The Harbinger

by Mary Eicher

  “Merry fucking Christmas, Jamil.” He chuckled while he watched the woman say goodbye to her cute little lover, rejoicing at his luck. The Harbinger had presented him with a trifecta: the dangerous assemblywoman, the dark-haired dyke, and her love toy. He took a deep drag from his cigarette. It was within his grasp to destroy them all in a single blast of glory.

  He donned his tourist vest and a Santa hat he had purchased the day before and headed out. His senses were keen, and he wanted to feel the atmosphere on the street. He put the Do Not Disturb sign on the exterior of his room door and found the elevators. As he hit the street, Uberdorf looked around, checking to see if his men were in position.

  Servants from the local chapter of the cult were taking pains to be highly visible. They busied themselves by asking for donations and handing out candy canes to people whether they got a donation or not. Uberdorf had instructed them to be polite. Their presence was a necessary element of his plan.

  Tomorrow he would provide something beyond candy canes for them to distribute, something with an amusing kick. He strolled down Fifteenth Street intent on inspecting the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament. There were half-a-dozen worshippers scattered among the pews and the smell of incense in the air. Just as he’d suspected, the church was largely empty this time of day. He walked down the side aisle and studied the small pictures of saints and angels. Near the center he came to an alcove with a large statue of the Virgin Mary. He put a dollar in the donation box and lit a candle. There was another alcove on the opposite side of the church. He studied them both and selected the one he would use. Then he completed his circumnavigation of the interior as if he were making the stations of the cross.

  When he emerged, he lit a cigarette and pulled the collar of his vest up to cover his neck. The wind had picked up, and he decided to return to his hotel. He sent a text to Jerry asking when the men would arrive with the last of the supplies he needed for the events of the next day. Jerry reported that they had already arrived. Uberdorf had a spring in his step as he hurried back to meet them.

  *

  The breakout room was almost too intimate, forcing the attendees to cluster together and their leader to feel uncomfortably claustrophobic. The second day was the money day. Teams were charged with producing recommendations for the governor and have them ready for presentation the following day. Dr. Fielding observed his team and waited for inspiration. They were not scientists. They were business owners, a farmer, a schoolteacher and one particularly surly politician. But they had personal experience with the Harbinger. They had lost loved ones in the past six months, and unlike Fielding, they would never call it “the so-called Harbinger,” a term he regretted having used the day before.

  He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Let’s get started.”

  They began tossing words at him. He wrote each one on an easel pad until two sheets had been filled. Then he led them through an exercise to cull down the list by combining duplicates and crossing out those they agreed were not applicable. That left them with five possibilities: disease, trauma, hoax, myth, and divine intervention—although he’d argued against retaining that one. He added a sixth possibility on his own—cerebral abnormality.

  He stepped back and reviewed the list. He had knowledge that would help his team with the first two, so Fielding started the conversation there. He handed them copies of a report from the NIH. They were not allowed to keep them, he explained as he asked them to write their name at the top of their copy. The reports could not be taken out of the room. He gave them a few minutes to read what the NIH had discovered in its months of testing.

  “So, you haven’t found anything?” the teacher asked.

  “We didn’t find a cause,” he had to admit. “But we did find a suspect change to a specific portion of the brain.”

  “But only some of the brains. Only those who had heard the Harbinger, right?”

  Fielding rubbed his hands together. “Well, not even all of those. But enough of the time for it to be considered significant. We know that we are not dealing with a disease.” He crossed that word off the list on the easel. “And we can eliminate trauma since it is involved in so few of the deaths.” He crossed another one off the list.

  The politician shook his head. “Anyone here really believe the Harbinger is a hoax or a myth?” No one raised their hand. “Then we are left with divine intervention and cerebral abnormality—the old ‘religion versus science’ problem.” He stood up and went to pour a fresh cup of coffee. “Looks like it’s going to be a long day.”

  *

  Lucy gathered her purse and laptop and headed out to the pool area. It was a beautiful day, too cool for swimming but better than staying in the hotel room all day while Artemis was at her breakout session. She settled into a cabana out of the direct sun and turned the little heater on to keep her feet warm. Early December frequently meant rain, but the conference had been spared that extra complication. Looking at the bright holiday décor, she regretted not having brought Angie. But Claire had insisted Angie had missed enough school and promised Lucy that nothing bad would happen.

  The Hyatt was ablaze with holiday decorations just like the downtown streets. Only it didn’t feel like Christmas was nearly upon them. The weather was too warm, and her little girl was too far away. Lucy opened the laptop, browsed news sites for a while, and then filed her report about the first day of the conference. Having sent it off to Jake, she lay back to take a nap until the hot tub became available at ten.

  She heard men arguing just beyond the entrance gate. The gate clanged and the argument continued as three men came into the pool area. Lucy sat up to watch. One of the men was a waiter on his way to open the pool snack bar. The other two wore Servants’ robes and were badgering the waiter, who was trying to walk away.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the waiter said.

  “We’re talking about this woman,” the lead Servant replied. “She’s rather hard to miss. Just tell us what room she’s in.”

  He held a photograph at the bartender’s face. Lucy switched off the noisy space heater and crouched down in the corner of the cabana. She could hear them asking about Artemis. Which meant Uberdorf had to be in Sacramento as well. She quietly texted Artemis with the news.

  When the men left, she went to her hotel room and changed into walking clothes. She was going to have a look around the conference center to see if anything untoward was going on. Jake would appreciate another scoop. The Messenger was developing a series of articles critical of the Servants and all but calling Uberdorf a con artist. In retaliation, the televangelist had sent a nasty note to Jake threatening his reporters. Lucy had had to chuckle at that. Artemis had been less amused. If she timed things right, Lucy thought, she might be able to catch up with Artemis for lunch. She sent another text and set off to see what she could find out.

  *

  Artemis met her at a little restaurant in the Hyatt. They had both seen plenty of evidence the Servants were around but nothing suspicious although Artemis’s senses were already sending out alerts. The men in the brown robes appeared merely to be asking for donations, but she had no doubt something more sinister was up.

  “How’s the meeting going?” Lucy asked.

  Artemis grimaced. “Hard to tell. At least my team has gotten all the grousing off their chest. I may even get them to discuss philosophical implications—eventually. Did you talk to Angie?”

  Lucy nodded. “She’s very happy. They have a program today at school. She’s a reindeer.”

  “Sorry you have to miss it.” Artemis gave her a sympathetic half smile. “Is your mother recording it?”

  “Sure is. This could be the beginning of a fabulous career. Angie is a ham, you know.” Lucy took a final bite of her sandwich.

  “No, she’s not. Angie is very levelheaded.”

  Lucy twirled her fork in disagreement. “Half the time I don’t even know what planet she’s on. It’s like she’s in a diff
erent time zone lately. And that voice she hears. The other day she told me not to go to church while I’m here. I point out that I’m completely done with churches. Then she gave me that funny little grin like she knows something her dumb mother doesn’t.”

  Artemis ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. She couldn’t put the sense of paranoia away. “I should be getting back. Charge this to the room, okay?” She stood and put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “And stay out of churches.”

  *

  “Care to join me for a drink?” Dr. Fielding asked the beautiful dark-haired woman who had been in an adjacent breakout room. “I don’t know how your day went, but I’ve earned a scotch.”

  Artemis studied the man who had stepped up to her and shook her head. He had the professorial look she found disingenuous and reminiscent of her time in college. “My day went pretty much like yours, but I’ve still got work to do. So, thank you, but no.”

  He pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked disappointed but undeterred. “My name is Morris Fielding.” He offered her his hand. “Rumor has it that you are Miss Artemis Andronikos.”

  “Yes.” She looked mildly irritated by his continued presence.

  He took back his untouched hand and put it in his jacket pocket. “I’m not usually interested in gossip, but you…you must be used to being talked about.”

  Artemis gave him a blank stare and a blush formed at his neck.

  “Listen, I’m just trying to be a fellow team leader, nothing more. When I heard someone mention your name, I put it together with a report I did last May. You wouldn’t be related to Ichabod Andronikos by any chance, would you?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “He was my brother.”

  Fielding shook his finger at her. “Lake Isabella. I thought as much. That’s where this whole Harbinger problem started, wasn’t it?”

  Artemis nodded and began walking toward the exit. Fielding followed.

  “May I ask what you think about the Harbinger?” He picked up his pace, trying to match her tempo.

  “No.” Artemis came to an abrupt stop.

  “No?” He gave a self-conscious little laugh. “You mean to make me wait to hear your presentation tomorrow?”

  “I mean to go back to my hotel,” she said with a patronizing smile and resumed heading briskly toward the door.

  Fielding hurried to reach the exit first and opened the heavy glass door for her. She stepped through and was greeted by a familiar face.

  “Did you forget?” Lucy asked, frowning in mock irritation. She had watched Artemis and the persistent suitor make their way down the conference hallway. Sensing Artemis was trying to escape the man’s attentions, Lucy slipped her arm around Artemis’s and gave a nod to the man beside her.

  “It’s time for your medication, dear. I just hate it when I have to track you down like this. Were you bothering this nice man with your silly conspiracy stories?”

  Artemis arched an eyebrow and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Fielding cocked his head and watched the petite woman guide Artemis away. He spied a bar down the block and decided to order a double.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The final day of the conference dawned with a change in the weather and a perceptible lowering of expectations. A cold stiff wind replaced the cool breeze of the previous two days, and the sky had turned gray with clouds that promised rain. The cheerful holiday decorations swayed against the wind. Only a smattering of tourists braved the capitol. The day was a Thursday child at best.

  Media vans lined the street in anticipation of the presentations scheduled to conclude the event. Uberdorf stepped into the weather and braced against the chill. He noted his Servants deployed along L Street between Fifteenth and Sixteenth Streets just north of Capitol Park mingling harmlessly with the tourists. Each of them carried a bag filled with special souvenirs. Jerry, clad in street clothes including a dark-blue jacket and suffering a noticeable hangover, passed him and gave him a nod to indicate things were ready at the cathedral.

  Uberdorf took out his cell and gave the order for the Servants to begin the first phase of his three-pronged escalation. One by one, the men in their brown robes took positions on the capitol grounds and began handing out souvenir pens engraved with the governor’s name. Most of the pens were harmless ballpoint souvenirs. But nearly half of them concealed an unpleasant surprise.

  Uberdorf chuckled as the attendees took the slender boxes and shoved them into pockets or purses. They would open them at some point after they got to the auditorium, he presumed. Then their day would take a turn or two for the worse. The pens were sure to cause a commotion and rattle already jittered nerves. The objective was to distract the governor’s security apparatus, leaving the way open for what would come next. If he was to be successful in taking his victims out, Uberdorf needed to corner them precisely where he wanted them and leave security otherwise directed.

  He lit a cigarette as he waited for the red crossing light to change. He noticed the spire of the cathedral in the distance.

  “All in good time,” he said to the venue for the day’s second event.

  He fondled the detonator in his pocket and wondered when he should use it. Timing was critical. Once the pens started a commotion, he would detonate the bomb in the cathedral and then watch events develop as the governor moved the whole shebang to the waiting conference center. Everything was ready. He had personally planted a stash of explosives in the basement directly below the auditorium during the night. He had positioned the bomb just beneath the stage and set the timer for 4:00 p.m. when all the presenters would be assembled to receive the governor’s congratulation for their hard work.

  The timer was a failsafe. It would allow him to slip away in case something went wrong. But he didn’t foresee that happening. This time he had put it all together. Uberdorf felt a rush of anticipation as his excitement blossomed. He lifted his cap and scratched his tonsure.

  The light changed, and he stepped off the curb, using his shoe to grind out the cigarette butt in the gutter. A light rain had started to fall. It was more of a mist than a steady rain, but people were seeking cover in nearby shops. Uberdorf took it as a good omen.

  *

  Angie raced through the lobby and jumped into her mother’s arms. Her grandmother walked behind, arm in arm with Wolfgang Strang.

  “I can’t believe it.” Lucy beamed as she lifted Angie and hugged her tight. “You didn’t say a word about coming.”

  “It was his idea,” Claire said, pointing at Strang. “He shows up at my door yesterday with Southwest tickets and an invitation we couldn’t refuse. We made the 6:00 a.m. flight this morning.”

  Strang beamed proudly. “Your mother was afraid Lucy would call, and it would ruin the surprise.”

  “She almost did,” Artemis said, giving Lucy a knowing grin and accepting a bear hug from Strang. She stood back and gave him a once-over. “You look so scientific, Wolf.”

  He was dressed in slacks and a tweedy sport coat. There was not a hint of Hawaii except for his unruly sun-bleached hair and a hula girl pin on his lapel. He tapped the pin with his finger.

  “My Willa as she was when I first fell in love with her.” He took a slender box from his coat pocket and withdrew the pen. “I see what you mean about the Harbinger cult. One of those omnipresent fellows in the outlandish monk’s robes handed this to me. Is this the group you were concerned about?”

  Artemis rolled her eyes. “Did they insist on a donation?”

  She reached out to take the pen, but Angie grabbed her hand.

  “No, Temmie,” Angie told her. “My angel says it’s bad.”

  Strang stared at the pen as if it was about to bite him. He walked to a trash receptor to toss it away.

  “No,” Angie cried. “You mustn’t throw it away.”

  Artemis took the pen and gingerly removed it from the plastic wrap. She carefully unscrewed the cap and pulled it slightly away. The wire inside led to a pool of foul-smellin
g jellied liquid. Strang told her not to move. He went to the reception desk and asked them to call security. The pen was placed in a metal box, and the doorman was asked to query people entering the hotel for the pens. Artemis called the number on the front of her conference agenda and told the governor’s chief of staff what they’d discovered.

  After a conversation with Hemsley, Jim told her all the pens would be confiscated. The governor insisted that the conference was to go ahead but the start would be delayed until the problem had been corrected.

  Strang and Claire checked into the hotel, lucky to get two rooms on the same floor as Artemis and Lucy. They left their bags with the concierge and headed to the café. Begging off, Artemis left to prepare her presentation. She didn’t mention the apprehension she felt or her certainty the Servants were undoubtedly up to worse.

  *

  Uberdorf raised his binoculars and watched as the Andronikos woman emerged from the Hyatt and crossed the street. She wore a stylish burgundy suit, and her hair was braided in the back instead of loose, but it was unmistakably her. He followed her as she jogged through the light rain to the capitol building and wondered why she was in such a hurry. Then he saw a police officer accost one of the Servants and confiscate a box of souvenirs.

  “Shit.”

  *

  Governor Hemsley paced in the hallway outside the auditorium, waiting to hear that the problem had been resolved. Jim had made the announcement instructing people to turn in the bogus pens, and he saw his attendees gathering to discuss the situation up and down the hall.