The Arrival

by J W Brazier

  Deborah said nothing and almost hung up, but then Abram spoke again.

  “I almost forgot, Deborah, there’s one other item that will interest you. He’s planned a personal visit to your town.”

  Now she put a hand on the counter to steady herself. Max growled.

  “He’s coming here, to White River?”

  “When, I can’t say with certainty, but yes, in that he’s orchestrated a unique experiment of his own design that’s already in progress. A stroke of genius—and fitting, don’t you think? White River, the place of his birth, is where he chose for his first trial run, as it were, into global politics.”

  Deborah shook her head. “Then it’s true. Dr. Wagner was correct. He’s the one.”

  “The one whom the world awaits … Yes, Deborah, he’s the one. Dr. Wagner, at some point, realized that fact, as did you, so don’t play the naïveté angle. You and your colleagues were all so eager to assist with our project and understood its purpose. In essence, you played God. You’re an accomplice, Deborah.”

  She felt as though he’d driven a dagger into her heart.

  “I must go, Deborah, but first, he’s asked that I deliver a message. He said, ‘Tell Deborah that her dream is a small taste of my powers.’ The winged shadow in the trees—one of his warriors. We’ll meet again, Deborah Holland.”

  The phone went dead. Her body trembled, her soul seized with unnatural fear. Her heart raced even as she felt nausea and quickly sat down—or else collapse. Max came and lay beside her. She thought about what Abram had said, but to think about GEM-Tech’s creation left her ill.

  Abram was right: she was an accomplice, and she’d experimented with God’s design. What troubled her most was what she’d help create. He’d even sent her a message.

  My dream … and that thing in the woods … They were real. But then she sat up at another thought: Then the voice that spoke to me is real.

  Abram’s minions would be coming for her; in that, there was no doubt. She had to get her documents into the right hands—and fast. Once his goons came for her, they would destroy her evidence that would expose Project Phoenix.

  The voice … It said to “warn them,” she mused. I’ve got to talk with Ian and get his advice. And what will I say to Ann? I have to tell her everything. I’ll need her help … and just hope she accepts that what I say is true.

  Seated there, with the room quiet except for Max’s breathing, she considered a plan of action. Moments later, a warm and cherished memory burst through her cluttered thoughts—something she’d once confided to Mary.

  “Glenn,” she said.

  She’d met him when she was a young woman. He was the only man she’d ever loved, but to protect him, she’d sacrificed a life with him for one without him. Max jumped to his feet, barked, and wagged his tail, saliva strings dripped to the floor. He was ready for that walk.

  “Okay, Max, let’s go, old boy. I need some fresh air myself.”

  Out the front door, Max leaped off the porch into an all-out run. Hands in her coat pockets, head down and trailing after Max, Deborah had one thought that consumed her. She had to devise a plan—no more running away, ever again. Her wallowing in self-pity and apathy had ended. Time to bring closure, time for payback and justice, for the young girls and her friend: Mary, Patient 0102.

  Chapter 7

  Dean Cohen stepped out of the tenth-floor elevator, talking on his cell phone and in a rush for his office. Sally Elder, secretary to Glenn Boyd, the editor in chief of Global News Daily, had left him pleading voice messages throughout the day: “Dean, please call the office. Glenn says it’s urgent.” She’d finally given up after leaving her third and last message.

  Despite Sally’s frantic waving to get his attention, Dean dashed past her desk straight into his office. Seconds later, Glenn Boyd stormed out of his office into the reporters’ pit. He turned and looked straight at Sally.

  Glenn Boyd’s persona was more bark than bite. His employees and peers respected and admired him. His reputation as a truthful, no-nonsense, hard-hitting journalist and an accomplished editor needed no introductions. The fireball editor, at five-six, had one personal quirk: he chewed unlit cigars, although he’d didn’t smoke. No one had ever dared to ask why.

  Glenn had aged gracefully in body, but failed in temperament maturity. His former thick black hair had thinned and turned gray. Suspenders, a consistent part of his attire, helped cover his belly bulge. His deep blue eyes complemented his facial features, and could calm a nervous reporter—or pierce their souls.

  Right now, Sally was staring into a pair of piercing eyes.

  “Sally! Has Dean Cohen returned any of my calls?” Glenn barked.

  The other journalists ignored their boss’s bellowing roar, a common occurrence. Sally stood from behind her desk and smiled.

  “Ah, no sir, maybe—I’m not sure, but …” She motioned with a slight head nod and eye roll toward Dean’s office.

  Glenn looked, seeing the office blinds closing. “I thought as much. Get him in here, Sally. Now!” he said and then returned to his office. His trademark cigar moved from side to side in his mouth.

  “Yes, sir, right away.”

  Sally sprang into action, crossing the newsroom in quick steps and ignoring the sign on Dean’s door that read, Don’t Disturb Me.

  Sally burst into Dean’s small office, seeing that Dean was in his desk chair facing away from her. “Dean, why didn’t you return my calls? Glenn’s asked for you all morning. I called you three times and left messages. He’s upset about something and—Oh …”

  Dean turned in his chair, and she realized he was speaking with Glenn.

  “Urgent, you say? Okay, boss, I’ll be right over.” Dean looked up at Sally, smiled, and stood from behind his desk to leave. “I’m so sorry, Sally. I turned my cell phone off during my meetings and forgot to turn it back on. I should’ve checked in with you sooner. Good stuff, though. I’ll fill you in on it later. Glenn wants to talk. He says it’s urgent. Any idea what’s up?”

  “Ahh … No—Well, maybe. He did receive a special delivery package this morning. Whatever it was, it upset him and got him acting all weird.”

  “Okay, then, I’ll find out soon enough. Thanks, Sally.”

  Dean brushed past her on his way out the door, crossed the newsroom to Glenn’s office, and knocked.

  “Get in here, Cohen!” Glenn bellowed.

  Dean stood in front of his boss’s desk and waited, somewhat worried. Reporters knew that when asked to sit, that was good; if left standing, you were in for a bad day. Glenn kept his head down, reading a paper and chewing his cigar. Finally, there came a pause in the cigar’s movement.

  “Dean, have a seat. I’ve got a new assignment for you.”

  Dean sighed, feeling like a weight had already fallen off his back. He sat, but hearing Glenn say “new assignment” didn’t make sense. He’d never known his boss to make sudden assignment changes. Whatever this is must be important.

  Glenn stood, left his desk, and started speaking as he walked over to his leather sofa and gathered a pile of papers scattered across a coffee table.

  “Dean, something of dire importance has come to my attention and I need you on it, pronto.”

  “Okay, Glenn, but if I may ask, why the sudden change in direction? You never—”

  Glenn held up his hand. “Yes, I know. It’s not my nature, but this particular assignment—Well, for me, it’s personal.”

  “Personal? You know I’d be glad to help, but if it’s that personal, why are you giving me the assignment? Can you share more details?”

  “I’d love to discuss it and tell you more, but I can’t, at least for now. You’ll have to trust me. Now listen up. I want you in northern Arkansas—a small town called White River. You’ll meet with a lady I knew a long time ago. Her name is Deborah Holland. She’ll fill you in with more details. Oh, and you’d better take warm clothing. Arkansas weather can change fast.”

  Dean slit his e
yes at his boss. Glenn’s evasiveness seemed purposeful, yes, but confusing nonetheless.

  “You’re leaving out a lot of details—quite unlike you. There’s something you’re not telling me, boss.”

  Glenn stopped pacing and faced Dean. “Correct. There are certain things I can’t discuss. If my sources are correct, a backdoor covert operation involving the United Nations might coincide with this story.”

  Now Dean’s eyes widened. “United Nations?”

  Glenn only nodded.

  “That could be … huge. I could—Wait a minute, wait a minute. You’re sending me to this town with almost no info … for a story that involves the UN.”

  “Yes, and it’s on purpose.”

  Dean sat staring at his boss, waiting for another tidbit to drop.

  “Dean, you’re talented, and I trust you with this developing story. I think you’ve shown a keen eye for investigative work. Don’t let that go to your head, though. We’re not bonding here. I want you to enter this town with untainted eyes. What I’m asking will become clearer later. But don’t worry, I’ll be right here whenever you need me.”

  Dean let out a long breath. This assignment definitely topped the list of the strangest he’d undertaken. Still, the mention of the United Nations did intrigue him.

  “Alright, Glenn, you’ve stroked my ego and teased my curiosity. But … one more question before I go. It’s about my expenses. Do I have a carte blanche?”

  Glenn’s eyes narrowed. The cigar stopped moving. “Don’t press it, Cohen. You’re delusional if you think there’s a warm, fuzzy friendship developing between us. Now get out and see Sally. She has the packet I’ve prepared for you with more information. Read it later. You’ll need it. Now get out of my office and go to work. Oh, and when I say I’ll be here if you need me, I don’t mean in regard to what you’ll be investigating. I want you down there for a month, and I want you to keep all your findings to yourself for now. You can tell me everything in person when you return. Got it?”

  “Uhhh … Yes, sir—and thanks … I guess.”

  Dean stopped at Sally’s desk on his way to the elevator. Without him even saying a word, she handed him a large sealed envelope.

  “Thanks, Sally.”

  He saw that she was grinning and wasn’t so sure he liked it.

  “Be careful down South, Dean.”

  He stared for a moment and finally smiled back, realizing she’d known the entire time.

  Dean walked off and waited at the elevator, wondering what secrets the thick envelope contained. The doors opened. Five men in suits marched out, shoving Dean aside with no apology. They marched in almost perfect unison straight for Sally’s desk. Dean stepped inside the elevator and pressed the Door Open button so he could hear a bit before he left.

  The man in front leaned over Sally’s desk. “Tell Glenn Boyd that John Hirsch from GEM-Tech security wants to have a word with him—at once, Miss!”

  Chapter 8

  Joshua was late for his first press conference.

  He had struggled for months before making his decision, arguing for every conceivable objection not to run for public office. Politics was a nasty business at best.

  After extensive favorable polling among registered voters, his wife Brenda helped make his decision. She gave him the green light to run for mayor in the November elections. The decision made, Joshua promised his supporters that, if he should win, he’d walk his talk.

  Backstage of the pressroom in White River’s new $10 million over-budget courthouse, Jason Hodges, Joshua’s campaign manager, paced back and forth, chewed his nails, and checked his wristwatch. His candidate was ten minutes late.

  The backstage exit door opened and closed. Jason looked up.

  “Finally,” he whispered to himself.

  Joshua came toward him at a fast trot. Seeing his campaign manager force a smile, Joshua also noted that Jason’s eyes couldn’t hide his irritation.

  “Sorry I’m late, Jason,” Joshua said, trying to slow his breathing. “I lost track of time campaigning with customers at the Feed Bag.”

  Joshua stepped in front of a square-framed mirror glued to the wall, grateful it was high enough to accommodate his six-two height. He tucked his shirt into his trousers and pulled a tie from the pocket of his sports jacket. Joshua saw that the tie was wrinkled, and then noticed Jason frowning at seeing the condition of the tie.

  “That’s gonna happen sometimes, Joshua,” Jason said. “But just remember to stay on point and keep your answers short as you can. And don’t debate! You’ll lose big time.”

  Joshua made last adjustments to his tie and the rest of his outfit. A quick comb of his hair with his hands, a wide smile to check teeth and … All good. Time to meet the press, he thought.

  “Joshua, one last thing, there’s some unexpected press from Little Rock. Act natural—and remember, keep it short and sweet. Now, go get ’em, Mr. Mayor.”

  Joshua cocked an eyebrow. Easy enough for you to say, Jason. He walked out on stage to the podium, ready to offer an apology for being late, but noticed that more than one reporter already had a hand raised to ask a question. He smiled and pointed at a gentleman near the center of the group.

  “Roger Pauley, Channel 13 Eyewitness News. Mr. Austin, with no political experience, why are you running for mayor? You’re a conservative independent—and an evangelical. Will your religious views dictate your governing rhetoric in the office of mayor, should you win?”

  Joshua could almost feel the man’s contempt from where he stood, but he just paused, smiled, and said, “What’s your name again, sir?”

  “Roger Pauley, Mr. Austin. I represent Channel 13 Eyewitness News.”

  “Oh yes, I’ve seen your weather show.” Joshua grinned.

  The room of reporters chuckled at his innuendo.

  “I heard a question somewhere in there, Mr. Pauley. The rest seemed more of a personal statement—or am I mistaken?”

  Joshua already knew that Pauley was a staunch flag-waving progressive liberal, infamous for his biased hardball tactics.

  “My apologies, Mr. Austin. Since you’re new to politics and press conferences, they were both, sir. And to clarify, I’m a news anchor.”

  “Yes, of course you are,” Joshua said.

  Pauley slit his eyes at Joshua, clearly not appreciating the overture. The other reporters stifled their laugher this time. Before Pauley could make a spiteful remark, Joshua raised a hand.

  “Mr. Pauley, I’ll answer your question in part with a quote I read once that’s stuck with me, but it’s effective.”

  The reporters all turned pages in their notepads.

  “‘Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it.’” Joshua glanced around and then focused his gaze on Roger Pauley. “Mr. Pauley, in my opinion, the ideal of progressivism is an insidious lie, a direct assault on our constitutional republic and America’s future. It’s the new term and face in political correctness. I stand among the politically incorrect.

  “So, yes, I’m an independent, conservative, and an evangelical—with faults. A candidate’s faith and political views don’t excuse him or her from ethical standards and moral character. Both attributes work hand in hand. That said, America is exasperated with politically correct potentates. Officials from the presidency on down presume they can outright lie to the American people with impunity. Our economy, our nation, is on the brink of absolute collapse, and still, inept politicians lie. I’m one American in a small town saying, ‘Enough,’ and I intend to fight back. I’m starting in my backyard. I hope others across America will stand up and do the same.

  “If elected, I’ll offer an alternative course from political and financial irresponsibility. I’ll open the city books. The public has a right to know the truth.”

  A flurry of hands went up in the pool of reporters, but Roger Pauley’s voice cut through all the chatter: “Who were you quoting?”

  “Oh yes, my quote… It was Adolf
Hitler, a master propagandist, Mr. Pauley—a progressive.”

  Again, hands went up, along with calls for Joshua’s attention.

  “Hold on!” Pauley shouted. “Are you saying progressives are akin to Nazis, Mr. Austin, and voters of White River can expect your sense of religious conservative morality to trump government?”

  Joshua smiled, remembering his campaign manager’s stern advice: “Stay on point…. Don’t debate. You’ll lose big time.”

  “No, Mr. Pauley, I am not. My point was an example of madness under socialist progressive ideologies. I’m certain that my disputed opinions will conflict with the politically correct. As for today, the greatness of Americans is that we all have the same constitutional rights. Tomorrow, progressives may change that, and that’s why I am running: to preserve and defend my fellow citizens’ constitutional rights.”

  Pauley started to say something again, but this time, Joshua pointed to a short, thick woman with a heavy nasal tone: “Mr. Austin, Helen Gray of the Little Rock Village Voice. Sir, it’s reported the women’s clinics in your town have come under attack by pro-life extremists. You’re on record as pro-life. Sir, my readers are concerned with religious conservatives, such as yourself, who are seeking political office. They believe you’re intolerant toward those who support abortion provisions to the poor.”

  Joshua pursed his lips. “I make no apologies for my personal views on abortion, Ms. Gray. Citizens are to obey the law, including elected officials. Our clinics will obey the law as well, to the letter. If any break the law, I will act.”

  Joshua watched as Helen Gray’s complexion went from ashen to red.

  “Are you stating, sir,” she asked, “that you’ll not uphold Roe vs. Wade?”

  Joshua shook his head. “That’s not what I said, Ms. Gray. If elected mayor, I’ll uphold the law and protect the unborn within my authority. Ms. Gray, I’ve no doubt supporters of abortion rights, such as yourself, are proud of their accomplishments. Whole generations of contributing Americans … eliminated; over fifty million children sucked and torn from their mother’s womb. Roe vs. Wade is a progressive success story.”