Solomon's Arrow

by J. Dalton Jennings

  Removing the PID from his shirt pocket, Richard slid it into the armrest console slot. The limo’s mechanical voice was replaced by a pleasantly sultry, female one, which the three knew by heart.

  “Good morning, Richard; good morning, Erin; good morning, David.”

  “Good morning, Miri,” they all said in unison.

  “This vehicle’s program has informed me that your destination is Sky Harbor International Airport, in Phoenix, Arizona. Are you ready to proceed?”

  Erin, having just finished buckling David’s seat belt, leaned back into her faux suede seat and quickly buckled herself in. “That we are, Miri, that we are.”

  The teardrop-shaped electric limousine pulled away from the curb, hummed by the carefully manicured shrubbery that spelled Biltmore, and was soon merging with traffic on the Piestewa Freeway headed south toward the airport.

  “Miri, please provide us with a synopsis of the morning news,” Erin said.

  The device took on a more serious tone. “President Cranston has announced that she will be speaking at the memorial for the slain officers who died protecting her in last week’s foiled assassination attempt…. Congress is still fighting over the budget impasse…. Climatologists have released their yearly study, which states that the world’s oceans have risen another nine inches….” David’s ears perked up. “The Department of Transportation has determined that last month’s automobile accident in Maine, which resulted in two deaths, was the result of mechanical failure and not a breakdown of the vehicle’s GPS system. Including those two deaths, that brings the total this year in the United States to seven fatalities. At this rate, the present year will exceed last year’s total of fifteen by a significant margin—”

  “Thank you, Miri,” Richard cut in. “I think that will be enough news for now.”

  “As you wish, Richard. Please let me know if you need anything else.”

  Before he could respond, David spoke up. “Papa, I learned that people once drove cars with their hands, not GPS. Ms. Fletcher said that thousands of people died each year. That must have been really scary.”

  “I’m sure it was, son.” Leaning forward, he gave the boy’s knee a comforting pat. “You don’t need to worry about us … automobile accidents are rare these days. Miri, open my play list. Start with ‘Moonlight Sonata’ and then shuffle.”

  “Yes, Richard.”

  The soothing strains of Beethoven’s classic piano number began to waft through the vehicle’s interior. David rolled his eyes, groaned, and reached for his portable game controller. Erin took hold of Richard’s hand and squeezed; she knew the significance of the song. It had been playing when they first met, and from that day forward he made a point to play it whenever a special occasion arose. This was just such an occasion.

  Lighthearted, Richard gazed out the side window at the gorgeous mountains looming in the distance and felt the music wash through his soul.

  •

  THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER

  The terrified, middle-aged woman sat tied to a wooden chair, staring into a pair of cruel, blue eyes framed by a heavy brow. She wanted to scream, but the rag stuffed in her mouth made that impossible. She wanted to struggle against her bindings but knew that would result in a severe beating, as evidenced by her black, puffy eyes and bruised ribs. Her kidnapper loomed over her, daring her to make a sound as he spoke into his PID.

  “Are you positive he’s on board?” the kidnapper asked, pausing for the answer. “Good, you know what to do … yes, she’s fine…. You’re in no position to make demands, Reverend,” he snarled. “Very well … I’ll put her on speaker.”

  The whip-thin kidnapper looked over toward the woman and pressed the mute button on his PID. “I’m gonna remove your gag so you can speak to your husband. If you let on that you’ve been mistreated, I’ll kill you … and then, I’ll hunt down and do the same thing to your children. Do you understand?”

  The woman nodded vigorously.

  After removing the soiled gag from the woman’s mouth, the kidnapper pressed the talk button on his PID and held the device up to the side of her head. Her eyes were filled with tears.

  “You may speak with your wife.”

  “Winifred … Winifred … are you all right?”

  “Y–yes, dearest.”

  “Thank God! How are you? Have they been treating you well?”

  She wanted to scream the truth. She wanted to shout through the phone. They’ve hurt me! Don’t give in to their demands! She wanted the courage to defy this man, but the faces of her children floated in her mind, overriding all other concerns.

  The kidnapper made a circular motion with his hand, telling her to hurry up and speak.

  “What? Oh, yes … I’m, I’m fine, dear. They’ve been treating me well. I’ve had plenty to eat and a soft bed to sleep on. They’ve assured me that I’ll be taken home when this is over. The funny thing is—I believe them. You know how good I am at judging people.”

  “Hmm … yes …” Reverend Thurgood Creswell’s voice quavered momentarily. “When you see the kids next, send them my love.”

  “You can plan on it. God loves you, Goodie.”

  “I love you, Winnie.”

  The kidnapper held the PID up to his ear. “Just remember, don’t deviate from the plan. When this is over, you’ll be the man who destroyed the biggest threat to God’s plan the world has ever known. May the Lord bless your sacrifice and welcome you into his loving embrace.”

  Ending the call, he placed the PID on the nearby nightstand, reached behind his back, and removed a 9mm handgun from his waistband. Leveling the firearm, he pulled the trigger and scattered Winifred Creswell’s brains across her bedroom wall.

  •

  “In the next couple of days, we need to go out and show those clowns in Pacifica how real men party,” chuckled Russell Takahashi. Standing in the aisle of their employer’s private space-plane, he smiled down at Richard Allison, knowing full well his friend’s answer: Married men seldom partied with single men. Their wives simply wouldn’t allow it.

  With a twinkle in his eye, Richard glanced at Erin hoping she would give him the go-ahead. Her expression was neutral, which was not a good sign. She liked Russell well enough, but his reputation as a Lothario had been a bone of contention between them while they were dating and after the wedding. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her husband; it was Russell with whom she had the problem. A whiff of infidelity, however false, would place a cloud over Richard’s career that could result in lasting consequences. Infidelity was punishable by court-martial and could result in the accused landing in the brig. No … Erin would have none of the infamous Russ ’n Rich party action during their time in Pacifica.

  “I’m not sure I’ll have much free time, Russ … but we’ll see,” Richard said.

  A look of mock disappointment crossed Russell’s face. “I guess the only time we’ll have to catch up on old times will be during lunch, at the cafeteria, over a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee … not pretzels and beer at a strip club.”

  Richard’s eyebrows shot up. Pursing his lips in anger, he cut his eyes toward David, who was seated between him and Erin. The youngster was studying Russell closely, a look of confusion on his angelic face. Beside him, Erin looked anything but angelic. She was so infuriated that her face had turned beet red, causing Richard to think the devil himself might make an appearance.

  “I’m only kidding, Erin,” Russell said, trying to backtrack. “You don’t have to worry—”

  “Excuse me, sir.” A sultry voice, attached to a young, female flight attendant, interrupted Russell’s train of thought. With a smile, he turned sideways to let her pass, but she instead leaned forward to address Richard. “Forgive my intrusion, but according to our records, you’re Naval Commander Richard Allison, correct?”

  “Yes … how may I help you, miss?”

  “The pilot was wondering if you would like to join her in the cockpit. She said to tell you, ‘If he�
�s not too busy twiddling his thumbs, he can sit in the jump seat during takeoff.’”

  A befuddled expression momentarily crossed Richard’s face, quickly followed by a dawning realization. “Is Captain Janice Ball the pilot?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Richard’s face fairly glowed with joy. He turned toward Erin, but before he could voice the question, she was telling him, “Go ahead, we’ll be fine. Just remember to give Janice my love while you’re there.”

  As he rose to his feet, a small voice asked, “Can I go too, Papa?”

  Richard gazed down into his son’s expectant face and felt a pang of guilt. “Not this time, buddy. It’ll be cramped during takeoff, and the pilot needs to pay attention to the controls, not to curious little boys. Besides, you don’t want your mother to be alone back here, do you?”

  “No, Papa.”

  Richard gave David’s curly mop of hair a quick tussle as he turned to leave.

  “Hey, Rich. Who’s Janice Ball?”

  By the keen look on Russell’s face, Richard knew his friend was jealous over not being invited to the cockpit. After all, he was the world-famous pilot who’d been interviewed by nearly every talk show host on HV. “She was my wingman from ’56 to ’58, after you were reassigned.”

  “Hmm …” one eyebrow rose. “Is she pretty?”

  “I suppose so. But more importantly, she’s very married.”

  Normally that answer would’ve dissuaded most men, but Richard couldn’t tell if Russell’s shrug meant he understood Janice to be off-limits or that her being married didn’t matter to him.

  Richard stepped into the aisle, and the flight attendant motioned him forward, while at the same time telling Russell, “Sir, you need to return to your seat. Takeoff is in two minutes.”

  “Is it okay if I sit here, instead?”

  The attendant looked to Richard, “I don’t mind, as long as my wife doesn’t.”

  Erin’s only sign of disappointment (if one looked close enough) was the tight smile on her face. “He’s more than welcome. In fact, he can educate David in the ways of men … while you’re hanging out with Janice.”

  His wife’s needling reply was offset by the twinkle in her eye. Richard chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll see the three of you in thirty minutes … when we land in Pacifica.”

  Erin studied Russell as he watched Richard depart. A trace of envy clouded his expression. “Well, are you just going to stand there admiring the view, or are you going to take a seat?”

  Her comment elicited a sound from Russell that landed somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Your tongue is as sharp as ever, Erin,” he said, taking the now empty seat. “So, when are you going to come to your senses and see that I’m the better man for you?”

  “Not anytime soon. I suppose I still enjoy being crazy … in love.”

  Russell chuckled. “From the look of things, crazy suits you.” He was about to say something else when he glanced down at David, who was seated between them. The boy’s eyes were knit in a fierce glare. “What’s up with you, little man?”

  With a pout, David crossed his arms, looked away, and sank in his seat.

  Reaching over, Erin gave David’s leg a comforting pat. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Your Uncle Russell and I are only teasing each other. That’s what grownups do.”

  “He’s not my uncle.”

  The boy’s surly tone prompted Russell to burst out laughing. His amusement only served to make David’s mood grow darker by the second.

  “Richard has quite the champion here, Erin.” A loud, dramatic sigh escaped Russell’s lips. “I suppose I should return to my actual seat before your son decides to blacken my eye.”

  “I wouldn’t worry so much about David as I would your girlfriend.”

  Russell’s head whipped back toward the front of the plane. Standing five rows away in the middle of the aisle, hands on hips, was a beautiful, statuesque blonde who could’ve easily passed for one of Erin’s cousins. She did not look pleased.

  A female voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Please fasten your seat belts. The plane will be taking off in one minute. I’ve been instructed to inform you that the noon briefing with Dr. Solomon Chavez has been postponed. He was called away unexpectedly and will be taking a later shuttle. The meeting is rescheduled for 10:30 tomorrow morning. I hope your stay in the great city of Phoenix, Arizona, was a pleasant one. Please adhere to the safety protocol provided by the flight attendant.”

  “I guess that’s my cue,” Russell said, quickly rising to his feet. “Have a nice flight, Erin.”

  As he strode rapidly up the aisle toward his seat, an irritated flight attendant shouted, “Sir, you cannot be moving around! Take your seat, now!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Russell grumbled. Waving dismissively, he plopped down beside his girlfriend and hastily fumbled with his seat belt.

  Excited chatter could be heard throughout the aircraft. Eighty-nine passengers were onboard: ten reporters, thirty-two new CIMRAD employees, Richard and his family, Russell Takahashi, the elderly gentleman seated across the aisle from Erin and David (who’d arrived the day before), and other invited guests who would be given a personal tour by Dr. Solomon Chavez upon their arrival in Pacifica.

  After checking to make sure David’s seat belt was secure, Erin leaned forward to study the elderly gentleman seated across the aisle. He looked very familiar … and extremely nervous.

  “Is this your first time flying, sir?” she asked.

  “What … um, no, I, ah, I’ve flown many times.” Looking back down, he stared at the PID he’d been speaking into less than two minutes earlier. His bottom lip was quivering.

  “You look very familiar,” Erin continued. She felt the space-plane begin to move. An uneasy feeling began to grow in the pit of her stomach. “Have we met before?”

  Tearing his gaze from the now silent PID, the man tucked the device into the breast pocket of his expensive Italian suit and faced Erin. His eyes dropped immediately to David, whose face glowed with childlike anticipation. The plane was now moving faster. The elderly man’s expression was sad, almost pained, as he spoke, his gaze fixed on David. “No, I don’t believe we’ve ever met before, Madame. You probably recognize me from the news or from my many appearances on HV. My name is Reverend Thurgood Creswell.”

  •

  Richard was speaking as he strapped himself into the jump seat. “So, how’ve you been, Jan? I hear that CIMRAD pays its pilots a fortune to fly Chavez to Bangkok or Washington or wherever else he wants to go.”

  Captain Janice Ball kept one eye on the controls as she spoke. The plane was moving down the runway at a fast clip. “I’ll just say this, Rich. It’s been a while since potted meat sandwiches were on my plate.”

  Richard’s shoulders shook with amusement at the memory of barely having enough time to eat a proper meal, what with flight training and missions and saving their money for a rainy day. Potted meat sandwiches had been the go-to food when a quick meal was called for—plus, it was cheap. The trick to scarfing them down day after day was ignoring the ingredients.

  “How long will you be in Pacifica?” he asked, watching how deftly she handled the controls.

  “A few days, maybe more … by the way, we’re livin’ there now. I’ll talk to Patrick … the four of us oughta get together while I’m on standby.”

  “Sounds great,” replied Richard. As the plane left the runway, he was pressed into his seat, his blood pounding with the familiar thrill of flight. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn it was climbing vertically; the angle of ascent was so steep. Despite his mounting excitement, he felt a calm satisfaction wash over him, as his former wingman’s skills were top-notch.

  “How’re Erin and David?” Janice asked, her West Texas twang becoming more pronounced.

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  He experienced a momentary pang of guilt wondering if David had been frightened durin
g take-off. Ha! The youngster was probably thrilled to death. Erin would be the one gripping her seat so tightly her manicured nails would threaten to snap off.

  The plane was accelerating rapidly through the upper stratosphere.

  “Yeehaw!”

  “Ride’m cowgirl!”

  As the two burst out laughing, the co-pilot shook his head and refocused his attention on the control panel.

  •

  With the news that Chavez was not onboard the flight, Reverend Thurgood Creswell’s heart sank. As panic set in, he nearly stood up and shouted, “Let me off this plane!” but fear held him fast. His wife’s captors would not take kindly to him revealing their plan. This had been their best opportunity to take out “God’s enemy,” and now it was ruined. All that remained was for him to face the consequences in stoic silence.

  It won’t be long now, he thought, scratching absently at the barely healed five-inch scar running beneath his rib cage across the left side of his abdomen. The implanted explosive device would be triggered when the suborbital space-plane reached 110 miles above the Earth and would then detonate after the plane began its descent and reached 90 miles.

  The G-forces were strong, but they would soon reach the upper atmosphere and it would ease off for a bit. His life—and those aboard the plane—would be over in a matter of minutes. He ached at the thought. The lovely young boy seated across the aisle didn’t deserve this fate. Few onboard did. Unfortunately, the only individual who did deserve to die had skipped out.

  Damn that Solomon Chavez! He is the enemy of God’s plan, just as the terrorists claimed!

  Though Creswell was not an active member of the Christian Republican Army, he was sympathetic to their cause. He understood and approved of their agenda, though he disagreed with their methods (for the most part). The CRA was a brutal organization that bombed government buildings, beheaded abortion doctors, was implicated in assassination attempts on federal judges and the president herself, among other, more generalized acts of terrorism.