The natural opening was hidden for many years by selectively planted trees and shrubs, and a small military guard post was constructed to guard it. In 1850, the government built the existing house over the cave because some believed it would make the escape tunnel less conspicuous and give the president a temporary headquarters if needed in the event of an evacuation from the city.
The less practical proponents thought the president needed a nice place to rest and clean up after a crawl through a nasty tunnel. In truth it became a vacation home to many in the government or a retreat for Congressmen and their mistresses. I guess little has changed in the last 150 years.
The truly incredible thing about it all was that the tunnel was kept such a tight secret up until the time it was abandoned by the government in the 1880s that it has been all but forgotten by history. I certainly don’t remember studying about the president’s subterranean escape tunnel in school, or even seeing some obscure television program on the History Channel. No, according to Mollie, there are only a handful of people with knowledge of the tunnel.
“How did you happen on this house?” I asked.
“I married into it,” she said with a modest smile.
It turned out that Mollie had married a man by the name of Shainard Hartje shortly after moving to Landover after she and Lizzie Chenowith parted ways. The house had been in the Hartje family for 100 years and they had kept the tunnel a closely guarded secret, not with the motive of protecting classified information but to keep tourists and gawkers away.
“Shay, that’s what I called him, passed away almost 30 years ago,” she said as we slowly ascended the ornate staircase. “He was a good man with a good heart, just not a very strong one, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry, did he—” I broke off the question when I realized how stupid it was.
She gave me an appraising look and then smiled faintly.
“Did he stay? No, I’m sorry to say he did not, although I have talked to him a few times in the past 30 years.”
“How?” I asked, forgetting some of what Miss Chenowith had told me.
Mollie gestured to Esther, whom was gently laying Seth down on a large mahogany covered bed in a room to the right of the second floor landing. It reminded me of my upstairs landing except it was much larger and much fancier.
“My spirit guide,” she said. “Didn’t Lizzie tell you about Shasta?”
I shrugged. It seemed like she had mentioned something about how spirit guides work but I had either forgotten it or didn’t comprehend in the first place.
Mollie hobbled over to a high backed chair in the corner covered in yellow fabric festooned with tiny red roses. She plopped down alarmingly like a sack of potatoes and motioned for me to come and sit on the matching loveseat nearby. When I obliged, she leaned as far out as she could using her cane for support and spoke to me in a low voice like she didn’t want anyone overhearing.
“People like Lizzie and me are called mediums, but that is actually a misnomer. Our spirit guide could be more accurately described as a medium.”
I looked at her with blank incomprehension washing over my face. She continued.
“We have a strong bond to the spirit guide, and as a result of that link we are able to tap in on connections the spirit guide makes.”
“Connections?” I asked.
“Yes, many spirits that have chosen to remain will speak to me freely, but many more are a little shy or just don’t want to be bothered. That’s where Esther comes in; she is able to be a little more persuasive than I can, since she is like them.”
I looked over to see Esther watching us as she sat on the side of the bed, nervously stroking Seth’s hair as he slept. She looked anxious, like she wanted us to hurry and finish our conversation. I didn’t know whether it bothered her that Mollie was discussing their relationship or if she was just as tired as I was and was eager to call it a night. She returned my look with a faint smile.
“I see,” I said, turning my attention back to Mollie. “So she acts like a medium between you and spirits that are shy or antisocial?” I intended that question to be sincere but with a little dry humor thrown in. I’m not sure Mollie took it that way.
“No, not antisocial, they’re just people who want to be left alone even though their loved ones want to talk to them. I think it’s too painful for them to focus on their past lives. It’s sad, really, and this whole event, or phenomenon, or whatever you want to call it, has been the hardest on them. They no longer have a choice.”
I nodded my head and offered an apologetic smile.
Mollie looked at me with a stern expression, one that made me feel as if I were being scolded by my grandmother. But she wasn’t scolding; she was trying as best she could to educate an ignorant ex-skeptic like myself.
“A spirit guide is most literally a medium when they are communicating with someone who has passed on, someone who has chosen to go through the door, so to speak.”
My heart skipped a beat when I thought of how Seth had told me about the doors and that his mother had chosen to go through hers. Could it be possible that I still might be able to communicate with my beloved Ann, even though she had chosen to move on?
“How is that possible?” I asked, breathless.
“I’m not really sure,” Mollie admitted. “The best explanation I’ve heard is that the spirit guide can sometimes find a random door and just go up and knock on it and ask to speak to so and so.”
“Ask who?” I said and we both turned in unison to look at Esther. She must have anticipated this, because a moment before she bent down to pet Jackson, who had taken up station beside the bed. Her back was partially turned so she didn’t have to look in our direction.
“I don’t know,” Mollie said. “Best advice is don’t ask her about it, it upsets her somethin’ awful,” she said in a low whisper as she nodded her head discreetly in Esther’s direction.
Mollie put her cane in her left hand and stuck her right arm in the air.
“Can you please help me up, Thomas? We all need our rest tonight.”
I stood up and gently took her hand. She pulled on my hand and pushed with the cane, with minimal effort she slowly rose to her feet.
“I expect we might have visitors in the morning,” she said hobbling toward the door, Esther taking position at her side.
“Who?” I asked.
“The military,” she said with a tone of “been there, done that.”
I swallowed hard, igniting the burn in my throat again.
“The military?” I croaked, my heart beat starting to accelerate.
“Yes,” she said, like she didn’t have a care in the world. “They are after the Lieblongs.”
CHAPTER 27
Morning Guests
“There are three things in the world that deserve
no mercy: hypocrisy, fraud, and tyranny.”
—Frederick William Robertson
Mollie left the room before I could question her further about her ominous statement. I was exhausted and laid down next to Seth in the large canopy bed. The mattress was incredibly comfortable and soft, but in spite of that I lay awake all night. Why in the hell had she been so nonchalant about a subject that was extremely important to 99-percent of the souls in the house and below in the cave? Were we going to have soldiers showing up any moment with iron cuffs and chains? While the implications of her carefree statement troubled me, I believe it was probably the secondary cause for my insomnia. I spent most of the night thinking of Ann.
I couldn’t get the thought out of my head about the prospect of still being able to talk to her, to communicate, to share with one another. I missed her dearly and there was still a massive hole inside of me that could never be filled again. I had been able to cover this hole to disguise it from my feelings by focusing on my time with Seth. But it was still there, brought into full
relief by the hope of talking with my wife just one more time. My hopes were darkened, however, when I considered the logic of the situation. Esther would have to go back for that to be possible. This meant that the phenomenon would have to end, which means Seth would go back, too. As much as I wanted to talk to Ann, that was a sacrifice I was unwilling to make.
I awoke with a start as I felt a cold hand on my chest.
“Wake up! Wake up! The Army is here!” Esther said as she gently shook me out of the short cat nap I had eventually fallen into.
I sat up quickly, catching Esther by surprise and causing her hand to penetrate my chest a few inches. My heart felt frozen, which was only intensified when I looked over and saw Seth was gone.
Esther quickly withdrew her hand from my chest with a look of embarrassment like she had just seen me naked. She stood up and rushed to the door.
“Where’s Seth?” I asked as I stumbled out of bed rubbing my cold chest.
“He’s safe,” she said in a hurry. “Get dressed. I’m going to join him.” She pointed to the floor, which I took to mean he was in the cave. Esther paused like she was trying to remember something, “Oh, and you’re Mollie’s son today!”
I stood there staring at the closed bedroom door, dumbfounded. The shock of waking up suddenly and finding Seth gone, coupled by an Impal heart massage had left my head spinning. I was rudely shaken back to comprehension when I heard shouts and slamming vehicle doors outside the window. I ran to the window and looked down to the front drive.
Three troop transport trucks accompanied by as many Humvees had pulled up in front of Mollie’s home. A dozen soldiers appeared to be combing the front part of the house. They carried a mix of automatic weapons and iron chains. My cold heart seemed to drop to my shoes when I thought of Seth. I didn’t know for certain where the hell he was. I hurriedly got dressed and headed down the stairs.
I reached the bottom of the stairs to find Mollie waiting patiently, leaning on her cane.
“Well, good morning, Peter! I am so glad my son has come to visit me!” she exclaimed with a wink.
Before I could reply, there was a thunderous knocking noise at the front door.
“Open up, by order of the US Army!” a deep baritone voice called from the other side.
“Just a minute, officer!” called Mollie sweetly as she slowly hobbled toward the door.
Mollie turned the handle and the large door slowly swung open to reveal a host of soldiers, some brandishing rifles and some armed with iron chains and cuffs.
“Oh my,” she said. “Whatever is the problem?”
The soldiers did not readily offer an explanation; the majority entered cautiously and skirted past Mollie and me, their heads on a swivel as they looked for any sign of Impals. The large baritone-voiced soldier stepped in last and stood like a towering giant over Mollie.
“We tracked an Impal family here. Have you seen them?” he boomed authoritatively but respectfully down at Mollie.
“First of all, these people are souls, not Impals,” she corrected scathingly.
The soldier, in appearance, was a stereotypical jarhead with buzz cut blond hair and a square jaw. Whether or not his personality matched his appearance remained to be seen. I could now see he had the name “Sitkowski” sewn above the breast pocket of his uniform. Sitkowski leaned low as he spoke his next question.
“Have you seen this family of souls, ma’am?” he asked more delicately this time, putting emphasis on the corrected terminology.
“No, sir … I have not!” she exclaimed.
“Mind if we search your house, ma’am?” he asked like he hadn’t even heard her answer.
“Do you have a warrant?” I interjected.
His eyes flashed at me, seeming to bore holes through me with his laser-like stare.
“Who are you?” he asked with none of the courtesy he had afforded Mollie.
Mollie started to raise her hand, but I answered before she could speak.
“My name is Peter Hartje,” I said. “Why are you inspecting my mother’s house without a warrant?”
He gazed at me appraisingly for several moments before he replied. I had the strange sensation that he didn’t believe my alias. I also had a feeling I wasn’t going to like his answer, even though I probably already knew the answer.
“I don’t need a warrant with an Executive Order, Mr. Hartje,” he repeated. I could have sworn that the last two words sounded more like a question than a statement. “You would do well to remember that … the penalty for treason is pretty severe,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone like he had just told me what he had for breakfast.
“What are you looking for?” I asked, knowing full well what they were after, but the question was drowned out by the sound of combat boots plodding up and down the stairs above us. My heart felt like it turned to ice and slipped into my stomach when I turned and saw a group of soldiers heading for the library where the secret door lead down to the cavern, down to where the Impals were hidden, down to Seth.
I turned to walk in that direction but I didn’t know what I intended to do – keep an eye on the search for my own comfort, cause a distraction, or attack the soldiers myself. I didn’t have time to consider my reaction, though; I had barely taken two steps when I was grasped firmly by the elbow. I was spun around abruptly and was standing nose to nose with a man about my height, wearing a black beret and green camo like the other soldiers. Unlike the other soldiers who were wearing berets, his was the only one that had stars on it—three of them, to be exact. I recognized the face, but I was in so much shock by his sudden appearance I didn’t immediately put a name with it. After all, I had not seen his image lately, just heard him on the radio. So when he spoke, his identity hit me like air from an icy tomb.
“Please stay here and let the men do their work,” he said with a casual coolness that made the statement sound rather creepy. “Mr. …?”
“Hartje,” I said. “Peter Hartje.”
A look of bemusement washed across his face as he cut his eyes at Mollie.
“I am General Ott Garrison.” He nodded toward Mollie. “Your mother?”
I nodded my head stiffly as Mollie focused her eyes on the floor.
I had seen this man on the news. He was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and the president’s most trusted military advisor, the man who Lincoln had seen in the Oval Office, the one I had heard on the radio; he was the man who was probably most responsible for the government’s treatment of the Impals. He had convinced the president they were a threat, and the Commander in Chief had naively let a terrible genie out of the bottle, one that now seemed would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to rebottle.
“Why are you here? We’ve done nothing wrong!” I demanded with as much courage and authority I could manage. I’m sure the general heard the fear in my voice because of his satisfied smile. I was scared, scared as hell, but not for me. I was scared for Seth.
He strolled to the nearby window and drew the lacy curtains back just enough that I could clearly see my SUV parked in the driveway. Fear burned in my stomach like acid as I looked at the Arkansas license plate clearly displayed on the back of the vehicle. I knew what that meant. How could I have been so stupid to not hide the vehicle?
“Is that your vehicle, Mr. Hartje?” he asked, jerking his head casually toward the window.
I said nothing. I just stared as coolly as I could back at him. I had to push Seth to the back of my mind to keep the fear out of my eyes.
“It’s a nice vehicle,” he said, indifferent. “I used to have one myself. Pitiful gas mileage though.” He looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Not very green are you, Mr. Hartje?”
I stared at him, not blinking and not moving. Nausea threatened to betray my cool exterior.
I heard books crashing to the floor in the library as soldiers carelessly tossed the sh
elves. It was all I could do to control my feeling of terror as the general stood there, X-raying me with his eyes. Were the soldiers about to find the latch that opens the secret door?
Mollie turned and walked toward the library. I was just turning to follow when the general spoke again.
“That SUV really gets around. I understand it was in Tennessee a couple of days ago?”
I took a deep breath; it seemed my heart was in my throat as my sore neck burned with every rapid pulse. I could feel a cold sweat beading on my brow.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I see,” he said. “Well, what would you know? Do you know, Mr. Thomas Pendleton?”
My heart rate went up a notch as I felt a bead of sweat cascade over my eyebrow.
The general carried on conversationally. This was worse than yelling and screaming; his tone sent chills through my body.
“It would seem that Mr. Thomas Pendleton, who happens to be the owner of the vehicle I might add, was involved in a carjacking in that very vehicle where an Impal boy was used to go in and help burglarize several establishments.”
I stood motionless, trying not to react, trying not to alter my expression, but that was getting difficult. Sweat was starting to sting my eyes.
“They never found the little perversion of nature,” he said.
I could feel the anger rising in me now, quickly swallowing up my fear. For Seth’s sake, I couldn’t let it dissuade all my fear. I needed a little to control my anger. I am not a violent person, but I could have easily punched the general square in the nose and not felt the least bit guilty about it. But that foolish and rash reaction would do Seth no good.
“That just proves my point,” he said. “These Impals are nothing but perversions of nature—arrogant perversions, I might add. They take up our space, with more and more of them coming every second. In just a few months there is literally going to be very little elbow room left in this great country without rubbing elbows with one of them. I can’t think of anything more disgusting, can you?”
The Tesla Gate Page 23