Gabriel's Stand

by Jay B. Gaskill

  “Bill, he listens to you,” she said. “Can’t you talk him out of it?”

  John looked at Dornan, and held up his right hand. Everyone knew the look. The boss was now beyond the reach of argument.

  “Elisabeth, I’ve already drawn up all the paperwork. This will be your operation until I return. Edge. Vector. Everything. You have the full authority of the CEO and Chair of the Board.” John reached out his hand. “And if, God forbid, I don’t return, you’ll do just fine.”

  Elisabeth frowned a moment, tears welling, then took her father’s hand.

  Chapter 69

  While Gabriel was on his way to DC via Hawaii, traveling under an alias, the helicopter carrying John Owen noisily rose into the cloudless sky. John waved through the glass at his dwindling view of his daughter and grandson. Josh solemnly waved back; then the little man clutched his mother as the helicopter vanished behind clouds. Ken Wang stood near the hangar, a stolid presence, hands clasped behind his back, watching.

  First John would land at the Tongan airport in Nuki’alofa, then leave by private jet on the journey that would take him to a private airport near Brisbane, Australia, and then on to Seattle. The boss was nothing, if not stubborn. Once Dr. John Owen had determined to act, nothing could deter him. Within forty-eight hours, he would be in Seattle and events would be set in motion that no one could call back.

  Two days later, the whine of jet engines and the spray from wet pavement under rubber tires was captured by television cameras, followed by the metal-on-metal sound of a door sliding open. Dr. Owen’s jet, standing on the wet runway in a private Seattle airfield, gleamed red and gold in the sun. As soon as the stairway was deployed, John left the plane. He strode confidently ahead of his friend, Colonel Bill Dornan.

  Four government sedans were waiting on the tarmac, windshields steaming. Next to the cars stood a group of six men, all armed, all dressed in dark suits. One—speaking into a Com unit—looked up as Dr. Owen walked briskly toward him, breath smoking. John Owen’s blue eyes flicked from one man to the next, betraying nothing; the television cameras were tight on his face.

  “I am John Owen,” he said. “I take it you were expecting me.”

  Dr. John L. Owen was no longer a free man.

  BILLIONAIRE SURRENDERS TO FEDERAL AUTHORITIES IN SEATTLE: Arraignment Tomorrow

  Seattle, Washington. Former biotech billionaire, Dr. John Owen, reputedly still in active defiance of the Commission’s latest round of Retirement orders, surrendered to federal agents in Seattle at 1:45 P.M. Pacific Time. Facing charges that he and his employees were responsible for illegal shipments of proscribed antibiotics, Dr. Owen turned to waiting television cameras with a defiant ‘thumbs up’. A conviction on any single count could result in fifty years imprisonment and the confiscation of his entire fortune. Rumors of a plea bargain were hotly denied by Owen’s spokesman, Ken Wang.

  ——

  Snowfeather was still in her small Manhattan cell. Daily exercise was right after breakfast, her only outing. Her ten days in custody had begun to blur together. She remembered the hard face of the magistrate and the surprised look on the faces of Owen’s lawyers. “There is no bail on this matter, Counsel. This is now a Commission case.” Since that day, all visits from Roberto Kahn had been denied. She had no phone privileges.

  An hour or so had passed in complete silence following a cold breakfast. She had missed the exercise period. Then she heard footsteps. The cell door slid open. The jailer stood outlined in the open doorway. This was somebody new.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Your uncle has sent us a certified document from the White House.”

  “My uncle?”

  “A ‘John O. Hand.’ The papers were just delivered by his lawyers.”

  Snowfeather was met outside the precinct station by Roberto Kahn; her post-arraignment appearance, and all other court appearances, had been canceled. She was free once again, and Roberto was smiling broadly.

  After hugging him, she asked, “Can you confirm my suspicions about this benefactor? Who was he and what did he do?”

  “Well, I got this call from your family friend, Dr. John. We had a long conversation. Very smart guy. And he is very fond of you and your parents. He would be the very same benefactor…” Kahn said, smiling still more broadly, “…who somehow got you a presidential pardon, and has hired this car to take you to Central Park.”

  Snowfeather looked up into an unusually blue New York autumn sky, flashing a tiny, silent prayer, then she replied, “You know, Roberto, I really don’t have a minute to waste on recreation, even on this fine day. I’ve lost more than a week from this arrest. The bail keeps getting higher and higher; my time away, longer and longer.”

  “It was a pardon, Snowfeather. And a free pass to keep up what you’re doing. And who said anything about recreation? You have a scheduled appearance.”

  “Without a permit? In broad daylight?”

  “The permit was taken care of by Dr. Owen’s lawyers. You have an appearance in broad daylight.”

  “By the grace of the Lord.”

  “And your old family friend. Now, get in.” Roberto pointed to a large, silver limousine waiting at the curb.

  “Is that thing for us?”

  “It is…”

  “Am I dreaming?”

  “Not yet…”

  As they pulled into a clearing in the park where hundreds of people gathered, Snowfeather emerged from the car and was greeted by cheers and chants of, “Defy Commission Orders!”

  ——

  Several days later, Alice Canyon Hawke and Thurston Smith Senior, accompanied by Gabriel’s lanky relative, Walter High Tree, met Gabriel in the baggage claim area at Dulles airport. Moving with the flow of other passengers, Gabriel grinned broadly when he saw them. He dropped his carry-on and embraced his wife.

  “When did you get here?” he asked.

  “Only yesterday. Our favorite criminal, Snowfeather, has already made quite a stir. We’ve already opened our new home in Georgetown.”

  “Hey, Professor, or should I say jailbird,” Gabriel said, looking over Alice’s shoulder.

  Smith grinned back. “Not a jailbird any more. Good to see you safe, Gabriel. And I’ve also been in good hands.” Alice was crying and smiling at the same time. Thurston was also close to tears.

  “You’d think we have a guardian angel,” Thurston said.

  “An anonymous one,” High Tree said, smiling.

  Gabriel slapped Smith gently on the arm. “Our angel is paying a big price, my friend. We’d better make good use of it.”

  “Okay, guys,” Alice said, wiping her eyes. “Let’s get out of here before Gabriel starts crying.”

  Half an hour later, after dropping off High Tree to join Dornan, they were in a cab headed to a park near the safe house John’s people had arranged, when Alice handed Gabriel a press printout. “Our little girl is getting some great press.” Alice had that look. “This is three days old.”

  “What’s this?” Gabriel took the sheet in his hands. A few seconds passed. He whistled. “Son of a gun,” he said, gripping Alice’s hand.

  ——

  Max Cahoon. Manhattan. Reporting…

  “The urban legend of ‘Hawke,’ the underground preacher who repudiated her earlier life as a Gaia activist, took a quantum leap in notoriety today. Hawke, whose real name, Helen Snowfeather Lindstrom, now trumps her earlier prominence in the Earth Sisterhood, with a full presidential pardon. She is also the daughter of former Senator Gabriel Standing Bear Lindstrom.

  “Snowfeather was taken from the dark Manhattan street corners and secret meetings that were the hallmark of her underground ministry to a jail cell last month. While Snowfeather was being held in a Manhattan jail this morning a triumphant noon rally began to gather on her behalf in Central Park. Crowd estimates are 200,000 to 300,000.

  Once a major spokesperson for the Gaia restoration Movement, Snowfeather is a popu
lar and charismatic opponent. Fame has come swiftly for this former environmental radical who fell into obscurity shortly after…”

  ——

  This recording was automatically captured and filed with ten thousand other recordings, but would not be reviewed by any living person for months.

  “Owen is in our hands.”

  “We do get the news here, Louise. But I am constrained to remind you that, strictly speaking, Dr. Owen is in the hands of the authorities, not yours.”

  “True. But he was forced to leave his sanctuary. If necessary, we can kill him at any time.”

  “We don’t like this turn of events. Owen must not escape justice.”

  “The trial will result in the outcome we want and—”

  “And if you aren’t careful, you will make another martyr. Moreover, you have released Gabriel, his daughter, and the former Senator Smith. A trouble making combination. My God, what were you thinking?”

  “By controlling Owen, we control the Senate. Those cowards won’t dare challenge us. As long as only we can supply them with their precious medicines they will lick our feet.”

  “Yet you have two formerly powerful US Senators on the loose? Men you could not intimidate.”

  “Emphasis on former and loose. We can intimidate Snowfeather and still control Gabriel. If needed, we’ll use Gaia’s Kiss on all three.”

  “So we just have to trust your judgment then?”

  “In a word? Yes. You have trained me well, Baron. Did you forget who now controls Fowler’s fortune?”

  “I did train you well. But you may yet need me. You will keep in touch?”

  “As always.”

  “Very well, then.”

  ——

  The Directorate met in the same disemboweled Manhattan church where the meeting with Snowfeather had taken place. “Tan, we think you have given away far too much for one man’s surrender.” Gloris’s tone was brazen.

  Berker glared at Gloris. Do I have an insubordination problem here? “Do you really think so?” Berker spoke conversationally, but her eyes were cold. “Who agrees with Gloris?” There was an awkward silence. “Have we forgotten? G-A-N has John Owen’s hand.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Berker shook her head at Gloris and looked at the others. “And he has a new one.” K showed a flicker of amusement. “Didn’t you notice that during the coverage of his surrender? Dr. Owen has apparently grown a new hand.”

  “An abomination,” Gloris finally said.

  “Much more than that, Gloris. I have assigned a G-A-N liaison to the Department of Justice. This ‘abomination’ is a serious crime. We will end Dr. Owen’s influence for good.”

  “Can we trust the judge to do the right thing?” K asked.

  “An astute question. We do need insurance. We wouldn’t want a miscarriage of justice would we?”

  “Insurance?” Gloris asked.

  “I think that one of us will be attending the trial.” K quickly understood—an assassin was needed—and she nodded. Berker looked approvingly at the Sisterhood’s most seasoned killer. “Can you arrange an appearance?”

  “Of course,” K said. “After the killing of Bishop Gardiner I’ll need some help with my cover.”

  “You will be news photographer Karen Kanst. Your credentials will be real. Your appearance will be different. You will pretend to be sympathetic to Owen. I want you to meet and befriend a reporter.”

  “Who?”

  “Max Cahoon.”

  “We have already contacted his editor. Start growing out your hair, dear.”

  ——

  As Owen’s pretrial legal proceedings unfolded in Seattle, K moved to Virginia for her final preparations. It had been a necessity—and truthfully a relief—to drop out of all those boring meetings with the sisters. K was thirty eight years old. Her physical appearance had improved with each passing week. The Sisters were bald, under-exercised, and cultivated a drab, pasty look. Like mushrooms, she privately thought. K’s hair was coming in beautifully; and her body was lithe and back in shape. And K had begun to toy with the idea of herself as a professional assassin—her allegiance to Gaia would be a mere occupational bonus.

  It was an epiphany. Until her move, she still had deluded herself that she could simply live out her days in Gaia’s service, dying with the rest. She no longer deluded herself. She wasn’t doing this just for the love of Gaia. No, it was far simpler than that.

  K just loved her work.

  Having relocated to Seattle to assume the Karen Kanst alias, K was also beginning to admit to herself that her addiction to the exercise of terrorism was overtaking the cause itself. Somewhere along this path she had become a professional in the service of Gaia. And with the eyes of a professional, she had immediately noticed Berker’s carelessness in covering her tracks.

  Ideological overconfidence. Murder can always get you in trouble. Especially when you incapacitate a billionaire like Fowler. Clumsy of Berker. But that is not my problem.

  In private, K demanded cash up front from Berker for the Owen assassination. A full contract, even if the hit is not ultimately authorized. After all, expenses must be covered. She had joked that Fowler’s money should be put to good use. In fact, it was that very moment—the moment of payment—when K had arrived at her epiphany.

  It suddenly no longer mattered to her whether the Gaia Directorate ultimately succeeded or failed in its overall mission. It was in this new professional detachment K found strength. She had been a bit too clumsy when she killed Bishop Gardiner. Not nearly enough detachment.

  In her new Seattle apartment, K opened her newly acquired weapon case, humming a simple tune from her childhood. She pulled out the specially manufactured contents, recalling a distant joy of opening presents at Christmas.

  As a credentialed reporter, K would carry a standard MiniKam to court, a semi-autonomous, voice controlled, broadcast-grade video device, still licensed by the Commission to trusted media outlets. But this Mini-Kam was far from standard issue. Her newly delivered video camera hid a specially engineered compartment that exactly fit her weapon of choice, a 10 mm automatic. The firearm occupied the space that the camera’s zoom mechanism had needed. The gun was coupled with an auto-aim program that tracked the center of her video image, remembered it and would later seek and find any designated target. It was a point now, shoot later piece of illegal tech. Mere possession of this assassin’s tool was a major felony. But no compromise for Gaia’s cause is too great, when the end is justified. K would arrange to play with her new toy at a private range the next week.

  Her press credentials would be as genuine as the Mini-Kam was not. If the plan went ahead smoothly, she would file at least one report before killing John Owen, all while working with the unsuspecting Max Cahoon.

  K’s working assumption was that getting Berker’s formal kill-order was inevitable. No one could trust the judicial system.

  Because bullets always work better.

  ——

  As soon as all the technical details had been worked out, including maps of the courtroom and escape routes, K notified Berker, who then activated the pre-arranged contacts with the Times. It was time for K to have her first introductory meeting with Max Cahoon. She picked Cahoon’s favorite DC bar. He would never see it coming: a beautiful videographer was being assigned to assist him in Seattle. And all would go smoothly from there. With K, everything always went smoothly. As she carefully applied her signature red lipstick, she reviewed her plan, and realized that it would probably be necessary to kill Max Cahoon as well. He would hardly expect it. Could she wait until after Owen was dead?

  After a few moments of reflection, K realized that she would need to kill Cahoon just before she did in Owen. She would arrange a visit to Cahoon’s Seattle hotel room as soon as she got the green light for the Owen kill. The bio-toxin would not take effect for a couple of days. By Cahoon’s first symptoms, it would be too late.

  She regarded herself in the mi
rror, lightly pressing her lips together.

  Gaia’s Kiss? Not so much. Just an assassin’s prudence.

  Chapter 70

  With John’s contacts and money, and the grant of immunity, Gabriel was able to resume his webcasts using rented studio space no longer needed by Bates Communication. With Max Cahoon’s help, today’s videocast would reach the maximum possible audience; somewhere in the millions, and copies would be distributed for free across the country.

  “This is Gabriel Standing Bear. The video recording you are about to see is shocking. It is authentic. As you watch it, keep in mind that you will be a witness to the callous murder of a good man. This killing was directed by the same forces that are putting Dr. John Owen on trial for the crime of making life-saving medicines.”

  An elderly man appears on the screen, dressed in a white shirt and slacks, sitting at a desk. Below the man’s image, a crawl identifies him: New York’s popular Roman Catholic Bishop, Allan Gardiner, in his Manhattan Offices. (Verified Security Camera Footage, from NYPD)

  The video, taken from above, shows a slim, kind-faced man. He is facing a bony woman in her mid-thirties; her shaved head is partly hidden under a green beret. After some unintelligible conversation, she removes the beret, and takes a seat in front of his desk. Her image appears over a crawl that identifies her: The Gaia Operations Directorate representative identified only as ‘K’

  There is some low conversation, gradually escalating in volume; then the woman can clearly be heard shouting:

  “The Gaia Directorate is asking you, DIRECTING YOU to stop this…cleric.”

  The bishop replies softly, then, another shout from the woman, “ANSWER ME!”

  This is followed by an extended, low volume conversation.

  The camera is capturing the entire meeting between the mild, elderly bishop, and the angry woman. There is more conversation. After a time, the woman appears to lose it. She suddenly stands and shouts, “I’ve heard enough! We have asked you to stop this woman’s activities. We know you can. Her slander will not be allowed. Are you refusing my Director’s order?”