by James Somers
“Jerusalem, in the old city. What’s wrong, sir?” Wraith wanted to get to the point.
“You should know, John. Have you found Nightstalker? Have you eliminated him? What about Solomon Gauge, is he dead? You ask me what’s wrong when these men who stand to threaten my position are running free?”
Wraith measured his words. He had grown weary, after nearly a year of hunting the two men. Wraith had lost, in that long year, some of the dread and fear of his father. Recent months had begun to show another side of the man, a side that feared, and Wraith had always fed on fear.
“Sir, I know you say these men are threats to you, but in all honesty, I really don’t see what harm they could be to you, now.”
“What?” It was unclear if he questioned the statement, or the fact that his son, normally subservient in his presence, had disagreed with him.
“You originally said that Nightstalker’s knowledge of Babylon was a threat to your unchallenged campaign to be elected as the new High Representative. You’ve since been elected, unanimously, and Night has never resurfaced. I don’t understand what threat he could be to you now, or Solomon Gauge, for that matter.”
“You want to give up the chase, don’t you, John?” He bellowed triumphantly, as though trapping an opponent in checkmate.
Wraith evaded the tactic, moving in for the jugular. “Could it be there’s something else bothering you?”
Oliver didn’t seem sure he should voice his misgivings—even sure if he could. A threat seemed to be rising, like a tornado in the dark—unseen, yet menacing in its approach. Oliver felt like he needed all threats removed—any possibility eliminated before it could become more than a possibility.
“John, do you know any of the scriptures from the Bible?”
Wraith appeared completely surprised by the question. “Do you mean the Christian Bible?”
“Yes, of course.”
“No, not really. Why would I bother to learn myths and legends?”
Oliver leveled a steely gaze upon his son. “To know your enemy.” Oliver paused for effect then stood straighter and began to walk casually around the virtual room. “I know them. I have for a long time, though I’ve never told you. There is a man in those scriptures—a man prophesied to take world power in a final culmination of this world’s great kingdoms.”
Wraith was stunned that his father would take up such a conversation. Oliver Theed had always opposed organized religion and the Christians were condemned terrorists, persecuted everywhere they could be found by those with the authority to tend to the matter.
Oliver continued. “This world ruler of the last days is to be the greatest of the world’s rulers and worshipped as a god by the people of the time. He is prophesied to make a seven year peace treaty with the nation of Israel, but during the midpoint of the agreement, at three and a half years, he breaks the treaty and invades the land of Israel.”
Oliver stopped his pacing and looked intently at his son, trying to ascertain his depth of understanding. Wraith seemed unmoved.
“It is also said of this leader that he will somehow be struck down during the height of his reign and yet he will live again to wage a devastating war on the Christians and their God.” Oliver let the last statement hang in the air, expecting some response from his son.
Wraith finally spoke up. “It sounds like a bunch of Bible thumping rubbish to me.”
“I am that man!” Oliver beat his fist on the virtual table in anger. “Don’t you see?”
“Are you seriously telling me you believe what the Christian Bible says?” Wraith scoffed.
“I believe this much, John. And whether you, or I, believe any of it, the time is approaching for the man of prophecy to be struck down.”
At last they had come to it. His confident, powerful father feared he was going to die. Wraith quickly considered the advantage such an understanding might give him. Still, he eyed his father with obvious skepticism. “Do you believe that Night, or Gauge, is going to come out of the shadows to assassinate you?”
“Not necessarily. I only know that something is building. How it will manifest, I cannot tell. It could be Night, or Gauge, or someone else, or something else. But as long as these men are out there, they are threats. They might provide the information to others who would destroy me. Surely you realize there are other nations that would like to see the Alliance fail, and I’m the architect of the New Eden Alliance.”
Wraith considered the logic for a moment. “Yes, but if what you say is true then shouldn’t you rise again and go on ruling? And with more power than before?” He had decided to indulge his father’s delusions for the moment.
Oliver remained defiant. “I’m not giving up my life for words on a page. Just because it is written in that book that a man may rise from the dead, doesn’t sell it for me. And I’m not going to take the risk.”
“But you said—”
“John, if some religious fanatic takes these words seriously and tries to fulfill the words in that book then I could be killed. I’m not going to allow these words to be fulfilled. I know what they say, and I’m going to change the outcome.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“What you should have done already. Find Night and Gauge and kill them for me!”
As unexpected and strange as his father acted, Wraith’s curiosity was piqued. “And what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to increase the military presence in Palestine.”
“Couldn’t that be construed as a breach of your peace treaty, like you were talking about?”
“Not at all. I’ll increase the military to put more pressure on the Christian underground and root them out. This will please the Israelis who consider them terrorists and a blight upon their own religion. With the Temple being completed in a week, I will arrive in Jerusalem to lend my aid in the dedication service—to strengthen the peace treaty at the midpoint, not to break it.”
Wraith considered his father’s words. Despite the paranoia, the man’s logic, as always, appeared flawless.
CHRISTIANS
Jason watched the man across the street from him. He zeroed in on the white covered book when it appeared again. The homeless man had flashed it briefly while shuffling through a few items he had recently picked up. Now, the book was coming out from under his tattered coat again.
He wore a soiled pair of work gloves that were missing most of the fingers at mid-length. They might have been blue, once, but the grime collected in the material from searching for food and scraps of clothing in dumpsters had long since done away with it.
The man hunched over the book, trying to hide it from view. He scanned in different directions, to see if he was noticed reading it. Jason let his own staring fall sheepishly to the brown-bagged bottle in his hand. He tipped it up, allowing the dark liquid to swish loudly as gravity pulled it toward his lips. Jason pulled the bottle down again, letting some of the alcohol purposely drip onto his greasy, worn out shirt. The man disregarded him as a threat and went back to scanning the small pages of the white covered book.
White had been the original color, anyway, although a great deal of filth and oily finger prints had accumulated on the little book. Despite his aversion to religion, Jason recognized what it must be—a pocket-sized Bible used by the Christians to embrace their God and the teachings concerning him.
This was a very illegal book, dangerous for a person to have in their possession. Since the time of the Christian Acts of Terrorism, the book had been proclaimed hate literature world wide. Anyone found with one in their possession, became subject to immediate imprisonment, or worse.
The book had long been outlawed in Muslim nations and in the Russian Empire, but the mass destruction caused by the religious fanatics of Christianity, nearly four years ago, had made it criminal everywhere. People who preached its contents were considered the worst offenders of all.
Jason wondered if that was the main reason Babylon wanted Solomon Gauge dead, or if th
ere was something else—something that had not been told to him. It occurred to him that with Babylon’s knowledge of Sarah, a mole handing over classified information, they may well have already known about his own involvement with her. If that were the case then he had been setup to kill her.
His blood boiled when he thought of the incident. Had Wraith known about her when he assassinated her? It wouldn’t have surprised him. After a year of remaining elusive from Babylon, Jason wondered if Wraith had given up. Probably not. For all he knew, Wraith’s blundering of the assassination attempt at his own home had gotten him demoted too far down the ladder to worry about him anymore. Again, probably not.
Solomon Gauge remained the key to this mystery. Finally, Jason felt like he might have a good lead sitting in front of him across the street. He’d spent the past year looking in every seedy dive and den of cutthroats he could find in Jerusalem. It was a large city and the progress was slow—actually, non-existent. Neither Jason, nor Alfred, had come up with anything until recently.
He had been very logical in his pursuit. After all, where else would one look for a dangerous criminal mastermind like Gauge? Terrorists were found in criminal circles, and though Jason felt like he had searched them all, he had not found anyone who kept with the Christian underground.
In the last week, though, Jason had stumbled upon pure enlightenment. Their religion was their trapping, but no houses of worship to the Christian God, Jesus, could still be found. Only rubble lay where they once stood. But the book…this was how he might find them. If he could only spot someone who owned one of those books then he would have new hope of finding Gauge and his underground terrorist movement.
This homeless man had been pure happenstance. Jason had been sleeping on the street, for effect, one night a week ago. The man had been nearby, speaking to no one. When Jason had investigated what the old man was doing, he had found him on his knees praying. The man had finished his prayer, in the name of the Jesus Christ. Light had fallen on Jason’s dismal, leadless search.
Over the course of a week, Jason had followed him from a distance. It had been necessary, of course, to switch his choice of grubby disguises from day to day, just in case. So far, the homeless man had not seemed suspicious. There were plenty of homeless men, women, even children, to be found at nearly any time of the day in the more run down portions of the old city. This alone made it fairly easy to remain unnoticed. In fact, he wondered if this anonymity hadn’t actually saved his life with Babylon still hunting him in Israel.
Perhaps, they simply had looked in the wrong places to find him. After all, living on the streets of old Jerusalem for a year with a home base located deep inside an old abandoned sewage line and pump station was not exactly his style. Jason had wealth—he didn’t have to live this way. What self-respecting secret agent would choose such a lifestyle for themselves? One seeking revenge at any cost.
One place he had seen the man visiting on a regular basis was also frequented by other homeless people. It was difficult to access, located in such a rundown section of town. The smell alone would drive most inquisitive people away. This section of Jerusalem had been bombed heavily during one of the fiercer cross-border exchanges with Damascus.
Although partly rebuilt, it remained a slum area, well known for its criminal elements. The police stayed out, allowing it to fester like a boil on Jerusalem’s backside. Now that he thought about it, what better place to hide a religious underground movement?
Jason propped himself up on a nearby pallet, lying on the sidewalk outside of the abandoned building he had been sleeping next to and got to his feet. The homeless gentlemen with the Bible attempted to cuff the book out of sight as he noticed the sudden movement. He waited for Jason to move on before cautiously exposing it again. Is this the sort of men Gauge is recruiting as religious terrorists these days?
Jason surveyed his surroundings for onlookers. Most of the others were still asleep on the sidewalks, or inside the abandoned buildings that littered this area of town. The sun had just begun to push away the morning dew. He had a two mile trek in order to get to the old mission.
Many of the street people had a mission, or two, where they made daily rounds. All of them were run down, under budgeted, barely existing on the funds extended to them by philanthropists. Almost all of them were administrated by the city government, but the worst, like the 71st Street Mission where he was bound, were strictly handled by conscientious volunteers, probably only doing the job to have first pickings at one of the few beds available and a daily meal.
Jason activated his com-link, and waited for Alfred to respond. “Yes, sir?”
“Alfred, I’m sure now. I’m on my way to the mission.”
“Do you require my assistance, sir?”
“No, thank you, Alfred. Keep me monitored from somewhere close by. You never know what might happen.”
“I’ll be ready, sir. I hope you find what you are looking for.”
“So do I, Alfred. So do I.”
When Jason reached 71st street, the time approached 8:30am. Street people began to form a line within the partially dilapidated building that housed the mission on the first floor. Jason assumed his usual meandering shuffle and found his place in the line. His reward would be partially rehydrated eggs, stale toast and, if he was lucky, a scrap of information that might lead him to the whereabouts of one Solomon Gauge.
The smell from the kitchen barely convinced his senses that actual food was about to be served. Still, anything that masked the natural stench of the streets remained something to be grateful for.
Jason felt drained because of the length of the search and his lack of progress. The blinding hatred that had fueled him early on in the hunt had lost much of its heat. It bothered him that his focus showed signs of waning. Only the past week’s insight had provided any rekindling to his fervor.
Alfred, the faithful servant and friend that he was, had hinted on more than one occasion that he hoped the search would not carry on forever, for Jason’s own good. If he wasn’t careful, Babylon might eventually find him.
Jason moved up in the line. There weren’t any tables in the large room. A half destroyed desk, here and there, were the only signs of what the building might have been used for in days gone by. He collected his tray of food and found his way to a spot on the bare floor. Jason picked at the meal with his fingers and observed the room.
He had not utilized a perceptor disguise today. He had been sleeping on the streets for the past week, following the homeless man. He was filthy and in wretched enough shape without the need for holograms.
Two women worked the line, dishing out portions to the penniless patrons with smiles on their faces. They appeared to know almost everyone in line, but he noticed one of the women, a girl really, no more than eighteen or nineteen, staring at him. Not obviously, but she stole careful glimpses at regular intervals as the street people moved past her in the line.
Fortunately, by the time the food was exhausted, so was the line of people. The mission had just managed to have enough. Before Jason realized it, the girl had moved out from behind the counter and was mingling with the patrons. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she seemed to be making a zigzag path for him, using each familiar face and acknowledgment as a stepping stone to come closer.
Jason kept an eye on her, as she drew near. She sat down on the dusty linoleum next to him. She had sandy colored, short hair exposing the nape of her neck. Jason tried to ignore her.
She, on the other hand, seemed intent on disturbing him. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in our mission before, sir.”
Jason thought about not speaking to the girl at all, but she was persistent. Besides, how else was he to gain any information? “I’m new to this section of the city.”
“I’m Chloe.”
“Jason.” He assumed it wouldn’t hurt to reveal that much.
“Jason, do you have a last name?”
“Night.” He said it before thinking
. Instantly, Jason wanted to slap himself in the forehead. For some reason he had wanted to tell her.
“You don’t look like you’ve been on the streets very long.”
“Really, why do you say that?”
“Mostly your skin. It’s free of lesions. You don’t look very old, either.”
“You’re very perceptive for a young girl, Chloe. I’ve been on the streets of Jerusalem for about a year.”
“Why?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I’ve heard quite a few stories from the people that have come to us over the years and I’m always fascinated with the reasons why they end up on the streets. So, I’m curious, Jason. What was it that brought you to this?”
He supposed the question to be innocent enough, but what could he tell her? Certainly not that he was a former agent of a secret organization called Babylon on the hunt for the leader of the Christian underground. He thought about it for a moment. She obliged him by waiting patiently for the answer.
Perhaps she was used to people taken aback by the question, having to find the words. Perhaps the street people didn’t really think about it until someone like Chloe asked.
Having made a living out of being able to lie at the drop of a hat, Jason felt surprised something original didn’t just come to him. Why did this seem like such a hard question for him? Then he found himself thinking about Sarah and the day in Jerusalem that had changed his life. He wanted to lie about the reason he was there, but he didn’t.
“It was a girl”
“You loved her?”
“Yes, we were going to get married until—”
“Did she leave you?”
“Sarah was murdered.” Jason almost choked on the words.
“I’m so sorry, Jason. What happened?”
Chloe had pushed him to do something he had tried not to do for nearly a year—remember. Jason felt the ache of loss trying to push its way back to the surface and overtake him. He became vaguely aware of tears building on the rims of his lower eyelids. The pain had been submerged, harnessed as anger for a year, but now it groaned to be released.