Kingdom of Gods

by F Stone

  The tone of Badger’s voice was uninviting. “Yes?”

  “Gypsy’s down.” Waterhouse used Joy’s code name.

  “So I hear.” There was no expression of concern.

  After a moment of silence, Waterhouse asked in code, “Any info on the market?”

  Badger hesitated before giving a short, coded response. “Rat’s in the bunker. Bonds are flawed. Watch for the gold shield and dive.”

  Waterhouse understood. “What’s the risk?”

  “Thy Kingdom.” The connection was suddenly gone.

  Waterhouse understood the coded message. People were painfully aware of the government’s practice of listening in on private conversations. Nothing was considered sacred. Many adjusted by talking in code. Joy had created a game with the boys using the code words she’d learned. It helped her remember the secret codes so she’d never make a mistake.

  The brief conversation with Badger indicated trouble in the underground. Their ranks had been infiltrated by someone with power. Badger’s advice to Waterhouse was to disappear. Badger had even dared to mention Thy Kingdom, the confidential file Joy had discovered, and implied significant danger in connection with it.

  Sam was overwhelmed. Apparently his wife had provided Badger with the admiral’s secret file. Driving home, Waterhouse considered his options. Twice he’d been advised to run. What were the implications of that damn file Joy gave to Badger? Why had it led to her murder?

  For a decade Badger and his sort had fought the government’s closed door policies. They were particularly lethal when it came to the military leaders’ often violent protection of social order and national security. Now Sam found he was almost dead center between the two adversaries. He had the feeling that if he made any sudden moves, regardless of the direction, a bullet would be fired into his brain.

  He envisioned grabbing his sons and disappearing. It was an unrealistic option. Detailed identification was required for everything, even the purchase of an apple. People like this Madame would find him. It would be a lifetime on the run. He wouldn’t put his sons through that. And to desert Simon and Nathan was inconceivable.

  For the time being, Waterhouse felt he was safe so long as he kept a low profile. He needed to find Joy’s killer, but that would take time. He could be patient. His fellow officers had commended him on his skills as a brilliant strategist. He knew how to set up alliances, keep tuned into the flow of information whispered in dark places, and set the trap for the killer. No, he wouldn’t run.

  Five days after Joy’s death, Waterhouse was in the process of acquiring temporary lodging for Nathan and Simon when he received a call from the admiral’s office. He was required to meet with Admiral Garland at three that afternoon. When he arrived, the admiral’s demeanor was his usual — direct and abrupt. He motioned for Waterhouse to sit down. A leather bound portfolio containing papers was placed in front of him.

  “Waterhouse, we have business concerning your assignment. Your service contract ends in four years, July of 2044. Correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The admiral stiffened in his chair. “I, er, the navy has undertaken a few unusual ventures. As you must already know, with the severe cutbacks in air transport, most supplies must be transported using merchant ships. Fortunately, at least for us, most of the cruise companies have gone bankrupt. We’ve taken over these ships, far more economical than building new ones.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s been twenty years since the disaster, and our scientists haven’t resolved our energy crisis enough to make transport by air economical. How do the cruise ships hold up to the pirate problem?”

  “These ships are now converted to carry cargo and are armed. I’ve refitted a small cruise ship, the USS Nonnah. It’ll carry sensitive explosive devices and weapons. It’s armed, has two helicopter landing pads, and one chopper. Our sub, the Chameleon, will shadow her as a back-up. Can’t risk those pirates getting their hands on the cargo.”

  “Quite resourceful, sir. She’ll still need a sharp crew to fight off the pirates.”

  “The crew is top drawer. Captain Norton has been putting the ship through testing to make sure she’s seaworthy after the modifications. I’m satisfied with his reports. You, Waterhouse, are now the Nonnah’s captain.”

  It was unheard of for an admiral to discuss a lieutenant commander’s reassignment or promotion directly with that officer. Waterhouse began to wonder if there was a lot more to this than what the admiral was revealing. He resisted the urge to challenge the admiral, although he was certain there were officers with more experience and seniority who should be considered for this assignment.

  “You’ll report to the Nonnah in one hour.”

  Waterhouse felt a growing threat in his gut and struggled to give a rational response. “Admiral, I have yet to find an acceptable home for my boys. My leave has been extended for another two weeks. I can’t leave today, sir.”

  The admiral got up and gazed out his office window. “Let me be succinct, Waterhouse. You have a choice. Follow my orders, or — ” He turned to face him. “Or you can spend the rest of your days in prison.” Contempt was smeared across the admiral’s face.

  Waterhouse bolted up out of his chair. His body trembled as he struggled to inhale. “Prison! On what charge?”

  The admiral marched over. Although slightly shorter than the junior officer’s six-foot height, the admiral’s shoulders were square with Waterhouse’s, and his confidence made up for any difference between their frames.

  “I know about your wife’s clandestine activity. You’re as guilty as she.”

  “Sir, I knew she opened some document in your files, accidentally. Beyond that, I … ”

  The admiral raised his fist to Waterhouse’s face. “I’m not interested in your lies. You could have stopped her. You certainly can’t be trusted. What I propose should work out nicely for the both of us. Sit down!”

  Waterhouse hesitated. His instincts told him to grab the boys and run. He weighed the possibility of being shot. He sat down.

  “Your kids will stay in my home.” A victorious grin spread across the admiral’s face. “You’ll continue doing what you do best — captain a ship. You’ll have some unique responsibilities. My helicopter will transfer you to the ship within the hour. The Nonnah is waiting for you just a few miles out from this base.”

  Waterhouse gritted his teeth. He’d allowed Joy to follow her own set of rules, a choice he now vehemently regretted. Rage began to rise above his normally orderly and controlled demeanor. He struggled to shift back into his military posture.

  “What are the unique responsibilities?” He deliberately omitted the standard “sir.” It was his first experience in removing himself from the military rule book, and he regretted it immediately. He added, “Sir.”

  “At South American ports, secured cases will be waiting for loading onto the Nonnah. These are not to be tampered with. You are to ensure their safe delivery to me each time you return to this port. Understood?”

  “What is in the cases? Is there any risk to the crew or the ship?”

  “That’s classified information, and as long as the packages aren’t opened, there should be no risk to the crew, ship … or you and your sons.”

  Waterhouse felt the blood drain from his head. He clenched onto his military officer’s training. “What else, sir?”

  “I don’t have time to go into the details. You’ll be provided with the codes to open a confidential file on your computer aboard the Nonnah. For now, just sign these papers agreeing to the promotion and assignment.”

  “My boys, I’d better talk to them, sir.”

  “Fine. Celine will arrange a phone call to the school.”

  While the call to his sons’ school was being placed, he considered the alternative of prison. He had the feeling that what lay ahead for him as captain of the Nonnah would only be another kind of prison. But he doubted his case would be heard in any authentic judicial arena. The admiral wouldn’t ris
k exposing the fact that confidential documents had been leaked to the underground. He wondered if the admiral was truly desperate enough to ensure the record would describe how Waterhouse had become so distraught over his wife’s death that he committed suicide. For the sake of his sons, Waterhouse signed official documents agreeing to his new assignment.

  He reported the promotion to his boys. Not for a second did he reveal his grave concern for their future as a family. Everything that mattered to him was now gone or held at arm’s length from him. All that remained was his trust in his own military code of conduct, a sense of order and discipline.

  When Waterhouse arrived on the Nonnah an hour later, Captain Norton immediately turned command over to him. He was given a quick tour. The ship still appeared more like a small luxury cruise ship than a navy vessel, except for the one helicopter and four guns mounted port and starboard. Thirty-five staterooms were being used as naval personnel quarters and two as prison cells. The rest had been converted into cargo holding rooms. The infirmary had only the basics.

  The ship’s senior officers were introduced. Waterhouse’s first officer, Commander Everett Moon, was meticulous and stiff in his manner. Dr. Duncan was just the opposite, disheveled and nervous. The doctor’s medical assistant, Lieutenant Lorna Paddles, had the nerve to wink as she saluted. On the other hand, the navigator, Lieutenant Commander Carla Smart, was obviously confident, striking just the right combination of being friendly and respectful. Then there was Lieutenant Robert John, in charge of the ship’s engines and power systems. He was the only officer taller than Waterhouse.

  Finally in his office alone, Captain Waterhouse retrieved the code to the confidential file in his computer. The documents were concerning the admiral’s special directive — the directive on handling executions. Waterhouse sank into his chair. The walls of his prison began to close in.

  During the year that followed, Waterhouse was the epitome of a naval officer, never straying from his duties, and never revealing to his fellow officers the anguish that festered within. He delivered the supplies to the American naval ports, picked up the mysterious packages at the South American docks, and executed Admiral Garland’s terrorist prisoners.

  The officers appreciated Captain Waterhouse’s style of leadership. It was rigid but lacked harshness. Orders were clearly articulated and reprimands delivered appropriately to those in non-compliance. No one had ever observed Waterhouse out of uniform, heard him speak of family, or known him to indulge in activity unbecoming of an officer.

  He remained in contact with the New Seattle Police Detective, but there had been no further developments in finding Joy’s killer. He had his spies and informants, but there remained no opportunities to escape from Admiral Garland’s grip.

  With each execution on his ship, his mood plummeted further into an abyss of dark thoughts. Visions of destroying the admiral began to bring him pleasure. Day by day, the essence of the good man that was once Samaru Waterhouse was being replaced with something dark. In defiance of the admiral’s tight rein, he allowed himself one avenue of rebellion: he let his hair grow long.

  4. Celeste and Sidney

  June 22, 2041: Resting on a mountain ridge, the red-tailed hawk stretched her magnificent wings to greet the rising sun. The autumn breeze lifted her into the air. Effortlessly, she glided between the canyon walls. Her domain stretched from the Pacific Ocean’s seashore to deep into the valley where the Guardians lived.

  There was only one other, a twenty-three-year-old Guardian, who was allowed to share the hawk’s sanctuary above Blueberry Ridge — Sidney Davenport. Thirteen years ago, Sidney had boldly introduced herself.

  “My name is Sidney, though sometimes I’m called Wild Child.” She giggled. “I think your name should be Celeste. You’re always up there, in space.” She pointed to the sky. The hawk had accepted the name and was grateful at being acknowledged for her superior flying skills.

  Celeste recalled her exasperation with young Sidney’s sense of humor. On one occasion, the child had offered a gift of food, laid plainly in view on the rocky cliff. As Celeste was about to accept the generous offering, it disappeared and instantly reappeared several feet away. The infernal giggling that followed had annoyed Celeste more than the lapse in the child’s respect. When Celeste could no longer tolerate the indignity, she’d telepathically scolded Sidney for using her telekinesis inappropriately, certainly not for the higher good.

  Sidney had blossomed into a tall, slim woman with the same long, auburn, curly hair and pale green eyes. Her smile, warm and infectious, was one reason she was able to get away with stretching the Guardian community rules to the limit. Celeste offered guidance, though her advice was often tweaked when Sidney felt the rules were too confining. Continuously arriving late for school, using her telekinesis during meals, and teasing the Elders telepathically had prompted the Guardians to continue calling her Wild Child. So far, the worst punishments that had ever come to her were extra chores and disapproving looks from her cherished mentor, Greystone.

  A slight shift in the wind brought Celeste back from her reverie. The sun’s rays were beginning to cascade over Blueberry Ridge down into the folds and crevasses, drifting down to the meadows of the valley floor. The excitement of a new day was beginning to stir.

  The mist in the valley receded into the distance, surrendering to the keeper of the day. The evergreens and moss released their fragrance into the warmth of the heavens. Morning songs of the forest had replaced the quiet stillness of the night, and currents of air rose, twisted, and tumbled near the canyon walls.

  Ah, morning exercise, thought Celeste. Adjusting her wings, the bird called out her warning cry and began her descent.

  Rapidly building speed, she descended to the valley. The ochre and rust boulders blended with the ridges of the canyon. Treetops and shadows became a blur of green and blue. The roar of the wind in her ears replaced the songs of the Earth birds. Just for fun, she careened through a grove of poplar trees and felt the flutter of wings madly dashing out of her path. At top speed, Celeste skimmed just above the meadow grasses toward the cliff wall. It took immense concentration to control each feather, the curve of her wings and tail, reaching for the right instant to catch the current of air that would sweep her up within inches of the face of the cliff.

  Trusting eons of instinct and her higher wisdom, Celeste began her vertical climb. Her shadow followed her, silently gliding along the surface of the granite, sandstone, trees — and Sidney. And by the look of her aura, Sidney was in more trouble than usual.

  Sidney waved to Celeste as the hawk continued flying out toward the ocean, drawing the Guardian’s attention out beyond the valley toward the reef. The young woman missed watching the sailboat that used to approach the sheltered shore so often. It had been a year since she’d last seen the ship with its tangerine sails tossed about in the angry waves. She could barely see its captain struggle to keep from being thrown against the jagged rocks. It was unusual to see anything but whales near the reef. The Elders allowed only those humans who sought the higher good in their deeds and thoughts to see the island.

  The memory reminded her that she was about to be thrown against jagged rocks of her own doing. She closed her eyes and winced at the thought that if she was killed, it would be a consequence of her choice last year to help the underground organization plant spy devices. Following that adventure, the Elders had expressed their disappointment in the Davenport brother-sister duo.

  Birthstone’s wise words echoed in her mind: Our tomorrows are shaped by the choices we make today. Whatever energy you create will return to you. The Dark place you create for another, becomes your Dark place. It is the law of the universe. It is beyond man’s law, and it is inescapable. Birthstone had advised the siblings there were ways to make amends with the universal law. The way would be revealed if one became committed to the higher good.

  Sidney and Danik had been expelled from the Guardian community for up to one year, though not as pu
nishment. They had to make a choice — either prove they could live by the sacred truths and return to the Guardian community, or remain in the outside world with the unenlightened sleeping Guardians. Their work as Lanterns during the year would help them make that choice. As Lanterns, they scheduled singing appearances throughout North America. Their songs were powerful, not to control, but to enlighten those who sought truth. For anyone who was waking from their sleep, it was vital that a Guardian be there to guide their faltering steps. The warmth and reassuring light given by a Guardian would ward off the fears of the unknown, of the forgotten. It had been difficult for Sidney and Danik to live without the guidance of their mentors, though. In less than a year, they had been allowed to return to the safety of Hawk’s Island and their family’s old log home.

  She’d even begun to trust that last year’s impulsive action wouldn’t return to haunt her. But as of yesterday, her life had changed. She could no longer be the naïve young Guardian. In the next few weeks she’d have to grow up and face a terror from which she’d always been shielded.

  She and Danik had continued performances on the mainland even after returning to their island home. The previous day, while performing for her audience, the future had come in the form of Badger and his men. She’d stood, eyes closed, before her hushed audience at the Texas Horizon Theatre. Alone on the candle lit stage, she’d filled the auditorium with her loving energy. The two hundred and fifty people eagerly awaited her closing number. The musicians began. The slow rhythmic drumming of soldiers marching far away cast the spell. Sidney stepped forward and raised her arms as if reaching toward the people. A sweet sound drifted toward the audience. Musical notes surrounded the people like a soothing embrace. At first it was only a hum, then grew to a chant. Her lyrics were passionately sung and spoke of an enduring spirit.