“Where to?” the drive asked.
“Take us downtown for now,” Skull answered. “My friend and I just arrived and would like to see a little of the city. Is it okay if you drive us around and give us a tour?”
The man nodded enthusiastically, sensing a fat and easy fare. “You bet! I’ll show you the best sites.”
Skull leaned over to Zinabu and murmured in his ear. “That’s pretty much as far as my plan takes us. If you have any way to get us to Ethiopia, now is the time to make it happen.”
Zinabu nodded and pulled his cell phone out of his bag.
Skull put his hands over the phone before Zinabu could dial. He pulled the largest bill he could find out of the first agent’s wallet and then leaned up toward the cab driver. “Say, you don’t have a cell phone we could use, do you?” Skull held up the bill. “Ours are dead and we just need to call a friend and let him know we’re in town. Won’t take but a minute.”
The cabby looked like he was on the verge of telling them no when his eyes caught sight of the bill Skull was holding up. He snatched the money out of Skull’s hand and passed back his phone.
Nodding his thanks, Skull handed the phone to Zinabu, who took the phone and started dialing.
The taxi finally let them out twenty miles south of Tel Aviv at a small roadside restaurant. They explained to the driver that their friend would meet them and take them to his house. Skull paid the driver handsomely and he drove away happy. They both had breakfast inside while they waited.
“How much do you trust this guy?” Skull asked, looking out the window.
“He is a Falasha, like me,” Zinabu explained as if that answered all questions about trustworthiness.
Skull sighed and finished his potato, egg and cheese breakfast.
After nearly an hour, a battered gray van with bald tires pulled up in front of the restaurant in a plume of dust. Zinabu jumped up and ran outside. A tall, lean Ethiopian stepped out of the driver’s seat and gave Zinabu a hearty hug. The two chattered and laughed.
Skull walked outside toward them as Zinabu turned his way.
“This is Kollia,” Zinabu said. “He will be driving us south to the port of Elat where we can get passage to Africa.” He pointed at Skull, “This is my friend, Alan.”
Skull shook hands with Kollia and looked at the van. “No offense, but are you sure we’ll be able to make it in this thing?”
“Sure,” said Kollia, “we will be fine. My little van will never let me down.”
“Until it does,” said Skull, “and then we’re stranded in the desert.”
“Have a little faith,” said Zinabu. He then leaned down to speak in Skull’s ear. “Besides, we have no other options.”
Skull nodded and smiled. He went back inside to pay their bill and retrieve their luggage, which he then loaded into the rear of the van. He noted several large bags and crates in the back.
Kollia saw him looking. “If we are going to be driving all the way to Elat, I might as well make some transport money on the way.”
“Is that what you do?” asked Skull. “You make money transporting things in your van?”
“That’s one thing I do,” Kollia answered. “Shall we be on our way?”
They loaded up and began driving south toward the Gulf of Aqaba, which led into the Red Sea. The van smelled of exhaust and sounded like a toolbox crashing down a flight of concrete stairs when it ran, but it never broke down. Skull got tired of watching the road and telling Kollia to slow down and look out for oncoming traffic or donkeys in the road.
The Ethiopians in the front laughed and talked and paid neither Skull nor the road in front of them much attention.
Skull soon learned that Zinabu and Kollia were cousins from the same clan. Kollia was also an Eden, and extremely proud of that fact. He never ceased in giving both Zinabu and Skull grief about, in his eyes, their inferiority.
“Oh, I see you cut your finger, Alan,” Kollia would say. “It is too bad you are not like me. I do not have to worry about such minor things.”
By the end of the trip Skull was ready to kill him. When they finally reached the port of Elat, he was nearly vibrating with eagerness to get out of the smelly van.
“How are we going to find passage?” Skull asked Zinabu.
“Leave that to us. Kollia has a friend who owns a boat. He can help us.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“Of course. He is Falasha, like us.”
Skull groaned and began unloading their gear while the two Ethiopians walked toward the line of boats. Seagulls circled and whirled, waiting for the fishermen to toss aside the entrails of their cleaned catch. Skirling African music played somewhere in the distance. A gentle breeze blew in off the sea and kept the heat at bay.
The two Falashas strolled up to Skull from the harbor. Their mood did not look as festive as it had before.
“Problems?” Skull asked.
“No,” answered Zinabu. “But he will not take us all the way to Africa, only to Jiddah.”
“Saudi Arabia?” asked Skull. “Do I need to tell you that puts us on the wrong side of the Red Sea?”
“We’ll be able to get passage from there,” Zinabu explained. “It shouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier for him to just take us to the African coast?”
“He’s afraid of the Caliphate,” explained Kollia. “Their ships now patrol along the Egyptian and Sudanese coastlines. The ship captain is an Eden and a Jew so if they catch him it will not be good for him.”
“Or us,” said Zinabu.
“Okay,” said Skull. “At least it gets us out of Israel. I’m more concerned about the Mossad finding us, so maybe we should go ahead and be on our way.”
The Ethiopians nodded their agreement, and Skull and Zinabu grabbed their bags. Kollia pulled out a large rolling case and followed them.
“You going with us?” Skull asks.
Kollia shook his head. “No. This is for you.”
“What?” asked Skull.
“Yes,” said Zinabu. “Remember, I told you that your personal gear was stored at my friend’s house because I didn’t have room for it.”
Skull pushed them aside and pulled keys out of his pocket. They fit the padlocks perfectly. He opened the case to stare down at an impressive array of weapons and equipment. Reaching out, he touched the stock of his venerable Barrett sniper rifle, running his fingertips over the many notches there. Then he closed and locked the case and stood, smiling.
He felt better about this mission already.
Chapter 7
Spooky Nguyen rode in the back of an armored luxury sedan through the crowded streets of Bogotá, Colombia. He noted the squalor and dirtiness of the slums, much like the ones he knew so well in Viet Nam, Laos and Thailand. Yet there was something different here. Something off.
The playing children were the giveaway. They were still thin and dirty, but they looked healthy. They also didn’t look scared. None of the people on the street seemed afraid. Bogotá had once been among the most violent and dangerous cities on Earth. Now, it was a place where children played outside without supervision. Some would call it a mystery, but Spooky knew the answer.
The Eden virus.
Colombia had been one of the first countries to accept Edens and the virus they carried. Although still technically a minority in the country, they were disproportionately represented among the poorer classes. Many of the rich of Colombia refused the virus, but it was growing in popularity among the middle class and the young.
It’s only a matter of time, Spooky thought. What would my childhood have been like on streets like these instead of in my beloved highlands?
Food was still a major concern, and Markis’ people had been working with the government to improve production. Much of their efforts involved convincing or forcing coca growers to switch their fields to more legitimate crops. Such changes were not terribly popular with the still-influential and powerful drug c
artels.
Spooky had also learned that Cassandra Johnstone was providing the government intelligence on the cartels to help them in their fight to eradicate drug production in the country. He didn’t like the fact that her activities were moving farther and farther from his control, but he admired how she had carved out a power base for herself in the nascent Free Communities government.
Until recently, Spooky hadn’t considered her a rival, for his focus had been on covert actions to rescue Edens and recruit them to Markis’ cause, but Cassandra warranted careful watching.
The sedan pulled through the guarded gate of Spooky’s private airfield. Cargo planes and helicopters waited in the humid air or under protective tarps. His driver steered across the two runways and then into a giant hanger. Spooky waited until the doors lowered behind him before he stepped out of the vehicle.
Nearly fifty sets of eyes turned toward him. Most were men, but there were a few women in the group. Some faces openly expressed derision at his appearance and he marked them for later consideration. They likely only saw the small, unassuming Asian man. That perception had allowed Spooky to accumulate power from those who underestimated him.
The makeup of the group was intentionally varied. Spooky had chosen them himself from lists and dossiers compiled by others. Most were Edens who had volunteered for a special team with a vague mission. Among them were former military personnel from various countries. Some were non-Edens. There were even a few inmates with special skills collected from Colombia’s prisons, people that Spooky had freed with his influence, his money, or both.
His eyes sought out a few wild cards he had intentionally slipped into the deck. Some called them psychos, but Spooky didn’t like the term. Early on, he’d realized that Edens varied far more widely in their psychology than the masses thought. While most believed the virus changed everyone into moral paragons, the truth was that the “virtue effect” was a matter of enhancing the conscience.
For those with no conscience, though…multiplying by zero had little effect.
People who carried the virus without its concomitant compunctions might be extremely useful, if carefully handled. It was all just a matter of ensuring the psychos knew where their interests lay.
Spooky walked forward to stand in front of them, his hands clasped behind his back. “All of you have come here today because you recognize we live in a new world. A world that hangs delicately balanced between order and chaos. Most of us have devoted our lives to ensuring order and recognize chaos as the evil that it is.”
That’s why I can never fully rely on Skull, thought Spooky with sudden insight. External confusion doesn’t bother him. He carries his own order within himself and floats among the chaos without concern.
“Order is what allows us and our children to sleep at night,” continued Spooky. “Order is what allows everyone to eat and not starve. Order is the intangible element that prevents all of us and our families from being raped, tortured, and murdered the minute we walk out of our doors each and every morning. It’s the order Daniel Markis and I have worked hard to bring to this corner of the world. But that order is being threatened.”
Spooky started pacing in front of them, trying to make eye contact with each. He remembered there had been a time not too far in the past when he found it difficult to even speak coherently to people. Now, with the clarity brought by the Eden virus, he knew he had become a mesmerizing and charismatic presence.
“We are the guardians. People in this world fall into three groups: wolves, sheep, and sheepdogs. Do the sheep recognize the benefit of the sheepdogs? Do they appreciate getting nipped in order to avoid straying? Of course they do not; the sheep often think anything with teeth is a threat, and would draw his fangs if they could. But the sheepdog does his duty regardless. He does it because he recognizes the evil of the wolf and the flawed and naïve goodness of the sheep. We are the sheepdogs, ladies and gentlemen. We are the defenders of order.”
Spooky ceased pacing and placed his hands behind his back again. He remained silent for nearly a minute looking at them. Mentally he marked those who shuffled or whispered a joke to those near them.
“The world around us is on fire,” he said. “You may not recognize it, but it is true. Those small wisps of smoke belie a raging inferno that can sweep over everything we hold dear. We are here to stop that in whatever way we can. If that is not why you came here, if that is not what you believe you were made to do, then I invite you to save us both much trouble and depart. There is no shame in it. I am sure all of you are good people, otherwise you would not be here, but if you’re not a sheepdog, get the hell out of my kennel.”
No one moved. Some shuffled and looked around at each other.
“You sure?” Spooky asked. “Last chance. When you’re bleeding and in pain and wish you were somewhere else, do not forget this moment. You’re all here because you want to be. I admire that, but I’ll admire it much more when you have made it through the testing and evaluation process.”
“Testing and evaluation?” said a large muscled man up front. “I think I’ve been through enough of that. Why don’t you just tell us what you want done and let us do it?”
Spooky walked up close to the man, who towered over him by nearly a foot and a half and outweighed him by over a hundred pounds of solid muscle.
“Mister Ronald Sievers, is it not?” asked Spooky.
The man frowned. “Sergeant Major Ronald Sievers. Retired. Twenty-six years, Special Forces and Delta.”
“I see,” said Spooky. “And a man like you does not see the benefits of an elimination process in order to select the right members for a particular team?”
“Maybe for some in here,” said Sievers looking around, “but my record speaks for itself. I don’t need to be tested or evaluated. Just give me a team and I’ll get the job done.”
“I think you are under some misapprehensions,” said Spooky.
“Oh, really?” replied the big man, leaning over Spooky in an intentionally intimidating manner.
“Yes,” smiled Spooky. “You will never be the leader of the team I assemble.”
“Now, wait just a damn minute,” Sievers said. “You show me one person in here with a better record than me and I’ll –”
“Also,” interrupted Spooky, “you seem to believe the testing and evaluation process is happening in the future.”
“Excuse me?” said Sievers.
Spooky reached up and grabbed the big man’s sleeve by the wrist and pulled. At the same time he slipped his right hip under the man’s waist. In a split second, his opponent lay on the floor.
Without hesitation, Spooky placed one foot on the side of the man’s face and pulled up on the arm. When it was fully extended, he brought his elbow down forcefully on the reverse side of Sievers’ elbow. A loud pop filled the room and the man screamed.
Letting go, Spooky stepped back. “Mister Sievers, testing and evaluation has already begun. You have the distinct honor of being the first candidate eliminated. I thank you for your effort, and for showing up today. Feel free to reapply for the regular Free Community Armed Forces…when they are formed.”
Two men from Spooky’s staff came over and escorted a staggering Sievers out of the hangar. The room stayed dead silent and the others there watched the departing fellow with surprise, fear, and even some disgust.
It’s not like he won’t be fully healed in an hour, thought Spooky. The man simply didn’t have the right temperament. He was unreasonably impressed by his own record. One can’t lead if one doesn’t know how to follow. How unfortunate.
Spooky raised his voice again. “I would now like to introduce to you to your chief instructor.”
An athletic woman in Marine Corps style fatigues walked forward to stand beside Spooky, her eyes intense. “Let me introduce to you Staff Sergeant Jill Repeth. For good reason, her call sign is Reaper. She’s already performed several missions for us, and she will not only be your trainer, but your operational te
am leader...for those who make the grade. She will evaluate you in the next few weeks, and she’ll decide who’s in and who’s out. Her word is law. If you have any problem with that, there’s the door.” He pointed at the exit in the back.
When no one took the offer, Reaper nodded, looking over the formation.
Spooky turned to her. “They’re all yours.”
“Oh, yes, they are,” said Reaper with a smile.
Chapter 8
Cassandra and Geoffrey stared at each other without speaking for several moments. “That was quite an entrance,” Cassandra finally said. “Too bad no one saw it.”
Geoffrey frowned and took a puff of smoke in his mouth before exhaling grandly. “But you did. That was enough.”
“Why are you here?” she asked. “Don’t insult me by saying it’s coincidence. More importantly, why is he here?”
The man looked away and fiddled with his cigar before speaking. “You know things aren’t going so well in America.”
Cassandra snorted, and then sipped. “Why do you think I left?”
“The Unionists are gathering more power and influence,” Geoffrey continued. “They’re pushing the Red-Blue coalition to use federal troops to pacify Texas.”
“They’re already finding themselves in more of a fight than they expected,” said Cassandra.
Geoffrey nodded. “That’s all to the good, I believe. Texans are not known for being faint of heart, but that’s not really the point, is it? The United States Navy will blockade the Gulf Coast ports. Mexico and the U.S. have reached an agreement to close the border from both sides to everyone but official travelers. Even now, the United Nations is working on a resolution to condemn the rebellion and instruct none of its members to support Texas.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Once Texas has been dealt with,” continued Geoffrey as if she hadn’t spoken, “they will crush the separatists in Alaska. That will take even less time and effort, notwithstanding the logistical challenges. I have it on good authority that Canada will not contest passage of the U. S. military by land or through its territorial waters.”
Eden's Exodus (Plague Wars Series Book 3) Page 6
