The Journal: A Prophecy, A President & Death

by Parker, W. Leland

  James interrupts, “Else, how could he have allowed your dad to needlessly die in the World Trade Center?”

  After a moment of shock, Lauren, who now feels hurt says, “Please pull over.”

  Concerned that he’s gone too far, James pulls the car to the side, wondering if he’ll have to walk the remaining ten miles to his house.

  Lauren, with intense calm says, “I’d like to drive now.” She gets out of the car first and begins to circle the car. He follows suit. They cross paths briefly at the back left corner of the car. He searches to see her face but she does not look at him. The NSA vehicle whizzes past them and disappears around the next bend. Lauren is in and at the wheel before James has even reached the passenger door.

  He hesitantly reaches out for the door handle thinking it is better to walk home than to the hospital with a broken hand. Once he opens the door he sits down quickly to insure that his entirety successfully enters the vehicle.

  Lauren still has not summoned the strength to look him in the face. Fighting back a swirl of emotions, and looking straight ahead she says, “Look, James, I don’t want to argue with you, so I’m just gonna say this, God is God, and I believe that. But I don’t believe that he is all that you think he is, not for me. He lets a lot of crappy stuff happen, and I’m okay with that, but I am not about to live my life focused on him because it doesn’t make any difference. That is what I believe. End of story.” With vigor she puts the car in gear and spins the tires getting back onto the road.

  James lets a few minutes of silence sooth her near-boiling state. He uses the time wisely to collect himself in quiet prayer. Finally he says softly, “But what if you’re wrong?”

  Lauren says back, “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  James says finally, “What if your mom told you tomorrow, that the man you called Dad your whole life wasn’t really your father, and showed you a secret stash of photos of your real father who had abandoned you as a child, and you saw that he looked just like you, even more than your father? Your whole world, and a ton of anger at God, would have to change. So much depends on what we believe, Lauren. And what if this man had mended his ways and wanted to marry your mom. What then? Would you still have such resentment towards God? Even now, your argument against him is based on what you believe are the facts of your circumstance—of your father’s. But, what if you found out differently. What if you found out that your dad, who you say knew the Lord, had a choice presented to him in that smoky building and decided to save others, instead of himself; that he knew it meant his life, that you would lose him but save so many others whose children were younger or needed them even more. Should you be holding that against God?”

  Lauren, with a tear on her far cheek closes the topic firmly with, “I have nothing more to say to you.” And so they continue on to James’ house.

  James says nothing more than a few directions as to where to turn. He, on occasion, makes mention of various landmarks like his high school, or the infamous church, but Lauren is unresponsive. When they reach his block he reminds her of the number and tells her:

  “It’s the house at the edge of the cul-de-sac.” Finally he closes with, “Lauren, I’ll be honest with you, I really, really like you, I think you are perhaps the most beautiful and impressive woman I’ve ever known, and I sincerely hope that we’ll see each other again; but whether we do or not, or become friends or not, this one thing—I dare say—I want you to know even more, God loves you more than I or anyone else, even your parents, ever could, can or will, and he is actively reaching out for you in ways both subtle and painful if you only pay attention. And he gave me the great privilege of telling you that today. Please, pay attention.”

  Getting To Know You

  In the Market home, FBI Agent, turned-insurance-adjuster, Albert Hinton, is at long last with the electrician—that is, FBI Agent, George Sandoval—who is needed to check, or perhaps make repairs to, the Market home and get the family back into it. It is pitch black inside the house by this time, and the men use flashlights to see one another.

  After some light introductions Hinton, who had not met the 30-something Hispanic before today, asks, “So, what’s your story?”

  A little taken aback, Sandoval answers, “Well, sir, I’ve been with the up-state office here for three years, but I was with NYPD five years before that. I picked up the electrical skills working for my family’s business. Why?”

  Hinton, in his typical cynicism, “I don’t know, you just strike me as kinda young for this case.”

  Unruffled, Sandoval delivers in his thick Brooklyn-Spanish accent, “Yeah, well, you kinda strike me as kinda old, you know, for a field agent.”

  Impressed with his reply, Hinton smiles and says, “No hairs, I like that!” and offers Agent Sandoval a little fist bump, which he receives. Hinton’s comment references a known phrase among many Hispanics, no hairs on your tongue, meaning, you have nothing in the way when saying what’s on your mind.

  On that note, Sandoval asks, “So, what’s so special about this case anyways? They told me it was a simple inside protection deal that needed an electrician.”

  Hinton, “You know why they told you that?”

  “No, why?”

  “Cause that’s what it is. But it requires a great deal of subtlety. Okay? So, while I work the homeowners for intel, you need to be here working as my electrician. Our best option for getting what we’re looking for is to keep the Markets reminiscing over across the street, there, with Mrs. Phelps. So, I need you to keep this house out of commission ’til Agent Coles, who’s the lead on this, arrives and gives the word. Once we learn the location of what we’re after, we’ll need to have the electricity magically available within minutes.”

  Sandoval, who’s reviewing the fire marshal’s report says nonchalantly, “I can have the damaged circuit bypassed and juice on in fifteen minutes, so it’s up to you what you want to tell them and when. What are we looking for anyways?”

  Looking through the front door window, Hinton says, “Well, it looks like the lead agent from the Service is here.”

  Sandoval again said, “Sir. What are we looking for?”

  Hinton, who always suspects everyone, is hesitant to say, but after a moment he reveals, “Personal journals, which may or may not reveal a plot to assassinate the President of the United States.”

  Stunned, George Sandoval begins to get a sense of why Hinton was so closed lipped and concerned about his relative inexperience. His only answer is, “Wow! Some case. Okay.” Looking through the door window Sandoval spots Lauren getting out of the driver’s seat and says, “No wonder you were concerned about me being green, you mean to tell me that co-ed out there is the lead on this case? She can’t be more than–”

  “I’ll tell you this,” Hinton interrupts, “So far, that co-ed has been one of most capable agents I’ve ever worked with;” and heads towards the door. Carefully opening the damaged door, he turns back and says to Sandoval, “Give me your phone number, when we need the electricity on, I’ll call you and then I’ll hang up in the number of seconds that you’ll have, in minutes, before we walk in the door.”

  Sandoval hands him a business card, but unclear as to what he meant, he stops him to clarify, “Wait, so you’ll call, you’re not going to say anything, and then you’ll hang up, and if you hang up after fifteen seconds, I can expect you through the door in fifteen minutes, is that right?”

  Hinton, “Coooorrecto!” And with that, he stashes the card and proceeds outside.

  Meanwhile, James and Lauren are both standing on opposite sides of the Mustang looking at the house. They are parked at the end of the circular driveway, behind the electrician’s truck. Noticing that his house seems pretty dark, James says:

  “Hmm, it’s awfully dark, maybe they’re still across the street.”

  Lauren does not reply, she does however spot Al Hinton emerging from the dark front door, which brings a slight comfort to her nerves and slight smile to her face.
James walks ahead to greet him, while Lauren stays back and grabs his bag from the back seat floor. He meets Hinton at the bottom of the stairs. “Hello, I’m James Market, I live here,” and extends his hand to Hinton.

  Hinton, shaking hands says, “Well good evening young man, I recognize the name from your parents conversation; too bad we’re meeting under these circumstances though. My name is Al Hinton; I’m the insurance man working your case. Your family is still camped out across at the Phelps residence until I can get your electricity back on, which I’m working with my guy to get done. I’ll be over there shortly to provide a status update.”

  “Thank you, sir.” When James turns his back, Hinton catches Lauren’s eye for just a second, but the two professionals do not make even the slightest signal to indicate that they know each other.

  Walking back toward the car, James has had a minute away from Lauren and it has given him a chance to evaluate what he’s said to her; the comments about her dad’s death, about her discontent with God. He finds nothing warranting an apology, but her current agitated state does present him with a slight conundrum in that he really would like to introduce her to his family. As he reaches the car he finds Lauren on her cell phone, presumably connecting with the people expecting her, but in actuality she is in touch with her research team and her boss, albeit by way of Bill Ramirez, who is still monitoring case progress for Danning.

  When she’s done with her call, James approaches her, clears his throat and says gently, “I know you probably want to get going, but I’d really like the pleasure—the honor—of introducing you to my family.” Almost grimacing, he braces for what he is sure will be a rotund NO.

  It appears that he may have been right when she says, “Are you kidding?” But then as she hands him his bag, she continues on, “wild horses couldn’t keep me from meeting these people after all you’ve told me about them!” Using the car side mirror to check herself and freshen her lipstick, she adds, “Besides, it’s not them I’m wishing I had let slam their head into a parked car right about now!”

  Stunned, with his mouth open, James can only reply, “Oh.”

  There is of course a very good reason why she’s had such a dramatic mood swing; she’s under fresh orders from Washington to be in his company at all times till she can safely place him under the protection of FBI Agent Hinton. Then Hinton will hand him over to a Secret Service agent named Roberts, who is to meet them at the house after they release their covers tomorrow.

  • • •

  Back at the Phelps home, Mrs. Phelps, Robert, Joanna, Joseph, and Mary are all still in the living room, now enjoying some light snacks and hot tea. Mary primarily tends to Mrs. Phelps, who with her age has a tendency to occasionally drop or spill a little something. The conversation has continued to recall events of nine years ago.

  Robert says, “You all amaze me! I really had put this so far out of my mind, it’s hard to believe that you remember things so vividly.”

  Mrs. Phelps adds, “Well I guess I kind of lived in dread of Margaret’s death this whole time. I even had a photocopy of the page from Joe’s journal. Do you remember when I took a picture of that page?”

  Her comment is directed at Joanna, but Joanna is not listening. She has a curious look on her face. Almost creepy.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” asks Robert.

  Joanna, “I just got the strangest sense. Hmm.” And with that, she gets up and walks over to the front door.

  Robert looks at Joseph and then goes after her, only to arrive in time for her screams of joy at the sight of her beloved, first-born son, James, who was just about to ring the doorbell. “Jimbo! You darling boy! I knew it! I knew it!” she says as she gives him a great big hug!

  Robert follows out with a hearty handshake, looking him right in the face and laughing he says “You rascal, you! How in the world? You didn’t even let on!” He looks at him another moment and then pulls him into a hug, saying, “You! This is a good thing, James.”

  Lauren stands at a discreet distance, allowing for the reunions to continue without interruption. At the point when Joseph comes through the doorway to get in on the celebration, she gets a text message on her phone from NSA Agent Clarkson that says, “GET THEM INSIDE!” Wondering how he could see them, Agent Coles looks around, but sees no sign of the dry agent, but the message prompts her to move forward.

  Seeing the attractive young lady, Joanna says, “Well, hello!”

  James follows, “Oh! Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet a new friend, colleague and my personal lifesaver, Lauren Coles.”

  The description makes Lauren smile, and Joanna says, “Well! Personal lifesaver. Wow!” and goes over and gives her a loving handshake; “So nice to meet you, Miss Coles. Are you in anyway responsible for my son being here with me?”

  Lauren, “Well ma’am, I did provide the transportation, but it was really my pleasure as I needed to travel this way anyway. But, if you don’t mind, could I trouble you for a bathroom?”

  Joanna, “Oh, certainly, why don’t we all step inside.”

  James walks in last and gives his brother a hug as our happy group proceeds into the Phelps home. Joseph looks at James and then at Lauren—who cannot see them—and then back to James and mouths, “WOW!” and offers him a fist-bump. James reciprocates with a big silly smile as he closes the door.

  They are back in. And just in time, because Al Hinton, who was rushing across the street, was about to bum-rush them all inside. He’d checked the case intel that had alarmed Alice Wheaton to the point of wanting to shut down the investigation. Now, he and the entire NSA team are concerned that a frustrated Calvin Stone could be somewhere watching through a high-powered riflescope to try and murder young Joseph!

  Joanna guides Lauren to the closest restroom and then joins the whole group, which collects in the living room again. From the bathroom, Lauren can hear all the merriment, but the reports she’s now reading on her PDA place her in the same edgy alert as the rest of the team. As a Secret Service agent, she is well trained in the vulnerabilities your average American home offers a trained assassin.

  Joining everyone in the living room the young agent scans the room layout and notices a variety of concerns; especially the large uncovered picture window, which offers a clean-shot opportunity at young unsuspecting Joseph’s seated position. She begins a text message to Hinton to ask for help, but she is interrupted by the friendly introductions to the Phelps household.

  “Mrs. Phelps, this young lady is Lauren Coles, a schoolmate of James.” Says Joanna.

  “Well, aren’t you pretty?” replies Mrs. Phelps.

  Lauren, “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” All the while her heart is in her throat as every moment Joseph sits there unobstructed is a moment his life is in danger.

  She’s maneuvering to place her body between him and any potential threat, when Mrs. Phelps says, “Um, Laurie, uh Lauren, this is Mary, my domestic helper.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Says Lauren, who turns to see Mary, but having placed herself directly in the potential line of fire for Joseph, is not moving off of it, and simply backs up towards the window. At that point, Joanna offers her a seat next to her, but Lauren cannot accept it. She covers by saying, “Oh, thank you so much, but after the last seven hours of sitting, I really need to stand.” With her hand concealed by her coat that is folded over her arms, she finishes her message to Hinton without the benefit of seeing the PDA screen. The message reads “EZ TRGTS HELP.”

  Hinton looks up from his cell phone and spots them through the front picture window from across the street. Indeed it is only Lauren’s body that blocks a clean shot at Joseph! They need a way to dim this veritable shooting gallery but the window doesn’t even have curtains! This is where Agent Albert W. Hinton is perhaps the best operative in the country. No one can improvise better than him. It’s not that he’s a great planner, it’s more like things just come to him as he moves forward with great speed. As he runs back towards the Market home, he
looks over at the Phelps house, and then checks the door of Lauren’s car, he then runs to the house and opening the front door calls for Agent Sandoval, “George! George!”

  Sandoval emerges from the basement with an electrician’s head-light on, and tools in his hands, “Yeah.”

  Grabbing a flashlight near the front door, Hinton asks, “Are you good with cars?”

  “I got skills. Why?”

  “How fast could you hot wire that white Mustang out there?” Hinton says, referring to Lauren’s car, which is parked behind Sandoval’s electrician’s truck, which is itself, behind Mrs. Market’s car.

  “That depends, am I going for a record, or do you just need it done?”

  Glancing over at him with a smile, Hinton says, “Uh, consider it the world championship!”

  “Okay, still depends. Is it locked with an alarm?”

  “No, it’s open.”

  “Oh, okay, automatic or stick-shift?”

  Searching around Market family entertainment center, Hinton exclaims, “You’re killing me! It’s a standard.” He locates a brand new VHS tape and starts back, pulling at the tape’s plastic coverings, mumbling, “Boy, do they seal these things for life!”

  Sandoval takes it from his hand and uses his tool to split the plastic. “Don’t time me,” he says, “but I can probably have it on in thirty seconds. I don’t know, maybe twenty.”

  With an impressed smile, Hinton says, “Nice! Here’s what we need, I need you to get that car on, back it out, turn your truck lights on and aim it at that large picture window over there on the house across the street. But to keep it from being too obvious, I need you to pull the Mustang back in, just not blocking your truck lights, got it?”

  “No problem, but, why?”

  Heading out the door, Hinton says, “It’s too bright in the house compared to outside, they’re sitting ducks for a sniper shot. I’m hoping for some reflect–”