The next morning, she set off for the Project J building after a good breakfast. She was getting spoiled by the food here. Not like most company cafeterias she had eaten in.
When she first awoke, the morning sky had been showing a few scattered clouds, but as the morning progressed it had become overcast with dark thunderheads over the mountains and a thickening patchwork ceiling above. She knew from her experience that there would be rain soon, the hard summer storm rains that pelted the earth with heavy drops and passed as quickly as they came. She began to walk a little faster when she heard a familiar sound behind her. Spinning around, she looked to the front gate just beyond the parking lot. The sound was gunfire, and it came from the two guards at that gate, both of whom were standing beside the small shack and firing at an on-charging truck. The truck, a two and a half ton, green painted version of the military M35 medium duty truck, was heading directly towards them at high speed.
One guard sprang to the side, narrowly being missed by the truck as it plowed through, the impact snapping off the wooden gate and sending it flying to one side. The other guard stood his ground, letting off rapid fire at the vehicle. Tamara could see bullet holes appearing in the windshield, but the truck did not waver or slow down. He was knocked viciously aside as the large truck shredded the side of the guard shack, and then it was through and speeding across the parking lot, almost straight towards her.
For a brief second she was frozen by this totally unexpected event, but she backpedaled rapidly as the truck neared her. As it passed only a dozen feet in front of her, she saw the driver looking out at her. In that brief split-second she noted his youth and the Middle Eastern appearance. A teenager, was her thought. A god-damned teenage terrorist!
The truck screeched to a halt beside the very building she had been walking towards. Four men jumped out, all armed with assault rifles. As they rushed to the entrance to the building, Tamara snapped out of her shock and began running towards them. She had no real plan. The only thought that raced through her brain was that they intended to kidnap or harm Jesus!
Before she reached the open front double door, she heard gunfire from within – three quick shots. The smart thing to do would have been to turn and run. Let the guards take care of this. But she did not flee. Instead, she ran through the glass doors and into the small lobby.
The terrorists were nowhere in sight. On the floor by the desk lay Murphy, a guard she had met a couple times when she went to visit Jesus. A pool of blood was spreading out under his body and three near holes in his uniform explained why.
Without thinking, Tamara knelt and took his gun from the holster. He had not even had the chance to draw it when he was gunned down. With an anger filling her, she stood and raced off in the direction she knew the courtyard and Jesus’ apartment was.
The passageway to the courtyard was long enough for her brain to begin to function a little bit. First, it told her she was stupid for thinking she could do anything. Second, it told her to check the weapon. She cocked back the slide and chambered the first round on the .45 automatic. Then she hurried on.
Ahead there was the sound of more gunfire. Christ! she thought. They’re killing him! And she tried for more speed.
When she burst into the courtyard, she found the terrorists. Two of them were lying on the ground, one still, the other writhing in pain. The other two were standing with their backs to her, facing the door at the other end of the courtyard. Apparently there were more guards in the building than just Murphy, for there were two more uniforms standing at the end of the courtyard, facing the terrorists.
One of them was holding his leg and trying to bring his weapon up for a shot. The other was standing there, braced on wide-spread feet and taking a two-handed grip on his .45. Possibly he was the one who had downed two of the terrorists.
An unfortunate fact of life is that a .45 automatic is no match for an assault rifle in a firefight. The standing guard got off one more shot before a line of holes cut across the front of his uniform. His body was thrown back to hit the wall with a thud. Then assault rifles turned on the other guard and he was cut down also.
Tamara really had no time to think. In a couple seconds those men would be through the door and hunting down Jesus. She had to stop them.
Not one for dramatics, she did not yell for them to halt. She simply took a stance much like the guard had done, pushed the .45 out in front of her with both hands holding it, and took aim at the back of the closest terrorist.
Two shots rang out, and the man she was aiming at lurched, his body arching forward as the rounds struck the middle of his back. The gun bucked in her hands but she brought it back down to aim again. Calmly, as if she did this every day, Tamara turned the weapon to the other man. He was turning, swinging his weapon in an arc that would bring it to bear upon her.
Again she double tapped, squeezing the trigger firmly but without jerking it. The .45 bucked again, then lowered and fired the second shot. Almost as if in slow motion, she saw the deadly end of that AK-47 coming around, and knew that in only a fraction of a second it would be spitting lead at her. She willed herself to fire again, another double tap.
The second double tap was not needed. Of the first two bullets, one passed through the man’s vest, missing his ribs by half an inch. But the second bullet, as is often the case in double tapping, was more accurate. It entered his chest on the right side, tore its way through one lung and ripped into his heart. The man was dead but did not know it yet as his turn made the assault rifle swing wildly upward. Two shots fired as his finger jerked, but that was all. They went wide over Tamara’s head. The man twirled around and spun to the ground.
The sound of gunfire had been loud in the small courtyard, and her ears were ringing as she watched the man twitch once and then lay still. Off to one side, the only terrorist left alive was screaming and holding his belly. Slowly she turned towards him. For a woman who had just been so fast on the uptake, her mind suddenly slowed down. She watched as the man’s hand reached towards his fallen assault rifle, a contorted mask of hate and pain on his face. She watched, unmoving, as he drew the weapon towards himself and fumbled to get his hand onto the handle and his finger into the trigger guard. The barrel was lifting in her direction when another two shots rang out and the man jerked violently. The rifle fell from his lifeless hand.
Looking around, Tamara saw another couple guards who had just come through the same door she had. Both had guns drawn.
Feeling her legs going weak, she stumbled over to one of the chairs and flopped into it. She put the .45 on the table. When one guard came up to her, she looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face.
“I just killed two men,” she said simply. “I’ve never done that before.”
Chapter 27: Debriefing
It was quiet in the conference room as all present watched the surveillance video on the large screen. Taken from a camera in one corner, it showed most of the courtyard. Not high definition quality, but good enough to recognize the people.
The video showed an empty courtyard for a few seconds, then four men burst through the far door. They held assault rifles at the ready and headed directly across the courtyard at a trot. Suddenly two guards came into view along the right edge of the screen, drawing their guns.
From that point, things happened very fast. Four assault rifles came down just as the guards were squaring off to fire. The shots came almost together; one from the rightmost terrorist, and two from the guards. One terrorist dropped his rifle and began collapsing to the ground, holding his stomach. One guard jerked around, hit in the leg, his gun no longer aimed across the courtyard. But his first shot had been true. The rightmost terrorist was falling backwards, a small hole in his front and a larger one in his back, along with a spray of blood.
At that point, another figure came through the far door, Tamara, holding a .45 in her hands. The two remaining terrorists, while still advancing, had their weapons up and began firing at the guards. In less than a second bot
h guards were dead. A second after that, both terrorists were dead, shot by a good looking civilian girl.
The video screen went dark.
“Well, that pretty much tells the tale,” said Security Chief Manhusen. “Tell me, Miss Graves, where did you learn to shoot?”
Tamara, still shaken from the experience, admitted weakly, “From my dad. He was a county sheriff and insisted I learn how to shoot. I liked it. He taught me a lot about shooting. But I never expected to have to actually shoot at a person. It was more like a game. How good could I get on the range – you know.”
“Well, you got pretty good,” admitted Stryker.
“Yes,” added Fielding. “If those terrorists had gotten through that door, they would have been in Jesus’ quarters.”
“Was this just a terrorist act? Something random?” asked Stryker.
“No,” replied Manhusen sternly. “This was no random act of terrorism. Those men had a target.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and opened it for all to see. “The lead man has been identified as Khurram Murad, a member of an Islamic extremist group. They had a hand-drawn map of the facility. They knew where they were going. They intended to kill or at least kidnap Jesus. From their techniques, I’d say they intended to kill him.”
No one said anything for a minute as that fact was absorbed into stunned minds.
“What I don’t understand is why Islamic terrorists want to kill him?” said Juliette. “He is a prophet in their religion.”
“They may be afraid of what he might say,” answered Fielding slowly. “Or of how the faithful might react to him. Hell, I’m surprised it wasn’t the Catholic Church!”
“They wouldn’t do that,” said a frowning Juliette. “Would they?”
No one answered her question.
“Unless we want investigators from Homeland Security, the CIA, NAS, the Boy Scouts, and who knows who else to be knocking on our doors soon, we will have to keep a lid on this,” said Manhusen.
“How can we?” asked Fielding strongly. “That group, whoever it was, may attack again. If they know where Jesus is located, maybe they’ll crash an airliner into the building next time.”
“We will increase security at this facility,” Manhusen told them. “A whole lot. This has already been declared secure airspace by the FAA. I’ll see that the nearest Air Force Base is notified to scramble jets if we get an intrusion.”
Fielding snorted in disbelief. Frowns on some of the others apparently indicated they agreed that it would be too late by the time any jets got there.
“Meantime, I would rather that we do not try to relocate Jesus. We can protect him better here than someplace else. If you want, I’ll see if I can get an anti-aircraft gun put on the roof.”
Fielding looked as if he were about to speak again, but he said nothing. Juliette O’Neill also looked aggrieved.
“We’ll put a better gate in front, one that will include concrete blocks a truck can’t drive through,” Manhusen continued. “And more guards. And security measures on that building so no one can just walk in.”
Dr. Stryker, who had been looking deep in thought, added, “I think there will be more security upgrades than that. As soon as our government spooks hear about this, they’ll move in a division of soldiers to protect our precious Machine. They think too highly of it.” He paused to look around the table. “They may not know about Jesus, but they will know of the attack and assume the target was the Machine itself. So get ready for more security. A mouse won’t be able to get in here.”
The meeting broke up after some plans were made to clean up the mess. Dr. Fielding came over to Tamara as the others were leaving to say, “I want to thank you for your brave action.”
“It wasn’t really bravery,” she laughed weakly. “If I had a second to think about it, I probably wouldn’t have done a thing. In fact, when it was all over, I was trembling like a little child. I even cried some. That’s bravery for you.”
He smiled at her. “Bravery, I believe, was once defined as being afraid but doing the job anyway. You did it.” He laughed. “That makes you unique among people. You actually saved Jesus Christ’s life!”
Chapter 28: Planting a Bomb
The man walking down the corridor tried not to appear nervous but it was hard to do with his knees feeling weak and his stomach knotted up. Although he was perfectly within his rights to be where he was, the fear that someone would stop him and ask what he was doing there was strong. The tablet in his hand seemed to burn his flesh. He had viewed what was recorded on it and had a fair idea what it was, even though he did not understand the words. What the recording showed was innocent enough, but it was still as dangerous as a bottle of nitroglycerine. To get caught with it would be at least the end of his professional career, if not worse. But duty required he obey orders, a duty far beyond that owed to Chronodyne or any person.
He avoided crossing the courtyard because he knew of the security camera there, and even though it was the middle of the night, he did not want any record made of his visit. It was important that no one knew it was he who delivered this dangerous tablet. The side corridor bypassed the courtyard and allowed him to enter the apartment-like area where Jesus was living. Pausing before the door, he felt his mouth going dry. But then it usual did when he was in Jesus’ presence. With a shaking hand, he reached for the doorknob.
Jesus was lying on the bed, eyes closed, apparently asleep – just as this man had hoped. Moving very, very carefully, he slid across the room to the small table about six feet from the bed. Ever so slowly he lowered the tablet to the table, taking care not to make a noise, although his heart was pounding so hard that the sound must surely wake the sleeper. The tablet finally in place, he touched the button on the side that activated it. A single word appeared on the screen, green letters on a black background, only one word, “Start,” inside a circle.
Backing away, his heart almost stopped when he bumped into the door. But the sleeping figure did not move, and then the intruder was gone, closing the door behind him.
Chapter 29: Disaster!
Tamara knew that something was wrong when she walked into the building. It was mid-morning and she was entering the Project J building to see Dr. Myers, to ask him about another interview with Jesus. The guards – there were two of them now – double checked her ID and seemed extremely nervous. As she walked down a side corridor to Myers’ office, an assistant hurried by her, not even bothering to say hi. When she reached the office, it was empty. She was about to leave a note when the doctor entered. He looked flushed and on edge, stopping suddenly when he saw her standing there.
“Miss Graves...” he began, and then halted as if he did not know what to say.
“Please, call me Tamara,” she said with a smile, but inside wondering what was upsetting the mild-mannered Jewish historian.
“Now is not a good time,” he began, and then stopped again.
“Dr. Myers! What is wrong?”
With a sigh, he walked around behind his desk and settled into the chair wearily. “Please, have a seat.” When she was seated, he rubbed his forehead before speaking again. “Something terrible has happened.”
“What?”
“You are aware how careful we have been to keep some knowledge from Jesus? Well, someone gave Jesus a computer tablet. On it was a video recording outlining the history of the Catholic Church, Christianity in general, and other historical events. I have seen it! If you wanted to create something that would upset Jesus, you could have done no better than what was on that tablet.”
“Why? Why would some history upset him?” she wanted to know.
“Why? Can’t you imagine? He is a sensitive man, a truly religious man. Can you imagine what he must have thought when he saw what had become of his teachings? What has been done over the centuries in his name!”
Tamara felt herself grow cold. Fielding and the others had been right to keep many things from Jesus; she had never disagreed with that.
“Can you imagine what is going through his mind when he finds that his disciples – and many others – are prayed to as saints? Or that his mother is revered as a holy virgin? Look at the millions who worship the Pope! And the wealth of the Catholic Church? At the wars that have been fought over which is the true Christianity? Or even over what was the true meaning of some of his words?”
He shook his head sadly. “Just the fact that Rome is the capital of the massive church created to worship him?”
He rested his head on his hands, elbows on his desk. “Whoever created that video was a sadistic bastard! Oh, but he knew what he was doing. Not only was it filled with visual images, it was narrated in Aramaic! They found someone who speaks Aramaic to make sure that Jesus would understand every word.”
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