by J W Brazier
Those words had brought him to a place of struggle within his soul between two faiths. With the one, the joy in his heart and soul soared. The reading material Pastor Steve had provided was causing a consuming thirst Jamal couldn’t quench. With the other faith, his Muslim beliefs had soured in light of blatant contradictions; its teaching circumvented by radicalism, bitterness, and death. There’d be one choice when the time came, and that day, he feared, was fast approaching.
*
The new trauma center at White River General Hospital played a major role in saving Glenn’s life, or so the hospital claimed. His gunshot wounds were touch and go for days, until Joshua made an unannounced visit.
He’d placed Ian’s necklace around Glenn’s neck and left strict orders for the nurses not to remove the amulet, apologizing to Glenn for not thinking of it immediately after the attack at the house. Glenn’s rapid and unexplained recovery was impressive. The doctors agreed to short visits by friends and family. Joshua brought his anxious family for their first visit. Meagan wasn’t shy bestowing her hugs and kisses on her new friend.
Glenn’s physician said, “Mr. Boyd’s recovery, as if overnight, is nothing short of miraculous.” The doctor decided to let Glenn go home, if he promised to show up for his checkups. Ann assured them that under her watchful eye, her father wouldn’t miss an appointment.
With no deadlines to meet, no pressures of any kind, Glenn took full advantage of his convalescence. “I’m in hog heaven, as you Southerners say,” he bragged upon his discharge. Pampered by his daughter in Deborah’s home was as good as it got in Glenn’s mind. The bulk of Ann’s time and attention, she bestowed on Glenn, which Dean envied.
“Glenn,” Dean said, “I’ve noticed you’re enjoying this personal servant stuff way too much. ‘Dean, get me this. Oh, Ann, could you bring me this?’” he mocked. “Time for healing is one thing, boss, but don’t you think your pampering routine is wearing a little thin? You’re walking now; you’re on the mend.”
Glenn chuckled and grinned. “You’re jealous, Cohen, that’s all. And, yes, I’m enjoying every minute of my recuperation. Show more respect toward your elders. Besides, I’m still your boss, which begs the question, why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be on your way to New York and back to what I’m paying you to do—oh, let’s say, your work?”
Another week came and went, and so did the time when Dean could no longer drag out his stay. Ann and Dean said their good-byes with hugs and kisses in the driveway. Glenn acted like an uninterested bystander from his comfortable rocking chair on the front porch.
Dean noticed Glenn’s silly smirk and gave one last parting remark.“Glenn Boyd, I’ll be back. Soon … very soon, count on it!” he shouted from the driveway.
Glenn smiled, sipped his warm tea, and waved good-bye. Dean stepped into in his rental car and drove away. Ann walked back to the porch, dabbing away tears.
The hospital and Ian’s amulet helped heal Glenn’s body. His time of recovery in Deborah’s old home was the ointment he needed for his heart and soul. Deborah’s presence was all around him, as was his daughter’s. A time well spent to bond with Ann.
Ann had lost her mother, but gained a father. Her mother’s home felt warm and alive again. The light of life triumphed over evil, bringing love and purpose back into her life.
“Dad, you two guys are going to drive me crazy. Living with both of you will be an interesting adventure. I can see that now.”
Glenn chuckled, ignoring her scolding as she blew past him into the house. The way she wrinkled her nose when she got angry, it reminded him of her mother. She had that same funny quirk, but more important, she’d called him “Dad.”
Chapter 43
Islamic Terrorist Attacks Imminent … US and Israel on Alert read the headline news alert in bold print as it flashed and scrolled across Joshua’s cell phone.
“Judas,” he said aloud, standing in line at the Little Rock airport.
“No, sir, my name is Alice. I’ll need two forms of ID, your boarding pass, and your ticket, please,” said the short security women with a squeaky voice.
Embarrassed, Joshua pocketed his cell phone, handed her his ticket and boarding pass, and without thinking about it, gave her his OWN card instead of driver’s license. Brenda and the kids had gone ahead while he parked their car in long-term parking. The petite black security lady recognized the OWN card.
“You’re from White River aren’t you, Mr.—I mean, Mayor Austin?” she asked as his photo and information appeared on her computer screen. The scanner she used was the same device the UN military had used at checkpoints, Joshua realized.
“Yes, yes, I am. You see many OWN travelers?” he asked, curious if the One World Network had already spread to other areas.
“A few random folks from White River like you, but most are government officials and employees. More and more implants than cards. Our union suggested we take the temporary implants. I’m glad I did. It’s made life for me easier.”
“Temporary, you say. Did they give a reason?” Joshua asked.
“Didn’t ask. They said a permanent one is coming. You know, like a software upgrade, they said, but we got to sign a contract saying that we’re doing it of our own accord. Guess it’s their way of making you stay loyal to the union and your job.” She snickered.
“A contract sounds serious. Did they say why the necessity?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know and don’t care, Mr. Austin. I get free money, no more different IDs, credit cards, nothing … just scan my implant. It works everywhere and it’ll be permanent. Can’t feel it, and wouldn’t know that nano-chip’s even in my hand. Heck, it starts my car and unlocks my house. I’d sign up with the Devil himself for the free money they’re giving away to implant users. Besides, discounts with implants are better than with an OWN card, which by the way, here’s a heads-up for you.” She leaned in close and whispered. “The government people tell me the card’s the one that’s temporary.” She sat back up. “You have a safe trip now. Nice talking with you.” She handed his card back with a big smile.
“Thank you and nice meeting you.” Joshua walked away toward more security screening. National Guard soldiers strolled past with weapons. His exchange with the security lady and seeing the armed soldiers were bitter reminders of occupied White River.
He wondered that if the lady knew the truth behind the implants, would her soul be the price she’d pay for money and discounts—or would she care? In their first meeting, Judas said he would soon answer that question for “a world gone mad.” What troubled Joshua was how he would respond and prepare his family.
*
Two compelling forces, his family and a senate subpoena, overrode Joshua’s reluctance to travel to Washington. He deemed his subcommittee testimony a “dog and pony show” for Senator Hall’s politically correct crowd. His family saw it as a needed break and an adventure, so Joshua lost.
Joshua’s last phone conversation didn’t end well with the senator. He’d lost his temper and underscored the senator’s cowardly actions during operation Chameleon.
“Forget about any hand-pumping, backslapping, or photo ops—period!” Joshua had shouted over the phone.
The twenty-year career liberal Democrat yelled back obscenities to remind Joshua, “Country hicks should remember their place!”
Joshua had hung up on him.
While Brenda and the children were off exploring at the airport before their flight, Joshua called Shelby to check in. “All quiet and under control,” she said, and then encouraged him to unwind, relax, and have a good time.
Unwind, relax, maybe a good time with the family … Yes, he could do those things easily enough. Meeting with a senate subcommittee … Not so much.
His cell phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He saw the caller ID.
Joshua smiled and answered. “Dean, how are you?”
Dean went from excited to nervous to flustered, making no sense.
“Whoa,
there, Dean! Just spit it out, man.”
Dean let out a loud breath. “If Ann accepts my proposal, would you consider being my best man?
Joshua laughed. “Of course I will. I’m honored, but you said ‘if,’ which means you haven’t asked yet?”
“Uh, I … I … Well, no, but I’ve hinted … you know, over the phone.”
“Dean, I’d suggest you ask face-to-face, not over the phone. This is the most important day in her life and yours.”
“Sorry, Joshua, got to go. My flight is ready to board. I’ll talk with you when you get back. I have a bit of strange news to tell you. It’s incredible, actually. See ya.”
“Dean, wait! What’s the news? Hello … Dean?”
The line went dead.
“Gracious, he’s picking up Brenda’s bad habits. They start something, and then leave me hanging. They drive me crazy.”
He pocketed his cell phone and picked up an abandoned copy of World at Large Magazine from a seat next to him. He couldn’t help but stare at the magazine’s melodramatic story captions. The shock and awe of their wording was as depressing to read as their corresponding articles.
In particular, the Mail Bag section was rife with angry letters from irate voters. All blamed someone else for the nation’s troubles while their favorite flavor of party elites lambasted each other. What surprised Joshua most was the lack of fear over congressional lawmakers crafting outlandish regulations that infringed upon their constitutional freedoms. Another stormy partisan political year appeared to already be at full throttle.
Can the American public be that apathetic? Joshua wondered. Have they lost their will to fight back against the tide of politically correct lies?
Upon further consideration, Joshua could see the manipulating hands of Judas in the writers’ remarks and the public’s voice. Judas had long since set his stage and baited the trap. An indifferent America was leaping into the warm and welcoming pot of a one-world government while the water heated to a boil.
Joshua threw the magazine back into the chair beside him, angered and disgusted with the distortions. But, his curiosity teased, he couldn’t help but glance down at the magazine several times. Feeling tormented, he finally picked it up and continued reading. What he read showed biased distortions of the facts, regurgitating partisan mantras and phrases, with no sense of fair and balanced reporting.
Where are the principled and accountable editors and journalists? he wondered. Blatant distortion of facts to outright lying because of left or right ideological preferences is outrageous.
He turned the page. An article touting the relevance for a national ID stopped him cold. Support appeared to be gaining congressional approval in both houses. His eyes fell on the word “OWN” and then the reporter named White River.
What Judas started will spread like a prairie wildfire now. It’s a matter of time.
The writer framed his praise around the president for suggesting the need to start a national ID dialogue. He’d referenced immigration and the Ohio River terrorist attacks to justify his reasoning. The reporter outlined how the framework for a national ID using OWN had first been tested in White River, Arkansas. The writer went on to name the International Monetary Fund, Homeland Security, and the Federal Reserve as participants in the trial test. He didn’t mention the UN or the imposed martial law, with foreign nationals arresting American citizens. Not one comment about how the UN detained Americans in concentration camps, all because of a terrorist training exercise.
The magazine articles were too depressing to continue reading. Joshua tossed it aside again. He’d had enough. He stood and was about take a stroll to find a coffee vendor when he heard a commotion in the waiting area.
“There he is!”
Joshua looked left. Two men, one balancing a shoulder video camera and another with a microphone, came running in his direction. It reminded him of antics Roger Pauley would try. The chubby reporter with the microphone spoke with a high-toned, almost girlish inflection.
“Mayor Austin, Bruce Galore of Gay and Proud Magazine.”
Joshua spoke before the reporter could continue: “Of course you are,” he said with a mischievous grin.
Bruce Galore scowled and his eyes narrowed. But, aggressive and undaunted, Bruce shoved the microphone closer into Joshua’s face. Joshua arched his head back to keep the microphone from hitting him in the mouth.
“Mayor Austin, what are your comments about your gay bashing of the county librarian’s celebration of Gay Pride Day?”
Joshua sighed. Poor Bruce had pushed the wrong buttons today.
“Look, Bruce, you and your belligerent magazine can …”
Joshua glanced past Bruce and stopped mid-sentence. Brenda and the kids were headed his way, but they didn’t see the two large men in dark suits rushing toward them from behind. Joshua started to shove the offensive reporter aside, when four other dark suits appeared from out of the crowd. The gorilla-sized men blew past Brenda and the children, then swooped down upon Bruce Galore and his associate like hawks diving in for the kill.
The intimidating men grabbed Galore and his cameraman, then flung them to the ground, handcuffed them, and yanked them to their feet. Bruce cursed at his muscled escorts while they moved him and his skinny cameraman along toward a security office door and waiting uniformed officers.
“Are you alright, Joshua?”
Surprised by the voice from behind, Joshua whirled around and saw a smiling Agent Rashid.
“Jamal, what on earth? I … I mean, you’re the last person I expected to see here, but, man, I’m glad to see you, buddy!” Joshua saw the other agents approaching. “I mean, Special Agent Rashid, what on earth are you doing here?”
Jamal grinned and cleared his throat. “I’ve orders to escort you and your family to Washington and keep you safe, Joshua—I mean, Mayor Austin.”
*
Two weeks had elapsed since Joshua’s memorable trip to Washington. He’d kept his promise. His committee testimony was short lived. Senator Hall, as Joshua expected, played the far-left party loyal.
In an arrogant opening statement, the senator said that gun-toting, pickup-truck, redneck bubbas were at the root of bitterness and strife in America. Old-fashioned conservative positions were a thing of the past needing eradication. He’d associated Joshua’s statements with homegrown Christian terrorists, justifying the need for the president’s call for a national ID.
The Arkansas senator also praised the UN’s World Council of Churches. He then punctuated his sardonic rhetoric, saying America’s conservative churches had better get on board with the progressive new world order.
Joshua’s parting remarks, though, made the news and blog sites. He’d told the senator and his group of pompous select committee members where they could stick their innuendos, and then walked toward the doors. The chamber room burst into applause. The senator was still yelling and pounding his gavel when Joshua exited the room.
Operation Chameleon had forever altered the consciences of White River citizens, like the memory of a deep, ugly scar. The city’s cashless system remained under the OWN system. The one bright hope Joshua saw was how resourceful even the oppressed could become. Some business owners and an enterprising public created their own underground economy with bartering transactions out their back doors.
The rumormongers frequenting the old Feed Bag dished out tall tales at a steady pace. Local chatter over caffeine-fueled lattes provided ample gossip and conspiracy theory material as plentiful as bags of coffee beans tumbling in a roaster.
Joshua tried to keep a low profile in his waning time as mayor. He stayed away from politics, endorsements, and comments, except for one parting comment to a reporter’s question. The question concerned the upcoming presidential elections. His remark made the press big time:
“I’ll say what most Americans believe, but goes unreported. With enough money, the PC crowd can buy and sell any political office, even the presidency, regardless of the candidate
’s experience or character. A prime example is the six-hundred-million-dollar man they paid for who’s in office now.”
His comments reached the ears of Washington DC elitists and were quoted in numerous blogs.
Chapter 44
Indian summers are spectacular fall weather days in the Ozarks. Most are tepid days, as if the fleeting summer has graced the land with its last caress to say good-bye.
This particular Saturday morning looked to be the beginning of one of those exceptionally warm days—and a gorgeous day for a wedding.
Glenn turned his TV on to listen to the news while he dressed in his new suit and tie. He almost choked on his coffee when the irritating voice of Roger Pauley began his broadcast.
“Good morning, weather watchers. This is Roger Pauley, with Channel 7’s morning weekend farm weather report.”
Glenn snickered at Pauley’s new position after hearing about the former Channel 13 reporter’s dismissal.
“Dad, would you please put it in gear and move a little faster?” Ann said from downstairs. “I don’t want to be late.”
Glenn smiled, but continued struggling to tie his necktie. Late? Where’s she going if they’re having the wedding here?
Irritated with the cumbersome unruly piece of cloth, he untied his horrendous knot and let it dangle around his neck. He walked away from the mirror, turned off Roger Pauley’s annoying weather rehash, and picked up a picture of Deborah.
“I miss you, Deborah. I wish you were here with me. Today’s our daughter’s wedding day and …” He sighed. “I just wish you were here with us.”
“So do I, Dad.”
Glenn turned to see Ann standing in the doorway. “Ann! You look … radiant, and you’ll be even more so in your wedding dress.”
She blushed and walked over and took hold of his wrinkled tie. “Dad, stand still and let me help you with your tie.” In quick order, she’d folded and tucked the necktie into a perfect knot, like an expert. “There, all done.”