“Hey, Mom! You had breakfast yet?”
Jackie walked in. “No, I haven't. Maria—thank you for getting everything going this morning. I was so tired that I overslept. I guess I'm trying to catch up on lost sleep.”
“Oh, I'm always glad to help,” Maria said. “Graham and Mary have already left. I'm sure he's at his office by now.”
“Sure.” Jackie sat down at the table. “What ate you boys talking about this morning?”
“All those people who disappeared,” Jeff said.
Jackie stiffened. “I see.” She looked away and changed the subject. “I guess you're going to have a busy day today, Maria.”
“I think so,” Maria answered. “I plan to work on that junk in the garage. Needs more than a touch out there, don't you know.”
“Good,” Jackie said. “Well, I've got to go downtown to a library meeting, and…”
“Why don't you ever want to talk about those people disappearing?” Jeff said.
Jackie gritted her teeth. “It's not my favorite subject.”
“You know what one of the kids up the street said?” George asked. “He said the whole business is about religion.”
“I wouldn't know,” Jackie answered abruptly. “Please pass me the toast.”
“You wouldn't know about religion or you wouldn't know about the disappearance? Which one?” George pressed.
“Any of it,” Jackie said firmly, forcing a smile.
“We never went to church, did we?” Jeff asked.
“No, dear. Attending a church wasn't one of the things you father and I ever tried.” Jackie kept her smile in place, but she knew she looked pressed. “It wasn't part of our, well… ah… our values.”
“I don't believe in any of that stuff,” little Jeff said. “I never did believe in Jesus or the Bible.”
“Now listen to me,” Maria interrupted the conversation. “You boys shouldn't say you don't believe in something you don't understand. I wasn't much of a church person either, but I was brought up to respect those ideas that other people feel are important. I believed in what the Bible said. Sure. I should have read it more, but I didn't about anything on those pages.” She shook her finger in their faces. “You should do the same.”
“Maybe,” George said, “but I don't believe in that Christian stuff really. I mean… I don't understand much about it.”
“See!” Maria shook her finger in Jackie's face. “I always told Graham he should take these children to a church every now and then. You should have read them Bible stories.”
“Please, Maria,” Jackie said resolutely. “Let's not get off on a wild goose chase this morning. Look, boys. I don't have any idea what happened to all of those people, but I'm sure it didn't have anything to do with religion. Eventually, some scientists or psychiatrists will come up with an answer. Let's not get the day started worrying about a problem we can't solve.”
Maria thumped on the top of the stove. “Well, you Know what I think about…”
“Please, Maria,” Jackie said again. “These are only little boys! They don't need to get worried and upset about nonsense. Let's just drop the entire matter. Okay?”
Maria rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. she went back to cleaning the top of the stove.
“I want you boys to hurry up and get your regular clothes on,” Jackie said. “I'll take you by your schools this morning. I have a number of errands to run so let's get on with it.”
George looked at Jeff and nodded. Jeff didn't say anything.
“Ready to move?” Jackie kept smiling. “I'm going to be in the car and gone in fifteen minutes. You're going to have to start moving fast.”
The boys murmured their compliance, got up, and took their dishes to the sink. Jackie kept eating, and watched her silent sons. Far from ending any more conversation, she gad merely put a plug in the dike. The truth was she didn't even want to think about the whole complex problem. Everything about millions of people vanishing in an instant left her horrified.
CHAPTER 6
STORM CLOUDS RUMBLED over the Mediterranean Sea, covering the entire city of Nicosia, Cyprus, with the possibility of thunder and lightning hanging in the air. While the seven-story building located downtown was not a hotel, the edifice maintained the posh ambiance that only the most expensive resorts carried. Tables and chairs covered hand-tooled leather stood on elegant carpets. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings.
Sitting on a veranda looking out toward Lebanon, Powerful men had gathered with their bodyguards standing in the shadows. A servant walked among the six international leaders, placing drinks on the small tables at each man's elbow. Once the task had been completed, the waiter quickly disappeared.
“My friends,” Hassan Jawhar Rashid began, “I appreciate your coming to this island today. Each of us has major responsibilities that would naturally keep us in out countries. The president of Egypt, Ali Mallawi, certainly always has such pressing matters, and Abd al Bari carries the weight of the business affairs of Syria on his shoulders. Each of you function at the same intense level.”
Both men nodded appreciatively; the others smiled.
“Your call is our summons,” a gray-haired man at the end of the table answered. “Anything Hassan Rashid wishes to speak with the head of any Arab state, we are instantly available.”
“Thank you, Ali.” Rashid gestures around the room. “Such a pleasurable palace seemed a more convenient and secretive meeting palace than one of your capitols. I trust you found your accommodations to be acceptable.”
“Hear! Hear!” the men cheered and clapped. “Definitely.”
“Excellent! Wonderful.” The entire group applauded the arrangements.
Rashid smiled and turned the large diamond ring he wore on his pinky finger, but his smile quickly faded. “Unexpected events are going to happen in the immediate future. I want each of you to be prepared to respond quickly.”
“What do you foresee ahead of us?” the gray-haired man asked. “Please share specifically with us.”
“If we do not allow anyone or any cause to create separation between any of us,” Rashid said, “We are poised to control the United States.”
Silence fell over the room.
“You are serious?” the president of Egypt gasped.
“Quite.” Hassan Rashid's eye's narrowed. “I believe the American democratic process is the jugular vein to be attacked for their downfall. While it might not seem so at this moment, I find Americans to be quite vulnerable.”
“But they have the most powerful weapons in the world!” the prime minister of Saudi Arabia protested,“We know they have enormous military capacity as well as the nuclear deterrents to stop any nation.”
Rashid shook his finger. “No, no.” His sober stare didn't change. “The key word is control. We are not planning to engage their military; my plans ate to manipulate the plebiscite. Americans like to think their voters are intelligent, analytical thinkers.” Rashid leaned over to speak in nearly a whisper. “In fact, they are overindulged, reactionary children who vote with their emotions.”
“But how can you change the feeling of a huge population of Yankees?” Ammar Aswad of Iran protested. “Such a thing is not achievable!”
“Oh?” Hassan Rashid's eyes twinkled and a slight smile broke across his face. “Is this what each of you thinks?”
The national leaders looked at each other, nodding their agreement.
“Fear!” Rashid yelled at them. “The Americans and their reactionary journalists as well as fast-talking television reporters have the emotional core of a six-year-old child. Gentlemen, fear is the way that I will shake these fat boys when they enter their voting machines.”
“But… but…”Abd al Bari rubbed his chin nervously. “Making an entire nation afraid is… is… not possible.”
Hassan Rashid sat back in his chair. “If I can create such a result, are you and your countries prepared to stand with me?” He thrust his finger in the face of each man. “
Will you follow me faithfully as I resolutely climb the hill to world conquest?”
Silence settled over the group.
“You see,” Rashid continued, “I am more than capable of sending a wave of fear across that country like none they have ever known. I already have the ability to do so. My men are poised and ready to strike. But what follows after I have created chaos?” The gentle smile abruptly returned. “I need your assistance. Will you follow me?”
The white-haired president of Egypt slowly stood, clicking his heels and coming to extreme military attention. “If you can humble America, I am with you to the death!” He saluted Hassan. “I will follow.”
For a moment no one spoke and then the entire group exploded with their affirmations of loyalty.
For several moments Hassan Jawhar Rashid only listened, waiting for the group to settle again. “Thank you,” he finally said. “The Americans will soon be in my hands, and I will drown them in their own fear.”
CHAPTER 7
AN OBLONG conference table ran down the center of Mayor Frank Bridges's office. Five men were already seated around this mahogany altar to the gods of progress when Graham Peck walked in Maintaining distance, Peck kept his usual steel look in his eye and only nodded to the other leaders.
Jake Pemrose and Al Meacham were old acquaintances of his, but Graham usually maintained a distance from the more cold and aloof Jack Stratton and Bill Marks. Although the city had in decades past outlawed smoking in public buildings, three of the men were already smoking cigars. Wearing a subdued pair of maroon suspenders, Bridges sat at the head of the table in a business suit. Since he usually dressed more casually, Peck knew something significant was afloat.
“Graham,” Mayor Bridges said, “thanks for coming right down. We need your input.”
“Sure,” Peck answered.
“Gentlemen, we have a big problem this morning,” Bridges continued. “At around four o'clock west coast time, an oil tanker was bombed in the Long Beach Naval Yard. You heard the story on the morning news?”
Peck abruptly realized he hadn't tuned in a television station anywhere. He generally started the day with a television report or at the least an e-mail briefing on his computer, but he hadn't done so today.
“The explosion was enormous,” Bridges began. “Get ready. People all over the Chicago metroplex will scream.”
“How did it happen?” Jake Pemrose asked.
Graham knew Pemrose well. The councilman had been a political force on the southside for years and Bridges listened to him. Pemrose usually asked the first question.
Bridges shook his head. “How do these monsters always get in? Some collaborator sneaked them or their bomb on to the tanker. I don't know, Jake. The important thing is that this attack provides a new opportunity for our campaign. We've got to address this problem immediately.”
“we can hit the noon news if we come out of this meeting with a statement,” Graham interjected. “Let's do it.”
Bridges stood up with a laser pen in his hand. His suspenders did little to hide his protruding stomach. Bridges lived through his earlier years as a man with great political promise. While his “great hope” had not yet turned into a presidency, at fifty-five he had developed a broad and powerful constituency in Illinois. They years had proved significant, but his body slid downhill. He couldn't do much about the belly, but Bridges was desperately looking for a new, broader power base.
Graham looked around the room once more. Nothing had changed in how these men looked, acted, or thought since the night multitudes of people disappeared. Life went on like any other day, but the truth was they were terrified to look at the subject in anything more than a passing way. Keeping the upper lip stiff was the style of people like Pemrose and Bridges.
“I've already give this problem some thought while coming down here this morning.” Bridges started transmitting an electronic message to the board with his laser pen.
“Terrorist attacks aren't new,” Graham said. “Are you sure an explosion on the Pacific coast will affect Chicagoans?”
“We may not be a big time port city, but Lake Michigan has plenty of shipping,” Bridges answered. “Our city is also a major rail and transportation hub.”
Graham nodded. “But I keep thinking about the poverty problems floating around this very building,”
“Don't stop with thought, Graham. We're simply making hay out of today's big explosion in California. It's momentary, but an opportunity.”
Graham smiled. He wasn't going to make any points on his favorite issues. Drop it
“Here's my plan! Open a twenty-four-hour center in downtown Chicago to receive reports on possible terrorist activity. Tie the telephone into the 911 lines and it wouldn't cost the city an additional cent, but it would give people a point of contact. The entire metroplex will be wired People would think they're getting something, but it's really nothing Slick, huh?”
The men around the table gave their approval.
“We've had surveillance for a long time, but I'd propose to increase the number of cameras. Sort of like sticking ‘The Eye’ in everything from the kitchen to the garage. At the least, people would think we had them covered.”
“This will at least create the illusion espionage control,” Jack Stratton said. “Who knows? Someone call in a tip that could make a difference.”
“We're still going to need some federal funding,” Graham argued.
“Good point.” Bridged kept flashing the laser pen images on the board without turning around. “Makes my point number three. We need to request federal funding for the acquisition of new protective gear.”
Graham leaned back in his chair. Bridges was the master of reaction, like a fox watching a hen house and then attacking after the last chicken waddled out into the barnyard. Many of his ideas didn't amount to much, but they sounded good in the newspapers. He was a man who created images, and what people voted for these days was illusions, not substance.
Bridges bounced his pen up and down in his hand. “I've got one final point. People need assurances that we won't allow a runway epidemic to sweep the city.” The mayor looked straight at Graham. “What do you think, Peck?”
“I thought our health agencies already provided such services.” Graham's voice was flat and without enthusiasm.
“You got it!” Bridges almost laughed. “We'll give them something they already have.”
The men around the table broke into applause. Graham watched, but didn't move. Were many of the citizens really this dump? Yeah. They were.
“Graham's already figured this one out,” Bridges said. “We're blowing a lot of smoke. The point is we don't have to spent a dime, and we sound like we're saving civilization.” Bridges winked. “That's called good politics.”
“Good politics, indeed!” Al Meacham said. “I don't think we ought to underestimate our opponent. The other side is working hard to provide an alternative. They'll respond to us and might get more than a tad ugly about some of these items.”
“Which means we're the ones keeping the initiative going,” Bridges said. “Initiative, boys That's how the game is won.”
Graham believed in Bridges's campaign and definitely thought he was the better qualified of the two candidates. However, he didn't like these back-room planning sessions. They always sounded like the legendray “smoke-filled rooms” that once made politics pop. Bridges was aiming at the media, not the issues.
The lack of ethical concern also bothered Graham. He wasn't sure why, but somewhere along the way he had picked up a sensitivity to these issues. His mother had made him go to church as a boy. Not much of it stuck, but he remembered the discussions about doing the right things— that part of their message stayed with him. Graham's mother had always been big on moral issues. She encouraged him to think about what was lasting and true. His father taught him to work hard and instilled an enduring drive in the boy. Graham knew politicians ought to pay attention to these things, but that wasn't where Bridges
and his inner circle lived.
“We're with you, Frank, but I want to know what you now consider to be the real issues. What are we truly fighting for?” Graham crossed his arms over his chest and didn't blink.
Bridges pursed his lips and ran his hands through his hair. “Nothing has changed, Graham. Same game as always.” He pulled at his chin, thinking about the question. “I don't know what these terrorists are trying to prove or where they came from, but the basic issue is still the same. We need more oil than we can currently obtain. The whole world is locked into this question and people in a city as large as Chicago can't forget it. This country's war in the middle of those Muslim oil fields affected supply. The world's oil supply has slowed down ever since and the prices keep going up. Sure. Many cars run on batteries or hydrogen, but they still need petroleum to produce energy. Everyone remains afraid of nuclear power plants. I need to get a large percentage of the vote to enable me to make the long-range negotiations we need for this city.” He stopped for a moment and then looked straight at Graham. “I don't want to talk about this problem in public, but I believe that Borden Camber Carson may be our only hope. We need more production from his Royal Arab Petroleum empire coming our way. Do you disagree?”
Graham knew the mayor enjoyed putting his attackers on the defensive. He didn't want to say so in this meeting, but Graham wasn't a big fan of Carson and his far-flung oil empire. Who knew what this egomaniac was actually about? No one had ever actually seen the recluse. The only clear evidence was that he was good at bringing oil production under his control.
“Do you disagree?” Bridges asked again.
“I don't disagree that energy is our big problem.”
“There you have it, boys.” Frank Bridges tossed his hands up in the air. “We're all on the same page.”
“However,” Graham continued, “my contention is that most citizens are terrified of criminal elements in our society and they can't do anything about it. Low income is killing the average Chicagoan right now.”
The room broke into an uproar and Bridges lost control of the conversation. Graham watched the verbal melee, knowing he was right; the feverish exchanges guaranteed it.
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