A Covenant With Death

by Bill Wetterman

  The time alone to sort things out made him eager to talk to Peter now. The patient pontiff joked and bantered with Duarte and others at table. Then, maybe sensing Pendleton’s mood change asked. “Are you ready to tell us about the voice?”

  With six men present including two from the pontiff’s inner circle, Pendleton let down the barrier that had surrounded him for years. “I heard the voice of God. He told me my reign was over and to go to Rome.”

  “And this very morning your reign officially ended.” Peter leaned back in his chair and inhaled steaming tea from his chalice-shaped cup. “Ammad is First Citizen over 68 percent of the population. But Chui opposes him. Ammad says nothing about retaliation. I’m not sure how this will play out.”

  Pendleton fingered the gold chain around his neck. “God allowed me to come to power. But I never consulted Him on what needed to be done. Lovey became the worshipper I never was.” He shook his head. “I was a fool to act without God in my camp.”

  “He was in your camp.” Peter chuckled. “He wasn’t in charge, but He was there. The things you did that lined up with His word gained you favor. But they were few.”

  “Right you are, old boy.” Pendleton let out a muffled groan. “I listened far more to the words of Milton Rogers, my mum, Hans Van Meer, and Lovey, than I did to the Word of God. Yet He forgives me. He told me so.”

  “Yes. God is a forgiver of the righteous.” Peter pointed to the masses collecting in the streets below his window in front of the Vatican Gardens. “You cannot tell the saved from the unsaved from my room. Many stand before these windows hoping for direction. But only faith in Yahweh, King of King and Lord of Lords, can save you.”

  “I know. Because I confess Him as my Lord and Savior, I’m saved. But my deeds are another story. He told me this.”

  “And unfortunately, my uncomely deeds follow me as well.” Peter offered him a crumpet. “Ah, the crumpet. The one and only thing the British can proudly offer as an excellent addition to the international cookbook.”

  Pendleton grinned. “Touché. We’re not known for the culinary arts.”

  “God wants you with me. So I assume something important will happen here. I believe this is the place from which you will direct Operation Ascension.” Pope Peter’s head tilted left. A slight grin appeared, giving him a mischievous look. “I doubt Ammad’s government will be Christian-friendly.”

  “No. Not at all.”

  #

  “To paraphrase the American author, George Orwell, words are a conduit to thought. Destroy the word and the idea dies with it.” Ammad plucked a grape from a vine in the Dubai Complex and popped it in his mouth. “Delicious,” he said. “Amazing, this food technology that feeds the people.”

  Akbari and the guards surrounding Ammad kept the crowd back, many calling out, “Great is Ammad, the Chosen.” Akbari led the procession up to the entrance to the Dubai Festival City Business Center, the business and living quarters of al-Sistani and his inner circle. A huge gathering formed outside. The Global Realm proceeded to set-up a major broadcasting center right next door. Akbari and his staff already had several hours of programming planned each day to encourage the Muslim and Jewish worlds and educate the children of Ham and Japheth on ancient history.

  “Keep the outbursts describing me as the Chosen within Muslim Complexes. Not a mention of this to others, particularly the Jews.” Ammad moistened his lips. “I want every broadcast to change the words used to typically describe Christian life. We no longer will use words like salvation. Rather replace it with happiness. We have nothing from which to be saved. Allah wishes us to attain happiness with him.”

  “Sin denotes a thing to be ashamed of.” Akbari added. “Allah is not to be questioned, nor is his messenger. Therefore sin shall be disobedience of the commands of Allah and you, and the breaking of a covenant with Allah and you.”

  Ammad chuckled, “Like the one the eager sons of Jacob made with us.” He raised a glass of wine. “During my seven years before Allah judges all men, I vow to make the Earth like the Heavenly Garden. My followers shall reap the good life early. Those who rebel will suffer. Pleasure is to replace toil. Hedonism is to be pursued as virtue, while puritanism is to be declared sinful.”

  “Gradually, Ammad. Not tomorrow.”

  “The fact is that mankind suffers from the fallen flesh.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I want the words sinful, damnation, and evil applied to those who seek moral perfection. When Allah calls us home to judge us. He will make us perfect. Those to try to perfect themselves now are infidels, trying to be godlike when they cannot.”

  He sat for a few minutes, his hand up not permitting Akbari to speak. Within the first year of his reign, word engineering would transform thinking. In the second year, he would impose new laws conforming to his stated premise. The pursuit of happiness is the greatest good. The entertainment centers would triple in size, catering to every desire of the flesh. He would manage the rebuilding of the Jewish Temple himself, providing the Jews every possible tool to complete it.

  He handed Akbari a 500-page directive. “Prepare to implement these as soon as possible. But don’t release anything until I tell you to.”

  Akbari left, his green robes trailing behind him.

  Ammad spoke in the dark to the spirit of his father. “Pendleton unknowingly laid the foundation for controlling the world. He did it by force. I will speak only of peace. Chui comes against me. I will woo him—toy with him like a mouse. Then I’ll attack him.”

  Destroy Pendleton and the red witch now.

  “But I tried. Akbari says she has a Marid guarding her.

  Destroy Pendleton, you destroy her.

  Chapter 20

  As he gazed out at the mountainous landscape of northwestern China, Regional Governor Chui tapped his fingers on his desktop. Big dog and little dog—his names for Ammad and Akbari—wallowed in conceit. But the big dog wasn’t the only one who’d built plans over the past two decades. Chui had learned from the best. Arthur Pendleton did the impossible through manipulation and power-brokering. He’d played the ultimate game of Risk, thrown the dice, and won. Chui now was positioned to do the same.

  If Pendleton sought asylum, Chui would grant it to him. Next to Sun Tzu, Pendleton and his inner circle were the finest military minds the world had ever seen. All morning Chui busied himself confirming his alliances. The West was lost. They soon would crumble under Ammad’s demands. Leaders west of the Urals were once Pendleton’s loyalists. With Christians gone, they would oppose Chui. An even fight, he thought, in the terms of manpower. The advantage would go to the one who attacked first, when feigning peace.

  He dialed his secure phone.

  “Yes, Regional Governor, how may I be of help?” George Pendleton’s voice remained as sure and steady as always.

  “Any word from your father?”

  “No. He has his own agenda. I have mine.”

  “Your biosphere ships are ready in our provinces.” Chui had no belief in a god or a god-man. The best he could muster was a belief in making the utmost of one’s life. “I presume both of you are focused on taking as many Christians off the planet as possible.”

  George’s silence answered his question.

  “I have a favor.”

  “Ask. If I can do it for you, I will.”

  “Fifty rockets escaped destruction.”

  “Correct.”

  “You’ll have no need for them when you leave.” Chui held his breath.

  “In the Beijing Complex in my locker,” George said. “The firing codes are taped to the back on a list. I’ll give you the combination to unlock the security device when I leave.” Chui heard a sigh. “And Governor Chui, any attempt to open my locker without the code is useless. I tell you this only for your safety.”

  Yes, that response was expected. George planned ahead, as his father used to do. “Understood. Thank you.”

  “I hoped you would have won outright.”

  “Regrettable,
but there are too many Muslims in the world, and whatever Ammad promised the Jews seems to have worked.” Chui listened for a reaction or additional information.

  “My father may know the details. Other than what Ammad said in his speech, I do not.”

  “Tell him if his plan fails, the Global Realm’s present leadership, including you and your family, have safe refuge with me.”

  “I speak for my family.” George sounded sad. “Once we embark on this perilous journey, I doubt you’ll be able to reach us if we fail. But we appreciate your offer.”

  “I have more capabilities than you think.” Chui hated lying. He doubted he could give them asylum, unless they left for his Region now. “So long as I can, I’ll help.”

  After he disconnected, he called his head of security. “Now we implement the call to service. I want two-hundred million highly trained combatants, and I want them ready for war.” He paused. “By highly trained, I mean like no ground force ever before.”

  #

  Connor bit her lip, as George agreed to give the codes to Chui. Van Meer slouched on a couch in the Balmoral Tactics Room. With her husband and Harry traveling to assure the readiness of the launch vehicles, she, George, Hans, and Ziebach strategized the broader picture. How could they hold off attacks on the Pendleton family strongholds of Balmoral and London?

  “How do you plan to defend us if . . . no when, Ammad attacks?” Connor asked

  George disconnected from Chui and shot her a mischievous grin. “Watch your blood pressure, Busty Rusty. We’ll have no use for them once in Earth orbit. Chui’s welcome to them. Would you rather Ammad have them?”

  “I’d rather we kept them, mobilized Global Realm forces, and fought against Ammad and his fanaticism.”

  Van Meer looked up at her and reached out his hand. She grabbed it. “Clear your head. Your father vowed the killing was over once the Realm was secure. It is secure. The vast majority of its citizens don’t much care who the First Citizen is. Or at least, they won’t until it’s too late.”

  Hans was right, and she knew it. Damn her father, racing off without a word. What would Ammad’s next steps be? Who would run his government or make up his cabinet? She sulked for a moment. Where was her father? Maybe his absence was his way of diverting Ammad’s attention away from Balmoral.

  “You’re right,” she said with a sheepish grin. “We need to move forward with our own plan for evacuation and nothing else.” She plopped down next to Hans and Ziebach and asked George, “What are our options?”

  “Not many,” Ziebach said. “George has the only realistic one in process.”

  George pulled out a schematic, 6’ by 6’, and pinned it onto a large corkboard on the north wall. He placed thirty-five colored pins on the board representing each ship and biosphere. “We’ll be loading and launching these in four days.” He grinned. “They don’t fire into orbit, because these aren’t motherships. The motherships are already assembled and in orbit tethered to the Omega Space Station. The biospheres will lift up gradually to an altitude of 60,000 feet. Then down-force thrusters will take them into orbit. ”

  Connor studied the schematic. “What are these other 100-plus markers with figures written under each unit? They look like math symbols.”

  “We were rushed. These are shuttle transports. Some are fully operational. Others have only limited space readiness. All transports will attempt to make four or more launch-and-return trips to evacuate the citizens who want to go.” George pointed to four areas circled in red. “Ammad won’t be able to stop every launch. But I believe he’ll target these four complexes in an attempt to capture the present leadership before they can escape.”

  “He’ll be glad we’re gone,” Connor offered. She studied the circled areas. London, Balmoral, Rome, and Dallas were highlighted. “I understand Ammad’s purpose for launching an attack of some sort on Balmoral and London. These are the Pendleton family strongholds. Rome is the hub of Catholicism. The Pope would naturally be a target. But who lives in Dallas?”

  “Not who lives there, but what goes on there.” George stared at her like a father would stare at his daughter when she said something immature. “Over 70 percent of all Christians are Evangelicals. The Dallas Complex is the major training center for Evangelical Christians, producing thousands of new ministers a year. While most denominations are stagnant, Evangelicals continue to grow. Hold their leaders captive and the growth ceases. Of course I didn’t come up with the theory, Edison did.”

  Connor’s logical side kicked in. Ammad might be able to coerce her father into publically supporting him, using her mother as a bargaining chip. She’d protected both her parents for five years, but had lost control when the Supersonic was attacked. Swallow your feelings, she thought. Concentrate on protecting the evacuation process.

  “All right. If Edison is correct, those complexes need to be notified. I’ll call Global Security and put them on alert.” She punched in the security code and waited. No connection. Before she could redial, her emergency line lit up. “Yes.”

  “I may have thirty seconds.” The voice was that of her second in command, the Assistant Director of Global Security. “Ammad’s people are here. They’re replacing everyone, directing us to leave immediately and wait for reassignment.”

  “Edison has predicted that Balmoral, London, Rome, and Dallas will be attacked by Ammad. Can you warn them or divert any loyal forces to those locations?”

  “I’ll try.”

  She didn’t bother to respond as the line deactivated. “Our security lines are cut.”

  George checked his cell. “I still have a routing through the Far East system. It pays to be Chui’s friend. I’ll try to get a warning out before Ammad cuts the line. He has to have someone inside each complex to do that.”

  Connor nodded. How had life become so dark in such a short time? The treachery of Ammad must have been festering a long time to have his people so entrenched. Without communications, her control was at an end. She dialed Cher, Ming, and Bruegman.

  Chapter 21

  “If anyone speaks to you, say ‘Let me be, saith the Lord.’”

  The words registered in Peacock’s brain, as forms and figures appeared around her. The Port of Terracina, Italy lay off the right side of a vessel she didn’t remember boarding. How she knew the port’s name escaped her. The presence of her angel told her this was his doing. Craggy white-stone cliffs passed by, revealing a sandy expanse. The long seawall extended out almost a half-mile, forming a quiet bay between the sandy shore and the ocean. Her vessel entered into the bay and proceeded to dock.

  Laverna realized she was herself again. Peacock vanished when not in Ammad’s prison or fighting for a cause. Had he found out she was missing yet? His visits were rare, and food was passed beneath the door. He might not discover her absence for a while. The sun warmed her. She ventured out onto the deck, wearing her Global Realm black and gold outfit. How she’d acquired it could only have been a miracle.

  “Please have your travel permits available for checking as you disembark,” yelled a crewmember with a megaphone. The vessel only carried thirty vacationers plus crew, maximum. How long she’d been onboard was a mystery. Time seemed to have little meaning to her.

  “Papers,” barked a short muscular man.

  “Let me be, saith the Lord.”

  She walked past, and the man greeted the next vacationer. “Papers.”

  War begins. A battle is coming. You can’t win the battle. But fear not, God will win the war.

  I don’t like losing battles, she thought, then disappeared into the throngs of people filling the streets. Only seventy-five miles from Vatican City up SR 148. Ninety minutes by car. Her destination grew closer. Who she’d meet and what lay ahead were of little concern. While the angel walked with her, she was safe.

  “What’s your name,” she asked him.

  “Custos.”

  “What does it mean?”

  Laughter was the angel’s only response.


  Angels! Wonderful creatures, but tight-lipped.

  #

  “Evaluate our situation. I want feedback on the response of the populace to the change of power.” Arms behind his back, Ammad paced at the head of the boardroom table robes swishing. Twelve Imams of the Shia faith, two with Sufi leanings, and four military advisors sat around him.

  “Chui and his allies have cut communications with us.”

  “We anticipated he would. The move hurts the East more than it does us. They will suffer hardships, particularly in food supplies.”

  “Yes, First Citizen.” The man speaking continued his report. “In the rest of the world, only the radical Christians oppose us. Our intelligence says George Pendleton is planning to evacuate many Christians to the Space Platform connected to Operation Warlord, the Mars colonization project.”

  “We didn’t plan on their evacuating.” He pondered that move and rubbed his beard. “No other threats of rebellion?”

  “None. The Christians are not going to fight. Some are going to leave. Others will conform to the new government.”

  “Yes. They will come in line one way or another.” Ammad grinned. “What action, if any, do you propose at this time?”

  “Pendleton appears to be in hiding. He may be with his right-hand man in Balmoral. From what communications we’ve been able to trace, George and Connor Pendleton are there as well. But we doubt for long.”

  “How ready are the launch vehicles to carry Christians?” Ammad brow lowered.

  “Most can leave in a matter of days.” The man speaking grimaced and lowered his head. “Their numbers are too widely dispersed for us to stop them all.”

  A knock on the boardroom door interrupted the conversation. Atash Akbari appeared with his hands raised and his body bowed. “Master, the redheaded witch is gone.”