The Hammer of Amalynth

by Michael Galloway

  Chapter Five

  John leaned back in his chair and stared at the box of rocket parts on his office table. The new piece had a peculiar familiarity to it but he was still not completely sure it was a rocket casing. The thought then came to him that the technology and whoever was wielding it, was evolving and getting bolder with time.

  He grabbed the part with the black thread still attached to it and stretched the thread out onto the table. The thread grew in length with ease and reminded him of videos he had seen demonstrating carbon nanotubes. On a hunch, he pulled out his voltmeter and hooked up the black and red probes to opposite ends of the thread. He clicked the meter dial to test conductivity and like he suspected, the material was quite efficient at conducting electricity. He set the probes down.

  His gaze then drifted over toward his own rockets that he built to gather data on thunderstorms. Next to the rockets was a plastic box full of Ferganut sensors. Each sensor was a dime-sized sphere that was launched into wall clouds or the updraft of a growing thunderstorm to track velocity, pressure, and temperature. He had used hundreds of sensors already in field tests but longed for a more efficient means of tracking and delivery.

  He turned back to face his desktop computer and brought up a series of weather maps. The forecast indicated sunshine over the next three days with rain toward the end of the week. Discouraged by this finding, he read all the articles he could find about the recent storm damage. He then reviewed the lightning data from the past week’s storms along with a handful of radar replays in hopes of uncovering something useful.

  The locations of the lightning strikes that hit his church and the clinic fell right along the same storm path. The storm had a long history, having formed hours earlier and over a hundred miles away. Yet the locations were eight miles apart which suggested launch mobility. He knew from personal experience that the time from setup to launch may only be a handful of minutes. He then calculated the time to drive from one location to the other and that, coupled with the approximate time between strikes, made him pause. It saddened him to think that while he sought to save lives with his rockets another sought to destroy them using the same means.

  He glanced up at the wall clock. He had just enough time to head out to meet Madeline for dinner. He shut down his computer, put the rocket parts away, and left for the restaurant.

  * * *

  John sat across from Madeline in a padded booth in a quiet corner of Del Ray’s Pizzeria. From the outside, the restaurant looked as if it belonged in a small town in Italy. Inside, the walls were made of faded white brick and wood paneling with bottles of wine dotting the shelves on the wall. The lighting in the restaurant was dim but warm and it brought out the best in Madeline’s eyes. The restaurant was half full tonight yet the lit candles on the end of each table made the place feel intimate for couples. John eyed a plate of steaming seven-cheese lasagna being served to a nearby table.

  “I’m surprised she let you in her office,” Madeline said after hearing about his visit to the counseling clinic.

  “I’m surprised she didn’t get hit by lightning. I thought it was a coincidence until I found a piece of rocket metal near the curb.”

  “You’re sure it’s from a rocket?”

  “I wasn’t at first. But then I checked the lightning data from the storm. When I put the storm track together with the times and locations of the strikes at the clinic and the church it left just enough time for someone to drive from one place to the other.”

  “And do what?”

  “Fire off some rockets. Oh, and I tested the thread. It’s conductive alright. My gut tells me it’s made of carbon nanotubes.”

  Madeline put down her pizza slice and wiped her hands. She became quiet.

  John could sense her mind was working through something important. “What is it?” He said as he helped himself to another slice. It had been a while since he ate pepperoni, green olive, and green pepper pizza and the last thing he wanted was for the food to grow cold.

  “Maybe we should pray,” she said.

  “Here? In a restaurant?”

  “Why not?”

  “Why? I’m sure God already knows we need help. No need to broadcast it.” He felt the temperature of his face beginning to rise.

  “That’s not the point.”

  John looked around at the nearby tables to see if anyone took notice of their conversation. The guy to the right was fully focused on consuming the lasagna. The couple in the booth behind them was deep into a conversation about politics.

  Madeline leaned in. “John, I’m worried. What if someone is after us?”

  The thought did not bother him at first. Yet he could tell by the look in her eyes and the concern in her voice she was not going to drop the subject anytime soon.

  Madeline drew back. “We should pray more anyway.”

  He agreed in principle but did not think it was the proper place to do it. What that proper place looked like he had no idea, but right now all he wanted to do was enjoy his food. He picked up the glass dispenser off the table and shook out some Parmesan cheese onto his pizza. He then shook out some red pepper flakes from the other dispenser.

  Madeline reached out across the table and held her hand open for John to grab. He hesitated. After he finished his pizza slice, he looked around at the nearby tables and finally put his hands into hers. He kept one eye open the entire time.

  “Lord, we’re at an impasse. Now what?” Madeline said in a low voice.

  John kept waiting for her to continue on for several minutes. When no more words came, he opened his other eye. “Is that it?”

  “Was there something wrong with what I said?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. It was just so…short.”

  She went back to eating but her attention kept drifting back toward his eyes. After a moment, she stopped. “You’re embarrassed by me, aren’t you?” She gave him a teasing smile, but underneath it all he could see pain and humiliation in her eyes.

  “That’s not it. I was just thinking about the counselor again. And how she seemed more interested in my pocketbook than me.”

  “No, you weren’t. Don’t worry. I get it.” She turned to look at the front door. “Maybe I should go now.”

  He reached out and touched her hand. “No. It’s not you. By the way, did I ever tell you I’m good at embarrassing myself? Would you like to see me embarrass myself?”

  “Only if you pay the bill first.” Now she was the one turning to look at the other tables to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation.

  He waved down the waitress and she handed him the bill. After he paid the bill, he motioned for the waitress to come closer. She leaned in.

  “Do you happen to have any duct tape?” He said.

  “We might have some in back. Why?” The waitress’ eyes darted back and forth. She shifted her feet uneasily.

  “Okay. Could you get me a roll? Thanks.”

  Unsure of his motives, the waitress stepped back and glared at Madeline. Finally she left. When she returned, John handed her a five dollar bill in exchange for the roll of tape.

  “That’s not necessary,” the waitress said as she waved him off.

  “It will be. Trust me.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “All of it.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “You’ll see.” He smiled until the waitress left and then he drew out a strip of tape.

  Madeline gave him a worried look. By now her cheeks were turning red.

  He just grinned and continued to pull out strip after strip and laid them out on the tabletop until he created the shape of a heart. It was as big as a pizza pan. He then crisscrossed more pieces of tape until he filled in the heart row by row. The customers at the tables around them stared at him and his silver heart. The man across from them, who was once obsessed with his seven-cheese lasagna, set down his fork and stared. John used up the last bit of tape and when he had finished, he handed
the heart over to her. “I may be a few months early but will you be my valentine?”

  * * *

  As they drove off laughing, John took a different route through the streets of Sioux Falls on his way toward Madeline’s apartment in Wick. Madeline held the duct tape valentine in her lap as he drove on and together they commented on the brilliant colors of the setting sun as its fading rays struck some high cirrus clouds on the horizon. The peach and salmon hues made him long for his camera.

  John looked over at the valentine. “See, I told you I was handy with duct tape.”

  “Be careful where you brag about that.”

  As they drove past an abandoned building on the edge of the city, Madeline sat up at attention in her seat. “Slow down. I want to see something.”

  John let off on the accelerator as they passed by the building. From a distance, it looked like a small, white, one-story house. As he drew closer, he saw a steeple and a small parking lot overgrown with grass and weeds. The windows were covered with plywood, the paint peeled everywhere, and there was a padlock on the front doors. Unruly trees conquered the front lawn and sprawling weeds occupied every other space.

  “Can we circle the block?” She said.

  “See something?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He slowed the truck and turned the corner. A white pickup truck sat near the back entrance of the building.

  Madeline pointed to the parking lot of a closed plumbing shop just down the street. “Pull in there,” she directed.

  He pulled into the parking lot and it gave them just enough of a view of the rear entrance of the abandoned church.

  “I know that guy,” she said.

  John looked but did not see a man.

  “It’s him. That’s the guy who was with Jared that day I walked in on their meeting at Spirit of Grace.”

  “Where?”

  She pointed again but in a different direction.

  All John could see was the outline of a man in a dress suit. “So? What’s his name?”

  “Dr. Amalynth.”

  John squinted but in the fading light of evening he could only make out vague shadows. A nearby streetlight winked on and cast more light onto the building and the adjacent sidewalk. “What’s that in the bed of his truck? It looks like some kind of rack.”

  “He’s moving it inside now,” Madeline said.

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “Don’t you think the rack looks like one of your launchers?”

  “I suppose. Want me to take pictures?”

  “He’s going inside.”

  “So?”

  “That church has been closed for a couple of years.”

  “Want me to pull up closer?”

  “No. Take pictures. Then let’s go. But I know what I’m going to research next.”

  Chapter Six

  John sat alone in his driveway with the truck windows down and listened to a symphony of crickets in his yard. Cool air drifted through the windows and he watched a restless pair of fireflies blinking on and off and darting about like beacons set adrift on an ocean current. Nothing brought him peace until he looked into the backseat and stared at his Bible. It had a pine-green leather cover with frayed edges and he brought it along with the intention of reading it during downtime on storm chases. As of late, the chases had been few and far between. He did not know why the prayer with Madeline at the restaurant bothered him so much, but the more he dwelt on it, the more he did not like his reaction. He reached into the backseat, grabbed the book, and headed inside.

  After a long hot shower, he propped himself up in bed and set the Bible next to him. Before he could even open the front cover, his mind was bombarded with thoughts of his past failed attempts at Bible study. With irritated determination he opened the book randomly to the Book of Job. Figuring it was as good of a place as any to start, he dove in. The first dozen chapters went fast until he got annoyed with the trio of counselors around Job. What piqued his curiosity was that despite the onslaught of misplaced advice and the physical and emotional misery, Job clung to his faith.

  As John’s thoughts began to drift, he leafed ahead to the 38th chapter and studied God’s response to Job, which of all things, came out of a whirlwind. When he hit verse thirty-five, he stopped abruptly and looked up. Here God told Job point blank that even the lightning bolts reported to Him.

  John leaned his head back, closed the book, and came to the conclusion that Madeline may have already received an answer to her prayer at the restaurant. Was Dr. Amalynth the one firing the rockets that triggered the lightning strikes? If so, what motive did he have? John admitted that he knew nothing about the man and he doubted Madeline knew much more. Yet if Dr. Amalynth was the one they were looking for, was he really directing the lightning strikes or was it God’s doing? If it was God, he thought to himself, what did I do to deserve the jolt off the electrical box? At least he did not have a trio of counselors sitting around him to compound his misery.

  * * *

  John was fast asleep when his cell phone rang out. He did not open his eyes and let the call go through to his voicemail. When the phone rang again he finally reached over and peeked at the screen to see who was calling. It was Madeline, and in the darkness he took the call on the third ring. Or was it the seventh? It depended on how he counted.

  “John, are you awake?” She said with excitement in her voice.

  “Define the word awake.” He rubbed his eyes and stared at his digital alarm clock. The bright red numerals read 12:34 a.m.

  “I think I figured something out. Remember that man we saw at the abandoned church?”

  It took a minute for the thought to register in his mind due to the lateness of the hour. He needed his sleep and for this conversation his instinct was to run on autopilot. “Sure.”

  “I found an obituary for his wife. It’s from a year-and-a-half ago. There wasn’t much to it, but then I called the funeral home.”

  “At this hour?”

  “No, earlier. They wouldn’t give me any information about her other than what the obituary said. But the director said Dr. Amalynth had published some papers online. So I kept digging. And I found a couple of technical papers he authored. Here, let me send them to you.”

  John could hear the click-clack sounds of a keyboard in the background. He closed his eyes and tried his best not to go back to sleep.

  “Okay, I sent them. Did you get them?” She said.

  “Can I check tomorrow?”

  “Okay. So I skimmed the papers and maybe you’d know more about this than me, but it looks like he’s into electrical engineering and design.”

  John took a deep breath but said nothing.

  “Are you there?” She said.

  “I’m here. I’m just not sure it’s the guy we’re looking for.”

  She let out a loud sigh. “I’ll keep checking. If I find anything new, I’ll let you know.” There was an enthusiastic surge again in her voice that was charming and exhausting at the same time.

  John sat up in bed. “Don’t you have to work in the morning?” He looked again at the digital clock on his nightstand.

  “I do, but I couldn’t sleep. It’s been bothering me all day. I’ll let you go now. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He set his cell phone back on the nightstand and walked into the kitchen. Sure enough, now she got him thinking about the papers that she sent over to him. After helping himself to a piece of cold fried chicken from the refrigerator, he returned to his office and turned on the light.

  Before long he flipped on his desktop computer and reviewed the papers she sent over to him. Most of the subject matter was foreign to him, but one fact jumped out: this guy was a brilliant engineer. He checked online for more articles but found little. He did find out that Dr. Amalynth had given talks at a couple of area colleges, but no audio or video existed of his lectures.

  The wind rattled his window so he checked the weather. No
storms were forecast, so he turned off the computer and went back to bed. Sometime after he closed his eyes again he heard a gentle thump on the roof over his bedroom.

  Startled, he raced over to the window and threw open the sash. The wind blew strong and steady, cracking the branches in the trees. Meanwhile, the crickets continued their orchestral performance on the lawn. A cylindrical object dropped in front of the window. In panic, he pulled open the drawer on his nightstand and took out a flashlight. He aimed it at the ground where the object dropped and found it was only a pinecone.

  Chapter Seven

  Madeline parked on the street in front of Dr. Amalynth’s house and surveyed his yard, the neighborhood, and her own chances of surviving the encounter if this truly was the man they were looking for. His residence was a split-level house with chestnut-colored siding, deep blue trim, and a well-kept yard. In front of the living room bay window a squared-off row of bushes looked as if they were trimmed just this morning. There were no rolled-up newspapers on the lawn, no weeds, and no children’s toys. More than once on her walk to the front door she slowed her pace as if to reconsider. At the doorstep she recalled her previous encounter with Dr. Amalynth at the Spirit of Grace church and at once her courage returned.

  She pressed the doorbell button and waited. Nothing happened. She tried to peer into the living room window without going into the bushes. The indigo curtains were drawn tight so she pressed the button again.

  “He’s not home,” a voice said to her from a neighboring yard.

  Madeline spun around. A woman in her mid-fifties carried a plastic bag full of weeds toward a garbage barrel. The woman wore a large beige sunhat with a bright pink tee shirt and khaki shorts.

  Madeline waved to her. “Okay, thanks.” She paced back toward her car.

  The woman dumped the weeds in the barrel and then leaned on the chain-link fence that divided the two yards. “Are you a friend of his?” The woman asked.