Hurriedly, he ran back up the stairs, skipping a step with each stride.
When he got back in, the anchor had already moved on to another news item.
Standing, he read the note word per word. Perplexed, he dropped down on his couch and read it again, saying out loud, “My first move…Israel, South Carolina. Second move…NYC.”
The note fell from his hand and down to the floor.
He leaned forward with his hands covering his face. In deep thought, he tried to figure out the puzzle of his circumstances, with his new abilities and now this. “These are murders,” he said. “There’s no way a killer knows me. Look at my life - it’s just not possible.”
After a long silence, he slid his palms up to his forehead, threading his fingers into his hair.
Staring down at the floor, he said in quiet disbelief, “What in the world is happening?”
Later that night, the empty bottle of wine stood on his coffee table. With the television still on, he was in a deep sleep and dreaming.
In his dream, a pure white light engulfed him.
He raised his forearm in front of his face, in order to shield his eyes.
After a moment, he peered above the horizon of his forearm. He noticed a dark object. It first appeared like a black dot far away against the white light. It hovered closer. Its form was indistinguishable, but as it approached, he could tell that it was slowly spinning as it floated in the air.
At a distance of about a city-block away, the object appeared flat and two-dimensional.
After several seconds, it had moved closer by half of the distance. He could see that the object spun on a diagonal axis. One side of the object was pure black, but the other side was shining, like some sort of a reflective material.
When his eyes had adjusted to the bright light, he lowered his arm.
As it came closer, he realized the object was about the size of a window.
Then, something began to distract him. The inside of his left wrist started to ache. Slowly, he bent his head down and turned his forearm up to look at it. He saw a dull glowing circular blue light illuminating from just below his palm.
The light on his wrist puzzled him, but he wanted to focus his attention back to the floating object approaching him. By the time he looked back up, the object had disappeared.
The dream ended.
When he awoke some time later, the afternoon sunlight came through his window and brightened his apartment.
His wrist had a dull ache, as though it had just been very slightly burned. As he lay down, he lifted his left arm and squinted to examine the inside of his wrist.
“Strange,” he mumbled. He could see an area of it was slightly darker than the rest, like a dark color had been thinly smudged over the skin. The area appeared to be in the shape of a circle about the diameter of his wrist.
He gently rubbed his warm skin. Not willing to give it any more thought, he laid his arm across his chest and went back to sleep.
Chapter 6
PRESENT DAY
The sky shimmers beautifully light green, completely enveloping the earth in an unnatural hue. As the afternoon sun descends into the horizon of the autumn sky, the wind stirs and whips cold around the shores of the bay.
At the very top of the north suspension tower of the Golden Gate Bridge, a stolid, dark figure - the hooded man - stands upon the center of the tower’s highest crossbeam. Awaiting the arrival of the longhaired goateed man, he assesses the man’s actions and says in his thoughts, He is relying solely on his own judgment, and he is making his mistakes. Just as before, he again acts rashly. But I have already accounted for this, and it is to my advantage.
Then, as he stares into the distance, his instincts inform him of something else, something odd. But now, I sense there is a peculiarity. Things are not right, as if this world sits askew within the universe. And we are all no longer the same.
For a long while, he ponders in silence. Finally, he says, “As I have noticed many times before, I have seen the dark entity come and go, while it shifts through time, visiting its disciples, and aligning history to meet its goals for the present. This has not gone unknown to me. But now, I fear the entity may have conceived of other designs on its own without my knowledge.”
Then, he realizes he may not have studied and watched closely enough the movements and strategies of the dark entity. “It will pursue its interests in its own ways, and a deception seems to have already begun. And from certain ones it decides to play, there is no escape.” Saying of the longhaired man, he wonders, “If he is indeed in a deception of the entity, how can he escape? If he cannot, he will be broken, and his spirit will be crushed. No fight will be left in him.”
He concludes, in a whisper, “He will be a shadow of himself.”
Soon, he turns his attention to one other thing that sits more gravely in his heart. As he gazes down onto the watery earth below, his eyes slowly pan, from horizon to horizon. His thoughts are in wonder and amazement of his Father’s creation.
Gently, his head tilts slightly upward, and his eyes focus upon the brilliantly yellow and gold shining sun. His voice asks in an earnest, yet quiet plea, “Father, speak to me.”
He breathes in deep then exhales, and then more words follow, “Let me hear your voice once again.”
Memories of years and decades of silence, devoid of the voice he so cherished, stream through his mind.
He asks, “Why can’t I hear you? Why don’t you speak to me? Please, guide me.”
The words seem to be merely scattered out by the wind, into the heights of the cold expanse before him, unheard. Nevertheless, the man closes his eyes and listens for a response that he knows, deep within, will not come.
His ears filter out the wind’s bluster, and only a dull, muffled drone reaches his mind.
Several moments pass.
Moments of disappointment pass.
Sadness attempts to enter his heart. But then, understanding that once again there is to be no answer - no once-familiar voice to be heard - he dispassionately brushes the feeling aside.
Turning away from the sun, the hooded man lowers his head and gazes with emotionless eyes into the ocean’s horizon.
He knows that directly overhead and askew to the right of the sun, a silver metallic destroyer burrows down, through the upper atmosphere, and into the cold sky, burning the air with furious speed and energy.
The man says within his thoughts words he did not wish to utter aloud. Attempting to hide the idea from the one to whom he tries to speak, he says somberly and resolutely in his mind, Then this I must do.
With a slow and measured turn of his head, he gazes over his shoulder. His eyes follow a line of sight into the distance, directly to a room on the seventh floor of the Marsters Hotel.
Inside the room is the longhaired goateed man, the man whom he has expected to appear, the man whose actions he carefully maneuvers and strategically orchestrates.
The fists of that man are clenched, as he stands firmly in front of Sik. The heart of his slim body is pumping with rage. Even though Sik’s muscular and solid body is ready to pounce and crush him, the man affirms with a growl, “I’m gonna kick your sorry little can.”
In his thoughts, the longhaired man abruptly stops and thinks that there is something oddly familiar with what he has just said. Whoa. That sounded like a repeating echo, he thinks. Like it’s something I’ve said before, over and over. Then, quickly dismissing it, he focuses back on Sik and stares him down.
With Paige lying unconscious on the floor behind the longhaired man, he launches the force of his whole body through the air and pounds his shoulder into Sik’s gut.
In the tussle, even though Sik is the stronger, the longhaired man somehow overcomes him. But in his haste and rashness, in order to arrive and protect Paige, the man mistimes the arrival of the silver destroyer from above. He has no time to react and has no time to protect Paige; he can only protect himself. Before he realizes it, the missile d
etonates, Paige is gone, and the city is annihilated.
Moments later, far south of ground zero, he lies sprawled out on his back, unconscious on the ground, motionless.
But at ground zero, everything on land from one horizon to the other is nothing. The explosion leaves no remnant of the city.
After hours, days, or maybe just a few indistinguishable minutes, he wakes in a state of confusion and disbelief, as he realizes what has happened.
Then, he remembers the night he received the three-by-five index card with the message about the Washington, D.C., diner. He whispers, “I had no clue. I didn’t take it seriously enough, and this is the disastrous result. But now, I can’t just sit around. I need to fix this!”
An instant later, he transports himself back to where he believes the Marsters Hotel once stood. As soon as he arrives, radiation floods his body and begins to tear apart the cells of his skin, muscles, organs, and bones. Quickly though, his mind focuses, and he is able to repair his body and prevent it from further damage.
In front of him, the remnants of the Golden Gate Bridge can hardly be seen. Only wide and short stubs of its south and north pillars remain.
Looking down, he tries to sense beneath the ground. His mind peers down, delving through the dirt, deeper and deeper, through dead roots of plants, trees, and animals buried over centuries of shifting earth.
There is no movement. There are no ants, no bugs, no tiny insects, and no life.
He looks up towards the horizon, over the land.
He senses life, but they are miles and miles away. There are people’s faces. Many are frightened. Many try to communicate with friends, with relatives. The phone landlines are jammed. Mobile phone towers are unable to support the frenzied electric traffic. The internet is ablaze with activity.
He discovers frantic movement. People begin to hoard clothes, food, and water. If they are not rushing and jamming into stores, then they are running through the streets, feverishly looting.
News agencies and reporters scurry to cover the events. Locally, they report on the state of confusion. Nationally, they report on the political turmoil. Internationally, they speak about immediate worldwide military reaction.
In fact, military reaction has already occurred and retaliatory missiles strikes have been deployed.
There is widespread fear and uncertainty, emotional paralysis, anger, and pain.
Quickly, he decides to help, refusing to be controlled by the effects of the catastrophe. “I can’t stay here,” he says with conviction, as he focuses intently over the land. “I’ve got to find Smiley. I can’t do this alone, and he can help me.” With amazing fight still in his spirit, he exclaims, “We can fix this!”
Straining his mind, he attempts to locate Omar Malshar Gul, the man he calls Smiley.
As his eyes pan the horizon, he notices that strangely the sky is blue and bright, but in his haste to find Gul, he doesn’t take the time to wonder.
Finally, he says, “Got him!”
But before he can move, the land under the horizon begins to shake.
He bends his knees and crouches down, with his arms stretched out, in order to maintain his balance.
Tremendous sounds of cracking boulders and heaving earth reach his ears.
The horizon in front of him seems to split. It trembles left and right, until a second outline of the horizon emerges above the first. His eyes focus on a mountain range that replicates into two. The two ranges continue to shake and push, further and further apart from each other, until one is completely separate from the other.
Even the sound of the wind becomes an echo of itself: one gust of wind is followed quickly by an identical wind.
The land continues to break, with thunderous sounds of moving earth and splitting boulders atop mountains.
Raising a hand to his perplexed eyes, he examines it. His hand divides into a copy of itself, and the copies split apart from each other. He looks down and sees his body becoming two distinct forms.
He and the world around him convulse. The shaking is unending, and the trembling becomes faster and faster.
His ears begin to hear a high-pitched sound that starts as a sharp, ear-piercing shriek, and it feels as if it will shatter his eardrums. Then, the shriek eerily transitions into a deafening deep-throated growl. It is an angry growl that causes him to shudder down to his core.
With a great and thunderous heave, the earth splits into two worlds. The two are distinct forms in space.
Then, suddenly, immediately, one earth is swallowed and consumed by the heavens, and disappears into a vacuum of cold darkness.
Instantly, all is silent.
* * * * * * *
The tiny, green mantis fluttered a circuitous path, over the warm desert sand, watching the dark entity cross into cooler valley.
After leaping through the centuries, the dark entity had emerged at a point in time only a few seasons before the present day. It appeared over the land of Persia. Its diligent and careful designs to direct the path of humanity were progressing closer to finality.
After its smoke-like form glided a distance further, the entity began to enter a palace. Seeping through cracks, gliding through windows, and twisting around doors, the dark entity found its latest disciple. It hovered above a man who sat on a plush chair, in front a white-marble desk, within a voluminous room.
The disciple had thick short black hair, and his face wore a groomed black beard streaked with gray strands. He wrote on a document. Standing in front of him were liaisons from Russia and North Korea.
Attentively waiting at the disciple’s side, dressed in a white and salmon colored robe, was his closely trusted brutal lieutenant. The man was Ibn Khali Jalel.
The grand and elaborately decorated room was one among many long and expansive salons within the palace of this ruler. There were no other chairs besides his, and no other furnishings besides his elegant desk. The expanse between him and the walls symbolized the distance and greatness he had far beyond others.
The dark entity’s disciple signed the document, and then nodded for his lieutenant to approach and retrieve it.
Jalel walked a deliberately measured pace to the desk. He took the document, bowed his head, and then turned to walk over a plush rug to exit the room.
As Jalel passed the light-green mantis, its two seemingly lifeless black-dot eyes followed him, from high up on a white-marble column.
Upon reaching the enormous gold trimmed double doors, Jalel turned the handles and pushed them open. Quietly and patiently, he closed the doors behind him.
Down the opposite side of the expansive hall, Jalel saw the ten representatives of the Caliphate of Northern Africa and the Middle East. They came to meet with the entity’s disciple, behind the towering doors.
* * * * * * *
FIVE WEEKS AGO
Paktia Province in northeastern Afghanistan
For many years, U.S. Special Forces covertly collaborated with local tribal warlords in the region, in order to capture high-value terrorist targets. In missions that took several years to unfold, the U.S. had successfully inserted a handful of covert operatives into identified terrorist cells.
In one such mission, two subordinates of a warlord proved to be loyal to the U.S. effort. Coordinating with U.S. Special Forces, the two men helped terrorists groups cross blockades to reach escape routes into Pakistan. After proving their loyalty to the terrorists, and when the opportunity arose, the two men joined a particular group, feigning their allegiance.
After over a year of aiding terrorist forces both in Afghanistan and in Pakistan, the two men were taken into an inner circle of trust. Almost another year later, both were stationed in a crucial cell in a cave complex in the mountains of the Parachinar area of Pakistan, along the northern border of the Paktia Province of Afghanistan.
The two operatives were Iraqi-born Omar Malshar Gul and Malik Khel.
Communication from Gul and Khel, and then back to U.S. forces was difficult: so
metimes months would go by without any word. However, they had recently sent encoded communiques revealing that one high-value leader was establishing a multi-national campaign, a network. Into the mountainous region of the Paktia Province, the leader had arrived to deliver weapons and to convey plans to one of the network’s cells.
Upon the mountain in which the high-value target was located, U.S. reconnaissance missions had found the cell’s cave complex and discovered three entrances. All were on the south face and approximately two thirds up the mountainside, a short distance from each other.
Now ready to strike, U.S. forces stood in position, around the first entrance, and waited for a signal to ignite strategically placed explosives. With the early dawn about to arrive, one soldier quickly glanced up, and saw at a distance, the dark form of an eagle owl gliding stealthily in swift silence. As its powerful wingspan supported its flight, it grasped, within its talons, a live, fully-grown rabbit that attempted to kick and wriggle itself free.
With the soldier fixing his sights back down, he felt an eerie heartbeat of silence. Suddenly, a thunderous explosion and a brilliant flash of light consumed the dark of the night. The blast devastated the first entrance, and no one inside could escape through it. Then, quickly, U.S. forces stormed through the remaining two entrances.
U.S. fighters choked the tunnels with tear gas. As one gas-masked team attacked further within the cave, another team stayed outside the remaining open entrance, waiting for fleeing enemy fighters. Within the dark cave, U.S. fighters used night vision and thermal imaging devices in their assault. Any existing light inside was shot and destroyed.
The unmistakable rapid-pop fire of machineguns echoed against the cave walls and reverberated further in, reaching an enormous cavern that was now almost entirely filled with tear gas. There, a handful of terrorist fighters wore gas masks. But others were not as fortunate. Using their arms and hands to cover their noses and mouths, they gasped and choked. With deafening sounds blaring throughout the enclosed space, they fired their Kalakov machineguns at the walls of the cavern, as they tried to target their unseen enemy.
RB 01 Through Flesh & Bone Page 13