The Arrival

by J W Brazier

  “Wow. Okay, point taken. Now, you and Dr. Wagner left Palestine the day Israel declared itself an independent nation … on May 14, 1948.”

  “Yes, indeed, the Arabs called it ‘al-Nakba’—‘the Catastrophe’—and declared war the next day, May 15. How Abram knew there would be war declared on that specific day, is still a troubling mystery. His prearranging our precise departure date eighteen months in advance was not by accident or luck. I’ve my own suspicions, as did Charles. We discussed them all—with unabated tempers, I might add. Charles was adamant that I’d unleashed hell itself. I’d never believed the nonsense of myths and legends … not until years later. What Charles told me then, and I wouldn’t listen to, was true and holds true today.”

  “Wait, Ian, are you suggesting Abram Solomon had years of advanced knowledge in what would happen in Palestine?”

  Ian gave a small nod. “Yes, I am. Understand, Charles and I signed our contracts in late 1946. I had never given much thought to Abram’s specific departure date of May 14, 1948. Uncanny, isn’t it, or was it preplanned?”

  Ian took a sip of his whiskey. Dean took the chance to jot some more notes, considering conjectures as to how Abram would know to set their departure on that date.

  “Abram Solomon sounds like he was a powerful and dangerous geopolitical player with inside help and foreknowledge,” Dean said. “The UN was young in 1948, but a prime player in Israel’s formation.”

  Ian nodded and then shrugged at Dean’s plausible suggestion before he took another sip of his drink.

  “Deborah said your Jew was first-century. Was there anything left, or just bones?”

  “Oh, yes, quite a bit left, considering time, elements, conflicts, and thieves. We found him intact in a cave, in remarkable condition. The dry air and manner of his burial helped.”

  “Ian, you’ve concealed the Jew’s identity for over six decades. Why?”

  Ian stared at Dean. “Charles and I gave our word. A man’s word is his bond. Besides, no one would believe us, and Charles made me promise not to reveal his name. I don’t break promises. He said I’d know the appointed time.”

  Probing Ian further on the subject would be pointless, so Dean decided to move forward. “Okay, I won’t chase that rabbit. What happened to the body when the ship arrived in New York?”

  “Abram’s men were to meet us, but we made the journey faster than expected and arrived almost a day early. That’s when our fears of a surreal curse became reality. Thieves attempted to steal the Jew the night of our arrival. They imagined our crates were full of valuable artifacts. In making rounds the next morning, the ship’s captain checked the cargo and made a horrible discovery. Scattered around our crates, he found the mutilated bodies of the thieves. Those disfigured retches died a tragic death, but there was never an investigation. GEM-Tech arrived and was quick to take control transporting their mutilated bodies off the ship. The mere whisper of inquiry by crew or authorities, Abram silenced. His money buys whatever he wants, and if not, then he eliminates all threats. Charles and Deborah are examples.”

  Dean began to say something, but Ian held up a hand.

  “Three decades later, Charles wrote me and said Abram had assembled a group of select scientists, he and Deborah being among them. Before Charles left GEM-Tech’s project, code-named ‘Phoenix,’ he wrote me a peculiar letter. In it, he explained what he’d later discovered and why Abram wanted the Jew we’d found. Charles was unaware of Abram’s true intent then, and something neither of us knew in 1948 Palestine. His letter made clear the underlying goal of Project Phoenix. Abram wanted to replicate cellular material from the same donor. He led the scientists to believe their jobs were to cure diseases through genetics.”

  Now Dean’s eyes widened. “What?” he whispered.

  “Am I boring you yet, young man?”

  “No, sir, not at all, but what you’ve said, that suggests cloning experiments. Deborah never outright said that in reading her documents. At least I didn’t notice, but then, I’m not a scientist.”

  “Yes, without question, that’s what I’m saying.”

  “Okay. Wow. Well, when I first interviewed Ann, she said that GEM-Tech had murdered her mother, along with the other project scientists. She was the last person, other than yourself, who knew about Abram Solomon’s project. Aren’t you concerned that GEM-Tech will come after you? They might believe you didn’t keep the Jew’s identity secret.”

  Ian smiled, but it wasn’t a humorous smile at all. Rather, a smile that scared Dean.

  “No, Abram is no fool,” Ian finally said. “He understands that would be a foolish mistake. I took extraordinary precautions just in case he had a change of heart.” Ian stood, drink in hand, and leaned against his porch railing. “Dean, take what I’m about to say as a word of warning in your investigations. We’re all in danger. You, your boss, Ann, and anyone else who’ll learn from Deborah’s records about GEM-Tech’s Project Phoenix.”

  Dean nodded and took in a sharp breath.

  “I see by your expression that you haven’t given that idea much consideration, young man. You need to reevaluate this whole sordid mess and plan with extreme caution in mind. I can help you with that, but for now, let’s shift the subject matter of our conversation.

  “Do you believe in the powers of good and evil? Are you a believer? I’m sure Deborah talked about her faith in her tapes.”

  Dean stiffened. “Ian, you’re the second person who has asked me that. I’m Jewish by birth.”

  Ian finished his drink in a one gulp, stepped toward his rocker, and slammed the glass on the table. “That’s not an exemption card, young man! There’s a lot of Jews burning in hell today. On the contrary, as far as evil is concerned, being a Jew puts you at the head of the line.” Ian shook his head. “Religion isn’t what I’m asking about.”

  Dean shook his head and shrugged, honestly having no idea where Ian was going with this.

  “This is no politically correct game, Dean. Truth isn’t relative. The choice is simple: good or evil. You’ll have to take a stand and make that choice, just as I did, thanks to my good friend Charles and a cantankerous rabbi. What happened in White River over thirty years ago is connected with what’s happening in White River today … and it’s not by accident. I now understand, to my regret, the true purpose behind Project Phoenix. Charles, Deborah, and I had many a discussion over those implications, and Abram’s commitment and the parts we played.”

  “Wait. Ian, in listening to Deborah’s tapes, she describes their procedures with the young girls and the resulting carnage. She speaks of biblical events and her conjectures that the clone she helped create is the essence of evil. Strange, though, that she never named the DNA source.”

  Dean hoped once again that Ian would throw him a bone and name that source. But Ian just hung his head, reflecting.

  “After Charles died, I told Deborah everything. There’s another tape. She made it special for Ann. She’ll receive it soon, and in it, Deborah names the Jew,” Ian said with a somber tone. “Everyone who has any knowledge of Project Phoenix had better have confidence in something. What their experiments produced is real. It exists today. It’s powerful and deadly, and it’s coming. He will come for you when you least expect it, so be prepared.”

  Dean stopped writing notes and listened to Ian’s warnings.

  “Dean, what we’re discussing isn’t a cheap sci-fi movie script or derisive conspiracy theory. The politically correct garbage ‘Your truth isn’t my truth’ is irrelevant. You can’t dismiss or explain away the results of Project Phoenix. And to do so would be at your own eternal peril. What I saw in that cave in 1948, what Deborah held in her hands, and what killed my friends, is real. It’s tangible, and it’s alive and descended on White River. After it’s finished, everyone on earth will at some point in the future face an irreversible decision.”

  Dean ran a hand through his hair. “You’ve painted a … well, a terrifying scenario, Ian. On the other hand, you’ve
avoided reveling the identity of the Jew you unearthed. I’d like to ask why, and for what purpose?”

  Ian’s unwavering eyes held their steadfast gaze on Dean. He leaned forward, lifted his hand, and again caressed the leather-stringed amulet concealed beneath his shirt.

  “That time will come soon, very soon, is all I’m at liberty to say. The day that burden is lifted from me will be my end, and I can rest, but not yet. Soon, you and others will come to understand everything, and then I can rest.”

  Chapter 21

  “Car One, she’s on her way.”

  “Copy One, we see her.”

  “Car Two to Leader, the rabbit’s in the cage.”

  “Leader to all units, converge!”

  *

  Ann was almost home from running a quick errand into White River. She’d turned onto Gordon Lane, a narrow, potholed county road. A black Suburban appeared ahead of her, speeding toward her.

  They’re driving way too fast for this road! she thought, but the Suburban never slowed.

  In a cloud of dust, she saw another black Suburban launch from a side road and slide in behind the first one. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. The black monsters raced at her.

  Is there an emergency close by? she wondered.

  Panic, though, set in when she glanced up at her rearview mirror to find that another big black Suburban had slipped in behind her.

  Is this part of the military exercises? Are they after me for some reason?

  The road to her property was a short distance ahead, and she’d soon be home safe and out of their way, she hoped. But the two black Suburbans in front and the one behind closed their distance. Ann floored the accelerator, believing the vehicles intended to run her off the road.

  I can make it I can make it I can make it!

  Chancing the tight turn without slowing down, Ann turned hard left into her private drive. Her tires squealed in protest, and then screeched again as she finally slid to a stop in her driveway. She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d made it home without incident … or had she?

  Tires now squealed behind her, and she turned to look back. The three black Suburbans raced up the driveway behind her. Ann stepped out of her car to face her pursuers, feeling the rush of adrenaline. Her heart raced; her hands and legs shuddered. Six large men in dark blue suits piled out in unison and surrounded her, their stance clearly meant to be intimidating.

  Ann took a deep breath and laced her car keys between her fingers. She spread out her legs and feet in what she hoped looked like an unyielding stand. A feeble defense, she knew, but she would go down fighting.

  “Miss Ann Taylor?” one of the men said, although she didn’t see which one.

  “Yes. What’s the meaning of this?”

  A tall, broad-shouldered man, in his late thirties—the leader of the group, she presumed—walked toward her. Sunglasses concealed his eyes.

  “My name is John Hirsch, Miss Taylor.”

  Ann remained alert and as calm as she could manage. Like her mother, she paid attention to details. She wanted to remember every physical identifier of this Mr. Hirsch.

  He flashed his badge and ID, as if the viewer should “Take note and be afraid.” He gave it a practiced flip to return it to his jacket.

  “May I see that again, please?” she asked.

  John Hirsch smiled and presented the ID once more. “You can relax that grip on your keys, Miss Taylor. You’ve nothing to fear from us, at least for now. We’re here to retrieve property belonging to GEM-Tech. You know what I’m referring to?”

  Yes, she understood what he meant, but he didn’t need to know that, at least for now. She didn’t like the slime-ball in front of her, using arrogance and intimidation as tools of his trade.

  “Please take off your sunglasses, Mr. Hirsch. I like to see whom I’m addressing.”

  His conceited grin and smug attitude conveyed his disdain. But he removed the sunglasses, revealing beady blue eyes that shouted contempt.

  “Better,” Ann said, then studied his ID in her free hand. “‘John Hirsch, GEM-Tech Chief of Security,’” she read and then looked up. “An impressive little tin badge. But I don’t know how I can be of any help to you. My mother was the one who worked for GEM-Tech, Mr. Hirsch.”

  Ann returned his ID, unimpressed with the rent-a-cop wannabe.

  “Miss Taylor, your mother wasn’t very cooperative, either. Her demise was … unfortunate, but quick, I can assure you. I hope you’ll not make that same mistake. She stole certain research documents, and we want them back. Just hand them over, and we’ll leave. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to—”

  “You’ll be forced to do what, Mr. Hirsch?” Ann asked.

  “Search your premises for starters, Miss Taylor.”

  “Murder is what happened to my mother, Mr. Hirsch, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Further, if GEM-Tech had hard evidence my mother had taken their research documents, they would’ve filed charges long ago. As for my home, I suggest you contact genuine police officers and obtain a search warrant. Good day, Mr. Hirsch.”

  Ann turned to leave. One of the agents stepped into her path and opened his suit coat, revealing a pistol. She screwed up her lips and shook her head. Then she whirled around to face John Hirsch.

  “Miss Taylor, we have other unpleasant ways to resolve this. I would suggest you cooperate. Otherwise, we’ll resort to less than friendlier methods. The consequences are painful, and the outcome could be deadly. Am I clear?”

  His remark meant to frighten, had instead angered her. “Are you threatening me, sir?”

  “Miss Taylor, I’m suggesting, for now, that you hand over our documents. We know you have them.”

  “I have no documents, Mr. Hirsch. Haven’t I made that clear? Now get off my property or I’ll call the real authorities. Furthermore, if you or GEM-Tech bother me again, I’ll have my attorney filing lawsuits day and night. Now, sir, am I clear? Do you understand me?”

  She turned to leave. The same towering agent postured again, blocking her path. Ann looked back over her shoulder at John Hirsch. Clearly annoyed by her defiance, knowing he had no legal rights, he waved his hand, and the man stepped aside.

  “This matter isn’t concluded, Miss Taylor!” Hirsch shouted.

  Ann walked toward her home, speaking without turning or stopping. “There’s no matter to conclude, Mr. Hirsch. Good day.”

  As she listened to Hirsch and his mean getting into their vehicles, Ann’s body trembled, her emotions reeling. Inside her home, she closed the door, falling against it for support. Relieved, she could hear the Suburbans roar to life and then squeal their tires as they left her driveway and sped away. Nerves frazzled, breaths erratic, Ann closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm as her breathing slowed and she calmed down and gained emotional control.

  “Oh my God, they know. I’ve got to warn Dean,” she whispered.

  I’ll call his cell. If he doesn’t respond soon, I’ll call Mr. Boyd. He’ll find Dean, and warn him.

  Her hands still a little shaky, she called Dean’s cell, but got his voicemail. She didn’t leave a message, but tried texting. Still no response. She redialed his cell number and this time left a message.

  “Dean, it’s Ann. Please call me on my cell or home phone as soon as you get this message. It’s urgent.”

  Hirsch had left her feeling dirty. She hoped Dean would check his messages soon and return her call, just to help her feel more at ease. In the interim, a quick shower wouldn’t do. A hot bath seemed the better alternative. She could relax in the warm water and digest all that had transpired. Soft music and hot tea would be the right combination to soothe both body and soul.

  Ann walked into the kitchen and tossed her purse on the counter. She placed a cup and saucer on the counter and a teakettle of water on the stove to heat. Orange-flavored tea was her favorite. Water heating, she turned on the stereo and walked into the bathroom to fill her Jacuzzi tub. With two scented candles set
aglow on the tub’s edge, she poured in liquid bubbles, thinking, Why not?

  Undressed and now wrapped in a powder-blue terry cloth robe, she shuffled back to the kitchen wearing a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. She poured a cup of hot water and placed her tea in to steep. A classical music CD began to play another tune as she breezed through the living room, headed for her bath.

  The muffled sound of the cell phone in her purse started to buzz in the kitchen, then went silent. She’d forgot to bring it with her. Moments later, her home phone rang. The answering machine took the call. Halfway to the bathroom, she’d untied her bathrobe sash just as the answering machine ended its greeting. Her ears perked up over the music at hearing Dean’s voice.

  “Ann, pick up if you’re there. You said it’s urgent.”

  Ann whirled around, squealed, and made a mad dash for the telephone. Her robe billowed open like a plastic bag caught in the wind. She slid across the polished wood floors toward the phone, hoping she wasn’t too late.

  “Hello! Dean? Are you there? Hello?”

  “Yes, Ann, I’m here. It’s great to hear your voice again. Are you alright? What’s going on? You said it was urgent that I call you.”

  “Yes, I’m okay—Well, no … I mean, yes, I’ll be fine. Are you still in New York?” She tried to keep her voice even, but it was hard not to sound both frightened and elated.

  “No, I’m in White River. I arrived yesterday to resume the assignment. I thought about calling you earlier, but I didn’t have a cell signal for most of the day. In fact, I just got back to my hotel from an interview with our missing piece of our puzzle, Mr. Ian Taylor.”

  Ann smiled.

  “Uh, Ann, I … um … was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight. That is, I mean, if you’re available, of course.”

  Ann’s smile grew wider. “Dean, that’s sweet. Yes, it sounds wonderful, and your timing couldn’t be better. You can tell me all about the interview.”