Twenty…?” was all Harris could say. “We tried all kinds of traditional methods to try to cure you. But in the end we had to attempt some radical therapy. In the 40s and 50s, the psychiatric community dabbled with electroshock therapy to try and get the mind to reset itself, kind of like rebooting a computer. We have advanced since those days. We have a variety of medications that do the same thing. “But one of the side effects is temporary amnesia. Like I said, it will come back in time. But you might have some difficulty telling what really happened from what you believed happened. That’s where I come in. I am here to help you understand what is reality…and what is not.” Harris stared at the psychiatrist and nodded slowly. “Now,” Beldon said. “What else do you remember?” “I remember my wife,” Harris said. He smiled. “I remember Katya.” The smile left Beldon’s face and he nodded slowly. “What?” Harris said. “Why did you stop smiling? What’s wrong?” Beldon shook his head. “It’s nothing.” “If it’s nothing, then tell me. Did something happen? Where is Katya?” Dr. Hugh Beldon picked up his clipboard and turned to leave. “Sorry, I will check up with you tomorrow. In the meantime, get some rest.” “Tell me doctor,” Harris said. “You told me you were going to tell me what is real and what is not.” Beldon paused as he was going out the door, then turned. He shrugged. “You’re right. You should know. You will have to know eventually. “Your wife Katya is dead. She died 20 years ago. It’s why you are in the hospital. “She died, Pastor Borden, because you killed her.”
# # # The meeting with Congressman Doyle and his explanation of the Landowner Reform Bill had sent chills down Douglas’ spine. Having lived through the experience with Tori Ash and the subsequent debacle at the Super Bowl had given him the feel for the way these demons operated. And this bill had all the earmarks of their work. He didn’t have a lot to go on, but he read the Bill thoroughly, looking for any indication as to who was behind the action. The Congressional Record told him who were members of the Land Policies subcommittee, but none of the names jumped out at him as someone who would benefit from the Bill. And even he was a bit vague as to what the implications of the Bill were. All that he knew was that the Bill was designed to take voting rights away from the majority and put them in the hands of a minority. Tough economic times had meant that fewer and fewer mortgages were being handed out by banks and lending companies. That meant there were fewer and fewer people in the United States who qualified as homeowners. Then a frightening thought hit him. He leaped to his feet and ran to the door of his office. “Erma, I need you to do some important research for me,” he said. His assistant held the phone receiver up. “Is it more important than returning this phone call to the Department of Commerce?” she said. “Yes it is,” he said, suddenly feeling like a real U.S. representative. “I need you to find out who really owns property in this country. I mean, who owns property outright. And if there are mortgages out there, who owns the majority of them.” Erma nodded. “Got it.” “Where’s Paddy?” Douglas asked. “Right here, boss,” Paddy said, coming in the front door with three hot coffees in a carrier. “You need me, sir?” Douglas nodded. “I need you to talk around among the other interns and find out who is behind this Landowner Reform Bill. It has standard sponsorship earmarks on it, but I need to know who is the power behind it. Who is pushing it.” Paddy nodded. “Got it. Finally, some real work around here.”
Two hours later, Douglas had read through the entire 770-page bill a second time. Secretly he was grateful for the vast volume of reading law school had required him to do, which had trained him to read quickly and thoroughly. He joined Erma and Paddy in his office. It was after hours, but Erma locked the front door to make sure they would not be disturbed. “OK, here’s what I found out. There are hundreds of banks and mortgage companies that own mortgages. But the reality is, most of those mortgages, once they are taken out are sold to mortgages brokers, who in turn, sells them to mortgage holding companies. In reality, there’s only about 12 major holding companies in the United States. Here’s the list.” Douglas looked at the list of companies, together with the amount of money being financed, and the land that came with it. The numbers were incredible—in the trillions of dollars—but it still didn’t tell him what the final result of the Bill would be. “When you come down to it, those who take out mortgages don’t legally own the property. The bank does.” He frowned and then turned to Paddy. “What did you discover, Paddy?” Paddy threw his hands out as if defending himself. “Now this is all hearsay, so I can’t vouch for it. But the congressman behind all of this appears to be Doyle.” Douglas frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense. He wasn’t even on the subcommittee that put the bill together.” Paddy nodded. “You know, that’s the funny part. Doyle seems to be promoting it here, but Senator Collins from Colorado is already promoting it in the Senate.” “Doyle and Collins working together?” Edna said, shaking her head. “That’s not right. They’re in separate camps and haven’t talked to each other in years.” “Could they be front men for someone else?” Douglas said. “It goes back to who has the most to benefit from this bill?” “Follow the money,” said Edna. “Follow the money,” repeated Paddy. “Or something else,” Douglas said, more to himself than to the others. “I have learned—here and in my own, personal experience—that it isn’t always about money.” “It isn’t?” Paddy said. “That’s a surprise.” “No,” said Douglas. “What’s more important than money? Especially here on Capitol Hill?” “Power,” Edna said, and Douglas nodded. “It’s not enough to own the land,” Edna said. “Someone wants to own the votes.” “And whoever owns the votes, owns the country,” Douglas said. # # #
Ambrosia Beldon was used to her husband being gone. Most of the time, he was either at his office in San Francisco or the one in Manhattan. A couple of times he was gone on promotional tours for his books. But never, in 28 years of marriage, did he disappear as thoroughly as he did this time. The night after he had had his appointment with the attorney general, she had called his hotel to talk to him. When he didn’t answer his extension, she had tried calling his cell phone. It had been switched off. She tried calling the main number for the hotel, who told her that he “had been checked out.” Her eyebrows raised with the wording they had used. Not that he had checked out, but that he had been checked out. Hmm. Ambrosia had always been suspicious of the federal government, and was reluctant as he spent his time at Guantanamo and in Iraq. But in both of those occasions, she always knew where he was and could talk to him at any time. This was different. On one hand, she knew that he was probably as safe as he could be, working for the federal government and in their protection. On the other, not knowing where he is, and having a government agency not take the time to call her made her both suspicious and angry. The next morning, she called Hugh’s agent in New York, then called their attorney, Bill Gelbfarb. “Listen, Bill, I am probably overreacting. But Hugh has accepted work with the federal government, and now he has disappeared. He wouldn’t even tell me what agency or branch of government he was working for. I don’t know what to do.” “Let me make some calls,” Bill said. “Not to worry. Like you said, chances are it is nothing. But I will ask around and let you know.” Ambrosia hung up the phone and frowned. She was unsure what to do now. Then she remembered the website Bill had connected to. She went to his desk and looked for his laptop, then sighed. Of course, he would take his laptop with him. She sat down and started going through drawers, hoping that he had written some notes that he had neglected to take with him. She was unsuccessful in finding any papers in the drawers, then thought to check the trash can beside the desk. There she found a wadded up lined yellow paper. She opened it up and looked at his doodling on the page. One word was written three times in various places. The first read: “schizophrenia” underlined. Two other places the word was repeated, but the word was followed by a question mark. She then saw the URL written in the corner of the page. She shook her head, realizing that Hugh was not real good when it came to keeping things confidential. She turned the monitor for the desktop in the corner on, then she typed in the URL. Immediately it asked for his username and password. She typed in his name for the username. Then she smiled as she typed in the password that was his favorite of the past six months. Ambrosia knew that Hugh was a creature of habit, and her gamble paid off. Unfortunately, the live feed showed an empty cell, with all trace of it being used in the past removed. She looked at a link on the right that said “archives.” She clicked on the most recent and was rewarded with an image of the same bearded man—Hugh had called him Prisoner 101—preaching again. She watched the man, transfixed, for about 15 minutes. Then she realized two things. First, watching this man was not getting her any closer to finding her husband. Second, with the prisoner no longer in his cell, it was likely that the website would be shut down very soon. She decided that she would copy as much of the footage as possible to the massive external hard drive on which Hugh kept his interviews with patients. He had paid a little extra to make it possible to speed copy digital video files, rather than having to play them real time and copy them that way. He had done that when he had a partner and it was necessary to share hundreds of hours of video interviews. Now it made it extremely convenient for Ambrosia to copy the files on the website. She linked the archive section to the copy feature on her computer. Half an hour later, she had six months worth of video footage from Harris Borden in her possession. And she was no closer to finding her husband.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jun 16, 2010 7:04:27 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 16, 2010 7:04:27 GMT -6
Chapter 7
The old black van that Ruth had driven 12 years before was still running, thanks to tender loving care by Rojo and Peewee, and an endless supply of parts that became harder and harder to find with every passing day. Ruth looked around her in the interior of the van and marveled. They were traveling across the L.A. basin in the old van in the late evening of a summer’s day. “I can’t believe that you still have this old thing,” she said to Josh, who sat in the back with her and Bobby. She sniffed. “It still smells the same, too.” Josh nodded. “That mixture of bleach and formaldehyde. Dead giveaway that it’s a Heretic vehicle.” Ruth smiled at the makeshift list of odd chemicals they had used as weapons and defensive instruments for various assignments over the years. The van hit a pothole and the whole vehicle lurched violently. “Still has the same suspension too,” Ruth said. “Or lack thereof,” Josh added. “Hey!” Rojo said from the driver’s seat. “I’ll have you know that we have put some major TLC into this vehicle over the years. And it is exceedingly hard to find parts for the old girl.” “Heh,” Bobby said from behind them. “He said ‘exceedingly.’ Rojo, that’s probably the biggest word I ever heard you say.” “Why haven’t you guys retired the old girl,” asked Ruth. “Seems like she’s earned it by now.” Josh shrugged. “First there’s this little thing called cash. Something we are ‘exceedingly’ short of. And second, you have to show legal ID to transfer a bill of sale.” “Ah,” Ruth said, then turned back to Bobby. “What’s with the crate?” Bobby grinned, patting a wooden crate that occupied the storage area in the very back of the van. “My surprise. I want to show you what $200,000 of the Foundation’s good money will buy these days.” “Hmm. Too small for a magnetic resonance imager,” said Ruth. “Too big….” “Too big to be a practical EMP cannon?” Bobby asked. “I’m working on that. Right now, this is about as portable as I can make her.” “Well, I hope it’s worth the expense,” Josh said. “And not another one of your grand ideas that is a waste of time.” Bobby opened his mouth to protest, but Ruth held up her hand. “There’s plenty of money,” she said. “I’m more concerned about raising any financial red flags. You did your purchase like I told you, didn’t you, Bobby?” Bobby nodded. “And this stuff tonight is the last of it. We won’t be accessing that account for quite a while. Unless World War III starts.” “Well, it’s better to continue to draw a moderate amount from the account,” said Ruth. “A major withdrawal and then nothing is just as likely to draw notice. “And as for World War III, that’s something that I never took for granted. D.J.’s call made me realize that something is about to happen. Something big enough that he wants you guys available in D.C. as soon as possible.” “Any ideas what it is?” Ruth shook her head. “All I know is that D.J. has a sixth sense for these kinds of things. And for all his shortcomings, that’s one thing that I truly respect about him.” The van turned a corner in the quiet neighborhood in East L.A. and the four of them saw the quiet mission for the Children of God on the corner. Bobby grinned and started to say something, but Ruth grabbed the back of Rojo’s seat. “Wait,” she hissed. “Pull over here.” Rojo pulled the van over and the four of them leaned forward, looking at the brick building. A police cruiser was pulled up outside the front of the mission. Two uniformed officers were standing in the doorway, talking to the elderly man and woman who ran the mission, people the Heretics knew as Mr. and Mrs. Alistair Smith, or Ma and Pa for those who were closest. They had taken the responsibility for the mission on three years before, and Josh and the others had grown fond of the grey-haired couple. As they watched, one of the officers turned and walked back to the cruiser. The other ended the meeting with a few last words, waved and joined his partner. As the Heretics watched, the patrol car pulled away from the curb and disappeared around the corner. “OK,” Josh said. “Let’s take it nice and easy.” Rojo put the van in gear and drove forward slowly. They pulled into the alleyway behind the mission. Josh got out and opened the garage door to the storage area behind the building, and Rojo backed into the space. “I got this,” the beefy Rojo said smiling to Ruth and Josh. “You go introduce Ruth to Ma and Pa.” Josh nodded and Ruth watched as the big Hispanic picked up the heavy crates and tossed them into the back of the van. Bobby gleefully checked the labels on the crates as if he were a young boy checking names on presents beneath a Christmas tree. Josh led Ruth into the back door of the mission, where the elderly Mrs. Smith met them in the hallway.” “Hi, Ma,” Josh said. “Here’s someone I want you to meet. This is my sister from Washington D.C.” Ma Smith smiled and oohed at the introduction. “So this is long lost sister you have talked about,” she said. “It must be quite a shock to leave all this and join the glitterati at Congress.” Ruth shrugged. “Despite what they might think of themselves, they’re all just people.” She looked at Josh, then back at Ma. “Of course, I really haven’t had a chance to rub shoulders with them much. I got Josh’s postcard the first day we got there.” Josh grinned at Ma, who nudged him with an elbow. “I told you that would work,” she said, grinning. Josh nodded, then turned back to Ruth. “All my best ideas come from Ma and Pa.” Ma laughed. “He has plenty of good ideas of his own. And with you two back together, I am sure he will find ways to use those ideas.” Ruth was distracted as Ma talked as she heard vehicles pull up outside the front of the Mission. “You have company,” she said. “And we need to be going. It won’t be good for you two to be seen with us.” “Oh, nonsense,” Ma said. The three of them paused, as they heard Pa open the front door and heard his muffled voice as he talked to someone. “They’re not here,” he said loudly, and Ma began pushing Ruth and Josh to the back door. “You can come in and look--.” His voice was cut off by the sound of a short pop, and then another. Ruth and Josh both knew the sound. Ruth grabbed Ma and started to drag her out the back door, but she resisted. “He’s hurt,” Ma said, trying to go toward the sound of the gunfire. “I need to help him.” Josh took a couple of steps forward and looked deeper into the mission, then rushed back. “About six of them,” he said. “All with guns.” He turned to Ma and with Ruth’s help began pulling her toward the back door. “Leave me,” Ma said, still pulling against them. “I will only slow you down. I need to see him.” Josh hesitated, then pushed Ruth out the door. The evening dusk had turned to darkness, and it took a moment for Ruth’s eyes to adjust. By the time they went down the walkway and past the rosebushes to the alley, she could see that the black van had a new black Dodge Charger parked in front of it. Two men in black leather jackets stood facing the van with pistols aimed at Rojo. Ruth started to run to him, but Josh held her back. He motioned for her to wait, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a string of firecrackers and a bic lighter. He flicked his lighter and lit the end of it, then threw it down the alley in the opposite direction. Crouching, Josh led Ruth behind the rose bushes and toward the storage area. A few second later, the string of firecrackers went off with a series of pops. The two men in black jumped behind their Charger and began firing their pistols in the direction of the sound. Ruth and Josh ran in the side door of the storage shed and then jumped into the side door of their van. In the meantime, Rojo had wasted no time in jumping into the driving seat and shifting the already running vehicle into gear. “Time to go,” gasped Josh, and Rojo nodded. He hit the accelerator and the big van slammed into the side of the new Charger. As big as the car was, the van pushed it sideways across the alley, making a space for the van to get by. The men behind it leaped to either side for safety. Rojo ignored the sound of tearing metal and whining tires, and turned the van into a harsh left turn. Ruth looked out the back windows of the van at the quickly disappearing site of men with guns boiling from the back door of the mission. “The old firecracker trick worked again, I see,” Rojo said, throwing the van into a sharp right turn and onto the main street. “Never leave home without them,” Josh said. Ruth shook her head. “Whatsamatter, Sis? You forget what this was like?” “I guess I have,” she said. “Or maybe you’re just getting old,” Josh said, jabbing her in the ribs with his elbow. “Maybe you should go faster,” Bobby said from the back. Ruth and Josh turned to look and Rojo looked in his rearview mirror. Two more cars identical to the Charger they had smashed into rapidly approached from the rear. “Thought you smashed that Charger up,” Bobby said. “Thought I did too,” Rojo said, still looking in his rearview at the oncoming cars. “Maybe they buy them wholesale,” Bobby said. “Group discount.” “Well, one thing I know,” Rojo said. “This old van, loaded with junk and passengers is not going to be able get away from two of those. They have hemis, you know that.” As if in response, the car immediately behind them accelerated and began to hug the bumper of the van. The other passed on the right and pulled up beside the van. Ruth could see the dark suited, sunglassed men inside. As she watched, one of the raised an automatic rifle and thingyed it. “Machine gun, machine gun, MACHINE GUN!” she shouted. In response, Rojo jerked the wheel to the left and crossed the lanes of oncoming traffic. The van drove full speed into another alley, with brownstone buildings on either side. Rojo kept the accelerator floored and Ruth felt the lack of suspension in the old van as they hit pothole after pothole. “Look out!” she shouted, as suddenly a dumpster appeared on the side of the alley. Rojo didn’t appear to notice, as the old van scraped by the dumpster, sending sparks flying. Ruth felt the blood drain from her face. “Another nice thing about driving an old beater,” Rojo said. “Don’t have to worry about dents and paint jobs.” “No sign of them behind us,” Bobby said, and Ruth looked back to see that indeed, the alleyway was clear. “Just a sec and we will be out on Alameda,” Rojo said. “Smooth sailing from there on.” A moment later, Ruth felt the old van lurch and Rojo turned right onto a major boulevard. “And here we are, safe and sound,” Rojo said, immediately slowing down to the speed limit. “And there they are,” Bobby said. Ruth looked back again and saw two pairs of headlights rushing toward them. One rammed their back bumper, and the second disappeared into the left lane. A second later, the sound of machine gun fire erupted, and holes instantly appeared in the left, unwindowed side of the utility van. “Rojo! Do something!” shouted Ruth, and Rojo, now grim faced, nodded. Ruth watched as he suddenly twisted the steering wheel left. She heard a crunch and felt a hit as the van ran into the Charger in the left lane. A second later, she heard a horn honk and a screech as the black car ran into oncoming traffic. “One down,” Rojo said. “The other one’s not going to make the same mistake,” Josh said. “He can do us in from back there.” Bobby nodded grimly. “Time to prove my worth.” Ruth’s eyebrows went up, and Josh frowned. “How do you know this contraption is going to work?” Josh said as Bobby reached into the back and pulled the boards aside. Ruth could see that the machine inside looked like a large, fat telescope with several thick metal around the barrel. Bobby flipped several levers and lights began to flash on the top. “Now, I want to warn you that this has never been field tested,” said Bobby. “But this seems like the best time to try it out. And as I said, I hope to make it a lot more portable someday.” “Whatever, just do it,” Josh said. “Do it, Bobby!” Ruth watched as the Charger hugged the bumper again and the barrel of another automatic rifle appeared out the passenger window. “Do it now!” “Just a second,” Bobby said. “I gotta say it. Say ‘ello to my little friend.” Bobby closed his eyes and flipped a yellow switch on the top. The hum from the machine disappeared and there was a faint pop. As Ruth watched, the headlights on the Charger behind them went black. It fell behind them rapidly, apparently without power. “It worked!” Bobby said, as they watched the car fall farther behind them. Then as they continued watching, the saw that lights on all other oncoming vehicles behind them as far as they could see went out as well. The traffic behind them coasted to a stop as they sped away. Ruth watched as everything behind them—cars, streetlights, shops, billboards—all went black for as far as she could see. She turned and looked at Bobby, whose eyes were as big as saucers. “I…I think I need to work some bugs out,” he said.
The four of them drove on for another fifteen minutes in silence. Finally, Rojo found a large parking lot near some abandoned buildings. He drove the van under one of the streetlamps in the middle of the lot. The old van was making some wheezing, rattling sounds that didn’t bode well. Rojo put the van in park and went out to raise the hood. Ruth listened to the old van intently, as if sitting by the bedside of a terminal patient listening to a death rattle. After a long moment, Rojo returned and switched off the engine. “Just as I feared,” he said. “We threw a rod back there somewhere. Old lady got us out of trouble, but that’s all she’s going to be able to do for us.” “Poor old girl,” Josh said, and Ruth nodded silently. After a moment, Bobby piped up. “Come on, guys,” he said. “It’s just a car, a hunk of metal. We’ll get another one.” “Yeah, we need something to keep ahead of those guys,” Ruth said. “Who were they?” Josh shook his head. “Never seen anyone like them in my life.” Rojo looked at the ceiling, as if trying to remember something. “Ma Smith said some guys have been sniffing around for a couple of weeks now.” Josh frowned. “And you are just now telling me? Rojo, you know better than that.” “Well, we haven’t been in trouble for so long, I didn’t think anything about it.” “We better start thinking about it now,” said Ruth. “Those guys looked serious.” She turned to Bobby. “And as much as I hate to point fingers….” “What?” Bobby said. “You think they came because of my purchases?” “Makes sense to me,” Josh said. “After all, it can’t just be coincidence that they show up the evening we are there to pick up our stuff.” “They are either after Children of God or after the Heretics,” Ruth said. “Or both. In either case, this smacks bad of Universal.” “So what do we do now?” Bobby said. “I don’t think they’ve linked it all to the Foundation yet,” Ruth said. “And even if they did, I have enough lawyers to keep them off my case for the next 20 years. But we need to be a lot more sophisticated on how we get money to the Heretics. From the IRS and Homeland Security’s point of view, the Foundation is funding terrorists.” Ruth looked silently at the others for a long while, thinking to herself. “I’ve got to get back to Washington, to my cushy life,” she said finally. “But I suspect the cushiness is pretty much over before it started. And you guys come join me as soon as you round up some more recruits. We’ve got to find out who these guys are. And I have a sneaking suspicion that the business D.J. is calling us back for is tied to our little adventure tonight.” She looked back at Bobby. “Bobby, I don’t know if this stuff tonight was because of your purchases, but regardless, keep doing it. Your science project in the back there pretty much saved our bacon tonight. Keep working on it. Come up with more stuff. “Between your screwball inventions and a whole lotta prayer, we might just survive this mess.” # # # Roy Bassett was sound asleep when his phone rang beside the bedside. He picked it up on the second ring. “Yes,” he said tersely. Five years of retirement had not broken his ability to wake from a sound sleep and answer the phone fully conscious. “Good evening, Roy,” the woman’s voice on the other end said. “It’s good to hear your voice again.” He sighed and relaxed. “I wish I could say the same, Michelle. Don’t you go to bed there in Los Angeles?” “I’m in New York now,” Michelle said. “Actually, with all the book signings, I live more on the road than anywhere else anymore.” “Poor baby. Must be a terrible life.” “Ehh,” Michelle said. “Fame and fortune is overrated. I still have to tie my own shoes.” “I’m pretty sure you could hire someone to do that for you,” Roy said. Pause. “Listen, Roy, remember that favor you owed me?” “Favor? I seem to remember it the other way around.” “Whatever. I need you to find someone for me. You still have connections at the Agency?” “I still know a few people. Who do you need to find, and why?” “Remember that project you and I worked on together 12 years ago? The one that got taken out of our hands on February 4?” That was the date of the Super Bowl, Roy thought. That was the date that Harris Borden surrendered himself, and was promptly kidnapped by Universal out of the hands of Federal protection. Out of his hands.” “How can I forget?” Roy said. “You going to resurrect that project again?” “I never gave up on it. Something—someone—new has come into the picture. Someone I know you would like to meet. In the meantime, talk to your Agency friends and ask them about a man named Mikhail Gorovko.” “Just a second,” Roy said, pulling a pad closer to the bedside and grabbing a pen. “Mikhail Gorovko. Got it. Is this someone I should know?” “You should. I don’t know if you do. At one time he went by the name Elijah Brown.” The name jumped out at Roy Bassett, and he suddenly remembered who this Gorovko person was. He was the cellmate of Harris Borden in prison. He was the man who trained Borden in survival skills. “I’ll get right on it,” he said. “You think Gorovko can help us with our project?” “If anyone can, he’s the man,” Michelle said. “Be aware that he has a reputation of making himself invisible pretty much all of the time.” Bassett smiled to himself. “All the better. I haven’t had a good challenge in quite a while. Give me 48 hours and I will call you back.” “I am at home at the Harbor Vista Condominiums in Manhattan. My number is (314) 555-1687.” Roy Bassett hung up the phone and thought for a moment. As much as he disliked getting a phone call in the middle of the night, this was a welcome assignment. Since his wife died and his daughter moved away, the house had become too, too quiet. He regretted retiring from the FBI five years ago, but he knew that if he hadn’t retired, they would have retired him. Now he had a chance to make a difference again. He sat up on the edge of his bed and pulled open the bedside table drawer. Inside, next to his 9 millimeter automatic pistol and the spare clip was a small black book. This was the one he kept for business contacts. He flipped through the book until he came to the name Willem Esperson. He dialed the number. “Billy!” he said when the other side picked up. “It’s Roy! Sorry to call you late like this, but I have a favor to ask of you.”
|
|
|
Elijah
Jun 16, 2010 12:13:25 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 16, 2010 12:13:25 GMT -6
CH. 8
“Good morning, Harris.” Harris Borden’s eyes went from the floor to the doorway, where Dr. Hugh Beldon entered again. It had been a day since Beldon had broken the news that Katya was dead, that Harris had killed her. It had been a day filled with terror, a night filled with nightmares. And Harris was filled with questions. “Doctor,” Harris said hesitantly. “What you said about my wife….Is it true? Why did you tell me that and then leave?” Beldon smiled thinly. “Most doctors wouldn’t have done that. They would think that you needed explanation, that you needed support at a time that that. “The reality is, that’s not the first time you’ve been told the news about your wife. You just don’t remember. Like I said, my hope is with the new treatment that you will start remembering what really happened again. Then we can deal with it. It’s the only way we will get you well.” Harris bit his lip. “I’d like to get well. I just can’t remember! All my memories are all jumbled up.” His eyes turned from the doctor to the leather restraints they kept on his wrists and ankles. “Are these really necessary? I can’t imagine I’ve worn these for 20 years.” Beldon shook his head. “You haven’t. There was an incident just recently when you assaulted one of our orderlies. And with the new medication, well, we weren’t sure how you were going to respond.” He put down his clipboard and sat down on the chair next to Harris. “Let’s start again,” he said. “Tell me what you remember.” Harris looked at the ceiling. “Like you said, I am remembering more and more. But it is not the things you want me to remember. I remember praying in my chapel back in Round Rock, Nevada. I prayed that God would use me for bigger things.” “That’s good,” Beldon said. “Now that is close to the point of the breakdown.” “And then I had a visit from an angel,” Harris continued. “God sent an angel to tell me that he would use me to fight a corporation run by a demon named Ba’al.” His eyes traveled from the ceiling to the wall, and then to Beldon. “I talked to their board of directors, and was thrown from a rooftop. Then I challenged them again and was thrown in prison. I escaped from prison and lived on the street for several years. Then I raised an army of followers, who went on to fight another demon.” Beldon smiled and picked up his clipboard again. “That’s the onerous part of schizophrenic delusions,” he said. “They are laced so smoothly into reality that the patient has a hard time separating one from the other.” Beldon began writing on the clipboard as he continued speaking. “Yes, you had those prayer meetings with God,” he said. “And you felt so strongly about being called by God that you suffered some sort of mental breakdown. You believed that an angel had come to you. You believed that the Universal Corporation was inhabited by demons. You went to that Board of Directors meeting in San Francisco and attacked the CEO Kenneth Deke. Police were called in and you were forcibly removed from the meeting. They did not press charges. And when you went home, you were so despondent that you killed your young wife.” “No!” shouted Harris. “That’s not how it happened. I remember it. As you tell me, I remember it.” “Oh, come on, Harris,” Beldon said. “Listen to yourself. An angel? Demons? What is more likely—more rational—your story or mine?” “Belief is not always rational,” Harris said quietly, not ready to give in. “What about evidence?” Beldon said. “If I showed you proof, would it convince you then?” Harris paused, then nodded. “Show me.” Beldon reached down to the floor and picked up his briefcase, opening it. He pulled from it a manila folder marked Harris Borden. He opened it and pulled out two sheets of paper, handing them to Harris. The first was a news clipping from the San Francisco Herald with the headline: “Crazed Minister Attacks Universal CEO.” It showed a photograph of Harris Borden being dragged forcibly from a meeting by two policemen. Harris had his hand up so that part of his face was covered, but it did, indeed, look like a young Harris Borden. The second page was another clipping. This one was also from the Herald, two days later. The headline read simply: “Nevada Pastor Murders Wife.” There were no photos, thankfully, but Harris noticed that the article was written by a name which sounded familiar. Michelle Kinkaid. “There were no photos with the story, which is understandable. But we have police photos. As gruesome as they may be, I think it is important for your recovery that you see them.” Beldon pulled three photographs from the file, and threw them in Harris’ lap. Harris glanced at them, then closed his eyes and cringed. “No,” he said, groaning. “LOOK AT THEM,” insisted Beldon. Harris slowly opened his eyes and looked at the photographs. They showed crime scene photos of a young woman with long black hair lying in a pool of blood on the floor of a kitchen. Harris recognized the dress that the woman wore. It was one of Katya’s favorites. The second photo was much like the first. The third was a close-up of the victim’s face, taken in the morgue. It was Katya. Harris stared at the photo, then slowly dragged the photos and clipping across his lap to the side, letting them drop on the floor. “If you insist on holding on to these fantasies about demons and angels, about being called by God as some sort of Champion, we will have to put you on heavier antipsychotics. You won’t like that. But if you decide that you want to get well, and are willing to hear and accept the truth about who you are and what you have done, well, then I can help you. “It’s up to you, Harris.” # # # When Douglas heard that Lila was scheduled to perform at the Kennedy Center, it seemed like too good a coincidence to let pass by. Had Ruth been in town, he would have wanted her to come with him to the concert, even though he knew she would have refused. Not only did Ruth dislike pop music, she especially disliked anything that had to do with Lila. Douglas knew that there would never been any love lost between the two of them, especially since Ruth still believed that Douglas had feelings for Lila. And even though Douglas always denied that there was anything there, part of him wondered, What If? They had been so close to not only being professional musicians together, but together in other ways as well. After the incident at the Super Bowl, their paths had sharply diverged. He had gone on to college and law school; she had a career as a recording artist that soared into the stratosphere. Even now, 12 years later, she was at the spot where Tori Ash had been, complete with fashion and cosmetics lines, estates in California, Hawaii and a Lear jet. At first, Douglas hesitated to even consider going to the concert. But when he made the mistake of mentioning to Paddy and Erma that she was going to be in town, and they had history together, he wasn’t completely surprised when a front row ticket and a backstage pass appeared on his desk the next morning. The evening of the concert, Douglas invested in a bouquet of roses to be sent to her dressing room. He had the florist write “An old friend from the Hungry I” on the card. He joined the others in the front row of the concert and sat back to enjoy the show. Twelve years after performing with her, Douglas could only shake his head in the change in her approach to music. He remembered Lila’s sensational voice and was disappointed when the numbers she chose to perform didn’t capitalize on it. Instead, there was a lot of flashing lights and smoke, blazing instrumental solos, lots of backup vocals that tended to cover her own solos, and a dozen costume changes in the midst of the concert. As much as he liked the performance, he wished that a Lila concert would allow him to listen to the person he had come to see. After the concert, Douglas joined a dozen other people who had somehow gotten backstage passes as well. Douglas stood back and allowed the others to gush to Lila and the other performers about how great the concert was. Lila was gracious and stood with several of them as they asked to have their photos taken. All the time, Lila didn’t look at Douglas at all, and he wondered if she had some issues with him that he wasn’t aware of. After about 20 minutes, a young woman with a headset tapped Douglas on the shoulder. “Congressman Washington? Could you come with me, please?” Curious, Douglas followed the young woman down a narrow hallway to a door. She pulled out a key to unlock the door and opened it. She stepped aside and gestured for Douglas to enter the room. Douglas quickly realized that he was alone in Lila’s dressing room. He stepped up to the changing desk and looked around. He noticed a row of photos there. One of them had Lila standing between Congressman Doyle and Senator Collins at some gathering outside. Another had a photo of her with the President at the Oval Office. As he looked at the pictures, he heard a noise behind him, and the door opened. Before he could react, Lila burst into the room and threw herself into his arms. She kissed him long and deep. Surprised, Douglas didn’t resist. After a long moment, Lila pulled away, but only by inches. Her face almost touching his, she smiled at him. “Hello D.J.,” she said smiling slightly. “Hello yourself,” he said, still holding her. “You know, of course, that I am married.” “So what? I am too. In fact, I’ve been married three times. Doesn’t mean anything.” Douglas reached up and gently pulled her arms from around his neck. “I’m sorry you think so. Ruth and I are very happy together.” “Ruth? You mean that trashy race car driver we met in San Francisco?” “The very same. But Ruth would probably tell you that she’s cleaned up her act some since those days.” “I would hope so,” Lila said. “I’d think a lot more would be expected of a congressman’s wife.” She put her arms around Douglas’ neck again. “Now if I were Mrs. Washington….” “What? You’d promise to stay home and not flirt with other men? I don’t think so,” Douglas said quietly, a faint smile on his own lips. She pulled away again, and stepped over to a pack of cigarettes in the corner. She put one in her mouth and lit it up as she talked. “Well, I would promise, but you know where promises leave you.” Douglas nodded. “Like you promising me we were going to be a team.” “And you promising me a career.” “Well, looks like you got your promise at least,” he said. “Even if I wasn’t part of it.” “Looks like you did okay for yourself,” she said. “Even if you did end up with that punky girl.” She motioned to a flat white box on the table in front of Douglas. “Hand me those, won’t you?” Douglas picked up the plastic box and opened it. Inside were a variety of pills. “What are these?” he asked, then passed them to her. “Never you mind,” she said. “Just something to help bring me down after the concert.” “Looks like you have a whole pharmacy here.” He watched while she chose a yellow pill and washed it down with a drink from a bottle of bourbon. “Well, Bennie—you remember Bennie, don’t you? Oh, that’s right, I got with him after the Super Bowl—Bennie takes good care of me. He knows the business and has taught me a lot since then. He’s not only my manager but takes care of my investments too.” “You think that’s wise?” Douglas asked. Lila shrugged. “I’ve got so much money I don’t need to worry about it.” Douglas raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “I see you know Senator Collins and Congressman Doyle,” he said finally. Lila nodded. “You’d be surprised how many people I know these days. It comes in handy. But you should know that. You would never have gotten as far as you have without knowing the right people. Am I right?” Douglas nodded hesitantly. “It helps, I guess.” “Speaking of knowing people, I am going to be doing a private performance for some people in high places in a few weeks. It’s at the request of Vice President Annaway, and is going to be at his place in Martha’s Vineyard. I’d like to see you there.” Douglas shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything about it. I am low man on the totem pole in Congress. You have to remember that I am only a freshman congressman. Not much more than my intern.” “Aw posh,” she said, once again. “If you’re not invited, I’ll make sure you get invited. Just plan on coming. And plan on bringing that little bag lady of a wife.” “OK,” Douglas said quietly. Somehow he felt that Ruth would not be comfortable going to the weekend event. But something told him it was important that both of them be there. # # #
Two days went by, and Michelle did not get the phone call back from Roy Bassett that she expected. She had not only contacted him, but tried other contacts in the government, and several of her old friends in the news media. Not only did she have no luck, most didn’t even bother to call her back. “I’m sorry,” she said to Vasily on their cab ride to the airport. “I tried. But one of the things you learn in this business is patience. Sometimes the story just falls together. Often it is like breaking down a mountain with a toothpick. You just have to keep at it.” “Tenacity,” said Vasily. “My mother told me this word, and told me I need to develop it. She said it was my father’s greatest talent.” “Harris does have tenacity,” she said, nodding, then slapped Vasily on the shoulder. “And don’t start talking about your father in past tense. We will find him. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon.” Michelle looked ahead at the bumper-to-bumper traffic in front of them. She rapped on the glass between them and the driver. “Any way around all this? He’s going to be late for his flight.” The cabbie, a man in his 50s, turned and shrugged. “Construction’s got the freeway all tied up,” he said with a thick Jersey accent. “Let me try another way.” “Do it,” she said. Michelle watched as he made a quick right turn and took an exit that she hadn’t even seen. The cab raced through empty streets beneath the Brooklyn Bridge and past warehouses. Suddenly, the cab pulled over to the side of an empty street. The driver switched off the engine. “Hey!” Michelle said. “What’s the deal here! You trying to rob us or something?” “Quite the opposite,” the cabby said, his thick Jersey accent gone, replaced by a Russian one. “I am Mikhael Gorovko. I understand you are looking for me.” Michelle stared at the man through the plexiglass partition. This was the man who had spent eight years with Harris Borden in San Dimas Prison. She shook her head in disbelief. “You…you’re not the way I envisioned you.” Gorovko smiled. “Few of us are. But if you want, I can look differently.” “I’ve heard that about you,” she said. “A regular chameleon.” “How can I be of service to you, young woman,” Gorovko said. “First, it’s been a while since anyone called me young, so thank you for that. Second, I need to introduce you to someone.” Gorovko nodded. “Vasily Dubrovik, also known as Harris Borden Junior. I have overheard your conversation. Also, you don’t think I would come join you without doing my homework, do you?” “I want…I need for you to help us find my father.” The words came out of Vasily’s mouth in halting English. Quickly, Gorovko switched to Russian and started asking the young man some questions. Vasily responded hesitantly at first, then became more confident as they talked some more. Finally Gorovko made a comment that made Vasily smile, and Gorovko then chuckled. “I will help you,” Gorovko then said in English. “I realize that you want to remain invisible, but it is important that you help us find him,” said Michelle. “No.” “No?” Michelle echoed, unsure she had heard right. “You will find him. I will go get him,” said Gorovko firmly. “You have more information available to you. I have a talent for getting in and out of places. Together we will make this happen.” Michelle stared at the man who sat in the driver’s seat then nodded. Gorovko smiled at her, then winked at Vasily. “Every son needs to know his father, no?” he said, nodding to himself, then turning around to start the cab again. “Come, let’s get you to the airport.”
|
|
|
Elijah
Jul 13, 2010 15:56:36 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jul 13, 2010 15:56:36 GMT -6
Chapter 9 The days turned into weeks, and Harris Borden became used to the idea of a hospital room as his home. About a week after their conversation about Katya’s death, Beldon had Harris moved to a solitary cell, which seemed somehow familiar to Harris. The plus side of the arrangement was that Harris’ restraints were taken off, and he had limited access to an outdoor courtyard. The courtyard had only one access—through Harris’ room—and was surrounded by sheer concrete walls that went up for 25 feet. Harris reveled in the hour or so each day that he was able to go into the sunshine, although he could see nothing but sky when he went outside. Nevertheless, Harris fell further and further into a depression. The news of his wife, of how he had spent the past 20 years, bore on him like a heavy weight. What was the purpose of life for him? Would he end up dying in this mental hospital someday? What Harris didn’t know was that the medication he continued to receive included a depressant that were specifically intended to get the results he was seeing. After moving him to his new quarters, Beldon left him alone for a week. When the week was up, he felt it was time for a visit. “How are you doing, Harris?” Beldon asked, as Harris sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner of his cell. In response, Harris merely shrugged. “Believe it or not, what you are feeling is actually a good sign,” Beldon said. “If you were still caught up in your fantasy land of denial, you would have dismissed all that I have told you as some sort of brainwashing technique. As I have said before, all I am trying to do is help you, Harris.” He put his hand on Harris’ shoulder. “You do believe I want to help, don’t you?” Harris shrugged again, then slowly nodded. “I have a question. Why don’t I have a television, or radio or reading materials in here? Is there something you don’t want me to know?” Beldon smiled and shook his head. “It’s all part of your treatment. As you know, most of that stimulus isn’t good for you, and it’s doubly hazardous when your psyche is as precarious as yours is right now. I want you to have time to think through what has happened and who you are.” “What about a Bible?” Harris asked. “Same thing. I don’t want you distracted by the fiction that it brings into your mind.” “Fiction?” Harris said. “It’s not fiction.” “I realize that you are a pastor, Harris, but it is critical at this point in your treatment that we deal with what is, not any of those pie-in-the-sky ideas that come with being a believer.” Harris stared at Beldon. “I can’t believe what I am hearing. You think the Bible is just pie in the sky? It’s been the foundation of civilization for the western world. The ten commandments alone are the basis for the law system that keeps our society from killing itself.” Beldon smiled thinly. “I have a few friends who are scholars in history and sociology who might disagree with you. But what’s important right now is what’s best for you, and that you trust me. You need to deal in facts, not fantasy. You may believe in God, but what has He done for you lately? Do you really think God would leave you here for the past 20 years if He were merciful? And after what you have done, do you really want to stand in front of God, the eternal judge? “No. You have enough guilt as it is. Let’s work on the here and now. And the first step is stopping all that faith stuff. The only faith you need is faith in the person who can get you well. And that person is standing right here in front of you.” Confused, Harris stared at Beldon for a long while. Then the psychiatrist picked up his clipboard and made a few notations before speaking. “You’ve come a long way, Harris. I don’t want to see you ruin it by bringing in negative outside influences.” He talked as he wrote, then clicked his ballpoint closed, looked at Harris and nodded, and walked out the door. The heavy metal door clicked shut and locked after him.
Dr. Hugh Beldon left Harris Borden’s room in a positive mood. There were many indications that Harris was taking well to the procedure, and he had reported the progress to the Attorney General. Miriam Case-Hudson was pleased with the news, and rewarded Beldon by allowing him cell phone access again. It had been close to three weeks since he had left his home in the Hamptons, and he had a pretty good idea how Ambrosia would react to his call. “Hugh!” Ambrosia responded. “Where are you? Are you all right?” “I don’t really know where I am, Ambrosia, and even if I did know, I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “Suffice it to say, I am well and being taken care of.” Ambrosia sighed. “You have taken some strange and frightening assignments in the past, but this one takes the cake. How dare they keep you incommunicado for three weeks! That’s unconstitutional!” “That’s the United States government,” Beldon said dryly. “At least you know I am OK now. Tell me, you are keeping your hands out of my files aren’t you?” Ambrosia hesitated, and immediately Beldon knew that there was trouble. “I…I just got into a few of them looking for clues as to where you had gone,” she said quietly, her voice suddenly shy. “Ambrosia, we have already had this discussion! Those files are confidential! That means for my eyes only.” “I understand,” she said quietly. After a pause, she added. “Are you sure this call is safe.” “Perfectly sure,” he said, knowing as he said it that very likely his phone was tapped and the phone call was being recorded. “Just promise me you will stay away from my files, away from my desk and out of my office!” “I promise,” she said, sounding like the school girl that Beldon had fallen in love with so many years ago. Her voice made him soften. “Oh, honey, every time I take one of these assignments, I swear it will be the last one,” he said. “I miss you terribly.” “I miss you too, sweetheart,” she said. “Do you have any idea when you will be coming home?” “Absolutely no idea,” he said. A few minutes later, when he hung up the phone, he knew that his return home would be sooner rather than later. Knowing his wife as he did, he had no doubt that she had been tampering with classified government files. And if he wanted to avoid spending the next 20 years in a Federal prison, he had better get there and do something about it.
Ambrosia hung up the phone, sighing in relief to know that Hugh was all right. Then she felt a pang of regret. She hated to lie to him; in fact, there had been only one or two instances in their long marriage where she had found herself in that situation. But she also knew that he would be upset—and possibly put in danger—if he knew the truth. She went back to the living room and took the digital recorder off of pause. The long haired, bearded man she now knew as Harris Borden continued to preach. She watched his presentation, just as she had done every night for the past three weeks. # # # Harris sat in the chair in his room, even though the time had come for him to go outside and see the sky. His depression had overwhelmed him. The words of Dr. Beldon made logical sense to Harris, and more than anything he wanted to be well and know the truth about who he was and how life was. But the earlier feeling of having no purpose was doubly reinforced. If the Bible was fiction, if God didn’t exist, how could he survive? What reason was there to continue without a wife, without a life, without a God? He stared at the ceiling, and for the first time in many years, he felt that there was nothing and no one beyond the plaster and sheetrock above him. He started to pray, but felt no words form in his mouth. All he could do was stare at the white paint on the ceiling. He didn’t know how long he sat there, just staring, before he heard a knock at the door. A young black man came in wearing blue scrubs, carrying a plastic food tray. He looked to be about 17, was tall and thin but healthy. He locked eyes with Harris and immediately smiled in such a sincere way that Harris had no choice but to smile in return. “Good afternoon,” the young man said. “I am Fred, and this is your lunch. I hope you like creamed corn and sweet potatoes.” He paused, looking at the tray he held. “And some sort of meat patty—not sure what it is—but it is bound to be good.” He looked up and smiled again at Harris. Harris smiled, then frowned as he looked at the young man. The food service worker was a lot more friendly than any he had seen before this. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen any food service workers before this. The tray had always been delivered through a slot in the door. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here,” Harris said quietly. “Nonsense,” Fred said. “I am here, so that must mean I am supposed to BE here.” He laid the tray down on the table next to Harris’ bed. “Besides, you look like you could use some cheering up.” Harris sighed. “I guess I could.” He stared at the floor for a moment, then looked up at Fred. “Have you ever felt like everything you’ve lived for has been pulled out from under you? Everything you have believed in has been called a lie?” Fred smiled again and stepped forward to Harris. “Having your beliefs called a lie doesn’t make them a lie, Pastor Borden. You should know that.” “How did you know that I was a pastor?” Harris asked, surprised. Fred shook his head. “You said was. Don’t you mean am?” “What?” “You still are a pastor, aren’t you?” Harris stared at the young man. “You need a congregation to be a pastor.” “What about all those sermons you gave while you were in solitary? Preaching to the camera? You knew, didn’t you, that someone was watching them. You knew that the Holy Spirit could use you to touch someone’s heart, even when you were locked behind closed doors for those 12 years.” Harris continued to stare, and as he heard his words and saw the young man’s face, his memory became crystal clear. All the drugs in the world could not have shaken Harris from the realization that he WAS a Champion, he DID have wife and son, and that he had spent the past 12 years in solitary confinement. And then he recognized the Messenger. “It’s you,” he said. “Good to see you.” The Messenger smiled back, the same deep eyes boring into Harris’. “You know, we have always been here,” he told Harris. “And we always will.”
Douglas rapped on the edge of the office door for Congressman Byron Doyle. It was late, the rest of Doyle’s staff had gone home, and Doyle sat behind his desk with his feet on the edge. His tie was askew and his right hand held a drink. A bottle of scotch stood on the desk in front of him. Douglas could tell that it was a new bottle that had almost been finished in the past few hours. “Come in, Douglas,” Doyle said, his voice a little too exuberant. He motioned for Douglas to take a seat with his right hand, and a little scotch sloshed out and onto the carpet. Douglas stepped forward meekly and took the seat. “Drink?” Doyle gestured to the bottle, but Douglas shook his head. “Workaholic I see, just like me,” Doyle said, smiling out of one side of his mouth. “You know, of course, that the number of hours you work has no bearing on whether you get reelected. Your constituents have no idea whether you’re in the office or not. I’ve known many representatives that spent most of their tenure on the golf course, and still got reelected.” Douglas shrugged. “I’m not trying to earn brownie points, sir. It just that the new job has a terrific learning curve. With my wife away, there’s really no reason to go home.” Doyle smirked at the comment. “Hang around here long enough and you will find that this place becomes your home. The wife becomes either another obligation or a tool you use on social occasions. Sex? There’s lots of opportunities beyond the home front. You just have to be discreet.” He shrugged, and stared off in the distance as if he were either speaking to himself or rehearsing for some future speech. Douglas cleared his throat, and Doyle turned back to him. His face almost registered surprise that Douglas was there. “I came by to tell you I’m sorry the vote didn’t go your way,” Douglas said in quiet measured tones. Doyle took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. Then he wiped the sad look from his face and switched on his political face, the smile he used for the millions who had voted him into office. “Hey, it would have been more work,” Doyle said. “This way I have more time for myself.” “You would have made a good Speaker of the House,” Douglas said. “No,” Doyle said. “I would have made an excellent Speaker of the House.” Douglas nodded silently. “Unfortunately, the powers that be didn’t see things the same way,” Doyle said, as if he were revealing a secret. “Powers that be?” Douglas echoed. “Son, how old are you?” Doyle asked, still staring at the ceiling and waving his scotch around. “Twenty-nine, sir,” Douglas said. “Twenty-nine? Good grief. When I was 29…well, I never was 29. You’re still green and wet behind the ears. You play your cards right and you will be here in 20, 30 years.” “I plan on doing my best to represent my constituents’ interests here, sir.” “Constituents? Bah. You have to know how things work around here. There are the constituents.” Doyle put his hand out flat with the palm facing the floor a few inches above the carpet. “Then there’s us working stiffs.” He put his hand up about a foot higher. “And then there are the powers that be.” He raised his hand up about shoulder high. “The POB—powers that be—are the ones who really run things. You may think that I am a heavy-duty player around here, a mover and shaker. But I am just a messenger boy. I do what they say, I keep my job, I go up the ladder. I mess up, I fall out of favor and they find someone else to climb the ladder. Apparently they found something that I did they didn’t like.” Douglas’ eyes narrowed. “So who are we talking about? Who are these people with so much power?” Doyle spun around and looked out his window at the dark street and the capital building in the distance. “There are actually three of them—I call them the triad. You’d think that their power would be directly related to their elected position. But it doesn’t work that way. Vote them out of office, and they will reappear somewhere else.” He spun and looked Douglas in the eye, emphasizing each word with a hammy index finger pointed at Douglas’ chest. “The key to power in this city is knowing people’s flaws,” he said. “Letting them know that you will help them—for a price. And pretty soon, you help enough people, you can start calling in favors. That’s how these people keep being resurrected. Kind of like ‘Night of the Living Dead.’” He chuckled at his own joke. Douglas realized that the old congressman wanted to talk, and he sensed that he was ready to share some important information. He sat quietly and listened. “This type of politics has been going on for 200 years,” Doyle said finally. “Longer, if you consider what the Roman Empire was like. But this triad—they’re different. They have major, major aspirations. And I am not just talking about holding onto their jobs. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what they have planned. “Before they’re done, they will not only be running this town, they’ll be running the country.” Douglas tried to stay quiet, but Doyle’s words made him speak up. “Is that what the Homeowners Reform Act is all about?” Doyle stared at Douglas, who wondered if the old man would explode in response. Instead, his face slowly broke into a grin. “The triad. What does that remind you of? The three branches—executive, judicial, legislative?” “Executive?” Douglas said. “Is the president involved with this?” “President Webb? Ho, no,” Doyle said. “He’s a speed bump on their way to what they want. If he doesn’t get out of the way, they are going to run him over. Project Kryptonite will take care of that.” “Project Kryptonite?” Douglas repeated. “What’s that?” Doyle didn’t respond, but again grinned at Douglas. “Yessir, they hold all the cards. Including a wild card, a joker by the name of White Raven. Get in their way and you will learn all about these guys.” “But isn’t White Raven just a private security company to supplement the National Guard?” Douglas asked. “What do they have to do with anything?” “Every wonder why your predecessor was found drowned in a pool that was closed to the public, and there was no police investigation? Ever wonder why three other congressmen—Hawthorne, Polk and Bleimacher—all died within a week of each other?” He counted on his fingers as he shared the names with Douglas. Doyle continued to grin. “Do a little research. Talk to others who knew these men and find out how they felt about the Homeowners Reform Act. Then look up Major General William Medfield and see what you find. Finally, ask who he reports to, and you will see where the real power lies.” Douglas’ mind spun as he tried to absorb all that Doyle was sharing with him. Doyle looked at Douglas, then at the empty scotch glass that he held in his hand. Finally he frowned and shook his head. “That’s the scotch talking. I’ve told you things you will learn soon enough but probably need to learn on your own.” He sighed. “I’m just a tired old man. What I wouldn’t give to be 29 again, to have the fire that you have.” He picked up the bottle of scotch and the glass and put them on a silver platter on the counter behind him. He stood and Douglas realized that he was giving him the cue to go. “Thank you for sharing with me, Congressman Doyle,” Douglas said, still a little self-conscious. “Thank you for being a good listener, Douglas. And shoot, call me Byron when we are alone. I know I can be a son of a call girl when we are in public. That’s my reputation. But here? You’ll learn I’m a girl thingy cat.” He chuckled and slapped Douglas on the shoulder, leading him out into the hallway.
Douglas thought about all that Doyle had shared with him all the way home. He drove his Toyota 4Runner into the parking garage beneath their townhouse and parked it. He took the elevator up to the third floor to their Georgetown townhouse. He put the key into the door in the darkened doorway, turned it and pushed the door open. Inside the front door stood Ruth. She looked like she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug and kiss him, and he would not have resisted her. But for some reason, both of them held back. Then he saw the ticket stubs in her hand. “Hi,” she said awkwardly. “Hello yourself,” he said in response. He put his briefcase down and stepped forward to kiss her. She turned her face and he ended up kissing her on the cheek. “Welcome home,” he said as he stepped back. “Thanks,” Ruth said. “I just got here too. It was an eventful trip, and I am glad to be home.” “Glad you’re home too.” “Are you?” she asked. Douglas frowned. “What do you think? Of course, I’m glad you’re home. This place was cold and dark and empty without you. What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong,” she said, turning away and throwing the ticket stubs down on the kitchen counter behind her. “What? Are you upset because I went to a Lila concert?” “And backstage of course,” she added. “No, I’m not mad.” “Of course you’re mad. You’re mad and you’re jealous.” “I’m not jealous. I know you did it as part of the assignment.” “But you wish I didn’t have to have anything to do with her,” he said, following her into the bedroom. “Yes,” she said. Douglas could see that her face was clouding up and tears were falling. “Yes, I wish that at least you would have waited for me to go with you.” “Would you? Would you have gone with me?” Ruth turned to Douglas and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally she said, “That’s beside the point. I feel like you are going behind my back to see an old girlfriend. Someone you knew I was sensitive about.” “First, I don’t have any control over your sensitivity. I’m sorry if she makes you uncomfortable. But you knew that sooner or later we would cross paths together. Especially knowing what our overall plan was. Second, you’d better get comfortable with the idea. Because you are going with me to a congressional weekend. And guess who will be the featured entertainment?” Ruth’s face cringed. They stood facing each other for a long while, both unable to speak. Finally, she nodded and stepped forward, reaching her arms out to hug him. Douglas responded by opening his arms and taking her in. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know I am sensitive. I shouldn’t be.” “Yes, you shouldn’t be,” he repeated. “Because you are the one I love. And this is strictly business. Heretic business.” They held each other for a long time, before Douglas asked her to tell her how the trip went. She told him about meeting Josh and the others, about the equipment they purchased and the recruitment of the others. Finally she told him about the wild ride through the streets of Los Angeles. “Pretty wicked,” he said. “So you never learned who the guys were?” Ruth shook her head. “Not a clue.” “Well, I have a few names that we need to plug into our Heretic database. Starting with a group called White Raven.” Congressman Doyle knew better than to drive home when he was drunk. He called the congressional chauffeur service from his office, and a limousine met him at the front steps of the office building. It was a little bit of a drive to his home in Manassas, Virginia, but the back of the limousine was structured to make long trips short, whether you were interested in entertainment, or getting work done. Doyle was interested in sleep. The driver was someone he had had many times before, and though he never bothered to learn first names of hired help, he knew that this driver was familiar with the road to his house, and so he closed the partition between his area and the front seat and closed his eyes. He woke up when he realized that the car had stopped. He thought he might be home already, but heard a train honking in the distance, and there was no railroad near his home. He hit the switch and rolled the partition down to talk to the driver. “Hey, where are we?” he started to say, then realized that the driver was not in his seat. As if on cue, the train horn honked again, and he looked out his side window to see the headlight for the train headed straight for him. He tried rolling down the window, but the electric window control didn’t work. He grabbed for the door handle, and the door lock, which was operated electronically from the front, didn’t budge. It was then, that Doyle’s brain shook itself out of his drunken stupor and became clear. He was going to die. The window in the back was tinted, but the bright light of the oncoming train shone through it like sunlight. For a brief moment, Doyle considered trying to climb through the open window between the back seat and the driver’s area, but his overweight and age made him realize that it would be impossible in the seconds he had left. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened the plastic photo area and looked at two photos there. One was an aged and weathered photo of two small children. The other photo, facing it, was of a young woman—his estranged wife. He stared at the two photos as the light of the oncoming train filled his compartment.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jul 13, 2010 15:57:34 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jul 13, 2010 15:57:34 GMT -6
Chapter 10
Douglas and Ruth stayed up much of the night. Not only did Douglas take time to share with Ruth what he had learned about the Homeowners Reform Bill, the four congressmen who had been killed, the triad and Project Kryptonite, they had been away from each other for a couple of weeks. They took care of business, then they spent time getting to know each other as a couple. When Ruth got up, she found Douglas in the living room watching the morning news. She came up behind him and kissed him on the neck. “Morning sunshine,” she said sweetly. Douglas didn’t respond but continued staring at the screen. Ruth started to protest, then saw what he was looking at. News footage showed a black limousine that she recognized as identical to the one which had brought them to the Capital building two weeks before. Inset was a photo of senior congressman Byron Doyle. It was only then that she saw the headline below the image: New York Congressman Dies in Train Crash. She stepped forward and looked into the white face of Douglas. He seemed speechless. Suddenly he opened his mouth. “I…I was just with him last night.” Ruth shook her head. “It can’t be coincidence. Your talking to him about the other congressmen and everything else—and then this. Can it?” Douglas looked up at her, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe in coincidences…not any more. This was no accident.” “They are playing hardball,” Ruth said. “Really…killing five congressmen? What audacity.” Douglas stared at the screen for another minute in silence as it showed the limousine that was folded in half a hundred feet down the railroad tracks from where it had crossed. Then he spoke up. “Doyle said that he was no longer their favorite. But would they kill him just because he fell out of favor? Or was it something else?” “What are you saying,” Ruth asked. “I’m wondering if our private conversation wasn’t so private,” Douglas said. Ruth’s eyes widened. “You’re wondering if his office was wiretapped. And if his is, what about yours?” Douglas shook his head. “There’s that, but if they heard him telling me what he did, it doesn’t matter. They will be coming after me.” Ruth’s mouth dropped open. “You don’t believe that.” Douglas looked at her dryly. “If their secret is so important they are willing to kill a senior congressman who was in line to be Speaker of the House, what’s another congressman who hardly makes a blip on the radar?” “You’re not going anywhere today,” Ruth said, jumping up and grabbing the phone. “You are calling in sick.” “That’s understandable considering what happened. They will probably cancel session today. But what about tomorrow? And the next day?” Ruth thought about what he was saying and put the receiver down. “Another thought. If they are willing to tap a U.S. congressman’s office, what about his home?” Douglas’ eyes narrowed. “We haven’t had any plumbers or electricians or pest control here since we moved in. I doubt they have gotten this far.” “Regardless, I will have Bobby sweep the place when they get here.” “Speaking of Bobby and the boys, when are we going to be hearing from them?” “Josh is fast tracking the 20 leading candidates. He hopes to have them on board in about six weeks. The others will be following several months from now.” “What are we going to do in the meantime?” Ruth shrugged. “Guess it is just you and me. Let’s give them a call and see what we can find out.” It was early eastern time, and three hours earlier in Los Angeles, but Ruth had no compunction to call her brother. Surprisingly, he answered on the first ring. “Hey Sis, I wondered if I would hear from you. We just saw on the news about the congressman.” “Yeah, that’s partly why we called. Things might be getting pretty hot around here. How soon can we expect help?” “I can’t promise much as far as strong backs for the next few weeks. You’re pretty much on your own.” “That’s what I was afraid of.” “Yeah, sorry. But the reason why I am awake is because we just had an all-night meeting with Bobby. He has something to discuss with you. Here, let me put him on.” There was a pause as Ruth waited for Bobby to come on the phone. “Hey Daddy Warbucks, it’s your major investment speaking.” “Bobby, I consider you my miracle worker. Please tell me you have miracles in store for us.” “Well, actually I have. The weapons are little further down the track, but I have something significant in mind as far as intelligence gathering and secure communication. That’s at least something.” “Intelligence gathering? Secure communication? That’s a lot. Tell me more.” “I have a way to guarantee we’ll be able to communicate with each other face to face and with audio with no chance of anyone overhearing us.” “Fantastic.” “And this method I’m talking about will also allow us to access not only established intelligence sources, but develop our own electronic sources. We’ll not only be able to access security cameras throughout the country, and eventually around the world. We’ll be able to gather info from corporate databases and…AND…crunch that information on a real-time basis. That’s just the surface level stuff. As I get more familiar with it, I am sure we will be able to do stuff that we can only dream of.” “Sounds fantastic. What’s the price tag?” “Uh…as you can imagine, it’ll be expensive.” “Yeah, I figured that. On the way home, I contacted a friend of mine in Switzerland who is willing to help the Foundation get you whatever funds you need. So, what kind of money are we talking about?” Bobby mumbled his response. “What was that?” “I said, it’s only $93 million.” “Ninety-three million? Ninety-three million?” “That’s what I said. Let me explain. I have a friend who works for a major telecommunications corporation. They launched a new satellite two years ago. Right after that, they fired their CEO and the rest of the top staff. The new CEO wants to clear the decks and has ordered a new satellite be launched. What we are buying is a satellite.” Ruth’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Hearing no response, Bobby continued. “The satellite would be ours, free and clear. It’s already in geosynchronous orbit over North America, and can be rerouted as we see fit. They would supply data crunching through their mainframe, free of charge, although we need to eventually get our own. The data crunching will be done remotely and they won’t even know that we are using any of their bandwidth. The satellite will let us talk and share data without big brother looking at us, and will let us learn what we need to when we need to. Considering what we are getting, I think $93 million is a steal.” His voice sounded nervous as he ended his pitch. “Don’t you?” Ruth paused another long moment, then nodded to the phone. “I do, Bobby. It’s daring and it’s just what we need. Again, I am pleased with your work.” Bobby giggled on the other end of the phone. “I hoped so. You should receive a package in the mail this afternoon. It’ll provide you with our new method of communication. We can have the satellite access as soon as the money is transferred.” “I’ll take care of it this afternoon.” “Ruth, there’s one more thing.” “What is it, Bobby? You want a new set of golf clubs?” He paused and then chuckled nervously. “We’re going to have a lot of information passing back and forth, and for the most part, it’ll go through me. I’m the bottleneck and the person most at risk. If I get captured, the whole system goes down.” “So…?” Ruth asked. “So I want to buy an RV. I will take Pee Wee with me as driver and bodyguard, but it should also be rigged where I can drive it. We’ll hook it up with a satellite dish. And the plan is to keep moving. If we can’t be locked down to one location, it’s less likely that they will catch us.” “Brilliant,” Ruth answered. “And while you’re at it, equip it with a big screen TV. You deserve it.” “Really? Thanks Boss.” Ruth hung up the phone and explained to Douglas the conversation they had just had. He shook his head when she explained that the Heretics were on their way to owning their own satellite. “That’ll be great in the long run,” he said. “But we need answers now.” “What do you have in mind?” Ruth asked. “Doyle said something about the triad representing the executive, judicial and legislative branches. Any use of White Raven has to come from the Attorney General’s office. Is that a coincidence, or what?” “You said you didn’t believe in coincidences.” “I don’t,” he said. “What I do believe in is the value of investigative journalists. And I know one of them who can help us find out what we need to know.” “Even if she doesn’t tell us anything new about White Raven, it might get a rise out of the A.G. Anyone who asks the right questions might need some backup.” “Oh, I don’t expect Michelle Kinkaid to stand under the A.G.’s wrath alone. I do expect her to ask the right questions.” He reached for the phone and began dialing. “But she’s an author these days, not a journalist,” said Ruth. “What makes you think she will be willing to do this?” Douglas paused as he finished dialing the number and smiled. “Obviously, you don’t know Michelle Kinkaid like I do.” # # # Douglas was right. Michelle was overjoyed to help, and intrigued when they shared what they had learned. Douglas informed her that Miriam Case-Hudson had scheduled a press conference for that afternoon to respond to the death of Congressman Doyle. “But I’m a little concerned about you getting press credentials at so short a notice,” Douglas added. “Not a problem,” Michelle said. “I’ll just give my old boss Paul Meddows a call. He’s news editor at the Washington Post. I am sure he would love to extend press credentials to me in exchange for anything I can dig up.” “Remember, we’re not totally sure the A.G. is involved in this. So rattle her cage and see how she reacts. That will at least tell us if we are pursuing the right person or not.” “Consider her cage rattled. Look D.J., I’ve been doing this a long time. Just trust me, OK?” Trust me, Michelle thought as she took her seat that afternoon for the press conference in the auditorium in the Department of Justice. She looked around her and recognized a familiar face or two. She waved at one of the Associated Press reporters she had worked with a decade ago. But for the most part, the reporters surrounding her were people she had never met. One or two of them looked at her as if she didn’t belong, but other than that, she felt right at home. Miriam Case-Hudson was introduced by her press agent, and the Attorney General began her prepared speech. She told the waiting reporters that preliminary autopsy reports had confirmed what everyone had already suspected, that Byron Doyle had died from massive injuries sustained by a collision with the oncoming train. Because of his elected position, the Secret Service and the Federal Bureau of Investigation were continuing their investigation into facts surrounding the incident, but it seemed clear cut. The driver’s body was never found, and law enforcement was looking for him. But local police and the FBI suspected that the engine had stalled and the driver had simply panicked and left the limo to save himself. “Any questions?” she asked at the end. Michelle wasted no time getting her hand up, but she was the third person called for questions. She stood and spoke clearly. “Michelle Kinkaid, Washington Post. Madam Attorney General, is there any connection between the death of Congressman Doyle and the private security company called White Raven?” Michelle heard muttering around her from other reporters, but she paid them no mind. Case-Hudson paused as if caught off guard, then smiled at Michelle. “No connection at all. Next question?” “Because it’s been rumored that White Raven was involved in not only the death of Congressman Doyle, but also in the deaths of four other representatives in the past few weeks.” Case-Hudson paused again, and Michelle could see anger coming into her face. “Ms. Kinkaid, those are libelous charges. I don’t know where you are getting your information, but those charges are completely unfounded.” Michelle recognized the look on Case-Hudson’s face, and knew that she had struck a nerve. Other seasoned reporters sensed it too. There was blood in the water, and the sharks were beginning to circle. Case-Hudson motioned for another reporter to ask a question, but Michelle remained standing and spoke loudly before the other had a chance to speak. “Just one more question, Madam Attorney General. What can you tell us about Project Kryptonite?” Michelle smiled thinly and watched Miriam Case-Hudson’s reaction. She seemed completely off guard. She paused for a lot longer than seemed normal for someone who was about to deny something existed. Michelle waited for the inevitable denial, but was caught off guard by the words that sprang from the lips of the Attorney General. “No comment.” Those two words jumped out at the reporters around her, but Michelle wasn’t finished. She drew her last weapon. “Isn’t Project Kryptonite the name for the effort to discredit the President of the United States in order to blackmail or control him?” Case-Hudson’s face went from pink to red to crimson in a matter of seconds. Without another word, she turned and left the podium. Her press agent stepped forward and said five words: “This press conference is over.” Now all eyes were on Michelle. A dozen reporters turned to her, asking where she had gotten her information. Michelle smiled and told them, “You’re reporters. So find out for yourself.” She felt better than she had in a long time.
As Michelle left the press conference and the Department of Justice building, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Douglas. Walking down Pennsylvania Avenue toward her parked car, she told him what had transpired. “How did you know to ask about Project Kryptonite? I mean, the part about discrediting the president?” “Intuition, I guess,” Michelle said, crossing Ninth Street. “I mean it just makes sense. Anybody who knows anything about Kryptonite knows that its sole purpose is to bring down Superman. And who is the obvious choice to play Superman?” “The President,” Douglas said. “Of course.” “Yeah, well, I figured it was worth a shot. Good to see that it drew blood.” She looked up to see the light turn green above her, and started to cross at the crosswalk. She felt a hand reach out and grab her sleeve and pull her back. A half-second later, a brown delivery van roared past her, missing her by inches. She had had a green light, but the van had come out of nowhere to turn right. She turned to see a young woman holding her sleeve, next to a very big Hispanic man. “I’m Ruth,” the woman said, smiling. “And this is Rojo. And that van was meant for you.” “Hello, Ruth,” said Michelle. “You must be D.J.’s better half.” “I am. But right now, I am your guardian angel. Actually, Rojo will be for the next few days.” “I can see that,” Michelle said, turning back to the street and looking after the van. “I hope that was the last of them.” “I doubt that very much,” Ruth said. “But we will be watching out for you.” “Well, one thing is certain,” Michelle said. “We got their attention.” # # # Half an hour before the scheduled press conference, Douglas and Ruth received a large package delivered by courier. Inside was an electronic tablet the size of a large laptop, as well as a couple of smaller pieces. Ruth saw that one looked like a regular cell phone, while another was an earpiece and attached microphone. There was also a small digital camera in the package. Douglas turned the screen on and it went to a menu that listed Bobby, Josh, and the others. She clicked on Bobby’s name and after a brief moment, his image came into view. Bobby smiled back at them from his wheelchair. “I see we are connected,” Bobby said. “Hey, this is nice,” Ruth said. “Well worth $93 million.” Bobby smiled nervously. “Well, I hope it will do more than just put us face to face. The other parts will connect via the tablet. If you are in the field, it will probably be easier to connect through one of the other two options. Just leave the tablet somewhere safe and it will serve as a home base for you.” “What’s the digital camera for?” “Pick it up and turn it on,” Bobby said. Douglas did so. The image showed up on the LED screen on the back, and Ruth noticed it was an inset image on the tablet as well. “Hey, that’s nice,” she said. “That way if I am in the field, Douglas can see what I am doing.” “I am getting the same image here. There’s also a smaller camera imbedded in the headpiece. If you see something that you need analyzed, we can do it real time from here.” “Speaking of fieldwork, don’t we need two of these? I will be traveling, and Ruth will too,” Douglas said. Bobby shrugged. “These were the first. I will have a few more prepped and ready to go in a week or so. We will also need backups.” “Fantastic,” Ruth said. “So when do we take it into the field?” “I know just the time and place,” Douglas said, looking at Ruth. “It’s coming up in two weeks.” “You’re talking about the congressional weekend,” Ruth said. “Are we ready to take on the United States Secret Service?” Ruth and Douglas looked at each other, then at Bobby, who shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough,” Bobby said.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jul 13, 2010 15:58:30 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jul 13, 2010 15:58:30 GMT -6
Chapter 11 Despite the offer of flying Douglas and Ruth directly into Martha’s Vineyard for the congressional weekend, the Washingtons decided to drive. They left early and drove from their Washington townhouse to Cape Cod, then took the ferry across Nantucket Sound to the Island known as Martha’s Vineyard. Standing on the ferry watching the seagulls play above the ship, Douglas and Ruth realized that they had gained a brief respite from the intensity and craziness that had filled their days since arriving in Washington D.C. Ruth stepped into Douglas’ arms and they hugged as they watched the surf crash against the bow of the boat in the early morning sunlight. “You OK?” Douglas asked her. “Just perfect,” Ruth purred. “I’m savoring the moment.” “Well, we’d better grab it while we can. Another hour and we’ll be neck deep in alligators again.” “Do you ever wonder what our life would have been like if we hadn’t gotten involved with the Heretics?” Ruth asked. Douglas shrugged. “For one thing, I doubt we would have met. I would have been at college….” “And I would have been selling my body for crack cocaine on the streets of Seattle,” Ruth said glumly. “I hadn’t thought of that. Chances are that my brother and I would be dead by now.” “Probably,” Douglas said. “And maybe I would be into music. I don’t know.” “You don’t think you would have been in politics if things were different?” Douglas shook his head. “I did this because it was an opportunity to do some good. But I still think music is a lot more fun.” “Yeah, I am sure you found music fun singing with Lila.” “You had to bring her up, didn’t you?” “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” “Not everything in my past life revolves around Lila. And just remember: in the end, I chose you.” “Yeah, there’s that.” She smiled and kissed Douglas.
The ferry docked a few minutes later, and Douglas and Ruth drove off the ship and into the small town of Vineyard Haven. They turned west and followed the coast road around the island until they came to the gated estate of Vice President Peter Annaway. Although Annaway hailed initially from Virginia, he had visited the island 20 years before and had fallen in love with it. He promptly bought a 500-acre estate and used it for his summer retreat. When he became vice president, the Secret Service turned the estate into a compound, complete with high electrified fence, security cameras at regular intervals around the compound and guards with dogs. As Douglas and Ruth drove past the high fence and up to the front gate, he glanced over at Ruth, who had grown very serious. “You still want to go through with this?” he said. She nodded quickly. “There’s bound to be meetings going on. And we probably won’t get a better chance to access his files. If Kinkaid is right and they have plans to blackmail the president, chances are they have a plan B. If it were me, I would have a VP in mind who could step in and take over.” “I still think that’s a stretch,” Douglas said. “Annaway hasn’t given any indication that he’s dirty. And then there’s the little issue of dealing with armed guards and the Secret Service.” “At least I’m not alone,” Ruth said with just a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Right, Bobby?” Without thinking, she put her finger up to her ear. “I’m right here with you, Ruthie,” said the voice in her ear. “And do me a favor and don’t touch the receiver. It actually messes with the reception and draws undo attention to the fact that you have a headpiece.” “Right,” Ruth said. “Camera working OK?” “Right as rain,” Bobby said. “You know I kinda like you with glasses,” Douglas said. “You look like a sexy librarian.” “Well, that’s just the look as I was going for,” Ruth grinned back at Douglas. “Sorry you have to wear those, Ruth,” said Bobby. “But it was the only way I knew to have cameras available without making them obvious.” “Just as long as you are along for the ride,” Ruth said. “I have a feeling that we’ll need your help before the weekend’s over.” “By the way, Sis,” Ruth recognized Josh’s voice coming over the headset. “We have some good candidates lined up. They’ve been through preliminaries. But since we took a vote and still consider you the person in charge….” “I’m flattered,” Ruth said. “You should be,” Josh replied. “Since you’re in charge, we all want you to have a chat with the probies before we get too far along. Any chance of you coming out here to interview them?” Ruth started to protest, but Bobby cut in. “She doesn’t have to come out here. I can set her up to interview them through the new system. Just as good as being there.” “Ehh, I’m not convinced it’s just as good,” said Ruth. “But considering the craziness going on here, I think it’s going to be our action of choice.” “Very well. How soon can we do this?” “How about Monday? That is, if we survive the weekend.” After going through the gate, Ruth and Douglas drove up to the front doors of the main house and got out. Douglas handed the keys over to a valet and popped the back of the 4Runner to grab the suitcase and dress bag. The two of them entered the lobby, followed by a bellhop with their luggage. Just like a convention, a check-in was set up with congressional assistants behind long folding tables. Douglas told them his name and got a packet with reading material, name tags and a couple of souvenirs. “Representative Washington, you and your wife are staying in the main building on the third floor. Dinner will be served this evening at six in the main floor dining room. If you are involved with any of the scheduled meetings, they are all being held on the second floor.” “Is everyone staying on the third floor?” Ruth asked. “No, Mrs. Washington, some are staying in the bungalows.” “Thank you,” Douglas said, and the two of them headed for the elevator. “Wow, this is an amazing place. I can’t imagine a place this big being a summer home,” Ruth said as the elevator doors closed. “Well, Annaway started this as a personal retreat,” Douglas replied. “Then he realized that there were not only tax write-offs but subsidies if he made it into something more. I doubt that five percent of the cost of this place came out of his pocket.” “Do you really want to be saying that our here in public?” Douglas shrugged. “It’s pretty common knowledge, and there’s nothing illegal about what he did.” The bellcap took them down to the room at the end of the hall. Ruth was surprised that it wasn’t much fancier than a typical hotel room. They tipped the bellcap and were alone in the room. They looked at each other. Considering Doyle’s death, they had earlier agreed to consider all of their conversations overheard and recorded. Everything they said would have to be in code. They wandered around the campus for the next hour, then went back to the room to change into formal wear. The banquet tonight was black tie, and was preceded by a thingytail hour. They took the elevator down to the main floor, then divided up. Douglas headed for a cluster of congressmen and senators with drinks in their hands. Ruth headed toward a collection of wives seated at a table with, of course, drinks in front of them. Before they got to their goals, each asked for a glass of ginger ale to hold in their hands. They knew that they’d better not drink it, because when it was gone, someone was bound to give them something stronger to replace it. The circle Douglas chose had a couple of congressmen that he recognized. He joined them and was surprised to be standing shoulder to shoulder with the Vice President of the United States. “Congressman Washington,” Annaway said, nodding at him. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Despite knowing that Annaway had a reputation for knowing personal information about the people he worked with and an ineffable charm, Douglas was still impressed that he recognized him. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Vice President,” Douglas said, shaking his hand. “Do you treat all your incoming freshmen representatives this way?” “Oh, no,” Annaway said, chuckling, and the others chuckled with him. “Many on Capitol Hill were impressed with the ballsy way you took charge of that election in Nevada. We see big things for you in years to come.” Douglas shrugged. “That presumes my reelection.” Annaway grinned. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. You have friends here, the kind of friends that can make your dreams come true. Look, this is supposed to be a fun weekend, but I have meetings slated all tomorrow. But before you go, I would like to spend a few minutes talking, just the two of us. Would that be all right?” Douglas nodded. “Sure. I warned my wife that she would have to fend for herself on occasion this weekend.” “I doubt she will find herself too lonely,” Annaway said, pointing at Ruth in the middle of wives across the room.
“So how do you like being a congressman’s wife so far?” a woman with the nametag of Jenny Salzer asked Ruth. Ruth shrugged. “I keep myself busy on the board of a foundation. So Douglas and I haven’t really had much time to worry about the congressional lifestyle yet.” “Wow, that’s impressive,” another woman named Meredith Szerny said. “I hardly see my husband. And when we do have a weekend together, he either spends it playing golf or we go to fundraising dinners for his next reelection campaign. Booring!” A couple of others laughed. “Well, there’s always the covert affair,” Jenny said, and others gasped. “What? The boys aren’t the only ones who can sneak away once in a while.” “I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I found something that has really caught my interest,” said another woman sitting behind the others. “What’s that, Ambrosia?” Ruth asked, squinting to make out her name on her tag. “I don’t think I’ve met you,” Meredith asked her, turning toward her. “Well, my husband’s not a congressman or senator,” Ambrosia said. “He’s a psychiatrist that has been brought in as a consultant.” “What is it that you’ve found?” Meredith asked. “I’ve found religion,” Ambrosia said bluntly. The others laughed, but Ruth’s ears pricked up. “One of the patients my husband is responsible for preaches constantly. You would think the rantings of a crazy man would be, well, crazy. But this man is wonderful. I have been looking for a preacher or a church that made sense for a long while. This man—I think he calls himself Elijah something—is just so down to earth and takes scripture and applies it to everyday life.” “You can’t tell me a sermon is better than watching the pool boy clean the deep end,” said Meredith, and the others laughed. The conversation went in another direction and Ambrosia sat back in her chair, a little embarrassed by her comment. But her words were not lost on Ruth. She sat back and watched the woman, then leaned away and whispered: “Bobby, tell me that you got that.” “Every word,” Bobby said in her ear. “I’m already doing research on her. Her husband’s name is Dr. Hugh Beldon. He is a successful author and counselor, but in recent years was hired on several occasions to work with the United States government in Iraq and at Guantanamo Naval Base in Cuba. My guess he wasn’t doing marriage counseling.” “Mm-hmm,” Ruth said quietly. The group of women was starting to break up and head to the other room for dinner. “Catch you later,” she whispered. “I’m gonna talk to her.” Ruth stood and walked rapidly across to where Ambrosia was gathering her things and looking for her husband. “Tell me more about this patient that preaches,” Ruth said. Ambrosia shook her head. “I’m foolish,” she said. “I’m going to get my husband in trouble. I’ve already said too much.” Ruth nodded and watched her as she crossed the floor and joined a short, baldheaded man who took her hand. “Got him?” Ruth whispered. “Yes, ma’am,” Bobby said. “That’s the guy.” “Check on where he has been spending his time for the past few months,” she heard Josh say in her other ear. Ruth smiled to herself. It was the first lead they had had in 12 years that showed any promise of leading to Harris Borden. After dinner, many of the people there lingered in the dining room for socializing, but Douglas and Ruth decided to take a stroll out on the moonlit beach. When Ruth told a couple of other women what they were planning, they seemed jealous, since their husbands were more interested in getting together to drink brandy and smoke cigars. But as beautiful as the moonlight was, Douglas and Ruth had business in mind for their stroll. It was the best place for everyone to be able to talk. And a moonlight stroll isn’t quite so romantic when you have a paraplegic techie stuck in your ear, seeing what you see and hearing what you hear. “I was able to get the architect’s blueprints for the manor, so we have a layout of the whole building,” Bobby said. “It doesn’t include all of the security equipment that was added after the place was built, but we can speculate a bit.” “The receptionist said that the meetings were all done on the second floor,” Douglas added. “I’m not invited, of course, but we need to hear what’s being said.” “I’d wager that there are security cameras in there as well,” said Bobby. “Not sure if they will be turned off if it’s a top-secret meeting.” “Well, it sounds like our best bet is to get into the security command center and make sure the cameras aren’t turned off,” said Ruth. “And record it, of course. Then get access to his personal computer.” “Might I emphasize that we are talking about the Vice President of the United States?” said Bobby. “Secret service aside, those guards of his are no slouches. And Ruthie, how long has it been since you’ve done this kind of stuff?” “Hey,” Ruth said. “It’s just like riding a bicycle.” “Like riding a bicycle over a tightrope above a pit full of snakes,” said Douglas. “So what’s my part in all of this?” “Hate to say it, but you’re running interference,” said Bobby. “That room of yours is probably tapped. You’ve got to make others believe that Ruth has a migraine, and then wander outside to make sure they see you. For some reason, people still believe that men are the dangerous ones.” “Ho-ho, but we know better, don’t we?” Douglas said. “OK, that takes care of Annaway. What is the plan for Beldon?” “Still working on that one,” said Bobby. “I think our best bet there is to follow him,” said Ruth. “I doubt that he can treat a patient without seeing him face-to-face. Which means, if we are lucky, he will lead us right to Harris.” “Yeah, lead us to a top-security prison,” said Bobby. “And then it’s a snap getting him out of there.” “Hey, leave that to me,” said Douglas. “I have a few connections of my own.”
It was late, and the two of them went to their room a little while after that. Ruth went into the bathroom to change and came out in her bathrobe. While she was changing, Douglas went out to the hallway and then down the stairs to the front desk. He apologized to the young woman there, and told her that he had forgotten his toothbrush. The young woman smiled and handed him a new one from beneath the counter. He thanked her and headed back to the room. “One guard at the bottom of the stairs,” said Douglas quietly into his headpiece. “Another on the second level at the end of the hall. Cameras at each level at the end of the hall.” “Got it,” Bobby said. “OK gang, here’s the plan. I’ve hacked into the power grid for the island and I’m going to schedule a power surge for this compound. It should last about five seconds. It won’t be long enough for them to lose too much sleep over, but it will cause all their computers and cameras to have to reset. Will take them about sixty seconds. That will give you, Ruthie, about sixty seconds to get into his office, load the program, step next door and load the second program, and then get out without being seen.” “What about the guard on the second floor?” Douglas heard Ruth whisper. “I’ll take care of him,” Douglas said. “You do your job and I’ll do mine.” “Yes dear,” Ruth said. “OK, let’s synchronize,” Bobby said. “Surge will be at exactly one fifteen. That’s twenty minutes from now.” Douglas went back to their room and stripped out of his clothes. Ruth sat on the edge of the bed in her bathrobe, watching him. When he got down to no shirt and his briefs, he paused and then winked at her. She winked back. They both looked at their watches and nodded. Douglas went to the window and raised it. A blast of cold air blew in, and for a second, Douglas had second thoughts. He looked behind him at Ruth. She mouthed the words, I love you, and then Douglas climbed out the window. A ledge about four inches wide followed the wall along the entire length of the building. Lattice work with vines climbed between the windows along the wall. Douglas looked down the twenty feet to the ground and inched his way along the ledge toward the end of the building. He had to get in the right position and be there when the lights went out. He got to the end of the building and realized that the ledge had disappeared. He peered around the edge of the building and saw that a balcony jutted out from the end of the building. It was about six feet away and around the corner. He would have to jump for it. He counted to three and then made the jump. He stretched his hands out and caught the edge of the ledge, hanging suspended below it in his underwear. He felt embarrassed and humiliated, and he knew that his plan would work. “Help!” he shouted half heartedly, then louder. “HELP!” Faces began to appear in the windows around him. They saw a young black man in white underwear hanging from a balcony. “Help!” he shouted again. This time, the face of a security guard appeared at the window. Douglas watched the guard talking into his radio, then stepped out onto the balcony. “Good job, Douglas,” he heard Bobby say in his ear. “Wish I could be there to see it,” he heard Ruth say. “And five..four…three…two…,” he heard Bobby say. Then all the lights went out. “Base, this is second floor,” the security guard said into his radio. Douglas saw that the radio was dead, and the guard started to go back inside to check on things. Douglas let go of one hand and shouted to get the guard’s attention. “Ahh…I’m falling!” he shouted, and the guard hurried back to help Douglas. He reached out to help him out, but Douglas made sure he was just out of the guard’s reach.
Meanwhile, Ruth had made her way to the stairwell outside the second floor. When the power went out, she stepped out of her bathrobe and ran out into the darkened hallway wearing a black hood and running suit. She quickly ran to Annaway’s office and picked the lock to the door. She remembered her training and the lock opened quickly. She slipped in the doorway, just as the lights began to come back on in the hallway. She quickly ran to the desktop computer on Annaway’s desk and toggled the mouse to activate it. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that she had lucked out in two ways. First, Annaway had left it on as he had probably been doing some work on it. The power surge had shut it off, and it was now in reboot mode. Second, the computer was apparently networked with his laptop and his computer in his office in the Capital. She pulled the first flash drive from her pocket and pushed it into the USB port in the back of the computer. “I’m going to go to prison for the rest of my life,” she said quietly. “They’re going to lock me up and throw away the key.” “Hey, the more the merrier,” Bobby said. “If we go down, we all go down. Now whenever he comes back to use his computer, it will automatically load the program. Just leave the flash drive there. Your job is done.” “Part one is done,” she corrected him. She quickly ran across the room and went for a side door that she hoped led to the security control room. It was locked. “By the way, you have 25 seconds left until cameras come on,” said Bobby. “No rush.” Ruth pulled out her lock picking instruments and quickly picked the lock. She opened the door to see that it was a closet filled with files. “Uh, Bobby?” Ruth said. “Wrong room, I see,” Bobby said. “No time. Get out of there.” Ruth didn’t hesitate but ran back to the door she had come into. She opened it carefully and saw that the end of the hallway was filled with people trying to get Douglas down from the balcony. All attention was on him. She quickly opened the door and stepped out, pulling it closed behind her.
The things I do in the name of duty, Douglas thought as he was finally hauled onto the second-floor balcony by two security guards. A dozen other people watched and cheered as they brought him in. Someone had the foresight to bring a blanket, and they threw it over Douglas’s shoulders. “Thanks,” he said, his teeth chattering. “What in the name of common sense were you doing out there?” one of the security guards asked him. “You know better than to ask a United States congressman what he is doing in the middle of the night,” said Annaway from the back of the crowd. Douglas looked at him, who had a grin on his face. He looked over at a young woman who stood staring at Douglas, who obviously had seen him hanging from the balcony in his underwear. “His reasons are his own.” Douglas looked at Lila, who stood smiling at him. Behind them, Ruth saw them looking at each other.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jul 13, 2010 15:59:15 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jul 13, 2010 15:59:15 GMT -6
Chapter 12
Douglas and Ruth went back to their room, knowing that Ruth had only been partially successful in her espionage efforts. They needed to talk to Bobby, but this late and after the power surge, it would be suspicious for them to try another walk along the beach. Knowing that talking in their room wasn’t safe, Ruth pulled out her cell phone and started texting Bobby, and Douglas soon did the same. “Well, that could have gone better,” Ruth typed. “My concern is that we left that flash drive in there,” Douglas wrote. “He’s going to know someone was there.” “The plan was to get information quickly and get out,” Bobby said. “The flash drive would have been an afterthought. I don’t think they can trace it back to us.” “Yeah, but they are going to know someone here is trying to get information,” Douglas wrote. “That will make it harder to complete phase two.” “Speaking of phase two, we need to find out where that command center is,” Ruth typed. “And we have to look for another chance to get in there.” “Well, meetings will probably start around nine,” Douglas wrote. “That gives us about seven hours to come up with a plan and execute it.” “Not necessarily,” Bobby said slowly. “We’ve been approaching this all wrong. We were thinking we would have to listen real time to these meetings. Chances are all these meetings are being saved on a hard drive somewhere. All we really need to do is access that hard drive.” “We will need to know what we are looking for,” Douglas wrote. “Remember, we have access to the mainframe. We can give it keywords and let it filter accordingly.” “Keywords like Kryptonite, President, triad,” Ruth wrote. “Yeah, and maybe White Raven too,” wrote Douglas. “That still begs the question, where’s the command center and how do we get access to it?” “That’s two questions, Ruthie, but who’s counting?”
“It can’t be that hard to find an electronics command center,” Douglas muttered as they wandered through the compound for the third time that day. “I mean, come on. Security guys should be coming in and out of it all day.” “Well, the security office and where the camera operators sit could be two different places,” said Ruth. “At this point, I am starting to believe they are.” The two of them were dressed in beach attire. Douglas wore his swimsuit and a brightly colored aloha shirt, while Ruth wore a one-piece swimsuit covered by a brightly colored wrap. She wore oversized sunglasses and a large floppy hat on top of everything else. Although they wandered down by the beach several times, they didn’t use the jetskis or get into the water, the obvious reason being that they were still wired to connect with Bobby. Douglas sighed. They stood on the large brick patio and looked out over the grass area where a few people were playing volleyball. Beyond it, a couple was trying out the jetskis and one or two were sunbathing. “Any ideas? Anyone?” Douglas asked. Ruth scanned the yard one more time. “Let’s split up. I’ll go back inside. You take a walk over by the bungalows and then swing down to the beach.” Douglas sighed again, then nodded. They left each other and headed opposite directions. Douglas wandered by the six small cabins called bungalows and watched for any activity by security guards. Other than an occasional roving uniformed guard with a German shepherd, there was no indication of any security activity. He spent several minutes following the several walkways that wound around the bungalows, listening and looking, before he decided to turn toward the beach. When he turned, he found himself facing Lila. “There you are,” she said, a mock frown on her face which slowly turned into a grin. “You’re a hard man to track down.” Instinctively, Douglas quickly reached up and pulled the earplug from his ear and turned off the receiver. “Really?” Douglas said. “I didn’t know you were looking for me.” “That was quite a show last night,” Lila said, a smirk coming onto her face. “What was that all about?” “What?” Douglas said innocently. “It was just a late night stroll.” “In your tidie whities?” Lila said, stepping a little closer to him. “Not that I am complaining. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you that way.” She stepped even closer, and Douglas felt her sweet breath as she stood close enough to kiss. “That was a long time ago. A lifetime ago. Things have changed,” he said, not convincing himself. “Have they?” she said. “If they haven’t changed too much, I wanted to ask you to sing a song with me tonight.” “Tonight?” he echoed. “At the concert? You remember that I sing for a living? That’s the reason why I’m here.” “Uh, you sure you want me to sing with you?” “There’s nothing I’d rather have,” she purred, reaching her hand behind his head and pulling him close. “Well, almost nothing.”
Ruth got lucky right away. She stepped into the lobby of the main building and saw a uniformed repairman stepping down from a ladder beneath a security camera. She stopped and watched as he took a second camera and put it into a box, folded up his ladder and closed his toolbox and started to leave. She followed him and joined him as he got into the elevator and headed for the third floor. She paused as they exited the elevator and watched him walk down the long hallway, press a keypad and enter a doorway at the end of the hall. She listened and heard him stomping up stairs inside the doorway. “Bobby,” she hissed. “It’s in the attic. There’s a fourth floor we weren’t aware of.” “Hmm,” Bobby said in her ear. “A fourth floor is not on the blueprint. They must have added it later. OK, that actually makes it easier. Chances are they have a crawlspace above the command center where you will be able to access the cameras and computers.” “Sounds like a job for tonight. I can do it during the concert while everyone else is occupied,” Ruth said. “D.J., you getting that?” “D.J. turned his set off a few minutes ago,” Bobby said. “Not sure why.” Ruth looked out the window at the end of the hallway and spotted Douglas on the walkway leading from the bungalows to the beach. He stood facing her, with a young woman’s arms around his neck. “I know why,” Ruth said, an edge in her voice.
Douglas didn’t understand why Ruth was quiet the rest of the afternoon. She told him tersely that she had found the command center, and he told her that he would be singing a song with Lila. Beyond that, they hardly spoke to each other. The evening meal was uneventful. The two of them were surrounded by half-drunk congressmen, senators and their wives, laughing hysterically at the slightest joke. Neither of them seemed to be in a joking mood however. Douglas was worried that they would not get the information they were looking for; and if they did, was worried that they would get caught. Ruth was quiet for a different reason. She knew that Douglas suspected Lila of being involved with the politics of the situation, and knew that he needed to get close to her. But he knew how she felt about Lila, but never seemed to care that he was making Ruth jealous. It frustrated Ruth that she felt the way she did about Lila, but it made her angry that Douglas didn’t seem to care. After dinner, there was the usual break where people stood around and drank more liquor, waiting for the concert to begin. Lila and her band were set up in an outside amphitheater, and the crowd slowly filtered out to the concert area. Dressed in his tuxedo, Douglas wandered with the rest of them toward the amphitheater. Annaway and his wife saw him walking alone. “Where’s the missus?” Annaway asked Douglas. Douglas shook his head ruefully. “Melanie’s not a fan of Lila. Too much history, I guess. She’s got one of her famous migranes.” Annaway smiled thinly. “Ahh yes. I forgot that you and Lila have a past together.” Douglas shrugged. “It’s just that. Past. But my wife doesn’t seem to understand that.” “Wives can be that way sometimes,” Annaway said. “Buy her some diamond earrings,” Mrs. Annaway said, a slur in her speech. “Diamonds cure a range of evils.” She laughed at her joke, and Douglas was forced to join them. Ruth went back to the room and changed into her black running clothes in the bathroom. She opened the window to the bathroom and climbed out onto the ledge. She then followed it to a latticework that went all the way to where the wall met the roof. She climbed the latticework to the top, then hooked her legs around the lattice and leaned backward to catch the edge of the rooftop with her hands. “You all right?” she heard Josh’s voice say. “Piece of cake,” she grunted, slowly pulling herself up onto the rooftop. “Just so you’ll know, we have our new recruits watching all this on big screen TV. We thought it would be good for them to watch. Not to make you nervous or anything.” “Not a problem,” Ruth said, an edge in her voice. “D.J. online too?” “Uh, he switched his receiver off,” Bobby said. “Again.” “Of course,” Ruth said. Ruth followed the roofline to the eaves at the end of the building. She used the multi-tool on her belt to unscrew a metal vent on the end, then popped it off. Then she crawled inside, and switched her glasses to night vision. “You guys still with me?” she said quietly. “Yeah,” Josh said. “Very entertaining.” “Save me some popcorn, will you?” she said. She faced a crawlspace filled with attic insulation, RF cables and wooden beams that crossed her path. She snaked through the labyrinth on her belly, trying to be as quiet as she could be. She was about halfway across the crawlspace when Bobby spoke up. “OK, hold it,” he said. “You should be right above the command center. See that big black cable there?” Ruth shook her head up and down. The camera showed a black cable as big around as her wrist, springing from the floor beneath her and running off along the crawlspace floor in the opposite direction. “That’s a central line for all the cameras. One of those should give you access to the main hard drive as well. What you want to do is cut through the rubber wrapping and tap into those lines. I will give you directions as you get into it.” Ruth flipped open her cell phone and texted him. “This will take a while.”
Douglas sat on the center aisle of the amphitheater, three rows back. While Lila’s last concert had been a disappointment to him, filled with other people’s voices, lots of special effects and blaring instrumentals, this concert was a pleasant surprise. Lila seemed to take this as an opportunity to go back to her roots, and the songs were more personal and acoustic in nature. Finally, she flashed a smile at Douglas, and he knew it was his turn. “This has been a real honor for me to perform here tonight,” Lila said. “And it is a double pleasure to have someone in the audience who has made me really proud with his accomplishments. D.J.—you know him as Douglas—Washington and I go way back. I’ve asked him to come up here and sing a song with me.” As the crowd applauded, Douglas ran up the steps and joined her on the stage. She was dressed in a strapless evening gown covered with silver sequins that glittered in the spotlight. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek as he joined her, then turned and reached for something. It was a guitar—his 12-string Martin. He had left it in Washington at their townhouse. Somehow she had found a way to get it here. “Surprise,” she said quietly, smiling. He took the guitar and looped the strap over his head. He strummed it twice to make sure it was in tune, then started the song. “When all the walls around me begin to close my mind, I go into that secret little place I find. Inside my heart of hearts I know, you will hold me close wherever I go. I see you in the things I do and the love I share, I want to take your love with me everywhere. I know you’ve given me more than I can say, and It warms my heart just to be this way. Lila joined him and after a couple of words he felt as if the past 12 years had disappeared. He was on stage again, with her, singing a song that he had written many years ago. He looked at the crowd below him, smiling, totally into their performance, and he was transported back to that night in San Francisco at the Hungry i. That night had been a turning point for them. For her it meant a career in music; for him, it was an introduction to a totally different life. Both had followed their hearts. But what if it had been different? What if he had followed her? The song ended and the crowd cheered and hooted. Douglas smiled and Lila gave him a big hug and a kiss. That made the crowd applaud even more. “Another one?” Lila asked the crowd, holding up one finger. “Another one.” She looked at Douglas with a pleading in her face. He nodded and started into another song they had done together: You never knew what you were doing, You never said that you would stay, And now I’m standing here, waiting all alone, You never asked if I’m okay. So many nights, so many dreams, our love was bursting at the seams. But now you leave me standing here, another day, another year…. “I’m through the outer skin,” Ruth typed. “There are about a dozen fiberoptic cables in here. What now?” “Find the one with the red marking on it,” Bobby said, then quickly added. “Uh-oh.” Ruth typed back, “Uh-oh is right.” “What’s the problem?” Josh asked. “She’s using night vision glasses,” Bobby said. “Everything is green. There’s no color coding.” There was a pause, as Ruth heard Bobby and Josh arguing about what to do. “Look, I am shutting off night vision and going to use a flashlight,” Ruth typed. “Why didn’t we do that before?” Josh asked. “Because it makes it more likely for them to see her,” Bobby said. “It’s bad enough that the house is probably creaking with her shimmying through the crawlspace. But now to see mysterious lights coming from that area?” “I’ll be careful,” she typed. Ruth switched off her night vision glasses and reached into her pocket and pulled out a small penlight. She held it close to the heavy cable she was working on, and flicked it on. It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to adjust to the new light. Finally she saw the fiberoptic cable Bobby had talked about. She pulled out the patch that he had sent her, and connected it. “We’re getting it,” Bobby said. “The picture is of the concert. Oh.” “What?” she typed. “Nothing,” said Bobby. Then he went very quiet. Ruth switched off her flashlight and pulled the insulation back around the cable. A little bit of light was coming through from the room below. Ruth could just make out the image on a television screen below. She could see that Douglas and Lila were just finishing a song. The crowd was cheering. Douglas waved to the crowd and Lila responded by kissing Douglas square on the mouth. The crowd went wild. They pulled apart, then Douglas kissed her back, leaning her back in the process. Ruth felt her face flush and tears come to her eyes. She let out one sob and sniffed. And she knew that that was a mistake. “What’s that? There’s someone above us!” she heard a voice shouting. Two sets of feet ran from the room below. “You’ve been spotted, Ruth,” Bobby said. “Get out of there now.” Ruth looked back at the long distance she had crawled on her belly and knew that she wouldn’t make it out of there before the guards got to her. “I need another way out,” Ruth hissed to Bobby. “Ruth, remember that was all added after the original blueprint,” Bobby said. “You’re on your own.” “Thanks for nothing,” she hissed again. “Ruth, I have an idea,” Josh said. “Look for a vent. It looks like a metal pipe about four inches across that goes straight up.” Ruth flicked her flashlight around her and saw one about ten feet away. “OK, found one.” “You’re going to want to break through the sheet rock that’s beneath you.”
Douglas and Lila were still taking bows as he saw guards and secret service agents talk on their radios and then run from the amphitheater toward the main building. He realized that something was happening, and then he knew that Ruth was in trouble. He started to pull away, but Lila held onto his hand. Other people from the audience started to file forward, cutting off his escape. He fumbled in his pocket for his earpiece, but realized it would be a bad idea to put it on in front of everyone. He was stuck. He spent the next fifteen minutes accepting people’s congratulations and smiling at them, knowing that his wife was in trouble. Finally, he was able to break away from Lila and the stage and headed for the main building. Just as he got to the steps leading to the building, he felt a hand grip his arm. He turned and saw that it was Ruth. His eyes grew big and he started to speak, but she stopped him. “Not now,” she hissed. He saw that she was smiling at someone, and he turned to see Vice President Annaway and his wife approaching. “I see you are feeling better,” Annaway said to Ruth. “Much better, thank you,” she said. “I got down to the concert just in time to catch the last two songs.” “And so you saw your husband’s performance,” Annaway said, a cautious look coming over him. “I saw it all,” Ruth said, shaking her head. “Every bit of it.” Douglas bit his lip, and Annaway and his wife chuckled nervously. “Uh, Douglas, I was going to have that chat with you, but now seems to be a bad time. Have your assistant call and make an appointment to come see me at my office. How does Wednesday sound?” Douglas nodded mutely and the two Annaways started to leave. Mrs. Annaway turned close to Douglas. “Remember what I said about diamonds,” she said, smiling slightly. A moment later, they were alone again. They slowly made their way up the hallway toward the elevator. “What happened?” Douglas asked Ruth, an edge of panic in his voice. “If you had your earpiece in, you would have known,” she hissed. “I couldn’t have it in if I am singing,” he said. “Well, whose dumb idea was that?” she said, her voice getting louder. They got into an empty elevator, standing there talking for a while before he pushed the button for third floor. “It was Lila’s, of course,” he said. “And it was consistent with the plan we had all along.” “Oh and I suppose that you kissing her was all part of the plan too.” “She kissed me.” “The first time. Then you kissed her back!” “Listen, how many times do we have to have this conversation?” he asked. “I told you more than once--.” His words died as the doors to the third floor opened. The room across from the elevator had its front door opened. The senator from Hawaii and his wife were standing there, surrounded by Secret Service men. Dust covered the floor and as they watched, a Secret Service man walked from their bathroom carrying a piece of sheetrock. “Looks like bad workmanship,” said someone standing next to them in the hallway. Ruth and Douglas looked from the crowd in the room to the people standing next to them. Then they strode down the hall to their room. They stopped outside their room and Douglas confronted Ruth. “That was you?” he whispered. She nodded. “But…but…how?” He looked at her in her formal dress with perfectly groomed hair. Ruth smiled at him thinly, then shook her head. She entered their room and slammed it behind her, right before Douglas had a chance to go in the door.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jul 13, 2010 16:00:09 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jul 13, 2010 16:00:09 GMT -6
CH. 13
Douglas spent the night divided between walking the beach and meditating on everything that had happened and sleeping on a couch in the lobby downstairs. He awoke the next morning with the clatter of senators and congressmen checking out and heading for the jet that had flown in from Washington. He took that as his cue to go upstairs and see if he could make amends with Ruth. Ruth had a profound temper, when it was roused, and he found it was best to give her time and space before trying to resolve differences. But when he went to knock on the door upstairs, he found the door standing open. Ruth had packed her things and taken them with her. There was a note on the dresser in the room. “Douglas. I have joined others who are taking the jet back. I can’t bear to talk to you right now. Ruth.” Douglas shook his head. The terse note meant that this disagreement was far from over. And there was no telling how far she would take it. Douglas tried calling her a couple of times on the long drive back to Washington in the 4Runner. It was a lonely trip. Normally, he savored the opportunity that being alone provided him to sort things out mentally. But he had spent the night by himself, and realized that he sorely missed having her with him. When he drove into the garage at their townhome that afternoon, he had already committed to groveling to her and surrendering whatever shred of dignity he had left to make amends. But he found an empty apartment. At first he wondered if he had beaten her there, but she had left her tablet that they had received to communicate with Bobby and the others. And most of her clothes were gone. He sank deeper in depression. He sat down on the living room couch and switched the tablet on. “Hey,” said Josh when he connected with him. “Hey yourself,” Douglas said quietly. “She there?” “Not yet,” Josh said. “But she’s headed this way. She didn’t say for how long.” Douglas sighed. “Any suggestions as to how I can dig myself out of this pit?” Josh smiled bleakly. “I have only seen her this mad once or twice. Actually, I don’t think I have ever seen her this mad. Not much advice. Just give her some time, I guess. And grovel. Lots of groveling.” Douglas nodded. “Got it. I will be the king of groveling. If she gives me the chance.” He sighed again. “Flowers?” Josh shook his head. “She’s never been much for flowers. Course, what do I know? I’m just her brother.” Douglas shrugged. “Probably wouldn’t hurt.” “Wish I could help more, bro.” Josh looked to his side and muttered something to someone off screen. “In the meantime, we have other issues to deal with.” “Such as?” “Let me get Bobby on the screen too to tell you about it.” A second later, Douglas’ screen split in half, and Josh’s face was opposite Bobby’s. “Bad news, Boss,” Bobby said. Douglas groaned. “I don’t think I can take any more bad news. What is it?” “I went through the footage from the meetings that took place at the compound yesterday?” “Yeah?” “First I used the keywords that we talked about. No mention of kryptonite, triad, White Raven, and only one reference to the president, but it was unrelated. So I went through it again—thoroughly. Nada. Zippo.” “Hmm,” Douglas said. “And we got all the meetings on video?” “As far as I know. The only way around it is if they didn’t videotape it at all.” “What about Annaway’s computer?” “That’s the other bad news. Clean.” “Clean, as in wiped?” “Clean, as in there’s nothing incriminating on it at all. Some correspondence to other politicians, some supporters, that sort of thing. A couple of personal letters. But nothing that ties him to anything nefarious.” Douglas sighed again. He wished that Ruth hadn’t chosen this time to leave him. He knew that issues with her were distracting him, and he found that he couldn’t think straight. “You know, D.J., this whole thing is really bothering me.” “What do you mean?’ “I mean, what are we doing? We’re breaking into confidential files for the Vice President of the United States. We’re tapping into video for confidential meetings. And what do we have to show for it? Are we doing good? Or are we just another spy organization? Should we be selling our findings to the Russians?” Douglas’ jaw dropped. “This is new. Why didn’t you say something before this? I thought you were behind our work.” “I was. I thought that we would find something that would tie the Vice President to Universal somehow. Now I just feel dirty.” Douglas stared at Bobby, then nodded slowly. “What about you, Josh? What’s your take on what we’re doing?” Josh hesitated before answering, then his words came out slowly. “I remember when Elijah Brown—Harris—recruited me. He talked about doing God’s work. I’m not so sure what we are doing is still following that idea.” “Harris isn’t here anymore. I wish he was, and I’m sure Ruth feels the same way. But he’s not. So what do we do? Do we close up shop because we’re not getting direct messages on what we should be doing?” Bobby and Josh didn’t have an answer. Douglas felt he didn’t either, but he kept going. “Let’s look at what we do know. Doyle told me that there was a triad—three people—who were vying for power, a bid to run the country. We’ve pretty much decided that the Attorney General was one of them.” “We don’t know that for sure,” Bobby added. “Granted,” Douglas said. “We’re in the territory of speculation here.” “A lot of speculation,” Bobby added. “OK, whatever,” said Douglas. “We know that the Homeowners Reform Act is tied to their bid.” Bobby shook his head. “Do we really know that? Again, we’re just speculating--.” “Moving right along,” Josh said, interrupting. “Continue, D.J.” “We have four—five congressmen who have been killed because they were opposed to the bill. And we have evidence that White Raven is tied to their deaths.” “So nowhere in there do I hear anything about the Vice President being involved,” said Bobby. “I think someone got a little overzealous. Something—considering who we are dealing with—that could get us in a whole lot of trouble.” Douglas nodded after a pause. “Duly noted. We—I messed up. So I guess we write Annaway off as a suspect.” Bobby nodded, but Josh hesitated. “I don’t think I’d go that far. Your reasoning is sound. If the president steps down, they’re going to want one of their own people in that position. But they also might have another contingency we haven’t thought of.” “So we keep him as a possible suspect, but not high on the list,” Douglas said. “Whatever,” Josh said. “We just need to be taking a hard look at what we are doing.” “Or if we should be doing anything,” said Bobby. “What does that mean?” Douglas asked. “I think what Bobby means is that we are acting without knowing for sure if it is God’s will,” said Josh. “Well, how do we know God’s will?” Douglas said, then immediately knew the answer. He nodded. “Too much action and not enough praying,” he said. “I hear ya.” # # # Josh met Ruth at the airport a couple of hours after that. She moaned and complained about the cramped seat they had put her in on the plane, and then about how long it had taken for her to get her luggage. “Well you know what Bobby would say about that,” Josh told her in the car as he pulled out into traffic. “What’s that?” “Why doesn’t the Foundation just buy its own jet?” Ruth stared at her brother, who broke into a grin. “A satellite isn’t enough? He wants a jet now?” Josh responded by laughing heartily. Ruth continued staring, then shook her head without smiling. “Sorry,” she said finally. “I’m in a bad mood.” “Ya’think?” Josh said. “He’s sorry, you know.” “Not sorry enough,” she grumbled, more to herself than to her brother. “Oh-kay,” Josh said. “Guess we need to move to another subject.” “That would be smart.” “So you ready to meet with our recruits?” “What recruits?” Ruth asked, then she remembered. “Ouch. Do we have to do that today?” Josh nodded. “We do. There are 20 of them, and we have the rest of the week spoken for. Today is the only time we can do it.” Ruth sighed. “You know, when you do that, you sound just like--.” “Who?” Ruth asked, anger in her voice. “Who do I sound like?” “Never mind,” Josh said.
Ruth tried to become upbeat while meeting with the 20 recruits, but still struggled. Two of the recruits were over 50, with the rest being young people ages 16 to 24. The two older recruits were taken on because of special skills. One man had served in Special Forces in Iraq and had extensive experience with explosives and electronics. The other was a woman who had been a nurse practitioner until she had lost her license due to a drug addition. Both were grilled extensively by the team, and Ruth, who had been addicted to crack cocaine years before, gave the woman a clean bill of health. “There’s never a guarantee that a person won’t return to drugs,” she said. “But for all I can tell, she’s the best candidate for staying clean that I have ever seen. Besides, we need a medical professional around.” Wanda, as the woman called herself, also let them know that she had interned as a pharmacy assistant as well, and that she was well informed as to what drugs could do. She also knew people in the medical and pharmaceutical fields who would be supportive of their underground efforts. When Ruth started interviewing the younger recruits, she suddenly felt old. As was their tradition, almost all of them had been transients living on the streets. Some had a background in drugs, some prostitution, and others as simply homeless. There was always the danger that someone would fall back into old habits and take advantage of the Heretics situation, but the stringent physical and mental training of Heretic training was intended to weed those types of persons out. The biggest problem was that they were in a hurry. Ruth remembered that her training took six grueling months in Seattle. They had six weeks to get a team together. The flight to Los Angeles, the stress of the weekend and her own marital issues put Ruth in a funk that she continued to struggle with. She asked the candidates the obligatory questions regarding their background and motivations, and found no problems with them. Finally, Josh came to the door with a small grin on his face. “We have the last candidate for you to look at,” he said. Ruth nodded silently, again lost in her own thoughts. Josh motioned for someone to come to the door. A girl with a shaved head and a pink Mohawk came in. Her eyes never met Ruth’s, but she sat down in the chair facing her. Piercings lined both ears, both nostrils and two rings pierced her bottom lip. A tattoo of a snake ran down her left arm. Ruth’s eyebrows raised and she looked at her brother, who grinned at her. “Oh dear,” she muttered to herself, and the young girl glanced up at her, a fire lit in her eyes. “Name please?” Ruth asked formally, as Josh closed the door. The girl muttered something under her breath. “What’s that?” Ruth asked. “Taupe. My name is Taupe,” the girl shot back at her. Taupe raised her eyes and Ruth could see a flash of anger there. Uh-oh, Ruth thought. “So Taupe, what’s your story?” Ruth asked, her own defensiveness coming into her voice. “God called me here,” Taupe said. Ruth smirked. “He did, did he? You know how many times I have heard that line?” Taupe stared at her defiantly. “It doesn’t mean it’s not true.” “So Taupe. What if I told you that you would have to take out your piercings and have normal hair to be a Heretic. What would you say?” “Do my piercings bother you? Does my hair interfere with your upper class sensibilities?” Ruth smiled politely. “That’s not the issue. What if the mission calls for it?” Taupe paused, still staring at Ruth. “Is that why you sold out? Gave up your blue hair and attitude to become a congressman’s wife?” Startled, Ruth paused. “Yes, I did my homework,” Taupe said. “You’re one of the reasons I joined. You’re a legend on the street, especially in Seattle.” Ruth puffed up at the word legend, but asked herself, Could it be really true? “But now that I see you, I can tell, you’re yesterday’s news. You sold out. You’ve become one of them.” Ruth struggled for words, anger rising in her. Finally, she spoke. “You’re pretty sure of yourself for someone who just met me. What do you know of the realities of being in Washington circles?” “I know that you’ve bought into the excitement and the parties and the glamour,” Taupe said. “Haven’t you? Tell me, are you there because God wants you there or because it was an opportunity to be someone important?” “Where do you get off talking to me like that?” Ruth said, her voice rising. “I have done more in the name of God in the past 14 years than you can imagine.” Taupe smiled back at her. “Doing it in God’s name is not the same as doing God’s will,” she said quietly. The words struck Ruth, and she knew that Taupe was right. She said nothing. “The Heretics made history, back in the day,” said Taupe. “You helped take down Ashteroth, for goodness sake! But you lost your leader and you lost your way. Now you’re just flailing away, hoping that you will hit something evil and justify your existence.” Ruth let her talk, listening as the Holy Spirit talked through the girl. She was reminded of those days years ago, when the fire burned brightly in her. She was overwhelmed by God’s love and wanted desperately to do something, anything, to repay him. But she had learned that all the good deeds she did were like sawdust, like dirts, compared to the fact that He had died to save her. Finally, she spoke, her voice even and quiet. “Taupe, why are you here?” Taupe smiled at Ruth, and Ruth saw that this time it was sincere. “I want to do whatever I can to help people,” she said. “But why here?” Ruth asked, reaching forward and touching Taupe’s hand. The young girl flinched when she first touched her, but then slowly relaxed. “Why not help the Children of God? They help people. They probably help more people in a day than we do in a month.” Taupe smiled. “I got skills. And I hear that you guys fight demons.” Ruth looked at the girl and didn’t doubt her word. “Skills? Like?” Ruth asked, and before Taupe could answer, Ruth heard Josh’s voice from the door. “She’s a hacker. She can sing. She knows how to pick locks. She can hotwire a car. She can cook. She is a better driver than you are. And she is a kempo karate brown belt.” Ruth’s eyebrow raised. “I doubt that she is a better driver than I am.” A grin slowly formed on her lips. “You forgot that she has a wicked temper.” Josh grinned back. “Kind of reminds me of my big sister.”
That night, training was interrupted by what would become a new tradition for the Heretics. It was an old fashioned testimony meeting in which everyone there was required to tell the story of how they were saved. Many told stories of sexual abuse or crimes against others on the street. Wanda, the former nurse practitioner, sobbed as she told of her addition to Oxycontin and how it had destroyed her marriage of 20 years. She then told how a woman named Big Mama in Oakland, California had helped her kick her drugs addition and led her to Christ. When it came her turn, Ruth told how Joshua and she had escaped a father who had beat them both and punched out her brother’s front teeth. She told how they had lived in the underground tunnels beneath Seattle for three years until Harris Borden had rescued them and given them a new life. “When I surrendered to Christ and took on the challenge of the Heretics, that was the real start of my life,” she said, tears on her cheeks. Then the group of 24 people spent the next hour in prayer together. # # # Vice President Annaway met with Miriam Case-Hudson and Aaron McBride met in the Attorney General’s office the afternoon following the congressional weekend. “So what’s the verdict?” Case-Hudson asked. “Not good, I’m afraid,” said Annaway. “Kryptonite was a good name to choose for our project. The man is truly Superman. We’ve had a taskforce on his case for three months, and there is not a single confirmable fact that we can use against him.” “What about the girl?” “Lila? She’s gorgeous, that’s for sure. We all know that. And the president is attracted to her, I can tell. No man in his right mind could resist her advances. But the man in the Oval Office is either a bona fide saint, or…or…not attracted to women.” “We know that’s not true,” Case-Hudson said. “He has three children. He’s been married for 33 years.” “Men can be married and have children and still be gay,” McBride said. “Maybe it was his political ambitions that made a family necessary.” Case-Hudson shook her head. “I doubt it.” Annaway threw up his hands. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? We were hoping to catch him in a scandal, and that’s just not going to happen. Which means we have to go to plan B.” “Plan B being….?” McBride asked. Case-Hudson rolled her eyes and muttered “idiot” under her breath. Annaway gritted his teeth and spoke. “If we can’t find evidence to blackmail him with, then we take a shot at putting something together to convince Congress to impeach him.” “But will that work?” McBride asked. “I mean, if we can’t find stuff to blackmail him, what makes you think anything we fabricate will be enough to impeach him?” Annaway sighed. “I think it’s worth a try. If not, then we go straight to Plan C.” McBride looked at Annaway with an air of expectation. Annaway shook his head. Case-Hudson spoke up, annoyed. “If he won’t play, we get rid of him.” “Enough said,” Annaway replied. “Speaking of taking care of problems, we have a double problem to deal with. Miriam, tell us what’s happening.” “Beldon is a bust,” Case-Hudson said. “I’ve given him all the latitude I can. There are no tangible results with Harris Borden.” Annaway shook his head. “Don’t let it be said that we didn’t try. Borden is no longer an asset. His time is up. Can you talk to General Medfield about taking care of him?” Case-Hudson nodded. “I have another, related issue,” Annaway said. He used his remote to flick on his TV, then flicked another button and a video appeared. In it was a cluster of women talking. The three of them heard Ambrosia say: “I’ve found religion. One of the patients my husband is responsible for preaches constantly. You would think the rantings of a crazy man would be, well, crazy. But this man is wonderful. I have been looking for a preacher or a church that made sense for a long while. This man—I think he calls himself Elijah something—is just so down to earth and takes scripture and applies it to everyday life.” Annaway switched off the remote and they looked at each other. McBride sighed and Annaway nodded at Case-Hudson. “I’ll tell General Medfield to take care of Dr. Beldon and his wife as soon as possible,” she said.
|
|
|
Elijah
Jul 19, 2010 18:02:23 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jul 19, 2010 18:02:23 GMT -6
Chapter 14
The evening spent together in testimony and prayer seemed to do wonders for the Heretics. The group drew closer together, even though training had hardly begun. Even Ruth felt a burden come off her shoulders. The next morning, while Josh was leading the recruits in shadow training, Ruth went in to see Bobby. He had finally gotten his massive 60-foot-long RV furnished, and had it parked outside their training facility, an old warehouse in East Los Angeles. Bobby gleefully showed her the big screen TV that she had recommended they purchase, and explained that it had turned out being a wise investment, considering how often it could be used in training. Ruth’s exploits at the congressional weekend were now required viewing for all recruits. Then Bobby took her to a back room in the RV where he showed her an array of new weapons. Ruth looked at several strange gun-like devices laid out on the bed, next to others that looked like grenades. “What are these?” she said, lifting something that looked like a smoke grenade. “Careful with that,” Bobby said. “It’s something I bought from the Indian Army. It’s a pepper grenade used to immobilize crowds during riots. It has the most powerful mix of peppers in the world. Throw it in the room, and it will temporarily paralyze anyone who breathes it in.” “Interesting,” Ruth said. “And this?” She picked up another, smaller grenade. “Same idea, different use. You really don’t want that one to go off. It smells like a dead skunk. Guaranteed to empty a room or even an outdoor area within 15 seconds.” Ruth laughed. “I can imagine how that could be used on certain occasions.” She reached for a rifle with a bulby extension right beyond the stock. She held it up. “My latest attempt at shrinking and limiting our EMP weapon,” said Bobby. “I’m pretty sure this one will do better than the last time.” “No blacking out the neighborhood?” Ruth asked, grinning. Bobby shook his head. “You’ll have to admit, it was a pretty good first effort.” Ruth nodded. “You saved all our backsides, that’s for sure.” “The other stuff is still in the works. I hope it is delivered before I leave for the road.” “When’s that supposed to happen?” Ruth asked. “Probably another couple of weeks. Josh wants me to spend some time with the recruits before I leave. And I’ll always need to drop in here, as training continues, so I’ll never be too far away.” “What have we learned about our Dr. Benson?” “I have the satellite surveilling him. That means that the computer keeps him under constant observation. Right now he’s at his home in the Hamptons. But I intercepted an email from him to the attorney general stating that he’ll be headed out tomorrow. We’ll do our best to put a tracer on him to see where he goes. Right now, if we were to put a tag on him, it wouldn’t stay with him. We have to wait until right before he makes his trip.” Ruth nodded. “Who’s going to do the tagging?” “Josh. This is important, so we want to send one of our best. He’ll take the new guy, the ex-Special Forces guy, Amos. They’re heading out this afternoon to New York, and they’ll try to get a tag on him right before he leaves.” Ruth gestured at the weapons before her. “Are they taking any of the new toys with them?” Bobby shrugged. “Pretty hard to take these things on a commercial plane. If we had a--.” “Yes, I know, if we had our own jet,” Ruth said, interrupting. “I’m still thinking about that one.” “At least it won’t cost you $93 million,” said Bobby meekly. Ruth smiled and turned to go. “Wait, Ruthie, there’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about,” said Bobby. “Yes?” “It may be nothing, but it sort of jumped out at me. I was reading the police report from the accident we were involved with. Remember the EMP and the first car that crashed?” “Yeah, I remember.” “Well, if you remember, that all happened on a major boulevard in the middle of evening rush-hour traffic. The police were there in less than five minutes. The car was totaled, as well as the car that it ran into.” “Yeah, so?” “So, there were bodies in the oncoming car, but not in the Dodge Charger. Police interviewed witnesses, and I read the newspaper article as well. They all said the same thing. There were men in the car up until the accident, then suddenly they weren’t there.” Ruth’s brow furrowed. “Did they run away? Maybe had someone pick them up?” Bobby shook his head. “Nobody saw another car, or even saw anyone climb out of the car. And considering how destroyed both cars were, it would be a miracle for anyone to climb out of that car.” Ruth stared at Bobby, who stared right back at her and then shrugged. “Just talking about it now gives me the willies,” he said. “Any clue as to what happened?” Ruth had an idea, but she hesitated to say it. Instead, she shook her head slowly.
“So tell me again why Amos gets to go on an op and I don’t?” Taupe said as the trainees watched Josh and Amos via headset and big screen TV. “Amos knew enough to get us this Humvee, these sidearms and these uniforms,” Josh said. “He’s been on military bases before and he knows Army procedure. Do you?” “No, but I know other stuff,” Taupe said, a note of hurt coming into her voice. “Yes, we know,” Josh said. “You’ve got skills.” Amos was driving through the residential section of the Hamptons on their way to Beldon’s house. They were both dressed in army fatigues and drove a camouflaged Humvee. Josh wondered if the outfits would get them through the gate at Andrews Air Force Base, their destination, but Amos assured him that he knew tricks that would help them. “So tell me,” Amos asked. “How did you get the name Taupe?” “None of your business,” Taupe answered, and Bobby laughed behind her. “I gave her the name,” Josh said. “It’s the color of hair she had when I recruited her. She didn’t want to keep the name she had.” “And what was that?” asked Amos. “We don’t have a lot of secrets in the Heretics, but she didn’t want to share that information, so let’s let her keep it to herself,” said Josh. “Thank you, Josh,” Taupe said, and the connection went quiet. “Coming up on Madison Street,” Amos said. “Turn right and go down to the end of the cul-de-sac,” Bobby told him. “It’s the big green house.” “Whew-wee, these are some big, gorgeous houses,” Bobby said as he saw the video output from Josh’s camera. “A big house does not a happy camper make,” Josh said. “Trust me.” “They’re still gorgeous,” Bobby insisted, but more quietly. Amos pulled the Humvee up to the metal gate in front of the green house and rolled his window down. He pressed the buzzer on an intercom there. “Yes?” the voice on the other end said. “Transportation for Dr. Beldon to Andrews Air Force Base.” A second later, the metal gate rolled open, and Amos drove up the long, brick-lined driveway to the front door. Josh started to get out, then turned to Amos. “I’ll go in and tag his briefcase and his clothes, maybe his shoes. Then it’s simply a matter of driving him to Andrews. You stay out here.” Amos nodded. They both climbed out of the Humvee, but Amos stood by the driver’s door. Josh looked around, then walked to the front door and rang the doorbell. A woman in her 40s came to the door. Josh recognized her from the video of Ruth talking to other women at the congressional weekend. “Transportation, Ma’am,” Josh said, trying to sound as much like a soldier as he could. “You’re early,” Ambrosia said. “My husband is upstairs getting dressed. He has a few things to get in his office, then he will be ready to go.” She motioned for Josh to come in, and he followed her into the house. Josh noticed the monitor for the video camera at the front gate at the foot of the stairs. Two black cars pulled up to the gate. “Are you expecting company?” Josh asked. Ambrosia shook her head. “Not at all. Who could that be?” Josh recognized the same black Dodge Chargers and sunglassed, suited men that they had run from in Los Angeles. A second later, the intercom buzzed. “Yes?” Ambrosia said, pushing the intercom button. “White Raven Security, Mrs. Beldon,” the voice on the other side said. “We’ve come to take your husband to Andrews Air Force Base.” “They’re not there to take them anywhere,” Josh heard Ruth say in his ear. “They’re there to kill her and him for spilling the beans.” Josh looked at Ambrosia, who moved to push the button to open the gate. “Wait!” he said quickly. “Did you expect White Raven to come this morning? Did your husband use them last time he traveled on business?” Ambrosia shook her head. “No, it’s always been military.” Josh looked at her seriously. “We’re your transportation. I don’t know who those guys are. Don’t let them in.” Ambrosia stared at Josh, obviously trying to decide what to do. While she deliberated, Josh put his finger on his ear. “You hearing this, Amos?” “Right back at you, boss,” he said. “Them showing up sounds pretty hinky. The guy I worked with was sure that the military was providing transportation.” “If I know these guys, they’re up to no good,” Josh said. As if in response, the intercom buzzed again. Josh looked at Ambrosia. “Tell them you already have transportation and to go away,” he said. Something in his tone made Ambrosia believe Josh. She pushed the intercom. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you,” she said sweetly. “The Attorney General’s office must have made a mistake. We already have two nice soldiers here to take my husband where he needs to go.” “Mrs. Beldon, the men with you are not who they say they are,” the voice said. “Please open the gate.” Ambrosia looked back at Josh, who shook his head. “Don’t do it,” Josh said. “Please.” “He’s right,” she said. “You’re not army. I’ve been around too many soldiers to know you aren’t who you say you are. That driver out there is too old, and you try too hard to look like a soldier to actually be a soldier. So who are you?” “Tell her,” Ruth hissed in his ear. “We’re people who right now are concerned for you and your husband’s safety,” Josh said. He looked over her shoulder and saw that the White Raven men were all out of the two vehicles, looking at the metal fence. A second later, they disappeared as they spread out and ran toward the fence. “They’re coming over the fence,” Amos said. Ruth watched video from Amos’ camera as six men scaled the eight-foot black wrought iron fence and the barbed wire on top as if it were nothing. A second later, she heard Amos’ words. “They’re coming across the lawn. Permission to fire?” Ruth paused, then shook her head. “If they’re what I think they are, it won’t stop them.” A second later, Amos asked again. “They’re getting closer. Permission to fire?” Before Ruth had a chance to answer, he thingyed the action on his automatic and fired three shots at the man nearest him. The bullets went through the man’s chest without stopping and hit a brick post behind him. Amos then fired at the man’s face. The bullet again went through the man without stopping. Amos looked at his pistol as if something was wrong with it. “Get out of there!” Ruth yelled into the microphone. “Get inside! Lock the door!” Amos dropped his pistol and ran for the front door. He opened it and ran inside, slamming it behind him. Josh saw that Amos, a man who had been in combat many times, was white-faced. “Who are those guys?” “Demons,” Ruth said tersely. “And bullets won’t hurt them.” “So what now?” Josh said. “What’s going on?” they heard from the stairs. Dr. Hugh Beldon paused as he came down the stairs, his hands halfway through tying his necktie. “I thought I heard gunshots.” Amos finally seemed to take Ruth’s announcement in stride, and regained his composure. “We need a back way out of here,” he said, looking around. “And we need to slow them down.” “How do you slow down demons?” Josh asked. “Demons?” Dr. Beldon asked. “Who said anything about demons?” “Dr. Beldon, right now there are six armed men outside your door,” Amos said. “I fired three bullets into the chest of one of them, and a shot directly into his face. It didn’t affect him at all. Now whether they are demons or something else, they are intent on coming in here. And I don’t think their intentions are friendly. I highly suggest we leave here.” Surprised, Dr. Beldon hesitated. He started to argue, then heard pounding on the door. “Dr. Beldon! Mrs. Beldon! Please let us in,” the voice said. “The men inside with you are trying to hurt you.” Dr. Beldon frowned, then turned to Josh. “That doesn’t sound like a demon to me. If he were a demon, how would a locked door keep him out?” Josh shook his head. “They still think you will believe that they are human. They won’t come through the walls until they’ve given up the charade.” Dr.Beldon shook his head.”Young man, I am a psychiatrist. I have seen a lot of strange things over the years, but I have yet to see a demon. This is ridiculous.” He finished coming down the stairs and reached for the doorknob. An instant before he turned it to let them in, a hand protruded through the door. As they all stared, the hand was followed by an arm, then a shoulder and the rest of the body. As the demon slowly came through the solid door, Josh grabbed Dr. Beldon by the arm and pulled him back. He turned to Amos, who held Ambrosia by her shoulders. “Out the back,” said Amos. “See what’s in the garage. Get them out of here.” “What about you?” Josh said. “I’ll try to slow them down a little.” Josh grabbed the Beldons, who were both in shock, and pushed them out the back door of the house. As they ran, Josh looked back to see all six demons slowly filtering through the solid walls and doorway into the living room. Amos had run to the kitchen, Josh’s sidearm in his hand. “If there was ever a time to pray, now is it,” Josh muttered. Ambrosia thought he was talking to her, and began to whisper a prayer as they ran. Dr. Beldon, still in shock, looked behind him as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Three thousand miles away in Los Angeles, the entire Heretic team had their heads bent in prayer. Two of their own were in trouble, and for the first time since the Super Bowl 12 years before, Josh and Ruth were face-to-face with supernatural powers. Josh felt the soothing effect of the prayer, and realized that even though they were fleeing in panic, they weren’t alone. Josh dragged the Beldons to the separate garage behind the house. Inside he saw a Mercedes-Benz and a Range Rover. He pushed Dr. Beldon in one door to the back seat of the Range Rover and Ambrosia got into the other side. He then thought of something. “Keys!” he hissed quickly. Ambrosia looked at Dr. Beldon, who got an odd look on his face. “They’re in the kitchen, hanging on the wall beside the back door,” he said quietly. Josh slammed Dr. Beldon’s door shut and ran out of the garage door and toward the kitchen. He threw the door open and saw Amos running the other way. The six demons were in the living room, but headed for the kitchen. “Out! Out!” Amos said and tried to push Josh out the door. Josh slid past him and grabbed the keys to his right beside the door. They both ran for the garage. Before they got inside, Josh heard a whoomp and felt like a giant hand had pushed him to the ground. A split second later, he felt flames fly past him and the heat as the entire house exploded. He lay there for a second as bricks, pieces of wood and other flaming items fell to the ground. Then Amos grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. “From what I saw, that explosion will only slow them down a little,” he said. “We have to go. Now.” The two of them jumped into the Range Rover’s front seat and Josh turned the key and they were off. He looked into his rearview mirror at the devastation. The Beldons had fallen into shock again. Dr. Beldon, usually a man who never was at a loss for words, sat silently, staring at the men who had dragged him from his house and blown it up. Ambrosia sat silently, crying. Josh followed the driveway toward the back of the property to find that the wrought iron fence didn’t completely surround the compound. Instead, where the corner of the property faced the ocean, there was a berm and a opening facing the beach. Josh gunned the engine and leaped over the berm with the Range Rover and was onto the beach. Knowing that he was likely to get stuck if he went too fast on the sand, Josh slowed to about 50, but kept heading in the direction of town. “What now?” Ambrosia said to her captors/rescuers. Josh looked at Dr. Beldon in the back seat, who still stared silently out the window. “Now we get you two somewhere safe,” Josh said. “Those demons wanted you dead. There’s no doubt in my mind about it. And if they want you dead, that’s more than enough reason for us to keep you alive.” # # #
Harris Borden had no warning when they came for him. It was early morning, and he hadn’t risen from bed yet. Three men came in wearing orderly clothes. Two grabbed his arms and the third put a black bag over his head. He struggled against them, but found that the three burly men were a lot stronger than he was. Without changing him from his hospital gown, they sat him in a wheelchair and used plastic straps to tie down his wrists and ankles. Then Harris heard the door to his room open and he was pushed out into the hallway. He had been in the new room with the courtyard for about four weeks. Access to sunlight had been a luxury that he had savored. He had fantasized more than once about climbing the sheer 25-foot concrete walls and gaining his freedom. But now he knew that that’s all that was: a fantasy. As soon as they had bagged him and strapped him down, he knew where he was headed. Back to the hell he had spent 12 years in. He listened and felt as the men pushed his wheelchair through empty hallways. He felt a left turn here, a right turn there. They entered an elevator and he felt it vibrate as it dropped one, two, three floors. Then he entered a long hallway where he heard water dripping and felt the echo of concrete walls. Finally he heard a magnetic click on a door in front of him. The wheelchair rolled up an incline and through the doorway. And he knew that he was home. He felt a tug as the straps on his ankles and wrists were cut. Then he was led to the edge of his cot and sat down. After a pause, the black bag over his head was jerked off. The three men who had led him into the room strode through the open doorway, taking the wheelchair with them. In the doorway stood a big middle-aged man in military fatigues. But Harris knew something that most people who met this man did not know. He sensed the aura of the big man, and immediately sensed a great loss, as if he were teetering on the edge of a black hole. He had seen this kind of being before. He knew that he was face to face with a demon, and not just any demon. This was Moloch, the third lieutenant in Satan’s army. As Harris thought about it, he realized that Moloch had the most blood-thirsty reputation of the three. His followers had gladly sacrificed their own children in fire to this demon when he presented himself as an Old Testament god. Harris wondered if much had changed. “I am Major General Nathan Medfield,” the man/demon said to Harris. “No, you’re not,” Harris said, his eyes staring at Medfield. Medfield’s face slowly broke into a smile. “No, I’m not,” he echoed. “We both know who I am.” “What you are,” Harris said, correcting him. Medfield nodded. “OK, have it your way. I can afford to be magnanimous, you know. Because you probably have realized something about this room. One, I know that your memory has come back to you. Modern science just can’t keep up with supernatural power. Those men in their white labcoats smirk when we talk about the power of God and the existence of demons. And we want them to keep on smirking. Because as long as they think they have things figured out, have things under control, they will never need God. And we win. “When man doesn’t believe in God, we win. When he doesn’t believe in Satan, we win. And when they believe but don’t do anything about it, we win.” He smiled broadly and looked at Harris with an air of superiority. “The numbers are in our favor. The odds are in our favor. All we have to do to win is keep your side from winning.” Harris stared at the demon in front of him in silence. “Well? How do you respond to that?” Medfield said. Harris shook his head and smiled back. “You’re pathetic, you know. Your side lost a long time ago. The war was won when Jesus died and was resurrected. He conquered sin. He conquered death. And He is coming back soon to put you in your place. And that place is the fires of hell itself.” Medfield’s smile threatened to disappear, but he recovered it. “What about the billions who will die with us? Jesus died for them, but it won’t matter. Because even if they don’t believe in Satan, we will still win. They have to believe in Christ to be saved. And the mass of humanity doesn’t. They will be lost. And every person who is lost is a victory for us.” “Whatever,” Harris said to the demon. “You look at numbers all you want. I know and you know that the battle is fought in each person’s heart. Every person who chooses Christ is not only a victory for God but a weapon for good.” Medfield sighed. “Ah, but all of this is inconsequential. You know who I am and you also know what I am about to say. And that is this: you will be in this room until the moment you die. The next human face you see will be the person who comes to put you to death. “And that day is coming very, very soon.”
|
|