Gather The Seekers (Challenged World Book 3)

by Milam,Vince

  “What’s your point?” Zuhdi asked.

  “What I just heard from D.C. spokespeople is bullshit. Unadulterated bullshit.”

  Zuhdi’s long sigh of resignation told Cole all he needed. The DHS honcho had busted his butt and swum upstream against stiff odds to halt this attack. It was a brutal conspiracy, and damn near unstoppable. Public-facing communications were well above Zuhdi’s pay grade, and Cole understood this current conversation might well be the equivalent of pissing in the wind.

  “So I’m askin’ a favor,” Cole continued. “Heaven knows how many times a day you meet with those Hunyaks at the political level while this is going on. But do me a favor.”

  “What’s that?” Zuhdi asked, his voice quiet and nonadversarial.

  “We’re at war, Zuhdi. You know it. I know it.”

  A long silence followed, and Cole was content to let it play out. The rain brought a freshness to the stoop’s environment, and the wet tires of a passing neighborhood vehicle brought connectivity to the here and now.

  “Yeah,” Zuhdi eventually replied. “You’re right. I get sucked into the conspiracy-fighting aspect from all sides. But you’re right.”

  “Then here’s my favor. Tell those clowns at the top this is war. Don’t hold back. The American people are going to figure it out soon enough. So the political class needs to decide if they’re going to lead or follow. War, Zuhdi. Cain’t be dancin’ around that fact.”

  They signed off amicably, although the DHS department head made no promises. Cole had not expected any. Another splash of tires drew Cole’s attention as a strange vehicle pulled into the driveway, under the porte cochere of the large house Nadine owned and rented to a doctor. It drove up the drive to the garage apartment. Through the windshield, Cole could make out Francois waving his arms from the passenger seat, engaged with the driver. The priest eventually got out with several loaded paper bags and smiled a goodbye as the driver negotiated the driveway in reverse.

  “The driver. A Buddhist,” Francois declared from the wet driveway. “A most marvelous discussion. It rains. Perhaps it shall dampen the horrible pollen issue.” The priest began climbing the wooden stairs.

  “Nadine’s sleeping,” Cole said. “Who was that?”

  “Uber, mon ami. A great mystery how you Americans continue to develop such ideas yet cannot produce decent bread. I attribute it to your isolation. Allow me to join you for a smoke.”

  They talked on the stoop. The discussion wove through the mundane as they took a break from the horror and pressure of events.

  “What’s in the bags?” Cole asked.

  “Ah. I have accomplished the shopping for this evening’s meal. I shall attempt to utilize our Nadine’s most inadequate kitchen resources. But do not fear. I shall overcome these challenges.”

  “Got no doubt, bud.”

  The rain continued and the rich black Gulf Coast soil absorbed the bounty. An element of hunkering down and protecting loved ones permeated their small band of believers. The same sentiment had begun to wash across America. It was day five of the attacks and neither man could offer solace or encouragement regarding the situation.

  “The individual who leads the American government effort. A Muslim, I understand,” Francois said.

  “Yep.”

  “And his name?”

  “Zuhdi. Zuhdi Kouri.”

  “And he believes the human evil is perpetrated by this ISIS, est-ce pas?” Francois asked.

  “Yep.”

  Francois paused to smoke and extend his hand beyond the roofline to catch falling rain. They stood silent, the atmosphere tinged with helplessness.

  “Our hearts must pray for this man. This Monsieur Kouri. A dreadful dilemma, to have such a mark on his religion. A most terrible situation.”

  “Nadine says he’s a real badass on the subject. Calls it a war on Islam. A war on his religion.”

  “May he be blessed with success. Horrible conflict also took place in the Church. Centuries ago, to be sure, but real and terrible.” Francois tossed his smoke, placed his hand on Cole’s chest. Brother to brother. “Bon. Let us move forward, mon ami. Always forward.”

  Chapter 29

  The seventh day’s midmorning task force call brought more bad news. Cole listened and remained silent.

  Public rumors flowed, frantic, and the task force spoke of family and friends joined in the chorus. The exact number of daily killings varied with the rumors and ranged from a dozen a day to hundreds. The ISIS websites and social media sites filled with victory and success, although they, too, never pinpointed the exact number. This helped fuel more speculation and fear and panic.

  “What’s the latest, Nadine?” Zuhdi asked.

  “I hate doing these reports,” she said.

  “Yeah, and I hate hearing them. But what’s the latest?” Zuhdi asked again.

  She paused to check her database of death. Cole sat across the cramped main room and she placed the cell phone on speaker so she, Cole, and now Francois could listen and participate. The priest had neither asked nor expected to join. Cole had suggested Francois’s silent participation. “Can’t hurt,” he had said.

  “Alright,” Nadine started. “As everyone knows, another twenty-one citizens died yesterday. And again, completely random. I’ve got nothing to add, folks. No correlations, no causations. Nada.” Her voice exuded failure and disappointment and pain.

  Zuhdi must have recognized her tone. “You’re doing all you can, Nadine. We’ve got DHS and FBI analysts poring over the same data. We’ve brought in the NSA. They’re grinding through it as well.”

  No doubt they’ve pulled out all the stops, Cole thought. But my money’s on Nadine May.

  “The media is covering it twenty-four seven, obviously,” a conference voice said. “And it might work to our advantage. Every American is on high alert.”

  They discussed yesterday’s murders and their public effect. The attacks had begun to have a dramatic economic impact. People stayed indoors, took sick leave or vacation days to avoid traveling to work, and nightlife slowed to a crawl. Schools closed across the country, and hospital staff fell to life-support levels.

  “Any change among weapons of choice?” a voice asked.

  “Slight,” Nadine said. “A mixture of guns, knives, blunt instruments. One of the killers tried poison. It worked. But by and large they are sticking with what they’ve used since day one.”

  “National Guard?” another voice asked. “Any movement there?”

  Activating the National Guard and putting their armed men and women on the streets had been mulled over at the highest levels.

  “No movement,” Zuhdi said. “But don’t count it out. It would be mostly for show, but there’s value in that. Unfortunately, these jihadists are too widespread for it to have any real effect.”

  Nadine tapped the mute button and turned to Cole. “That’s the first time he’s used the term. Jihadists.”

  “’Bout time, don’t you think?”

  “The political level has avoided it. For now.”

  The task force members shifted to source retribution, and discussed hitting ISIS in Syria and Iraq.

  “The higher-ups don’t want to go there yet,” Zuhdi said. “No one can pinpoint the masterminds. Our best assets have swum upstream and hit their proxy servers around the world. But ISIS flips locations daily. Plus, they constantly move source communications. Nadine, you want to add to that?”

  She stopped focusing on her computer monitors to respond. “Lots of one-time-use devices. Particularly cell phones. Can’t track something that no longer exists.”

  They shifted back to domestic efforts. Nadine provided background on the five Americans murdered so far that day. And the killings continued.

  ***

  Nadine’s couch allowed Francois to assemble his domain. He kept an eye on Mule to ensure the cat remained beyond the third couch cushion demarcation line.

  The door to the stoop—his smoking area—was to his ri
ght and the kitchen stovetop was visible. He monitored, mumbled, and prayed. He attempted to adopt an attitude of “God’s will,” while imbued with frustration. Allow me. With Your power I do not fear. Allow me to fight.

  The morning call with the task force and its talk of National Guard and jihadists had no effect on his outlook. The Enemy lurked and controlled events. This reality had not been addressed during the call.

  Francois fumbled with his cell phone and attempted to conference call Jude and Luke. After he inadvertently hung up on both, he asked for Cole’s help. His friend performed the necessary functions and asked, “Want me to join?”

  “It is not necessary.”

  Francois moved to the stoop, closed the door behind him, and lit a smoke. “Mes amis,” he said to Jude and Luke. “Tell me of your situation. Your feelings. Your frustrations. For I am concerned.”

  Luke spoke first. “Brother Francois. Double or triple whatever your frustration level is and you will have described my situation.”

  “Amen,” Jude said.

  “I have taken to walking my town of Culpeper,” Luke said. “An easy target. A challenge. Come and try. But the Enemy hides. Cowardly and deep in the shadows.”

  Jude spoke of maintaining a presence at her church and her attempts to provide comfort to congregants scared and panicked. She told of tales involving people too frightened to leave their houses and apartments. One had gone without electricity for days. The killers had murdered a Pacific Gas and Electric field technician and now the dead man’s coworkers refused to repair outages. Others had been reduced to a diet of canned food for fear of grocery shopping. Another skipped a doctor’s appointment and panicked over the near-impossibility of prescription refills.

  “And here as well,” Luke said. “Much the same, Jude. It’s now two mail carriers killed and mail has halted. I drove through D.C. yesterday. There was no traffic to speak of. And I, too, spend a great deal of time reassuring and praying with my congregation.”

  Francois fought back irritation at his fellow spiritual warriors. They talked of the secular and while the comforting of their flock filled an important role, he knew they must, collectively, focus on the Enemy.

  “The seventh day,” Francois said. “And yet, the Enemy hides. And I fear this pain of waiting presents a new problem. A dilemma.”

  “What’s that, Brother Francois?” Luke asked.

  Francois paused, unsure of how best to admonish his friends. “This frustration. Common among us, n’est ce pas? And yet it diminishes.”

  “I’m not following you, Francois,” Jude said.

  “It diminishes from our préparation.” He paused. “For we must be prepared! Trust me, mon amis, trust me! We shall battle! When, I cannot say. But battle it shall be!”

  His outburst quieted the call and he shook with days of accumulated vexation and angst. He had led past efforts. Cole and Nadine had followed. Now, he waited, and shared a couch with a disagreeable cat! God had provided him with power and force and righteousness, yet he stood on this outdoor stoop, trapped. Trapped as events swirled and presented, with no place for him and his desire to fight.

  “You’re right, Francois,” Jude said. “This commiseration toward my congregation has rubbed off on me. I’m wallowing in the fear and panic. Time to stop it.”

  “I speak from experience,” Francois said. “I beg of you both, do not be offended by my announcement. My declaration. But the past has shown me, often, the Enemy’s ability to strike at any moment.”

  “Well put, Brother Francois. Well put,” Luke said. “We must gird our loins, and prepare for battle.”

  “The armor of God,” Jude added.

  “Indeed,” Francois said. “Be most assured, our effort—our quest—has not ended. The Enemy—a coward and deceiver—lurks, waits.”

  Silence remained on the call. He continued. “Confrontation, mon amis. It is coming. Be most assured.”

  ***

  The afternoon shadows lengthened and Cole returned from a walk around Nadine’s neighborhood. The streets had been deserted, and a batten down the hatches atmosphere permeated the community.

  Nadine continued to work, her eyes puffy and red. She gave a wan smile as he entered her apartment, then returned to her computers. Francois dozed on the couch.

  Cole retrieved an online news site and plugged in headphones. The president was due to speak.

  “Don’t use those, please,” Nadine said over her shoulder. “I want to listen.”

  He did as she requested and increased the laptop’s volume. As he waited for the speech, he scrolled through news stories—terror, panic, death.

  The president spoke from an Oval Office lectern. The silence of the nation draped heavy as citizens waited and sought leadership.

  “My fellow Americans. We are at war.”

  The president spoke of the last six day’s events, used the term jihad, and ensured the American people that every conceivable effort had been brought to bear on this asymmetrical warfare. He spoke of exact numbers—twenty-one killed each day, so far—and urged courage. He detailed the effort as one conceived and driven by ISIS. He assured the American people of victory over this enemy, and asked for their help through constant vigilance. Together, the enemy would be crushed.

  The president’s speech was only three minutes long, but it brought the first smile to Cole’s face in days. He closed his laptop, winked at Nadine, and called Zuhdi Kouri.

  “Thanks, Zuhdi. Sincerely.”

  “It took forty-eight hours, Sheriff. But I want you to know I started making loud and definitive statements up the food chain after you called me.”

  “Stuff takes time.”

  “Too much time. But I appreciate the poke in the ribs.”

  “Now let’s find these killers. Stomp on them.”

  A short pause, silence, then Zuhdi said, “Find them. Kill them. Kill them all.”

  Chapter 30

  Day ten, and Cole continued to ensure Nadine slept at regular intervals. Francois maintained kitchen duty, standing over her as she ate. Other than the short sleeps and an occasional yoga stretch, she worked nonstop. Cole’s heart went out to her. Nadine May, stymied and unable to find immediate answers.

  On the earlier call, she had reviewed the list of yesterday’s victims with the task force. A Chico, California, UPS driver, bludgeoned when she returned to her truck after she dropped off a porch package. An old man shot dead in Lake Charles, Louisiana, as he walked his dog. A Dominion Virginia Power employee stabbed repeatedly while he worked on a nighttime power outage in Richmond, Virginia. Twenty-one killed. Three killed already today. The call ended and she dove back into her data as Francois presented her a plate of food.

  Cole and Francois had been able to keep her fueled and rested, but personal hygiene presented another matter. Several days had passed since she’d showered, and Cole pondered how to broach the subject.

  Could just come out and say it. But mercy, that’s liable to set her off. He waited until she’d finished eating.

  “Nice crepes, Francois,” she said, scraping the plate with her fork for a last morsel. “Thanks.”

  “It is nothing.” Francois stood over her as she ate, attired with a large chest apron emblazoned with a red chicken wielding salt and pepper shakers.

  “How ’bout a nice shower, Nadine?” Cole asked. “Freshen up a bit.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Hoo, boy. Here we go.

  “Might help you. Get to feeling all fresh and clean.”

  She stopped her plate-cleaning and gave him a hard look. Cole lifted his eyebrows. She turned to Francois. The priest shrugged. She laid the plate down and tromped into the bathroom.

  Cole entered the kitchen to help Francois clean the dishes, pots, and pans. The sound of the shower starting prompted an exchanged smile.

  “Dang good food, Francois. As always.”

  “Merci. Now, tell me of events.”

  The priest had ceased to pay attention to the task f
orce calls and spent long hours in prayer. He would lean forward on the couch, bow his head, and press clasped hands to his forehead. He maintained this posture at length, several times a day. As a demonstration of their support and empathy, Cole and Nadine had stopped asking about his special radar or spiritual sense.

  Cole had also prayed. I don’t understand it, Lord. That man’s a warrior. A spiritual warrior. And you’ve got him hamstrung. Don’t understand it at all. But maybe I never did.

  Cole handed Francois a plate to dry and explained the situation in America. No children attended school. Trips to the grocery stores stopped as families cleaned out their pantries and freezers, eating canned goods and rice and pasta. People collected into groups and made furtive trips outside the home under the rubric of safety in numbers.

  “A most terrible situation, to be sure. And yet, I have faith. Faith the good shall prevail.”

  “At some point, sure. But meanwhile, it’s getting tough out there.”

  People no longer feigned illness and simply stopped showing up at their place of employment. Service businesses—plumbers and electricians and carpenters—were no-shows when called.

  The lack of gas station employees made fuel unavailable to much of the population. Bars and restaurants began to close. The stock market was suspended, and finance ground to a halt. Banks no longer opened. Hospitals ran with skeleton staffs, and scheduled surgeries were canceled. It wasn’t so much the number of killings each day that drove the shutdown, but rather the random nature of the attacks and the daily surety it would happen again and again. No one was safe.

  “Mon Dieu! And the progress? The progress toward stopping this horror?” Francois asked.

  “Damn little. Hand me that filter, please.”

  “You are not attempting to produce coffee are you, mon ami?”

  “It ain’t rocket science, Francois.”

  “This is so. Yet it is a matter of proper proportions and technique.”