by Alton Gansky
“Tell me what happened,” General Ben McLain barked.
“Sir, I’ve told you all I know.”
McLain turned and cast a blizzard cold glance at the uniformed man who stood three steps away. Captain Russell Taylor, General McLain’s head of security, withered before it. “I want to hear it again.”
“Yes, sir.” Taylor shifted his weight as he stood behind one of the two leather visitor chairs stationed in front of McLain’s wide oak desk. The general was not seated; therefore, Taylor would have to stand with him. The two were in the general’s office two floors above the research area, but still eighty feet below the surface. The room was bathed in the pale glow of fluorescent lights. Other than the fact that the office had no windows, it looked like every other Army office Taylor had seen. The desk that dominated the center of the space was made of metal painted gray. No pictures hung on the wood paneled walls. The designers had made an effort to make the base commander’s office look like and be as comfortable as a cozy den in a nice home. They had failed.
“At 0320 this morning, Dr. Colin Rehnquist exited Lab 15. Security records show he entered one hour and twenty-two minutes prior to his leaving. As the general knows, access to the lab requires both a smart card and pass code. The security computer notes every time the door is opened.”
“Does Rehnquist normally work that early in the morning?”
“It’s not his custom, but it’s not unusual. The log of his activities shows he has a history of working odd hours.” The scientists and technicians that worked at the underground base often kept unusual hours. Most served several months at a time, never going to the surface. Without the rising and setting sun to reinforce their biological clocks, they, like everyone who worked underground, lost track of time. Day and night melded into one amorphous stream of existence.
“He went in alone?”
“Yes, sir. No one else was in the lab.”
“Any idea what he was doing there?”
Taylor shrugged. “No, sir. I assume he was doing what he always does.” The thought of Rehnquist’s work made fire blaze in his stomach. He felt ill but kept that knowledge to himself.
“So Rehnquist leaves but he doesn’t show up at his quarters.”
“Yes, sir. The computer monitors every door below ground level. If Dr. Rehnquist had returned to his room, there would be a record of it. We made a visual check, just to be certain.” Taylor waited for his superior to respond. When he didn’t, Taylor continued. “We found his badge in the men’s restroom. It was floating in the one of the toilet bowls.”
“A social comment,” General McLain said sourly. “We’ve seen these things before.”
Taylor nodded. There was great stress in what they did. Workers labored underground on projects so secret they were forbidden from talking to anyone about what they did. Such secrecy compounded by constant scrutiny proved too much mental strain for some. Psychological collapse was rare, but not unheard of. Only the bathrooms were devoid of cameras, and many workers had doubts that even those areas were free of surveillance. As head of security, Taylor knew they were right to have their doubts. Workers, from maintenance staff to senior scientists, all wore badges that not only identified them by name and had a identification picture, but also were integrated with a magnetic chip that could be located anywhere in the facility.
“Do you think he’s outside the compound?”
“I doubt it, sir.”
“Were any elevators used after 0320?”
Taylor hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes, sir. Supplies were being shuttled down from the surface. The elevators were used a number of times, but he couldn’t have made egress through the them.”
“Are you certain?” McLain turned and stared hard, his dark eyes looked like obsidian.
“Of course, sir. Our security record is impeccable. Dr. Rehnquist could not have been on the elevator. We have analyzed the video recordings made from 0300 on. If Rehnquist got on one of the elevators, he did so wearing someone else’s face. Besides, the security system would have been alerted had an individual without a magnetic ID card got on the elevator. No one gets in or out without a badge.”
“It would be a mistake to underestimate Rehnquist,” McLain finally took a seat in his desk chair. “He is a brilliant man and brilliant men are both crafty and unstable. Considering what he’s been working on, he has a right to be a little unhinged.”
“Yes, sir,” Taylor agreed.
“Very well, Captain,” McLain said rubbing his eyes. “I’ve wasted enough of your time. Bring me Rehnquist and bring him to me soon. In the meantime, I’m going to assume the worst. If he’s made it outside and starts talking, the sky could start falling, and if it does, it’s going to fall on us. Do you understand?”
“I do, sir.”
“The Pentagon is sending help our way,” McLain said. “They should be here in the next couple of hours. Please let your people know that three outsiders will be arriving.” Taylor pushed a file folder across his desk and Taylor took it. “Their identification is in there. See they get what they need and that their first stop is here in my office. I want you at the meeting.”
“Sir, I’m sure we can handle this without outside help.”
“They’re not here to help you find Rehnquist. They’re here to deal with the fallout.”
“Again, sir. I don’t think we need any help—”
McLain cut Taylor off with a raised hand. “I didn’t ask for the help, Captain. I was told I would be getting it. Even generals have to take orders. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring me, Rehnquist.”
Colin Rehnquist sat in dismal darkness, yet the blackness of the telephone switching room seemed as bright as noon compared to the gloom that occupied his mind. He rocked back and forth quickly, pausing for a moment, only to resume the rhythmic undulation a second later. The long narrow room was filled with rainbow colored wires attached to circuit boards. Although he could see nothing now, he had reconnoitered the room several times before. It was all part of his plan. The gentle electronic hum from the scores of tiny fans used to cool the high tech circuitry echoed in the scientist’s mind with cacophonous intensity.
He crouched at the far end of the narrow space. To his right and left, from floor to ceiling, the electronic panels that linked the base’s communications with above ground satellite dishes, interoffice terminals and laboratory electronics, sat in endless, unmonitored work. Colin preferred the lifeless company the technology provided. He wanted to see no one. He wanted no conversation, no human contact, and certainly no contact with Them. Them. THEM.
He uttered the words just under his breath. Had anyone been with him, they would have heard nothing.
Them.
Them. Them.
He closed his eyes against the darkness that felt thick, viscous, and suffocating. Suffocation would be fine, desirable, as long as death came to him alone.
The wet wool smell returned. Colin rocked faster, squeezing his eyes shut with such intensity rivulets of tears ran down his face.
“No,” Colin whispered. “No, no, no.”
Raising his hands to his head he squeezed. A scorching pierced his temples. A new pain appeared, small, sharp piercing pain in his scalp. Colin pressed the nails of his fingers deeper into his skin. The agony would make them go away, he was sure of it.
He was wrong.
His ears popped and with each tiny detonation, colors exploded in his brain like fireworks. They wanted him. They were angry. So angry.
Hide.
Run. Flee.
Colin wept silently. Blood ran from the wounds gouged into his scalp tracing lines of wet red on his flesh.
“Leave me alone,” he shouted in his mind. “I’ll kill myself. I’ll do it. I really will.”
Deep in his blazing brain, Colin thought he heard someone laugh.
Five
“More potatoes?” Nora held a large white bowl. “There’s plenty of gravy too.�
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“Thank you, but no,” Dale Shackleton said. Patting his stomach, he added, “I’ve eaten more than I should. It was wonderful, Mrs. Beeman. I haven’t had pork chops and mashed potatoes in a very long time.”
“Please call me Nora. Most days of the week we eat lighter and healthier, but we indulge ourselves every Wednesday night. It’s sort of a family tradition. Maybe you’d like another roll—”
“Leave the man alone,” Ray said with humor. “You’re going to kill him with kindness.”
“Well, it’s not everyday we have one of the pastor’s of Amy’s church over for dinner.”
“I want to thank you for inviting me,” Shackleton said.
“I just wish your wife could have joined you.” Nora set the bowl in the center of the table. Ray took it. “I would like to have met her.”
“She would have enjoyed this. Unfortunately she has class tonight. She’s just a year away from getting her degree in music. She plans to teach.”
“It must be hard having a wife in school.” Ray lumped more potatoes on his plate.
“It is at times, but she worked while I was in college and seminary so it’s only fair she get to go now.”
“What do you do at the church?” Ray asked.
“I told you that, Dad,” Skeeter said with playful anger. “I talk, no one listens.”
“That’s my line,” Ray said.
“That’s where I got it.” Skeeter winked.
“I work with the youth and oversee the Sunday school. Our youth department keeps growing. It keeps me busy.”
“What’s your next step?” Ray asked. “Do you get promoted to regular pastor or something?”
Shackleton gave a warm smile. “It doesn’t work that way. I enjoy working with young people. That’s where my skills are. I hope to work with the youth as long as I can.”
“So you lead them in games and the like?” Ray asked.
“It’s more than games, Dad,” Skeeter said. “We study the Bible.”
“I’m sorry Skeeter, I didn’t mean—” Ray started.
“Dad!” Skeeter protested, narrowing her eyes and casting a cold glare his way.
“I mean, Amy.” To Shackleton he said, “She doesn’t like it when I call her Skeeter in front of guests. It’s a hard habit to break. Anyway, I didn’t mean to imply that church was just a place to play games. I’ve only been to church a handful of times, so I don’t really know what goes on.”
“You’re always welcome to worship with us,” Shackleton said. There was an easy manner about him Ray liked.
“Thanks, but I’ve never seen much use for worship. I mean, it’s fine for some people, and it certainly hasn’t hurt Skee—Amy.”
“You should try it, Dad,” Skeeter interjected. “It’s made a big difference in my life.”
Ray glanced at his wife. Her eyes were cast down to the table, avoiding the conversation. Amy had started attending the church at the invitation of friends. Ray assumed she continued to go because it was a place to hang out with other young people. Neither he, nor Nora had objected. There were many places much worse that a young girl could hang out.
“Maybe someday, honey.”
“You have no church background, Mr. Beeman?”
“Call me Ray. No, none at all. My parents never went to church. Too busy trying to make a living, I guess.”
“You know, many people equate church with God,” Shackleton said. “When they say church, they include their view of God. Do you believe in God, Ray?”
Here it comes. The dinner had been Skeeter’s idea and Ray knew she wanted a spiritual conversation. “I’m not sure. I guess I’m an agnostic.”
Shackleton smiled.
“Is that funny?” Ray asked.
“I’m not laughing at you, Ray. I’ve always been amused by the term agnostic. It was a word I used to describe myself about ten years ago. The term comes from the Greek and means ‘without knowledge.’ I once told someone I was an agnostic and they said, ‘That means you’re a know-nothing.’”
“I’m a writer. I know a little bit about words. Agnostic can also describe someone who believes God is unknowable.”
“True,” Shackleton admitted. “I came to believe God was knowable. That was during my second year of college. I have found nothing since to change my mind.”
“I’m sure it’s very real to you.”
“And to me,” Skeeter added. “Dad, Jesus has made a big difference in my life, and I believe he can make a difference in everyone’s life.”
“Would anyone like coffee?” Nora said, abruptly standing. “We can move to the living room and have coffee there.”
“Mom,” Skeeter objected. “This is important.”
Ray raised his hand, catching his daughter’s attention. Then to his wife he said, “That’d be great, sweetheart. Do you need any help?”
“No, I’ve got it.” She carried the used dishes into the adjoining kitchen.
“I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable,” Shackleton said.
“No need to apologize. Her father was an unkind man, cruel to her and her mother, yet he insisted they attend church every Sunday. She associates church with all those negative memories.” Ray stood. “Let’s go into the living room?”
Seated on the family’s new sofa, Shackleton finished the last bite of chocolate chiffon pie. “That was extraordinary.”
“Thank you,” Nora said. “My mother gave me the recipe. She got it from her mother.”
Ray watched his daughter. She fidgeted in the love-seat and poked at her dessert. There was something on her mind and he knew what it was. More than once she had expressed her concern about his and Nora’s spiritual condition. How she had become so religious was beyond Ray, but he was respectful of her opinion. If it would make his daughter happy, then he and Nora could hear a little more God-talk.
“So, how long does it take to become a minister?” Ray saw Amy raise her eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nora tense.
“I went to four years of college and three years of seminary.”
“Seven years? I had no idea it was that long. What kind of college degree did you get? Bible? Church history? Something like that?”
The minister shook his head. “No, my undergraduate degree was in math with a minor in physics. I left seminary with a M.Div. degree—Masters of Divinity. It’s a professional degree.”
“Math and physics?” Ray raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think religious folk went in for science.”
“I love science. I hope to go back to school and pursue an advanced degree in math. But I’ll wait until my wife finishes her education.”
“Aren’t the two contradictory?” Ray asked. “It seems to me you’re trying to mix oil and water.”
“Not at all,” Shackleton said. “Nature is the 67th book of the Bible. A person can learn a great deal about God by studying the universe.”
“So you believe God created everything?” Ray said.
“Yes, I do. I believe all things visible and invisible were created by Him and that God holds all things together.”
“Invisible?” Nora asked.
“Yes,” Shackleton said. “The Apostle Paul, who wrote twelve books of the New Testament, said: ‘For by Him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things have been created through Him and for Him.’ He is referring to Jesus when he says, ‘Him.’”
“I thought God was the creator,” Ray said.
“He is, and He is shown as such in the first two chapters of Genesis. But Jesus is the agent of creation. Like the Apostle Paul said, ‘all things have been created by Him and through Him.’ Of course that leads to a question.”
Uh, oh. Here it comes. “What question is that?”
Shackleton leaned forward on the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees. “If the world and everything in it was created by God, then we are His creation too. If that’s the case, a
nd I believe it is, then what should our relationship be with the Creator? Does the creature have a responsibility to the One who created him?”
“That would work both ways,” Ray responded. “We could also ask what responsibility does the Creator have to His creation?”
“Absolutely,” Shackleton said. Ray felt as if he had stepped into a trap. “Yes, the Creator does have a responsibility to His creation, and He has shown that by sending His only Son Jesus to us to teach, preach, and ultimately to die for us. We all have sinned; Jesus paid the price for that sin. Now the ball is in our court. What do we do with that knowledge? Do we treat it as a small thing, not worthy of our time and consideration, or do we see it for the loving sacrifice that it is?”
Ray was afraid the conversation would lead to this point. He had encountered “born again” Christians and faced their zeal. They were always looking to convert someone, to make others just like them. But Ray had no interest in such things. So what if someone named Paul had written that Jesus was God’s Son, and that all of creation was His doing? The Apostle Paul may have just been a gifted writer. Maybe he did 2000 years ago, what Ray did today—make up stories. He had no idea why an ancient Jewish man would do such a thing, but he may have had his reasons. If so, then Paul and the other writers of the Bible were just earlier versions of himself.
He glanced at his wife who sat in the corner of the sofa, her hands folded and resting nervously on her lap. She was bouncing one leg up and down like a piston. Amy, on the other hand, was leaning forward. Her eyes were closed. Was she praying?
Ray hesitated, caught between the discomfort of his wife and the eager anticipation of his daughter. He turned his eyes back to Pastor Shackleton. “That’s an interesting concept,” Ray finally said. “Thought provoking. I’ll have to think on it some more.”
