by J W Brazier
Joshua paused, then went on. “Operation Chameleon, without question, was an alarming event, but what troubles me more is what Deborah and Ian brought to light. I’m sure Glenn spoke to you about GEM-Tech’s experiments and their hellish results.”
Bob shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, he did, and my editor and I listened to the tapes he sent.”
Joshua grinned. “Her testimony rather flies in the face of our pat theology, wouldn’t you say?”
Bob nodded. “Yes, without question. Her implications are scary.”
Joshua sat erect, his eyes stern and fixed on Bob. “No, sir. What she implied, as you say, is by far more than mere scary; it’s malevolent. I know this because I met with him in our pressroom. He never allowed me to see his face, but we talked awhile, and then he almost killed me. I’d always assumed certain end-times prophecies would never occur in my lifetime. What I saw and heard that day scared the literal hell out of me. He has a name: Judas. But that name will or already has changed. His existence is real and he’s among us, Mr. Connell.
“Now, you asked what alarmed me: the arrival of hell. That lone truth keeps me awake at night and it scares the bejeebees out of me. He’s threatened my family, and anyone that knows what GEM-Tech’s experiments produced is in grave danger, which now includes you and your editor.”
Bob stood and took two steps away from his chair. He looked back at Joshua and with his right hand ran his fingers through his hair. He blew out a deep breath, then returned and sat.
“You have my undivided attention, Mayor.”
“Here’s another thing to consider: Who will believe us? Nobody.”
Bob nodded. “I’m of the same opinion, as is my editor. No one would take us serious. The public would decry journalist sensationalism—a cheap supermarket tabloid trick. The real story is Operation Chameleon … and GEM-Tech’s creation … how it all came about and stayed under the media radar. He’s orchestrated every event, then, in your opinion?”
“Yes, he has, but not without help. He has a large base of loyal devotees. The sad part is that in today’s progressive PC environment, truth is irrelevant and indistinguishable. The public at large is desensitized, and for me, that’s the real danger.”
Bob wrote down a few notes, closed his notepad, and looked a Joshua. “The so-called silent majority would agree with you, Mayor.”
“Okay, that’s comforting, but where have they been hiding? They’re not at the voting booths. In their apathetic silence, America’s become a secular nation on waxed skids sliding into the abyss. We’re an amoral and bankrupt country. We’ve gone from Christian to humanistic, from the richest to the largest debtor nation in human history. Centuries’ old warnings are upon us. The arrival of Judas isn’t by chance, but by design. I’ll predict that within a few short years, unless we turn this country around, the US could very well become a frightening reflection of the old Weimar Republic in Germany.”
Joshua’s punctuated statement sounded alarmist to Bob, but true in many aspects. Joshua stood and walked to pour a cup of coffee.
“Care for another cup, Mr. Connell?”
“No, thank you. Two’s my limit.”
Bob waited, observing that Joshua looked as if he had more to add. He returned to his chair.
“Mr. Connell, may I call you ‘Bob?’”
“By all means, Mayor, please.”
“Good, now you may or may not be aware of what I’m about to say, and you might think I’ve gone insane.”
Bob uncrossed his legs ready to take more notes.
“‘Ichabod’ … Does that word mean anything to you?” Joshua asked.
Bob shook his head, then wrote the word in large letters, underlined it with a side note, and then closed his notepad.
“In Hebrew, it means ‘no glory,’” Joshua said. “Other nuances of it include ‘without honor’ or ‘the glory has departed.’”
Bob’s brow furrowed. “Wait. I saw that word scrawled on your ‘Welcome to White River’ sign, but I thought it was a joke by pranksters.”
“That’s what I thought, as did Ben Archer, but it’s not a joke. Something scrawled those letters in blood. They appeared overnight in several places at the start of Operation Chameleon. The county judge sent workers to remove them. They reappeared the next day. He gave up after several episodes.
“Ben Archer went ballistic, thinking it was either me, my pastor, or someone in our congregation. He had a new sign erected. The bloody letters reappeared. Mad as a cornered raccoon, he went with city workers to clean the new sign, but as he watched, the letters reappeared. Ben never brought up the topic again. It scared him to his core.
“Several weeks later, different denominational churches experienced that word appearing in their sanctuary during services. The walls of two of our infamous abortion clinics and a federal judge’s courtroom got the same treatment.”
“You’d think it would dry, but it won’t. The blood stays fresh, and before you ask, yes, we’ve had it tested. The blood is human, but with an odd characteristic: the blood is that of an infant.”
“Why wasn’t this story covered by the news outlets?” Bob asked.
Joshua shrugged. “Folks who know what the word means are ashamed and afraid. Everyone else sees it as tabloid trash and go right on with their lives.”
“You said afraid. Afraid of what?”
“Besides the obvious blood, it’s also the supernatural aspects that strikes the chord of fear in the religious and nonreligious alike. With Christians, the word communicates a specific meaning, as in, ‘God is ticked.’ Our society kills our unborn. A wise man or woman fears God, but we’ve relegated him to myths and aliens. He’s sending a clear message of warning, that our choices have consequences.”
“And the ‘ashamed’ part would be what?”
Joshua took a sip of coffee. “Thumb through the yellow pages. There’s over a hundred churches of every flavor of denomination, cult, sect, or orthodoxy. First glance, you’d think White River to be a heavily populated Christian community. You’ve seen our city. We have the outward appearance of piety. Peek behind that façade and you’re quick to discover that the appetites that satisfy the lust of the eyes and flesh make for big business here.
“Enter Operation Chameleon, and the OWN card and implant. Evil extended a big juicy apple to this community, and many have taken a big bite and like the taste. Those who know the truth are ashamed, but justify their actions. They’ve become comfortable with corruption and believe the bloody letters will go away, but they won’t.
“What’s appearing is a clear warning. It’s going to spread across this country. White River is just a reflection of a lot of towns and cities all across America, and that bloody word will soon pay them a visit.”
Bob looked at Joshua, his eyes unwavering. “Actually, that’s already happening.”
Joshua smiled and took another sip of coffee. “And you just sat there and let me ramble?”
“Yes, sir, and I apologize. It’s a reporter’s habit. I first wanted to hear your comments. It appears White River is the epicenter. Dean made mention of the phenomena in his article. Seven other cities received a visit now: San Francisco, Los Angeles, Washington DC, Las Vegas, Chicago, New York City, and Atlanta. Media outlets gave it no credence, other than a sarcastic mention blaming Tea Party types and disgruntled fanatic Christians and Jews.” Bob looked down at his notes. “Joshua, you mentioned earlier that the scrawled word had odd characteristics. One was the infant’s blood. What else are you suggesting?”
Joshua nodded. “Remember, I said choices have consequences, which goes for individuals as well as nations. You said it appeared in seven of our nation’s largest cities. I believe there’s a reason. For over two hundred years, the phrase ‘In God We Trust’ championed the founding principles of our constitutional republic. In today’s PC world, the goal is to expunge those very words and all references to religion or its symbols, and they’re succeeding. Humanism, atheis
m, and the -ism’s of all sorts are in vogue, except God. Even our state and federal governments have hopped on the bandwagon.”
“So you’re saying that America’s religious decline and its bad choices past and present have led to the appearing of those bloody letters?”
“I’m open to any other suggestions, but consider this. June 25, 1962, school prayer was outlawed. In 1973, Roe versus Wade ushered in abortion on demand, legalizing infanticide. The carnage created a profitable multibillion-dollar business. Our pledge of allegiance is now ridiculed because it says ‘one Nation under God.’ An era ravaged by political correctness has traded common sense for insanity.
“Judicial tyranny in our courts negates voter rights and state laws. Judicial decisions violate instead of uphold the Constitution. Our Congress is bloated with career potentates ignoring the voices of the American people. The sanctity of marriage … destroyed in favor of sexual orientation, and on and on it goes.
“Our narcissistic president thinks his agendas are above constitutional restraints. He’s uninhibited by his party loyalists. Will the next president follow his lead? I’m saying America stands at the threshold of tyranny. Americans either wake up and pay attention or be enslaved and destroyed. The warning signs are all around us, and that word written in blood is its final message.”
Bob noticed Joshua give a subtle glance to the clock. “Mayor, I mean, Joshua. You’ve been very generous with your time. I want to thank you for your candor and openness.”
“That’s quite alright, Bob. I have to admit, I’ve enjoyed this time. I hope I haven’t come off sounding as if I’m on a soapbox. My wife says I tend to bloviate, so I try to watch myself.”
Bob chuckled. “Oh, no, you were fine. I’ll have a transcript copy sent to you for your review before we go to press. I’ve one final question, and I’ll be on my way. Senator Hall called you before his Senate subcommittee on domestic terrorism for an accounting of sorts over Operation Chameleon. Would you care to comment?”
“Yes. Senator Hall likes to toot his own horn.”
“May I quote your cliché?”
Joshua grinned. “Yes, you may.”
Joshua stood and walked to the coffeepot. He set his cup down on a tray and returned.
“At the outset of Operation Chameleon, Senator McRamsey told me that Senator Hall knew what was happening to White River. I called him, but he never returned my calls. His subcommittee hearing was a sham. My testimony had no impact whatsoever.”
“You sound angry toward Senator Hall.”
“Mmm … Angry, no. I’m disappointed. Senator Hall is a double-minded man. He’ll lie with a smile. The man can’t be trusted. Come election time, he runs his Democratic Christian conservatism up the flagpole in front of the cameras. Once in office, his progressive ultra-liberal voting record tells another story. He runs his own show, regardless of the will of the people he swore an oath to represent. The senator receives his marching orders from his party and our sorry lame-duck president. I say, good riddance to both of them, and you can quote me.”
Bob scribbled a note, closed his notepad, and stood to leave. “Thank you again for your generosity. I’ve taken much of your time this morning. I won’t keep you any longer.”
“A pleasure, Bob. I enjoyed it.” Joshua picked up his sport coat. “Now, let’s have lunch. I’m already hungry. If you’re anything like that Dean Cohen, you’re already thinking of questions you forgot to ask. Let’s take a walk. We can continue out in the fresh air. It’s a nice day.”
“Dean told me about your walks,” Bob said with a crafty grin.
Joshua came around his desk, stuffing an arm into his sport coat. He tried to keep a serious expression. “Yes, well, not to worry.”
He guided Bob out ahead of him.
“I have something else in store for you,” Joshua said.
Shelby heard laughter and looked up from her typing as Joshua and Bob exited his office.
Good to see him laugh again, she thought.
Then she smiled at hearing him call back to her with a familiar phrase: “Going to the park, Shelby. Hold the calls!”
*
Three unwashed black Suburbans passed unnoticed in slow procession and single file through White River’s downtown area. The trucks’ occupants were on a mission, and they knew it could turn deadly. Their destination: White River’s new municipal building.
As they neared the building, the vehicles began to separate. Two found parking spots near the front on the building’s east and west sides. The third Suburban parked behind the municipal building—with a clear view of Mayor Austin’s favorite back-door exit.
From the backseat of the third vehicle, John Hirsch, head of Gem-Tech security, watched through dark tinted windows. He had botched the assignment to retrieve Project Phoenix’s documents, and it chafed his pride—a wrong he was determined to make right at any cost.
He had always believed that Abram Solomon had screwed up by not allowing him to take quick and decisive action. Now other players had knowledge of Project Phoenix and had most likely already copied the data. If it became necessary to retrieve those documents, lethal action was not beyond him.
Hirsch had decided to go for the jugular in his pursuit. Joshua Austin was one of the main players in his estimation. He kept a keen eye on the building’s back entryway. He checked his watch in anticipation of Joshua’s exit. While he waited, Hirsch’s thoughts swam in the cesspool of a cunning mind. Retrieving the stolen documents had become a personal vendetta. They were still out there awaiting his rescue; of that he was confident. When he considered another thought, his eyes narrowed and his lips flaunted a slight smirk. This time, Abram Solomon won’t stop me. Heh. Abram’s dead and gone.
Hirsch quickly sat up. He leaned forward and looked through the front passenger window. The back door of the municipal building had swung open. Hirsch saw Joshua and another man, scribbling in a notebook, exit the building—with a third, taller man following close behind them. Joshua and the note-taker crossed the street into a small park area. John watched and waited for that opportune moment to unleash his men, who waited in the other two vehicles.
People are creatures of bad habits … always predictable, Hirsch thought.
The third, taller man stopped and turned to face Hirsch’s own SUV and then walked toward it.
“Why wasn’t I notified of Austin hiring security?” Hirsch said to his driver.
“What security, sir? We’ve never seen Austin with any security guards.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t see that big man standing in front of our vehicle.”
The driver looked straight ahead, then left and right. “No, sir. I don’t.”
John Hirsch looked again, jerking his head left, right, and behind, but now saw no one. The big man was gone. He sat back in his seat and cursed. He considered whether to order his men to confront Joshua immediately or wait. More of Austin’s hidden security might make a sudden showing, he reasoned. Scuffling in the streets with the mayor’s security wasn’t his objective.
His cell phone began to vibrate inside his jacket pocket. Fumbling for it, he continued to search for the huge security man. The man had just disappeared. Hirsch looked down at the number. A self-assured grin cracked the corners of his thin lips. He had been expecting this call and with a clear voice established himself: “John Hirsch.”
“Mr. Hirsch, you’re prompt in answering the phone. A much better showing and effort than my previous employee, the late Mr. Solomon—which leads me to conclude that, by answering, you’ve accepted my offer. And I presume you have sworn your allegiance with no reservations.”
“Yes, sir, I have. I’m on board, and I have no reservations.”
“Excellent news! I’ve long sensed that about you, Mr. Hirsch. Now with that out of the way, let’s get to our business. Please … don’t take offense by what I’m about to say, but you’re the proverbial pit bull and just the type of individual I require. Your job, for now, will be to act a
s my expert enforcer, as well as my eyes and ears, as it were. But never forget who holds the other end of that leash.”
Hirsch moistened his lips with his tongue, swallowed, and then wiped the corners of his mouth with the index finger and thumb of his left hand. He understood the statement’s clear implication.
“For now, I’m tightening that leash I mentioned, because I know where you are. You’re waiting at this moment and ready to pounce on Mayor Austin. I wish to make myself clear. Do not approach him or give him cause to believe he’s being watched. You are to curb your enthusiasm and redirect those passions to retrieving my documents. I have my reasons for this abrupt decision in regard to Joshua Austin and I want—”
“But … But, sir, I can end this today! His security is no match for us.”
“Mr. Hirsch! Interrupting me isn’t something I take lightly. Never let that happen again. I lead; you listen and follow orders. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
“A good beginning, Mr. Hirsch. Now, about that security you mentioned. Other than yourself, have any of your men seen Joshua’s bodyguards?”
“No, sir, evidently not. It’s not in their reports, but I have, just now in fact.”
“Hmm, interesting. Then it’s only you who see them.” There was a short pause. “That’s a trifling detail at present. I’ll remedy that at another time.”
Hirsch felt shaken inside. He furrowed his brow, worried by his new boss’s statement. “Remedy?” … “Another time?” What does that mean? he wondered even as he craned his neck to search for Joshua, who had already disappeared around the corner.
“Back to our business, Mr. Hirsch. I’ll send you a list of names I want monitored at all times. Joshua Austin is at the top of that list. Deliver detailed reports, Mr. Hirsch. Minute details. Miss nothing. The names on that list will be your sole mission for now. Be assured, I will not relent. I will have my documents back at any cost. I’ll instruct you at a later date as to what I want done, and when and upon whom you will exact my revenge. But only when and how I direct you. Your methods … Well, I’ll leave those to your discretion. In that, you have free rein. Are we clear?”