The Journal: A Prophecy, A President & Death

by Parker, W. Leland

  The Whitehouse chief of staff, Samuel Kell, is driving with his wife and 17-year-old son, when his cell phone begins to ring. His wife picks it up from the center console and looking at the caller ID says, “It’s just numbers.”

  Mr. Kell’s face registers concern, “Let me see.” She shows him the face of the phone and he says with great disappointment, “Oh, God!” While signaling to pull off to the side he takes the phone from her hand and answering the call says, “This is Sam.”

  On the other end is heard, “Hold for Deputy Director Danning, Sir.”

  “Hello, Sam? I just wanted to tell you personally, ’cause we’re friends–”

  Sam Kell, now, with his car pulled to the side of the road, exclaims, “Ohh, no.”

  Danning, “Yeah, I’m really sorry.”

  Sam Jr. asks, “What is it, Mom?”

  Mrs. Kell, “I don’t know, but I bet it means the weekend is over.”

  • • •

  Back at the Secret Service, Alice and Ramirez are able to decipher what Danning has decided to do just by listening to what he is saying to the White House Chief of Staff. Assuming he is going to run some sort of threat drill that will force the president into hiding, they are tremendously impressed and look to one another and say, “Oh, he’s good.”

  They then turn to Harold Danning, who explains, “It’s the only thing that meets all my objectives! A surprise threat drill can be almost completely confined within the Service, I need only to interrupt the weekends of the Joint Chiefs, and a single NSA agent; one of which I have conveniently seated in my office. The rest of those guys are always on alert anyway; and by marking it as a possible chemical release, the surgeon general has to be there.”

  Alice says, “Oh, I’ll admit it’s quite inspired. And what will be your excuse to all these annoyed generals for running in on a Saturday night?”

  Danning, “Well, this is my first drill, one was pending anyway, and it is my right to run them at the time of my choosing. Who says something like this can’t happen on a Saturday?”

  Alice, “You know how people hold grudges.”

  Danning, “Like I said, since I already had an NSA agent in, I figured it would be one less set of weekend plans I’d be destroying.”

  Ramirez, “So now what happens?”

  Danning, “Oh, this is the good part, I’m told this is where my guys do their thing.”

  Alice rolls her eyes and says, “Ohhh yeah! I’ve been here before, and in about thirty seconds two agents are gonna come rushing in that door and snatch me outta here like a Raggedy Ann Doll!”

  At the very moment, two six-foot Secret Service men come through the door and identified Mrs. Wheaton. “NSA IAD and liaison Alicia Anne Wheaton?”

  Finishing her thought to Ramirez and Danning, “This is the first time I actually knew it was coming. Thanks!” Turning her attention to the two agents, “Good evening boys. Yes, that’s me.” She presents her ID and with an uncommon bit of levity says, “But if you two think I’m a cheap date …” The humorless agents show no response to her comment, grab her and her file folder, and whisk her out of the door.

  Danning, while shutting down his computer, putting on his jacket and clipping on his ID badge says to Bill, “Grab your stuff.”

  “What? Where are we going?”

  “I can’t really say, but we’ve got to move.”

  “Okaaay.”

  “And it might help if you put on your jacket with your ID badge showing.”

  “O-kaaay.”

  “And here’s where it gets a little weird.”

  “HERE’s where it GETS weird?”

  “I’m gonna need you to put on these, um, shades.” He hands Ramirez a pair of completely opaque sunglasses.

  Ramirez, looking at them and seeing they’re opaque holds them up and says, “What in the hell?”

  “BILL, I get five minutes, and I’ve used three. I need you with me, and– C’mon man, move it!”

  “Alright, alright.” Ramirez puts on the shades and with frustration holds out his arm to indicate he’s ready to be led. Danning takes him by the arm and leads him out through a back door of his office. From there they go rushing down a long non-descript corridor. Ramirez asks, “How many people do we have on this right now?”

  “Excluding NSA field agents? There’s you, me, Wheaton, Hinton, Coles, her team of three, I guess you’d count Mark, so that’s nine. Why?”

  “Don’t forget my electrician I sent to Hinton, George Sandoval, so that’s ten”

  “Yeah, ten. Why?”

  “Well, I’m just wondering how many people are in on our little piece of history that no one’s ever gonna know about.”

  “Humph, I hope you’re right.”

  As they enter an elevator Ramirez continues, “Yeah. But Harry, this kid, Joseph … his track record is, what? Ninety, ninety-five percent accurate?”

  “A hundred percent. Everything we’ve been able to check has been verified as spot on!”

  “So, you see what I’m getting at.”

  Danning, in a rare release of emotion exclaims, “Oh, yes, I know. Why do you think I’m not sleeping and I’m popping antacid like it’s popcorn! I’ve read five books on variables and outcome in the last eleven days, and I’ve read every passage on prophecy in the Bible twenty times over! I’d say I’m doing everything I can. But, I really don’t know if I’ve done anything except, carry out the stupid prophecy, you know? God, this is impossible!”

  Ramirez, “Yes, yes you are, hermano. It’s alright. You’re doing the best you can and the best of what anybody else has to offer. The rest is … the rest is up to God, man.”

  “Humph. What I wouldn’t do to be able to see twenty-four hours into the future.”

  After a few moments of silence, Ramirez adds, “You know Harry, this is one helluva long freakin’ elevator ride, man.”

  • • •

  Agent Coles is standing inside the ladies room staring in the mirror overwhelmed with emotion. She is all at once thrilled with her treasure trove of new intel, relieved that she has succeeded so well on her first case, and strangely, missing her father. She would love to call her mom right now, but she’s sure that would push her over to tears. A deep breath will have to shore her up for now as time is of the essence. She calls Agent Hinton, “Good evening, sir.”

  “Good evening to you,” detecting her odd calm he asks, “Have you news, Agent Coles?”

  “Um, are you clear, sir?”

  Again amused and equally impressed by Lauren’s determination to do things correctly, Agent Hinton dons a rare smile and answers, “Yes, I am clear.” He is out on the front porch of the Phelps home because he has just finished updating the case file with what Mrs. Phelps told the family.

  In a gush of relief and ecstasy, Lauren pours out her great news, “Oh, my God, I got it! I got it all! He told me everything, and I have it all recorded!”

  Hinton, though mindful of the time, actually enjoys her success and simply says, “Really?”

  “Oh, yes, he told me how it all started, he listed all the prophecies he knew of, he told me about the church fire in detail—which they know for a fact Joey, I mean Joseph Market did not set—AND I know that they know about the prediction about the president!”

  “That is excellent work, Miss Coles. Well, in the interest of time I’m not going to give you details, but I’ve made considerable progress on my end. In spite of the lock down by NSA I have all the details on the Phelps connection, specifics on the Margaret Jennings prediction, confirmations on all of the dates, and an open dialog going on the journals.”

  “Wow! This is great!” His encouragement entices her to gush further, “When they first told me I was going into the field, I was sick for two days! I thought about quitting when they said I would be undercover!” Looking up to heaven she says, “Can it be this what I–”

  “Lauren, in spite of the fact that is not the time for this conversation, I will tell you it has been a distinct p
leasure working with you, and I mean to tell you I don’t like working with anyone … But that will all change if you don’t close your pie hole long enough to get those audio files uploaded! I just checked and they are not there!”

  “Oh dear, you said files, and that would have been smart, but what I got is kind of one big file! I can divide it.”

  “Agent I don’t think you can be away from your protectee for that amount of time!”

  Meanwhile, James is done with his part of their rest-stop routine. He is hovering near the ladies room door. He is such a gentleman, and Lauren who catches a glimpse of him as a lady enters the restroom is thinking that very thing when she replies, “Sir, I’m convinced that this is the real deal, I don’t understand it, and I’m not saying I believe in all this, but I have weighed the angles and find by far the most credible possibility is that Joseph Market has, or had extra-sensory insight to what was going to happen.”

  Hinton, becoming impatient says, “Why did I say I enjoyed working with you. Listen to me! You no longer have time to deal with the file, do that from the road under the cover of checking your voice mail. Meanwhile, did you hear anything about where Joey hid his journal?”

  At that moment a lady enters the restroom and says, “Is there someone here named, Lauren?”

  “Um, yes that’s me.”

  The lady continues, “Well, there’s a good looking guy out there concerned that you may have fallen in or something.”

  Lauren realizing the wisdom of Hinton’s directions abandons her attempt to divide and upload the vital file and quickly says, “Thanks, I’m on my way out.” Dropping her voice to a whisper she says on the phone, “Okay, Dad, I’ve got to go, and I’ll send you your stuff. Oh! And I don’t think Joe’s books have been covered … Dad, tell Uncle Harry I should be there in two hours or so.”

  Hinton then calls his boss, Bill Ramirez, to report on Lauren’s status and the forthcoming intel she has, and to check on the status of the undercover electrician. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Good evening, Hinton. How’s it going?”

  “Pretty well, sir. I think you’ll be seeing some intel in a moment that will close off most of this case and focus it in on just the president’s health.”

  Ramirez replies, “Um, I can’t access that right at the moment, and I can’t tell you why.” Ramirez is at that moment being rushed with Harold Danning to a secure location. He is not quite sure where, nor is he allowed to know as Danning has made an exception to keep his friend with him during the airborne toxin drill he’s called. The level of the drill is such that not everyone need be made aware, they are just running the section that secures the president and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. So at this point, Ramirez has been subjected to a pair of impenetrably dark sunglasses.

  Hinton replies to his cryptic remark with, “Oooookaaay. Then, as soon as you can, I need to know the status of the electrician. I’m on the front porch having a smoke that if anyone bothered to time me would be equal to about seven cigarettes! I need to get back in there with a credible excuse.”

  “I checked that before I left, and the best I can tell you is he should be there within the hour.”

  • • •

  Lauren exits the restroom to find James patiently sitting nearby. She smiles an apologetic smile as he brings his six-foot frame up. The lady who relayed James message says to Lauren as she exits behind her, “I wouldn’t leave quality like that sitting around.”

  Distracted by the lady and eager to keep eye contact with James, Lauren doesn’t make anything of the man sitting in a dark suit in the far corner of the restaurant—that is until she notices a dark sedan with its engine running in the far corner of the parking lot! At once all of her recently completed protection-training floods her mind. She immediately places herself between James and the mysterious vehicle. With twilight upon them, she had a hard time recognizing the make and model, but as they leave the parking area she is able to make out most of the license tag.

  “Lauren! Didn’t you hear me?” says James, who had been speaking to her.

  But in protection mode, conversation with the protectee is of much lower importance. She replies, “I’m sorry, I have something pressing on my mind.”

  James, assuming it had to do with the New York skyline that seemed to distract her so badly earlier tries to reduce the effect of the memory with some kind words. “I said that I’m sorry if sending a stranger in to find you was intrusive, but I was starting to get concerned.”

  “Oh?” which is all she can reply as she is singularly focused on texting the tag numbers she saw to her lead assistant, Mary Sorensen.

  Sorensen texts back, “It’s NSA, u wnt ++”

  To which Lauren replies, “No.” She now can rest at least knowing that they are in no imminent danger. Her mind snaps back to James and she replies fully, “I’m sorry, I’m very distracted.”

  James, “I noticed, I also asked if you wanted me to continue driving to which you answered, um. Look, I’m sorry if the city brings back bad memories, if you want to talk about any of it, you know I’m happy to oblige.”

  Lauren, “No, actually it’s not that, though it’s true the skyline does still make me sad. I was remembering some important emails to which I forgot to respond. Would you mind if I take a moment to do that?”

  “Not at all.”

  Checking the passenger side mirror, Lauren sees that their new friends are indeed just two car lengths behind them and remain there for the remainder of the trip. She plugs in her earphone for a second and plays back the audio file she has of James telling the history of Joseph’s episodes. Determining at what points to break the file, she removes her headphones and continues saving it as smaller files and uploading them. She then sends a text message to Mary and Al Hinton telling them where the files are, the status of the upload, and her current location. Looking back in the mirror at their new friends, she realizes that the last bit of info may be academic. She decides to text Hinton a private message. “I’m sorry for the slip up with the files earlier. Looks like I’ve got NSA with me now.”

  Hinton messages back, “Babysitters.”

  She replies, “lol.” After about a minute of silence that she uses to collect her thoughts she remembers Hinton’s request to see if James knows where Joseph’s journal might be. She turns to him and says, “James, I’m sorry about being so aloof. It is true, the city skyline does make me nostalgic but it doesn’t always affect me this way. I’m sure when you look at the Church steeple you must remember back when the previous one got destroyed.”

  “Oh, I don’t have to remember back, ’cause they never proceeded to build the new one.”

  “Really!”

  “Nope. I think people just accepted that God had decided against that and they weren’t about to try and raise more money. I think they basically used the insurance money to do something else and paid back investors.”

  “And what became of the famous page seven of Joe’s journal?”

  “Gosh I have no idea. I bet my mom has it.”

  As they take their exit from the highway onto smaller expressways north of New York City, Lauren seems to fall into another long silence. James sees it as another chance to counsel her, perhaps his last chance as they are getting pretty close to his hometown.

  The next few minutes are almost dreamlike in its unfolding. Lauren is looking down at her PDA, ostensibly checking email but in actuality texting Hinton what James said about the journal when James breaks the silence with, “Can you tell me what that day was like for you?”

  She doesn’t hedge or fake like she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. She sighs big and says, “You described that summer when Joe had his episodes as weird … talk about a weird day. All I can tell you is—and I know how this sounds before I even say it—the day seemed too perfect.”

  “What?”

  “It was oddly right. Everything was. I can’t explain it, it was so … You ever have a day where things just seem to go well,
you get up on time, you’re eager for school or work, you have your breakfast, which is great, and– I remember I kissed my dad goodbye as he headed off for work. He smelled good; he had on my mom’s favorite cologne. When I got to school—actually, as I was walking to school—I remember it seemed the perfect day: clean, crisp, and unusually peaceful. Then the traffic seemed to slow down, everything just got real slow. I didn’t hear anything. Then a lady yelled out of her window to—I’m guessing, her husband—there’s been a plane crash. Then they, um, our school closed. I mean, they locked it and told us that classes were cancelled and we all had to move into the auditorium. After that, it was just quiet, really, really quiet. We could hear what sounded like every fire truck on earth blaring its sirens, but even they seemed quiet. I know that makes no sense what so ever.”

  Now it is James, who is quiet, not wanting to interrupt Lauren.

  “The principal came and explained there had been a major accident in lower Manhattan and that we would be sent home. Then, um, parents started showing up to get their kids. My mom was one of the first ones there. That’s when I knew it was something really bad. Her hug said it all. It was so tight; so tight. And normally my mom tells me everything, but this time she was so different. I was only fourteen, but I could tell she had changed, and I didn’t dare ask. As we walked towards our apartment I heard someone say it for the first time, The World Trade Center has been destroyed.” Lauren pauses for a moment and looks down. She gets distracted for a moment looking to see if all her audio files have uploaded successfully.

  James reads her distraction as emotions getting to her, and then it hits him. “Oh, my Lord, how insensitive can I possibly be!”

  “What? You mean about–”

  “Lauren, I am so sorry, I completely forgot that today is September Eleven!”

  “No, don’t feel bad, most people don’t realize.”

  “I’ve been so wrapped up in my family situation and the fire.”

  Lauren insists, “No, really, it’s not your fault, and I’m not hurt, or offended.”