For God and Country: Leona Foxx Suspense Thriller #1

by Ted Peters

  “Monica.”

  “Monica. Are you in school?”

  “Yes, I’m a student at Wheaton College. I work here nights,” she smiled showing appreciation of Graham’s interest in her.

  “Oh, by the way,” she added, “after you guys left to see Bishop Hurley, a second car pulled up. One of the men in it walked over to your car. He got in the driver’s seat.”

  “How did he get in? I locked it.”

  “I don’t know. But he just did. He might have left something for you. He waved at me. I waved back.”

  “Did any of them in the second car come in? Did you get a good look at them?”

  “Nope. No one came in. Too dark to see them clearly. They put something in your car and left. I assumed they were friends.”

  Graham looked at Leona. Leona looked at Graham. Then Graham spoke, “Monica, would you please call for a cab. Tell them to come immediately.”

  “Sure.” Monica dialed and ordered a taxi. She turned to Graham and said, “Eight minutes.”

  “Now, Monica, I’d like to ask another favor.” Graham walked around the desk to the back and entered the fortress’ enclosure. Leona followed. Monica looked puzzled, though she welcomed the two guests into her desk enclave.

  In a strong yet controlled voice, Graham issued an undeclinable invitation. “Okay, let’s turn our backs to the front.” The three turned around with their backs facing the front door. “Now, down,” Graham shouted in a whisper. Once all three were on the floor, Graham lifted up his electronic car key above the desk’s front edge. He punched the “open” button.

  A thunderous explosion! A giant fireball shot forty feet straight up from the car, spraying sparks in all directions. The entire CR-V was engulfed in flames. The building’s heavy front doors burst open. Thirty foot ceiling-to-floor windows fissured and crackled. Then the glass plunged, splattering on the marble floor. Shards streamed in all directions.

  In their protected cave below the desk fortress, the three had avoided injury. As the sound subsided, Graham and Leona turned to look at each other. Graham squeezed Leona’s hand.

  “Somebody’s late for the Fourth of July,” commented Leona.

  Graham hit the speed dial for Bishop Hurley on his Droid. No answer. “Oh, shit!” He said with frustration in his voice and fear on his face.

  Graham turned to Monica, who was still trembling. “Okay, please listen carefully. First, call Presiding Bishop Hurley on the house phone. Tell him what happened and that his guests escaped injury. Tell him that like the three kings, he must go home by a different way. His car might have a little gift just like mine did. Second, call the police. It’s okay to tell them everything you know. Then, call your boss. But please wait to make these calls until we’ve left. Got it?”

  Monica replied with a jitter in her voice. “But I don’t remember your names.”

  “I said, it’s okay to tell the police what you know. Don’t worry about what you don’t know. Make sure the bishop has left before any detectives show up. Okay?”

  “I think I’ve got it,” said Monica, stammering.

  Once in the taxi Leona directed the driver to the Drake Hotel on Chicago’s near north side.

  “Why the Drake?” asked Graham sitting across the back seat from his pastor friend.

  “You need a headquarters close to, you know, close to where the action will be tomorrow. If you get hold of you-know-who, then you might even meet there.”

  “That worries me, Lee. Who’ll protect you?”

  “I can take care of myself, Graham.”

  “I’d feel better if you called Shmoo and asked him to spend the night...in my hide-a-bed.”

  “Graham! I’m going to be okay,” Leona insisted.

  Graham looked out the taxi window. Then he turned again to Leona. “Here’s another problem with your plan. The Drake’s expensive.”

  “Come on, Graham, you’ve got a virtually unlimited budget. Get out the plastic. Think of what your boss will save if he doesn’t need to pay CUB any more. He can spend that on you. One more thing. When we stop at the Drake, would you please pay for my trip back to South Shore?”

  “Now, I can see why you don’t want me eliminated.”

  “Ah, Graham.” Leona moved her hand over and placed it on top of his.

  48 Saturday, Chicago, 5:59 am

  After the profanity of the long day—nearly losing her life twice—in a beach gun battle and an exploding car—Leona sought the sanctity of her home. Buck greeted her with a wagging tail and Midnight demanded lap time.

  Leona found “call me” messages from Angie on her iPhone, but ignored them with only a tinge of guilt. She welcomed the Sand Man without jumping rope and without either a bath or Bach and even without calling Angie. Rather than store the Kimber in her protected drawer, she bedded it along with the Droid under her pillow. She slept soundly.

  Shortly before six o’clock, the doorbell rang. Buck, who was sleeping on her bedroom floor jumped to his feet. Bleary-eyed, Leona donned her fleece robe and stumbled down the stairs to the front door with Buck at her side. Midnight remained in bed. After seeing no danger through the peep hole, Leona cautiously opened the door and looked down. Buck looked up. There stood a dainty African American girl, looking up at Leona with wide open eyes.

  “Is it time for Saturday Morning Club?” she asked.

  “No. It’s only six o’clock. Saturday Morning Club doesn’t start until nine o’clock. Come back then.”

  “Okay,” said the little girl. She turned and descended the porch steps, one at a time.

  While closing the door, Leona noticed a car in the parking lot, one she did not recognize. She stumbled back up the stairs and flopped on her bed. She was out in seconds. Buck resumed his tummy lie on the rug between the bed and the door. Midnight, looking perturbed at having been disturbed, gently curled up on Leona’s chest. In moments all three were sound asleep once again.

  At 6:45 the doorbell rang. Leona grumbled. Still wearing her robe, she and Buck headed down the stairs. Buck did not bark, but he showed intense interest at who might be at the door. Once open, Leona saw the same sweet face smiling up at her. Buck muscled his way through the opening and raced down the porch steps, brushing the delicate human figure standing there.

  The little girl showed no reaction to the freight train husky that had just whizzed by her. “Is it time for Saturday Morning Club yet?”

  “No. It’s only quarter to seven. I said come back at 9:00.”

  The little one continued to look up at the pastor.

  “What is your name?” asked Leona.

  “Cupid.”

  “Did you say Cupid?”

  “Yes. I’m Cupid.”

  “How old are you, Cupid?”

  “Five.”

  Leona thought for a moment. “Do you know how to tell time?”

  Cupid’s eyes turned downward. “No.”

  Leona paused “I’ve got a kitty.”

  Cupid’s eyes came back up.

  “Would you like to come in and pet my kitty? Her name is Midnight.”

  Cupid didn’t say a word. She just made her way into the living room. By this time Midnight was making her regal appearance descending the stairs. Leona grabbed the cat and asked Cupid to sit on the couch. She placed Midnight on Cupid’s lap, much to the child’s delight.

  “Cupid, I’m going to make breakfast. Would you like some?”

  Cupid nodded her head up and down. Then, the image of the strange car in the parking lot popped into Leona’s mind. She returned to the front door. She could see Buck circumambulating the strange vehicle, sniffing the left rear tire. A driver’s head was now visible. The face turned toward Leona.

  “Shmoo!” Leona hollered. “Breakfast in a few minutes!”

  The veteran cop registered surprise. Then he departed the car and migrated into the parsonage, Buck following.

  “Been there all night?” Leona said to him.

  “Gotta protect my Little Lee, yaknow.”r />
  “Get yourself freshened up and then meet Cupid.”

  Leona smiled and headed for the kitchen. She brewed and poured herself some coffee, then bit off the arm of the last gingerbread man in her cookie jar. Foraging in the fridge, she pulled out a carton of eggs along with a piece of steak from the night before. She poured a glass of orange juice for Cupid and a cup of coffee for Shmoo to keep them busy while Leona took her private coffee time to wake up.

  When back in the living room, the pastor flipped on the LED and went to ‘Bible Works’. Let’s see, she said to herself. Tuesday it was Psalm 31. Wednesday; Thursday; Friday. Today must be Psalm 35. The cursor brought the thirty-fifth Psalm to the screen. Leona sipped her coffee and ate the other gingerbread arm. She read the psalm out loud with Cupid, Shmoo, and the two animals watching and listening.

  Leona re-read selected verses of Psalm 35. “Let not them that are mine enemies wrongfully rejoice over me: neither let them wink with the eye that hate me without a cause. For they speak not peace: but they devise deceitful matters against them that are quiet in the land…. This thou hast seen, O Lord: keep not silence: O Lord, be not far from me. Stir up thyself, and awake to my judgment, even unto my cause, my God and my Lord.”

  If you can’t even give Hank Greer a lousy single, Lord, it would be a waste for me to petition for a mighty act of salvation today. I guess your omnipotence has gone on vacation. Amen. She prayed almost out loud, as if talking to her two-legged and four-legged audience instead of God. She finished the prayer and the coffee and headed back to the kitchen.

  Her iPhone sounded. It was Hillar, asking if he could have some breakfast. “Of course,” she said. In moments Hillar arrived, met Cupid, greeted Shmoo, and set the table for four. He admitted he had been anticipating steak ‘n’ eggs for breakfast. No wussy cereal or even pancakes would do for a day such as they were expecting. Each of the animals watched intently, waiting for some tidbits to be placed on their tongues. Unofficially, it was a table for six.

  Leona was sipping her post-breakfast coffee when Hillar took command of the living room computer and the giant LED. Soon he was engrossed in a video game.

  “What are you playing, Quaz?”

  “Call of Duty Black Ops. I’m a U.S. Special Forces agent shooting Cubans. We’re gonna assassinate Castro.”

  “Hillar, don’t you know all that video violence warps your mind?! Stop it.”

  “Oh, Pastor Lee. It’s fun. It’s got nuth’n to do with real life.”

  “But Hillar, it desensitizes you to killing other human beings. Castro is a human being. And you want to kill him. Why?”

  “Pastor, it’s only a game. I don’t really want to kill anybody. Honest. Ya gotta understand the difference between actual violence and play violence. When I play with violence in a video game, I’m safe. Nuth’n bad can happen. It’s fun, sometimes even funny.”

  Leona took a sip of her Major Dickason while watching bodies on the screen hit by tracer bullets fly every which way. Leona studied Hillar’s face, amazed by his total absorption in the game. The pastor picked up a ballpoint pen. She reached over and lightly stuck the pen’s point into Hillar’s nose ring. Then she pressed down until the pen was lodged. Still concentrating on the video screen Hillar waved a hand briefly, as if swatting away a pesky fly. The annoying “fly” did not depart. Finally, he stopped. Sat back. Removed the pen. Leona was doubling up with laughter. “Are you laughing at me?” he asked.

  “Oh, Quaz, you’re soooo cute.”

  Hillar winced at the word “cute”.

  Leona caught her breath. “Would you mind taking Buck out for a romp in the parking lot?”

  Hillar cheerfully shut down the game and hollered, “Here Buck.” Out the front door trooped boy and dog. Cupid and Shmoo followed to the porch, the little girl still holding Midnight. Leona, with her MSU cup in hand, stood at the door to watch the yard show. Buck raced around. Where the parking lot meets the alley, Buck stopped at a telephone pole. He raised his right leg to mark his territory.

  Cupid looked up at the pastor. “Why’s Buck doing that?”

  “Doing what, sweetheart?” she said, just to buy a little time for her to think of an answer.

  “Why’s Buck lifting his leg against the pole?”

  By this time Leona was prepared. “Well, Cupid, back at the beginning when God was creating the world, God made dogs. The dogs were happy. They ran around together, playing. One dog walked up to a telephone pole to, well, go to the bathroom. All of a sudden, the pole fell down and killed the dog. Some of the other dogs saw it. They were scared. So they ran to all the other dogs and told them what they had seen. From then on, whenever dogs need to go to the bathroom near a pole, they lift their leg up to protect themselves.”

  “Oh,” said Cupid. She continued to pet the kitten. Shmoo bid all goodbye, and with a promise to connect again at 5pm, he drove away. Leona went upstairs to ready herself for the big day ahead.

  Hillar headed for the Fellowship Hall to prepare for Saturday Morning Club. He was joined shortly by Owl, offering to help. Leona and Cupid arrived a few minutes before 9:00. The pastor greeted the arriving children, a mixture of Caucasians, African Americans, and Latinos. The mothers who had volunteered to lead Crafts and Bible Stories were busy setting up their tables.

  At 9:00 sharp Leona stood up and demanded everybody’s attention. She welcomed all to the Saturday Morning Club and introduced Mr. Chadwick who would lead them in the official Saturday Morning Club Song. The children gathered in a circle as directed. Leona seated herself on a folding chair. Cupid made her way over to where Leona was sitting. She climbed up onto the pastor’s lap and looked toward Charles Chadwick, who was smiling and strumming his guitar.

  Young folks, old folks, everybody come.

  Join Saturday Morning Club, ‘n’ have a lot o’ fun.

  Please check your chewing gum and raisins at the door,

  “n” we’ll tell you Bible stories you’ve never heard before.

  After the second time through, Charles stopped playing. He directed a question to the group, “Would you all like to learn a new song?”

  “Yeah! Yeah!” the kids shouted.

  “What city do we live in?” asked Charles.

  “Chicago!”

  “That’s right. Chicago. So we’re going to sing the Chicago Fire song. Anybody know it?”

  Nobody responded. “Okay. Listen to me,” announced Charles, starting to play chords on his guitar. He taught the children what to them was a new song, though an old one to Leona.

  One dark night, when we were all in bed.

  Ol’ Mother Leary lit a lantern in the shed.

  When the cow kicked it over, she winked her eye and said,

  “There’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight.

  Fire! Fire! Fire!

  In Leona’s own mind she was thinking, I hope we can avoid a repeat of the Chicago fire tonight.

  49 Saturday, Chicago, 12:57 pm

  It was nearly one o’clock by the time Leona and Hillar were seated on the Metra headed north. Both were wearing their Chicago Cubs shirts. Leona’s had the name Hank Greer with the number 42 on the back. Hillar toted a backpack with sundries, including his remote helicopter.

  The pastor-spy carried both phones, her iPhone and the Droid. She took a deep breath and then checked her Droid messages. As she had hoped, Justin Hurley had left her a voicemail.

  “It’s 4:30 am, Saturday,” he opened. “I’ve been up all night. Can’t drive my car, in case it’s got a bomb. If you think attending a committee meeting is meritorious, working for you is a work of supererogation. St. Peter’d better pat me on the back on Judgment Day. Here’s the poop. After numerous phone calls with appropriate apologies for calling so late, I struck oil with a Muslim colleague. He knows the Golshani family well and was aware of the kidnapping. The Golshanis are worried sick. Yes, the father is a first cousin of President Akbar Golshani. Yes, he was active in the PMOI. The two cousins had a row over thei
r disagreement. Even though they’re blood relatives, the now Americanized Golshani feared reprisal in Iran. So he brought his family to the states. They want asylum. There is no reason to believe that this family here in Chicago has anything to do with the current government in Tehran. No, the two boys are not radical Muslim ideologues. The older one, Jafar, has even filled out an application form to join the U.S. Army. Doesn’t look at all like we have a terrorist here. That’s the best I can do. I’m going to bed. I hope this helps. Good night. I mean, good morning.”

  Noting how Hillar had left this world for that of his iPad, Leona took some moments to think this through. If the American Golshani family is not politically allied with the president of Iran, then why would kidnappers want the two young men? The two young Golshanis would not likely volunteer to become suicide bombers. The kidnapping indicates they have been taken against their will. Why the Golshanis? Maybe the answer lies in the name. Should the name come up in the media, people will immediately associate this name with that of Iran’s current president. Maybe that’s all these terrorists need: a simple name association. Mass opinion does not depend on facts, only loose associations. Is this what CUB is counting on?

  The next message was from Graham, delivered at 9:30 am on the Droid. Leona tapped her screen for an audio message. “Lee, this is Graham. I connected with Holthusen. In fact, I’m calling you from the ship in the harbor. We went over and over your theory. He could not find any holes that we had not already considered. We’ve got to bet that your boat will float. Holthusen has put some techies to work preparing to take remote control of any Long Ranger IV that flies into the vicinity. They can make happen what you’ve asked for. We decided not to tell Chicago’s finest what we’re working with. Can’t risk a leak. We think this theoretical scenario would make very little change in their strategy anyway. Also, Holthusen and I discussed at length the possible role of Budenholzer. Because there’s enough suspicion, Holthusen has ordered some intelligence gathering from CIA Internal Affairs. We’re working on that now. We need to know what you’re planning to do on the ground. I missed you last night. Call when you can.”