The Oracle Philon

by Gerald J Kubicki

  “They’ll call. They’ll call,” the young sleeper jihadist slurred back. “It’s just a few minutes after eleven back in Chicago. They’re probably still killing infidels.”

  “Or maybe they are all dead,” she continued as she moved closer to him.

  “Stay back,” he warned. “I’ll shoot you. At this point, I have nothing to lose.”

  “You don’t look well Wes. Is there anything I can do to help you,” she said smoothly. “I am a doctor you know. I can help you stop the pain.”

  “I’m just a little tired,” he managed to say. “I still can hold you two at bay.”

  “Why don’t you put your head down for a little while,” Dr. Darby said compassionately. “I’ll watch the gun for you and you can get some sleep.”

  The poisoned young man was already delusional. Somehow in his mixed up mind, he now thought that Dr. Darby was his mother. She had recognized the symptoms and knew that it wouldn’t be long before he completely lost his mind.

  “Can you make me something to eat?” The dying man pleaded.

  “Of course dear” she purred back. “Just put your head down and relax while I get you something.”

  At the suggestion, Wes Robertson found that he couldn’t hold up his head any longer. He let it drop onto the table. It was the last time that he would ever do anything.

  Dr. Darby leaped forward and wrenched the gun from his sweaty infested hand. She fingered it gingerly, wiped it down, and then gripped the handle tightly.

  “Give me the gun,” Colonel Jacobs demanded.

  “That’s not going to happen,” Dr. Darby responded in a hard voice. “I don’t trust you,” she said as she turned the gun on him.

  “What happens now?” The colonel said as he began to concentrate on his own survival.

  “Now we are just going to sit here quietly and wait until Wes finally dies. And in the meantime, I’m going to record your complete confession.”

  “What? But I helped,” Colonel Jacobs protested. “You have to let me go and not expose me.”

  “Oh, you’ll go alright,” she nodded her head in agreement as she aimed the gun expertly at the colonel. She opened a drawer in the desk and took out a recorder. She tossed it underhanded to him. “Now start recording, you traitor.”

  “But then what happens when I finish?”

  “You’re going to sign you out of the facility and you are going to leave. Then when you get home, you’re going to resign from the Air Force immediately. Is that understood?”

  “But I was duped,” he cried out. “I don’t deserve this.”

  “It was blackmail you idiot. And now I’m going to do it to you.”

  The fearful colonel grabbed the recorder and started talking. Dr. Darby was sounding different and he didn’t want to upset her in any way.

  When Wes Robertson’s body slipped off the chair because he had died, Colonel Jacobs stopped talking.

  “Finish,” Dr. Darby screamed and pushed the pistol at the colonel. “Or I swear I will put a bullet into you right now.”

  Colonel Jacobs reluctantly continued his confession making it sound like he was an innocent victim. When he was done, he signed himself out of the facility.

  “Get anything you want to take with you and get out,” Dr. Darby said in a hiss that sounded like a snake. “You won’t be coming back to Area 51.”

  “Thank you for letting me go,” he responded.

  “Get out of my sight,” she screamed.

  ***

  A few minutes later, Dr. Darby’s voice came over the intercom. “The lockdown is over. Will someone please free the two men in the cleaning closet and have them report to me immediately in the control room.”

  She then picked up the phone and called the base commander. She wanted Colonel Jacobs captured before he got close to an exit of the huge base. She explained that he was a “Radical Islamist” and needed to be detained. It gave her time to complete her other tasks.

  Dr. Darby took the tainted meteorite from the dead body and placed it in the metal box she had retrieved from the laboratory. She had also collected some of her papers and returned to the control room just as the two security guards rushed in with guns drawn. They didn’t see her drop the meteorite into the box.

  “Don’t touch the body,” she shouted out as a warning and threw up her arm to stop them. “He is infected with poison and you don’t want any of it to get on you.”

  Both men stared in disbelief. “What should we do then?” one asked.

  “Stand guard outside,” she ordered. “Don’t let anyone inside the control room until the cleanup team arrives. I’ve already called them.” It was a lie.

  “Yes, ma’am, the other security man responded. The men gladly agreed to take up positions outside the room and away from the dead Wes Robertson.

  When the men were finally at their stations, Dr. Darby began putting things into a small suitcase she had also retrieved from her laboratory.

  She left the recorder with the confession on the desk and decided to follow the route Colonel Jacobs had taken to the tunnel. She had just picked up the Switch when her phone rang.

  “Dr. Darby,” General Stone asked. “Is everything alright?”

  “Everything is just fine,” the doctor responded a little too calmly. “We had a little scare here, but I’m back in control of the situation.”

  “What about the moles?” the old man inquired.

  Dr. Darby believed that she was an American patriot. She wanted to help people — specifically white people and she had helped to stop the jihadists.

  “Both moles have been neutralized,” she responded. “I’ll tell you all about it when you get here.”

  “I look forward to it,” the general said a little too quickly. “What are you doing right now?”

  “Right now,” she said forcing exhaustion into her voice. “I’m going to go home and take a bath. It has been a long day.”

  “Well,” the general laughed. “Then I won’t keep you.”

  ***

  “She’s lying,” Kaley shouted as soon as the general hung up the cellphone. He had put the call on speakerphone.

  “Yes, I imagine she is,” the general answered truthfully. “Are you sure your spirit has a lock on her?” the old man asked Malcolm. “She has a Switch you know.”

  “Yes, we can keep track of her until the team can get to her location,” Malcolm responded. “We know where she is headed, don’t forget.”

  “I’m really surprised,” Lisa said as she stared at a picture of Dr. Darby. In the photo she was kissing Lothar Keidel, one of Hans Keidel’s sons. Lisa had found the picture in a file in a desk at the mansion. It was damaging evidence.

  Kaley also held a deed from some property in Canada. The owner was listed as Doctor Gillian Darby. It was the secret hideout that Hans Keidel had planned.

  “Who would have thought that she was part of the Effort,” Malcolm croaked as they piled into their vehicle and headed to the warehouse.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  “A large semi-trailer truck has pulled up alongside the fence surrounding the warehouse,” a TACP member reported. He and his partner were camouflaged about thirty feet away from the back of the truck. The place where the warehouse was located bordered a road. It was on the south side and near the gated entrance to the large facility. The truck appeared to be stopping to check some equipment as the driver and his passenger walked around to the back.

  “Keep me posted,” Captain Kane ordered. He turned to Sergeant Pepper and told him the location where the truck had stopped. The TACP field captains were informed and could now position their men.

  “The back door has opened and many people are coming out. They are all armed,” the sniper added.

  “Hold your position until they leave for the warehouse,” Captain Kane ordered.

  A few minutes later the sniper reported. “They have cut a hole in the chain link fence and are pouring through the opening as quietly as a herd of buffalo,”
he chuckled.

  “What about sentries?” the captain inquired. “How many sentries are watching the truck?”

  “They are leaving two men to watch the truck and the six suicide bombers. The rest have gone inside the fence,” the sniper answered. “Wait, another man has appeared and has taken control of the bombers.”

  “Take down the sentries and disable the truck,” Captain Kane ordered. “Then follow the bombers, but don’t engage. The bombs could go off.”

  “Roger,” the man replied.

  ***

  Two quick shots from a silenced sniper rifle and both sentries were retired. The two man TACP team sprinted to the front of the truck and disabled the ignition system in seconds. They had trained for this kind of action.

  “Mission accomplished,” the sniper reported. “Sentries down and the truck is now disabled.

  “Try to catch up with the bombers, but don’t get too close. I may have you shoot one of them so all the bombs will go off,” Captain Kane said.

  “Roger,” was the terse reply.

  The two men quickly scurried through the hole in the fence. They caught up to the bombers in just a few seconds. They paralleled their movements. The suicide bombers were marching in formation with the two small boys in the front. They were skipping and laughing as they followed the jihadists. They didn’t really seem to comprehend what was going to happen to them.

  Next came four women. The two in front walked stoically and stared straight ahead with determined looks on their faces. They knew their fate and were praying. But the two women in the back of the line were strangely chained to their guide. They were crying and attempting to pull away. The two TACP members sensed that something wasn’t right.

  Suddenly one of the women cried out in a weak voice. “I don’t want to die.” The guide reached over and slapped her hard on the face. She winced in pain. The two TACP men realized that the women had been beaten and abused when they started to look closely at them.

  “Captain,” the sniper commented. “Something isn’t right. The two women at the end of the line are fighting their handler. I don’t think that they want to do this. It looks like they had been abducted.”

  The captain had heard of many stories where the bombers weren’t actually suicidal, but were forced into wearing bomb vests. They were sent into areas where the jihadist knew they would be shot. Once they died their fingers came off the red push button detonator and the bombs blew up. It was a standard practice for the suicide bombers to press down a red button once the bomb was activated. As soon as their finger came off the button the bomb went off.

  “Do you think they are innocents and not terrorists?” the leader asked.

  “Yes,” the man responded. “We’re going to rescue them,” he stated with grit.

  “Be careful,” the captain replied without making a decision. His men could think and act on their own. Captain Kane knew it would be a dangerous job.

  Before the TACP men could work out a plan, the handler stepped forward to the beginning of the line and yelled.

  “Mohammad, go,” he shouted in English and waved his dirty arm.

  The first boy took off running. He turned back and waved to the others before he sprinted down the entranceway to the warehouse. The second boy waited thirty seconds and then chased after the first boy.

  “They’re sending the suicide bombers in one at a time,” the sniper said urgently to his partner while broadcasting the message to the control center.

  “Do you have a plan yet?” Captain Kane called back to his men.

  “We’ll go when the two women in front leave was his reply. That was thirty seconds later. The TACP men knew that they had thirty seconds to save the two women.

  A shot from the silenced sniper gun put the handler down. The men raced to the two chained women.

  The women were frantically looking around and trying to free themselves from the chain. When they saw the two huge camouflaged men rise up near them they screamed, but only a grunt came out. Their throats had been damaged so they couldn’t alert anyone.

  “Be calm,” the sniper said as they neared. “We’re going to deactivate the bombs and take you to safety.”

  “Oh God,” one women managed say in a young voice.

  “Keep your fingers on the detonator until I tell you to take them off. Nod your heads if you understand.”

  Both women quickly nodded and relaxed a little. The TACP team members examined the bombs and discovered that the ignition wires were simply imbedded in some C-4. There were no booby traps. They both pulled the wires out and deactivated the bombs.

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the men helped the women out of their suicide vests. They dropped them to the ground and turned to run, but the women collapsed on the ground. It was then that the TACP team members realized that the women were little more than teenagers. They scooped the girls up into their arms and sprinted away.

  “We’ve saved two teenage girls,” the sniper reported. “But they’re going to need medical attention. We’re heading to the command center.”

  “Roger,” the pleased captain responded.

  ***

  Meanwhile, the attacking Jihadists had gathered down the paved entranceway from the big garage door to the warehouse as they waited to go inside. They were far enough away that the Effort spotters could not see them in the dark night.

  “He’s coming,” someone whispered and the crowd parted. The youngest boy, Mohammad, glided through the crowd like he was an Olympic runner and waved to everyone. He had a smile on his face. The men cheered him on.

  He continued down the pavement and towards the Efforts first line of defense.

  A spotter on the roof of one of the buildings outside the warehouse saw someone running towards him. He immediately took aim, but hesitated. It was just a small boy. That hesitation cost him his life.

  The boy took his finger off the red button when he was in between the building that crowded the road. The explosion blew holes in both structures and killed five Effort men who were positioned on the roofs of the buildings. The blast also opened a gaping hole in the ground.

  As soon as the dust seemed to clear the second boy came sprinting around the hole. The Effort men were too stunned and shocked to even notice him. He ran right up to the garage door and plastered himself against it. Then he took his finger off the button and the blast completely destroyed the door, killing five more Effort men who were just inside the building.

  When the few remaining defenders there finally realized what had happened, it was too late. The first two women ran through the open door. One went right and one went left. They didn’t get very far before machine gun fire killed them. But they had accomplished their goal. Their blasts killed six more Effort men racing to fill the gap in the open door. They had cleared the immediate area of any resistance.

  The two infidel women were supposed to follow the first two women and penetrate as deep into the building as possible before they were shot. But they never showed. The jihadists waited a minute and then could wait no more. They had killing on their minds.

  With a scream of praise to Allah, the Jihadists stormed the building.

  ***

  The problem with the Effort’s plan for the defense of the warehouse was that while they had superior manpower, they were just too spread out. The two lines of defense was a good strategy when attacked from several different positions at once, but totally ineffective when there was a single frontal assault. The jihadists actually had the advantage in numbers and they had the suicide bombers too.

  Lothar Keidel realized the flaw in his defensive design when it was too late. The Jihadists were rushing the open doorway and would get to him in minutes.

  He stared at the computer monitors high up in the super structure in the north corner of the plant. The monitors were connected to six cameras that had been set up around the building. Only one was aimed at the door and showed that almost all his men inside the warehouse were dead.


  “Everybody, I need you inside the warehouse now,” he screamed into his walkie-talkie. “The intruders are about to breach the garage door.”

  Men scrambled from their positions outside and rushed to defend the warehouse.

  “This is going to be a slaughter,” Captain Kane noted as he watched his various views of the battle.

  “Maybe we should even the odds, sir,” Sergeant Pepper replied.

  “Snipers,” the Captain rang out over the communications network. “Take out ten Jihadists. The rest of you close ranks and block the entrance once the jihadists get inside. I want the perimeter shooters to stay in place.”

  The TACP team had set up four sniper positions. Two were located on the tall dilapidated water tower on the south corner of the big lot. Two more had secured positions on nearby roof tops that the Effort men hadn’t occupied. In a manner of seconds, ten shots rang out. They mowed down the first ten jihadists who were rushing in mass. Their sudden collapse caused the marauding attackers to slow down and step over the bodies. This gave the Effort men precious seconds to regroup.

  Lothar Keidel turned and looked at the eleven completed Switches that were sitting on an open table in the middle of the room. He knew he had to protect them no matter what the consequences. My father would never forgive me, he thought. He knew he could hide them in the vault which stood open in the corner, but realized that the jihadists had explosives and the old safe could be easily opened by someone who knew how to use the material. He searched the room with his eyes to find a better hiding place.

  He noticed a dumbwaiter shaft in the far corner of the room. “You,” he pointed to an extremely frightened man near him. “Drop the Switches into that metal shaft over there and close the door to it. Then use the blowtorch to seal it shut,” he screamed.

  The man looked at the opening and said. “I…don’t… know how to use a blow torch.”

  “Learn,” Lothar screamed back in a menacing voice. Another man volunteered to do the welding.

  “I’ll do it,” the man replied weakly and went to dump the devices into the shaft.