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Elijah
Jul 19, 2010 18:03:32 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jul 19, 2010 18:03:32 GMT -6
Chapter 15 Douglas woke up in the middle of the night with someone pounding on the door of his Georgetown townhome. In light of the craziness with Heretic-related business in the past few days and weeks, he threw on a robe and cautiously approached the front door. He didn’t own a gun and wasn’t likely to use one if he had it. So he went to his weapon of choice: a baseball bat he kept in the corner of the living room. Before he could reach the door, however, he recognized a familiar voice. “Open up, D.J.!” he heard Josh yell. “It’s me!” Douglas unlocked the deadbolt and threw open the door. Josh stood there in army fatigues, followed by a middle-aged couple and another, older man in fatigues. Douglas stepped back and let them come in. “Sorry to barge in like this,” Josh said. “But we needed someplace safe to hang out.” “Hang out? What happened?” Josh grinned and shook his head. In his ear he heard Bobby’s voice. “Typical Douglas. Doesn’t have his headpiece on and doesn’t know what’s going on.” “Hey, Bobby,” Josh said. “It’s the middle of the night. Cut him some slack.” Douglas led them into the living room, and while he started making some coffee, Josh told him what had happened in the Hamptons. Meanwhile, Amos broke out Douglas’ flatscreen tablet and linked them up with the rest of the Heretics. “Hi, there, Dr. and Mrs. Beldon,” Bobby said cheerfully from the screen. “We have some introducing to do. You’ve already met Josh and Amos, and our grumpy host Congressman Douglas Washington. Behind me here is his lovely wife Ruth, uh Melanie.” Ruth pressed her face into the area in front of the camera. “Hi there, Dr. Beldon, Ambrosia. Remember me?” Ambrosia perked up when she saw Ruth’s face. “You were at the congressional weekend. You talked to me about the preacher on the video.” Dr. Beldon turned and stared at his wife. “You told her about one of my patients?” “It just sort of slipped out,” Ambrosia said. “I was so happy with what I had found that I had to tell them about Elijah.” Dr. Beldon blinked at his wife, then shook his head. “That’s why they were coming after us. All this time, I was thinking it was something I had done. Maybe they didn’t like my procedures. But it was my blabbermouth wife. I told you, Ambrosia, that it was confidential!” He shouted the last word at his wife. “Dr. Beldon, please, what’s done is done,” Ruth said through the video screen. “We are a group of individuals who have been looking for 12 years for the man you have been treating.” “Terrorists,” Dr. Beldon muttered. “If we are terrorists, who were those guys bleeding through your walls back there in the Hamptons?” Amos said. “They sure weren’t IRS agents.” Dr. Beldon looked at Amos, then at Ruth, then at his wife. He shook his head. “You want me to commit treason,” he said. “The founding fathers committed treason by signing the Declaration of Independence,” Douglas said as he brought a tray of coffee and set it down on the coffee table. “Treason is a matter of perspective.” “Those men were demons,” Josh said. “You know that. You saw what they could do.” “I fired four shots into one and they went right through him and didn’t even slow him down.” Ambrosia apparently accepted their answers immediately, but Dr. Beldon was harder to persuade. Finally he sighed. “Even if I were to go back to the attorney general and plead my case, at best I would never work for the United States Government again. At worst, they would lock me up.” “Lock us both up,” Ambrosia said. Dr. Beldon paused again, before looking at Douglas. “You’re a United States Congressman. How did you get involved in all this?” “The man you have been treating is my mentor,” said Douglas. “He’s the mentor for most of us.” “We’re not terrorists,” Ruth said. “Although Ms. Case-Hudson would care to disagree, we’ve never done anything that would qualify us as terrorists.” Douglas looked at Josh, and cleared his throat. “Well, almost nothing,” Ruth said. “To be honest, we are totally harmless.” “Then why does the government want him locked up?” Ambrosia asked. “It’s a long story,” Douglas said. “Long story short,” Ruth said interrupting her husband, “we are fighting demons like those things that invaded your home, and the people who hope to benefit from their existence. People like Miriam Case-Hudson.” “The attorney general?” Dr. Beldon said. “I find that hard to believe.” “Believe what you want, Dr. Beldon,” Josh said. “But answer me this: you’ve been with Harris Borden. From what you have seen of his files and heard from him in interview, do you think he is a terrorist? What did he do that was so wrong?” Dr. Beldon frowned and looked at the floor. “To presume him innocent is to believe his story. And after what we saw in our living room….” He nodded, then turned to Amos. “By the way, you owe me a new house in the Hamptons.” Amos grinned, and Ruth spoke up. “What the insurance doesn’t cover, we will pay for.”
Douglas didn’t get any sleep the rest of the night. Dr. Beldon and Ambrosia spent the night with the entire team. He told them everything that had happened during his sessions with Harris, and answered constant questions about his health and his mental well being. “Surprisingly, he is actually quite healthy mentally and physically. Being alone for 12 years would drive anyone else crazy, but he seems to have a pretty good handle on what is going on. I’m afraid any struggle he is having with reality is my own fault.” Beldon went on to explain about his approach toward reality modification. Ruth’s face clouded up as he told how he had used drugs and logic to convince Harris that he had killed his wife and that God didn’t exist. Douglas shook his head. “No way,” he said. “I could see anyone else giving in and doubting God. But not Harris. He is a rock.” “It’s not a matter of being strong,” Dr. Beldon said. “Actually, we have a saying in psychiatry: ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall.’” “Is what you have done reversible?” Ruth asked. Dr. Beldon nodded. “Absolutely. In fact, without my reinforcement, there is a good chance that he will revert to his own familiar belief system on his own in time.” “So the $64 question is: where is he?” asked Bobby. “I can’t tell you exactly,” Dr. Beldon said. “My best guess is that the prison is somewhere at Camp Norris in the southern Nevada desert. But that covers thousands, possibly millions of acres. And at best, it’s still a guess.” “Honey, what about the website?” Ambrosia said. “They probably shut that down when they moved Borden out of there,” said Dr. Beldon. “What website?” Ruth asked. “At first, they didn’t want me to have face-to-face contact with Pastor Borden,” said Dr. Beldon. “So they had a website tied into his security camera. Here’s the URL.” Dr. Beldon wrote it down along with his username and password. Bobby took it down and started typing it into a computer at the other end. After a moment, he paused and turned back to the screen. “Your username and password have been denied,” Bobby said. “No problem. Just give me a minute and I will hack it.” Dr. Beldon’s eyebrows raised. “Your people are talented.” “We’re a full service facility,” Douglas said, sipping on his coffee. Five minutes later, Bobby spoke up again. “Got it. I’m linking the site to your screen.” Everyone in Douglas’ living room huddled around the screen. A few seconds later, they were rewarded by an image of a bearded man lying on a cot in a sterile looking room. “This is a live feed,” Dr. Beldon said, surprise in his voice. “They’ve already got him back in his old cell. They’ve given up on the procedure. They’ve given up on him.” Dr. Beldon looked at the others in the room, his eyes wide. “They’re going to execute him.”
At about 9, Douglas excused himself and showered, shaved and got dressed. His 11 a.m. appointment with the Vice President could have been timed better, but he was eager to hear what Annaway had to say. Knowing that by now the flash drive had probably been discovered in Annaway’s office computer at Martha’s Vineyard, Douglas suspected that there might be some fireworks at the meeting. Actually, the fireworks weren’t in the form that Douglas suspected. He waited in the sitting area outside the Vice President’s office in the Eisenhower Executive Building. Finally, Annaway’s assistant came forward and called him in. Vice President Annaway rose from his chair and came around to shake Douglas’ hand as he came into the plush office. Douglas looked over Annaway’s shoulder and saw a view of the Washington Monument through the window. “Congressman Washington, welcome,” said Annaway. “Have a seat.” He gestured to a couch beside the fireplace in his office. “Thank you, Mr. Vice President,” said Douglas, and took a seat on one end of the couch. Annaway sat down in an overstuffed brown leather chair across from him. “Coffee?” Annaway asked, but Douglas shook his head no. “Did you and Melanie have a good time this past weekend?” Douglas nodded. “The facilities were wonderful and the service was great. Thank you so much for inviting us to attend. We had a lot of fun.” “I hope that little conflict at the end there wasn’t too bad,” Annaway said, raising an eyebrow. Douglas shrugged. “My wife has things she is sensitive about, and as hard as I try, sometimes I step on her toes. She’ll be fine. She just needs some time.” Annaway sucked in air through his teeth. “I certainly hope so. After all, the congressional ball is this weekend, and the President expects everyone and their spouses to be there. He was elected on a Family First ticket, and it wouldn’t look good for you to show up without her.” Douglas nodded. “Duly noted.” “Speaking of the President, I wanted to talk to you about the upcoming Homeowners Reform Bill. The President has been pretty public about his opposition to the bill, going so far as to say that he will veto the bill if it gets that far. It’s an important bill, and we are rallying the troops to see where everyone stands. Have you made a decision yet?” Douglas looked at the vice president closely. “You called the bill ‘important.’ From that, I take it you are supportive of the bill?” Annaway put his coffee cup on the table in front of him. “You could say that. I am one of the informal originators of the bill.” He looked at Douglas expectantly. “I have some questions about the bill,” Douglas said. “What will it accomplish? All I can see is that it will replace popular vote with the vote of a select few.” Annaway chuckled. “Douglas, you are being a bit naïve. For years it has been pretty evident that the president wasn’t elected by the people. He was elected by the Electoral College. All this is doing is simplifying the process. We are loosening our encumberances, going back to way things were originally intended. Our political system, after all, is based on the British system, who has used landownership for centuries to measure the value of a man’s vote.” “Doesn’t this fly in the face of the Revolutionary cry of ‘taxation without representation’?” Douglas asked. “Posh,” said Annaway. “Rhetorical hyperbole. We have to deal with the realities of the modern man, and for the most part, people here in the United States want their decisions made for them.” “Have you asked them?” Douglas said. “Are you guessing, or do you know that for sure?” “If I asked them, it would defeat my whole argument, wouldn’t it?” Douglas stared at Annaway, then shook his head. “Officially, I still stand in the undecided column. Unofficially, I haven’t seen a valid argument yet to make me vote in favor of it.” “If you are worried about reelection, that is one of the beauties of it,” said Annaway, grinning. “The people who would object to it won’t have a say in your reelection.” “I’m not worried about reelection. What I am worried about is right and wrong.” “Rightness or wrongness has nothing to do with this. And as for reelection, if you aren’t worried about it, you’re either a fool or you’re someone I need to know better.” Annaway stared silently at Douglas, then flicked on the flatscreen on the wall. “If you are worried about the president’s veto, I wouldn’t. The president isn’t likely to be in office long enough to worry about.” Douglas frowned as an image came onto the TV. It showed a hotel room with a young woman in a bathrobe. She paced back and forth, smoking a cigarette. It was Lila. As Douglas watched, a door opened to the side, and Walter Webb, president of the United States of America, stepped through the door. Lila turned toward him and kissed him as he approached. As Douglas watched, Lila pulled the president’s coat off of him and threw it on the floor of the hotel room. Then the president reached up and slid the terrycloth robe from Lila’s shoulders. She was wearing nothing underneath. “OK, I’ve seen enough,” Douglas said abruptly. Annaway flicked the remote and the image disappeared. “Obviously, that is fake,” Douglas said. “Anyone who is familiar with editing software can prove that.” “Maybe so,” Annaway said. “Maybe it’s true, maybe it is not. But it raises enough doubt in people’s minds that Webb’s administration would be severely hindered.” “You’re part of Webb’s administration,” Douglas said. “He’s already won reelection. What does he have to worry about?” “There’s always the legacy he leaves,” Annaway said. “And as for me, I am here to serve my party and my country. If he is forced to step down, I would be willing to step forward and lead this country in the resulting confusion. It would be the right thing to do.” Douglas’ mouth became a thin line. “You bastard.” Douglas was surprised as Annaway to hear the words come out of his mouth. Annaway’s eyes narrowed. “So I take it that you are one of the few who will oppose us?” Douglas nodded. “I was undecided until now. You make it easy to decide.” Annaway shook his head. “It’s a pity that you are ending your political career so soon after it started. You showed such promise. By the way, I will be turning the flash drive from your wife over to the Secret Service for examination.” Douglas hesitated. “What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about the flash drive that was left in the computer in my office at Martha’s Vineyard. Pretty incriminating. You know, something like that has treason written all over it.” Douglas shook his head. “What are you talking about? We weren’t anywhere near your office.” “Oh, it’s just coincidental that you decided to hang from the balcony in your underwear the night that the flash drive appeared? Better pack your bags. I hear Leavenworth Prison gets chilly in the winter.” Douglas stared at Annaway. How much did he know? Was he fishing, or did he have actual evidence that tied the flash drive to Ruth? “You can’t prove that flash drive came from my wife,” Douglas said. “And was it just coincidental that Mrs. Washington was in her room with a migraine the night that someone broke into the attic? I think not.” Douglas shook his head. “Still just speculation. No more tangible evidence that that made up video that you just showed me.” Annaway smiled. “As I said, it is enough. You’ll learn, if you survive this and stay in office long enough, that perception is always more important than the truth. It’s not what actually happened that matters. It’s what people believe that matters. And belief, my young friend, is easily manipulated.” Douglas realized that Annaway was right. Annaway’s political career had been built on the ideals that Annaway had associated his campaign with. He had always been around the right people, seen in the right places, and have even seemed to have a sixth sense as to when to appear at events. People believed in Annaway, not because of what he had done or what he proposed, but because of the perception that he was a good American. “Look,” Annaway said, stepping forward and putting his hand on Douglas’ shoulder. “No damage was done in Martha’s Vineyard. I have no secrets. I can make all of this go away.” Douglas stared at him. “All I have to do is promise to vote the right way when the time comes.” “I won’t even ask for you to commit yourself today,” Annaway said. “Just think about it. Think about what you have to lose by voting your conscience. Then think what one little vote can do for your career.” Annaway smiled at Douglas, the same smile that had been his trademark during election after election. The all-American smile. He slapped Douglas on the shoulder, and stood, stepping toward the door. Douglas stood and walked with him. “Just think about it, Congressman Washington,” Annaway said as he showed him out the door. “Think about your future. Think about America’s future.”
Douglas was shaken by the meeting, even though he knew without a doubt how his vote would have to go. As he got into the back of his limousine and asked them to take him back to his office, he pulled out his IPhone and dialed his wife. Surprisingly, Ruth picked it up. “Hello,” she said quietly. “Hi there,” he said. “Are you ready to accept my apology?” There was a pause, and Douglas knew that there was still anger. “I guess not,” he said. “I know I have this coming, and I promise to give you all the time and space you need. But duty calls.” “Of course,” she said sarcastically. “Why else would you call?” “Honey I have tried you half a dozen times. This is the first time you have accepted my phone call.” “Guess I am feeling generous,” she said. “What’s the duty that is calling?” Douglas told her of his meeting with Annaway and then reminded her of the congressional ball that weekend. “I would be drawing a lot of attention to myself if you aren’t there,” Douglas said. “And after that meeting with Annaway, I really need a chance to talk to the President. He needs to know what’s going on.” “Well, that makes me feel better about breaking into Annaway’s office,” said Ruth. “I still think he’s tied to the triad somehow.” “So will you come? Can I count on you?” Ruth paused. “Yes, I will come,” she said. “But that’s it. Things are not okay between us.” “I understand,” Douglas said. “I love you anyway.” His words fell on a dead connection.
# # # Attorney General Miriam Case-Hudson was angry. No, angry isn’t the right word; she was livid. Despite her better sense, she called for General Medfield to come to her office. It took him two days to respond. “Come in, General,” Case-Hudson said as he came in and closed the door. “My, you look splendid in your dress green uniform and ribbons and silver stars on your shoulders. You are the epitome of control. That’s what your uniform tells me. That you are in control.” “Did you have a question for me, Madam Attorney General?” the general rumbled in a deep baritone. “Or was this visit to inspect my uniform?” “Yes, I have a question. Actually, I have several. First, where is Dr. Hugh Beldon and why isn’t he and his wife dead? The second is this: why do I see Harris Borden on my screen? Why is his image on the website? Why is he alive?” “Madam, if you will let me explain….” General Medfield said quietly, yet firmly. “Explain nothing! I want them dead! Why have you failed? Tell me that!” Case-Hudson said. Suddenly, she stopped and clutched her throat. Her eyes bulged as she realized that she couldn’t breathe. She looked up at Medfield, who sat calmly staring at her. “I once heard that shouting was an indication that you had lost control,” General Medfield said quietly. “I think that’s what has happened here.” Case-Hudson stared at him, still clutching at her throat. “Actually, control is always an illusion. You and your triad—I think you call it—you think you are behind all the machinations that are changing this country. But you don’t realize where the true power lies. And that’s a shame. “Humans have no power. They think they do, and that’s the biggest lie of all.” Medfield looked across the desk at Miriam Case-Hudson, whose face was turning blue. He shrugged and flipped his hand, releasing her. “Now if you are willing to be a little more civil, I will explain why I left Harris Borden alive. At least for now.”
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Elijah
Jul 19, 2010 18:04:39 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jul 19, 2010 18:04:39 GMT -6
Chapter 16 Two years of marriage had given Ruth adequate opportunity to learn exactly how to irritate Douglas, and she was not done with punishing him for his indiscretions at Martha’s Vineyard. Thus it was that she insisted that he appear at the congressional ball by himself and let her arrive 30 minutes late. Douglas had his doubts as to whether they would let her into the White House without him. But Ruth had insisted that last minute responsibilities would keep her from being there on time, but not to worry. She would, indeed, be there. It was called a congressional ball, but actually didn’t include all of congress, since there wouldn’t be enough room in all the White House to seat them all with their spouses. Instead, the President had the latitude to pick and choose who he invited, usually those who were either new to Washington or those who belonged to the same political party. Douglas was uncomfortable as he sat at the President’s table in the East Room. He continually looked at the empty chair beside him, then at the doorway where service personnel and Secret Service all stood together in black and white. Finally he saw a familiar face. He smiled, then frowned, then smiled again. Ruth stood at the doorway, looking over the room at the gathered crowd. She saw Douglas’ reaction, and she laughed to herself. She had spent some Foundation money on a new pink gown for the event, one that was sure to knock Douglas’ eyes out of his skull. Without Douglas’ knowledge, she had actually arrived in Washington early, and spent the afternoon at a salon. The final touch had been one that she had thought long and hard about. It was a last act of rebellion, and at the same time, a recognition of the truth that had come from the mouth of Taupe. The president and his wife turned to see what Douglas was looking at, and Douglas heard the First Lady gasp. Douglas pushed back his chair and went to meet her. He returned a moment later, Ruth on his arm, and he turned to the president. “Mr. President, Madam First Lady, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Melanie Berkowitz Washington.” Ruth held out her hand to the President, then the first lady. The president grinned from ear to ear as he took Ruth’s hand and shook it slightly. The First Lady, still startled, took her hand numbly and shook it as well. Douglas helped Ruth find her seat. After an awkward moment, the First Lady spoke up. “That’s a beautiful dress, Mrs. Washington,” she said. “Thank you, Madam First Lady,” Ruth said. “And please call me Ruth.” “Ruth?” the First Lady said. “But I thought your first name was Melanie.” Ruth grinned at Douglas, who leaned forward. “She’s never liked her given name. She took on the name of Ruth about the time we met.” “I love what you did with your hair, Ruth,” President Webb said. Douglas paled, but Ruth smiled. “Thank you, Mr. President. I always view hair as an accessory and I wanted to make sure the pink hair would match my pink dress.” The president grinned back. “Well, I always admire a brave, bold woman. That’s what attracted me to my wife.” Douglas nodded. “I think it takes a strong, brave woman to survive here on Capitol Hill.” “That’s the truth,” said the First Lady. “Well, one of the promises I made to my Margaret when we came here to the White House was that I wouldn’t talk shop when I brought her to occasions like tonight. But I just wondered if you had made up your mind about the Homeowners Reform Bill.” “Oh Walter,” the First Lady muttered, her face dropping in disappointment. Douglas spoke up. “I won’t ruin the evening with too much politics, Madam First Lady. Mr. President, I don’t think you need to worry about my vote. There are too many other things you need to be worried about. I would welcome an opportunity to talk to you about it.” The President held up his hand. “No, Martha’s right. Let’s not talk about any more politics. Douglas, if you need to talk to me, call my secretary and she will get you in the appointment book for a visit.” I did, Douglas thought to himself. Twice. And my name mysterious got lost. Twice. Douglas looked over at Ruth, a look for help in his eyes. Ruth winked at him. “Mr. President, I have it on good authority that you are a very good dancer,” she said. The President chuckled, and the First Lady spoke up. “He is, although he won’t admit it. He and I used to dance at all the official occasions until I hurt my knee last winter.” “I decided it was time to retire,” President Webb said. “From dancing, that is.” Ruth looked at the First Lady. “It’s a shame to see such a marvelous dancer go to waste. Douglas can’t keep his two left feet from tangling with each other. With your permission, Madam First Lady, I would like to ask the President if he has one more good dance in him.” President Walter Webb, who had obviously been impressed by Ruth when she came into the room, looked at his wife, who nodded. “Go ahead, Walter,” she said. “I know you have missed it.” President Webb smiled and nodded. He stood, and the whole table stood with him. Then the rest of the room saw that he was standing, and stood too. Douglas watched as the President of the United States reached out his hand and took the hand of his wife, the young woman with the gorgeous dress and pink hair. Douglas noticed the flash going off and cameras clicking as the room quieted and everyone watched the two of them walk to the front of the room. The President gestured to the conductor of the small orchestra at the end of the room, immediately began leading the rest of them in a slow waltz. Ruth took the President’s left hand in her right and put her other hand on his shoulder. They began dancing slowly around the small area that had been reserved for dancing, but had not been used. Douglas saw that every eye in the room was on them. He felt very proud of Ruth, the girl who had come from the streets of Seattle to dance with the President. And he felt envious of the President of the United States right now. Ruth wasted no time in using the opportunity to talk to the President. “Mr. President, I suppose you are aware of the video that is being circulated that concerns you and the singer named Lila.” “I’m aware of it,” he said. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.” “Well, my husband was approached by Vice President Annaway, who seems to believe that it is enough to have you removed from office.” President Webb chuckled. “Annaway’s been after my job since I brought him along as Vice President first term. I would have left him behind but we needed the votes he brought to the ticket. I wouldn’t worry too much about him.” “Mr. President, are you aware that Annaway is in collusion with the attorney general and other people to bring down your administration regardless of what it takes?” Ruth said, staring into the president’s eyes. “Mrs. Washington—Ruth—you must think I am totally naïve. I know what is going on around me. Now please don’t squeeze my hand so hard. I’d hate to tell the Secret Service that a beautiful young woman like you was the reason I had fingernail marks on my hand.” The President stepped back from Ruth and bowed. Ruth smiled as several congressmen and senators applauded around them, then followed the President back to the table. “Well, that was invigorating,” the President said to the First Lady and Douglas. “Congressman Washington and I were just in the middle of a discussion about sailing,” said the First Lady. “I wasn’t aware that the First Lady was such an avid sailor,” said Douglas. “Oh, yes, growing up on the Upper Peninsula gave her lots of opportunity to sail. At least in the summer,” said President Webb. “In the winter we had ice sailing,” said the First Lady. “I did that too.” As the First Lady spoke, Douglas was distracted by a buzzing sound. He glanced over at Ruth, who was looking into her lap at her phone. It was a text message. Douglas frowned at her and punched her under the table. Ruth looked at the message and then gestured at Douglas with her eyes. She held out the text message:
USED WEB TRACKING TO DETERMINE THAT TARGET IS INDEED AT NELLIS. WE NEED TO MOVE ON THIS ASAP.
Douglas looked at Ruth and then nodded slightly. She slipped something from her purse and sniffed it when no one was looking. A minute later, the First Lady gasped. “Young lady, your nose is bleeding!” she said. “Really?” Ruth asked. She put her napkin up to her nose, and it came back covered with blood. The President gestured for a server to come over and he brought ice, but Douglas waved him away. “Ruth is a hemophiliac,” he said. “When she has these nose bleed, she needs to lie down. I will take her home.” They stood and Douglas helped Ruth out of her chair. “She can lie down in our quarters if you like,” the First Lady said. Ruth shook her head. “I’ve had this many times before. I will just go home and lie down. It must have been all the excitement from dancing with the President of the United States.” She waved at the President, who said: “Thank you for the dance, Ruth.”
“You think we could have been any ruder?” Douglas said as they got into the back of their limo. Ruth was busy pulling her headset out from her purse and connecting with Bobby. She pulled out a second set, the ones Douglas had purposely left at home, and gave them to him. “He said ASAP. I am sure the Webbs have dealt with people who had to leave early before. They’ll survive.” A minute later, they were connected with Bobby. “Hey Bobby,” she said. “Anything new?” “I’ve had the mainframe evaluating the traffic patterns at Nellis,” Bobby said. “With the exception of traffic to the main gate and out toward the firing range, satellite imagery shows there is consistent vehicle traffic going to the northwest. There’s no buildings out there, but an infrared scan shows a heat signature of something underground there. There’s also a hidden entrance about half a mile away, what I would suspect is a garage entrance. It’s pretty well hidden. Unless you were right on top of it, you probably wouldn’t see it.” “Can you forward those images to me?” Douglas said. “I will get in contact with out extraction team.” “Tell me, D.J., why aren’t we doing the extraction? And who is more qualified than us to do it?” Douglas heard Taupe ask in the background. Douglas looked at Ruth, then nodded. “An old friend of mine is a reporter, actually an author these days. She, in turn, knows a man who is highly qualified for this job. His name is Mikhael Gorovko.” “So who is this Mikhael Gorovko?” Josh asked. Ruth spoke up. “You remember him Josh, don’t’ you? He’s the man who helped Harris escape the first time. He’s the one we call the Godfather.” “Ahh, yes,” Josh said slowly. “The ex-spy in hiding who taught Harris everything he knew about fieldwork, so he could in turn teach us.” “He knows more about getting in and out of prisons than all of us combined,” Douglas said. “And sending one highly trained man in is a lot safer and surer than sending in a whole team.” “Well, the other good news is this,” Bobby said. “When I investigated the website where Harris’ image came up, I was able to get into their whole security system. Which means, we have access to all their security cameras, can lock and unlock their doors, and can set alarms on and off at will. Cool, huh?” “You rock, Bobby,” Ruth said quietly. Bobby smiled and leaned back in his wheelchair. “You heard it guys,” he said. “I rock.”
Bobby forwarded the necessary data to Douglas, who in turn gave Michelle Kinkaid a call. It was the middle of the night, but Michelle was as excited as everyone else. She had been one of the last people to see Harris Borden as a free man. While she made the call and left a message for Mikhael Gorovko, Douglas made another call. It was morning in St. Petersburg, Russia. He dialed the number that Harris Jr. had left him, using the satellite to call them without any chance of it being traced. Harris Jr.—Vasily—answered it on the second ring. “Vasily, I have great news,” said Douglas. “We’ve found your father. He is in a prison in southern Nevada.” “You have found him?” Vasily said. Then Douglas heard him repeat it to his mother in Russian. A second later, he heard a woman’s voice. “Who is this?” Katya asked. “Who am I speaking to?” “My name is Douglas Washington, Mrs. Borden. You probably remember me as little Dougie Washington.” “Yes, I remember now. In Round Rock,” she said. Douglas could hear the weariness in her voice, and yet relief. “I am so happy that you have finally found my Harris.” “Pastor Borden means a lot to many people,” Douglas said. “I am not the only one that is thrilled to get this news. We hope that he will be free within a couple of days.” “Well, keep us informed please. I will pray constantly for your success.”
Douglas and the others had no idea how long it would be before they would be contacted by Gorovko. The next afternoon, they got a call from Bobby. “He’s been here and now he’s gone,” Bobby said on the table screen. “What?” Ruth asked. “Gorovko just showed up, unannounced, at the door to the warehouse this morning,” said Bobby. “How did he know where to find you guys?” said Ruth. “No one knows where you are. Just those of us who are Heretics.” “I don’t know. All I know is that he showed up. The man is phenomenal. He wanted to see our raw data—satellite scans, infrared, weather, that sort of thing. I tried to show him the weapons we had, and offered to let him take whatever he wanted. But he only took one or two small things. My stink grenade; the Indian pepper bomb.” “Did you see what he was driving?” Douglas asked. Bobby shrugged. “Some old beater. He said he would pick up transportation as he needed it. He told me that he should have Harris back here within three days. And then he just disappeared. We have security cameras blanketing this place, and not one of them caught him. He’s a ghost.” “Sure wish we could help more,” Ruth said. “Well, at least we will be able to watch everything via their security cameras,” said Bobby. “That is, unless he doesn’t show up on those either.” “The biggest thing we can all do at this point is pray,” said Douglas. “I know that’s how I am going to spend the next three days.”
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Elijah
Jul 21, 2010 16:54:46 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jul 21, 2010 16:54:46 GMT -6
Chapter 17
Amazingly, Harris’ reaction to finally meeting Moloch, the third and final lieutenant of Satan, was one of relief. It had been a journey that had taken 22 years, two prison terms, eight years living in hiding, and a life filled with adventure and heartache. The journey had been so long that he could hardly relate to who he had been before it had begun. All he knew was there was a loving woman and a son he had never met waiting for him when it was all over. After Moloch—General Medfield—had left, the first thing Harris had done was slide under the cot. Unfortunately, his prized photo of Harris Jr. was not there. Either he was now in a new cell that was duplicate to the original, or someone had found and removed the photo. His first reaction was one of dismay, as he had lost the one tie that he had to his former life. But as he thought about it, he realized that his time in captivity, one way or another, would soon be at an end. Harris thought about Moloch, and considered that the demons who presented themselves as Old Testament gods often appeared in other cultures as well. Ba’al had been Zeus to the Greeks, Ashteroth had been Venus to the Romans, and Moloch was essentially the same as Kali, the Hindu god of death and Mictlantecuhtli of the Aztecs. His mind wandered to images he had seen in college of Aztec priests cutting the living heart from their sacrifices, and Kali had the same reputation. Harris shook his head, knowing that as bad as Ba’al and Ashteroth were, Moloch was the epitome of where sin led you. “It’s all about selfishness,” Harris muttered to himself. He looked up and realized that The Messenger had appeared once again in his cell, this time showing himself as the young man he had first seen 22 years before. “It’s always been about selfishness,” The Messenger said, nodding. “Lucifer’s first sin was because he put himself first. From Adam on, that’s been the real issue. Hasn’t it?” “And Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross was just the opposite,” Harris said. “He didn’t deserve what he got, but He put our needs before his own.” The Messenger nodded, silently. “So where does that leave us?” he asked Harris. “I understand now how the Christians who were martyred could do what they did,” Harris said. “Even if no one ever knew about it, they knew that the answer to true happiness, true Christianity, was to do what God asked, with no thought of reward. That’s what Paul means when he talks about denying ourselves.” “So where does that leave us?” The Messenger repeated. Harris smiled. “It leaves me content. I am where God has put me. I will do what I can where I can. No more, no less. If I am rescued, I will praise God. If I die in prison, I will know it is God’s will and will praise His name.” The Messenger stared at Harris, then finally nodded. “I believe that you truly mean it,” he said. “You’ve learned a lot more than most Christians do.” Harris smiled thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose it would be appropriate for me to ask what IS going to happen, would it?” The Messenger smiled in return and turned to go. “Just remember Who is in control.” # # # Regardless of how high tech and how top secret an installation is, some things never change. Things wear out and need to be replaced. Food goes in and is consumed. And the inevitable garbage and waste has to be taken out. Thus it was that no one looked twice when the military issue garbage truck drove the distance from Nellis Air Force Base’s main processing area to the hidden prison in the northwest. It took about 45 minutes for the garbage truck to make the trip to the hidden entrance. At the entrance, the four workers had to share their ID with the guards. Considering the extensive stink that came from the truck, the guard in charge didn’t take long before he waved them on. The truck’s usual routine was to visit dumpsters on all four levels of the garage before making the return trip to Nellis. At the first three stops, three got out as the truck emptied the dumpster into the truck, while two assistants added trash from additional cans. At the final stop, however, there were only two garbage men. The third man was shimmying his way up the trash chute at the last stop, and the two men with the truck had pocketed $10,000 each. The fourth man was an inflated dummy in the passenger’s seat. They took their time with the last two stops, knowing that the plan was for two men, their original worker and a new one, to join them before they exited the parking garage. Mikhael Gorovko was in his 50s, but took pride in the fact that he had never slowed down in keeping fit and trained. The data that Bobby had shared with him made him think that Harris was being held in the lowest level of the prison, off a utility tunnel that had no other prisoners. That simplified things for Gorovko, who simply had to eliminate all guards and didn’t want to leave any witnesses. The garbage chute that Gorovko had climbed opened up half a level above the utility tunnel where he believed Harris’ cell was. The chute opening was on a stairwell. Suspended over a 20-foot drop, Gorovko carefully opened the chute door and saw that the coast was clear. He slid out of the opening and pulled his customized flechette gun from his overalls. The gun shot a silent dart that immobilized its target within half a second. He silently strode down the stairs to the lower level. Outside he saw that three guards sat at a station just outside the doorway. He got down low and opened it a crack. One of the guards looked over at the doorway as it cracked open. His attention was diverted as something small rolled toward them. “Grenade!” he shouted, a second before the grenade exploded with a whooph. A cloud of Indian peppers billowed quickly around the three men, who coughed and went into spasms. Gorovko put a handkerchief over his nose and mouth and rushed past them, glancing at the three men writhing in spasms on the floor. Gorovko quickly and silently strode down the long narrow concrete walkway. The only sound was dripping water and the echo of his shuffling feet on the concrete. He paused as he saw a video camera facing him at the end of the hallway. He looked at the camera, then his eyes followed the cable from the back of it metal stand along the wall and into a metal box not far from him. He flicked out a butterfly knife and opened the metal box. A second later, the camera facing him in the hallway was blind. # # # “We got something,” Bobby shouted over his shoulder and to the other connected via satellite. “What is it?” Ruth asked from her townhouse in Georgetown. “What do you see?” “Actually, it’s what I don’t see,” Bobby said. “The security camera in the hall in the lower level is black. I would wager that our friend Gorovko is there.” “Impressive,” Josh said. “Let’s just keep praying that he knows what he is doing,” said Ruth. # # # Harris was sitting on his cot, thinking about the discussion with The Messenger, when he heard a rustle outside his door. Then there was a metal click, and he knew he had a visitor. Medfield had said that the next face he would see would be that of his executioner. A lump formed in his throat as the door opened. Instead, a face he never expected to see greeted him. “Hello zaychik,” said a familiar voice in Russian. “Ready to go on a little trip?” “Gorovko,” Harris breathed. “Here, put this on,” Gorovko said quickly, pulling a second set of coveralls from inside his clothes. “We don’t have much time.” As Harris listened to his words, a familiar shape loomed behind Gorovko. Harris watched in horror as an automatic pistol appeared from nowhere and fired into the back of Gorovko’s head. Gorovko’s face registered surprise, but jerked forward, a spray of blood flying from his forehead. Gorovko’s body collapsed onto the floor in front of Harris. General Medfield stepped into the cell from behind Gorovko, the automatic pistol in his hand. He smiled at Harris, then looked down at the body and the growing pool of blood that surrounded it. “I think I will leave your friend here to keep you company for a while,” said Medfield. “He should start smelling ripe in a day or two.” Medfield then turned to the camera. “I know your friends are watching us,” Medfield said. “I want them to know that the only way they are going to get you out is if they come here—all of them—and give themselves up. Or they can try to break in here again.” He looked at the camera, then at Harris, then at the dead body on the floor. And then he laughed. # # # Josh, Ruth, Bobby and the others were indeed watching when Medfield appeared behind Gorovko and pulled the trigger that sprayed his brains across the small cell. Ruth gasped, and the others remained speechless. They remained speechless as they heard Medfield say, “I want them to know that the only way they are going to get you out is if they come here—all of them—and give themselves up. Or they can try to break in here again.” It was unexpected, and everyone was at a loss. They saw the cell door click behind Medfield as he left Harris alone with the dead body of his mentor. After a long pause, as everyone tried to gather their wits, they saw Harris stand and face the camera. “That was Moloch, the third demon,” he said to the camera. “He staged all of this in an effort to get us all in one place and end the Heretics once and for all. I will give you one last order. If you have any respect for me at all, you will do this. My order is this: DO NOT COME TO GET ME.” Ruth and the others stared at the screen as Harris lifted his bloody feet off the floor and propped himself on his cot, staring at the wall. # # # As usual, the only Heretic that was unaware of what was going on was Douglas. He had flown to Las Vegas and had arrived at the MGM Grand Hotel. The plane touched down after midnight and it was very late by the time he got to the hotel. He used whatever leverage he had as a United States Congressman to convince the clerk at the front desk to tell him where Lila was staying. As he suspected, she was staying in the Presidential Suite on the top floor. He took the elevator up, expecting to find guards outside her door, or at least some semblance of an entourage. Instead, he found the place deserted. The elevator opened up just outside the huge red double doors of the Presidential Suite. He rapped on the door and discovered that the door had not latched properly. He swung it open and stepped inside. The gigantic suite had a view of the lights of Las Vegas on three sides. Lila had the lights of the room off, and Douglas paused to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. In the meantime, he saw that the suite had been turned upside down. Empty bottles of what looked like champagne littered the room, surrounded by papers and remnants of half-eaten food. Clothes were scattered everywhere, and the sheets and blankets from the large circular bed lay on the floor. Across the room, the hot tub was filled to overflowing with water and thick bubbles. Music filled the room. Douglas recognized it as Lila’s last album. Finally he saw a small body slumped over against the side of the bed, holding onto the neck of a half-empty bottle of champagne. “Lila,” he breathed, and stepped forward and bent down to help her up. She looked up numbly as he raised her up. She was wearing one of the terry cloth bathrobes from the hotel, and Douglas cringed as he had a flash of seeing her wearing a similar one in the video with the President. He helped her onto the bed, where she perched loosely, he shoulders slumped forward. “Let me get some black coffee into you,” Douglas said. “Coffee would be good,” she murmured, her eyes still unfocused. “Although I’m not drunk. I’d love to be, but I can’t seem to get to that point.” Douglas crossed the room to a small coffee pot on a table and began warming the half full pot there. While he waited, he remembered and took his headset out of his pocket. He put the piece in his ear and switched it on. He was surprised to not hear Bobby, or Ruth’s voice on the other end. But he knew that the system would record the conversation he had with Lila. He wanted there to be an official record of it, both for Ruth and for the people he worked with. Finally, he poured two cups of coffee and took them over to Lila. She still sat on the edge of the bed, her hair hanging in her face and her thin shoulders slumped forward as if she had no will to hold herself erect. She took the coffee mutely and Douglas sat down on the bed beside her. Douglas looked at her and once again saw the little girl that he had fallen in love with so many years before. She had a smile that could light up a room. That smile had disappeared, replaced by an empty shell of a person. Douglas saw a person who had lost sight of who they were. He saw someone who had lost their soul. “Lila, look at me,” Douglas said quietly. Lila raised her chin and looked at Douglas, her eyes vacant and red. “What has happened?” Lila bit her lip and looked back down. Finally she sighed. “Oh, D.J. Don’t you wish you could go back to that night in San Francisco and do it over?” “Sometimes,” he said. “I think about us and wonder what might have happened if things were different.” “I was such an ass,” she said. “I wanted to be a star so badly that I didn’t care what the price was. Now I know.” “Lila,” Douglas repeated. “Tell me what happened.” “I think you know what happened,” she said, raising her head and looking at him again. “I got in with the wrong crowd. Men—very bad men—made me do something I will never be able to forgive myself for.” “You’re talking about the President,” Douglas said. Lila nodded. “Were you actually with the President?” Lila looked at him blankly, then smiled. “Oh, no. I’ve met President Webb. He’s much too honorable a man to do what they wanted it to look like we were doing. They used a look alike. They told me that what they couldn’t accomplish with the camera they would fix in editing.” She smiled grimly. “It was my first and last attempt at a film career.” “Lila, you said they. Who are they?” “I worked with a film crew and a very nice director. But they got their directions from someone in the government. A judge. I heard the name McBride.” “Supreme Court Justice Aaron McBride?” Douglas asked. Lila nodded, then a second later a light came on in her eyes. “Yes, McBride, that’s the name I heard. Someone said that there were three of them. They called them the triad.” “You didn’t hear the other two names, did you?” She shook her head. “Sorry.” Douglas realized the implications of the confession he was hearing. “So you never had sexual relations with the President?” Lila shook her head again, smiling. “The President is like my father,” she said. “He’s a great man. He would never do this kind of thing. And I certainly wouldn’t put him in that position.” “But you did, didn’t you?” Douglas said. “You worked with others to make it look like the President was having an affair with you.” Lila nodded slightly, then stood and walked away from him. Douglas could see the first light of morning beginning to lighten the sky in the east. Lila stood facing the window, staring out at the glittering city and desert beyond. “I love you, you know,” Douglas heard Lila say, her body turned toward the window and away from him. Finally she looked at Douglas. “I never told you that, because I was too caught up in myself. But I do love you. I think I have loved you ever since that night you got hit with a beer bottle at that place we sang at. What was that place called?” “The Buzz,” Douglas said, smiling slightly. “Those were the best days of my life,” Lila said. “I didn’t know it then, but they were.” “They were good times,” Douglas agreed. “It was the year that changed my life.” “Mine too,” she said. “Now I wish I could have those days back.” Suddenly Lila dropped her coffee cup and ran across the room and into Douglas’ arms. She clutched his neck, and he let her, although he didn’t hug her back. “You’re doing it again, you know,” Douglas said. “What’s that?’ “You’re compromising another elected official. This time, a United States Congressman.” Lila pulled back to look at Douglas, and he saw tears running down her face. She nodded, and he realized that he had hurt her. “Lila,” he said. “It’s never too late to turn your life around. Give up show business. Give up the road. You have enough money now that you never need to worry about working again. Settle down and have a normal life. Find some great guy and have a bunch of kids.” “I found a great guy,” she said, still looking in his eyes. “Trouble is, he’s already married.” Douglas nodded to her. “You’re right, I am married. Happily married. I love my wife. And I would never do anything to hurt her.” Lila smiled at Douglas through her tears. She released her grip on Douglas and stepped away. “She’s a lucky woman,” she said. “I would change places with her in a heartbeat.” “Lila,” Douglas repeated. “I can help you. I have friends who can get you out of the clutches of these people. These bad men you talk about. Let me help you.” Lila shook her head. “I’m not afraid of them. It’s me that is the problem. I can’t forgive myself for getting mixed up in all this.” Douglas bit his lip. “You’re right. You’ve got to be able to forgive yourself before you can start over. But I forgive you, and I know that the President would forgive you. God forgives you.” Lila turned back to Douglas, a slight smile on her face. “You used to talk a lot about God,” she said. “I thought it was funny. Kind of cute. Now I wish I would have listened more closely.” “Listen now, Lila. God loves you. He is willing to forgive you for all of your mistakes if you just ask Him to forgive. You can start over.” Lila’s smile faded. “I can’t start over if I never forgive myself. And that’s just not going to happen.” “Why not?” Douglas asked. “Why not just start over?” Lila shook her head. The morning sun had risen and shone into the massive suite. What normally would look gorgeous now looked like a wrecking crew had spent hours redecorating it. And Lila, hair mussed, face red, shoulders slumped, looked like she belonged there. “Goodbye Douglas,” she said to him. She turned away. “Lila,” Douglas said. “Lila!” But Lila had stopped listening to Douglas. After a long moment, Douglas turned away and headed back to the elevators.
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Elijah
Jul 21, 2010 16:55:30 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jul 21, 2010 16:55:30 GMT -6
Chapter 18
All the way home to Washington that day, Douglas kept remembering the last time he had said goodbye to Lila. He had been so in love with her, and had wanted her to join him in his new life he had found, thanks to Harris Borden. But the spotlight had caught her attention, and Douglas had lost his love to a rival—fame. Even after seeing firsthand what had happened to Tori Ash at the Super Bowl, Lila had never lost her one goal in life: to be a superstar singer. Twelve years later, both of them had gotten their wish. Douglas had followed God’s calling, which surprisingly had led to him becoming a United States congressman. Lila had followed the path of fame. She had become rich, successful, and more miserable than she could ever imagine. Her life was not her own, and as Douglas had envisioned it earlier, she had truly lost her soul. Douglas mulled over the directions their lives had gone all the way home in the airliner, and in the cab from National Airport to their townhome. This time, he had told Ruth what his plans were. She was waiting for him when he arrived that afternoon, strangely silent. “Welcome back,” she said quietly. He said nothing, but stepped forward into her arms and held her. This time, Ruth didn’t object. They stood in the doorway of their townhome for a long time, just the two of them, sharing the moment. They were both warriors in different ways, but right now they were a lost married couple. “I’m sorry,” she finally whispered. “I know,” he whispered back. “Our lives are really confused right now. We have to start over. But know this: I have never loved you more than I love you right now.” Ruth smiled at him sadly. “I love you too.” She kissed him; gently, then passionately. Then he pulled away. “Did you see the confession I got from Lila?” Ruth nodded, then looked down. “I have bad news,” she said, then looking up. “The news said that they just found Lila’s body. She died from what looks like an overdose of drugs.” She watched Douglas’ face for a reaction. He flinched, but just for a moment, then nodded. “She’s dead, D.J.,” she said. “I always thought that I would breathe easier when she was gone. But now that it has happened…seeing you meet with her and seeing how miserable she was…I just feel sorry for the poor girl.” “She was lost all right,” Douglas said, tears now falling from his face. “Even back when I first met her I should have seen it. She sold her soul for fame, and she ended up dying because of it.” Ruth reached up and took Douglas’ face in her hands, tears coming to her eyes as well. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m so sorry.” She hugged him and he began to sob. They continued to stand in the middle of the room, Douglas’ bag forgotten beside him. After a long while, she stepped back. “I have more bad news,” she said. “Gorovko failed. He got into the prison, but was shot and killed by the man called General Medfield. I don’t mean man. I mean demon. He revealed himself to us as the demon Moloch.” Douglas’ forehead furrowed and he stared at her. Finally, he nodded. “This was the professional, the man everyone said was like a ghost, who couldn’t be beat. What do we do now?” “I was just about to go online with the team and discuss our options when you came home. I guess that’s good timing.” She shrugged. Douglas sighed. “Let me get us some coffee and we’ll talk with the boys. And girl,” he added, remembering Taupe.
“So Ruth got you up to speed on what’s happened?” Bobby said to Douglas. Douglas nodded. “Yeah, double bad news. I suppose you saw my footage from Las Vegas.” “I did. I downloaded it to your tablet. Do with it whatever you need to.” “My plan is to share it with Congress as well as the media,” said Douglas. “Michelle Kinkaid should know how best to get the word out there. That should put a crimp in Annaway’s plan. Now we need to talk about General Medfield.” “You mean Moloch,” Taupe said behind Bobby. “You signed on to fight demons, Taupe,” Ruth said. “This is your big chance.” Taupe didn’t respond, but Ruth could see that she was a little more hesitant than she had been before. “Not quite the same when you see them face to face, isn’t it?” Ruth said. “Harris made it clear that he doesn’t want us coming for him,” Josh said. “What do we do about that?” “He said that because he doesn’t want anyone else killed,” Douglas said. “Makes sense to me,” Bobby said. “Nothing like seeing a man killed in front of your eyes to sober you up.” “Look, we know where Harris is,” Taupe said. “We know what’s waiting for us when we get there. Lock and load, I say.” “Facing a demon isn’t like facing flesh and blood,” Josh said. “You got that right,” Amos added from the rear. “Guns are useless.” “So what do we do?” Bobby asked. “We’ve been searching for him for 12 years. We’ve finally found him, only to discover that we can’t go get him. What do we do?” Ruth looked at Bobby and the others in Los Angeles, then at her husband across from her. She raised an eyebrow, and he nodded, seeming to read her mind. “We pray,” Ruth said. “We are fighting against principalities and powers of the spirit world. So we fight them in the best way we know how. We ask God to send in His troops. “We fight demons with angels.”
Surprisingly, the expected argument between the teams in Los Angeles and Washington didn’t really happen. With the exception of Douglas, everyone had witnessed firsthand the death of Gorovko and knew that charging in, guns blazing, would accomplish nothing. Even Taupe conceded, especially after listening to Amos, a former Special Forces soldier, who had confronted demons himself. Instead, everyone got on the phone and started calling fellow Christians. First, Josh and his crew called the leaders of the local Children of God rescue missions. The leaders then got their own staffs and local believers together into prayer bands. Then Douglas and Ruth started calling friends they knew who were Christians. Douglas called people he knew back at his home in Round Rock, as well as the family of Uncle Frank. Ruth called Ambrosia Beldon, who was located with her husband at the home of a Children of God leader in Baltimore. Ambrosia agreed to help by praying and calling others that she knew would pray. After all the calls had been made, Ruth watched the Heretics in Los Angeles gather together as a group and begin praying. “Pray for Harris,” she told them. “But also pray for us. Because when the demons realize that we aren’t coming for him, they will come for us. I’m pretty sure of that.” # # # Harris Borden was praying too. His first reaction after Gorovko had been killed had been shock. Then as the body continued to lie in his cell, he was repulsed by the amount of blood around him. Try as he might, he could not get it off of him. He tried to use the small faucet in his cell to clean himself off, but the blood on his hands, his shirt, his face and his feet seemed to smear the more he tried to wash it. The coveralls that Gorovko had thrown at him were somewhat cleaner than what he had on. So he stripped out of the hospital gown he had been left in, and put the green coveralls on. That done, Harris was resigned to whatever happened. Harris prayed, but he prayed for those who he thought would try to rescue him. He knew that it was a trap, one that Ruth, Josh and the others would have a hard time resisting. But more and more he saw that God was calling for them to put everything in His hands. “Just remember Who is in charge,” the Messenger had told Harris the last time he had seen him. And even with everything Harris had been through, one thing he did know was that God was the One in charge. Demons might try to assume command. Rich, powerful men might thrust themselves into the spotlight. Men with guns might push him this way or throw him that way. But God was the one in charge. God would raise men up and throw them down as He saw fit. And He would destroy all demons—including Moloch—when it was their time to be destroyed. So Harris prayed for God’s will to happen. And thus it was that when people all over the globe—Christians, rescue workers, Heretics and prisoners—had lifted their hearts, the voices and their minds up in prayer, that God answered their prayer. # # # At first, Harris thought someone was shaking him. He opened his eyes from prayer and looked out for whose hand it was, but saw no one. Then as he looked at the walls and the door, he realized that the whole room was moving. The lights went out. A second later, he heard a rumble, which became a roar. Finally the roar became deafening. Harris put his hands on his ears. It was as if Harris was inside a waterfall, but one made of dirt and rocks. The room swayed back and forth. Finally the metal door buckled and bent, then exploded outward as if kicked open by some unseen force. Dust and dirt filtered through the entrance. Harris sat listening to the rumbling as it dissipated until a voice came into his head: “What are you waiting for, Harris?” Harris stood up onto the sticky blood-covered floor and stepped toward the open door. Alarms blared around him, but the hallway was dark. He staggered down the concrete hallway, the walls buckled and the metal pipes bent in all directions. Water sprayed out here and there, and Harris felt it splash over his bare feet. In other places, steam sprayed out from the walls. Harris continued picking his way down the hall, weaving past large chunks of concrete that had lifted from the floor, fallen from the broken ceiling or now jutted from the wall. Finally, he came to the stairwell. He looked ahead and saw that the entire stairwell had collapsed. “What now, Lord?” he whispered. Go back, came the response. He immediately turned around and started back. He saw the bodies of two guards at a station he had missed when he had opened the door to the stairwell. One of them had a flashlight. Harris took it and shone it around him. Standing in the doorway to the stairwell, Harris looked back down the hall toward his old cell. He knew that he didn’t want to go in there, and there was no reason to. He thought about it. People came down the stairwell, but they had wheeled him in here on a wheelchair. He hadn’t felt any stairs in the process. That meant that there had to be an elevator around here somewhere. He shone the light around him and finally saw the doors to the elevator far to his left. A pipe had fallen in front of the double doors, which had caused him to miss it the first time. He knew that without power, and with the structural damage that came with the earthquake, the elevators would not work. But they affording him an opportunity nevertheless. For where there was an elevator, there was an elevator shaft. One that he hoped stretched all the way to the surface. He found a small galvanized pipe and used it to pry open the doors to the elevator shaft. The doors opened, he looked into a great black void. He jammed the pipe between the doors to hold them open, then used his flashlight to peer up and then down in the shaft. Above him, he could see the elevator jammed in the shaft with dust and rocks falling on either side of the elevator. No use going that direction, he thought. Then he looked down. Below him, Harris could see that the elevator shaft ended about ten feet below. He could see gears, an electric motor and a system of pulleys down there. There was also a small door down there. He put the flashlight in his pocket and bent down to hold onto the edge of the elevator door. He then allowed his feet to drop the remaining four feet to the floor of the shaft. As he got closer, he realized that the door he had seen was merely an access panel for probably electrical wiring. It was about two feet high and eighteen inches wide. His spirits fell, but he opened the door anyway. He was surprised to see that it wasn’t an access panel after all, but a small shaft that led away from the elevator. Follow it, he heard in his mind, and he obeyed. Harris realized that he would not have fit into the small panel had he found it years ago when he was strong and healthy. In his smaller, less nourished state, he found it a squeeze, but fit into the small hole. Beyond the doorway, Harris found a concrete lined shaft about two feet square. The shaft was empty. He suspected that it had been left as a way for construction workers to send wiring or pipes elsewhere, such as another elevator shaft. Sure enough, after sliding on his stomach for fifty feet, he found another door, and pushed it open. He was in what looked like a second elevator shaft. This one was never finished. It had no pulleys or motors at the bottom. He raised his flashlight and pointed it above him. There was earthquake damage to the shaft, but he saw no elevator above him. The shaft seemed to climb on and on, beyond the reach of his flashlight beam. # # # Bobby looked up from their prayer group to see that the security cameras they had been watching Harris with had gone off. In fact, all of the security cameras had gone off at the prison. Frowning, Bobby flipped to the satellite imagery of the prison. What he saw made him turn back to the group. “Sorry guys, sorry to interrupt you, but something’s happened,” he said. “What is it, Bobby?” Josh asked. “I think there’s been an earthquake in Nevada,” he said. # # # Harris shone the flashlight around him, hoping to find some sort of ladder that would lead toward freedom. But there was none. Sheer walls surrounded him. Had there not been an earthquake, he would have nowhere to go but back to where he entered the shaft. But there had been an earthquake, Harris realized, which meant that there would be cracks and cornices for him to hold onto. If he stayed, he would surely die. If he tried to climb, he might fall and be injured or die. But he also might get out. He was barefoot, which Harris originally thought would be a handicap in the rubble of the quake. But now he realized that it would make it easier to climb. He shone the flashlight at the walls. He saw a crack that started about eight feet above the floor, and ran diagonally across the wall. He followed it to a chunk of rubble higher up. If he could climb the crack, he could get at least that far. “Baby steps,” Harris told himself, remembering it was a line that Gorovko had used to teach him in San Dimas Prison years ago. “Mikhael, this is for you.” He put his flashlight in his pocket. He leaped up and grabbed the crack running across the wall with the fingers of both hands. There was nowhere to put his feet except against the wall, his toes catching whatever purchase they could find on the sheer concrete. Harris gripped the ragged edge of the crack and pushed against the wall with his feet. With this leverage, he walked his way across the side of the wall and to the edge of the flat concrete slab that jutted out into the shaft. Grabbing the edge of the slab, Harris pulled himself up onto the flat surface. He turned himself into a seating position then looked down. He had climbed about twenty feet from the floor of the shaft. He shone the flashlight down, then up. He now could see that there were several broken spaces in the shaft. He calculated a path that he could take, climbing, crawling and leaping from crack to cornice, from cornice to concrete slab. The path rose up and up. And at the top, he could see sunlight streaming into the shaft. “Oh ye of little faith,” he muttered to himself, and smiled.
It took him more than an hour to reach the top. The last ten feet were the hardest. He had found the path relatively straightforward, but the last few feet were intact. Harris had to pause for several minutes, trying to determine how to get up the sheer walls. Above him was a small opening through which light shone, but below it was only sheer concrete walls. After pondering it for a full ten minutes, he shook his head. “Lord, I don’t see a way to that entrance,” he prayed aloud. “You got me this far. I need you to get me the rest of the way out.” While he had sat pondering his predicament, he heard voice above him and the sound of heavy equipment moving. Now he wondered if he should shout for someone to help him. He was just about to shout when he heard another rumble. “Aftershock,” he said to himself, realizing that he was in a terrible position to survive another earthquake. He pushed himself away from the edge of the slab he sat on and pressed his back against the wall. The rumble continued, and Harris felt the slab shift beneath him. He half expected it to fall down into the shaft, and he heard others he had stepped on only minutes before falling into the void. But he also knew that God had gotten him this far, and so he trusted Him. The rumble subsided, and Harris took a deep breath. He prayed that he could get out of the shaft before another earthquake came. He looked up and then smiled. The small opening above him had grown larger. The shaft had been covered up by a metal door, and that door had buckled and sunk into the entrance. Now the square doorway hung from the opening into the shaft. The edge of it hung just above his head. Harris stood up and reached for the edge. It was too high. He leaped up and just caught the edge of the metal door. It was slick, but he held on. He put his weight on it, and it seemed to hold it. He pulled himself up on the edge of the door, and looked above it. The other edge of the door was attached to the frame with two rusty hinges. One of the hinges had screws that were pulling out of the frame. Harris inhaled through his nose and pulled himself onto the angled platform. The hinges creaked as he threw his chest onto the door, and it swayed from side to side. Harris realized that it was holding his weight, but just barely. He pulled his knees up under him, and then stood on the door. Now he could see out of the entrance. The shaft was constructed just outside the garage area of the prison, and Harris’ head was protruding out of the shaft into the hot sunshine. He quickly grabbed the edge of the shaft and pulled himself off the door, which threatened to collapse at any moment. He sat on the edge of the shaft and looked down into the darkness. Then he looked at construction workers and ambulance drivers running in and out of the prison entrance at the garage. In front of him was a garage filled with injured prisoners and guards, rescue workers and ambulances. But behind him and to either side was nothing but open desert. Barefoot, exhausted and bloody, Harris Borden turned and left the underground prison that had been his home for the past twelve years and walked out into the Nevada desert.
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Elijah
Jul 23, 2010 2:40:36 GMT -6
Post by Edward Cheever on Jul 23, 2010 2:40:36 GMT -6
Just FYI. I accidentally stopped by in here (I was just looking to see about chapter lengths) and I read the last sentence of the 18th chapter.
It's a great sentence, and if you ever get to publish these books it needs to be the sample line on the back of the third book's cover.
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Elijah
Jun 14, 2011 10:29:16 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2011 10:29:16 GMT -6
CHAPTER 19
Miriam Case-Hudson heard the beep coming from her computer which signaled a conference call. She knew who it was, and for the first time in days, she was smiling. She had been talking to her secretary, who stood at the door. When Case-Hudson nodded to the secretary, she nodded and left, closing the door behind her.
“Gentlemen,” she said to the three faces on her computer monitor. “I take it this is good news.”
“Good news, and some bad,” Vice President Annaway said to her. “You’ve probably heard that the Senate went through with their vote and approved the Homeowners Reform Bill.”
“That is good news,” Case-Hudson. “So the show is on for tomorrow morning, it sounds like. How does the tally look for the House?”
“Straw vote calls it close, but doable,” said Annaway. “And since the new Speaker is in our pocket, I don’t anticipate any surprises.”
“So I suppose the bad news continues to be the President,” Case-Hudson said.
Annaway nodded. “The man is quite the boy scout. I’ve swayed a lot of people into believing that the video with the young lady is real enough. It might take some maneuvering to turn that belief into action, but I think we’ll make it happen.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Case-Hudson asked.
“If it doesn’t, then I will make sure we have a new president who will understand the realities of our situation.” The deep baritone came from General Medfield, but after the incident in her office, the Attorney General had a hard time looking at his image on the computer screen.
“General, you have the go-ahead to do what you see fit. That is, if the call for an impeachment falls through.” She glanced at the image and saw the big man nod in response, and the color drained from her face just looking at him.
“What is the status of the prison, following that earthquake?” Annaway asked.
General Medfield cleared his throat. “The lower levels were totally destroyed. All cameras and surveillance equipment as well as access to those levels have been cut off.”
“And Borden?” asked Annaway.
“As I said, we have no way of checking his cell on the lower floor.”
“He’s most likely dead,” said Justice McBride.
“He’s not dead,” Medfield said. “He escaped through a secondary elevator shaft.”
“How do you know this?” Case-Hudson asked, then caught herself. “Never mind.”
“Wait,” said McBride. “I don’t understand. How did he escape, and why aren’t you doing something about it?”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Medfield said. “He’s surrounded by miles and miles of desert.”
“But still…what if his followers come for him? They’re just about as resourceful as their leader.” A whine came into McBride’s voice, one that continued to annoy Case-Hudson. She looked at Medfield, and sensed that his patience was wearing thin as well.
“Patience,” Medfield said. “I will take care of his followers. I will take care of the President. And Borden will be taken care of as well. You must have faith.”
Faith, Case-Hudson echoed in her mind. An ironic choice of words.
It was Monday afternoon in Washington D.C., and Douglas was torn between two places he needed to be. The Senate had approved the new Homeowners Reform Bill and Douglas knew that it would be rapidly appearing on the floor of the House for swift debate and subsequent approval.
At the same time, he was with Ruth in his living room trying to discover what had happened to Harris Borden. Ruth sat in gym clothes while Harris stood in his suit, tie askew, trying to be ready to leave if he needed to. Ruth and Harris had the TV in the living room switched to C-Span, watching for any indication that the new bill was being presented to the House. At the same time, they were chatting with the Heretics in Los Angeles regarding what was going on in Nevada.
Bobby and Pee-wee were on an interstate somewhere in their RV, with Pee-wee driving and Bobby acting like a cross between a website manager and a symphony conductor. Ruth had patched her tablet into a larger monitor that allowed them to better see the satellite imagery that Bobby was downloading from the satellite. The image showed a decimated and collapsed building surrounded by firetrucks in the desert. Several hundred people—rescue workers and victims—were scattered around the building. Without speaking, all of them scanned the image for any sign of Harris Borden.
“If he got out, he wouldn’t hang around,” Josh said.
“That’s if he got out,” Bobby said.
“He got out,” Ruth said. “This earthquake was God’s escape plan.”
“He could have hung around to see if he could help anyone,”said Douglas.
Ruth started to disagree, but then paused. That would be just like Harris. Get out of jail, only to hang around and play the Good Samaritan.
“Pray that Harris had the sense to leave while he could,” said Douglas.
As if in response, Douglas’ cell phone chirped, and he stepped away from the computer monitor. A moment later, he returned.
“Duty calls, gang,” he said. “The bill will be coming to the floor of the House within the hour.” He leaned over and kissed Ruth.
“You’re the only one that can stop that bill on the floor,” she said. “I have faith in you.”
“Yeah, we all do,” Josh said from the computer screen. “Go get ‘em, D.J.”
“Pray for me,” Douglas said, pulling his car keys out and stepping out the door. “Pray for all of us.”
“There he is!” Bobby yelled, a minute after Douglas left the group.
“Where?” Ruth asked. “I don’t see anything.”
“Here,” Bobby said. “Let me enhance the screen.” As she watched, the contrast increased on the satellite image, and it zoomed in to a faint dotted line on the right of the larger screen.
“The mid-day light didn’t give us the shadows we needed to see it properly, but now it’s late afternoon and the shadows are getting better.”
“I still don’t see anything,” Ruth said.
“See that faint line?” Bobby said. The camera continued to zoom in.
“That? That could be anything. That could be a game trail or tracks left by a jeep.”
“Here,” Bobby said. “Let’s see what happens in infrared.” Suddenly the image shifted to a negative image. The faint line became a distinct line of footprints.
“Wow,” Ruth said.
“Wow is right,” Bobby said. “Those footprints were made in the past couple of hours. And they are heading away from the disaster, not toward it. That’s no rescue worker.”
As she watched, Bobby moved the camera in the direction that the footprints were headed. They continued for about a quarter of a mile in a straight direction, but then disappeared.
“Zoom out,” Ruth suggested. Bobby tried zooming out, but the tracks completely disappeared. He moved around, looking for any sign of their missing leader, but there was no more trace of him.
“Keep looking, Bobby,” Ruth said. “What direction is he traveling?”
“North,” he said. “The tracks make a straight line north.”
“Maybe we should get a helicopter and go get him,” Josh said.
“Are you kidding?” Bobby said. “That’s still part of that air force base. Fly anywhere near it and you’ll get shot down faster than you can say Schickelgruber.”
“Well, you guys work it out,” Ruth said. “Josh, you’re in charge of rescue operations. Bobby, keep feeding us intel.”
“What are you going to do?” Bobby asked.
Ruth stepped over to her purse and pulled out an odd-looking cell phone. She dialed a number programmed into it, one she’d only called once before.
“I’ve got to make a phone call.”
General Medfield finished his conference call from the back of his limousine with the triad and then placed another call. This time his conversation was short and to the point.
“Operation Clean Sweep is a go,” he said tersely, then shut his cell and put it away. As much as he would like to conduct the operations himself, he had to depend on his White Ravens to do what they were trained to do.
In the meantime, he had a date with the President.
The top-secret military satellite known as XB-17 had been in space for almost a year. It was very expensive, with the exorbitant cost of its development and launch safely hidden within an even more exorbitant budget for the NSA. It had one purpose, and had yet to be tested in the field. It was a satellite killer.
The telecommunications satellite that was its prey drifted in space 212 miles to the west and fifteen miles higher in orbit than XB-17, its geosynchronous orbit allowing it to hover directly above the state of Nevada. If XB-17 were capable of intercepting its communications traffic, it would learn that the other satellite was busy using thermal imaging to scan the late evening desert, as well as handling video and audio communication traffic from several sources spread across the United States. Even so, since it was built for handling traffic for an entire corporation, it was only operating at three percent capacity.
XB-17 fired rocket thrusters to draw within range of the telecommunications satellite, but even so, it took more than an hour change its trajectory and get within five miles of its victim. When it finally did, it sent a signal down to the command center in Bethesda, Maryland, stating that it was in position.
“Sir, XB-17 is in position,” stated a technician at NSA headquarters.
“Permission to fire,” was the answer that came from the faceless officer behind the glass partition.
The technician nodded, more to himself than to his superior, then pressed a button.
Several thousand miles away, the XB-17 received the coded message. In response, two small missiles separated from the satellite and drifted away. When they were about ten feet from the satellite, the boosters ignited on the missiles and they roared off in the direction of the telecommunications satellite. Forty-five second later, both missiles exploded in space. They did not actually hit the target satellite, but got within twenty feet of it before exploding. The shock of the double explosion hit the satellite like a swatter hitting a fly. Delicate electronics in the satellite were immediately fried, and the satellite spun off into space, its important task of surveillance and communication forever ended. What had cost The Heretics $93 million to purchase was now a very expensive piece of space junk.
“Stage one complete,” the disembodied voice at White Raven headquarters said into the phone to General Medfield. “NSA did their job well.”
“Proceed to stage two,” Medfield said into his phone. “Let’s see if our law enforcement agencies and the Air Force can be just as cooperative.” He paused. “But just in case, have some our own boys follow along with the LAPD.”
Bobby was sitting in the back of the RV, as always trying to do several things at once. He had the big screen on, switching between CNN, who were covering the earthquake in Nevada, and C-Span, who had just begun coverage of the House deliberations over the Homeowners Reform Bill. At the same time, he had three oversized monitors and two computers dedicated to a satellite sweep of Nevada. The afternoon had turned to dusk and then to total darkness, and so he was asking the satellite to use infrared to see if it could see a heat signature belonging to Harris. So far, he was having no luck. He knew that Ruth and The Heretics had invested a great deal of money into the satellite and the rest of his electronics setup, and he didn’t want to let them down. At the same time, he felt disappointed himself. In this age of modern technology, it seemed like a man still could get lost in the desert, which he found amazing and humbling.
While he fumbled with controls for the satellite, his tablet beeped. He looked down. It was Josh.
“No, Josh. I don’t know any more than I did when you called ten minutes ago,” he said, his eyes still on CNN.
“You do realize that he’s been free from that prison for more than six hours, and we still don’t know where he is.”
“Duh, bro. The consolation is that if we don’t know where he is, I can guarantee you that the bad guys don’t know either.”
“That’s pretty confident talk from a guy in the back of an RV in the middle of---,” Josh paused. “Where are you guys, anyway?”
“Upstate New York,” he said. “Pee-wee wanted to see Niagara Falls, so we are headed there tonight. We have about an hour to go.” Bobby turned his wheelchair and looked out the window. “We stopped for a few snacks and some gas, but Pee-wee is taking his time.”
“Well, I envy you guys. You can go wherever you want and it’s all on the--.”
Josh’s words were cut off, and Bobby sat there staring at the tablet. His first reaction was that Josh had switched him off. Then he looked at the computer monitors and saw that they had all gone black. Finally a message appeared on all three of them.
SIGNAL LOST AT SOURCE.
“That’s not supposed to happen,” he said. Frowning, he tried calling Josh, then Ruth. Both lines were dead; in fact all communication with the satellite appeared to be dead. He thought about it for another second, and a shadow of fear began to drop onto him.
“Pee-wee,” he said, unlocking his wheelchair and wheeling it toward the front of the RV. “Pee-wee!” he then shouted. He wheeled his chair toward the ramp that they had built to replace the steps, and he rolled down to the outside.
It was very dark, and there were no other vehicles in the parking lot of the Shell Gas station where they had stopped. He saw Pee-wee talking and laughing with the clerk behind the counter. And then he heard a noise. He looked up to see a strangely shaped aircraft fly above them, its jet engines softly hissing in the night. In the light of the full moon, he could only see the bulbous nose of the small craft and the distinctive V-shape of its tail. A chill went through him.
“Predator drone,” he breathed. As he watched, the craft swooped by, then arched into the sky and began to turn around to make another pass.
Bobby didn’t hesitate, but rolled himself toward the entrance of the Quik-Mart where Pee-wee stood talking. Pee-wee turned toward him and opened his mouth to speak.
“No time!” Bobby shouted. “Do you have a walk-in freezer in the back?”
The clerk hesitated, then nodded. “Sure, but--.”
“Our lives are in danger! Let’s go!” Bobby wheeled as fast as he could, and the others followed him, a question obvious on their faces. Bobby found the freezer and opened the door to roll in. Pee-wee followed quickly after, with the clerk right behind.
“I don’t understand,” the clerk said. “What danger? Let me call the police.”
“Trust me, when Bobby says there’s danger, you gotta believe him--.” An explosion stopped Pee-wee’s words, and he quickly grabbed the door and slammed it behind them. There was another explosion and the entire freezer rocked, food falling on them all. The lights went off and they sat in darkness.
“Don’t open the door!” Bobby said. “The gas tanks are probably still burning out there.”
Bobby had another reason for them to hide in the freezer. He knew that the infrared sensors on the Predator drone wouldn’t be able to see them in the cold and heavy metal that surrounded them, and for now, kept them safe.
“Why do we have to do the grocery shopping?” asked Taupe, dragging the toe of her boot behind her on the blacktop.
“Stop your whining,” Amos said, getting out the van. “We’re lowest on the totem pole, and someone has to do it. Besides, I’d rather do something than just sit there watching that monitor, looking for Harris Borden.”
“I don’t whine, I’ll have you know,” Taupe said, following him through the dark parking lot and into the Wal-Mart. “I was just making an observation.”
Amos chuckled to himself. “Observe all you want, but stuff still has to be done. Even when I was in Special Forces, I still had to mow the lawn, do the laundry and rake leaves.”
“Yeah, I know, but this isn’t exactly what I expected.” She randomly picked up an orange and looked at it while Amos examined the apples.
“Not enough excitement for you?” he said, a slight smile on his face. “It’ll come, believe me. Someday, when you’re in the field all alone with no backup, you’ll look back on these days with fondness. Hey, do me a favor and get on the horn and ask them what kind of apples they want.”
Taupe shrugged. She pulled out her satphone and tried calling Josh. No answer.
“Nobody home,” she said. “I mean, no signal in here, I guess.”
Amos frowned. “That’s strange. They should work--.” He stopped when he saw four men in sunglasses and dark suits walking toward them from across the store. “Get down!” he hissed.
“What?” she said, then looked in the direction he was staring.
“Down!” he repeated, and both of them dropped behind the display of apples. “Those are the same guys I saw at the psychiatrist’s house. The ones who attacked us.”
Taupe’s eyes grew large. “Where’s your gun?” she said.
Amos shook his head slightly. “Guns don’t work on these guys. Demons, remember?”
While they knelt beneath the counter, she heard a radio squawk in the other direction. A moment later, two LAPD uniformed officers strode slowly around the corner, their eyes scanning the store as they walked.
“Those demons too?” Taupe asked.
Amos shrugged. “Doubt it. But they might be working together. On the other hand, they might not.”
“So you think they’re looking for us?”
Amos frowned. “They could have seen the van. It’s registered to the Children of God, but they might have finally put two and two together.”
“So what do we do now?” Taupe asked.
“Try your phone again.”
Taupe pulled it out and switched it on. “Still dead,” she said a minute later.
“Something must have happened,” Amos said. “You remember what they said about Helter Skelter?”
Taupe nodded silently. Helter Skelter was the code that they used when the base was compromised, or when any of them were in danger of being captured. The plan was for everyone to flee in numerous, individual directions. Then, weeks later, they would try to reunite.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Amos said finally. “I’m going to create a diversion. And you’re going to get out of here, find a pay phone or someone’s cell phone, and warn the others. Ready?”
“Wait--what kind of diversion?”
In response, Amos jumped up and started running down the grocery store aisle, away from the police and at a tangent from the White Raven operatives. He pushed past two women and their shopping cart went flying. As Taupe watched, the two police officers took off after him. She watched as they ran past her, not noticing her crouching in the produce aisle. A second later, she heard shots fired.
“He’s down,” she heard one officer said.
Taupe gasped, then gritted her teeth and composed herself. The others needed to be warned. She crept on all fours until she was out of the produce section. Others rushed the opposite direction, curious what the noise and commotion was all about.
When she got around the corner, she stood, still watching behind her to see if her pursuers had seen her. Satisfied that they hadn’t, she pushed through the doors to the meat preparation area and headed for the back door.
She opened the back door to the outside, only to come face to face with two more LAPD officers.
“Hold it right there,” one of them said, his hand going up to his holster. Instinctively, she went into a roundhouse kick, spinning and striking the officer who had spoken to her in the side of the head. He went down, and she turned to the other.
The other officer, a woman, had already pulled her Taser and raised it to fire. Taupe raised the tail of her jacket just as the Taser fired. The darts hit the leather jacket and stuck. She felt a slight shock of electricity, but for the most part it had no effect.
“That was a new jacket,” she said, snapping her knee and striking the second officer under the chin. “Well, at least it was new to me.”
Both officers down and no one else in sight, Taupe tried her satphone again. Still dead. She reached into the pocket of the woman and pulled out a cell phone. She quickly dialed a number and said two words: “Helter Skelter.”
Then she threw the phone down, sighed, and ran into the night.
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Elijah
Jun 14, 2011 10:35:54 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2011 10:35:54 GMT -6
Chapter 20
It was morning when Harris Borden began walking north. The desert comforted him with a cool breeze and his spirits were high. The dried blood on the coveralls that Mikhael Gorovko had left him began to flake off as he walked. He knew that he would not get far, barefooted and unprepared for the desert. But his first priority was to get as far away from the prison as possible, as quickly as possible.
Within two hours, the cool breeze disappeared and the morning coolness with it. The dirt beneath his feet went from cool to warm to hot. He knew that he would have to find something to protect his feet, but something inside him pushed him forward.
He didn’t know why he’d decided to go north, or whether the direction he had chosen was actually north, but that was his intention. The open desert with its brown flatness gradually gave way to some small rolling hills, the monotony of the bleak landscape interrupted only by an occasional scraggly scrub tree.
He kept arguing with himself as to whether he should stop and do something about his feet, which felt like they were beginning to blister, but he wasn’t sure what he could do. Just as he had almost decided to stop, he felt a sharp pain in his right foot, right between the big toe and the one beside it. It felt like a dagger had been thrust into his foot, and the pain shot up his leg. He collapsed into a sitting position onto the baked clay and lifted his foot up to examine it.
Embedded in the front pad of his foot, right behind the big toe, was a black thorn. He reached down and grabbed the end of the thorn and began to pull. The thorn was deeply embedded in his foot, and he grimaced as it came out, all three inches of it. The foot was throbbing as he pulled the thorn free, and he squeezed the foot to make it bleed. He knew that mesquite thorns native to the desert carried with them their own form of poison, one that could be very painful and would make the wound fester. He wasn’t sure if this was a mesquite thorn, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
He squeezed the pad of his foot and the blood poured freely from the puncture. Finally convinced that he had gotten most if not all of the poison out, he looked around for something to wrap his feet in. He saw a rock with one sharp edge lying a few feet away and picked it up. He pulled the sleeve of his coveralls tight and used the rock to hack a slash in the shoulder material of his coveralls.
Working this way, it took him about fifteen minutes to cut and tear the left sleeve off of his coveralls. Then he started with the right. Ten minutes hour later, he had removed both sleeves. Then he pulled the cotton drawstring loose from his waist and cut it in half. He slipped his wounded foot into the sleeve he had cut from his coveralls and used the drawstring the tie the material around his foot. Then he did the other foot the same way. He stopped at the end and inspected his work. With the exception of a dark red stain on the bottom of his right foot, which he knew was blood still seeping from the wound, he was satisfied with the work. The coverall material wouldn’t protect him from other thorns, and wouldn’t be total protection from the heat of the ground, but it would help.
He slowly stood and looked back the way that he had come. He could just make out the prison compound on the far horizon. Harris was amazed that there had been no effort to capture him. Perhaps they were too occupied with rescue efforts at the prison. On the other hand, God had freed him from the prison. It wasn’t too much to ask God to protect him once he got out as well.
He took a step forward on his right leg and pain shot up from the wound. He gritted his teeth and put his weight on it. He found that he could tolerate it, barely. He stepped forward with his left foot, then again with his right. Again, pain shot through the leg. Determined, Harris moved forward, slowly.
An hour later, the sun baking him, and his leg throbbing in pain, Harris collapsed beneath a small scrubby tree. In his efforts to take care of his feet, he had forgotten that the heat of the sun could collapse him just as fast as any injury. He looked around for another sharp rock but found none. He had thought of cutting the pants legs from the coveralls to use as a bandanna, but without something sharp, it seemed impossible. The pain and weariness overcame him and he closed his eyes.
He opened them when he realized that he was in the shade. He looked up and saw a man standing in front of him, with his body shading him from the sun. About 20 feet behind him, a black limousine stood parked on a dirt road that he hadn’t seen earlier. The man raised his chin and poured water on Harris’ face and in his mouth. Harris sighed from relief as the cold water ran down his throat and dribbled off his chin and down his neck.
“Thanks,” he rasped to the man.
“Come on,” the man said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Harris started to rise as the man reached out to help him, then took another look at him. To Harris’ regular vision, the man appeared as a well-dressed Anglo man in his 40s with a strong jaw, a muscular build and a swept back full head of hair. But during the time Harris had spent in solitary confinement, God had given him a gift. And now that gift was also a curse.
Instead of a man offering him help, Harris saw the other person for what he was. Instead of a man in his 40s with a black limousine, Harris saw a yawning abyss, a blackness that he had never seen before, not even in the three demons he had confronted. Where their presence had brought with it a sense of depression, this being was accompanied by an absolute sense of hopelessness.
Harris jerked away when he realized who confronted him. “Get away from me, Sa….”
The man smiled and stepped back.
“It’s all right, go ahead and say it,” he said. “You’re much too clever for me, Harris.”
“You are Satan,” Harris spat. “The Devil himself.”
The man nodded and sat down on a foldaway stool that Harris hadn’t seen before that point. Harris collapsed to the ground where he had been before Satan had appeared.
“That’s what they call me,” he said. “I’ll be the first to admit it.”
Harris sat on the ground, the sun again baking him and his foot throbbing. Wheels spun in his head. “Why are you here? Why don’t you just let me die out here?”
Satan smiled. “Aw, what would be the fun in that? Besides, what makes you think I want you to die?” He reached behind him and pulled out two bottles of water, holding out one in front of Harris. “Want some more of this?”
Harris shook his head solemnly. “No thanks. I don’t want anything you have to offer.”
Satan clucked his tongue. “That covers a whole lot of territory. Make sure you know what I have to offer before you turn it down.”
“I’ve seen what you have to offer. For 22 years, I have seen lives ruined because of what you offer,” Harris said.
Satan shook his head slowly. “What you’ve seen is what I disagreeistants have done. You know, it’s never quite as good when you have somebody else do it. What’s that old saying? If you want it done right…hmm, well, that’s why I’m here.”
Harris stared at him. “You aren’t here to watch me die, and I know you’re not here to help me. So what is it?”
“You sure I can’t offer you some water? My, my, but that sun is awfully hot. Oh, well, I guess not. You don’t want my help. I’ll just leave you out here to find your own way…or not. In the meantime, I have just a question for you. Do you mind?”
“What is it?”
“Remember that night 22 years ago? Back in that pathetic little church in that piss-ant town…what was it called?”
“Round Rock. I remember. So what?”
“What did you ask Him? What did you pray for?”
Harris thought for a minute. “I asked him to let me make a difference.”
“Make a difference? Well, you must have been a pretty terrible pastor if you felt like you weren’t making a difference where you were. Or else you thought that God didn’t know what He was doing when He sent you to ‘Round Rock.’ I mean, why send a man of your caliber to help those arguing believers negotiate things like, a drinking fountain, wasn’t it?”
Harris stared at the man before him, and his voice softened.
“I realize now, I might have made a mistake.”
“A mistake? You? Why? Haven’t you made a difference?”
Harris thought again. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.
“You don’t know? You don’t know? Why, what have you been doing the past 22 years? Hmm, let’s see. You spent most of the first two years in prison. I’m sure you did a lot of good there. Then you broke out of prison and spent eight years running from the law. That was time well spent. And then the past 12 years, well, we won’t go into that.” He took another drink from his bottle of water, and leaned forward.
“So where’s this difference you were looking for?”
Harris paused. “I…I…I taught others.”
Satan stared at Harris for a long moment, then burst into laughter.
“I…I taught others, he says. Well, let’s look at that. Frank Hollis, your doctor friend? He’s dead now. Gregory Phipps, the missionary? Dead too. Douglas Washington? He’s a U.S. Congressman. That’s good news, but he’s cheating on his wife. And all those others you so lovingly refer to as The Heretics? Well, my buddy Moloch had plans for them. Suffice it to say that by the end of the day they will all be dead and gone.
“So what have you really accomplished, my old adversary?”
Harris felt weaker than ever. “I…I defeated Ba’al. I defeated Ashteroth. And I will defeat Moloch.”
Satan shook his head and clucked his tongue again.
“You just don’t get it, do you. Harris. Even if you defeat Moloch’s plans, what have you really done? This planet belongs to me. You will have defeated three of my lieutenants. I have thirty thousand of them.”
Satan’s words thundered into Harris’ ears, and for the first time he truly wondered what he had been doing for the past 22 years. Satan stood up and dropped the empty water bottle at Harris’ feet. “Well, this looks like a lost cause, so I’ll be on my way. But I’m a sucker for lost causes, so I’m going to give you a gift before I go. Enjoy.”
Harris stared at the plastic container at his feet, a few drops of precious water still clinging to the inside of it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Satan stride away, get into the back of his limousine, and heard the car drive away. A minute later, he was once again alone in the desert. As he continued to stare at the bottle, it got blurry and then disappeared.
The crystal water flowing from the tap ran over Harris Borden’s shaking hands. He scooped it up and splashed it into his sweating face, its peaceful coolness contrasting with his throbbing temples and the muted shouting from the other room. The broken air conditioner put everyone’s nerves on edge, the angry shouting made him want to run, and Harris’ head felt like it was in a vise. A day in the life of a pastor, he thought.
His eyes were drawn by the darkness of the Nevada night through the open window, cranked open to let a little air into the cinder-block multi-purpose building. Tonight it was the church board meeting room; tomorrow morning it would once again serve its usual purpose as the elementary school. He could hear the small voices of children down the hall as he stared out across the parking lot toward the small A-frame chapel of the Round Rock Church.
Harris caught himself. What was this? Was he dreaming? Or was he really back at his own church? He turned and looked into the mirror. Instead of the fifty-year old convict he had become accustomed to, looking back at him was a bright-eyed, yet obviously naïve 30-year-old pastor. His beard was gone, his hair was short, and the coveralls had been replaced by a dress shirt and tie.
Could it really be true? He ran his hand over his face and through his hair.
“What kind of magic is this?” he said to himself. As in response, the shouting in the next room went up again.
“Duty calls,” he said under his breath. He reached into his pocket for the small packet of Excedrin he had brought with him for tonight and stared at it. Shaking his head, he put it back in his pocket. He dried his face on a paper towel and pushed through the restroom doors into the room where church board continued. He paused and scanned the small group. Sigh.
Instead of annoyance—which he had remembered feeling 22 years ago—he felt a different emotion. Compassion. These were men who were dear to his heart, more dear today because he had seen where history had taken each of them.
At the end of the folding table sat Gregory Phipps, the retired missionary, who had served as head elder for 13 years until his heart had started acting up. He wanted to tell him that the adventure was far from over, and that he would play a critical part in events that would yet unfold.
Across from Phipps was Dr. Frank Hollis. God had blessed him abundantly, and Harris realized that Dr. Hollis needed to recognize that blessing from God, and how that blessing could touch countless lives—even after Dr. Hollis was gone.
And the third man—Jules Russell, the treasurer—Harris loved most of all. He knew that Jules invested thankless hours into his work at the church. Harris had never taken the time to thank him properly. Without knowing it, Satan had indeed given him a gift.
Harris watched while Dr. Hollis tore into the church treasurer.
“I just don’t understand what the problem is,” Dr. Hollis said. “The catalog says it costs $599. Just pay the $599.”
Sweat beading on his forehead, Jules Russell shook his head. “It’s not that simple. Not only do we have to get an estimate for the fountain itself, we have to run the water pipe to the site. And we have to get a permit from the city before we do anything.”
“So get the permit.”
“It’s summer. The city council won’t meet for another two months,” Russell explained. “We have to go through proper channels. These things take time.”
“Horse puckey,” Dr. Hollis said. “I know the mayor personally. I’ll get him on the phone right now.” He pulled out his cell phone and began pressing buttons.
“Frank, Frank…please let me do my job,” Russell pleaded. “It has to be done right.” He reached up and unbuttoned his top shirt button, then loosened his tie. Harris could see a cornered look of desperation appearing in Jules’ eyes, and knew that was his cue to intervene.
“It has to be done now!” Dr. Hollis roared.
Harris Borden stood and held up his hands, and the discussion died down. The young pastor, usually submissive to the group and unsure of how to assert himself, suddenly showed a commanding presence that caught everyone’s eye.
Harris stood silently for a long moment, scanning the three others. Finally, his face broke into a large smile.
“I want to know if you three realize how much I love you,” he said firmly.
As Harris watched, all three registered a look of surprise on their faces.
“I mean it,” Harris said. “God has given you each special gifts and has given me the blessing of being able to work with you to help you develop those gifts.”
He turned and addressed each of the men one by one.
“Gregory, I want you to know that I admire you and respect you. And even though you may think it, your adventure is not yet over. Not by a long shot. God has plans for you.
“Jules, you are a dedicated workhorse for this church, and I don’t say thank you often enough. Thank you and may God bless you in many ways to come.
“Frank, God has given you an opportunity here. You see money as power, but it is really an opportunity to serve others. There are thousands out there, right within our grasp, that can use your help. You’re a doctor; you help people every day. But the giving doesn’t stop there. And you need to learn to put others first. That includes the needs of your fellow church members and your fellow workers on the church board.
“I admire you all, I respect you all, and I ask you all to put things in perspective. People are dying out there every day. Many have never heard the Good News of Jesus Christ. Many die without hope. It is within the power of each of us to do something about it.”
He turned and faced Dr. Hollis. “Frank, doesn’t that put the issue of a drinking fountain into a different perspective?”
Dr. Hollis paused for a long moment, then cleared his throat. “Well, when you put it that way, I, uh, I think we can wait a week or two,” he said quietly.
An hour later, Harris watched the others go out the double door of the multipurpose room and into the darkened Nevada night. He felt elated that he finally had the opportunity to redo that night again. As he stared out into the darkness, he felt his surroundings go blurry and fade. A moment later, he found himself in the desert again, staring at the empty water bottle. A heavy despair collapsed over him.
What if that night had gone differently? he thought. What would his life be like if he hadn’t challenged God with the call? Would he still be in Nevada, at rest with a wife and a son?
He looked above him and realized that the morning had turned into afternoon. As hot as the morning had been, he knew the afternoon would be a killer.
He pulled himself up upon his aching legs and shuffled off to the north, despair hanging heavy over his head.
# # #
Josh was used to being in charge. For 12 years while he and Bobby had hidden, planned and trained, he had been the person in charge. But back in those days, he could count his followers on one hand, their resources were few and they always stuck together.
Running an enterprise with a multimillion dollar budget spread over the entire United States was a totally different animal. Worse yet, he had people missing.
The first problem he realized was when Douglas and Ruth stopped answering their tablets. He knew that Douglas was in a session of Congress, so that was pretty obvious why he wasn’t responding. But his sister was the most dependable, punctual person he knew, and she was totally off the radar. It worried him.
Then his conversation with Bobby was cut off, just about the time that every piece of electronic equipment in the shop went dead. At first, he had no idea what the problem was, but as he continued to lose connections with his crew, a sense of dread became more and more obvious. Something very big was going on.
About half an hour later, he got a call on the white rotary-dial house phone on the wall of the building. It was a phone that was never used, and had been set aside specifically for emergencies. He answered it and heard two words that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up: “Helter Skelter.” It was Taupe’s voice. Then the line went dead.
He stood and stared at the receiver in his hand for a long minute, having a hard time believing what he had just heard. His heart beat faster and his mouth went dry.
The headquarters and training center for The Heretics was a complex of warehouses located in the City of Industry, the industrial area of Los Angeles. It had been empty for several years, but when the Foundation took it over, it soon became a hive of activity. The complex consisted of a large one-story warehouse with windows located high on either side, which served as the main training facility and bunkhouse, a smaller two-story center for electronics and communication, and a storage facility for vehicles.
Josh had always felt that it was important to keep traffic coming in and out of the complex at a minimum to draw a minimum of attention toward them. As it was, entrances to the three buildings were limited to a main reinforced metal gate with security cameras, and a back entrance accessible from an alleyway that ran behind the main building. What was less obvious were the two emergency exits: one that used the storm drain system that ran from the City of Industry to the Los Angeles River, and the other than only Josh and Ruth knew about.
Right now, Josh knew there were a dozen recruits in the training facility, two at the store—Taupe and Amos—two on the road—Bobby and Pee-Wee and four in the field on various assignments. He couldn’t help those in the field, so he turned his attention to the recruits. They had borrowed an alarm system from an old firehouse and he hit that button now.
Inside the training building, the bell began ringing. Dinner had just finished, and the recruits were in their quarters. He was torn between running down the outside staircase from the command center to make sure they knew what to do, and destroying everything that was in front of him.
“They’ll just have to figure it out themselves,” he muttered, and began the frantic process of destroying computer after computer in the room, opening metal files in the room and pouring lighter fluid on papers inside, and tearing maps and assignment sheets from the wall. He poured more lighter fluid on the pile of papers he created in the middle of the floor. Finally, he reached in the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a flare. He hesitated for a moment and looked around the room.
They had been in their new headquarters for less than a year. It had served them well. He had no idea where the new one would be.
He sighed and struck the end of the flare against its friction starter. It roared into life, and he dropped it into the paper pile in the middle of the room. The room burst into flames.
Without looking back, Josh ran out of the room and down the stairs.
Before he got to the bottom of the stairs, he heard the sirens coming. He ran across the darkened asphalt to the training center and ran inside. The room was filled with frantic recruits, running every direction, trying to gather what they considered important information.
“Don’t worry about that,” Josh shouted at them. “Just go! Leave everything behind you!” As he spoke, he heard one of the vehicles in the garage outside start up. Shaking his head, he ran outside. Three recruits were getting into a van.
He held his hands up and shook his head.
“If this is as big as I think it is, they’ll have the license plates numbers for all of these cars,” he said. “You may get a few miles, but in the end, it’s safer on foot. Use the storm drain.”
The recruits nodded and shut off the engine. Josh turned and ran back into the training center. The recruits were standing in the corner, looking at him.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked, then realized that they were standing around the safe. “Right,” he said.
He took a minute to open the safe, then handed each of them a wad of cash. At the end, he took two wads and put one in each coat pocket for himself as well as a small metal device that was in the bottom of the safe. The money was intended to make it easier for Heretics to survive until they could get back together. He stood and looked at them all.
“OK, remember. Stay away from any Children of God facility. Don’t go anywhere we have been before. Wait six weeks and then check the personal ads in the newspapers. That will tell you where and how we will meet again.”
He looked at the dozen raw recruits that had joined the Heretics just recently. Each one had left lives of selfishness with the desire to make a difference in other people’s lives. Each had sacrificed a life of normalcy for a life of running from the law.
“If we’re not able to hook up again, well, I just want to say it’s been a privilege to go into harm’s way with each and every one of you. God has his hand on us, on each of us. I don’t know where that will lead us. But that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Serving others? Living for Him?”
They stood and looked at each other, and Josh felt a tear trying to form in his eye. A second later, he heard an explosion outside. He suspected that it was the command center, now totally engulfed in fire. Sirens were right outside the compound, and he could hear radios squawking through the wall of the building. He knew they had only minutes.
“Now scatter!” he told them.
The recruits ran to a dark hole in the middle of the floor that Josh knew led to the storm drain. He waited as the last of them disappeared down the hole, then pulled the heavy metal grate over it and covered it with a throw rug.
The noises outside were getting louder, and Josh saw shadows running along the roofline outside the high windows of the training building. A few seconds later, the power went out, and the room was paved in darkness. He knew that was the signal for the SWAT team to crash through the windows and into the center. He ran for the door, just as he heard glass break and tear gas canisters drop to the floor.
He threw himself out the door and ran back up to the command center. Just as he had suspected, the building was ablaze. He ran up the stairs and to the opposite side of the platform in front of the door. A high-tension wire was attached to the building there, and led from the command center to another building across the street. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the metal device he had taken from the safe. It consisted of a T-shaped handle beneath a small pulley wheel. He hooked the pulley wheel above the wire and leaped off into the night sky. His body soared across the street above the heads of the police, who were intent on crashing into an empty training compound.
A few second later, Josh dropped from the high tension wire onto the low rooftop of an abandoned sporting goods warehouse. He paused a minute to see if he had been seen, and when he realized that no one had seen him, crept off quietly into the darkness.
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Elijah
Jun 14, 2011 10:41:10 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2011 10:41:10 GMT -6
Chapter 21 It wasn’t totally unheard of for the House of Representatives to enter final debate on an important piece of legislation late in the afternoon at the end of a busy week. The strategy really hinged—as did everything in the House—on votes. Normally, a bill that was being discussed would be tabled at the end of the day, with the intent of restarting discussion where they left off the next morning agreed upon by both parties. But the Homeowners Reform Act was an unusual bill. Support for the bill did not follow party lines; advocates and opposition could be found on both sides. What was important for this Bill’s success, according to Miriam Case-Hudson, were two things. First, key power brokers in the House had already pledged their support for the Bill and had been actively and aggressively lobbying for its support. Second, the Speaker of the House, the only one who could call for adjournment, was on her side. The bill’s submission for consideration was timed to exclude two of its biggest opposition leaders, Rep. Inoye Montoya from Hawaii and Rep. Olivia Deeds from Wyoming. Those two senior representatives were both absent, Montoya because of a death in the family, and Deeds because of a sudden case of stomach flu. If they had been there, Case-Hudson thought, the battle would be a lot more in question. As it was, the Attorney General sat in the gallery above the House floor, watching the proceedings. She was alone in her section, with the gallery cleared out of its usual spectators by Capital Police. In a way, she felt like an orchestra conductor, or better yet, a puppeteer. Things were coming along well, she thought. Senator Collins had pushed the bill through the Senate without much fanfare, and she expected the same thing to happen here. As it was, debate was a lot less animated than she had expected. Soon enough, Annaway would be president, the Bill will be passed, and she would be the power behind the Throne in the world’s most powerful oligarchy. But Case-Hudson was not a person to leave anything to chance. She had a network of interns conducting an ongoing straw poll of the representatives, finding out informally how they were likely to vote. Most representatives would refuse to give an official answer to such a question, but Case-Hudson’s interns were in touch with the representatives’ assistants. And a year’s worth of networking and favor granting had reaped major results. The only thing that concerned Case-Hudson—concerned her deeply, she admitted to herself—was General Medfield. She knew that he was much more than a military leader. And they had brought him on board because they needed the backing of a paramilitary force should things get completely out of hand. But she could see that deep down he was not a team player. It was like holding the leash to a pit bull that you knew could turn on you at any moment. And they power that Medfield yielded went far beyond his command of troops. Case-Hudson had personal experience with how powerful the man could be. Would he play along? she wondered. It was too late in the game to make any changes. And she doubted that they could replace him with anyone who would come through when they needed them. There was the danger of Medfield dropping the ball. But she also worried that Medfield would decide that the whole ball—and the ballfield—belonged to him alone. She worried about it as the debate continued on the House floor. She noticed the young freshman congressman from Nevada and she remembered that Congressman Doyle had been impressed with him, even though Annaway had stated that the young man had no intentions of voting for the bill. What was his name? Washington, wasn’t it? For someone so adamantly opposed to the bill, Washington had made no effort to speak out against it. Douglas Washington wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief and watched the proceedings. He knew that this was hardball, politics that he had never experienced, not even during a cutthroat election in his home state. He knew that a lot was riding on the defeat of this bill, and sensed that God’s and Satan’s forces were aligning for battle on the floors of Congress. He prayed to himself, then looked back at Paddy and Erma, seated behind him. As usual, they had done their homework and provided him with statistics on what the bill would actually do, including who would be eligible to vote once the bill passed. His hope was that if he was unsuccessful in stopping the bill from passing, and somehow if they got it past the President’s veto, the people themselves could call for a referendum. C-Span was probably showing a record number of viewers. But chances were, with the Supreme Court on the side of the new bill, they would have to call for it and vote before the new bill took effect at the beginning of the new year. He thought about the implications, and again prayed. He turned to the speaker up front and listened to the presentation by the senior representative from Arizona, Josiah Weeks, one of his few allies. “This bill has been developing behind closed doors for a long time,” he said. “And I can’t believe we are even discussing it as a possibility. It would mean the end of life as we know it in the United States. It would mean the end of democracy in the United States. And it would have repercussions throughout the world. A handful of people would control the world’s largest nuclear arsenal, the world’s most advanced and powerful military, and the greatest economic force in the world. How can we even be considering this? Are you insane?” “Representative Weeks, will you yield the floor?” Douglas saw that the interruption came from Rep. Herbert Dewey from Rhode Island, one of the leading proponent of the bill. “I will not yield the floor,” Weeks said. “Mr. Weeks,” the Speaker of the House said. “I realize that tempers are flaring and that we are discussing something of significant import here. But in the interest of amity and productivity, I suggest Mr. Dewey be allowed to speak.” “Point of order, Mister Speaker,” Washington heard from several people. In response, the Speaker pounded his gavel. “Mr. Dewey is granted five minutes to speak.” Others continued to object loudly, but the Speaker banged his gavel once again, and the room quieted. “Mr. Weeks, distinguished colleagues,” Dewey began. “The intent of this bill is to merely recognize officially what has been happening unofficially. Mr. Weeks calls this the end of a democracy. Well, he is mistaken. The United States has not been a democracy since the Electoral College was founded in 1787. It is a republic. Right now, 587 electors choose the president of the United States every four years. “What this bill does is give control of the election back to the people it was originally intended to serve—those who own property in the United States of America. Those who own property have the most invested in this country’s future. Those who aren’t property owners are free to buy property and become a voting member, or go elsewhere if they don’t like our system of government.” “And what happens to the millions of hard-working citizens of this country who don’t own their own home!” shouted Weeks, as he leaped to his feet. “We are giving the power to a few rich people. That’s incredible--.” The Speaker pounded the gavel again. “Mr. Weeks, you are not recognized. Mr. Dewey has the floor. Another outburst like that and you will be removed forcibly from this assembly.” “You can’t do that!” Weeks shouted. “I can and I will,” said the Speaker. “Don’t try my patience.” Grumbling, Weeks sat down and Dewey continued. Fifteen minutes later, Dewey was still talking, and Weeks was fuming. Douglas watched the frustration that Weeks was feeling, and nodded when Weeks looked his direction. He raised his hand. “Will the representative from Rhode Island yield the floor for two minutes?” he said. Dewey took a breath and smiled. Granting two minutes to the freshman congressman from Nevada would give his side time to regroup, as well as indicate that what they were doing wasn’t a complete steamrolling. At the same time, he wasn’t worried too much about how much influence the young congressman would have in two minutes. “I yield the floor to the gentleman from Nevada for two minutes.” Douglas stepped forward to the microphone set up at the front of the aisle by his section. He took a deep breath and began. “About ten months ago, it was discovered that someone had written some words in Hebrew on the wall of this chamber, right about there--.” He pointed to the wall above where the Speaker stood. “The words, liberally translated, read: ‘Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin.’ In early Babylon, this exact message signaled the end of an empire that was expected to last for another thousand years. It was gone in a night. Could this same thing happen here? “This was not just an act of random vandalism. This message was written for a reason. The message on this wall didn’t make a lot of sense to people at the time, but I believe that it was written specifically in anticipation of today’s session.” A rumble started through the crowd as congressmen listened to what he was saying. “As elected officials, we have a responsibility to protect the interests of those in our districts, not just those who elected us, but everyone in our districts. But I also feel we have a responsibility to a Higher Power. Although some have tried to change it, the motto still read: ‘In God We Trust.’ The question is, can God still trust us? “Are we voting on this bill because it is what is right, what is best for this country and the 300 million people living here? Or are we doing it because the most important person in our lives is ourselves? I am voting no today, because my conscience prevents me from doing anything else.” Douglas turned and sat down, and Dewey began speaking again. But Douglas noticed that several congressmen who had ignored him were staring at him and smiling. Others who had stared at him angrily earlier were now looking at the floor of the chamber, obviously thinking. The Attorney General continued to watch the debate from the gallery upstairs. While she watched the Speaker orchestrate the ebb and flow of the discussion, an aide came to her side and handed her a note. “Latest straw vote shows final count too close to call,” the note read. She frowned. She had supported the idea of letting the representative from Nevada speak, but now she realized that it might have been a mistake. She made a mental decision, then typed out a text on her smart phone: Vote too close. Table it and deal with issue of Webb’s credibility. She sent it off and watched as Dewey got the message. He paused in his delivery, then came back to the microphone. “Mr. Speaker, I move that we table discussion on this bill in question.” The chamber once again erupted into discussion, and the Speaker answered by pounding his gavel. “Is there a second?” The second appeared and a swift vote tabled the bill. Douglas looked over at Weeks and raised his eyebrows. Weeks shrugged. Douglas turned to his assistants. “What just happened?” he asked quietly. “You scared ‘em, boss,” Paddy said. “No,” Douglas said. “They didn’t pay any attention to what I said.” “Paddy’s right,” Erma said. “I’ve seen this happen before. You pricked their consciences, those who still have one. It was enough. They’re wondering if they have enough votes to win. You didn’t win, not yet, but you bloodied their noses.” Douglas turned back to the front and watched as Dewey conferred with two aides, then came back to the microphone. “Mr. Speaker,” he began. “Some disturbing information have been circulating in regard to the President of the United States. I would like to share with this assembly a videotape taken of a sexual encounter that President Webb apparently had with a young lady who is not his wife.” Several voices began to shout, and the Speaker was quick to bang his gavel. “Order!” he shouted. “Mr. Dewey, in light of the continuing rumors and hearsay that have been pervasive here on the Hill, you have permission to share this video with this assembly.” Douglas watched as Dewey plugged a laptop into a port by his chair and began playing the video that Annaway had shared with him a few weeks ago. Once again he saw Lila in the hotel room in a robe, saw someone who looked like President Webb come in, and then saw the man take the robe off Lila and wrap her in an embrace. “Now some might argue that this may or may not be President Webb, but we have other documentation here--.” Dewey held a manila folder above his head. “That proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man we see is Webb.” The chamber once again filled with shouting, and the gavel fell. The Speaker pointed at Douglas, who had quickly raised his hand. “Will Mr. Dewey yield for a rebuttal?” “How do you refute visual evidence like this?” Dewey said. “But in the interest of fairness, yes, I will yield—for five minutes.” “Thank you, Mr. Dewey. Mr. Speaker, the way you rebut a video is with another video. With your permission, I’d like to share my own.” Before the Speaker could say anything more, Douglas nodded to Paddy, who turned on the tablet containing the confession by Lila. Once again he saw her drunken stupor in that Las Vegas hotel room and heard her words. The sight of her made his heart sad: “Lila,” Douglas said. “Tell me what happened.” “I think you know what happened,” she said. “I got in with the wrong crowd. Men—very bad men—made me do something I will never be able to forgive myself for.” “You’re talking about the President,” Douglas said. Lila nodded. “Were you actually with the President?” Lila looked at him blankly, then smiled. “Oh, no. I’ve met President Webb. He’s much too honorable a man to do what they wanted it to look like we were doing. They used a look alike. They told me that what they couldn’t accomplish with the camera they would fix in editing.” She smiled grimly. “It was my first and last attempt at a film career.” “Lila, you said they. Who are they?” “I worked with a film crew and a very nice director. But they got their directions from someone in the government. A judge. I heard the name McBride.” “Supreme Court Justice Aaron McBride?” Douglas asked. Lila nodded, then a second later a light came on in her eyes. “Yes, McBride, that’s the name I heard. Someone said that there were three of them. They called them the triad.” “You didn’t hear the other two names, did you?” She shook her head. “Sorry.” Douglas realized the implications of the confession he was hearing. “So you never had sexual relations with the President?” Lila shook her head again, smiling. “The President is like my father,” she said. “He’s a great man. He would never do this kind of thing. And I certainly wouldn’t put him in that position.” The entire room was in turmoil by the time the video finished with that segment. The Speaker of the House banged again and again with his gavel. Finally, Douglas spoke up again. “Mr. Speaker, I think any call for impeachment hearings of the President is premature until the truth behind this stated conspiracy can be investigated.” “I agree, Mr. Washington,” the speaker said, obviously shaken. Douglas had suspected that the new speaker would be supportive of the new bill, but it became clear that he did not realize how far the powers behind it would go to succeed. “I believe that the next course of action will be to have Justice McBride arrested and taken into custody for further questioning.” Douglas Washington smiled. “Already done, Mr. Speaker,” he said. “Justice McBride has been a guest of the FBI since this morning. Per his confession, the FBI has warrants for the arrest of Vice President Annaway and Attorney General Miriam Case-Hudson.” With his final words, Douglas took the luxury of turning his head to look at the lone woman who sat in the gallery to his right. Miriam Case-Hudson heard his words as if in a dream. A plan that had cost her millions of dollars, years of her life, and allegiance to a monster she would never totally believe in ended when she heard that the FBI was coming to arrest her. As hundreds of eyes on the floor below turned to look at her, she stood, ready to run from the gallery. She stared at the exit, then relaxed as she realized that it was futile. Coming toward her were two armed FBI agents. Behind them, leaning against the entryway, stood an tall, black elderly FBI agent wearing a white Stetson hat smiling at her. As attorney general, she knew that she was in for a long prison sentence, and so she had the presence to do one more thing to help her case before the agents arrested her. She sent out a text message to General Medfield. Stop everything. It’s over. Douglas looked around him at the pandemonium on the floor of the House, and in the gallery, where a handful of FBI agents were arresting the Attorney General of the United States. He saw Special Agent Roy Bassett standing in the doorway and waved to him, and Bassett waved back. Then Douglas looked around him. It suddenly occurred to him that he was the cause of the craziness that he saw, and the immensity of what he had done sunk in. The Speaker of the House had given up on pounding his gavel to restore order, and open conversations and even shouting continued around him. Then Douglas wondered if the gang back at Heretic headquarters were watching the events unfold on C-Span. He turned and retrieved his tablet from Paddy and switched it on, and quickly discovered that there was no connecting signal from the satellite and the rest of the gang. Frowning, he pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. There were two text messages. One was from Ruth: In transit with precious cargo. Can’t reach others. The second message was from Josh: It simply read: Helter Skelter.
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Elijah
Jun 14, 2011 10:45:59 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2011 10:45:59 GMT -6
Chapter 22
General Medfield---a.k.a. Moloch—was patient. He had learned to do so over millennia, and his patience had paid off by raising him in the ranks of Satan’s army. Moloch was also ruthless, when he needed to be. He had personally killed thousands of people, but he much preferred it when he convinced his followers to do the killing themselves. In a sense, it was a double reward. Not only did he get an adversary eliminated; the act further consolidated his hold over his followers.
What people weren’t aware of was that at one time, Moloch and General Abraham Medfield were two different beings. As a soldier in the United States Army, Medfield had perfomed gallantly in three wars, rising in the ranks as an ambitious and qualified officer. But Medfield’s ambition had become more than he could handle. When the opportunity came for him to gain almost immeasurable power, the temptation was too great. Moloch had taken over Medfield, and the brave soldier was no more. Now Moloch controlled Medfield’s every action.
Even though people around him weren’t aware that Medfield was possessed by an incredibly powerful demon, or his present capabilities, Moloch was very aware of the difference. Through Medfield, Moloch had access to virtually all parts of the United States Government. And even though his human form limited his ability to come and go as he wanted, it suited him for the moment. When the time came, he knew that he could shed it like an old coat.
These were the thoughts that were going through Moloch’s mind as he went through the several security checkpoints entering the White House, showing Medfield’s ID as required, walking through metal detectors, and in one situation, submitting to a pat down. Moloch thought it curious that security seemed tighter today than usual. People who were admitted without much fanfare—like General Medfield—were being scrutinized as if they were total strangers. Moloch smiled to himself, however. Weapons were unnecessary, and useless against him. He was a weapon.
Finally he cleared the last security checkpoint and walked down the hallway that led to the Oval Office. Ms. Harrison, the new secretary to the President of the United States, greeted him formally as he came in the door.
“Good evening, General Medfield.”
“Good evening, Ms. Harrison,” he boomed out in his deep baritone. “I have a 7:30 appointment with the President.”
“The President is dealing with some urgent business and asked that you wait,” she said primly. “I am sure that it won’t be long.”
General Medfield cleared his throat and nodded. There was still time to do what needed to be done. Patience.
He sat down on a chair in the corner and noticed that C-Span was playing on the TV in the corner. Medfield/Moloch could see that deliberations continued on the Bill.
He shifted in his seat and decided to wait.
# # #
What’s the point? Harris Borden asked himself, as he shuffled one foot in front of the other. He hated to admit it, but Satan was right. All the good deeds that he had done were pointless in comparison to all the evil that continued to dominate the world. Saving a few souls, helping a few people in need would make little difference in the long run.
The hot afternoon had turned to evening, and then full night, and temperatures had dropped rapidly. His skin, blistered by the sun after having no exposure for 12 years, now chilled with the wind that had picked up. He had torn the sleeves from his coveralls to make makeshift shoes to protect his feet, and now his arms froze. He stumbled onward through the darkness.
The flat terrain had turned into a narrow valley, which eventually became a ravine. A trickle of water formed in the bottom of the ravine, and he paused to dig out a hole in the gravel and scoop up some muddy water to drink. It tasted chalky, with some of the minerals of the local soil leached into it, but Harris thought it tasted wonderful. He drank as much as he could, then looked around him.
The stars had appeared above him, and he looked for Polaris, the north star. Sure enough, had had been traveling in an northerly direction since his escape. But now, he realized that his northern route was cut off by a steep incline of gravel and shale that led to a ridge above him. He started to climb it on hands and knees, but realized that the cloth wrapped around his feet was keeping him from gaining footholds in the loose rock. He untied the strings and took the sleeves off his feet. His feet were still sore, but he knew that he would be able to climb better if he were barefoot.
With the light of the stars to guide him, he began climbing. He had known that the gravel was loose and the footing would be unsure, but knowing and experiencing were different things. Twenty minutes into his climb he had only progressed fifty feet up the incline. He paused and looked up the rise and then down. He knew that he dared not injure himself out here. If no one found him—which was very likely—he could die within a couple of days.
“God,” he began to pray under his breath. “Where are you? I have felt your presence through my time in prison, during the years when I lived in the alleys of big cities, and now I don’t feel you with me. You said you would always be with me. So where are you?”
He started to lose his balance and grabbed for a rock which protruded from the rock face. The rock came off in his hand and he fell backwards.
He rolled backwards down the gravel and rock slope. Rocks flew and a cloud of dust went up. He flipped, end over end, and then hit his head against a rock, finally coming to a stop.
# # #
“Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me, Mr. President,” said Michelle Kinkaid. “It is truly an honor to talk to you like this.”
“The honor is mine,” President Webb said. “I am a big fan of yours.”
“Really?” she said. “I wasn’t even aware that you had read my book.”
“I hadn’t read the book until recently. But I am a longtime newshound, and have always admired your tenacity in pursuing a story. And I found the book fascinating. Although I will have to admit that some of the claims you make in this book of yours seemed to me a bit over the top.”
“That’s why I wanted to speak to you today, Mr. President. I am planning a sequel, and I wanted to tell you how the story ends.”
“Really?” he said. “Well, I am indeed privileged. What made you decide to reveal the ending to me?”
“The truth of the matter, Mr. President,” said Michelle, “is that the book ends with an attempt on your life. And I wanted to be here to help prevent it.” # # #
Harris awoke with the light of a kerosene lantern in his eyes. He tried to get up and found and old, whiskered man holding him down with surprising strength. The lantern sat on a nearby rock, the one he supposed had stopped his fall.
“Easy there, butch,” the old man said, with the slight hint of a southern accent in his voice. “You had a nasty spill. I saw the dust cloud and heard that commotion from my camp over there.” He gestured with his chin to the right.
Harris narrowed his eyes, trying to sort out his thoughts through a cloud of confusion. The whiskered old man smiled kindly at Harris, who tried once again to get up.
“Lucky for you I was out here rock hounding,” the old man said as Harris stood. “Not many people out here—shoot, no one out here. Just packing it in for the day and ready to head into town. You’re welcome to come with.”
Harris stared at the man. “Who…who are you?”
“Oh, sorry,” the man said, wiping his right hand on his shirt and holding it out to shake. “Name’s Isaac Stone. I run a rock hound store in a little town north of here. People call me Stoney.”
Harris took his hand. “Harris Borden,” he said quietly.
“Harry. Right,” Stoney said, matter-of-factly. “Are you hurt? Do you think you can walk?”
Harris looked at his torn, filthy orange uniform. “I…I think so. Just got a bump on the head.”
Stoney chuckled and led the way over to the right. “I got conked on the head plenty of times. It’s the main reason why I got out of the war, and got my pension. In fact, I got a metal plate back here. Gives ‘em fits when I go through the airport.” He giggled at his own joke.
“Where’s your stuff, Harry?” Stoney turned to look at Harris and then quickly turned back when Harris didn’t respond. “Oh, you look like the kind that travels light. That’s my motto. Travel light, that’s what I always say. That way, you can skedaddle if’n you need to.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Harris said, walking slowly behind the old man, who limped as he walked through the boulders and scrub brush.
A few minutes later, they came upon an old, beat-up International Scout with the top cut off. It was the most beautiful thing that Harris had seen in a long time. The rugged vehicle would have no problem getting them out of the desert in no time. Stoney raced ahead and went to the driver’s side.
“Speaking of skedaddling, it’s time we got---,” Stoney said, then paused, looking at the ground. “Ahh, Hank, it looks like we got us a problem.” Harris followed Stoney around to the other side of the vehicle, and looked down. The front tire of the Scout was flat.
“I’ve got a spare. Lord knows I come prepared,” said Stoney. “There’s just a couple of teeny problems.” Stoney led Harris around to the back of the Scout, where a spare tire was mounted. At a glance, Harris could see that it was also flat.
“That’s the first problem,” Stoney said. “But I have a tire pump.” Stoney produced an rusted, antique bicycle pump from the back of the Scout and handed it to Harris.
“And now the second problem,” Stoney said, looking at Harris and placing a hand on his own hip. “I’ve got a hitch in my get-along. Had it for years. Can’t do anything strenuous….like change a tire.”
Exhausted and bleeding, Harris Borden began the lengthy process of pumping up the spare and then replacing the flat tire on Stoney’s Scout.
# # # Half an hour after arriving, General Medfield still sat in the waiting room outside the Oval Office. Ms.Harrison ignored the TV in the corner, which continued to broadcast the congressional debate on the Homeowners Reform Act. Medfield stared at the TV, then at his watch.
He stood and walked over to Ms. Harrison, who was proofreading a letter from the President.
“Ms. Harrison, it’s been 30 minutes. Do you have any idea how much longer the President might be?”
She smiled thinly at the general. “These things could take a few minutes, or longer. He only told me that he was not to be interrupted, and that it involved national security.”
“Ms. Harrison, I sit on the National Security Advisory Board. If this is a national security issue, don’t you think I should be involved?”
She shook her head. “All I know is that I am to keep all visitors outside until further notice.”
Frustrated, General Medfield frowned at the secretary, who smiled back at him. Then he looked at the TV. C-Span showed that the debate had halted and a video was being shown. It was the clip of Lila and the supposed President in the hotel room. Medfield turned and sat down again, frustrated.
# # #
“Mr. President, are you a Christian?” Michelle Kinkaid asked.
Walter Webb smiled back at her. “I’ve been asked that question many times during my campaign. Most of the time people are wanting to know if I go to church, if I am a moral man. But I sense that you are asking something more profound.”
“Let me rephrase that then, Mr. President,” Michelle Kinkaid said. “Have you surrendered your life to Jesus Christ, and are you willing for God to work through you?”
The President’s smile faded slowly, and he became serious. He nodded.
“That’s why I became President,” he said. “Other people thought it was because I was ambitious, but I pray every day, asking God what He wants me to do.”
“Then you believe you would know God’s voice if He spoke to you?” Michelle asked.
President Webb nodded.
Michelle took a deep breath and paused before speaking.
“Mr. President, I grew up in a Christian family. But things happened in my childhood that led me to turn away from God. What I didn’t realize then was that God never turned away from me. It took a crazy pastor named Harris Borden to draw me back to God. He has used me a few times to share messages with other people, often against my will. Now I am going to pray that He speaks directly to you. Because there is an important message that I think you need to hear, directly from Him.”
# # #
Medfield’s cell phone vibrated and he looked at it. It bore a text message from Miriam Case-Hudson: Stop everything. It’s over. He looked again at the TV screen and saw the Attorney-General being subdued by FBI agents in the gallery of the House of Representatives.
Medfield/Moloch stood and took a deep breath. He strode past desk of Ms. Harrison and toward the door of the Oval Office. Ms. Harrison looked up at him in protest.
“General Medfield, you can’t go in there!” she said adamantly.
He turned and pointed at her, a fire raging within him.
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do!” he shouted.
Ms. Harrison pushed a button under her desk and a second later, four secret service agents appeared, all bearing handguns. General Medfield had his hand on the handle of the locked door.
“Don’t do it, General,” one of the agents said. Medfield turned and smiled at them, then turned the locked knob. The metal mechanism crunched beneath his grip and the door lock exploded. At the same instant, a dozen bullets flew across the ten feet from the agents to the form that they knew as General Medfield. The bullets hit the body in the head, shoulders and back, but the man still stood.
Not even hesitating, Medfield stepped through the door into the Oval Office. There he was met by another half a dozen Secret Service agents, their guns trained on him. And the President was not in the room. As the body of General Medfield collapsed to the ground, and the demon known as Moloch separated from him, he couldn’t help thinking that the President was probably not even in the White House.
He had never been more surprised.
# # #
It took a while for the pandemonium in the House assembly to settle down, but in the end, Douglas realized that even after the arrest of Miriam Case-Hudson—and as he learned the arrest of Vice President Annaway as well—the vote on the Homeowners Reform Act was still pending.
Fortunately, with the powers behind the Act—the real powers—out of the way, the Homeowners Reform Act was soundly defeated: 383-12. Douglas suspected that those who had voted for the act—and who had even spoken up in favor of the act would have to do some serious backpedaling in days to come. He looked over at Weeks, who winked at him, a broad smile on his face. Yes, things were looking up for all of them.
And then a message was delivered to the Speaker, who stopped a representative in mid-sentence.
“Just a moment, fellow representatives,” the Speaker said. “I have just received word that there has been an attempt on the life of the President. Lieutenant General Abraham Medfield was shot and killed at the Oval Office while trying to assassinate the President. We believe it is part of the conspiracy that involves the Vice President, the Attorney General and Justice McBride. Fortunately, President Webb had been notified of the plot and was elsewhere.”
The assembly broke into confusion, then into applause. Over the applause, the Speaker raised his voice and continued his address.
“Now speaking to us, from Air Force One, is the President of the United States.”
The screen that stood behind the speaker suddenly showed the face of President Webb, and the applause went from loud to a roaring waterfall. Douglas joined the others as they applauded the President of the United States, alive and well.
Douglas felt his cell phone vibrate and recognized the number. It was from Erma behind him with a text:
White House called. They need you to get a message to Harris Borden. They also said that the President wants to meet with you later about a job opening.
Douglas stared at the screen, mouth open, then at Erma. Erma winked back at him.
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Elijah
Jun 14, 2011 10:51:20 GMT -6
Post by glen on Jun 14, 2011 10:51:20 GMT -6
Chapter 23
“You didn’t really need me to change that tire, did you?”
Harris Borden asked the question as he sat in the springy front passenger seat of the old Scout. It had taken about an hour for Harris Borden to pump up the flat spare tire, jack up the Scout, then change the tire in the front. Now they were bouncing down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, the lights of the Scout showing dirt road stretching out infinitely before them.
Stoney shook his head and smiled slightly. “No. But you needed to.”
“What do you mean, I needed to?”
“How did you feel after changing the tire?”
Harris thought about it before replying. “I felt stronger, more normal. It felt right.”
Stoney shrugged without taking his eyes off the road. “There you go.”
Harris thought some more, and smiled. It felt good to do something normal. Something not tied to saving someone’s life, or being tortured, or being drugged and interrogated. A tire was a pretty basic thing; changing one was something his father had taught him when he was still a child. He hadn’t changed one in…he had to think…at least twenty-five years.
“Normal sounds pretty good to me right about now,” Harris muttered to himself.
Stoney glanced over at him and grinned.
“I s’pected that you might be someone who was looking for some balance in his life,” Stoney said. “You know, people nowadays underestimate the importance of balance.”
“You mean, like, proper diet and exercise?” Harris said. “I’ve been an advocate of that for years.”
Stoney’s eyes narrowed as he looked over at Harris’ emaciated body. “Really? You sure could have fooled me.”
“I, uh…I’ve been held against my will.”
“Figured that. Most people are.”
“What was that?”
“Most people live lives they don’t want to live,” said Stoney. “Trouble is, they don’t know what they want. Do you know, Harvey?”
“It’s Harris.” He paused. “I want to be used by God. I belong to Him.” “And when He’s done with you?”
“When He’s done with me? Hmm, don’t know the answer to that one.”
Stoney laughed. “That’s because it’s a trick question. God’s never going to be done with you. Is He?”
Harris sighed. “I’m afraid not.”
Stoney glanced at Harris again. “So it hasn’t been easy, has it?”
Harris shook his head. “That’s not it. I knew what I was getting into when I told Him to use me. It’s just….”
“Just what?”
Harris paused. “Well, what difference does it make? If I live or die for Christ, who cares?”
“Christ cares,” Stoney said seriously. “And I think you do too.”
“That’s not the point,” Harris said. “I do care, and I know that Jesus does too.”
“But you want to know—in the grand scheme of things—would your decision to stand and not submit to evil make a difference?”
Harris frowned and exhaled. “It sounds selfish when you put it that way.” He paused again. “I just look back over the past 22 years and wonder what life would have been if I hadn’t taken the road I took. I mean, I had a glance at how things might have been when….” He hesitated to tell Stoney about his encounter with Satan. As crazy as the conversation was going now, he imagined that Stoney would throw him out on the side of the road if he told him that he had talked to the Devil.
“I think all of us look back on our lives at one point or another and ask ourselves, what if? What if I had gone to school here instead of there? What if I had taken a job or refused it? What if I had married that girl instead of this one? A person could go crazy following that sort of logic.
“What’s important is the here and now, Henry. Make the best of where you are.”
Stoney paused and cleared his throat. Harris had started to correct him on the name again, but decided to see what Stoney would say next.
“Here’s something else to chew on, Harvey. I spend a lot of time out here in these hills. Sometimes I find a chunk of pyrite, sometimes a piece of quartz. Once or twice I got lucky and found a nugget of gold. “But when those chunks of metal and stone are out here in the wilderness, they pretty much look like any other rock. Most people would pick them up and throw them back down. But I have the master’s eye.” He tapped himself on the edge of his thick glasses. “I can tell a thunder egg from a chunk of granite at 20 paces. It’s something I’ve picked up over many, many years of doing this. If you’re serious about making something out of nothing, you have to make sure that the nothing you start out with at least has some potential.
“Often I take what I find out here and I put it in a tumbler with some sand and I turn it and turn it. That gets the hard edges off the stone and makes it purty. Other times I have to cut them to get down to their basic elements. Sometimes I wash them, either with water or even sometimes with acid. But I know just what it will take to get them the way I want them.”
He paused and looked at Harris, who sat staring at him in the darkness.
“And you’re saying that God is working the rough edges off of me?”
“Could be,” Stoney said. “Or I could just be telling you another old rock hound story.”
Harris stared at Stoney, then felt a bump as the Scout exited the dirt road and got onto a main highway. A few minutes later, he saw a sign that read: “Round Rock. Ahead 3 miles.”
The lights of the small town glowed in the night’s darkness.
Harris stepped out of the Scout and waved a thanks to Stoney, who roared away down the main street of Round Rock. He had dropped Harris off outside a small A-frame building that looked familiar, yet forlorn, in the darkness. It was after midnight, but Harris stared at the empty church, knowing somehow that he was supposed to go inside.
It was a complete circle. He had started here 22 years ago, on a night just like this one. He had asked for God to use him, and he had. The question was, what good had come of what he had done? As he slowly walked down the sidewalk toward the Round Rock Community Church, he thought of everything that had happened to him, and what it had done to him and those around him.
He felt shame that so many had fallen as part of his journey. And he felt that a lot of it was his fault. He was a free man, yet he felt still encumbered by the chains of his own personal expectation. More than anything—more than food or water, more than life itself—he had to speak to God.
He reached for the door handle and wasn’t surprised to find that it was unlocked. He stepped through the doorway and turned left, walking the dark hallway with a familiarity that made the past 22 years fall away. At the end of the hall was the main sanctuary, and he entered it to see that two small lights had been left on the platform.
He found his way to the spot that he had occupied so many times before, in the left front pew on the center aisle. He knew that his clothes were torn and filthy, and so he hesitated to sit on the nice, clean pew. Instead he found himself falling to the floor on his knees.
“God, my Lord and Saviour,” he sobbed. “I am nothing. I have wasted my life in pursuing vain attempts to do good deeds. I know that nothing good comes, except that it comes from you. Please forgive me.”
“Oh, boo-hoo,” he heard a woman’s voice say. “You know, He’s not listening.” He looked up to see a woman step out of the shadows. It was a blonde woman in her 30s who looked familiar. She had a smirky smile on her lips, and she stepped slowly toward Harris.
“Ashteroth,” he said quietly. “I thought you were long gone.”
She laughed and shook her head.
“I took a quick little vacation,” she said. “You messed things up for me. But now I’m back to make up for lost time.”
Harris shook his head. “People got wise to you.”
“People are never wise,” another voice said, this time a baritone. “We step back and a few years later, we dangle the same bait. And get the exact same results.” Another figure stepped out of the darkness. It took the shape of General Abraham Medfield, complete with dress uniform.
“Moloch,” Harris said, an edge of determination in his voice. “Don’t you have an army to run or something?”
Medfield/Moloch shook his head. “The President decided he didn’t need my help. A small setback. In the meantime, remember what I said? In your cell?”
“What? That the next face I saw would be the face that killed me? That’s old news,” Harris said. “I’ve seen plenty of people since then.”
“Who?”
“Enough of this,” boomed another voice, still deeper than Moloch’s. “This man has been a burr in our sides since the day he ruined my Jade Tower.”
“Ba’al I presume,” Harris said. “We’ve never had the, uh, indignity? Of formally meeting. But I’ve heard about you.”
“What have you heard?” Ba’al asked.
“I’ve heard the same thing I heard about all of you,” Harris said, standing defiantly. “That you’re all washed up. Old news. Has beens. That God’s power overwhelms any you might have. You, Ba’al, should know that better than anyone. Remember Elijah? Remember Mount Carmel? I do. I got a chance to see it. Boy, were you spanked!”
“DESTROY HIM!” shouted Ba’al, and the others stepped toward Harris, who stood his ground in the middle of the darkened sanctuary. Before they had taken a step however, a bolt of brilliant light flashed from the back of the room. Harris caught a glimpse of the two human-shaped figures of Moloch and Ashteroth, and a black, formless cloud, which floated in the corner.
The light overwhelmed the three demons and they stopped where they stood. The room was brightly lit, and Harris turned to see Stoney standing in the back of the room. He pointed at the three demons, who cowered on their side of the sanctuary.
“You will not touch him!” Stoney said loudly in a commanding voice. “He has proven himself time and time again. And he will not be harmed, now or ever. Begone!” Stoney flicked his finger upward and the three demons vanished, like a bad dream disappears when one awakens to a bright, peaceful morning.
Harris stared at the empty corner, and realized that even the memory of the three demons had begun to disappear from his mind. He turned and looked at Stoney, who, as Harris suspected, had taken on the familiar form of a young man.
“I told you once not to put a lot of emphasis on how people looked,” The Messenger said to Harris.
“Good to see you, too,” Harris said. “So where are they?”
The Messenger shrugged. “Somewhere else. You wouldn’t understand. Suffice it to say that they won’t be bothering anyone ever again.”
Harris sighed and looked from The Messenger to the rest of the empty room where the demons had stood. Then he looked back to The Messenger.
“Why couldn’t you have done that at the beginning?”
The Messenger shrugged. “The same reason why God doesn’t just broadcast from the sky His existence and His love for mankind. That’s the job of His children.”
“So did I do okay?” Harris asked meekly.
“It’s not about the doing, Harris,” The Messenger said, stepping forward and putting his hand on Harris’ shoulder. “It’s about the becoming. You should know that by now.”
“The Refiner’s Fire,” Harris said, more to himself than to The Messenger.
“God needs people who reflect Him. That’s what it’s all about.”
“I could have stayed here and learned that, I guess,” Harris said. “I could have been a good pastor here in Round Rock and been refined. I could have saved people’s souls, helped the homeless and the kids on the street.” He stood silently, deep in thought. “But that wasn’t the path I chose, was it?” He turned toward The Messenger, and once again, found himself in an empty room.
The Messenger had come when he needed him. Sometimes he had delivered messages through other people. And sometimes the message was simply, you’re not alone; God is always with you.
Harris was thinking about that when a familiar figure rushed through the open doorway from the hallway. It was Katya. She had aged, as they all had, in the past 22 years. But she still had the same light in her eyes, the same stride, and the same joy at seeing Harris’ face. He rushed to meet her and they embraced. Then they kissed.
“It is over,” he whispered to her. “Things will be normal again.”
“I love you,” she whispered back to her. “I love you, Harris Borden.”
They kissed again, and then Harris noticed someone standing behind Katya. She pulled away and turned to the young man. “Harris, this is--,” she began.
“Harris Jr.,” he finished her statement. “I recognize you from the photo your mother gave me.” He turned to Katya. “That photo kept me sane for 12 years.” He opened his arms and his 21-year-old son whom he had never met joined in the embrace of his parents.
A long moment later, Harris pulled away.
“Wait, how did you know I would be here? How did you get here?”
“I brought them here,” a woman’s voice spoke from the darkness. A young woman stepped forward and it took Harris a few moments to recognize her.
“Ruth? Is that you?”
Ruth nodded. “In the flesh. A lot has changed with the Heretics since you’ve been gone. We saw when you escaped from the prison and followed your path northward. I looked at a map and realized that for some reason, you were making a beeline for Round Rock.”
“There’s no ‘some reason’ about it,” Katya said. “God was leading him here.”
“When I figured that out, I decided to go fetch your wife and bring her here. I used the Foundation’s new jet to go get everyone.”
“Jet?”
Ruth grinned. “Yeah, I finally broke down and got it for a friend. Now I need to make a trip to Niagara Falls and go pick him up.” She smiled at them, then started as she remembered something. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here.” She handed Harris a faxed copy of a letter. It was on the official stationary of the White House, but addressed from Air Force One.
“It’s a presidential pardon,” Harris breathed, looking at it.
“Yup,” Ruth said. “I thought you would be happy to see that. You’ve had a lot of people pulling for you, including Michelle Kinkaid and my husband.”
Harris looked up. “You got married?”
Ruth laughed. “Yeah, I finally tied the knot.”
“Anyone I know?” Harris asked.
“Remember that snotty nosed kid you used to watch on the playground years ago?”
“D.J.? You married D.J.?”
Ruth shrugged.
“What can I say? Love is blind.”
Harris turned and looked at Katya again. “Love is patient.”
“So now that you are a free man, what are your plans? I have a brand new jet. I can take you anywhere you want to go.”
Harris looked at Ruth, then at Harris Jr., and finally at Katya.
“My home is their home,” he said slowly, still staring at his wife and son. “So that means home is St. Petersburg, Russia.”
Katya smiled broadly and Harris put his hand on the back of his son’s head, drawing him close.
“Maybe they have need of another pastor there,” he said.
END
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