P B Obeng

by Vigil (pdf)

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  that realization that I decided to change my last name from Sorrell to Fighting Bull. Not because I’m ashamed of my family name but because I am proud to represent the Blackfeet nation wherever I go. Thanks so much.”

  She departs from the dais and takes her seat with her parents, as once more the auditorium is filled with applause.

  * * *

  Sunday Worship Service

  Mount Zion Baptist Church

  Fairfax, Virginia

  Mount Zion’s senior pastor Rodney Vines, a stout sixty-three year old man, has served his congregation for close to three decades. During his tenure he’s been a witness to countless historical events, but he could never have imagined that one of his own congregants would be touted as one of the most powerful men in America. After concluding the day’s sermon, Pastor Vines wastes no time in inviting his parishioner and good friend Terrell Morrison up to the podium to speak.

  “I know we’ve been here a long time. Service tends to go over

  sometimes, and I apologize for that. But if you’d all show up on time instead of thirty minutes after the start of service, maybe we could get out at a halfway decent time.”

  A chorus of “Amens” and “Say it, Pastor” reverberates among the congregation.

  Pastor Vines continues, “Instead y’all are having intense fellowship with Sister Sheets and Pastor Pillow.”

  The congregation breaks into laughter, mostly due to the fact that 68

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  there is an element of truth to what he is saying.

  “In all seriousness though, before we end service, I would like to have Brother Terrell Morrison come up and speak a few words.”

  Vines turns to Morrison, who is seated behind him. Morrison

  buttons the top two buttons of his sport coat as he walks to the podium.

  The pastor gives him a big embrace before taking his seat. Morrison removes the Bible tucked in his armpit and places it on the podium stand, then takes the wireless microphone off from its stand and begins to speak.

  “Pastor Vines, thanks so much. Now, if everyone could turn with me to Luke 16 verse 10…”

  Members of the congregation turn to the stated verse. The shuffling of pages and beeping of mobile devices are clearly heard throughout the sanctuary. Morrison begins to read.

  “‘Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much. So if you have not been trustworthy in handling worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches?’ Amen.”

  The congregation answers with a resounding, “Amen.”

  “As you can tell from that last verse, I want to talk about stewardship.

  I’m not talking just about money—although I know Pastor Vines

  wouldn’t mind me reminding you all to pay your tithes,” Morrison jokes as he turns to look back at Pastor Vines.

  Vines in turn points and smiles at Morrison as if to say, “You got it.”

  “But, we have to be faithful with what God’s given us in terms of our time, talents, and abilities. As you all know, I’m a member of Vigil, and God has blessed me with incredible abilities. Although I use these special abilities to serve my country, my ultimate allegiance is and should be to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”

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  Members of the congregation rise up with applause and shouts of

  “Amen” and “Say it!”

  “So I pray that the Lord can use me and these powers he’s blessed me with to help those in need and to let His glory shine. My point is this: whatever you have to give, give it freely, because the gifts we have are from the Lord and not birthed within ourselves. Just as I have been given stewardship of these special abilities, God has also granted each and every one of you stewardship over something in your lives. Therefore, I encourage you to seek God’s direction in how you would use the gifts He’s given you to glorify Him every day in every way.”

  * * *

  Larry King Special

  CNN Headquarters

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Not too often does a journalistic titan come out of retirement to do a special piece on an individual, but this case is different. On this occasion, Larry King takes the time to interview Captain Alicia Conrad. The venerable King sits facing Conrad in what is intended to be a relaxed atmosphere. The show is about to begin and last-minute makeup prep is applied to both King and Conrad. The producer, a lanky man with thinning hair, starts the countdown to the beginning of the show.

  “We are live in… five, four, three, two, one…” The producer points his index finger at King.

  “Good evening. Tonight we have an exclusive interview with our

  guest, Captain Alicia Conrad. Captain Conrad is the leader of Vigil, the US superhuman defense initiative, as well as the daughter of former 70

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  Assistant Joint Chiefs of Staff and acclaimed military strategist, John Conrad. Captain, thanks for joining us today.”

  “It’s great to be here,” Conrad replies.

  “First off, I want to bring up the issue of the rise of the superhuman.”

  “‘Rise of the Superhuman’? That sounds like the title of a bad sci-fi movie,” Conrad jokes.

  King chuckles briefly before continuing.

  “All kidding aside, we’ve seen a steady increase in their numbers worldwide since the mid to late 1960s. With the steady rise in the superhuman population and the potential hazards they pose, do you see this as the reason behind the formation of Vigil?”

  “I’m not a politician, Larry, I’m a soldier. My duty and focus is to protect the United States and her citizens. Part of that duty is to lead a group of highly talented and powerful professionals. Our collective goal is to keep this nation safe from threats both human and superhuman.”

  “Fair enough,” King replies, not at all satisfied with her answer.

  “Now let’s look at it from another angle. Although the superhuman population is growing at a steady rate globally, their numbers amount to about 1 percent of the worldwide population. Given this statistic, do you think that superhumans as a whole represent a credible threat?”

  “I look at the formation of this team as a pre-emptive act,” Conrad states firmly. “Instead of having a reactionary response, as we’ve had in the past, I believe our government chose the more prudent course by creating Vigil.”

  “Coming from someone who claims not to be a politician,” King

  kids, “that sounded like a political punch line to me.”

  “What can I say? I grew up in Washington, and the stuff kind of rubs off on you,” Conrad says.

  King shuffles the papers in front of him and pushes his glasses back 71

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  onto the bridge of his nose. “I want to shift gears here and talk about your father.”

  “OK,” Conrad responds, with a tinge of uneasiness. The topic of her father has always been a sore subject for her. In many ways, she feels as if she is constantly being viewed through the lens of his life and legacy.

  “He was one of the most brilliant military minds of this modern era,” King says. “He helped David Petraeus shape his counterinsurgency stratagem. Also, he was one of the youngest Assistant Joint Chiefs of Staff. Not to mention, he helped form the security firm CoBALT along with Harold Baltimore. Do you ever feel like you have a lot to live up to?”

  “No, I don’t,” Conrad replies succinctly.

  “OK, I know with the unfortunate passing of your parents a while back you’ve assumed a heavy load of responsibility. Not only have you had to maintain your military career, but you’ve also had to take care of your siblings at a very young age. Does the strain of this balancing act get to be too much?”

  This line of questioning is wholly unexpected. The show’s producers submitted pre-selected questions prior to the taping, so as to eliminate any surpris
es. Mendoza’s staff was also responsible for screening the questions, but apparently they did not do a thorough job.

  “Larry, I’d rather not comment on my personal life. If we could stick to talking about Vigil, I would appreciate that.”

  “Yes, yes, I apologize.” King turns to his left, picks up copies of Time, Newsweek, Essence and Rol ing Stone from his desk and reads the cover captions in that order.

  “‘Vigil: The Super Team of Tomorrow’; ‘The Face of the Post-Human race’; ‘Captain Conrad: How she keeps her cool with the world on her shoulders’; ‘How Vigil will change the world.’ Captain, how does it feel 72

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  to be a pop culture phenomenon?”

  Conrad gives him a smile that lights up the room.

  “Pretty nice, Larry, pretty nice.”

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  Chapter Twelve

  Battle Ready

  July 16th

  National Security Agency headquarters

  Fort Meade, Maryland

  Ramsey and Price pore over the newspaper headlines and magazine articles touting Vigil’s success during the National Mall attacks. Price has her laptop propped on the end of Ramsey’s desk as she skims through the various online fan posts for Vigil. “It looks like we have a phenomenon on our hands, sir,” she says, commenting on the team’s newly acquired fame.

  “I think you summed it up about right,” Ramsey says, peering over the front page of the Washington Post. “Phenomenon, indeed.”

  She scrolls through an online Zogby opinion poll. “This is amazing.

  Their favorability score is in the nineties among all demographics.

  They’re scoring higher than the president in approval ratings.”

  “C’mon, like that’s hard to do,” Ramsey says sarcastically.

  Price turns the laptop’s screen in Ramsey’s direction. “With these numbers, they can do no wrong.”

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  “And that’s exactly what we wanted, remember?”

  “Aren’t you afraid they’re a little bit over-exposed though?”

  “No, in order to gain the public trust we have to put them out there.”

  Ramsey’s cell phone rings. He pulls it from his right breast pocket and glances at the caller ID, then flashes a look at Price.

  She knows exactly what that look means. Without delay she flips down the laptop screen and retreats from his office.

  Once she’s gone, he answers the call. A heavily accented voice

  responds to his greeting. The tone causes Ramsey’s countenance to transform from jovial to stern.

  “No, don’t worry, they’re ready.” Ramsey nods his head as he listens once more to the other conversant.

  “Everything’s in place. Just make sure you have everything together on your end.”

  Ramsey ends the call and presses the intercom button on his desk phone. Price answers.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Lauren, set up a briefing for the team. They have their first official assignment.”

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  Chapter Thirteen

  Humanitarian Aid

  July 18th

  Vigil Headquarters

  Sublevel Two

  The Pentagon

  The team assembles in their Pentagon headquarters for their first official mission briefing. Ramsey opens the meeting.

  “As you all know, you’ve been given your first assignment. You’ll be accompanying Paraguayan deputy foreign minister Emmanuel Vásquez on a UN aid mission to Cuidad Del Este.”

  Ramsey taps a button on the keyboard of the computer next to

  him. The center of the table is equipped with a holographic projector.

  The deputy foreign minister’s image, as well as site photos of their Paraguayan destination, appear.

  “Mr. Ramsey, with all due respect, why do they need us?” Fighting Bull says. “Couldn’t they just as easily have used a military escort?”

  “I was just getting to that, Agent Fighting Bull. The destination of the aid shipment is under heavy control by fringe militant factions.” He taps 76

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  on the keyboard again, and images of numerous terrorist cell leaders appear. “Some of these groups have noted ties to organizations such as Hezbollah, and FARC8. And now with the advent of super-powered terrorism, we don’t want to take chances.”

  “Have you got any actionable intel to back this up?” Blankenchip asks.

  “Yes in fact we do.” Ramsey taps another button and the image

  switches to that of a burning caravan of Hummer trucks. “A few days ago a caravan carrying freeze-dried rations to Cuidad del Este was attacked by a contingent of armed robbers; one of them was a pyrokinetic—a fire starter. They looted the caravan and incinerated everyone in it. So you see why it’s so important to have superhuman protection on this mission.”

  “What’s our timeframe?” Conrad inquires.

  “A plane is being loaded at Andrews Air Force base as we speak.

  You’ll meet with Mr. Vásquez there. Wheels up in an hour.”

  8 Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia

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  Chapter Fourteen

  Getting To Know You Better

  Nine hours later

  Paraguayan airspace

  The roar of the AC-130H gunship’s engines sears through the flawless tropical sky. Flanked by three MH-60 Blackhawks—one on each side and one in front—the gunship cruises smoothly through Paraguayan airspace. The Vigil team members, a detachment of UN marines, and Emmanuel Vásquez’s diplomatic entourage are strapped in tight in the gunship’s forward cabin. Conrad unbuckles her restrictive seatbelt and walks toward the cockpit.

  “What’s our ETA?” Her question is posed to the pilot as the co-pilot eyes the flight instrumentation.

  “Approximately fourteen minutes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Conrad walks back to her seat next to Minister Vásquez and she straps herself in.

  “We should be arriving shortly Mr. Vásquez.”

  “Thank you.” He then turns his attention toward the view outside the plane. It is clear that his focus is elsewhere and not on the flight details.

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  Conrad tries to recapture his attention.

  “Mr. Vásquez, if I could ask a question?”

  “Surely.” He turns to look at her.

  “We were given the Cliff’s Notes version at our briefing but I need to know the exact details about what is going on.”

  Vásquez looks briefly at Conrad before returning his attention to the view outside. “Lately there has been increased tension between the Piñero faction and a splinter group of FARC. The conflict has been so intense that the people living in the surrounding areas starve to death because they cannot access the marketplace.”

  Vásquez’s assertion is correct. Cuidad del Este is a well-known trading center in Paraguay and is the nexus point of three countries—

  Brazil, Argentina, and Paraguay. Incidentally, it is also well-known for its illicit drug trade.

  “What’s happened on past attempts?” Conrad inquires.

  “Before, we have either had to turn back because of the danger, or our cargo was intercepted. Hopefully this time, with your help, we will finally be successful.”

  “I’m sure there’ll be nothing to worry about,” she says in a reassuring tone.

  A few seats behind them, Arrowhawk makes a comment to Fighting

  Bull who is next to him.

  “Cynthia, if you wanted to cop a feel all you had to do was ask.”

  She leans forward and turns to look at him in puzzlement.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Our little fiasco on the National Mall.”

  She smiles and lies back in her chair. “Oh please, stop feeling yourself.”

  “C’mon now, Cynthia,” Arrowhawk protests, “don’t tell me you

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  didn’t feel the spark when we touched.”

  “Yeah, I did, but it had nothing whatsoever to do with anything romantic.”

  She traces her right hand over the fabric of her suit with admiration.

  “This suit morphs with me when I do a shape change. And when I touch someone…” She grabs Arrowhawk’s arm and morphs into him. “It also gives me the ability to copy their abilities for a short period of time.”

  In a sense the suit is like a second skin, reacting to her metamorphic changes through a brain-computer-interface sensor embedded in the collar. She clearly enjoys it, so much so that she requested that her entire wardrobe be retrofitted with the same material. This allows her the luxury of her clothes morphing with her wherever she goes.

  She morphs back to natural form. “That’s the spark you felt.”

  “Oh, and I thought it was me,” Arrowhawk says, a hint of dejection in his voice.

  She pats him on his shoulder. “You can keep up the illusion, John, if it makes you feel better.”

  “No illusions, Cynthia. You just can’t admit the obvious.”

  Fighting Bull snickers and changes the subject. “John, do you have any idea how powerful you are? I had your abilities for only a moment, and it was overwhelming.”

  “That’s not the only thing that I’ve got that’s overwhelming.”

  Fighting Bull ignores the sophomoric comment. “Seriously, how do you control it?”

  Arrowhawk looks down, almost embarrassed, but before he can

  utter a word, their conversation is interrupted by an explosion in the tail of the plane.

  Fighting Bull looks out of the side window to see the three flanking helicopters tumbling down into the Paraguayan jungle in burning 80

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  heaps.

  Conrad calls out to the pilot. “Sit rep!”

  “We’ve been hit by some kind of short-range missile, ma’am! We’re going down fast,” the pilot responds.

  With their window of escape getting smaller by the second Conrad immediately initiates evacuation measures.

  “All right, everyone, bail out!” She turns to Vásquez in the jump seat.

  “Mr. Vásquez, you’ll parachute down with me.”