by Bob Mauldin
Father Timothy looked at Roland said, “You’re going to have to learn not to argue with a stubborn man, my son.”
Roland replied, “And you’re going to have to learn not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Father. You can feed, clothe, and help a lot more people, and you can do it better with reliable heat, good plumbing, blankets for all, and things I haven’t even considered in my whole life. Anyway, at this particular moment I have an errand to run. I need to return that truck before someone gets upset over my having borrowed it.”
“I must admit,” the father said, “the idea had crossed my mind that you’d be attending to that in some way or other.”
Roland gave Father Timothy a crooked grin. “Well, at least I’m not going to try to sell it to Michael.”
The father laughed heartily. “That is a mark in your favor, my son. Indeed it is.”
Parking the truck about a block from the cartage company’s yard, Roland walked back toward the mission. He disposed of the keys in a storm drain and walked down the stairs into the subway, checking a map on the wall for the exit nearest the mission.
When he finally stepped back into the mission, he felt the tension drain out of his shoulders. A place of relative safety, he could relax somewhat. He walked down the corridor to Father Timothy’s office and tapped on the door. After hearing a scrape and footsteps moving toward the door, it opened a fraction.
“I realized after you left that I never did get your name. And the doctor arrived shortly before you did. We should be hearing from him shortly,” the priest said as he stepped back and opened the door.
“Roland Daniels, Father.” His eyes took in the guest sitting at Father Timothy’s desk—a smallish man in his mid-thirties. He was using the desk lamp as he put a jeweler’s loupe to his eye. “You must be Michael,” Roland said.
“I’ve been accused of it at one time or another in my life. You must be the man who belongs to this stone.”
“That, for a fact, I am,” Roland replied.
“So where did you get this little beauty?” Michael asked as he gazed into the depths of the stone. “Not a flaw, not an inclusion, uncut and a beautiful blue-white.”
“I’m not at liberty to tell you where I got it.”
“Then I’ve got news for you. I can only get about ten percent for a hot stone.”
“I can guarantee you,” Roland said, “that you’ll find the stone in your hands has never been reported stolen. You’re only the third person to ever lay eyes on it—myself and Father Timothy being the first two.”
Michael looked up from the diamond in his hand. “So, you’re telling me I can go up to the City, go to any jewel buyer on the Street, and they’ll give what this stone is worth?”
“I don’t see why not. What is it worth?”
Michael looked up at the father. “You know I get ten percent, right?”
“Michael, we’ve been associates for a long time now. Besides, you’ll be the one taking any risks. We’ll take your word on the price, and you’ll get your ten percent. I just want you to know that if you cheat me, you’re cheating God, too.”
“Father, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Michael said a bit hastily. “But what we’re talking about is twenty thousand dollars or better. And that’s just for the rough stone. Imagine what it’ll be worth after it’s been cut!”
“How long do you think it’ll take you to make a deal that’ll bring Father Timothy here some cash?” Roland asked.
“Forty-eight hours, maybe seventy-two.”
“Tell ya what.” Roland reached into his pocket and pulled out two more stones. “If you can turn that into ‘twenty-four, maybe forty-eight,’ you can add this one for me, keep twenty percent, and keep the third one all to yourself.”
Father Timothy’s mouth fell open. “My son! Are you sure about this?”
“Father, without your assistance, I’d be dead, along with my partner,” Roland said, “so yes, I am.”
“I can leave for New York first thing in the morning,” Michael said, “and find out what I can get for these on the Street.” He stood up and pocketed the stones. “I can probably be back late tomorrow evening with cashier’s checks that will require jaw surgery for the both of you.”
Shaking his hand, Roland wished him a safe trip and watched him pull the door closed with a soft click, leaving the two men with nothing to do but wait.
As they waited to hear from the doctor, the father’s eyes were drawn to a small television set flickering in the corner, volume down. He glanced at his watch and said, “Would you be kind enough to turn the volume up a bit? It’s almost time for the eleven o’clock news.”
With a great deal of trepidation, Roland reached over and turned the volume up, listening to what amounted to the tail end of a recap of that morning’s events, as there’d been nothing else on the news since then. What little he did hear was enough to chill him to the bone. Then, the top of the hour brought a dose of reality he didn’t know how to swallow.
An appropriately sad-faced commentator sat inside the little flickering box and announced to the world the death of the American Vice-President, British ambassador, Chinese, Pakistani and Russian ambassadors, ambassadors from half a dozen third world countries, and various and sundry US military forces to the number of fifty-six, at present count. “The problem with this type of explosion, I’ve been told, is that while there is no release of radiation,” the commentator told a disbelieving world, “according to scientists, an antimatter explosion is tantamount to a total energy conversion, so there are no bodies and remarkably little debris to sift through for clues. Cameras with telescopic lenses set up outside Camp David were able to record what happened.
“First, one of the deadly little ships known as ‘Mambas’ seemed to magically appear above the helipad at Camp David.” The scene cut to one of the Mambas, and the reporter continued as a voice-over. “Shortly thereafter, at a slightly more sedate pace, the other four craft appeared and squared off against the Apache helicopters on patrol above the compound. In a bizarre game of aerial ‘chicken,’” the camera zoomed in on Kitty’s ship, “one of these ‘Mambas’ and one of the helicopters traded moves in a display that was obviously initiated by the helicopter. Just minutes later, the shuttle purportedly carrying the contact team from the ‘Terran Alliance’ landed.”
The scene switched to the shuttle landing in the center of the helipad. “Supposedly headed by the Captain Hawke featured in the transmissions that blanketed the world just a few days ago, shown here in this footage is the one individual who managed to exit the craft before it was attacked by soldiers secreted in hidden spaces below the ground ringing the helipad. As you can tell, he bears a striking resemblance to the ‘Captain Hawke’ in the video transmission.” The screen split in two and showed an enlarged three-quarter still image leaving the shuttle beside one of Simon from his video message to Earth. “Again, in what was obviously a move initiated by US military, a simultaneous assault was launched against the shuttle and the five Mamba craft.”
Roland was treated to a montage of helicopters firing on Mambas, gun emplacements opening fire on Mambas, and soldiers jumping up out of concealment, one of them launching a shoulder-fired rocket past Simon into the shuttle itself. Simultaneously, other soldiers cut him down and still others made a determined rush to gain access to the shuttle.
“This obviously orchestrated attack has been laid at the feet of the White House. White House Press Secretary John Gower released a statement just hours ago.”
The scene shifted to the White House press room. “The president and the late vice-president had no knowledge of anything pertaining to this morning’s unprovoked attack on the members of the Terran Alliance delegation that landed at Camp David. The attack was orchestrated by rogue members of an intelligence department known as the Defense Intelligence Agency under the command of a John Anderson, who was responsible for issuing the orders that activated a select elite unit for gua
rd duty at Camp David this morning. The apparent motive for the assault was to gain access to technology that the United States and several other countries were going to negotiate for. The President deplores the regrettable incident and wishes to express his condolences to the survivors of all those who lost their lives in this most heinous act.”
The scene cut back to the reporter. “Democrats and Republicans alike have united for almost the first time in history. And in an apparent effort to assure the world at large that this was not an attempt by the United States to steal technology that was promised to the entire world, they’ve called for not only a congressional over-sight committee to look into the matter, but to establish a multinational tribunal to deal with the situation and to deal fairly with the Terran Alliance. In a unanimous vote, US Ambassador William Kent has been appointed as US representative to the proposed tribunal, but as of this hour there has been no response from the ambassador’s office.
“It is this reporter’s opinion that the instantaneous and overwhelming response to the assault on the shuttle has given not only the American military but the military forces of the world in general reason to hesitate before acting in such haste again. And it is also this reporter’s opinion that two specific incidents in this morning’s debacle are responsible for the instantaneous change of opinion.” The scene cuts back to an image of the shuttle landing. Once more, the shuttle was shown landing, the ramp coming down, and the captain walking out. Once more, trapdoors popped open, bodies emerged, a shoulder-fired rocket was launched into the shuttle, and Captain Hawke’s body was seen to fall. Once more, the blast wave was seen to explode out of the shuttle. “This scene, and the one just before the final explosion,” the reporter said as the scene changed again to one of the shuttle beginning to lift, “shows the shuttle clearly beginning to take off. The fact that it can take that much damage internally and still function shows the durability of this craft, and it is just a transport!
“The other fact to consider is that the Mambas were hit on more than one occasion by rockets fired by the Apache helicopters.” The scene shifted again to a montage of rockets fired from Apache weapons pods. “And aside from momentary confusion the part of the Mamba pilots at these unprovoked attacks, there seems to have been no damage at all. In what was obviously intended to be a devastating and overwhelming assault to gain technological advantage for the United States, the military has received their blackest eye in its history. Within five minutes of the first rocket attack, these five small, deadly craft showed why they’ve been named ‘Mambas.’” Scenes of laser beams lancing through the thickening smoke and flames, midair antimatter explosions, and wreckage flaming from the sky assaulted Roland’s eyes. The images of gun emplacements exploding, sending sandbags, dirt, and unidentifiable pieces of men and machines flying in all directions brought back memories he wished had stayed securely under lock and key.
“All of this happened with a near-surgical precision that would have taken out only the combatants,” the reporter continued, “but for one fatal error on the part of the assailants. We have been made aware that one of the restrictions on the release of technology to Earth at this time is on weapons and propulsion technology. The attempt to seize the shuttle was designed to circumvent that restriction at the cost of all other technology we might acquire.” The scene changed to show Kitty’s Mamba down on the deck, preparing to fire through the shuttle door. The screen went white and then back to the reporter.
“All that’s left in an explosion of this type is a big hole in the ground. Again, the physics of what can only be an antimatter explosion is that it’s a very local phenomenon and there is no radioactive fallout. Miraculously, while severely damaged in the explosion, the Mamba that fired the missiles seems to have survived.” The scene cut to a shot of the four remaining Mambas surrounding Kitty’s ship and lifting it out of camera range. “At last estimate, American losses number fifty-six, including the vice-president and the various ambassadors there to receive the Terran Alliance delegation.
“In other news tonight...”
Father Timothy indicated that Roland could turn the television off, which he did with a sense of relief, sitting back in his chair.
After a few moments of contemplative silence, Father Timothy said, “You appear curiously unmoved, my son.” The priest reached into a drawer and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of scotch, pouring a double shot for each of them.
“Unmoved, Father? Let’s say I’m... conflicted. I am sad, I am angry, and I’m shamed and humiliated by my government’s actions. To think of what we could have had and now won’t—technologies to help clean up our air and water; no more reliance on fossil fuel; cheaper, cleaner sources of energy; safer ways to remove toxic and radioactive waste; the ability to feed the hungry throughout the world. And that’s not even taking into account gaining access to the stars. And now, because of the stupid actions of a few greedy people, we stand a very good chance of losing all of that.”
Father Timothy had a speculative look on his face. “Well, what do you think of the concept of people not having things they haven’t earned by the sweat of their own brows, so to speak?”
“Did I say you’re in the wrong business, Father?” Roland retorted. At the raised eyebrows, he continued, “The people you help here, they deserve their places to sleep and the food they get because they’re human beings, but they haven’t earned these things by the sweat of their brows, as you put it. And just what would you do with a ten-dollar bill you found lying on the ground and no way to trace its owner?”
“To answer the first part of your question, my son, a compassionate man cannot watch others go hungry if it’s within his power to help, and as for the second part, while I understand what you mean by the finding of a ten-dollar bill, I personally would put it in the poor box or use it to feed some of these people here... some of my flock.”
“Well, the people out there found their spaceship. That’s their ten-dollar bill. And they’re compassionate enough to be willing to share it with the entire world. It’s just that in this particular instance, it’s a bill of such a large denomination that measures must be taken to safeguard it first.”
“I see your point,” Father Timothy said. “But what about the many industries destroyed by these new technologies coming along? Large industries with large numbers of people who’ll be out of work?”
“Every time a new invention or innovation comes along, someone gets hurt. Look at the light bulb. Do you have any idea how many candle makers and lamp makers and oil transporters and natural gas companies went out of business? I certainly don’t, but it must have been a lot. How about the automobile? How many industries went belly up? And how many were created? And the railroad and the telegraph, followed by the telephone. Sure, a lot of people lost jobs, but look at all the new jobs that opened up. We have so much to look forward to, Father. A little disruption is a small price to pay.”
“I’m beginning to think you are in the wrong profession yourself, my son,” the father chuckled. “You’d have made a great priest with that kind of conviction. Do you mind the observations of a tired old man?”
“I don’t mind the observation of any man, Father. What is it?” Roland asked.
“Actually, I have two. The first is that you seem to know an awful lot for a simple FBI agent. And the second is that your partner bears an amazing resemblance to this ‘Captain Hawke.’ In all my years as a priest—and there have been quite a few of those—one of the things I’ve learned to do fairly well is read body language and facial expressions. Now, your body language says you’re holding something back, and the expression on your face gave you away when I mentioned the name Hawke. So, do you have anything to tell me that I should know about?”
“Well, Father, I can’t tell you how I know what know, but I can say that I’ve noticed the resemblance myself, and I’ll have to leave it at that for now.”
It was at this moment that the doctor chose to make his a
ppearance. He sank down into the only other chair in the room and said, “Timmy, I do hope you have more of that rotgut stashed in your bottom drawer.”
“I’ll thank you to show some respect for fine scotch,” the father responded. “At no time in history has Chivas Regal ever been considered ‘rotgut.’ Would you care for another, Mr. Daniels?”
“This once, it might not be such a bad idea,” Roland said dryly.
As the father puttered around with another glass and the bottle, the doctor turned to Roland. “Your partner, I presume?”
“Yes, he is,” Roland answered. “And if you’ll excuse me for being rude, will you not beat around the bush? I need to know how he is.”
“Well, as for how he is, he’s shot to hell. Beginnings of a good-sized infection, broken wrist, lost a good bit of blood, concussion, dehydration, and a crease in his scalp that it wouldn’t hurt to have a plastic surgeon look at or he’ll never have hair growing there again. The in-and-out in his left shoulder needs to drain, and it’s been irrigated and dressed. You’ll need to change bandages twice daily for about a week, then go to once a day for a while. I set the wrist and pulled a bullet out of his left thigh. That will also need to have the dressings changed regularly. He’s now resting comfortably, although he seems to want his cat. Do you know anything about that?”
Roland said, “Excuse me? His cat?”
The doctor said, “He kept calling ‘kitty, kitty.’ That’s a first for me.”
Roland temporized by saying, “I don’t know. Concussion can do strange things to a person’s memory, I’ve heard. Maybe he’s remembering a lost cat from his childhood?”
“Well, anyway, I appreciate it when people are a little more forthcoming with me than you seem to have been. And I’m beginning to believe you haven’t been all that forthright with Father Timothy here, either.”
Roland took a sizable swallow from the drink Father Timothy had set beside him. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doctor.”