Flee The Darkness

by Grant R. Jeffrey

  Daniel looked away, trying to comprehend all he was hearing. If this was true—and Brad’s intelligence reports, it seemed, were rarely wrong— which of the council members was Romulus undercutting?

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “As certain as we can be. And so I wanted to tell you, Daniel—you’ve got to be careful. Romulus is the ultimate wolf in sheep’s clothing. Not only is he on the brink of betraying three of the EU councilors, but in the past two months he’s dined with the president of Iraq, the leaders of the PLO, and the emperor of Japan. He’s already the hero of unified Korea, and he’s scheduled to visit the United States later this year.”

  Daniel frowned, searching for the significance of Brad’s words. “So?”

  Brad spread his hands wide and made an imaginary globe. “The four corners of the earth—the Pacific Rim nations, the Middle East, Europe, and the Americas. If Romulus establishes alliances with all four, he could conceivably become the most powerful man in the world.”

  Daniel couldn’t restrain his burst of laughter. “Brad, that’s crazy! The world is a very big and complicated place; even Adrian Romulus couldn’t hold it together. People are too independent; countries like the United States will cling to their sovereignty until they pry the last shotgun from the last redneck’s hands.”

  “Just look at this, will you, Daniel?” Brad pulled a shiny brochure from his open briefcase and handed it to Daniel. “Don’t worry, it’s not classified. No one will arrest you for having it. Just look it over and then tell me what you think. See if I’m not right about Adrian Romulus’s intentions.”

  Daniel glanced at the brochure. It was titled “A New Europe, A New Community” and featured a full-color illustration of Europe’s new symbol, a picture of Europa riding Zeus, the bull. Daniel could find nothing incriminating in the picture; the same image was represented on the euro currency and the official stamp of the European parliament.

  “Europa,” he said, musing aloud. “Let’s see, if I remember my Greek mythology, Europa was a princess who was abducted by Zeus. He took her to an island—Crete or Cyprus or something.”

  “Close, Danny boy. You remembered more about it than I did. Europa was a Phoenician princess abducted by Zeus, who assumed the form of a white bull and carried her across the sea to Crete. There they had three children: Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Sarpedon.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s certainly incriminating. It’s terribly politically incorrect, what with Zeus oppressing the helpless woman and forcing her to bear his children. He’d never get by with that in America.”

  “Cut the sarcasm and consider the implications, will you? Three children, and there are three sectors of the world waiting to join Romulus.”

  “You didn’t mention Africa,” Daniel remarked, turning to the inside of the brochure.

  “Africa will go with the Middle East,” Brad growled, resting his fist on his hip. “Read it later, and you’ll see what I mean. Now you’ve got to get going. Your plane leaves in less than ninety minutes, and you’ll have to clear customs.”

  Daniel gave the brochure a last glance, then tucked it into his coat pocket. What more could he tell his best friend? Romulus had spoken of uniting the world in a global community, but he’d made no direct statements about wanting to lead this new amalgamation. He’d led Daniel to believe that he wanted to influence the world, which wasn’t so terrible an ambition—Daniel wanted the same thing.

  But Brad wouldn’t understand. He and his cronies at the NSA were hyper-paranoid, eager to find dictators and tyrants where none existed. And they were ethnocentrically American, refusing to believe that perhaps the Europeans’ idea of unity was a good idea.

  Or maybe they were peeved because Europe was stealing a distinctly American concept. Several independent states into one union? Who’d have ever dreamed it could work?

  Daniel stood and looked at Brad for a long minute, then shook his head. “Sorry, Brad, but your suspicions are pretty hard to swallow. I honestly think your people got their wires crossed on this one. Romulus is energetic, true, and I can see where his intelligence and ambition might be intimidating to some people in power. But his favorite refrain is about community and the renaissance of Europe—I’ve never heard him say anything about wanting to rule the world.”

  Brad stood, too, and put his hands in his pockets. “Just be careful, will you? Open your eyes and consider what I’ve said.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “As much as I’d like to get out of paying for your honeymoon, I don’t think Lauren would ever forgive me if you got hurt. And this is a dangerous business.”

  Daniel snorted as he picked up his laptop and moved toward the door. “Your spies are slipping, Brad, or you’d know that Miss Mitchell and I are currently on the outs. I told her about Romulus’s job offer, and she pretty much threw up her hands in disgust.” He grinned. “She’s like you—she doesn’t like Romulus, either.”

  “I don’t get paid to like or dislike people.” Brad’s voice was calm, his gaze steady. “I get paid to understand them.”

  “Better you than me.” Daniel reached out, shook his friend’s hand, then opened the hotel room door. “See you soon. Let me know when you get back to the good ol’ USA.”

  “I will.”

  With an impertinent grin, Daniel moved through the doorway and left Brad alone with his suspicions.

  In the cab, Daniel leaned back against the seat, closed his eyes, and tried to reset his mental relays. So much had happened in the last week; so many strange and unexpected ideas had been tossed at him. Lauren’s awakening interest in religion had come from nowhere, and Brad and his conspiracy theories had caught Daniel by surprise.

  When it all boiled down to basics, Daniel reminded himself, he had a simple job to complete. It was already February 18, and in only 316 days the world’s mainframes would either go berserk or pass quietly into the year 2000. Before the worst happened, Daniel had to oversee the production of more than 600 million Millennium Chips for the United States and Europe—and pray that the rest of the world would buy into the Millennium Code Y2K fix.

  His mouth curved in a faint smile. Adrian Romulus may have never dreamed of changing the world, but Daniel had. In order to be truly effective, his Millennium Code had to be the world’s standard.

  And if, by some miracle, he could convince Lauren that her life would be infinitely more fulfilling if it were linked with his, well, Daniel would know he’d been a true success.

  “Which airline, monsieur?” The cabbie looked into the rearview mirror for Daniel’s answer.

  Distracted, Daniel muttered the name of the airline and looked out the window for a sign of Lauren’s blonde curls. The clerk at the hotel desk had told him that Lauren had already checked out, so Daniel knew she was still miffed.

  Lauren was nowhere to be seen outside the terminal, so Daniel paid the taxi driver, paid an attendant to check his luggage, then raced through the security checkpoints and customs areas. He neared the gate just as a tall, Nordic-looking stewardess announced the final boarding call. Daniel lengthened his stride and was breathless by the time he reached the jet and found his seat in first class.

  Lauren sat in the seat next to his, but she barely even glanced up as he shrugged out of his overcoat.

  “Glad you made it,” she said, with a marked lack of conviction. “I’d have hated to tell Sam that you chose to remain behind.”

  Daniel tossed his coat into the overhead bin, then sank into the seat next to her. “I don’t want to remain behind.” He lowered his voice. “It’s just a job, Lauren, and Romulus would be just another client. It’s not like I’m surrendering my citizenship or anything.”

  “Oh.” She turned a page of her magazine without looking up.

  Sighing, Daniel stretched his legs beneath the seat in front of him, then crossed his arms. Apparently this would be a chilly flight home. But perhaps he could find something to occupy his time. . . .

  “Excuse me?” He waved to catch the nearest flig
ht attendant’s attention. “Would you happen to have a Bible aboard?”

  “Shhh, sir!” Turning in the aisle, the steward frowned and placed a finger across his lips. “Not so loud! Do you want to panic the other passengers?”

  “I only want to read—”

  “We do not carry that sort of material aboard the aircraft.” The fussy steward pulled a stack of magazines from a narrow shelf. “I have Esquire,Newsweek, Europe Today, and Investor Weekly. Which of those would you like?”

  Daniel glanced at Lauren, half-hoping she’d be warmed by the thought that he’d asked for the Holy Scriptures, but her eyes were still glued to the glossy pages of her magazine.

  “Give me Europe Today, please.” He took the magazine from the steward, then settled back to read. He could wage war in this battle of the sexes, too. He would read the entire magazine without even glancing her way, just to prove that he was immune to her charms and that delightful scent that always lingered in her hair. He would recline in this chair and apply his mind to this magazine, absorbing every detail of the lead story, even if it had to do with Belgian tulips.

  He opened the magazine, flipped past the opening ads and the masthead, then found himself staring at a full-page, glossy picture of Adrian Romulus.

  Lauren’s voice rattled against his eardrums. “You can’t escape him even for a minute, can you, Daniel?”

  An hour later, Lauren stepped over Daniel’s long legs, then moved into the aisle. Pressing her hands to the small of her back, she stretched and glanced down at the sleeping man beside her.

  Daniel Prentice was amazing. Stubborn, bright, and generous; sharp, thoughtful, and bull-headed.

  Why had her treacherous heart fallen for him?

  She moved toward the lavatory, then smiled politely as another woman exited. Once Lauren had locked herself into the tiny cubicle, she dampened a paper towel, then pressed it to her right temple. A persistent thumping inside her skull signaled the advent of a killer migraine, and Lauren wanted to blame the weather, the altitude, or the stress of the journey.

  But responsibility for this headache belonged solely to Daniel Prentice.

  He had wanted to remain in Brussels. He came to life when he talked about his work with Adrian Romulus; he glowed as he described the changes his brilliant Millennium Project would bring to the world. Better accounting, less crime, more responsible citizens and government. More fairness, more equity, more truth. She had the sneaking suspicion he wanted to make a major mark on the world, with the Millennium Project as his pen. Bill Gates brought simple personal computers into 55 percent of American homes, but Daniel Prentice wanted to bring his Millennium Code to the entire world.

  It was, she thought, like the Tower of Babel story in reverse. God had confounded the nations by making them speak in different languages; Daniel would bring them back together by teaching their computers to speak the same code. Already he had found a way to link every single American to the national network. And now, every European.

  Her head pounded at the thought. Lauren groaned and closed her eyes, holding the damp towel over the pulsing vein in her temple. Daniel had come willingly enough once she told him that the president wanted them home, but she suspected that he’d only remain stateside long enough to check in with the president and his associates in New York. Then he’d be off again, back to Brussels or even France, where Adrian Romulus owned a palatial estate. Perhaps Daniel would buy the mansion next door, maybe even Versailles! After this European deal, he’d certainly be able to afford it.

  She opened her eyes and peered woefully at her bleary reflection. “Get used to it, kid. See that footprint in the middle of your back? That’s Daniel Prentice’s mark. He’s used you as a stepping stone, just like all the others.”

  She should have known not to trust him. She had trusted that widowed freshman senator from Minnesota who came calling with roses and perfume, but then she’d discovered that he had a living wife and six kids tucked away in a remote hamlet. The press nearly had a field day with that one; only Mrs. Stedman’s promise of an in-depth interview with the leading news organizations had managed to bury the story. In the end, the national networks decided that the first lady was of far more interest than a broken-hearted executive assistant, so Lauren watched in silent agony as Victoria faced harsh questions about her faith, her husband’s fidelity, even her deceased daughter. In gratitude to Victoria, and with the bitterness of experience, Lauren had vowed to forever bar any and all politicians from her personal life.

  Daniel wasn’t a politician, but she should have seen the signs. Just like most statesmen, he was ambitious, charming, and quick with a sound bite. He was rich enough to buy luxury and attention, and shameless enough to enjoy them.

  That thought had barely crossed her mind before another followed— Victoria Stedman liked Daniel, and Victoria had a gift for discerning the truth about people. So Daniel couldn’t be all bad—of course he wasn’t—but he still had broken Lauren’s heart.

  She sank to the closed seat. “Merciful heavens, I can’t trust anybody.”

  She had learned that lesson in her first year of politics, but sometimes she needed to be reminded. Public servants, even unelected ones like Lauren, couldn’t confide in just anyone. Your best friends could sell out your secrets and broadcast your most personal feelings to the tabloids. No one was completely trustworthy, no one so selfless that they didn’t have their own personal agenda. Even Victoria, who was as saintly a person as Lauren could imagine, had to support and protect her husband’s position and reputation before anyone else’s.

  Loneliness welled up in Lauren, black and cold. The old feelings of loss and grief surfaced into her consciousness like a powerful undertow that pulled her under against her will.

  Whom did she have? Lauren mentally listed the people who cared for her. The Stedmans loved her, but even their affection had its limits. Her mother was dead; her father gone only God-knew-where. Daniel probably cared about her, but he cared more for ambition and power. There remained a couple of casual girlfriends, a handful of ex-boyfriends who wouldn’t hesitate to sell stories to the National Inquirer if there had been any juicy tales to tell, and a dozen White House staffers who would gleefully stab her in the back if she dropped her guard for one instant.

  Her dog adored her, but even Tasha could be wooed away with a handful of kibble.

  The memory of the bookbinder-preacher brought a wry, twisted smile to her face. If you were kidnapped on the streets of Brussels by a group of terrorists, do you believe the American president Samuel Stedman would come personally with his armed forces to rescue you? Could you trust him with your life?

  No. No one in the world was crazy enough to value her above all else, devoted enough to rescue her from a band of terrorists . . . or unending loneliness.

  Like peeling an onion, Lauren stripped the layers from her life and found—emptiness. She had no center, no reason for being. So why was she alive?

  She gulped hard, then looked into the mirror and saw tears sliding down her cheeks. “Oh, God,” she prayed, lifting her eyes to the molded ceiling above, “I have nothing. Nothing to believe in, no one to trust.”

  She stood silently, tasting her tears, then a memory ruffled through her mind like wind on water. His child and forever I am.

  The old song. They had sung it in the little bookbinder’s church, the song about being redeemed.

  Redeemed and so happy in Jesus, no language my rapture can tell.

  “God will hold you tight, young woman, if you trust him with your life.” She heard the preacher’s voice again, saw the earnestness in his eyes. Belief, she remembered, meant more than knowledge or intellectual agreement— it meant complete and unconditional surrender to Christ.

  Caught by surprise at the memory, Lauren gave the mirror a wry smile. Why would Jesus want her? She was nobody’s daughter, a child of the projects, an adaptable woman who’d had the good fortune to be loved by a powerful man’s family. She was pretty, but no kn
ockout; bright, but not brainy; kind, but no saint. If Jesus had given his life to redeem hers, he had definitely gotten the weak end of the bargain.

  His child and forever I am.

  The lyrics moved in her heart, stirring passions and desires buried beneath years of denial. His child. How she had longed to be a father’s child! She had never even known her own father, never heard a single favorable word about him from her mother’s lips. Yet Lauren used to lie in bed and dream of a loving, gentle man who would invite her to curl up in his lap and fling her arms about his neck. The dream of a caring, sheltering father had sustained her throughout the tumultuous years of adolescence, and then she’d discovered the Stedmans. Though Samuel Stedman had maintained a stately, dignified distance, he had provided for her, encouraged her, and trusted her with responsibility. Lauren had delighted in his regard, even while she suspected that he cared for her mainly because he wanted to care for Jessica—and Jessica was forever out of his reach.

  His child and forever I am.

  Could she find in Jesus a God to call Father? A Father she could trust with her secrets, her failings, her faults, and her fears?

  Victoria Stedman had never found fault with him. And she suspected that none of the believers in the bookbinder’s little church had, either.

  “All right, Jesus, I surrender,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision. “Unconditionally. Take my life and use it for something. I’ve wasted thirty years chasing foolish dreams; forgive me for that. Take what’s left of my life and do whatever you want with it.”

  She waited, half-expecting to see a bright light or hear an angelic choir, but she heard only the roar of the engines and the soft murmur of voices outside the lavatory. Had anything happened in that instant of surrender? She had skimmed the pamphlet the preacher had given her; it spoke of becoming a new creature, of old things passing away and a new life beginning when an individual believed in Christ. Lauren looked into the mirror and saw her familiar reflection, the tears still streaking her cheeks, and yet she felt as though a warm kernel of joy now occupied the center of her being, sending little sprouts of hope through the surface of her broken heart.