by Mark Romang
“Man, he got around.”
Loomis nodded. “Maddix had help disappearing. His old SEAL instructor flew him to New Zealand in his private plane. We tracked Maddix into a cave, where we eventually found his body.”
“What was he doing in the cave?”
“Fighting demons with a flaming sword,” Loomis said matter-of-factly.
“A mortal man fighting demons with a flaming sword. That’s pretty hard to believe. How do you know this?”
The devil’s club petered out and they reentered the forest walking side by side. “Nikko Castellanos told me all this.”
“And who is that guy?” Banks asked, feeling himself drawn into a story that sounded legendary, almost mythological.
“He was an assassin hired by Henrik Skymolt to kill Maddix. I still don’t know why Skymolt wanted Maddix dead. But Castellanos tracked Maddix to the cave and they fought. Maddix got the better of Castellanos, and he made the assassin eat some manna so he could look into the spirit realm and see the demons.”
“Manna? How did Maddix go about acquiring manna?”
“The same angel who visited you gave it to him along with the flaming sword, or so the story goes.”
“So how did Andrew end up dying, do you know?”
Loomis shook his head. “He was murdered. Somebody or something killed him inside the cave. Whatever it was reached into his chest and pulled his heart out. We found his heart lying beside his body. There was very little blood for such a gruesome crime, and the hole in his chest formed a perfect circle without any ragged skin edges.”
“Do you think Castellanos did it?”
“No, I don’t believe he had any part in it. No way could a human cut a hole that precise. But Castellanos was the only suspect we had. He was found wandering around in the cave babbling on and on about demons and Maddix’s flaming sword. Everyone thought he was nuts, and for good reason. Because of his unstable mindset, Castellanos was never held in jail. Instead, he was placed into a psychiatric hospital for some time before he was extradited back to the U.S. I interviewed him there in the hospital. At the time I thought he was insane, but now I’m not so sure.”
“So was Castellanos convicted?”
Loomis shook his head again. “He disappeared in the Rapture before his case was heard.”
“Man, that flaming sword bit, that’s hard to swallow. Maybe this Castellanos character made it up.”
“I’m not so sure. The last I saw Maddix’s corpse he was in a medical examiner’s office lying on his back on a stainless steel table. I remember looking at his hands. His palms were badly burned. He for sure once held something that was superheated.”
“Whew, you could’ve used Mulder and Scully and the whole X-Files crew on that case,” Banks said.
Loomis chuckled. “I don’t think they would’ve had any better luck than me,”
Banks walked under a lightning-struck tree with a blackened trunk. “But are you sure the Andrew Maddix in my dream is the same Andrew Maddix you pursued in New Zealand? It very well could be two different individuals sharing the same name.”
“It has to be the same guy. Andrew Maddix is a lightning-rod for the supernatural. They sound like one and the same to me.”
A phone rang from inside Loomis’ pant leg. Loomis stopped and pulled the phone out and checked the screen. He looked at Banks. “It’s my boss. I better answer it.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
Loomis put the phone up to his ear and started talking. Banks stood to one side and tried not to eavesdrop. His unease with what lay ahead increased by the minute. He would soon be a nervous wreck. He tried his best not to think of the repercussions he was bound to suffer. His punishment would likely be severe. And his life might even be taken. But now he knew his soul couldn’t be harmed or even touched. His soul belonged to God now.
Loomis put his phone away. “A helicopter is going to come pick us up. We just need to find a suitable LZ for the chopper to land, and then I’ll call my boss back with the coordinates. Do you know of any places, Nathan?”
“There is a clearing not far from here. But I would prefer one farther away. I don’t want my friend to be discovered.”
Loomis nodded his head. “I understand. So where is a clearing that you would approve of?”
“There is another open spot about ninety minutes from here. It’s nice and flat.”
“Good, let’s head for it so you can work your magic. I want to watch the drones crash and burn.”
Banks pointed toward the west. “It’s this way. Follow me.”
Chapter 49
Seattle-Tacoma International Airport
Nathan Banks and Nick Loomis stepped down out of the chopper and left the helipad. They walked slowly across the tarmac and toward a hangar all lit up in the darkness. Banks felt like a prisoner on death row walking toward the execution room. Behind them the helicopter lifted off the helipad and flew away.
“You must be nervous, because you sure look it,” Loomis said.
“I’m only one man. I’m worried I won’t be able to pull this off,” Banks replied weakly.
“Have courage, Nathan. One man can accomplish great things with honor and valor pushing at their back. A wise man once told me that.”
“That’s a nice quote. But does it work?”
“It does. But I would add a few words to the quote. One man can accomplish great things with honor and valor pushing at their backs, and the Holy Spirit guiding their steps.”
Banks smiled grimly. “I have the Holy Spirit living inside me now. And the first place He takes me is here.”
“A life surrendered to Christ doesn’t excuse you from danger. But just remember this, every believer has a guardian angel watching over them.”
“If my guardian angel is as powerful as Gabriel, then I needn’t worry about anything.”
Loomis nodded and grabbed his arm in a custodial manner. “We have to stop conversing now. I need to make this official looking. Just know I admire what you’re attempting to do. I will pray for you, Nathan.”
“Thanks, Nick. I appreciate it.”
A pedestrian door opened on the hangar and a UWC officer stepped outside. He carried a machine-gun. The officer looked their way expectantly. My welcoming committee, Banks thought, his legs becoming jittery.
The UWC officer stepped to the side to allow them passage. Banks entered the hangar first, Loomis close behind him. Inside the cavernous hanger a gleaming 767 emblazoned with the letters UWC sat alone under the lights. A few maintenance personnel worked on the plane.
The armed UWC officer led them up to a receptionist desk. But no receptionist sat behind the desk. An office door opened behind the desk and another UWC officer walked out to join them. “He’s not even cuffed.” The officer exclaimed, clearly perturbed by this lack of protocol.
“There’s no need for restraints. Banks is about as dangerous as an old lady in a nursing home,” Loomis said airily.
One of the UWC officers produced a clipboard with a paper attached. He passed the clipboard to Loomis. “Please sign, initial and date this form. It’s basically a transfer of authority that grants us custody of Mr. Banks.”
Loomis did as told and handed back the clipboard. “Well, I guess my job is done here. Thanks for the helicopter ride,” Loomis said to the one officer who seemed to be in charge. Loomis caught Banks’ eye for just a second and then walked out the hanger, leaving him alone with the officers.
He’d never felt so alone, not even while living in his bunker underneath the hollow tree.
The officer with the machine gun spoke into a lapel mic. “Nathan Banks has been delivered.”
A few seconds later Banks heard footsteps approaching rapidly from the far side of the hangar. Dress shoes or hard-soled boots click-clacked on the cement hangar floor. Banks saw a solitary figure approach them, and his eyes nearly fell out of his head. He recognized the person.
Not only did he know this person, he’d worked close
ly with him before.
Chris Perez walked up to Banks. “Nathan, you look terrible. You look like a young Charles Manson, only without the crazy eyes. When was the last time you took a bath?”
“It’s nice to see you, too, Chris,” Banks said. He looked over his former co-worker, and didn’t like what his eyes took in. Perez wore military fatigues. A UWC patch sewn onto his pocket told Banks all he needed to know. “You’re one of them?”
Perez took a sip from a coffee mug. “Your days of being a rebel are over, Nathan. Soon you’ll be like me. Come on, there’s no time to waste. Your skills are required. Follow me,” Perez said.
Banks followed Perez back across the hangar, past the jumbo jet, through a door and down a long corridor. The UWC officer with the machine-gun followed Banks closely. Perez stopped and opened a door. He gestured for Banks to enter. Banks complied and walked into a nearly empty room. The room looked like it once served as a conference room, and contained only a six-foot folding table, a chair and two laptops. A rectangular window broke up one wall. Banks smelled brewing coffee and spotted a coffeemaker sitting on a small round table in the corner. The pot looked mostly full, perhaps only one cup missing.
“Welcome to your laboratory, Doctor Banks,” Perez said smiling. “Have a seat. I have everything set up for you.”
Banks sat down on the chair behind the laptops.
Perez turned to the UWC officer with the machine-gun. “I got it from here. I don’t expect any trouble from Nathan. You can wait outside. But if you hear us scuffle don’t hesitate to enter.”
“Yes, sir,” the officer said and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Perez looked down at Banks. His dark eyes showed no emotion. “I think you know what you’re here for, Nathan. The glitch in the navigational system we warned them about has reared its ugly head. Drones are becoming hard to control. A few are even crashing. And since you created and installed the software and wrote all the code for it, the problem has remained unfixed. I’ve done my part by installing new electronic hardware on all the active drones in service, yet the problems continue. It’s up to you now.”
“I’ll do what I can, Chris.”
“No, you’ll have to do better than that, Nathan. It’s in your best interest health-wise to fix this problem. I know up until now you’ve lived as a rebel off the grid. But you need to get rid of that mentality. Trust me, I once was like you. But then they found me. I was all brave at first and didn’t comply with their wishes. But then they tortured me and threw me into solitary confinement—total blackness for a week. I nearly went mad. But my time in the black hole cured my rebelliousness.” Perez lifted his coffee mug to his lips and drained it. “Just do what they want, Nathan. You’ll be treated well if you do. Otherwise you’ll get thrown into a prison and likely executed. I don’t want that to happen. And I’m sure you don’t either.”
Banks nodded. “That doesn’t sound appealing,” he murmured.
“You will be watched through that window as you work. And afterward your work will be checked. So don’t try any monkey business,” Perez warned. He went over to the coffee maker and refilled his mug. Perez then headed for the door. At the door he stopped and turned toward Banks. “You look exhausted, Nathan. Feel free to have a cup or two of coffee. It’s strong and dark. And you’re going to need it. The reprogramming will probably take all night, even for a whiz like you.” Without another word Perez opened the door and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Banks sat unmoving. He gazed dully at the laptop in front of him for several minutes. Finally, he pressed the power button and turned it on. He watched the icons pop up one by one. He clicked the drone icon. A page appeared asking for his password. He entered his old password, and was half-surprised when his password granted him access. I feel like I’ve never left, he thought.
Banks glanced over at the coffee maker. The hot coffee aroma distracted him. He finally relented and went over to the coffeemaker. Styrofoam cups sat next to the pot. Banks poured himself a cup and returned to his workstation and sat down.
He smiled as he sipped the coffee, his first cup in over three years. The coffee was dark and robust, just like he used to drink it. Banks reveled in its bitterness.
Alert and ready to work now, he opened a page in his program, scrolled through the endless lines of code he’d written, and stopped at the likely spot where the problem occurred. He wanted to wreck the entire drone program, but he had to do it in a way no one would suspect anything was wrong. His sabotage needed to be subtle, his malfeasance undiscernible.
Banks wiped at sweat beading on his brow. The temperature in the room suddenly seemed warm to him, like he was sitting in a greenhouse or sauna. He pecked at a few keys but stopped and blinked his eyes. The laptop screen looked blurry all at once. He rubbed his eyes for several seconds, but the blurriness remained.
Too much caffeine too fast, he thought.
Banks shook his head and tried to refocus on the screen. But then the room started to spin, and before he knew it his head crashed against the table. And then the spinning room went from harsh white to dingy gray, and finally it faded to cave-black.
Chapter 50
How long his unconsciousness lasted he couldn’t tell. But when he awoke and lifted his head, Chris Perez stood by him.
“You poisoned me with the coffee,” Banks mumbled, his voice sounding a long ways off.
“It wasn’t poison, Nathan. I put a tranquilizer in it.”
“But I saw you drink it.”
“No, you didn’t. You saw me pour myself a cup, that’s all.”
Banks blinked his eyes. Perez still hadn’t come into focus. “But why did you do it? I was complying.”
“Nathan, you are a VIP. You are too important to the cause to let slip away. We can’t let you go off the grid in some remote location again. So we did something to ensure that won’t ever happen again.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“It’s always easier to chip someone when they’re not thrashing around.”
Banks brought a hand up to his forehead.
Perez shook his head. “We put it in your wrist. Now if you somehow escape us we will always be able to track you down.”
Banks examined his wrists and saw a tiny red spot on the underside of his right wrist. “I hate you.”
“You feel like I betrayed you. And I understand that. But really, Nathan, we were never friends, only coworkers. Just fix the glitch and you’ll be treated like a rock star. I’ll make sure you receive a handsome salary like me. You can live in a house if you wish, can buy and sell whatever you want now that you have the chip. Your days of struggling to survive will be over. But if you don’t do exactly as we wish you will be taken to the harshest prison I can find and thrown into a dark hole, where you’ll live like a mole in the ground.”
“You’re one of them, through and through. They must’ve brainwashed you. You’re nothing but a Henrik Skymolt lackey.”
“I can see that it’s going to take a while to convince you, Nathan. But I’m confident you will come around,” Perez said. He turned and walked toward the door. “Now get to work. And don’t forget we’re watching you,” he said over his shoulder.
The door clicked behind Perez. A lock engaged harshly.
Banks scratched at the red dot on his wrist. Somehow he had to remove the chip. Lord, please don’t hold this against me. They did this to me while I slept, he prayed silently.
He felt so stupid. He should’ve known the coffee would be tainted. The years of hiding in the wilderness and painstakingly covering his tracks were all for naught. The very thing he fought so hard against happening, happened. And all because he liked coffee.
Banks gritted his teeth and looked at the laptop. His emotions were going haywire. He thought of Jenny looking down at him from Heaven. He imagined her alternately praying for him and cheering him on. And then he thought of Brooke, and C.J. and Tanner hiding out in the bunker. Although t
he time he’d spent with Brooke was brief, they’d bonded quickly. He already missed her, and longed to see her smiling face again. And then imaginary scenes of believers and unchipped people being chased and persecuted by drones all over the world flashed in his head, one after another in sickening fashion.
Banks tapped a few keys on the keyboard. A line of characters and numbers and symbols, gibberish to most people, appeared on the screen. I used to live like a mole in the ground, Chris. Your threat doesn’t scare me one bit, he thought.
All of a sudden, what he needed to do came to his mind. He grinned and started typing faster with determination and confidence. And then his fingers fairly flew over the keyboard, tapping out encrypted code at a rapid clip.
Chris, you are not going to like me. Not at all.
Chapter 51
Olympic Peninsula—that same moment
Tanner Mason sat in the big common room on a folding chair. Resting on his lap was a script he’d written with Brooke and C.J.’s help. It wasn’t a long script. He only had a finite supply of propane to power the HAM radio, so he limited the word count. Although anyone tuned to the channel he planned on using could listen to his transmission, he aimed his words at two groups of people: believers who were losing heart and considering taking the Skymolt chip, and unchipped preppers who hadn’t yet surrendered their hearts to Christ.
Tanner turned the HAM radio on and adjusted it to channel 7 with his right hand. His left hand held a lit candle—his reading light. “Why channel 7, Tanner?” C.J. asked.
Tanner shrugged. “Seven is God’s number. So why not?”
“That makes sense. But you might want to switch it up every so often. A trend might get us discovered.”
“You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. And we also should figure out a way to hide the antenna outside. We’re going to get really tired of putting it up and taking it down.”
