by Chris Angus
But once Klein was in office, Littlefield had fully intended to get his money’s worth, coercing the president to support the insertion of Creation Science into school curriculums across the country. It would be the first step toward molding the United States into the sort of religion-centered country it ought to be. The bloody Arabs had it right! Religion should guide the country—just not their religion. But despite all his efforts, he’d had to watch Klein grow closer to that incredible toady and science fanatic, Gordon Page. Now the two of them were leading the country in precisely the wrong direction.
He didn’t accept this DNA nonsense for a moment, or the idea that there might be other life forms in the universe. Man was the epitome, the ideal, God’s selected form. Through his vast business network, he intended to track and squash this charade the very moment he suspected anything might come of it. That it was all a fabrication, he had no doubt. He wouldn’t put it past Page to have invented the entire thing all by himself simply to embarrass Littlefield and drive a stake through his own dreams. All of Creation Science would be undermined by the mere suggestion that there could be intelligence elsewhere in the universe. That such an intelligence might somehow have infected, or even created, life on Earth was utter heresy.
He didn’t turn around as he heard his assistant enter.
“Sir, Bishop Stefanatos has arrived and the helicopter is ready.”
He nodded and turned to greet the distinguished, silver-haired religious leader. Stefanatos was one of a select group recruited by Littlefield to press his goals concerning education policy. By cloaking many of his true ambitions and through the judicious use of immense contributions, he’d begun to swing some church leaders to his way of thinking. It actually amused him to see how malleable the religious principles of these men of God were to the lure of the almighty dollar.
“Ah, Bishop, good of you to be so prompt.” Littlefield crossed the room and shook the man’s hand firmly.
“A pleasure to receive your invitation, Mr. Littlefield. I enjoy our discussion groups on your beautiful yacht, as do the others, I know. It’s enriching to think that our meetings will soon translate into the saving of so many souls.”
“One of the best things to come out of the growing openness in China, Bishop, has been our ability to begin to insert religious principles into the vast, godless wastes of Asia.” The fact that there were some two billion quite content Hindus, Buddhists, Taoists, and others inhabiting the “godless wastes” didn’t register with Littlefield. All such pagan religions would give way before the true word of God in exactly the same manner as the New World’s Incas, Aztecs, American Indians, and even native Eskimos, had eventually embraced Christianity. He saw himself as God’s instrument, wielding the sword of redemption. “I like to think my business interests have played a substantial part in paving the way . . . opening the pearly gates, if you will.”
“An important undertaking, to be sure. Billions of souls to be saved. But we shouldn’t underestimate the difficulties facing us. Christianity has failed repeatedly to establish itself in China since it was first introduced in the fifth century.”
“Ah, but now things have changed,” said Littlefield. “Hard to believe we owe it all to the godless Communists. Their oppression since the takeover in 1949 has actually stimulated conversions. Sixty million Christians in China, thank the Lord! And it’s only the beginning.”
Stefanatos nodded agreement. “Still, there remains an incredible array of heathen creeds across China, India, Pakistan, and all the rest. It will be the work of many lifetimes.”
“All the more reason to begin,” said Littlefield.
From the roof of the Trump Plaza, the helicopter flew them across Manhattan and up Long Island Sound. It was a beautiful, crisp autumn day with a cobalt blue sky.
“It was on a day like this that a handful of Saudi Arabians flew their hijacked planes into the World Trade Center towers,” Littlefield said. “I mark that day as an epiphany for me, Bishop. I realized then that I’d been chosen to head this vast business network for a reason—to spread the truth to the rest of the world. We cannot allow these pretenders free rein for their godless visions. Imagine! Promising eternal life and seventy virgins to an ignorant youth willing to blow himself up. It is beyond barbaric.”
The helicopter circled over the two-hundred foot-yacht that floated in the sparkling, calm sea below. Uniformed seamen could be seen rushing to prepare for their arrival on the craft’s landing platform.
Already waiting for them in the boat’s luxurious lounge were several lesser officials of the Protestant church and three members of Littlefield’s staff. Chief among the latter was Ren Zhu, head of Littlefield Oil Inc. in China. Zhu had been a godsend to head up operations that involved constructing one of the world’s longest oil pipelines. A native with connections at the highest levels in government, Zhu had paved the way, and lined more than a few palms. The new pipeline would connect the burgeoning western province of Xinjiang, beneath which huge reserves of oil had been found, with Western Europe. Littlefield expected to make billions on the project, but his real excitement lay in the foothold the enterprise would give to his plans to open a series of missions across the western regions.
Western China was being populated quickly by the Chinese leaders. Millions of Chinese had been forced to immigrate to the region. It was not really a hardship, since the government was pouring resources into the area and living standards had risen for the newcomers, largely at the expense of the native Uyghurs, Tibetans, and others.
“Gentlemen,” Littlefield greeted them. “Make yourselves comfortable. Drinks will be served and our chef will shortly provide us with his incomparable delights.” After everyone was comfortably ensconced in deep leather armchairs, he said, “Mr. Ren, would you please bring us up to date on operations at Littlefield Oil?”
Zhu was tall for a Chinese. He had a portly, jovial appearance, a sort of hail-fellow-well-met, Rotarian look, Far Eastern Division. His receding hairline and round face made him look like a young Mao Tse Tung. Bishop Stefanatos always half-expected the man to wave a little red book when he spoke. But in fact, Zhu was thoroughly westernized, spoke excellent English, and was a member of the Episcopal Church.
“Pipeline operations are ahead of schedule, sir. We’ve secured support from the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, and the People’s Bank of China. Everyone wants a piece of the action. The Chinese see this part of the world as one of increasing strategic importance involving themselves, Russia, India, Pakistan, Iran, and Turkey. If they’re correct, central Asia could one day supplant the United States and Western Europe at the center of the world stage.”
This was precisely the vision Littlefield had for the region, and why he’d selected it for his own push. If he could establish his business empire here, it would give his religious goals a foothold in what was destined to become a new global economic center.
“We expect to move into Russia shortly,” Zhu continued. “It took a great deal of negotiation to get the Russians to agree to our planned route. However, President Godunov’s major concern these days is increasing revenue for his country’s struggling economy. He’s well aware what a constant flow of oil through Russia to Europe will mean in terms of passage fees.”
“He’s not concerned that our oil will directly compete with Russia’s own huge reserves?” asked one of the church members.
“There’s barely enough oil to go around in the world now, and prices have reached an all-time high, as you know,” replied Zhu. “The Russians will have no problem selling their own crude, while at the same time making huge amounts from us simply for the right of passage. It’s win-win for them.”
“Yes, yes, what about our missions?” asked Littlefield impatiently.
“The first two have been established, one in Bole and the other in Alashankou. Plans are underway for more, but I believe it’s important not to move too quickly in the early stages. We don’t want to frighten the banks off. If t
hey knew the extent of our ambitions, their support could well evaporate, millions to be made or not. As we agreed earlier, sir, it will be best to permit a natural progression, allow our converts themselves to call for further expansion.”
Littlefield grunted. It had been a sore point with him. But he knew Zhu was right. “Just so long as our natural progression moves at an unnatural pace. We may find a helping hand in that regard once General Zhou takes control.”
“I haven’t heard this name before. Who is General Zhou?” asked Bishop Stephanatos.
“Well you may ask, Bishop. He’s our ace in the hole. I converted the man to Christianity myself years ago. Frankly, I never suspected at the time that he might prove so useful. But according to my information he’s poised to oust the premier and take control of Beijing. If he’s successful, we’ll have an ally at the highest level.”
“That’s wonderful news!” said the bishop.
“There’s something else I think you should all be aware of,” said Zhu. “There’s a growing epidemic in China. It began in Beijing and a few other eastern cities, but has been moving west.”
“Epidemic of what?” asked the bishop.
Zhu shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure. Avian flu was talked about early on, but recently officials have clamped the lid down tightly on information. They seem to be scared. I’ve never seen quite this reaction before over a flu outbreak. I think it could be something more serious.”
“The question is, how will it affect our work?” Littlefield asked in an annoyed voice.
“Thus far, it has not. However, if it continues it could force us to shut down some operations should the government issue quarantines or decide to restrict travel around the country. I mention it merely so you will be prepared, as it is the one thing we cannot control at this point.”
Littlefield sighed. There was always something. He’d been concerned about the possible effect the outbreak might have on his plans. It was why he’d probed the president on the issue. “Very well, I want to be kept informed minute to minute on the progression of the outbreak. Nothing is going to delay the creation of our missions if I can help it. I will pray on it.”
Logan spent most of the evening before Diana’s departure organizing and planning their mission. He and Marcia agreed they should leave the moment Huang’s helicopter lifted off in order to utilize every minute he stayed away.
Their transport consisted of an aging, over-sized van that had been loaned to the dig by the Ministry of Culture. It blended in perfectly with the local mix of traffic on the back roads of Xinjiang Province. There was seating for all of them and plenty of room for their gear in the back. The only down side was the vehicle’s shock absorbers, which were virtually nonexistent. On the rough dirt roads they’d be on, it was going to be a bone-jarring drive.
Logan stopped by Diana’s tent early the next morning. He found her packing a small bag for her week’s vacation in Urumqi. He stood awkwardly in the entrance.
“It’s probably a little late,” he said. “But do you know any self-defense?”
She looked at him skeptically. “Only my mother’s good advice—kick ’em where the sun don’t shine. It actually worked a time or two. There was another saying that was in vogue at my high school in New Jersey. If rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it.”
“Jesus! I hope you never had to test that one out.”
“I didn’t, but others did. I come from a pretty tough neighborhood. The way a lot of girls protected themselves was by latching onto a tough boyfriend who would look out for them. Of course, they had to come across for the boyfriend, so I’m not sure what it was exactly they were protecting. It all got a bit blurry.” She looked at him curiously. “You didn’t come here at the eleventh hour to give me karate lessons, did you?”
“No.” He sat on her cot. He’d grown more and more miserable about the situation. Now that the moment was almost upon them, his heart felt like lead. “Listen, I talked to Marcia earlier. I asked her what she thought about me telling Huang that you were my girlfriend or fiancée or something and that I’d be holding him accountable for your safety.”
“Aw, Logan, that’s so sweet.” Her eyes shone. “I wish I’d had you around in Jersey. But let me guess—I can tell you what Marcia said. It would negate the entire enterprise. If you scare Huang off, then what would prevent him from going back to work? The whole point is to make me very vulnerable and keep him interested. I’m going to win an Academy Award—Best Supporting Actress in the role of coquette.”
She could see the distress in his face and grew more sober. “Don’t give up on me, Logan. I’ve handled men before.”
“What worries me is you don’t really know what you’re getting into. Jersey aside, you’re going to be in an entirely foreign environment with someone who has no scruples at all about what he can do.”
She went over and sat beside him on the bed. She picked up his hand in her own and looked at it. It was strong, with long, tapered fingers. “It’s going to work out, okay? What I need from you instead of a lecture or a self-defense lesson is two things. First, a promise you’ll come get me in Urumqi just as soon as you’re able. Otherwise, I won’t know when it’s safe to return. I don’t want to have to spend a minute longer than necessary.”
He nodded. “And the second thing?”
“A kiss that will last me a week.” She looked up at him with intense, sober eyes. “I mean it, buster. I want the full treatment.”
He wasn’t in the proper frame of mind, but he gave it the old school try. He felt Diana mold into his side and the kiss transported both of them for long seconds. When they broke, she put a hand up and stroked his cheek. “I think you almost meant that, Logan.”
“The name’s Eric. Listen, I’m not going to say anything to Huang. I think Marcia’s probably right about that. But if it comes to a showdown, you do it, okay? Tell him I’m your boyfriend, I’m very protective, and I’ll beat him to a bloody pulp if he touches you.”
“Gee, Eric, I don’t know. Are you my boyfriend?”
“Let’s just say I’m thinking about applying for the position.”
“Hmm . . . how romantic.” She kissed him again, quicker this time. “All right, if he gets tired of the run-around by the end of the week, I’ll tell him.”
Half an hour later, Huang arrived, right on time, eager as a puppy. He clearly didn’t want to waste any time. After a few perfunctory greetings and a half-hearted glance at progress on the dig, he took Diana’s arm in proprietary fashion and helped her aboard the aircraft. Harry followed, loaded down with his camera equipment. He would meet a connecting flight to his next assignment. As they rose into the air, Diana waved and then sat staring down at everyone until the chopper disappeared in the rising dust from the propeller blades.
Logan turned away. He felt physically ill and more like a cad than he ever had in his life. Duncan made a flippant remark about Huang and Diana’s honeymoon and Logan turned on him with a snarl that made the younger man cringe.
Marcia intervened quickly by announcing, “All right, it’s time to go. Logan has the van already fueled and loaded with our gear. I told Corkie we’re going to investigate some other promising sites and that he’s to keep the crew working actively here. He doesn’t expect us back for four or five days at the earliest. I was pretty sketchy with the details, so if Huang should show up and ask, the little bastard won’t have any idea where to look for us.” She waved at their vehicle. “All aboard. The sooner we get going the sooner Diana can come home.”
Cooper opened one of the doors and Leeanne climbed in. She sat staring at the distant speck of Huang’s helicopter and just shook her head silently. There was no way she would have willingly put herself into such a position.
Duncan moved in beside her, looking more forlorn than ever since his run-in with Logan. Eric’s comments seemed irrelevant now that Diana was all but lost in the clutches of Huang. And it had become abundantly clear as well that Leeanne was taken with Alan
. He was striking out in every direction. To top it all, he was beginning to have serious doubts about Logan’s entire scheme. Their mission could prove to be very dangerous indeed if anyone found out what they were up to. He didn’t relish spending the rest of his life in a Chinese prison. Why the hell hadn’t he just stayed in Scotland?
For three hours, the dirt road paralleled the border region between the Taklamakan and the Tian Shan Mountain range. Their top speed was only thirty miles an hour. Any faster and they threatened to bottom out in a pothole, risking serious damage to their aging transport. But then they turned inland, heading up into the foothills, where the roads were marginally better. The desert landscape disappeared and the mountains began to take on a more lush appearance. Thick stands of fir guarded the lesser peaks, interspersed with high, open meadows. Beyond, the snow-capped spires of the Tian Shan glistened.
Logan drove and Marcia kept him company in front, poring over a map. At every crossroads, they had to decide which way to go. Logan was familiar with the region, but still they needed to avoid the major roads as much as possible. The fewer people, officials, or local police who might remember their passing in the event they were pursued, the better.
Logan sneaked peeks at the map as he drove. “Keep this way,” he said, pointing a finger quickly. “We’ll bypass Urumqi thirty miles to the south and east. I think this line here is the road we want.”
“That line? Christ, Logan, I thought that was a hair stuck on the map. That’s gotta be a goat track.”