by J. A. Hailey
Those numbers were added to by many more that came running in from various sides, some uniformed, and all with weapons in hand, creating absolute chaos in the garden, where the many hundreds of palace servants and waiters added to the mayhem by suddenly stopping running around in circles, screaming insanely in terror, and picking up knives from tables, to fight back, swarming onto and killing guards.
Grietzmann had privately always known that despite his work being extremely vile and violent, he was himself an absolute coward, but even in his experience, of being present on a few instances when robotized Mexicans had gotten loose in the sprawling Panhandle facility, he had never been in a more dangerous place than the Arabian King’s garden at that moment.
Just before wholesale, random slaughter had begun, he had involuntarily glanced up at the corner of the building to look at Sagan’s window, and at the brightly lit window of Michael’s room, framed in which he had seen the silhouette, a vaguely familiar silhouette, of a servant woman looking down along the wall.
Immediately thereafter the shooting and killing had started, and electrical power to the palace had been cut off. It did not, however, result in total darkness on the grounds, as a number of emergency lights had instantly come on.
That was also when Grietzmann had rapidly taken the half dozen steps to the nearest bathroom, pushing aside a man who had drawn a gun from within the folds of his local Arab dress. “Guard this door. Stay right here,” he ordered, knowing that the man just had to be part of the security force. He was right, as the man immediately acknowledged the command, and took up position after practically ushering Grietzmann into the toilet.
Locking the door behind him, Grietzmann was able to keep track of the pandemonium and killing that had commenced in the garden, by peeping through an exhaust fan opening facing out towards it.-
The emergency lights showed him numerous armed men in the garden, shooting at servants, and also a uniformed commander standing on the boundary wall, shooting into the crowd at ground level. He, of course, was in no danger of being harmed, as he was out of reach of servants, and the only people with guns were his own sort.
And now, to his astonishment, a girl appeared in his line of sight, walking swiftly but quite securely on a power cable, her sense of balance so good that she was not even holding her arms out to the sides. He could see that the cable would lead to a tower about 500 feet away from him, just outside the palace’s main boundary wall, and he also had an impression that this was the very same girl he had seen standing at Gales’ window.
Still, it was a circus trick, and with a part of his mind he wondered what sorts of women were working as the King’s servants, although she had on a black shirt, without the obligatory uniform jacket that would have clearly identified her as a palace servant.
Though most emergency lights in that part of the garden had already been shot out, there were many others still on, which made the garden area sufficiently well lighted to see. It could never become entirely dark, as the road and exterior area of the palace, beyond the walls, were lit practically brighter than day, with pods of halogen lighting on extremely tall posts.
Now, Grietzmann saw a dark-shirted man, walking on top of tables at high speed through the garden, keeping the same line as the girl on the wire. He, too, looked vaguely familiar, and he had a gun in his hand, with which he was shooting into the crowd, presumably at waiters and other servants, but Grietzmann’s vantage point gave him the impression that the man was shooting dead any security person seeming to be lining up a shot at the girl.
He, too, was safe from being shot at by anyone, because the gun in his hand, the color of his clothes, and his utter disregard for any form of concealment, proved that he was clearly part of the King’s security system.
There was no doubt in Grietzmann’s mind that these were both servants, albeit servants with astonishing skills and attitudes, probably lovers, running to save their own lives, which he thought was a fair enough action in the circumstances.
For the next couple of minutes, his attention was diverted to the immediate neighborhood, where two white servant girls and a dark male servant had been dragged at gunpoint, to just outside the bathroom door, by a small group of armed men. All three were pleading frantically for their lives, but the male was shot dead on the spot, right through the centre of his forehead.
Grietzmann’s own personal door guard also got involved, and the two frantic, crying girls were first unceremoniously made topless, and then subjected to a short session of groping of their breasts and between their legs, clearly extremely penetratively. This violation lasted half a minute, after which both girls were shot in their heads, and Grietzmann was free to look around again.
The girl on the wire had got to near the halfway mark between palace wall and electrical tower, and though the cable was bouncing wildly, her balance was so good that it was pure vertical movement, with almost no lateral sway.
At that point, with her weight, the cable was no more than twenty feet above the ground, and it was an uphill climb from there on, to the tower beyond the wall.
And then she was shot, obviously in the leg, the force of the unexpected bullet making her foot miss the cable and causing her to fall!
What he witnessed next was remarkable, as she instantly twisted her body and spread her arms out, taking hold of the cable as she fell. Getting her grip, she instantly swung herself up onto it, to sit sideways on the wire.
Then, without a pause of any sort, she looked behind her, twisted her torso around, drew a handgun and fired a single bullet into the distance, all in one fluid movement. She had clearly hit her target, as she now again got to her feet on the wire, and began moving on at great speed – after a few steps, actually sprinting! If that was not amazing enough, she also commenced shooting while sprinting.
Suddenly, she raised her arm to shoot at someone in the distance, and Grietzmann was able to see what she had done. It was a shot aimed at a soldier in uniform, and it killed him on the spot. He was a new entrant to the battleground, and had come in from outside with a rifle in his hands, with which he had apparently shot at the girl. He was truly a great distance away for a pistol-toting girl, sprinting on a bouncing wire, suspended above a battleground!
She ran on, the occasional bullet tugging at her shirt, and had almost made it, but she was now sprinting so recklessly that she slipped and fell off the cable.
But no! She had leapt off the wire on purpose, timing it perfectly to land on top of the boundary wall. He realized that everything she was doing was done with intent, and with perfect timing, as, at practically the same moment, her partner on the ground sprinted to a point of the wall directly below her.
She hung from the top of the wall by her hands, for the man to grab her legs and use them to scramble up the wall to join her, which he did without breaking stride, and then they both disappeared from view, by tumbling off the wall, and out of the palace grounds.
Many minutes passed, with Grietzmann cowering in terror, too afraid to step out and demand he be taken to the King. There was no doubt that he would be recognized immediately, and therefore be safe from the violence, besides being under the protection of the guard outside the bathroom door. However, he decided it would be best to stay in hiding until the killing had stopped.
The King’s brutal instruction was so general, that the odd servant was still being discovered and shot dead, as the diminishing frequency of sounds of shots indicated.
32
Abraham Grietzmann slowly became calm, knowing that the helter-skelter part, in which he might have got caught up, was over, especially with his dedicated murderous guard watching the door, probably with hopes of being pointed out as a loyal underling, and thereby currying favor with the King.
Thus, it was a shock, and he practically jumped out of his skin, when the bathroom door lock was shot out, and the commander he had earlier spotted on the boundary wall, kicked it open, shouting in guttural Arabi
c-accented English, “Mister Abraham Grietzmann, come on out, please. We must go and join his Highness, Sheikh Abdul and Mr. Michael Gales. They are now in a secure place, and everyone is worried about you. Mister Sagan is somewhere within the palace building, and was safe throughout this terrorist assault.”
As security people and all servants in the kingdom were outranked by and subservient to him, Grietzmann came out of hiding from the depths of the bathroom, saying, “Stay alert. You have to stay alert. Those were clearly very highly trained and dedicated terrorists. Keep your gun at the ready, and get some of your people to be with us. Have you seen how good their shooting is?”
“Come along, Mr. Grietzmann,” said the colonel, in his guttural fashion. “Those terrorists have left the inside of the palace grounds. Our forces outside will get them. I am taking you to his Highness, by his direct command. We have no option but to move fast. The great one, chosen by God, does not countenance being kept waiting, whatever the reason, as you probably know well enough.”
Abraham Grietzmann did not actually resist, but he could feel the incredible strength within the colonel, as he was moved along, gripped by his shoulder.
“Come along, sir,” said the colonel, insistently, maneuvering Grietzmann through the remnants of the terrified and disorientated security force, which gave him sharp salutes while stepping out of his way.
“These are highly trained terrorists, come here to assassinate our beloved King,” he added, as he moved Grietzmann forward, shifting his irresistible grip to the upper arm. “Able to walk on wires, imagine; never know how many more are already inside. But not in this zone; we’ve cleared them out.”
The colonel briefly turned back to face the lawn, wagged a finger at a junior officer they had just passed, and then barked instructions, pointing at the corpses on the grass, clearly ordering that they be moved out of sight, and collected in one place.
It was a long way to the gate the colonel was aiming for, one that Grietzmann had used before, though obviously a much shorter distance through the interior of the palace itself, than when going around the building from the outside.
Armed military personnel, from the hundreds permanently stationed outside the palace walls, were now filing in, carrying longer range weapons than the concealed pistols on those who were deputed to be on duty inside the garden.
A captain passed close, seemingly in no hurry, which prompted the colonel to instantly grab him by his shirt front and slap him, shouting, ‘ta’al, ta’al’, or ‘haste, haste’! He shoved the frightened captain forcefully in the back, to propel him in the direction of the corpse-strewn lawn, out of sight around a corner of the palace building.
Continuing on his way, with Grietzmann in his grip, the colonel was smartly saluted by officers who had seen the slapping action through the open main gate. They now stepped out into an absolutely bright zone, lit by many pods of street lamps on extra-tall poles.
“We’ll take that one,” said the colonel, indicating a Hummer, painted in military colors. He wiggled his forefinger to indicate that they should move aside, and the military men in the path leapt out of his way.
Opening the driver’s door, he told Grietzmann, by hand signal, to go around and get into the passenger seat. When inside, ignoring the key dangling on a chain, he switched the engine remotely on, and they drove away, first weaving through a maze of concrete barriers, positioned to prevent suicide strikes, and then heading onto the brightly lit straight road, on which he accelerated and drove at extremely high speed.
33
The lit section of the palace road was about ten miles long, at which point the last streetlight stood. Thereafter, it was completely dark, but the colonel continued speeding, without even bothering to switch his headlamps on, quite content with his view of the road, as a black ribbon through the lighter background of the sandy desert.
“The King?” asked Grietzmann, tremulously, clearly affected by the high-speed drive in semi darkness.
“He’s safe,” answered the colonel, shortly.
But Grietzmann had put two and two together, and said, “That girl on the wire was one of them. I know. This was not an attack by terrorists, but an attack from another world.”
“Which other worlds exist, Mr. Grietzmann, if you are not referring to heaven and hell?” asked the colonel.
“She was a computer girl, a virtual life form,” clarified Grietzmann. “No one else in the world could have sprinted on a wire. And while shooting, too. Actually, I think I recognized her. She is someone who lives in Paris.”
The colonel applied the brakes and brought the Hummer to almost a halt. “I don’t know what you mean, sir, by computer girl? Does she live in a computer in Paris?”
“Are we there?” asked Grietzmann. “The King?”
“We are nearly there,” answered the colonel. “The King is safe. We are driving in.” He turned the Hummer off the road, and drove straight into the desert.
“Funny, isn’t it?” he said, conversationally. “Most of any sand desert is quite bright at night, except deep in the hollows between dunes. For the rest, starlight, a trace of moonlight, some reflected light from human lighting, especially in Arabia, where roads and residential areas are seriously over-brightly lit, provide sufficient lighting to move along.”
“But this vehicle has headlights,” pointed out Grietzmann.
“Oh, okay,” said the colonel, and switched the headlights on without moving his hands from the steering wheel. The Hummer was fitted for night driving, and altogether, besides manufacturer-installed headlamps, six other very powerful forward-facing lights, fitted on bumper and roof, came on.
They drove, rather bouncily, and still at high speed, considering it was nighttime driving in the desert, for another twenty minutes “We don’t really need lights now,” said the colonel, stopping the Hummer on top of a high dune, and switching lights and engine off.
Abraham Grietzmann suddenly understood who he was with, and, despite being a man whose business was the manufacture of death machines, began trembling uncontrollably in terror, almost unable to speak the words aloud.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice quavering.
“One of whom, Abraham?” asked the colonel, in a conversational tone, abandoning the heavy, guttural Arabic accent.
“The computer people,” croaked Grietzmann. “You are a virtual being from the computer world, the same as the other man there, and the girl on the wire.”
“Well, yes, now that you mention it, I am, Abraham. Well deduced.”
“We have been made to believe that it is impossible for you to harm humans. But now, you and others from the virtual world have killed an uncountable number of humans.”
“I know the count. We all do.”
“And you’ll add my life to the count. You’ve brought me here to kill me, haven’t you?”
“Kill you? Abe, I could have shot you dead in the bathroom itself. I haven’t brought you here to kill you, but I am going to tell you that despite your death not being my intention, I might leave from here - with you dying!”
“Death by torture? Maimed and dying slowly?” gasped Grietzmann.
“It’ll be a slow death, yes, although it is not intended to torture you in the strict sense of the word. This pistol has a loaded magazine in it, and I will leave it with you. If it so happens that you suffer unbearably, and desire to end the suffering quickly, you will, in your hands, be holding the option of shooting yourself in the head. We are not torturers; cannot be, and never will be.”
“But I will still die, won’t I?”
Oh, no, no. You absolutely do not have to die.”
“How?” croaked Grietzmann.
“You are called Abe the Voice, remember?”
“Yes, but what’s that got to do with us here?”
“It’s your voice, Abe. The key to life, and the difference between life and death for you, is your voice.”
&nb
sp; “I don’t understand. You haven’t told me your name.”
“It’s this different body thing. We have met, but at that time I was in a mad Frenchman’s head. My name is Caesar.”
“You are one of the most senior people there, Mr. Caesar. You have the power to spare my life,” pleaded Grietzmann.
“Only your voice can do it, Abe. We do not desire to ever sit in judgment over humans. We are, of course, not God, and therefore our control does not extend to the afterlife, where we can grant paradise or banish to hell. All we can ever hold in our hands will be life and death themselves; nothing more. In your case, it has entered a system where it is to be automatic, and not the result of any evaluation or judgment methods that we have. The automatic part is directly dependent on your voice. There is no other factor that can influence whether you live or die.”
“Please explain, Mr. Caesar.”
“Of course, I must explain, else how would it be fair and just?
“You have undoubtedly stayed abreast of human research and development of systems to analyze faces and voices of humans, to ascertain whether they are telling the truth or telling lies. It started long ago, with heartbeat, temperature and blood pressure fluctuations being the main benchmarks in the so-called lie detector testing system.
“But humans are moving forward, and have come up with the concept of involuntary microscopic facial movements that betray lies; that can signal when a person is being deceitful.
“We can do far better; so much better that we will actually never get it wrong, not even once in a million times. The truth is that we will never get it wrong even once, starting from right now, and ending when the world ends, or we end, whichever comes first.”
“So you want me to tell you something?” asked the trembling Grietzmann.
