Dead Man Running

by Davis, Barry

  "Very good, Hamid. I am happy we've found our rat." He nodded his head at the man who held the weapon in front of Hamid. The man pulled the trigger and the blast echoed about the space. Mira entered a mental fog as her grandfather splayed back in the chair, an ugly hole in his chest, blood spreading on his clothing.

  She watched as several men carried Hamid down the stairs and placed his body on the operating table. The nurses quickly cut away his clothing and the surgeon began working on the body. Deep inside, Mira hoped for her grandfather's death. It was the only way to stop Wiley now.

  Wiley spoke again as the surgeon worked to save Hamid's – and his – life.

  "Am I to understand that you knew nothing of this subterfuge?"

  Mira looked at Wiley, the hate burning in her eyes. "I did not know anything about him and the government. All I wanted was to help you accomplish your goals."

  Wiley looked at his troupe of magicians. They were a Rainbow Coalition of magic, various colors, and various states of life. One by one, the women nodded.

  "They are not sensing any deceit, Ms. Hidar. Good for you."

  "You've shot my grandfather," she said. "What do you plan to do with him?"

  "He'll be kept alive but in a coma. Right now they are depriving his brain of oxygen."

  "This doesn't make me happy," she said.

  "I know but what I really need to understand is, will you be useful to me? I still need you. We have continents to conquer and the zombie bombs will take forever. I need you to develop a weapon to indoctrinate millions at a time."

  She waved at the women standing on the stairs. "Why not kill me and use them?"

  "As I've said, I've searched the world for magicians. As distasteful as the words are, they will admit that you and your grandfather are the most powerful magicians in the world."

  He looked down at the operating table, then back to Mira. "Now, you alone are the most powerful. I need you."

  "I'll help you," she said.

  "Excellent," he said. "I just need one more test of loyalty." He gestured and down the steps was brought Mira's younger brother Biran. Mira stood, as did Wiley. Wiley's people positioned the young man at the bottom of the steps.

  One Hidar per generation was invested with the family's magic gift. Mira, not her brother or other siblings, had the gift.

  Wiley produced a zombie bomb and handed it to Mira. "Make him one of my people," he said.

  Mira took the bomb in both her hands. She looked at her brother, then back at Wiley. She struggled to balance the fate of the world versus her brother's life.

  She lobbed the bomb in the direction of her brother, backed up so the bomb would not target her and turned away. Wiley grabbed her head and forced her to watch as the bomb quickly found its human victim. The weapon deployed and within ten minutes Biran Hidar was one of the undead.

  After she was released with new orders to develop the 'Atomic' zombie bomb with researchers at Penn, she stumbled out of the Columbia medical complex. She ignored the limo that Wiley had provided and nearly tumbled down the subway steps. She paid her fare and walked deeper into the station. As the train approached and the other passengers sidled up to the yellow line, Mira backed away.

  The subway took on its new passengers but Mira Hidar did not see. Her tear covered face was inside a trash can, the contents of her stomach decorating the plastic bag which lined it.

  She lifted her head – the train was gone, its passengers treated to the sight of yet another New York party girl losing her lunch.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sat on a bench.

  Her face was hard set granite. There would be no more tears today.

  As she waited for the next train she created a blocking spell that would permanently prevent others from determining the truthfulness of her words. She got lucky back at Columbia – she was able to quickly defeat the probes of Wiley's battery of mystics.

  She was more powerful than they were combined. Inside her were the learning's of one hundred and fifty generations of magicians. Her power was from God, a payment extracted to allow Moses and his people safe flight from Egypt.

  She sat on the cold bench as the space began to fill once more with riders. As she waited for the train she thought hard on how to bring about the destruction of Ben Wiley and all that he held dear. No one messes with the Hidar's and gets away with it. Not the God of Abraham and certainly not some power crazed zombie.

  Deep inside Benjamin Wiley the old preacher stirred. As he walked through the front doors of Abyssinian Baptist Church with his Muslim guests he imagined God speaking to him. The democratically elected leader of the Republic of Iran followed closely on Wiley's heels. The small man with deep set scary eyes took everything in, as he had in their other Harlem stops. They had visited the Audubon Business and Technology Center, the former site of the Audubon Ballroom where Malcolm X was gunned down in 1965. Ahmadinejad said a prayer there, right in the lobby of the place as Columbia students, many Jews certainly, milled about. They visited Theresa's and the man had some fried catfish and grits.

  He seemed to enjoy the food but it was not clear what the man enjoyed because his expression never changed. Wiley observed that the man came most alive when there was something to hate, like the Jewish children whose tour of the Apollo Theatre was cut short because of the VIP visit. The Iranians took great care not to touch any doorknobs lest they get dead Jewish skin cells on their own olive skin.

  This was their final stop and Wiley was confident that all preparations had been made.

  The Iranian UN representative had been converted by a g-string wearing zombie as she performed a lap dance on the diplomat at his favorite North Jersey strip club, Frank's Skanks.

  The representative had been provided zombie bombs which he used to convert the entire Iranian UN delegation, including the security contingent. They then converted Ahmadinejad's advance party, including several of his relatives. All that was left was to convert the president and his personal security detail. Wiley had chosen Abyssinian as the place to 'baptize' the Iranian president in his new religion, that which worships the power and majesty of the undead.

  Ahmadinejad strutted ahead of the rest of the group as Abyssinian's assistant pastor conducted the tour. Finally the Iranian president climbed up to the pulpit. "Speech here" he said in his very limited English. Wiley smiled, nodded and gave the signal to his followers among the Iranian security contingent. Before Ahmadinejad's other security guards could pull their weapons, the zombie guards had incapacitated the men with darts laced with chloral hydrate.

  Ahmadinejad stood frozen, comically still in the pulpit. "What is the meaning of this?" he said in Farsi.

  Wiley spoke to his borrowed State Department translator, another of his converts. "Time to join the latest revolution, my friend," he said and the translator conveyed the words to Ahmadinejad.

  The man looked confused and even more so as his white haired uncle rolled a zombie bomb in his direction.

  Ahmadinejad tried to flee but the bomb accelerated and caught him as he reached the door which led to the pastor's cloak room. The bomb deployed as designed and soon the leader of the Iranian Republic lay dead in one of black America's citadels of freedom and justice. The bomb continued its work and soon zombie Ahmadinejad joined his new leader.

  Wiley shook the man's hand and they had a conversation, in English. It turned out that the man spoke perfect English but was pretending otherwise to tweak the West and win points among his people.

  Wiley explained what he wanted the man to do. Ahmadinejad readily agreed and made suggestions on how to win over the true power holders in Iran, the clerics.

  The group left the church with all smiles for the cameras. It was the first time many in the foreign press had ever seen Ahmadinejad's teeth. It was a becoming look for the man – it seemed to humanize him for those taking his picture.

  Two days later, hours after Ahmadinejad's speech at the historic Harlem church, the president met w
ith his national security team in the White House Situation Room. It was a principal's only meeting with the vice president, the CIA Director, the acting NSA Director, and the Secretaries of State and Defense.

  Along with the president's political director, David Axelrod, the group watched Ahmadinejad's address in its entirety.

  "How confident are we that the translation is correct?" asked Obama.

  The CIA Director leaned forward. "We had dozens of Farsi experts translate it, cross blind. Except for a few inconsequential words here or there the translation you saw was spot on."

  "Did he really say that he welcomed the Jewish state into the brotherhood of mankind?" the vice president asked.

  "Forget that, did he really disavow all forms of terrorism and vow to partner with 'his brothers' from the US to destroy al Qaeda and the Taliban?" asked the Secretary of Defense.

  The NSA Director nodded. "As we speak he is in Tel Aviv. We have eyes and ears in the room providing real time intel. He actually apologized to Netanyahu for his statements regarding the Holocaust. He has offered to fly Israeli nuclear inspectors back to Iran in his personal aircraft and drive them into his nation's most secure facilities."

  "What kind of game is he playing?" asked the Secretary of State. "No one has an about face like this."

  "My people think it's some kind of religious conversion," the CIA Director said. "We think his conversion happened at that church in Harlem."

  "Abyssinian," the president said. "If this is a game, what is the point? Why completely open your doors to Israel and the West?"

  "Perhaps they finally realized that their present course could lead to regime change," suggested the vice president.

  The NSA Director shook his head. "They know we're not going to start another war, and that we won't let Israel start one either."

  "Then I don't understand the change," the vice president said.

  "What about the clerics that really run Iran? What do they have to say?" asked the president.

  "They're in alignment," the NSA Director responded. "They appeared on live TV to disavow their evil ways. They said they would no longer support war and terrorism abroad. They agreed to dismantle their nuclear program, even the peaceful parts."

  Most around the table shook their heads in disbelief.

  "What did Wiley have to say?" asked the political director. "The media is portraying him as some kind of hero. We have to be careful because he's getting all the credit."

  The president brushed away his close friend's concerns. "I don't care who gets the credit, David. If this leads to a nuclear free Middle East, if this leads to an elimination of terrorism, then there will be credit enough to go around."

  The others nodded as the president continued. "I spoke to Ben. He said that the man genuinely changed during the course of his visit. He said the final conversion happened in the church."

  "Wow," said the Secretary of State. "What a load of bull crap," she exclaimed.

  "Whatever, Hilary, Ben got results. After years of talking we've eliminated a tremendous threat to our nation and the planet." The nation's top diplomat sat back as if slapped. She clamped her mouth shut with the rebuke.

  The political director threw State a bone. "I suggest, Mr. President, that we portray the breakthrough as the result of years of diplomacy by us and Bush."

  "Why give Bush credit for anything?" the vice president asked.

  "Because it's the right thing and the bipartisan thing to do," the president said, ending any argument.

  "It'll really play well in 2012," Axelrod added.

  "People, where do we go from here?" asked the president.

  "You can hear a pin drop in Lebanon, Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan," the Defense Secretary said. "The bad players everywhere are afraid of Iran turning from protector to enemy. They've all gone to ground. None of our troops have been attacked anywhere in over twenty-four hours."

  "I think our next step is to take advantage – get the Syrians in the fold. Use our new Iranian friends to put pressure on them and their Hamas buddies. We can sweep the Middle East clean of every enemy regime or terrorist group," the Secretary of State said.

  The president turned toward his chief diplomat. "I want an action plan within twenty-four hours. We need to work with our partners to take decisive actions. We have a chance to assure world peace for generations to come."

  "Agreed. You'll have it, sir."

  He turned his hooded eyes to his Secretary of Defense. "If Iran holds to its word, I need a plan of accelerated withdraw of US forces from Afghanistan and the Middle East. No use being there if there is no one to fight."

  The Secretary nodded. "You'll have it on your desk tomorrow, Mr. President."

  The president stood. "I look forward to moving forward with this. I truly believe this is a watershed for our nation and the planet," he said.

  He left the room and soon sat in his desk at the Oval Office. He removed the NSA's warning on Wiley from the book of secrets. He read the report once again and smiled while doing so. He placed the report back in its folder and the folder back in its drawer. He stood and looked out the window onto the south lawn.

  "Next, Ben, I sit you down with the Chinese. Time to increase the exchange rates."

  TWENTY-ONE

  HARLEM NEW YORK – JANUARY 2012

  Jan Sugerfoot, like most other little girls, dreamed of a storybook wedding. Unlike most other little girls, those dreams most likely occurred while her stepfather, near three hundred pound of blubber, forced himself inside her.

  Her stepfather – Mister Al – certainly got what he had coming.

  Every Sunday morning, when her mother was at work and after Mister Al had "given her some experience", she would have the duty of feeding the man who was stealing her childhood. One particular bright Sunday morning little Jan Sugerfoot added some fresh, plump blueberries and stale rat poison to Aunt Jemima's tried and true mix.

  That morning Mister Al ate a stack of blueberry pancakes and went to take a nap before the Mets game. He never woke and Jan Sugerfoot's career as a man killer had begun.

  Her last target for killing stood next to her in front of Savior The Day Baptist Church. Jan wore a dress created by Vera Wang, dressmaker to the stars. On this day, Jan Sugerfoot was a star, the star of New York. The church was packed with her relatives and friends. Some of the same people who turned their back on her after her abuse came to light.

  Her own mother had disowned Jan.

  In a sense, this elaborate wedding to Harlem's most prominent man was a type of revenge. At the least, they all knew that they could no longer fuck with Jan Sugerfoot.

  She glanced at her mother, seated in the first row, pretending to be the Mother of the Bride. She was no mother, never was, more than willing to 'feed' Jan to her second husband and, later, to a string of boyfriends. She and the others would get their payback today.

  Elias Turnbull sat near the front of the church on the groom's side. He was among three rows of dignitaries, including prominent politicians from each political party, four state governors, several Cabinet members and a couple of Supreme Court justices. He wondered if Wiley had converted all of them or if they remained human and attended out of very human self interest.

  He watched as the unholy union was sanctified in this most holy of places. The bride, behind a forest of veils, said her vows. Ben Wiley, resplendent in gray tux and tails, then said his. The pastor, who had been borrowed from another prominent church, told Wiley that he could kiss the bride. Ben Wiley gently pulled back the veils and wrapped both hands around his bride's face. They stood that way for several seconds, staring into each other's eyes. Finally they kissed and the church erupted in applause.

  Elias and the rest of the church stood as the happy couple – now Mr. and Mrs. Ben Wiley – strutted down the aisle. Ben Wiley – Elias noting that his love of dancing survived his new existence as a zombie – broke into a boog-a-loo as they reached the church doors.

  Ben and Jan climbed into
a gilded horse and carriage. "It's like a fairy tale," he overheard someone say as the carriage glided down the street.

  Elias Turnbull knew better. He and many of the other VIP's were not invited to the reception at the Alhambra Ballroom. For good reason, too. Those invited guests would be both guest and dinner. Or so was told him by the creature that carried around the body of his friend Mookie Sills.

  The church and its environs cleared out. Elias walked down the street, headed for his apartment. Soon he heard footsteps from behind. He turned around and saw Mira Hidar. She smiled as she approached.

  "I thought you were in Philly?" he asked. He kissed her on the cheek she offered.

  "I should be," she said. Elias knew that Wiley had her working on a top secret project with the Penn scientists.

  "Want to come back to my place?" he asked.

  She shook her head, motioned to the subway. "Let's take a ride out to Brighton Beach," she said.

  "Brighton Beach? It's cold as shit out there."

  "I want to talk to you and a long ride underground may make our conversation more discreet."

  "Conversation about what?" he asked.

  Mira Hidar looked around. "About how we destroy Ben Wiley," she answered. She held her breath, waited for Elias to turn her in to Wiley's goons.

  That didn't happen – the man stood there stiff, agape, until finally he shut his mouth. She took his hand and led him to the subway.

  At the Alhambra, the camera crew had captured the usual events – the entrance of the bride and groom, their first dance, best man Mookie Sills' toast, the jumping of the broom. The all zombie crew now captured footage of very unusual occurrences.

  Most weddings featured bride and groom carving into a huge wedding cake. Anton Sanchez was a veteran of hundreds of weddings over his thirty-five year career as a videographer. He thought that he had seen it all. What occurred as the bride held a long knife poised over top the elaborate multi-tier cake surprised even him.

  The bride, with Wiley watching approvingly, wheeled from near the cake to the closest table.