A Covenant with Death: The Peacock Trilogy - Book 3

by Bill Wetterman

  They traveled underground until most of them looked exhausted. Then the trolley burst into the open and headed down a long sloping hillside until it came to rest in a valley several miles from the entrance. There, an old military truck waited for them.

  “You’ve started a long journey, Devil-woman.” The leader spoke to her in English. “Pray you survive it.”

  She smiled. For the man would never believe her if she told him. Behind him and to his left, her angel stood towering over him.

  #

  Ammad al-Sistani flicked a piece of lint off his royal robes. Reclining at Ammad’s right hand, his spiritual advisor and closest friend, Atash Akbari. They listened as the other five at table brought Ammad the news from the Muslim Complexes.

  “The genesis of our plan went well.” A tall man, his beard full and his eyes dark, read from a scroll attached around his belt. “The redheaded devil is with the Black Force 2 interrogation team as we speak.”

  “The team understands I do not want her killed.” Ammad sucked on a fig. “I want her brought to the edge of death, like an animal broken on the rocks. Squirming in pain. Gasping to breathe. Wishing death would come. But alive until I end her suffering.”

  “Pendleton knows of your treachery.” The man dipped his hands into a water dish and wiped them on a towel. “He will attack you.”

  “Pendleton knows only a fraction of our plans.” Akbari clasped the man’s hands. “Our Living Hope has ordered another attack.”

  “Allah Akbar,” Ammad’s inner circle responded.

  Seven veiled beauties entered the dining hall from the kitchen area as “Alf Layla” played over the sound system. “What was forbidden is forbidden no more.”

  Ammad’s hands spread wide. “Jannah comes to Earth with God’s blessing, a thousand young flowers to grace your harems.”

  Nude to the waist, the lower part of their bodies covered with thin beaded strands of cord hooked to a waist belt, the ladies danced for their masters with abandon.

  “Pick any you wish,” Ammad said. “But do not behead them in the morning.”

  Laughter broke out. Akbari raised his hand. “Amuse yourselves. But remember, God loves these creatures as He does you. In Jannah, which you may now experience here, continual pleasures abound for all. Notice the zest with which these morsels perform. May they live forever.”

  His spiritual minister followed his path well. The honesty fed Ammad’s plans. Ammad rose, whisked a dark-eyed Persian girl into his arms, and called out as he left the room, “Order the attacks to commence per plan.”

  #

  “George, I need my big brother,” Connor pleaded, as George Pendleton answered his cell.

  “I’m in final debrief, Sis. And, yes I know about Mum.”

  “I suspect Ammad al-Sistani.” Connor raced up the steps of the London Complex Global Security Center, a brisk wind swirling around her. “Tzu Chui agrees. Dad’s mulling over his next steps behind closed doors.”

  “I agree with Chui. I don’t trust the Asian leader. But in this case, he’s correct.” His voice turned to a whisper. “Trust only loyal comrades—Van Meer, Duarte, Ziebach, and Professor Cline.”

  “What? Not my own security team?”

  “Duh.” George’s tone irritated her. “They can help rescue Mum. They can’t help find her. The others can.”

  Even while being a tease, big brother made sense. He always did. Harry was out of touch on a dig near the Kampala Complex. His knowledge of terrain could be of help. “Can you reach Harry?”

  “I’ll try. He usually returns my texts.”

  “Good. He may be able to narrow the search with his knowledge of terrain, timing, and distance.”

  A sigh from George caused her to purse her lips. “What?”

  “Your lack of understanding of Harry’s career path causes you to underestimate his talent. His knowledge of terrain, timing, and distance exceeds even my brilliant mind. But his usefulness is far greater. Our brother surpasses even your husband in his ability to communicate with living things. We’ll need him.”

  After a pause, George said. “Of course, I’ll be your strongest asset.”

  “Dammit. Quit the ego trip. Just have him call me when you reach him.”

  “Will do Busty Rusty.”

  “God, you’re so crude.” She cut off the call. Brothers.

  #

  Peacock’s eyes stared down at the cement floor. She relaxed her jaw as her body went limp. A smashing blow from a massive fist shot blood and several of her teeth into the air. The first three blows had loosened them. This one finished the job. Visions of clouds and the sound of songbirds filled her mind, as a voice from someone unseen sang “The Lord’s Prayer.”

  “You’ll be toothless when I’m done with you. Then we’ll have a nice chat.” Looming over her, a six-foot tall, hairy figure grinned. “My orders are to keep you alive. Outside of that, I have no orders.”

  He flipped off the lights and slammed the steel door on his way out.

  She coughed up blood and slid sideways, dumping the chair to her left and landing face down on the cement. Some time passed. When she opened her eyes, darkness surrounded her. Her wrists were tied behind her back. Her ankles bound together and then to the chair. The iron shackles had cut her skin in several places.

  I’m not getting out of here alive, she thought. The voice that had been singing whispered, “Yes, you are. You have one more duty to perform.”

  “I don’t mind dying.” She tried to change positions—a useless thing to do. She doubted the voice would speak to her again. After all, she was insane. She remembered leaping feet first at an attacker, who collapsed before she reached him. His head blown away. A second group of insurgents arrived, killing those remaining from the first group. She’d thrown two of the new assailants to the ground, when something flashed and numbed her. She couldn’t move until she was dragged into the mine.

  Where was she now? In a cell. A cell—more like a torture chamber. She guessed the area to be 8 by 8 feet. One lone lamp dangled above the center of the space. The walls and the floor were cement. Tomblike? Yes. Her enemies could encase her and leave her for God to free her, if He wished. On the walls were chains, whips, and one large, green circular symbol with Shia writing on it. Peacock knew the name—Muhammad, the Chosen.

  That’s when she saw the writing. On the wall next to the green symbol. Standing, like the Alif. Kneeling, like the Dai. Prostrating, like the Mim. Sufi? God help me.

  “God is helping you,” the angel said.

  The steel door opened. Five men entered. All looked as vicious as the first man. But he was not among them. Two of them set her upright. Their leader asked. “Do you know where you are?”

  Should she remain silent or engage in mind games? She decided on the latter. “My guess would be the Grozny Complex. But I don’t know how long I’ve been immobile.”

  “You’re wrong.” He lifted her head to meet his eyes. “But you’re on the right track. You’re ninety kilometers east of the old city of Perm. No complexes near here. The Grozny Complex is involved. They cooperated in orchestrating your capture.”

  “Is Ammad coming to pay me a visit?”

  In a surprising soft tone, he answered, “Not yet. He sends you a message. ‘Tell the redheaded bitch she will die by my hand when this is through.’”

  Peacock jerked. Surprised that she’d named Ammad. Yes. She’d suspected him of having ambition. But to be right on her first guess?

  Remember. You’re not alone.

  She’d go with the voice in her head and see where it led her. The pain from her beating didn’t bother her. Too severe to register in my mind, she thought. “What do you want with me other than to kill me for Grandayatollah al-Sistani’s death? Eye for an eye, so to speak. There’s not much more you can do to me.”

  He tossed a harsh laugh at her followed by an order. “Hoist her up.”

  The other men unfastened her wrist restraints, attached the ends to the wall ho
oks, and pulled her to where her feet barely touched the ground. Her calf muscles immediately cramped. She bore the pain and attempted to keep from screaming.

  I guessed wrong.

  “Your husband, your daughter, your whole family searches for you. Their anguish gives us a great reason to keep you alive. Information is another. You possess knowledge we need to know. Also, you will proclaim Allah one way or another before you die.”

  “Never. I’m a loyal follower of Jesus. I’m sorry for you. You are forcing the world into a modern day Crusade.”

  He yanked on the supporting chain. She winced at the sudden pain. “Think about what I said, as you hang there. Constant pain until death.”

  Her mind clearly remembered her training in Hercules—the waterboarding and other tortures. Her spirit could endure. Her body couldn’t. Even as the pain increased, the voice comforted her. Then the pain vanished.

  Endure to the end. Your reward will be great.

  Chapter 7

  Connor Ann Uba strained to follow the technical charts revealed by a 360-degree prism monitor. She clenched her fists at the scope of the treason at work against the Global Realm. Thaddeus Cline, Director of Global Science, Eduardo Duarte, Arthur Pendleton’s personal Chief of Staff, and Doctor Pederson, her mother’s former personal physician, arrived first. Retired agent Michael Ziebach, nicknamed Polaris, and Far East Regional Governor Tzu Chui came in a few minutes after them. From their positions at the round mahogany table in London, they scanned the overhead computer displays.

  Controlling the feed from the Beijing Complex, her older brother, George, provided information collected from satellite and space station sources. “I reached Harry. He said if we can obtain any biological material, plant scraps, pollen, dust from the inside of shoes, we might be able to associate them to a specific terrain and close in on where they’re hiding her.”

  Thaddeus Cline tapped his pencil and arched his back. “Our science team is scrutinizing every bit of evidence. We’ve already found information giving us some clues. The original attackers came from near Norilsk, a harsh, cold climate with only arctic vegetation.”

  Cline wiggled and rubbed his leg.

  “Damned uncomfortable chairs.” He grumped. “However, we found a tunnel about sixty kilometers south of the Supersonic’s crash site. Near where Chui’s people said it would be. There we found clogs of good material from a much moister climate, and something else.” He paused a moment. “Clonorchiasis!”

  “Raw fish parasite,” Chui proclaimed.

  “Indeed,” Cline responded. “Since I highly doubt they could have transported her to Thailand, I believe she’s somewhere near the Kama River close to the Urals. The poor population in that area used to be 80 percent infested with these buggers.”

  “What complexes would be close?” Connor asked.

  “None,” Cline replied.

  “The old Governance of Perm was located on the banks of the Kama,” George said. “With your permission, I’ll report these facts to Global Security. They’ll attempt to locate and advise on a rescue mission.”

  Connor wondered at the brilliance of both her brothers. Her intelligence quotient surpassed them both, but not in the area of retaining facts. Implementation was her specialty. She pulled out her cell and called Van Meer. “Hans, how’s Dad doing?”

  “Neither of us is doing well, nor will we for a long time. He’s ordered your team to search for Ammad.”

  She clutched the arm of her chair. Biting down on her lower lip, she said. “All the evidence points to Ammad. But we have no proof.”

  “He’s cut off contact. That’s evidence enough.” Chui rose and paced the room. “My sources tell me several complexes have halted communications with Global Central Command. They are operating under an independent communications network.”

  “We’ve lost touch with one-hundred fifteen Global complexes,” Van Meer continued echoing Chui’s concern. “Ammad sent a message to your father. He requests a meeting at a neutral site to negotiate a separate Muslim Realm independent from the Global Realm.”

  “What did my father say?”

  “He hasn’t responded. I’ve never seen him like this. All he can think about is Laverna. He can’t make a bloody decision on anything else.” Van Meer sighed. “I’m second-in-command. But in my state of mind, I’m delegating that responsibility to you, Connor, until we meet with our family team.”

  “Give me a few hours. I’ll come to you.” She disconnected the call. “Gentlemen. Until I speak to my father, I’m issuing you these instructions. Professor Cline, upgrade the space-based missile systems status to Code Red. Report any problems with the power-up to me. Target the rebel Complexes, and wait for further instructions. Mr. Duarte, gather all the information collected so far by Global Intelligence. Both of you meet me at the Balmoral Complex in four hours.”

  Cline rushed off muttering, “God, let’s hope the missiles haven’t been compromised. They couldn’t have been. I’ve three failsafe programs interlocking them. Still, this is nerve racking.”

  “Excuse me, Director,” Duarte said, as he turned to leave. “I’ve served your father for twenty-seven years. I’ll double my efforts.”

  Doctor Pederson, Chui, and Ziebach eyed her. Chui’s gaze bore down on her.

  “Regional Governor, I’m grateful to you,” Connor said, as her eyes met his. She didn’t turn away. “Assess the scope of the defection in your region and prepare to attack and destroy the offending Complexes when you receive the word from the First Citizen.”

  Chui’s head tilted slightly. “Your mother gained the respect of all who met her. Now is your hour under fire. You have my loyalty, as does your father. But, if Global Command and Control slips. I will act for the good of my region against all enemies.”

  As he headed out the door, he added, “There are no defections in my region. I demand obedience. Your father did also, until a few years ago.”

  Michael Ziebach waited to be dismissed. Connor pulled a chair next to him and took his hand. She glanced at Pederson. “I need both of you to accompany me to the Balmoral Complex. You two know my mother better than the others. How she’d react under pressure and what she’d do to help us find her.”

  “I have an idea that may help,” Ziebach said, with a comical grin on his face. “She has another implant. She doesn’t even know she has it—a hair filament tracking device imbedded under her right breast.” He scratched his head. “No one has attempted to make contact with it for years. Whether the damn thing works or not is uncertain.”

  “What device could you find to track it with?” Connor asked.

  “Any Global device would work, if you know the right frequency.” Ziebach frowned. “Her Herculean file would hold the frequency number.”

  “I’ve got that file,” Pederson said. “I’ll try to find the frequency and get it to Global Security before I meet you at Balmoral.”

  #

  Arthur Pendleton threw a fit. Alone in his bedroom, he flung anything he could get his hands on across the floor or against the walls. Nothing broke. Built to last for eons, the cabinets, furniture, coffee cups, and even his clothes didn’t crinkle or dent. Blast. How he wished they would. Had he become complacent? Ammad had some acceptance outside the world of Muslim believers. And he, the First Citizen, had allowed him to get a foothold in the hearts of the people.

  As if in answer to prayer, Van Meer knocked on his door. “May I come in? I have a report out of the Damascus Complex. Ammad’s loyalists put down an internal insurrection. The citizens trapped inside the complex have no choice about their situation. Radical Islamists have taken control, forcing Islamic Law on the populace.”

  “Conversion by the sword?” Pendleton opened the door.

  “Your room’s a bloody mess, Ole Boy.” Van Meer hugged him. “Not the sword. The threat of exile.”

  Pendleton held Hans tight. “You should be mourning your wife’s death. Take some time off.”

  “Bloody hell I will.”
Van Meer pressed in tighter. “Her body’s been cremated and her ashes spread over the Michigan countryside. I have to work to keep from going crazy.”

  “Connor selected a group to meet with us. She’ll be here in an hour.” He let go of his friend and straightened a chair he’d knocked over. “Lives are improved. We’ve made great progress with technology. How could this traitor have pulled off such a major coup?”

  “Two reasons. He’s a fanatic like his father, and Peacock killed his father.” Van Meer inhaled. “Second, looking back on our procedures at the beginning, we shouldn’t have allowed him admission into the Realm. But we did in the light of fairness. He’s had twenty-five years to construct this plan. And, he’s had help. The scheme’s sophisticated, calculated, and dangerous. Face it. We have a Civil War on our hands.”

  “Let me wash up and we’ll head to the meeting.” Pendleton opened his bathroom door “Pray on what we should do. A civil war is something I don’t want. I have a different mission.”

  “I’m not much on the prayer part.” Van Meer shrugged. “Maybe I should be, but I’ve never been sold on the God thing.”

  “You know what I believe.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Heard it. Got the sweatshirt, not interested in more.”

  Pendleton closed the bathroom door.

  Remember what Lovey asked of you.

  Where in the bloody hell had that voice come from? He searched the bathroom—too small to be hiding anything. The realization struck him that the targets of this Civil War would be Christians, not Hindus, Atheists, or other sects. He knew the Scriptures. He’d sound the alarm as soon as he had all the information on the enemy’s plans.

  Damn. Lovey’s never wrong.

  Lovey. Where was she? Without her, he couldn’t function.

  Chapter 8

  Showered and dressed in his Global attire, Pendleton headed into the Global Boardroom followed by Van Meer. A strange array of officials had gathered around his daughter. If she had a plan, he had yet to understand how all these players fit. Then it struck him, she always had a plan, and he usually disagreed with it.