by G L Rockey
“You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
“Somehow, I don’t know how, this was recorded aboard Armstrong’s yacht three months ago.”
“This is an egregious allegation. How do you know this recording is authentic?”
“You tell me. Those voices are undeniablethe events of the past few dayseverything fits.”
She sat in silence for several minutes then said, “I would say we have much work to do before Benjamin Armstong’s address to the nation tomorrow morning.”
“Why don’t we just take this recording over to the White House and shove it up his Southern-fried ass?”
She paused, looked at him. “The President is at Camp David.”
“Wanna bet he’s back in D.C., getting his hair tinted for tomorrow’s televised speech to the world.”
She looked at the time, “Looks like I’m going to have a very full Monday morning.”
“Forgive me, Senator, but the reporter in me would like to know what ‘very full’ means.”
“I have to knock on some Congressional doors, so to speak. I think a few Senators are in town. I know the Chief Justice is. Then a public forumI know someone at a TV network.”
“I tried that TV business, laid an egg.”
“I know someone personally at a network.”
“But”
“Trust me.”
“Whatever you think, I hope you impeach the sorry sonofa…” he wiped his face with a palm.
Beno said, “Where are you staying, we’ll drop you.”
“Nowhere.” He stumped his cigarette out in the armrest ashtray.
Looking him over, after a pause, Beno said, “There’s a Doubletree Hilton not far.”
She picked up the intercom, spoke to the driver then to Zack. “We’ll drop you off.”
Zack handed her the audio player. “Here, you’ll need this.”
She took the bottle of Dewars and handed it to him. “Here, take it with you.”
Chapter Fifty Seven
Dr. Barbara Lande cleared her desk and locked up a little after twelve-forty five a.m. The rain heavy, lightning and thunder intense, she drove her red BMW coupe past the security gate of the White House. Feeling like she needed to unwind, she headed out Pennsylvania Avenue to her favorite bar at the Georgetown Four Seasons. She needed to get home, get a little sleep, get ready for tomorrow’s excitement; but a nightcap to settle down the many things on her mind seemed logical.
At the bar, thinking how smooth this morning’s TV interview program had gone, the ease of implementing the entire plan, she sat alone and savored a vodka martini. In just a few hours, she would be at Armstrong’s side as he entered the White House Press Room to deliver his message to the world. From there she had visions of a glorious and unprecedented future. She had a second martini, smoked a cigar and planned the expansion of her department internationally.
Buoyed as she drove home in a steady rain, crossing a bridge over the Potomac River, she noticed a black SUV suddenly approach from the rear. She thought it too close, tapped her brakes; the SUV swerved, began to pass then slowed.
The movement swift, in a moment, Lande was over the side and upside down in the Potomac River. Her BMW filling with water, pounding on the windshield, she saw in silhouette, two people peering over the side of the bridge as she sucked a last small air bubble.
Chapter Fifty Eight
1:30 a.m. EST
Monday, September 1
Labor Day
The thunderstorm pummeling the D.C. area, Zack dropped at the Doubletree Hilton Beno had suggested, he approached the Inn’s front desk.
Using his favorite alias, Jocko Lewis, he checked in, found his room, went in, sat on the bed, retrieved the bottle of Dewars from his briefcase, said, “Thank you God for good companions in the night,” took a swig, and drained himself of the events of the past twelve hours:
“I don’t believe any of this, Jocko. How many times have you heard that in the past two days? Plenty. Still don’t believe it. But here we are, in the wee hours of Monday, September 2, 2024, Labor Day, and I have a feeling this night is going to be like listening to a long confession on a hot summer afternoon, sans air conditioning, as some joker tries to escape the Christian version of the never-ending story.”
Smelling himself, he stripped naked, poured a stiff Dewars on the rocks, drank and thoughts of Mary O’Brien came–what is she doing, where is she, twenty guys in line–he glanced at the time. 1:55 a.m., finished his drink, went to the bathroom and took a fifteen-minute hot shower.
Drying off, it was there again–that anxiety thing with the dank smell.
“Go find somebody else to play with,” he said and looked at the phone. Thoughts again of Mary, he reached to the phone then stopped. “Can’t do that, Jocko, you have to get past that. I think the current phrase is ‘get a grip.’”
He topped off his drink, sat on the bed, opened the night stand drawer and took out a bible. Looking at its soft cover he thought of the book on a shelf in his office–Great Religions of the World.
“Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism. Lump all the Christians together, count all the splinter groups, put in the nuts, kooks and cults, you got—what?—four thousand or so religions? Amazing what human beings can do with a simple concept.”
He put the bible down and looked up. “Why so much confusion?”
Waiting for an answer that he doubted would come, he took a wrinkled yellow pad from his briefcase, sat at the desk, flipped several pages and read the draft of something, he wasn’t sure what, he had been working on for, it seemed forever. He began to read a recently revised draft:
An Deus sit? (Does God Exist?)
It’s all fairly simple. Except for greed, ego and organized religion it’s amazing what the human mind can do with a simple concept. Then there is reality and how did humans get here. And then there is the insanity of how people carved the world up into small pieces.
He dropped down several lines.
In the beginning, so the story goes, there was darkness upon the face of the deep. From there the tale gets complicated. One supposition suggests a
He skimmed the rest of the creation part: Big Bangevolved many mysterious things ordered course around the suntime moved forwardthen came upon Planet Earth living forms one, Homo sapiens, multiplied, subdued the earth and everything in it
He said as he read, “Then came capitalism. Then came journalism. Then came television news, then came”
He paused, thought then flipped a page to more recent notes and read:
The events of the past week would seem to bugle that Planet Earth and her society are in deep doo-dah-day. We live in an age of instant communication when the thoughts of a few become words and the words of a few become meaning…
The text of John 1:1 stopped him: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.
“Words…what are they…hummm.” he said and continued reading his notes:
…and the meaning of a few becomes truth handed down as myth and the myths spawn deeds put down between people and the deeds end one reality and begin another toward the history of man, (storia di uomo). Problem is, who controls the few who may or may not be well-intentioned? And the problem there is the definition of “well-intentioned.” What it comes down to is the basic question: An Deus sit? If so, then there is hope, good, and we should go forward. If He doesn’t exist, well, Tweedledee, Tweedledum logic, if it is, it is; if it isn’t, it ain’t. Done deal. There are no flying saucers. There is nobody out therewe’re it, get what and all you can and who will say the eulogy at that funeral
“Somebody said that.”
Me.
Thinking about it: If there is anything remotely intelligent out there, half as advanced as we are, would not they be sending out signals, too…would not they have found us by nowand where is He in all the razzmatazz He supposedly started? Two possibil
ities: this is all an accident, somehow something, on a pretty big scale, went bang and things began to happen. One thing that happened was a speck of something landed in just the right spot, not to hot, not to cold, with water and oxygen. Then something clicked something and some cell became a two legged being that could read, write and talk. The second possibility is that some large unimaginable force created it all. Either one hard to believe, considering the second option, it’s impossible to fathom the enormity of that force…
He put the yellow pad down and sucked his drink. Maybe tomorrow they will find us. He remembered Joe Case’s words–the earth Eden, there are three kinds of people—Negroid, Mongoloid and Caucasianwhat’s the big deal?
Uncanny thoughts on hold, he picked up the TV clicker. “Wonder what the boob tube is saying now.”
Exhausted from the day’s events, watching the TV video of burning cars, police lobbing tear gas; he rested back and, his eyes closing, he dreamed.
Aboard Veracitya knock on the door…he went and peered through the motel room door’s peephole. Mary. He opened the door and she stood barefoot, dressed in a thin white nighty, she held a basket of grapes.
What are you doing here?
Hanging around.
Did you doze off?
Just a catnap.
How’s that ear?
Good.
May I come in?
Sure, sure. He returned to the bed and sat.
She followed, sat beside him, whispered Want some grapes? I’ll peel them for you.
I don’t think so.
Let’s go for a swim.
You have a suit?
No. She smiled, stepped to Veracity’s cabin door and dropped her nighty to the floor. Come on, chicken.
Chapter Fifty Nine
Awakened by blaring sound from the TV, Zack blinked and saw on the screen an upbeat TV morning program showing giddy Labor Day New York visitors, some holding cardboard signs.
He glanced at his wristwatch—7:01 A.M.
His head pounding, he recalled the Mary dream. Same version, how many times? It’s the booze, fat chance...need coffee.
He called room service, ordered coffee and “whatever” pastry they had, and noticed a close-up of Senator Beno on the TV.
He increased the volume and watched TV morning show host, Pam West reporting: “…in what might be the story of the millennium, I’m here with Senator Nancy Beno. She has a startling revelation about the events of the past few days and an audio recording of shocking import.”
West paused, touched a tiny ear prompter, listened for a moment then said, “I’m told by the producer that we have a breaking story. Let’s go to the news desk and Dee Dee Paulsen.”
Close-up of anchor Dee Dee: “Pam, we have just received information that the President’s media guru, Dr. Barbara Lande, is dead. She was found in her submerged car in the Potomac River by police a short time ago. The accident was discovered earlier by a passing motorist. Paramedics and D.C. police pulled Dr. Lande’s body from the wreckage. An eyewitness said, ‘Lande looked a little pruney.’ More details as we receive them. Now back to you.”
Zack shook his head and flipped to another news channel, same Lande breaking news. He surfed TV anchors discussing the Lande accident and the upcoming historic address to the world by President Armstrong.
He wiped his face with his palm and clicked back to the morning TV show with West and Beno:
Close-up of host West speaking: “so, Senator Beno, let’s first play your recording. Then we’ll discuss the ramifications.”
The recording of Lande, Novak and MacCallister played. The words of the E.I.C. were superimposed as subtitles in white over a blue background.
The recording ended and the video switched to a close-up of West. “Where on earth did you get this amazing recording?”
“A journalist.”
There was a knock at the hotel door.
Zack swallowed a sudden choke of anxiety, “Who’s there?”
A thin voice, “Room service.”
Zack peered through the peephole. Looked like a server—young, freckled female, white jacket, tray.
He opened the door.
The young female nodded, whipped past him, put the serving tray on the desk, and smiled.
Zack scribbled his signature on the check, said “Thank you.”
She looked at the check, “Rough night?”
“Week.”
“You can say that again, brother.” She left.
Pouring a cup of coffee, Zack noted a BREAKING NEWS graphic on the TV. He pressed the sound up.
The BREAKING NEWS video switched to TV morning host Pam West: “We interrupt our interview with Senator Beno to go to Herb Abelard at the White House with breaking news, Herb, what’s up?”
Herb, standing in front of White House: “Yes, Pam, we have just been told that President Armstrong has been visited by a select Congressional delegation from his political party and the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Sources say he was given two options, resign or be impeached. The President’s address to the world, scheduled for this morning, has been canceled, Herb Abelard reporting, back to you.”
Shot of West and Beno, West said: “So, Senator Beno, it would appear your Presidential prospective stock just went up a few points.”
Zack poured himself some coffee and sipped, “Not bad.”
Chapter Sixty
The following Saturday
11:15 a.m. EST
Drifting over the shallow waters northeast of Bimini Island, Zack, dressed in his best black T-shirt, khaki shorts, deck shoes and black baseball cap, eased Veracity to idle-speed-forward.
Mary, in white tennis shorts, white T-shirt, barefoot, leaned over his shoulder and looked at the water.
“Wow, the water’s so clear. Are those stones that Bimini Road name sake things for that dump in Miami you used to like to go to.”
“Those underwater rock formations have been the subject of much study since discovered in the late sixties…some predict the lost continent of Atlantis will be re-discovered here.”
“Wasn’t that something to do with some clairvoyant?”
“Edgar Cayce.”
“Yeah, that’s him. Right up your alley, professor.”
“Much debate.”
“Yeah, like the one on the internet about Looney Toon cartoon characters found on Cro-Magnon cave walls.”
Ignoring her, “The underwater stone formations and the vortex of energy have been bringing scholars and enthusiasts to the islands for years. Jacques Cousteau studied the site in the 1980’s.”
“Wow, the Calypso.”
“Way back when, the Discovery Channel did a TV show on all of it.”
“Well, that ices it.”
After cruising around the site for some time, Zack headed for Brown’s Marina. There, he docked, tied up and negotiated use of a Jeep from the marina manager.
After taking a from-memory discombobulated drive, Zack said to Mary, “Here we are.”
Mary said, “You gotta be kidding.”
Zack pulled the Jeep into a sandy driveway and stopped. He breathed deep the tropical air. Bright sun light bathed a small pink house. It looked different in the daylight, but this was the place, no doubt about it. He and Jim had met Joe Case and Kim here, just last Sunday.
“Looks like nobody’s home,” Mary said.
Zack stepped out of the Jeep, Mary followed and they walked to the house. The roof, for the most part, gone, windows broken, some were missing entirely. Weed and grass grew a foot high.
Zack said, “I don’t understand it. This is the house, just a week ago, Jim and I were here.”
“You sure? Looks like nobody has lived in this house for a hundred years.”
Back at Brown’s Marina, when he asked about Joe Case, all Zack got were silent stares.
Perplexed, before boarding Veracity, he spotted an aged man—tanned, white beard, smoldering cigarette hanging from his lower lip—fishing from th
e dock. The man had just caught a good-size fish. The fish flapped as he took the hook from its mouth.
Zack ask him about Joe Case, the little house, the couple who lived there. Throwing the fish back in the water, the fisherman smiled and pointed toward the northern sky.
“What’s that mean?” Mary said.
The man puffed his cigarette and told of bright lights, noises in the night, a strange bright object over the island just a week ago. Smiling, he pulled a Pi baseball hat from his pocket and put it on.
Grabbing Zack’s arm, Mary said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Zack said, “No, wait, I”
“Now.”
Veracity’s engines started, Zack at the wheel, Mary untied the lines, jumped on board, and Zack, easing the craft out to sea, said, “Mary, you may think I’m crazy”
“Could you rephrase that?”
“I think Joe Case was”
“A fruitcake.”
“Whatever, but I think some revolutionary movement is up.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You know, money, the wealth, spreading it around, something is afoot.”
“My foot,” she rolled her eyes.
“But how do you explain”
“Zack, it’s been a long week, we’ve both been working very hard”
Chapter Sixty One
2:15 p.m. EST
The Atlantic Ocean smooth as a backyard swimming pool, Zack calculated Veracity’s position to be roughly five miles due east of Florida’s Pompano Marina. He throttled back then shut down the gurgling engines. The sea gently slapped the craft’s sides.
Mary stepped up from the cabin. She wore a two-piece white bathing suit with thin straps hanging loose over her shoulders. After a long look, Zack pinched his wrist then tipped his baseball cap back, said, “It’s almost depraved. Forgive me, but how I do enjoy this.”
“You mean me or Veracity?”