glad I am not as other men.’ And I say unto you, my friends, that I am glad you are not like other men and women.”
Sebastian pulled Jane, who was struggling with the burka, into the elevator. As the elevator rose, he handed her the guard’s 9 mm semi-automatic. In the background, Poe could be heard droning away.
“Do me a favor,” Sebastian said, “and try not to use that. These guys are so invisible and so connected, the whole security setup is more bling than bad-ass.”
“Because after over thirty years in the wilderness, thanks to you, a network of friends from around the ever-smaller world, our mission has passed yet another milestone and we are this very day another step closer to achieving the end we all so dearly desire.” Poe coughed and could be heard taking a drink of water.
Sebastian signaled Jane to stay put and stuck his head out of the elevator to reconnoiter. The desk guard had just returned from a quick jaunt to the local Cinnabon and dry cleaner. From the sunroom, she saw Sebastian make a face and draw back into the elevator and felt compelled to investigate. Peering into the elevator, she beheld Sebastian, glued to the rear wall with his hands in the air, mouthing the word, “HELP!” The guard looked puzzled. Reverend Poe’s sermon resumed.
“Each and every one of you is here for one reason and one reason only. Because you have shown yourselves to be members of the Lord’s elect, and, as the scripture says ‘Will not God vindicate his elect?’ I tell you, not only will he vindicate them – he will reward them. As you very clearly see in your own lives. You do his work and he rewards you. It’s just that simple. A contract. A covenant.”
The guard stepped into the elevator and Jane grabbed her, making sure to cover her mouth to muffle any noise. The elevator door slid shut. Reverend Poe pontificated on.
“In proof of that covenant he has given you dominion over all the earth and all the good things in it. Coming from every part of the globe, places utterly wretched, filthy with poverty, wracked by disease, why are you the richest of the rich, why are you the most powerful of the powerful? Because God has ordained it to be so. Because God himself in his infinite wisdom has placed you on the thrones at the top of the world. For ‘the powers that be are God’s.’ Can I have an amen?”
The elevator slid open and the semi-nude guard could be seen slumped to one side, her head pillowed on Jane’s discarded clothing. Jane fastened the belt of the black fatigues she had purloined from the unconscious guard, thrust her arms into a leather bomber jacket, and bent down to lace up a pair of combat boots that almost fit. She straightened with two guns in her possession, one from each downed guard. An impatient Sebastian pointed to the burka, discarded on the floor. Jane frowned. “Wanna blow my cover?” he insisted. “We’re outnumbered as it is.”
“We who?” she whispered in urgent if muffled tones from somewhere inside the burka, which was about as easy to put on as your average long-sleeve tablecloth. But Sebastian was already heading for the back door, where a cab was idling. He had his hand on the doorknob before he noticed something odd. He was escaping alone.
28 Janie’s Got a Gun
A few steps from the elevator, Jane had stopped stock-still to listen. And there she stayed, oblivious to Sebastian’s increasingly hysterical gestures.
“Of course we have our burdens. The poor we have always with us. But it does keep labor costs down, and over time we have learned how to deal with them. Promise your huddled masses the kingdom of heaven and a shot at the lottery and they ask no more. Over time we have taught them to want less and they are growing ever more content with their dwindling lot and turn on each other before they think to turn on us. Poor in the eyes of the world, they are rich in the faith we have given them.”
Sebastian returned stealthily to Jane’s side to point at the ranks of limos lining the front drive and the body guards milling all around them, trying to impress on her the need for a quick exit. He tried pulling her in the opposite direction, but she shook him off and stood her ground.
“The same goes for our brothers-in-arms. As the wider society fails, we are careful to promise our military the best of everything. And to shower them with such extravagant praise that they believe our every word and willingly die for us again and again. And I ask you – what would we be without them, our warrior class? With their help we have succeeded in emptying the wealth of nations into our own private pockets. With their help, we have made endless war a way of life. Again, for us, a most profitable state of affairs.”
At this point Jane took out one of the pistols and double-checked to make sure the magazine was fully loaded.
“And when in the coming months we begin the next phase of our great work, we will once again call upon our armed forces, those who work for our governments – and those who work for us more directly. I am speaking of our private armies. Our very own Praetorian Guard. With their help we will cease fighting across borders amongst ourselves and turn instead to pacifying internal unrest and maintaining order and stability from the top down. So that all that remains of glory and riches shall belong in our houses forever. To the least acre of land, to the last drop of water.” By this time Jane had crept close enough to peer into the conference room, so she could see Poe making the sign of the pyramid, placing the tips of his fingers together, then folding his hands as though in prayer. “As the good Lord intended.”
The room was large, spacious enough to seat fifty or so dignitaries with ease. It was a mirror image of the library on the other side of the reception area, except the walls and trim were painted in shades of cream and the sofa, almost lost in the sea of folding chairs, was covered in chintz. Poe stood before a lectern at the far end, facing the door and the dignitaries, directly beneath the second of two period-appropriate chandeliers. Jane noted with approval the numerous etched glass globes and crystal pendants poised like an over-sized papal crown above Poe’s head. As the good Lord intended.
“I know,” Poe said, “that many of you have had concerns of late. You have shared with me your deepest fears. That the financial Armageddon we unleashed upon the world last autumn would be our downfall. That the election just passed would spell our doom. That our designs would be revealed and our God-given rewards wrested from us before they were safely in our grasp. You will remember I told you all to fear not – fear not. For we are become the very lords of creation. It is we who create the culture, and the law, and the money. In short, everything is within our power. And most important of all – the Lord is with us. Let’s be clear. The Lord is on our side. In fact, it has come to pass that there is no other side. As the next few months will irrefutably prove. Verily I say unto you – we are all on the same side now, all working for the same good and the same God. At long last we are all – one. E pluribus unum. At long last, dear friends, we see with the same eyes and we can all see the same God, his kingdom come, his will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”
Here, Poe raised his eyes to the ceiling and spread his arms wide.
“Excuse me.” Jane’s voice interrupted the sacred void at the end of Poe’s speech. “Is this the class on ‘Speaking Truth to Power?’”
Standing in the doorway, two Berettas poking out of the burka, Jane squeezed off multiple rounds. Most of the august and portly crowd hit the floor, though one or two drew concealed weapons and added to the mayhem by returning fire. With minimal effect and less accuracy, as luck would have it. Jane’s aim was true though, and one after another the lovely glass globes exploded, sending a rain of tinkling shards down upon the right Reverend Poe. A final shot neatly severed the chain of the chandelier, which hurtled toward Poe as though it was the avenging needle’s eye and he the proverbial camel.
Sebastian, meanwhile, had triggered the panic doors. As alarms rang out, he caught Jane from the side with a flying tackle, knocking her into the hall as the bulletproof shields slammed into place.
Men with guns streamed in from out of doors. Fortuitously, more
shots and screams were heard within the conference room. Helping Jane up off the floor, Sebastian shouted over the pandemonium: “Some nutcase started shooting and we’re on lockdown. We need to evacuate ASAP, let’s go, let’s go.”
Leaving his associates to deal with the situation he had helped to create, Sebastian bundled Jane toward the sunroom and the cab. With everybody else otherwise engaged and the gun cases hanging open, Jane grabbed an AK-47 and a box of clips as Sebastian locked the interior door between the sunroom and the rest of the mansion, jamming a chair under the doorknob for good measure. Next he grabbed the desk phone and held it out to Jane.
“I think you know what to do with this.”
She took it with a smile, saying, “Here’s looking at you, kid.” And smashed him across the jaw. He went down like a bad bank stock.
The Pakistani cabbie, who had been standing with one foot on the running board and looking nervously at the house, watched this scene with a dropped jaw. Before Jane could open the door, he jumped into the cab and peeled out.
“Chickenshit!” Jane stormed. She leaned out, surveying the grounds to left and right, about to make a run for it, when, still supine on the floor, she heard
To Iceland, With Love Page 17
