by Ted Peters
Suddenly a commotion broke out. Hillar was knocked to the side. Through both partially opened doors swished a large gray animal. The husky. He ran through the doors, passed the pastor, and into the kitchen. By the time Hillar and Leona arrived in the kitchen the dog was sitting erect with the kitten at its feet. The kitten acknowledged the presence of the new visitor and sat down between the dog’s front legs. Four animal eyes were now looking up at four human eyes.
The two humans were at first amazed. Then they laughed. “Well, Quaz,” said Leona, “do you think introductions are called for?”
“Are they only visiting, or are they looking for a new home?” asked Hillar.
“Do you feel like we’re the gold and they’ve just filed a claim?” Leona laughed loudly.
Leona and Hiller went about their business. They placed the pancakes and accoutrements on the dining room table. The dog was served a pancake, which disappeared immediately. Then, a second pancake. The kitten lapped up a second dish of milk.
“I believe I’ve seen the dog before,” the pastor told Hillar. She told him about the strange incident at lakeside, where a dog, sensing danger, had protected her. “I thought that might have been a moment of grace,” Leona declared. “If it’s the same dog, does this mean another moment of grace is about to happen?”
“Could be.”
Leona tried mentally to put some puzzle pieces together: two eyes in the dark; a dead squirrel; a dead crow; a living kitten. Are these all connected to this one dog? Then she spoke to Hillar. “Do you think you could help me today?
“What ya need, Pastor Lee?”
“This morning I’ll look around the neighborhood to find a mother cat with a litter. If I find none, I suppose the parsonage will become a hotel. I’ll leave you a text. I think we’ll need a cat box, kitty litter, a dog collar, and a leash. What else? What do you think? Animal food? The dried kind that comes in bags?”
“After school I’ll stop by Target and Jewel to see what I can pick up.”
“Here’s a few twenties. I hope this’ll cover it. You’ve got a house key, right?”
“Right. But it’s at home. I can get it though.”
“If I’m not here, come directly in and prepare for our guests.”
Leona put on her sweats and headed for the neighborhood to combine her jog with a search. She read posters and paper fragments tacked to telephone poles announcing lost pets or found pets. None reported missing either a husky or black kitten. She returned, showered, dressed, and headed out for pastoral calling. Graham joined her. Ulla and the Bolstads were on her visitation list. Leona provided Graham with a brief account of her meeting with the president, but she left out selected details.
Graham was shocked. “Did you discuss my assignment with Holthusen?”
“No. There was no time for me to talk with him.”
“To think all of this happened on my watch, and I was not here on duty. Ouch.”
“What’re you gonna do, sleep in your car?”
“I wonder if I should stick closer to you.”
“Look, nothing’s gone wrong yet. I think I can take care of myself.”
“CUB will make its move soon. The storm is coming. And, if CUB fails to get from you what it wants, these guys may resort to Plan B. This is not looking good either way, Leona.”
34 Thursday, Chicago, 4:00 pm
By lunch time Hillar had received his text from Leona. No strays or ferals giving birth in the alley. No signs on telephone poles looking for a missing Siberian husky or a black kitten. The die was cast. As his shopping cart filled with merchandise, Hillar sent a text. “2 heavy 2 carry. Target pick up @ 4pm?” Moments later a reply: “Yes.”
Graham and Leona pulled into the Target loading zone to pick up Hillar and the purchases for the new family members. Back at the parsonage, Graham helped unload, asking himself how this physical labor made it into his job description. Graham then plopped into a comfortable chair and began phoning and texting. The pastor and Quasimodo assembled the pet paraphernalia, positioning the covered litter box with its top in the far corner of the dining room. The kitchen was too small for both a cook and a cat; and the basement was too far away. The dog’s bed was situated near the litter box, but not too near. Dogs rarely sleep in their beds but a pet bed makes a dog home look official. Food dishes were set on the side door landing, at the top of the basement stairway.
“Now, if only the animals think like we do,” said Leona.
“What should we name them?” asked Hillar.
“I’ve got a suggestion for the cat: Midnight. She’s all black with a moon sliver on the neck. Just like midnight.”
“But don’t cats need to be named something ending in ‘itty’? It will never come if you call it Midnight.”
“Don’t they call cats ‘Puss’ in England?” protested Leona.
“No self-respecting cat is gonna come to ‘Puss’. Gotta call it ‘Kitty, Kitty, Kitty’ in a high voice.”
“I like the name Midnight. If the cat doesn’t come, then we’ll try Kitty. Okay?”
“Gotcha, Pastor. How about the dog?”
“It’s your turn to name it.”
“Well, only one name fits: ‘Buck’. I had to read Jack London’s Call of the Wild in school. It’s about a dog that grows up in San Francisco. It gets taken to Alaska during the gold rush and made to work as a sled dog. Little by little the dog becomes more like a wolf. Finally, at the end of the book, it is a wolf! His name is Buck. As a dog, Buck is loyal to the people he loves. But as a wolf, Buck is a vicious fighter, even a killer. This dog looks to me like I would imagine Buck.”
“Then Buck it is. It’ll be up to you to teach Buck his name. May I call him Buckie now and then?"
Hillar glared.
Leona continued. "I’ll take care of Kitty, I mean Midnight.”
Hillar called, “Buck.” The dog’s eyes met Hillar’s. “Buck! Buck!” The dog walked over to the kneeling teenager. Hillar talked to Buck in a soft and soothing voice while he petted his coarse thick fur and scratched his ears. If a dog could purr, Buck would have.
Suddenly and without warning, Hillar jumped on the dog. Buck resisted; he had been caught by surprise. Hillar wrestled the dog to the carpet and laid his full weight on the animal’s torso. Buck’s head volleyed to and fro, whining. He did not bite. He did not even growl.
“What are you doing?” flashed Leona. “Get off that dog!”
Hillar appeared not to hear the order. He continued to wrestle and kept the four-legged creature pinned to the floor. An astonished Leona grabbed Hillar’s shirt and pulled him toward her. Hillar eventually loosened his grip on this incarnation of canis familiaris and stood up. Buck rolled over and stood up as well.
“Ya gotta let the dog know who’s boss,” said Hillar. “Dogs evolved from wolves. Wolves run in packs. Each pack has an alpha male. The other males are subordinate. The alpha male fights with his rivals to show he’s in charge. The others submit. I’ve got to show Buck that I’m the alpha male. Now, it’s your turn to be the alpha male, Pastor Lee.”
“I think I’ll skip my turn, Quaz. Thanks all the same.”
With pets under control, Hillar turned to Graham, who had just arrived. “Wanna see what I got?”
“Sure.”
Hillar reached into the large Target bag. Glancing toward Leona he said, “I bought this with my own money.” He proceeded to pull out a small box. He nodded toward the front door. Soon, Graham and Hillar were sitting on the front porch. Buck was wandering the yard, keeping the two within sight.
Hillar unwrapped his U Control Silver Bullet RC Helicopter and a packet of batteries. He and Graham assembled it. In minutes the five-inch helicopter was flying about the yard, out into the parking lot and back. After a pair of crashes, Hillar remarked: “I’ve got to get the hang of it. Do you wanna try it, Graham?”
Buck watched intently. From time to time Buck squirmed on his haunches. He did not bark. He whined. When Graham took the controls,
he directed the helicopter to fly west on the grass parallel to the asphalt. Buck chased it. Buck leapt up and snapped, trying to catch it. Once Graham had gained finesse as a remote pilot, he would lower the helicopter to tempt the jumping hound. When Buck would leap and snap at it, Graham would raise it up out of Buck’s reach. The frustration energized Buck into more leaping and more snapping. By this time Leona was at the door, all were laughing—except Buck.
Hillar declared he would have to try the same thing. He took over and taunted this canine’s passion. It was difficult to know whether Buck was playing or deadly serious.
Eventually, Hillar headed for home. Graham and Leona talked over strategies and schedules. They agreed that Graham would sleep on the living room couch, a hide-a-bed. Later that evening he would return to Hyde Park, check out of his hotel, and return to the parsonage with his small suitcase.
In the meantime, Leona assembled a salad and prepared grilled cheese sandwiches for their light dinner. Graham’s phone vibrated. He read the text while chewing a bite of his sandwich. Then he turned to Leona. “Our mole reports that CUB is on to something. They’re investigating a guy in Tehran named Qudrat Al-Damad. Do you know him? Is he the peacenik?”
Leona began to chuckle. “Well, that tells me a lot. Qudrat Al-Damad is a decoy. Last night I Skyped a close friend in Lahore and dropped Qudrat’s name. That was a test. I was fishing. It appears that we’ve caught something. No, Qudrat is not the target. But now I know that my communications are being monitored. We’ve bought a little time while CUB chases a wild goose.”
“Might you have accidentally put your friend Qudrat in danger? What if CUB simply takes him out without investigating?”
“I’m not worried. Qudrat doesn’t even exist. I made him up.”
“Made him up? Wow,” exclaimed Graham. “That reminds me, I have a present for you.” From his pocket he pulled out a Droid and placed it on the table. Compliments of the CIA. Exclusive non-traceable line. It connects directly with a satellite. No one will monitor you on this one.”
“No one?”
“Well, no one other than the CIA, of course. Let me mention a couple special features of this phone. As I said, you have an exclusive non-traceable number. It also has a beacon, a GPS tracker. We can find you—that is if you keep this phone with you. We can find you anywhere. Now, note this tiny extra button on the bottom. If you press it in, the phone automatically dials me on another independent line. The screen remains blank. I’ll be able to hear whatever is going on, but I won’t be able to talk to you. You’d have to call me on the first line if you want to hear from me. So, what do you think?”
“I get the feeling that I’m back to work.”
35 Thursday, Chicago, 6:20 pm
The green Jeep Cherokee was waiting with engine running when Jarrod Grimes and his traveling companion exited the terminal at Midway Airport. Grimes’ companion looked like he might be sixty, physically fit with signs of gray in his previously brown hair. They were greeted by Walter Gross, Chicago division chief of Grimes Security Company. Wearing a gray sweatsuit with silver and black Nike Free Runs on his feet, the six-foot Gross looked casual yet somehow also in uniform. He held open the rear door for what little luggage the two arrivals were carrying. He also loaded a box, an aluminum box weighing enough to require two hands to lift.
As if foreordained, the two travelers let themselves into the back seat. Gross took charge of the right front seat.
“Hello, Lanny,” said Grimes to the waiting driver. Lanny’s face was unusually broad, too broad for his undersized Chicago White Sox cap. His pinkish crater-pocked nose looked like it had once been bombarded by a mini meteor shower.
“Lanny, greetings,” grunted the other man while fastening his seat belt behind the driver. Lanny waved his right hand with two fingers up and two folded as if to say, “Gotcha! Now, forward.” Lanny put the Cherokee in gear and the party of four exited the airport.
“What’ve ya got for us, Walt?” said the man in the back seat with the assumption of authority.
“With regard to Reverend Foxx,” Gross began in reportorial style, “we are monitoring her every activity. We have a plan in place to kidnap and interrogate her. We'll ask her questions with extreme prejudice.”
“Better be soon. Time’s running out,” emphasized one of the back seat voices.
“The Foxx kidnapping is imminent. We also have prepared the alternative plan, the one that’ll make the big impression. We know where the president will be staying: the 85th floor of the Hancock. The chopper is ready. You know, the right amount of gas ‘n’ oil and explosives and such. We have removed the two Golshani boys from their mother’s care, and we’re babysitting them while they wait for their helicopter ride to heaven.”
“Good work, Walt.”
Grimes spoke to Gross. “In the silver box you loaded is the radio equipment. We’ve modified our drone guidance system. The control panel is now ready for installation in a Bell 206B-3 Long Ranger IV. I suggest you place it in the very front. And when it hits, we want that sucker destroyed beyond recognition.”
“Gotcha,” said Gross.
36 Thursday, Chicago, 7:44 pm
Dusk had passed and night was falling when Graham excused himself. He drove off toward Hyde Park. Leona watched while Buck wandered the yard, doing his business. He did not seem to be at risk for running away. He returned directly. It was clear that, in this dog’s mind, he was home.
Leona returned to the kitchen, tidying up, using the time to formulate a schedule that would enable her to balance her pastoral responsibilities with this new set of obligations that had seeped into the present from a past she had hoped to forget. She made a mental run through Friday. Then Saturday. Then Sunday. When will I have time to ready the sanctuary for Sunday? Sermon prep? Maybe the best I can do is my Thursday evening routine: taking care of the sanctuary.
Leona grabbed her keys, and after she double-checked that the parsonage door was locked tight, she walked with a brisk gait to the front door of the church. She let herself into the sanctuary and turned on the simulated candle lights lining the walls. She stood for a moment in the dim quiet, reminding herself of how precious these quiet moments could be. Leona headed to the chancel to position the candles at the edges of the altar. She placed the Liturgy on a bookstand, then carefully set the communion chalice and paten on the retable. She did this slowly and respectfully, as if it were a rite unto itself.
Her eyes scanned the nave. The pews seemed neat and in order. She was pleased.
The bulletins should be done. Today’s Thursday. Pauline, her volunteer secretary, routinely printed bulletins on Thursday. I bet Pauline put one on my desk in the sacristy. Leona checked the sanctuary one more time and flipped off the lights. Despite the darkness, Leona could easily feel the familiar way up the steep stairway leading to the pastor’s office and sacristy.
In one elongated automatic motion, Leona slipped the key into the lock, stepped in, and reached for the light switch. She let out an uncharacteristic gasp: her hand had made contact with another hand. The door slammed shut behind her.
Through the dark she heard a deep, youthful voice: “We’re not going to hurt you, Pastor Lee. Please sit down.”
Shocked but still with her composure intact, Leona stood motionless for a second. Strong hands on her shoulders guided her slightly to the left and pressed her down into a chair.
“You’re tricky. And dangerous,” said the voice. “We want to make sure you just sit there.”
As Leona’s eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, she could make out the shadowy figures. The voice was coming from behind her desk. One figure stood to her left. A second to the right. She sensed someone else in another chair to her right. Leona’s mind was calculating her next move.
“We wanna talk with you. Don’t want any violence. Git my drift?” The figure behind the desk spoke with authority. Is this a try by CUB to kidnap me? she asked herself.
“Now, if you sit still
, we’ll turn the lights on and you can see us. Okay?”
“I’m sitting,” Leona said.
“I asked: Okay?”
“Yes, Okay.”
Leona heard the fumbling for the light switch. The ceiling light went on. Then saw three male visitors in their early twenties, each African American, each wearing a red tam. To her right in a chair was Hillar, obviously a captive. He fidgeted nervously, fearing what would happen next.
“Recognize me?” asked the young man behind the desk. Leona stared at him. “Recognize what I have around my neck?”
Suddenly it came to her. This was the purse-snatcher on the train platform. “I pulled your chain,” she said defiantly, “if you’ll excuse the expression.”
“Did you get a good look at this?” He held up the medallion. Leona leaned forward to examine it close up. It could’ve been the one she grabbed to gain control over her assailant. She nodded.
“It’s a scorpion. They call me Scorp. Do you know what a scorpion is?”
“Yes, it’s a crayfish with an attitude.”
This drew a round of chortles, including one from Scorp. “This means that if you mess with me you get stung.”
“Is this kind of like an alpha male, Hillar?” she said turning her eyes to meet Hillar’s. Hillar could only grin sheepishly. He relaxed a bit.
It was obvious that Scorp had missed the point. Leona took the floor. “Nice to meet you, Scorp. Who are your friends? Black Widow and Tarantula? Did I meet them at Cheltenham as well?”
“Yeah,” said the one standing to her left. “I’m Quint. You downed me with an axe kick before I could take a breath.” Quint was shaking his head sideways, emphasizing the drama.