The Circle of Sodom

by Pat Mullan

  Larry Sanderson had never thought of himself as a brave person. But he'd never been tested. Until now. Now he knew he wasn't brave. He didn't want to be tortured any more. He broke down and pleaded to be set free, promised them anything if they'd spare his life. Joseph gave him some water and Larry Sanderson talked. Told them everything. Everything that he knew. About the A.I. system, about Shields, about MacDara, about the Circle of Sodom. He couldn't tell them about General Walker or Tony Thackeray because he didn't know that. But he did tell them about the investigation into Colonel McNab and the Millennium Covenant. Joseph knew when he had finished that he had told them everything. He could recognize a broken man.

  "Sweetheart, you did good. You should get a prize. Don't you think so, Best Friend? Sweetheart deserves a prize, doesn't he?"

  Before Sanderson knew what was happening, Joseph had gagged him again and Best Friend moved towards him from the foot of the bed. He could see the light glinting on the blade and he knew he was going to die. Somehow he didn't fight it. In those split seconds a serene calm descended on him. When his jugular was sliced open he didn't feel it. He only felt the burning in the soles of his feet. And the wetness that gushed from his throat warming his cold naked body.

  It was unusual for computer equipment to be delivered directly to General Shields' office. He only used a PC, a printer and a modem and all of those were delivered and installed personally by Larry Sanderson. The box was sitting on the floor beside his secretary's desk when he returned from lunch at two p.m. on Wednesday.

  "What's this, Sally?" asked Shields.

  "I don't know, Sir. The label says it's an HP Deskjet printer. A UPS delivery man arrived with it half an hour ago. Did you order a new printer?"

  "No, I did not. Get me Sanderson on the phone."

  "I tried to get him already, Sir. But nobody knows where he is. He didn't show up today."

  "That's not like Sanderson. Did you try his home number?"

  "Yes, Sir. But he's not there. Only his answering machine. I left a message."

  "OK, Sally. Please call Operations and have them send someone up here to check this out. I'll be in my office. Keep trying to contact Sanderson. Let me know when you get him. I want to talk with him."

  Half an hour later the intercom buzzer rang on the General's phone. It was Sally.

  "Still can't find Sanderson. But Ops are here to open your package. Maybe you'd like to see what's in it."

  "Thanks, Sally. I believe I will take a look."

  As General Shields opened his office door the young man from Operations had just finished opening the box. He looked distressed and was backing away from the box as Sally reached it. The General was just in time to catch her as she fainted into his arms. He looked down into the box only to be met by the fixed stare from Larry Sanderson's severed head sitting on a bed of ice cubes.

  “We have to assume that Larry talked. We have to assume that he told them everything he knew."

  MacDara had hopped on the shuttle as soon as he received the message about Sanderson. It was early afternoon and he was sitting in Shields' office. The General looked twenty years older today, he thought.

  "You're right, Sir. We have to assume that. Where was he killed?"

  "In his apartment. They didn't even attempt to clean up. Sanderson's body was still naked, tied to his bed. Blood everywhere. He'd been tortured. Third degree burns on the soles of both feet. Our boys went over the place with a fine tooth comb. But I don't expect we'll find anything. They removed the body and scrubbed the place. We want to keep the lid on this."

  "What about Sanderson's relatives?"

  "We're fortunate there. He was pretty much a loner and he had no brothers or sisters. Only an elderly widowed mother. She's in a nursing home in Detroit. We checked. She hasn't heard from him in five years."

  "What about his work?"

  "That's where it's really going to hurt. They say that no-one in this world is indispensable. But Larry Sanderson was the exception."

  "They also know what we know. I'm sure they suspected we knew something. But now they have the advantage. Or think they do. Luckily, Sanderson didn't know everything."

  "But there's two things that he did tell them. The Circle of Sodom and the Millennium Covenant. I think it's time you paid that visit to Colonel McNab."

  "If he's involved in any of this, won't he know that we're investigating him?"

  "Of course he will. But investigating him and proving something are two different things. He knows that too."

  "So you think he'll see me."

  "I'm sure he will. He's as curious about us as we are about him. He wasn't a successful field commander without gathering the best intelligence about the enemy. And we are his enemy."

  TWENTY-TWO

  The White House

  Washington, D.C.

  When General Zachary Walker requested a meeting with the President he had not expected to be invited to the White House private quarters. Yet here he was. Standing on the Truman Balcony looking out over the South Lawn to the Washington Monument and the Jefferson Memorial. He had mixed emotions. A feeling of ease and an equal feeling of awe. He also felt shame. He had confessed to the President, told him about Korea, asked for his understanding and swore his allegiance. The President was speaking again :

  "Zach, I can appreciate how painful this was for you. But, as far as I'm concerned, Korea is in the past. You're a fine officer. A fine American. I trust you. I want you to know that."

  "Mr. President, I don't know what to say."

  "Zach, don't say anything. But you know you'd be crucified in the media and on the Hill if they found out about this. You'd have to resign."

  "I know that, Mr. President."

  "And somebody else knows that too, don't they? Somebody who wants you to keep your job. Somebody who wants you to stay in power. I want you to tell me who that is."

  "I don't know, Mr. President."

  "But you can make a damn good guess, can't you? I know you don't share the same political philosophy as me. That never mattered. I saw no merit in surrounding myself only with people who thought like me. I wanted the best. You are one of the best."

  The President paused for a while and both of them stood there looking out over the South Lawn.

  "Look out there. Don't you feel it? You're at the center of power. That's an awesome responsibility," the President continued as though he were talking to himself. Then he looked back at Zachary Walker.

  "I know you're not going to vote for me next year. If the person you vote for wins, will you trust them with the power of this office?"

  The General was still staring out over the South Lawn. Now he turned around abruptly and said :

  "It's Senator Hardy, Mr. President. That's who wants me to keep my job."

  "I think Senator Hardy is a dangerous man. He and his fanatical right are a threat to this democracy. But would he kill to get here?"

  "I can't believe he'd do that, Mr. President."

  "But you're not sure, are you?"

  General Walker didn't answer. He didn't really know what answer to give.

  It was the President who spoke again.

  "Zachary, I want you to continue as though nothing has changed. When the time comes I want you on my side. Will you promise that to me tonight?"

  Without a moment's hesitation, General Zachary Walker looked directly at his President and said :

  "You have my word of honor, Mr. President."

  TWENTY-THREE

  Baton Rouge

  Louisiana

  There was about one hundred of them. They'd been arriving in ones, twos and threes over the past few days, slipping in quietly to this sleepy, remote suburb of Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

  This was a war conference of the generals of the religious right. They commanded an army of two million members, controlled the dominant political party machinery in twenty states and had assembled more political strength than any other organization. They had declared war against the ra
dical left, a movement they blamed for the disintegration of the American way of life. A few invited guests were in attendance. Colonel George McNab had been one of the first to arrive, two days ago. The Honorable David Anthony Llewellyn Thackeray had arrived just in time for breakfast on the opening day of the conference. The Commander of this army of the right had arrived the evening before; Senator Sumner Hardy had travelled incognito in a rented car. He had used an assumed name and had covered his departure from Washington. The media were the last people he wanted in attendance at this conference. He didn't know that he was being followed. By Owen MacDara. After the President had had his meeting with General Zachary Walker he had asked Bart Shields and Owen MacDara to watch every move that the Senator made.

  The Henderson House was a conference center situated in the suburban bedroom community of Baton Rouge. The kind of place chosen by organizations who valued their privacy and whose members didn't need to be entertained in the evening. The Henderson House provided comfortable rooms and chalets, excellent food, and conference facilities that were equipped with leading edge technology. Privacy and confidentiality were their trademark. They were the Swiss bankers of conference centers.

  This conference had been registered at the Henderson House under a particularly innocuous title : ICA, International Communication Associates. It was scheduled to run for four days.

  The one concession that the Henderson House had made to the leisure pursuits of its clients was golf. It boasted a PGA championship quality eighteen hole course. The ICA Conference had left the afternoon of the third day free for its members to enjoy the course.

  Four of them would not play golf that afternoon. Instead, they met in the chalet of one of the four : their Commander-in-Chief, Senator Sam Sumner Hardy.

  The four men were seated at the round table in the dining area of Senator Sam's chalet. Colonel George NcNab sat to the Senator's right and Tony Thackeray faced him directly across the table. The fourth person sat on the Senator's left. He was Colonel Robert Travers.

  No pleasanteries were exchanged. Only a jug of iced water and four glasses alleviated the plainness of the table's surface. The Senator began.

  "Gentlemen, you all know why we're here. Our timetable is being dictated by events beyond our control", and he looked at Tony Thackeray as he opened with this and then continued.

  "Each of you know how those events began. New York was the first screw-up. When four cops are killed they never get off the damn thing", the Senator said matter-of-factly, took a sip from his glass of water, and proceeded :

  "We also underestimated MacDara . You made him an offer to join us, Tony?"

  "Yes, I did. I felt we had nothing to lose. And MacDara impressed me. He would have made an outstanding Institute alumnus. We seldom find leaders of his ability."

  "But you didn't succeed", the Senator stated the obvious.

  "I had failed even before I started. But I didn't know that until after the meeting. One of my Circle recognized MacDara . He'd found his way into our evening vespers in Florida. He had already tied the Circle to the killing of his friend, Murphy Armstrong. I gave the keynote speech at his GMA dinner this year. So it wouldn't have been a major stretch for him to recognize my voice."

  "And, gentlemen, we have verification of all of this. The confession of that excuse for a human being. What was his name? Sanderson? You knew him, didn't you, Bob?"

  "Yes, Sir. No loss, I can assure you. I found him to be disrespectful and scruffy. A good six months in boot camp would have cured him or killed him. Shields knew what I thought of Sanderson. Good riddance."

  "Despite that, it's obvious that he was a genius with computers. MacDara got to Shields and this fellow, Sanderson. Gentlemen, a lot of damage has already been done."

  Looking at Travers, the Senator said :

  "Bob, as you know, if Whiteside had continued with his memoirs, he would have made your boss's position untenable. We couldn't let that happen. Zachary Walker commands a lot of respect at the Pentagon. We need a player on our team with credentials like that."

  "You don't need to worry about the General, Sir. He's a true believer. I never saw anyone with such faith in God and America. He often says that America was founded on a belief in God and he thinks that this nation is the last best hope for the human race."

  "I know, Bob. I've known Zach since I served as his aide in Seoul twenty years ago. And I was only a wet-behind-the-ears 2nd Lieutenant in those days."

  The tee-off for the seventh green was exactly two hundred yards from the Senator's patio. He watched a ball arc into the air and two golfers drive their cart on to the fairway. For a fleeting moment his mind drifted to another golf course : Walker Hill in Seoul and those times when he and Zach and the "Two Percent Club" talked and planned the future. Until it almost came crashing down on that fateful night in '70.

  "Senator Sam", intruded George McNab, "we are ready when you need us. Just say the word."

  "George, I know. I wish this nation had a thousand patriots like you. Keep your people on full alert. We may need you sooner than we thought."

  The Senator got up, went over to the bar and poured himself a Royal Crown cola. RC coke had become an addiction of his. He turned to face the others. The Senator was not long-winded. He had never been known to engage in a single filibuster on the Hill.

  "Gentlemen, let's take stock. We committed ourselves to govern this nation and lead it out of its decline. We had five years, I say 'had', to ensure that the people of these fifty states voted us in at the millennium. These past two days have proven to me that we are building that support. Next year we'd have tested that. By 2000 the White House would have been ours."

  The Senator paused to ensure that his audience understood the full implication of what he was saying.

  "Well, we've run out of time. The President may already be planning to move against us. We never expected this to happen. But we're prepared. George, I want you to confer immediately with the heads of the other militias and ask them to standby for my orders. Bob, stick to General Walker like glue. I will see the President personally. He must be made aware of the cost of any actions he might be contemplating."

  "Thank you, gentlemen, we will not meet again during this conference. Just make sure that I can reach you twenty-four hours a day."

  After Travers and McNab left, the Senator went over to the bar and poured himself another RC coke. Tony Thackeray accepted a Heineken, in the bottle. The Senator made the observation to himself that he'd never seen Thackeray use a glass for his beer. Always drank it directly from the bottle. An ingratiating affectation from the aristocracy, thought Senator Hardy.

  "Are these the days that your Institute prepared me for, Tony?" asked the Senator.

  "You know they are, Sam. When you were at Oxford, you saw the conspiracy of the left. Some of our best intellectuals were involved. You remember that last year you spent at the Thackeray Institute. My father took to you. Surely the many evenings that he and you spent together in debate prepared you well for this day," confirmed Tony Thackeray, and added, " my father is very proud of you."

  "Your father would not be proud of the way we handled MacDara . We can't terminate him and he won't join us. By this time the damage is done. Shields knows whatever MacDara knows. And you can be sure that Shields has briefed the President."

  Senator Sam crushed the empty RC can with his right hand and threw it accurately into the open trash can in the corner. A direct hit. Every move had to be a direct hit, he told himself. They couldn't afford another failure.

  Tony Thackeray had reasserted himself:

  "Sam, I'll call my father and convene the Advisory Council of the Institute. We will need to keep the lid on Europe and Asia if we have to move on Washington."

  As soon as Thackeray left, the Senator started to pack. A repetitive exercise. His mind wandered back to beginnings, to the "Two Percent Club" in Seoul. How did Zach Walker put it at the time?

  "Sam, believe me, you wouldn't want to spen
d any time with ninety-eight percent of the people in this world. We're the two percenters."

  That's how the Two Percent Club started with only three members, the Colonel, himself and Captain Joe Dodd. The Captain died in Vietnam. He remembered again that night the Colonel called him for help, the phone calls to Major Whiteside and his drive north with the Colonel to the 53rd MASH. It was in the middle of a monsoon and he thought they'd never make it.

  The conference of the International Communication Associates ended a day later without incident or controversy. None of the generals of the religious right was aware of the matters discussed in their Commander's chalet. They left as they had arrived, in ones, twos and threes.

  Senator Sumner Hardy left early in the evening of the third day. He went directly to Washington.

  Owen MacDara had watched them leave: The Senator; Tony Thackeray; Colonel McNab and one other person accompanying the Colonel. He recognized Colonel Robert Travers, aide-de-camp to General Zachary Walker. It had been no surprise to see Senator Hardy, Colonel McNab and Tony Thackeray in each other's company. It only confirmed the suspicions that had troubled MacDara since that night in Costelloes, the night that Murph had died. But Colonel Travers was the real surprise. There's our mole, thought MacDara.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Washington, D.C.

  Colonel Robert Travers left his military uniform behind on Sundays. Instead he donned the uniform of the Reverend Robert Travers of the New Christian Communion. His was not a conventional church or a traditional parish. His congregation numbered about fifty. They were all dropouts from the fundamentalist faiths of Christianity, disaffected because they felt that these faiths had strayed from the bible and from the strict interpretation and practice of the Word of God. Their church was not made of bricks and mortar. They held their prayer meetings in rented halls and in each other's homes.