The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy)

by T. S. Seley Elliott

  Even in the aftermath of previous discoveries, Byron was still dumbstruck by this account. Marg, however, was more rationale and asked what she felt was an obvious question,

  “Wei...that’s so fantastic...we know you didn’t tell your son, but did you ever share this with anyone?”

  He actually looked a little embarrassed when he replied, “My dear lady, in those weeks of heavy sedation, I also had visions of talking catfish, Marilyn Monroe as my grocer and thought I had showered in blue Crisco Oil. I won’t even mention the game of Twister with Winston Churchill. Why would I share one more, although far nicer, diluted dream?” He looked down at his hands, chuckling incredulously.

  “I never knew I’d been touched by an angel.”

  Seventy pounds of canine hit the mattress next to Johnnie, virtually catapulting her from a deep sleep, and nearly knocking her from the bed. Too groggy to cry out, she sucked in a deep breath and instantly identified dog breath. Her eyes sprung open just in time to be closed again by Betsy’s massive tongue, as it slimed from her face into her sleep-matted hair.

  In a wordless but automatic gesture, Johnnie’s arms reached up as far as possible to embrace the awkward love package.

  “Hoooooo. Ech!” She cried as she turned her head from another round of lapping. Betsy was not in the least offended, and dropped next to her woman, laying the full weight of her head across Johnnie’s chest.

  With her hand resting on Betsy’s brow, Johnnie lifted her head slightly, blinking until she could clearly see the dog’s face and the two regarded each other; she realized this was the first time she probably looked way rougher than her dog. Betsy had obviously been bathed and groomed, and while she didn’t exactly look “pretty,” she had a healthy sheen and other than the breath, was quite fragrant.

  Johnnie’s thoughts cleared and with the clarity came unwelcome images and a sour sensory memory of smoke in her mouth and nose. Although she was back in her brother’s house, she didn’t know the time, who else was here, and most importantly, she had no idea what role she played in the airport scene, but begrudgingly suspected it wasn’t a minor one. The moment the woman’s piercing words filled her mind, she was out from under Betsy and staggering toward the bedroom door. Her head was permanently out of the sand regarding her condition; this was war.

  __________________________________________________________________

  “Wing. The bottom line is, we already closed the deal. I can’t turn a blind eye to my country’s needs. India is a known faction, and you know our relationship is intricate. I would think you’d be encouraged by our alliance with Canada; they’re your neighbor. There are no safe chess pieces now and I have to make the best move for Britain. You and I both know China and Pakistan are already in bed together, and the pipeline is started; they broke ground, what? Weeks ago? Do you really think we will ever impact relations between Israel and Iran?” The prime minister and President had returned from their outing and were settled in opposite chairs near a quietly burning hearth. He leaned forward, arms on knees. “Do you? My friend, I respect your ideals, but I don’t see it.”

  The day had taken a different turn from the moment they’d shared thoughts about the precarious situation at JFK; once the walls were down between them, the two capitalized on a rare chance for camaraderie, both knowing the odds of affecting true change during the short visit were slim. They had only narrowed their focus to the subject at hand in the past hour.

  Wing held Bereford’s gaze; their exchange was “weapons down” and open.

  “I never believed it was simple, the relationships never have been. But the implications far extend their boundaries, Richard. We are talking about nukes and while I’m not lofty enough to ask to join hands in actual world peace...I don’t think any of us can turn our backs on the threat of world war. I can’t and won’t do it.” The two fell silent and turned their attention to the fire. Wing broke the silence.

  “I just ask you to consider the extreme global polarization right now. You’ve made your move, and I can’t say I’d do any different if I were you. But for your next plays, please, please look at the whole board – it is ready to implode and the balance could depend on the smallest move...or even a failure to move.”

  He stretched and smiled.

  “I assure you, I am personally testing the latter option, possibly to my own demise.” A light knock alerted both men to the entrance of the leaders’ aides. While both assumed it was for an update on JFK, they simultaneously questioned why Beresford’s personal officer accompanied Wing’s.

  The airport situation wouldn’t have warranted a small cast of advisors to brief the men; an urgent and classified update on Israel and Iran, however, required greater care.

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Wei insisted his guests remain for dinner since, as they awaited the television news conference, they admitted to one another that the lunch had worn off.

  Marg insisted on helping Wei cook while Byron cleared the table; the fruits of his research had taken the form of a hurricane aftermath, besides, he knew this was the most appreciated thing he could do to contribute to dinner. His days of kitchen survival were thankfully over.

  Margie boiled pasta as Wei tried his best to impress her with his culinary skills. He was a self-professed foodie and proceeded to prepare a personally developed pasta sauce.

  Byron noticed the beginning of the promised news conference and increased the television volume. The cooks turned to take in the news.

  The first minutes of the spokesperson’s address reintroduced the facts of the afternoon’s explosion, with the added news that there were, miraculously, no deaths and few serious injuries. As previously reported, television and radio networks had received communication via e-mail at the precise moment of the explosion; the networks had surprisingly honored law enforcement’s request to withhold the exact contents of the ranting communication, other than the fact it was from one individual who promised to deliver on her threat. The spokesperson now confirmed the sole suspect in the case was identified as Marsha Renee Shreiver, the person responsible for the messages; she was also the woman apprehended at the airport shortly after the explosion. Although it appears to have been her intent to die in the blast, she fully confessed to being a lone agent.

  Byron began to question his sixth sense regarding Johnnie Carter’s potential involvement and glanced at the other two, who remained focused on the television. He sighed and looked back in time for the abrupt end of the conference.

  The spokesperson said all further information was still under investigation, following with, “A person, unknown as yet, appears to have foiled the suspect and averted certain disaster in this situation. This is a frame from airport security video of the person of interest. If you know the identity of this woman...”

  Byron’s loud and clear, “Holy Shit....” was interrupted only by the loud clang as Marg dropped the heavy lid to the pasta pot. It hit the floor near Wei’s foot, but he was rooted to the spot.

  Their reactions were initially due to the slightly grainy, but very certain face of Johnnie Carter on the television screen. The expression was solemn, almost blank. But it was her.

  Their shock was compounded, however, by interruption of the remote telecast by the NHN studio staff.

  “We interrupt with breaking news. NHN has unconfirmed, but reliable information that Israel is, as we speak, conducting air strikes on Iran. It goes without saying this is a grave situation....”

  The noise from the television continued. Water rolled and boiled on the stove. Wei, almost as if in need of motion, turned to the cutting board and slowly, mechanically chopped an onion, only to stop and put the knife down.

  Byron retrieved the lid from the floor, handing it to Marg. They held it absently between them and stared wordlessly at the metal in their hands, then the television.

  ___________________________________________________
______

  Johnnie and Betsy entered the open living area to find James, Sandy and Jeremy congregated near the door by a large kennel and a pile of baggage. Their quiet discussion stopped when the disheveled woman and her grinning companion entered. Drawing on energy she had no idea was there, Johnnie bolted across the room and leapt onto Sandy, nearly knocking the large man down.

  Both James and Sandy laughed, in spite of the general circumstances of the day.

  “Watch it there, Sis...this could have been the second time in as many days you’ve brought a grown man down in this room.” He rubbed the still-sore spot on his back where he’d landed the day before during the attempted charismatic-healing.

  The big black man had maintained his balance, however, placing their weight on his “good leg” at the exact moment of impact. It did the host’s heart good to see his mussed-up little sister latched onto her chosen protector, with an ecstatic, slobbering three-legged beast awkwardly dancing at their feet. The dark events of the day were still at hand, but this brief moment was priceless.

  No one noticed Jeremy’s wistful demeanor as he stood by, taking in the scene.

  Sandy put Johnnie down, giving her much more consideration than she’d given him, ensuring she was firm on the ground before backing away and looking her up and down.

  “Little Girl, you look like you just crawled out from under a rock. And by the bye, next time you invite me for an adventure, don’t feel the need to involve the national news!” Everyone but Johnnie had had the benefit of several hours to process earlier events, she, however, had not, and the words knocked the air out her.

  “National news?!” She stepped backward and bumped against Betsy, activating a renewed wagging fest. While her hand responded, naturally, to the soft snout against her leg, she looked at the men, not the dog.

  “Look, Sis...come on. Let’s let Sandy get comfortable and then we’ll all talk. Remember...look at me now...” He could see the range of emotion pass in waves on Johnnie’s face, which he took in his hands. “This is not new, remember? It’s just another...well, slightly bigger, version of what’s been going on with you all along. Stay on track and we’ll handle this.”

  Johnnie was still a wreck, but relief soothed the most jagged edges of her gut. This was the first time she truly realized she was no longer alone; the struggle was over with keeping the “dirty little secret.”

  But the struggle, at large, wasn’t over. The events she could remember came in flashes as she herded Betsy to the closest chair. Stopping with her hand to her mouth, she snapped her head around till she finally noticed Jeremy.

  He breathed in sharply and offered a smile.

  “I’m sorry.” She said. Her words were barely audible as she sunk into inviting leather. Betsy leaned against her legs, settling at her feet. Jeremy sat on the couch, trying not to betray his true, conflicted feelings when he responded.

  “Don’t apologize. This is the most excitement I’ve had in months. OK, years.” Those were the words his mouth presented. His face and eyes, however, made a very different statement; his stare flickered with a small amount of confusion, but was intense. It infused Johnnie with something she couldn’t identify, in fact, she almost couldn’t breathe. As she turned her head toward her brother, she maintained eye contact with Jeremy until it was impossible to do so without stopping the movement, or probably spraining her optical muscles. Loudly inhaling, she broke the gaze and the spell, lifting her head to James.

  “Can we eat while we talk? This is weird. Who knows what?” Not waiting for an answer, she reached down and hugged Betsy’s head with no regard at all to the slobber and snorts...or the fact that James’ shin was receiving a serious tail-lashing.

  “I will never leave you again, big puppy. Ever.” The dog offered no argument.

  Sandy returned from the restroom and James Cain, brother, host and problem solver, gestured to the nearest seat and answered Johnnie.

  “Thai food is on the way, Jeremy knows only a little...and poor Sandy here, I’m guessing, knows what Jeremy knows since they just rode across town together. Am I right?” Jeremy nodded, still seemingly unable to take his eyes off the woman who could have been straight off the streets. Johnnie wore the same sooty clothing from earlier and sported hair which suspiciously resembled a cheap Halloween wig; she completed the ensemble with deeply grooved sheet-lines on her cheek from the coma-like slumber.

  She was unconscious or unconcerned about her appearance, and Jeremy apparently shared her sentiment. She wasn’t sure why the man stared at her, and while she typically felt uncomfortable under scrutiny, this was strangely alright. She had no idea why it was okay with her as she, once again, locked eyes with him. Their new stare-down was interrupted by Sandy.

  “I told you I was game for anything.” He eased his weight onto an extraordinarily comfortable - and fortunately large – recliner. “I might should have read the fine print, though...” He laughed to ease Johnnie’s childlike guilty response, and, again, missed the mixed expression with which Jeremy regarded the two of them.

  James, man in charge, announced, “Phones off, no one goes to bed, no TV, the bar is closed--and Jeremy stays --till we brief our team.” When his sister winced, he continued, “It’s a team, now Johnnie. That’s the deal. How do you want to do this?”

  After burying her face in Betsy’s fur, she raised her head and sighed. In this case, starting from the beginning probably wasn’t best. It would freak them out, besides, she needed to save some face here.

  “Lookit, guys, I thought I was normal. I really did lead a good life there for several years till a couple months ago....”

  And that’s how, for the third time, she told her whole story...at least the recent chapters of which she was aware. She told it mostly to Sandy, shooting short glances at a spellbound and silent Jeremy, quickly looking away to avoid guaranteed distraction. Her big friend seemed supremely interested, but somehow, completely un-freaked out by the tale. In fact, he stopped her occasionally to ask questions for clarification or simply to satisfy his curiosity; she could have been recounting a family vacation, judging by his demeanor. James regarded his newest guest with quiet satisfaction; his sister had chosen her guardian well.

  During the train-station story, Sandy exploded with, “Come on...Shirley and Colombo?! You’re making that up!” He slapped his knee with a booming laugh. He didn’t balk at the concept of Johnnie’s near resurrection of the dog...but the names were more than he could take. His laughter was interrupted by the intercom; dinner had arrived.

  Johnnie simply pressed on as they passed the boxes among them, loading plates with spicy food.

  She badly wanted to get this over with and pass the baton to James to give the background information of their childhood, which was largely concealed in her memories. She talked around her fork, talked with food in her mouth, and blew her nose into a napkin when the spices got the best of her. She was the most unselfconscious woman Jeremy had ever seen, and it never occurred to her to act any differently in front of this virtual stranger. The story intrigued him almost as much as she did. There was something about her he couldn’t put his finger on.

  Since she was unsure of that day’s events, Johnnie wrapped up her story with the Bachweister encounter. Her affection for the odd cast of characters was obvious and touched them all. She stopped, then, did a visible mental scan as she looked at the ceiling then said, “That’s all I know about that...I have to pee like a race horse. Big brother, I’m done with my part and ‘you’re it...’ I’m going to clean up to while you get them up to speed; I really don’t want to hear it anyway. Hurry up, because I think we could all use a drink.”

  The President and the prime minister immediately terminated their visit at Camp David; if they’d had the time or presence of mind, each would have realized it was the last calm before an historic storm.

  In route to the White House, President Liang was flooded with updates on the Israeli attack, as well predictions of potential conseq
uences. The tension was palpable, not just because of the severity of Israel’s actions, but because pressure increased for the U.S. to take tangible action. Once again, the President frustrated his top advisors with silence on the matters of warnings or retaliation.

  Once in the Situation Room he maintained his composure, but felt like his skin was simply the liner of a pressure cooker. He knew he couldn’t wait much longer for the answers he sought, but could not ignore the nagging feeling that he’d missed something. An opportunity, an idea.... What was it? Was an answer dangling in front of him, or did he have to feel his way? In his heart, whatever it was, it was so close he could feel it. He only hoped he hadn’t tainted his mind and heart with hope, or worse, desperation.

  The air attack appeared to have focused on suspected Iranian nuclear sites, as well as sites for the beginnings of the pipeline on the Iranian-Pakistani border. The message was clear; Israel concluded the Iranian price for oil was direct support of their nuclear program from China. Israel, long accustomed to U.S. political and financial support had lost patience with the U.S.’ non-stance on the pipeline issue, and were further fueled by their own perception of a new nuclear threat. The Presidential staff and national security advisors fell short of voicing their sympathy, bordering agreement, with Israel on this issue, as they faced the grave-faced, but stoic President. He, in the face of opposition from every person whose duty it was to advise him, closed his eyes and prayed.

  ________________________________________________________________

  While her brother told the tale of their odd childhood, at least the things he was aware of and could remember, Johnnie retreated to her room, dropped her smoke-smelling clothes on the floor and went into the bathroom suite. She forced herself not to dwell on all that may have taken place earlier in the day and with greater effort, not to read into the odd interaction with Jeremy tonight. Tonight...She couldn’t believe it was nighttime.