Inside Lucifer's War

by Smith, Byron J.

  “I know this may sound rude, so forgive me, but aren’t you a bit experienced to be working so late at parties?” I ask.

  He smiles, “You can say it. I’m old. Heck, I can’t nap anymore without my wife sticking a mirror under my nose to see if I’m breathing. Have you ever woken up with a mirror under your nose and an old lady about a foot from your face? That’ll kill you sure enough.”

  “I can see that would give you a fright,” I reply with a laugh. “I’m sure she’s lovely, though.”

  “You know, the truth is, I love her dearly. There’s only three things I fear at this stage in my life—fear of the Lord, fear of having to bury one of my kids, and fear of my wife dying before me. I’d be lost without her.”

  “You apparently haven’t heard who I am?” I tell him, unsure of why I would open up to him.

  “No sir. I haven’t,” he responds.

  “Let’s just say that I am famous for two things: for philosophy and politics that refute God and for getting around with the ladies. I’m not sure I have quite the grasp of your fears,” I say.

  “Everybody fears something. What do you fear?” he asks.

  “I have nightmares where I am trapped in a place without bourbon or women,” I laugh as I walk on.

  “I hope you never find yourself lacking in those areas,” the man says.

  After that, I slowly wander around the room, stopping at the video game boards to watch two men destroy themselves in a first-person shooter. I recall a poster that read “Show me someone good at video games, and I’ll show you someone who has wasted much of their life.” Next to them are two women playing video tennis, simulating the tennis motions without the use of joysticks. Bored with that, I stand at a high table near the band. They are good. They’re playing some Simon and Garfunkel, but earlier they had played some recent pop. Near as I can tell, four members can play their instruments or carry the lead vocal. Two are women and two are men.

  I’m enjoying the music when I feel a strong hand on my left shoulder. Bishop.

  “Ah, hello, Bishop. Is it still Bishop or have you adopted a new name from a more recent killing?” I say with all the sarcasm I can muster. I know I shouldn’t egg him on, but I can’t help myself. The simple way he carries himself puts me on edge.

  “Just call me Professor,” he says, matching my level of indignation. “Kinsley asked if you would join him upstairs for a moment. There are some guests he would like for you to meet.”

  I follow Bishop up the stairs to the second level. We’re met at the stairs by Andrew.

  “Gentlemen, where are we going?” he asks.

  Before I can say anything, Bishop says, “Mr. McKee would like for Dr. Fields to meet some guests. Dr. Fields will be back down shortly. I’m sure you understand, Dr. Mayfield.”

  Andrew comments, “No worries. Thomas, we’ll be over near the corner bar. Come find me when you get done with the Principal meeting.”

  This catches Bishop’s attention. He quickly asks, “What did you say?”

  Andrew, realizing his blunder, catches himself. “Following you, it looks like Thomas is getting sent to the principal’s office. I hope he doesn’t get detention.” But Bishop doesn’t smile. Andrew continues, “I guess you have to be in academia to think it’s funny. Trust me, though, it’s fricking hilarious.”

  I try to help. “I have to agree with Bishop on this one. It’s really not that funny,” I say.

  With that bit of exchange behind us, I’m ushered into a room that’s not noticeable from the lower level. Bishop stays outside as I go in. Immediately, Kinsley greets me. He’s been sitting near the end of a long, oval table. He is surrounded by six other men.

  “Dr. Fields. What a pleasure! I’d like to introduce you to some of my colleagues. They are all very impressed with your work,” he says.

  Kinsley leads me counterclockwise around the table. I quickly notice that all the men appear to be of different nationalities. “This is Vijay Chopra, Leonardo Vazquez, William Schilo, Michael Evans, Victor Takahashi, and Peter Morozov,” he says. “Please have a seat. We’ll only take a moment. I’ll be brief. First, absolutely nothing leaves this room. Do you understand?”

  “Sure,” I respond.

  “Dr. Fields, this is not a trivial request,” he says. “When I say nothing, I mean nothing. Not the names of people. Not what they look like. And not the conversation. Nothing to no one. This cannot be shared with even your best friends. Not to jolly ole Andrew. Not to some blonde downstairs. Not to Mike Fischer or any other friend. There are eight of us in this room. I know my colleagues will not share this. So if it becomes public knowledge, we all know who was the source. This isn’t personal. It is business.”

  His mentioning Mike catches me off guard. I try not to look stunned, but it is almost impossible. I can’t help wondering how he knows about Mike. And if they know about Mike, what else do they know? Did Paige pass them this information? How could she have known? When we met her on the trail, I only provided her with his first name, and we never talked about him afterward. No, there must be other sources. I want to run out of the room. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to hear what they have to say. I glance at the door, knowing that I cannot leave. When I boarded the plane in Austin, my fate was sealed.

  Just then the door opens, and Greer Stavros enters. He is a native Greek, US national, well-known financier worth billions. He is an outspoken Jew turned atheist and a renowned champion of liberal causes. He has openly stated that one of his missions is to bankrupt and destroy the conservative party in America. He has been accused of funneling money in the form of aid into third-world countries that results in political and social reengineering.

  “Good evening, Mr. Stavros. I hope you’ve found everything satisfactory,” Kinsley says as if he were a hotel concierge. But Greer ignores him.

  “Dr. Fields,” the billionaire benefactor says with a surprisingly heavy Greek accent, “it is a pleasure to meet you. I enjoyed your speech last night, but I think it lacked the passion I’ve seen in your writings.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I respond. “I’m sorry it didn’t live up to my articles, but I’m flattered that you have read my work.”

  “Kinsley!” Greer says turning to my former host. “I need a word with you outside. It should only take a minute.”

  “Yes sir,” Kinsley responds without hesitation.

  Greer turns to me. “I hope we can count on you in the future, Dr. Fields. We’ve got to put an end to these rabid right-wing evangelicals who are destroying this country and spreading their propaganda across this globe. Christians and Jews have spread too many lies to get the world to focus mostly on Muslims. While the world looks at Muslims as the greatest threat to global peace, Jews and Christians continue to weave their webs. We need a man like you. Do consider agreeing to what these gentlemen will ask of you.”

  After that, he steps out the door. I look around the table and feel the uncomfortable silence.

  “Wow, Greer Stavros. He was shorter than I expected.” My attempt at levity proves unsuccessful. However, it isn’t long before Kinsley rejoins the group.

  He says, “I hope Mr. Stavros’s appearance gives you some indication of our level of commitment. We don’t want a response at this moment, but I want you to consider our proposal. We want October to be your last month at UT, at least for an extended period. Call it a sabbatical. We will arrange it with the dean and the president so that you leave on good terms. We’ll make a sizable donation in your name that should more than cover a couple of visiting professors. Starting in January, you will work for us for a year. Longer if things work out. We will triple your salary and pay all your expenses.”

  Kinsley’s eyes never leave mine. I look around the table. Everyone is looking at me, some with more interest than others. Before I can speak, Vijay interjects.

  “The obvious question you must have is what you would be doing for us. My good friend Kinsley perhaps jumped too quickly to the money and p
erks. We want you to do what you do best: research, write, and lecture. As part of your research, you will be meeting with some of the most important people around the globe.”

  “Research and write what, exactly?” I ask, knowing exactly what it will entail.

  Kinsley quickly commands the conversation again. “I don’t believe in being coy. Ultimately, you will write what we ask you to write. Having said that, what we will ask of you will be along the lines of what you have been doing throughout your professional career. The primary thing we will need is for you to write a book on how to bring peace to the world. This will not be just any theoretical, peace-loving, hippy-dancing book about nirvana. We believe we can connect the dots to make it actually happen. And you are one of the dots. We can give you access to people and resources you would never be able to get on your own. One after another, we can make the dominoes fall with your help. We can do great things together.”

  “Why me?” I ask, trying to think through this.

  “Because you believe the same thing we do. As long as there is a Christ, there will be no peace. You can’t say it exactly that way, but that’s where your expertise comes in. The way you shape the conversation, well, you are a master at subversive destruction. That’s what we need. We need the money to dry up for these mission causes. We need to speed along the post-Christian era. We’ve made a lot of strides in terms of subtle legislation here and there to remove funds and create restrictions using the notion of separation of church and state. The time for subtlety is over. We need to bend people’s minds. We believe the culture is now ripe for it.”

  I reflect on the fact that Jesus is referred to as the Prince of Peace in the book of Isaiah, and now Kinsley is saying there can be no peace with Jesus in the world. That thought quickly passes, though, and I reflect on his phrase “subversive destruction.” Is that how the world views my work?

  “How much freedom will I have in what I write?” I ask.

  “I’m not worried about that,” replies Kinsley. “As long as our agendas are the same, there shouldn’t be any issues. You can be a part of something so much bigger than anything you could ever imagine. We’re on the verge of restructuring the world and the global economy. This is the revolution to end all revolutions. You have the opportunity to be a designer of all that.”

  To be honest with myself, I have to confess at being frightened by the power this group seems to possess. Not even the most delusional megalomaniac would talk as Kinsley has these past few minutes without enormous power and influence behind them.

  “I’m enormously flattered by your offer and your high regard for my work,” I say, still churning on “subversive destruction. “I appreciate the offer, gentlemen. But I need some time to consider it. May I give you an answer by Friday?”

  My delay is, in part, due to fear, though I know I have no real choice.

  “We’ll need an answer by Tuesday at the latest,” Kinsley answers sharply. “The clock is ticking. Things are in motion. If you can’t do this, we’ll quickly need to find someone else.”

  “Tuesday, then,” I answer.

  “I hope you understand what a great opportunity this is for you, Thomas. Please don’t make me think that we wasted our time by meeting with you. I know Mr. Stavros will be very disappointed if you aren’t part of our team. If it is a money thing, I’m sure we can work that out,” Kinsley says in a very business-like manner.

  “I appreciate the earnestness and gravity of the situation, gentlemen. Certainly, I would hate to waste anyone’s time. Please remember, though, you approached me. I didn’t approach you. Let me be honest with you. I don’t respond well when I feel I’m being pressured to make a decision. I’m beginning to feel that pressure coming from you now. As I said, I will give you my answer by Tuesday.” I suddenly hear Lucifer’s words in my mind, You will make the right decisions at the right times. Of that, I also have no doubt.

  Kinsley smiles. “I apologize, Thomas. I didn’t mean to pressure you. Time, however, is placing a great deal of pressure on all of us. I can appreciate what you’re saying. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, and thank you for coming this weekend.”

  With that, he escorts me out of the room. I look down and see Andrew waving to get my attention. Kinsley comments, “It looks like Andrew is having a difficult time handling those two ladies and needs your assistance. Good luck, Thomas. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  As I walk down the stairs, I berate myself. What was I thinking? Was I trying to be coy, or was I legitimately pushing back? Who cares if it were legitimate? This is an opportunity of a lifetime. Besides, I have no choice. This is what Lucifer told me to do. I’m a step away from running back to the conference room when I hear Andrew’s voice.

  “Thomas! It’s about time you came down. I want you to meet someone. This is the lady I told you about earlier,” Andrew says introducing me to a blonde most likely in her early thirties.

  I can tell that Andrew has forgotten her name again. Instead of easily letting him off the hook, though, I make him squirm a bit.

  “Oh, yes, I believe that you said her name was Amber. Or is it Alice? Which was it, Andrew? You’re right, though. She is certainly smokin’,” I say with a laugh. “Hi, my name is Tom.” I reach out my hand. It’s odd to introduce myself as Tom. I rarely do that.

  With a smile, she responds, “Hi, Tom. I’m Ashley.”

  She takes my hand as I give her a kiss on her left cheek. She smells like Chanel, one of my favorite perfumes, and her cheek is soft to the kiss.

  Andrew then introduces me to Megan, the redhead.

  I fetch some drinks from the bar, and we make our way to a high, round table surrounded by stools. It’s a bit off to the side, where the music is not as loud. Andrew dominates much of the conversation, but in a good way. Truth be told, I’m happy to relax and let him entertain us. He’s a great storyteller, and he has the whole table laughing. As we talk, the waitstaff keep us supplied with drinks and food. It is a pleasant, relaxing evening orchestrated by Andrew.

  Although Megan and Ashley say they know each other, it is clear that their friendship is new and they don’t know as much about each other as I had previously thought. They enjoy letting Andrew lead the discussion, and they don’t seem to mind our attention.

  Throughout the evening, Megan increasingly shows an interest in Andrew. I can see that her hand has moved from her lap to his knee. At one point, she turns his head and aggressively kisses him, which makes me feel a bit awkward. Ashley seems surprised as well.

  Increasingly, I’m feeling out of sorts. I haven’t had that much to drink, so I wonder if it’s the stress of the weekend, some bad food, or if I’m coming down with something. I panic at the thought that Lucifer is going to visit me again.

  Without thinking, I ask Ashley if she would like to mingle with the crowd for a bit. As we get up to leave, Andrew leans over to me and says, “Don’t wait up.”

  I wink back and finish my bourbon and Coke. I see Ashley in front of me with her hand stretched back, reaching for me. I think she looks good in her tight dress. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s urgently pulling me along.

  And that’s the last thing I remember that night.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Murder After

  I slowly open my eyes and face a large window with huge curtains. I look around the room and see a round table with a computer and file folders around it. I have no idea where I am. I slowly roll my head back. There is a small sink and bathroom to the side. A nightstand is next to me with some of my things. It slowly dawns on me. I’m in the suite. I look next to me, but I’m alone in my bed.

  I sit up, still wondering what has happened. Did I really drink that much? What happened last night? Has Lucifer visited me? Nothing makes sense. He would want me to remember his visit. I simply can’t put the pieces together. I look at the clock: seven thirty-six. I remember that Bruce told us to be in the lobby at nine thirty. So I get out of bed and stumb
le into the bathroom. I take a long, hot shower, hoping something will jog my memory. If nothing else, it will get me moving.

  After showering, shaving, and getting dressed, I still have no memory of anything after following Ashley into the crowd. I do feel a little better, though. I step into the common area of the suite. Something isn’t right. The room is a mess. There are open wine bottles in the kitchen and magazines scattered across the carpet. There is a powdery mess on the coffee table and several empty glasses. Was there a party here last night? How could that be? I don’t recall hearing anything. And I definitely don’t recall being at a party.

  I suddenly remember Andrew’s files under my mattress. I dash back into my room to see if they are there. When I lift the mattress, I see the folders. I grab them and slide them into my briefcase between some other folders. I have to think of a way to get them back to Andrew without his noticing, but that will have to wait.

  I remember Andrew telling me not to interrupt him, but I need answers and it’s getting close to time to leave. I walk over to his door to knock, but the door is ajar. I gently push it open and peek inside. I can tell that Andrew is still asleep, and it looks like the redhead is next to him.

  I knock and call out, “Hey, Andrew. It’s time to get ready. We have to get going.”

  There is no response. I yell louder. “Andrew! Get up! We’ve got to go.”

  There is no movement. Something is not right. I push the door open and yell again, “Andrew!”

  I step into his room slowly. Something is odd about the way he is sleeping. I walk over to push him awake. As I reach toward him, I look over his shoulder and see Megan staring back at me. I fly backward, startled, and fall against the entertainment center.

  “I’m sorry. I yelled, but no one responded. I thought you were asleep,” I say.

  There is no response. I look at her again and feel a fright come over me as I study her eyes. Although her eyes are open, she’s not looking at anything. She’s dead!