What Lisa had not been able to do was write the assigned article about wealthy business leaders like Morgan who invested time and millions of dollars following “the cranks.” Of all the doomsayers, Robert Quetzal remained the “alpha prophet.” No one could match his charisma or intellect. She lost count of the number of times the man had appeared on the talk-show circuit, yakking it up with Leno, Letterman, and every other nighttime and daytime host on the tube.
To Lisa’s surprise, many mainline television news shows featured him as a “consultant.” When she was with Morgan, she never failed to ask for new information. He never failed to refuse.
December 21 was just a few weeks away, and she had no idea what would happen. She wasn’t worried about cataclysm. She was worried about Morgan. He never told her so, but she knew he had poured a steady stream of money to Quetzal’s organization. It was his money, and he could do what he wanted with it. What concerned her was how he would respond after he learned he and the others had been wrong all along. She put the question to him once, and his response was to turn the tables: “I’m worried about your response when all this proves to be right.”
“Won’t I be dead?”
He hadn’t answered.
That evening, she returned home and packed a bag. She walked by the bedroom she used as an in-home office, stopped, then turned back. On her desk was a file folder: Garrett’s file folder. The information was disturbing if it were all true. She had no way to confirm his conclusions and she couldn’t use the material without exposing her news organization to lawsuits. Even a simple lawsuit could bring them to their knees. In such suits, even the innocent need barrels of cash, and the Christian Herald barely made payroll each month. No, Rodney Truffaut would never allow it.
Add to that the fact Garrett had used less-than-honest means to get the information. An investigation into the source of the information would expose others, perhaps lead to criminal charges and open the Herald to another flood of lawsuits. Even she was subject to legal action, and she definitely couldn’t afford an attorney.
She stuffed the file in her bag. She might not be able to share it with the world, but she knew who she could share it with.
Garrett eased from the front seat of his 2006 Toyota Camry, and he slowly rose. He was glad to be driving again, but getting in and out of the sedan always caused him pain. The doctors said that would change, but not for a while. For now, he had to learn to live with the discomfort. He had motivation. Every muscle in his body hurt, and the thought of standing in a hot shower gave him the impetus to work through the stiffness. He missed the vitality common to a young man still in his twenties. He moved like a man well north of seventy.
The sun was close to the horizon, and the early evening sky had turned the color of putty. He hated the short days of late fall. Winter would only be worse.
A familiar wave of depression rolled over him as he shut the driver’s door. The doctors told him depression was common among victims of violent crime. It, like his aches and pains, would pass in time. He had to learn to deal with it. One nurse said, “Act the way you want to feel, and you will begin to feel the way you act.”
She had been right. It wasn’t a hundred percent, but it helped. He straightened his spine and lifted his head and pushed his shoulders back as if he were a man with no problems, filled with confidence and determination.
He still felt depressed. His eyes began to burn. Many times he had burst into tears for no reason. The attack had injured his emotions as well as his body.
Garrett waited a moment until the despair passed and his legs ceased their shuddering. He took a deep breath and released it in a slow stream. He started around the front of the Toyota and toward the curb in front of his apartment building.
Before he reached the curb, a car pulled alongside his car. Garrett turned to see a silver Lexus. The front passenger window lowered.
“Excuse me. Are you Mr. Garrett Vickers?”
Garrett bent and looked at the driver through the open window. The man was smiling, and it gave Garrett the shivers. “Who are you?”
“Oh. Sorry.” The man held up a leather case. Inside was a badge and an ID that read FBI. “Could I have a moment of your time?”
“Why? I didn’t do anything.”
The man smiled again, and it chilled Garrett’s blood. “You’re not in trouble, son. I’m here because we think we found the guy who attacked you.”
“Really?” He paused. “Wait. The FBI doesn’t investigate assault or routine murder cases.”
“We do if the murder crosses state lines or is involved in a hate crime. You work for a Christian news outlet, right?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“I thought as a news guy, you’d know this, but there’s been a rise in violence against Christians. It’s sad but true. And to us, a hate crime is a hate crime. Besides, the local cops haven’t had much luck, so we’re helping out.”
“What do you need me for? I told the police everything I knew over a year ago.”
“I’ve read those reports. As I said, I think we have the guy. He’s being held not far from here. We’re hoping that you would try to identify him.”
“You need to read those reports again, agent. I don’t remember diddly about the attack. Traumatic amnesia.”
The man nodded. “I know, and I know this doesn’t make much sense, but we need to have you try. If we don’t, it will come up in court, and we’ll look like a bunch of amateurs. You don’t want this moron doing to others what he did to you and your friends, do you?
“Of course not.”
“Look, Mr. Vickers. I know it seems silly. A lot of cop work does, but it is what it is. I can get you down there and back in less than half an hour, and then we both can start our weekend.”
The last thing Garrett wanted to do was get in another car, but if they had captured the guy who ruined his life, and if seeing him could jog his memory, then it needed to be done.
“Come on, Mr. Vickers. I promised the wife and kids dinner and a movie. If I blow off another family date, I’ll be sleeping in my car.”
“I guess we can’t have that.” He started for the Lexus.
“Need help?”
“No. I got it.” Garrett opened the door and slipped into the car. “You guys drive nice cars.”
“It’s my wife’s. She’s in real estate. My service car is in the shop.” He pulled down the road. As he did, the driver removed a photo from the pocket of his suit coat and handed it to Garrett. The photo had been folded in half. Garret opened it, and his heart stopped.
“Know her?”
“What is this?”
“I asked you a question. I suggest you answer it.” The friendly tone had disappeared.
He studied the photo. Lisa sat in a chair. Duct tape held her wrists to the arm of the chair and her feet to the chair’s legs. Another piece of tape covered her mouth. Someone with his back to the camera held what Garrett guessed was a 9mm or .45 caliber handgun at her head.
“Yes. I know her.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. You give me any trouble, you try to escape, you scream, you do anything I find annoying, and the man holding the gun will put a bullet in the lady’s pretty head. Do we understand each other?”
Garrett raised his eyes and studied the man behind the wheel. For months, he wished he could remember the face of the man who beat him and left him for dead.
Now he wished he could forget again.
You look invigorated.” Lisa gave Morgan a quick hug. She was glad he had chosen to pick her up instead of sending a car. She understood that his schedule sometimes required that he delegate such tasks to others, but seeing him at baggage claim always gave her an extra thrill.
“Thank you.” Morgan took her suitcase and carry-on bag. He wore beige pants, a white polo shirt, and slip-on loafers.
“You also looked exhausted.” Lisa shouldered her purse and straightened the coat of her pale green pantsuit.
“Thanks again�
��I think.” He pretended to stagger to his left, bumping into her.
“Too weary to walk straight, Mr. Morgan?”
“Just drunk on your presence, Ms. Campbell.”
“Now you’re just being silly. I’ll give you an hour to knock that off .”
They moved through the crowded airport lobby and into the cool night of Oklahoma City. As expected, Lisa saw a now-familiar limousine waiting curbside. Donny, dressed as always in black pants, a white shirt, and a black suit coat, waited by the rear door. He bowed slightly as they approached. Morgan had told her that he did that only when she was present.
“It makes me feel like royalty.” Something Lisa enjoyed.
“I think he’s about to make a move on you.”
“I’m sure you’ll protect my honor.”
Morgan shrugged. “Maybe.”
Once they were comfortably seated, Donny pulled into the thick of traffic. Lisa couldn’t help noticing that the privacy divider between the front and the rear seats was up. Lisa couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something different about Morgan tonight.
“So what were you doing awake at 3:15 in the morning?” Lisa turned in her seat to face him.
“How did you know…” He raised his chin. “The text message had a time stamp. I forget that sometimes.”
“You could just go on believing that I’m brilliant.”
“That you are, and I’ll fight anyone who says you’re not.” “Really?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t like violence.”
“I think I detect some rust on your suit of armor.” She settled back in the seat. “So why the summons?”
“Invitation.”
“Okay, why the invitation?”
“Is it wrong to want to see you?”
The comment made Lisa feel warm. “You know, this is the weirdest relationship I’ve ever been in.”
“Didn’t you tell me that you haven’t been in many relationships?”
“Okay, if you’re going to start listening to me, I’m going to have to be more careful about what I say. Now stop avoiding the question. Did something happen on your trip?”
“That’s part of it. I want to run something by you.” He didn’t look at her.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“Not here.” He looked out the window.
Morgan had never shown a reluctance to speak within earshot of Donny. Of course, most of their conversations were benign when the man was around.
“You never told me where you went,” Lisa said.
“All things will be made clear soon, Ms. I’m-full-of-questions reporter.”
“I’m the curious sort, Mr. I-got-millions-of-secrets businessman.”
He opened the limo’s wet bar. At one time, the minibar held Scotch, vodka, and other small bottles of booze, but Morgan admitted to having them all removed almost two years ago. Now it held sodas, juices, and bottled water. Lisa took a Cran-Apple drink and hoped she wouldn’t spill any on her green outfit. The red of the drink on the green of her pantsuit would make her look like a Christmas tree. Morgan took a bottle of water.
The remaining minutes of the trip were spent in chitchat, which only elevated Lisa’s hunger to know what was going on in Morgan’s head.
Donny drove them to the Marriott where Lisa was staying while in Oklahoma City. Morgan carried her bags to her room and then escorted her back to the limo. A few minutes later, Donny dropped them at the front door to Morgan’s spacious home.
“Hungry?”
“If I say yes, you’re not going to start cooking, are you?”
“Nah, I like you too much for that. I have a plate of sandwich meats, cheese, fruit, pumpernickel, and sourdough bread. I thought we could eat by the pool.”
“That sounds lovely.”
The blanket of night had settled over the city, bringing out stars that decorated the ebony dome overhead with their sparkle. The night was cool, but not cold. A gas-powered heater stood near the picnic table, radiating warmth.
Morgan appeared with a wide platter of food, the kind provided by a caterer. He set it down and reappeared with a large bottle of San Pellegrino sparkling water and a small bowl of limes. He poured the bubbly water into two glasses and held out the dish of limes to Lisa. She took one and squeezed it into the glass. He did the same.
Lisa bowed her head and thanked God for the meal. She did so silently. Morgan never joined her in the ritual, nor did he ever interrupt or ridicule her for doing so.
“This is nice.” Lisa looked around. Lights from the house shimmered on the pool’s water, and she felt the tension in her shoulders melt away. She had been by the pool several times over the months since she first met Morgan in Roswell, but at night, it had a magical quality. She felt enchanted.
There was something new. She hadn’t noticed at first, perhaps because it was on the other side of the pool, almost hidden in shadows.
“Have you taken up a new hobby?” She nodded to the large telescope resting on a solid-looking tripod.
“Ah, that. That is a Meade LightBridge Deluxe 16-inch truss tube Dobsonian telescope.”
“Okay, if you say so. And why is it in your backyard?”
“You know I love the sciences. There’s something I want to show you.”
“Show me? What?”
“Not yet. I need to talk, and I need you to listen.”
Lisa cocked her head. “I always listen to you.”
“That’s something we can debate later. What I mean is, I want to share a few things with you, and I want you to let me get through it. I’ve been practicing so that I don’t mess it up, and interruption—”
“Who interrupts?”
Morgan stared at her for a moment.
Lisa felt she had crossed the line. Morgan had always been serious, but despite his joking, he was clearly carrying some additional emotional weight. Lisa apologized.
“Recently, I read a poll. Less than one percent of the population in the US believe something dramatic is going to happen on December 21. Only one in ten of those think the event will be negative, and about half of those think it will be a catastrophe. As you know, I’m in the latter, and you’re—well, you’re not.”
Lisa started to speak but stopped. A promise is a promise.
Morgan smiled, obviously surprised by her restraint. “I think the poll is off…but not by much. Other reports show more folks who think like I do, but it’s far from a majority. But none of that matters.” He sighed. “I’m making a hash of this. Let me start over.”
Morgan continued. “I believe the Mayan prophecies, and I have committed a great deal of time and effort to making sure I’m not wrong. I know your thinking is far from mine, but we still have— I think—a great relationship. I know your faith has kept some distance between us…”
Lisa’s eyebrows rose.
Morgan waved a hand. “I phrased that wrong. Our different views have kept us from going the next step in our relationship. I’ve been fine with that. But we’re only a few weeks from the day.” He stopped and looked at the table.
“Andrew…” Lisa reached across the table and touched his hand. “Just say it.”
He nodded and then stood, something Lisa didn’t expect. “You’re right. Come with me.” He rounded the table and took her hand.
“Where are we going?”
“This way.” He led her around the pool and to the telescope. The device was as tall as Lisa and looked as if it had just been removed from the box.
“How long have you been stargazing?”
“I set it up yesterday. This is why I was awake in the wee hours. I wanted to make sure I knew how to work the thing before you got here.”
Lisa blinked several times. The more Morgan talked, the more confused she became.
He removed an electronic device from a clip on the tripod. Lisa could see a digital readout. The display’s glow was so weak that she could barely read the numbers. Morgan looked at his watch and then entered the tim
e on a keypad. The telescope began to move. He replaced the device in its holder and then walked to the home’s rear door, opened it, and turned off the lights.
“This is kind of spooky.” Lisa had trouble seeing Morgan walking back to her.
“Give your eyes a few moments to adjust.” The telescope stopped. “Everything is digital these days. If you have the right coordinates, the computer will direct the business end of the telescope to the right spot in the sky.”
“And just what is the right spot?”
Morgan leaned forward and peered through the eyepiece near the top of the device. “Take a look.”
Where Morgan had to bend to place his eye in the viewer, Lisa could stand straight. It took a few seconds for her eye to focus properly. “The white spot?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t look like a planet or a star.”
Morgan spoke softly. “It’s not. You’re looking at an asteroid—a mile-long asteroid.”
Lisa backed away and looked to the sky. “An asteroid?”
“Yes. It’s official name is 2012 GA12, but a lot of people call it the Hammer of God. It’s from an Arthur C. Clarke novel.”
Lisa’s mind began to race. There was something in Morgan’s voice: something foreboding. Her mind struggled to shuffle the information in her brain. “You’re not telling me…I mean, there have been reports from amateur astronomers, but the professionals dismissed them.”
“They had to.”
Lisa needed to sit down. Her knees felt hollow. Morgan helped her back to the outdoor table and then turned the exterior lights on.
“What do you mean, ‘They had to’?” Lisa wished for a handful of antacids.
“The asteroid is due to hit on the twenty-first or a day later.”
“Surely someone is doing something.”
Morgan shook his head. “What can they do?”
“Blow it up?” Once the words cleared her lips, she realized how silly she sounded.
“Even if some government in the world was set up to do that, it might make things worse. Instead of one large asteroid, the world would be pummeled by several slightly smaller asteroids. Not that that matters. The thing is big, Lisa, real big. Imagine shooting a missile into a mountain. It might do damage, but in the end, the mountain remains in place.”
The Mayan Apocalypse Page 22
