The Click

by Steve Shear

  Because DanSheba occupied a small amount of land, its young people were encouraged to live in other parts of the world. The village sat within a grand meadow pressed up against steep, barren sides of a mountain. The cliffs encircled all the meadow except for a small opening around a hundred yards wide. A river providing the only way in and out flowed alongside the opening and served as DanSheba’s umbilical cord to the outside world. It was the means of obtaining reading material, medicine, and other necessities from those outside, as well as much of its food. Looking up from the wharf at the river, the mountainside appeared to be formed of polished granite that glistened in the sun. That glare and the mountain shadows were enough to hide the meadow and its inhabitants from the daylight sky.

  Meta shook herself back to the present. Time was running out. She jumped from her chair and gathered her belongings. After making several trips down to the Speedster, she started back up the stone stairs to lock up. Pounding footsteps echoed behind her. Before she had a chance to turn around, two masked thugs grabbed her and dragged her back into the house. She fell to the floor and hit her head. Blood oozed from above one eye. When she finally looked up to see what was happening, the barrel of a laser gun pressed against her temple. One of the thugs, short and thin, holding the gun in one hand, reached down with a handkerchief in the other hand. Before she could take it, the second thug, much taller and heavy around the middle, pushed him aside and got into her face.

  All of a sudden, she felt a knife against her throat. The panic seemed to cause her eyeballs to jump from their sockets. Her scud rang. She tried to reach for it. The thug grabbed her wrist.

  ****

  Yennie was on his cell leaning against the outer gate of the White House, listening to continuous rings.

  “Darn it, Meta. Pick up.”

  Where was she? They had talked earlier. She should have been on her way to the airport in Florence. There was no reason for her not to pick up.

  ****

  Meta was now in the basement standing before a large safe hidden within what looked to be a second furnace. Blood still dripped from the gash above one eye. Her scud rang again.

  The overweight thug flashed his knife in front of her eyes. “Leave it.”

  The smaller thug came down the steps with a wet cloth. He placed it above her eye. She took it from him, held it firm, and nodded a thank you.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the other thug growled out.

  “Shut up,” the smaller thug barked back. He then leaned closer to Meta and whispered, “Open it before he cuts your throat, and he will.”

  Meta jerked back, trying to appear defiant. “No.”

  “Lady, I can put this safe in your lap and blow it up,” the fat thug said then began poking the tip of his knife into her chest. Her scud rang again. “But I won’t. I’ll cut your throat instead, then I’ll blow up the safe right where it is. Now, I’ll count to five. One, two…”

  Meta nodded and bent down to reach the safe. She worked the combination until it popped open. She reached in and pulled out a brown leather valise, the only thing in the safe. The thug with the knife grabbed the valise and looked in the safe to make sure nothing else was there, then opened the valise and pulled out the Smotecal Decretum. The smaller thug took it in his hands. He ran over its entire surface with his fingertips. He bent the edges, and bit into the gold colored trim. He stared at the signature.

  “Is it the original?” the fat thug asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I know real gold when I see it. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  He and the other thug raced upstairs and were gone by the time Meta reached the top of the stairs. Once she heard the roar of their high-powered pickup truck speed away, she plopped on the couch in the den and called Yennie.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course. I had visitors. It seems they knew I had the Decretum, and think they have the original.”

  “Not surprising. My sources tell me there’s a VAMA spy close to Hitchcock.”

  “What! Any ideas?”

  “I’d look for anyone with a connection to Opus Dei or quite possibly the Tarsusians.”

  Meta looked at her watch. “I have to go. I will be meeting Oliver at the Mumbai airport and want to make sure I’m there before he arrives.”

  “And the others?”

  Meta thought about that. “Barnaby Bloom will be bringing Oliver’s daughter and grandson directly to the school. I’ve arranged for that with the transportation people in DanSheba.”

  “And Elana Wu?”

  That was a more difficult question to answer. Meta shrugged. “Oliver said she will be there but wouldn’t tell me how or by whom. Let’s hope he’s right.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Barnaby stood in his living room peeking out the window through the closed drapes. He saw two VAMA hearses parked on each end of the street. They were in plain sight and obviously didn’t care. The few things he was taking with him were waiting at the café in town. He ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner there for the last two days, and with each meal he brought some of his belongings from home. He was sure neither of his VAMA tails suspected.

  This is it, he thought, then locked up the house and left for the café. By the time he reached his destination and pulled into a space, both hearses drove into the shopping center. He left his car and entered the café where a young woman, a member of the Cause, quickly led him out the back and into the alley. He climbed into an awaiting white van with dark brown print on both sides: Pinochet Bakery Products. He and his belongings sat in the back under a sheet surrounded by loaves of bread.

  “Hold your breath, Barnaby,” the young woman called out from the driver’s seat. “One of your friends just pulled into the alley and will be passing us any second.”

  “Don’t forget to throw him that magical smile of yours,” Barnaby said under cover and laughed. Once they were out of the alley and sure they weren’t being followed, Barnaby pulled off the cover, sat up, took a deep breath, looked at all that bread, and tapped on his scud.

  ****

  Ring, ring, ring. Kathy stood in Christopher’s hospital room watching several nurses connecting and disconnecting tubes and wires in preparation for them to leave. She quickly looked for her scud. It had fallen from her pocket onto the chair next to his bed. She picked it up to see who was calling and frowned. She really didn’t want to go. She really didn’t believe all of this was happening. And she wouldn’t be going if it hadn’t been for Ralph Delahunt.

  “Yes, Barnaby?”

  “How’s Christopher?”

  “Raring to travel halfway around the world, I would guess, but how would I know. I’m only his mother.” She dropped her shoulders and sighed as Ralph came into the room with another doctor. “I’m sorry, Barnaby. He seems okay. They’re about to sedate him and, yes, we are ready to go.”

  “I’m sorry too, Kathy, but…”

  “I know. We will see you in a little bit.” She clicked off and looked at Ralph.

  “Kathy, sweetheart, this is Dr. Ringthaller. He will be attending Christopher during your journey.”

  Twenty minutes later, Kathy found herself keeping pace with Christopher’s gurney and all the connected devices as they sped through the hospital toward the kitchen in the back. Before long they were in the kitchen’s receiving area preparing to step into a large empty supply truck—Kathy, Dr. Ringthaller, Christopher, and two paramedics. She had hoped that Ralph Delahunt would come along. After all, he talked her into going on this insane wild goose chase. “We are all out of options,” he said. “Who knows? Maybe this is God’s plan.” That wasn’t terribly comforting considering that Ralph was as much an atheist as her father. Ralph couldn’t come along. He had other seriously ill patients to look after. That wasn’t comforting either since her only child was well beyond seriously ill. It could be worse, she thought. At least there will be a doctor making the trip with them
.

  ****

  Barnaby waited on the tarmac next to a corporate jet. Whose it was and how it was paid for, he didn’t know but apparently this mysterious Meta DeCarlo made all the arrangements. He looked at his watch. They should be here any moment, he thought. How he managed to convince Kathy to come at all wasn’t entirely clear to him.

  When he first approached the subject not long after introducing himself, she stared at him as if he had just escaped from an institution for the mentally challenged asking her to run away with him.

  “And how many times have you been to this…this DanSheba?” she finally asked.

  “I…well I… I’ve not been there, but…”

  “But you have no choice if you want any chance to save Christopher’s life,” came the words from behind both of them. It was Ralph Delahunt. He was a tall, thin man with gray hair above both temples, bald on top, and a thin white mustache. Barnaby liked his no-nonsense manner immediately, maybe because he saw kindness in the man’s eyes at the same time.

  “Ralph,” Kathy barked out.

  The doctor approached and took both of Kathy’s hands in his. “Kathy, there are no answers here. Christopher will die for sure if you stay and…”

  “And if we go to that Godforsaken place in…in…” Kathy stopped herself and began to cry. Dr. Delahunt pulled her to him and held her tight. Barnaby saw him tear up.

  “I have no answers, sweetheart. Only an engine of hope and a large number of people who are greasing its gears and programming its computers to ensure it reaches its destination.”

  As Barnaby relived those moments, his only regret was that Ralph was not able to go with them. He shook his head and looked up just as the supply truck came into view. The paramedics on board carried Christopher into the jet on a stretcher. He was fast asleep by then.

  Kathy approached and Barnaby stiffened, trying to prepare for another battle. All of a sudden, he felt her hands grip his shoulders and watched in disbelief and relief when she kissed him on the cheek.

  “I’m sorry for being such a naysayer, Barnaby. I will try my best, but I can’t make any promises.” She tried to smile, or seemed to, but couldn’t.

  Under the circumstances, who could, Barnaby Bloom thought as they followed Dr. Ringthaller onto the jet.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hitch packed up all his belongings and now had to get back to Mumbai without VAMA on his ass. If they discovered he chartered a helicopter in Siena for Rome, they would stop him for sure on some pretext or just kill him on the spot like that damn drone tried to do earlier. He opened the balcony drapes wide enough to see a VAMA hearse standing guard. “Jesus!”

  How was he going to deal with this? He was sure they had someone behind the hotel. They probably had someone in the lobby, by the elevators. Hell, the place would have to go up in flames for him to get out unseen.

  “That’s it!” He sat and thought out his brilliant idea. After a few minutes, he rushed into the hall. First he went left all the way down to the end, then to the right. Halfway down, there it was, a bright red fire extinguisher and alarm in a recessed glass case. He rushed back to his room, picked up his things, and ran back to the glass case. He broke the case with the heel of his shoe and set off the alarm. He raced to the stairwell and hobbled down to the next level with only one shoe on and did the same thing just as guests began streaming into the hall. More noise, more people.

  He followed several of the guests into the stairwell and waited at the lobby level for a larger crowd. At least twenty of them rushed into the lobby where they merged with more guests, and everyone headed for the street. Hitch maneuvered his way through the crowd and traffic until he was several blocks from the hotel on the other side of the Ponte Vecchio. He flagged down a taxi heading away from the hotel and jumped in.

  An hour or so later he exited the taxi, paid the driver, and rushed to the helicopter he had chartered. From there he travelled to Rome, and in Rome he boarded a commercial jet to Mumbai. He had suggested to Meta that maybe they should travel under fictitious passports since no doubt VAMA would be tracking them. “Not to worry,” she told him. “They will only be able to track us to the School of Learning. We will easily lose them there.” Hitch didn’t know how but Meta seemed so confident he didn’t press her on the issue.

  Travelers around the world hurried into and out of Chhatrapati Shivaji International airport in Mumbai. Hitch, being one of those travelers, exited Customs with little difficulty and saw Meta waiting. She greeted him with kisses on both cheeks then rushed him through the closest exit to a line of taxis. Hitch started to approach the first one in line when Meta grabbed his arm and shook her head. She led him around the corner where a lone taxi waited. The driver, a young black man, sat behind the wheel as Meta opened the back door and motioned for her companion to get in.

  The streets were snarled with traffic in downtown Mumbai, a necessary route to where they were heading, as the driver dodged and weaved under a canopy of colossal glass skyscrapers in the shadowed heat of morning. All the glass, all those people standing behind it, staring down at him, he thought. It was as if the entire Mumbai population was keeping track of his every move.

  Early in the ride, Hitch updated Meta on Christopher’s situation according to his last conversation with Barnaby Bloom. At the time, Barnaby and his entourage were just leaving the States. Hitch conveniently left out the fact that his daughter was anything but thrilled with their travel plans.

  “And Elana Wu? Where does that stand?” Meta asked.

  “That’s taken care of. They will meet us at the Jewish School of Leaning per your instructions.”

  “They?”

  “Yes, they.” Hitch did not elaborate. He wasn’t about to compromise Julian, who certainly didn’t have to involve himself in saving Christopher—and he did so at great risk to himself. The less anyone knew of his participation, the better.

  Meta did not respond. She remained almost stoic, Hitch thought, but breathed easier once he realized she was not going to force the issue.

  For several minutes neither of them spoke, making the sound of heavy traffic that much more invasive. Suddenly Meta turned his way. “We have a problem. A very reliable source told me we have a mole.”

  Hitch glared, then jerked his head toward the driver.

  “He’s one of us.”

  “Who’s the source?”

  “Never mind that. Someone knew we were meeting at my place and why. And it wasn’t a DanSheban. I assure you of that.”

  Hitch pushed back against his door and twisted around to confront Meta. “My people? Not possible.”

  “You know it’s possible. Now think. Who?”

  “Your source first. You tell me…” Hitch was not going to be bullied into accepting such an outrageous accusation.

  “No names, but this comes from deep in the White House.” Meta pulled out her scud and began tapping on it. “Maybe this will help.”

  A hologram rose from her scud. Subject: Opus Dei/Tarsusian Sect. Underneath, Hitch saw a symbol, an oval surrounding a human figure standing with arms outstretched and feet together like a Christian cross.

  “Have you ever seen one of these?” she asked.

  “What is it?”

  “Opus Dei. No, actually it’s the Tarsusian spinoff. A fanatical sect that was instrumental in transforming the Catholic Church into the present-day Church of the Ecclesia.”

  Hitch started to say never but then turned away from the hologram and Meta. He stared out the window and began racing through his mind’s eye as it shuttled him back through the years. Every few seconds that symbol flashed in and out with greater resolution. Then nothing, no not nothing. Sand, endless sand. Then explosions all around him, endless sand and explosions. A man down. He couldn’t see. Desert sand continued to blow through his mind’s eye. Blood oozing up through the sand began coloring his vision. An arm? A man’s face. His body twisted away from his arm. He’s breathing, alive. Hitch digs his way under the sand,
around the torso. He lifts him. Blood everywhere. Hitch looks down. The arm remains. He spots the oval with the figure inside, all covered with sand, with blood, on the arm. He carries the man across the battlefield. He wants to go back for the arm, but can’t.

  Hitch turned back to Meta and sighed. “Yeah. I’ve seen it.” He tried to make sense of what he saw. He rewound and hit play several times. Nothing changed. The same sand, the same arm, the same Tarsusian symbol. Impossible! No, nothing’s impossible. He shook his head and kept his thoughts to himself.

  ****

  Minister McGivney sat across the table from the Supreme Minister having tea and reporting where matters stood regarding the so called Smotecal Decretum. The smotec was less than happy with the report.

  “You were supposed to take care of this…this abomination,” he screamed turning his back on McGivney who tried his best to hold himself together. Smotec Pius then turned back. “You still haven’t the slightest idea where the Decretum is, the original?”

  That took McGivney by surprise. The original, for real, he thought. “The Smotecal Decretum, Your Sacredness? But I thought that was all made up.”

  “Made up! Made up! It’s as fucking real as the poxes on your face, and it could destroy us. Do you hear me, McGivney? It could destroy the Church. And that’s not all. If there really is a shithole in the jungles of India harboring hundreds of octogenarians happily living into old age, they must be destroyed. It must be destroyed before the world learns of its existence. Do you hear me McGivney? For Christ’s sake, we don’t even get to live into our eighties.”

  The smotec’s tirade thundered down the High Minister’s spine as he traveled the streets from the Vatican to the Cūtocracy. He needed to breathe fresh air. The tunnel was not an option this time. It reeked of pious hypocrisy. As he approached the Cūtocratic headquarters, he looked at his watch. Upon entering the lobby, he heard Rosewall’s irritating voice around the corner. He slowed down and peeked over a large vase with artificial flowers observing Rosewall’s tirade. He was tired of tirades.