by J W Brazier
“See what, Farnsworth? You almost gave me a heart attack, man!” Ben felt his heart pounding in his chest.
“Security guys, Ben. You can’t miss them. They’re huge.”
Ben looked over the area with binoculars. He saw no guards outside. “George, I don’t see a thing. There’s no one in the front or sides of the house.”
“Ben, I counted seven. I’m looking at five standing out back, and two went inside.”
From his hiding place, Farnsworth turned his head right and saw his hired assassins exchanging puzzled looks.
I’m stuck working with a bunch of idiots, he thought.
He keyed his handheld radio to check with his other two sad cases.
“Junior, Joe Bob, you guys see anything?”
Joe Bob answered from his spot behind a round bale of hay. “Nope, not a thing,” he whispered in his headset.
Junior replied from behind the barn. “This is Junior. The same goes here: not a thing moving out there.”
Farnsworth looked back at the house and cursed. “Blast, they’re gone! Where’d they go?”
George cocked a wary eye at his accomplices next to him. They’re thinking I’m crazy, he mused.
“You guys see where those security guards went?” he asked.
His men stared at him with a wary look. Their expressions could have spoken for them.
“Farnsworth, you’re losing it, man,” said the fat bearded man to his right. “We don’t know what you’re seeing, but we don’t seen a thing.”
The fat man groaned and spit. George didn’t know what to say. What could he say? He knew what he saw.
“Alright … fine. Never mind, just stay alert. Something is going on here, and I don’t like the smell of it.”
Across the way, Ben Archer had loaded two more shells and jacked one in the chamber. He was ready.
“Farnsworth, it’s payback time,” Ben said. “Have the men get ready, but wait for me. We’ll all go on my command. Don’t forget: I want Austin first.”
“I hear you, Ben. Let’s do this thing and get out of here.”
George had his own grievances against Austin, but Ben’s vendetta came first.
“Patience, George,” Farnsworth whispered to himself.
*
Agent Rashid weaved through tight turns, up and over hills, driving at breakneck highway speeds toward the Austin home. He imagined the deadly drama about to unfold for the mayor and his family. Chances were, he might be the first to arrive on the scene. But, with little intel, first on the scene could turn perilous.
Sheriff Frazier’s description of the small ranch had been brief. The dense woods encircling the property seemed troubling, a perfect setting for an ambush. Jamal slowed the car and made a quick hard right onto a lane toward the Austin property.
The road veered right then left when he saw a sheriff’s deputy in the middle of the road, waving his arms.
What the heck! Jamal thought. How’d that deputy arrive so fast? And where’d he hide his patrol car?
Suspicious, Jamal reached inside his jacket and pulled his gun from its holster. He slowed to a stop, but kept his sidearm out of sight, safety off. Friend or foe, either way, he was ready. The deputy ambled over to his car, brandishing a big smile. Jamal pushed the window button on the armrest.
“Afternoon, Agent Rashid, my name is Joseph.”
Jamal looked up at the towering man. The gold nametag on his shirt had one word: Joseph—no last name.
“Okay … Joseph, how’d you get here so fast?” Jamal moved his finger near the trigger.
“I’m on assignment. Security of sorts, for the Austin family—me and a few other deputies.”
Jamal nodded, feeling relieved.
Joseph pointed toward the woods. “Agent Rashid, there are six hostiles total, with four shooters in the woods to the north, about one hundred yards from the house. George Farnsworth is among them.”
Jamal reset his gun’s safety, stuffed it in his holster, and stepped out of his car. He looked in the direction Joseph had pointed.
“George Farnsworth? Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir, and Ben Archer’s nest is over there.” Joseph pointed to the south. “Mr. Archer is alone.”
“Where are the other two shooters staked out?”
“One is in the pasture, a hundred yards from the house behind a round hay bale. Another one is behind the barn, near Mr. Austin’s truck. The house is in a triangle, a shooting gallery for sure. Oh, one more thing, they’ve set explosives on the house.”
Jamal whirled around. “Did I hear you right? Explosives?”
“Yes, sir, military grade C-4. Mr. Archer acquired a few souvenirs before the military left town.”
“What else do you know?”
“They’re all communicating on military headset radios, camouflaged military style, and ready to kill.”
Jamal couldn’t believe that Archer and Farnsworth had turned cold-blooded killers.
“Sheriff Frazier is on his way, Agent Rashid, but I don’t think we can wait. They’re a panicky bunch. Mr. Archer seems itchy and ready to pull the trigger. Mr. Farnsworth, well, he’s about as jumpy as it gets. The Austins and their guests are in grave danger, unaware of what’s about to happen. The shooting could start anytime.”
“Guests? How many?”
“A total of ten adults, plus the Austins’ four children upstairs.”
Jamal walked to the back of his car and opened the trunk. His gut felt tied in knots. Joseph watched him strap on his body armor, as if a man preparing for battle. A Kevlar vest, leg holster, a second .45 auto shoved into a belt clip holster at his back.
Satisfied with an assault 12-gauge pump shotgun slung over his shoulder and his .45 autos with full clips, Jamal was ready.
“Okay, Deputy, looks like it’s you and me, so let’s do this. Lead the way to Archer first.”
Joseph smiled and started to head off, then stopped. “Sir, I took the liberty to call the paramedics just in case. I asked them to come with no lights or sirens.”
“Good. Good thinking, Deputy. This is a sick business with the children at risk.”
“I agree, sir. You ready?”
“Lead the way, Deputy.”
Joseph extended his hand. “Again, my name is Joseph, sir.”
Jamal stared into Joseph’s vibrant emerald-green eyes. He reached out and grasped his hand. “Okay, Joseph. My name is Jamal.”
Chapter 39
The rhythmic ebb and flow of debate among those in the room was at times energetic, serious, and sorrowful. Seated by the fireplace, Ian’s disposition seemed pensive, but restrained as he’d listened to the spirited discussions over Deborah’s tapes. Her revelations appeared hard for the others to bear. He wondered if they could accept the truth of another secret, one that she hadn’t divulged—one he alone shared in an epic tale two thousand years old.
He was about to join the discussion when he felt a sudden chill wash over him—an abysmal sensation he’d experienced once before, in Palestine. The telephone rang.
“Wait, Ian,” said a soft voice, as if someone had whispered in his ear.
Brenda looked up from her chat with the other ladies in the kitchen, but chose to let the answering machine record the call. The phone kept ringing. Ian stood and came to stand by Glenn and Joshua, still deep in discussion. The inaudible voice had asked him to wait. Glenn stopped in mid-sentence, seeing his new friend’s unnerving transformation.
“Honey, I guess the answering machine is turned off. Should I answer?” Brenda called out.
Before Joshua could answer, their daughter Meagan came running out of her room to the staircase railing. Close behind, Clay, Courtney, and Danielle joined their little sister.
“Mommy,” Meagan said. “Adam said to answer the telephone. It’s important.”
Who is Adam? Brenda wondered.
“Go ahead, honey,” Joshua teased. “Adam said to answer the phone.”
“Prepare them, Ian,�
� the voiced whispered.
Ian crossed the room and stood to Brenda’s right. “Mrs. Austin, wait just a moment.” He turned and faced the others with his hand raised. “Everyone, please, quiet down.”
The phone continued to ring.
“This is not an ordinary phone call. The person we’ve discussed knows that I’m here and that I’ve told you everything. Prepare yourselves. Listen close and remember his voice.” He turned and faced Brenda. “Mrs. Austin, my apologies, please answer the caller.”
Brenda picked up the telephone with trembling hands. “Hello?”
“Hello, Brenda, I’m told you’re still the dutiful prayer warrior. How quaint,” the caller quipped, his voice resonant and hypnotic, his diction and pronunciation of syllables precise.
She gripped the phone, and her throat tightened. “Who … Who is this?” she asked.
“Brenda, don’t play the innocent. You know very well who I am, and I’d suggest, as Ian advised, you remember my voice. You’ll hear from me again.”
Brenda glanced at Ian, hoping he would take the phone. He didn’t.
“Yes, I do know of you,” she said, “and I will remember.”
“I’m sure you will. Now, do as I tell you. Mr. Taylor is standing next to you. Hand him the phone. I’ll speak with your husband in a moment.”
She extended the telephone toward Ian. “He wants to speak with you.”
Ian took the phone.
Brenda rushed to Joshua. “It’s him, Joshua!” she whispered.
“Are you serious?” Joshua said. “You’re saying it’s the clone.”
“Yes, honey, it’s that … that thing Deborah spoke about on her tapes. The Jew that Ian found: Judas Iscariot. He knows Ian’s here and said he wants to speak with you also.”
Ian pushed the speakerphone button so everyone would hear the conversation. The curious children had huddled together on the floor at the top of the staircase. Pearlette and Sherry came into the living room and sat beside Steve and Gus. Ann sat next to Dean and Glenn.
“I have you on speakerphone, Judas,” Ian said. “Why have you called and what do you want?”
“Ian, remember the phrase ‘Keep your friends close, your enemies closer’? I find it a proper description of your get-together. I’m pleased that you’ve gathered some of my main adversaries in one place. Saves me time and energy.”
Ian noticed the curious reactions of those in the room.
“Mr. Taylor, you’re a resilient individual. My servants have failed on several occasions to hasten your early demise. That thing around your neck has no power over me. If you think it so, you’d be mistaken.”
Ian grinned. “Judas, for an object you consider worthless, I’d say it’s doing a good job. I’m still here.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Taylor. I’ll eradicate you and the powers behind your object soon enough; that, I promise.”
“Judas, your threats fall on deaf ears. I’m not afraid of you. Neither are my friends.”
“How refreshing. I’d forgotten, you’re a fighter! I like a good tussle. The fruits of victory are much sweeter, but do not doubt my resolve. I’ll deal with each of you in my own time and place, when you least expect it. That, I assure you.”
“Enough of your rhetoric, Judas. What other name are you using?” Joshua asked.
“Temper, temper, Joshua. It’s your weakness, so don’t disappoint me. I’m your biggest fan, and as to my new name, that’s an insignificant detail. Since the only people aware of my existence are in your living room, I won’t spoil your surprise.”
“You’re a predictable coward, Judas,” Joshua said. “State your business.”
“My, my, Joshua. Touchy, aren’t we?”
“Judas,” Glenn said, “as you’ve said, I’m an adversary. I wouldn’t have it any other way and will do all within my power to expose you. That, I guarantee.”
“Ah yes, Mr. Boyd. How confident you are in your journalistic skills, and that Global News Daily will stop me. Please, don’t insult me. You’ll experience my powers soon enough, as will all of you. Up close and personal, as you Americans say.” Judas laughed.
“Judas,” Joshua said, “the OWN system and Operation Chameleon … Are you behind those actions in my town?”
“Yes, I am. Operation Chameleon surpassed my expectations. With the OWN system now in place, gathering my global devotees won’t be a problem. Consider what’s transpired in White River as a small sample of what’s in store on a global scale. The good citizens of White River yielded like clay in my hands. Business and churches were most cooperative—including you, Pearlette. All danced like puppets on a string.”
“You’re a deceiver, Judas!” Steve said.
“A tired cliché, Pastor. You should explore new material. On the contrary, it is all of you who are deceived. Your judgment is an opinion that was written by pious hypocrites. Religion is the mass murderer of millions. I, on the other hand, will bring order to a world in chaos.
“The world believes America is a Christian nation, man’s last vestige of hope and freedom. A laughable assumption. Look around you. A blind man can see that isn’t true. Bloviating progressive politicians are destroying its foundations for me. Liberal education and religious institutions have taught my version for generations. My rendition is in vogue and quite popular. I’ll soon control America in short order.”
Steve clenched his fists.
“Prepare yourself for battle, Preacher,” Judas said. “You in particular know a person’s belly and passions rule over them. My plan is simple. I’ll ensure global allegiance by feeding every gluttonous appetite, pleasure, and vanity. All religious allegiance, regardless of flavor, will fade into obscurity in quick order. The world will bow to me—not him. Faith in him will vanish like a wisp of smoke. I assure you: anyone who professes faith in him will become society’s new terrorists and purged like vermin. The Ohio River terrorist attack is a good beginning.”
Steve felt sick at heart. Judas was right. The airwaves were full night and day with voices feeding their audience a false gospel. Movies, television, and the Internet spewed images of every lascivious imagination conceivable.
“Judas, you, in particular, know your end,” Steve said.
“Pastor Steve, I say again, he’s deceived you. I have no end, and I’ve already won and will continue to win, despite your hypocritical religious efforts. I killed that Nazarene once. This time, I’ll erase even his memory … forever. In the end, all of you will bow to my wishes. There’ll be no other alternative, so why not swear allegiance to me now and live.”
“Judas, your arrogance precedes you, but I expected as much,” Joshua said.
“You in particular, Joshua Austin, have caused me a great deal of trouble. You’re of the kind that’s a source of constant irritation. A matter for my personal attention.”
Joshua tried to contain his seething anger. “You and your Mr. Abram Solomon, or any of your followers, have no powers over me or my family.”
“Joshua, you’re but a trifling ant. Powers, you say? Why, you haven’t witnessed or experienced an inkling of my powers … but you will. The late Mr. Abram Solomon, whom you’ve met, already has. He proved useful for a time, but failed in certain assignments. Mr. Taylor was one of them. You needn’t worry about Abram ever again. In the future, you’ll deal with me directly, or perhaps I’ll send another—a new faithful associate.
“Now, as for your children, the little ones are powerful warriors in the making; I’ll give you that. You’ve trained them well. I’ve plans to deal with them in my own special way.”
Joshua laid his hand on Brenda’s shoulder and nodded his head. A gentle suggestive restraint to wait and not react to Judas’s threats against their children.
“Alas, with this bit of business concluded, I’ll say good evening. I’ve enjoyed our get-acquainted moment by phone, and regret that I’m engaged with pressing business elsewhere. I so wanted to make a personal appearance, but I may surprise you yet. We’ll meet
again; that, I promise.”
Brenda bolted from the couch and dashed to the phone, angered by the ecstatic laughter of Judas. She cut off the call, still incensed that Judas had singled out her babies.
*
Four confused and frightened children sat at the top of the stairs, wiping away tears. They’d heard Judas threaten them. Ten distressed and perplexed adults sat in silence in the living room below—their emotions numbed, immersed in their own tortured thoughts. Judas had left his indelible imprint; his implications, dire. Ian stared at the floor, deep in thought, fondling the object that hung around his neck. Glenn watched.
“Ian,” Glenn said, “you can tell me it’s none of my business, but I have to ask. What’s that thing around your neck? It seemed important enough for Judas to mention.”
Ian smiled, pulled the necklace from around his neck, and laid it on the coffee table. He paused while looking at the small, crude, and rough example of a cross as if he were experiencing a new, unfamiliar sensation. He’d never taken the amulet off his body since it had been made. With an impish look, he smiled at Glenn.
The time had come to tell of its two-thousand-year-old secret. The attentive children perked up and snuggled closer together, anticipating a story behind the necklace. All in the room followed suit, thinking the same. Like a storyteller around a campfire, Ian began to expound on his mysterious necklace.
“As an archeologist, or in my case, a specialized privateer, you come across all sorts of genuine and bogus artifacts. I’m a pack rat of sorts, as my friend Dr. Wagner enjoyed reminding me. My logic was that, someday, a collector would pay a handsome price. ‘One man’s junk is another man’s treasure,’ as the saying goes. Most, if not all, of the religious artifacts are either in private collections, museums, lost forever, or still buried and yet to be discovered. I bought three pieces of wood and iron on our last day in Palestine from Nassir, my trusted supervisor over my workers. He needed the money, and they looked interesting.
“When Nassir told me the story, it sounded too incredible, but intriguing. I almost turned him down, but changed my mind, afraid I’d pass up an opportunity. I’d never known Nassir to lie, so I bought them with GEM-Tech’s money.