by Rob Mclean
Things had been different when he had enlisted almost forty years ago. The enemy wore uniforms and fought for their country like soldiers. Not dressed as civilians and blowing themselves up along with a heap of innocents in the name of some crazy religion.
Back in those days, men– and they were men, no women in combat roles back then- were prepared to die for their country. Now they let in all sorts. Desk jockeys and equal-opportunity liberal bureaucrats ran the armed forces, so now you had to be careful in the shower if you dropped the soap.
Admiral Schwartz grimaced as he imagined what his father would have made of today’s navy. He had flown missions in the Korean War. There were no compensation claims, no post traumatic stress syndromes. You just did your job or died trying, which is just what his father did a decade or so later over Vietnam.
His thoughts were interrupted by his secretary, Lieutenant Fiona Grey. A trim, fit-looking woman, in her early forties, with a touch of grey streaked through her jet-black hair that she wore in a severe bob. He had always found her to be upfront with no hidden agendas and honest to the point of brutality. That was exactly why she was his chosen assistant. That and the fact that she was so damn good in bed–and discreet.
“Sir, a messenger for you,” she said, her professional manner impeccable. “He’s waiting outside.”
The admiral acknowledged her with a nod.
“He’s from the D.o.D.”
“Better send him in then.” He watched as she turned and walked back out the door. His eyes followed her long legs as she walked. He couldn’t figure how she managed to make a regulation uniform look so damn sexy.
She turned back just before the doorway. “Also your daughter has just posted her on-line status as non-religious.”
The Admiral scowled. He couldn’t figure out what had gotten into his daughter. She had always been such a good girl. When had she turned into this rebellious little monster?
He turned to his deputies. “And that, people, is why Lieutenant Grey is my P.A. She is switched on and up with everything. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” They nodded agreement with his rhetorical statement.
She acknowledged his compliment with an awkward, embarrassed smile, then turned to fetch the visitor from the Department of Defence. He savoured her taut curves, from her slim waist, all the way down her stockinged legs to her non-regulation heels.
His thoughts went back to the last time he had run his hands up those legs. It had been over a week ago, but it seemed like longer. He felt a passing resurgence of guilt at the thought of his infidelity, a product of his stern Old Testament Christian upbringing, no doubt. He fully expected to burn in Hell for eternity for his sins, but he held onto the hope that Jesus had died for all his sins, including the ones involving Lieutenant Grey, and that he would have time to repent them all before he died.
Besides, his wife had always made it quite clear that she viewed sex as some sort of sordid, messy unpleasantness that a good Christian wife had to endure solely to produce children. Her abhorrence of recreational sex and her insistence on separate beds had meant that, to his way of thinking, she had consistently failed in her matrimonial duties. It was only reasonable that his needs had to be met elsewhere. She hadn’t complained as his demands decreased. He supposed that she assumed that he was getting older and was grateful that he was growing less randy.
In truth, he never felt more alive than when he was with Lieutenant Grey. He was so exhausted after manoeuvres with the Lieutenant that he had no energy left for his wife. Not that she ever initiated sex, and for that he was relieved. It almost seemed to him that she was happy that he didn’t bother her anymore.
Lieutenant Grey certainly didn’t mind; in fact, being a younger woman with the benefit of a messy divorce, she was most enthusiastic. As long as his wife, Elma, didn’t find out, then it was only a little matter between God and himself, which he was sure he would find a way to work out.
Judging by the way some of the media were making the alien to be the AntiChrist, the Admiral figured that his time left to sort out his peace with God was rapidly dwindling.
During the teleconference, and against his better professional judgement, he had raised the possibility of those theories about the alien for discussion. He had felt, morally, that it should be investigated, or at the very least, discussed. He hadn’t been prepared for the ridicule and outright abuse from people who he had counted as his friends and colleagues.
Admittedly, he might have handled it more diplomatically in retrospect, but as he was not that far from retirement, he felt he should be able speak his mind. If everyone hadn’t already known of his religious convictions before, they certainly did now.
The man form the Department of Defence entered the room. A suit with a briefcase. He asked Lieutenant Grey to wait outside. After a nod from the Admiral, she obeyed.
“Admiral Schwartz, sir,” the suit said, “I must ask that the other officers leave the room as well please.”
“These officers are Captains of my fleet and trusted without question,” the Admiral said.
“Their trustworthiness is not in dispute,” said the suit. “I have orders that concern you and you alone.”
“This is ridiculous,” growled the Admiral, but he recognized the futility of arguing and motioned for his deputies to leave anyway.
“You must understand that these are unusual times,” the suit said as the officers left the room.
“If you mean the arrival of the Alien, then yes, they are.”
The suit closed the door behind the officers. He opened his briefcase and set up what the Admiral presumed to be a jamming device.
“Fat lot of good that’ll do if the Alien wants to listen to our conversation,” Admiral Schwartz said.
“Or the AntiChrist?” said the suit. His face betrayed no sign of amusement. “Who knows what he is capable of?”
“Are you mocking me, son?” The Admiral’s face contorted. A vein in his temple throbbed. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”
“Your Lieutenant believes I am with the Department of Defence,” the suit said, unaffected by the Admiral’s outburst.
“But you’re not?”
“It doesn’t matter which department I work for,” the suit said, pulling up a chair and sitting across from the Admiral. “I have been asked by the Presidential Office to inform you of their wishes.”
“You’re going to tell me that this conversation never happened, aren’t you?” the Admiral asked as the seriousness of the encounter dawned upon him.
“Indeed.” This time a knowing smile briefly acknowledged the Admiral’s grasp of the situation.
“And it’s about our…visitor?”
The suit nodded.
“So what can I do?” the Admiral asked, and then added, “for my country?”
“As the most powerful nation on the planet, we strive to maintain our position in the face of all challenges…”
“Yeah, cut the crap. What do they want?”
The suit ignored the interruption. “While we embrace any opportunities that may arise from this encounter with an alien civilization, we cannot be unprepared for any problems or complications that may also arise.
“While we don’t anticipate any direct conflict with our visitor, but it is the President’s wish that we have options available to us, should the need arise.”
“You mean options that don’t implicate the President?”
“Yes, or our nation.”
The Admiral nodded. He didn’t like the way the conversation was going, but he had to ask, “What’s it to with me?”
“Your religious beliefs are well documented.”
“Never been a problem before,” the Admiral said. “In fact it was almost a pre-requisite.”
“So too for the President, I believe.”
“Yeah, a woman of character,” said the Admiral. “I voted for her because of her religious beliefs.”
“As did millions of other Americans,�
�� the suit said.
“And now this alien tells us that our beliefs are history.” The Admiral stood. He motioned towards the blank flat-screen and said, “They didn’t care that we are virtually being told to reject our beliefs. All they seemed to be worried about is the wonderful new technology we might get and our new place in the greater Galactic civilization.”
“We know where you stand on the issue,” said the suit. “That’s why you were chosen for this mission.”
“What mission? What do think I can possibly do?” The Admiral folded his arms across his chest.
“As you have said already, we know next to nothing about our visitor. For all we know there may be a possibility that it is actually the AntiChrist…”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Right?”
“We have to plan for all eventualities. That’s one of the many reasons that this nation is the world’s number one.”
“But someone in the White House actually thinks that this alien might damn well be the honest-to-God AntiChrist?” The Admiral threw his hands up in the air.
“Actually, yes,” said the suit. He stood and walked to the Admiral. He put his hand on the Admiral’s shoulder and said in a hushed tone, “People very high up do entertain that possibility.”
The Admiral shook his head with amazement. “Holy hell.” He fixed the suit with a direct glare. “So what you want me to do?”
The suit went to his briefcase and got out an envelope. He held it before the Admiral. “These are the Presidential launch codes for your nukes.”
The Admiral stared at the envelope, his disbelief showed.
“This is highly irregular,” he said.
“This never took place,” said the suit. “As you said before, we don’t know what the alien is capable of, so we can’t risk sending these codes over what we would normally call a secure route.”
“I see,” the Admiral said. “The old-fashioned way is the best.”
“If you accept the mission, you are to memorize the codes and leave the envelope with me. When the time comes you will have the autonomy to strike.” The suit held the envelope out to the Admiral, who made no move to take it.
“Autonomy means that the responsibility will be mine.” The Admiral spat the words out like stones.
“Correct,” the suit said, his face expressionless.
“You want an out,” the Admiral said more to himself. He paced the room. He articulated his thoughts as he took careful steps, both in logic and across the room. “You want a way to strike at the alien, or whatever it is, without blame, without it coming back to bite you on the arse.” The Admiral didn’t need to look to the suit for confirmation. He knew he was right.
The suit stood impassively. He regarded the Admiral without expression.
“You want a fall guy,” the Admiral continued, “a patsy. In case it all goes to Hell.”
Still the suit said nothing. He continued to hold out the envelope. The Admiral asked “What stops me from taking these codes and launching my own crusade?”
“We trust that you will always have the best interests of you country in mind,” he said. The suit may as well have been wearing a mask for all the emotion he showed.
“You would have made a hell of a card player,” the Admiral joked. Inside, he saw himself taking those codes and blowing the AntiChrist alien away in a nuclear holocaust. In truth there was nothing stopping him, once he had those codes, from doing just that.
Nothing, except his family. It was one thing to make some noble military sacrifice for your country and the greater good, but it was his family that would suffer ultimately.
He thought of his rebellious daughter and her disregard for her parents’ and his whole generation’s beliefs. It stung him for his entire way of life to be so comprehensively rejected by his own flesh and blood. He momentarily glimpsed a future in which his daughter might be forced to contemplate and ultimately to understand the depth and sincerity of his faith if he were to make this sacrifice.
He had no delusions that it would be a sacrifice. He would be disowned by the government as soon as he launched the attack. He would be painted as a rogue Admiral; a loose cannon. The government, that he had served all his life and having had its objectives met by him, would then distance itself as far as possible from him. He would become a pariah. It would be the end of his career and the start of the rest of his life as a war criminal behind bars.
He might develop some sort of a cult following, especially amongst the faithful. Eventually he might even win his freedom, once the AntiChrist alien and its pervasive distraction was removed. The world, including his daughter, would come to see things more clearly then. They may even see him as some sort of hero for his decisive action. It was a persuasive hope and one that he felt might be worthwhile. He could see that to sacrifice himself so that his daughter’s outlook might be turned around to see the world through his faith would be an honourable thing to do.
“We will contact you when, or if, we need this option activated.”
The Admiral nodded in response. His thoughts focussed on the strike he would launch against the AntiChrist alien. The Presidential office knew what sort of man he was. It was all in his records. They must know that nuking the alien is exactly what he would do with the codes. It followed that it must be what they wanted him to do.
That only left his wife Elma to worry about. In his mind, she watched scornfully as he rutted with Lieutenant Gray like a scabby chimp. Her carnal cries of pleasure only served to fuel his shame and further his need for redemption. He could never fully explain to Elma why he felt he must strike at the AntiChrist Alien; that it was, in his mind, the only way to regain his self-respect and honour.
The suit had put the envelope on the table and pushed it towards the Admiral. He stood back and waited.
They know I will take the codes, the Admiral thought. They know what I’ll do with them. They know I am the man for their job.
He took the envelope.
After memorizing the codes, the suit took back the envelope. A grim smile flickered across the suit’s face. “Thank you, Admiral,” he said. He turned and left the room. The Admiral did not see him go, as he was lost in his own thoughts.
A few moments later, Lieutenant Grey returned. She immediately registered that he didn’t notice her as she entered the room. His thoughts were miles away. “What the hell was that all about?” she asked.
The Admiral’s daydream had been broken. He looked at her and she saw his dreamy expression change. His attention focused and his features hardened. She saw now, a steely resolve and harsh purpose in his eyes.
“Round up the troops and saddle the horses, Lieutenant,” he said, addressing her formally despite being alone with her. “We’re moving out.”
Chapter 26
The exhaust from Angela’s little Suzuki 4WD made disturbingly loud noises as she drove along the street to Zeke’s parent’s house. She had been meaning to get it fixed for ages, and it was getting to the stage where it could get her a violation.
There had been talk of making the whole neighbourhood a gated, closed community and she was sure they wouldn’t let cars as loud as hers in. It made her cringe every time the exhaust backfired.
The late August afternoon sun of a clear Californian sky cast stark shadows as it fell between the tall palm trees and geometric greenery. Automated sprinklers threw water onto the lawns with robotic precision, the spray creating rainbow mists.
Zeke’s house was one of many enormous dwellings that stood in a photo-shop perfect street of manicured lawns, tightly trimmed hedges and decorator trees. Although not a mansion by Hollywood standards, the house was the biggest Angela had ever been inside.
In keeping with the neighbours, the house had been made by Zeke’s father’s building company for an aspiring Australian actress. She had since moved up and sold the house back to Zeke’s father, Gordon.
It was a two-storey house in a Tudor style with a complex slate roofline that shel
tered intriguing attic windows. The hedge lined driveway led to a triple garage. A pair of huge panelled oak doors, studded with wrought iron greeted those without access to the garages. Above the imposing entrance was a balcony that, she knew, led into the parents’ bedroom chambers.
Zeke’s room was in a guest house out the back on the other side of the pool. He used to live inside with the rest of his siblings, under the main roof, but once he started seeing Angela, he claimed the guest house. A new guest room had been made under the roofline above the garages, complete with an en-suite.
The old guest house had its own entrance along a separate driveway that ran around the garages to the rear of the house. It was also used by the gardeners, caterers and other service people. The driveway had been especially extended since Angela had been visiting regularly, so she had her own special spot to park along side the guest house.
Her palms sweated as she parked in the front driveway. She wiped them on her floral summer dress and took a deep breath to mentally steel herself for what she was about to say to Zeke. She had rehearsed it all afternoon. It had all made perfect sense to her in the solitude of her car, but now she felt her stomach flutter.
She had called ahead to make sure Zeke would be home. He had sounded smug, as if he knew that she would have to eventually forgive him and forget about the whole nightclub thing. The way he spoke, it was as if he already thought things were back to normal.
She knew he would be waiting for her in his bedroom. She got out of her car, and instead of going around the back to his room, she went to the front door and rung the bell.
It was answered by the housekeeper, a thin, greying Latino woman with a careworn face that broke into a broad smile when she saw Angela.
“Hello, Mrs. G,” Angela said. “How are you?”
“Ah, Miss Angelina,” said the housekeeper, “it always makes me so happy to see you. It has been such a long time, no?”
“You don‘t work weekends.”
