by Brandt Legg
“Look, Gale, you may think this is some righteous cause you can get behind, a story you can investigate, but this is much more serious than you could possibly know.”
“You underestimate me.”
“No, honey, I don’t. It’s just that there are people who want you dead. I’ve been able to protect you up until now, but the situation is rapidly changing and even my power has its limits.”
“I thought you said you had an agreement with God.”
“God is a busy man these days.”
“Is it possible that you’ve read Clastier’s Divinations.”
“His what?”
“Clastier also made many prophecies.”
“Really? And you’ve read them?”
“Yes. They have all come true. Five remain. One is about you.”
“Let me guess. He predicts my presidency and the greatness that I bring as leader of the world.” He walked toward his car.
“No. It predicts your death.”
He remained silent for several seconds. “Do you wish me dead?” he asked angrily.
“Of course not.”
“Do you think I have not sinned? Do you think I have not paid a price for all that I have done? You know me better than that.”
“I believe you are a good man.”
“Then why, Gale, why on the eve of my greatest triumph, have you wrought this kind of firestorm onto my doorstep?”
“I have wrought nothing. I am trying to save your life.”
“From what? The predictions of a fraud? Clastier was nothing but a crazy man. He spent too much time in the wilderness with Indians and . . . ”
“You don’t know, do you? My God, I assumed you knew, that the Pope, at least would have told you with all this going on.”
“Tell me what?”
“Clastier had an Eysen.”
Silence. Monroe reached his car, muted his phone and told an aide to contact the NSA to get an immediate location on this call.
“Are you still there?”
“Gale, tell me where you are.”
“I can’t”
“How do you know that Clastier had an Eysen?” Gale could hear his fingers snapping through the phone.
“I can’t tell you that either, but if you take possession of Rip’s Eysen, you will be sealing your fate.”
“Rip’s Eysen?” He shot back amidst a rattle of snaps. “Your buddy Rip stole the Eysen from the citizens of the United States. It certainly doesn’t belong to him. And you expect me to trust you and believe your warning, yet you won’t tell me where you are, how you know Clastier had an Eysen . . . Be assured that God has long ago sealed my fate and a failed priest cannot undue His will.”
“What if God’s will is recorded in the Eysen?” she asked, trying on the theory for the first time. “What if it foretells everything that will ever happen? Maybe that’s how Clastier knew what he did?”
“Blasphemy! He knew nothing!”
An aide signaled Booker. He, in turn, moved his finger across his neck. Gale got the message and ended the call. As far as she was concerned, it was over anyway.
Chapter 50
Jaeger watched the capture of Gaines on the large screen and smiled. “It was a little closer than I would have liked,” he said to an operative. “The arrival of Booker’s little army mercenaries, while not entirely unexpected, made things a bit more costly.”
“Booker is more of a threat to our interests than any government of a hostile nation,” his operative replied.
“Yes, he is the most dangerous man in the world and it would be helpful if he were dead by the end of the day,” Jaeger said, as he was dialing Washington. Then he saw something on the monitors that made him hang up the phone.
Just as the NSA commandos were about to load their prisoners – Gaines and Elpate – into the helicopter, another gunship descended and fired a small missile into the NSA’s Blackhawk. The commandos scattered into the trees. Rip was dragged, until he scrambled to his feet and ran, unable to see, holding onto one of his captors. Thankfully, someone tore off his blindfold, “Come on, Gaines, keep up or you might get killed,” his captor said gruffly. “And my mission is not about you winding up dead.”
“Where’s my pack?” Gaines pleaded.
“Safe.”
As they ran back up the hill, Rip continued trying, unsuccessfully, to spot his pack. He did see Elpate, still blindfolded being pulled along, chained to a commando. Dozens of the NSA’s elite fighters moved away from the burning Blackhawk. Suddenly there was a loud whoosh, followed by a massive explosion. The gunship crashed in a shower of burning debris. Flaming shrapnel rained in on Rip and the commandos. The flying metal hit several of them. Rip narrowly missed injury as a small fireball landed inches from him. One of the NSA’s men had fired a missile into the BLAX gunship, destroying it.
The woods, burning around them, were engulfed in black smoke; visibility deteriorated. Rip choked and stumbled until a commando managed to get a gasmask on him. Another one clipped a chain around his waist and pulled Rip like a dog on a leash. The groups moved swiftly through the war zone. Rip could barely keep up.
Objects careened in around them; flashes and booms. The impacts produced red and orange smoke, which mixed with the black, created an alien world. Somewhere behind, Rip heard cursing and the crackle of a radio, coordinates being reported.
Single gunshots rang out loudly, cutting through the noise. Commandos started falling. The accuracy of the shooters was frightening; each shot resulted in a man crying out or a thud as another fell dead. “Snipers, snipers!” someone yelled.
Without warning, Rip was jerked downhill, tripping and rolling. The commando he was chained to crashed down with him. His arms, still cuffed behind his back, were already sore, but after the fall he feared one might be broken. Bullets whizzed from every direction. “Come on, Gaines, in case you haven’t noticed, people are trying to kill you!” the commando yelled.
Rip didn’t know whether to thank him or try to escape, but quickly decided as another commando took a bullet less than twenty feet from them. “I’ll keep up.” He did not know how they could live through the firestorm of flames, smoke, and bullets, nor did he expect he would.
They bolted toward where they’d been heading before Dyce was killed. The forest thinned. Soon, through the trees, houses were visible in the distance. The commandos had taken up positions and were shooting back, trying to cover Rip’s route.
Breathlessly, he stumbled after the commando until they broke into a residential neighborhood. Their pace slowed slightly, as the commando read a handheld screen displaying a satellite map of the area. They cut over one street and Rip noticed two more commandos coming behind them. One was chained to Elpate, the other appeared to have Rip’s pack.
Before he could celebrate, they hit the ground and his commando started firing into a nearby wooden fence. A few shots came from the other side, but one of the commandos with Elpate tossed a grenade. That was the end of the fence, and whoever was behind it.
Two more streets and their destination became clear. A dark blue van, with doors open, was waiting at the end of a dirt driveway. They piled in; someone came down on top of Rip. The van pulled away and fishtailed onto another street, as they got the door closed. Rip managed to untangle himself from the others and to sit up partially.
Anxious to talk to Elpate, ask his captors about his pack, and find out who they were, Rip started to speak. A commando shoved him hard against the metal wall of the van, blindfold him again, and slapped duct tape over his mouth. His protests were met with several hard kicks to his thigh and stomach.
More than an hour later, they stopped and were pushed onto what seemed to be a small corporate jet. Someone belted him into a seat. After a hurried takeoff and steep ascent, the plane leveled off to a low cruising altitude. Although in pain, and with no idea where they were headed, Rip was happy that at least no one was shooting at him, and he believed that the Eysen was nearby.
Rip tried to get someone’s attention to look at his arm, but all he could do was make muffled noises from under the tape and he was ignored. A couple of hours later, commandos started cussing and yelling. “They’re shooting!”
“Don’t even think about landing; they will not risk hitting us!” Someone barked, presumably at the pilot. Suddenly, the plane lost altitude in two rapid plummets.
Blindfolded, his terror magnified, Rip screamed from behind the duct tape. No one cared. The plane rocked to the side and then leveled off for a few seconds. Then, dropped again. The commandos were all shouting, but Rip couldn’t hear anything specific between the confusion and his own panic.
The pilot managed to get the plane into a climb, but within moments it went nose-down again. The small craft gained speed and soon the descent was out of control as they went hurdling toward the ground. “Heads between your legs! We’re going down, we’re going down!” was the last thing Rip heard before the impact.
Chapter 51
Rip jerked back in his seat at the first impact. The pilot had somehow regained enough control, so that the plane hit the ground in a way that was slightly more landing than crashing. Metal crunched and twisted. The plane rolled and came to rest at an awkward angle. Air rushed in through a gaping hole in the fuselage. The moans of men and the smell of jet fuel panicked Rip, still blind and unable to speak. He heard flames and desperately tried to work loose, but couldn’t move.
For two full minutes, he tried: to escape the seatbelt, to scream against the tape, to kick, to do anything. Nothing worked. He heard muffled voices, but he was so disorientated, at one point he thought they might still be flying.
“Fire! Get them out before it blows!” He finally heard clearly.
Rough hands ripped the duct tape off, stinging his lips and cheeks. Almost at the same time, the blindfold came off and he was freed from the seatbelt and handcuffs. His arm was killing him. Before he could get his bearings, someone threw him out the door of the plane. Landing hard on a knee, he twisted and rolled in pain. He tried to look back, but it was a blur. A commando got an arm around him and pulled him away.
“My pack!” he yelled.
“The pack?” the guy dragging him shouted to others.
“Negative.”
“Negative.”
Boom! The plane exploded. He went down. A shower of metal, glass, and plastic fragments hit them. Rip felt as if he’d jumped into a burning pool of nails.
The ringing in his ears exasperated the turmoil of the scene. He stood and then fell. They were in a cornfield, nothing was clear. He felt numb. Elpate stumbled toward him.
“Doon, aw woo oh nay?” Elpate asked. Rip couldn’t understand. Elpate kept repeating his question until Rip nodded realized he’d been asking, “Dude, are you okay?”
“Yes. I think.”
Elpate handed Rip his backpack. He looked up, shocked. Elpate took a small bow.
Rip peeked in and saw the Eysen, then quickly slung the pack on his back. Elpate pulled out a joint, lit it and took a hit, then passed it to Rip.
Rip was actually going to take it, but then saw Elpate’s face. A military-style chopper came toward them. The three commandos who had survived the crash ran to cover and two, still with guns, fired. The chopper hovered closer. Elpate, grabbed Rip, “Come on!”
They ran into the cornfield and kept going until Elpate began choking in a coughing fit. Only when they heard the chopper spray bullets across the area did they drop.
“I think they just wiped out all the commandos!” Elpate said, recovering. “We may be able to get away. Go! Go!”
“Where?” Rip asked stumbling forward.
“We need wheels.” Elpate wheezed. “This is a farm; they must have something that moves.”
When the chopper set down, they were already four hundred yards into the cornfield. The sounds of yelling and gunfire pushed them onward. “I guess some of the commandos are still alive,” Rip said.
“Maybe. We got lucky,” Elpate said between gasps.
“Let’s hope they keep each other busy for a while.”
Elpate was falling further behind and Rip slowed so he wouldn’t lose him. A few minutes later, they saw a farmer standing in his doorway looking into the direction of the downed helicopter.
“Quick, put your hands up,” Elpate said to Rip, as he raised his arms. They approached the man slowly. Elpate started talking in Spanish so fast that Rip couldn’t follow; the man nodded and talked back. The conversation went on a couple more minutes. Elpate turned around and said, “You can put your hands down. He’s going to rent us his truck.”
“What?”
“Give me a thousand dollars. Quick.”
Rip counted out ten of Grinley’s hundreds and handed them to Elpate. The shooting stopped, causing Rip to freeze. He scanned the area with frantic looks, fearing the commandos or AX mercenaries were closer. Rip never thought he’d be happy to hear gunfire, but when it resumed, he felt strangely safe, knowing where their pursuers were.
The farmer led them to a rusty green Ford pickup that must have been thirty years old. Elpate traded the cash for the keys and they climbed in. Much to Rip’s surprise, the truck started easily. A few minutes later they turned off the farm’s lane onto a busy road.
“Where are we going?” Rip asked.
“Don’t worry, they’re busy searching all those cornfields. We’re not far from the border.”
“What border?”
“The American border, gringo.” Elpate laughed.
“It’s the Americans who are after us.”
“Got a better idea?”
“Anything is better than that. They’ll shoot us as soon as we even try to cross into the U.S. They don’t let you just drive through with a wave.”
“Listen, dude, you may be some kind of archaeological genius, but I’m an old Mexican drug dealer, so I think I’m the border expert here.”
Chapter 52
Jaeger watched the screen in helpless disbelief, as the plane with Gaines and Elpate on board crashed. Then, amazed when his men and the prisoners emerged from the plane, he, an atheist, wondered if his partnership with the Church was already paying dividends.
As the events turned yet again, with the arrival of Booker’s men, Jaeger sat in quiet rage, while he saw Gaines and Elpate slip into the cornfield. “Booker is an evil son of a bitch,” he thought. “Why is he making this so damned hard for me? I’d kill him myself, if I could find the bastard.”
“Sir, it looks like we’re down to one agent,” an operative reported.
“I can see that!” Jaeger said. “How close is our back up?”
“A DEA unit will be there in twelve minutes.”
“How many?”
“Sixteen. Well-armed.”
“It’ll be close. And if Booker’s got more damned mercenaries coming, it will be another slaughter. Where does he train these people?”
An operative was about to answer the question, but another shook his head. Now wasn’t the time.
“They’re in a green late-70s Ford pickup truck heading toward the border.”
“Hmm,” Jaeger mused. “Now, it gets interesting.”
Booker’s aide whispered in his ear. He turned to Gale after she ended the call with Senator Monroe. “You’d better come with me. It’s not going well.”
Gale followed Booker outside. The wind was still gusty, but the rain had all but ended. “What’s not going well?” she asked for the third time.
Once inside the bunker, Booker finally answered her. “The mission to rescue Rip.”
She’d known that was what he’d meant, but didn’t want to admit it. The gadgetry and controls looked to her like something out of NASA. She was amazed, and then she saw the monitor showing Rip being pushed out of the plane.
“Oh my God. Is he okay? Is that happening now?”
“Yes,” Booker responded. “It’s a live feed. He appears okay for the moment.”
“Who are those men?”
“Who is that man giving Rip his pack?”
“He’s a former drug dealer, and . . . ”
“Where did that helicopter come from? It’s shooting at them!”
“That belongs to me.”
“You? But they’re shooting at Rip!”
“No, they are being careful. They have orders not to hurt him.”
“But anything can happen. Can’t you get him out of there?”
“We’re trying.”
She screamed when Rip and Elpate darted into the cornfield, while Booker’s team and the NSA commandos engaged in a fierce firefight.
Then the screen went black.
“Where are they?” Gale demanded.
“Not sure if they found us, or if the satellite had an issue,” a tech said.
“They found us,” Booker said. “Find a work-around. Get us other data.”
“Already on it.”
“In the meantime,” Booker said, turning back to Gale, “It didn’t sound like the call with the senator went very well.”
“What about Rip?”
“I’ve got hundreds of the very best people working to get him safely back to us,” Booker said, exasperated. Then he took a deep breath. “All is not lost.”
It took a while for Gale to calm down, but eventually they got back to discussing the Monroe situation and another call was planned. “We’ve got to get the Eysen, to see if there is a way to stop Monroe from getting killed,” Booker said.
“Why is it so important to you to save him?”
“Normally, I wouldn’t give a damn if Monroe lived or died. Politicians like him are cheap and easy to replace. Truth be told, with his Vatican and NSA connections, I’d just as soon he was dead.” Booker said, as they stood on the deck, watching the remaining strands of the storm move across the valley. Gale had agreed to leave the bunker only when she’d received assurances from every tech that she’d be informed as soon as there was anything to report.
“Then why?” Gale pressed.
