A Covenant With Death

by Bill Wetterman

  His daughter was seated at the boardroom table along with Lovey’s former physician, Doctor Pederson, his own Chief of Staff, Eduardo Duarte, and Michael Ziebach, formerly Polaris, whom he hadn’t seen for years.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Van Meer huffed and took a chair.

  The main door opened the moment Van Meer sat down at the table. An out of breath Thaddeus Cline rushed in. “Sorry. I’m late, but I have good news and bad. Which do you want first?”

  “One moment,” Connor said. She flipped on the satellite feed, and her brother, George appeared. “I want my brother in on this discussion. He needs to hear the update on this insurrection before we can make any decisions.”

  “Civil War,” Pendleton mumbled. “It’s a bloody Civil War. Yes. I want to hear what the situation is to date. But then I want a battle plan and a damn good one.”

  Connor pointed at her father and snipped, “That’s exactly what we’re doing, developing a battle plan. So don’t interrupt me. The fate of both my mother and this planet depends on logic and facts. Neither of which you are operating with right now. And don’t assign my team missions without talking to me first.”

  Pendleton’s face raged hot, but Van Meer touched his arm.

  “She’s right you know,” he said. “This is why we have a continual testing program in place. Rely on your own educational system. Don’t try to do all the jobs.”

  “Now, Director Cline, give us all the news, the good and the bad.” Connor plopped down, turned toward her father, and glared.

  Pendleton bit his lower lip, as Cline rose. Snippy as she could be, Connor never talked to him the way she had today. Van Meer seemed to agree with her. He must be losing his perspective. Lovey taught him breathing exercises, as a calming technique. He inhaled. He much preferred the old days. Rule by edict. People were too bloody stubborn to fend for themselves.

  “The good news is that our offensive and defensive capabilities remain fully operative.” Holding a micro-mini computer in his hand, Cline paced in front of one of the images being displayed on the screens in the room. Age had matured the once brash Cline. His self-assurance still registered in the 99th percentile, as did his intelligence quotient. “We can strike anywhere on the globe with precision. The bad news is…so can Ammad.”

  “Explain that,” Pendleton said. “How in the hell can Ammad strike anywhere in the world?”

  “While we prepared for space exploration by building those enormous ships your son will command, a group under Ammad was adding missiles, launchers, and support equipment to the shuttles that supplied our space stations from Muslim Complexes. His people brought weapons in a little at a time.”

  “And we didn’t pick that up?”

  “Space Complexes 8, 9, and 10 are manned with 70 percent Muslim workers. Of the thirty-plus livable orbiters, the enemy secretly infiltrated 3.”

  “First Citizen,” George interjected. “May I speak?”

  “By all means.” Pendleton softened his tone, “Make some sense out of all this mess.”

  “The incoming cargo shuttles are massive. Those complexes are heavily manned by Muslim crews. Your misplaced trust in Ammad and his access to such sophisticated weaponry became a deadly combination.” George sighed. “That being said, the sooner we correct the problem, and neutralize the threat, the better.”

  “Recommendation, Thad?” Pendleton asked.

  “Destroy Space Complexes 8, 9, and 10, and fire upon the enemies spaced-based missile launchers, before he fires upon ours.”

  Connor interrupted. “Have you analyzed their offensive and defensive capabilities?”

  “Not knowing what kind and how many armaments he has, it’s impossible to do, Director Abu. But each day we delay, the odds increase he will be ahead of us.”

  “May I suggest we contact Ammad,” Connor said, “pick the neutral site, and after we have destroyed his capabilities, accept his surrender?”

  “Shades of you in your prime, Ole Boy.” Van Meer slapped Pendleton’s knee. “This will be a good test of our defenses, both in space and on the ground.”

  “You agree with her?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you, Thad?”

  “You have no choice.”

  “But the bastard has my Lovey!” Pendleton yelled.

  “Dad,” George chimed in. “That’s a separate issue.”

  “We avoid a ground war, if possible.” Connor stood and joined Cline in front of the monitors. “We’ve practiced scenarios like this many times.”

  “All right.” Pendleton slammed his hand on the table. “Tell me how we can find and rescue your mother, and I’ll blow up any damn thing you want me to.”

  Duarte nodded to Ziebach, who said, “Global intelligence combed the mining tunnel the insurgents took Peacock—excuse me—Mrs. Pendleton through. The exit was about thirty kilometers from the entrance. From the examination of the tunnel and the materials in the vehicle tracks, Thad’s analysis is confirmed. They’re holding her somewhere along the Kama River Basin.”

  Cline interrupted. “Michael told us about an implant under your wife’s breast.”

  “Both Duarte and I looked for the frequency settings for Mrs. Pendleton’s implant,” Ziebach said. “We didn’t find them.”

  “But I did.” Doctor Pederson stood. “Files from Hercules’ experimentation on Mrs. Pendleton contained the frequency code. A Global Security team led by Director Abu is readying to drop into the suspected area and search.”

  “Good news!” Pendleton exclaimed.

  The doctor pursed his lips. “The chance of that device working after all these years is remote. But it is worth trying.”

  Pendleton turned his attention to Connor. “If you want to reassign your team, it’s your call.”

  “I’ve already given them my approval. But they are only to take orders from me.”

  Pendleton fought the urge to confront her. Peacock had earned his confidence enough to disobey him. But Connor was his daughter.

  “Duarte,” he said with a shrug. “Make contact with Ammad’s go-between. Set up a neutral site. I don’t care where. Thad, take out their missile banks and order Space Complexes 8, 9, and 10 to surrender and be boarded.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And Director Abu, join your team and bring out your mother.” He lowered an eyebrow. “You will be held personally responsible for the rescue mission.”

  “But I’m needed here. My team can perform without me.”

  “You’re going. That’s an order.”

  Connor’s mouth dropped open. “Yes, Sir.”

  Pendleton glared at her, as she clomped out, slamming the door behind her.

  “Everyone is excused, except Hans and Eduardo. George, stay on the line.” Pendleton rubbed his palms over his eyelids, waiting until the others were gone. “I want a meeting of Christian leaders called immediately—tomorrow at the Pope’s residence in Rome. Here’s a list of attendees.”

  #

  In the hall outside the boardroom, Van Meer leaned against a pillar in an attempt to clear his head. The most brilliant strategic mind in history seemed on the verge of a breakdown. Connor didn’t make things any better by challenging her father. And where would he find anyone to replace Felicia, who was not only his wife, but his personal assistant as well?

  “Sir.”

  He hadn’t noticed Ziebach in his wheelchair a few feet from him. “Yes?”

  “I was brought here for only one reason,” Ziebach said. “I’m trustworthy and a good person to bounce ideas off. Sir, I’m underutilized.”

  Van Meer chuckled. “Back all those years ago when Ursa’s team was brought into our sphere, you were the only one I trusted. Where are you assigned now?”

  “I’m not.” He wheeled his chair up to Van Meer. “I’m retired—from Global Security, that is. No one ever retires. Look, I’m healthy for a cripple. I’m intelligent. And I believe you need an administrative assistant. Why not give me a try?”
<
br />   “You’d have to pass the tests.”

  “Have you posted an opening?”

  “Not yet. Felicia bested the competition the last time the test was given.”

  “Test me. If I beat her score, hire me.”

  Damn. He’s got spunk for someone in his sixties.

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  Chapter 9

  Cold water splashing in her face startled Peacock. A bearded man smiled at her holding his hands toward her with his palms up.

  “Would you like to be unchained and take a shower in private?” he asked.

  The smell of her own urine gagged her. She recoiled at the realization this wasn’t a bad dream. She couldn’t escape death by herself. She had to trust the voice in her head that sang beautiful hymns to her.

  “As you wish,” she managed to say.

  “I wish for you to be comfortable. All you have to do is give me the location of the Global Realms’ hidden master computer, Edison.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know who I am.”

  The man grinned. “What is the name of your daughter?”

  Do I have a daughter?

  She coughed, then went limp unable to hold herself up and wrenched her shoulder.

  “Where is the underground master computer?”

  Peacock shook her head. “Don’t know.”

  He poured a glass of water and held it to her lips. She drank.

  “Slowly,” he said. “A little sip at a time or you’ll throw up.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Let us approach this in a different way,” the man said. “Tell me what you remember. Anything at all will be helpful.”

  Peacock struggled to think. “You’re twice my size. I’d think better unchained.”

  He took a key and unlocked her wrist cuffs. She slid to the floor and sat quietly for a moment. Then a hard backhand slammed her head against the wall.

  “Just so you know. I’m not a nice guy.” He chuckled.

  “Why am I here?”

  “You’ve asked us that too many times to count in the last 10 days. Tell me what you remember.”

  Speak. I’ll give you the words.

  Her vision cleared. Across the room from her stood a tall figure surrounded by a beautiful light. She remembered him. He was her angel. His hand motioned to her not to mention his presence. “I remember I am loved by my Lord and savior, Jesus Christ. I remember I’m the worst of sinners without Him. I don’t remember much else, except I believe I’m going insane—an illness or something.”

  The man’s face reddened. “You are not to mention that name again. Call him Isa. Mentioning him as being God outside this room will bring death. Isa went to his people, the Jews. They rejected his message. Now he waits to appear at the coming of Muhammad, the Chosen One.”

  “I’m not a scholar of these things. All I know is you are wrong.” Peacock surprised herself with her words. Awareness that she had been a warrior awoke in her.

  “In my prime, you and five like you couldn’t defeat me in battle.” She smiled. “But today I’m helpless. I’m dying. I know that as well.” She reached out her hand. “I forgive you. You’re like I once was, following orders that lead to death.”

  The man cocked his head. “Declare Muhammad as the Prophet of Allah, and I will treat you well. Refuse and Ammad will come soon to kill you himself. You will be hardly human by then. Make things easy for yourself.”

  “Ammad won’t change my mind.” Peacock sighed. “Always killing and converting by the sword. My Lord believes in peace. He loves the sinners and offers them life, if only they will believe. Why does the god of Muhammad force his servants to covert by the sword?”

  He hit her so hard in the ribs, an old rib injury cracked again. She groaned as she realized her ability to keep her reaction to pain from her enemy had failed. He yelled at her. “Fight those who believe not in God nor the Last Day, nor hold that forbidden which hath been forbidden by God and His Apostle, nor acknowledge the religion of Truth, even if they are of the People of the Book, until they pay the tribute with willing submission, and feel themselves subdued.”

  She managed a breath. "Yet God teaches, ‘Follow peace with all men and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord.’"

  “How is it you remember Scriptures, but nothing else?”

  She looked into his eyes. “I can’t explain. But Scripture comforts me.”

  Apparently, he took pity on her. He said something in Arabic into his cell. Two men entered the room carrying a cot. A third man followed with a small plate of figs and cheese. The big man pointed to the plate. “Eat. I’ll bother you no more, and may Allah have mercy on your soul.”

  Well done. Your time is short, but heaven awaits you.

  She wished she could die now. That wasn’t going to happen. Inside her body bones reknit and tears in her flesh sealed. She thought of an old jalopy with tire plugs, radiator patches, and rust.

  Yep. That’s me.

  #

  The big man shrugged, as he counseled with the others. “This woman confuses me. First, she is physically hanging on—three teeth missing, a broken nose and jaw, cracked ribs, and a dislocated shoulder, plus more internal injuries than I can count.”

  “She is a professional assassin.” A comrade reasoned. “Her training never leaves her.”

  “I have concluded she’s telling the truth. She remembers little to nothing except her religious beliefs.” He frowned. “She is not going to convert. She is not going to give us any useful information. Beating her further is useless.”

  The man in the white parka sitting off away from the circle stood. “Ammad said she is to be beaten daily. You.” He pointed to the big man. “Need not administer the punishment. I will—thirty lashes with a prepared grapevine. She will welt and her skin will tear. But she will not die until Ammad kills her.”

  “Allah Akbar,” all said in agreement.

  Then their PacStar system rang with an incoming call, and their communications man answered. For a moment he seemed confused. Then he hung up and turned to the group. “That was Atash Akbari. He wants us to bring the woman to him.”

  “Ann ru sar et,” their leader cursed and threw a clump of mud at the communications man. “Just when I was going to have some fun.”

  “Don’t kill the messenger.”

  “I’ll kill whomever I please. Did he suggest how to transport her? Do any of you have an idea?”

  The big man mulled over the question. “Two thousand plus miles. Our truck won’t make it. If we can get help from the Grozny Complex. Maybe air transportation. We might be able to get her to Dubai in a couple of days.”

  The man in the white parka rubbed his beard. “Possible. We could create a temporary runway east of here and hope they can land an aircraft on it. The ground’s hard enough.”

  “Amir.” He waved to the communications man. “Contact Grozny and ask for help.”

  “You’d think, as important a prisoner as we have, the higher-ups would already have a plan.” He shrugged when no one laughed, and dialed.

  #

  Ammad thumbed through the various suggestions from his scientists and technical commanders. Akbari paced, hands behind his back. He seemed overly concerned to Ammad, who simply wished to weigh which attack plan to throw against his enemy. Wage a ground war? The people he wished to woo would have reason to fear him. But waging a war primarily in space would strain Pendleton’s capabilities and might reveal Edison’s location.

  “Stop pacing.”

  Akbari skidded to a halt. “I’m sorry. I can’t shake this feeling I have about that redheaded she-devil. My spirit is deeply disturbed, and I can’t ignore my instincts.”

  “Well she hasn’t arrived here yet.” Ammad pointed his finger at Akbari. “Worry when she gets here. Right now I need your advice. Attack London, Rome, Balmoral, and every Christian stronghold, or attack Pendleton’s space capabilities?”

  Akbari went to his knees and prostr
ated himself. After what seemed like ages, he stood and spoke. “Hit Rome, London, and a few other Christian complexes with warning shots. But draw out Pendleton’s firepower in space. Our intelligence says he hasn’t much to spare.”

  Ammad nodded. “Yes. That is sage advice.”

  If he could beat Pendleton by challenging him on the competency tests, he’d force an election or take the job of First Citizen outright. Scare him first. Challenge him. Then, with the man demoralized, destroy what confidence he had left. A fitting plan.

  Chapter 10

  “Anticipate the worst,” Cline instructed his crew. Housed in the Global Missile Control Center deep under the London Complex., the time had come to attack Ammad. “My thinking is there are several enemy missile banks cloaked as something else. Be prepared to reorient and fire at a place you’d least expect.”

  “Edison can anticipate and reprogram faster than we can,” said a scientist at the far corner of the control room.

  “Yes indeed,” Cline responded. “You do the same.”

  The element of surprise will work to my favor, Cline thought. What kind of technology they’ve developed is the unknown factor. Pendleton’s off holding church meetings. He should be here giving instruction. If I screw up, it’s my fault.

  A sudden flash of light from what should have been a communications satellite sounded the attack alarm.

  “Shit! They’ve fired first.” Cline inhaled a deep, slow flow of air. “Fire on all targets.”

  The room darkened and three-dimensional screens depicting a 360-degree view of orbital space illuminated the room. The area above the Earth lit up. A gasp went up as the totality of Earth’s orbiting stations and missile banks filled the screen. Five non-nuclear missiles fired. Cline exhaled. Thin red streaks spread away from each other like fireworks and headed toward separate targets. The first hit Space Complex 9, which ignited into an expanding orange fireball. The other four succeeded in the same manner. The silence in the room created an eerie chill as glowing showers of debris tumbled down from the heavens along with thousands of human souls.

  Someone shouted, “My god, the radar’s lighting up.”