“Well, I am exhausted, honey, and best I should be getting to bed,” Donna Justice said, sensing that Rory wanted to open the letter and might possibly want to discuss it with her.
“Mom, really, I think Dad would be fine with me reading this in front of you.”
“I don’t know about that, son,” she said. “Your father was always a man of few words, but the words he did use were to the point. It says ‘Rory only.’ You haven’t told anyone else about it, have you?”
“No. I thought about telling Pastor Dave or even Daniel, but then with everything going on, to be honest, I forgot all about it until just now.”
“Good. I think your father wanted you to read it alone, so I’m going upstairs now. Make yourself comfortable.”
Rory had decided to stay a few nights with his mom before he returned home to Ohio. Daniel only had a few days’ leave, and of course he wanted to spend as much time with his family as possible before returning to duty in Afghanistan, so Rory had agreed to watch over their mother. Donna was a strong lady for seventy-four, and assured them she’d be fine living by herself, but Rory had insisted he stay if only for a while.
“Thanks, Mom. Goodnight … I love you.” Rory hugged his mom tight.
“I love you, Rory. Don’t worry so much. You’re too young for that. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Rory poured himself a glass of milk, got some Oreo cookies out of the pantry, took a deep breath, and sat down to read his dad’s letter.
Dear Rory,
First of all, I hope you haven’t shared any of this with anyone yet—but if you have mentioned it, I ask that you please read this letter alone and then keep it to yourself.
I know I am asking a lot of you, but you were the only person I could trust besides your mother (who, of course, couldn’t carry it out) and Daniel, who has a family and is still on active duty. Please don’t tell either of them anything—your mom because she’ll worry, your brother because he may put himself at risk in his position if anyone finds out he knows anything.
I hope I’m not putting you in danger, either, but someone has to take this message in person to the right authorities. Here’s the thing: I learned a while back (I can’t say who told me—suffice it to say I still have connections in the Bureau) that Islamic State terrorists from the Middle East have been infiltrating the casinos in Las Vegas for years, and one by one they are slowly taking them over and running the city into the ground.
They have formed a new mafia, which has become known as ISM for Islamic State Mafia. Of course, mafias are nothing new to Las Vegas. The casinos were run by various mafia factions from New York to Chicago from the 1940s to the 1980s when some rich Mormons, politicians, and Wall Street tycoons got in the mix and took over for the most part. But this new breed of Islamic mafia infiltrating the city is fueled by wealthy oil magnates from the Middle East who not only want to get richer, but who want to punish America and eventually bring our country under Islamic State rule.
I realize you, like most other Americans, believe what our administration and government has led you to believe; that the extremist Jihad terrorist regime from the Middle East, the Islamic State, has been reduced in size and their power has virtually been eliminated. That may have seemed true at one point, but I have inside information that leads me to believe that the Islamic State terrorists have regrouped and are operating undercover inside America. I’m sure our government, including the FBI, is either covering this up at some level or, at the very least, doesn’t want to admit it’s true. But history has shown that terrorism always transforms or reforms and rebuilds again, since evil can never be totally eradicated.
My sources say these terrorists now see Vegas as their gateway to take over the United States and eventually the world. The really bad news is that this new ISM is even more dangerous, powerful, and criminal than the Italian or Jewish mafias ever were. They treat people like they’re dogs, especially women, whom they use as sex slaves. They even mistreat the circus animals in their care. They rake in more money illegally and do more drug dealing than anyone ever has before, but they don’t put anything back into upkeep. They slaughter people for the slightest disobedience, they underpay their employees, and they have one mission in mind: to destroy anyone who doesn’t believe in their “religion” and way of life.
I have come across their most recent plans to do this. During the past year, the ISM has been storing nuclear materials in the casinos, using them as a front, which is why they don’t care if they run them into the ground. It’s the perfect cover—it affords them the opportunity to take advantage of tourists and Las Vegas citizens while hatching their ultimate plan—to destroy our country from the inside out. As you read this, they are finishing building the nuclear bomb that will blow up Las Vegas and possibly a good part of the western United States.
Enclosed you will find a letter from my source detailing the suspected nuclear plans. Take these documents to the authorities in Vegas. There’s a sheriff by the name of John Dade who I want you to personally see on my behalf. He will know what to do.
I know this all sounds a little crazy, and you’re probably wondering by now if these are just the ravings of an old man with dementia. Rory, I assure you I was of sound mind when I wrote this letter, and this is a matter of life and death for the city of Las Vegas and possibly for the country as a whole. I know this won’t be easy for you. But I have complete faith that you will carry this out and do the right thing.
Please give Sheriff Dade my best regards. I love you, Rory.
Godspeed,
Dad
p.s. Rory, I encourage you to let go of all of the resentments you hold on to. They’re only hurting you, and life is too short. Trust me on that.
p.p.s. You’ll see I’ve attached a check made out to you for travel expenses and spending money. You’ll need it. Please don’t waste any time. And thank you, Rory.
Behind the letter in the envelope was another sealed envelope marked John Dade as well as a check made out to Rory for five thousand dollars. Rory laid it all on the kitchen table and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. You’ve got to be kidding, Dad, he said silently, looking at the ceiling. Las Vegas? Come on! You have no idea what you’re asking, no clue as to the depths of my hatred for that worthless dung heap of a city that isn’t even worth saving.
Doubt along with bad memories flooded Rory’s mind. He knew deep down that beneath his hatred for Vegas was the remorse that he felt for cheating with the call girl there and the fear that he might be tempted again to do who only knew what.
I’ve lost enough thanks to that no good city. Nothing good can possibly come from going back there again. He wanted badly to consult with someone, anyone, but knew he couldn’t. Once again, as he had at the funeral, Rory felt like the loneliest man on earth.
Then Pastor Dave’s words came back to him. “It’s hard to say why God chooses the timing He does, but rest assured, your father is definitely in a better place, free from pain and suffering, smiling down on you at this very minute.” Indeed, Dad is looking at me this very minute, Rory thought uneasily. To not carry this out would be to betray him. Still …what if …? Rory couldn’t help think he should question the validity of all of this with someone.
I’ll sleep on it, he decided, and climbed the stairs to his old bedroom.
But sleep eluded him.
Rory finally drifted off only to wake up an hour later to the sunrise streaming in the window.
I’ll have to cut my stay here short if I’m going to do this. His mind raced with new worries. AdExecs had only given him a total of four days of bereavement leave and with two already spent, he wouldn’t have enough time to get to Vegas and back. He would just have to think of a plausible excuse and ask for a few more days off. He had to keep this trip to himself.
Rory shaved, showered, dressed, and met his mom downstairs. She was also up early and had made a full breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast, and hash browns. Rory wasn’t hungry in the least but manag
ed to eat a few bites to please her.
But mothers always noticed something was wrong if you weren’t eating.
“So the letter was pretty bad, huh?” Donna asked her son sitting across from him at the kitchen table, her face frowning with worry. She took his hand in her frail, knotted one. “Rory, maybe your dad was starting to slip when he wrote it. I told you he had dementia. I couldn’t sleep myself last night thinking about the whole thing. Wherever he is asking you to go, whatever he is asking you to do—doesn’t mean you have to go there and do it. In fact, I changed my mind. Maybe we should open the letter and read it together and then decide if….”
“No, Mom, I think Dad was probably coherent when he wrote it.” Rory cut her short. “It’s just … it’s just that I hate the thought of going where he asked me to go and doing what he needs me to do. I’m not a confrontational sort of person.”
“Rory, I don’t want you to put yourself in any danger. I don’t like the sound of this. If you’d like, I can ask Daniel, or maybe one of dad’s FBI buddies, to talk to you about it.”
“No, you were right last night; Dad asked me not to share any of this with anyone, even you, because he doesn’t want you to worry. I promise once I’m done carrying out his wishes I’ll let you know all about it.”
“Can you tell me where you’re headed?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“It’s not overseas is it?”
“No mom, it’s in America.”
“Well, at least that’s a relief. Can you call me when you get there and let me know if you’re okay?”
“Of course.” If I can, Rory thought, fear rising within him along with the little bit of breakfast he had just consumed. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave today so I can go back to work afterward without missing too much time.”
“No worries, dear. I’ll call Daniel and ask him to come over with the kids for a little while, or maybe for dinner. I’ll be all right.”
Daniel gets the easy job again, Rory sulked.
Bags packed for a week’s “vacation” after telling the AdExecs human resources director that he needed more time to mourn his father’s death, Rory boarded Flight 1207 bound from Dulles Airport to Las Vegas, Nevada, with a one-hour stop in Houston.
The flight from Washington DC to Houston was uneventful. Rory fortunately received an aisle seat and kept to himself, passing the time by reading copies of the Wall Street Journal and AdWeek magazine he had purchased at the airport gift shop.
He ruminated on how he could possibly start making more commission in such a depressed economy. He knew the first thing businesses usually cut was advertising. You had to make them think they couldn’t survive without it. You had to tell them about new ideas, opportunities, and bargains.
But sooner or later, they cut back anyway. Then you had to find fresh meat: new clients, entrepreneurs who had lost their jobs and started their own businesses and who needed to get the word out. It took twice as much work to get a handful of these new small companies as it used to take to land one major client in the old days.
More work for less money. I hate my job, Rory thought, looking past the two passengers next to him to gaze out of the plane’s tiny oval window into the gray, cloud-streaked sky. Problem was, he wasn’t sure what else he was qualified to do, or wanted to do for that matter.
Oh well, a subject for another day, he thought, and pushed the problem to the back of his mind, concentrating instead on the crossword puzzle in the Journal until the plane descended for its landing.
Once the plane was on the runway and grinding to a stop, the co-pilot’s voice came over the speaker system. “Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to apologize in advance to those who will be taking the connecting flight to Las Vegas, Nevada. That flight has been delayed by an hour due to unexpected repairs being made on the intended plane. Please check at the gate for more information, and thank you for flying with us today.”
I guess I’ll have to get another magazine. Rory sighed, lugging his carry-on bag into the terminal.
He sat in the boarding area of the George Bush Intercontinental Airport reading a copy of Gentlemen’s Quarterly and waiting for Flight 2406 to be called. After forty minutes passed, a female attendant took the microphone and announced that the flight would be delayed another three hours due to additional repairs.
Great, Rory thought sarcastically. Now I might as well take a stroll and get something to eat. This trip is already going badly.
Or maybe it’s not meant to happen. That thought crept unexpected and unwelcome into Rory’s psyche. But once it lodged in his brain, it didn’t leave him.
Maybe this is a sign that I’m not supposed to be going at all. The more Rory dwelled on this notion, the more he believed it to be probable instead of just possible.
He sat eating a burger in the airport pub, thinking. As he ambled along the concourse, gazing aimlessly in the various shop windows, a poster caught his eye.
Take a break from your worries … relax and find relief from everyday stress … you just might find that life has a whole new meaning.
The poster depicted a gorgeous sea of clear, turquoise water lapping at a white sand beach. At the bottom was the logo for the Royal Caribbean cruise ship Voyager of the Seas with a message that the cruise line had ships departing daily for various, exotic Caribbean destinations from the port of Galveston, Texas, only an hour’s drive away.
Rory had never ventured on a cruise before, but had always dreamed of doing so. He had never had the money or the time.
Now he had both.
He returned to the gate where Las Vegas Flight 2406 was supposed to board. A big sign behind the attendants’ station said it had been cancelled, and to inquire at the airline’s main desk about getting a refund or scheduling a new flight.
After standing in line for over an hour with the other disgruntled passengers trying to get a new airline ticket to Las Vegas, Rory, extremely anxious, started pondering a way out. His doubts about whether to go on this trip had multiplied with each roadblock. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
Rory looked around in exasperation and then he saw it. A US mailbox was several yards away. They were stationed at several gates throughout the airport, but none had ever caught Rory’s eye before now.
His dad’s letter, tucked safely in his carry-on bag, now seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. Maybe I could just mail it? Beads of perspiration formed on Rory’s forehead and he removed his jacket, sweating now sandwiched between the other frustrated people in line. But your father asked you to hand deliver it, he reminded himself.
Still, who knows if it even contains the truth? Rory considered the fact that his mother told him his father had dementia toward the end. Knowing my luck, I’ll get all the way to Vegas only to be a laughingstock when they read this letter.
Rory knew the potential humiliation would be too much for him to bear.
Suddenly the answer crystalized and he made a decision. He would get out of line, hail a cab and actually go to the nearest US Post Office to mail the letter to Sheriff John Dade via certified, insured overnight mail and follow up with a phone call to make sure it was received.
And since he had the next several days off from work and most of the five thousand dollars left that his father had given him, perhaps he could take that seven-day cruise aboard the Voyager of the Seas.
Luckily, he had brought his passport with him just in case of emergency. Be prepared. The boy scout motto was ingrained in his being.
And yet, this crazy idea of jumping aboard a cruise ship made his heart jump. I saw that poster for a reason, he smiled, for once trusting fate.
Besides, I deserve a vacation. Dad told me to let go of my resentments. What better way than to take a cruise to forget about everything and to find new meaning for my life? Maybe this is what was meant to happen all along. “Next.” Rory was close enough to hear the grouchy attendant behind the airline counter calling gruffly although there were still two dozen people in front
of him.
Rory quietly slipped out of the line and walked away to hail a cab to the nearest post office and then to Galveston.
CHAPTER FOUR
After a quick taxi ride down to Galveston and a relatively short wait to get his ticket and boarding pass, Rory was standing on the top deck of the Voyager, giddily waving along with several other passengers at nobody in particular. He was grinning like a fool as conga party music blared from the ship’s loudspeaker.
He had purchased a few summer outfits and a swimsuit in one of the gift shops at the airport along with some sunscreen, a hat, sunglasses, and a pair of flip-flops. I’m on vacation! Rory marveled, feeling more alive and free than he had in a long, long time.
It had all been so easy, it must have been meant to be, he had reasoned along the way, going from airport to taxi to cruise ship embarkation to setting sail. A twinge of guilt pestered him for a few moments as the Galveston skyline disappeared from view, but then he walked it off along the length of the ship. He approached the ship’s bow and joined a large cluster of passengers peering out at the horizon where a glorious sunset lit up the sky.
Moments later, it was time to get dressed for his six o’clock dinner seating in the main dining room.
Rory was seated at a table with seven strangers: two were sisters from Alabama, one widowed and one divorced, both vivacious, giggly blondes in their forties. There was a single man in his sixties—a stoic and well-spoken professor from Texas A&M University on fall break, a married couple around his age celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and another young couple on their honeymoon.
Dinner that night consisted of lobster bisque, hearts of palm, a choice of braised duckling, veal chops or lobster tail, and an assortment of breads and desserts.
Rory had a glass of wine with dinner, noticing that the blonde sisters drank down an aperitif, three glasses of wine, and an afterdinner Irish coffee, their voices and laughter becoming louder with each drink.
The Runaway Prophet Page 4