Either we lost transmission of the signal, or the dead silence on the radio is the result of the anger displayed on the general’s face right now. “Major, call me on my private line, please.”
After a few minutes pass, the remaining soldiers enter into the compound with the others searching for traces of our presence. I look at Gabe to give him the go-ahead, as Finnegan, Henry, and I start backing up toward the car. Before Gabe sets off the explosives, I quickly stop him. “Gabe, wait!” I say as the radio cracks once again.
“Bravo 129, this is the major requesting prisoner status, do you read?”
“Sir, the cells are empty.”
“Which block?” the major asks.
“All of them, sir,” the man says as the radio signal whistles and crackles.
Finnegan rushes over to try and fix the signal, but the frequency is being interfered by something else that is near. Right then, one of the helicopters slowly takes off while the radio briefly comes back on with a crackling voice.
“Major, I don’t care what it takes—you find her and bring her to me. I will be waiting here at the training facility in Greensville,” says General Iakov.
“Greensville?” Gabe asks. I look over and Finnegan drops his head and sighs because General Iakov knows that’s where we are headed.
“Looks like we are taking a road trip to Virginia,” Finnegan says.
As the chopper starts to ascend out of the compound, I turn and shout toward Gabe, “Now, Gabe, now!” The west wing rattles violently to the ground as windows explode from their frames, projecting shards of glass up into the air. Like a domino effect, the east wing and administrative buildings burst into a cloud of blistering flames and immediately collapses, killing anyone within a hundred and fifty yards. The last explosive charge does the most damage, exploding out and upward into the air. A bright plume of fire fills the skies, shaking the earth, spewing fragments of metal and brick toward the helicopter.
The pilot becomes blinded by the black smoke from burning diesel tanks, and the flying shards of steel cut through the air, striking the sides of the chopper cockpit. The chopper spins out of control and into the pile of burning rubble below. The massive devastation leaves no survivors, and I stand there wondering how many men have died in vain just to see another suffer in death.
We jump in the car and leave before the black cloud of smoke blowing in our direction impairs our vision from driving back down the hill. Fortunately, that’s the only thing that blew in our direction. While driving away from the prison, there is stillness in the car, like the calm of a spring breeze competing against the silent flapping of a hummingbird’s wings. No one says anything, but they are all thinking the same thing—that last piece of conversation on the radio before the explosions.
“You do realize we aren’t just going to walk into that training facility unnoticed. It’s used to train the deadliest of soldiers, and you better believe there will be cameras watching this time. Besides, our agenda is not with Iakov, so keep your hatred secluded.” Finnegan says to me.
“I want him dead!” I angrily retort.
“I understand, but do you know what we’ll have to sacrifice if we don’t stick to the plan. You said yourself the Capitol is where we stop the enemy, to which I agree. So my concern is with our Head of State, not some general pissing in your Cheerios.”
“I have to do this, it’s my—”
“Vengeance is going to scar you, and get us all killed. We stick to the plan.”
“Sooner or later, I’m going to face him, with or without you.”
“Well, until then, the president is our target.”
Gabe rubs his hands through his hair in frustration, and his confusion forces him to blurt out, “Wait!”
“What is it?” Henry asks.
“It’s just … as if he knows we are coming.”
“Of course he knows, that’s why he said it, and why we need to act fast,” I add.
“In time, but not now,” Finnegan asserts.
“He knew we were listening to the conversation. He’s just trying to throw us a bone. He’s laying out the breadcrumbs for us to follow. He’s tired of chasing us. He wants us to come to him,” I say pleading my case.
“If he knows, then we are just setting ourselves up for a trap,” says Finnegan.
“Exactly,” I say.
“Well, I hope you have a good plan then,” Finnegan says.
I know the Capitol is where our agenda lies, but all I can think about is Iakov now. The President is the least of my worries. I rest my head back against the seat and remain silent until we stop again. I don’t want the others to know that I’m planning to go into the training facility alone. We have many miles ahead of us before we reach the Capitol, and I don’t want the little time we have together to hinder our fellowship. The only way I can know for sure that General Iakov will be in the belly of that fortress is to see him face to face, and I know he would rather have me alive than dead. But it matters not; I will either see him in this life or haunt him in another.
CHAPTER 25
My eyes glaze over as I fall into a deep trance. The silence in the car has hypnotically transformed my thoughts into another vision. This one is so clear, it’s like I’m in the very room, touching the walls. There is a large table sitting in an empty space of white in a location that is unfamiliar. Sitting at the table are ten world leaders discussing international diplomacy. Although every party and their constituents share the same conflict resolution strategy in creating a global support network for each other, each leader still stays grounded in their future endeavors as they continue to argue over one another. Each leader has a nameplate in front of them. Some of the names I already recognize from the news.
It appears to be a private summit that is beyond the scope of just talk. It is devised to combat immediate resolution against an international revolt created by the Israeli government. Sitting from left to right is Gennadi Gorshkov of Russia, who heads the conference, but his face eludes me. I try hard to get a glimpse of him, but my eyes can’t seem to look directly at him. It’s as if he’s faceless. Whatever is subconsciously distracting me from seeing him, it’s unnerving. It’s like being in a dream where you’re moving in quicksand. No matter how hard you try, you never seem to get anywhere.
Sitting around the table is Delun Yeung of China, Yasin Talbani of Iraq, Arturo Sardina of Cuba, Fedor Hoffmann of Germany, A’zam Naifeh of Saudi Arabia, Akbar Khatami of Iran, Anwar Mubarak of Egypt, Faruq Asefi of Afghanistan, and Nikolai Kriel of the United States.
These are the last of the great nations that hold absolute sovereignty, although there is nothing great these nations have offered in the last forty years. England, the last of the withering global forces, was slowly absorbed by the Federal Republic of Germany during the last decade, giving up all political rights, but still sustaining a superfluous amount of wealth, which has contributed to the political climate change over the last twenty years.
America hangs on by a thread because of foreign beneficiaries like China and Russia, who in exchange are using America’s technological moxie and political arrogance to sway global relations. America will only last as long as the Russian and Chinese governments control economical trafficking. The United States is still considered a world power by its name alone, but it is becoming less and less potent.
Arguing ensues among the men sitting at the table as they discuss the true motives behind Israel’s rebellious behavior. “Israel has the capabilities to destroy a nation, and we can’t assume otherwise,” says Kriel.
“Yes, and how do you know this?” Hoffmann asks.
“Because we supplied them with those capabilities,” answers Kriel.
“But you must remember, you have dissolved that relationship with them for over ten years now,” says Sardina.
“Ally or not, they still hold the technology we provided,” says Kriel.
“The question is whether they have the guts to use it,” chimes in Sardina.
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“My American counterpart will agree that if we don’t devise a plan soon, then this stalemate will only delay and hinder not only our current economic status, but also the future of a one-world government that we all seek,” says Gorshkov.
“What do you intend we do, then? Sacrifice our nations for a cause that you may or may not guarantee?” Talbani spouts off.
“I’m sure Israel is in no position to dictate the outcome of this stalemate,” says Hoffmann.
“Israel is transfixed by its religious culture, and there is absolutely no influence beyond that land that poses a threat to our agenda. We are the world powers, gentlemen, and we control the trade embargos,” says Yeung.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, your overconfidence in this matter will be the death of you,” says Gorshkov.
“I’m not so sure my country can sustain another war,” says Talbani.
“We may be in the midst of a global uprising, but we cannot afford to make assumptions based on past political mistakes,” says Kriel.
Hoffman scoffs. “I don’t see any real reason we should continue with this debate. This is not our main objective. The issue is—”
“The real issue at hand is right in front of you, President Hoffman, but you cowardly reject even the idea that your nation could fall,” Gorshkov declares.
“As head of this international council, I extend to you all with great respect your audacious speculations, but I’m becoming frequently displeased with your political malcontent. This is the time, my fellow privileged comrades,” Gorshkov says, pacing around the table with his hands behind his back. “We decide here and now, and if anyone wishes to decline their invitation, then be advised that your country will no longer be under international immunity. I have a great vision for our nations to come together with the ideals that this world was meant to be ruled under,” Gorshkov says.
“I don’t think it’s in the best interest for my country to have to suffer through another political regime just so we can establish a stable economy,” says Sardina.
“This isn’t about a global economy. This is about the power to control a race of men and women who share a common ideology, and our Head of State seems to be in over his head trying to bring together ten nations to agree upon this philosophy,” says Hoffmann.
“Oh, the irony coming from a nation that once failed to breed a perfect race. Perhaps you would rather join Israel and receive the same suffering?” says Gorshkov.
“My country is not afraid of your pompous threats. My devotion is to my country, and I pledge no alliance to anyone who believes differently. Your arrogance cannot force me to make a hasty decision based on a vision and precarious assumptions,” Hoffman confidently says.
“So be it,” Gorshkov says with absolutely no emotion on his face. He pulls out a gun and shoots President Hoffman in the back of the head, spraying blood and bits of brain onto the white table. “Any other objections?” Gorshkov says to the others as they stare back in shock.
He briefly turns from the men as they all look at each other, wondering what the consequences may be if they wish not to decide.
“Israel will either join us or they will be destroyed!” shouts Naifeh.
Gorshkov slowly turns back toward the men, smiling, and pounds his fists on the table. “What say you, men? Do you have the heart of a lion or the blood of a fowl?”
Just when things become interesting, I’m quickly interrupted from this vision by Finnegan’s erratic driving skills. We nearly hit a deer, but he manages to swerve and miss it.
We’ve been driving for hours, and my jaw is sore from resting on the side of the car door. I look out the window and see nothing but darkness. The night has come upon us, and I suddenly feel a sense of urgency to get out of the car to recirculate the blood in my numb legs. Everyone else appears to be asleep except Finnegan, thank God, because he’s behind the wheel. A line of brightness outlines the curvature of the earth just slightly above the steep hill in front of us, and as we drive closer to the top, the light gradually bends upward, revealing more of a glow. Just below the other side of the hill, lights burn bright, illuminating a small city that looks to still be awake.
Instead of driving directly into the city, Finnegan finds a rundown inn off a side road about ten blocks from town. An old wooden sign swings back and forth hanging onto its rusty chains with the words Occupancy carved into it. You wouldn’t know it by first glance, but I believe the old cottage looks as if it was bright white at one time. Although the scars from the peeling paint and termite-eaten planks tell a different story, I feel strangely comfortable staying here rather than in the city. I just hope the inside is more inviting than the outside.
Before Henry can knock, the door creeks open just enough for two wide eyes to peer through the open crevice. “Excuse me, ma’am, we are in need of a place to stay the night,” says Henry.
“Possibly more than one night,” adds Finnegan.
The door swings open, and an older woman appears through the rusty screen. Her frightened face is filled with a sudden shock of surprise when she sees us standing outside the door, but none of us are carrying any weapons that would imply any kind of threat. I’m a little perplexed by her reaction, but more so when she opens the door and hurriedly ushers us in.
“Please, hurry. Come in, come in,” she says, as she quickly closes the door behind us and locks it tightly with three deadbolts.
We all curiously stare at the woman rushing around and peeping through the dingy blinds by the front windows. I turn and look at Henry, who shrugs his shoulders in confusion.
While the woman intently spies out the window, she yells something out in Spanish, and a little girl about eight years old comes out from the kitchen. “Come with me, please,” the little girl says. She begins to take us upstairs to our rooms, but the woman quickly stops her and tells her to take us down the long hallway.
“Wait, por favor,” I say to the little girl as I turn to talk to the old woman “Señora, ¿hay algo mal” I ask. She realizes she can’t hide the truth any longer when I ask her what is wrong.
“Evil men have been looking for you. They have come to ask about you,” she says.
“What men?” I ask.
“Soldiers, officers, even citizens around the city.”
“Citizens?” Gabe asks.
It’s begun; the first wave of sheep straying into the darkness without a shepherd. Many will follow where they feel safe and begin to choose sides that will immediately benefit them or destroy them. Their eyes will always be fixed on what they can see, and be blind to what they cannot. They have no God to find hope in, and they will soon perish like the others.
“How do you know they are looking for us?” I ask.
She picks up her Bible, then points toward Gabe and me. “You and him have come to deliver us, no? We have been feverishly praying day after day for years, and then yesterday, we hear rumors floating in from the west about you. You are just as they described. We have heard the things you have done, the blood you have spilled. Many people have been praying for your protection,” she says, holding my hand.
An older gentleman walks down the stairs and trembles with fright, hiding behind a chair when he sees Gabe and me. “Hay muerte entre nosotros,” the old man says.
“Why is he so scared?” asks Juliana.
“Because I have invited the angel of death into my home.” She gestures for the old man to leave.
“So I have been hearing,” I say.
“We thank you for opening up your home for our stay. We will try not to wear out our welcome,” I say.
“You are in a holy house on unholy land. You are welcome to seek refuge here as long as you need. It’s just me and the girl, and we have plenty of food, supplies, and warm water for your comfort.”
“Thank you kindly,” I say.
“If you need anything, you can call on me. My name is Maria, and that little girl hiding behind you is Isabel,” she says.
“Please forgive me f
or not introducing myself. I’m Arena, this is my brother, Gabriel, and this is Juliana, Henry, and Finnegan,” I say.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Please come and I will show you to your rooms,” Maria says.
Our rooms are small, but adequate, and if there was ever a time that warm water was as essential as food, it is right now; it’s all I can think about. Each room is accompanied with a mirror, a nightstand, which holds a Bible, and nicely folded towels sitting on a rather tightly tucked quilt. Grime collects on the ends of the bed skirting, and cobwebs latch onto the corners of the room. Either this house breathes dust, or this room has been unoccupied for a very long time.
I slap the center of the quilted bed and dust particles explode into the air and float around until they cascade back down. I once read that seventy-five- to- ninety percent of the dust in your home is actually dead skin cells. I can’t wait to lie down among the dead skin of several hundred other people who have lain here before me.
The yellowing of the wallpaper and the cracked plastered ceiling gives the room … a sense of character, as they say. Yeah, right, the character of an old haggard and gnarled woman slowly dying. Time has transposed this once newly decorated room into a worn-out, withering story. I try to imagine how many travelers who have passed through these doors and slept in this very bed may have played an influential role in changing someone’s life. People and things come and go, live and die, stand or wither, but time will always stay the same until the end comes and nothing or no one is left to see it exist.
There is an adjoining building, the bar, that sits behind and to the right of the inn that brings in the smells of cheap cigars and musky oils. I can hear two old men arguing about who bought who drinks the night before. I wouldn’t have known what day it is if I was not listening to the crotchety, old geezers spatting back and forth. The days have no meaning to me anymore—just the time of day at sunrise and sunset.
While my better judgment tells me to go to sleep, I rebelliously ignore it instead. I decide to take a peek at the city with Gabe while the others stay back to get some rest. Just in case we run into some unnecessary entanglements, I take a few weapons with me. Gabe throws me my black cloak to conceal them. “No, you don’t look suspicious at all,” Gabe sarcastically says.
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