“I’m sure Fred will make an allowance for you but, Rayna, is this real or are you running away from something?”
“Dad, who the hell goes into seminary if they’re not serious? Besides, it’s about time we had a female pastor in the family.”
Another silent beat. “I love you, Rayna. I’ll do it, but when you’re ready to be honest, I’m here for you. I won’t ask any questions but will just let you talk.”
“Dad! That’s not what I need to hear right now.”
“Rayna, for as smart as you are, you can be really dumb at times.”
“Thanks, Dad,” said Rayna sarcastically. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, Dad.” This time Rayna was sincere. “I appreciate you being there.”
She hung up and flagged a Yellow Cab.
“La Guardia,” said Rayna as she hopped in.
The cabbie nodded. Now a New York cabbie has seen and heard everything but the young hooker’s request flabbergasted even him.
“Can I buy your jeans?” said Rayna. “I’ll give you a hundred and fifty bucks.”
First time he ever got paid to take off his pants. Normally it was the other way around. He pulled to the side of the road, took off his jeans and handed them to the girl.
Thirty seconds later, Rayna was fast asleep.
Chapter 4
KAPALUA, MAUI - Five Days Ago
Nestled in one of Hawaii’s largest marine reserves, with stunning white sand beaches and green sea turtles frolicking in the glimmering blue marine sanctuary, vistas of golden pineapples, green lush volcanic peaks and Pacific Pine greeted all visitors to the luxurious condominium/resort, The Hawaiian.
Three people sat outside on the roof of a three-bedroom penthouse suite. They came from around the world to be in this tropical paradise. With the funds available to them, they could easily have chosen to meet at the Presidential Suite in New York’s St. Regis Hotel or the penthouse suite at Paris’ Hotel Meurice’s Belle Etoile suite, but that ostentation might have drawn attention to their secret gathering.
None of them came in their private jets. None of them wore their normal tailor-made or designer clothes, but rather dressed in department store off-the-rack clothes.
With a slight tropical breeze failing to make a dent in the hundred-degree weather, and sun threatening to blind anyone not wearing sunglasses with maximum UV protection, there was not another guest in sight.
Perfect for having a private meeting.
There were two men and one woman sipping ice teas. The oldest was seventy-three-year-old Paulina Rossini from Paris. Barry Rogers from San Francisco was sixty-one. Hong Kong’s Arthur Yang was sixty-three.
Very different people with very different heritages but with one common goal, they were not the random assortment of people they seemed.
All commanded or controlled fortunes in the multi-billions of dollars. Paulina’s fortune dated back to Florence’s House of Medici in the fifteenth century. Arthur was the chief investment strategist for one of China’s most successful hedge funds. He was an early investor in high tech and real estate during the “cowboy” years, when fortunes were made—or lost—in what seemed like the blink of an eye.
The three of them represented the executive brain trust of Fidelitas, the name for the shadowy organization that Paulina, Arthur and Barry were co-directors of.
All of them were committed to the greater good of mankind.
All of them believed that governments and politicians were ineffectual in getting work of any substance done in a timely manner, if they managed to get anything done at all.
There was nothing special about being rich or wanting to change the world into a better place. What set this group apart was that each of them was willing to do whatever it took to whomever it needed to accomplish their goals.
Fidelitas profiled certain kinds of people. Lower echelon criminals were not a priority. Neither were corrupt or terrorist governments. No, their focus was the vast middle ground of people or organizations of significant negative influence. Heads of state of small countries. Fortune 500 executives. Leaders of militias or terrorist groups. Leaders of organized crime. While these would be obvious targets, others were not so apparent.
While death was an important solution, it was not always the only answer. Sometimes, humiliation or dissolution of credibility provided a less messy answer to the problem—including revealing the sexual indiscretions and financial improprieties of certain “holier than thou” charitable organizations and politicians.
The three normally met via tele-conferencing, but a couple of times a year they met in person. They enjoyed each other’s company, and as old school as that was, they firmly believed that real relationships required face-to-face meetings on a regular basis.
Over the past few days, they have had important discussions on potential investments, progress on targets and possible initiatives. The last item on their agenda was the consideration of new field operatives. Because cyberspace was where many of their battles were now fought, field operatives were no longer quite as important as they once were. However, they were still absolutely necessary—nothing could replace boots on the ground.
To be a field operative was no easy thing. For one thing, there was no application process because no one really knew the organization existed. Potential candidates were observed and, if warranted, they were discreetly asked if they might be interested in a “challenging but rewarding job.” After a series of interviews, unanimous agreement among the board members was needed before a field agent was admitted.
More than three decades ago, Paulina recruited Barry for the field. It was an added bonus that he came from a wealthy family. Making him the titular head of “Fidelitas Investments” gave him a natural cover.
“So did you discuss with Jonathan about joining the ‘family business’?”
“Yes and he’s excited to start when his current tour ends.”
“Hope you told him to keep an eye out for other candidates,” said Paulina.
“Yes, Mother. But as he hasn’t responded, I’m guessing there’s nobody else.”
“Let’s just get Jon settled first,” stated Arthur. “He’ll have enough on his plate.”
“Yeah, we’re short-staffed, so one more field agent will really help out.”
Chapter 5
INDIANA
Rayna arrived at La Guardia at 4 a.m. and bought her ticket to Indianapolis for a 6 a.m. flight. She had an hour of shuteye at the airport, another hour and a half on the plane, and by 8:30, she was in a taxi to Hope University on the outskirts of Indianapolis.
A call to her father confirmed that the seminary would take her as a “special student,” auditing the courses until all her transcripts, fees and paperwork were confirmed or paid. In truth, her dad’s buddy, Dean Barlow, was ecstatic to get someone like Rayna as a student. Because he and Henry were close—best friends at each other’s weddings—the families knew each other well. Fred watched Rayna grow and was happy to have an athletic, former military and straight A student as the newest member of the student body. He was in meetings all day but arranged for the two of them to have dinner after classes ended.
Hope University was a small college and seminary in the heartland of America’s Bible Belt. In the reform tradition, it was conservative politically, theologically and socially. In existence for a hundred years, the picturesque campus had its original three buildings still standing but those had been augmented in the last dozen years with another six, including a fine arts theater, gymnasium and science labs. With a small student-to-teacher ratio, it had gained a reputation for academic excellence despite its comparatively low tuition fees.
After getting out of the taxi, Rayna walked to the registrar’s office, the first building past an artificial pond where three white swans made their home. There was real pride of community and ownership in the college. The grounds were flat and well maintained, with grass groomed as smoot
hly as a PGA golf course. Flowerbeds were smooth with tulips blooming scarlet, sunflower yellow and Tyrian purple. There was not a piece of litter in sight.
It had been more than six years since Rayna had attended university, and that was in a major urban center where diversity of color, gender, social strata, language and dress were normal. With all that had happened to her in the last eight hours, she didn’t even think that wearing an oversize leather jacket, jeans with holes in them and the remains of her let’s-make-guys-drool dress would draw attention.
Omigod. This small suburban Christian college was so white, so cherubic, so young, so clean cut. She zippered up her jacket to the top and pulled up the jeans so they didn’t drag on the ground before she walked into the registrar’s office.
This will be boring, but safe. For how long she could take it though, who knew?
Rayna felt her guard coming down. “I think I’m going to like boring. Had enough of excitement to last me several lifetimes,” she voiced to no one in particular.
The antiseptic male office worker at the registrar’s office was super-friendly and within fifteen minutes, Rayna Reid was a full-time conditional student at Hope University, Student ID# 9876543 with a course load of eighteen units: History of Christianity; Christian Ethics; Introduction to Hebrew; Christian Worldview; Preaching; and Cultural Christianity. A little artsy-fartsy, but at least it was safe.
“You’re going to love it here. I’m the second generation in my family that’s come here. Someday my kids will come here too,” said the clerk as Rayna gave a final flourish to her signature on the last of half a dozen forms that she had to complete.
“I’m sure I will. Love it, that is. Got any tips for a new student?” asked Rayna.
“Two things. The cinnamon buns are made fresh daily and are to die for. Got to get here before 8:30 or they’ll be gone.”
Rayna noted the paunch on the junior bureaucrat and surmised that he had not missed many days without at least one cinnamon bun. “And the other tip?”
The paper pusher became serious. “We are very serious about the student contract at Hope University. No alcohol or pre-marital sex on premises.”
“So I can get pissed and laid if I’m off campus grounds,” joked Rayna.
The clerk’s stone face showed that he didn’t think Rayna was very funny. “You just signed our morals contract and we expect you to adhere to it.”
“Right. That was a joke.”
“Oh, of course.” The clerk forced a laugh as Rayna walked out of the office. “That was really funny!”
Shaking her head, Rayna walked to her first class on Christian Ethics. It was in the century-old Chesterman Building. As she entered, the ambience of the brick building was austere, prestigious… and sterile. Harold Summers, the prof, was a few years older than Rayna and she could tell he was trying hard not to show his interest in her. Rayna did a quick Google search on her phone to find that Harold did his undergraduate degree at Hope, then studied at Princeton for his Masters’ and Doctorate of Theology. The topic today was one Harold was using research from his Ph.D dissertation on: Christianity in the Marketplace. The professor contended Christians should be using biblical principles, not only at home but in their professional lives as well.
Harold, maybe trying to gain brownie points with her, pointed a light finger at Rayna. “As a new student, you should know that I encourage interaction and discussion. Have you any thoughts on the topic?”
“I... I’m just new here. Let me take a few classes before I stick my foot in my mouth.”
A bit of tittering and giggling, especially from the young studs who found the sexy Asian with the movie star looks someone they would like to know better.
“No, no. We are all here to learn. Go ahead. I promise I won’t take any marks off your grade for disagreeing with your answer.”
Rayna, facing this ongoing prompting, finally had to admit something to herself—the ivory tower fortress of idealism was becoming a little bit hard for her to stomach. She tried hard not to let her feelings show. Fat chance of that. She’d never been any good at being the diplomat.
“Well, well... What biblical principle do you use when someone points a gun in your face? Or throws a grenade right in front of you? There is no such thing as a biblical principle or non-biblical term. I think your approach toward the issue demonstrates the mentality of someone who has never had a job where your livelihood or even your life was on the line.”
Tittering infused the room.
“That’s pretty hypothetical,” replied the red-faced professor.
“Ask any soldier in the field how hypothetical that is. Or a law enforcement officer who has a crazy person lunging at him with a knife.”
“Is that a world you have any direct familiarity with?” challenged the academic.
Now every eye in the room, male and female was fixed on Rayna, awaiting her answer.
“Intimately.”
From the gasps of adoration, embarrassment and lust, you would think Taylor Swift, Penelope Cruz or Halle Berry in their prime had just uttered that single word.
“I see,” was Professor Harold’s lame response.
* * *
After the bell signifying class end sounded, Rayna slipped out of the room alone—but not for long. As Rayna walked down the sidewalk, Cindy, a fresh-faced eighteen-year old co-ed rushed up and ambled alongside her.
“That was pretty awesome in there. I don’t think anyone ever thought of life in that way before.”
I hope you never have to. “It was nothing. Just part of life. I gotta stop myself from shooting my mouth off before I get expelled.”
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to horny Harold.”
“Is that what you call him?” asked Rayna.
“Most definitely. He’s led a sheltered life. Never done anything other than go to school or to university.” Cindy added with disdain, “And he’s a virgin. Doubt he’s even had a girlfriend.”
Oh no. Cindy was promising to be one of those spoiled kids from Hell. “I’m sure he has valid reasons for his positions.”
“I like different positions. I’ve got a copy of the Kama Sutra.” Cindy shot Rayna a look that showed she perfectly understood the double entendre. “My boyfriend and I could show you a few more… maybe in my bedroom.”
She slipped Rayna a small sheet of paper, obviously with her room number on it. Rayna was sure there was a little bit of a tush wiggle put on for her benefit.
“I’m really not that type…” Rayna chewed her lip.
“Don’t be such a wuss,” winked Cindy. “We’ll send you to the moon.”
Gunfire from behind them ripped the air and cut Cindy off. Rayna tried to pull the young nymphet to the ground but she was too late. A bullet cracked Cindy’s skull open like a cantaloupe. Another went through her back and passed through in the front above her right breast. Blood spurted from the hole in her T-shirt.
Bedlam ruled everywhere else.
Students and staff screamed as they dashed to hide behind something—a tree, statue, monument, diving into the lilypad-covered ponds. Any little bit of cover. The unfortunate ones were those that tried to enter classroom buildings, hoping to reach safety. The extra fractions of seconds it took to open the heavy wooden doors made them easy targets for the hunting bullets.
As Rayna studied the shell storm for clues, she determined the gunman had an elevated position but not too high. She zeroed in on a building about a hundred feet away, but there was no one on the roof or at any of the windows.
Suddenly, there he was. Some skinny young man jumped ten feet from where he was perched on one of the thick limbs of a tree. Landing on both feet, he raised his arms to the air, each arm defiantly wielding a semi-automatic rifle like some type of cheesy movie star. From his mannerisms and dress, it was clear he had been influenced by the worst aspects of contemporary media. His face was painted a ghoulish white. His eyebrows, gelled hair spiked in the air, and lips were all the deepest shade o
f black. He even had matching boots and Dracula-like robe.
The shooting paused for a moment while the gunman took stock of his victims. With Cindy coated in blood and Rayna lying absolutely still, he clearly assumed they were both dead. He paid them no attention as he strode confidently towards the building where, just twelve minutes earlier, the two girls were in a Christian Ethics class with horny Harold.
The gunman began firing randomly again, moving his arms from side to side to maximize the potential damage that he could create. The muzzles bounced all over the place. There was no way he could hit anything he aimed at. Still, with that much lead filling the air, Rayna had no chance to close and disarm him before becoming Swiss cheese.
Focusing on the shooter’s eyes, she growled at his glassy, dull look—strong indications that the kid was strung out on something. That meant one of two things. Either his reflexes and clarity had been diminished, if it was an anti-depressant, or his reflexes and clarity might have been sharpened if it was an amphetamine. Rayna took the gamble that it was the former.
She hefted Cindy’s body and used it as a shield. The kid’s senses were definitely altered… and not dulled. His eyes spotted the movement coming from his extreme left and he whipped around. Poorly aimed shots cracked several yards over her head and around her. One even thwacked into Cindy’s body and ricocheted off her spine. Rayna spit the blood and bone splinters off her lips and picked up the pace. If the shooter’s senses were just a little sharper, he might have the sense to drop one of his weapons and actually aim. Rayna thanked God for his stupidity, whether caused by drugs or too many movies.
It took her less than ten seconds to cross the kill zone to her target. At the last second, she heaved Cindy’s body at him.
Even the wannabe Rambo couldn’t miss that close. While he sprayed the corpse, Rayna slid past him and snatched up a shovel lying beside a dead gardener. The kid whirled around just in time to catch a jaw-full of rusty iron. The force of the blow broke his neck and the black-garbed gunman crumpled to the ground. Rayna gave him a few more hits, caving in his skull and making sure he stayed down.
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