“Sir, one of our units is in sight of the limo,” the security chief said.
“Keep them well back,” Lively instructed. “I don’t want to lose them, but we don’t want them to know they’ve been tagged yet either.”
“What are we going to do?” Jeff asked Amelia as she drove through the crowded streets.
“We’ve got it all set up,” she replied as she noticed the nondescript vehicle several blocks back. She said nothing to Jeff or Karen. It will be easier to do my job without them worrying, she decided.
“We’ll ditch the limo in a minute,” she said. “Get ready to exit when I tell you.”
She pulled onto a small side street that circled back onto MLK Boulevard. She was sure the tailing car wouldn’t risk following, but the monitor she knew they had planted would keep them on track. Just as expected, the car drove slowly past the side street and continued down MLK Boulevard.
“We’ll pick them up when they reenter the main street,” the driver said to his control center. “There is not enough room for us on the side street without them seeing . . .”
“Watch for a switch,” Lively said, interrupting the dispatcher.
“We saw a brown Caprice parked in the alley,” the other agent said to Lively. “We’ll check every car that exits.”
Amelia told Jeff, “Get ready. When I slow to almost a stop, you and Karen jump out and head toward the garbage truck. Get in the back.”
“A garbage truck!” Karen exclaimed, wrinkling her nose. “Yuck.”
“It’s a lot better than a bullet in the head,” Amelia said in response. “Garbage smells will wash off. Get ready . . .”
Jeff reached forward and opened the door. As Amelia slowed the car almost to a walk, he grabbed Karen and stepped out running. Karen stumbled, but Jeff caught her and kept her upright. They bolted toward the garbage truck as the tail section was opening. Jeff pulled Karen into the trash with him as the tail closed again.
Amelia whispered, “Good luck . . . and Godspeed.” Then she pulled the limo up behind the waiting Caprice and ran to the opened driver’s door.
As she got in, two people, a young man and a woman, sat up in the back seat, and she drove off.
When they exited the alley, the dark car pulled out several blocks behind the brown Caprice. Amelia smiled.
“We have them,” the driver said to his companion who immediately called headquarters. “We’re following a 1993 Caprice. Wells and the girl are in the back seat. They’re headed toward the airport.”
“It’s too easy,” Lively shouted into the microphone. “There’s been another switch. I want a second car to wait where they are. See who comes out of that alley.”
“This is Car Two. We copy,” said the agent known as Kruger.
A few minutes later the garbage truck exited the alley.
“We have a city disposal truck coming out of the alley,” Kruger reported.
“Follow it!” Lively commanded.“And stay well back. I don’t want them to know we’re on to them. I’ll have extra units along the way to change off.”
Lively was excited. He knew they had spoiled the plan to free Wells. Now he would show them who was smarter.
The garbage truck continued along its normal route, collecting garbage as it went. Karen thought she was going to be sick, the smell was so bad.
“Hang in there, Karen,” Jeff said as he squeezed her hand. But he was unsure of his own stomach if they stayed in the truck very long. “Try thinking about something else.”
“I have,” Karen replied as she held a tissue to her nose. “But all that comes to mind is garbage . . . and rats . . .”
The garbage truck continued on its assigned route for the better part of an hour, picking up trash all along the way. Jeff was afraid for awhile that they might be suffocated as the trash piled up around them. Then suddenly the truck turned off the assigned route and headed toward the Maryland suburbs at maximum speed, which was about forty miles an hour.
In the trailing car, Kruger reported the change. “Control, the truck has turned onto Arlington Boulevard. I think it’s heading to a rendezvous point between here and Fairfax.”
“What’s out there?” Lively asked Marla West on the phone.
“I’ll check,” she replied as she punched up the possible locations on the computer screen. “There’s a small airport about twenty miles from where the truck is now. They could have a small jet there.”
“Get a LAARS team under way,” he commanded.
“Are you going to shoot them down over a populated area?” she asked incredulously. “There are a lot of people living around that airport.”
“Just get the LAARS team under way,” Lively snapped again. “Wells is a lot more important than a few civilians on the ground.”
“Okay,” she said as she placed the call to her special forces group at Andrews. “They’ll have to go by helicopter if they’re going to beat them though.”
“Have them stay out of sight until we know what they’re going to do with Wells,” Lively commanded. “But stay ready.”
Thirty minutes later when the garbage truck pulled onto the runway at Merrifield, the helicopter was already in place behind a hill three miles away. The side door to the ancient Huey was open and the agent had a LAARS ground-to-air rocket launcher armed and ready.
When the truck stopped, the driver yelled, “When I lower the tail, you get out and run. Follow the agent—she’ll lead you.”
Wells heard another clank in the truck, which he assumed was the driver slamming his door. Then he heard the tail hydraulics as the lift went down. A young woman was waiting outside for them. He noticed her nose wrinkle up as they exited the trash pile. They followed without a word as she led the way.
Two minutes later a small business jet was taxiing down the runway. It paused for a moment to allow the engines to spool up to 80 percent power for takeoff. Then the pilot released the brakes and the plane roared down the short runway. Since the plane was powered for a full load of twelve passengers and carried only three, it virtually leaped off the runway, climbing rapidly into the cloudless sky.
The helicopter rose above the hill and positioned itself directly below the flight path of the plane that was, by that time, a thousand feet higher. The agent with the rocket launcher aimed at the hot exhaust of the business jet. A small puff of smoke and fire like a large Roman candle were the only signs to mark the launch of the converted heat-seeking missile. It streaked up toward the accelerating jet. Even at its maximum speed of 430 miles an hour, the jet would have been no match for the Mach-three missile. It took the rocket only seconds to catch it.
Those on the ground saw the fireball as the plane disintegrated when the rocket hit the engine turbines and exploded with the force of a 200-pound bomb. The fragile machine was blown into a thousand tiny bits. Fire from the onboard fuel rained down over Interstate Highway 66, destroying cars unfortunate enough to be directly in the flight path.
“It’s done,” the pilot of the Huey reported to control.
“Any survivors?” Lively asked calmly.
“Not a chance,” the pilot reported. “It came down in a million pieces. They never knew what hit them.”
That’s too bad, Lively thought. It takes half the fun out of killing them.
From the other surveillance vehicle, the driver called in. “This is Surveillance One,” he said. “We’re still in sight of the Caprice. What do you want us to do?”
“Take them out,” Lively said casually.
The dark green government car accelerated until it pulled parallel to the old Caprice driven by Amelia Durant. The agent on the passenger’s side rolled down his window, preparing to rake the vehicle with his uzi. Instead, he found himself staring into the muzzles of two assault rifles held by the two Mossad agents in the back seat of the Caprice. The last thing either man in the surveillance vehicle ever heard was the startled government agent shouting, “What the . . .?”
Lively knew nothing about
what was happening to his surveillance team. He assumed they were eliminating the traitors. He turned and walked out of the control room and back to his own office. When he sat down he poured himself a drink and called Rutland. “It’s Lively,” he said sharply to the secretary who answered. “Let me speak to Rutland.”
Rutland picked up the receiver when the chime sounded, signaling a waiting call. “Yes?”
“It’s Mr. Lively,” the nervous secretary reported.
“Go ahead,” he responded as she patched the call through.
“It’s done, sir,” Lively reported with a smirk on his face.
“You’re sure?” Rutland snapped. “I don’t want any mistakes.”
“I’m sure,” Lively said cordially, in spite of the resentment he was harboring inside. He didn’t really like Rutland much. One day he would need to teach the arrogant political lackey a lesson, he decided.
Rutland hung up the phone and jotted a note to be forwarded to Razzak in Israel. He will be pleased, Rutland thought as he relaxed a little. Wells was no longer a liability.
23
THE UNDERGROUND
“Randy, you just can’t go out again,”Harriet pleaded. “Why don’t we stay here? We’re doing fine.”
“We’re not doing fine, Harriet,” he responded compassionately. “We’re hiding out in the woods while a lot of our friends are probably in need of help.”
“But you saw the television,” she protested, her eyes beginning to tear. “All of our group have been labeled terrorists. You’ll be arrested.”
“Harriet, I know this has all been hard on you, but you’ve got to get a hold of yourself. God does not want us to hide out when we could be helping others. This place can house ten or twelve more people if we sacrifice a little.”
“Twelve more people!”Harriet couldn’t believe her ears. “Randy, you brought in five people the last time you went out.”
“And I’ll try to bring five more every day, if I can. Someone or something has made it possible for my card to still work in the system. You know that most of the Christians have had their accounts frozen. Now they’re talking about applying a laser ID number to everyone. When that happens, none of us will be able to buy anything. I’ve heard rumors about an underground network. Apparently a lot of others feel the government is wrong, too. I want to make contact with those people if possible.”
Unknown to Randy, Jeff Wells was his benefactor. When Dr. Rhinehart had first attempted to freeze the Christians’ accounts, Jeff had instructed the Data-Net system not only to unfreeze the accounts but to give them unlimited credit within the system. Until the laser ID was implemented, they would still be able to buy and sell.
“I know you’re right, Randy, and I do want to help. But it’s all so frightening. I wasn’t ready for what has been happening.”
“No one could have been ready for what we’re going through, honey. But if we think only of ourselves, then the ones behind all this have won. As long as we’re willing to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of others, God will intercede; I just know it.”
Harriet had told herself the same thing a hundred times since their nightmare had begun. She mentally recited what she knew was God’s direction, “Why do you worry so for tomorrow?” But somehow it didn’t seem to help. She knew her anxieties were not for Randy’s safety, or even her own. They were for Matthew. She couldn’t seem to let go and trust God—at least not the way Randy seemed able. Inside, Harriet knew the truth.
She had always gone to church and Sunday school, even as a little girl. When she was thirteen, she had even dedicated her life to Christ. But mostly, she knew she had reacted to the other kids who were dedicating their lives. She hadn’t really surrendered to Christ. She had surrendered to peer pressure. In some circles, peer pressure meant drugs or sex. In hers, it meant becoming a Christian. It was what her parents had wanted most of all. They needed a showpiece to display in church: their lovely Christian daughter. It had all been so easy, she thought, first Christian school, then Christian college. All the while, she felt resentment and rebellion but never showed it.
Her single act of rebellion had been Randy. When she met him, he was a senior at Clemson and most definitely not a Christian. Her father had demanded that she not date Randy, so they dated secretly. After he graduated from college and was accepted at a law school in Alabama, they eloped. For a while, she had been afraid that her father might die from a heart attack. But after a year or so, her parents accepted the situation, with reservations.
Then, in his second year of law school, some of the campus groups invited a Christian speaker and Rhodes scholar to speak one evening. She had attended out of curiosity and Randy had gone with her. That evening, Randy heard a message that changed his life. When the invitation was given, Harriet was shocked to see her husband go forward.
From that point on, Randy never looked back. He devoured Christian books and never missed an evening of studying his Bible. Within a year, it was Randy who was pulling a reluctant Harriet to seminars and rallies. She went with him, but somehow she knew he had something she did not.
All these years, she thought, all these years I knew something was wrong inside. I was just mouthing the words and playing the role. Then she realized, I might have gone on that way for the rest of my life.
Suddenly Harriet blurted out, “Randy, I have to tell you something. I’m not sure I’m a Christian.”
“I know, honey,” Randy said with no condemnation in his voice.
“You know!” she said in astonishment. “You mean you knew I wasn’t really a Christian and you didn’t say anything all these years?”
“Would you have listened if I had?”
Harriet thought about it for a minute, and then she answered, “No, I guess I wouldn’t have, not until this happened. I played the role so well, even I had come to believe it.
“I know now that I need Christ,” Harriet said as her eyes filled with tears again. “It’s not what we’re going through that terrifies me. It’s the fear itself.”
“Harriet, you need to know that I’m just as afraid as you are most of the time. It’s just that I know God is still in control, and even if we all die, I’ll still believe that.”
“I know that too, Randy. I saw the peace Mom had when Dad had cancer. I see that same peace inside you. That’s what I want.”
“I do have a peace that I didn’t know was possible. I guess that’s the one thing that has sustained me through all of this. When I’m the most frightened—like when those kids tried to attack the van—God seems to take over my will and strengthen me.”
“That’s what I want with all my heart,” Harriet exclaimed.
Randy led his wife through the plan of salvation that she had heard so many times before. But this time it was for her. She committed her life, her family, and their future to Jesus Christ.
“Remember, Harriet,” Randy said as they hugged each other. “Fear is a normal, human emotion; panic is not. Knowing God is absolutely in control is what conquers the fear and eliminates the panic.”
“I know what you’re saying, Randy,”Harriet said as she dried her eyes on the kitchen towel. “But I feel so much better now. I know God can give me what I have lacked all these years—peace.”
Randy kissed his wife like it was the first time. He felt closer to her than he ever had. But there were still people out there who needed their help. “I’ve got to go, Harriet,” he said.
“I understand, Randy,” she said. “I want you to go. I’ll pray God will lead you to someone who needs our help.”
Randy left the cabin feeling like he had just received the Nobel Peace Prize—only from the Lord.
Driving into the small community of Winder, Randy saw a long line of people waiting at the entrance to the courthouse. “I wonder what’s going on,” he said aloud. As he passed the local post office, he saw a notice posted in the window that Data-Net IDs would be issued every Monday from 8:00 A.M. until 5:00 P.M. Since it was Monday, that exp
lained the line. He decided to take a chance and find out what he could. He parked the old pickup truck a block away and walked back to where the line stopped.
“What’s up?” he asked an older man standing at the end of the line.
“This is worse than getting car tags,” the frowning man responded. “You’d think they would have a better system.”
“What’s the line for?” he asked as he took his place in line.
“What do you think it’s for?” the older man gruffed. “It’s that new ID. I wasn’t gonna do it, but then I got a notice from Social Security that I wouldn’t get my allotment anymore if I didn’t have the right ID.”
Randy could feel his heart thumping. So it’s finally come, he thought. The tattoo under the skin. It’s the next step toward the MARK!
“I thought the president said the ID would be strictly voluntary,” Randy said more to himself than to the old man.
“That may be the official position on the news, but just try to buy somethin’ now and you’ll see. The only scanner that works is the one that reads the ID on your hand. It’s voluntary all right, if you don’t want to eat.”
If it’s come to Winder, it’s probably everywhere in the country, Randy concluded. With the focus on the Middle East crisis, who’s going to object? He knew he could no longer use Data-Net, since he wasn’t about to get tattooed. Then it struck him like a hammer. They’ll start screening for people without the tattoo as soon as the system is totally in place! It won’t be safe to walk the streets anymore.
“How many people are left to get the ID?” he asked.
“Well, I’m a ‘W’,” the old man said, stopping to stare at Randy.“Henry Wallace. I guess I’m nearly the last. Say, what’s your name? Didn’t you get a notice to report for the ID?”
Randy panicked a little. Two other people had turned to stare at him too. “I’ve been out fishing for the last few days,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. He had been fishing with some of the others living in the cabin.
The Illuminati Page 28