“It’s ok,” Gul says, with a gesture of his hand. “Put the guns down. They’re probably useless by now anyway.” After pausing a moment, Gul explains his nickname, “That was a name I had. It was a name he gave me.” Gul looks directly into his eyes, saying, “…a long time ago. Too much has passed since then.”
The two officers holster their guns.
Gul turns and begins to walk again, asking, “What do you want?”
“I’ve come to say I’m sorry.”
Gul is dismissive, “Wonderful. Thank you. Now leave. Goodbye.”
“I’d really prefer to stay.” He walks along Gul’s side. “How’s the wound? Still got your cool knife?”
“Fine. Yes. You don’t really mean to bring up the one and only time you saved me, do you? My brother and my sister here have saved my life many times over. Now, I thank you for the casual chitchat. Go.”
He realizes Gul’s frame of mind will need greater effort from him, in order for reconciliation to take place, but he has to get to the point nonetheless. “I want to help.”
The sound of their boots and voices herald their approach to the rest of Gul’s team. The four walk from the corridor, into an expansive area, with ten jeeps and possibly forty or fifty armed women and men, ready for Gul’s command.
Gul stops in front of his team, and they converge around him in a semi-circle. His two officers remain behind him at either side.
The goateed man examines the men and women. All are in dark clothing: either military fatigues or dark jeans, black shirts, and black jackets. They carry guns, M16s, AK47s, knives, and a handful have improvised exploding devices. Many have wounds on the mend. Others remain healthy. Two sit at the outside of the semi-circle with more serious wounds - one with an arm shattered by a bullet and the other with a burned lower leg. He senses each one’s solid beating hearts and their eagerness to go into the night battle. Their loyalty is strong. Finally he says, “Wow, this is your gang?”
Gul looks at him sternly, saying, “They are not my gang. They are my family.”
Unable to keep his eyes on Gul’s own intense eyes, he looks away, and then back at the men and women. As he gazes from one face to the next, he restates his request in a more somber tone, “Then, your family is courageous and strong…and I can help by doing so much more. You know what I can do. Let me be part of this.”
Gul is not willing to open an opportunity. With a tilt and gesture of his head to the side, Gul leads the goateed man back into the corridor. Their steps echo, as they walk in. A few steps into the corridor, the way curves, and the two men stop where they can no longer be seen.
Unable to hold his anger any more, Gul leans up into the goateed man’s face. Not wanting his team to know of the argument about to happen, he keeps his voice just above a whisper. But his words are intense, as he exclaims, “Years ago I asked for your help. Many times I asked for your help. But you refused. You said, ‘The affairs of man are not mine.’ You have cut yourself out of this world. And now, what are you trying to do?!”
The passion of his voice echoes against the metal floors and walls, and then back to the waiting men and women. Some are able to hear, but wish not to listen. But others try to discern the words.
The goateed man steps back. In his own whisper, he concedes, “Yes. I know. I did that. And the way things are now, Smiley, I know I’m responsible for that too.”
Gul looks away, back down the corridor.
“But something happened. And it made me realize that I need to try to set things right…back to how it should be.”
Gul is unwilling to accept his words; he glares back at him. “You were given one choice. Between two paths. It was that simple!” Gul’s words become louder. “And you took that path with the least struggle, least effort, least risk, least pain! And you isolated yourself from the human race.” Gul stops and shakes his head. His heart is pounding. Briefly, he looks up into the ceiling, and then back toward his waiting team. Then, Gul glares into the goateed man’s eyes. “It was your decision. You! Chose! Wrong!”
He steps back from Gul, feeling the anger in Gul’s voice and not knowing what to say. Finally, he takes a deep breath and slowly says, “You’re right…you’re right.” He could sense Gul’s team listen to their words. “Smiley, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
Gul’s eyes are steely.
“I’m sorry…let me make right what I did wrong. Let me help. Let me help you.”
“We do not need your help,” Gul states flatly. He steps back to calm himself.
Once more, the goateed man tries, “Omar, something is wrong. We shouldn’t be here. This time is all wrong!” He raises a hand emphatically, “The sky should not be blue. Remember, a long time ago, when it first turned green? It hasn’t been blue since.”
Gul glances at him from the side. Unbelieving, he says, “There is something wrong with your mind.”
“I know how it sounds. But believe me. Believe me, and let me help you. And I know, along the way, we can figure this out and set things straight.”
Gul’s anger builds again. No longer caring whether his team can hear, his voice overflows with emotion. “We? Did you say ‘we’? Malik…my brother Malik. He died for you! His hope was in you…and our hope was to guide you in your journey. And you abandoned us. Back then, years ago, I tried to get you back so that we could set things straight!”
Gul’s team realizes to whom it is their leader speaks. Gul has spoken of this man before, and they know of his power.
Gul points in the direction of his team and continues, “Look at them. Sense them, read them! We are bruised. We are cut. We have broken bones and torn joints. But as we are, we will not crumble! As we are we will not falter.”
Gul breathes in deep and fights his shaking voice. “Because we are made in the image of God. And as such, there is fire in our hearts and spirits that will not be quenched. It is the fire and desire to be free! And we will fight with our bruises, we will fight with our shattered bones, we will fight with our joints ripped apart! We will fight with all we have and in all our brokenness…to the end! For our freedom!” His words reverberate throughout the underground.
Gul’s impassioned words are powerful.
The emotions of his team are stirred. They are reminded why they had, long ago, decided in their hearts to give their lives for this man who leads them in their cause.
Gul pauses and restrains himself. Then, he continues with a steady and confident voice saying, “We do not need you. We only need God. Go back to your swill and drink yourself to oblivion.” He turns and walks away, back down the corridor.
Watching Gul walk away, the goateed man knows this will be his last chance. “Smiley…Omar! I’m sorry! Malik died for me. Let me die for you. I’m ready to sacrifice my life for all of you! Give me this chance.”
Gul exits the corridor.
He chases Gul, then stops just at the threshold. “Smiley, what is it you told me that’s inscribed on one side of your knife?”
Gul stops but doesn’t turn.
Pleading and with his left hand outstretched, he says with quivering voice, “Look at us, Smiley. Look where we are! That inscription…it foretold of this time. It foretold of this day! Please!” The symbol on his wrist burns with a golden glow. He feels it, but he doesn’t look.
Gul reaches to his side and grips the handle of his knife. Still deep in anger, he turns and stares at the goateed man. But then, slowly, as he gazes down, he remembers the inscription.
After the echo of the last word fades, there is complete silence. There is no movement.
The eyes of the men and women are upon Gul, waiting for him to respond.
Gul closes his eyes and recites the words in his thoughts.
Seconds pass.
The tension and anger that fill Gul’s body begins to drain. He is a man of honor, truth, and faith. Letting the words of the inscription change his heart, he breathes in deep. He opens his eyes, and then says quietly, “Yes, you are right.
This is the time. Now is the time. We must sustain each other.”
Gul turns to face him, “Today, we begin anew.”
Quickly, the goateed man strides toward Gul.
The two embrace.
The men and women do not hide their joy, and they start to cheer. They shout and applaud so loudly that the noise echoes throughout all the underground chambers. They begin to stomp their boots upon the metal-plated floor. Then, their cheers give way to just the rhythmic stomping of their boots. It thunders throughout the underground enclave.
Their embrace is long and tearful.
Finally, the two part with beaming smiles, shaking each other’s shoulders with gladness.
The rhythmic stomping deeply stirs the emotion of every man and woman.
Holding Gul’s bearded face in his hands, he says above the noise, “Smiley, you’re a far better man than I.”
The stomps continue.
The symbol on his left wrist begins to burn more brightly, and Gul notices. Gul quickly grasps the arm and says, “Look.”
The whole symbol, the lines and arches, are aglow in a brilliant shimmering gold. The bright light extends to completely cover his hand and forearm.
Feeling a growing pain, the goateed man grips his forearm with his other hand.
The stomping ceases, and the men and women move closer in amazement, enclosing them in a circle.
On his wrist, within the outer circle of the double-helix lines, the missing second half of the inner circle starts to be seared into the skin, by the fine point of an intense golden fire.
Gul proclaims in whispering awe, “God completes your name.”
Suddenly, a tremendous burning pain overcomes the goateed man’s wrist, and the pain buckles his knees, sending him to the floor.
The golden glow increases in brightness, and within seconds, its light stretches and encloses him within a glimmering sphere. The scene is wondrous, as the golden light reflects its brilliance against the metals of the underground.
But suddenly, the earth shudders.
The man feels it and so too does Gul.
Gul raises his hand and moves his eyes over the floor. His team sees the concern on his face, and they stop and listen.
The golden glow gradually dims, and the sphere that once surrounded the goateed man recedes to only cover his arm.
Again, the earth shudders.
This time all feel it. It happens again but much more powerfully. They crouch down and spread their arms, in order to maintain their balance.
Then, a continuous earthquake begins.
The fire on the man’s wrist diminishes and disappears, and the golden light is extinguished. The pain wanes.
The name remains incomplete.
They hear tremendous sounds of splitting earth and breaking boulders all around them. Eerie sounds of grinding, bending, and flexing metal grate their ears. Then, the underground enclave seems to replicate and divide into two.
Soon, there are two sets of men, women, and vehicles.
The trembling continues and the sound is deafening, compounding upon itself as it echoes throughout the metal enclosure.
The goateed man looks at Gul, and he sees there are two of him now. “No. No!” he shouts and pleads.
Suddenly, he remembers this has happened before. It has happened a hundred times before. He shouts, “Not again! No!”
Gul is completely bewildered. He calls out above the din, “My friend! What is happening?”
Still on his knees, the man shouts back, “I think I know! But I don’t know how to explain it! I don’t know how. But, Smiley…my brother…whatever happens, I will see you again!” His heart is filled with pain, frustration, and helplessness. Now that his path has diverted from his years of apathy, now that his friend is again with him, now that hope lives within him, and now that his name is about to be completed, all of it is about to end.
But this has happened before.
He knows it.
He is sure of it.
It has happened hundreds of time before.
The convulsion seems never-ending. Greater distance now separates one replicated person from the other and one copied object from the other.
From the outside, two worlds begin to have two distinct forms.
The goateed man starts to hear a high-pitched sound reverberating within the underground, and spreading outside over the groaning earth.
It is a sharp, ear-piercing shriek that makes him feel as though it will shatter his eardrums. Then, the shriek fades and slowly transitions to a deafening and deep-throated growl. It is an angry growl trembling throughout the underground enclave.
Something is enraged by his decision to correct his life.
With a thunderous explosion, the earth splits into two worlds: one is the copy of the other.
Then suddenly, immediately, one earth disappears into darkness, swallowed and consumed by the heavens.
On the earth that remains, time unwinds and reverses. Many months are reviewed, and then many years. The rewinding stops at a familiar slice of time: the time at which the goateed man began his chase of the first missile.
Soon, all is silent.
Then, time begins once again.
* * * * * * *
At their desk in the San Diego office, Etelson stood, paced about, and sat, and then stood, paced about, and sat again. She waited anxiously for Martin T., who had received the red pearl found on victim four and was, at the moment, analyzing its gene sequence.
Stevens sat across from her, busy typing away notes on his laptop.
Her phone rang.
Immediately, she sprang up, picking up the phone. “Talk to me, Marty,” she blurted.
“Agent Etelson,” Martin T. informed her gravely, “the next is San Francisco.”
“We’re there, Marty. Thanks.” She hung up and put the phone away. As she hurriedly put on her suit jacket, she said to Stevens with urgency, “We gotta go! The next hit is in San Francisco. It’s a big city, so we gotta catch a plane and get there pronto.”
Unfortunately, Stevens was too engrossed in his work.
She slapped her hand on top of the desk. “Dude! Now!”
Stevens jerked up, surprised by the slap and the terse command. He was stuck frozen, with his eyes down and palms flat in front of the keyboard.
Amused by his reaction, she began to make her way out towards the elevator.
Stevens mumbled, “Wow, that’s just mean.” He closed his laptop.
Etelson heard the mumble. In her stride, she turned back and faced him. With a grin and a wink she said, “How’d you like my surfer lingo, dude?”
Stevens knew the smile and wink was her way of apologizing, but he wanted to complain anyway. “You’re just a mean, pushy surfer-chick.” He snatched up his jacket and followed her in a huff.
* * * * * * *
The day after Thanksgiving, Sik bided his time, reading a magazine in the lobby of the Marsters Hotel. After patiently flipping its pages and reading for almost an hour, he set it down on the table next to him and opened his black leather briefcase. He withdrew a laptop. Connecting to the wireless network of the hotel, he began to look busy.
Dressed in a dark pinstriped suit and with sunglasses over his eyes, he looked like a professional who was in his element, on a comfortable chair, beside a small table in the lobby.
He was instructed to wait at this high-end hotel; his next handiwork was to take place here. He reserved a room. When he checked in, he requested a room on the fifth floor, under the guise of wanting to be with other business colleagues on the same floor. The hotel was able to accommodate his request.
Now, he waited for Paige to enter the hotel lobby once again.
The previous afternoon, while patiently observing, Sik’s attention came to life when someone who looked like Paige walked into the hotel’s lobby. She had the same face, blonde hair, and same figure, but with her a man, a girl, and a boy entered through the lobby doors. But the woman was Paige’s s
ister Brooke.
Believing she was Paige, Sik followed her with his eyes.
The woman, and the man she was with, made their way to the registration counter, while the two children trailed behind.
Sik saw the female employee behind the counter give Brooke’s husband a friendly smile, speaking to him as if she had some familiarity with him. Close by, the concierge soon walked toward them and greeted them with a knowing handshake. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the concierge wished them a pleasant stay and returned to his desk.
Their checkin was swift. Soon, the family of four made their way to the elevator.
Sik furtively witnessed every moment. Then, he stood up and walked behind them on their way to the elevator.
As the family walked past, the concierge stood and smiled at them, with a nod of his head. He also smiled at Sik who still wore his sunglasses, as he walked by. When the concierge sat back down, he thought for a moment, and then began to type away at his computer.
The elevator door opened. The family walked in, and Sik entered then stood behind them, at the very back corner of the elevator.
Brooke’s husband pressed the button for the seventh floor, and then looked back and asked Sik, “Floor?”
“That’s my floor too, thanks,” Sik responded, with a casual smile.
When the elevator door opened, at the seventh floor, the family exited. After quickly reading the sign on the wall that posted room number ranges, they turned and walked to the left.
Sik walked in the opposite direction.
Now, the following day, sitting once again in the lobby, Sik patiently waited. This time he waited for the opportune moment.
A few steps away, the concierge sat at his desk. Yesterday he wasn’t sure about his thoughts regarding the man in the dark suit and sunglasses, sitting at the lobby. After dwelling on it overnight and seeing the man once again, today he was certain.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
His computer screen displayed the side-by-side composite sketches of a man wanted by the FBI: Samuel Ian Kessian.
* * * * * * *
Late Thanksgiving night, Paige had taken sole possession of the living room couch, while the five kids spread out their sleeping bags on the living room floor. They were allowed to stay up late and watch kid’s movies. As Paige attempted to sleep, the children would, once in a while, break into laughter, either because of the movie or because they playfully teased each other. She would open her eyes, look up, and smile, happy that Isaac was enjoying his time with his cousins.
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