The Reluctant Prophet_A Love Story

by Karl Morgan

  She sighed at him. "I don't know, Zeke. That sounds very unlikely. Who would have the guts to take on the FBI just to get to you?"

  "Give me your hand, Stephanie," he said. He held her hand for a moment and then let it drop. "You will survive the assault if you wear two ballistic vests. What happens here will cause you to reevaluate your life. You will transfer from the FBI to the CIA where you can try to track down the terrorists who attacked this place. In three years, you will meet a good friend of mine named Peter Smith. You will leave government service, marry Peter and join us at the retreat. You will have three children and name your son Ezekiel. Thank you for that." She sat silent with her mouth opening and closing as she tried to comprehend what he said.

  "You're making that up!"

  "Maybe I am," he replied. "But for God's sake, put on a second vest for me right now. If I'm wrong, it won't hurt you. If I'm right, at least you will be alive tomorrow."

  She stood and said, "I'll be right back." She left and locked the door.

  Zeke continued his dinner and realized how hungry he was. His last meal had been one-third of his breakfast before he and Taron had to flee Untor. After eating, he sat back and thought about the future. Would he really see Bea again, or would the attackers here sell him into slavery or kill him outright when one of his predictions failed. Minutes later, the door opened and Stephanie reentered. Her face was bright red and she looked very angry. "Those stupid bastards!" she shouted. "’Bring in some reinforcements, just in case,’ I said. And they laughed at me. ‘What harm can it do,’ I said. ‘We can't waste department assets on some perp's dreams,’ they said. I am pissed off!"

  "Are you wearing the two vests?"

  She pulled open her vest to reveal a second underneath it, and then closed the top one again. "They even told me I was a stupid bitch for wearing this. Like I'm some kind of disciple of yours or something. I pray to God that nothing happens tonight, Zeke. But those bastards deserve some punishment from the brass for the way they treated me."

  "Are you armed, Stephanie?" Zeke asked. She turned to show him the pistol in its holster on her hip. "Good, it's happening now." Her eyes opened wide. She was about to say something when the gunfire erupted.

  "Get down on the floor, Zeke!" she shouted. He dove for the ground and she moved over to the door. It sounded like machine gun fire outside. Then there were two explosions, like grenades. They could hear the agents firing their side arms. Suddenly, it became very quiet. He could hear Stephanie's breathing from across the cell as he lay under the metal bed frame.

  "Stephanie," he whispered. She looked back at him. "After they shoot you in the chest, just lay there quietly if you want to live." She glared at him as though he were speaking another language. But it was another language outside the cell. Unlike in his vision, he knew it was Spanish. His brain was stunned. He had expected Russian, Chinese, Farsi, or even Korean, but not this.

  A grenade blew the door open, knocking Stephanie down to the ground. She jumped to her feet and began to fire. More shots rang out and Stephanie was hit in the chest. She fell backward and stopped moving. Four men ran into the room. Two pulled Zeke from under the bed and began to tie him up. A third went over to Stephanie and prepared to shoot her in the head. The fourth man said, "Oye, ella no, hombre. La mujer no es culpable. Ayundalos con el profeta!" The man put a bag over Zeke's head and cinched it around his neck. "Vamanos!" the fourth man said and Zeke could feel them pulling him out of the room. The last thing he heard was Stephanie's labored breathing. Zeke was pushed into the back of the vehicle and it pulled away into the night.

  After several minutes, Zeke could feel a change as the vehicle pulled onto the freeway and accelerated. The voice of the fourth man said, "Senor Zeke, don't worry. We will take good care of you. Just relax." He felt a sharp jab in his arm. "This shot will help you sleep." Zeke held onto consciousness as long as he could, but after only a couple of minutes, he passed out.

  §

  Sarah Thompson hurried to answer the doorbell. Looking through the peephole, she saw two men wearing dark suits with badges hanging from their front pockets. When she opened the door Agents Tyrone Baker and Fred Emerson introduced themselves and were led into the living room as Abe came to join the group. "Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, we have a bit of a situation on our hands."

  "What do you want now?" Abe snarled. "You are already holding our son for no reason."

  Baker sighed and replied, "That is the problem, sir. We no longer have your son in custody. Our compound was assaulted last night. Four agents were killed and one was wounded. It appears the perpetrators kidnapped Ezekiel."

  Sarah looked aghast and sat heavily. Abe stood trembling as he said, "Perhaps we should all sit down."

  "Who would want to kidnap my boy?" Sarah asked.

  "That's a very good question, Mrs. Thompson," Baker acknowledged. "Two of the assailants were also killed. They appeared to be Hispanic, but their fingerprints had been surgically removed. Why would anyone be so desperate to get their hands on your son?"

  Abe and Sarah exchanged worried looks. Finally, Abe said, "Sometimes, Zeke sees things that are going to happen in the future."

  Agent Emerson turned to Baker and said, "That's what Agent Marshall was saying, sir." Baker nodded.

  "Who is Agent Marshall?" Sarah asked.

  Baker cleared his throat and said, "Stephanie Marshall is one of my team. She is the agent who was wounded last night. She is in the hospital and expected to make a full recovery. She told us Zeke had foretold the attack but none of the other agents took him seriously. You have to admit that fortune-telling is not something serious, right?"

  "And in this case?" Abe noted.

  "Point taken, sir," Baker replied. "I can also tell you that Stephanie is alive today thanks to your son. He demanded that she wear two bulletproof vests. If she had not done that, she would be dead now too. When we find Zeke, I will thank him personally for that."

  "So, you think the attackers are Mexicans? Why?"

  "I didn't say that, Mr. Thompson. However, Agent Marshall did report hearing the assailants speaking in Spanish just before she was attacked. That could have been a deception, but there's no way to tell at this point," Baker concluded.

  "Chief, I think this might be drug cartel related," Emerson said to his boss. "If this guy can foretell the future, a drug lord would know which trucks would be searched, and which of their enemies are about to attack."

  "Fred, that is a lead that we can trace, but it's way too early to eliminate the other possibilities."

  "Like the Russians or Chinese?" Abe asked.

  "At this point, anything is possible, sir," Baker replied. "I just wanted you both to know that the FBI will use all of its resources to find and free your son. We deeply regret this incident and promise to do whatever we can to resolve this as soon as possible." The two agents stood up. "Excuse us. We don't want to waste any more of your valuable time."

  Emerson pulled Zeke's cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Abe. "Mr. Thompson, this was in a locker at the compound. We also have Zeke's luggage, which I'll bring in right now. I think the phone might be fried. We were checking his contacts and it began to smell funny." He walked back to their vehicle and removed the backpack and roller board and brought them to the Thompsons. "Here you go." The two agents walked down the steps to their car and climbed in, just as a small car parked behind it. A pretty girl with short black hair and bright red lipstick got out, waved at the agents and ascended the steps. The FBI drove away.

  "Can we help you?" Abe said to the young woman.

  "I'm Bea Watson. Where is Zeke?"

  They invited her inside and closed the door.

  Sarah went to the kitchen to make coffee as Abe led Bea into the family room and they sat on the couch. "So, you're the crazy girl that Zeke has been seeing?" Abe asked.

  She laughed out loud, "So that's what he's been saying behind my back! Where is he? I brought him a new phone."

  "How did you
know his phone was broken?" Sarah asked as she brought a tray with coffee and cookies over to the table and set it down. "We just got the phone back from the FBI a minute ago."

  Bea was stunned. "Where is he? Does the FBI still have him in custody?"

  "Those two men who left just as you arrived are from the FBI. They told us their place was attacked last night and that Zeke was kidnapped," Abe reported.

  "Damn it! History is changing again! This was not supposed to happen," she shouted.

  "Please calm down, dear," Sarah urged. "What do you mean about history changing again? Do you really believe you are from the future?"

  Bea opened her purse and removed a book and started furiously paging through it. Abe could see the cover, which read: “A Simple Life,” Volume 1, by Ezekiel Thompson. "Where did that book come from?" he asked.

  "May I sit with you both?" Bea asked. "I swear I'm not dangerous." They split apart and Bea sat between them. She handed the book to Abe who thumbed through it and then passed it to his wife. The cover image was a family portrait taken when Zeke was only ten. "This was the first of his autobiographies. I always keep it with me. As the line of time changes, the content of the books changes too. It's confusing and complicated, I know." She took the book from Sarah and opened it to page 36 and read, "I have never been more frightened than when the cell door blew open and Stephanie was shot in the chest. I knew my turn would be next, but they took me with them. Being the guest of the cartel was a harrowing experience and I heartily recommend that no one attempt to do the same." Bea closed the book and set it on the coffee table. "I know you won't believe it, but until this morning, it was crooked FBI agents who sold Zeke to the North Koreans. I think this change might be for the best."

  "Just tell us Zeke will be okay," Abe begged.

  "Zeke will be okay, I promise that. Remember that he wrote this book, so that proves he will be fine."

  "How is he going to escape? It seems impossible. No one even knows where he is," Sarah cried.

  "My team and I are working to protect him," Bea replied.

  "What about the North Koreans?" Abe asked.

  "That's a great question, Mr. Thompson. Clearly, the cartel was helping the Koreans but decided to double-cross them. That was probably a fatal mistake and we'll do what we can to keep Zeke out of the cross fire."

  "Why is all of this happening to my baby boy, Bea? Why?" Sarah moaned.

  "Do you think the cartel is after the lottery money?" Abe asked.

  "No, I don't. That money is spare change for them. They want his ability to tell the future. He could give every winning number forever, but even that isn't enough. They will try to turn him to be one of them, enabling them to beat their competitors and stay a step ahead of the law."

  "And if he doesn't?"

  "Don't worry about that, Mrs. Thompson," Bea said as she patted her on the knee. "The cartel still has to deal with the North Koreans, the FBI, and a certain man from my time. I guarantee that I will save Zeke."

  "How can you make such a guarantee?" Sarah asked.

  "Because I love him, Sarah. Because I love him."

  §

  Zeke woke with a terrible headache. He sat up in bed and looked around. The room was large with beautiful French-provincial furniture. One open door led to a marble covered bathroom. A wide picture window and a patio door were covered with delicate drapes. He reasoned the other door had to lead into a hallway. He stood, walked over to the door and turned the handle. Much to his surprise, the door was not locked. He pulled it open and saw his room was on a long hallway. To his left, the hall ended in a seating area. At the end of the hall on his right, a broad staircase led downward. He closed the door and walked over to the patio door and pulled it open. He stepped out onto the balcony, which was fifteen feet wide and eight feet deep. It was edged by an ornately decorated black iron railing from which flower baskets hung. There was a small table with four chairs in the middle of the balcony. He sat and surveyed the area. The house sat on a broad green lawn on a hilltop. A long driveway looped around the front of the house and then back. The road disappeared after it entered a dense forest a few hundred yards away. To the left of the house was a large ornamental vegetable garden rimmed by fruit trees. To the right, several smaller buildings sat in the warm sun. As he began to relax, he noticed several men guarding the compound. Each wore a dark gray uniform and carried a high-powered rifle. Now he knew why his door was not locked.

  He heard the door to his room open and turned to see an old woman approaching him with a tray. On the tray sat a coffee pot, two cups, and a tray of pastries. The fourth man from the night before followed her in. He appeared to be wearing pajamas. The old woman smiled and set the tray down, and then quickly moved away so the other man could sit. "Algo mas, jefe?" she said to the man who shook his head. She turned and walked away.

  When the bedroom door was closed, the man said, "Good morning, profeta. How are you today?"

  "My name is Zeke. Why did you kidnap me?"

  "Yes, we know your name, Mr. Thompson. We like to call one another by nicknames here. You are our prophet, so we will call you profeta. Trust me, it's better not to know anyone's real name. You stay alive longer."

  "What's your nickname?"

  "Outside our little family, they call me El Tigre. Here, everyone calls me boss, or jefe," the man said.

  "Why am I here? What do you want?"

  "You're kidding right? They tell me you can see the future," Tigre laughed. "That kind of thing is quite valuable to our business."

  "Where are we? Is this Mexico?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "And you run a drug cartel?"

  Tigre laughed again. "You wound me, profeta. I rescued you from the crooked FBI agents. You probably didn't know it, but Agent Marcus planned to turn you over to the North Koreans one hour after we saved you."

  "What? That's impossible! Why would the FBI do that?"

  "Not the FBI, profeta, just Marcus and Jackson. The Koreans were going to pay each of them a million dollars for you. You'd be on your way to a prison in Pyongyang right now if not for my men and me."

  "Why should I believe you?"

  Tigre grinned and pulled his phone from his pocket. He pressed a button and then said, "Esteban, ven al quarto del profeta—gracias." He disconnected and set the phone down on the table. "You are going to love this," he said as he poured coffee for both of them. "Eat something, profeta. Elena, the old woman who brought this tray makes these pastries every day. They are very good."

  Zeke sipped his coffee and bit a piece of pastry. It was delicious, full of cinnamon and nuts. Then, his mind filled with the image of Stephanie lying on the floor and the dead agents. He certainly did not feel lucky right now to be rescued by a drug lord. He considered the man across the table. Tigre seemed supremely confident and in control of his life, which Zeke admired greatly. He knew Tigre would ask for his help in trafficking drugs and attacking his enemies. He did not know how he would react when asked, or what would happen if he refused.

  The door opened and closed again. A young man with short blonde hair crossed the bedroom and came out onto the balcony. "Aqui estoy, jefe. Good morning, Mr. Thompson, it is good to see you again." It took a fraction of a second for Zeke to realize he had seen this man before. He was the driver of the vehicle that took Zeke from the airport to the FBI ranch. Zeke had assumed he was one of those killed during the assault. Now it made sense why the attack was successful.

  "Sit down, Esteban, and have some coffee," Tigre said. "You recognize him, don't you, profeta?"

  "You were the driver."

  "Zeke, you have to understand what is going on here. I've been with the FBI for ten years. You are probably thinking I'm a mole for El Tigre's business, but that is not true. This man is my brother-in-law. He is married to my sister, Evelyn," Steve explained. "When I learned that Marcus and Jackson were trying to sell you to the Koreans, I tried to report them, but no one would listen. Everyone at the Bureau knows El
Tigre is related to me, so they tend not to pay attention to what I say. They can't fire me because there is nothing linking us together outside of family."

  "Until now," Zeke interjected.

  "Yes, until now, Zeke. I had a choice to make. If I did nothing and the Koreans got you, the balance of power in the world could change. Once the treachery was uncovered, I knew I would be blamed too, even though I tried to report it in advance. I could quit, but that wouldn't do anything for you or the world. In the end, I decided to ask El Tigre for help. I knew that would end my FBI career, but I still think it was worth it."

  "So, jefe, what are Steve and I supposed to do now? Run drugs or shoot your enemies?" Zeke asked.

  Tigre laughed out loud. He laughed so loud and long that tears welled in his eyes. When he could finally catch his breath, he replied, "You are a funny guy, profeta. First of all, I would never do that to Esteban. I have many legitimate businesses here and in the United States. I'll put Esteban in charge of one of them. He'll make a good living, find a wife and have a houseful of beautiful children. Second, I would never do that to you either. That would be like buying the goose that laid golden eggs and then roasting it for dinner!"

  "I didn't mean to offend you, jefe."

  "My skin is a bit thicker than that, profeta. I do think it would be fair to get some reward for saving you from the North Koreans."

  "If that story is true."

  "We are all about to see the proof, profeta. Just because their friends in the FBI are dead doesn't mean the Koreans will give up on you. Once they learn where you are, they will enlist other cartels to come for you. Those thugs will be more than willing since it gives them the chance to kill me and my family." Tigre leaned toward Zeke and continued, "Let's be honest. Esteban and I are adults and can take care of ourselves. If it is my time to die, so be it. However, Zeke, what I want you to do is to keep my children safe. Once the battle is over, you are free to go."

  "I'll do my best."