Carlene knew Firdos and his squad had no chance of survival. She looked over at him the same way that a farmer would look at the next pig to slaughter.
Carlene had come a long way under the tutelage of Romano Goldstein. He taught her how to steel her mind against all emotions for the good of the Directorate’s cause and the future of America. She learned how to use all the psychological tools the doctor had given her: subterfuge, false encouragement, phony affection, threats, guilt and many more, with one purpose—to mold her seers and operators into killing machines.
“Okay, Firdos, take a nap. We’ll be on the road for a while yet.”
The young Iranian closed his eyes and slept for the last time.
Sandy selected three young athletes to run messages from her ledge to the command post on the cliff. In Cielavista’s mansion, she helped them pack backpacks for the long, boring hours they would spend out there on the rocky neck. In Althea’s pack she jammed a down-filled sleeping bag. On the top of Sam’s pack she strapped a small nylon tent.
Sandy took Brian aside and showed him the Beretta nine-millimeter pistol. “You know how to use this, right, Brian?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m one of Commander Roberto’s best marksmen.”
“Right, that’s what I heard. Here’s the holster and the magazine pouch.” The fourteen-year-old was almost as tall as Sandy. She looked into Brian’s eyes. He nodded, pulled off his belt, and attached the weapon and extra magazines.
Then Sandy heard something in the parlor. This sound was important—not sure why, but she just had to investigate.
“What is that?” Sandy asked Althea.
“My silly cousin trying to play the guitar,” said Althea.
Sandy walked into the parlor where Frederick was sitting with a guitar across his lap, and one of his granddaughters was struggling as she tried to stretch her little fingers to the right position on the fretboard of her guitar. When she strummed, a strange combination of notes vibrated from the sound hole. Frederick reached over and placed her fingertips where they were supposed to go and she strummed a pleasant, familiar chord.
“Frederick, who is this little musician?” said Sandy.
“This is Ramona,” said Frederick. “She and her mother came back to Cielavista to get Ramona’s guitar. She forgot it. They tell me she’s one of my granddaughters, but I think she’s a freeloader that walked in off the street.”
The little one gave her grandfather a kick.
Sandy squatted down and smiled at Ramona. “Frederick, the weird-sounding chord Ramona strummed. What was that?”
“It was a mistake, Sandy,” said Frederick. “The heavy metal rockers use it a lot. In music theory it’s called a discordant. Kind of a spooky, scary sound, huh?”
“So,” said Sandy, “would you play it?”
When he strummed the strings, an unpleasant, disharmonious combination of notes came out.
“Then when I drop the E on the fourth string down to a D#, it gets even weirder,” and he strummed that combination of E-D#-A#-B.
“Kinda leaves you hanging,” said Frederick. Ramona put her little hands over her ears.
“Downright ugly, I’d say,” said Sandy. “Okay, thanks. Sorry for the interruption, Ramona. So long.”
Sandy turned to Brian, Sam, and Althea and said, “Let’s go, my intrepid messengers, we have work to do out on the ledges.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
When Sandy and her three young runners reached the ledge, they looked down at the crevice that would separate them from Sandy’s prophecy post. Waves crashed through the rocky chasm, shooting up jets of white spray dowsing the youngsters with saltwater.
“Set up your tent back over there, troopers,” said Sandy. “You have to be within earshot of me at all times. Your mission here is crucial to our victory in this battle.” She was impressed with the young soldiers’ demeanor as they stood, heads up and attentive in the early morning wind and spray.
“Set up a watch rotation. I suggest you rotate every hour, two at the most. When I receive a message for the battle commanders, I will jump across and dictate it to whichever one of you is on watch. You will write it down in your notebook and run it up to the command post. Got it?”
All three nodded.
“Okay, now I want all of you to take three practice runs up the rocks to that spot on the heights. Put your packs down.” They set their backpacks down, away from the mist spurting up from the crevice, and got ready to climb.
“Now, troopers, listen to me. Safety is more important than speed. Climb quickly and carefully. Ready?”
Brian, Sam, and Althea looked up the cliff and studied the course they would climb from rock to rock. They each looked to Sandy and gave her a sober nod.
“Go ahead,” Sandy said softly.
Brian took the lead. They bounded from rock to ledge, scrambled over the slippery, wet stones, and on the final climb up the steep slope to the top of the cliff, they found handholds and footholds. At the lip of the rock they pulled their upper bodies over and rolled up to the top. They turned around and saluted Sandy.
They chose a different way down, making use of the stairlike path that Gabriella and Sandy used. They leaped down like mountain goats. Twice more, the runners practiced their run. Sandy was amazed that none of them was out of breath. The vitality of youth, she thought.
As they pitched their tent and planned their watch schedule, Sandy took her leap over the crevice. The three young soldiers watched her jump. They looked at each other.
“Not sure how she did that,” said Sam, “but I’m glad we don’t have to make that jump.”
The first hint of sunlight seeped through the fog and drizzle. The orange-grey granite ledge was slick with a layer of rain and seawater. Sandy sailed over the chasm to her three messengers. They were squatting by the gas stove warming a pot of instant coffee.
“You’re up first, right, Althea?” said Sandy.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where’s your notebook?” Sandy said sternly.
As Althea dug her small spiral notebook and pen out of her pack, Sandy said, “You all need to be ready for me,” Sandy instructed the runners.
“When I have a word for my commanders, every second counts. I never want to have to wait for any of you again, you understand?”
The three were all standing at attention. “Yes, ma’am.”
Althea took down Sandy’s message. “This goes to Commander Carlos,” said Sandy.
Althea ran up the cliff and gave the note to Carlos in the command post in the barn. The room was a flurry of orderly activity. Carlos took the note, read it, and called to his wife.
“This is urgent, Yolanda,” Carlos said. “Please take care of it right now.”
Yolanda read the note aloud, “Purchase one hundred harmonicas in the key of C. Distribute them to all battle commanders and have them issue one to each warrior. At my command they will blow them.”
Yolanda gave Carlos a quick skeptical look, and he just said, “Now, dear.”
In the sky over Cielavista, Michael held a war council with his angelic host.
“Joseph and Thomas, I commend you for your actions at the Directorate’s meeting at the Canyon Ranch. It’s good to have you back in your spiritual form again. Those human bodies get cumbersome, don’t they?”
“Yes,” said Thomas, “but sometimes it’s fun to put them on. Keeps you in touch with how difficult it is to operate in the flesh.”
“Right,” said Michael. “Now we have a split mission over the next thirty-six hours.
“This demon-possessed Directorate army will attack our earthly allies at midnight on All Hallows Eve. Satan’s forces are aligned as usual, with their rulers at the top of the food chain, authorities having command over battalions, and their subordinate companies divided up between the spiritual forces in the heavens and the dark powers down on the world plane. Nothing new there.
“A demonic battalion will take charge of the Black Mass in Sa
lem, scheduled for Midnight to 3:00 a.m. October thirty-first.
“A second battalion of dark world powers has possessed the barbarian monsters in the Directorate’s attack force.
“So our primary target for the first three hours of the battle will be the demons in Salem. They will want to slip over to Cielavista and join forces with the hellions in the battle against Task Force Saber. We have to stop them.
“Thomas and Joe, you take four fighters to assist Task Force Saber. I will command the main body against the demoniacs in the skies over Salem. We will remain in that battle until well after daylight. At some point, my team will break off from the satanic worship in Salem and redeploy in support of your force, Thomas.
“Tobias, you stick with Henry and Beto in the boat. They will be critical in the extraction phase of Task Force Saber’s battle plan.”
When Michael was done, all the angelic warriors waited in silence. A voice like the sound of tons of water cascading over a towering waterfall boomed from all directions around them. “Bring me another victory.”
“That’s it for the bluefin,” said Beto. “We only get one each.”
“How about pollack and haddock? We got a bunch of those,” said Henry.
“No limit,” said Beto, holding the bluefin tuna on their measuring tape. “Fifty-two inches,” he said.
“Nice,” said Henry, wiping the mist off his face with his blue bandana.
“Gloomy grey,” he said, searching for the horizon.
“I know,” said Beto. “We got about a quarter mile visibility. Where are we, anyway?”
Henry went to the helm and checked the radar and the GPS. “We’re five and a half miles due east of Marblehead,” he said.
“Why don’t we just head in to Marblehead? We could have lunch there at the Landing,” said Beto.
“What, you don’t like my cooking?” said Henry.
“Can you do fried Ipswich clams, lobster bisque, and an Irish espresso?”
“Twisted my arm, Beto. Pull in the lines. I’m getting depressed out here in this dreary soup, anyway.”
As they approached Marblehead Neck, Beto pointed at the blurry horizon. The windshield wipers swatted away the film. “What the heck is that?”
“Same weird, dark weather pattern we saw yesterday,” said Henry.
Henry strained his eyes through the murky clouds over the Massachusetts coast. His gut churned as he watched the shimmering mass of black air erupt with short bursts of blue lightning. Henry consulted his GPS and expanded the range of the image.
“That thing is hanging over Salem,” Henry said.
“That ain’t normal,” said Beto. “That’s demonic activity for sure.”
As they pulled into Marblehead Harbor and eased into the slip by the Landing Restaurant, Henry noticed the mask of concern on Beto’s face.
After they secured the trawler to the slip, Henry said, “Hey, brother, let’s go below and have a few minutes of prayer. How about it?”
Squad leader Alexandrea Santiago stopped her golf cart behind Antonio and Jacob’s foxhole on Cielavista’s perimeter. The infantrymen had constructed their fighting position according to the instructions in the Ranger Handbook, giving them fields of fire to their front in a 180-degree fan. They were concealed and covered overhead with a thick earthen roof. Alexandrea had to low-crawl on her belly to deliver the two lunch boxes to her warriors.
She stuck her head into the back of the foxhole and said, “Hey, heroes, lunchtime.”
She watched her squad members open the boxes, take out the sandwiches, and pull out the little plastic box underneath. Jacob opened his up and waved the silver harmonica back at Alexandrea. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. Antonio pulled his harmonica out of his lunch box and blew into it. The same sound was coming from the fighting positions to his left and right. He shrugged and raised his eyebrows at his squad leader.
“Don’t ask me, but keep them handy. That’s all I know. When I give you the order, blow into them.”
Jacob said, “Like the Israelites blowing the trumpets at Jericho?”
“You got me,” said Alexandrea. “How many rounds of ammo you got?”
Each man had an M249 SAW light machine gun, an M4 Carbine, and a Beretta nine-millimeter sidearm. “We each have two thousand rounds for the SAWs. Our M4’s have a hundred and twenty rounds, four thirty-round mags each.”
“Right,” said Alexandrea. “Well, eat up and keep those harmonicas handy. You know where I am if you need me.” She crawled back to her golf cart and motored to her next pair of fighters on the perimeter.
Frances O’Donnelly sat between Romano Goldstein and Andrew Johansen in the mobile operations center in the extended Mercedes Sprinter Van outfitted with three disk antennas, an external generator, and enough electronic equipment in the cabin to rival a field marshal’s command post in modern warfare.
On one HD screen, Frances observed the troop positions of their enemy, FITO, in their location on the coast near Magnolia, Massachusetts. On two other screens she viewed her troops moving into their attack positions in the woods and fields across the narrow road from the estate listed on their map as Cielavista.
She was unaware of the permanent sneer on her lips. Her eyes flicked back and forth from screen to screen and to the rapid keystroking of Andrew’s fingers. Her mind was quickly absorbing every detail of her army’s movements.
“Andrew, when we get done with this attack would you do me a small favor?” Romano said.
“I doubt it,” Andrew said. “What?”
“You really need to take a long shower and change those filthy clothes. The odor coming off your body sickens me.”
“Why don’t you just get out of my van?” Andrew said.
Romano Goldstein said, “Andrew, behave.”
Andrew’s head and shoulders shivered and blinked away the tears that welled up in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Doctor Goldstein, for being disrespectful. I will definitely bathe and put on new clothes as soon as we have won this battle.”
Frances looked from Romano to Andrew and back. Romano had obviously found a way to hypnotize their operations officer.
“I’m surprised that we haven’t encountered enemy skirmishers or scouts. Some of our units are less than a mile from their perimeter. I expected some initial resistance at this point,” said Frances.
“They can’t see us,” said Romano.
“All units in place,” said Andrew.
“Can’t see us?” said Frances. “These people see activity thousands of miles away. Why can’t they see us, so close to their home base?”
“Andrew and I have synthesized two rather remarkable technologies that will revolutionize the way the Directorate does business. We have made ourselves invisible.”
“Really.” Frances glared at Goldstein’s air of superiority.
“For some years now I have been experimenting with the science of dissonant musical theory to resonate forcefields of vibrating ions. Andrew here has discovered that he can magnify this vibrating ionic field in such a way to create a cloud of energy around our forces that renders us invisible.”
“So that’s why we hum,” said Frances through her sneer.
Frances’ hand thrust upward and grasped Romano’s throat, shutting off his windpipe in a powerful grip. “Never do anything like that without my permission, Goldstein, do you hear me? I am the chairman of this Directorate. Nothing happens in this organization without my knowledge.”
Doctor Goldstein’s face turned blue. He passed out and fell from Frances’ grip.
“That goes for you too, you filthy swine,” and she drew her pistol and whacked Andrew across the back of his skull, opening a wide cut beneath his greasy hair. He fell forward onto the console in front of him and grabbed the painful wound on his head. Blood seeped through his fingers.
“Get something to stop that mess,” Frances said. “And get this garbage up off my floor. I just relieved Goldstein of command. I’m in command now.”
Andrew’s mouth hung open, pain in his eyes. “What has happened to you?”
“Do what you’re told, maggot.”
Frances’ body swelled with an infusion of fiendish power. Her arm muscles swelled and her shoulders broadened, straining the seams of her uniform shirt. She took Andrew’s seat at the keyboard while Andrew looked for a rag to bandage his head wound.
At 1:00 p.m. her attack force was in place, waiting for the bell at St. James Church to toll midnight of All Hallows Eve.
At the famous Landing Restaurant in Marblehead, Henry and Beto were polishing off a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
“We’re not far from Cielavista, amigo. What do you think? Wanna give these fish a rest?” Roberto said.
Henry had not shaved in four days. Little flecks of lunch decorated his salt-and-pepper stubble. “This little fishing trip has been good for me, my friend.”
“Yeah, I think you’ve loosened up a bit, Henry. You know, you haven’t flown off the handle for several days, now. Maybe you can even put up with those two crazy women who never know what’s coming next.”
“Right now, Beto, all I want is to lie down on my berth in the Water Walker and let her rock me to sleep.”
“Then what, Henry?”
“Then we’ll surprise my dear wife with a sailor’s homecoming.”
When Henry woke up it was dark and cold. He rolled out of his berth and prepared to shove off from Marblehead Harbor to Cielavista. He took a shower in the head, put on warm dry clothes, and looked in the mirror. He decided to keep his scraggly stubble.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Sandy found comfort with Carlos’ standing next to her on the granite outcropping below Cielavista. The runners had carried kindling and logs down from the cliff top, and they were sitting around a nice low fire.
“You know,” said Carlos, “when the night is flat black like this, you can’t see anything. No horizon, no sky, no sea, no nada. These invisible nights deepen the silence.”
“Hmm,” said Sandy, looking out at the nothingness. A huge, infinite nothing. Not the claustrophobic darkness of a cave, but a sacred void without dimensions.
Proof Through the Night Page 23