Prophecy

by Paula Bradley

  “And now she’s dusting everything in sight!”

  “Maybe she just got the urge to clean. You know how chicks are,” Jack said wisely, talking with his mouth full. “What was she doing at the computer?”

  “I don’t know. Acting weird there, too. I zoom in so I can see what she’s getting into, but it’s just a letter to a girlfriend. She stares at it a minute then closes it out without doing anything. Then it’s back to the couch. She sits there a couple of minutes and then up she pops, back to the computer. But instead of doing anything this time, she starts writing on a piece of paper! So I ‘peek’ over her shoulder, but can’t make out what she’s scribbling. When the computer finally boots up, she goes into a file called diary. Before doing anything with this file she shifts her ass, causing the damn chair to move, so I have to change the angle of the camera because now she’s blocking the freakin’ lens!”

  Mystified, Andy paused. Jack finished the apple and tossed the core into a brown paper bag in the trash can. Staring at the screen again, Andy mused, “She never writes anything into the diary, just closes it up and shuts the machine down. When she finally gets up, out comes the dust rags and the furniture polish and the Windex. And now she’s cleaning everything, even the light bulbs in the lamps!”

  Jack watched Mariah on the screen over Andy’s shoulder. He was baffled: she seemed to move purposefully through the house, her dust rag missing nothing. Jack’s young face turned thoughtful.

  “Y’know, she’s not the same since she’s back from the hospital. And it’s more than just her looks. She don’t hardly sleep no more. Just curls into a ball wherever she happens to be and zonks out for an hour. Like a cat. Then she wakes up and prowls around for another ten to twelve hours.” Grinning, Jack added, “After she wears ol’ Raphael out every night and he passes out, she bounces around from room to room, playing cards with the Feds, watching TV, reading, like that.

  “So now she’s in a cleaning frenzy ... so what? Maybe she’s on the rag. Are you gonna report it to Winters?”

  “She does do a number on Raphael, but he keeps coming back for more,” Andy chuckled.

  Chapter 31

  Andy’s grin faded. Should he tell Agent Winters about this? Fuck him, Bellini thought. He’s never interested in anything unless she’s doing psychic stuff. He didn’t even care when I told him about the bad angle we’re getting in her bathroom. And I hate that stinking, condescending look that always goes with “Let me know when it’s something important, Bellini.”

  Smart fuck. To hell with him .

  Winters’ insensitivity would cause his second catastrophic error since being assigned to Mariah Carpenter. His first was the Damion Lazote fiasco: not enough intelligence about the fanatic that resulted in the death of Agent Frannie Manzetti. His “assignment” had escaped a similar fate, but not through any action he or the Agency had taken. The Chief had been on him for gross negligence, and he still smarted from the tongue lashing.

  When Clandestine Service Operator Bellini brought several anomalies to his attention, Gabriel had given them minimal attention. He was aware of Mariah’s new sleeping habits, but they were of little interest. His attitude toward the agents in the van, combined with his disinterest in anything Mariah did unrelated to her psychic powers, would cause his blazing star of success to nearly go nova.

  #

  Her exceptional vision was another piece of information Winters did not have. After the sclerotic layer of her eyeballs had turned yellow, Mariah could bring an image into razor-sharp clarity, her eyes acting like a magnifying glass.

  She found all the surveillance cameras. In addition to the mirror, she found them behind pictures, in smoke detectors and light fixtures. Since none besides the one in the living room made a sound, she assumed it had a minor mechanical problem, something loose that had not caused it to malfunction yet. Her anger increased with each new discovery—but it was like mild irritation compared to her reaction when she found the one in her bedroom.

  Mariah left that room for last, fervently praying that “They” had the decency not to violate the privacy of her bedroom. She was not surprised, however, when she found the telltale pinhole in the mirror frame opposite the bed.

  Somewhere, someone watched her and Thomas sharing the most intimate of moments. And, she was positive, taped it so others could watch it later.

  She trembled from the act of keeping a neutral expression on her face, and to keep from blowing the mirrors, the cameras, and the house, into Arizona. Fury, white hot and palpable, rippled through her, causing her to feel slightly nauseous. Adrenaline blasted through her body; she felt like her blood was boiling. If someone had been with her in the bedroom, the swirling air currents would have knocked them down.

  So, now that you know what the bastards did, let’s find out who’s behind it, Mariah seethed to herself, walking stiffly down to the first floor on legs that felt as heavy as wooden fence posts. Throwing herself on the couch in the living room and curling up, her brain went into overdrive.

  The FBI was the obvious culprit, but for some reason she didn’t think it was them. She knew about their surveillance cameras in the floodlights outside, and they certainly weren’t trying to hide their monitoring equipment that was set up in the breakfast nook. It could be them, but her instinct told her no.

  Then who?

  Let’s eliminate the FBI for the time being. She felt like she was brainstorming with Frannie Manzetti. What other government agencies might be interested in you?

  Are we talking United States government only?

  Unless the KGB or MI-5 or some third world guerrilla organization had access to this place before you moved here, I think we can safely eliminate a foreign government. ‘Sides, if they were that close, they’d probably just try to kill you.

  Okay. Then let’s look at our government. There are a whole slew of three letter agencies, like the DEA and the NSA, but the one that pops into mind is the CIA. Isn’t it illegal for them to operate in the United States?

  Yeah, right. Of course. And policemen don’t take bribes. Come on, Daisy Duck, if they had a reason to get involved in ops that should be run by the FBI, I’m sure they’d do it in a heartbeat. And you’re a pretty big reason.

  Why? What would they want?

  To infiltrate the minds of their enemies, for one. Make them do what they wanted, for another. Use your imagination, kiddo. Can you picture the chaos you’d create if you screwed with the minds of the most powerful heads of foreign governments? Or caused them to go crazy? Or killed them?

  I’d refuse to do it.

  Really. Suppose the CIA threatened your family or friends? You’d do it all right. Now that we’re heading in this direction, it’s pretty obvious who’s in charge of this operation.

  One Special Agent Gabriel Winters pops into mind. He’s always made me uncomfortable.

  And remember, he took over right after I died.

  Are you implying he had you killed?

  No, I don’t think so. But accidents happen. Remember, the religious psycho shot at you first. Why was Lazote in the church dressed so weirdly that particular day when Osterman had all those Feebies there without my knowledge?

  You don’t buy coincidence?

  Nope.

  Well, if he wants me, why would he have someone shoot me?

  Something obviously went really wrong. Based on my experience with fanatics, Lazote was probably pumped up to do it and used his own gun that had real bullets.

  Mariah brought back the painful memory of that Sunday in the church. Instead of focusing on the obvious, she forced herself to remember the subtleties...

  ...like someone really close to Lazote shooting him in the back at the same moment Damion shot at her.

  ...like someone instantly jumping up on the stage to calm everyone down.

  ...
like a car with the motor running, waiting at the back door as an agent practically carried her out of the church.

  ...like Gabriel Winters taking charge immediately and moving her to this house within two weeks of the incident.

  Coincidences?

  I think not.

  The poorly executed plan had almost fallen apart. Some fast thinking on the part of the agents in the church had saved it. And she knew several of them; they were definitely FBI. They would never have taken orders from anyone who was not in the Bureau.

  This whole thing reeked of collusion between Winters and Craig Osterman, Frannie’s boss. Craig always itched to see his only female employee fail, according to Frannie. Mariah was reasonably certain that Osterman gave Winters a special team, easily convinced by the Snoop that Frannie couldn’t guard Mariah properly. Then Winters convinces Damion Lazote, the religious fanatic, that Mariah Carpenter is the Antichrist and must be killed. Lazote is set up to die, probably given a gun with blanks, the idea being to have him fire at her and then be killed. The only thing that makes sense is that Lazote switched guns. Frannie was not killed with a blank.

  To get himself assigned to guard Mariah so he could monitor her every move, Winters sets up a sting designed to get one man killed and discredit a federal agent who’s in his way.

  Mariah needed to do something she considered abhorrent.

  Nevertheless, she would seize his mind and rip the information out of him if it became necessary. For now, it was enough to know that she was alive because of her psychic ability to deflect the bullet. Frannie was dead because Damion Lazote pulled the trigger as he fell forward, and a bullet had torn her best friend to shreds.

  Mariah’s heart told her that Gabriel Winters was the mastermind behind Frannie’s accidental death. And it was he who had this house wired to watch her. It was not an FBI safe house at all: it was owned and operated by the CIA.

  Her brain filled with all her encounters with Winters, from their first meeting at the viewing of the Sophie Duval Finding to the present moment. She thought of him as the poster boy for spy recruitment; detached, unemotional, weighing and measuring every word he said. Giving nothing, demanding everything.

  He must realize by now that he can’t control me. And he obviously hasn’t figured out a way to enlist my aide in his freaking nefarious schemes. No doubt he’s taking orders from high above, maybe all the way up to the President.

  The smile of pure malice that lit Mariah’s face never reached her eyes which had turned as cold as liquid nitrogen. Torture isn’t good enough, she smoldered. I’ve got to find a way to discredit him. Getting fired from the CIA or demoted back to permanent obscurity in a tiny village in Afghanistan would cause him pain and misery forever.

  Perfect.

  But you can count on one thing, Gabriel Winters: you will fucking pay dearly for what you’ve done to Frannie and me.

  Chapter 32

  His eyes, their light dimmed by misery, appeared sunken into his skull. Aleris’ heart constricted, aware of the words before they were spoken.

  “Maka’rius ... has mercifully become one with the elements.” Ton Re’Deutriion’s voice shook, yet it grew stronger and more vital with each word. “Nevertheless, I am done with grieving. It has no value and t’will not restore his essence.”

  The Master of Geology seemed to grow taller as he drew strength from some inner reserve. The haunted look in his eyes disappeared.

  “Now, on to something of great import. If there could be a benefit in his passing, it is in the discovery of a significant ally.”

  Sateron stood behind Aleris, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Physical expenditure of energy was his usual way of expressing helplessness as though he had need to exhaust his body. Reason would then replace his irrational thoughts of retribution. But he was stationary now, holding himself to keep from exploding.

  In a controlled voice, he said, “Our spirits are with you, Master. If we are able to provide assistance, you have only to ask.

  “To whom do you refer to as ‘ally’?”

  Deutriion’s voice continued to lose the hollowness as his mind fought its way up from the abyss where it had descended.

  “After the Min’yel’os ... shattered the mind of Maka’rius, someone had the decency to convey his body to me clandestinely. When alone, I disrobed him, deeming him worthy of disintegration in finer cloth. By accident did I discover a faintly discolored thread woven into the hem of the over shirt. Upon microscopic examination, I found it to be encrypted.

  “While his corporeal remains were being prepared for ceremony, I hastened to my research facility and proceeded to unbind the code.”

  A small flame ignited in the depths of his eyes. His voice was hushed, as though fearful of being overheard. “Colleagues, there is one in the Sho’revra who despises Them as we do. Maybe more, be that possible. Someone who not only had access to the body of Maka’rius, but was able to move it without suspicion. Also must this one be sentient and have exemplary knowledge of sophisticated encryption.”

  Excited now, he spoke more eagerly. “The code includes that which the Min’yel’os know and that which They do not ... plus a salutation ‘to those who seek to resurrect our race.’ How does this one hide from Their probe?”

  Sateron’s eyes narrowed, his pointed teeth bared as he snarled in suspicion. “Take care, friend. It could be a trap to draw out those who foment rebellion. Why are you so persuaded?”

  The satisfied smile on Deutriion’s lips was evidence that purpose had supplanted his sorrow. “The risk it faces in encrypting the information would allay my suspicions alone. However, it must be Anorasian, as lesser races are not allowed in the Sho’revra Complexity. Some desolate being of lowly servitude, mayhap used only to develop code-speak, trapped into service by those insensible, self-serving, destructive machines. Unable to take pleasure in life—allowed the company of others as himself, a prisoner in every respect. Would not you harbor a desire to seek Their destruction? They who have made your existence a near death?”

  A speculative look replaced the doubt in Sateron’s face. “How can we reach it if need be?”

  “This I know not.” Deutriion sighed. “But somehow I feel sure it will make itself known to us when the time be right.”

  Aleris stared at the vid-screen, her mind filled with uncharacteristic elation. Sateron’s eyes widened as did those of the geologist. In a voice of barely suppressed joy, she said, “It is time you two partake of the information I unearthed centuries ago but have never shared.”

  Ignoring the startled thoughts from Sateron, she continued. “I was accessing arcane data to further our research, continually getting lost through a maze of information when, quite by accident, I stumbled upon a singular record imprinted some sixty-five million years past. It should have been destined for destruction.” Her modulated voice rose slightly, indicating great excitement.

  “Instead, it was successfully preserved and removed from all standard accessibility. Those who safeguard this lore are descendants of a sect known as ‘Believers’, they who were thought completely destroyed by the Min’yel’os for convictions steeped in mysticism. It suited Them not to have any with thoughts independent of Theirs.”

  Exhilaration heightened the glow in her eyes as purpose and conviction made her voice ring out. “Now will I reveal this intelligence, for it appears the lore may not be the ravings of those misguided few. The ancient Prophecy, Netsor’ah, its origin unknown, must be part of the deliverance for which we have searched.”

  #

  Mariah woke from her dream and found herself curled up on the couch. Yawning, she unwound, stood up, and stretched in the dim light.

  Jonathan Lurie watched her from the recliner, his grin answering hers as he looked at his wristwatch. “It’s 3:05 in the morning, little lady. You passed out almost two hours ago and missed the earthquake! At 2:15, this house was rock
in and rollin. Brother, talk about being in a Catch-22. I didn’t know if I should throw myself on top of you, which would have scared you half to death, or let a piece of the ceiling hit you, which sure as hell would have woken you up!”

  “Get off it, Jon. You didn’t throw yourself on me because you were afraid I’d either hit you or kiss you!” They shared a chuckle as he followed her into the kitchen. After relieving herself in the bathroom off the kitchen, she retrieved a bucket of fried chicken from the refrigerator. Always ravenous after she woke from one of her naps, she proceeded to devour one piece after another while tuning out the conversation between Jonathan and Teddy Boles.

  It had been no ordinary sleep. Paying no attention to the food she was eating, Mariah was baffled as she dwelt on the ramifications of her dream. It had been the fourth time she found herself in the forest glade surrounded by the villagers, facing the tall black man.

  The second time was two days ago. The dream began the same as the first: walking down the main street of the village in the brutal heat, the parched earth causing her to inhale the dust which was a permanent part of the air. Her clothing was nearly the same, the only difference being the color of her robe which was now pale maroon.

  This time, however, no ancient guide. Evidently the Dream God didn’t think she needed him.

  Once among the trees, her feet took her unerringly through the familiar twists and turns until she arrived in the glade. Somehow, it seemed so much faster than the first time with the guide.

  Again, she faced the Kana Gidrol. Again, the congregation swayed and sang to the now familiar litany. Being curious, she said, “Excuse me, what are they saying?” The Kana Gidrol brought his palms together and, gazing down at her, he intoned, “The Spirit will not descend without song.” Great , she thought, it’s going to be one of those conversations.