by David Archer
“Harry Winslow,” he said.
“Harry!” came a voice through the line, and Harry thought it sounded familiar. A second later, he knew why. “It's Grayson Chandler, Harry, how have you been?”
Harry let himself grin widely enough for Chandler to hear it in his voice. “Why, I'm doing pretty well, Grayson, and yourself?”
“Not bad, not bad,” Chandler said. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything; I just wanted to get in touch early this morning, see if maybe there's something about the David Glenn issue that you might want to talk about.”
“David Glenn?” Harry asked. “Oh, that's the guy I asked about yesterday, isn't it? Is he one of yours?”
“Now, Harry,” Chandler said, “we both know he is, and we both know why you're asking about him. I've taken the liberty of having both our lines scrubbed, so we can talk plainly. I'm hoping you'll tell me why you're suddenly so curious about Dave.”
Harry smiled even wider. “Well, Grayson, I'll tell you,” he said. “I've come across some intel that says he's been doing some unsanctioned wet work, and if he's one of yours, then I have to assume he's doing it for you. Considering the results of his actions, it sounds a lot like he's manipulating things to bring certain events to a head, and since those events are not in line with what I envision as the best interests of my country, I'm going to find out just what it is you're up to. Care to save me time and trouble, and just fill me in?”
Chandler laughed. “Harry, there's nothing to tell. Dave may have gone independent. From what I'm hearing this morning, he was told by someone last night that you were looking into his activities, and has disappeared. I think you scared him into hiding, Harry.”
“Oh, well, then I'll just have to dig deeper, I suppose,” Harry said. “Grayson, there's no point in beating around the bush, here. We're both pros at this, and we both know where it's going to end up, if we don't reach an agreement. If you can back off the program you're working on, I can back off the pressure I'm going to bring down on you. That way, you don't need to send your assassins after me, and I don't need to send any after you. Deal?”
Chandler was silent for a moment. “Harry, there isn't any program, and neither of us needs to send anyone after the other.”
“Glad to hear that,” Harry said, “but if there’s one thing I learned about you Langley spooks while I was there, it's that the only way to tell if you're lying is to watch and see if your lips are moving. I've already got enough to tell me that they're moving now, because your program is pretty clear. Since you're lying about that one, I'm going to have to assume you're lying on the second part, and that you've already got someone ready to move on me.” Harry sighed. “I shouldn't be too surprised, since I've already got someone coming after you, as well. I'm sure you remember Ken Long, don't you? He used to do some work for you now and then, surely you remember him?”
Chandler's silence, Harry knew, meant that he was carefully planning his next words. It also meant that he was trying to figure out a way to determine just how much Harry already knew and could prove.
“I remember Long,” Chandler said, all the pleasantness gone from his voice and manner. “He went bad a few years ago, and I asked your people to ask you to bring him in. I guess you decided not to go there?”
“Well, we were going to, but then he sat down with one of my boys and told him some things that made us think maybe we should bring him in a different way—like to testify on Capitol Hill. Of course, that offer to put everything on hold still stands, though, if you want to take me up on it.”
“Harry, you know, I'm regarded in DC as something of a fortune teller. It's amazing how often I can predict what's going to happen, so let me give you a little demonstration of my abilities, okay? One of two things is about to happen, and it's actually up to you to decide which one. Either Kenneth Long is going to show up on a police blotter with a bullet through his head, or you will. If you tell me it's going to be Long, then I'll expect to see a report to that effect within the next two hours. If not, then your corpse will be found sometime today. I've already got someone on you, Harry, so you can't avoid making the choice. Is this pathetic attempt at burning me worth dying over? Especially since I've got enough people hunting Long and your boy, Prichard, right now, to be sure that neither one of them ever gets to talk to anyone? Oh, and incidentally, I know they've left Denver, so I'm fairly sure they may be on the way here. Am I right about that?”
Harry laughed. “Grayson, don't threaten me. I've got my reasons for doing what I'm doing, and I'll see it through. Tell whoever you've got watching me to be sure they don't let me see it coming, will you? I'm tired, today, and I'd just as soon not have to kill anyone.” He hung up the phone and leaned forward to eat his cooling oatmeal.
Eight minutes later, Harry Winslow rose and carried his bowl and spoon to the sink, rinsed them out, and put them into the dishwasher. When that was done, he went to his bedroom and began getting dressed for the day.
He heard the soft click of the back door as he was buttoning his shirt, and listened for the barely audible squeaks that came from the third and ninth steps on the stairs. When he heard the third step, he turned away from his dresser and went to the closet, opened the door and reached inside. He stood there, waiting, until he heard the ninth step, and then he withdrew his hand from the hidden shelf and produced the silenced Ingram machine pistol that he'd grasped, moving quickly to stand beside the large armoire that stood next to his closet door. That left him facing the doorway with a minimal profile, so when the two men burst into his bedroom with their own guns held out before them, all it took was one squeeze of the trigger to fire off a twelve round burst that struck them both through their heads. Both of them fell, and Harry lifted the barrel of his Ingram to point at the ceiling. He waited three minutes before moving, and then peeked around the bedroom door and down the stairs. No one seemed to be waiting there, so he looked back at the two men he'd just killed.
He didn't know either of them, but that wasn't a big surprise; there were so many new players on the field lately that he couldn't possibly know them all. Neither of them would be identifiable, of course; there would be no ID on them, and fingerprints and other forms of identification methodology would come up empty. He took out his phone and called his office.
“Ron? It's Harry. Listen, Son, I need a mop crew out at my house, ASAP. Got a little mess here that needs to be cleaned up. Yeah, two of 'em. Okay, I'll be in before too long.” He cut off the call, then punched another quick dial icon.
“Hey, Harry,” Sam said as he answered. “How's it going?”
“Well, I've got two dead men lying here bleeding all over my bedroom floor, and Grayson Chandler called this morning to tell me he was going to try to have me killed, unless I give him your friend, there. I declined, hence the need to have my carpet replaced.”
Sam whistled. “Wow,” he said. “I never would have guessed he'd try to take you out! Are you okay?”
“I'm fine, other than adding two more deaths to my conscience. Oh, wait, I don't have a conscience—I'm fine.”
“Still, Harry,” Sam said. “We must be onto something if he warned you and then tried to kill you. Can you use that against him? Show someone his call to you, and then the attempt on your life?”
“Not really, no. He didn't call on a line that would be provable, and there won't be any way to connect these men to him, that I can assure you. There isn't really any value in this, other than to let you know that you're definitely on the right track. I should probably thank him, because at least now we know for sure that he's the one behind the problems we're out to solve.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, “and from what Ken's been telling me, he may even be the Antichrist!”
9
Grayson Chandler was growing more and more anxious by the moment. He'd told Harry that he had people watching him, and even given him the courtesy of a warning, but he'd never have believed the old man could take out two of his best, not on his own. That seeme
d to be what happened, though, since neither of his men had checked in at the time appointed. The only reason they would fail to do so, he knew, would be if they were dead or captured, and these guys were pros; there was no way they'd allow themselves to be captured.
He'd called Harry from a blind phone while he was on his way in to the office that morning, and when Harry had refused to cooperate, he'd used the same phone to tell Mark and Lenny that they had the green light and a kill order. They should have reported back to him within fifteen minutes that the old fart was dead, but it was now almost an hour later, and there was no word from them. He was half surprised that Harry hadn't called him through his official line, just to gloat, but Harry was also a pro. He wouldn't even take the attack as an insult; it was just part of the job to a guy like him.
He checked the special monitors he'd installed, and verified that there were no eyes or ears installed in his office since the day before, then called Harry again on the blind.
“Hello?” Harry said.
“Harry,” Chandler said. “You must be tougher than you look. I'm guessing my guys are dead?”
“Not at all,” Harry said. “However, they're being skinned alive at the moment, so they're a little busy. I think one of them will be ready to talk to me fairly soon, and then perhaps we can get this all over and done with.”
Chandler laughed. “Funny, Harry,” he said. “If either of them was alive, you wouldn't be. Well, well, I guess I underestimated you. You can rest assured that I won't do so again.”
“Then I can only assume your next shot will come from a distance? Grayson, let's cut to the chase, shall we? I'm not going to put myself in a position where you can get a shot at me, not for a few days, at least. You can still take my offer, and just shut things down. After all, you know I'm not going to let you succeed at what you're trying to do, so why not just sit back and enjoy your position?”
“Aw, c'mon, Harry,” Chandler said. “You don't even have a clue what it is I'm trying to do, so stop being coy. Give up Long, and nothing will happen to you or Prichard, but if you keep this up, I'm going to arrange your funerals, even if I have to set it up for after I'm gone. You know me, Harry, and I don't lose gracefully. Give me Long, get out of my way, and I'll be sure to remember and take care of you when this is all done. There could be worse things than having me owe you something this big, right?” Harry was quiet for a moment, and Chandler grinned. “Thinking it over, aren't you? C'mon, Harry, come in with me.”
“I was thinking it over, that's true. The problem, Grayson, is that I absolutely do know what you're doing. You're trying to set yourself in a position that will make you indispensable to the head of the global government that you anticipate. Having you owe me a favor could be every bit as big as you say—except that I wouldn't want to be on the side of that global leader, so I don't want any favors from his right hand man. Read your prophecy, Grayson; you're treading a line that may not leave you a way out.”
“Well, you surprise me, Harry. You're close, very close; and I happen to be very well read in prophecy, so I know exactly what line I'm walking on. We're coming to that time when everything comes to a head, and while some believe the Biblical predictions, there are other ways to interpret the events that will unfold. Why would I want to be anyone's right hand man, Harry, when I can be the one who's pulling the strings that control the puppet in the palace?” Chandler laughed again, and Harry felt something he hadn’t known in fifty years, as a frisson of fear went down his spine. “You can't stop me, Harry, and if you really knew prophecy, you'd realize that already. The global power will come to be, and I intend to be well installed in the ceiling above it when it does.”
Harry sighed. “Can we stop it? No, probably not, and I'm not sure we'd want to. On the other hand, if I'd met Hitler when he was a young corporal, and known what he would become when he rose to power, I like to think I'd have done everything I could to kill him, or stop him. If it turned out to be impossible, so be it, but I would have tried. Now you're asking me to look the other way while you become even worse than he was? Nah, Grayson, I have to oppose you, and if you don't back down, then I have to do all I can to stop you.”
“As you say, then, so be it. I've tried to give you a way out, Harry. If you’re going to be stubborn, then I guess I'll have to be ready for you. Take care, Harry; I won't miss again.”
“Later, Grayson,” Harry said. “I'm sure we'll talk again.” He cut off the call, and then took out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. For the first time in almost fifty years, Harry Winslow was afraid he might not succeed in carrying out the mission he'd set for himself.
In nineteen ninety-one, Harry had been introduced to a man named Isaac Lambert, who was one of the eight-man panel who advised the President of the United States on the significance of biblical prophecy. Lambert had shown Harry various interpretations of what Christians call “end times” prophecy, including the rise of the Antichrist, the reformation of the Roman Empire (the ten horns), and the final battle that will take place at Armageddon when the world moves against Israel. Harry had been astonished at the impact of all this information, and had no doubt that the events they predicted would come to pass. Knowing that, he wasn't terribly surprised to find that someone like Chandler was trying to position himself to be near the top of that pinnacle of power.
Harry was scared, all right, because he had set himself a mission to try to thwart a man who may be the Antichrist, and since the Antichrist was part of prophecy, he just might not be stoppable.
He called Sam, who answered almost instantly. “What's happening, Harry?”
“Well, Sam, Boy, I think we've got a situation on our hands. I just talked to Chandler, and he's convinced he's going to pull this off. He's got himself set up in his mind as some sort of prophet of the new order, and I'm pretty sure he thinks he's actually destined to be at the head of the world government.”
Sam had the phone on speaker, and Long said, “Harry—he's trying to set himself up as the Antichrist?”
“Actually, I don't think so,” Harry said. “I think he's trying to be the false prophet.”
* * * * *
Chandler wasn't afraid. He had accepted years ago that he was destined for this time and this position, and he had sought out the kind of advisers who could help him to plan it out. Bible prophecy experts came from many different schools of thought, and while there were certain parts of the prophecies on which almost all of them agreed, there were differing opinions on the final outcomes. Christianity claimed that after the battle to destroy Israel, Jesus Christ Himself would appear and reign on Earth for a thousand years, but other faiths saw things differently, and Chandler had found several that seemed to agree that the global empire would last forever, so that was the interpretation he chose to believe, and that was why he was doing all he could to put himself into the position of leadership of that empire. He had come to an understanding that led him to believe that the old Babylonian Gods were real and powerful, and devoted himself once a day to prayers to Shamash, the Sun God.
Shamash would be the God who would rule the world, and by aiding him in bringing his global rule to power, Chandler hoped to be his Regent here on Earth.
For now, though, he had to do some things the earthly way. He picked up his blind phone again and dialed a number, then waited for the woman who owed him favors to answer.
“Sandra? It's Grayson...”
* * * * *
Sam was driving, watching the Northern Indiana scenery slide by on either side of the Corvette. He'd been thinking for the past hour about the things Harry had said, and the more he thought about it, the more shaken he became. Finally he did the only thing he could think of, and called Indie.
“Hey, Baby,” he said. “Just needed to hear your voice.”
“Hey,” she answered with a smile. “Sure is about time! How's it going?”
“Well, we're still on the road, and got a few hours to go before we get close to DC. We've decided n
ot to go right into the city, because there are too many cameras; we're sure now that someone is anticipating us, so we don't want to be too easy to find.”
“Okay,” she said, “then be careful—and, Sam—oh, God, there isn't any other way to say it, but Beauregard wants me to give you a message.”
Sam let out a sigh, and said, “Yeah, I had a feeling he might. Go ahead, I'm listening.”
Indie took a deep breath. “Okay, here it is—he says you should listen for the Trumpet, because that's when you'll have to make your move. If you wait for the Trumpet, he says, then you'll stop the Great Evil, but if you don't, then you'll fail and the world will never be the same.”
Sam Prichard drove his Corvette down the highway, and wondered why he'd been chosen to handle something that should have only been in the province of Preachers and Prophets.
He let his foot fall hard, and listened to the engine roar.
BOOK VII
1
There are men in our world who are darker and more evil than most people will ever imagine. Even those who have come across them have a tendency towards disbelief, allowing themselves to deny even the evidence of their own senses.
Sam Prichard didn't have that luxury. He was a man who had to face reality, even when reality was something he'd rather ignore.
"Okay," Ken said, "so what you need to understand is who the kings of the north and south are. The king of the North is Russia. The king of the South, on the other hand, is old Babylon, which we now call Iraq. They will form an alliance and will move to make war against the nation of Israel. According to the Bible, that will be the final battle before Christ comes again."
Sam shook his head. "So, what you're telling me is that all these nations that have been following the Antichrist, the Beast, will turn against him? But I thought he was supposed to be the great ruler, the one who would come and fix all the problems of the world?"