Persecution: God's Other Children. Book 2

by Rob Mclean

“Well, you could do like I did and ask God for help,” she said with an overly sweet smile that contrasted with the underlying sarcasm.

  “But…” John stared at her. She responded by fluttering her eyes at him and smiling even wider.

  “Okay team leader,” he frowned, “for science.”

  John gave Jarred the ‘thumbs up’ and went to hold Angela’s hand, but she kept them firmly in her lap.

  “Okay,” Jarred announced, “Go.”

  Angela slipped back into her Zen-like praying mode in a practiced instant. John closed his eyes and tried to focus.

  ‘Dear God…’ he started, as if writing a formal letter, but stopped as he suddenly felt foolish. He had never really prayed before and didn’t know what to do. ‘Doesn’t she know that? Was she setting him up for failure? She has been short with me all day. What is her problem?’ The thoughts chased each other around his mind nipping at each other in a whirlwind of self-doubt. He knew that she wasn’t happy about being here and doing this experiment and was probably cross at him for stirring her about being wired up with needles, but couldn’t she take a joke? Probably not; only child syndrome.

  “Okay, time’s up,” Jarred announced.

  Judging by Jarred’s screwed up face and the deep lines etched across his forehead, he wasn’t happy with the results.

  “Well?” John asked. Does a bad result mean that he and Angela aren’t compatible? He saw that Angela was leaning forward, trying to look at Jarred’s laptop, curious about the results as well.

  “Not so good,” Jarred shrugged an apology, “Is everything okay with you two?”

  “Fine,” John said automatically.

  John saw Angela shake her head. “Have you met his boss?” She gave John a pointed look. He groaned.

  “No,” Jarred said as he pushed his mouse around, busy saving their results. “But from what I hear, she’s pretty…” He stopped when he looked up to see Angela’s dark expression.

  John stood behind Angela, drawing a finger across his throat.

  “…pretty, um… dedicated to her job.”

  “Is that right?” Angela turned suspiciously to John, who was suddenly busy examining a widget on Jarred’s bookshelf.

  “So, um, on a scale of one to ten,” Jarred winced as he asked, “how would you rate your relationship at the moment.”

  “Two,” Angela said without hesitation.

  John looked at her, aghast. “Two? Aw, come on, it’s gotta be at least a seven,” he pleaded.

  Angela said nothing. She just crossed her arms and frowned.

  “It’s Eloise, isn’t it?”

  “Well, that’s good,” Jarred said, still clicking away on his laptop. “If I factor this variable in, it could account for these outlier results.”

  Both John and Angela stared at him, but he just kept babbling, “Now that you have both seen the set-up, you won’t have to physically come in here anymore. You can visualise it from anywhere, the effect shouldn’t be diminished by distance.”

  He shot them a quick look. “Entanglement,” he said anticipating their unspoken question. “We just have to synchronise our phones and set up alerts to remind you when to try again.”

  John handed Jarred his phone for him to set up the reminders.

  “Do we have to do this again?” Angela frowned, but she too handed over her phone.

  “It’s just for a week and it only takes a couple of minutes,” Jarred said as he fiddled with their phones. “If you could text me afterwards with that score out of ten as well, that would be good.”

  Jarred beamed them a toothy smile. Now that he had an explanation for their unusual results, his theory might still be workable.

  “I can’t believe that Christie and Aaron would go for this sort of thing,” Angela said as she took her phone back.

  “Oh, they did really well,” Jarred nodded.

  “Not surprised,” John grumbled. “They’re all over each other.”

  “I’ll have to ask them what score they would have given themselves,” Jarred said as he picked up his phone and scrolled for their number. He was interrupted by a soft knock on his door.

  Jarred jumped up and glanced at the wall clock. “Oh, wow, she’s early.” He paced over to the door and opened it to let Josie in.

  She looked a bit shy or embarrassed and apologised for interrupting. She held a collection of folders tightly to her chest. “Hi boss,” she said to John with a little wave of her free hand.

  “We’re not working the night-clubs anymore on account of this alien thing,” John said, “so you don’t have to call me ‘boss’, okay?”

  “Okay Juan,” she gave him a wink, then saw Angela. “Hey, hello there, I’ve seen you before, no?”

  Before Angela could answer, John said, “That would have been at the Sportsman’s, the night the alien arrived.”

  Josie’s eyes narrowed as she tried to remember. “Hmmm, no sorry. It was a busy night.”

  “She was drugged that night,” Jarred put in helpfully, “and John-boy took her home.” Angela’s face reddened, but John just frowned at his annoying brother’s nick-name for him.

  “Oh, yes, I remember,” Josie nodded. “We all thought you were…”

  “Lucky,” John cut over her with a disapproving look.

  “Oh, yes,” Josie caught on. “That too. Are you together now?”

  John thought he’d like to hear the answer to that.

  “Yes,” Angela said. “And you? Are you and Jarred…”

  “No,” Jarred quickly answered before Josie could. “No, Josie is my negative control.”

  “Well, I’m sure she thinks so,” John said with a grin.

  “It is all very interesting though,” Josie said, tactfully evading the question. John wondered if there wasn’t more to it. “I don’t mind coming in here to help. If this could be shown to be a reliable predictor of a couple’s compatibility, you know, to see if they’re really in love or not, well,” she shrugged, “it could be an application worth millions.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Jarred nodded. Even John could see that Jarred had only just realised the practical and potentially lucrative benefits of his work. John saw his brother give Josie a look that he had rarely seen him give anyone; one of respect and awe.

  “Anyway,” Jarred said to John and Angela as he checked the wall clock again, “that’s pretty much all you need to do. Just remember to text me when you’re done.”

  Jarred held the door open as John and Angela exchanged questioning looks.

  “Later guys,” John said as he held Angela’s hand and led her out.

  “Nice to meet you Josie,” Angela called out and waved.

  Josie smiled and waved back.

  Once they were in the hallway and the door had closed behind them, John asked, “Do you think there’s something going on between those two?”

  Angela screwed up her face. “I hardly think so. He’s so not her type.” They walked a bit further before Angela asked, “Why do you ask? Do you think there is?”

  “It’s just that she didn’t need help finding Jarred’s lab.”

  “So?”

  “So she’s been there before.”

  “But didn’t he say that we could do it from home?”

  John gave her a big smile. “Exactly.”

  Chapter 17

  Over the next week, Angela dutifully did the meditation experiment that Jarred wanted every day.

  The score she gave their relationship improved over the course of the week, as her resentment towards John and his boss diminished. Once John had explained that his boss, Eloise only wanted him for the one task and that she didn’t want him around afterwards, Angela could see that even worldly John had been offended by that.

  Angela still found it incredible that the woman was so shameless and brazen with her request. In her mind, this Eloise was the total opposite to what a good Christian woman should be. Her devotion to her career and her rejection of family life was more foreign to her than the conce
pt of an alien visitor.

  At one level, Angela wondered if God hadn’t sent Eloise to tempt John or to show him how single-minded and selfish a purely worldly woman could be. Maybe, by contrast, John might come to view her own lifestyle more favourably and, in time, perhaps even lead him to faith. One could pray and hope. Maybe then their scores in Jarred’s silly experiments might improve.

  She did have to smile though; it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that their joint low score at the start was because she was annoyed with him on the day. She wondered if their scores had improved? And if John was right about his brother’s crush on Josie, then using her as some sort of background reading would really mess things up.

  Chelsea had rung on the Monday morning that Angela had been due to go back to work. Angela had been nervous enough about seeing her old friend again, and the early morning phone call didn’t help.

  “Don’t bother coming in this week.” Chelsea had said with the same tone as if she had stepped in dog poo. “Things have been slow for the last two weeks,” she added.

  “And after that?” Angela tried to keep the frustration from her voice.

  “Who knows?”

  “Look Chelsea, I’m sorry you’re feeling hurt…”

  “You could do us all a big favour,” Chelsea cut in, “and get yourself another job.”

  “You could write me a nice reference.”

  Chelsea had hung up at that.

  At least they were still paying for her time off, but it only confirmed that Chelsea still wasn’t ready to talk to her.

  Angela was determined to put her time off to good use. She was glad of the extra time she now had to spend with her father. If he was aware that she was upset about Chelsea, he kept it to himself. Her mother was more astute.

  “Don’t worry dear,” she had said. “When young Ezekiel comes to his senses, you’ll find that they’ll all welcome you back.”

  ‘But do I want them back?’ Angela wondered. Her mother spoke with such assurance. She was absolutely convinced that Zeke was the right one for her to spend the rest of her life with, despite his recent behaviour.

  Angela knew, on one level, that she could forgive Zeke for panicking at the nightclub. It was a crazy night and forgiving him was the Christian thing to do. From one point of view, it wasn’t really his fault that she had been drugged. If she hadn’t asked him to get the drugs for her father, none of it would have happened. He hadn’t actually drugged her and she didn’t really think that he would have ‘shared’ her with that horrid Blake boy.

  Still, Zeke should have stood by her and protected her, no matter what his own risk. John would never have left her there. She didn’t know John anywhere near as well as she knew Zeke, but she was certain of that much. That was the hardest thing to forgive. She didn’t see how her mother could overlook it so readily.

  Now she sat reading a novel with the cat on her lap and the television on. She wasn’t really listening to it; there was some debate about the referendum going on between some academics and politicians, but it helped keep her mind off Chelsea.

  From the kitchen, where Clarice was busy preparing lunch, Angela heard her mother gasp, “Oh my sweet Lord.”

  “What is it mom?” Angela suspected she had somehow spoiled the evening meal she was preparing, or burnt herself. She lifted the cat off her lap and got up to see if her mother needed any help.

  She then saw that the people on the television had stopped their debate. They were looking confused and bewildered, listening to things happening off-stage.

  Angela gave the television a passing puzzled frown as she hurried to the kitchen.

  Her mother came to the doorway. “On the radio,” she said, holding herself up against the doorway. Her eyes were red with grief and wide with revulsion. They glazed over and Angela could see that her mother’s mind was lost, busy grappling with something too difficult to comprehend.

  “What is it Mom?” Angela felt her heart quicken.

  Angela watched as her mother dragged her thoughts back to the present. Wild, fear-filled eyes met hers.

  “Someone’s shot the President.”

  Chapter 18

  John and Jarred had been eating pizza while watching the same programme as Angela.

  A panel comprised of scientists, politicians, thinkers and a selection of religious leaders fielded questions from a studio audience. A moderator tried to keep the show on schedule while trying to ensure all sides of the debate were heard.

  During the week, the alien envoy had announced that it would be giving out the theoretical knowledge for cold fusion technology. It was, of course, only available to the members of the new U.N.

  The liberal ‘thinker’ applauded it as a symbolic gesture of goodwill. It portended a bright future, one without energy shortages or resource wars.

  The scientist agreed that it was an exciting development, but pointed out that even if the technology was made available today, a fully functional cold-fusion reactor would still be many years, if not decades away from being reality. He also pointed out that the Chinese hadn’t been able to reverse engineer the hover-disc. Apparently there were materials and compounds in it that were as new and foreign to the Chinese scientists as Teflon would have been to a medieval alchemist. Similar advances in material sciences were likely to be needed before a cold-fusion reactor could actually be made. Until then it would remain just a schematic on a Chinese computer.

  The religious leader, a Rabbi from New Orleans, was cynical. “It’s all very well to promise us all these things; cold-fusion technology, a terra-formed planet light years away, but they are just that – promises designed to sway the vote in the coming referendum.” He turned to the politician, a ruddy faced Republican senator from Virginia to comment.

  “Promises or not,” the senator said, “The run on the stock market and the plummeting dollar are our current realities. Corporations and companies from the biggest, right down to the mom and pop investors, are taking their money out of our economy and investing in what they see as the future. The value of the Chinese Yuan has gone up astronomically ever since that space-ship parked itself over Beijing. That’s causing havoc with their exports, but they have the financial reserves to cope. We don’t. The sooner this referendum is over and we vote ourselves into the new U.N. the better.”

  “Referendum or not,” Jarred said with a mouthful of pepperoni, “the money has already voted.”

  It was then that the telecast was interrupted. Excited, urgent noises from the studio audience members could be heard. The moderator tried to maintain order. The panel of experts could be seen straining to hear what was being said amongst the audience. The moderator tried to hush the audience by waving them down with his arms, but the politician stopped him. “What is it?” he directed his question to a group of younger people huddled over their phones.

  The camera turned to the audience group. A lanky youth with a patchy beard and oversized glasses stood and pointed to his phone. “It says the President has been shot.”

  The audience erupted into a confusion of movement and shouts. People pulled out their own phones to confirm the news. Most appeared shocked and some cried.

  Jarred was busy typing on his laptop.

  “But why would someone do that?” John asked, echoing the question he could see being asked by the television audience.

  “She’s against the alien envoy’s proposal for a start,” Jarred said without looking up.

  “So you’re saying the alien had her shot?”

  “No, probably someone or some organisation that’s unhappy with her objections.”

  “Like who?”

  “Take your pick,” Jarred kept typing. “There’s almost any corporation you could name, any financial interest, and of course there’s our own military.”

  “Our military?” John echoed, but even as he said the words, he could see how they would be infuriated by missing out on the alien technology.

  “Basically, being a fundamentali
st Christian, she’s a roadblock to progress and she had to go. I guess they decided that they couldn’t wait until the next election.”

  On the television, they had crossed to a live feed from the site of the shooting. A grim faced reporter explained how the President had been attending an opening of a new stage show in Carnegie Hall, New York City. The President had stepped out of her limousine and had been acknowledging the crowd of onlookers before going into the venue, when a lone gunman pushed to the front of the crowd. He produced a handgun and proceeded to fire at the President.

  He was described as a Caucasian male, in his late forties. He was believed to be acting alone and had no associations with any terror organisations and none had claimed responsibility for this despicable act.

  Police and secret service agents shot and killed the assailant, but not before he was able to fire three shots into the President at close range.

  Footage taken from someone’s phone or camera, with the caption ‘amateur footage’ showed a shaky version. Taken from over the heads of the crowd, the footage showed a surge in the crowd almost directly opposite as the gunman pushed his way towards the front of the crowd. He could be heard shouting something about the Devil, as he produced a handgun. From behind the front row of bewildered onlookers, he took aim with both hands on the gun. While the people around him died under a hail of secret-service or police fire, he managed to get off three shots before the vision slipped away and blurred as the camera-person turned and fled.

  The coverage then switched to the network feed that had been covering the event. From a camera positioned closer to the door and on the same side as the assassin, John could see that the President had stopped to wave to the crowd. Her attention had then been drawn by a disruption in the crown on her left-hand side. She had turned to see what was going on when the first shot hit. Her golden evening gown erupted with blood and gore as the bullet passed through her upper chest. Her left arm flung outwards and she turned slightly to her left as she staggered on her high heels before the second bullet hit her in the left shoulder. She was spun around under the impact, and the third bullet missed the pair of agents who had belatedly thrown themselves into the line of fire. It hit her in the back as she fell to the ground.