“I already did. They are swamped. Can’t be here for three weeks.”
“Three weeks!?” Neil replied in surprise. “You’re kidding.”
“No honey. I wish I was.” She looked around the room again and pulled the blanket up. “Yuck again. A ball of black widow spiders! I tell you, I’m not going down to the basement until the exterminators come.”
“Have you seen any spiders?”
“No. But I haven’t been looking until the past couple days.”
Brighton thought. “OK,” he said. “Stay out of the basement. And keep your eyes peeled anytime you’re outside or in the garage. This is an old house; there are too many dark places for them to hide. And be careful in the garden. Check your shoes and gloves. I’ll spray the house and yard first thing when I get back. That will get us through until the exterminators come.”
Sara nodded. “OK. I’ll be careful. But the first time I see a ball of black spiders rolling toward me, you’ll find me somewhere in Maine where the winters are very cold.”
Brighton smiled and reached down to kiss her cheek. “It’s a really nasty thought, isn’t it? It would give anyone the creeps.”
He checked his watch. He had a day packed with pre-departure meetings. His military executive jet was scheduled to take off from Andrews Air Force Base a little after 4 p.m. He had a pile of work he would complete as they crossed the Atlantic Ocean, then they would stop and refuel in Germany before heading to Saudi Arabia where he would arrive early the next evening. “Got to go, babe,” he said as he stood from the bed.
“All right, General Brighton. Have a good trip, SIR!” she teased as she pretended to salute.
Brighton looked through the open doorway to the twin’s room down the hall. “Where are the boys?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Intramural football practice, I think. But they both told me to give you a goodbye kiss for them.”
“Cool. I like it when you kiss me. No offense intended to the guys.”
Sara smiled and stood up, put her arms around his neck and kissed his forehead wetly. “That’s for Luke,” she said then kissed his right cheek. “And this one’s for Ammon.”
Brighton grinned in pleasure. Puckering his lips, he closed his eyes. “And from you?” he asked expectantly.
Sara looked at his closed eyes then took his hand and shook it. “That’s from me,” she said.
He smiled and pushed her back, making her fall on the bed. “I don’t think so,” he laughed as he tickled her bare feet.
She giggled then sat up and kissed him once goodbye. Before she let him go, she looked at him for a long time, holding his face with her hands as she stared into his eyes. She looked at him like this every time he went away and had done so since his first combat deployment during the Persian Gulf War.
“Couple days, right?” she confirmed.
“Five days. Three in Saudi Arabia, a couple days enroute."
“I always miss you.”
“You know I’ll miss you, too.”
She took a step back and let her arms fall to her side. “You’re going to see Crown Prince Saud bin Faysal?” she asked.
“Yes, we’re going to get together after my other meetings.”
“Where are you meeting?”
“At one of his homes in Riyadh.”
Sara looked worried. She knew something was up. The crown prince didn’t call in the middle of the night just to set up a time to get together for a chat. She studied her husband. “I think he’s in trouble,” she said.
“The entire freaking kingdom’s in trouble! Everyone’s in trouble. It’s the times that we live in.”
“Yes, I understand that. But he is particularly vulnerable. And he is a good friend.”
Brighton nodded quietly as he wondered if Prince Saud was still a friend. Things changed quickly within the kingdom and it had been so long since they had talked, and in a world of constant turmoil, he had learned to never assume anything. Allegiance could be as shifting as a desert wind.
Sara chewed on her lip. She was more believing, more willing to keep her trust in old friends. “Tell Prince Saud I send my regards. Tell him I love him. Tell him to be strong.”
Brighton only nodded then reached for his black bag. Lifting the strap over his shoulder, he turned to face her again. “Sam’s in Germany, you know. His unit has two week’s recuperation time.”
“Yes. I’m so relieved to have him out of Afghanistan for a while!” she answered.
“How was he when you talked to him the other night?”
“We only talked a few minutes but he sounded pretty good. He sounded happy. But he didn’t say much. He was in a hurry and didn’t have much time to talk.” She looked at Neil hopefully. “Maybe you could see him while you are over there?” she said.
Brighton shook his head. “Don’t think so,” he answered. “Very tight schedule.”
“He’s staying not far from Ramstein.” Her voice was hopeful, almost pleading.
Brighton put his bags down and looked at her. “I’m only in Germany for a few minutes. I won’t even get off the airplane except to stretch my legs.”
“But it’s your flight. You’re the boss. They will do what you want to.”
“Yes, Sara, I understand that, but I have meetings scheduled every minute I’m gone. We haven’t given ourselves any dead time; it’s over and back, sleeping on the aircraft, eating sandwiches for lunch. I wish I could see him, but I just won’t have any time. Next trip, I promise. I will schedule a few days.”
“But he won’t be Germany. He’ll be back in Afghanistan, or Pakistan, or one of those other Ickstans by then. This is your only chance to see him. Don’t you even have a few hours?”
Brighton hesitated, then shrugged. Truth was, he had already been thinking of it, trying to figure out a way. “I’ll try,” he answered meekly.
But Sara knew that he probably wouldn’t have time. Her husband’s schedule was completely outside of his control. He was at the mercy of his superiors and his staff.
She walked to him and put her hands around his neck again. “Will you please try? If you have even a moment, will you please try to see him? He needs you. He needs us. Will you please try to see him if you can?”
Brighton took her hands. “I promise,” he said.
Sara dropped her eyes to the floor. “I really miss him,” she muttered. “I wish I understood. I really just wish I understood what he was thinking.”
“He’s happy. He’s doing his duty. God, duty, and honor. We can be proud.”
“We are proud! But that’s not the point! Why has he withdrawn from us? Why has he made it so hard?”
Brighton shook his head. He had asked the same questions at least a thousand times.
The two stood in silence a moment. “Got to go,” he finally said, not eager to talk about Sam anymore. Turning, he walked toward the bedroom door.
“Hey Neil,” Sara called to him and he turned around. “Can I remind you of something, babe?” He waited patiently. “What is the purpose of life?” she asked him.
The question took him completely by surprise and he paused a long moment as he thought. “I don’t know, hon. To do some good, I guess. To do the best we can.”
“That’s right, babe, that’s right. That’s what this is all about; to do a little good. To take care of our families. Our responsibilities. To do the best we can. That’s all you can do, Neil. But if you do that, it’s enough. You might not be able to save the world, though sometimes you think that you can. There are things you can do, and lessons I suppose that you must learn, but you might not be able to stop what is coming, not like you hope to anyway. You might not save our country, they have to save themselves. Sometimes you forget that. And you carry more of the burden than I think you should.
“So just remember why we’re here. Anything you do more than that is gravy. Try not to sweat things too much. It isn’t healthy, general, and you’re getting too old.”
Brighton stared at her,
mouthed “I love you,” then smiled and walked out the door.
FIFTEEN
Lucifer stood in the center of Rassa’s village square, flanked by two of his servants. Balaam stood close, but the small one kept back. His name was Roth. He was a bent and broken spirit who had lost his lust for the fight and spent most his time now sulking about the things he had lost while toying with some of the mortals who had already fallen to their side. Roth had reached a point where he didn’t much care if he destroyed any more souls, for he was more interested in finding ways to pass the eternities of time, seeking any pastime that would provide a moment’s respite from the torturous knowledge that his misery would never end.
The black enternity loomed forever before him. This was it. Forever. This was all he would have. This misery, this darkness, it was all he would ever know. Endless eternity. His misery would never end.
But . . . maybe, just maybe, if he could get in the good graces of his master . . . if he could climb into the inner circle, then he could grab a hold of real power.
Turning, he eyed the lean one they called Balaam, his face growing cold. If he had to destroy him in order to scratch his way into the inner circle then that was what he’d do.
Lucifer watched Roth out of the corner of his eye, knowing what he was thinking. He smiled at the jealousy between his servants, one of his most useful tools. And though he knew that Roth was dumb and lazy—he’d be used then thrown away—if he could use him to frighten Balaam, then that was a useful thing to do.
The truth was Lucifer hated most of his followers. But he hated Roth more than most. He considered him lazy and childish, a spirit who couldn’t be counted on, a spirit who was more interested in his own diversions than bringing souls to his side. Yet Lucifer had made a decision not to deal with his slothful servants now. One day, when it was over, when the final battle was through, he would deal with Roth and the others that were as lazy as he. When that day came, he would punish them for their lack of service, for if there was one thing Lucifer hated, it was disloyalty. Lucifer smiled at the thought. When the time came, Roth would suffer in ways he had never even dreamed about.
But the time was not yet. Lucifer had more important work to do. He would have all of eternity to deal with lazy servants like Roth.
Lucifer turned back to Balaam. Like Roth, Balaam also had grown pale and thin, with bony fingers, thin arms and a long, slender neck. His face shimmered with darkness, like the reflection of water on a moonlit night, leaving a pale shadow that almost made him look dead. And there was tension and anxiety in the movements of his head, as if he was always hungry, always looking for something, starving for the taste of joy, love or success, but forever feeling famished. Like all of the dark servants, Balaam could never be satisfied.
Lucifer turned away from his servants to study the village around him. He remembered it well, for he had been here many times, going back to the days when men were just emerging from their primitive shells. Many times he had caused suffering in this place. Indeed, he had fond memories of this very square.
The market was crowded with shoppers. Children played in the streets, women walked by in dark scarves, only their eyes or faces exposed. On the corner, a group of young men talked while they tossed a small leather sack between them, kicking it expertly with their feet. Throughout the market, men haggled over prices, their voices rising until the deal was done. Lucifer turned in a slow circle, taking in the ancient market, the mud and brick shops with their small apartments above, the dirty brick streets and tangled electrical wires strung overhead. He noticed the tattered banners that denounced the Great Satan, the old movie posters, and the corner latrines that were holes in the ground. Everything was an earthy brown; the dirt, the cobblestones, the houses and shops. To his back, the great mountain rose over the village. The peaks were still capped with snow, but the hills that sloped up to the rock were covered in deep grass. He turned away, preferring to look at the shabby, manmade structures than the work of his Enemy’s hand.
Balaam stood in silence beside him. Roth remained in the background, his lower lip trembling, his eyes wide in fear. Like all the dark angels, he was used to being sad and alone, for they hated each other as much as they hated themselves, and most preferred to be apart.
He cursed Lucifer’s name. Lucifer noticed and glared at him, then took a quick step toward Balaam. “Where is she?” he demanded.
Balaam pointed toward a gentle hill on the south end of the village. A row of small houses lined the road along the top of the hill. “She lives there, with her father.”
“And her mother?” Lucifer wondered.
“She died shortly after her birth.”
Lucifer sneered. “So she doesn’t have a mother. Well isn’t that sad?” His face broke into a sharp grin, his lips curling upward, exposing his teeth. “That should make your task a bit easier, won’t it, Roth?”
Roth looked away. So far it hadn’t, but he didn’t reply.
Lucifer took in the dirty village, enjoying the sight of the rundown shacks and dirty streets. He knew some of the things that went on here, behind these dusty doors and tattered walls. He knew there were few other places where the people were so hopeless, so robbed of free will. Was there evidence of freedom in anything around him? Evidence of any liberty or self-government at all? No, everywhere he looked, it was dark and brown and ugly and he couldn’t help but smile.
What man built, he brought down! What they created, he destroyed! If there was anything beautiful, he defiled it. If there was anything innocent, he despoiled. If man were free, he brought bondage; where there was love, he brought lies. If he could not have happiness, then neither would man have it. This was the thing that drove him to work so hard.
He thought again of the girl. “She lives on the hill?” he repeated with a snarl.
“Yes, Master Mayhem.”
“And what do they call her?”
“Azadeh Ishbel.”
Lucifer looked surprised and then swore, shaking his head in disgust. “You don’t see it, do you Balaam? You don’t see it either, do you Roth? Both of you are so stupid that you don’t understand the significance of her name!”
Balaam stared blankly, the knot in his gut growing tight.
“Ishbel is the Greek variation of Elizabeth,” Lucifer announced with revulsion. “Her name stands for freedom! That hardly seems like a coincidence! Was her father inspired? Did he hear the whispers from the Enemy?”
Balaam shook his head, for he had not realized the significance of her name, and though he considered himself a master of every language, able to tempt and deceive with just the right word or phrase, the ancient meaning of her name had completely escaped him. He looked down, embarrassed and was reminded once again why Lucifer would always be the master. Bowing toward the fallen Son of the Morning, he said, “Master, why her father selected her name, I could not say with any authority. I have only recently found her. I would have to spend some time . . . .”
Lucifer growled, a familiar animal sound from his throat. “But it doesn’t matter, does it Balaam? In a short time, she will be dead.”
Balaam only nodded.
“Now where is the mortal that you brought me here to see?”
Balaam nodded toward a man who sat on the curb of the street. He was tall and lanky, all arms and legs, with a rough face, long nose and a wild, bushy beard. His hair rolled in greasy locks over his eyes, and he leered at the passing women from underneath the dark curls. He sat on a stool beside a small cart of poorly packaged cigarettes. A handwritten sign advertised his wares, “Cigarettes! Tobacco! Rolling Paper!” A small metal box sat at his feet, and every few minutes he would open it up and count the money, as if some unseen hand might have stolen from him. Three boys ran up and one extracted an orange from under his dark shirt. The man took the orange, shook his head in disgust, then reached to his rack and tossed them three cigarettes, which the boys took and ran.
Lucifer studied the stranger, thinking back, knowi
ng he had seen him before, but in this place or somewhere else, he could not remember. Balaam stepped toward Lucifer and kept his voice low. “His name is Abd al Rahman al Than,” he said.
“I don’t care who he is! I don’t care about his name! Just tell me the things I need to know!”
Balaam nodded eagerly, then jerked his head toward the evil spirit Roth. “He talks to him. He can get into his mind.”
Lucifer turned toward Roth, who kept his eyes low, then nodded toward the mortal. “I’m not impressed,” he said as he jerked a hand toward the man. “He is stupid. He is lazy. He’s just like you, Roth! What can he offer us? What influence can he have?”
Balaam shot a cold glare to Roth. “Be silent!” he seemed to scream with his eyes. Roth nodded and stepped back into the shadows.
“The mortal will listen to Roth,” Balaam explained. “He listens for his voice. He even tries to make contact with him.”
Lucifer kept his eyes on Roth. “He will listen to you?” he demanded.
Roth glanced toward Balaam, then nodded eagerly. Lucifer moved toward the trembling devil and drew up to his full height. He stood majestic, even beautiful, his black hair falling to his shoulders, his face dark and alive. Roth fell to his knees at Lucifer’s splendor. Balaam cringed, but just a little, for he knew Lucifer could hide his ugliness for only a short time.
“So tell me, Roth,” Lucifer mocked. “What have you ever convinced this man to do?”
“Master,” Roth stammered in reply, “I am but a humble servant. I don’t claim to have the powers that you do.”
“Yes, of course. But what have you done? Quickly now, Roth, and don’t waste my time?”
The fallen angel fell back, unable to respond and Balaam moved forward, standing at Lucifer’s side. “May I speak for him?” he begged. Satan sneered at Roth, then turned toward the senior servant. “The mortal is not particularly bright,” Balaam began. “I think we all can see that. But we don’t need a smart one for what we want him to do. As I said, Master Mayhem, he will listen to Roth. They have a special relationship, one that is unique. The mortal is deviant. He has a dark place in his heart for any kind of pain. He loves to inflict it. Animals. Small children. He has done many things. Brutal things. Knives, rape and torture. And the society that he lives in allows it, for the fear he instills in his victims keeps them quiet. And this mortal knows Roth’s voice. We can use Roth to get him, then turn him over to you to do what you may!”
Wrath & Righteousnes Episodes 01 to 05 Page 11
