by Steven James
I have the sense that he might move to asking for donations to the ministry he works with, but he doesn’t go there. Instead, he dives into the heart of his message. “We live in a fallen, broken, stunning, and breathtaking world. We can tell we’re from here but don’t belong here. We’re meant for more than this. We are dust and bones and blood and dreams, skin-covered spirits with hungry souls. We are nurses and terrorists, lovers and liars, suicide bombers and little grinning children with milk mustaches. We are both the thorns and the roses, the harlots and the children of the king.”
The paradox of life on this planet.
The paradox at the heart of human nature.
A woman can be a loving mother of her two sons and then one day decide to murder them and kill herself.
An angel and a devil wrapped up into one.
He goes on, “Chesterton called us ‘broken gods.’ Pascal called us ‘fallen princes.’ Philosophers have long wondered how we fit into this world, somewhere between the apes and the angels. To make us into one or the other is to deny the full reality of who we are, because we have both animal instincts and divine desires.”
Charlene has often told me that it’s no coincidence when a sermon touches us where we’re at in our lives, that it’s evidence of a bigger plan at work. And now, this missionary’s words naturally make me think of the discussions I’ve had over the last couple days with my friends about people merging with machines, about souls and life and what makes us human after all.
Then the missionary concludes his brief message. “A friend of mine told me that followers of Christ are each Cinderella in the moment of transformation—half dressed in ashes and rags, half clothed in a royal gown ready to meet the prince. We are far worse than we would ever on our own admit, and loved by God more deeply than we would ever dare to dream. We are both worthless and priceless, terrorists and saints, lost and homeward bound. Without the love of Christ we are lost, mired in our past, in our selfish choices, in our ruthless pride. With faith in him, the Bible tells us that we will share eternity with God in a place of complete joy and glory. We want to love and be loved, and we ache for the eternal. We hunger for the things that the physical world doesn’t offer. And we wither and die inside when we don’t find them.”
When he ends his talk, silence pervades the auditorium. From attending here with Charlene before, I know the sermons are typically much longer than this. There’s an awkward moment while he gathers his notes, and I get the sense that the band and the lead pastor don’t really know what to do.
The missionary turns hastily to leave the stage, and finally the minister hurries up to take his place. He leads a prayer and the band must be taking their position while he’s praying, because as he finishes the music begins again.
We sing a few more songs, and the service draws to a close twenty-five minutes early.
Afterward, I want to talk to the missionary about some of the things he said, but there’s a substantial line at the front of the church. I linger for a few minutes, but in the end I decide we should probably be leaving for our meeting with the FBI agent.
At the car, Charlene asks me, “Well, what did you think of that?”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“I thought it was no coincidence that we were here today.”
Colonel Derek Byrne and Calista were in their room at the Arête, and now their captive sat in a chair, still drugged from the night before.
While Calista stroked the man’s hair, Derek contacted Jesús Garcia to notify him that Tomás Agcaoili had been arrested the night before, but Jesús had already heard the news.
“He doesn’t know enough to be a threat to either of us,” the cartel leader told him.
“I would still prefer that he doesn’t remain a loose end. I’ll take care of it.”
“No. I know some people in the department. I’ll deal with it. Let me make a few calls.”
After hanging up, Derek watched Calista gently caress Jeremy Turnisen’s cheek.
“When is he gonna wake up?” she asked.
“Not for another hour or so, not with what I gave him last night. A syringe full of that drug will put someone out for at least six or seven hours. I’ll let you know when we can start trying to rouse him.”
He was secured to the chair, his wrists and ankles duct-taped to it.
Derek had some very specific things to ask this man, but he wanted him to be fully awake and coherent when he spoke to him. So, for now he let him sleep until the drugs wore off completely.
They had all day. For the moment at least, there was no rush.
Together, he and Calista spread out the plastic sheet around the base of the chair.
Then Derek made sure he had enough black thread to last through the afternoon.
Timeline
Vegas resorts and casinos are famous for elaborate buffets, but on Sunday mornings there are almost always long lines, so Charlene chooses Hash House a Go Go, a favorite local restaurant, for the meeting.
However, when she calls Special Agent Clay Ratchford, he tells her that he’s changed his mind and doesn’t want to meet in a public place after all. “We’ll meet in the lobby of the federal building.”
He’s waiting for us when we arrive.
After unlocking the door, he ushers us to a semicircle of leather chairs.
Ratchford is a studious-looking man who immediately gives me the impression of someone who might be more comfortable sitting behind a desk than chasing down criminals on the street. Stylish glasses. Hair carefully parted on the side. Small, pebble-like, inset eyes.
“Good morning, Miss Antioch.”
“Good morning, Agent Ratchford.”
He doesn’t look especially happy to see me, but Charlene informs him that I’ll be able to help answer his questions. “Jevin knows more about everything that’s going on than anyone else does.”
Agent Ratchford’s handshake is less than firm.
When he doesn’t take a seat, neither do we, and the three of us end up all standing somewhat uncomfortably in the middle of the lobby.
No guards.
No one else around.
The lobby smells vaguely of the overripe lemon scent of a hospital. From where we’re standing, the sunlight that angles in through the tinted windows misses us completely, and Agent Ratchford is standing in a shadow, backlit by the breezeless day outside.
The air conditioner isn’t on, making it warm and stuffy in here, and I find myself wishing we’d been able to meet for some food in Hash House a Go Go after all.
Instead of bringing up the USB drive, Ratchford jumps right in and asks us about our past experiences with Akinsanya.
We summarize the crazy events that happened in Philadelphia in October, when we ended up averting an assassination attempt against the president that Akinsanya was apparently behind.
Agent Ratchford shakes his head slightly. “Last evening I did some checking. There’s no official record that the president was ever in any danger.”
“I know,” I tell him. “The administration denied any of this happened.” That was something that only served to confirm Xavier’s views of the government. “But still, ever since then the Bureau—your Bureau—has been following up with us to see if we know anything about Akinsanya, or if he’s contacted us.”
“And he hasn’t?”
“No.”
“Still?”
“No.”
Charlene asks if his team has made any progress getting through that USB drive she gave them yesterday.
“At the time, it wasn’t placed on the top of our priority list,” he answers. “But we’re getting started on it this morning.”
“You mean, you didn’t place it at the top of the priority list.” Charlene is obviously not happy that they didn’t take her seriously yesterday.
He looks at her severely. “Correct. I didn’t place it at the top of the priority list. But I am now.”
“It may take you awhil
e to get through the security on it.”
He scoffs at that. “I’m sure our technicians won’t have any trouble.”
“It took Fionna all day, and that was with Lonnie’s help,” Charlene tells him.
He eyes her with a touch of suspicion. “Who are Fionna and Lonnie? And what do you mean it took her all day?”
“Friends of ours. They’re good with computers. They made a copy of the drive to work on.”
“They made a copy of the drive?”
I cut in, “We weren’t confident you and your team were going to look into it promptly.”
And as it turns out, you weren’t, I think, but keep that to myself.
I debate whether to tell him what Fionna found in the files and finally decide that giving him as much info as possible will be the best bet in seeing any serious progress, so I fill him in about the Groom Lake shift schedules and access codes.
“Groom Lake,” he says skeptically.
“That’s right.”
He doesn’t seem too impressed. “Well, we’ll look into that.”
“Did you hear what I said? These are codes that would allow someone to—”
“I heard what you said. We’ll look into it.”
“Do you want us to send you the files?” Charlene asks.
“That won’t be necessary. As I said before, I’m sure our technicians won’t be needing any help. Let’s focus for a moment on Akinsanya. How did you find out about him again? That he was involved in this?”
It’s not impressing me that this guy is refusing our help when it comes to information about the drive that he and his team decided not to make a priority. I have the sense that something more is going on here, but at the moment I can’t guess what that might be.
Since Solomon took a risk and was willing to help us last night, I don’t really want to give his name to Ratchford. However, if I don’t explain where we got the information, it might hinder the Bureau’s efforts to sort out who Akinsanya really is or where he might be.
Last night Solomon had asked us straight out if we were with the law enforcement community, so I doubt he’ll talk to the FBI even if they do locate him.
Charlene speaks up before I can. “Our source would rather remain anonymous.”
“Miss Antioch, I would advise you not to get in the way of this investigation.”
“We’re not getting in the way,” I tell him. “Everything you have so far came from us. You weren’t even going to expedite this until you started to take us seriously last night. And we just offered to give you what’s on the drive, but you weren’t interested.”
He takes off his glasses and polishes them with his shirt. “Is there anything else you know that you aren’t telling me?”
Okay, this guy is officially starting to annoy me.
“No,” Charlene answers. “Obviously, Tomás knows more than we do. You have him in custody, ask him.”
“I did. This morning.”
“He can lead you to Akinsanya.”
“Yes,” he says, and I can’t tell the extent of what that answer is supposed to mean. “Did your source, the one who would prefer to remain anonymous, mention anything about a timeline?”
The lemony scent in here is getting to me. I wish we were at least walking around outside. “A timeline?”
“We intercepted a communiqué. We have reason to believe that this man, Akinsanya, might be in the area. Something is going down.”
Why on earth is he sharing this with you?
“No.” I feel a surge of suspicion, and suddenly I don’t like the idea that we are in this building alone with him. I glance toward the door. “We don’t know anything about a timeline.”
“And you still refuse to tell me the name of the person who told you that Akinsanya was involved?”
“He’s not a fan of talking to law enforcement personnel,” Charlene notes, almost certainly understating things.
For a moment the air in the room seems to stiffen, and then Ratchford glances at his watch. “Yes, well, I have an appointment. If you find out anything more about Akinsanya, I want you to tell me about it immediately.”
And that’s that.
Even though it’s warmer outside than it was inside the building, it seems less oppressive.
On our way to the car Charlene says, “Well, that was even shorter than the abbreviated church service.”
“No kidding. And didn’t that whole conversation just seem weird to you from start to finish?”
“Yes.” She pauses. “Are you thinking we should go back to Solomon? Maybe follow up to see if he’ll give us more info on Akinsanya?”
Actually, I haven’t been.
The idea of appearing before Solomon again doesn’t exactly thrill me. “I think we should pursue some other avenues first.”
I click my key fob’s unlock button.
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure.” I climb into the driver’s seat. Charlene slides in beside me. “But I have the sense that if Solomon found out that we’ve been talking with the Feds, and then we suddenly show up again and ask him for more information about one of the Bureau’s most wanted terrorists, he might not be as . . . well, as . . .”
“Beneficent?”
“Sounds like a word Maddie might use.”
“I think that’s where I heard it.”
“Well, yes. Not as beneficent.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“As far as Akinsanya, I’ll need to think about that. But I do know two things I’d like to do.”
“Yes?”
“Grab a burger, then head on to the Arête. I think we’ll have just enough time before the show at the children’s ward of Fuller Medical Center.”
“Just enough time for what?”
“There’s something I need you to help me pick out.”
“What’s that?”
“A gift for someone special.”
A Girl’s Best Friend
Undersecretary Williamson arrived at the Plyotech Cybernetics research and development building.
Yesterday, she’d made it clear to Takahashi that today when she returned she wanted to see the research areas that would clear up the gaps she’d noticed in the reports. Also, based on information she’d been given, she had a strong reason to believe that Akio had not been completely up-front with her.
He was standing beside the security checkpoint near the front entrance when she arrived.
Though it was Sunday, two security guards were on duty and requested that she pass through the metal detector.
“You have got to be kidding me. I’m the Undersecretary of Defense for the United States of America.”
“It’s our policy,” Takahashi explained awkwardly. “Even I have to walk through there.”
“Even you do.”
“Yes.”
“Well then.” Though she was tempted to say more and had some choice words already in mind, she chose to hold back and instead clomped her purse onto the conveyor belt, dropped her keys, watch, and cell phone into the tray, and walked briskly through the metal detector.
The buzzer went off.
“There’s metal in my left knee from a knee replacement.”
The two guards looked at each other, and finally one of them said to her reluctantly, “I’m going to have to wand you.”
She glared at him, then held her hands out to the sides. “Fine.”
When that was finally over, she collected her things and Takahashi pointed to the stairs. “I’d like to take you to the lower level.”
She recalled the elevator buttons from her trip up to his office yesterday. “I didn’t know there was a lower level.”
“Most people don’t.”
The proprietor of the jewelry store is standing behind one of the cases polishing the glass cover when we enter. He immediately recognizes me from when I came in with Fionna yesterday. “Sir! It’s good to see you again. So, you were looking at necklaces? Yes, as I remember, you are a m
an of impeccable taste. May I—”
“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” I tell him, lifting the line that merchants typically use on customers, and he looks momentarily disoriented, which is what I always go for when I say that. Sometimes it’s just fun to mess with people.
“Yes. Um . . . Of course.”
“Come here, Charlene.”
She follows me toward the women’s necklaces. “So we’re looking for something for a woman?”
“Let’s say I was. That I was looking for a necklace for a woman.”
“For just any woman?”
“No. As I said before, it’s for someone special.”
“Hmm . . . And do I know her?”
“I think you two are fairly well acquainted.”
“I see. And what does she like? Diamonds? Platinum? Silver? Cubic zirconia?”
“Not that last one.”
“No?”
“No. It has to be the real thing. Diamonds, I’d say. I think she would like diamonds.”
“Well, you know what they say about diamonds. That sounds safe.”
“I’m not shooting for safe, exactly.” I point to an extraordinarily brilliant diamond necklace displayed behind the glass. “I’m really looking for something unforgettable. Something that would pretty much wow her. Blow her away.”
“You must really like this mystery woman a lot.”
“Like might not be the right word.”
“Really?”
“Nope. And I want this necklace to let her know that.”
“The right piece of jewelry can speak volumes.” Her gaze wisps across the engagement rings, but only briefly. “So, a necklace.”
“Yes.”
“Diamonds?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Well. These are all certainly nice, but you don’t need to spend a lot of money to express this sentiment you have in mind.”
“Is that so.”
“You could just tell her. Three words is usually enough.”
“Three words? That’s all you need?”
