Mastermind- Rise of the Trojan Horse

by Tom Wheeler

  “I don’t care about those people; please, save her!” I begged again.

  Zoe spoke softly. “Mason, Capucine isn’t dead. She is with Emmanuel, at peace; her journey is over. I’m sorry.”

  “But . . . ,” I said, stopping short.

  “If you want me to bring her back, I can,” said Zoe.

  “Do it! Please! I need her!” I demanded. “What are you waiting for?”

  “But there are consequences,” she said.

  “Yeah, we get to be together,” I said. “Please, DO IT!”

  “If Capucine returns, you won’t be together. And you may threaten the eternity of her best friends,” said Zoe.

  “What? This has nothing to do with her friends! Besides, she can share her new faith with them,” I said emotionally.

  “Everything that happens on earth is part of the Almighty One’s elaborate plans for the good of every soul. Capucine’s death will have a profound impact on the lives of her friends Abella, Margot, and Daniela Sofia. And their lives will have a profound impact on others.”

  “But if Capucine is dead, she can’t share the grace of Emmanuel with them,” I said with a quizzical look. “Bringing her back will surely convince her friends,” I argued, truly believing I knew best.

  “It doesn’t work that way, Mason; I’m sorry,” she said, pausing, a look of humility and celestial intensity etched on her face as well as Porsha’s. “Human souls are complex. You are very intelligent beings, but you are not the Almighty One. Emmanuel has authorized the return of Capucine if that is your request. But before He does, you need to make sure you understand things will not be as you think.”

  “She repented!” I considered the consequences, a battle raging in my mind about having Capucine back in my arms while risking the eternity of her closest friends.

  “And she has been forgiven.”

  “Why does it have to be like this?” I asked as my face turned back to sorrow.

  “The Almighty One has a plan for everyone’s life, Mason; you know that.”

  “He is certain they will be saved because of Capucine’s death?”

  “Her friends, yes.”

  I closed my eyes hard, trying to suppress tears that squeezed through anyway. Then the sobbing began again as I realized she was gone.

  “Then I can’t ask you to bring her back,” I said, my forehead now on the deck. “Take me instead!” I said. “Let her live a full life!”

  “Mason,” came another voice. I opened my eyes as another celestial being appeared. Finally I recognized it was Capucine.

  “Capucine! You’re okay?” I said, wide-eyed, jumping to my feet, gazing at her draped in white as tears streamed from our eyes. “You look so beautiful.”

  “Hi, Mason,” she said, and my heart melted.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I love you so much.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I am so sorry, Capucine,” I said again. “Take me with you.”

  “The plans the Almighty One has for you require you to continue your journey,” she said as her hand reached my face.

  “I can’t live without you, Capucine,” I said as tears flowed freely from my eyes. The people around me stood wide-eyed. I noticed someone filming.

  “The Almighty One will be with you, as will I.”

  “You don’t want to return, Capucine?” I asked, distraught.

  “It’s more complicated than that, Mason; it’s just . . .”

  “Earth is not our home; I know,” I said, taking a deep breath as she nodded, another tear tracing the curve of her cheek.

  “I didn’t think there were tears in heaven,” I said, smiling slightly.

  “There aren’t. I have been afforded this glimpse back to earth. Mason, life is like the blink of an eye. We will be together soon enough . . .”

  “Okay, Capucine,” I said, taking the deepest of breaths.

  “Show Abella, Margot, and Daniela Sofia the video of this and pray for them.”

  “Will they be able to see you?”

  “No. They will only see you speaking.”

  “They’ll think I am insane! Shoot, I think I am insane.”

  “It is not your responsibility to convince anyone of the existence of Emmanuel. It never is; but, according to Emmanuel, they will believe you were speaking with angels. And you know the truth, Mason.”

  “What about your mother?” I asked Capucine.

  “My mother knows I am okay. She is a believer in Emmanuel. I love you, Mason,” Capucine said. “You taught me the true meaning of love. I will be forever in your debt.”

  “No!”

  “Mason,” said Porsha, “live a life worthy of your calling and share Emmanuel with those in your life. Believe in the One He sent and remember the Almighty One hears all of your prayers.” At this, Capucine and Zoe unfolded their wings and leaped from the ship, disappearing into the sky. The gargoyles disappeared as well, and I broke down crying. Émilie sat with a perplexed look on her face. I could hear Porsha again, in the silence of my mind.

  “A prophet is a watchman over America. Satan longs to destroy your testimony and is preparing traps for you, Mason.”

  “Traps?”

  “He will have you arrested. Don’t be discouraged. Live a life worthy of your calling. There is much more work to be done . . . ,” said Porsha.

  “Arrested? For what? My code? But I had no idea . . .”

  “Do not be afraid, Mason,” came a silent but obvious voice inside my head. “God is with you.”

  123

  Raining in Paris

  November 2

  Père Lachaise Cemetery

  It was raining in Paris, France, as if the Almighty One was crying with all of those mourning the death of Capucine Foushé. I was not new to funerals, but this one was different. Part of me had died, my heart adrift, my soul in turmoil, even though I knew she was alive. Still, I woke up every day with the same feeling of depression.

  I looked around. Everyone was dressed in black, including government officials and children. Nobody was celebrating life, just dealing with the death of an angel who had roamed the earth for a little while. I informed the priest that Capucine had accepted Emmanuel into her heart as one of her last acts on earth, something he said he would mention in the service, reminding all those within hearing of his voice that our only hope is Emmanuel.

  The rain stopped just as the priest made his way to the front of the gathering. Capucine’s mother sat in the front row, with many other family members from both sides of her family. I found out that Capucine’s father had passed some years earlier. The service was brief but impactful, reminding listeners that life is precious but short, at least on this side of eternity.

  “Hi, Mason, I am Daniela Sofia,” said one of several cute girls as I stared into the distance, while the mourners began to disperse. “I was one of Capucine’s best friends. I am sorry,” she said as tears flowed from my eyes.

  “Me, too, Daniela Sofia,” I said, and we embraced.

  “This is Abella and Margot,” she said, introducing two other young women standing shyly in front of me as she fished for another Kleenex.

  I spent the next 15 minutes explaining to the three friends what had happened, even sharing the video one of the cruise-ship passengers had taken of my seemingly one-sided conversation with angels. Only time would tell the impact it would have on them, but I trusted they would become believers.

  “We believe you, Mason. Please stay in touch with us,” Daniela Sofia said as they each hugged me.

  “Thank you for coming, General,” I said as General Crane approached. Crane nodded. “Oh, pardon me, sir,” I said, heading toward Capucine’s mother, who appeared to have a moment without a mob around her.

  “Mrs. Foushé?” I asked.

  “Yes,” answered th
e middle-aged woman.

  “My name is Mason Thomas,” I said, offering my hand, which she took after moving her handkerchief to her other hand.

  “You were her American friend, yes?” she asked with the sweetest smile.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “She was very fond of you, Mason. I had never heard her talk about a boy like she spoke of you. You must be a good man,” she said, holding my hand in both of hers.

  “I will always love your daughter,” I said, and she looked me in the eye.

  “This is a picture of Capucine when she turned 21,” she said, handing it to me. “I want you to have it.” I carefully took it from her, noticing how beautiful Capucine was at 21, although I wouldn’t have expected less.

  “Is that her father?” I asked. The photo showed Capucine standing with a handsome man on the beach.

  “Yes, this is one of the last pictures I have of the two of them,” she said.

  “Please, Madame Foushé, you keep this,” I said, handing it back to her.

  “She’d want you to have it, Mason,” she said, pushing it toward me. “But you must move on. The Almighty One now has my daughter and your friend. We must trust that we will see her again, and you must live a life worthy of your calling. Capucine would want that for you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. Those words reverberated in my mind, since they were the same words spoken by Porsha. It was as if Mrs. Foushé had had a similar vision.

  “God bless you,” she said, and then she was approached by someone else wishing to express their condolences. She turned away as I walked back toward General Crane, who was by himself near one of the trees on the grounds of the church.

  “Mason, I am sorry, son,” he said. “You know, the three of you uncovered a spy ring that could have brought down our country,” he said, looking me in the eyes. “Even the death of Hassan bin Laden was partially because of your premonition. I am not one to believe dreams, but it is difficult to refute your ability to see the future.”

  “Did you arrest Jonah, or Roman?” I asked stoically.

  “Not yet, but it won’t be long. President Crutin is helping, at least so he says.”

  “How could this possibly have happened without his knowledge or direction?”

  “He knew. But he’s a dictator. He will deny it all but won’t hesitate to give up Jonah, or should I say Roman, although at the moment he is nowhere to be found. The French had Carlos DaSilva arrested. He was a Russian agent. They are reeling over him, since he was one of their finest directors. I don’t know what happens to people, Mason,” he added.

  “What about Eva Cruise?” I asked.

  “Her body hasn’t been found. But Wesley Masters has a dive team from the CIA searching the area. Have you spoken with Dhilan?” he asked.

  “No,” I said with a bit of surprise in my tone. “But he’s not the same Dhilan.” I looked General Crane in the eyes.

  “No, he’s not. Give him time.”

  “You look concerned,” I said, noticing his frown.

  “He didn’t check in. I’m sure it’s fine,” he said. “But it is odd.”

  “The last I saw of him, he was speaking with Anna Butwina,” I said, remembering him in the room just before I had fired the shot of my life.

  “Anna Butwina?” Crane repeated just before we were interrupted by the pallbearers carrying the casket to Capucine’s resting place.

  It was so quiet that all I could hear was the wind blowing through the sparsely spaced trees and among the stone tombs. A smaller group of people filed through the dirt paths to the tombstone reading “CAPUCINE MARGOT FOUSHÉ,.” She had been only thirty-four years old. The priest said a final blessing and concluded the service.

  “I’m sorry, Mason. You said you saw Dhilan speaking with Anna Butwina?” the general asked. “Are you certain?”

  “Mm-hmm. I was surprised, because he had told me he wouldn’t be around when I fired the EMP.”

  “He knew what you were planning on doing?”

  “Yes, sorry, I told him. They were in one of the conference rooms. It appeared as if he was taking something out of her eye, come to think of it. I was concentrating on Eva Cruise, though, so I wasn’t paying much attention.” I could see a look of concern on the general’s face. “But yes, I spoke to him just before I saw them together. He left just after they met.”

  “Dhilan had no orders to meet Anna, nor Anna to meet Dhilan. There is no video footage of such a meeting, and we’ve lost contact with Anna.”

  “Seriously? I’m sure Dhilan will explain when he returns. What about that other guy; was he involved?” I asked.

  “What other guy?”

  “The picture I sent. There was one person none of us recognized.”

  “The picture you sent had Jonah, Carlos DaSilva, and Mikhail Smirnov, marshal of the Russian Federation. I’m not sure who you’re referring to?”

  “Hold on, I’ll show you. Émilie mentioned a general she spoke with; he had a funny last name. Anyway, she wondered if he was . . .”

  “A general?”

  “Troy something, I believe, although it’s my belief—”

  “Troyanskiy?” he asked as I nodded.

  “Yes, that’s it. Here,” I said, showing him the picture on my phone.

  “Where’d she get this?” asked Crane, white as a ghost.

  “Why? Who is he?” I asked.

  “Wesley Masters—director of the CIA.”

  “The same guy searching for Eva Cruise?”

  “Yeah,” said Crane, tapping on his phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “The president. I think we just discovered the real Mastermind.”

  

  EPILOGUE

  November 4

  The whining of the jet engine was quick and intense, similar to a passenger jet’s. I strode purposefully across the black tarmac, my eyes focused on the silver-colored F-15. As I approached, I saw Brigadier General Wilson sitting in the pilot seat. I climbed the ladder and hopped in, nervous, but in a good way.

  The last time I’d seen Wilson, Capucine had still been alive. My heart froze for a moment, knowing she was gone—my world turned upside down in an instant by her death. I tried not to think about her, but tears formed again like clockwork.

  “You remember the routine, Mason?” asked Wilson, snapping me back into the moment. I wiped the tear from my eye. Wilson’s eyes were on his checklist. I strapped myself in and donned my helmet.

  “Yes, sir, I believe so,” I said as a gust of wind swirled audibly around the wings and open canopy. “It’s only been a couple of weeks since our last flight, sir.”

  “You lived a lifetime in those couple of weeks, son. I’m sorry about Capucine,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir. Evidently you did, too. Congratulations on your promotion, General. I’m surprised they still let you fly these bullets,” I said, unwilling to engage in any discussion about the girl who had stolen my heart.

  “Rank has its benefits. You do realize that had the three of you not stopped Wesley Masters, there is no telling what damage he might have done to our country, or the world, for that matter.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How was your flight from Germany?”

  “A Super Galaxy isn’t a fighter jet, sir. I suppose I needed time to think,” I said, lying, since all I’d done was weep on the long flight to the United States.

  “I’m pulling up the ladder, and then we’ll get started,” he said over the com as I adjusted the mic.

  “Roger.”

  “For today’s flight,” said Wilson, “we’ll be heading over Washington, DC, then to Charleston and on down to Cape Canaveral. It should take us just over an hour once airborne.” I shook my head, marveling at the speed of this bird.

  “Eagle 7, you are cleared for
takeoff,” the controller announced.

  “Roger, Eagle 7 cleared for takeoff,” the general repeated back to the tower as the whine of the jets increased. “Ready, Mason?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Remember, we’re in an F-15 . . .”

  “Yes, sir—each engine generates 22,500 pounds of thrust, which means we are going straight up while accelerating. My lower extremities will be tight,” I said, remembering the procedure to avoid G-LOC.

  “Here we go,” he said. I was thrust back into my seat as the jet raced down and off the runway.

  “Fifteen thousand feet and climbing . . . 38,000 feet,” came Wilson’s calming, stoic voice. The acceleration continued to push my entire body against the seat as if it were a concrete wall. We were in a nearly straight-up climb before he rolled us over onto our back as the sky twirled around me. I could see the Potomac River for a brief moment before he turned the jet right side up and we headed toward the coast.

  “You all right, Mason?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Just under an hour later, we were landing at Cape Canaveral.

  “Well done, Mason.”

  “Thank you sir,” I said. We taxied past another SpaceX rocket being moved onto the launch pad.

  “Looks like we’ve got some visitors,” said Wilson as the jet moved toward the hangar, where some people were gathering, along with a couple of vans.

  “My normal welcoming committee, I suppose,” I said in jest as we continued toward the entourage.

  “That looks like Special Agent Paradyse Ashton,” I said curiously, squinting to make out the dark-haired woman wearing a blue winter jacket with “FBI” printed clearly in yellow.

  “Why would the FBI be here?” Wilson asked. “They already welcomed you home in DC.”

  “No idea,” I said as Wilson continued to taxi the jet toward the hangar. “Is that General Crane?” I asked. Next to Agent Ashton stood a fit, bald African American man dressed in a green army uniform.

  “Looks like it. I guess you are getting another welcome,” Wilson said as he shut off the engines. Once he’d opened the canopy, I took off my helmet, my heart racing. The faces on Agent Ashton and Crane looked intense. I slowly climbed out of the cockpit and down the ladder.