Silenced

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  As Dengler approached the podium at the International Government of Peace’s assembly chamber, Paul could picture it, hearing the cameras of hundreds of journalists.

  Chappell Raison’s phone chirped and he put Styr Magnor on speaker.

  “You watching this?” Styr said.

  “Radio,” Chappell said, “and I don’t want to miss it.”

  “Me either. I just wanted to make sure you knew he was on. You see, Raison, this is when we should have sent a devout rebel carrying a megaton bomb on his back. Wham, bam, and we start over, ma’am. He’s about to start. I’ll call you back.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, International Chancellor Baldwin Dengler. Mr. Dengler will not field any questions this afternoon, and his remarks will be brief.”

  “Thank you,” Dengler said. “As the world knows by now, Styr Magnor has taken responsibility for this latest threat to the security of our global village. As I stated when he wantonly attacked innocent civilians in London, Rome, and Paris, there will be no negotiating with terrorists.

  “That remains the stance of this government. As for those citizens Mr. Magnor claims to represent, we maintain that they are a much smaller rebel faction than he claims. And as for his assertion that they believe they have the ear of almighty God, I remind you that it is this very belief that caused the wars that led to World War III, the establishment of a New World Order, and the banning of religion.

  “If the last nearly forty years have not proved there is no God, surely they have at least proved that society is the better for not acknowledging that there is. I personally reject the idea, and this government unanimously asserts that we do not believe there will be any mass supernatural deaths resulting from our refusal to cower in the face of this warning.

  “I am not so naive as to doubt that Mr. Magnor, in his frustration with our refusal to capitulate, will attempt some terrible affront against people of goodwill. I can assure every citizen that we will respond forthrightly and with swiftness to avenge any such attack.

  “If Styr Magnor were a man of honor and dignity and intelligence rather than a coward, he would come into the open and compete in the marketplace of ideas. That is my challenge to him. Show yourself and stop lobbing your bombs of cowardice against right-thinking people.”

  Again the airwaves filled with the responses of the people, many lauding the courage of the chancellor, others horrified at his reckless challenging of a madman.

  Within minutes, Magnor was back on the line with Chappell. “I have connections all over the world,” he said. “But I need more manpower if we are going to carry out this threat. I have learned that Dengler believes his own rhetoric when he makes these pompous public statements. But now we have to call his bluff. Do you have people willing to effect this action?”

  Chappell hesitated, looking to Paul, who nodded. “I might.”

  “Now you’re talking, Chappell. Come and see me and we’ll make our plans. Time is short. We’re already down to fewer than thirty-six hours.”

  Paul vigorously shook his head.

  “I’m not coming to see you,” Chapp said.

  “Well, there’s no way I’m going to France.”

  “Where then? You name the place.”

  “Somewhere neutral. But not too far from either of us, eh, Chappell? And no lieutenants. Just you and me.”

  “I would insist on that.”

  “Let’s get this done today, friend. You say where, and I’ll be there.”

  Paul scribbled, Suggest somewhere totally impossible.

  “Alaska,” Chappell said.

  Magnor laughed. “You’re serious?”

  “Dead serious. No one knows either of us there. We’ll have total privacy.”

  “We don’t have the time, man!”

  “If time is the enemy, let’s meet in London.”

  “London!” Magnor said. “You would suggest London. What’s that, three hundred kilometers from you? Naturally I’m public enemy number one there.”

  Paul gave Chapp the cut sign again.

  “You know, Styr, I didn’t want to be involved with this—or you—in the first place. If London doesn’t work, and you won’t do Alaska, find someone else.”

  A long pause. “Tell me something, Chappell,” Styr said, his voice cold now, “what were you going to do? How would you carry out this manifesto without me?”

  “We’re trusting God to act.”

  Styr howled. “I love it! Well, go ahead, but when God decides your battle isn’t His battle, then what? Then can I expect a call from you?”

  Paul put a finger to his lips.

  Chappell said nothing.

  “Thinking, Chapp? Your faith a little thin today? Worried how you’re going to look and what will become of all your followers when the big firstborn wipeout doesn’t happen?”

  “It might not hurt to have a plan B,” Chapp said.

  “Ah, the voice of reason at last. Listen, Chapp, I’ll meet you in London, but I get to pick the place. And while I won’t have anyone with me, they will be close enough to see whether you’re alone too. If you’re not alone, you’ll never see me.”

  “Same here.”

  “All right, hear me. I’ll say this only once. In the northeast corner of central London, in the Shoreditch area—do you know it?”

  “I can find it.”

  “There’s a noisy, crowded place called Horsehead’s Pub. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Eight o’clock this evening. I’ll make sure I get the table in the corner by the back door that leads to the alley. You’ll come in and leave from the front door. I’ll come in any way I well please and leave by the back. Any funny stuff and you’ll find yourself in the alley for the rest of your days, follow?”

  “You don’t have to threaten me, Styr.”

  “I know I don’t, friend. We’ll be just over twenty-four hours from Operation Firstborn, eh? We’ve got a lot to cover.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll be there first.”

  No, he won’t, Paul decided.

  26

  RANOLD DROPPED JAE OFF AT Bush International at 8 a.m. for the two-hour 8:30 flight to Paris. “I wouldn’t let Paul know you’re coming until you get there,” he said. She nodded. “And let me give you this.”

  He reached behind him on the floor of the backseat and produced a box the size of a deck of cards. “This goes in your purse or anywhere within half a mile of whomever you’re trying to record. And this—” he pulled from the box a tiny, waxed-paper envelope that appeared empty—“this is the bug itself. You have to turn it to the light to see it. Magicians use this kind of wire. Lean here, look close.”

  Ranold slipped his index finger into the envelope and pulled out two inches of the finest fishing line Jae had ever seen. It glinted in the light, then disappeared again. “I have to be careful,” he said, “because I can’t really feel it. See, in the middle there, it looks as if it’s been tied in a knot.”

  “No,” she said, moving her head, trying to get the length of wire to come into focus. “Wait . . . there, yes, I see. It’s smaller than a piece of lint, Dad.”

  “And it’s been treated. Not only is it tacky, to keep me from dropping it, but it’s also got a magnetic charge, like static electricity that makes it adhere to clothing or whatever. Here’s how it works.”

  Carefully placing the “knot” just above the palm of his left hand at the base of his middle finger, Ranold delicately extended the opposite ends of the line so they lay between his index and middle fingers and between his middle and ring fingers. It was as if he were wearing a microscopic ring backward on his middle finger.

  “Notice,” he said, “it’s fairly secure there. Until I do this.”

  Ranold leaned over to embrace Jae lightly, putting a hand on each of her shoulders. She was struck at how odd and awkward this felt. Her father had not embraced her since she was Brie’s age. When he pulled away, the bug attached to her coat. He held his hand u
p to the light. “See?” he said. “It’s gone. You have it.”

  She looked for it on her coat. “No way I’d ever know it.”

  “And believe it or not,” he said, “the guts of the transmitter, microphone and all, are embedded in that little knot.” He gently felt for it, removed it, and placed it back in its waxed sleeve.

  “And you want me to bug my own husband?”

  “I want you to do your duty to me and to your country.”

  “And what about my allegiance to Paul?”

  Ranold sighed. “If he proves worthy of it, then it’s not misplaced, is it? If you find he’s not worthy of it, I’m trusting you to act the way you would with any other traitor to the cause of liberty and freedom.”

  Cue the theme music.

  On the way back to Paris, Paul pulled over at a remote spot, opened his door, and sat with his feet outside the car. He dialed the hotline number Dengler had given him with his fingertips. To his dismay, the chancellor’s chief of staff answered the phone.

  “I was told Dengler himself always answers this line,” Paul said.

  “Who’s calling, please?”

  “That’s confidential, as you must be aware.”

  “How do I know you didn’t get this number by accident?”

  “You don’t, except that I know it’s the crisis line to the chancellor, and he will not be pleased if urgent business is delayed.”

  “My apologies. May I please know to whom I am speaking?”

  “NPO Agent Stepola.”

  “Thank you, sir. And I don’t mean to insult your intelligence, but you must understand the crush of media on a day like this. The chancellor is in interviews right now and has several high-level meetings scheduled for the rest of the afternoon. But if you tell me you must talk to him immediately, I’ll fetch him directly after the current TV interview.”

  “Actually, I need to talk to him right this second.”

  Jae had learned from Paul how to travel light. Once settled on the transport, she tried to read and, failing that, to watch a movie. But she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind was a mess. Paul knew she was coming, of course, and would be waiting for her if the business of this historic day didn’t interfere. Would she really have the gumption to plant a bug on him when it was she who had warned him of the other one? Maybe he was suspicious now and would run a bug-sweeping device over his clothes. Wouldn’t it be something if he discovered she had bugged him?

  Maybe she wouldn’t do it. Maybe she would tell her father she lost it or that it malfunctioned or she chickened out. Could—should—a woman be expected to entrap her own husband? There used to be laws against that. Weren’t there still?

  Jae busied herself watching the scenery below as they lost sight of the East Coast in what seemed like minutes. She set her watch six hours ahead and calculated they would reach Paris sometime before five. By the time she rented a car and found Paul’s hotel, it should be around six.

  Jae thought about listening to more of the New Testament, but she feared she wouldn’t even be able to concentrate on that. And yet she was restless. What was it? She missed the interaction with the ancient texts. It was almost as if God was speaking to her. Had she ever spoken to Him? Not in so many words. What form would that take?

  People around her were dozing. No one would know if she prayed silently. But what would she say? Jae folded her arms and lowered her head, tucking her chin to her chest. Closing her eyes, she felt fatigue wash over her and was tempted to let sleep invade. Instead, she spoke silently, inwardly. God, she said, if there is a God, would You reveal Yourself to me somehow?

  Jae didn’t know what else to say. In her listening one night, a verse had flown by that struck her as odd. Well, they all struck her as odd, but this one in particular. It was something about never being able to please God without faith. And that anyone who wanted to come to Him had to believe there was a God. She would have to find it and listen again, because she was certain there was some kind of promise about how God would reward those who sincerely looked for Him.

  Was that possible? Could it be true? And if there was a God, would He have heard her prayer just then? Jae had added the condition “if there is a God,” and she wondered if that proved she didn’t have faith, that she didn’t really believe there was a God, that she was, in essence, hedging her bets. But what about that promise? Wouldn’t God reward her if she sincerely looked for Him?

  Just before Jae dozed off she told herself that if she were God, she would not be able to ignore a prayer like hers. I was raised to not believe in You, she said. I’m just asking You to prove me wrong somehow.

  Dengler seemed high from the attention and import of the day. “I trust, Doctor, that you are not abusing the privilege of this line. I have not taken a call on this phone from anyone for more than two years, not even after the terrorist attacks and not today.”

  “I understand, sir, and I assure you I respect the nature of the security.”

  “There are not but a handful of people who even have this number, and you are the only one who is not a head of state or a member of my inner circle.”

  “I believe you will conclude that entrusting me with it was wise.”

  “I hope so,” Dengler said. “What do you have?”

  “First, sir, I know that you understand many of the intricacies of international intelligence and espionage, but I would like the liberty of walking you through a few reminders. May I?”

  “Please.”

  “What I am about to tell you goes to the heart of the security of the International Government and its citizens. It must not be shared with even one person not on a need-to-know basis. For instance, I have told neither my superiors nor my colleagues within the NPO, either USSA or International. I would advise that you not tell anyone on your staff unless they will be personally involved or overseeing the operation that results.”

  “I understand.”

  “Not your secretary, assistant, chief of staff—”

  “I said I understand, Agent Stepola.”

  “You did. Forgive me. Sir, I assume you are aware of the name Steffan Wren.”

  “Of course. The Welshman who led the opposition to me when Erik Buri sought to unseat me. He and his group called themselves Angry Storm.”

  “Are you sitting down, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Steffan Wren is Styr Magnor. And Styr Magnor is an anagram of Angry Storm.”

  Silence.

  “You still with me, sir?”

  “I certainly am. I will not ask how you came to this conclusion, given that my own virtual army of intelligence and security officers have been on the case for days.”

  “I know where Magnor/Wren will be this evening. My suggestion is that you put me together with your top military strike-force leader so his people can be in position long before Wren arrives. Again, sir, I know you know this, but leaks being what they are, I would tell absolutely no one else.”

  “How many personnel will he need?”

  “I recommend letting him decide.”

  “And where would you like to meet him?”

  “Ditto on that, sir. If you trust me, I believe the less even you know the better.”

  “I will have him call you on a secure connection within minutes.”

  “Mr. Chancellor, I believe Styr Magnor will be in custody or dead before midnight tonight. Can you conduct the rest of your day’s business without letting on that we are close on this?”

  “I shall do my best, Doctor. Keeping the smile off my face may be the most difficult.”

  “These operations are never easy, sir, so I am loath to make promises. But I believe the world will be safer.”

  “Primarily, Doctor, we will remove the threat that looms at midnight tomorrow.”

  Well, I wouldn’t go that far.

  Knowing Jae was en route, Paul called her phone and left a message. “Darling, an unavoidable bit of business makes it impossible for me to greet you upon your arrival. When
you get to the hotel, ask for a message. I will leave you a pass card for the room. Enjoy room service and whatever else you want. I’m afraid I will not be back until late. Watch the news.”

  A few minutes later Paul took a call from a man with a lilting Indian accent who identified himself as Garuda Vibishana, “major general of the International Government of Peace, in charge of special weapons and tactics.”

  “How shall I address you, sir?”

  “The same way you would like to be addressed, Doctor.”

  “Paul is fine for me.”

  “Then Gary works for me, though you will find I look more like a Garuda than a Gary.”

  “First order of business, Gary, is that we need to meet soon. Where are you located?”

  “I am in Bern. I was here for the announcement and had planned to leave in the morning for my post in Belgium. I am at your disposal, sir.”

  “The operation site is London, Gary. Do you have adequate personnel there?”

  “That is providential, as we are well staffed in all major cities, especially capitals. And if that is the target site, that is where we should meet. What section of London will be ground zero?”

  “Northeast.”

  “And the time?”

  “Eight p.m.”

  “Today.” Vibishana said this with defeat in his voice.

  “You like a challenge, don’t you, Gary?”

  “We will succeed, Paul. Let’s meet in the northeast of London as soon as both of us can get there. I’ll pick you up at Gatwick.”

  Paul called Chappell and Lothair and swore them to secrecy.

  Chappell said, “So I’m going to London with you?”

  “No. I am not about to expose you to the head of the government’s SWAT team.”

  “But don’t I have to make an appearance at Horsehead’s?”

  “Hardly. Magnor said he would be there waiting for you. I know what he looks like and where he said he’d be. I’ll give the signal, and the government will take him down. You don’t want to be where the media will be swarming within minutes, do you? And you don’t want to be associated with him in any way.”