Castle paused. "All right then. Ah- I'll have my people shift things."
"Thanks," said Jon, attempting to hide his morbid mood. "I'll be in touch." He set the receiver down on the hook.
Jillian looked in from the balcony door. She’d been watching closely. "So, we have a whole day off? What do you plan to do?"
A calm voice said, "Tell her you have a speech to write."
He did as they suggested.
"Good," she said, looking down at her phone. "I'll give you some time to work on that. I have something I have to do, anyway."
He looked at the phone gripped in her hand. "Did you get a text?"
"Yeah," she said, flashing it at him. "As you probably already know, it's Jakson."
"He wants to see you?"
"Yeah." Her expression was sheepish. "Is that okay?"
"Yeah, go ahead. Go meet with him. I'm okay with it."
She entered the room and came in close. "I haven't held anything back from you, you know that, right?"
"I trust you, Jillian."
She surprised him with a kiss—but it didn't last nearly as long as he would have liked.
"I won't be long." She smiled up at him.
"Be careful. Okay?"
Her eyes lit as her head tilted. "Aw, are you worried about me?"
He smirked. "If anything, I'm worried about Jakson."
Chapter 29
The door to Jakson's room was open a crack. It didn't appear to be broken or forced. More likely, it was an invitation to enter. Canary pushed on it and slowly peeked around the edge to survey the room. Jakson stood on the far side, looking out the sliding glass doors of the balcony. She slipped in and closed the door behind her.
He turned and waved a hand, inviting her to sit on one of the beds. "Everything is in place. Are you ready to move ahead with the plan?"
She sank down onto the corner of a double bed. "Yes."
"Is Jon ready?"
"Yes. He got the call. They want him to speak at the conference tonight."
"Good."
Canary pursed her lips. "I assume you've taken care of David Chance?"
"Yes. He is—distracted."
"Has Sam given you the name of the unifier?"
"No. He has not."
"I don't understand." She shook her head. "Sam has never left us hanging like this. Why, on the most important catalyst of all, is he suddenly unsure of himself?"
"We have changed the time stream too many times. He can no longer see it clearly."
"So—what now? Do we shut the conference down?"
"No. If we do that the unifier will simply make his speech in another venue, and we have no idea where that might be. This is our only chance to take him out."
"We’re going to kill him," she said with resignation.
"We can't exactly take him to the police now can we?" He was right. She didn't like it, but he was right. "Don't worry, Jillian. I'll take care of the unpleasant details. All you have to do is get me a name."
"Will you be there?"
"Yes. I was able to get a low-level position with security. Access is restricted, but I'll be able to move around the common areas of the building."
"Do you have the teleprompter script?"
Jakson pulled a folded paper from his pocket and held it out toward her. "This is what Sam could remember."
She unfolded it and stared with great interest at the scrawlings of the man who was more of a legend than a person. The characters had a swirling flair to them, and the margins contained symbols she did not recognize.
She could not bring herself to read the words of the unifier. Not yet. It was bad enough that the image was now in her eidetic memory. It would regrettably beg for her attention, mercilessly.
Her eyes flicked back up at Jakson and locked onto his lips.
"Now you have the first two sentences," he said. "That should be enough to locate the speech. I wish there was more."
She folded the letter and handed it back.
"You have it, then?" he said.
"Yes. I haven't read them yet, but I will, later."
He stuffed the paper back in his coat pocket. "Your talents never cease to amaze me, Jillian."
She ignored his compliment. "Okay, so, my job is to get to the teleprompter computer and peruse the speeches."
"Yes. Once you have a name, text it to me. We'll take it from there."
"I'll have to sneak some gear in, in my pocketbook. What kind of security will I have to worry about?"
"The main conference center is fairly lax. You won't have any trouble getting your gear into the building. But all the side corridors and rooms are protected with keycard access. You'll need to locate and copy a keycard to get into the mainframe room where the speeches will be stored."
"The mainframe room? That's an odd place to have them."
"Our intel is from a man who worked there a couple years ago, so it may have changed. You'll have to adjust accordingly."
"What if I can't get to them?"
His lips pressed tightly. His eyes locked on hers.
"We can't afford to think like that."
Chapter 30
A knock startled Jon. He turned the news off, went to the door, and peeked out. Through the peephole he saw an overweight hairy Arab man standing in the hallway with a briefcase. His clothing looked like surplus store rags, and his scraggly beard gave the impression that he hadn't bathed in a week.
But he looked harmless enough.
"Can I help you?" said Jon, creaking the door open. He caught a whiff of the man's potent cologne. It wasn't, however, strong enough to hide the smell of his pits.
The man's eyes darted up and down the hallway. "You gonna let me in?"
Jon lifted his brows. "I- think you have the wrong room."
The portly man squinted. "Seriously? You don't remember me?"
His face didn't ring a bell, but his accent did. It was Turkish, the same accent he remembered his mother having.
"Uncle Beran." He gestured to himself. "I used to hop you on my knee when you were a little boy." There was a familiarity about his face, but his mother's side of the family was a blur to him; he was four or five the last time he’d seen any of them. "Come on," said the man, waving a hand in the hair. "Remember? Bumpy, bumpy, bumpy!" Jon didn't remember, but he was worried about a scene in the hallway, so he moved to the side. "I told your mother you’d remember me!" he exclaimed, pushing his way in.
Jon closed the door slowly so he could pose an inward question. Is this man really my uncle?
"Yes. He is. We had your mother send him to you."
Jon’s blood chilled. You know my mother?
"Yes, she is very dear to us."
His uncle's voice filled the room. "Let me have a look at you, boy!"
Jon turned apprehensively.
"You're so lean," he said, opening his fat arms. "Does your father never feed you?"
"My father is in prison," said Jon, keeping his tone neutral.
"Yes, yes. It is an ugly matter." He shook his head vigorously. "He gets what he deserves for allowing that Jezebel to corrupt him. But this is not why I am here," he said, jutting a fat finger into the air.
Jon puffed out his chest. "Sandra's dead. Have a little respect."
His uncle lifted his brows, and his jaw went slack. "You don't know who she is, do you?"
Jon's gut flipped. "What are you talking about?"
"Your father didn't tell you?"
"She was a bartender."
"No, my boy, not what she was. Who."
Jon squinted at him. "What are you saying?"
He placed the briefcase on the bed and moved in close. "Did you never notice her dark skin and dark eyes? Or the accent? Sure, hers was much lighter than your mother's—because she grew up in America, but it was there. Surely you must have noticed."
The air in the room felt thinner.
"She was your aunt, boy. She was why your mother left."
His aunt? Did he
not have enough to think through without adding a family love triangle? He threw his hands up. "Okay! Stop! I can't deal with this right now!"
"Okay. Okay," said his fat uncle, flippantly. "This is not why I came. I only thought you might want to know." He retreated back to the case. "This!" he said, stretching his arms out toward it, "this is why I came." He flipped the latches and threw open the lid. Inside was a machine of some kind. It had buttons, pumps and a console with a cell phone hanging from it.
Jon started to ask the man why on earth he had brought him this weird machine, but a voice in his head caused his mouth to snap shut. "This is what you will use to complete your task." Beran spun around with a device that looked like a gun. "Hold still," he said, coming in close.
Jon pulled away, then stopped. He stood still as the man placed the point deep into his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Something passed through his shirt and into his skin.
"Ow!" he said, lifting his shirt to see the damage.
"It’s an inoculation."
"For what?" he said, rubbing.
Beran’s fat face puckered. "You don't know?"
"No. I don't know."
"This is your plan. Your mother said you came up with it."
A voice in Jon’s head clarified. "Your uncle doesn't know about us. We have only revealed ourselves to you and your mother."
My mother? What does he think I'm doing?
"He believes you are a terrorist who will use the weapon he has brought."
Jon stood in shock.
"It is what he has to believe to do what we need him to do."
Is my mother a terrorist?!
"Relax, Jon. She is like you."
What does that mean?!
"You will need this for your friend." Beran handed him a second inoculation gun. "Use it in her neck or shoulder. Boop." He made a gun motion with his hand. "Just like that! And this," he said, hauling out a hard plastic cylinder filled with green liquid. "This is the agent your mother has been working on. It goes here in this slot, but don't put it in until you are ready. Seating it in place will break the seal on the cylinder. Make sure you have it in the main ventilation duct before you do that. This packet contains a map of the conference center..."
Everything was moving in slow motion. Was he actually being prepped for a terrorist attack?! Did this sweet jolly man, who claimed to be his uncle, understand what he was asking him to do? Was he okay killing hundreds of innocent people?!
"Are you listening to me, boy?" He gave Jon's cheek several light slaps. "This packet contains a map of the conference center and the location of the main ventilation. I put the phone number to the device in the lower corner. You'll want to be away from the device when you set it off because the inoculation will not protect you from massive exposure. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Jon's voice sounded hollow in his own ears. "I understand."
"I am proud of you, my boy. You are the best of us." His hands raised in the air. "The best of us!"
Jon couldn't find his voice.
"Allah is proud."
"Do you see it, Jon?" echoed a voice. "The dichotomy of human nature? Because of religion, this gentleman has been made into a killer. But you and your mother are not like him. You do not kill for a make-believe deity."
"Now," said his uncle, "I hate to cut short this wonderful reunion, but I have another appointment. When this is done, perhaps you’ll come visit?"
Jon's eyes remained on the open case.
"Do you need anything else? It is quite simple, no?"
"Yeah. I've got it."
The hairy man took him by the shoulders. "It was good to see you. If I do not see you again, I will find you in paradise. Oh!" he said, releasing him with a jerk. "I’m supposed to give you this." He pulled an envelope out of his shirt pocket and thrust it at Jon. "It is from your mother. Assalamu alaikum, my boy. Assalamu Alaikum."
Jon gripped the envelop in his hand.
Then like a rush of wind, his uncle was gone, leaving the briefcase apparatus, the inoculation guns, and the cylinder of green liquid on the bed. He tucked the guns and the cylinder into the case, adjusted the manila folder so it would not stick out, and slammed the cover down.
"Did you see the zeal in your uncle's eyes?" said a soft voice.
He tore the case off the bed and stuffed it between the bed and the wall.
"Your uncle is not a bad man. He is simply ignorant, and that ignorance has filled him with religious hatred."
He's a nut job! thought Jon with distaste.
"All humans are capable of such blind hatred. This is the fruit of religion. It is what drives your race to extinction and what prevents us from making contact. If we were to come down from the skies, these religious leaders would stir your people to great violence against us, and against each other. We cannot allow that. The repercussion of such a violent transition would hurt both our species. If these religious leaders cannot be taken out of the equation, we will be forced to let your race continue on to its inevitable destruction. We will not share in your pain and violence."
"What will this stuff do to them?"
"Your mother made it quite humane. Anyone who breaths this gas will simply drift off to sleep well before the pain of their organs shutting down sets in, like what a veterinary doctor does with your pet."
Jon let the words sink in.
"You continue to focus on this concept of death. There is no death."
If there is no death, what is the problem?
"Suffering is the problem. Extinction is the problem. We want you to keep your world, to keep your history, but we will not intervene if it will increase the suffering of your race."
The alternative is extinction?
"Your extinction event will be nothing compared to the violence of our intervention. The influence of these religious zealots will cause a suffering worse than death, a suffering that will last a thousand years. We won't allow that.
It was a lot to take in, but he accepted their reasoning. Putting these people down was better than allowing their religious bigotry to bathe the world in violence and terrorism. It was the lesser of two evils. But would Jillian see it that way? If he followed through with this insane plan, she would see him as he saw his uncle—a monster. How could he ever repair that? Was this earth-changing event worth sacrificing the only thing in this world he truly cared about? He attempted to form a question, but it came out as a statement. Jillian will hate me for this.
"She will not know you did it."
You're having me walk into the conference with a gas machine in a briefcase, and I have to inoculate her. Of course she’ll think I did it. Who else could it be?
"Jakson."
Jakson?
"The point is mostly moot, because your dear Jillian will realize—as the whole world will—that this event was necessary. They will also come to understand who it was that saved them. You, Jon. Your name will be remembered. When it is revealed, Jillian will understand why you hid this from her. But until that day, Jakson will take the brunt of public outcry."
I don't understand. This doesn't make any sense. What is the connection between you and Jakson?
Jon...
We are Jakson.
Chapter 31
David Chance leaned on the kitchen bar and looked at his daughter and son curled up on the living room couch. Ben had hardly said a word since the kidnapping, and all his mother could get him to eat was french fries. He nibbled on one as the television filled his head with mindless distraction. Emily leaned against him, like a statue. Since Ben's return she refused to be anywhere but right next to him.
"They'll be fine," said Sharon, hugging him from behind. "They just need time to decompress."
"How about you?" he said, twisting in her arms slowly to minimize the burning in his chest and stomach.
"A little frazzled, but I'll manage." She flashed him a bright white smile.
"Have you heard anything from the police or Collins about that little boy yo
u rescued?"
"Not yet, but Collins did call." She laid her cheek on his chest. Her blond curls tickled his nose.
"What did Collins want?"
"He said something big is going to happen tonight. He's hoping we’ll help them."
David pulled away so he could see her face. "You told him, no, right?" There was no need for her to respond. Her face said it all. "Sharon, we're done with these messages. We can't live like this."
"Live how? Under God's protection?"
"Is this what you call protection?"
"We're alive. We're safe."
"You saw what they did to Brad, what they made me do to my leg."
"I'm sure God has his reasons."
He swung his arm back toward the living room. "Our son is traumatized! I'm traumatized! I can't live like this! I can't watch these demons torture the people I love."
"Don't you understand, David? This is a test."
"Then I fail!" He said, limping back to lean on the wall.
"Do you think those demons didn't know that God had already prepared you to take that poison?" Her words hit him like a knockout punch. All he could do was stare blankly. "They had to know you were given the means to save yourself. And if that's the case, why bother to put you through all that?"
"Because they wanted to see me suffer."
"No." The sound of her voice had a hint of venom. "They wanted this, David. They wanted you to quit. They can't kill you. So they did the next best thing."
"But- that doesn't explain why God let them torture Brad like that! Why he let me sit there and watch my friend bludgeoned within an inch of his life!"
"It's a test, David. Don't you see? I bet those demons told God that you would run with your tail tucked between your legs at the first sign of difficulty." She shoved her finger downward. "But God said, 'No! Not David Chance!'" Her voice trembled with emotion. "Not you, David. This isn't you. You're not a coward. You're better than this. Don't prove them right. Prove God right!"
"It would help if I knew what I'm supposed to be fighting for."
"Then ask him! Don't walk around with your arms crossed, pouting like a child."
Lies (The David Chance Series Book 3) Page 17