Flee The Darkness

by Grant R. Jeffrey

  “It already is tomorrow. And it’s a holiday.”

  “I mean Saturday, January second. Mrs. Stedman is hosting a luncheon for heart transplant patients, and I’ve got to see to the details.”

  “So why do you have to go? Mrs. Stedman has her own staff.”

  “Yes, but this is special to her. And she’s special to me.”

  His eyes reached into hers, inviting her to stay, but she smiled and shook her head. “Daniel, I told you I’m going with you to Europe as an associate. I’m here tonight as a friend. Let’s not confuse the issue with . . . well, you know.”

  Daniel sighed, torn between pursuing a battle he was fairly sure he could win and waiting for long-term success. If he pushed her now, she might back out of the European trip, and he was counting on the beauty and ambiance of Brussels to tip the scales in his favor.

  As usual, his reason bested his passion. “All right. I’ll call the pilot and ask him to ready the jet. He’ll have you home in a couple of hours.” He reached out and pressed his hand to her shoulder. “Sure I can’t convince you to stay? We could just sit here and talk—”

  “And I’d be a zombie on Saturday. I also have a thousand details to work out for my European trip.”

  He squeezed her shoulder lightly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Her mouth curved in a wry half-smile. “I hate to admit it, but so am I.”

  Daniel laughed, then stood, and slipped into his shoes. “Come on, Miss Mitchell,” he said, turning to help her up. “Let me get you to the airport so you can go home and get some rest.”

  “By the way,” she said, obediently following, “you haven’t said much about Brad Hunter’s wedding.”

  “It was beautiful.” Daniel opened the door and let her precede him into the hall. “Christine made a lovely bride, and Brad wasn’t as nervous as I thought he’d be. But he did break out in a cold sweat when he thought I’d lost the wedding ring.”

  “I’ll bet his bride won’t appreciate him leaving her at home so soon after the wedding.”

  Daniel closed the door and stopped in mid-step, looking at Lauren with surprise. “Is he going somewhere?”

  Lauren nodded. “Didn’t he tell you? He’s going with us to Brussels as part of the security detail. General Archer arranged everything.”

  “That’s funny, Brad didn’t mention it.” Daniel patted his pocket for the reassuring jingle of his car keys, then took Lauren’s hand and led her toward the elevator. “Then again, I suspect he had other things on his mind. The wedding, you know.”

  “Of course.” Lauren smiled. “Weddings do tend to take your mind off work. That’s why I’ve always avoided planning one of my own.”

  “Really?” Daniel released her hand and smiled as he summoned the elevator. “That’s odd. Until recently, I felt the same way.”

  SIXTEEN

  4:34 P.M., Friday, January 22, 1999

  THREE WEEKS LATER, ON A FRIDAY AFTERNOON, DANIEL STOOD IN A LINE OF passengers at Ronald Reagan Airport and mentally reviewed his task list. Lauren stood in front of him, her briefcase in one hand and a satchel-sized shoulder bag in the other, and he’d already found himself distracted by the mere sight and sound of her. He hadn’t seen her since New Year’s Eve, and though she was never far from his thoughts, he’d been grateful that she had remained in Washington to make her own arrangements for Brussels. They had exchanged a few e-mails and a couple of friendly phone calls, but each had made a determined effort to concentrate on business and the upcoming trip.

  Daniel had spent far more time talking to General Archer and other Washington advisers. The campaign to educate the public about the value of Millennium Chips would begin on Valentine’s Day. Officials from the National Endowment for the Arts had already begun to shoot a commercial. Daniel read a copy of the script—the whimsical sixty-second ad featured a leading TV star who takes an attractive woman to a post office where they are both to receive their microchips. The man’s chip is inserted by the injector, but as the postal employee searches for the woman’s registration card, the man takes her hand, looks deeply into her eyes, and says, “Would you mind changing her name before you do that?” The woman squeals and kisses him, the postal employee grins, and the happy scene fades to black.

  Other commercials would air in the months from February through July, reminding people to stop in at their post offices and banks to leave thumb- and voiceprints, sign releases to permit the encoding of their financial records, and exchange any cash for credits. Microchipping would officially begin on the Fourth of July, General Archer told Daniel, giving the government six months to assimilate each individual’s records from various computer files and transfer them into binary code. While the government labored to gather information, Daniel and his people would work to assemble the code into a useable format and oversee chip production through several subcontractors throughout the nation.

  The final public service announcement, which would begin airing on July 4 and would run until the end of the year, featured a couple at an Independence Day fireworks display. As rockets sputter and trail streamers of light in the velvet sky, the husband dreamily looks at the wife and says, “You know what this Fourth of July will mean to me? True freedom. Freedom from the hassles of cash, of long lines at the grocery store, of all that paperwork every time we go to the doctor’s office. Now, because of the president’s Millennium Project, we are truly free.”

  They move closer, as if for a kiss, then the woman’s mouth quirks in a smile. “Do you think we’ll still have to stand in long lines at amusement parks?”

  “One world crisis at a time, darling,” the man answers, slipping his arm around her. “Just give us a little more time.”

  The underlying message, of course, was that the Millennium Chip would turn major frustrations into simple conveniences. Daniel had to admit that the president’s cabinet members had done an admirable job of keeping their promises to help him implement the program.

  The employees of Prentice Technologies had risen to the challenge, too, and Daniel’s dreams were well on their way to becoming reality. New staff had been hired for the purpose of forming a Millennium Chip oversight committee that would sublicense other contractors for PID production and distribution. Dr. Kriegel and his team had managed to condense several critical areas of information to minuscule sections of code. The unchangeable data—an individual’s birth date, Social Security number, blood type, voice- and thumbprints, DNA sequence, and birth certificate information had been condensed into a single line that would serve as the basis of the Millennium Chip code. Other information, such as bank account numbers, name, and health records, could be added to the chip at implementation time and updated as often as necessary.

  Daniel’s purpose for going to Brussels, he reminded his staff before he left New York, was to educate European leaders about the necessity of the Millennium Code fix for noncompliant mainframes, to urge them to consider the advantages of microchipping their populations, and to promote the services of Prentice Technologies—though not necessarily in that order. General Archer had assured Daniel that General Herrick had already prepared the European Union Council of Ministers for the changes that would have to be made in order to prepare for the Y2K Crisis, but Daniel would have to convince them to use the Millennium Code and the same Millennium Chip the Americans were using. If he could win them over, more than half of the world’s economy would operate on Daniel’s system. And other nations, if they wanted to trade or communicate at all, would have to join what would ultimately become a Millennium Network.

  “Move over Robert Bemer,” Daniel muttered to himself as they clumped down the passenger ramp toward the Boeing 767. “Make way, Bill Gates. I have seen the future and it belongs to—”

  “What are you mumbling about?” Lauren turned and flashed a smile over her shoulder. Though Daniel had practically pulled her out of her office, apparently she had left all her misgivings behind. She had fretted about leaving the president and firs
t lady all through the cab ride to the airport, but she seemed relaxed and happy now.

  Once she decided to go to Europe, she attacked her empty itinerary like Teddy Roosevelt at Sam Juan Hill. Now meetings and functions and duties jammed her schedule, and she had guiltily confessed that her suitcase bulged with a new wardrobe, too. “I couldn’t represent the first family looking like a frump,” she told Daniel in the taxi on their way to the airport. “So Mrs. Stedman called in the designers, who donated several suits and gowns, all in the glorious name of free publicity. The new clothes are so pretty I’m almost afraid to wear them.”

  “Just make sure they’re all American designers,” Daniel warned, grinning. “Or be prepared to suffer the slings and arrows of those who would discredit your bosses.”

  “Mrs. Stedman thought of that,” she had answered, lifting her chin in a flash of defensive spirit. “These clothes are as American as hot dogs and baseball.”

  Daniel had tried to reach Brad before he left New York, but Brad was either on assignment or purposely ignoring Daniel’s phone calls and e-mails. Brad had seemed like his old self at the wedding, full of jokes, hope for the future, and love for Christine, but Daniel had already seen how that friendliness could disappear behind the dark suit and sunglasses that were de rigueur for a government security officer. Though he had sent at least four e-mails and left half a dozen greetings in Brad’s voice mail, he’d only received one cryptic e-mailed answer: “Yes, I’ll see you in Brussels.”

  Which meant, Daniel realized, that the two of them might never actually meet. If Daniel and Lauren were under protective surveillance, Brad might spend the entire time squirreled away inside a van on some crowded Belgian street.

  Daniel handed his boarding card to a tall, blonde flight attendant, then followed Lauren to their wide first-class seats. She took the window seat and was carefully placing her briefcase in the space in front of her when Daniel put his leather bag on the floor and casually kicked it out of the way.

  “Good grief, aren’t you worried about your laptop.” Her brow wrinkled, and Daniel had to restrain himself from reaching out to smooth the anxiety from her face.

  “Don’t worry, I could drop it off the side of a mountain and it would still run.” As Lauren fumbled with her seat belt, Daniel settled back into his seat and folded his hands at his waist. The flight attendant paused in the aisle and smiled at him. “Excuse me, monsieur. Aren’t you—” she snapped her fingers—“it has something to do with computers.”

  “That’s right.”

  Her smile deepened. She leaned her arm on the seat in front of Daniel, then slid toward the side of the aisle, clearing the way for other boarding passengers. “Daniel Prentice.” One hand gently fluffed her soft, platinum-blonde hair. “I read about you in the Brussels newspapers. They say you are coming to help unite the European Union and the United States. They say you are a genius.”

  From the next seat, Lauren snorted softly.

  “Thanks for noticing.” Daniel answered her smile with a tentative one of his own. “I wonder, miss—I don’t want to be any trouble, but I’m really tired. Do you think you could find me a pillow?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Prentice.”

  Daniel experienced a haunting moment of déjà vu. Except for the slight trace of a French accent, the woman sounded amazingly like Roberta.

  The attendant nearly knocked a small child from his mother’s arms as she yanked a pillow from an overhead bin, but she was all consideration as she offered it to Daniel. “The lights will dim once we take off,” she said, fingering the lace collar of her blouse. “And if you need anything—a blanket, headphones, anything at all—you will ring for me, no? My name is Chantel.”

  “Thank you, Chantel.” Daniel tucked the pillow behind his head, then smiled up at her. “I’ll ring if I need anything.”

  Lauren snorted again once the attendant had moved away. “Honestly, don’t you get tired of that?”

  “Tired of what?” Daniel gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Helpfulness?”

  Lauren screwed her lips into a tight knot. “If that was mere helpfulness, I’m a European princess. That woman is already planning to follow you off the plane and ask you to buy her a drink in Brussels.”

  “That’s not likely.” Daniel shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “And I’m tired, remember? So you just go ahead with whatever you brought to keep you busy, but let me catch a few winks. It will be morning when we land in Brussels, and I don’t intend to wander around all day in a jetlagged fog.”

  From behind his closed eyes, Daniel heard her sigh of exasperation, followed by the sounds of papers rustling in her attaché case. She’d undoubtedly spend most of the flight working, and Daniel wanted some quiet time to mentally sort through everything he had left behind. He had taken pains to be sure that things were progressing as planned at the company, and he had even attempted to set his family life in order.

  His mother hadn’t been happy to hear about his trip. Oh, she had tried to act bright and breezy when he called to say goodbye. She was excited about his opportunities in Brussels and thrilled that his relationship with Lauren Mitchell seemed to be advancing at a slow and steady pace. But then she had asked about that box of his father’s books, and Daniel had to truthfully tell her that he’d forgotten to look for it.

  In the silence that followed his confession, Daniel felt the heavy weight of guilt drop onto his shoulders. Though it was totally irrational, he felt like an irresponsible boy who couldn’t manage to do the one little thing his mother had asked him to do.

  She didn’t berate him. She didn’t accuse or weep or storm in anger, but disappointment dripped from her one-word response: “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” Daniel tried to explain. “When I got back from Washington we were busy negotiating the details of the Millennium Project. Do you realize what an incredible opportunity this is? The president is putting his complete faith in me. This is my opportunity to improve the world.”

  Hear what I’m saying, Mother. Be proud of me! I finally did it! But he couldn’t say what he was thinking. And his mother had no idea how far Daniel’s influence had extended in the last two months.

  “Honey, there’s some important information in those books,” she said, reverting to her previous train of thought. “Things you should know. And since you didn’t read them, I’ll just tell you about the most important thing—the Resurrection. It’s coming, Daniel, and it could come at any moment. And right after the Resurrection, when all the Christians are taken up into heaven, the Antichrist will seize power.”

  “Mom,” he whispered with returning impatience, “can’t this wait until I get back from Brussels?”

  “No, Daniel, it can’t.” Her clipped, terse tone forbade any other interruptions. “Honey, I’ve been reading the papers, and I know about this European Union. And the Bible tells us that a world leader is going to come from the revived Roman Empire. He’ll be a persuasive, charismatic individual who will charm the world by talking about peace and safety.”

  Something clicked in Daniel’s mind—a New Year’s Eve address about peace in Korea. “Are you talking about Adrian Romulus?”

  “I wouldn’t know. People have been trying to identify the Antichrist since the Lord’s ascension into heaven, and I’m not going to hazard a guess. But he is coming, and he will deceive many. He is evil, Daniel, and he will come from Europe—and possibly from the organization you’re traveling to Brussels to help.”

  “Well. . . .” Daniel hesitated, casting about for some way out of the uncomfortable conversation. “If all the Christians are going to heaven before this guy hits the scene, then you and I will be gone. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I know I’ll be gone.” Her voice broke with huskiness. “But will you, Daniel? Following Jesus is more than simply acknowledging him with your intellect. It’s personal faith. Trust. The surrender of your life to Jesus Christ.”

  Daniel drew
in a deep breath and swiveled in his office chair. Some part of him wanted to hang up, then to e-mail his mother and apologize for the bad telephone connection, but she wouldn’t be fooled.

  “Mom, thanks for sharing this with me.” He propped the phone on his shoulder, clapped it into place with his chin, and began typing on the computer keyboard. “But I’ve got a thousand things to finish before I leave. So you take care of yourself, okay, and if you have any problems, either e-mail me directly or call Taylor at the office. One of us will get right back to you.”

  “Good-bye then, Son,” she had said, her voice stifled and unnatural. “I’ll be praying that the Lord will guide your footsteps.”

  Her words came back to Daniel now, and he gripped the armrests of his seat, determined not to let the memory trouble him. The idea of a babysitting, life-directing God was for weak-minded simpletons and wide-eyed dreamers. Jesus Christ had lived and died, the historical record proved that much, and somehow his followers had managed to change the fabric of human existence.

  But that was the full extent of it. Through a series of happy genetic happenstances, the divine Creator who designed human engineering and DNA had provided Daniel with an exceptional brain whose resident intellect had managed to find the answers to most of life’s perplexing questions. If God wanted Daniel to depend on him, why’d he do such a good job ensuring that Daniel wouldn’t need him?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to PanAir flight 3099 to Brussels, Belgium. My name is Chantel, and I’ll be the chief flight attendant tonight as we make our way over the Atlantic.”

  Daniel turned his head toward the window and felt the sun through his closed eyelids. He knew without looking that if he opened his eyes, Chantel would meet his gaze, promising with her smile that if it were up to her, his flight would be nothing but comfortable and pleasant.

  Daniel slipped down in his seat and willed himself to sleep.