by Lynn Sholes
XOCSSOV.MOLDAVID.echo.YORK.0022039
He leaned forward. Almost immediately, a second line appeared under the first, moving the original line up.
XOCSSOV.LANCAST.echo.ABBY.0022048
Before the second line could finish, a third appeared at the bottom and then a fourth. As each appeared, the previous lines moved up the screen. Then, like a floodgate opening, the lines came rushing in by the dozens, hundreds, and then thousands. The progress of a line appearing and pushing the previous text up became a blur.
Tor smiled.
“Rizben?”
“Yes,” Mace said.
“Welcome to Hades.”
blues
Lindsay tossed their belongings in the back of the van and took a last look at the Dos Palmas Motel before climbing in the driver’s seat.
“Are we coming back?” Tera asked, buckling up.
“I don’t know yet.” Lindsay started the engine and twisted around to watch as she backed out of the parking space.
“Then why are we taking all of our stuff?”
“Because we might not come back.”
“But you have the room key,” Tera said, pointing at the jangling key ring.
Lindsay checked both directions, then pulled out and headed north on U.S. 1, the Overseas Highway.
“You need to buckle up, too,” Tera said. “Are we spending the night in Miami?”
“Maybe,” Lindsay answered.
“Won’t they miss you at work tomorrow, if we do? You’ll get into trouble.”
Lindsay sighed with exasperation. “Yes, Tera, you’re right. Listen, here’s the deal. You said you wanted to go see this Devin Olsen boy, so that’s where we’re going. I don’t know what will happen after that. Maybe you know the answer, because I don’t.” She stared at her daughter. “You always seem to mysteriously know more about everything than you tell me, anyway.” She immediately regretted her words.
Tera turned away and stared out the side window.
They rode in silence for miles. Lindsay knew she was on edge and had snapped at Tera without real reason more than once that day. Tera was just being a kid, wondering what was going on. Lately, both of their lives had been so unpredictable. Tera simply wanted to find out what she could count on—what to anticipate in her immediate future. Who else would she ask but her mother? Children felt safe with routine and structure, two elements sorely missing from their lives.
Lindsay rubbed her forehead. Tera deserved better than her less-than-stellar parenting skills of late. She latched her seatbelt and then reached across the center console for Tera’s hand. “I’m sorry, Ladybug. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Want to stop at Shell World? You can pick out a pretty shell.”
Tera’s small face brightened.
_____
At Shell World, Tera spent nearly half an hour searching for just the right shell, finally choosing a conch. Tera said it was so beautiful, admiring its shiny gloss surface on the inside. The man at the register told her how conchs had been used long ago in the islands to announce weddings, and Tera had been intrigued. He took one from under the counter and blew through the man-made hole on the top, creating a most exotic bellowing horn sound. She told her mother that she loved it and wanted to carry the conch out in her hands—no bag.
Once they got back on the highway, Tera drew several sketches of her conch shell, but complained that she wasn’t happy with them because of the unsteadiness of the pencil in the moving van.
Almost two hours later U.S. 1 merged with Biscayne Boulevard in downtown Miami. With the radio blaring, Lindsay and Tera were singing the chorus of “You’re the One That I Want” along with Olivia Newton John and John Travolta. They were in the middle of belting out “Ooo, ooo, ooo,” when the CyberSys building appeared ahead on the left. Lindsay’s voice dropped off and questions rolled around in her head. What on earth was she going to say when they walked into the building? How would she explain why they had come?
The song ended with Tera gazing at her mother, her enthusiasm for singing also lost.
Lindsay parked the car in a nearby lot. “You know, they might not let us in,” she said, putting the keys in her purse. “Devin’s father doesn’t know us. Nobody does.” She brushed Tera’s hair back with her fingers. “I’m sure Devin’s daddy loves him just like I love you. And he just got Devin back from a bad experience. He’ll be cautious and protective of Devin, and want to keep him safe, like I want to protect you. He probably won’t understand why we’re here.” I don’t understand why we’re here. Lindsay leaned close to Tera. “And I’m not really sure, either, Ladybug.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell his daddy that Devin is like me.”
“What do you mean, sweetheart?”
“He’s blue.”
It took a moment for the word blue to register with Lindsay. “You mean Indigo? You believe Devin is an Indigo child? You think he has special gifts like you?”
Tera nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Devin is very special. Like me.”
Lindsay steepled her fingers and tapped them to her lips before speaking. “Devin is special, sweetie, but not in the same way you are. He has something called autism. It kind of makes him think different and feel things different.”
“Like me,” Tera said.
“No, not like you.”
“He doesn’t draw,” Tera said. “But he does other things.”
Lindsay wondered what it was that an autistic kid could do that Tera would think of as a special gift.
“Devin knows things like I do. He will remember when I picked you and when he picked his dad,” Tera said.
“What?”
“We all got to pick.”
Lindsay shook her head in confusion.
“We looked down and picked our moms and dads. I picked you and daddy. Devin picked his dad and his mom. All of the Indigos get to choose.”
“Tera, we talked once when you asked about babies—where they come from. Remember that? I told you how—”
“I don’t remember being a baby inside you. I don’t remember being one year old.”
“Of course you don’t. Nobody remembers when they were babies.”
“But I remember before I was a baby. I remember Devin and all the others and my sister—my twin—she was already here.”
Lindsay pressed her spine against the seat and leaned back, staring up at the sagging headliner. “You can’t go around talking like that, Tera. People will think you’re—”
“Devin won’t. He was there. There are a lot of us. He’ll remember.”
“Us?”
“Blues. You know, Indigos.”
Lindsay sat quietly. How in the hell was she going to walk up to Alan Olsen and tell him her daughter wants to talk to his son, recent kidnap victim, because they were someplace together before they were born? What the shit had she been thinking? Who’s the crazy one, Lindsay Jordan? Who drove all the way to Miami with such a bizarre notion?
“You’ll see, Momma. I promise. Please believe me. I know why they took Devin.”
“What do you mean?”
“They needed the numbers in Devin’s head.”
“Okay, look,” Lindsay said. “If Mr. Olsen agrees to see us, it’s probably better we don’t talk about the kidnapping or you knowing Devin before you were born and all that stuff. It might scare him away.” She swept a wisp of Tera’s hair from her face. “Just follow along with whatever I say. Do you understand?”
Tera nodded. “Okay.”
Lindsay unbuckled their seatbelts, then drew Tera into her arms and held her close, feeling herself slightly sway back and forth like she had done years ago while holding Tera when she was an infant. Lindsay breathed in the sweet bouquet of Tera’s hair and felt the softness of her daughter’s skin
against hers. She wished she could just absorb Tera, enfold her precious child and protect her from the world forever.
“I love you, baby,” Lindsay murmured. She finally released Tera and looked deep into her blue eyes. “Let’s go meet Devin’s dad.”
secrets
“Zilch,” Ted Casselman said. “You got nada.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Cotten said. She sat alone in one of the sales department’s office cubicles at the Washington SNN studios. Ted had made her promise to call him at home in New York as soon as she finished the interview with Miller. It was 12:30 AM.
“Then let me recap,” he said. “You arrange this elaborate confrontation with the National Security Advisor of the United States, bring in a dozen of my Washington staff to stage a fake birthday party—with me paying them overtime, I might add—utilize one of our remote trucks, call in a producer, tie up enough video gear to shoot Steven Spielberg’s next movie, and you come up with nothing but egg on your face.” He paused. “What part of that is not exactly true?”
“You’re exaggerating the facts. And I did come away with something. Miller told me he thinks he knows who planted the phone in his coat.”
“Of course he told you that, Cotten. It was getting late and he wanted to go home. He would have said he suspected the Easter Bunny if you’d have pressed him hard enough.”
“He said it was someone in the White House, in the Cabinet.” She heard Ted give out an exasperated breath.
“Look, I love you like my own daughter. I trust you explicitly. I’ve come to know that your instincts are like a razor. And I know your secrets—secrets that go beyond . . .”
She heard the faint scratching sound from the stubble as he rubbed his face, and pictured him sitting on the side of his bed in the dark, trying not to awaken his wife. Cotten hated so much to disappoint Ted.
“But this time,” he said, “you’re pissing in the tall grass with the big dogs. The friggin’ presidential cabinet, for Christ’s sake. Do you have any idea what kind of position you could be putting the network in if this thing goes south?”
“I understand there’s a lot at stake,” Cotten said.
“A lot at stake? Cotten, forget losing your job. Hell, how about me losing mine. What about the credibility of the network?” He paused again. “Sometimes, you tend to forget that there are a whole bunch of folks I have to answer to, and they have a whole bunch over them called the board of directors. And the board answers to the stock holders. And none of them give a flying fuck about your instincts or your . . . secrets. Remember that a reporter is only as good as her last story. Don’t you understand that?”
He stopped as if knowing it would be futile to try to reason with her. There was silence for a full minute. Then Ted said, “Miller gave you a name, didn’t he? Who does he suspect planted the phone?”
“I promised I wouldn’t reveal the name until he has some sort of concrete proof.”
“How can I give you any support if I don’t know what I’m dealing with here? Is it the cook or the president? And for that matter, why in God’s name would someone in the White House want to steal your cell phone, burn down a farm in Kentucky, and threaten your life? It just doesn’t make any sense, Cotten.”
“From what I’ve learned about Lindsay and her daughter, Tera, I think this goes way beyond the theft of a cell phone.”
“Fine, so rather than Watergate, now we got Loretto-gate. Come on, Cotten. How stupid does that sound?”
“I asked you to trust me with the Grail Conspiracy, and I was right, wasn’t I?”
She heard him grunt.
“I asked you to trust me when you agreed to the live London broadcast just before we opened the time capsule and found the crystal tablet. Remember how many lives that saved? I was right that time, too, wasn’t I?”
Another grunt followed by a heavy sigh.
“You said my instincts were second to none, right?”
Silence.
“That you know my secrets, my—”
“All right, already,” Ted said. “Enough. There’s no winning an argument with you. I never have, and I never will.” He paused as if in reflection. “And thinking back, I thank God that I didn’t win all our arguments. But this time, I need something to go on—some direction—something that will help me justify the expenses and time. Who does Miller suspect?”
Cotten listened to the sound fragments coming from throughout the building—the SNN graveyard shift. She heard a faint ringing of a phone, a distant conversation, someone’s radio playing soft jazz, a chuckle. But beyond the solace and calm, somewhere out in the night, the Fallen and the Nephilim were amassing their forces. All the signs pointed to yet another attempt to strike at the one thing God treasured most—his prized creation—man. They had tried it with the attempt to clone Christ and create the Anti-Christ. They had caused a global suicide epidemic that resulted in the deaths of thousands, perhaps millions. And now, they were raising their evil heads again. She knew it because one fact overshadowed all others. God had sent her a message—he had given her back her sister, Motnees—Tera. There could be only one reason—it would take them both to stop the Forces of Darkness. She had to find Tera before they did. As with any battle, there could be only one winner.
“Cotten? Are you there?” Ted asked. “What’s the name?”
“It’s the Secretary of Homeland Security,” she said. “Rizben Mace.”
the shell
Lindsay gripped Tera’s hand—her daughter’s palm was warm, but hers was clammy. They walked through the double plate-glass doors into the lobby of the twenty-story CyberSys building. Inlaid in the marble floor was the corporate logo with its blue thunderbolt.
“Look,” Tera said, pointing at the symbol. “Just like mine.”
Lindsay stared at the logo, then at her daughter, with a feeling that things were spiraling out of control.
They stopped in front of the security desk.
“We’d like to see Mr. Olsen,” Lindsay said.
“Do you have an appointment?” the Wackenhut guard asked.
“No,” Lindsay answered. “But it’s very important. It’s about his son.”
The guard’s countenance told Lindsay that he thought she was one of the many kooks who loitered about downtown Miami. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Lindsay Jordan.” She nodded to Tera. “This is my daughter, Tera.”
Without taking his glare off Lindsay, he picked up the phone and made a call, talking quietly into the receiver. Almost as soon as he hung up, several security officers, clad in the same white and green Wackenhut uniforms, appeared and marched toward her.
“Please,” Lindsay said, holding her hand up, anticipating that security was about to escort them out of the building or worse. “We mean no harm. I think we have some information Mr. Olsen would want to know. Please, just give us a minute to speak to him.”
“Excuse me, Miss,” a man in a navy blue suit said following behind the guards. He made his way to Lindsay.
She assumed he was not part of the security team, but rather a personal assistant or PR man for CyberSys.
“Mr. Olsen wishes everyone to know that he appreciates the outpouring of sympathy to his recent situation and is truly thankful for their support. But he is not seeing anyone at this time. I’m sure you can understand and respect his privacy.”
Lindsay squeezed Tera’s hand, knowing that this was doomed from the start—the meeting with Alan Olsen was not going to happen. “Of course,” she said. “It’s just that I believe Mr. Olsen will want to know what we have to tell him. It’s about the kidnapping of his son. If I can just speak to Mr. Olsen for a moment and explain.”
“I am certain that you mean well, but if you have any pertinent information, you should contact the FBI.” The man reached in his pocket and thumbed through his wallet. “Here,” he
said, holding out a card. “Call this number and ask for—”
“I have something for Devin,” Tera said, speaking up. “It’s a present.” She held out the conch shell.
“That’s very nice.” The man reached to take the shell. “I’ll be happy to see—”
But before he could take it, a commotion came from the direction of the elevators—stiff leather-soled shoes on the marble floor echoed throughout the lobby. A man holding the hand of a boy emerged from the elevator surrounded by a handful of uniformed guards. They marched across the lobby toward the front entrance.
Lindsay knew it had to be Alan Olsen and his son. One of the guards she had been speaking with took her arm and pulled her and Tera aside.
“Step this way, please,” he said.
Suddenly, Tera bolted toward the group and darted up to the boy before anyone could stop her.
Upon seeing the girl charge toward them, two of the guards attempted to block her, but Tera had already scooted her way between them to Devin.
The group halted as Tera reached out her hand to the boy. In it she held the conch shell. Everyone stood in silence as the boy broke into a broad smile.
Tera lifted the shell to Devin’s ear.
Lindsay pulled away from the guards and ran to her daughter’s side. A calm fell over the lobby as each person stood rooted in place, mesmerized by what was happening as Devin listened to the sound of the shell.
He cupped his hand over Tera’s, pressing the shell closer.
Then Tera whispered, “Hi, Devin, remember me?”
Devin’s face brightened. In a small voice, he said, “Hello, Motnees.”
ball lightning
Cotten left John at the Vatican Embassy so he could catch up on the latest Venatori intelligence briefings. It started to rain, and she heard distant thunder as she headed up Wisconsin Avenue and turned east on O Street in Georgetown. National Security Advisor Philip Miller had given her directions to his two-story townhouse, saying he had the proof she needed to confront Rizben Mace.