The Lesser Evil

by Jim Magwood

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, not at all. Our man left a response as he was instructed but hasn’t received a callback yet. From what I’ve seen of it, though, it has all the appearances of being some kind of government agency behind the ad, looking to sign up that group to work with them.”

  “But this would be the country of Italy asking for their help?”

  “That is the appearance, yes.”

  “Where will this insanity end, Jacob?”

  “I’m afraid to even try to answer that question.”

  After a long period of silence, Roger said, “Well, should we go back to tracking the group, or do you think we’re finished?”

  “I think we should at least follow up all the loose ends and see if anything comes to the surface. I don't really know what we would do if we did find them, but I don't think we can just quit. How about you?"

  “Yeah, I agree. There are still a lot of searches and links to follow. And, maybe we can do some good. Let’s go back downstairs and see what we see.”

  As the two men got back to the computer room, Roger spoke again. “Jacob, what would you do if we did find these people? If we got some names and felt we could trace them?

  And I guess another question would be what you think we should do regarding the violence spreading from the regular people? The ones taking the law into their own hands?”

  “Just my own personal thoughts, Roger. Not necessarily what I would do, but just what is running through my mind with what we can see at this time.” He paused, then went on.

  “If this group continues what they’re doing, they’re going to inflame so many people in the world into believing they can correct all the evils around them by simply burning things down that there’s going to be general chaos everywhere you look. I think what they have done could be condoned and forgiven, legally, if they would bring their actions to a halt, but if they continued they would need to be stopped. They simply cannot continue to work outside the authorities or there is going be disaster.

  “As far as the vigilante type work by the regular citizens, that too is going to get so far out of hand it will never be contained. They are injuring innocent people. From what I’ve seen, they are many times being led by people who have mind-sets almost as criminal as the criminals. They’re being whipped into frenzies, armed, and then pointed in directions which have had almost no research and which are turning out, many times, to be innocent targets.

  “We can’t just choose the better one, Roger—or the lesser evil. They both have to be stopped or all the good intentions will become as terrible as the evil is now. We’re so close. We have to keep trying.”

  CHAPTER 66

  “Where are we in the plans now? Are those last ideas you mentioned working out?”

  “Yes, they are. People all over the world are picking up arms and going into battle to make things better, and that movement is growing daily. I’ve been able to get a lot of the people to see the value of what the vigilante group is doing and emulate the group. There are several leaders who have risen up and are leading the people toward the goals.”

  “The main vigilante group has disbanded though, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. They apparently had enough and decided to leave the work to the people. Because of the friend-ship between the members, and their great wealth, they were able to do things that likely no one else will be able to copy, and the results they obtained were magnificent. Not exactly the same goals as us, of course, but still… The greatest number of citizens applauded their work and have fallen into picking up the leftovers and running with them. It’s not likely that anyone else will step up to take their place, but the citizen movements can do a lot on their own. Especially if we support them.”

  “How do you suggest we do that?”

  The gray-haired man thought for a moment, then replied,

  “There are, as I said, several leaders stepping up into the action and we could be sure they have the funding to concentrate on their work. It wouldn’t take a lot of money. Most of them are ideologues, not people looking to make riches. ACLU

  types; village leaders in impoverished countries; students; men and women who will pick up picket signs for almost any cause.”

  The other man replied, simply, “The money is of no concern. It is easily arranged.”

  “Yes. There’s also the possibly of moving some of the participants into specific positions of power. There are always new politicians looking for ladders to climb—if power and wealth are at the end of the rainbow. There is one in particular I have my eye on. Fairly young, but already one of the most liberal to ever come through his political party. He might be a long-term prospect for us in specifically bringing down his own country.

  “In addition, there are several religious leaders who are making big names for themselves. Several men and women who are managing to say many of the right words and are gathering huge followings. You know, of course, of the sheep and the Judas goat.”

  “Yes.”

  “The other major area we can assist in is that of the world political leaders. Some, when discovered, hid their missiles and factories, but they are still being developed and will be ready to come out in the future. Our friend in the desert is rebuilding, still inflaming people world-wide and is continuing to talk a nuclear agenda.”

  “Yes. Our friend has proven himself worthy. It does sound as if the plan continues well. Will he, as they say, push the button at the right time?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s been well indoctrinated, and lives in a religious fervor of hatred. He will be ready when we are.”

  “Are there any stumbling blocks? Any people that are of major concern?”

  “No, not really. There are always those few who see things and get involved, but they are few, as I said. To remove most of them from the scene would almost cause more stir than it would be worth. We always have those who will step into the battle to discredit some of the standouts, and we continue to use them. Politicians, religious leaders, the usual professors and intellectuals, presidents, kings—they all fall when nudged in the right direction. The media of course, does a wonderful job for us everywhere.”

  “Yes, it does sound as if things are going well. Each time we move a little further ahead. Although there have been a few minor setbacks at times, we’ve always moved ahead, never fallen back. Is there any place you need my help or influence?”

  “At this time, everything is going well, as you said. We’re gaining ground, and are beginning to see spots of influence rise up that are becoming more and more influential. There are some political and religious leaders who are major sources of assistance to us. No, I don’t think you need to be concerned at this time.”

  “Very well. You know how to reach me if you need me.

  Keep up the good work. Goodbye for now.”

  “Thank you, sir, and good night.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Henry Baxter sat in his car, slumped down, his head back against the headrest. He had just called his bank to check his balances and his checkbook was on the seat beside him. The numbers were too big for him to understand. He knew the previous balances in his checking and savings accounts were just slightly into the seven-figure range, but now they totaled over three billion dollars, and he was afraid to even consider where the amounts came from. His banker had asked for his passwords and identification four separate times before quoting the amounts to him. And he had told Henry that more was trick-ling in at odd times.

  He remembered that Randall Johns had told him the group would eventually put the money they had taken to good use somewhere. Was this where they had put it? Nothing else made any sense, but Why me? was Henry’s question.

  At their last call, Johns had made it very clear he was encouraging Henry to continue the actions that had been started .

  I, personally, hope you will pick up that sword and continue the battle, were the last words Johns had given him. But Henry knew he wasn’t the person to con
tinue the actions. He couldn’t dream that big. He wrote stories, for heaven’s sake, he didn’t lead vigilante groups. Besides, who would he have join him?

  Maybe Ron Kincaide, the CIA guy? Yeah, right.

  So, now he was a rich—a very rich—reporter looking for his next story? Or was there something in this he could continue with? Was there some way to turn this to doing good?

  Helping people make their lives better? Helping them get rid of some of the evil? Or was he foolish to even consider such a thing? He didn’t have a group of rich friends to commandeer into an army to purge the world of its ills. He didn’t really have many friends at all. Was there some tiny nugget of truth in this somewhere that would show him what to do?

  He had placed a number of calls to Randall Johns over the last two weeks, but the other end gave no indication of response at all. And he felt as if a guidance counselor had suddenly kicked him off the couch and closed him out of the office. He had asked himself several times why he felt like a big baby, a child without parents, a kid lost in a new school. And he had no answer. He was an educated man with a great nose for news and the ability to write enticing, enriching stories. He had lived on his own for years, calling his own shots, making his own way, self-sufficient, confident, not needing anyone else. Now, why the sense of being adrift—of being lost?

  He picked up the checkbook and looked at the figures he had written inside the cover. A thought started to course through him, a vague idea of a recruiting program for helpers.

  Like a soldier-of-fortune ad in a magazine. Or… Then his cautious mind kicked in and he thought, You are really warped. You can’t do this. But his confident, challenging side kicked back in and he ran some scenarios through his mind.

  There were people out there he knew of that he could try to recruit, especially with his new wealth. He…

  Then he put his head back again—and shivered. He looked out the side window of the car at the little church beside him. Pretty. And quiet. And it looked peaceful. He could see Reverend Sanders’ little car parked at the side and knew he would be inside studying. He had gotten the impression that Sanders was really down to earth, level headed, and easy to talk to. He gave the appearance of having experienced real life, not just having come up through some pious background and having no idea of what the world was really like. He had made some good points the last time they had talked, but this?

  Maybe this was just too far out of Sanders’ world. Maybe his God didn’t really deal with this kind of stuff.

  I wonder what he would say?

  Henry remembered Sanders’ last words from the previous meeting: Unless you, or the people, want to resort to doing the same things the evil ones are doing. Fighting evil with evil.

  But, will that make the evil go away, or will it just bring about another form of it? What we decide to do with our lives, Mr.

  Baxter, is the way life will be. It may not be what God wants for us, and it may not really be what we want, but it’s what we allow to happen.

  They had ended their meeting with no concrete directions, as far as Henry thought. Just a lot of church voodoo? He thought again of his impression of Sanders as being down to earth and willing to listen, but his mind just couldn’t grasp any answers—any peace. What God wants. Sure. And how is anyone going to know that? And could you believe it even if you got some kind of special direction? Henry’s mind kept whirling, but answers just didn’t come to the front. He looked again at Sanders’ car and wondered if Sanders would just quote more Bible verses or if he would recognize that this was real life, not the days of chariots and stone tablets and supposed miracles. But then he thought again that Sanders seemed to have a deep insight into things, and he wondered if he would at least listen. Would he have some insight into the truth of all this?

  Maybe if someone would just listen. Ron Kincaide gave the appearance of being a listener, he thought, but he also carries a badge and a gun and puts people away into boxes for years at a time. Nope, not Kincaide. How about Bob D’Arcy at the FBI? Nope. Another badge. Those guys would definitely not be happy finding out what he had been doing.

  He looked again at Sanders’ car, then put his head back down on the headrest. His eyes were closed. Worry lines creased his forehead. His fingers beat a steady tattoo on the car seat. He opened his eyes and looked at Sanders’ car, then picked up his checkbook and looked at the numbers again.

  Henry was so deeply contemplating the possibilities facing him that he didn’t realize for several moments that his cell phone was buzzing. What now, he thought. There was no number showing from the caller and he answered with a simple, and quite exasperated, “Yes.” Then his heart did the proverbial flip-flop as he heard the voice.

  “Mr. Baxter. I know you’ve been trying to call me.

  Against my better judgement, I decided to answer you. What can I do for you?”

  Henry was silent for a long moment, then finally replied,

  “I’m lost. I don’t know what to do. I need help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “I don’t know if all this is right, but I don’t know if I can leave it alone. There’s too much at stake here. Too many people who are suffering and they need guidance. They need you to come back and show them what to do. How to do what is needed. They got a start toward reclaiming their lives, but now… What now?”

  “Mr. Baxter, I told you before that our group has closed off their operations in this project. We won’t be re-opening our efforts. But, you have seen all that we’ve done, and what the people have begun doing. The various governments have seen. They could pick up the work and keep it going. Why don’t you pick up your pen and write articles enticing—demanding—the governments and agencies do what they should be doing? You can lead that charge.”

  “But it has to be more than that. They won’t even begin to do what’s needed with having to go through all the political and moralistic controllers. And then they won’t take the direct action needed like you were doing.”

  “Then, Mr. Baxter, you pick up that sword I mentioned, instead of your pen, and do it.”

  Henry was silent.

  “Mr. Baxter?”

  “I can’t…on my own. I wouldn’t know how. I would need help.” He paused for another moment, then finished, with a soft plea, “Would you help?”

  Then it was Randall Johns who was silent. Finally, he answered, “Mr. Baxter, we can not, and will not, be directly involved any more. Perhaps, though, we could be of some help if you were to really commit to the project. Do you remember what I said earlier about that—really committing?”

  “Yes,” Henry came back with a hoarse whisper.

  “Then what will your decision be, Mr. Baxter?”

  He looked again at the checkbook lying beside him and, as he slowly started to reach for the ignition, Henry thought , What if…?

  POSTSCRIPT

  For every thousand hacking at the leaves of evil, there is one striking at the root.

  Henry David Thoreau

  The truth that makes men free is for the most part the truth which men prefer not to hear.

  Herbert Agar

  Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened.

  Sir Winston Churchill

  COMING SOON

  COP

  by Jim Magwood

  Everyone has certain fears.

  For some, it’s the fear of dying;

  for others, of living.

  CHAPTER 1

  As he pressed close to the cold, clammy wall, he strained to hear through the deathly quiet screaming in his ears. He felt the cold rain falling on his hat, then running down his neck, and heard the drops as they fell in the filthy alley. It was dark—so dark—and he strained to see into it. Nothing. He could hardly see the 9mm Glock he held in front of him. He slowly shuffled a foot further into the alley, touching the alley wall with his free hand. Quiet—and so dark. His nerves were ringing as if they wer
e being squeezed in a vise, and despite the cold, he felt as if he was on fire, but shivering in spite of it.

  He inched down the wall and barely saw the Dumpster across the alley, then a couple of aluminum garbage cans beside it. He wanted so badly to turn on his flashlight, but knew it would just give him away. His feet were freezing from being in the water, and his whole body was shivering. His clothes were soaked through from the rain—almost sleet in the cold.

  And he still couldn’t hear anything except the creaking of his wet leathers. The quiet seemed to be so loud it shrieked in his ears as he moved. Though this was his beat, he didn’t know this alley. But he had seen the guy run in here. He couldn’t see any light where the end of the alley might be, so didn’t know if the guy had gone out a back exit. If not, then he had to be in here. Maybe the alley T’d ahead. He could have gone either way. But, it was so dark.