“What are you talking about?”
“Perhaps you have fooled the law and will escape punishment here. But there’s a higher law which you cannot escape, and someday will face. So I release you to that law now and I . . . forgive you.” She smiled, feeling freer and happier than she had in weeks.
“I assure you I haven’t a clue of what you’re talking about.”
Her smile deepened.
“Miss Callahan, really! I . . . I’m not . . . .”
“Goodbye, Mr. Gunther,” Trisha said, walking away and leaving him standing with his mouth open.
• • •
Once more Robert Gunther found himself with his mouth open as he stood before the committee.
“We are quite grieved over you, Robert,” boomed a deep, masculine voice from the head of a long, rectangular table.
Two dozen wealthy and influential men were gathered in the room. Bankers, newspaper editors, politicians, business executives, as well as Alexander Harner and Senator Garby were present.
The meeting was taking place in an old, meticulously kept mansion belonging to the Chairman—a heavy set but impeccably dressed man; one of the most powerful bankers in the western world. He leaned against the high back of his mahogany chair. As a young boy he had watched his father conduct business in this very room—the great room—he called it, and around this same magnificently carved twenty-foot long table. Years later, after his father’s death, the Chairman began having his own meetings in the great room and had been doing so for over twenty-five years.
The Chairman took a puff of his cigar, and with the other hand thumped the newspaper that lay open before him. “This,” he said, striking the front page picture of the P2, “is most disappointing, Robert. You know how I hate inefficiency. And from what I can see, you’ve bungled this assignment from beginning to end.”
The pasty face turned red. “I . . . I tried my best.”
“That’s the point. Even doing your best, you failed miserably. I gave you carte blanche. You were to use every means to stop the P2. Your efforts were unimpressive, impotent. For heaven’s sake, Robert, you couldn’t even kill Patterson.”
“How was I to know that someone else was in his private helicopter? I hired the best and . . . .”
“Still failed.”
“Well, Mr. Harner didn’t do much better!” Gunther blurted, as beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. “He was supposed to ‘buy’ Patterson; win him to our side.” Gunther turned to Harner. “The autoclave would soften him, you said.”
Alex Harner shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “We weren’t all that confident about turning him. We figured we’d win him or kill him, whatever came first.”
“Never mind that,” shot the Chairman. “The primary mission was given to you, Robert. And the fact remains that all your efforts failed. In addition, you were foolish. You compromised Tafco Oil by contracting the jihadists through our Syrian branch. Good grief, man, do you know what that’s going to cost! I’ll have to call in a lot of favors and line dozens of pockets before I quell this thing. The plight of those women has aroused public sympathy. And the one that got stomped by your muscle bound idiot has become a national heroine.”
“There was a million to one chance of these women ever leaving Seco Polvo alive. And the trail to Tafco was well covered. Only a handful could have exposed it. Am I to blame if one of them got greedy and sold out?”
“But you sold us out, too, didn’t you, Robert? You and Kamal wanted to make a little money on the side. Without consulting us. Without our consent. And that has cost us dearly. Now, the papers are interested in us. Word has leaked out about our part in creating the climate for martial law. Even as we speak, forces are moving against us. Against President Baker. We’ve worked years behind the scenes to amass this type of power, this type of takeover. And now it may prove difficult to hold onto. And all because of your greed.”
“I’m sorry. I never intended for it to thwart any of your plans. I thought that since all our efforts had failed, what was the harm in trying to get a little something for our trouble?”
“The harm!” The Chairman slammed his fist against the table. “I can’t begin to tell you all the harm that has been done! Because of you we were forced to eliminate many in order to erase the trail leading to us. In other words, to tidy up your mess.”
The Chairman paused to puff on his cigar. “Like I said, Robert, you were careless. And normally I’m a forgiving man. But this time there’s too much at stake. You know how hard we’ve worked to get Senator Garby into position. When all our opposition is destroyed or detained in the internment camps and martial law is lifted, he’ll be the only viable candidate left standing. You know our objectives, Robert. You know there’s more at stake than Tafco Oil or you or me or even Senator Garby. It’s a whole new world order we’re talking about; an empire of unimaginable power; a new Tower of Babel if you will, based on economics, our economics. He who rules the gold, rules the world. And this time neither God nor man will stop it.”
The expression on the Chairman’s face became dark. “Your name has shown up in too many DHS reports. Your inefficiency and stupidity have caused a cloud to hang over Tafco Oil. You’ve left a trail that had to be erased because we can’t have some wide-eyed reporter trying to make a name for himself by doing an expose´ on you or Tafco. In short, Robert, you have become an embarrassment. And you know we never leave embarrassing loose ends.”
Gunther’s face reddened. “You’re not seriously . . . .”
“I am most serious! In our organization we do not fire. We do not demote. We eliminate. You understood that from the beginning.”
“Yes, but . . . but surely . . . .”
“We are all expendable. Building a one world government, a new world economic system, necessitates thinking of the larger picture. We cannot quibble over one life, more or less. And if we didn’t spare Senator Garby’s wife, what makes you think we’ll spare yours?”
The Chairman glanced at the senator. “Bad business when a wife betrays her husband. Her emails to Senator Merrill regarding our internment camps were inexcusable. But you didn’t hear Senator Garby protest the necessity of removing her. Her massive stroke relieved the senator of his liability, and in fact made him a most sympathetic and attractive candidate. Who doesn’t feel for a grieving widower? I’m sorry, Robert. But you are no longer an asset, and have, in fact, become a liability.”
Gunther’s red face paled. He understood the significance of the Chairman’s words. He had one chance left. Always in such cases, the committee had the right to overrule. If enough voted on Gunther’s behalf, his life would be spared.
“Before sentencing becomes official,” the Chairman continued, “is there anyone who cares to cast a contrary vote?”
Frantically, Gunther looked around the table. Not one hand was raised. His eyes rested on Senator Garby. The senator shrugged as if to say, what can I do? Then Gunther turned to Harner. “Alex? Alex!”
The barrel-chested Harner squeezed out a weak laugh, “I’m sorry, Bob.”
Robert Gunther dropped his face into his hands, and instead of the sobs everyone expected to hear, there arose peels of laughter. Trisha Callahan had been wrong. He had not escaped anything. The irony of it seemed overwhelmingly funny.
Twenty-four hours later, Robert Gunther was found with a bullet in his head in the same dump-sight where Hanagan had been discovered. The press buzzed for days about the murder of one of Tafco Oil’s leading executives. Then finally the mystery was solved. EPD received a phone call from ISA claiming responsibility.
The case was closed and life continued as before.
• • •
Mike studied the man who sat across the desk drumming his fingers on the arms of a chair. He had never seen Pete look so tired or rumpled. His blue suit was creased, his blond hair stood up in back as though he had
just gotten out of bed.
“You look awful, Pete. What’s going on?”
“I’ve come to say goodbye. I’m being transferred to the Syrian refugee safe zone set up by the coalition. I’m ‘mission support’ for the medical team and other humanitarian aid we are sending.”
“What? How could that happen? I thought you were in tight with the National Continuity Coordinator?”
“Guess not. He said I’m making too many waves, and that Syria may do me good, though I haven’t the faintest idea what he means by that. I’ve turned the package Joshua gave me over to him and he says it’ll take time to rectify the situation. But I’m doubtful he’ll do anything with it. How could I have been so wrong about a person? How could the Mossad have been so wrong?”
“Maybe President Baker got to him. Bought him off or is holding something over his head or his family’s head. It happens, Pete.”
“Yeah, but the laugh is on him. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve also given a duplicate to a reporter working for an independent newspaper. He’s already leaked bits and pieces, but with all the crackdowns by President Baker, it might be just a matter of time before they identify him as the leaker and shut him down.
“They’re already cracking down on independent tabloids and even internet use. Now, you have to obtain a special permit to run a newspaper. And soon they plan to do the same for internet use, restrict it for the average Joe, allowing fuller access only to those who obtain special permission. You won’t believe the number of people disappearing every day. And I mean prominent people, important people! It looks as if President Baker is systematically eliminating every dissenting voice.
“You better watch your back, too. Baker isn’t thrilled about your fusion reactor. Remember his jihad buddies don’t want alternative energy. But right now you’re such big news he can’t move against you. Too many people interested in your P2. So for awhile at least, you’re fine. But don’t trust anyone. Not even my replacement.” Pete rose from his chair. “I have to go pack.” He smiled sardonically. “What are people wearing in Syria these days? Do you know?”
Mike had also risen. “I’ll always be grateful for your part in getting Trisha safely back. If you hadn’t been willing to work with the Israelis I don’t know what would have happened.” He extended his hand. “I’m sorry it caused you problems.” He gestured toward the small, black Bible on his desk. “I’ll keep you in prayer.”
Pete shook Mike’s hand. “I’m not sorry. It was the right thing to do. And once we stop doing what’s right, once we go over to the dark side, it’ll be all over. I still love my country even though it resembles more a banana republic than the America I grew up in. I don’t know what’s in store for me in Syria but now that you’ve found God, yes, I’d appreciate your prayers.”
• • •
Bodies pressed together, like tissues in a box, along both sides of the newly paved Gibs Town runway. Heads bobbed, straining to see the P2, the great silver swan complete her first test flight, then descend for a perfect landing as TV cameras and newsmen recorded the event.
The success of the flight insured the P2 a place in history as the first nuclear powered SST in the world. It also insured national and international prominence in the here and now, for it would revolutionize air travel in particular and transportation in general. The P2 would be the forerunner of all that followed. In the not so distant future, it would fly people from New York to LA in two hours, and from D.C. to Paris in three. It was doubtful that even President Thaddeus Baker himself could turn back the P2 now.
Away from the crowd, Mike and Trisha stood holding hands as they watched Buck descend the gangway. Trisha tried to imagine his pride, his exhilaration. He had flown the P2 well. Now he was the first to have carnal knowledge. He alone could answer those important questions regarding pitch control, trim, airfoil efficiency and auto-landing so critical to a pilot. She watched reporters corral him like a prized stallion. The moment was his now and the P2’s.
Trisha and Mike were content to watch from a distance.
Eight months had passed since Robert Gunther’s murder. Everything had changed and nothing had changed. Audra Shields had become a folk hero. There was even talk of a movie. Her story had been told and retold, embellished and changed so many times that little truth remained until she emerged as a female counterpart of Rambo. Peter Meyers had been killed by terrorists while serving in Syria. The attempt to impeach President Baker had failed. But it had extracted a promise from him that new presidential elections would be held in four months. The sticking point—Senator Garby would be the only one on the ballot.
Peter’s replacement was a company man, loyal to Baker, and Mike followed Pete’s advice about trusting him. His guard was never down around him. And there was no contact between Pete’s replacement and the Mossad, either.
Baker continued ratcheting up his anti-Semitic campaign and had broken with Israel in the UN by spearheading a UN resolution mandating Israel to return to their 1967 territory—an untenable position since it not only returned the Golan Heights to Syria but left Israel with indefensible borders.
In spite of the break between the U.S. and Israel, Joshua Chapman corresponded periodically. He even sent pictures of his and Cassy’s wedding. The couple lived in Tel Aviv, and both were employed, Trisha suspected, by the Mossad.
Daniel was dating a dermatologist and seemed happy.
And Mike . . . he finally shared his Jacob-experience with Trisha. They had wept together that day. Since then, he continued growing in the Lord. A wedding date had been set. They had even visited Trisha’s mother and gotten her blessing. In a few short months Trisha would become Mrs. Michael Patterson.
Now, she rested her head on Mike’s bulky shoulder, her heart swelling with joy as she looked down the runway at the P2 and sea of reporters. The world was full of violence and uncertainty but Trisha was at peace. She and Mike had put themselves in God’s hands. They were determined to live day by day under the umbrella of His protection. And however long or short their lives, they purposed to make their days count.
“I feel God smile as He looks at what we’ve made,” Mike whispered.
“Yes . . . I feel it, too,” Trisha returned. “We make a good team, the three of us.”
Mike laughed. “That we do. But it’s been a wild ride. I’ll be glad to get back to normal, to have things quiet down. The most exciting thing I want on the board is next year’s new interior colors for the EX4.”
Trisha wrinkled her face. “We can do better than that. I have an idea of what we should do next. I was doodling the other day and came up with a sketch I’d like you to see.”
“Oh, no,” Mike groaned. “This sounds familiar.”
“What I had in mind,” Trisha continued, ignoring his remark, “was a new type of cargo carrier.”
“Cargo carrier? Our C101 is doing well.”
“Yes, I know, but I’m talking about a totally new cargo carrier, a VTOL . . . .”
“VTOL? Explain to me why a cargo carrier needs to take-off and land vertically?”
“The world is in trouble. Think of the many places where only a helicopter can go because there’s no airfield. But a helicopter is limited. It can’t haul really huge cargoes. Half the famine in the world could be alleviated if we could just get the food to them.”
“No. The answer is no.”
“And not only could it deliver goods to inconvenient places, think of its rescue value.”
“This is crazy, Trisha.”
“You could airlift an entire village, livestock, personal possessions.”
“Trisha!”
“Suppose you had to remove the inhabitants from the path of an oncoming hurricane or flood or . . . a war?”
“Out of the question.”
“I thought we could begin with a stretch version of the C101 and . . . .”
; “How many engines?”
“Well, that’s the really exciting thing because I figured we would use just two NPR910s with . . . . ”
“Why two?”
“Because I think we can achieve double the fusion capability of each engine by altering . . . .”
The End
CHARACTERS
Abraham Levi: Mike Patterson’s lawyer
Ace Corbet: bartender and one of Audra Shields’ lovers
Alexander Harner: head of Tafco Oil
Arie Katz: Mossad agent
Audra Shields: metallurgist working for PA
Bubba Hanagan: one of Audra Shields’ lovers
Buck McNight: test pilot and mechanic for PA, long time friend of family
Cassy Merrill: Senator Merrill’s niece and database manager for his presidential campaign
Dr. Daniel Chapman: highly respected surgeon in Everman Hospital; brother to Joshua Chapman
Iliab Nahshon: Mossad agent
Joshua Chapman: A Mossad agent with dual U.S. and Israel citizenship; a computer security specialist; Dr. Daniel Chapman’s brother.
Kamal: called The Blade; terrorist; head of ISA, the Islamic State of America
Michael Patterson: President of Patterson Aviation (PA)
Mrs. Callahan: Trisha’s half-Cherokee mother
Mustafa: terrorist
Nabil: terrorist
Najjar Haddad aka Azad Hosseini: terrorist working undercover at PA
Nathan Yehuda: Mossad agent
Nolan Ramsdale: nuclear engineer for PA
Peter Meyers: DHS (Department of Homeland Security) agent
Rachel: Joshua Chapman’s fiancé
Renee Patterson: wife of Michael Patterson
Robert Gunther: on board of PA; affiliated with large oil company
Senator Phillip Merrill: U.S. senator running for president
Senator Garby: U.S. senator running for president of the United States in Merrill’s opposition party
Thaddeus Baker: president of the United States
The Babel Conspiracy Page 27