“Very well.” Stevens sighed. “Let me call my lawyer.”
Agent Connelly allowed him to do so, despite his part to play here, but only because he had a sneaking suspicion that Christopher was telling the truth. He didn’t kill Agent Fastez. He wasn’t sympathetic to the E.L.F. He didn’t know the whereabouts of Jason Brooke or Devin Lock, or any of the others. He was a reasonably pleasant old man with great skills and a string of connections and coincidences that placed him as a suspect. Connelly could feel it. Christopher Crowe Stevens was innocent. He’d been wrong about the man, but something about Stevens itched him in a funny way. He just had to figure out what it was about the kindly old man that troubled him.
Regardless of his feelings, he had no choice right now either way, but to arrest him for questioning, that he might remain here and dig deeper in the investigation. He had to continue, or he would be relieved of duty entirely. At least arresting Stevens and detaining him for further questions and lie-detector tests could buy him some time to find the real killer and any of the E.L.F. members responsible for the Murton and Norton incident. He was treading on thin ice now, and he’d better be swift.
Chapter 13
That night, Agent Connelly retired to his new room at the Westin Towers in Seattle. After long in running over the details of this side-winding case beneath the scrutiny of a rather angry looking Agent Black, he fell asleep slumped in a decidedly uncomfortable position in an even less comfortable chair. In his lap was Mr. Stevens’ publication. It really was the most boringly intriguing of reads -so full of technical jargon he felt like he was reading an instruction manual for an office copy-machine.
Of course, the tedium was broken by memoir-like accounts of specific events that led up to his mastership over the various techniques he’d perfected throughout his years -told like little stories and stepping-stones in the progress he’d made after the tutelage of his father and grandfather in Montana’s eastern Rockies, and then later on his own in the Cascades. But even so, the book had a spellbinding ability to knock him out faster than a one-two punch.
Connelly woke bathed in sunlight streaking through the full length vertical blinds of the sliding door to the fair balcony overlooking the larger buildings of the city. Damp with a light but uncomfortable sweat from the heat filtering through the blinds, he stretched and groaned, relieving cramped muscles as he set aside Stevens’ book and immediately began dwelling on where to go from here.
For all the time he’d spent in law enforcement, he was finally at a loss. He didn’t really know where to go. If Stevens proved falsely arrested and innocent of all possible involvement, as Ben already suspected he was, then he’d hit the dead end of a false rabbit trail where there stood a brick wall.
He sighed. First, he needed a shave and shower and fresh clothes. Rising, he was quick to set on a small pot of coffee and turning on the television to King 5 news at 7 a.m. He was a little late, and meandered into the bathroom to run a quick shave. The faucet ran hot and steam rose up in waves, fogging the large mirror, through which he often watched the news backwards in his earliest waking minutes.
He began his shave and listened disinterestedly to the anchor, welcoming viewers back from the most recent commercial advertisements.
~As promised, King 5 now brings you the latest developments in the recent eco-terrorist attack that left a federal agent dead and an entire swat team disappeared, presumed also to have been killed during the fire-bombings.~ The man said, drawing Connelly’s slight attention through the fog on the mirror.
~Federal agents in correlation with a special task-force unit from joint base, Lewis-McChord, stormed the property of a local Enumclaw man who some speculate played a sniper’s role during the attack on Murton and Norton Industrial.
Recent Olympic Gold Medalist in single’s archery, Christopher Crowe Stevens, was taken from his home yesterday afternoon. He lived in the woods, alone with his two dogs, on twenty acres beyond the fringes of Enumclaw. His lawyer has declined to comment, and the Seattle Police Department has refused to say whether Mr. Stevens has been formally charged with involvement in the assault, or if he is merely being questioned due to his expertise.~
Connelly’s focus trickled away with the water and shaving cream as it went down the drain, washed from his razor. There went a trail of blood as well, and he grimaced, realizing he’d cut himself in his distraction. He wiped away the fog to inspect the damage he’d done to his jaw line, setting the razor down on a shallow glass shelf, but as he leaned in, turning his features aside and bringing his hands up experimentally to the bloody smear of a painless hair-line razor cut, the television’s picture abruptly warped.
The news feed wildly scrambled, and the speakers screeched of a disconnected signal. The picture flickered frantically, then went out, only to return with an incredibly dark image, marred only by a faint haze of light and what looked to be stationary reflections cast over something that dominated the whole picture as a shadow.
~Greetings.~ The television spoke, but the sound was marred by a droning of innumerable other voices, many of which faded into the background like whispers of steam. The picture then became clear. It was a man’s head, hooded and blackly cloaked, draped in impenetrable shadows. The head had lifted, albeit only slightly, letting angular light fall on a slim but strong, clean-cut or youthful chin. It was devoid of facial hair either way. Connelly saw the hint of a sharp, upturned nose, and the disconnected movement of slim lips.
~Human kind.~ The voice finished without pause. Connelly froze, watching the image in the mirror for a moment before wheeling about, and emerging from the bathroom to stand mesmerized.
He felt like he was looking at the very same person who had been standing in the darkness of Shannon Hunter’s hospital room. He couldn’t explain it, but the draping of a black, cloaking hood was incontrovertibly similar. He just stood there and stared -white hand towel stained with blood low in his hand, face smeared with fresh bleeding and shaving cream as the figure continued to speak.
~I am one who has been unknown for many years beyond your understanding.~
The shadow spoke, and its voice continued to drone. The movement of its lips didn’t quite match its voice, and yet, they did in a disconnected sort of fashion.
~I am the Lord, Dunesil Llaerth, forge of the Veil of the Leaf’s Edge, father of the branch of the Elvine of Addl’laen.~ He paused, sighing a nasal breath.
~There are many things I must tell you all, but I must first inform you that there is no need to adjust your monitors, for I have taken all of them.~ He informed, prompting Connelly to rush for his remote control and flip through the channels. They all had the same ghostly image, which did nothing for a long moment, as if waiting for Connelly to check several stations before continuing its message.
He found no lie in this figure’s voice which possessed that bizarre droning, like numerous channels playing simultaneously, each saying different things as they buzzed in the background. It sounded like numerous different languages compiled and superimposed over one another, all playing, altogether. Eventually, Agent Connelly stopped flipping channels as the figure’s pause drew to an end. He quickly grabbed his cell phone, flipped it open and dialed, putting it to his ear.
~There is no need to adjust the sound.~ The figure calling itself Dunesil commented.
~You are hearing exactly what I wish you to hear. My tongue speaks the many languages of man, simultaneous. Those who would hear, Arabic, hear it. Those of English tongues, hear it. Those of your Russian derivatives, Japanese, Chinese, German, Spanish, Italian, Greek and further on into the many broken verbal dialects of Humankind, far into the lesser tongues of your people, hear what would be said.~ Dunesil trailed off as Connelly heard his dialed line pick up on the other end.
* * *
Agent Director, Michael Farsing was only just digging deeper into his paperwork for the morning, resting in his comfortable high-backed chair in his office at the pentagon in D.C.
He sippe
d on coffee and diligently, albeit lazily, paged through a report from another of his many agents when his secretary’s page came through with a beep to his desk monitor.
“Director.” His secretary’s voice came through. He reached over and pushed the button.
“Go ahead, Sylvia.” He spoke, releasing the button.
“Sorry, Michael, I’ve got a call from Agent Connelly coming in from Seattle.” She spoke back through the monitor. “Shall I put him through?”
“Yes, please.” He responded, pushing and releasing the button again as he set aside his paperwork gladly, leaning back in his leather with coffee in one hand and phone in the other. The chair creaked lightly as he answered Connelly’s patched through call.
“Director Farsing, Ben. What’s the good news?” He confirmed and asked. “Did you get Stevens?”
“Nevermind that, Michael. Are you watching the broadcast?” Connelly answered hurriedly. His tone was dreadful.
“Broadcast? No. What broadcast? What’s going on?” He asked, leaning forward again in his seat as he glanced to the tall glass wall at his right. Through cracks in the floor length vertical blinds, he could see the office. The agents were all gathering about a large flat-screen on the far wall.
“You had better turn it on.” Connelly spoke. His tone sounded worse.
“What channel?” Farsing promptly asked, sensing the urgency.
“Any one, it doesn’t matter.” Connelly’s voice came back in a rush. “Just turn it on.”
Deputy Director Farsing slowly stood up, moving towards the glass wall to look out upon those under his personal supervision. All at once a knocking came at his office door and an agent burst in without waiting for answers. Farsing looked to the darkness consuming the television screen, but with the intrusion, his eyes found the coming agent in a snap.
“Sir, you’d better come take a look at this.” The man insisted, and Farsing was quick to follow, dropping the phone’s receiver. Its coiled cord dragged it back toward his desk.
“What’s going on?” He demanded, and the agent leading him away was swift at talking over his shoulder as they went out to the main floor where everyone was gathered to watch a broadcast of some sort.
“We don’t know, sir. Someone seems to have taken over the satellites. He’s broadcasting a message through every channel, and we can’t even turn the television off.” The agent informed as they swept down into the main floor of the office headquarters.
“Who is?” He asked seriously, getting the picture as he laid eyes on the screen in their approach.
“We don’t know, sir. He’s calling himself Dunesil.” The man hesitated. “No one here has any information on that name. He’s demanding some pretty extreme stuff, and proclaims to speak all the languages we have knowledge of, simultaneously. We think he’s planning an attack. Just watch.” The man said, and Farsing was beyond him swiftly, pushing through the gathered agents to stand looking on the figure everyone with a television on the face of the planet would reportedly be seeing.
~In light of the destruction of the world’s resources, and the human malcontent with the splendors it has been given. In wake of the ultimate defiling of everything we hold dear, I have decreed in the council of Addl’laen…~
“What’s the council of Addl’laen?” Farsing asked, but received a harsh shushing.
“Shhh. Quiet.” An intently listening female agent silenced him. “Listen.” She added a bit more respectfully of his position.
~…that Mankind has seven days to comply with my demands, or suffer the consequences of utter elimination on behalf of the great mother, who you call earth.~ The figure paused in shadows, and Farsing denoted the peculiar sound of its omni-language wrought voice. Silenced, he simply listened on.
~For the past five decades, it has been the decree of the council of Addl’laen within the Veil of the Leaf’s Edge, to deliver ever-growing admonitions to you humans in hopes that you will heed us and change your ways. However, you have steadfastly refused to acknowledge the cautions we were admitted to impose upon you.
In light of the recent discovery of the herald of change in our kin, Firea’csweise, it has now come to us. Our previous decree to grant you a century of chances to correct the errors of your ways, has been overturned. We have no choice but to eradicate you as the vermin that you are in order to save the planet you’ve squandered.”
He drew a breath.
~As I’ve said, humans. You have now been given a period of seven days pending this message. Seven days for you to begin to obey my demands, or the utter destruction of your vast, foul accomplishments shall commence. It will begin with your satellites as soon as this transmission is finished. Then, your electric power centers shall be destroyed. To ensure you that I am no mere terrorist, nor that all I have said and will continue to say must not be heard and heeded implicitly.~
“What?!” Farsing couldn’t believe his ears. “I want diagnostics running on this immediately!” He hissed, but the figure calling itself Dunesil was continuing once more as an agent answered Farsing’s demands.
“Already running, sir.” He said. “There’s something scrambling the system though. It’s impossible to tell where this guy’s running his uplink from, and there’s no way to know if it’s running live or pre-recorded.”
~After you are shown that I am no lie, I trust you will make the right decisions.~ The figure began again.
~You are to abolish all of the technologies you humans wield for survival.~ He informed, sneering disdainfully upon his final word.
~You have but only the first of your seven days to begin giving back all that you have taken from the earth by casting it into the seas. If you fail to acknowledge this command, then the ability to overturn the council’s decision of seven days becomes irreversible and your doom will be inevitable.
At the end of the seventh day you’ve been graciously allotted by the council on my behalf to stand for you, the unleashing of the furies of the Black Leaves shall commence. If you do not heed all that I command, the soldiers of this duty, who are already within the halls of 21 major world leader’s homes will be forced to obey the decree of the council.
Your leaders will perish first for allowing the atrocities against the mother, and from there it will spread and entire cities will crumble beneath the Black Leaves.
You shall not bother trying to find out my infiltrators, for you cannot possibly see them, for they are beyond you. You shall not bother trying to find me, for I cannot be found, for I am beyond the boundaries of your realm. You shall not bother praying to your gods, for they do not exist. You shall do only as you are told, for you have wasted all of your existence and have forfeited all rights. You have no choice left to you but to begin tearing down and giving back all things you have taken.
You will cast your fossil-fuels into disuse. You will cease to use unclean energies like electricity. You will cease the scarring of the land for resources you do not need.
No longer will you cut down trees for homes, for you will tear down your homes and return them to the elements from which they were forged. No longer will you continue to do anything in any way as you have been for ages.
You will cast your innumerable types of vehicles into the sea, and you will discard your love and greed for financial systems. You will throw your money into the seas and all shall come to an end.
You will do this, or you will all perish. My emissaries of peace by ultimatum will not spare you, not even by my desires to do so, beyond your seventh day.
That is all I should need to say. If you cannot hear me. If you cannot heed me, then you are already dead.
When this transmission ends, you will commence and all shall come to pass as I have instructed. Or your demise will come as I have forewarned. It is a simple choice. Survive, or perish. It is upon you, Humans, to spare yourselves and uplift your world, or continue your abuse of the planet and be exterminated.
May the blessing of Addl’laen protect you by your choice to d
o the right thing, for nothing else ever will.~
And so, the mandate of Dunesil’s ultimatum was handed down to the race of mankind. He spoke certain and stern, full of emphasis, and the television went black for a moment. Everyone instantly believed he’d disabled the satellites until the local morning’s news returned in a flicker. It could have continued on as it had before the Dunesil broadcast, and thus, everyone believed he’d been speaking ultra-highly bolstered bravado.
The news anchors stared dumbfounded as they were given back their broadcasts.
~We apologize for the technical difficulties…~ The D.C. anchor started to say, and it was likely the same reaction elsewhere in the country. But within a moment, the screen simply went blank, being replaced by the unending ant-racing of scrambled, unreceptive signals. Someone in Farsing’s office reached out with a remote and changed the channel. It was equally scrambled, nothing but a hiss of fuzz. They changed it again, and again, there was nothing coming through. Then, they swiftly paged through, flipping incessantly to find nothing coming through any of the channels.
E.L.F. - White Leaves Page 17