A Covenant With Death

by Bill Wetterman

  “Set Edison to React Mode,” Cline yelled. “We’ll intercept those we can and destroy their launch sites.”

  “Roger that.” His second-in-command and the stations highly skilled personnel were ahead of Cline’s instruction by training.

  The battle was out of his hands. An underground computer and his staff now controlled the world’s fate. He needed to call the First Citizen.

  #

  “My wife sees visions.” Pendleton folded his hands and addressed his audience. “I never believe her. Turns out she’s never been wrong.”

  Pendleton, Pope Peter, and twelve Christian dignitaries from each of the twelve governances, faced each other in the Pope’s administrative office in the Rome Complex. The Pope lived in the same size apartment as Pendleton. In fact, Christian leaders followed the Global housing guidelines to the fullest.

  “So you’re saying an angel from God told her we need to prepare for Christ’s Second Coming.” The man speaking came from the Cordoba Complex in South America. “No one knows when He is coming.”

  “The Bible is clear on that,” another in the room joined in.

  Pope Peter raised his hand. “Neither the day nor the hour, but we will know the season. I, for one, believe the time is close.”

  “Yes. Yes,” the Cordoban scoffed. “But, so did Brother Paul in the 1st Century. It hasn’t come yet.”

  “Look at the weather.” Pendleton handed out talking-points. “In the past five years, the sea levels have risen another six feet. Super tornados and gigantic hurricanes have destroyed huge land areas. Even our complexes, mega-fortresses though they are, quake against these monsters.”

  Silence said he’d made his point.

  “Look at the droughts and the insects.” He pounded the table. “But the worst of all is the treason of Ammad al-Sistani. He sent word to me he wishes to negotiate a separate realm of his own. My sources say he may promise the Jews he’ll help them rebuild their temple, if they will not oppose his moves in their region.”

  “But what should a Christian do to prepare?” Pope Peter asked. “As I see things, we live our lives with our eyes on God and fear not.”

  Pendleton nodded. “True. We shouldn’t speculate on how God will do things. But we should use reason as His children. Prepare our intellect to be ready. I didn’t see the angel. Laverna did. The angel told her I should alert God’s people.”

  “Then,” the man from Cordoba said, “your job is to run this Realm as God instructs you. And our job is to spread the word to every Christian to rekindle our faith and spark revival throughout the Body of Christ.”

  The energy within the room ignited. The faces of those present beamed with enthusiasm. Pendleton handed each of them a small communications device, red in color, magnetized, and the size of a quarter. “I will let you know the moment anything significant happens around the Globe. I believe the time is very short.”

  An orange glow brightened the sky outside their window. Flashes of light and the sound of high-pitched sirens flooded the air. Loud explosions resounded from all sides causing Pendleton and the others to cover their ears. A few members dove under the conference table.

  “God help us,” someone yelled.

  Pope Peter did not move. He grabbed Pendleton’s hand and prayed.

  “Pater noster, qui es in caelis:

  sanctificètur nomen tuum;

  advèniat regnum tuum;

  fiat volùtas tua,

  sicut in caelo, et in terra.

  Panem nostrum cotidiànum

  da nobis hòdie;

  et dimitte nobis debita nostra,

  sicut et nos dimìttimus debitòribus

  nostris; et ne nos indùcas in

  tentatiònem; sed libera nos a malo.

  Amen.

  The door to the conference room burst open. A heavyset Capuchin friar dressed in a brown robe with a rosary swinging on his waist entered the room. “The Rome Complex has come under attack. From where or whom, no one seems to know. The shields held but we have had some structural damage. It isn’t safe here, First Citizen.”

  You’re bloody right it isn’t.

  Pendleton’s cell buzzed. It was Thaddeus Cline.

  #

  Calamity reigned both in the skies and on the Earth. As calculations flashed over the screens and statistics piled up, all Cline could do was call Pendleton. The scenario playing out was not in his hands. Thank God.

  “What the bloody hell is going on?” Pendleton screamed into the phone. “They’re rushing me out of the Rome Complex. We’ve had damage here.”

  Cline waited a moment. “The Muslim block fired from what we determined was a communications satellite. God. Arthur, we fired back at our predetermined targets. Then the whole sky lit up. I set Edison into React Mode per plan.”

  “I want the head of the man in charge of inspecting the Muslim Complexes for dereliction of duty.”

  “S-Sir.” Cline stuttered. “You delegated that duty to Ammad al-Sistani when Sakorov died. You said you would follow up and visit those sites periodically as well.” Silence. Cline’s throat closed tight and his breathing came in short gasps. “We have good and bad news, First Citizen.”

  “Go on.”

  Cline managed to compose himself. “We’ve been able to intercept the missiles aimed at our space complexes.” He watched the activity slow to a stop as statistics flowed in worldwide. “No enemy satellites remain. And I doubt they have much in the way of ground missiles. Unfortunately, only two banks of our own are left functioning, forty-two missiles in all, not nearly enough to wipe out our opponent from space.”

  “What about our underground missile silos?”

  How could this be the mastermind of world domination? Had Pendleton become senile—complacent? “First Citizen, we disarmed and dismantled all weapons of mass destruction years ago, except for the space-based systems.”

  “Do you have a damage assessment as far as the enemy’s attack on Earth-based targets?” Pendleton’s voice quivered. Arthur Pendleton never showed fear or hesitation.

  “One moment,” Cline said. He explored the data and pulled up visuals. “Ammad’s people have some plan in mind. Their missiles, besides returning fire on our missile banks, targeted complexes in a swath a few hundred miles wide. Marid, London. Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam—fifty in all—suffered minor damage. These strikes weren’t meant to destroy the complexes, rather to strike fear in the residents. My opinion, First Citizen.”

  “Thank you, Thad.” Pendleton said. “I have to schedule a meeting. It looks like we are at war, and ground forces will be required.”

  Cline stared at his cell. At war? If that was a war, what was its point? The Realm’s missiles killed citizens in five populated Muslim biospheres. If Ammad’s missiles killed anyone, it hadn’t been reported to him. Could the point have been to reduce the number of space-based missiles?

  But what did that matter now? Pendleton was off to track down his enemy and destroy him. Cline wondered how easy that task would be.

  “I can’t be too hard judging him,” Cline said aloud. “Losing his mother and Milton caused him severe pain. Laverna’s cancer took its toll. Her capture may have broken him. That plus age and complacency. My God!”

  #

  Connor chewed her lower lip, an unbecoming habit, but one she’d developed living with King Arthur. The terrain below her bored her, cold and snow, gray tundra, and a few green trees. Her orders to bring her mother home from the Kama River Basin took priority, but it also syphoned precious time away from meeting with her brothers and planning for the safety of the rest of her family and the Global Realm executives. Her father wasn’t returning her calls. How did he plan to find Ammad? Or, did he intend to attack Muslim Complexes, hoping Ammad would come looking for him?

  “There.” The hover jet’s pilot pointed to a small area where the ground was bare and grass covered. “Your brother Harry says this is as close to ground zero as we can get that isn’t frozen. If the enemy picked up those
parasites anywhere, it would be near here.”

  “Land and wait there for us,” she said.

  Since the European Ice Age formed, this area received over two hundred inches of snow in a year. Wolves roamed in packs. Fewer than four thousand free men ranged the former Russian countryside on the near western side of the Urals. Connor had five orbiting satellites focused in on her position scanning a fifty-kilometer area for any signs of a camp or underground refuge.

  No signal had been detected from the frequency Pederson provided for her mother’s tracking device. After twenty-seven years of aging, corrosion must have set in.

  Once on the ground, she knelt on the mud-covered ground and prayed for success and the safety of her mother. Then Cher, Bruegman, Ming, and Connor headed south toward an area that showed slightly warmer readings indicating possible shelters. The howling of wolves far off sent shivers rushing through Connor’s body. She wished she could wrap herself in her husband’s mighty arms and feel secure. Being a Pendleton and a genius, her duty to the Global Realm trumped all else.

  Cher, who seemed to see and hear things before the others, raised her hand. This Gurkha warrior was a fast-friend of Peacock. Her desire to rescue her from Ammad’s people blazed as strong as Connor’s.

  “Noises,” she whispered. “Sounds like generators.”

  Connor waved her crew forward up a steep incline and peered over the top. Below her, two buildings stood like gray sentinels in the gloom. The generator sound had been caused by fan blades mounted outside the first steel structure. The force of the wind turned the blades, not any electrical source.

  “Appears abandoned,” Ming said. “No vehicles. No movement.”

  “Be cautious until we know for sure.” Connor waved them forward.

  Using rocks and shrubs as protection, they descended the thirty yards, or so, to the closest of what appeared to be pre-fabricated Quonset huts. The wind whipped the pull-strings on Connor’s fur hoodie, as she leaned around the corner of the building. Nothing of significance moved. In the distance, she spotted what looked like a landing pad.

  She signaled with two fingers for her crew to split up. She and Cher approached the nearest building, while Bruegman and Ming ran the twenty-feet, crossing the open space and entered the second structure. After the two men disappeared into the steel hut without receiving fire, Connor kicked the door open on the near side of the first building, and the two women entered.

  “Must have been a kitchen.” Cher shined her flashlight around the room. “Propane heat. Propane generator. Temporary quarters for maybe eight people.”

  “Insulated very well for a makeshift dwelling.” Connor trembled at the thought of her mother being held here. “Warm, but dirty. Let’s move on.”

  She punted an empty soup can across the room. A tinny sound rang out. Loud enough to startle anyone close. Nothing moved and no rustling noise could be heard in response. “Open the next door.”

  Cher pushed open a wooden door open, revealing a long, narrow hallway that ran the length of the building. Sleeping quarters on both sides held two bunk beds. The walls were scrawled with Islamic symbols.

  “Ammad is our culprit,” Connor whispered.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” The Gurkha chuckled and moved on.

  Halfway down the hall, a room became visible on Connor’s left. The entrance was padlocked and painted black. The smell leaking out under the doorframe shocked her senses. She shot off the lock and kicked the door inward. Both she and Cher donned their gas masks. Broken pieces of chain, fragments of what looked like steel wool, plus a busted chair lay strewn on the floor. A broken light fixture, which must have hung from the ceiling at one time, hung on a hook by the door. Two wrist irons were fastened seven feet up on the wall.

  Cher bent down and picked up three teeth. “I’ll bag these. We’ll test them.”

  “They held my mother here.”

  “Let’s wait for the tests.”

  “I know. I’m her daughter. She was here, and she’s still alive. No one is tougher.”

  A call from across the alleyway in the other facility alerted Connor. She and Cher cautiously backed out of Peacock’s holding cell, exited their building, and met Bruegman in an open doorway. The fifty-three year old, still as fit as when he joined the Global Realm, held a manila folder in his hand.

  “Your mother was here. They held her until instructions came from Ammad. His name is specifically mentioned. According to these documents, they left here no more than twelve hours ago.”

  Ming ran in through a doorway leading outside to the back of the grounds. “Confirmed. Their transportation to and from here were electric Snow Cats.”

  “These evil bastards were planning this for quite a while,” Cher muttered.

  “They hold up to five people each.” Bruegman opened the folder and revealed a photo. “These tank-tread cars can travel up to fifty miles an hour on snow and maneuver on terrain like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

  “They took your mother out via air.” Ming motioned to the right. “They built a runway for a lite aircraft to land.”

  “No point in staying here.” Connor headed back outside. “We’re too late.”

  The howling of the wolves grew closer, as the icy wind whipped pellets of stinging sleet against Connor’s face. “Let’s head back to our craft and report our findings. My guess is whatever plans Ammad has for my mother won’t be found out until we capture him, or he executes them.”

  The team moved back up the rocky slope from which they came. Within ten minutes, they were aboard the hover-jet. The pilot point to the west as the jet gained attitude. “I’d say a dozen gray wolves are disappointed we left.”

  “No match for our stun guns.” Connor stretched her legs. “Good to know they’re thriving out here. God knows little else can.” She took in a deep breath. “This area is almost a thousand miles from the attack point on the Supersonic. How did they manage to bring her so far without us seeing them on satellite?”

  “A more important question,” Cher answered. “Where are they taking her?”

  Chapter 11

  George Pendleton arrived back at the Global Realm Command Space Station in earth orbit after leaving earth from the Beijing Complex. He briefly greeted the commander and headed to the Space Observation and Exploration Room.

  “Put a 360 degree scan up for me, Charlie,” he said as he entered.

  The tech complied. The lights dimmed and the room reflected one degree of orbital space, starting at the Prime Meridian and moving west one degree each minute. For six hours, he charted the number of satellites intact, those damaged, and those destroyed. The carnage evidenced a horrifying toll on human life. Nearly 50,000 human beings had died when the rocket destroyed the Muslim Space Complexes. Yet few, if any, casualties on the earth occurred, only damage to structures and people’s sense of security.

  Ammad’s attack destroyed seven communication satellites that connected to Edison’s brain network, blocking key transmissions of transportation data, such as the whereabouts of cargo in transit globally. The real damage from his attack was the Global Realms misuse of valuable missiles that could have been deployed in a future conflict.

  Sadly, George resigned himself to authorizing cleanup efforts. “Deploy the sweepers,” he ordered. Debris field magnets and tightly woven nets orbited the globe for such a purpose. Large pieces of shrapnel posed a real threat to lives on undamaged space complexes.

  If his father didn’t have a follow-up strategy, he’d better put one together soon, as world conditions deteriorated fast.

  #

  The setting sun shone brilliant and full over the Persian Gulf. From his quarters atop the executive floors of the Dubai Complex, Ammad al-Sistani took in the splendor of the view. Rising to power took much patience, subterfuge, and tactics. An avid reader, he absorbed most of the major works of the military arts and studied the greatest tactician of all—Arthur Pendleton. Several years after joining the Global Realm, he r
eceived the promotion to Chairman of the Pacification of the Non-Citizen World Committee, a position whose reach extended primarily throughout the Muslim World.

  Milton Rogers had objected to his elevation a few months before he died. Pendleton, however, viewed him as the best man for the job by test results and performance. The next five years, Ammad worked to develop the trust of all the major players in the Global Realm. He wooed the Jewish Complexes by planting the seed of cooperation. The Sons of Abraham could be reunited and live in peace.

  Pendleton had destroyed both key Hebrew and Islamic holy sites during the holocaust that brought him to power. So Ammad used the ploy that, working together in peace, the two religions might be able to co-exist and rebuild The Holy Lands. Privately, he advocated that the Christians were the real enemy. While helping Christian leadership on minor issues, he plotted their downfall long-term.

  He even tossed out the idea of rebuilding the Jewish Temple, using the common western wall as the dividing point between a new Jewish Temple and the grounds of the Dome of the Rock. Yes, strictest Jews objected wanting even more concessions, but the moderates leaped at the idea.

  For the last fifteen years, Ammad secretly built space-based weaponry. He brought the greatest Muslim scientists within his sphere of influence and planned for the eventual demise of Arthur Pendleton’s reign. The Global Realm had proved to be the perfect world within which to unify all mankind to Allah. Peace reigned. Science created possibilities beyond the wildest dreams of humankind. The evil of self-indulgence outwardly all but disappeared. Inwardly, people wished to be elevated and recognized. He would capitalize on their longings soon. Yes, there were the entertainment centers, but within the predominantly Muslim complexes, the men enjoyed these pleasures as being entitled to them.

  People’s view of a Christian heaven paled to Ammad’s concept of Jannah. The Chosen was to bring Jannah to earth for a time until Allah made all things new. In Jannah, whatever one desires one may have. A man, a woman, will be rewarded for their sacrifice here on earth. He would change the name of the entertainment centers to Jannah’s Gate Parlors.