by K A Bryant
The camera jostles and the view of the camera is high, taller any man would be. Its movements methodical, smooth. It's standing in the shadows.
Prime Minister’s wife’s robe lays across the ottoman at the foot of the bed. Then, it reaches for the robe. Gasps rise at the sight of its mutant claw. I've seen that claw. In my dreams. I remember the preacher talking about how God will never leave you ignorant of the devil's devices. It's a man's hand covered with a shiny black-gray course hair. The nails retractable, lioness claws, pronounced by the muscular forearm.
Slowly, it extends one claw from its pointer on the right hand, hooks the robe, sniffs, and snarls with a deep prehistoric rumble. The woman rolls over, still asleep.
"You want to know if this is real-time? Call her," says Gretchen.
A guard hands him a satellite phone. He dials quickly. The phone rings. Gretchen is smiling. That's not good.
His wife’s foot moves and the Beaston extends both claws ready to grab her ankle. She stretches to reach the phone.
Gretchen makes two soft clicks with her tongue detected by the clear ear piece in her ear and immediately the Beaston withdraws its claws. We all watch as with one swift turn and silent leap, it clings to the corner on the ceiling in the shadows, it darkens it’s color like a chameleon and blends into the shadows. It is undetectable.
The woman gropes for the phone, her eyes still closed.
"Answer!" he says hoping to warn her.
Finally she answers it. Her satin cream gown elegant and long.
"Hello?"
"GET OUT! Get out of the room!" he yells.
"Hello? Paul? Is that you... hello?"
"RUN! ANGELINA, RUN!"
He's perspiring, seeing what she can't. The Beaston in the black shadow in the corner of her room.
"Paul? Is that you?"
She sits up in the bed, swipes back her brown shoulder length hair from her face. Her lips flush. She has dark brown eyes and gentle features. One of the spaghetti straps on her nightgown slips off of her small shoulder.
Gretchen clicks her tongue once. The Beaston drops down. She still can't see it. Not all of it. I know the feeling. In my dream I only saw parts of it until it chose to reveal itself. Straining my eyes as she is now.
I close my eyes. I am living my nightmare and can feel the pain of this leader who watches the unthinkable. The leaders’ heads are lifted, looking at the large screen.
I won't look at the screen. I don't need to. I've seen that. I look at him. He's still. Helplessly holding that device. That's the look I saw every morning I looked in that cracked mirror after that nightmare. The feeling of helplessness is unbearable in a dream. I feel it again now. This man, who holds power over an entire country sitting there, small. His world, completely different than mine. Our paths would probably never meet. Yet, in this moment, we have so much in common.
I couldn't save that woman. No one could have. I hate that he has that look on his face. I'm used to it. He clearly is not.
I drop my chin and look at Gretchen. I feel myself biting down and my fists find their way into my pockets.
"Who-who's there! Show yourself! Paul! Paul... help!" she yells into the phone.
The camera is splashed. Splashed with thick red blood. The picture veiled but the outcome obvious. Tearing sounds, gurgling cries. Archbishop’s eyes are still shut. The leader shuts his eyes.
"Your entire country will pay! Her blood is on the head of your President," he says through his teeth.
"Yes, well, we shall see. Now that you know this is no bluff, I have all of your full attention," says Gretchen.
I can feel their brains thinking frantically. The President of France glances at his watch. He is the most composed. He most calm. Why?
He hasn't placed his thumb on the device until now. A circle spins. Buffering. He exhales. Then, before the next breath, an image appears, peering through the window of her plane, upside down but there she is, on her knees in front of her seat, praying with her bible open before her. He shuts his eyes.
"If you refuse to comply, every semblance of your existence will be erased along with your lineage. Before the night is done, you will be replaced. Let’s not belabor the matter. Choose now. Please, look at your device," says Gretchen, clasping her hands behind her back.
Each person’s hand device beeps twice and the screen flashes with a contract and another finger print box.
"It is an agreement bonding us for the cause," she says. Gretchen looks at Wilkes. "That may be the merciful way."
The lights reveal Wilkes is sweating profusely, clutching at his heart. Gretchen turns away from him. I'm not surprised, not even a glint of the adoration they displayed earlier. Wilkes now feels what Richard felt. It's odd, seeing evil and greater evil together. I feel a value for human life. I'm no judge or jury. God knows I'm no saint. But there is something inhuman about watching another person die. Something about it that doesn't sit well in my gut.
The room is deliberating. Leaders glancing at one another. Then. Hope. The Israeli Prime Minister stands.
"I will not," says the Israeli Prime Minister.
He throws the phone to the ground and stamps it. Two guards walk up to the ends of his row their hands down at their sides. Gretchen turns to him.
"Ah, the religious," she says. "I expected as much. Willing to die for the sake of righteousness."
"I will NOT consent to this evil being loosed in my land. I will NOT partner with darkness. God will prevail, snake. Just like in the garden. But, I will NOT have it named of me and my family. Do what you will," says the Israeli Prime Minister.
"Think wisely, Mr. Prime Minister. You are not Abraham and there is NO ram in the bush. I'm offering you-" says Gretchen.
"-the world and all its kingdoms. Just as you did to Jesus in the desert. It didn't work then, it won't work now. Don't fall for her tricks," he says, addressing the leaders. "You will not be helping your people, you will be condemning them to hell." He turns back to Gretchen.
"You might take my life, my family’s lives, but not our souls. They belong to God."
"Shut up!" Gretchen says.
She drops her hands and walks to edge of the stage.
"Hear!" he continues. "In my region, just as in many of theirs," he waves his arm over the leaders, "the threat of death is ever present, a readiness to die, decided when we wake. My family and my people are grounded. God first. We will fight evil as we have in times past. You are no different. You have nothing to threaten me with. What say you?" he yells to the leaders.
Another man stands, smashes the phone. Then another, and another. The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom stands, smashes her phone with tears in her eyes and defiance on her face.
The President of France stands. He knows his wife would do the same. The President of Spain, the Prime Minister of Italy and countless others stand with him.
My heart swells, hearing the phones smash on the floor. This is a World Peace Summit.
"Woman, it seems you have accomplished something remarkable," says the Israeli Prime Minister. "Uniting us," he says, holding his arms out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Caleb Promise
Something is happening. The room jolts. Wait, what is that? The whole room shakes.
Shadows above, blending in with the fresco drop down. About six figures. One at a time. Their legs heavy and Zebra-like. Strong and muscular with a bears foot. Its head shaped like that of a lioness, eyes of an eagle, and neck muscular and full. This is what I couldn't see in my nightmare. There it is. The Beaston, all of it. They are smaller than I saw in my nightmare.
They stand at least seven and a half feet high, tilting their heads from side to side, cat-like, observing and identifying their individual prey. Covered in a shining gray and black silky coat, they shimmer in the corner of your eye. Even looking directly at them, their appearance is obscure. The leaders freeze. Gretchen crosses her arms.
"Noble. I must admit the camaraderie surprises me.
I knew there would be one who may take such a stand. How true, how long lived will this unity be? You may be surprised at how hated the treaty breaker can be. Let's see. I give you one last opportunity. Listen closely."
She walks to the center of the stage, removes the hard drive from her pocket. It's small, the size of her thumb. She holds it up.
"The Beaston blueprint. A decade of perfect scientific research at your fingertips. Look around this room. The fear you feel is what your adversaries will feel. These are only the 'foot soldiers'. The master Beaston is yet to be seen. Though I think Wilkes will see it first." She turns to him, still trapped behind the glass.
"For the right price, dear leaders, you will leave here owning this. The price, or opening bid, ten billion dollars to make your enemies go away. You leave this room with victory over century old struggles." She smiles. Never a good thing.
Don't do it. I look over the leaders. They look resolute. Steady. If they stand together, she has no play. Peace has a chance. No one is even breathing. Then... No.
One leader in the front lifts his hand. His Rolex drops into place on his wrist. No doubt, the fear from the Beaston ominously crept into his bones or was it the thirst for power? Whatever it was, he bowed.
I feel coldness permeate the atmosphere. It drives away the warmth of the bond. The others look at him harshly.
"Don't do it," says the leader seated beside the man with his hand raised.
"Ah, a taker," Gretchen says.
"TRAITOR!" yells another leader.
The crowd yells at him. One by one the dispute grows. The man beside him shoves him. The one behind him too. He bursts back. This is it. I must move now.
"Call me what you want! I'm not ready to watch my family murdered and die for what? You? You train your people to hate mine,” he yells clearly at his neighboring adversary. "For what? Nothing," says the Leader who took the offer.
"I'll kill you myself! Selfish coward," roar the leaders.
"Get HIM!" they shout.
The leaders charge at him. The guards go to the chaos. Gretchen stands watching. Smiling. A soft whistle from her and all the Beaston stand motionless. She wants to watch them tear themselves apart.
On my way out of the aisle, my leg bumps the Archbishop. He opens his eyes, hands still clasped. I watched long enough. Every beast has a leader of the pack. These, the small ones, as Gretchen said, they've got a leader. Kill the head, you control the pack.
My plan was to eliminate the present danger. Kill the head beast. Second, get the drive from Gretchen. Now, whichever one comes first.
I ease past Gretchen who is standing on the stage distracted by the chaos ensuing, staying close to wall and walking in the shadows. I'm passing foot soldier after foot soldier. I hear a rumble in their throats as I pass as if they are squelching their primal instinct to attack me. They don’t move in obedience to Gretchen's order.
I slip up the side stairwell to the stage. I am almost to the door on the stage that Wilkes walked out of.
Wilkes. No, he’s seen me. He is pressed against the glass gripping his chest. He’s just staring at me. His eyes are moist. Will he alert her? Has she managed to erase all of his feelings for her. He's opening his mouth as if about to say something, then, he closes it again.
He makes the shape of a square with his pointer fingers discreetly. He knows what I'm going to do. He turns his head and looks at Gretchen, who turns toward us. I'm standing in a shadow but if she sees me, all she has to do is whistle.
Wilkes lowers his right hand to his side and makes a fist. Meaning 'hold', 'wait'. He looks at Gretchen. She turns away. Then opens a closed fingered hand toward the door. Meaning go.
I push the door open. The noise draws Gretchen's attention. She turns quickly. Wilkes stands shuffling his feet and bumping the glass intentionally.
I walk through the stage door quickly and it closes slowly behind me. I’m standing in a hallway but I can hear circular platform in the center of the glass cylinder that Wilkes is in, come rise and to a stop. I push the door open slightly and peek through the slit at the cylinder Wilkes is in. All of the leaders stop arguing and stare.
"Welcome, the Alpha Beaston. See what ten billion can buy you," Gretchen says.
She clicks her tongue once. It looks directly at Wilkes. He flattens himself against the glass. It’s head is that of a lioness, it’s body stands at least eight feet tall with large muscular arms like that of a gorilla. The claws are as a bear and legs, thick muscular like a zebra. It is covered in a shimmering fir that lays down perfectly. The eyes are piercing eagle eyes and it dominates the room.
I have seen it so many times in my dreams yet now, it is every bit as imposing. I let the door close. I don’t want to watch the inevitable. His screams fade behind the thick steel door and I face a corridor of doors on either side. There is something Wilkes wanted me to find here.
In the corridor behind the stage, I'm following Wilkes’ hint, four guards come around the corner. They look at me and somehow know I'm not supposed to be there. They draw their guns. It happens faster this time. Instinctively releases. Chen's lessons in the monastery garden are profitable. My fists still tight but slightly bruised. The guards, twisted on the floor.
The tattoo. It's on one of the guards hands. Is Gretchen the big player? No, she can't be. She's our mystery man's puppet. Dedicated to the cause and no doubt enjoying her moment in the sun.
Wilkes led me this way for a reason. I push a few doors, most are locked but here, this one opens and a laptop is on a small table. Stuck in its U.S.B. port, a hard drive. I pull it and stick it into my pocket.
I need to get back to the forum. I need to stop Gretchen. No! I feel a sting. I can't feel my body.
"Rat. I thought I squashed you at the Vatican. Apparently, Dread wasn't as effective as thought."
Gretchen. How did she know?
My legs are shaky. How many volts was that? Stun gun? Why not kill me?
"Your genes are more valuable than you are," says Gretchen.
My phone rings. No. Not now, Jason. I can't let her find out about him. I’ve had enough of this. I hear the guards nose crack against my elbow. Gretchen steps away, letting four more guards come at me. They don't buckle as easily despite my blows. The big one pulls my phone from my jacket pocket and hands it to Gretchen.
"You can give me the code or I can chop your finger off," Gretchen says.
Jason is worth a finger. No answer. Two guards hold me steady by my arms.
"I will find better genes. Take him to the pit. He will be a late night snack," she says.
"How will your boss feel about that. You better check with him," I say, trying to struggle free.
She stops walking out of the door, places her hand on the door post and pivots seductively, but her smile falls at my question. Pride is making her wonder why I don't think she spun this web alone.
"Small mind. What makes you think I need anyone else?"
"You're evil, not constructive. Whoever did this is a builder at heart," I say. "What are you going to do with them? Not much time before the world’s armies descend on you."
I pull away from the guards grip. If I'm going to die, I won't waste my last moments being held down by some thugs.
"Release them. Unharmed," she says.
"You never intended to kill them, did you? You're going to let them kill each other. War. That last fiasco. You knew someone would take, some weak one would pony-up the money to save his hide and even when they left here they would never forget who betrayed them.
“Then you hold, don't sell the Beaston and you are the new biggest arms dealer in the world. The go-to. Smart. Too bad you didn't think of that. You're too, what's the word I'm looking for...shallow. So what's his name? Who’s the mystery man, Wretch, I mean Gretch," I say.
She is enjoying this.
"War is good for the economy. Good for my economy. They don't think far enough down the line. Now, they have a target and a reason to war. Men are simple. Th
ey go for what is in front of them. Think what you like. I wonder if your ex-girlfriend will think I'm shallow," she says, stepping closer to me.
"I will erase everyone you ever thought to care about. As for you, it will pick its teeth with your bones! The Alpha doesn't often take orders. You'll see. You have nothing more to offer me." Gretchen says. “You see, you came back here to do what? Kill it? Don't make me laugh. You can't kill it, Caleb. You see, it's not evil. It has no opinions. It doesn't take sides. It is innocent as a new-born baby. I don't think you want to kill an innocent animal. That would be cruel, Caleb, and you’re not cruel.
Besides, it is practically family to you. Your father's blood is coursing through its veins. To kill it, is to kill him. It thinks like him, Caleb. It really does. I'm curious now. How will it react to you?"
There's a strange curious look in her eye. I put my hands in my pockets.
"To the pit," she says.
The guards pull me toward the door.
"You didn't have to kill her, you know," I say.