A Covenant with Death: The Peacock Trilogy - Book 3

by Bill Wetterman

  “Yes, my love. Your Obie is always at your service.”

  Chapter 13

  Still shackled at her feet, Peacock stumbled out of the hole that was 9 lower level. Forced to wear a burka, she dragged herself along the hallways and up several flights of stairs for what seemed to be an eternity, following a hairy male guard who smelled of garlic. She reached the upper level of Cell Block 42. Prisoners of both sexes whistled at her and shouted obscenities. Perverts came in all shapes, sizes, and religions.

  At the main entrance door, two women stood waiting. “Make her look respectable.” The guard accompanying her instructed the women. “Then take her to Cell Block 12 for a videotaping.”

  Videotaping?

  “I’m to weigh you.” The woman on her right gently led her to a scale. “45.8 kilograms,” the woman said. “Write it down in pounds as well. 101 pounds counting the rags she wears.”

  Peacock fell as she stepped off the scale. The younger of the two, holding a notepad, helped her up. I weighed 142 pounds the day of the attack, she thought.

  Down twisting halls on concrete and dirt floors she hobbled, humming tunes the angel had taught when he was with her. Of course, he was always with her. She just didn’t see him.

  “Sad,” the younger woman whispered. “This one was beautiful once.”

  “No one’s beautiful here,” the other woman snapped. “Walking corpses they are.”

  Brilliant idea her husband had, forcing everyone to use English or Mandarin. She could understand the gravity of the place she was in. “Grant these souls peace,” she whispered. The angel’s voice called out, “For now, yes. Soon peace will vanish from the earth.”

  Arriving at Cell Block 12, two male guards grabbed her and forced her into a kneeling position. A dentist affixed a temporary set of caps over her broken teeth. A hairdresser fit her with a matching red hairpiece, and a cosmetologist hid the pallor in her face with lipstick and blush.

  “Put this on.” An ogre-like, elderly woman handed her a Global Realm outfit. “Be sure to smile for the camera.”

  “Step over here.” The cameraman pointed to a chair. “Sit. Turn to your left and relax with your mouth slightly open.”

  She complied. If she guessed correctly, the pictures would go to her husband to show she was alive. Her uniform was that of a hotel worker by color and stripes. She placed her right hand with her little finger pointing at a small label on the waist.

  “Hold the pose.”

  He didn’t spot the signal.

  After the cameraman snapped three photos, the woman in charge ordered Peacock removed from Cell Bock 12 and taken back to her pit. Once locked back in, she noticed the light was on. A single 10 watt bulb illuminated the cell, usually kept dark. In the corner lay a tray with a cloth tucked under the corner to keep out rodents. She peeled the cloth back to find dates, figs, cheeses, and a glass of Global Realm nectar drink. A note accompanied her present.

  Enjoy. I need to fatten you up for the slaughter.

  Love, Ammad.

  #

  Connor held her husband’s hand as they disembarked from their transport and headed into the Global Space and Exploration Center. The Center, located in the San Diego Complex in the North American Region, held the core projects for Mars colonization. Her brothers were already at work refining the control room protocols for a possible, massive launch of biospheres.

  “Obi!” Harry Pendleton shouted and raced up to greet him. “I’m facing several problems here. I needed you last week.”

  “And here I am,” Obi answered, grinning like a smitten schoolboy. “Let’s get to work.” He turned and gave Connor a passionate kiss. “Call me when you have time. I know it may be weeks until we see each other. I’ll miss you every minute.”

  “I love you,” Connor managed, before Obi was whisked away and vanished in the rush of workers milling about the area.

  “Come on,” her brother George said. “Update me on the preparations for Tuesday’s competency challenge.”

  “Chui threw his candidacy into the race, as we expected. Ammad remains hidden, probably studying. Van Meer seems nonchalant about the whole thing. I worry that when the voting takes place he might take away from Dad’s base.”

  Her brother cocked his head. “Dad’s survived two challenges before.”

  “Both those challenges were before Milton died.” Sadness deepened within Connor. “Gram and Milton both going in the same month has crushed his spirit. I’ve watched him grow more indecisive the last five years. I’m afraid for him.”

  “Mom keeps him focused.”

  “Mom’s not here,” Connor snapped. “Twenty-five years of peace and progress could crumble in a day, if Ammad outscores Dad on the test.” She shuddered. “Show me the escape plans.”

  George led her up a set of spiral metal stairs to a master control room on the 2nd floor of the building. From her vantage point looking through the glass at the brain center of Project Warlord, she gasped at the immensity of the endeavor. “My God, I didn’t realize how far we’ve come.”

  “You couldn’t have.” George gave her that naïve little sister look. “No one could have predicted humanity rebuilding our cities into these complexes in twenty-plus years. Or our going to Mars and finding the protection of the underground caves.”

  She nodded. Further evidence of man’s ability lay before her. An area the size of four soccer fields filled with enough technology to launch hundreds of biospheres into space with time. Humans milled around analyzing data real time. Her brother pointed to a cluster of screens at eye level with their position. “Twenty-five earth-based biospheres are completed, stocked, and ready for deployment to Earth orbit for docking with our motherships.” He gave her a pair of binoculars to view the far end of the massive manufacturing area. “The rest are within weeks of completion.”

  “So you’re monitoring the assembly around the world.”

  “Every location. Dad’s alerting Christian communities to select individuals for transport on the basis of skill and family consideration. Obviously, we can’t transport everyone.” His brow furrowed. “How prepared are we for a ground war?”

  “Virtually defenseless against one,” Connor said. “We have law enforcement, drone capabilities, and fifty orbiting rockets—no standing armies. The drones’ capabilities were crippled when the rocket attacks commenced. So while they’re functional, their precision is questionable.”

  George turned to head back down the stairs. “We need to leave this planet. My bet—Ammad has armies. We relied on our space-based weaponry, and now all we have are those fifty or so rockets you mentioned. Capable of doing damage? Yes. Capable of winning a ground-fought war? No.”

  As she descended the stairs, she whispered. “Will you accompany me on an unpleasant assignment?”

  “What kind of assignment?”

  “Dad’s contemplating shutting down all the entertainment centers.” She shook her head. “I’ve never been in an entertainment center. I may be closing them in a few weeks, if Dad has his way. I need to find out how difficult and unpopular a task that will be.”

  “Sure. I’ll go with you. But I won’t like it.”

  George headed off to arrange for their trip. She waited at the entrance to the facility trying to catch a glimpse of Obi. Obi was off with Harry to hug trees and dream of botanical gardens, the responsibilities inside the Global Realm left little time for them to bond as married couples should. She yearned for someone to share her inner most joys and struggles. She married Obi with that in mind, but the physical came first for him, and a couple of days were all they had before traipsing off to one assignment or another.

  He yearned for her body. She yearned for his compassion and understanding. Neither of them was completely satisfied. A quick glance at their schedules said they wouldn’t be for quite a while.

  #

  “Dammit!” Ammad slammed the door to the testing room. “Tear Sayyid apart. The piece of junk isn’t worth the powder to blow it to
hell.”

  “Calm yourself.” Atash Akbari strolled across the hallway to Ammad’s side. “Patience. You still have a few days. What you are failing to do is invoke Allah’s peace. Don’t think too much. Let Him guide you.”

  Ammad grimaced. The redheaded witch shook his confidence with her evil craft. His shoulder still hurt.

  “You must understand,” Akbari said. “My walk has given me powers of a seer. I see what you see. The jinn, the Marid who protects her, plays with you. Maybe he’s a cousin of Satan. Recite the four Quls and pray two rakat namaz a Hajjats. Pray fervently to Allah, and all fear will vanish.”

  Ammad fell to his knees. Akbari knew far more than he did of the spirit world and the people of fire. The bitch must be possessed. Maybe even a sex slave to the Marid. Surely Allah would help him conquer this demon. “I’m Allah’s servant. I will not be swayed. He will be with me. I need him everywhere and in every situation.”

  “You will defeat this Global Realm—this monster of Pendleton’s creation.” Akbari pulled Ammad to his feet. “In your hands, the monster will be tamed. You will rule the world, and I will serve you. Now take Sayyid’s test again.”

  Chapter 14

  With her main team busy securing the Global Realm test procedures, Connor traveled in the company of security guards that usually protected the Western Regional Governor. Four sturdy hulks accompanied her and George. They boarded a hovercraft and traveled the 12 miles from the Global Space and Exploration Center to Entertainment Center CA-19. Located closer to the old City of Palmdale, the Entertainment Center sat where the San Gabriel Mountains shielded it from the Pacific Ocean.

  Parts of the Los Angeles and San Francisco locations had to be relocated east because of seismic activity, and none too soon. Only three years earlier, a massive earthquake destroyed the Bay Area and flooded the Napa Valley.

  CA-19 took up an area of thirty-six square miles. Over 30,000 workers lived permanently in the Center. From the air, the mountains, the valley, and the lights of the Center appeared like a painting by Emo Co, one of the artists who decorated the London Complex.

  The hovercraft landed on a pad outside the back entrance. If a guest developed a serious medical condition requiring a major procedure, they were medevac’d out. Everyone else checked in and out at the main gate.

  “Right this way.” A lady in her late forties led Connor and her team into the back of the Center and down a hall to the administrative quarter. “Please change into Center attire. You can’t grasp the scope of our capabilities walking through in an official capacity. If you really want to understand what happens here, come as a guest.” She waved her arm. “Vargas, escort the lady. Have your female staffers accompany the men. How long do you need?”

  “Why am I accompanied by a man?”

  The lady’s head tilted and she scoffed. “You want the real feel. Men’s eyes will be on you 24/7.”

  “How long is a complete tour?”

  “Three hours to see everything, but no time to taste the life.”

  “I don’t need to taste the life. My life is full. But I’ll need more time. I’m going to interview people at random.”

  “As you wish.” The lady extended her hand. “My name is Jessica Sparks. I’m the Center’s Chief Administrator. Here is a schedule of today’s events.”

  Connor perused the sheet. A Global circus troop performed three shows daily. Two magicians held live performances in a ballroom called, “Now You See It. Now You Don’t.” An orchestra would perform an all Bach program that evening in the CA-19 Concert Hall.

  “What is The Global Field Football League?” Connor asked, not familiar with team sports.

  “Field football is a sport formerly known as soccer. The Realm developed twelve six-team leagues, one league for every Region. At the end of the season, there will be playoffs between the winning teams in each region until we have a Global winner. The Rio Complex plays our team at four p.m. Care to watch?”

  Intrigued as Connor was, her interest lay in the process. How were people screened for admission and exit, as well as, the seamy side of life within the Center? “Where do I change?”

  “Right this way.” She pointed down a hallway. “Mr. Vargas, please accompany her to the dressing rooms.”

  #

  “You’re sure these pictures were taken recently?”

  “Yes, First Citizen.”

  “And you can’t blow them up any larger?”

  “Not without distorting them.” The man talking pointed to Peacock’s finger. It may be nothing, but she’s wearing a hotel uniform with a label on it. Her finger seems to be pointing at the label. “The label is solid red, as was the old Dubai Emirates flag. Mr. Van Meer believes she is being held near or in the Dubai Complex.”

  Pendleton’s hands trembled. His Lovey looked ghastly, and not from poor photography. The woman in these pictures had endured unimagined suffering. He read the note accompanying the photo. In it, Ammad gloated over his accomplishment in capturing Peacock. He threatened Pendleton not to try to rescue her. But assured him she would be released after a fair vote of the people. He called her his trump card.

  Pure bullshit!

  “Give Hans my best wishes on his test performance,” he said. “And, thank him for the heads up. We can do nothing until the tests are taken and the election is over.”

  Once Pendleton was alone, he made a call. “The First Citizen for Pope Peter. Please let him know I’m on the line.”

  #

  Dressed in civilian clothes that showed off her figure, Connor left her dressing room and motioned to Vargas who would conduct her tour. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I tested top in my division.” Vargas strolled at leisure toward the main entrance. “I play the trumpet in the symphony orchestra and assist Jessica as a tour guide.”

  Connor’s brother and two of the security people had headed in a different direction. She and two others followed Vargas. Center security personnel armed with stun guns were posted at every aisle and intersection. Connor mused that she could kick their asses, stun guns or not.

  “Have you worked at other Entertainment centers?” she asked her guide.

  “Four in all,” he said. “This one is the crown jewel.”

  “Why so?”

  “Offerings—we have more venues for human outlets than most other centers.”

  Connor leaned against a pillar and observed the entry procedures. Scanning devises found any item, no matter how small, that a person forgot to check in with security. A piece of chewing gum would not go unnoticed. Satisfied no weapons could be brought in other than those possessed by Center security, she followed Vargas on to the checkout area.

  As they ambled long like tourists, her mouth jarred open. The ceilings within the Center glimmered from the beams of light reflexing on their gold plating. The sound of laughter, music, and a din of human noise overwhelmed her mind. She thought she caught a glimpse of her brother ascending a staircase toward the magicians’ venue and wondered whether this might be too much for him, bachelor as he was.

  Alcohol, she thought. I smell alcohol.

  She and Vargas passed under a large pink sign pointing to the exit. In front of her an area opened up with several lines of people weaving their way toward medical personnel. “My God, this looks like the emergency room of a hospital.”

  “Good observation. No one leaves CA-19 until they pass the medical checkout.” He grinned. “These facilities have virtually eliminated a multiple number of infections and sexually transmitted diseases. Plus, the Realm receives an emotionally well-adjusted individual back into society ready to work.”

  Hum. Her definition of emotionally well-adjusted differed from his. Why would a happy citizen come to a place like this?

  Most people exiting passed their tests and left. A few were pulled aside and required to wait before being released. Connor approached a woman sitting alone in a holding area and sat down next to her. “Hi, this is my first time here. H
ow about you?”

  The woman, mid-thirties, slender, with a pleasant face, glanced up. “I come here on my time off. I’m not married and it’s dull at home.”

  “What do you recommend I see, while I’m here?”

  The woman lowered her glasses.

  “Why did you come?”

  “Curiosity.”

  “They have everything. I see you have an event calendar. Try it all.” She looked at Connor’s hand. “Nice ring. Open marriage?”

  “My husband’s on an assignment.”

  “The Center has anything you desire sexually. Follow the purple signs to Club Fantasy. But don’t drink too much. Dulls the senses.”

  “Describe everything.”

  The woman laughed. “Are you serious? If you can think of it, it can be arranged. Let your imagination roll.” She touched Connor’s leg. “The personnel here know how to please you, if you get my meaning.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and moved on following Vargas.

  “Make Club Fantasy your last stop. See the more sophisticated sights first. Mary, whom you just spoke with, is a regular. She’s a biochemist. She obtains an escort from the Club, attends the attractions, gets laid, and leaves.”

  “What did she mean everything?”

  Vargas pointed to a petite woman dressed in a tight fitting outfit. She looked like a fifteen-year old, freckled, blue-eyed, and an innocent smile. “She comes here once a month for the sole purpose of having sex with as many men as time allows. She’s a computer logistics operator, a tense job. Here, she lives out her fantasy. If you’re bent toward women, we have alternate preferences too.”

  Working with men all her life, nothing shocked Connor. She pointed to the computer logistic operator. “I suppose she gets to look at their genitals first.”

  “No need. Job requirements are sufficient.”

  Good God.

  After two hours of observing the games, entertainment, restaurants and bars, Connor followed Vargas to Club Fantasy. She was greeted at the entrance by four gorgeous examples of male and female humans. Wearing see-through casual attire, the male on call stepped forward. “Welcome to Club Fantasy, beautiful one. Where did you find her, Vargas? And why have I not seen her here before?”