And the Meek Shall Inherit (Harbinger of Change Book 2)

by Timothy Jon Reynolds

  She looked at him with deep concern, “I have to tell you something.”

  “Don’t tell me, something’s going down.”

  “Yes, but how did you know?”

  “Well, eventually we were going to be in some kind of scuffle; I mean look around.”

  “It’s different than you might guess.”

  “So you’re finally ready to tell me what this is all about then?”

  “Yes, Matt. It’s about God and how through the course of history He has chosen certain people to talk through.”

  “Don’t tell me, He chose Pablo to be the next Moses.”

  “That’s correct. He has, and the only reason I didn’t tell you before was because it was Pablo’s choice to make, not mine. That’s why I asked you long ago not to ask me about what’s going on here.”

  “So Pablo just chose today to tell me?”

  “He just chose minutes ago.”

  “What did God tell him to do?”

  “To erase all the money in the world, to take it back to the very beginning and have a true world where people love one another and help one another and stop raping the land and killing the sheep for money. You’ve heard him talk over the last two years. You know his ideology—it’s just that you just didn’t know his source. Nothing has changed Matt, as Pablo is still the same person, just with more clout now that you know who his backer is. Think about it, with God on our side, how can we lose?”

  Matt told her with absolute sincerity, “You know I will follow you anywhere if you say so, my love.”

  “Then my dear, Matt, that is what I want, I want you to follow me.”

  Matt mused, “Truthfully, it makes a lot of sense, everything seems much clearer now on ‘the whys’ of all this.” Matt looked at his surroundings, “I knew it had to be more than some eccentric rich guy with a whim. It just reeked of some higher reason or in this case, Higher Calling.” When they hugged Vera slipped the ultrasound picture into Matt’s back pocket. He’ll find it later.

  She took his hand, “Come on, Babe, it’s time to come in. I hear things are heating up.”

  They had almost made it back to the warehouse door when a loud boom came out of the distance. “I’ve heard that before,” Matt said.

  “Come Matt, it’s begun.” They hurried and got into the tunnel, electronically closing the doors behind them with hard authority.

  * * *

  Kim sat like a little girl who had done something wrong and was waiting for the principal to get off the phone so she could be punished. It sounded like he was talking to the Head of the U.N. Looks like they’re getting the usual answers when someone was going to get nowhere. The U.N. had been less than stellar in supporting America’s efforts to eradicate terrorism over the last few years, so seeing them squirm a little brought no tears to Kim’s eyes. The President got off the phone call with the promise to let them “know right away of any new developments.” As he hung up he said, “They’re not too happy with us right now. They’re calling an emergency meeting right away and it puts us in a tough spot, Kim, as our current game plan would not pass resolution.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been here, Sir, we’ll just placate them. We’ve always done what we’ve needed to anyway. We’ll just let them go through their motions and it will be over before they can contemplate the opening points.”

  He looked at Kim with that absolute awe that anyone “in the know” would have for this amazing woman. Here she was, just expertly knowing what to do on matters of the highest importance and handling it like she’d been here a dozen times.

  The President spoke with feigned admonishment, “I suppose you think I brought you here to hear some diatribe about how you shouldn’t ever withhold information from me. Sorry, Kim, not a chance, I wasn’t open to hear the information you were trying to convey, so you needed to protect my interests. That’s what a Chief of Staff does.”

  His phone rang and he picked it up, “President Caulfield here.” His immediate response was, “That’s great, I’ll be right there!” He hung up and had a smile on his face as he said, “Come on, let’s go watch a satellite shut the hell up.”

  “Lawrence, you realize I’ve advised you against this action without the sanction of the Ecuadorian Government. It’s conceivably an act of war to do this.”

  “I researched this one, Kim. As long as that missile is up in space, the point is arguable if it’s an airspace violation. Couple that with our Intel both in and out of there and at the very minimum, we’re looking at insurgents inside a country causing this havoc. Think Grenada, Kim. Look, I don’t know why, but my instinct is to shoot that thing out of the sky and unless you can give me an overwhelming reason why I shouldn’t, I reiterate, ‘Let’s go watch a satellite shut the hell up!’”

  * * *

  After the ASAT was released, the Tomcat pulled back and banked the opposite direction. The satellite’s onboard tracking system picked up the hostile launch immediately; it then activated its survival program. Instantly an overload of electricity was being driven into the massive thousand-pound battery. Once the missile was in range—about twenty seconds later—the satellite discharged. The burst was the largest non-nuclear electro-magnetic pulse ever recorded. It not only made short work of all the on-board circuitry the ASAT had, it also took out every satellites’ circuitry within a hundred mile radius. The Hispanic world just lost five percent of their telecommunications.

  Without a guidance system, the missile veered helplessly off target and went off into space, it’s eventual blast doing no harm to the EMP-shockproof vehicle that was no longer bleating. In fact, it had a distinct humming sound now, as all its enhancements were now active. Then its thrusters engaged and it began its automated angry journey of destruction.

  The members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff all watched in stunned silence. It was obvious that the large pulse on the screen and the subsequent explosion were too far apart for that to be a confirmed kill. No, this was something else and it wasn’t what Kim would call a “good development.”

  “What happened?” was the President’s query to the room in general.

  “Looks like there was another EMP burst,” cautiously piped in General Hatten. “It also looks like unless we got lucky, the satellite is still in operation.”

  “Not necessarily, Steve, the signal stopped after we detonated the missile,” said Admiral Anders.

  President Caulfield said, “Well that’s one positive, they won’t be able to use that as an advantage later on. Admiral, how long until we get the Bush there?”

  “The word is almost two days, Sir.”

  Hatten piped back in after answering a call, “Colorado is informing me that our Space Fence has detected movement across its radio signal. The satellite is either disabled and free-floating out in open space, or it is moving on its own.”

  The President spoke, “Okay people, Eric and I have a meeting on Intel at 1400 hours. By then we should have the second U-2 report. Then we can talk about contacting the Ecuadorian Ambassador to pass on a message for us. Charley, get your boys warmed up, I have a feeling this is going to be settled on the ground.”

  He then turned to his Chief of Staff, “Kim, do you concur that we should have an invasion plan in effect?”

  “Yes, whether or not the Ecuadorians have knowledge, the threat to our sovereignty is real and we must act accordingly.”

  “Then let’s get the SEC D on board in case we need that avenue. Coming from both of us, Secretary Dianato will be more open to the possibility of the need.”

  * * *

  Lt. Commander Randall Schubert had been a combat pilot in the Gulf Wars and rather than retire early as was proposed, he decided to stick around and offer his services in other capacities. Piloting this Spy Plane was one of them. He’d flown sixty missions now and was considered a seasoned leader. Fortunately his work never got too hot, it was mostly fly really high and take some pictures.

  * * *

  Vera looked at
her Matt (standing next to the tattooed, hated one) and she couldn’t be more proud. He accepted change so well, and in that respect they were fundamentally alike. Because of his nature, he was now directly part of the four people who would have a more direct change on the world than any four before them.

  She gazed at the heartless killer with the cobra tattooed on his neck and thought, soon to be three. They were all standing before the mighty bank of computer screens in Pablo’s mountain lair. Pablo kept the screen in the lower leftmost corner continually dedicated to the world news. They were all looking at CNN’s current report on Cairo. Apparently there was some unrest there—more than usual.

  That’s when Pablo heard the wheels on the tracks move. He put his hand up, “Quiet, my baby has a target.” They all looked perplexed. He spoke again, it seemed almost to himself, “I built a little surprise for them with their own technology. We’re sending the message right now not to spy on us.” There was a small drain of electricity, but it was restored quickly followed by an unusual sound that lasted about thirty seconds. After the sound was gone Pablo proclaimed, “It is done.”

  They all knew something was done, but exactly what was done was known only by Pablo.

  * * *

  As Randall Schubert banked the U-2S back west for the second flyover, he thought he would really like to see what’s on the ground there one day, as it looked so beautiful, even from this height. As sometimes happens in life, one must be careful what one wishes for. First his radar detection software went crazy, someone was pinging him somehow?

  Before he could report it manually, a blinding light came from above. It was so intense that he couldn’t look at it, so he looked slightly off to the right. Then it happened, full spiral, no warning. Every alarm in his plane was going off. Give the severity of his spiraling decent, he was not able to visually ascertain for certain that his wing was gone, but little else made sense. He was now a falling angel!

  He popped the ejector seat and before he knew it, millions of U.S. taxpayer dollars were gone and he was going to see Ecuador up close and personal a lot sooner than he thought. That’s if none of his air lines were corrupted. He wouldn’t last long up here without his suit or his air supply.

  He then saw his plane crash into a mountain very far away. I guess Kelly Johnson, father of the SR71, never thought of a laser as a way to drop a Supersonic Aircraft. Welcome to the new Millennia, Kelly.

  3 – Realizations

  The world was slow to catch on at first, some even calling the whole thing a hoax. But the EMP blast did it and all the players were on board now. Pablo could see its birth as the TV showed it had started. His vision now had a life. Every major news agency in the world was showing one story or another about them continuously. The Internet was ablaze with stories ranging from tales about the end of days to the growing belief of a new dawn for “all” of humanity. Pablo thought to himself, fools, this is not Armageddon; this is the Rebirth.

  Stock Markets were being affected (he gave a silent chuckle), militaries were going on high alert everywhere, and the Soviets were taking a lot of heat because everyone thought they knew where the Peru Nuke came from, even if the proof hadn’t come back yet. The U.S. shooting a rocket into space didn’t go unnoticed either, even over South America. When the world loses six satellites in one shot, things start buzzing. Just not as much as before. Pablo smiled again. Apparently Russia, Japan, China, and the United States had all experienced either damaged or ruined communication satellites.

  He looked over at the data page. There was no doubt his laser worked, as his screen readout confirmed the kill. He suspected it was a spy plane. Of course, he saw this scenario several moves ago. Seeing they didn’t have satellites here anymore, Pablo knew they would have a need to reconnoiter. Now they’ll rethink the spy plane approach and will probably have figured out that my satellite escaped unscathed and is mobile; not only that, factor in a new toy or two as the laser just showed them. Next they’ll bring in the Marines, I believe. They’ll track the laser shot for sure and they’ll want to come in, but not before they try one more thing.

  Pablo was ready for anything and by this time tomorrow his plan would be carried out, and they will be too late. He knew he was doing the right thing by warning the people. God would have warned the people so the righteous could prepare and be safe. Of course, the wicked could care less, just like with the flood. His conscience was clear and over the next few days, while the warmongers played their games of hubris and domination, the very fabric that bonded them to each other was going to be taken away.

  Only Pablo knew that soon all they’ll have left to fight about was who has the most worthless junk. All their toys operated off of the computers that would be no more. All of their communications operated off of the satellites that would cease to exist. And all their ATMs operated with money that wouldn’t be worth the paper it was printed on. The only thing that would be spared were the power grids and the nuclear power plants. Pablo decided to make them “off limits.”

  * * *

  Lawrence was talking to his Secretary of State Stanley Harrington whom he just informed of their military action. Stanley held his outrage in check, as the information being given was very upsetting to a lifelong diplomat.

  “We need their assistance, Stanley.”

  “Well, Lawrence, you should have consulted them before you shot an arrow over their airspace.”

  “Technically, it was ‘in Space.’”

  “Regardless, it looked like we have no regard for their sovereignty. Add insult to injury, it seems like we don’t trust them.”

  The President asked his Secretary of State, “What should I do, Stanley?”

  Stanley told Lawrence the words he loathed to hear. “Make a personal plea to their President. Be sincere. I was sent here to relay a message that unless there is a valid explanation for this invasion of their airspace, we’re leaving them little choice but to cut diplomatic ties with the U.S.”

  “Now, Stanley, you know as well as I do that they’re just grandstanding. We just got Intel that the laser shot came out of their country, not to mention what Hurst sent out to us. So I propose a compromise.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you Lawrence, that it will have to be done with El Presidente. Their Ambassador is under orders not to negotiate at this time.”

  “Well you tell the Ambassador that it’s his fucking job, Stanley!” President Caulfield inhaled, breathed out very slowly, “Sorry, although I don’t like it one bit, I’m on board with what you’re saying. Even as the leader of the free world, sometimes it takes groveling to get the job done. So what are this guy’s dos and don’ts?”

  * * *

  Vincente looked out his office window and stared blankly. Sometimes news came so fast and made so little sense that it was nearly impossible to absorb it all. And then he, as the leader, must make a cognitive decision quickly. It appeared that some kind of insurgency was going on within the borders of his country. It was making him look small and unsophisticated to not know exactly what was going on.

  Ecuador does not have much of an Air Force, but they have one big enough to know when someone was shooting missiles over their country. He put his head in his hands and spoke to himself, “Well, Vincente Herrera, you wanted this job.”

  He came from a very hard-working class family. He grew up in Southern Quito, where his father worked in the textile factory. Although he had a job, it was more like the job had him. Antonio Herrera worked sixty hours a week, but never made enough that his wife could stay home. Every day, his wife, Abella, had to feed the family, get the kids ready for school, and take a bus all the way across town where she worked as a maid for some of Quito’s “better off” inhabitants. After that, she was rewarded by having to go to the market on the way home so she could make dinner. Vincente always told himself that he would take care of them one day, so they wouldn’t have to work like dogs anymore. At least I accomplished that.

  When he was
sixteen he got a job over in “Gringolandia” bussing tables for the tourists. He started “English as a second language” in school the year before, so it was a natural fit for him to work there. Quito didn’t have a lot of tourist spots, but La Mariscal was one of them. It had all the hotels, clubs, and restaurants.

  It was there that he met the American politician. He was just some State Senator from Ohio, but immediately Vincente knew power when he saw it and he liked it. Especially the ten-dollar tips! He made a point to be near the American whenever possible, to pick up what he could about his mannerisms and the way he carried himself, both in person and on the phone. What Vincente saw in this man was intriguing—as he pretended to be so many things to so many people. First of all, he was the greatest actor in the world. One minute he was ruthlessly laying out an outline for a new chemical factory he was backing and the next he was gently talking to some lady from a floral society about a garden party. He was a true chameleon.

  Finally, one day while Vicente was making himself available for this large gringo in the fedora, he made contact. It was during breakfast, and as was the case every morning, this man was scarfing his food down like there was no tomorrow. That was the only way Vincente knew how to describe the way the man ate. It was as if someone was holding a gun on him and every meal was to be eaten quicker than the last . . . or else.

  The gringo dusted off this plate in record time today. He remembered thinking at the time, “If the man is still here tomorrow, I will actually time it to see just how fast this Yankee really eats a plate of food.” He had decided it would be fun to start a new secret championship within the staff, and this no-neck American with the clean-shaven face was the benchmark to which all others would have to be measured.

  Vincente recalls smiling at the thought as he was gathering the man’s empty plates and silverware. As he was reaching for the man’s spent juice glass, the gringo waved with his hand for Vincente to take the seat next to him. “I can’t. I’m working,” was his reply in English.