by Mark Wandrey
“It was my money. I run a website for Indians here in the US. It helps them find family members and even dates. It was started as fun and it made me a millionaire.” She smiled at him weakly and he shook his head.
“All those anonymous donations?”
“They were me, mostly. I’ve funneled a couple hundred thousand into our coffers. It wasn’t easy at first, which is why I set up that webpage. It made it a lot easier and it was out of your view so you couldn’t get wise to what I was doing. Don’t look at me like that, it’s my money and I’ll do whatever I want to with it. I’ve given a lot of it away to family, the rest will be yours. What good will money serve shortly?”
She was starting to slur her speech so Victor got up to go. Then he remembered what he’d wanted to ask her when they had run into each other. “Kadru, I know you are tired, but can you tell me where everyone is? I can’t even find Duke, and I have to throw him out of my bedroom most nights.”
Nearly asleep, she mumbled something so he leaned closer. “What was that?”
“They went to take back the Portal for you.”
Her eyes closed and her breathing became slow and regular. Victor looked at her, then out the stained window toward the sky. “What have I become?” he asked.
“Shiva,” she whispered in her sleep.
Osgood sipped his coffee and eyed his captors while wondering if he was going to get out of this alive. A little over a day ago, he would not have given a dollar for his life. The fanatics had swarmed into the Portal dome, all crying triumphantly, and many just crying. They danced around the dais in glee like some South Pacific tribe around a crashed airplane, their God taken form. Several of them were wounded and still bleeding. For a fleeting moment Osgood thought he might just walk out without being noticed, then a huge black man arrived. He wielded a massive handgun in each hand and was bare-chested. He reminded Osgood of an obsidian Hercules.
Then another man arrived, a tall man with an air of authority about him. His conservative gray suit was streaked with blood and he carried a frightening little machine gun like he knew how to use it. They called him Gabriel and he instantly took charge and got them calmed down. The black Hercules was called Duke and he took over guarding the prisoners. With his arrival went any hope Osgood held out for escape. These characters were in it for the long run.
The first thing the police and the military reinforcements did was to secure the perimeter so that no one went in or out. Duke and Gabriel tried to get people out several times, but all this achieved was to kill more of the faithful. Eventually a telephone was delivered via a small tracked robot. Several of the more fanatical believers shot the robot full of holes. Still, the phone amazingly survived. Gabriel was now in communication with the authorities.
“Demands? Our demands are that you open the perimeter and allow our people free access in or out.” And that was how the negotiations went for hours on end. While Gabriel kept up the stonewalling, Duke had his own work to see to. He watched the captives and used his cell phone constantly. Huge maps of Central Park were laid out and notations were made. Every time someone tried to get in or out, the police and military reactions were recorded. Osgood watched him work every chance he got. Duke knew what he was doing. The notes he made on the paper were in a precise hand and intermixed with military symbols. Neither he nor Gabriel was a common fanatic like the rest. They used hand-picked bodyguards who stayed close and didn’t ask a lot of questions. They were all hard-eyed killers. These men carried their weapons ready, followed orders quickly and without question.
“What do you think about all this?” one of Osgood’s men asked.
“Well, that guy talking to the negotiator is an ex-cop; I’d stake my reputation on it. Now that character over there…”
“The big African-American guy?”
“Yes, him. He’s military, and well trained. He’s running that end of the operation. Volant and his crowd don’t know what they're dealing with. The rank and file are just street people mostly, but there's something about those two that suggests they are experts, well-motivated and have a plan.”
Eventually a true cease-fire was reached and the cultists took formal control of the compound. Someone found their way to the cafeteria and brought back food for everyone, even the prisoners. For the most part the hostages were treated with indifference. The cultists ignored them unless they were spoken to and asked nothing of them. While they were watched every moment, there were no threats against them either. An entire day had passed with little change.
Osgood managed to become invisible to most of the cultists. He could meander around the main dome and check the occasional display without being questioned or challenged. When Duke had found out he was the chief scientist he was given more freedom than any of the others. He promised to be sure none of the equipment exploded. Little did they know that he and his men shut down everything dangerous that first day.
Osgood was standing next to a control panel pretending to check its displays when Duke’s cell phone rang. The big man turned away from everyone as he answered. Though Osgood was getting up in years, his hearing was perfect. Sometimes he could hear voices on the other end of someone else's call. This time that other person was so enraged, hearing him was no problem at all.
“Duke here.”
“Damn you, Duke! How dare you do this without me?” Duke frowned at hearing Victor on the other end. He had hoped for more time.
“You said it wasn’t to the point of using any ‘special’ means I have available, but you didn’t say we shouldn’t try something.”
“Quit mincing words with me. What gave you the right to lead the faithful like this? Are you a prophet too? Has the Avatar spoken to you?”
“No, Victor, I know God has spoken to you. I know you better than just about anyone, that’s why you couldn’t do this. You don’t have the heart for it.”
“And you do? How many people died there yesterday, Duke? How many of them were innocent, how many of our faithful have gone to Heaven? Or should I wonder how many you have sent to Hell?”
“Those who serve in the army of the Lord shall know Heaven.”
“Don’t quote scripture to me, Duke, I taught it to you!”
Duke looked up as Gabriel came in and caught his attention. The ex-police officer walked over with a questioning look on his face. “It’s Victor,” Duke mouthed for his compatriot.
“Oh, shit,” Gabriel mouthed back. Duke cracked a pained grin and returned to his conversation.
“-have you been listening to me, dammit?!”
“Yes sir. About a hundred and fifty of our children died.” Victor was stunned silent for a moment. “Paul is dead and Mary is missing. Someone thought they saw her being arrested near the end. Gabriel is here with me now; he helped plan it all out.”
“And what have you two gained for all this blood?”
“We control the Portal, sir. That was our ultimate goal, after all. Why else did God send all these faithful to us? They fought for you, and for God’s will. They died for you, Victor. They went to God with your name on their lips. Our intentions were pure.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions. As I’m sure you know that from your life before.” The big man turned his head as if Victor had been there to slap his face. “What good does it do the children of God if you kill them all trying to get the Portal?”
“This is all His will, don’t you understand? Hundreds died, but hundreds more live. Most of the faithful are here inside with us. We need to get you in here with us, and I’m glad you called.”
“How can you possibly get me in there? I’m looking at the park on television, and there must be a thousand cops. And what about that gunship a couple hours ago strafing the crowd? Things are getting even more out of control, if that’s even possible.”
“While that wasn’t planned, it told me a lot about their contingency plans if they figure they’re going to lose the perimeter. Listen closely, here’s what we’re go
ing to do.” Osgood continued to be a fly on the wall until Duke hung up and began quickly conferring with Gabriel. Once they were finished talking and moved to confer with their lieutenants, Osgood slipped back to the rest of the scientists and technicians and sat next to one he remembered.
“Kyle, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Dr. Osgood. Do you think we’re going to get out of here alive?”
“Do I look like a gypsy to you?” the man chuckled. “You still have your Blackberry?”
“Sure, I’d forgotten all about it.”
“Good, let me have it.”
“Yeah, whatever you say boss.” Osgood took the device and tapped a few keys. Its wireless card was still active and had a signal. As quickly as he could, he composed a message to Volant.
The meeting had started off bad and gone nowhere fast. First, the US Army General, a huge barrel-chested man named Hipstitch, had barged into the NYPD situation room like MacArthur storming a beach in the Philippines. “You are now relieved of all responsibility in this situation,” he commanded. He was followed into the room by a brace of single silver stars, full birds and a half dozen silver oak leafs.
“Now you just hold on a Goddamn second!” Chief Niedelmeir roared. “You people took over this Central Park situation, which you insist was some sort of a fucking satellite crash, and it’s been nothing but shit ever since. Maybe you can tell me what authority allows you to come in and take over after that blood bath you just created? Seventy innocent civilians killed, more than two hundred wounded, and millions of dollars in property damage! And while you’re at it, maybe you can tell me what you really have in that compound? Satellite my ass!”
“I thought it was Assistant Chief of Police,” the general said calmly.
“It was until that war yesterday. Chief Anderson had another heart attack when he got the news, and this time it killed him.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Well, now that the fucking pleasantries are out of the way, maybe you can give me some fucking answers?”
“Never cottoned much to people who curse unnecessarily. I’ve always considered them to be coarse and of low intelligence.” A couple people in the room choked back coughs of laughter while Chief Niedelmeir turned red.
“The chief’s question still stands, General Hipstitch. Under what authority do you attempt to relieve this city’s lawful authority?”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Captain Trisha Panini, I’m the temporary coordination officer for Chief Niedelmeir.” One of the general’s aids stuck his head over his shoulder and whispered something.
“Ah, the good chief’s wife, how cozy.”
“That is why it’s temporary, general. It would be rather difficult during this current crisis for the chief to be interviewing people for the position, don’t you think?”
“It’s not really any of my concern, but this situation here is. As to authority you can have this.” Another of the general’s men came forward and placed a briefcase on the big oak conference table. He opened it and removed a file, which was handed to Trisha. She opened it and quickly surveyed the paperwork.
“It’s all legal, Chief,” she said solemnly.
“What are you talking about,” he barked and snatched the file roughly from her hands, “this can’t be legal!”
“By order of the President of the United States, the vicinity of New York City is under martial law,” he told the chief with a big toothy smile. “You and your police department will go back to what you are good at, keeping the peace, while we regain our compound in Central Park.”
“Not so fast there, General Hipstitch.”
“Ah, and you would be a representative from the NSA?”
“That I would. Steve Bradley, Deputy Information and Legal Director, US sector, NSA.”
“Where is Volant?”
“He was nearly killed in the attack; he placed me in charge of this operation until he is released from the hospital.”
“No offense, young man, but you are not of sufficient authority for this assignment.”
“None taken, General. I have the authority granted by the director. Just like a Cabinet member of the President, should the chain of command become interrupted, the NSA authority chain falls in the same manner.”
“Regardless, martial law supersedes all civilian law enforcement.”
“While that may well be the case, the NSA is not a civilian law enforcement agency. We are an agency of the federal government under the auspices of the executive branch, and when in the case of war or martial law, we are to operate in conjunction with the DOD and the military, not under them.”
“You seem awful certain of yourself.”
“U.S. 19.105.92, and it’s all in black and white.”
The general stared him down hard. All Bradley did was stare back. “NSA legal and information, eh? You’re nothing more than a rules lawyer, Mr. Bradley.”
“Be that as it may, you are not to sweep in here and brush all other authority aside. We are not at war, General Hipstitch.” Bradley placed heavy emphasis on the word general while not raising his voice in the least. “We, you and I, will work together to regain the compound from these cultists with a minimal use of force and endangerment to civilian lives.”
“As long as it is prudent and expedites my orders, I will work with you. But the moment you exceed your authority, tenuous though it may be, I will assume complete control, just as the President of the United States intended from the beginning.”
“I do appreciate your willingness to follow constitutional mandate and perform your duties legally.” General Hipstitch took his seat, whispering a prayer for the patience to deal with bureaucratic twerps under his breath. “Now, shall we get back to business?” Bradley asked.
An NYPD SWAT commander came forward to start the briefing. He showed a few charts and summarized a lot of things they already knew. “They demonstrated little knowledge of basic tactics in the initial assault,” he told them.
“Yet it was still sufficient to overpower the military units,” Niedelmeir pointed out, drawing an angry glare from General Hipstitch.
“And this shows signs of competent leadership,” continued the SWAT commander. “Several times when SWAT teams were sent in to surround and neutralize pockets of resistance we were met with ambushes. Once, a SWAT team was in turn surrounded themselves. They were allowed to leave the park after being disarmed.”
“Your men surrendered?” General Hipstitch said in disbelief. “That is disgraceful.”
“And I suppose you would have been happier if they had somehow fought to the death?”
“At least those wackos wouldn’t have walked away with quite as much ammo.”
“Notwithstanding the good general’s desire for my men to have perished, they brought out vital intelligence about the leadership of this cult and interviews of other hostiles gave us a picture of their beliefs. Captain Panini is trained in psychological evaluation and will take it from here.”
“Thank you, commander. It seems the cultists are of the opinion that the compound within Central Park contains a Portal to Heaven that was sent by Angels of God. They refer to this angel as an Avatar, and to themselves as the Followers of the Avatar. Surprisingly enough, they only came into existence a few weeks ago.
“Their dogma is steeped in Christianity with a strong apocalyptical bent. Their leader is someone named Victor, no last name given, and their beliefs center around this Portal. They believe the asteroid is going to hit Earth and kill everyone except those who will escape through this Portal and that they are ordained to be the ones to do so. Their fanaticism lies in the belief that we are all dead anyway, so who cares if they die or kill other people. They truly feel they have nothing to lose. I believe pressing them in the wrong way could result in the suicide of all the cultists, the murder of the hostages, or both.”
“That’s quite a dark pronouncement,” Bradley said to cover his discomfort at the mention of the P
ortal. He knew there was a third possibility, that they would all just run through the Portal and thereby deny it’s use to qualified research personnel.
“I’ve been over all of this with the department’s best psychologists and also discussed it with a friend at the FBI criminal psychology department and she agrees with our evaluation.”
“Have you brought a lot of people into your evaluation of these cultists?” Bradley asked.
“As many as I had time. Some were quite excited when we discussed this Portal. They volunteered to come out and assist in evaluating the cultists.” Bradley and Hipstitch, who had been on opposite ends of a conflict only minutes ago, now exchanged worried looks. Volant had warned Bradley that they were in imminent danger of losing containment and that would appear to be the case.
“I think it’s time you people come clean,” Niedelmeir said suddenly.
“What are you talking about?” Bradley asked calmly.
“I think everyone in this room knows there is no satellite in that park.”
“Just what is it ‘everyone’ thinks is in the park?” General Hipstitch said.
“I think they’re right about the Portal,” Niedelmeir said with a malevolent look in his eye, “and you are trying to keep it quiet at all costs.” There was utter silence in the room as all the police and city representatives stared at the general and the intelligence agent.
“Are you foolish enough to think there is a real Portal to Heaven in there, and we’re keeping it from people?” Hipstitch snorted.
“We don’t believe it goes to Heaven,” Niedelmeir said and nodded to his wife. Trisha Panini took a file from her own briefcase and tossed it onto the big conference table where the contents slid out. Dozens of pictures went spinning around. Some from the website of the Portal, others from foreign sources of other Portals. “It’s time to come clean. That meteor is going to hit, and that is some kind of an alien escape device. Why are you keeping it secret, and why are people dying to keep that secret?”