"Join me for this final battle against the cult of Yahweh and together let us forever throw open the door of the jail of evolutionary stagnation that has held us so long! Thank you, and good night."
It wasn't there.
Decker had watched carefully but the speech left him still uncertain. Whatever it was he had hoped to see wasn't there.
What had he hoped for, he wondered. Before the speech, he had thought he could look Christopher in the eye and instinctively be able to interpret his true motivation. Now that seemed an embarrassingly naive assumption. He had known Christopher for twenty-three years. If he still had doubts after that long, how could he possibly expect to get a true read of the man now, simply from watching him on television?
As far as the speech itself was concerned, Decker considered the delivery first class. Apparently the public agreed. Christopher had stressed actions over words and said he expected the words of his speech to convince few; but within fifteen minutes insta-polls showed his approval rating jumping from 12% before the speech to 31% after. The speech was inspiring, and if Christopher did what he promised — if the three signs were given and there were no more plagues — then he might once again have the world's support.
There was only one problem: the evil people of Petra Christopher described in his speech were not the people Decker had seen there. They were not 'maniacal, intolerant, narrow-minded fanatics' that Decker had met. Yes, they had a very different view of the world. And because of their belief in Yahweh and their trust in the KDT, many of the people of Petra might even support the raining down of plagues for what they wrongly but sincerely believed to be the greater good of the very people who suffered through the plagues. But Decker could not believe that any of the people he had met there would 'cruelly call down plagues upon the earth, as if for amusement,' as Christopher had said.
Christopher obviously did not understand. Granted, it was a fine point to try to argue in light of the suffering that had occurred, but Decker had to do something. He thought of Rhoda, young Decker Donafin, Tom, Jr., Rachael, and Charlie the 'jailer,' and the many others he had met. The battle that Christopher had described would leave them all dead. He had watched the speech to discover Christopher's true motives. Now that no longer mattered. Whether Christopher was the embodiment of good or the epitome of evil, Decker could not sit still and let the people of Petra be killed. His course was set for him. He had to return to Babylon.
Somehow Decker needed to arrange for a flight to Babylon. He couldn't simply buy a ticket. Without the mark he couldn't buy or sell anything. The only way was to get someone from his office at the U.N. to arrange passage on a United Nations plane. He'd also need a limousine to get to and from the airports. It had been a week and a half since his long distance telephone service was cut off. He had expected to lose his local service by now as well, but the circumstances of the last two plagues, not surprisingly, had affected the phone company's efficiency and they had not yet disconnected him. The net result was that while he could not place a long distance call, he could still make and receive local calls, and he could probably still receive long distance calls placed to him. No sooner had he thought through the problem than he had an answer. He would simply call Bert Tolinson and have him call the U.N. and have them call him back. Decker would tell Tolinson that losing his long distance service was all part of the same mix-up as with the bank and that he needed to reach his office to get things straightened out.
Fifteen minutes after Decker called Tolinson the phone rang. It was Kwalindia Oshala, Debbie Sanchez' administrative assistant. She was working late when she got the call from Bert Tolinson. She was both helpful and very friendly to Decker and told him how much everyone had missed him around the office, and they'd be glad to have him back. Decker explained what he needed, and she checked the scheduled U.N. flights from Washington to Babylon. There was only one, the first since the darkness. It was scheduled to leave Dulles Airport at 6:00 that evening. It would make three stops along the way, and arrive in Babylon at 6:30 p.m. the next day. Kwalindia booked the flight and arranged limousine service.
Decker went without luggage; he had none with him when he had arrived in Derwood. He wore loose fitting clothes and bandages on his left cheek, the back of his neck, and on the back of his right hand where the mark should have been. All went as planned, and by 7:00 p.m. he was in the air on his way back to Babylon.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Home Free
Decker walked through the dark and nearly abandoned halls of the U.N. Secretariat Building. It was late and nearly everyone had gone home. Christopher would be there though; somehow Decker knew it. Opening one of the mammoth mahogany double doors which led to Christopher's spacious reception area, he was surprised to see Jackie Hansen still there.
"Come on in," Jackie said, as she preceded Decker into Christopher's office. "He's waiting for you." Jackie seemed placid in an almost surreal way. She said nothing of the fact that Decker had been gone for so long, and nothing in her voice hinted that she was at all surprised to see him.
As he walked into Christopher's office, it was strangely cold and dark, much as the halls had been. The air had a strange musty smell. Something... everything was wrong. He looked around him and saw no one. He had somehow lost sight of Jackie and it now seemed that she had simply vanished, looking about, Decker sensed movement to his right and turned to see the high back of Christopher's desk chair rotating away from him. "Christopher?" he said. There was no answer. Decker approached the desk and called out again. Still, there was no reply.
As he neared the spot, he reached out for the back of the chair to spin it around. Suddenly Decker jumped back in horror as he came face to face with his worst possible fear. It was Christopher. At least it was Christopher's face, but he was not at all as Decker remembered him. His eyes were cardinal red, the specific hue of which differed not one shade from the sticky liquid which trickled from the corners of his mouth and matted the hairs of his normally neatly-kept beard. His skin appeared somehow scaly and iridescent green. His teeth, jagged and sharp, dripped pink with saliva and blood. His fingernails were long and claw-like.
And in those claws he held the source of the blood: the leg of Jackie Hansen, ripped clean from its socket and with several large bites already taken from it. On the floor beside his chair, Jackie Hansen lay nude and barely alive as the blood drained from her body. Deep gashes in her flesh revealed the tracks of Christopher's claws where he had torn away her clothes. On her face was the same serene smile Decker had seen earlier, and in her eyes as she looked up at Christopher was the unmistakable look of love.
"What do you want?!" Christopher growled, spitting out his last bite of bloody flesh as he jumped to his feet and threw Jackie's dismembered leg to the floor, hitting her in the stomach and leaving the appendage lying across her bare breasts.
Decker screamed and ran in terror but Christopher charged after him. He looked for the door but in his panic, he simply could not find it. He looked desperately for a way — any way — out, but there was none. Decker ran like a man possessed, dodging and trying to stay ahead of his pursuer, but it was impossible. The younger and stronger Christopher stayed right on his heels. Every move Decker made, he seemed to anticipate. Struggling to keep going, Decker began to believe that Christopher was toying with him like a cat with a trapped mouse. Then suddenly, he spotted a window. It was open, but it was nineteen floors down. Still, he had to get away. Christopher was so close behind him he could feel his breath on his neck. With all his strength, Decker ran and leaped for the open window just as Christopher reached out and caught the leg of his pants with the extended claws of one hand. Razor sharp, the claws dug deep into his leg, tearing long bloody stripes through skin and muscle, but it was not enough to slow his momentum. Free of Christopher, Decker looked below him to his chosen alternative: certain death.
Desperately, instinctively, he tried to grab at the air and inexplicably his hand found something solid. It was the s
eat in front of him. He was still on the plane, headed for Babylon. It had all been a dream, but he was covered with perspiration and his heart was pounding as hard as if it had been real. He was exhausted.
Decker unfastened his seat belt, stood up and stretched, and walked to the restroom. He had found years before that trying to go back to sleep after a disturbing dream was nearly impossible. He had to get up and let the thoughts of consciousness — and perhaps a splash of cold water on his face — purge the dream from his mind. A few moments later, when he returned to his seat, Decker found that this had not been entirely successful because the dream, though exaggerated like a carnival mirror in its form, was nonetheless a reflection of the real fears he bore.
Decker shifted from side to side, adjusted his seat, added a pillow, removed a pillow, adjusted his seat again. He was very tired, and probably still several good nights of rest away from full recovery from the effects of the last plague. He needed to sleep, especially now, to be prepared to confront Christopher about Petra.
When he finally found a comfortable position and his mind began to relax, he thought back to the dream and how absurd it had been. He had not had a nightmare like that since he was a child. Still, he thought a moment later as he slipped closer to sleep, he should be prepared, be ready, to defend himself. The most obvious means was a handgun, but he couldn't buy one because he didn't have the mark. Perhaps a knife. A large kitchen knife should be sufficient. Getting it in past security might be difficult, but. . .
Decker opened his eyes abruptly and sat up straight in his seat.
Is this how it was with Tom?! he wondered. Had Tom had a similar dream which led him to shoot Christopher? Then another thought struck him: Was this just a dream at all, or had it been hypnotically planted in Decker's mind by the KDT, like a time bomb waiting for this exact moment to go off— to set him off? And if this failed to have the desired effect, would there be others? Had the KDT planted other dreams, other thoughts, other visions? When he got to Christopher's office would he see things as they really were or would reality be hidden behind a mask fabricated by those who wanted Christopher dead? What monster, he wondered, had Tom seen standing there on the stage at the U.N. the night he shot Christopher?
And what now drove Decker to see Christopher at this time, just as the KDT appeared to be losing power? Was it really to try to spare the lives of those in Petra, or was it to take the life of Christopher?
To the last question, at least, he thought he knew the answer. He wanted to try to spare the lives of those in Petra. Yet he knew that in going to Babylon he might be doing exactly what the KDT wanted. The feeling that he must go and see Christopher at this precise moment might have been their intent all along. If it was, then he was a pawn, playing out the role of Judas, and believing it was his idea when he really had no choice in the matter.
It didn't matter.
Whether it was his own idea or one that had been planted in his mind by the KDT, he had no choice: he had to go.
Decker was not even sure if he truly controlled his own will, but to the extent that he did, he made one vow. Under no circumstances would he bring a weapon, any weapon, or anything that could be used as a weapon with him to Christopher's office. Even if his worst fears about Christopher proved true, even if he appeared to be or really was a green scaly demon as he had been in his dream, Decker vowed he would do nothing to harm him or even to protect himself.
It was an easier decision than it might have seemed. If he was wrong about Christopher then he must not allow himself to do anything against him. And if he was right, then he would just as soon die anyway.
6:23 p.m., Monday, July 13, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.) — King Nebuchadnezzar International Airport, Babylon
Decker's plane arrived in Babylon six minutes ahead of schedule. A limosine was waiting, ready to take him wherever he wanted to go. It would have been very easy for Decker to tell the driver to take him to his apartment, but he knew what he had to do and there was no use delaying it.
He took a deep breath. "The U.N. Secretariat Building," he told the driver.
Slipping the fake bandage from around his hand, Decker placed his right palm on the identipad and stared at the screen of the retinal scanner beside the door of the executive entrance to the Secretariat Building. "Decker Hawthorne," he said clearly.
"Verified," a soft female-sounding electronic voice responded, as the lock clicked and the door opened.
Apparently no one had thought to tell the U.N. security system to search the World Health Organization's database for U.N. executives who had not received the communion and to restrict their access to the building.
"Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne," the guard inside the door said cheerfully.
"Good evening," Decker responded, a little startled. He had been through that door a hundred times, at all times of the night and day, and had always been greeted as cheerfully as tonight. What startled him was that it was just the same. He had been so sure that somehow it would be different. The building was brightly lit with just the right level of shadow, and the air was refreshingly cool in contrast to the arid Iraqi night. Though it was nearly 7:30 p.m. a few employees and guests were still in the lobby, in the elevator, and walking down the halls as he made his way to the top floor and Christopher's office. Finally he arrived at the entrance to the offices of the Secretary-General. He had been away for longer periods than this on U.N. business and always returned with a feeling as though he had never really been gone. That much at least was different; now as he stood outside the dark wood double doors, he had the strange sense that he should knock.
As he stood there going over again in his mind what he was going to say, suddenly one of the doors opened. His heart seemed to stop in anticipation of seeing Christopher coming through the door toward him, and then start again as Jackie Hansen appeared. She was rushing off somewhere and was startled to see an unexpected face.
"Decker! How are you?" she said as she recovered her composure and wrapped her arms around him. Even with a large bandage on her cheek, she was a beautiful woman. The effect of the communion had continued its work and she seemed even younger and more vivacious than when he had seen her last, a little more than a month before.
"I'm fine," Decker answered, as he returned the show of affection.
"Oh, Decker. We need to talk, but I'm late for a psychic enhancement class. Will you be here tomorrow?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Decker answered.
"Okay. I'll talk to you then," she said, and hurried down the hall.
"Is Christopher in?" Decker called after her. "He's in his office," Jackie called back.
Decker walked quietly across the carpeted floor toward Christopher's door. This was it. There was no turning back. Decker knocked on the door. There was a pause. "Come in," came a faint call from deep inside Christopher's large office. Decker opened the door. Christopher was sitting at his desk looking toward his door to see who was coming to see him this late in the evening. Suddenly the look in his eyes went from mild curiosity to rapturous joy.
"Decker! Oh, Decker, am I glad to see you!"
Decker stood expressionless as Christopher ran to greet him with a long, firm hug.
"You don't know what it's been like around here without you. Debbie Sanchez is very competent but she's no Decker Hawthorne when it comes to dealing with the press. I am so glad you're back!"
"I... uh... I'm glad to be back," Decker answered, not sure what else to say.
Christopher released his hug and backed up to get a better look at Decker. "So, how have you been?" Christopher asked, almost absent-mindedly. "Oh," he said, as though he had just recalled the plagues and all that had happened in the past few weeks. "I'm sorry, Decker. Here I am just thinking of how happy I am that you're back. Are you all right?"
"I'm ... I'm fine, I guess."
"You've lost a lot of weight."
"Well, it's been a tough few weeks."
Christopher nodded. "At least you're still alive," he said
gratefully. "Here, come sit down." Christopher motioned toward a sitting area near the windows with a view of the hanging gardens. These were not the windows Decker had jumped from in his dream, and they were, of course 'closed' because the windows in the U.N. complex of buildings were not made to open.
"What can I get you to drink?" Christopher asked, starting toward the wet bar.
"Uh... just water," Decker said as he sunk into one of the comfortable arm chairs. Decker wanted so much just to forget about the last few weeks and accept Christopher's warm welcome-home and go on about his life. But by now the images of Rhoda Donafin and her family and the others in Petra were burned into his memory. He had to complete the task that had brought him here.
"I need to talk to you about your decision to march on Petra," he said resolutely.
"We can talk about all of that later, Decker," Christopher answered, as he returned with a glass of ice water, handed it to Decker, and then sat down across from him. "Tell me how you've been."
"You need to reconsider your decision," Decker said, ignoring Christopher's request.
"Decker," Christopher said, taken aback by Decker's insistence, "it's late. You've been away for over a month. A lot has happened. Do we really need to have a policy discussion right now?"
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