Brian lowered his head.
Mindful that Jacquelyn had an appointment with Dr. Singh, Tamika sat next to her. “Is something wrong with your health?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Tamika breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to be excited for her friend but now wasn’t the time. The expression on Jacquelyn’s face dictated that much. “How many months?”
“Three. Doctor Singh feels certain we conceived on our honeymoon night.”
“That makes seventy-six now, right?”
Jacquelyn nodded yes.
“Isn’t that what you’ve been praying for? All of us, in fact…”
Jacquelyn shook her head yes. “That’s not what saddens me…”
“What is it then?” Tamika felt her pet cat Cocoa rubbing up against her leg. She scooped the feline up onto her lap and stroked her fur, hoping it would prepare her for whatever Jacquelyn said.
“Brian’s sister is dead.”
Tamika gasped. Pain stabbed at her heart.
Tom Dunleavey said, “What happened?”
Jacquelyn sighed, “Suicide…”
The house grew silent as thoughts of Renate McCallister flooded their minds. Two suicides in a matter of months.
Only the reporter’s voice on TV could be heard. His constant bemoaning only added to the turmoil. Said he, “It’s been confirmed that the same group of Muslims who’d relocated to the West, as part of Salvador Romanero’s twenty-one-day amnesty program, are responsible for the attack. They joined forces with Muslims already living in America before the disappearances, to carry out the attack on us.”
As the journalist went on, viewers saw aerial shots of row house fires blazing all throughout the cities of Philadelphia, Camden, New Jersey—just across the Delaware River—and Wilmington, Delaware. Many smaller towns and cities in the region were battling similar conditions.
“According to them, it was part of a four-pronged approach, which began on Universal Children’s Day and was intended to incapacitate the United States, to the glory of Allah. Their words, certainly not mine.” With an exasperated sigh, the reporter said, “Looks like their plan has succeeded after all…Back to you, Claudia.”
The news anchor looked into the camera, “Now, to our other breaking story. Now that the remains of President and First Lady Danforth have been positively identified by their DNA, Vice President Ashford will be sworn in as President later today at the White House…”
Jacquelyn plucked the TV remote control off the coffee table and muted the sound. She couldn’t listen any longer.
Dr. Meera Singh returned from the basement with a blood pressure pill for Brian. She contemplated giving him a Xanax pill to calm his nerves—Jacquelyn too—but decided to wait and see. The last thing she needed was for safe house number one residents to become addicted to opioids, or to any other drugs for that matter.
As it was, Brian had already confessed a growing dependence to his inhaler, nebulizer and air purification units, things he never needed before the Rapture. The fear of being without them frightened him to no end. He never left the house without his inhaler or surgical mask.
In a sense, those things were his opioids. Not wanting to potentially add to Brian’s “addiction” list, if she felt he needed something later, she would administer it at that time.
Then again, no medication down in the basement could fix the gaping hole in Brian’s heart. “Take this.”
Brian did as he was instructed, without protest. He looked at Jacquelyn and wanted to rejoice at the news of her pregnancy, but his soul was stuck in a “tragedy” holding pattern looking for relief but finding none. All he could manage to do was let out a loud sigh.
Even with his country burning all around him and their top supplier presumed dead, had his sister not just killed herself, Brian would have been overjoyed. The prospect of bringing a child into the world—dangerous as it was—knowing that child might be part of the thousand-year millennial period with Christ Jesus ruling the planet, was something he and Jacquelyn had hoped for since their wedding night.
The newlyweds believed part of the reason God had joined them together was to reproduce and help populate the coming Kingdom. But given all that had recently happened and knowing what was still to come, the thought of raising a child in such turbulent times only caused more fear to mushroom through Brian.
And that went double for Jacquelyn. Her eyes projected the same fear he saw in the eyes of the 75 other pregnant women living at safe house number one. The youngest, Leticia Gonzalez, was only 12.
Regardless of age, all were painfully mindful of Matthew 24:19, where Jesus warned of how dreadful it would be for pregnant women and for nursing mothers in the last days.
There was a glimmer of excitement in their eyes, but mostly Brian saw fear there. And for good reason. Whereas unbelieving new mothers thought their children had bright futures ahead of them, Christians knew better. No child born from this point forward would feel safe until Jesus returned. Normalcy for them would be trying to outlive the constant devastation.
Brian’s thoughts drifted back to Chelsea. He mumbled, “How will I tell Mom?”
“I don’t know, sweetie…” Jacquelyn knew her husband wasn’t referring to her pregnancy. Talk about bad timing!
Brian sighed, “Perhaps Dad sent her the video and she already knows. Guess I’ll find out soon enough…”
Brian lifted himself up off the sofa and slowly trudged up the stairs leading to his mother’s bedroom. Each step was more excruciating than the last. All his strength was gone.
Jacquelyn followed her husband. Halfway up the stairs, she paused and turned to Dr. Singh, “We may need you again.”
Dr. Singh nodded yes.
Tamika Moseley and Tom Dunleavey viewed the suicide video with lumps in their throats. At one point, they exchanged fearful glances, before refocusing on Brian’s cell phone screen.
Meera Singh sat on the loveseat across from them. She refused to watch the video again. The resignation in Chelsea’s voice alone was more than enough to shatter her nerves even more.
When Chelsea slit her wrists, Tamika covered her eyes with her left hand; her lower lip started quivering. Her heart ached for Brian.
Tom Dunleavey lowered his head. “Let us pray…”
The three ETSM members joined hands and prayed for Brian, Jacquelyn and Sarah Mulrooney.
Meanwhile, Brian knocked on the door to his mother’s bedroom then braced himself for whatever might happen next.
After hearing nothing on the other side of the door, he knocked a little harder.
Finally, he heard his mother climbing out of bed ever so gingerly. Little did she know her situation was about to get even worse. Soon, she would need all the prayer she could get!
Sarah opened the door and gasped upon seeing her son’s somber face. “What is it, Brian?”
Hmm. She doesn’t know. Had she known, the confused look on her face wouldn’t be there. Brian started weeping.
Sarah stared at her son blankly, as if frozen in time. A million thoughts invaded her mind. “What happened now?”
Brian gulped hard, and tried drawing more air into his lungs, “Chelsea’s dead, Ma. She slit her wrists in the bathtub. Dad found her there earlier today…”
At first Sarah’s eyes went wild, darting left and right as the rest of her body tried absorbing this latest soul-crushing blow. Her scalp tingled. Her body turned into jelly and she collapsed to the floor.
Dr. Singh heard the loud thud and raced up the stairs to find Sarah Mulrooney passed out in the hallway. Thankfully, she still had a pulse.
Meera said to Brian and Jacquelyn, “Lift her onto the bed so I can examine her!”
Brian placed his hands under his mother’s armpits. Just as Jacquelyn bent down to grab Sarah’s legs, she felt queasy. She let go of her mother-in-law’s legs and rushed to the bathroom to vomit. She still walked with a slight limp from the 272 stitches she received on the day of the Rapture.
Meera Singh knew it was morning sickness. She yelled down the stairs, “A little help please…”
Tom Dunleavey and Tamika Moseley hurried up the stairs.
Once Sarah was back on the bed, Dr. Singh asked Tamika to check her vitals, as she retreated to the basement for an IV and other medications for her new patient. Mostly due to stress and not eating properly, Sarah had already lost 25 pounds since arriving at safe house number one six weeks ago. It was time to put an end to it.
With the temporary operating room still under construction, whatever equipment she would need would have to be hoisted up two flights of stairs to Sarah’s bedroom.
Meera prayed she wouldn’t need to be placed on a breathing ventilator. Normally, she would never jump to such extreme conclusions. But these weren’t normal times and it seemed nothing was outside the realm of possibility in this crazy new world.
Tamika reached for Sarah’s hand. Tom grabbed her other hand and they started praying for Brian’s mother, just as power was lost at safe house number one…
4
FIVE HOURS AFTER LEAVING Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, while traveling westbound on U.S. 340 in the state of Virginia, Travis Hartings looked in his rear-view mirror and saw flashing lights coming from an unmarked police car that was barreling down the highway toward them.
It was roughly a tenth of a mile behind them and was closing fast.
When it became evident that the sedan was chasing after them, Travis gulped hard and pulled the 15-passenger vehicle he was operating to the shoulder of the road. “Looks like we’ve got company, boys.”
Charles Calloway was napping in the last row of seats. He opened his eyes and saw flashing blue lights all around him. He gulped hard. Oh, no! Are they here for me? He sat up in the seat and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Fear shot through him.
Clayton Holmes lowered the sun visor. Seeing his friend in the small mirror affixed to it, he knew what Charles was thinking. “Relax, my brother. As of yet, there are no warrants for you that we know of. But just to be safe, don’t give them your ID under any circumstances.”
Calloway retrieved his wallet from his pants pocket and stuffed it inside his duffel bag. He took a deep breath, “Protect us, Lord.”
Braxton Rice shared the middle seat with Dr. Lee Kim. Both men powered down their military-strength Satphones and all other mobile devices, then ordered everyone else to do the same. “Just glad we got rid of the eleven million in cash. Would be hard to explain away.”
Hartings said, “Let me do all the talking. If asked, we’re traveling back to Tennessee after conducting business in Pennsylvania.”
The van was legally registered to the TH Corporation, as part of the company’s automobile conglomerate, so Travis wasn’t too worried about it being linked to the ETSM. To the outside world, the TH stood for Travis Hartings. But to the Christian organization, it meant Tribulation Harvest.
The ETSM leaders braced themselves when two men dressed in suits exited the unmarked car. When one of them suddenly stopped at the rear of the vehicle, the five men inside grew even more tense.
Braxton Rice craned his neck back and watched the law enforcement officer very carefully, as he turned away from their vehicle and watched the oncoming traffic passing by. Whoever these men were, the way they were dressed, they certainly weren’t Virginia police officers or state troopers for that matter. They looked more like secret servicemen or FBI agents than anything else. Friend or foe?
Travis Hartings nervously rolled down his window, “Can I help you?”
The secret service agent lowered his head, then looked left then right to make sure no one was eavesdropping on them. Satisfied no one was, he flashed a cue card to Travis Hartings that read: You are hereby summoned to meet with…
The next cue card displayed a photograph of Jefferson Danforth. The agent very quickly put both cue cards back in his coat pocket.
Hartings’ eyes grew wide, “He’s still alive?”
The agent put a finger to his mouth, then nodded yes.
Hartings glanced at Clayton Holmes in the passenger seat next to him. He wanted to ask if Danforth was still alive, why would Everett Ashford be sworn in as President in a few hours?
Until now, only a handful of people in the organization knew Jefferson wasn’t on board Air Force One—in this case, the President’s “doomsday plane”, code named E-4B—when it was blown out of the sky in the state of Kansas, and that he might still be alive.
But after not hearing from their top supplier since then, not to mention that Vice President Ashford was about to take the oath to become the new President, the ETSM leaders became increasingly suspicious.
In the back of their minds, they couldn’t help but wonder if Salvador Romanero had somehow tracked him down and taken him out among the mayhem. Both men silently rejoiced.
Holmes shot Charles Calloway a quick assuring look as if to say, “Relax, everything’s fine…”
Hartings said, “Is he okay?” He was careful not to mention Jefferson Danforth by name.
“Good as can be expected, sir. Now that he’s out of office, the little control we had in the government is gone. No one knows who can be trusted anymore. It’s total chaos in Washington.”
The two agents knew Washington D.C. was under attack again. Other than that, they knew little else. For now, their orders were specific: track down the ETSM leaders at all costs…
Looking left then right again, the secret service agent handed Hartings a folded sheet of paper, which Travis handed to Clayton. “Follow the instructions exactly as they are written. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Hartings said, with little conviction.
“Before you read it, there’s one more thing I have to say…”
“What is it?”
The agent leaned inside the window, so everyone could hear him, “Keep fighting the Good fight, gentlemen. Pray for us as we pray for you. God is with us.”
Holmes and Hartings shared looks of disbelief.
Charles Calloway took a deep breath and relaxed. But his heart was anything but calm; it continued to pound wildly in his chest.
In a near whisper the secret service agent said, “We were assured you’d be comforted by those words. When you read the instructions, remember we are with you, understood?”
“Yes, sir…”
At that, without running a license plate or checking IDs, the agent said, “Carry on, gentleman.”
The two agents waited for the 15-passenger van Travis Hartings was driving to leave before walking back to their squad car.
Both men prayed everything would go as planned…
As Hartings proceeded west on U.S. 340, Holmes unfolded the paper and read the instructions aloud to everyone: “Continue west until you get to I-81 where you will head south, just like you had planned. The only difference is that you will be pulled over again somewhere on I-81 and…”
Holmes paused to glance at Travis, then sighed, “placed under arrest by secret service agents disguised as Virginia state troopers. But don’t worry, gentlemen, your arrests will be for show only, in case you’re being followed by someone other than us, which, given the circumstances, can’t be ruled out.
“At any rate, you will be handcuffed and taken into custody. If all goes well, someone at the police precinct will ultimately deliver you to the man who wishes to see you.”
Charles Calloway said, “If all goes well?”
No one answered his question. How could they when they were just as much in the dark as he was?
Dr. Lee Kim chuckled to himself. In a world ruled by technology, an industry in which he was considered a foremost expert, life had suddenly been reduced to handwritten letters and cue cards.
He grew more serious. “With Danforth no longer in power, if someone gains access to our laptops or mobile devices, and finds a way to break the codes, it’s game over for us…”
“What are the chances of this happening?” Rice asked.
“I’m not overly
concerned with someone breaking the passwords and security codes I’ve created for our own use, but what concerns me are the codes we shared with the now shut down counter shadow government President Danforth put in place prior to his subsequent death.
“Even though I’ve been assured it’s no longer operational, with only a handful of government employees on our side, keeping past ties hidden from our enemies might prove difficult at some point, even with Everett Ashford in office.”
Braxton said, “Are you saying digital fingerprints were accidentally left behind?”
“Hard to say, Braxton. But if so, all it would take is for some bureaucrat to find a lone forensic link connecting us to President Danforth, and trouble will rain down on us…”
“Certainly not a comforting feeling.” Rice felt paranoid and wanted to tell Travis Hartings to avoid I-81 and take the back roads to Tennessee.
Then again, regardless of which route they took, they would no doubt be followed. If those following them ended up being wolves in sheep’s clothing, it would surely end badly for them. He kept these unnerving thoughts to himself and prayed for God’s guidance.
Rice confiscated all Satphones and laptops which were already powered down. Part of him wanted to tell Travis to pull to the side of the road so he could bury them in the ground somewhere until this ordeal was over. They could always come back for them if things went smoothly.
Knowing they were being followed, he dismissed the thought. Rice powered on his Satphone and dictated a message to Brian Mulrooney and Jim Simonton in Michigan. The message was short and sweet: If you don’t hear from us after three days, do your best to secretly contact our top supplier. Yes, he is still with us. Do not reply to this message. Hope everything can be explained later…Pray for us…
Just north of Roanoke, Virginia, while traveling south on I-81, Travis Hartings saw flashing lights in the rearview mirror. Even though he expected it, his hands started quaking with fear; especially upon seeing three law enforcement vehicles this time instead of only one. Two squad cars pulled behind their vehicle; the other pulled in front of them.
The Sealing Page 3
