Proof Through the Night

by Lt. Colonel Toby Quirk

  Frances listened to the audio recording the Directorate’s background summary of Anna Stone. Andrew’s computer model of Doctor Stone’s future projected that she was to become an international leader of nontraditional healing methods. That projection puzzled Frances—how could a country chiropractor from a small town in Arkansas rise to a position of global influence? But the Directorate chose to trust the computer. So to protect America’s future they had to kill Anna Stone. The Directorate must neutralize every one of these quacks who would attempt to derail modern medicine, supported by modern pharmaceuticals, funded by global chemical producers, all generating billions for the financial security of the international community.

  Fifteen hundred miles away in the Eastern Time zone where the setting sun glimmered on the horizon, Gabriella Quartarone continued her watch over Frances O’Donnelly closing in on Anna Stone’s office. Whereas Frances was unsure of her purpose for meeting with Anna, Gabriella was absolutely certain. The old sage figured out that Frances’ mind had been placed under Andrew’s operational control.

  Gabriella closed her eyes, enabling her to “see” in the sky above the ocean something like a movie screen. On this evening, Gabriella observed the rays of energy emanating from Andrew’s seers in Team Foxtrot, all terminating on Frances as she drove up Highway 167 in North Little Rock. Gabriella knew without a doubt that Frances was being used by Andrew as a detection device to uncover the source of the power that had warned Anna to avoid his ambush. Andrew had all his systems set up so he could track the energy emanating from Gabriella through Anna linked to Frances and back to his computers. Once he tracked down the “fly in the ointment,” he would be able to eliminate Gabriella and her family at Cielavista.

  A curious blend of amusement and concentration brought a smile to Gabriella’s lips. The Spirit that engulfed Gabriella’s body had created the appropriate countermeasure in Gabriella’s heart, and it was flowing from there into her intellect. She was being instructed to take advantage of this opportunity to send Andrew and the Directorate on a wild goose chase.

  Gabriella’s heavenly video displayed all the screens in Andrew’s underground operations center. She watched Andrew as he watched Anna Stone log off her computer, turn off the coffee maker, and set it up to brew the next morning.

  Gabriella constructed a dummy energy-generating location in Cape Neddick, Maine, seventy miles north of her estate on the Massachusetts coast. The iron deposits in the granite cliff beneath her feet were connected directly to a thick vein of iron ore that travelled under a half mile of earth to a similar deposit in Neddick. Her wiry body trembled violently for several seconds as a lightning rod of spiritual power transmitted a flow of supernatural electricity to the dummy location. Once the connection was established, she could walk away and it would remain intact as a closed circuit, making Andrew and his delusional bosses think that her headquarters was located in Neddick, far enough away to keep her and her family safe.

  Having established the decoy generator, Gabriella turned her attention back to her heavenly theater showing the back of Andrew’s head as he watched in real time the video feed of Frances as she turned her rented Impala into the gravel driveway of Abundant Health Chiropractic.

  Gabriella made sure that Anna was equipped with a kinetic energy connection that emanated from the generator in Neddick. The old prophetess closed her eyes and concentrated on the spiritual events taking place on her cosmic movie screen. From the dummy location in Neddick, she sent rays of protection that settled on Anna’s mind and body. She had never before attempted such a complicated paranormal network. All she had to rely on was her trust in her God that He had arranged all this. She was an instrument in His hands.

  When Gabriella opened her eyes again, the sky over the North Atlantic had lost all traces of sunset. A thick carpet of clouds obscured even a glimmer of starlight, remanding the night to absolute blackness. Facing southeast, Gabriella saw nothing as if “nothing” had a substance. No shoreline, no ocean, no sky, no horizon, just the tangible essence of emptiness. With no visible reference points representing distance or time, Gabriella sensed the pleasure of infinite vastness. No limits. No boundaries. Eternity.

  Gabriella’s screen opened up through the blackness like a movie theater. She saw Frances open the door to Anna’s clinic and step into the waiting room. Her vision expanded from North Little Rock, Arkansas, to Andrew’s cave in the cliff over the Gasconade River in Missouri. Nearly invisible blue rays of power radiated from Neddick, Maine, through Anna to Frances who unknowingly was being used by Andrew as a receiver-transmitter. The video in the night sky over Magnolia, Massachusetts—seen only by Gabriella—showed a map of the region that included Arkansas and Missouri. The blue lines being transmitted from Frances straight up past the atmosphere to Directorate Satellite number 31, then three hundred miles due north to the receiver connected to Andrew’s computer on the second row in his ops center.

  Gabriella’s vision snapped quickly to a close-up of Andrew’s head as he shouted at the screen, “Gotcha, you fly in the ointment. You’re in Neddick, Maine.”

  Anna turned off the light in the kitchenette and walked down the hall into the waiting room. The spirit within her flexed its muscles when she discovered Frances O’Donnelly standing in her foyer. An inner warmth swarmed through Anna’s nervous system and spoke instructions to her consciousness from an unknown distance. Confidence, courage, strength, wisdom—all in quantities she had never seemed to possess—streamed into her heart and mind.

  “Hello,” Anna heard her own voice say. But the voice was more masculine, more commanding than it had ever been before. She wondered if her surprise showed on her face as she stepped toward the well-dressed, smart-looking woman in her waiting room. Anna offered her hand and Frances gripped it firmly.

  “Hello, Doctor,” Frances said, “I’m Sarah Perkins, in town on business, and I was hoping I could make an appointment with you. Air travel has really messed up my back.”

  Volumes of data streamed into Anna’s subconscious. In three seconds she knew: 1. the lady was lying, 2. the lady was dangerous, 3. the lady was extremely brilliant, 4. Anna was being protected, and 5. Anna was more powerful than this phony “Sarah.”

  “My dear Ms. Perkins.” Words radiated into Anna’s head and out her mouth, “Please sit down. Here, take this chair.” Anna sat next to her on the couch, an end table separating them. The gaze between the two women was like a track between two jousting knights charging at each other with lances leveled.

  Frances, an experienced jouster, searched for the white knight’s weak spot as she galloped toward her. Finding none, she decided to angle away from her adversary’s lance. “Thank you, Doctor.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, but the pain is excruciating.”

  Anna, now enjoying the surge of power in her spirit and sensing her advantage, said, “And I’m sorry that I can’t help you today, but I have an opening tomorrow at ten. Where are you staying?”

  “You know,” Frances said, “I drove directly here after my plane landed. My office in Hartford made all the arrangements for my trip here, and I’ll have to text them to see what hotel they booked me in.”

  “Hartford! My husband’s family is from Hartford. Where is your office, Sarah?” Anna asked, laying the trap for her foe. “Are you near the Sears building on Main Street?” she asked, knowing that there was never a Sears building in the city of Hartford, Connecticut.

  Without hesitation, Frances responded, “You know, I’ve only been assigned there for just over a month and I’m not that familiar with downtown. We’re in a small plaza on the west side. But enough about me. Ten o’clock sounds good. I’ll arrange my schedule tomorrow to come see you. Thank you very much.”

  Slippery and smart, thought Anna. “Okay, Sarah. Drink plenty of water tonight and let me give you an old-fashioned ice bag for your back.”

  She went to the supply closet and came back to the waiting room with a black and white checke
d ice bag.

  “Here, get some ice from the machine in your hotel, fill this bag two thirds full, add some water, and lie on your stomach and let this sit on your back.

  “Stand up,” Anna commanded.

  Frances obeyed the young chiropractor. She had not sensed that level of obeisance since she lived under her father’s command as a teenager. A wrestling match broke out in her mind between her own dominant self-possession and these strange feelings of girlish inferiority.

  She stood up as directed.

  Anna placed her left hand on Frances’ left shoulder and placed her right hand in the small of her back. She murmured comfort through her lips like a mother quieting an excited child. Moments ticked by. Her hand kindled warmth in Frances’ back. The corporate executive closed her eyes and groaned as the sweet, grace-filled power permeated her muscles and her spinal cord. Her mind relaxed.

  Hours later Frances woke up from a dreamless trance, reclined in the nearly-dark waiting room of Abundant Health. Alone. Her eyes were drawn to the flickering flame of a eucalyptus candle on the end table. Next to the candle was a brief note: “Sarah, you have received a wonderfully spiritual experience. You will be fine. Have a nice evening. Don’t forget the ice bag for your back. I look forward to treating you tomorrow at ten. Love and Peace, Anna.”

  Andrew drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk. As usual he was controlling a dozen murderous operations simultaneously across the nation. But tonight, having located the enemy’s headquarters, he concentrated his focus on that most urgent operation, letting his computers control the lower priorities. Andrew gave a name to the operation that would destroy the FLY IN THE OINTMENT: “Operation FITO.”

  After forty-five minutes of designing several courses of action for the destruction of the FITO’s headquarters, he paused to monitor the other operations.

  On screen number twelve, Andrew watched the recording of Frances entering Abundant Life. Anna Stone got in her car and drove away. Frances’ rented Impala sat by itself in the gravel parking lot between the office building and the street as the night grew dark in Arkansas. He was getting hungry but he was glued to his chair, wondering what happened to Frances.

  No matter. He got what he was after—the location of his enemy, now named FITO. His ingenious system of reverse tracking located the enemy’s position in the coastal town of Neddick, Maine.

  Eventually Andrew’s eye swept over to screen twelve showing Frances in the dark gravel parking lot gazing around for an unusually long time. She walked shakily to the car, squeezed the remote to unlock the door, and slid into the driver’s seat. He dialed her cell phone. It rang six times and went to voicemail.

  “What the heck happened to you, you dumb broad?” he shouted. “What were you doing in there? Why did she leave you in there alone? What the heck’s going on? You better call me now. Now.” He hung up knowing he wouldn’t hear from her.

  Gabriella had switched channels on her metaphysical screen when Anna laid her hand on Frances’ back and prayed for her. The ancient prophetess had other critical incidents to observe and others to protect, like Supreme Court Justice Allen Scales.

  She prayed, “You know, Father, I admit I was a bit skeptical about this business of bouncing energy streams off one lady to the next, but I trusted you. I rest in your grace, dear Father, knowing that Anna is in your control, and that you have directed the forces of the Directorate away from my home and my family.”

  Then she added, “At least for now.”

  Randal Sanford had made his way from Akebe Cheron’s yacht back to his home in Salem, Massachusetts–the Witch City. He was not used to being confused. But now he was. Sanford’s seers had the capacity to perceive spiritual and kinetic energy out to a range of over two-hundred miles. For two months his team had been receiving signals that a force field was emanating from somewhere on Boston’s north shore.

  But now Directorate Headquarters, DHQ, was ordering him to concentrate on Cape Neddick, Maine. Where the heck were they getting their intel?

  Randal called one of his operators, Firdos Gaffardi, and arranged to meet him at Coffee Time Bakery in Salem, “Home of the Real Cream Bismark,” at 5:30 a.m.. They were both insomniacs and Coffee Time opened at four, and offered the best quality and variety of pastries in greater Boston, maybe the world.

  Randal was passionate about the Real Cream Bismark. Randal, seated at a corner table with his favorite pastry poised in front of his open mouth, shoved it into his dumpsterlike stomach. He looked up as Firdos pushed open the glass door at Coffee Time and surveyed the clientele.

  “Hi,” Firdos greeted Randal.

  Randal harbored a respectful distain for Firdos, but restrained his anger at the young operator’s attempt to ruin Randal’s indulgent moment. The Executive knew that Firdos pursued a Spartan lifestyle. He also knew that Firdos was unaware that his thoughts and motives were all being programed by one obsessed computer geek in a cave in Missouri. Firdos had taken on the persona of an arrogant outsider who viewed American consumption with self-satisfying contempt. Randal had instructed the young recruit to bank three fourths of his now-substantial income from the Directorate. He told him to choose a modest one-bedroom apartment, a six-year-old Toyota Corolla, and a blue-collar wardrobe. Firdos’ only vice was smoking, which he justified because he felt smoking made him look more sinister.

  Randal, on the other hand, was addicted to all junk foods, television, heavy metal rock concerts, and vodka. Addicted equally to all four.

  “You having anything, Firdos?” muffled Randal through a mouthful of “real” whipped cream and sweet pastry.

  “I may indulge in a bottle of water,” Firdos said. “What are we here for, Randal, besides face-stuffing?”

  “You have to have one of these cream Bismarks. This is the only place on the planet that makes them with real whipped cream, and the pastry—it’s like a cream puff that dissolves on your tongue. A morsel of heaven in your mouth.”

  Flaky crumbs of the heavenly morsel were decorating Randal’s fleece vest and a ring of whipped cream surrounded his lips.

  Again, “What are we here for, Randal?” repeated Firdos, making no effort to conceal his impatience.

  “DHQ says we’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Imposs….” Impossible was the word Firdos tried to say. Randal observed the young man try to manage his anger and frustration, fully aware that Firdos’ words and the emotions were being controlled by one of Andrew’s algorithms half a continent away.

  Randal recognized the change in Firdos’ demeanor as the trigger word, “DHQ,” immobilized his cognitive abilities, rendering Firdos directionless and totally dependent on him. Randal tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin on his fleshy mouth.

  “They got some hard intel that our target is located on the Maine coast about an hour north of us on I-95,” Randal said.

  Firdos’ ability to be curious was failing him. “Okay, so what am I supposed to do, move up there?”

  “You got a problem with making a change in location, Firdos? You building a big career here in the Pizza delivery industry? Starting a family? Putting down roots? Joining the Rotary Club, the Country Club?” Randal carefully observed Firdos’ reaction to his scoffing. He could read no anger, no humiliation, not even a giggle. So the key word “DHQ” was still an effective prompt. Firdos was his marionette once again.

  “No, Firdos, you don’t move. You just have to commute to your new job in Neddick, Maine—nice beach town. We don’t want to have to go through the hassle of getting you a new driver’s license and filing taxes in a new state. You keep your lovely home here in Salem and you find a motel or a B&B or whatever’s up there and commute, understand?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Firdos Gaffardi never fit in. He blamed his perpetual state of exclusion on his new country, America. But if he were honest (a virtue he never completely grasped), he would have remembered that even in his native Iran, for sixteen years he never fit in there either.
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br />   He could not engage customers at STOP QUIK, his father’s convenience store in Lynn, Massachusetts. Firdos’ face always remained blank as he rang up the orders for coffee, candy, magazines, or cigarettes. His gaze would rest on their chests, not their eyes. He was too obtuse to pick up on the self-conscious fidgeting of the females when they felt him staring at their breasts. His father gave up on trying to coach Firdos into being more friendly to their customers. The young man simply did not fit in.

  “He keeps doing it, Dad,” Firdos’ older brother, Zahed, complained to their father.

  “Doing what?” the exasperated store proprietor asked.

  “The moron drives away customers. He’s like a robot, Dad. After he waits on them, they stare at him with this disgusted look on their faces and walk out all angry and disturbed.”

  “Firdos does all that?” asked the father, not wanting to waste his dwindling supply of energy on such a trivial matter. “How many times have I told you, son. You boys work for me as I worked for my father and as his father worked for his and on back into ancient Persia. Whether Firdos is suited for this work or not is irrelevant. Life’s not perfect, Zahed. Make the best of it.”

  Firdos’ unusually sharp mind and extraordinary powers of observation allowed him to describe every customer who entered the store in the exact order they arrived as far back as two weeks. He was like a human security camera, but no one else knew about the data in his head. And when the nice-smelling woman approached him as he left the store after his shift was done, he sensed a weird familiarity with her. She had been in the store eleven times over the last month. In the last week she only came to the store around Firdos’ quitting time.