"I bet," she said dryly, as she raised her eyebrows.
Declan smiled. "Would I lie?"
Constance answered with a quick smile of her own, though it was obvious that she was less than convinced.
"Congressman Mark Alley," the man seated next to Constance said, as he stretched out a hand toward Declan. He was younger than most politicians, with a shock of blonde hair, an angular face and a cordial smile.
Declan gripped his hand firmly and said, "Hi. How are you? Declan McIver."
"Let me take you around the table," Alley said. "This is my wife, Sherry; these two fine people here are George and Sharon Barton; Ambassador Barton's son and daughter-in-law, Dr. Michael Coulson and his wife Elizabeth; and our table mates that have yet to arrive are Senator David Kemiss and his wife Mary Ellen; and Chancellor Jerry Falwell Jr. and his wife Becki."
Upon hearing everyone's names and titles, Declan felt sorely out of place. What did an Irish immigrant and real estate developer say to a table full of people from a much higher social status than his? Hi, I'm a voter?
Michael Coulson glanced nervously at his watch.
"Something wrong, Dr. Coulson?" the congressman asked.
"Chancellor Falwell should be here by now. He's supposed to speak briefly and then introduce Dr. Kafni," Coulson said in a hushed voice as he leaned forward so that only those seated at the table with him could hear.
"Well, perhaps you should call him?" suggested the congressman.
Coulson nodded and stood up. He walked to the right of the stage and disappeared behind the curtain.
Declan looked around as hushed whispers rippled around the darkened room, an obvious feeling of uncertainty washing over the seated guests.
Moments later Coulson reappeared on the stage from behind the curtain, buttoning his suit coat as he walked to the podium. Clearing his throat and adjusting the microphone, he looked out over the gathered crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome,” he said. “At this time Chancellor Falwell had planned to talk with you briefly about the building you are in and its mission here at Liberty University and abroad. However, I have just received word that the Chancellor's mother has fallen and been taken to the hospital, so he will be unable to attend tonight. We'll all certainly be praying that all is well with Mrs. Falwell and I'll keep you updated throughout the evening.
"Now, you'll have to forgive me for the ad-libbed nature of my remarks, but I'm going to attempt to take you briefly around the building and then I will introduce our keynote speaker."
The audience applauded politely and Coulson took a sip of water from a cup underneath the podium.
"Now, as you all know," he began, "you are in the C.H. Barton Center for International Relations and Politics. The center was named after Dr. Charles Henry Barton, who until his passing two years ago was a beloved professor of our undergraduate international relations program here at Liberty. He was also a good friend of Jerry Falwell Sr. and one of the key advisors in the founding of the university in 1972. In addition to his post as professor here, he also served our country as Ambassador to both France and Germany during the Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations respectively."
Coulson took another sip of water and nervously wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
"If you'll indulge me further I'll tell you briefly about this building and its academic mission. The building has obviously been constructed to look like a replica of Thomas Jefferson's Poplar Forest, which of course is located only a few miles from here. As one of America's founders, one of its first foreign diplomats, and because of Jefferson's connection to this area, Chancellor Falwell and the board of directors thought it an appropriate design."
Coulson laughed slightly before continuing, "And if you promise not to tell anyone I told you, I suspect it was also because we here at Liberty, in the spirit of our founder, are just not capable of thinking small when it comes to such projects."
The audience laughed heartily and Declan glanced over at his wife. She seemed to be enjoying herself and that's what he had hoped to accomplish by coming. His idea of a good time certainly wasn't sitting in a crowded room with people he had little or nothing in common with, while wearing a suit, but if he was going to begin opening up to Constance about his past then Abaddon Kafni was a good place to start, and the gala was the perfect opportunity to meet him.
As the laughter died down and the harried conversations of the guests ceased, Coulson continued speaking. "The floor you are currently sitting on will be used as a small library and will house reference materials about countries throughout the world, including maps, photos, written and spoken examples of their native languages, details of any conflicts they have been involved in, and many other items useful to a government student at the graduate level.
"The second floor contains ten state of the art classrooms where those students will be taught, and the third floor, a set of spacious offices where the professors of the program, Dr. Kafni, and I, will reside. That is the conclusion of my remarks. I'd like to thank you for attending and for your gracious support."
The audience applauded briefly and Coulson beamed at them, looking relieved. Clearing his throat once again, he continued.
"Our keynote speaker tonight is a man who needs no introduction. Since moving to America from Israel in the mid-nineties he has been a constant presence on the stage of international politics. His books The Coming Storm, The War We All Must Fight and Lest We Forget have reached the top of bestseller lists all over the world. He regularly appears as a commentator on news programs with such hosts as Bret Baier, Piers Morgan and Sean Hannity. I'd like you all to give a warm welcome and a huge round of applause to my colleague, Dr. Abaddon Kafni!"
The entire room stood and applauded thunderously as Kafni stepped from behind the blue velvet curtain at stage right. He stopped briefly, taking in the audience with an affable wave before striding quickly to the podium where he removed a set of folded papers from his coat pocket and flattened them out in front of him.
"Hi, good evening," he said, with another wave and a shy smile. "It's great to be with you tonight."
The audience continued clapping as Coulson shook hands warmly with Kafni and exited the stage. Kafni stood beaming for a moment as the applause died away and people sat back down.
"Good evening," he said again, in his accented English. "As you may have guessed, I am Dr. Abaddon Kafni."
The audience laughed.
"It is very wonderful to be here at Liberty University tonight. I am so very excited to be joining the faculty here and to have a chance to help shape the minds of tomorrow's political leaders. Students from Liberty have gone on to become some of the brightest and best in their chosen professions, professions that include, but are not limited to, filmmakers, comic book writers, comedians, authors, world famous musicians and, of course, journalists and television reporters, whom I see regularly."
The audience chuckled again.
"In America, we are at an important turning point, the point where we must decide whether we will hold to the ideals of our founding. The ideas of limited government, free market capital—"
The blast was deafening. It boomed from the front of the building and the entire structure shuddered under the pressure. For a split second everyone froze, then a wall of heat followed by a wave of debris washed through the room and the screaming began. Declan leapt from his seat as burning pieces of drywall hit him from behind. Pulling Constance with him, he dived underneath the table as the stage lights went out and plunged the room into darkness. Holding Constance tight beneath him, Declan shielded her with his own body as the table was overturned in the chaos and people fell over them.
As quickly as it had erupted into turmoil, the room suddenly fell silent. His ears affected by the blast, Declan was barely aware of the hushed whispers and moans of the injured. People began calling out for their companions, needing to check if they were safe. As Declan's eyes adjusted to the new light, an eerie r
eddish hue cast by the wall of flames where the front entrance of the Barton Center had been, people began to realize what had happened and terrified screams rang out.
"Are you okay?" he shouted to Constance over the din.
Constance stood up slowly, looking shell-shocked, and nodded. Her eyes went wide as she turned and saw the devastation behind them. Declan pulled her close and shielded her from the sight of the mangled bodies that the force of the blast had thrown forward from their seats further back in the room.
Declan quickly looked her over and saw no signs of injury. "We have to get out of here," he said, turning her around by the shoulders and pushing her towards the stage. As he started to move, a hand grabbed at his ankle.
"Help me," said a shaky voice. "Help me!"
Declan turned to see Mark Alley on the floor at his feet, a deep gash over his right eye bleeding profusely and blinding him. Declan reached down and pulled Alley to his feet, wiping the blood away from his face with the sleeve of his coat. Alley blinked and looked around. Three others arrived beside him, clearly shaken and disoriented. Declan looked at the faces of Michael Coulson and the two wives. Coulson held his left arm and grimaced painfully. The women appeared uninjured.
"We have to get out of here. Guide your husband," Declan said to Sherry Alley, who obeyed and gripped her husband's arm as he struggled to wipe his eyes clear of blood again. Declan gripped Constance by the shoulders once more. Moving around her, he took her hand and began to pull her behind him as he moved towards the stage. Cries for help came from all around, but Declan pushed forward, stepping over tables and chairs. He had to get the few people with him out before he had any chance of saving others. Remembering the emergency exit in the backstage space behind the curtain, he turned left when he reached the stage. The blue velvet curtain was covered in gray concrete dust, but had not fallen.
"Arghhhhh!"
Declan snapped his head to the left as a man came running towards the curtain, his clothing on fire. Pulling his suit coat off hastily, Declan jumped at the man, tackling him to the floor and patting out the flames. Standing upright again and leaving his coat on the injured man, he rejoined his group, which had stopped moving in his absence. He held the curtain open as he guided the three women and two men through. Several people had already made their way to the emergency exit, which stood open. Declan surveyed the chaos. Like crabs in a bucket, people grabbed at each other as they tried to reach the clogged exit, with the result not many people were getting out.
"Get out of the way," Declan said, pushing a man aside who'd grabbed a woman in front of him and was trying to pull her away from the door so he could get through. Keeping hold of his wife's hand, he shoved his way towards the front of the crowd and pushed her out of the door. Then he turned and with his arms opened wide, blocked the exit and yelled, "Whoa, stop!"
A few faces at the front of the melee looked up at him. "Alright," he said. "You, go!" He grabbed a man and pushed him out the door. "Go!" he said to another woman standing nearby and shoved her out. Repeating the process several times, the room slowly began to clear and people moved in an orderly fashion out of the exit and into the small parking lot beyond.
Suddenly the curtain to the stage was ripped aside and Levi Levitt appeared with Abaddon Kafni at his side. Kafni was being held up by his security man and it was clear that his leg had been injured. As Levitt moved forward and neared the door, Declan took hold of Kafni on the other side, helping to hold him up.
Cool night air and drops of rain attacked Declan's face as he moved through the doorway, holding Kafni. The parking lot behind what would be the servants' quarters of the original Poplar Forest was about as long and narrow as the east wing of the building itself. Clearly intended to hold only the cars of the faculty that worked in the building, it was empty of vehicles with the exception of a black GMC Suburban that Declan recognized instantly as the armored SUV Kafni had received from the Israeli government after the first attempt on his life. Blue-suited security personnel appeared from around the side of the building and began helping injured guests as they poured out of the emergency exit.
"Move, move!" Declan yelled to people who were leaning against the side of the SUV. Levitt let go of Kafni and reached into his pocket, unlocking the doors of the vehicle. A man standing near the SUV opened the rear door and held it as Declan helped Kafni inside. Closing the door, he turned to Levitt and said, "Get him someplace safe. Where are you staying? I'll meet you there!"
Levitt nodded and jumped in the driver's seat. "The Briton-Adams mansion on Cottonwood Road," he said, as the SUVs brake lights blazed brightly in the darkness and the vehicle roared to life. "There are three guards. I'll tell them you're coming."
"Aye, I know the place. We're driving a white convertible!" Declan said, as he slammed the door closed.
Slowly Levitt drove forward, sounding the vehicle's electric horn and being careful not to hit any of the people who had escaped the building. Declan watched as the taillights of the SUV faded down a one lane road that ran behind the building towards Liberty Mountain, an uneasy feeling settling over him as he turned to look for his wife.
Constance was seated against the building holding a sobbing woman whose arm had been burned. Sirens filled the air in the distance. "We have to go,” Declan said to his wife. “We need to make sure Kafni is safe."
Constance spoke to the woman gently. "It'll be okay," she said, as tears gathered in her eyes. A man in a navy blue security uniform stepped over and took the woman.
Declan reached out and grabbed Constance's hand, pulling her behind him as he began to walk towards the side of the building. Digging her heels into the soft ground at the corner of the building, she stopped.
"Where are we going?" she demanded. "Why are we leaving?"
Declan couldn't explain it, but something inside him told him that whoever was behind what had just happened wasn't finished yet. Bells ringing through his mind like a sudden thunderstorm told him that Kafni had been the target.
"Because Abe's still in danger!" he said.
Constance relented and struggled to keep up as he moved briskly around the side of the east wing. As they rounded the building and the parking lot came into view, Declan looked to his left. A twisted metal frame engulfed in flames was all that was left of the white Ford Crown Victoria that had been parked near the security canopy at the front steps of the building. His mind raced as they headed towards their car. Having more than just a passing knowledge of bombs, and particularly car bombs, from his years in the IRA, Declan knew that the device had to have been inside the vehicle. This was an inside job.
The low lying clouds were awash with red and blue flashes from the LEDs on the emergency vehicles that were arriving as Declan turned over the ignition in the sports car, the six cylinder engine purring to life. He shifted furiously through the gears and piloted the convertible out of the lot and onto the small state road that ran alongside the Barton Center. As the orange glow from the burning building faded into the distance, Constance put her head in her hands and began to cry. Declan had no idea what to say to her. As the headlights chased away the darkness in front of them, he couldn't escape the feeling that two worlds that had been separated by a decade of peace had just collided violently.
Chapter Seven
6:56 p.m. Eastern Time – Friday
Briton-Adams mansion
Forest, Virginia
Being hired by Sweat Security to operate the gate and man the tiny sunroom that had been erected to temporarily serve as a guard house for the Briton-Adams mansion was the best Chris Evans could hope for after losing his job at the White Rock Intermet Foundry. The last three years had been marked by long periods of unemployment after the plant he'd worked in for twenty-two years had closed; in the current slow economy, a forty-eight-year-old father of three without a college education wasn't exactly at the top of the hiring list.
Putting his feet up on the particle board desk, Chris spread a copy of the Lynchburg News
& Advance open in front of him as he leaned back in the black leather office chair that had been borrowed from the mansion's study. The chair creaked under his two hundred and fifty pound frame. Working a toothpick through his teeth with his tongue, he looked over the inside front page of the paper. A full page spread with pictures of the newly completed construction at Liberty University and the guests expected to attend that night's gala unveiling kept his attention for a moment before he moved on to the sports page.
His experience as an MP with the Marine Corp Reserve and his lack of a criminal record meant he'd met the base qualifications for the job and had been hired as part of the three man team that was providing the security for the mansion while Abaddon Kafni was staying at the property.
The Briton-Adams mansion was a three story brick plantation house that had been constructed in the late nineteen-thirties by a wealthy industrialist named Morgan Adams on a high knoll two hundred yards off Cottontown Road in the northeastern part of Bedford County, Virginia. After his death, the house had been sold to pay off his debts and had been bought by the Briton family, who owned it presently.
The Britons were a family from the British West Indies who had played a key role in the development of the area and had owned a large portion of the land that now made up the neighborhoods surrounding their home. As wealthy developers, they had helped in the founding of Liberty University and continued to donate large sums to its projects. Since they spent much of their time traveling, they'd offered their home to the university's latest lightning rod professor, Abaddon Kafni, while he took up his new post and set about finding a permanent residence for his family in the area.
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