by David Archer
Chandler grinned at her. “Well, at this moment, we are both safer with me sitting right here. No one can touch me within your home, and it will give me a chance to find out just what is going on behind the scenes. I have absolutely no interest in walking into a trap when I leave here, so you're just going to have to put up with me for now. And incidentally, I'm hungry. My afternoon has not gone well, as you know, and I could use something to eat.”
Yusrah inclined her head in submission. “Feeding you will not be a problem,” she said. “I have an excellent kitchen staff, away from some of the finest restaurants in all of Israel. I shall order for you a full dinner.” She rose from her chair and started out of the room.
Chandler caught her hand as she passed him. “Yusrah, don't make the mistake of trying to betray me while you're out of my sight. Remember, I never bluff. If I tell you that retaliation will find you, you can count on it.”
She looked down at him. “I have no intention of betraying you,” she said. “I am only going to the kitchen to arrange your dinner. Are you becoming paranoid, Mr. Chandler? I can imagine that having your own men attempting to murder you could cause you to see the dangers around every corner, but you can relax. You are not in danger here, not from me or my people. Not only do I owe you a great debt, but my country also owes you. The position you have offered us in the order that is to come is one that we could not have expected under other circumstances. I am not one to bite the hand that feeds me, Mr. Chandler, and my country is not one to forget to whom it should be grateful. Now, if you will excuse me?”
He let go of her hand, and she smiled as she proceeded out of the room. Chandler glanced over at Yusuf, the driver who had picked him up and brought him here. “Go with her—make sure that arranging dinner is all she's up to.”
Yusuf smiled, and rose to follow Yusrah. It was obvious from his demeanor that he enjoyed following her down the hall. Chandler admitted to himself that she was an attractive woman. He wouldn't mind a dalliance with her, and he knew that he could have it with the snap of his fingers. However, he hated to become romantically involved with a woman he was likely to have to kill. It left such an ugly taste behind, killing someone you've made love to.
He reached into a pocket and took out a clean phone, then dialed the number for Gary Stone back in the states. It took three rings for Gary to answer.
“Hello?” The computer nerd said.
“It's me,” Chandler said, counting on Gary's recognition of his voice to be all the identification he would need. “Things have gone crazy over here. Have you heard anything about any official sanctions against me?”
Gary had prepared himself for the question, knowing it would be coming at some point before the day was over. “No, sir, I haven't heard anything like that. Is there something wrong?”
“You're damned right something's wrong,” Chandler said. “I sat down at my scheduled meeting a few hours ago, and was almost killed by a death squad attack, some of our people. I got away, but I lost some good men and I'm pretty damned pissed. I want you to dig into everything you can find, and see who's behind them. I recognized all three—they were Kenneth Long, Harry Winslow and that man of his, Sam Prichard. I think Winslow was killed, Long was wounded but may still be alive, I'm not sure about Prichard. Find out for me and get back to me on this number. And Gary, don't waste any time!”
Gary nodded into the phone, just as if he were being sincere. “Yes, sir, I'm on it. I'll get back to you as soon as possible.” He ended the call instantly, the way he always did.
While Chandler was waiting for his dinner, late as it was, Gary was just about to have his own a little earlier than usual. He had microwaved a chimichanga, poured himself a glass of orange juice and was just about to chow down when Chandler had called. After he hung up, he looked down at his food and pushed it away. Something about talking to Chandler just ruined his appetite.
Gary had barely had any sleep since meeting with those two men a couple nights before. He had finally begun to relax that afternoon, mostly because he hadn't heard from Chandler and had allowed himself to hold that those men have done what they had planned to do, which was eliminate Gary's boss from the face of the earth. That phone call told Gary that things had not gone according to their plans, and that was going to make it much more difficult for them to accomplish their mission.
Gary had read through Chandler's notes a half-dozen times, and he was literally terrified of what would happen if those men failed. Chandler had to be stopped, but Gary didn't know what he could do to stop the sonofabitch. He was just a programmer, a hacker, he'd never had any training with weapons or strategies. There was not really anything he could do, other than the offer what clandestine support he could to those who were trying to do what was right.
Absently, he picked up the orange juice and took a sip, then thought over the day back at his office. He knew that a lot of the muscle there was extremely loyal to Chandler, so there was no hope of recruiting anyone from inside that part of the organization to help him deal with the problem. He passed them over without a second's thought, and then began looking at all of the rest of the staff of the senior Muslim desk. He poked through all of their computer terminals, scanned all of their emails, tapped all of their phones and read through their text messages — only one person, a girl in the analytics office, even seemed to be aware that Chandler was going off the deep end, and her attitude was one of, “What I don't know, or pretend not to know, probably won't hurt me too badly.” That was the way most people would respond, by sticking their heads in the sand like a bunch of ostriches. Far be it from the human animal, other than a few spectacular examples, to want to stand up against the threat to all of his fellows. Most people were simply cowards, only concerned about self-preservation. In Gary's opinion, those were the ones least worthy of any preservation whatsoever.
But then, there were those spectacular individuals, the ones who stood out in a crowd because they would never just sit back and shut up. These were the ones who would fight against all odds for what they knew was the right thing to do, regardless of how it might look to everyone else, regardless of how the law might see it. They were the ones who accepted the responsibility for the safety of the rest of their race, and Gary Stone had met a pair of them just a couple nights before. He had honestly put a star on his kitchen calendar to mark the day.
On the other hand, they weren't the only two he had met that day. There was another one, one whose face he had not seen, but whom he knew even better than those he'd met in person. He went to his computer, ran all the scans to make sure no one was tapping into it or watching what he was doing, disabled the keystroke loggers that were required by his security clearance and which supposedly could not be disabled, and then sent a message.
Stony: Herman, are you there?
He waited for about three minutes, and then the response appeared on the screen.
Herman: I'm here. What's up?
Stony: just heard from the boss. Sounds like your boys didn't do too well. Got a sit rep on them?
Herman: just sent them some Intel a little while ago. I know things went bad, but not how bad. Any news on them from your end?
Stony: I hear one may be dead, another wounded, no word on your guy, though, sorry.
Herman: my guy is okay. He didn't say anything about fatalities or wounds, so don't know.
Stony: Herman, my boss is crazy.
Herman: you want to tell me something I don't know?
Stony: look, I got nobody my end I can trust, and I mean nobody. If he finds out I'm talking to you, no one will ever find my body. That's the world I live in. But right now, I know it's my time to decide which side I'm on, and I only got two choices, him or you. If I choose him, I'll be worse than Hitler's top man, but if I choose you, I will probably end up dead and not very far off. Then again, I never expected to live forever, but I do want to be able to look in the mirror while I am alive. Guess that means I got no real choice, I choose you. Tell me how I can
help?
Herman: keep doing what you're doing. Get us everything you can on him and on his plans. I know they're worried about whether someone is ready to make his plans happen if he falls. Who is back up? Is there a backup?
Stony: there is one, don't know who. I'll see what I can find out, but don't hold your breath waiting for me. Keep the channel open. I'll get back to you as soon as I can, and hopefully I'll find something worthwhile. Tell your guy I'm on it, and if they've got anybody who could cover my back, I'd appreciate it.
Herman: will do. Good luck.
Gary sat back and looked at the computer, and a strange sense of accomplishment went through him. He had come to that point that every man reaches sooner or later, the point where he has to decide where he stands, and he had made the decision that felt right to him. He knew what the consequences most likely would be, but he had made the decision that he couldn't live with the alternative, so he stood on what he believed. Gary was proud of himself, more proud than he had ever been.
So, he thought, they need to find out who Mr. Chandler's backup man could be. All I've seen in the notes are references to “M,” who seems to be the one to take over if anything happens to the boss. He ran through all of the people he could think of whose last names began with M, but he didn't know of any who might conceivably fit the bill for the backup man or woman.
He opened Mad Maggie, his own special hacking program. He fed into it every connection he could find to Chandler, every relative, everyone who owed him favors, every person who served on the committee that oversaw his activities, and instructed the program to look for anything about any of them or anyone connected to them that might make them a likely candidate for M. When he had the program ready to go, he hesitated with his finger over the execute button, reminding himself that once he executed the search, there would be no going back. This was the point at which he truly made his commitment to his choice, and for a brief few seconds, he seriously considered changing his mind and letting Chandler find out about the men he had helped.
He looked at the execute button, and smiled. “Oh, what the hell! This is bound to be a lot more fun!” His finger stabbed the button, and Gary Stone became a man.
Back in Jerusalem, Chandler was wolfing down the unusual meal of fish, rice and spices that have been set in front of him, and finding it quite enjoyable. He was sitting up close to Yusrah's desk, using it for a table. She sat on the other side, watching him with interest.
“You eat as if you believe there won't be any food left for you when this is gone,” she said.
“Something like that,” he replied. “The way things are, I don't know for sure when I'll get another chance to have a meal, so I'm going to eat as much as I can right now without slowing myself down. That's a survival tactic, one we learned in the field. Eat when you can, rest when you can, for there is no way to predict when you will get another opportunity.”
“Oh, I quite understand the philosophy,” she said. “Believe it or not, I was not always a desk jockey. Isn't that what you Americans call a diplomat? Someone who rides a desk all day?”
Chandler shrugged his shoulders. “That would be one of many derogatory terms we use,” he said. “There are lots of others, but I never cared for that type of tomfoolery. If I have something to say about someone, or about how they do their jobs, I prefer to say it to their faces. It's so much more satisfying to see the look in their eyes when they realize what I can do to them.”
“I know precisely what you can do to me,” Yusrah said. “You do not frighten me, Mr. Chandler. I resigned myself to the type of death I will suffer long ago, and frankly I have lived long past the time when I expected it to claim me. I do not aid you because I fear you, I aid you because I desire the rewards you have offered me. The same is true of my country. Can we therefore dispense with talk of threats and retaliations, and discuss what help you may need from me at this time.”
Chandler looked at her as he chewed his latest mouthful, and then shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said. “I have three men I need to meet with in the morning, so I need secure transportation to the café down the street from the French Embassy. That's where we are meeting, and of course I want that kept under the tightest secrecy. I got lucky today—I can't count on being that lucky if they catch up with me again. Oh, and I'll need weapons. I had to ditch mine, and Yusuf has only a handgun. I do not wish to be caught unprepared again.”
Yusrah nodded. “We have weapons, and I can have one of my drivers take you to your meeting. Now, the question then is, will you be returning here? As I've said, that is not a comfortable position for me or for my country. You need to find another place to stay.”
“I won't need to come back, not tomorrow. The men I'm meeting will have new accommodations arranged, so I'll thank you for your hospitality and move along. However, remember that I will need you next week, when everything goes into motion. Your outcry must be loud and unmistakable; you are ready, aren't you?”
“Of course we are ready,” she said, and he could hear the frustration in her voice. “Remember, Mr. Chandler, the things that you are doing will result in the deaths of many of my countrymen. Even more, it will mean deaths for those who share the Muslim faith throughout the world. The sacrifices are necessary, we agree, but that does not mean that we take them lightly. On the contrary, we take these sacrifices and our responsibilities quite seriously, and expect of you to do the same. These are the lives of my brothers and cousins that are being spilled upon your battleground. They must not be wasted.”
“On that we agree,” Chandler said. “None of what we're doing can be wasted, none of it can be ineffective. This plan has been laid for thousands of years, and is only now coming into its time. Shamash has waited a long, long time for someone to bring his prophecies into reality. These prophecies were made almost five thousand years ago, more than twenty five hundred years before the birth of Christ. They foretell this age, when the societies of the earth are becoming more and more corrupt and evil, so that they're heading towards what can only be their own ultimate destruction. If Shamash allowed it to continue much longer, there would be no world left for his people to rule. I am fortunate to have been chosen, and everyone who helps me will be rewarded. This really is an incredible opportunity.”
“But it comes at a price,” Yusrah said. “The rest of the world will see you only as a monster, and the Christians will call you the Devil, or worse.”
“So what? They won't even know who I am. I'm not a fool, you know; there are those who are well suited to being out in the public eye, and then there are those who can make the plans and decisions that are necessary in order to properly rule something as large as a whole world. That's me. I've got people in place to be the ones out front, the ones who point the fingers of blame where I want them pointed, and then offer the answers that the world needs in order to survive. Let the world think what it wants to, as long as they obey and do as they're told.”
Yusrah rose once again and walked out of the room. Chandler watched her go, and like Yusuf, he admired the view. There was no doubt that she was an attractive woman, and had kept herself in shape. Women weren't his concern right now, however, because there were much more important matters he needed to attend to.
First, he needed to deal with the problem of these two rogue agents who were trying to gun him down. While he might actually understand their reluctance to allow his plans to go through, he could not allow them to succeed in their attempts to stop him. It was just too important that he accomplish the things Shamash had set before him.
Chandler often wondered how it was that so many religious scholars failed to see that Shamash must be the true God over all. All of the other religions, he was convinced, had merely copied so much of what Shamash had done, so many of his prophecies and predictions. Was it so difficult to see what was right before your eyes? Apparently, for some, it was.
Chandler finished eating and got up to leave the office. He had already been assigned a room, and it
was getting quite late, so he decided to go and get some rest. Yusrah would take care of the details for the morning, so he could relax, at least for a little while. He followed the hallway to get to his room, and sat down on the bed to take off his shoes. He was incredibly tired, and could feel himself trying to doze off even as he lay back on the bed.
* * * * *
“We can't sit back and do nothing,” Sam said. “As it stands right now, we don't know what he's up to, where he's going – we've got no intel!”
Sam's phone rang, and he snatched it up. It was Indie calling again, and he answered quickly. “Hey, baby, what you got?”
“I just talked to that computer guy a little bit ago, and he's working on trying to get you some kind of information. I told him that I thought one of the things you're concerned about is who Chandler might have ready to take his place, if anything happens to him. Is that right?”
“Yeah, it is. In fact, that's sort of the big issue, right at the moment. We're trying to decide whether we should just eliminate him, or try to take him alive so that we can hopefully get that information out of him.”
Indie was quiet for a moment, and Sam knew she was wrestling with the knowledge that he was talking about killing Chandler, about cold blooded murder. Sure, she knew it was necessary, but that didn't make it easier to handle. “So, if this guy could get you that information, then there's a possibility you wouldn't have to expose yourselves to so much risk, am I right?”
“That about sums it up,” Sam said. “The other problem we've got is that that place you located belongs to another country's diplomatic mission. We can't do anything there, nothing at all. If we had any way to know when he might be leaving, or where he might be going when he does, that might give us a better chance of success. If you happen to talk to your friend again, ask him about whether he could get us that information.”