The Arrival

by J W Brazier

  Thankfully for Joshua, Shelby understood better than anyone the tremendous strain he was bearing. Since his election, he had jammed a stick into a hornet’s nest and was shaking it hard. His reforms had agitated the city council. Purveyors of pornography, and owners of lurid flesh clubs, gambling establishments, and liquor stores in White River all were up in arms. Everyone from school board liberals to union racketeers scurried to counter his moves.

  What progressives couldn’t fathom was how Joshua had awakened a sleeping giant of silent moderate, conservative, and independent voters. Typical fence-sitters decided they’d had enough. Grass roots voter registration climbed significantly, even among college students and young professionals.

  Joshua had energized lazy conservatives and moderates, previously just comfortable with their rhetoric but showing little effort at walking their talk.

  As Joshua approached the back exit of the building, Dean Cohen stepped through the doorway.

  “Well, well,” Joshua said, “look who’s sneaking in my back door. Mr. Dean Cohen. Great timing, actually. I was just about to call you. Do you have any free time? I need to talk with you.”

  Dean smiled. “We must be on the same page, Joshua. I’m here to visit with you.”

  “Sounds good. Then it’s unanimous, but … how’d you know I’d be coming out the back?”

  “Ha! All of you politicians sneak out a back door!”

  They laughed and walked out.

  “So where were you heading?” Dean asked.

  Joshua pointed ahead with his chin. “There’s a small park I enjoy not far off Main Street. You up to a walk, perhaps lunch? It’s a nice day and I could use a break. We can eat at Pearlette’s.”

  “Well, sure, I guess, unless it’s one of your Southern country miles. If so, we’d better take my car.”

  “Sounds like the South is growing on you.”

  Dean laughed. “Yeah, I have to admit it is.”

  After a bit of jovial chitchat along the way, Joshua changed his tone. “I’d like to ask if you could share more in-depth info about your White River assignment. Let’s start with those tapes you brought, the night we first met over dinner. Deborah Holland’s tapes scared the bejeebees out of me, but got me to wondering. Maybe her experiments are somehow linked with this United Nations exercise.”

  Dean stopped, and Joshua turned to face him.

  “Joshua, the fire and explosion obliterated all physical evidence of their experiments. I’ve not found any hard evidence that would link GEM-Tech with the UN or this military exercise. Unless … you’ve something you’d like to share?”

  Joshua didn’t answer, but started walking again. He gave occasional hand waves at passing pedestrians.

  Finally, Joshua said, “I’m toying with an idea is why I asked, and no, I’ve nothing pertinent to share, but if something significant turns up, I’ll keep you in the loop. Now, Dr. Holland mentions two men in her tapes: an Ian Taylor and a coworker named Dr. Charles Wagner—and she said the two of them worked together on an archaeological expedition in Palestine after World War II.”

  Dean cocked an inquisitive eyebrow as he dodged a trash can. Joshua, though, never slowed his pace. Dean caught up quickly.

  “Yes, she does talk about them,” Dean said. “Why are you asking?”

  “Like I said, I’m toying with an idea. But … both those old men took their secrets to the grave.”

  “Uhh … Joshua, that’s not exactly true. Well, it is for Dr. Wagner, yes.”

  “Wait, are you saying Ian Taylor is still alive?” Joshua asked as they stopped at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change.

  A military patrol rolled up to the light and stopped as they crossed. One soldier pointed at Joshua. He noticed and ignored the obvious gesture, but glanced over his shoulder and saw that they’d turned in the direction of the park.

  “Yes,” Dean said, “he is alive, and, yes, I talked with him. I couldn’t discuss it at your home until I’d talked with my editor. He’s given me the green light to share what I have with you. I guess we’re all sniffing the same trail.”

  Joshua just mumbled, “All so crazy,” but kept walking and pointed to the small park ahead and crossed the street.

  “The impression I got during my interview,” Dean said, “is that Mr. Taylor’s on board. I hope he’ll divulge more than what Deborah Holland mentioned in her documents and tapes. He implied it, but wouldn’t outright say that he knew more, which in itself has me curious. Soon, he said, when it was time, everything would become clear. I suspect we’ll be hearing from him sooner than later.”

  “Then Ian’s our key, my friend—and an eyewitness. He’s the main player intertwined with GEM-Tech’s past and present. But Ian must be, what, ninety-plus by now? Did he seem rational?”

  Dean shook his head. “Ian is sharp as a tack. He’s wealthy beyond belief. Get this: date of birth is 1910. I checked it too. Joshua, his strength and appearance defy all logic. Wait till you see him. He wouldn’t talk about the reason behind his longevity, though. Trust me, I asked. Oh, but he did say he’s coming to White River. When, I don’t know. ‘When it’s time,’ he said, but wouldn’t explain why.”

  Joshua stopped and shook his head. “That means Ian Taylor is …”

  Dean just nodded. “Yes, Ian’s one hundred and nine years old.”

  *

  Dean’s revelation stunned Joshua. It was hard to imagine the man was over a century old, yet looked healthy and much younger than that. They arrived at the small city park. Joshua looked to his right and saw the same military vehicle he’d seen earlier, now parked, as if waiting. One soldier talked on his radio. Joshua’s senses went on alert, his nerves taut, but he tried to ignore the aggressive behavior of the soldiers.

  “Joshua,” Dean said, “we’ve discussed your meeting with the governor, and the one at GEM-Tech. You’ve semi-suggested that what’s transpiring in White River is a prelude to something bigger. Could you explain your reasons?”

  Joshua paused to consider his answer as Dean sat down on a bench.

  “I suspect we’re watching previews before the main feature. The signs are there, clear as day,” Joshua said while watching traffic pass.

  “So what makes you believe GEM-Tech and Operation Chameleon are related?” Dean asked.

  Sitting down next to Dean, Joshua picked up a fallen leaf and played with it, his eyebrows furrowed. “Like I said, it’s an idea I’ve considered. Its roots go back years ago to the 9-11 terrorist attacks and other events since. In my humble opinion, the harbingers of this nation’s destruction are already taking place, if not almost complete. The attacks on New York’s Twin Towers and the Pentagon in DC, and our nation’s financial collapse, are all harbingers of judgment. They’re interrelated with more to come, leading to a much bigger storm on the horizon. It’s as if seals of judgment are falling like dominoes one after another in their own appointed time. America’s a rebellious nation, like Israel of old. We’ve forgotten our roots. Once, we glorified God; now we spurn him.”

  Dean said nothing.

  “This whole military charade in White River is a practice run before the main event somewhere in the future,” Joshua said.

  Now Dean crossed his legs and leaned back on the bench seat. “Harbingers of destruction and seals of judgment … Interesting. Please, explain further.”

  Joshua stood, noting Dean’s skeptical expression. “White River is one experiment, but a bold one and a covert step nonetheless. A subversive plan that tests an American city. A small no-name place, agreed, but if successful, why not New York, Los Angeles, or the entire nation? The ultimate goal is to achieve absolute power and control, coast to coast. I think our president and his adoring officials are complicit in America’s destruction. In order to complete their plans, they have to shred or circumvent the Constitution. I believe those plans are more than likely already in the works. Afterward, using refined tactics in other nations, the goal will be absolute global control under a new world
order with a one-world leader.”

  Dean shook his head, looking like he was trying hard to connect the dots of the picture Joshua was drawing.

  “You’re a conspiracy junkie’s dream, Joshua, and I admit, it sounds plausible, but help me out here. How are you tying in America’s destruction, White River, and GEM-Tech to global control under a one-world leader?”

  “My theory follows Deborah Holland’s involvement with the GEM-Tech experiments and with what Ian Taylor and Dr. … Wagner found … in Palestine … in … 1948 …”

  Joshua trailed off at hearing the vehicles of the nearby military unit roar to life—and head toward where he and Dean sat. The column of vehicles came to a screeching halt, and three soldiers jumped out and ran toward Joshua and Dean, guns pointed at them.

  *

  Park visitors scattered, and women and children screamed when they saw the armed soldiers running forward, ready to open fire. Dean jumped to his feet and stood to Joshua’s left. Joshua tried to remain calm. The three UN soldiers formed a triangle: two took positions left and right, and the third stood fifteen feet in front of Joshua. All kept their weapons poised—the flanking soldiers with rifles aimed and the point man with a pistol raised.

  “What seems to be the trouble, soldier?” Joshua asked the foreign sergeant in front of him.

  “Sir, are you Joshua Austin?” the soldier asked, his British accent polite but stern.

  “Yes, that would be me. How can I help you?” Joshua smiled.

  “You Yanks are not following UN directives,” the Brit said, “and you, Mr. Austin, have not turned in your firearms. We’re under orders to confiscate your personal sidearm and take you into custody.”

  “What?” Dean said. “Are you seri—”

  Joshua raised a hand. “How did you know I’m carrying a sidearm, Sergeant?”

  “We scanned you using WASP—weapons, ammo, system, protection—a new device against terrorists. Take your weapon out slow and place it on the ground in front of you, then step back five feet and get on your knees,” the soldier said, adding a bit of a taunting smirk at the end.

  Joshua studied the man. Then he turned his head slowly, first to his left, then right, to pinpoint the other two soldiers, deciding his next course of action. All around, people were either scurrying off or standing in small groups, all whispering or pointing at them. Next to Joshua, Dean actually looked nervous.

  “Just stay calm, Dean,” Joshua whispered.

  “Now, please, sir,” the Brit said.

  Joshua widened his leg stance and eased his .40-caliber Ruger semiauto out of his waist holster. With his thumb, he clicked the safety off and then held the piece at his side, pointed at the ground.

  “Sergeant, I’m not going anywhere with you or giving up my personal weapon. You have no jurisdiction. I’ve broken no state or federal laws. Second Amendment rights under America’s Constitution, in case you haven’t heard … Now, I have a concealed-carry weapon permit. The mayor has that right by law and his office. Check with the sheriff.”

  The Brit raised his empty left hand, and the other two soldiers locked and loaded their rifles. The Brit himself kept his pistol aimed at Joshua.

  “Geez, Joshua!” Dean hissed.

  Joshua glanced at the reporter, who looked like he was starting to sweat.

  “I’ll have that weapon, Mister, one way or another,” the Brit said. “Your decision.”

  Joshua’s eyes narrowed. “If you shoot me, you’ll have to shoot him. He’s a witness to your aggression against a US citizen—and an elected official of the state of Arkansas.”

  At that comment, Dean’s eyes looked like saucers.

  “At this distance,” Joshua said, “I’m sure you guys won’t miss, but I guarantee you this: you, sir, won’t be alive long enough to see me fall. Now … you decide.”

  Joshua waited and watched as sweat began to drip off the sergeant’s face. The Brit’s eyes blinked, then darted to his men and then back to Joshua. The UN sergeant appeared indecisive, as if knowing that Joshua could fulfill his threat.

  A second later, a dozen sirens wailed and closed in around the park. Patrol cars converged from all directions. Tires squealed to a stop, blocking several streets. Like a herd of gazelles in flight, deputies descended on the small park, surrounding the entire standoff. To Joshua, the subsequent noise of shotguns chambering sounded loud and distinct.

  “What are we to do, Sergeant?” one UN soldier shouted.

  Sheriff BJ Frazier walked through the circle of deputies and toward the back of the UN sergeant. The sergeant still hadn’t lowered his weapon, as if he’d frozen in that position and couldn’t move—or was afraid to. Joshua watched as BJ stopped five feet behind the sergeant, raised his shotgun at the soldier’s head, and chambered the weapon.

  “I’d suggest you and your men lower your weapons and leave, Sergeant,” BJ said. “Your orders are bogus, issued by an unauthorized NGO. Trust me, I checked. Mission’s over, Sergeant. And it’s not worth dying for—not today.”

  To Joshua’s surprise, the sergeant didn’t hesitate. He made another hand motion, and his two men lowered their weapons and retreated to their military vehicle. The sergeant started to leave, but then turned again to face Joshua. The Brit stared at him as he holstered his sidearm, as if wondering if Joshua would have made good on his threat.

  His weapon now lowered, BJ said, “I know what you’re thinking, Sergeant, and trust me, the mayor is as quick as a snake bite, tough, and a crack shot. One of you three would’ve died today.”

  The sergeant looked at BJ, then Joshua. He grinned, turned, and left.

  *

  Still seething late into the afternoon, Ben just couldn’t forget his morning conversation with Joshua. If it came to a meeting with Abram Solomon, he had to be able to justify his reasons for targeting the mayor’s church—beyond revenge for a lost election, of course.

  Ben reached for the telephone just as his office door opened. A military aide held the door and snapped to attention as General Phillips marched through, looking grim. Ben swallowed hard upon taking note of the general’s apparent unpleasant mood.

  “Oh, uh, General Phillips,” Ben said. “Good to see you, sir. I was about to, uh, call you.”

  The general stopped in front of Ben’s desk and leaned over with his knuckles on the desktop. “Archer, there’d better be a blasted good reason for your stupidity at the mayor’s church! You used my troops—without authorization! They’re not yours to command, Mister.”

  Ben paused a moment to collect himself, then launched into the one idea he had to defend himself: “General, I believed a show of force was necessary. Pastor McAdams defied my orders, so I used the situation to deliver a strong message to other clergymen: obey our directives. This McAdams is stirring up trouble among the other Christian churches.”

  Phillips grunted and shook his head, then leaned forward even more. “Archer, get this into your thick head. Your NGO status is temporary. You don’t issue orders; you follow them, Mister. I don’t like having someone else’s mess dumped in my lap. Now I’m dealing with your fiasco. You’ve put an unnecessary spotlight on our operation and you’ve scared the public.”

  Ben knew well enough that he’d overstepped his authority. His concern now was how to make his trouble go away.

  Phillips stood tall to his full height. “Perhaps you didn’t understand Abram’s explicit orders, which he’ll remedy soon, I suspect. He’s informed me of his plans to come to White River.”

  Ben felt a sharp sudden pain in his chest. His left arm tingled. The fear of Abram Solomon’s wrath filled his every thought.

  Phillips eyed Ben. “Are you okay, Archer? You look bad.”

  Ben shook some medication pills into his hand. “I’m fine!” he replied.

  “Very well. Archer, I need you to clarify something that goes no further than this room. If it does, I’ll shoot you myself. What happened at that church? Whatever happened there terrified those battle-hardened so
ldiers. In fact, the firing mechanisms in their weapons are fused solid. They’re useless as wooden sticks.”

  Ben swallowed down the pills with a sip of water. “General,” he said, “are you a religious man? I mean, do you believe in God and the Devil?”

  “Daggone it, man, what are you saying? I thought you left all that nonsense a long time ago. No, I don’t believe in God, the Devil, space aliens, spooks in the night, or any of that crap. Get a grip, Archer!”

  “General, I’ve played the church religious scene for thirty years and put on my happy face for votes. Tolerated their religious crap because of family and politics, but I’ve never encountered anything the likes of what happened inside that church.”

  General Phillips only frowned.

  “Yes, I know,” Ben said, “it’s hard to believe, but there was something … almost tangible inside that church. It spoke to us. Your men and I experienced it. ‘You servants of the abomination, enemies of the majesty on high, leave!’ is what it said. We had to get out of there. We couldn’t stay. I mean, it wasn’t that we had a choice! We had to leave.”

  “Mmm, basically what some of my men said,” Philips said, but then shook his head. “Archer, we’re the reality, not spiritual nonsense or any God. We’re the vanguard of a new world order. Get a grip and put your priorities in order. I don’t want any further trouble from your department, understood?”

  “Yes, sir, I understand.”

  Phillips about-faced and stormed out just as he’d entered. Ben leaned back in his chair, thinking about heated past conversations with his now-estranged wife over the Bible, God, and eternal choices … but then, he’d made his choice. She was the Christian fanatic. Either she came aboard with him, or he’d leave her in his dust.

  One inescapable thought still plagued him, though: that powerful voice in the church and its command. That, he couldn’t deny. What if his wife had been right all along with her religious stuff? he wondered.

  “Maybe I’m the one on the wrong side,” he whispered.

  Chapter 26

  Dean entered the lobby of Channel 13 and approached a busy receptionist speaking to callers through a microphone that looked to be glued to her ear. He presented his press credentials and whispered, “Interview with Roger Pauley.” She smiled, pointed, and whispered, “He’s down the hall on your right.” Dean mouthed a silent Thank you and strolled down the corridor.