Madness

by Bill Wetterman

  “I’ll stay here at your place long enough to hear what Monroe decides. I’ll leave Monroe to you. In any case, I’ve got certain business of my own tonight.”

  She finished her coffee.

  Loomis looked longingly at her and for an instant became aroused.

  “You have a job to do.” Peacock grumped, seeing his erection. “If I fly into a rage later, I’ll look you up.”

  “Maybe we can join forces,” Loomis said, as he dressed. “You take care of your business. I’ll take care of mine. We team up again afterward. Where shall we meet?”

  Peacock considered the possibility of outside help. Keep communication with Loomis and see how plans developed. Neither of them might be alive by midnight.

  “I ditched my government cellphone,” she said. “But I know your number. I’ll figure out a way contact you.”

  “Good luck,” Loomis said before he left. “Pendleton loves you. Can I let him know you’re all right?”

  “Tell him not to look for me when he gets to Washington. I’ll find him.”

  When the door closed, Peacock dressed and focused her attention on the television. At precisely nine in the morning, the President addressed the nation.

  “My fellow Americans, pressure by our former allies in Europe has been intense, urging the United States to enter into the present conflict in Iran which has now spread into Iraq and is approaching Syria and Jordan.”

  Monroe looked shaken and frail. Peacock marveled at the change in him over the last few days.

  “They promise to ease our financial burden if we join with them in supporting the Russians as they drive into the Middle East.” He bowed his head and with a grim countenance said, “After long discussions with the leaders in Congress, I have decided to decline their offer of financial support. The United States will remain true to our beliefs and keep our independence, our freedom, and our honor. We are committed to defend the Nation of Israel. If the Russians proceed past the border of Iraq and threaten Israel’s sovereignty, we will respond militarily.”

  Peacock turned off the television. Monroe had set his course. Now she had to determine her own.

  #

  Polaris couldn’t believe his eyes as he studied the data with Doctor Nyugen. The brainwave activity patterns were sharply different from three months ago, even from three days ago.

  “Such a complex creature Man is,” Polaris said.

  “And adaptable beyond even my imagination,” Nyugen echoed. “The inflicting of pain has been rendered ineffective. The device’s programming and her pathway system have worked out their own networking.”

  “Her brain’s like a gigantic transportation control system,” Kolb said, and Nyugen nodded agreement. “The best example is Open Architecture Train Control. The implant’s pain generators shock her brain, then reroute and dissipate. She feels them, but their impact is decreasing. Her normal brain functions act like commuter trains, typical speed and efficiency.”

  “But there are three areas of hyperactivity,” Nyugen pointed out.

  “In layman’s terms,” Kolb said. “These are emotional express trains. She and our implant decided to clear all other objects off those tracks. She becomes an id-like creature when something sets her off, and with her emotions on overdrive, the transformation is immediate.”

  “Magnus and Felicia will be here any moment,” Ursa said. “We’ll even the odds.”

  Polaris didn’t bother to respond. Even in his best day, Polaris couldn’t match what Peacock had become. If he were whole in body and mind, standing beside Magnus and Felicia to do battle, he wouldn’t bet on his side winning. However, he did trust Peacock’s loyalty. She would not betray friendship. He prayed to God that she didn’t consider him an enemy.

  Chapter 11

  Pendleton climbed out of his limousine in front of the Old Palace in Canterbury. He straightened himself and brushed off imaginary pieces of lint. Feeling good about his personal appearance gave him an air of righteousness. The soon-to-be ruler of the world must also be right with his faith and reassuring to his spiritual mentor.

  Inside and outside, the renovated building sparkled. The colors in the landscape and freshness in the air gave a warm feel to his visit. He hoped the Archbishop would agree.

  “The Most Reverend, Lord Archbishop will be with you momentarily, Mister Pendleton. Please come in and make yourself comfortable.” The Church Secretary led him into a long, rectangular foyer. Pendleton sat down in a comfortable red chair, and two of his bodyguards positioned themselves by the door.

  The next forty-eight hours would be entirely without sleep except for what he might get flying to Washington. Loomis was in place to eliminate Monroe. He directed his most trusted friend, Hans Van Meer, to check on Reed. At last report, Latovsky’s forces approached the Jordanian border, having swept through Baghdad with little resistance.

  Iran, particularly Tehran, posed a different problem. Iranians fought hand-to-hand for every inch of soil with massive casualties on both sides. Israel fired several missiles disabling Iranian nuclear facilities, only to have the ungrateful Russians destroy Israel’s missile defense headquarters in Ashkelon.

  With all Pendleton’s plans flying together, Lovey took center stage. A message from Loomis said she’d bolted from Hercules and was operating rogue. Loomis trusted her, and Loomis would watch her back after Monroe died. He warmed inside at the idea of Lovey being a willing ally.

  At that moment, Pendleton’s cellphone vibrated. “Yes.”

  “Sir Jarvis here, Arthur. I need half-a-sec.”

  “Go on.”

  “Former MI6 operatives in charge of media elimination want to know how the communications satellites are being handled. Since you haven’t told me, I can’t answer.”

  “Think of the re-targeting program. U.S. Missiles will destroy all but two systems. Our people on the ground will control the remaining two until we put our own satellites in orbit.”

  “Can I say so?”

  “Assure them the situation is well in hand.”

  As Pendleton closed his cell, the Archbishop’s inner door opened.

  “Arthur, so good to see you, please come in.” The Archbishop positioned himself in the doorway to his study and waved Pendleton inside. His plastic smile said he wasn’t at all pleased to see Pendleton. “Did you see the new stonework? Since the church renovated the place in 2006, I’ve enjoyed both visiting and now staying here. Just a short walk from Canterbury Cathedral you know.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Lord Archbishop.”

  Once the door closed, the Archbishop pointed a finger at Pendleton. “Are you trying to destroy the world? If so, you’re doing a good job of it. Stop this madness.”

  “No, I’m trying to preserve the world,” Pendleton said, and pointed a finger back. “I’m here to confess my faith, not to listen to a sermon. Religion condemns us. Jesus saved us from that condemnation. Will you listen? Or am I wasting my time?”

  The Archbishop’s face reddened into a shocked expression that said he’d received the message. Both men sat down.

  “First,” Pendleton stated. “I’m a loyal believer in Jesus Christ. I’m a member of the Anglican Church by birth, not by choice. Because I’m a Brit, I’m a member of the Church of England. Nonetheless, as of next week, there will be no England. So you will have to change all your materials and websites to reflect the Anglican Communion only.”

  “Other than that, why did you bother to come all this way to see me?”

  “To express my faith in Christ and ask for your prayers and blessing.”

  “You have my prayers. You must earn my blessing.” The Archbishop leaned forward and took in a slow breath. “Only Christ can be an enlightened ruler. Only He can solve all the world’s problems. Whatever you’ve started, stop it. Wait on God, Arthur.”

  Honestly said, Pendleton thought. Deserving of an honest response, “You have no argument from me, Lord Archbishop. I agree fully. I’m not perfect. Nor will my governm
ent be perfect. But my government will turn this planet around, because l will abolish money, treat all men equally, and take the steps necessary to stop the destruction of the world.”

  “Millions are going to die, Arthur. Over a hundred thousand souls have died already, maybe more. The slaughter going on in Iran is unbelievable.”

  “War is not my creation. A greater war than this is more than likely if I don’t act. My objective is to put an end to nationalism and religious bickering, and instead expand the potential of all human beings. There is no other way to accomplish this.”

  “Really, you see no possibility of Humankind working together?”

  “Good God, no,” Pendleton said with a laugh following. “Put two people in a room and you have a disagreement, three a fight, thirty a mob. Politicians all say they speak for the people. Bull! Everyone wants a handout, but no one wants to pay for the privilege. Our planet is dying. Without a unified world, humanity is doomed.”

  “There must be some other way.”

  “Tell me what you’d propose. Capitalism promotes greed. Socialism promotes laziness. Communism and Neo-Nazi dictatorships promote terror and poverty. Enlighten me with an alternative or stand aside.”

  The Archbishop rose. He shook Pendleton’s hand. “I’ll pray for you. I’ll pray for the world. I’ll leave it to God to bless you. If He’s with you, I’ll be with you. If He’s against you, no blessing from me will help.”

  “Since, I’m only a man. I will gladly leave divine action in God’s hands. Until that occurs, I’m taking the steps necessary to save the planet before man destroys himself.”

  Pendleton turned and left the Old Palace. The Archbishop did not see him out.

  #

  Hans Van Meer’s Saab pulled up in front of Thomas Reed’s house. Reed’s front door swung open and creaked in the wind. Van Meer exited his car and headed up the walk. He noticed a tennis shoe print in the soft soil off to the left of Reed’s porch.

  Could be a woman’s, he thought.

  Once inside with the door closed, he called out. “Reed, old man, are you decent?”

  Only the wind outside could be heard blowing particles of dust against the windows.

  “Hello,” Van Meer called again.

  He looked up to where Reed’s communications lab was and saw the light was on. As he climbed the stairs, the gruesome scene unfolded in front of him. Reed, with what was left of his head dangling backwards over the top of his chair, sat lifeless, having bled out hours before.

  Van Meer looked closely at the bullets embedded into Reed. Hollow points fired at close range. Whoever killed him killed him in a rage. Not unusual for someone in Reed’s business to have enemies, but this person killed out of hatred. The cabinet drawer was empty. Papers? Electronics? Was theft the motive, if so, why such bloody violence?

  He dusted the doors and handles. No fingerprints, this attack smacked of a professional job. Questions still bothered Van Meer. The footprint in the mud turned in such a way it indicated a person leaving, not coming. A professional wouldn’t advertise he’d been here by not closing the door. The killer came in like a professional and left like someone chased by the devil.

  Van Meer left the house as he found it. He was bound for Washington to meet up with Pendleton. He’d give his boss the details then. As he drove away, he called Haddington law enforcement and reported the break in.

  #

  Sir Jarvis Franks dashed through the tube connecting the European Space Agency and the U.K.’s new International Space Innovation Centre in Harwell, Oxfordshire. He entered the command center for Project Stealth and proceeded to the main code sequencing room.

  “Excited everyone?” he asked with a slight hip wiggle and twist of his moustache.

  The project manager strolled up to shake Frank’s hand. “We’re more nervous than anything else. The technology is sound. But there’s always human error.”

  “Except for the resistance in Iran, things are going swimmingly. Pendleton has the timetable moving. Nothing anyone can do will stop him.”

  “Tell me the same thing twenty-four hours from now and I’ll believe you.” The program manager lowered his voice. “At least you’ll have a job after Pendleton takes over. I’m not sure I will.”

  Franks knew much more than this fellow knew. However, he couldn’t tell him everything until all the scenarios played out. “A man with your talent should have nothing to worry about. Now fill me in on the preparations.”

  On the video screens overhead, visuals of the countdown to firing and the actual video feed of the rocket banks played, compliments of Professor Cline. “As you can see, every rocket bank is monitored by a team. The U.S. operators will detect the first sequence of firings immediately. But we’ll have launched almost three hundred rockets at our predetermined targets before they can respond.”

  Franks nodded. “The strikes against the radicals in both the Muslim and Jewish worlds will send a message that an impartial new leader now rules the world.”

  “Maybe,” the project manager said. “If—and there’s a lot of ifs. If Latovsky stops advancing, if China remains silent, and if the world receives relief quickly enough to see the benefits Pendleton’s plan provides, then maybe things will work out.”

  Latovsky would stop advancing, but not as Latovsky wished. Franks twirled his mustache. He’d seen Pendleton in action. He’d seen former Prime Minister Grace Claymore dethroned overnight. He’d witnessed his new boss control the course of the world events. “No maybes about it, Old Chap. Even if the missiles misfire, Pendleton will climb out on top of the rubble.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Dial up, Professor Cline. I want to speak with him,” Franks said.

  “No need. He’s connected with telemetry right now.”

  The project manager guided Franks to a far corner and motioned to his technician to give him his headset.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Professor. Sir Jarvis wishes to speak to you.”

  “And I wish to speak to Sir Jarvis.”

  “Roger that,” Franks said, “at your service.”

  “Who is leading my protection team once I complete my task here in Huntsville?”

  “Arthur has selected the best, a man named Hans Van Meer. He’s headed to the States as we speak.” Franks cleared his throat. “Are you interested in Arthur’s plans for you when this bloody mess is all over?”

  “Yes, do you know them?”

  “Indeed I do. If all goes smoothly, you’ll head the new World Space Academy.”

  “Now that’s my ultimate dream. Communicate to my friend, Arthur, that I’m very pleased.”

  Franks handed the headset back to the technician. He looked at his watch. In four hours, President Monroe would be dead.

  Chapter 12

  Peacock hated solitude. The silence created mental issues. With no outward stimulus, her hyperactive id drove her emotions mad. She pulled her small, black purse off Loomis’s nightstand and opened it, hoping to keep her mind on her plans and not on the chaos inside her head. Her list of Herculean contacts lay neatly folded in the slot where they always had been.

  She studied each name, marking every foe in red. Then she asked herself whom to target first. Who was in charge? Who knew where each of her enemies was? Ursa Major knew. Secluded or not, she’d find Major and obtain the information she wanted.

  Find the bastard. Pick his brains, and then kill him.

  Maybe Hercules hadn’t thought to change her system code. She typed it in and gained access. Quickly she searched for Major.

  Code Required.

  She didn’t have clearance to know his code. Moreover, she only had two chances to guess. Ursa’s was Number 2. Magnus’ code was Trainer 1, simple codes, a mix of letters and numbers, signifying position. Her own code had been Weapon 1. She typed in Number 1.

  Access Denied.

  What was a six letter word followed by a one that meant the same thing? Numero 1? She couldn’t think of anything else. A
ctually, she’d heard him call himself, Numero Uno. She typed it in, and up popped his contact information.

  “Predictable, egotistical bastard,” she said aloud.

  She dialed his office number and got a voice mail saying, “I’m out of the office.”

  She hit zero for his secretary.

  “This is Mary. Can I help you?”

  “Mary, Lilly Vaughn, Senator Ellis’s administrator, can the Senator speak to your boss?”

  “He’s working from home today, waiting on an important call.”

  “Senator Ellis will try him there. Thanks, Mary.”

  Peacock dressed and counted the money she had in her purse. Five hundred dollars would keep her supplied for a few days at least. At eight thirty-five in the evening, she grabbed a cab, holding her purse in her hands and her black bag in her lap. “3303 Water Street, Northwest,” she said.

  “Pricey neighborhood for a workout outfit,” the cabbie chuckled. “You a cleaning lady?”

  “Something like that.”

  The short ride across town seemed to take forever. For some reason the lights of oncoming cars looked orange instead of their normal color. A pressure seemed to be building in the center of her head, yet she felt no pain. Maybe she was going to die.

  The cab pulled up at a gated complex labeled the Emerald Condominiums. Peacock’s irritation grew the closer she came to her target. Major, the mysterious masked leader of Hercules, was the man who ripped her son from her. He was the one who loosed his maniacal girlfriend to bury the insidious implant in her head.

  After the cab drove off, Peacock jumped the wall surrounding the complex. Avoiding the check-in gate, she came out between two parked cars, hurrying as though she’d just parked one of the vehicles. A quick check said, Building B, Number 12 was the far building on her left on the upper floor. Her steps turned into a trot as a spring shower burst overhead. She slipped into Building B and rode the elevator up to Number 12 on the sixth floor.