Inherently, he had known that revenge would only make him feel half-good at best. That he got to exact his God-given right for blood would only satiate his immediate needs—but what then? He would need to feel better than that.
Pablo’s head had been down and he had been praying hard. For some reason it had just made him feel better. Pablo had been praying harder than he ever had in his life, pleading for God to help him.
Suddenly he had seemed to be lifted out of his body. At first he had thought he was going to pass out, he was so light headed. He had chided himself for leaning on the rail too hard and making the blood rush to his head, which was how he tried to explain it.
It was at that moment that the Divine Plan had been inserted into his head. There was no other way to describe it: there had suddenly been knowledge there that wasn’t there before.
Then he had received confirmation. Just as he had been about to turn around and leave in stunned confusion, he had heard a girl’s loud scream to his right, which scared the hell out of him. Then he had seen the girl by the rail of the dock, running for her life. Her father had been lumbering after her in Frankenstein-like fashion as she ran and hid behind what must have been her Mama—just like Jasmine had used to do.
Talk about a message from God! It hadn’t happened like a bolt of lightning. It had been more like stepping through a really thick cloud. Once through, the energy had shot through him with the intensity of a laser. He had needed to send a statement to the world that this type of behavior would not be stood for anymore. Not just from “his” bad guys, but from all who oppressed others for money or to further themselves by stepping on las ovejas.
Holy shit, he had thought, I think God is really talking through me. I get it, checkmate! Pablo’s download had been complete. He had known what he had to do. They had killed the meekest people in the world. They had murdered sheep in their sleep, and the Bible clearly said that, “The meek shall inherit the earth.” So apparently I am to represent the meek? I am supposed to be the Harbinger of Change?
Pablo had known that it must be—otherwise God would not have cleared all that he held dear out of the way. Pablo had now been able to see clearly that God had removed all that would stand in his way, so that he could enforce the harsh responsibilities of this “Harbinger of Change.” Why else would this have happened?
He had decided to start a memoir, and this moment would need to be recorded as “the” moment. It would reflect the exact place and time that his mission was set forth to him by God. Not in a dream, as was the usual in the Bible, but right there, in the parking lot of the Nyon Ferry building at Lake Geneva, Switzerland.
James had thought he saw him staring at a small family. He hadn’t realized the boy had been in a trance-like state. He had put his hand on Pablo’s shoulder and said, “We have to go, Son.”
Pablo had jolted. Then he had turned and looked at James deeply and said, “It’s going to be okay, Papa. I’m going to be okay. Now it’s time for you.” Because of their many talks, Pablo had known what James was feeling during those moments, and it had helped fill in his daydream. James had become very weak, and he had been thankful to know how perceptive Pablo was. He had also been secretly happy to have a son, but under such tragic circumstances, it had been bittersweet at best. This had been a small source of shame, he had later revealed.
As James had pulled out onto the roadway from the ferry building, Pablo had known that he was thinking about how he’d set up this type of situation a thousand times in a hundred places around the world, him and his death-dealing cohorts. He had thought to himself, it’s time to pay the piper, Jimmy.
From that point on, James Haberman’s mindset had become, at least I’m going to my grave having done some good here to offset the horrors. The boy understands I might not have long, and that’s good, because I don’t. At least I picked a beautiful place to die with someone I love. A lot of people have a lot less.
* * *
They were coming up on the first military zone, according to Vera’s map. Matt looked back, and saw that Vera was still out of it. The map he had in hand now was for Northern California, but he also had a second map for the Southern part of the state, if they made it that far. He had also found two cell phones in the backpack, and had turned one on to see if it had any saved data, such as contacts or previous calls. It didn’t. Matt didn’t know what he would say even if he could use it.
Suddenly the plane hit a wind current that reminded him they were flying for their lives here, not on some commercial airline flight. He placed the phone back in the backpack, keeping his eyes on the scary, half-lit world outside.
She had three places in Mexico marked on the southern map. Earlier, with the pilot, they had noticed that she had circled a place to go just east of Mexicali. Matt wasn’t sure, but he thought he had driven through there once, and he remembered the area was sparsely populated, which was good. She had mentioned that they had a pick-up there.
He so badly wanted to take time and reflect over the past twelve hours, but he fought the urge. Too much had happened, and he just felt a small wave of fatigue. God, not now. He needed to keep his wits about him. It was crunch time. The two-minute warning was coming up, and they were out of time-outs.
“Okay, Doug,” he said, “you’ve seen it on TV, just like I have. If we’re detected, then we’re going to have an F-15 Escort faster than you can say it, just like old Payne Stewart.”
Doug knew that Professional Golfer Payne Stewart’s plane had gone off course due to a faulty window seal. Within minutes, two F-16’s had been dispatched and had pulled up on the wayward private jet, only to see all on board dead.
Doug replied, “I see.”
Matt answered, “I’m glad you see, Doug. Now let’s see how low we can get this thing to go without dying.”
The past hour-and-a-half had been the most tedious Matt could ever remember. He couldn’t stop his fear. He had no idea how Doug was handling it, but he had made it out of the Sierra’s on guts and will alone, at two hundred miles per hour. Matt thought to himself, this guy is not rolling over, he wants to live!
* * *
Sarah’s cell phone rang, and she got a call that she never thought she would get. She was Teflon after all, and the “career ender calls” were for guys at Beck’s level, not hers. Well, that’s all changed now, hasn’t it?
The team she had sent to Tahoe had just found her rookie, Agent Crawford, crumpled on the ground next to Beck’s SUV, his head crushed in, barely alive. Beck was missing.
She hung up, disconnecting her call from the agent in Tahoe, numb. Out of survival instinct she then dialed Roger’s cell phone number. Her only chance at possibly staying out of jail was to come clean one hundred percent, right now.
The phone rang on the other end, and she wished this would all just go away.
“Kirk Rogers here.”
Rogers listened and computed while he heard her out. This is not good. First of all, Beck was done, his career completely over in a wisp. What was that fool thinking? Didn’t he realize the resources we could have put on that area? Of course he did, that’s why that cowboy is done! At least Sarah did the right thing and told me now, before she told the Old Man. Once she did that, Beck’s true treachery might have never been revealed. Apparently Sarah couldn’t have that on her conscience.
DHS Assistant Director Kirk Rogers sincerely thanked Sarah before he hung up. He knew she had just upended her career to do the right thing, and he let her know that there was a place in their Bureau for a person such as her.
With those words coming from a man as knowledgeable and experienced as Rogers, Sarah didn’t even have to read between the lines to know she had just been informed that her career with the CIA was probably over. After they hung up, Sarah thought about that revelation. Well, I’m fairly well off being single. I’ve been spending wisely and investing wisely. I could retire now, if I got a part-time job. She thought about her last move and decided that it had pretty much
sealed her fate. Her upward climb was over, along with Beck’s career. She picked up the phone and called Bob Thompson.
Bob Thompson was very reserved under pressure. At 68 years old, he had learned some tact and dignity, giving him a composure that sometimes bordered on arrogance. Others would never see him lose it. Even during 9/11 he had been rock solid. His reputation for maintaining his calm had started much earlier. Once upon a time, he had been a Field Agent during the Cold War, and later the Station Chief in Moscow. He had been around the block and back, and he had known the enemy. Or, at least he had thought he did, before 9/11 happened and the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) had been born.
Since then, his job had never been more important. Yet at the same time, DHS had clouded the waters. The two agencies had missions that covered some of the same ground. This required interagency cooperation to avoid crossing each other’s jurisdictions and impeding each other. Predictably, they often competed against each other, and frequently held back information from each other until it was convenient to release it. However, Bob knew the situation Sarah was explaining was completely different, involving much more than some over-competitive agents trying to be first to close the case.
Bob looked out over the room he was in. There were more than twenty dedicated agents, doing whatever they could to bring this to an end. But the question that wouldn’t go away was whether any one of them would resort to such madness as Beck had perpetrated in order to obtain resolution on a case. Bob knew the answer was no, and that Ken Beck had officially jumped off the deep end. Regardless of the outcome, Beck was going to be relieved of duty immediately.
After mentioning that she had informed Rogers first, Sarah patiently waited through the ensuing silence.
Bob thought long and hard before he responded to her. “It was good that you informed Rogers first,” he began, “that way they can’t claim conspiracy. But by doing that, you risked your own neck for sure.” He let that sink in. “Brilliant and daring, seeing that you didn’t know how I would react.”
She felt slightly relieved, but she was not off the hook. He said to her in a conciliatory tone, “I know Ken. He’s my monster, Sarah, and I’ll have to deal with his fallout. You were just another in a long line of people he used to get to the top. I allowed it because he always got the job done, but this time he went too far. There are too many people watching. So the Agency owes you. But our day is hardly done here. So let’s get back to work and find Ken Beck and our bad guys, so we can bring this thing to a close.”
Right then his other line buzzed. “Mr. Director, it’s Webster in Tahoe.”
“Put him through, Carol. Stay on speaker, Sarah. Hello, Webster, what do you have?”
“We found Beck, Mr. Director. He’s dead. He was in a hanger with half his head blown off. That’s not all; we think they’re airborne.”
“How long airborne?”
“About one and a half hours, Mr. Director. There’s no control tower, and the only pilot inside was sleeping when he heard a plane take off about an hour and a half ago. He had no idea of which direction it was headed. There’s something else—two things really. First, we found another note. Second, Assistant Director Beck was found literally with his pants down, underwear too. We’re having a team do a complete work-up, including a rape kit. We don’t know what happened to him.”
Before they hung up, Bob Thompson asked Webster what the note said.
“It said, ‘At least we’re getting the kind of experience we need for the next war.’”
They hung up, and Bob said, “Sarah?”
“Yeah?” was her weak response.
“Don’t let those words affect you. We have no idea what all of this means, so please hold judgment about Ken until we know the facts. I’m so sorry you have to work through this. I’m sure you would like to have time to sort out your feelings, but right now, more than ever, I need you to do your job better than you’ve ever done it before. I need you to figure out where they’re heading and get us out of this. If there’s anyone I know who can do it, it’s you.”
Damn, she thought, was he really that cool? Someone would think he had just ordered dinner at a quiet restaurant or was giving his niece a pep talk for the SATs. Well, he wouldn’t be so cool if he knew why that news had left her thunderstruck. He probably thought that it was about the loss of Ken Beck, but he couldn’t have guessed in a million years that the real reason was the use of the word “rape” associated with that man.
They hung up, and Bob hit the comm button for Carol.
“Get me Stan LaRue right away, Carol.”
“Yes, Mr. Director,” was her snap response. Carol knew her boss, and she knew when he wanted to see a high level of get-to-it-ness. Even though he was cool as a cucumber, that didn’t mean he wanted everyone else to act that way.
* * *
The city was long gone, and the world above and below was dark. Rain had come, and Pablo’s trip back home to Ibarra was well under way, but now the mood was slightly more ominous due to Mother Nature. Every now and then, some trace of light would shine out of the clouds that tried to keep it back, and he realized that he was much like that sun ray. In a dark world, they were both trying their hardest to bring some light.
He listened to the blades slicing through the rain. The helicopter remained strong, and the blades did not sound labored. The wind was not heavy, so they kept a nice steady pace. The monotonous sound of the blades soon had him daydreaming again.
Soon his mind drifted back to him and James in the backcountry of Switzerland. The drive to the Hedge had been long, and it had been the perfect time for heartfelt conversation. There had been much to plan as they rolled over the Swiss countryside, taking in the lush greenery and what seemed to be the right mixture of farms, vineyards and people. One certainly didn’t feel overcrowded there.
He had looked at James and hadn’t liked what he saw. The past twenty-four hours had taken a toll on his friend.
Halfway through the trip, it had become evident that James needed a nap. It had seemed like no big deal that he was going to have to drive for the first time. Pablo remembered thinking, I’m the greatest mind of all time; I can drive the car.
James had looked with suspicion upon his request to drive the rest of the way, and had asked, “You know how to drive?”
Pablo had looked at him as if to say, “Hello!”
James had capitulated without a fight. He hadn’t even seemed to notice the rough starts and stops, as the greatest mind in the world learned how to operate a car on his own. It hadn’t been pretty, but several hours later, they had pulled into the Green Hedge. The GPS had announced that they were at their destination.
The Green Hedge had been a Bed and Breakfast located in Gebenstorf, a beautiful town in the middle of an agricultural area. It had sat at the confluence of the Ruess and Limmat Rivers, right where they flowed into the Aare. The Inn itself had not been too many yards from the Limmat.
James had slept the whole second leg of the trip and had awoken abruptly when the car stopped. “We made it alive?”
Pablo had mustered a condescending look in response. It was obvious James hadn’t believed the “I can drive” speech, but he had been too frail at the time to protest. And they had made it alive, after all.
“So how did you find this place?” Pablo had asked.
“I needed a place to stay during treatments,” James had answered. “Don’t forget, there are people who want me too, so I had to keep a low profile. This place is about as low-profile as one can get.”
“Can we trust it still?”
“The owners are friends. The first time I stayed here I played the dumb American, so they spoke French liberally around me, thinking I couldn’t understand. Consequently, I found out some really personal things about them.”
“Like?”
“Like they were in serious financial trouble, and their daughter had come close to having sex with a former occupant. With the tourism industry being so dow
n, they were worried about losing the place.”
“They were?”
“Yeah, it’s a couple and their teenage daughter—Eva and Yon Heldergarten, daughter is Eva, too. I guess he really loves his wife—and he should, too, she’s a beautiful, blonde-haired woman. They’re real salt of the earth people, Son. They don’t even own a TV or subscribe to the paper. If you stay here and want news, then you have to go to the nearest store a few miles away, or have a cellular option. They love it that way.
“So, after a couple of weeks here, I let them in on the secret. They were very embarrassed at first, but truthfully, I had never actually said I didn’t speak French—they just assumed it because all I attempted was English. So one morning I said merci beaucoup when handed my coffee.
“Frau Heldergarten jokingly said, parlez-vous français? My reply was in fluent French, and she almost fainted. Fortunately, they liked me, and had only kind things to say about me, so we didn’t have too awkward of a moment.”
“So now you’ve become their friend, huh?”
“Let’s just say that they’ll never worry about money again and they’re free to live life to the fullest. They also know the truth about me, to some degree. They know I’m dying—I was very weak from my treatments. It’s hard to mask sickness, and I’m not a good liar. They also know they’re not allowed to acknowledge they ever met me, for their own good, and if somehow that ever happens, their story is they thought I only spoke English. We’re safe.
“I’ll have them open the garage, then I’ll park the car if you don’t mind.” James had then done that annoying head-rubbing thing—which Pablo was actually becoming fond of—before heading for the Hedge, as he affectionately called the Heldergarten’s Inn.
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