She knew exposing her face for all to see could be dangerous, but she was desperate to contact her two spiritual mentors.
If she still had her cell phone, there would be no need to come to this place. But she didn’t have it. She threw it in the trash weeks ago, so authorities wouldn’t track her down with it.
Even if she could borrow someone’s phone, it would do her no good. When she tossed her broken cell phone in the trash can, Brian’s and Charles’ numbers went with it. She never bothered committing them to memory. But who did these days?
In that light, the library was the only viable option Tamika had. Once a computer finally became available to her, she took time to familiarize herself with the online world. The first thing she did was to create a temporary Gmail account. She then joined Twitter and silently rejoiced upon locating Brian Mulrooney’s profile.
She waited two hours for Brian to reply to her message, looking over her shoulders and praying for God’s protection the whole time, but he never did. It was like a knife in her heart. Tamika left the library feeling even more hopeless. She pulled the bandanna dangling around her neck up to cover her face.
In a twisted sense of irony, if there was another benefit to the many calamities bombarding the planet, citizens were urged to wear surgical masks to hopefully shield their lungs from the deadly toxins still feared present in the atmosphere.
Tamika didn’t have a surgical mask and wasn’t about to go to a hospital to get one, even if they were giving them away for free.
It would be too risky.
The worn-out bandanna she wore, with an American flag on it, was good enough, because it covered more of her face than a surgical mask could. Perhaps it made her look a little thuggish, but as long as it kept her face covered she could care less what others thought.
But even with a bandanna, Tamika needed to remain on high alert at all times and do her best to avoid making any missteps. One false move is all it would take to make her life even more miserable than it already was. All this for a crime I didn’t even commit!
Though innocent of the charges leveled against her, Tamika had no one to blame for her current predicament but herself. Even if she’d somehow escaped the clutches of the two Doberman Pinschers, her fate was already sealed when she drove to the cemetery on the day of the break-in, asking for directions to her grandfather’s site.
That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was pulling up in a taxicab. No one had to tell her it was a dumb thing to do. It wasn’t dumb—it was insanely stupid!
Before getting in her mother’s car, Tamika took a good look around to make sure no one was watching her.
Satisfied the coast was clear, she climbed inside and scooped her pet feline onto her lap. At least Cocoa was happy to see her.
Desperate as she was to leave the tri-state area, with only forty dollars left to her name, she wouldn’t get too far. As it was, she only had a quarter-tank of gasoline left in the car. And with fuel prices averaging $12 a gallon, forty bucks wouldn’t even make a dent in the gas tank.
Tamika Moseley felt completely trapped. She was tired, broke, hungry and frightened for her life. And on top of that, she felt dirty all the way down to the soul.
With her two sons, Jamal and Dante, and her mother now in Heaven, and with a warrant out for her arrest, nothing was keeping her from leaving the area. But in order to do that, she desperately needed Brian or Charles to help her.
With that justification, risky or not, Tamika would try her luck again at the Patterson, New Jersey library in the morning.
Help me, Lord!
Sighing, she said, “Still just you and I against the world, Cocoa...”
14
THE NEXT DAY
THE ELEVATOR CAME TO a stop. Once passengers were unloaded, the elevator car shot back up the shaft at a very brisk pace to retrieve more people.
An identical elevator on the opposite side of the base of the mountain worked just as effortlessly depositing its passengers 300 feet beneath the earth’s surface.
By design, there were no buttons or gadgets inside the elevator cars, only phones in case the elevators ever broke down and stranded passengers needed assistance. Other than that, they were one-stop machines—top to bottom, bottom to top.
But blindfolded passengers were totally unaware of it. All they knew was they were inside an elevator car descending at a fairly-rapid speed. Nothing more, including that they’d been dropped inside a mountain of all places, a very secure mountain.
With a thousand people being covertly taken to the same place, it took many trips to transport everyone. The first buses pulled into the mountain just after midnight. This was the ninth of ten trips being made. Members from both groups in this shift were ordered to be at their designated pickup locations at four-thirty a.m.
All were within close-proximity to the Washington D.C. Metroplex. Members of the End Times Salvation Movement met at various locations in Northeast Virginia, while members of the American Freedom Keepers met at various locations in Southeast Maryland.
Like all other ETSM members, Brian Mulrooney received the final encrypted email from Travis Hartings at 3 a.m., with instructions on where to go next. He Googled the pickup location in northern Virginia. It was less than five miles from his hotel, giving him plenty of time.
Government-issued armored Suburbans were dispatched to each group. If anyone was late by even one minute, they would be left behind. Those waiting to be picked-up were ordered to remain in their vehicles and were prohibited from speaking to anyone until they reached their final destination.
The only thing they were allowed to bring with them were the clothes on their backs. Nothing more.
At exactly four-thirty, a black Chevy Suburban arrived at each location to pick everyone up. As was fully anticipated, no one was late. Passengers were hurried inside the SUVs and frisked, then scanned for weapons, cell phones, cameras and all other possible recording devices, before being blindfolded by secret service agents.
As quickly as the SUVs appeared, they vanished just as fast. The black Suburbans drove a short distance to a vacant warehouse. Blindfolded passengers got out of the SUVs and were placed on board buses parked inside the warehouse.
From there they were taken to the meeting location.
Ironically, no one seemed scared. A little jittery, which was fully expected, but certainly not fearful. Passengers remained silent as instructed. Not only were they totally unaware of their whereabouts, they were prohibited from asking questions.
All they knew was higher ups in their organizations had set this meeting in place, after powerful individuals in Washington had requested an audience with them—including top-ranking U.S. Military officials—in a hopeful attempt to form a secret alliance of sorts with the two groups, at least on some levels.
They had no idea whose presence they would soon be in...
Less than an hour later, still under a canopy of darkness, the buses arrived at either side of the undisclosed meeting location, and quickly vanished inside the mountain located 50 miles west of Washington D.C.
Passengers were then placed inside the stealthy elevators, depending on which group they represented. One elevator was for the ETSM. The other was for the AFK.
Upon reaching the bottom of the shaft, blindfolds were removed, and they were led to a massive full-service cafeteria-size kitchen, which could easily accommodate 500 meals per sitting. They were free to help themselves to a continental breakfast and engage in conversation with members of their respective groups.
Combined, the three-story sub-terrain shelter took up 10,000 square foot of space. It was partitioned into many sections, including a military-style sleeping quarters easily capable of sleeping 500 people per shift, and ten shower rooms equipped with ten toilets and shower stalls.
Three-thousand square feet was used for work space, to include a large auditorium-style conference room which was dubbed “the Chamber Room”. The walls surrounding the underground struc
ture were ten feet thick, made of solid steel, insulated with the purest copper known to man. To further safeguard from outside eavesdroppers, both were hermetically sealed with additional thick inner walls made from the same materials, making outside interference virtually impossible.
An underground tunnel connected to another one-story sub-terrain location, which was used to house a state of the art command center. It was revamped and fully stocked with all the latest in high tech communication gizmos so advanced that, aside from someone committing espionage on the inside, it would take outsiders many years before they could ever hope to pinpoint this, or any other subsequent locations.
And even that would require the world’s most skilled computer hackers to pull it off. In short, it was an extremely secure location.
But for now, this part was off limits to all ETSM and AFK members.
With the air completely filtered and pressurized, those invited would be hard pressed to believe they were 300 feet below the earth’s surface. When push came to shove, and all hell broke loose, thousands from one of these two groups would reside at this location.
The final two busloads were en route and would arrive momentarily. The one carrying AFK members was short by six passengers, after they failed background checks and were removed from the list they never even knew they were on.
For added security purposes, a handful of U.S. military personnel safeguarded the premises above ground and below. They were joined by a few trusted agents from the CIA, FBI, NSA and USSS (the United States Secret Service).
Pastor Jim Simonton exited the elevator car and was shocked to see Brian Mulrooney pouring a cup of coffee for himself in the cafeteria. He was so excited he could hardly contain himself. Sneaking up behind him, Jim covered Brian’s eyes with his hands.
“Guess who?” Pastor Jim said, disguising his voice.
“Oh no, not another blindfold,” said Mulrooney, jokingly. “Charles?”
“Nice try.” Jim released his grip.
Brian craned his neck back. His eyes widened. “Pastor Jim! What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing?”
“I’ve been a member since last March. Jacquelyn too.”
Jim Simonton raised an eyebrow. “Really now? Well then, surprise!”
“How could it be? I know you had dreams and all, but you weren’t even invited to the formation of the ETSM.”
“Given the current state of the world, I was told they’re speeding up the process with everyone.”
“This is answered prayer! Jacquelyn will be thrilled with the news. But who will preach at church tomorrow?”
“Brother Tom, only he doesn’t know it yet.”
“You’re right about that, pastor. He fully expects to see you tomorrow. Told me at the airport he looks forward to hearing everything you have to say.”
“As the saying goes, ‘When you least expect it, you’re elected.’ Besides, he’s been through a lot. I think it’ll be good for him to preach this weekend.” Jim poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a blueberry muffin. He took a bite and blew into his cup before venturing a sip. “Does Jacquelyn know you’re here?”
Mulrooney shook his head. “She knows I’m away on official ETSM business. Nothing more.” Swallowing the food in his mouth, he said, “Speaking of Jacquelyn, I have something very important to ask you, pastor.”
“Good news or bad?”
A smile broke across Brian’s face.
Noticing his pink cheeks, Pastor Simonton said, “Am I allowed to venture a guess?”
“Sure, but after the meeting. I wanna remain focused while I’m here.”
Pastor Jim nodded agreement. “Let’s meet tomorrow then. I know just the place.”
“Sounds like a plan. I can’t tell you how excited I am to finally meet Clayton and Travis. Wasn’t sure the day would ever come...”
“I must be really blessed to meet them right off the bat.”
“Indeed, you are, Pastor.” Brian scanned the lobby looking for Charles Calloway. He didn’t see him but would be shocked if his good friend wasn’t invited as well. “Who in the world has this kind of power and connections to pull something like this together so discreetly.”
“Someone with serious clout backing them.”
“You can say that again.” Brian filled a plastic cup full of orange juice. “Reminds me of the formation of the End Times Salvation Movement last March. Only this is far more secure and sophisticated.”
Just as Simonton was about to say something, the elevator door opened, and Charles Calloway disembarked with a dozen or so other ETSM members. All were blindfolded.
Brian smiled, “That’s Charles Calloway...”
Once the blindfold was removed, Calloway saw Brian and went off in his direction.
“Charles, good to see you again, man!” They embraced. “Good news. I think our prayer’s been answered...”
Charles raised an eyebrow, “What prayer?”
“I heard from Tamika. She found me on Twitter of all places.”
“Really? That’s a relief! How is she?”
“Well, she’s in serious trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Don’t know, Charles. I wanted to reply to her message, and almost did, in fact, but I was warned not to contact anyone until the meeting’s over.”
“At least we know she’s alive, right?”
“Amen to that. The moment I hear from her again, you’ll be the first to know.”
Before Pastor Jim could say a word, Charles said, “Pastor Simonton?”
Jim Simonton smiled. “Finally, we meet face to face.”
“Your Christmas message messed me up for the longest time!”
“Messed me up too, believe me.”
The two men had spoken on the phone a few times and exchanged e-mails and text messages on numerous occasions, but this was their first time meeting in person.
Brian jumped in, “Where are Clayton and Travis?”
“They’re here somewhere. Guess we’ll find out soon enough. All I know is we’ll be meeting with members of another group similar to ours, whatever that means. Couldn’t pry any more information out of them. But they sounded optimistic.”
“Can’t wait to finally meet them,” said Brian.
“Soon enough, my brother, soon enough.”
Calloway’s eyes swept the room. Many nodded and waved at him. It felt good to be recognized again as a leader of a large group. But this was infinitely more gratifying than Cell-U-Loss International. Instead of winning customers for himself, Calloway was winning souls for Christ. The payment received also differed: temporal versus eternal.
Charles saw Donald Johnson and waved to him. Johnson was flanked by at least 20 ETSM members.
“Who’s that?” said Brian.
“Donald Johnson. He’s an ex-Mormon from Salt Lake City. Used to be a missionary in the Philippines. Plans on going back, only this time he’ll be preaching the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth. He’s an interesting guy. The man to his right is Manuel Jiminez from L.A. I met them both last week.”
“They’re quite popular,” Jim Simonton said, adding the right mixture of cream and sugar to his second cup of coffee. He wanted to ask where they had met but thought better of it. Like everyone else, he was on a need-to-know-basis.
“Yeah,” Calloway replied. “We speak once a week. Manuel’s a good man. He figures to assume a big role with the ETSM down in Mexico.”
“Can we go over and meet them?” Brian said.
“Sure. Go on fellas,” said Charles, “I’ll join you after I grab a cup of java.”
“Sounds good.”
“I think everyone here in this gathering is ETSM. But until you know for sure, not a word to anyone about the organization. Even if some proclaim to be believers, not a word. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” Brian and Jim both said.
“Good. Go introduce yourselves. I’ll join you shortly...”
15
AT EXACTLY 5:45 A.M., the stealthy elevators made their final trips down into the bowels of the earth. After dropping off the final passenger loads, the elevators shot back up to the earth’s surface where they would remain under heavy guard until the meeting concluded sometime the following day.
After allowing a few minutes for latecomers to eat and drink, the command was given for everyone to take their refreshments and proceed to the main chamber room.
Members of the End Times Salvation Movement entered through one door. Members of the American Freedom Keepers entered through another door on the opposite side of the auditorium.
Clayton Holmes and Travis Hartings were seated on the auditorium stage with two other men no one from the ETSM recognized. The two ETSM founders acknowledged the members from their group with nods and waves as they found their seats.
Charles Calloway and Donald Johnson sat in the front row.
“Must be the leaders from the other group,” Johnson whispered in Calloway’s ear, referring to the two men seated next to Holmes and Hartings.
Charles nodded agreement.
Brian Mulrooney and Pastor Jim Simonton joined them in the front row.
Not counting the six vacant seats from the AFK members who failed background checks, the thousand-seat meeting room was at full capacity.
Once everyone was seated, the room grew eerily silent. Everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats, shooting anxious looks at one another, wondering what would happen next.
Suddenly Vice-President Everett Ashford, National Security Adviser Nelson Casanieves, the Joint Chief of Staff, William Messersmith, and the President’s chief-of-staff, Aaron Gillespie, emerged from a side door and took their seats on stage.
Just when Brian Mulrooney thought he couldn’t be anymore wowed, out of nowhere, Hail to the Chief started playing. Could it be? Everyone stood, as President Jefferson Danforth emerged from a separate door.
The Countdown Begins Page 11
