The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy)

by T. S. Seley Elliott

  “I’ve got a better idea.”

  He returned just a few minutes later with small glasses and a decanter of dark amber liquid, forcing his full-faced smile.

  “I don’t know what this is, but it smells inviting and I’m thinking it will arm us much better than coffee or tea. Would do you think?”

  They thought he was absolutely correct.

  ______________________________________________________

  Back in Air Force One, Johnnie was alone in the cabin. Although she had access to piles of study references and a computer of data to review, she opted to rest. Once she arrived in Florida, she would have no discernible sleep time and she was, indeed, exhausted. With the cabin lights dim, she fully expected to pass out once the plane was in the air, but soon found herself in a state of exhaustion that seemed to defy sleep. And she felt very alone.

  She knew there were attendants available, but they probably assumed she was sleeping. Once the plane leveled, she stood and moved to another chair, hugging herself. None of this seemed real, yet she also felt more strangely grounded than she ever had in her life. It didn’t make sense and as she reclined, she closed her eyes and tried to simply let her mind go where it would.

  Two months ago, she’d thought she was content with the status quo and when her life erupted, she recalled how desperately she’d wanted things to get back to normal.

  “Normal.” She said the word softly, then smiled as she rubbed her face. How in the hell did she, of all people, know what that was? Everything she’d built her life on, she now saw as a variety of escape routes and even the things she’d thought she’d known were not as they’d seemed. What she’d found during her time in uniform was a place where she was accepted based on her actions, not necessarily because of who she was. She’d found the perfect shelter, but it wasn’t any more real than her life as a child. She felt no self-pity, however, and was very surprised as she squirmed to settle back that she didn’t even particularly long for her former life. In retrospect, it had been extremely solitary; alone, the way she had liked it; it had seemed safe.

  Her eyelids lifted again, but she did not see her surroundings. She saw, instead, people she wished were with her now. People who knew as much about her as she knew about herself, but still desired her company and wanted nothing in particular in return. For a split second, she thought she was going to cry, but just as quickly, her heart steeled on its own. It was not a cold hardness she felt…but a solidness of being. She had not felt it before, and instead of frightening her, it instilled her with an incredible calm. She trusted it…she trusted them.

  Trust, even in the face of the unknown, was more secure than the known –without trust; this realization washed over her with a physical warmth. It was with this feeling, one of belonging and of faith in something she still didn’t understand, that she dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ____________________________________________________

  Lisa Douglas settled in with her brand new copy of The Constellation, hot off the press. Ollie was snoring on the couch, little Ellie snuggled in the crook of his arm. For the first time in weeks, the exhausted young woman felt as though she could relax.

  Ollie was not only home for a brief time, but he had gotten paid, thus, the magazine, beer and bellies full from the cold Kentucky Fried Chicken he’d brought just for her. It had taken some convincing for him to believe their new/used television, VCR and movies were indeed an act of charity rather than a gift from a boyfriend. She tried to tell him the entire story about her visiting angel, as well as the Angel Tracker – which further riled his suspicions to hear a man had been to their home, until he learned said man was really old, like in his sixties. He was less interested in the details of her tale than the fact that Lisa could get paid if the magazine ran the story. Ollie had relaxed then, focusing on his little baby.

  Grateful that her husband hadn’t felt particularly romantic and had crashed as soon as he was in a prone position, Lisa began flipping through the magazine. It had been a long while since she’d possessed a new copy; most of hers were leftovers from Elva who lived in the trailer next door. This copy had just come out and Ollie had picked it up today, the day of release. A good man, he was.

  She always liked to browse through all the pages, as a teaser, to see what she had in store, and to see the pictures before she settled on what order to read the stories. She had just passed a two-page spread of butt-shots of unsuspecting celebrity women in most unflattering poses, all in bikinis, of course, when she saw a slightly fuzzy photo. She was initially critical of the picture’s quality in such a high class magazine, when she suddenly felt a spark of recognition. She glanced at the byline, “Crazed Fanatic Detonates New York Airport -- Mystery Woman Saves Hundreds from Savage Death.”

  The photo which caught her eye was to the right of a mug shot of a stunning, but angry looking woman. Beneath the photos, Lisa read, “Police apprehended this rabid domestic terrorist-angel of death, while the angel of life who saved the day remains at large…is she real or was it a timely visitation?”

  “She is real!” Lisa said out loud, “And she is an angel…Ollie, wake up! Honey Bun, this is her…this here’s my angel!”

  “Ms. Carter, wake up!”

  Johnnie felt as though her body was made of lead, which was also the predominant taste in her mouth. She breathed in as she pushed her mind from the darkness.

  “Ms. Carter? I’m sorry to wake you, but we just touched down…and you have a phone call.”

  “Right…” Johnnie’s voice was muffled as she slowly became aware of her surroundings. Considering the length of the flight, she couldn’t have slept long…but judging by the way her body felt, she must have been in a near coma. She felt the friction of the plane wheels on the runway and made the connection between the uniformed attendant’s statements and reality…what was the other thing? A phone call…

  Her eyes opened as she smacked her mouth in attempt to find moisture. Apparently a mind reader, the smiling young Airman handed Johnnie a cup of water, phone poised in her other hand.

  “Oh…my God, you are my hero.” Johnnie croaked with a brief smile before she downed the entire serving. The young woman took the cup and handed her the phone as she labored to sit up straight against the pull of the plane. How that girl walked around so effortlessly was beyond her. With no idea to whom she was to speak, Johnnie put the phone to her ear, hearing a fit of coughing from the other end.

  “Hello?” She rubbed her face vigorously and stretched her legs as she waited for a response she could understand.

  “Oh…I’m so sorry. Miss Carter, this is Bonnie Janz.” The voice was raspy, but intelligible. Bonnie Janz….Bonnie Janz… Johnnie’s head was clearing, but she still couldn’t put her finger on the name which sounded familiar.

  “I’m the one you’re replacing this morning…” Another fit of coughing followed the statement. Once it quieted, Johnnie immediately responded.

  “Ms. Janz, I’m so sorry about this –well, not that I’m going, but that you missed this opportunity. I can’t imagine how disappointed you are. I assure you, I…”

  “No, please. It’s quite alright….” Johnnie cringed as she heard muffled nose-blowing in her ear, “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I asked if we could talk. I know you only have a few minutes.”

  As the plane slowed, Johnnie suspected the hoarse voice spoke the truth. She also knew this call had to be approved, so she could probably take some liberty with the length of the conversation, as long as they kept it relatively short.

  She glanced at the hovering attendant making a hand-to-mouth move, finger crooked, hoping the Airman would understand her desire…no, need…for coffee. The young woman must have read her mind again as she immediately produced a steaming cup. Johnnie gave her a look of gratitude that implied the girl had surely saved her life. Mouthing, thank you, she then said into the phone.

  “I’m so sorry you’re sick, Ms. Janz.” She gulped the coffee.

/>   “Call me Bonnie…and I’m not. I mean, I am sick, but I’m not sorry. Listen…” The woman sounded as though she stopped for a breath.

  “Johnnie, then, please.” Was all Johnnie said; she was wide awake now, and hooked into the conversation. What a strange thing for someone to say who was obviously sick as a dog while simultaneously missing out on the chance of a lifetime.

  “I just wanted to tell you that even while I was training, I never believed I would go…don’t get me wrong…I wanted to go. Who wouldn’t?” Johnnie related to everything this woman said, but stayed quiet since it obviously took great effort for Bonnie to speak.

  “But, I just never felt it was to be. I don’t believe in chance…and I don’t know why they picked you and, of course, they won’t tell me much.” Another round of hacking ensued.

  “Anyway, I’m a spiritual healer and guide by trade and I have to tell you it was shocking when I even got the spot. And I never believed it was about me, even if I went. But I knew I wouldn’t go. I don’t know if you ….” Another blast into an unseen tissue. “…sorry…if you understand. I think you do.”

  Johnnie heard her own voice say she did. And maybe that was true.

  “Something massive is afoot, Johnnie. We all feel it. I just wanted to let you know, for what it’s worth…you have my blessing. There are a lot of us who believe we are on the verge of a new age, but I never made the connection between that and this…but right now I can’t shake it. The world is praying, Johnnie, and I think you should too. Just remember, prayer is energy…But it’s not about me…or even you.”

  Johnnie was transfixed, but she came out of it with a tap on the shoulder from the attendant, who was accompanied by another Airman and a civilian gentleman she assumed was her “keeper” for this trip. The plane was no longer moving. She stood with the phone and started to tell Bonnie she needed to go.

  Before she could speak, the strained voice croaked, “You should know, until now, I’ve never been sick a day in my life…and I came down with this while we were in quarantine. You’d think it was impossible…I’ve been telling God this is kind of unnecessary, really, I would have stepped down without all this.” She loudly cleared her throat and made a snorkeling sound that caused Johnnie to shudder, in spite of herself.

  “I know you’ll make this worth it.” The woman said, releasing a gravelly chuckle. “They tell me you’ll fit perfectly into my gear…Bonnie-Johnnie…Sometimes God has a sense of humor too, don’t you think?”

  “If you only knew…” Johnnie replied and sensed the impatience of the man waiting to escort her off the now parked plane. “Bonnie, thank you. I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I promise I’ll do my best. I hope we can meet soon.”

  “Don’t do…just open up and go with it. Trust me on this. You’ll be fine.”

  Johnnie left the plane feeling a little like a spy being secreted away in the cover of darkness. She didn’t know if it was utter exhaustion that kept her anxiety level at near zero as she not only failed to react to the weirdness of the moment, but even accepted her recent conversation as if it were about the weather.

  As she slid into the waiting van, she acknowledged that she did trust Bonnie, although she couldn’t guarantee what it would mean to “be fine.”

  She had absolutely no idea of the accelerating crisis of the political scene, no clue that millions throughout the world were praying for intervention, those with true faith in their God or the universe, believing their prayers might actually work. She didn’t know Lisa Douglas had just divulged her identity as the mystery woman who saved JFK to a voice recording at the sleeping Constellation. Or that Jerrod Stass, Byron Hoffstedder, her brother and the President of the United States, all laid or sat awake wondering if their actions may have sentenced her to an undue fate. It was probably best that she didn’t know her mother had lighted enough candles around her framed photo to set off the smoke alarm in her Brooklyn apartment, or that Jeremy spent a sleepless night with her anxious dog in her room at James’ penthouse in Manhattan.

  She did not know that, figuratively – but frighteningly, Atlas was about to shudder, rolling the world and its weight, at last, off his strong shoulders…sending it spiraling out of control unless it was caught and secured by the only hands capable of doing so.

  Sometimes it’s the things we don’t know that allow us to act and move toward all we do know.

  And all she really knew was that she didn’t possess “brakes” even if she wanted to use them. In a matter of hours, she would be on the shuttle and she would submit to whatever force took her there. At that moment, it was all she needed to know.

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  The Operation and Check Building at NASA’s Kennedy and Space Center had narrowly escaped total renovation before the shuttle program was re-instated, or as the spacecraft name implied, revived. Specific portions of O & C Building had begun transformation, but the third floor, which housed the astronaut living quarters and the suit-up room, was essentially untouched and had been reclaimed for its historical use for this and future launches.

  Johnnie walked into the suit-up room wearing only awkward blue thermal underwear lined with water cooling tubes…and a diaper. The thing was technically called a Maximum Absorbency Garment, or “MAG” for short, and she was assured it was an absolute necessity during the pre-launch wait, launch and re-entry when they would be strapped to their seats for long periods of times. But, still new to this scene, Johnnie couldn’t get past the fact that the MAG was, essentially, a diaper…more exactly, a Pull-Up. By her own calculation, this article alone subtracted several cool points from the whole astronaut experience.

  Inspecting her surroundings, however, she was moved by the fact that this very room had been used by every American astronaut since the Apollo crew. She was instantly stricken by how incredibly basic the room looked with little more than long white equipment tables separated by brown recliners; she had expected something a bit more space age looking but was oddly comforted by the austerity of it all. The rest of the crew was still resting and had actually been in quarantine in living quarters on this very floor in recent days leading up to the launch. One more thing to make her feel like an outsider, she thought as she followed two suit technicians in tan jumpers.

  Although it typically took the crew about forty five minutes to suit up with the help of technicians, Johnnie was brought in an hour prior to compensate for the transfer of Bonnie Janz’ suit and equipment to her. Although, while in Houston, she was sure they had measured and weighed every part of her body except, perhaps, her colon, to allow for advance adjustments—she accepted this extra time as necessary; appropriate fit and operation were critical to her survivability. She was very much in favor of survivability.

  She now had the familiar “this can’t be happening” feeling as she sat in a recliner and pushed her feet into the legs of the bright orange advance crew escape suit, or the “ACES” suits worn by all astronauts. Until now, these were things she’d only seen in photos or television. Inner speculation faded quickly, however, as she was guided through the gyrations of getting into the rest of the ensemble. After bending herself practically in half, with the help of the able men standing by, she worked her arms into the sleeves, leaving her head smashed against the huge wring which would produce the next challenge.

  Her backside, still clad in thermals, remained outside the suit and on the chair. An image of wrestling a toddler into a sleeper crossed her mind just before she was assisted in jamming her head through a hole the size of her neck, a fit so snug, she was pretty sure half of her hair didn’t survive the thrust. As the neoprene formed tightly around her neck Johnnie squirmed uncomfortably. She didn’t even like to wear turtle neck sweaters due to the constriction, but, of course, this wardrobe was designed by big brained scientists and she wasn’t inclined to complain.

  “Wow. Reverse childbirth…” Were her unthinking words as
the men pulled her to her feet. The guys chuckled as they moved around her, zipping the suit, helping her into the sturdy boots, gloves and helmet; the latter two only temporary additions for pressure checks.

  “This is remarkable,” said Ernest, the younger of the two men. Bert, the second, scratched his head as he stepped back with her helmet in his hands. He held it as if it were a football – he had likely been handling such relics for years.

  “Yeah…no kidding…we could have probably done this when the others came in.”

  The men eyed each other, pursing their lips as if on cue, then looked back at Johnnie. She had paid little attention to the conversation as she tried to figure out why certain body parts were guaranteed to itch only when they were totally un-accessible. She stomped her itching foot to try to relieve the irritating sensation when she noticed the two men looking at her, standing perfectly still.

  “What?” She asked self-consciously. She was tired and on the verge of crabbiness despite the serious circumstances. If they gave her any crap, she knew she’d have to succumb to spout off one of the dozens of snide comments she’d retrained up to now. She’d only held her tongue up to this point because she knew that they knew she was wearing a diaper…it gave them an edge.

  “Well,” Ernest said as he turned and set her helmet on the closest metal table, “We knew you were close in size and stature to Bonnie…but the match is…” he raised his eyebrows as if he still couldn’t believe what he was about to say.

  “Exact.” Bert finished for him and gave her a smile. She wasn’t remotely surprised at the news, under the circumstances, but simply returned a tired smile and said, “Well I guess it’s our lucky day, huh? Now what?”

  ___________________________________________________________________

  It was very early in the morning at the Constellation headquarters and Fritz Minson relished the relative quiet of the offices as he settled in to check overnight incoming correspondence and phone messages. He was a man who knew his mission and where he fit in; his wasn’t a coveted position, but he was an information broker at heart and understood the power of first access to important news.