by J. K. Scott
“And where did her security stay?”
“They didn’t sleep. They patrolled my place all night.”
I needed to know more about Kisha and hoped Peter knew more. I was not up-to-date on the latest threats to the planet or the solar system. Kisha’s urgent request to meet her in Florida had me questioning her agenda.
Harmony and I returned to our vehicles. I followed her white convertible to her place as I kept an eye out for any tails. Fortunately, we were not followed.
14
HARMONY’S WEALTHY LANDLORD had a sprawling home with a multicar garage below the living quarters. I parked my dusty jeep next to a vintage Jaguar convertible and scanned the other antique vehicles. We took an elevator to the upper floor, which had model airplanes of various sizes, colors, and shapes suspended from a sky-blue ceiling. Harmony led me through the museum-like mansion into an expansive kitchen that looked as if a gourmet chef lived there. We went out the back door to an extensive patio that led to her small cottage.
Uneasy about my stay, I planned on couch sleeping over a guest room. The living room had the sweet smell of roses from the summer heat. Murals of green fields and rocky creeks adorned the walls. I approved of the two blue inviting couches decorated with fluffy yellow pillows that surpassed a sleepless night in a motel room and the hard surface of the campground.
After a short tour of her artistic cottage, we took couches across from each other. Harmony said, “I hope you like artichoke pizza with chianti wine. I’m anxious to know your thoughts about Kisha’s lecture.”
I suspected it would be a late evening, which meant another sleepless night. We ate in the living room, and I refrained from inhaling the pizza or dripping cheese or sauce on the blue couch. After a few sips of wine, Harmony asked what I knew about Planet X. I began by telling her about my interest in reading old-world stories that described disruptions in our planet. I discovered that Harmony shared my passion for the Celts and older tribes in Europe.
We discussed the shortcomings of our civilization, including its tendency to ignore ancient texts and especially the warnings from past calamities uncovered by science as well our concern over the latest space weapon technology that could destroy humans and our planet. I continued with my view that power, greed, religion, and political shortcomings impacted the present and our future. We both agreed that the planet and human behavior had sunk to its lowest ebb in decades. We agreed that hidden forces influenced our lives, detailing how the sixth sense and intuition should be forefront in our minds.
After the second glass of wine and a half-eaten pizza, we delved deeper into philosophy. Harmony said, “My grandmother insisted I read The People of the Secret by Ernest Scott. It’s not an interest for everyone, but it’s about time, cycles, and events that influence our evolution. It describes how our planet is influenced by extraordinary intelligence through history that raises the consciousness and the frequency of our planet.”
I had read the book, but I said, “I had a world history professor who displayed a historic time chart listing masters, events, and developments that changed the flow of life on this planet. What etched in my mind was the professor’s explanation on why it took three hundred years for civilizations to understand Jesus’s life and apply his teachings about our humanity and the future.”
Harmony seemed excited. “That’s what The People of the Secret is about—how extraordinary humans like Jesus possess energies and forces that enhance or guide our evolution.”
The late hour didn’t slow Harmony; she seemed to be more energized. I asked, “Is that why you have an interest in crystals?”
“Absolutely! I discovered I have a very intuitive mind about how crystals influence our frequency and energies, which connect to the chakras.”
Amazed by Harmony’s pure wonderment, I desired to hug her and embrace her energies. If Harmony had any alluring thoughts, she kept them to herself. I suffered every eyeful and moment by conjuring up distractions to dampen my own desires, and she seemed oblivious to my carnal restlessness.
Our conversation had become a marathon. Thankfully, she admitted, “It’s late.” With those simple words, she kissed my forehead and left me with a blanket, a pillow, and my thoughts. We had skipped discussing Kisha’s lecture to share more personal interests. After using Harmony’s overly feminine bathroom, I stretched out on the couch and sank into a deep sleep.
Awakened by the aroma of coffee and cinnamon rolls, I thought I was dreaming. Ignoring a few couch aches, I headed for the bathroom and slipped into the shower. In the mirror, I stared at my stubbly beard and the black-and-blue circles under my bloodshot eyes, alarmed about my decline. I joined Harmony on the patio overlooking the towering red-rock cliffs brightened by the clear blue sky.
I swallowed the coffee and inhaled a cinnamon roll. After another roll, I told Harmony, “At my meeting, I’m going to advise Peter you may need security.”
Harmony quickly said, “Don’t mention me to Peter.”
“Why not?” I asked.
Harmony seemed agitated. “I don’t need any security. I have a crush on Peter, and I don’t want him to think I need his help.”
My heart sank as I heard what I already believed, and I questioned myself for staying at her place. “Is Peter aware of your feelings?”
“I’m afraid to tell him. If he isn’t interested, I’m not ready for his rejection. I’d prefer to think I still have a chance.”
How could Peter ignore Harmony? However, BBB’s work and commitment discouraged relationships. The only solution was to meet someone within BBB. I assured Harmony, “Peter’s work sucks the personal out of life.”
“I know,” Harmony said.
“Harmony, I’d never forgive myself if I have caused you problems.”
“Like what? Kisha stayed here, and I wasn’t questioned.”
“There are people looking for me who could pressure you with questions. I hope not, but just in case, you need to alert Peter.”
I hugged her tightly and thanked her. I gave her my burner phone number in case she needed to contact me. I left feeling anxious, trying to convince myself I hadn’t disrupted her life.
I drove to the diner and parked several blocks away. The place was busy, as usual. I saw Rustler sitting alone in a booth. I was disappointed Peter wasn’t there, and I hoped he was just late.
I slid in across from Rustler, and he immediately said, “Dak, Peter won’t be at the meeting.”
My face flushed with anger. That meant Peter couldn’t protect me or—worst case—BBB had sided with Cascade. Holding back my frustration, I said, “Tell Peter that I have no other option but to go underground. And tell him I’m really angry.”
Rustler said, “Hey, man, I’m only the messenger. He only called me twenty minutes ago. He seemed tense on the phone.”
“Do you have Peter’s number?” I asked.
“No, it was blocked.”
Peter’s absence weighed heavily upon me. I glanced around the café, assessing how long I had before Cascade found me. After contemplating my next move, I said, “Tell Peter I met with Harmony. She may be questioned and will need security. And, Rustler, if Peter disagrees, let me know, and I’ll hire you.” I gave Rustler my Ronzo number and Harmony’s locations.
Rustler looked confused but assured me he would look after Harmony if needed. Waiting for Peter to clear my status with Cascade and BBB left me exposed. I hoped Peter wasn’t selling me out to Cascade. I felt a restless urgency to leave town.
I asked Rustler, “Exactly what did Peter say?”
“I’m sorry, man. He was tense on the phone. He said, ‘I can’t be at the meeting. I’ll call later.’”
I wasn’t going to wait around for the call. I thanked Rustler and told him I expected an update. Freedom became more evasive each day. I left Rustler to eat his hearty breakfast.
I drove to a
secure spot and called Ronzo. Ashley’s welcoming voice echoed in my ear: “Please state your business.”
I gave my name and code. Ashley told me that Anthony had updated her on yesterday’s call, and she asked what I needed. I requested a bio on Kisha Anderson as well as updates on Cascade’s activity. Then she passed me to Anthony. I informed him I needed to leave Sedona to meet with Kisha in Sarasota, Florida. Surprised by my plans, Anthony tried to dissuade me, but he finally understood. He said he’d call me back within forty minutes with plans for me to leave Sedona. I anxiously walked around a dusty hiking trail waiting for Ronzo’s call.
Ashley called first with her research. “Kisha has an arrest record with two misdemeanors but was never jailed. She has a political science degree from San Francisco State and a master’s degree in old-world history from the University of California at Berkley, where she taught for five years. There isn’t any data on her current work. There are several articles about her lectures on Planet X. They are very explicit. She is accused of being a hoaxer and disinformation officer as well as being mentally unstable. She’s been threatened numerous times. Do you still want to meet her?”
“Yes, I know it’s risky. I need to see her and leave town—but not in that order.”
Ashley said, “Anthony has your travel arrangements. Please stay safe. I’m transferring you.”
All business, Anthony said, “Within two hours, a vehicle transport truck will meet you at the rangers’ station on Highway 179 to take you to Tampa. You will be in your jeep for three days on the lower rack. Dak, I was fortunate to locate a member to secure your travel. Currently, the truck is in Kingman, and it will be passing by Sedona to access Interstate 10 to Jacksonville, Florida.”
I thanked Anthony profusely, determined I had made the right choice to leave Sedona. I called Kisha with a coded message that I would be in Florida in a few days. I bought supplies at a local store for the three-day truck ride, thankful a trucker agreed to transport dangerous cargo. As a Ronzo member, he would earn extra credit or pay off a debt. Meanwhile, my debt to Ronzo kept rising.
15
THE NOISY, BUMPY ride to Florida kept me confined until the robust driver invited me into the cab through Texas terrain and Louisiana bayous. We listened to talk radio programs and discussed the economy and the chaotic state of the planet as if we were experts on the matter. When I arrived in Tampa, I gave the nameless driver a generous tip for his discretion and thanked him for the Florida history lessons.
Late August in Florida, ironically, was considered off-season because of the tropical weather. From Tampa, I called Kisha with a new burner phone. She instructed me to meet her at a Starbucks on St. Armand’s Circle on Lido Key, at six that evening.
The scenic back roads from Tampa to Sarasota, along coastal inlets, over bridges, and on the Tamiami Trail Highway, kept me occupied with various plans and options. Sarasota had azure skies and handsome high-rise buildings along the coastal bay, with numerous historic old-town buildings influenced by the Ringling family. I crossed over the picturesque St. Armand’s Causeway Bridge to Bird Key for a short distance and crossed a secondary bridge to Lido Key.
Surrounded by ocean and the bay, the artistic St. Armand’s Circle, created by the Ringling family, was further beautified with a tropical park, upscale restaurants, and retail shops. I circled around to scope out the Starbucks coffee shop where I’d meet Kisha.
With no gas station on the islands, I circled back to the first bridge and stopped at Bird Key Park. I immersed myself in the warm bay to soak in the salty water. I had been in Florida for less than a day and already felt like a homeless beach bum. I changed into shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt and put on the wig to meet with Kisha.
I drove around at St. Armand’s Circle and found a strategic parking spot across from Starbucks to wait for Kisha to arrive. I barely recognized her in her white sundress, brimmed straw hat, and sunglasses, but I identified her profile and posture. I had an advantage since she had never met me. I had purposely rebuffed social organizations to protect my exposure on the internet. I spent several moments observing her and others nearby. Confident she was alone, I casually drifted to her table and introduced myself. She responded to me as a stranger. I acted accordingly; after all, we were strangers.
We exchanged pleasantries. Kisha had expected an older man, and I had expected to see her dressed in business attire. She admitted to wearing a disguise that evening with a wig, a padded suit, and high heels. I confessed I wore a wig.
She chuckled. “Let’s get down to business.” She lifted her dark sunglasses, exposing her deep hazel eyes as she looked around.
I asked, “Why am I here?”
“I want to know more about the images. I’ve learned that you have a skill for scatter patterns. You’re rather independent and have friends in high places to protect you. I know about Cascade’s classified programs. They are funded by clandestine powers with billions to invest. But their money doesn’t come close to rivaling the power at higher levels that controls the planet’s future. And I know Cascade is searching for you. I assume you worked on the images from the dead courier’s pouch.”
Kisha didn’t mention BBB or a Cascade connection, which left me suspicious. I hesitated and then admitted, “Yes, but the images were on an SD card inside the metal clasp, not in the pouch.”
“That could have been a double cross. I’m opposed to hidden agendas. And this story could be much deeper than even you know,” Kisha said with conviction.
“You believe the courier’s images are about your lecture?” I asked.
Kisha stirred her coffee. “Not necessarily, or they could be. I’ve searched for the truth all my life, and I never know where the truth will present itself.”
I glanced around as several people left the Starbucks. I felt uneasy talking without background chatter.
Kisha sensed my concern. “We should leave.” She looked at her archaic watch. “I’ve made special arrangements for our meeting.”
Kisha quickly gave me directions to her condo on Ben Franklin Road and left first. I stayed for a few minutes longer and scrutinized the Ben Franklin Drive, which paralleled a pristine white sandy beach. I examined the one-by-six-mile island on the Gulf of Mexico. To the southeast, a tropical park and day camp surrounded the swift channel that overlooked Siesta Key, which rated as the best beach in the United States. To the north, the New Pass Bridge connected the posh Long Boat Key and high-rise resorts to Lido Key near the Mote Aquarium, famous for marine animal rescues.
Impressed with the white sandy beach island, I couldn’t resist imagining my life as a beach bum or camper as I crunched on a protein bar. However, lingering thoughts bothered me. Concerned that Harmony knew my plans to meet Kisha, I hoped she maintained secrecy. Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the underground garage. I checked my RAD monitor, preparing to meet Kisha on the top floor, very apprehensive.
The high-rise condo overlooked the deep turquoise waters of the Gulf of Mexico. At the kitchen counter, while Kisha opened a bottle of wine without asking me, I complimented her on her beachfront property and the unique island, asking, “How do you like island living?”
“I love the off-season. I don’t like crowds. The northern snowbirds don’t arrive until late fall. The condo belongs to a friend. My life is too complicated to own or even lease a place. Even my vehicle is in my friend’s name. And I prefer to take a shuttle van or hop on the SCAT bus into town.”
“Why were you so urgent to trust me?” I asked.
“Not so fast. I needed to see you before Cascade hauled you away. Your days were numbered if you stayed in Arizona. And by the way, when you arrived, if you had sensors on you, it would have set off an alarm.”
Kisha’s security comment only emphasized my oversight that I hadn’t checked her first, which I duly noted. Kisha poured me a cabernet and led me to the sea-breeze balcony to continue our talk.
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br /> After a moment, Kisha said, “Start from the beginning. Why did you leave Cascade?”
“First, what do you know about Cascade?” I asked as I took my eyes off the captivating ocean to look at her.
“Cascade has a bad reputation for hidden agendas. And I have a few sources that keep me informed.”
Since Kisha had read the articles, I started with my frustration over the incomplete images. The telling became tiring, and I had to be cautious about what I said and what I left unsaid. I wanted to trust Kisha, but she seemed to have her own agenda as she absorbed what I said, nodding for me to continue.
I waited for Kisha’s reaction to my story with a twinge of guilt about discussing the images. The saying “Loose lips sink ships” came to mind. I focused on the curve along the ocean’s horizon, reflecting that only days ago I’d admired towering red rocks.
After my lengthy wait, Kisha asked, “When can I see the images? I need to know if there is any link to Planet X.”
I gave her a questioning glance, uncomfortable with her direct plans.
She added, “Dak, I have technical equipment to capture the images, even on a timer. I’ve been viewing false and valid images for decades, searching for Planet X, and I need to know.
Hesitantly, I said, “I have a few questions first.”
“Blast away,” she said.
“If these images are linked to Planet X, what are your plans?”
“I need to verify if these images are factual. And if they are valid, then I’d release them to the public. I’m fed up with secrecies known by the few.”
I said, “Would it be in the public’s interest to know about a destructive event if we are unable to avoid it?”
“Come on, Dak. Don’t you want the truth exposed?”
“Yes, but what if others don’t want to know?”
“That’s their problem. Do you believe you are going to die someday, or do you choose to ignore it?” Kisha said.
