by Alex Myers
A particularly bad picture of Steve Getz filled the screen.
"Now what can I do you for you, son?" Ira's voice asked.
"I'm no son of yours, you bastard," Steve Getz screamed in his one-of-a-kind way.
"This is the good and just Reverend Ira Swanson speaking. May I record this conversation to broadcast to my viewers?”
"I don't give a shit what you do."
"I cannot believe you are in league with Abaddon, leader of the Apocs," Reverend Ira's voice said.
"Yes, of course, who did you think it would be, Mary Poppins? Devil's Reich is being financed by the Apocs. Abaddon the Antichrist, he helps me write songs"
"Being financed by whom?" Ira said.
"The Apocs! You heard me, that Abaddon chap."
"I heard you, I just wanted to make sure all of America did also. Don't you know you'll burn in hell along with innocent children who listen to your music? But please, tell us why?"
"Why don't you get real man, all for greed."
"But you testified before congress saying that you and the band members did not condone violence. That you all believed in the word of the Lord. I know, I was there."
"All a political stunt."
"My sources have informed me you plan on causing great pain to the true believers that show up at your Hampton Concert? Like what?"
"It'll be the death of concert goers. The devil lives!"
"But Mr. Getz, we can't have that! The good people will be there to stop you and your Apoc friends" Ira pleaded.
"You do and it'll be the death of you and your Church. Do it, and suffer the consequences. I don't give a shit!"
"Is there any way we can avoid this?"
"A million bucks, no make that two million!"
"We, the lambs of God will not be blackmailed! Please tell me you and the Apocs will do no harm to the innocent tonight."
"Damn square, that's our only objective."
"And if we protest the concert tonight? What will happen to us?"
"DIE, d-i-e, I said die you deaf bastard," the voice yelled on the screen. "This is Steve Getz guitarist and manager for Devil's Reich. I'm not fooling!" He said in his cockney accent.
The screen filled with Reverend Ira’s sincere and troubled looking face.
"Friends, I invite you to join us, either at the concert or live on TV. I will interview the leader of the Apocs. He calls himself Abaddon, but we know who he really is—the Antichrist. Please support the Lord."
The camera panned in on a tear rolling down Ira's cheek.
"Tomorrow night at 7:00 eastern, on televisions everywhere!" The voice of Charlie Van Dyke roared.
Ira didn't know what Brother Kenneth was about to say. His wrinkled aged mouth was opening, the blood was pounding in his parched elderly face, and he could feel the shout beginning to draw power from the old man's lungs. There was no sound coming out yet, though. He raised that chastising ancient crooked finger in the air and pointed it in Ira's direction. He was about to shout, but before he could, Ira jumped up from his chair and into his face.
"Listen old man," Ira said through gritted teeth, "we're tired of your old man ways, tired of your old man ideas. You may have mollycoddled my father, but you won't make a milksop out of me."
Brother Kenneth sat in his chair dumfounded; his finger still raised accusingly in the air. Ira grabbed it with his meaty hand and dug his nails into the soft, aged flesh.
"There's going to be an all-out media blitz of this promo starting in less than two hours." He surveyed the others sitting around the table; they nervously avoided his gaze. Kenneth's finger still in grip, he turned to face the man. "Unless somebody here has a problem with that."
The old man's eyes blazed with fire.
"Does anyone have a problem with that?" Ira asked as he applied pressure. Brother Kenneth's finger snapped like a dry twig.
"I know Brother Kenneth thinks it's a grand idea, don't you Ken?"
His face was locked in a grimace of pain and his lip was trembling, but he managed to give a tense nod of consent.
"Just as I thought, it's unanimous! Project Daniel is full speed ahead!"
CHAPTER 21
LUNCH AND A GIRL
"S'up homey?" Ethan asked cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder.
"Well for starters that guy we pulled out of the bay the other night‑‑"
"You mean that Apoc?" Ethan asked.
"No, I mean that guy. The son of a bitch changed back at the hospital early yesterday morning. He's going to be all right. Hell, he's been talking his ass off. That's the real reason I've called."
"Because the guys going to be all right or he's been talking?"
"Hell no, because of what the poor bastard was talking about. Abaddon has something planned for the Navy base, some‑kind of attack." Ethan was trying Bill's patience.
"Do you think there's anything to it?"
Ethan's eyes kept drifting back to three women on the beach. Two of the women were talking and one was reading. He lowered his voice as not to catch their attention.
“My Uncle Tex sure does,” Bill said.
"How are things in Washington these days?"
“He's not in Washington. I got a hold of him at Camp LeJeune in North Carolina. Seems like he had already planned an offensive. He was quite interested in the things I told him about this dude. You see, the guy was a MP over at NOB and the Apocs pumped him for all he was worth. From what he told me he even helped them plan an attack. Told them where the weaknesses were. Uncle Tex wants to switch the strike to over there. Wants to ambush them."
Ethan placed the phone to his other ear and moved down the railing to get a better vantage point. He thought the two females talking appeared to be seventeen or eighteen, but the one reading looked to be in her late 20's. The metal framework of the canvas awning covering the patio caused interference in the phone's reception.
“Oh man, you’re not on your home phone are you?”
“Yeah, why?"
"Oh shit, never mind. It's my fault, guy. I should have never called. I should have just come over. . .. Say, can you meet me over to Greenies for a late lunch? I don't feel so secure about the integrity of these phones."
"Sounds to me like you're getting a little paranoid in your old age. Besides, I've already eaten,” Ethan said. He watched the woman reading the bookstand and stretch. Her mid‑back, light‑brown hair caught a wan shaft of sun and gleamed like dark gold. Ethan wondered if it was as soft as it looked. He pondered how sweet it must smell. She turned‑‑it was more a half glance over her shoulder‑‑and the smoldering flame he saw in her eyes startled him. He wondered if she was aware of the captivating picture she created when she smiled. It was as intimate as a kiss to Ethan. She turned and ran off toward the water. Her long shapely legs, the smallness of her waist, the slight muscularity of her back and shoulders delighted him. The tight curvaceous bounce of her buttocks made his stomach upset in a good way.
"Ethan! Are you there? Hey, can you PLEASE meet me over there? This is serious stuff!"
"Yeah‑‑um, I'm sorry, I was just a little distracted. Will this take long?"
"Hey are you all right? Anything bothering you?"
"You'd laugh if I told you."
"Try me."
"A woman . . . " Ethan said meekly.
"What'd that bitch do to you now?"
"No, not Sophia . . . just some random woman smiling at me on the beach. Yeah, I'll meet you there in twenty minutes."
"You're starting to sound like your old self again, Buddy."
"Buddy's my cat . . . see ya in a few."
Ethan hung up the phone, and lingered at the rail. The woman was waist-deep in the water with the surf frothing up around her. She had her back toward him but would occasionally look his way. He couldn't tell if she was looking at him or the two teenaged girls.
It's just my imagination, he thought. He grabbed his keys and went out the front door.
Ethan threw his keys
on the table where Bill had already ordered iced teas.
"So what's so secretive that you don't trust AT&T?” Ethan asked.
"A lot . . . hey I'm going to order a sandwich," Bill said as he threw the menu down on the table. "Do you want anything?"
"Naw I'm all set Poncho.” Ethan watched Bill empty four sugar packs into his tea. Ethan sipped his plain.
"Between friends differences in taste or opinion are irritating in direct proportion to their triviality—W. H. Auden."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I saw the way you were eyeballing my ice tea."
"Forget the ice tea, get back to this phone thing."
"Well," Bill said as he opened a pack of crackers. Between crunches and with a mouthful he continued, "I've got a pretty good idea that my phones are being tapped. Don't ask me why I think this. I had the technicians with the department check it out with a time domain reflectomiter and bingo! There was an irregularity. Some in-line capacitor that they couldn't explain. They checked them again this morning, but hey, why take chances?"
Bill fingered his mustache as he ordered a Greenie‑burger, fries, slaw, and a bowl of she‑crab soup.
"So come on, what's so damn important that it couldn't wait ‘til tonight to tell me? And stop picking at your mustache . . . that waitress thinks you have fleas."
Bill's hands went from his upper lip to Ethan's keys that he turned over and over.
"Remember I told you my uncle was in North Carolina?"
"Camp Lejeune, a marine base. So what?"
"The so‑what is, that members of every damn special forces group are down there too or at least they were two days ago."
"You say that like you don't think they are now."
"I was on line with 'Hunker'. You remember Hunker don't you?"
"Yeah, he was that black Captain that we used to tease the hell out of down in Afganistan wasn't he? Because of the way he used to hunker-down whenever he had to parachute? I remember the way we had to boot his ass out of those planes more than once."
“Ole Hunker is a Lieutenant‑Colonel now, and privy to information from Central Command. He's the strategic planner for the Army Rangers. Because he assumed that my uncle would have let me in on it, he let it slip with his dissatisfaction over having to share a mission with the squids and the jarheads. Well, I went right along with him saying that it was a shame since they're such glory hounds. Then mentioned when he was in town we should get together."
Bill hushed as the middle‑aged, weather‑worn waitress with the conspicuously missing front tooth, brought his soup and slaw. She regarded Bill with a wary eye to make sure nothing jumped off him. Setting the utensils near his plate, she made a hasty retreat for the kitchen. Bill resumed talking and commenced eating at the same time. Food began to fly everywhere.
"Of course I had no idea what Hunker was talking about. I sure enough did, though, after talking with Uncle Tex!"
Ethan looked up from his glass and watched Bill inhale food. A piece of coleslaw hung precariously from Bill’s mustache. Watching the piece of cabbage flutter up and down as Bill chewed and talked made Ethan nervous.
"Anyway, after getting the royal shuffle I call my Uncle. I was about to to tell him what the MP had to say and he begins to tell me about it. He told me that they're ready to declare open season on the Apocs."
Ethan's eyes widened with surprise.
"And he says it's going to be right here in Virginia Beach‑‑well, I mean Norfolk. It's just going to be one of about a dozen cities that they hit. From what I understand it's going to be fast, furious, and big. Take care of the problem once and for all."
"So what makes you think that they're no longer there?"
"We were supposed to talk last night and when I didn't hear from him I called. Not only did they say he wasn't there, but said that he never was."
"Think they're going to drop a nuke on Oceanview Avenue?" Ethan tried to make light even though he realized the seriousness.
"No, but what I do think is that they’re here right now. Lots of activity last night over at Oceana. Anyway, when they do hit it'll be a surgical strike at the Naval Operations Base‑‑I think."
Bill cut off just as the waitress reappeared at the table with his burger and fries. She took his slaw dish even as he was trying to sop up the leftover juice with a piece of bread. He quickly switched his attention to the half‑pound burger smothered in fried onions, bacon and cheese. Ethan winced as he watched Bill tear into Mr. Greenies' masterpiece.
With a fry in his fingers to punctuate his point and chewing on the hamburger he continued:
"This guy we brought in the other night, the MP, they think he was cured when he fell into the Bay. I'm getting away from the point." Bill shoved the sandwich into his mouth and almost choked. "This Abaddon dude was pumping information out of this guy about which ships were going to be at port, what subs were going to be there. How many men, etcetera, etcetera. They also said something to the MP about a TV show. I have no idea what that means and I guess neither did he. Last time I talked to Uncle Tex he was pretty convinced they're going to attack the base in the next few days."
"But how can the Apocs even have a hope in hell going up against the US Navy?"
"You haven't been there lately. The place is like a ghost town. There's so little non‑essential traffic that at night the MP's have orders to shoot first and ask questions later."
"What are the Apocs after?"
"Uncle Tex seems to think that they're after the sub that guy Abaddon used to be second in command on. His name is actually Brian Speakes. He was the Lieutenant Commander on the Michigan."
"The Michigan?"
"Yeah, an Ohio Class Boomer with twenty‑four submarine launched intercontinental ballistic missiles all loaded and ready to roar."
"I thought when they came into port they removed the nukes and sent them up to the Yorktown Naval Weapons Station?"
"They do on the ships, but not on the subs—not the big ones at least. They're always on ready alert in case of a national emergency. Unless, of course, they're in for repairs, and the Michigan's not. It's in port because the Navy doesn't have a ready crew to operate it. That's why they don't just set her to sea. They're flying in a skeleton crew from the ‘Ohio’, but the ‘Ohio’ is currently in the Mediterranean Sea. They won't get here till Monday.”
"What do they plan to do with the sub even if they are able to take it?"
"According to my Uncle . . . " Bill said then started to choke on his hamburger but recovered. “He says they don't know how this Speakes guy slipped through their fingers in the first place. He says that there are some pretty wicked things in his psychological profile and background check. This dude, who had one of the two keys on board to start World War 3, is suffering from some sort of Napoleon Complex. I got the impression he's a pretty dangerous kind of guy. You know what Voltaire said, 'Chance is a word that does not make sense. Nothing happens without a cause.'"
"So I take it you think Abaddon—or Speakes—or whatever the hell his name is, has some sort of ulterior motive?" Ethan said.
"From what I can see he won't stop until he has it all—or is dead."
"Yet he's somewhat of an indestructible bloke too, or at least it would seem. Jesus Christ Bill, that damn guy, I hit with enough wallop to kill an elephant."
"Gave his face a lickin, but the son of a bitch kept on tickin. I don't claim to understand any of this psychological mumbo‑jumbo, but Uncle Tex is fairly sure they’re going for the sub and I believe him. He asked if we could help out?”
Ethan stared blankly as Bill took a half-filled ketchup bottle emptied it on his remaining Greenie Burger and fries. There were liberal red sploches everywhere; on the food, on the plate, silverware, his napkin and face. It was business as usual for Bill. He used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. Ethan realized that his best friend very well could be a slob.
Ethan looked up and into Bill's eyes and the impact of what he
had said finally hit him. "What did you say . . . he wants us to help? Us? As in you?”
"No Ethan, us. He asked about you specifically."
"What does he need us for . . . traffic control?"
"It's not any big secret that the apocs are using the storm drains. He wants us to create a little diversion and maybe kill a few apocs at the same time."
"There's something about your involvement with this whole thing that's not sitting right with me. Whatever it is, all I know is I'm not messing around with explosives. If that's what he—or should I say, you, have in mind." Ethan was unaware that he was shaking his head from side to side.
Bill continued unperturbed, "He wants us to lay down a few incendiaries at the main junction points. With motion sensitive detonators, of course. He wants them in every drain in or out of NOB. Either that or—"
"Or what?"
"Get to Abaddon before he gets to the base."
Ethan glanced around the restaurant. It had always been a place where he felt comfortable. Suddenly he felt the walls closing in on him. Ethan hated incendiary bombs. He was very proficient in their use; nonetheless, he hated them. After seeing an enlisted man go up in flames during a training exercise, he had tried to stay away. They were a fiery, painful, inhumane way to die, and they didn't care who their victims were. If he was going to kill he preferred to do it with a gun or with his bare hands. With his hands he knew who his victim was, and it could be quick and painless.
"So you might as well tell me the rest of it,” Ethan said afraid to hear the rest.
"He wants us to spend the weekend aboard the submarine‑‑"
"Bill god‑dammit! This is insane! We're not in the army anymore. We're not getting paid to put our dicks on the chopping block. At least I'm not."
"Hey ole buddy, I thought you liked this stuff as much as I did?"
"I don't want to die that bad. Why us?"
"You know as well as I do this thing that's between us. Shit, why did they use us to poison the Mulah when the CIA couldn't do it? It's this ESP thing between us. I don't claim to understand it, but we both know it's there. With the mind powers these things have‑‑I have to believe that's why were not dead already. You heard the buzzing in your ears whenever we're near em, the same that I did. We have our own built-in burglar alarm."