Madness

by Bill Wetterman

  The technician made a suggestion that surprised even Doctor Levi. “I know we have micro-electrodes with magnetic ends. Would one of those help?”

  Levi thought a moment. If he used the pathway parallel to the original, ran the second electrode beneath the first right down to the kink, he could then remove both with far less damage and far less chance of leaving the tip inside.

  “Good suggestion, we’ll take a break while the special electrode is being prepped, then pull out wire number two, and sew her up.”

  He checked her vitals. Heart rate 92, blood pressure 145/75, she was stabilizing. If the operation wrapped up successfully, he felt sure he’d know her mental state within a few days, if not hours.

  Levi headed toward the family waiting room only to be stopped and diverted to the Chapel by three of Pendleton’s men. There Pendleton, Van Meer, and several bodyguards leaped to their feet.

  “How is she?” Pendleton asked. His hands were trembling and his words slurred a bit.

  “When was the last time you slept?”

  “Three days ago, too much going on. I’ve had maybe forty hours of sleep in a fortnight.”

  “Far too little, the decision making part of your brain will shut down.” Levi turned to Van Meer. “When is his next important meeting?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Van Meer answered, “a critical meeting to discuss how to deal with resistance against our forces.”

  “Arthur, Laverna’s implant has been removed. I removed one of the two electrodes and ordered a rush on a part I need to remove the other. Physically, she’s doing fine. Get your rest. A full eight hours should do the trick.”

  Surprisingly, his mentor didn’t object, instead, Pendleton asked, “Where’s a good place to sleep here? I can’t face people back at the Widder Hotel.”

  “Show Mr. Pendleton to our deluxe accommodations,” Levi said to the administrator on call, and Pendleton and his entourage headed off.

  Levi hurried back to the operating room and checked Peacock’s vitals once more. Before attempting insertion of the magnetized microelectrode wire, he again sterilized the area. Convinced he’d cause less damage running a parallel line, he inserted the device. The easy part for Levi was insertion. The hard part was withdrawal.

  The magnet worked flawlessly, binding the two probes together, and providing a smooth rather than jagged removal. “There’s some bleeding. But less than I would have expected.”

  “She has little abdominal fat to inject with the stems cells,” Pederson said. “But it’s such a small opening, this amount of stem cell should be sufficient for bone growth.”

  “Let’s close her up. Time two-twenty a.m.” Levi called out. “The operation is concluded with minimal additional damage to the affected area.” He turned off his recorder. “As far as the physical side, great work. As far as the need for rehabilitation to normal functioning, I’d say a lifetime, if ever.”

  “For a person who has been exposed to what she has, what is normal functioning?” Pederson asked.

  “Hell if I know,” Levi replied.

  #

  Samatar Muhamad, a section distribution captain working for UNHFD, peered up at the dust clouds approaching from the northeast. He shook his head and pushed up on his toes, trying to make some sense of the whirlwind coming his way.

  Women, carrying their babies with little children in tow, headed passed him toward the Dadaab city center. Rumors flew that foreign invaders pulverized Mogadishu with fire and were sweeping through Somalia and Ethiopia slaying anyone firing a gun—particularly the warlords, who they sought out and killed.

  From the rumors Samatar had heard, this army dressed in khaki with their leaders dressed in black. On their flags flew an insignia of an olive branch and a dove. “Don’t panic,” Samatar called out to people passing by. “We have no guns and no warlords here.”

  He continued his trek, stopping at each tent, handing out purified water to those inside from a battered-up Volvo L495 Titan truck. As he approached the northern border of the refugee camp, out of the dust emerged huge vehicles that slowed their pace. A lone Jeep 1980 CJ-7 sped passed him heading toward the town center as the other vehicles pulled to a stop.

  Samatar ran as fast as his feet could carry him. These were military personnel, but they had no military equipment. He’s hopes rose for the first time in two decades. He pushed through the crowd to find a place from which to hear, getting close enough to see was not an option.

  “Greetings from Arthur Pendleton, First Citizen of the Global Realm,” the man spoke first in Bantu, then repeated his words in English and Oromigna. “The world as you knew it has changed. Our forces are setting up unification centers and food distribution centers at four points outside your camp’s perimeters.”

  What is the Global Realm? Who is Arthur Pendleton?

  “If anyone has a gun or other weapons, turn them over to the processor at the enrollment center when your turn comes. Do not fear. We are here to assist you. Still, I must warn you. Anyone found with a weapon by week’s end will be imprisoned.”

  Samatar’s world had changed by seven o’clock the next morning. After a breakfast of dates, oatmeal, and a drink that tasted like God had dipped His finger in it, he edged into a chair across from an oval-faced man whose skin was blacker than coal.

  “State your full name,” the man said, in soft, perfect Bantu.

  “Samatar Azer Muhamad.”

  “And where are you from originally, Samatar Azer Muhamad?”

  “Kismayo, near the Jubba River.”

  The man accessed his computer and stared at the box a long time before saying, “Three people have your exact name.”

  “How do you know?”

  The man chuckled. “Only by what’s on my screen, but let’s test the computer’s accuracy. One man is a butcher. He was married, but his wife was murdered and one child slain.”

  “I’m not a butcher.”

  “Another man worked at the airport until the airport closed. He fled during the warlord civil war four years ago with his wife and three children.”

  “Mohammad, Syrad, and Ifrah are my children. My wife, Miriam, was killed during our escape.”

  “And your children?”

  “My sister-in-law has them the last I knew. After being raped and tortured, they let a few of the women go. I couldn’t help.”

  “You have no weapons, Samatar?”

  “No sir. I’m a follower of Mohammad, the prophet. May God give peace to his soul.”

  “Your sister-in-law is in a camp thirty miles from here to the west. That camp will be under our control shortly.” The man pulled out a camera and three documents. “Fill this out, Samatar Azer Muhamad. By doing so, you pledge faithfulness to the Global Realm and become a citizen.”

  Samatar tried to grasp what he heard. “What will happen to me?”

  “Nothing but good, you will assist in cleaning up this camp as people are relocated. When your family is found, they will be brought to you.” The man clutched Samatar’s hand. “You will be required to help until all the people have been identified and relocated. Take the tests to assess your capabilities, and you’ll be assigned a permanent career path.”

  “But I have no money. I can’t afford to pay you.”

  “Well, Samatar Azer Muhamad, let me tell you the best news.”

  Chapter 26

  Ursa slumped into a cushiony leather armchair. He, Polaris, and Magnus shared a rooftop view of the mountains compliments of his enemy, Arthur Pendleton. But Ursa wasn’t in a mood to enjoy his plush accommodations. Ursa, aka Robert Hurst, mourned the loss of his brother, William. Yet he didn’t blame Peacock. He blamed himself for being too afraid to standup for what he believed.

  Robert Hurst wasn’t afraid to die. He hadn’t ruled out that option. He and his brother had been hand picked out of Harvard Business School by the CIA and eventually became the Ursas. George W. Bush and Dick Cheney groomed them over the eight years of the Bush presidency. His brother, Will
iam, severely injured in the service of Vice President Biden, became Ursa Major and Hercules was born.

  The sound of a motor whirring interrupted Ursa’s train of thought, as Polaris zipped around the kitchen area in his wheelchair, acting as though he was still a whole person. Surrounding Hurst were the real heroes, Magnus, whose ten years in Hercules exemplified courage, skill, and faithfulness. Polaris, the finest warrior ever until Peacock, and Hurst wondered who would win in hand-to-hand combat had they been pitted against each other in their prime.

  Hurst, himself, was a warrior. A Navy Seal, a double agent, he won respect and admiration. Herculeans, however, were super warriors—were, the word made him sick. Internal corruption defeated the United States. Still, he blamed himself.

  Polaris wheeled his chair over to where Hurst sat and unloaded a tray of food on to the desk next to Hurst’s armchair—coffee, toast and grape jelly, a hard-boiled egg on a plate, and sliced bananas with cream in a bowl.

  “Quit your pity party and eat,” Polaris said. “Didn’t you listen to the man yesterday? We’re all one big happy family now.”

  “Go suck an egg.”

  “Come on. Think about our situation for one moment. Pendleton could have had us killed. He didn’t. Think about what he’s accomplished. Every major military power in the world is under his command. Yet, what does he want to do? He cleans up the trash and removes guns and drugs off the streets.”

  Hurst stifled an objection. Polaris made sense. Most dictators in the annuals of history raided, raped, and plundered for self-gain. Pendleton possessed more gold than he knew what to do with, yet he abolished the world’s economy. “I suppose we should let some time pass and see what he does next.”

  “Well, he just arrived at the hotel for a meeting with his Defense Council. And then, he has a meeting with our team.” Polaris waved a hand and headed back into the kitchen for his own meal. “By the way, he’s bringing his mother.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Polaris held up a piece of paper. “This was shoved under the door this morning. The paper is official Global Realm stationary. How do you suppose uniforms, supply ships, and all the other miscellaneous came together?”

  “The man not only has the money, he has a capable worldwide staff.” Hurst groaned a sigh of defeat. “I guess we’d better get onboard before we drown.”

  #

  “How is Mrs. Pendleton?” General Giamo asked, as Pendleton took his seat at the round glass table in the Tanzfuss Suite.

  “I saw her briefly. Doctor Levi took that infernal contraption out of her head. She opened her eyes while I was there and smiled. I believe this is a good sign.” He waved a hand at Milton Rogers and said. “Give me an update.”

  “The natives are restless.” Rogers quipped.

  The individuals at the table laughed outright. Twelve in all, they and their staffs showed dark rims beneath their eyes, shirts wrinkled and sweaty from a night without sleep. Rogers rocked back on two chair legs. “I don’t know where to start. The whole world’s panicked and fearful, including Europe.”

  Rogers passed out a world map highlighted in different colors for different problems. “Let’s look at areas in red. These areas are where there is outright civil disobedience.”

  The map showed a predictable pattern. From Israel to Pakistan, chaos and confusion reigned. Rioting occurred in large American cities. Muslim areas in Africa exploded at first, but twelve missiles fired from Russian sites near Odessa put a quick end to the uprising. The rest of the world appeared calm, including North Korea, which seemed strange to Pendleton.

  “I’m surprised there isn’t more rebellion,” he said. “We expected the Arab world to be outraged. We expected the tribal warfare in Africa to take a while to put down. The rioting and looting in some cities is predictable. So what is the solution?”

  “We can do whatever you wish,” Rogers said. “Do you want a harsh hand or a soft one?”

  Pendleton didn’t hesitate. He pointed at his team. “Here are my orders. Unite the world armed forces. Attack and destroy those who oppose us, short of using nuclear weapons. If there are rebellions in cities, kill the rebels. If there are rebellions in whole nations, such as Iran, Pakistan, and others, use the same criterion. There are still several hundred unfired missiles circling the earth. Strike them hard and continue until all resistance ends.”

  Pendleton smiled. He’d read The Art of War. “That’s what Sun Tzu would do.”

  “Yes,” General Chui said with a gleam in his eye, “Precisely so.”

  “Give the world notice during today’s broadcast that rebels and looters will have one hour from the end of the broadcast to cease all rebellious behavior or suffer the consequences.”

  “Very well,” Rogers said. “Now to the blue areas, these are the areas of major food shortages. The difference between our outreach and those of the past has to do with middlemen. We’re delivering the nutrition directly into the hands of the populace and instructing them on how to ration their intake.”

  Nothing happening worldwide bothered Pendleton in the least. Yes, there had been mistakes. Latovsky in his greed jumped too early. He died for that error. The Russian army hadn’t advanced as far as Pendleton hoped. However, the missiles that hit targeted religious shrines sent the message. Israel signaled a willingness to transition to the Global Realm.

  Generals Chui and Sakharov gained Pendleton’s trust, but a cautious trust. The long history of deceit present in their countries made them suspect by association. However, they’d risked much for the cause and deserved the opportunity to contribute further.

  Thoughts of his wife distracted him as the conversation continued. He had faith in Levi and prayed to God Lovey would fully recover.

  #

  Anne Pendleton hated waiting. She suffered from what most of the world struggled with—no commercials, no soaps, and no place to buy a candy bar. The dinner hour started at five o’clock in Arthur’s suite. In Europe and the Americas, the majority of people would receive their meal at five—with a few variations, the same meal. Plus, her room smelled of lilac and she disliked the scent.

  She tuned in to one of two stations available, the former BBC, now called Western Realm Broadcasting. Pictures of Global Realm citizens working with trained environmentalists picking up trash, cleaning out alleyways, and transporting waste to recycling areas warmed her heart. If anything would unite people, working together for a single purpose would.

  Pictures from Darfur showed Global Realm personnel in the midst of the crowds opening nutrient drinks for the children, while joyous adults ate off plates and drank the nutrients provided out of the backs of trucks. Scenes like this poured in from several areas around the globe.

  Myanmar, Pakistan, and some other parts of Southeast Asia reported major acts of violence against Global Realm personnel. Realm personnel reacted with both missile and aircraft strikes and resisters dispersed. The collection of guns caused quite a stir in America, but Anne was growing used to the fact that the changes demanded were for the better. She liked her son a lot more because of the benefits she saw people receiving.

  A knock at her door summoned her. The nanny brought George in for his grandmum’s hug, and she opened the door to see Milton Rogers smiling at her. “You look first rate, my dear Anne.”

  She flushed. “Thank you, Milton. I hope I’m not under dressed.”

  “This occasion is totally informal. Our guests didn’t have time to bring any formal wear. And as you can see, I’m dressed for an evening of strolling, if you’re not busy later.”

  “Oh I’d love to see Zurich.”

  “Did you know Anne was my wife’s name?”

  “I thought you’d been married.”

  “Yes, thirty-five wonderful years, she died four years ago of breast cancer.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Arthur’s been a great support. He keeps me so busy I don’t have time to think about her.”

  Anne
took hold of Milton’s arm, and he led her away to dinner.

  #

  Pendleton straightened the collar on his black cotton shirt with the Global Realm emblem over the left breast pocket. A scene from the weapons’ confiscations going on worldwide played on the television in the background. The brightest political science minds from universities all over the global wrote, analyzed, and approved every word spoken to the world on the two major Global Realm networks. The Global Realm filled every hour with ongoing news. Instructions on the responsibilities of new citizens filled the airway during the six o’clock hour.

  If things went as Pendleton planned, tonight’s dinner would involve one of those historic events that change the world, but never are recorded in history books. The bell to his suite rang. Han Van Meer voice called out. “Where is his royal pain in the butt?”

  “I’m in the bedroom, ole boy.”

  “Don’t you look dapper. Bloody nice looking outfit, causal, yet so Global Realmish.”

  “This outfit, or one like it of a different color, will be standard dinner fare around the globe. Now let’s get down to business.”

  Van Meer raised his hand, his steel-blue eyes and sandy hair giving him the look of a Boy Scout. “We never talked about Thomas Reed, or Lytle, or Morgan, or Dunn, or the six or seven others of rank and importance who’ve died in your service, and let’s include Loomis, Claymore, and myself who’ve managed to live.”

  Not one person on this earth could talk to Pendleton like Van Meer did, save Lovey. “Reed’s death was Reed’s own doing. I didn’t order it.”

  “You threatened him. Loomis told me.”

  “Hans,” Pendleton sighed. “I’ve never interfered with any covert operation. I’m not to blame here.”

  “I know what you’re going to ask me to do.” Van Meer turned Pendleton around and stared straight at him. “I need you to promise me that I will have authority over Laverna Smythe Pendleton’s assignments. You are too bloody blind to be objective.”