The Genesis Files

by Gwen Richardson

  Ed appeared to be satisfied with that although Lloyd could tell Ed still felt that his authority had been usurped. Lloyd thought he might need to start looking over his shoulder with more intensity. He could only guess what Ed might do in retaliation since, at this juncture, firing him was probably out of the question.

  Lloyd had taken a couple of days of personal leave after the Time photo shoot for some much needed relaxation. He had been working nearly nonstop for the past two weeks, and he need to rest and recharge. Now he was on his way to have dinner with Professor Gastalt to obtain as much information as he could about the Lembas.

  They had agreed to meet at seven o’clock at a restaurant near Rice University called The Raven Grill. Since the two of them had never met, they decided to wait out front to make it easier to locate each other. When Lloyd pulled into the parking lot, he noticed a man with a gray beard and wearing glasses standing out front who resembled Gastalt from the photos Lloyd had seen online.

  After Lloyd parked, he walked toward the entrance and introduced himself. “Dr. Gastalt?” Lloyd asked as he reached for the professor’s hand.

  Gastalt smiled broadly. “Lloyd Palmer, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I recognize you from the T.V. interviews I’ve seen. Good job, by the way, on getting to the bottom of the Pauley kidnapping. Are you ready to go inside?”

  “Yes, I’m starving, so let’s go eat.”

  When the hostess greeted them, they requested a table near the rear so they wouldn’t disturb others around them with their discussion. As they walked toward their table, Lloyd received an alert of an incoming text message on his cell phone. It was from Hamisi.

  Don’t let the spotlight compromise your principles and your quest for the truth.

  Hamisi always seemed to be at least two steps ahead of him, as if he were tracking Lloyd’s every move and could see into his future. He had the uncanny ability to say just the right thing at just the right time.

  Once Lloyd and the professor were seated and ordered their beverages, Lloyd was the first one to break the ice. “I really appreciate your agreeing to meet with me, Professor. I’ve completed a lot of my research, and your knowledge will add nicely to the information I have already obtained.”

  “As I mentioned to you, I’ve met a member of the Lemba tribe here in Houston, and he piqued my interest. I had never heard of them before that.”

  “Yes, I remember you saying that. What was the gentleman’s name?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Professor. I promised him that I wouldn’t reveal his identity.”

  “Ah, yes, some of them can be quite secretive. Can you describe him?”

  “I don’t think there would be any harm in that. He was of medium height, very dark skinned, but the pure African sort of coloring, if you know what I mean.”

  “What about his facial features?”

  Lloyd thought for a moment. “Well, his face was somewhat elongated, as was his nose. His nose is broad like most people of African descent, but it’s both broad and elongated.”

  “What about his clothing? Did he have any unusual garments?”

  “When I first met him at his apartment, he had on a head covering that looked like a Jewish yarmulke.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He had a shawl around his shoulders that had the Star of David with an elephant in the center.”

  The professor sat up straight, rubbing his right hand on his chin. “He’s a Lemba alright. Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “What can you tell me about them from the time you spent with them in Africa?”

  “They’re a very cloistered group with a lot of rituals and traditions, some of which can only be observed by other Lemba. Just like the Jews in America, they don’t eat pork, they perform circumcisions, and they observe Sabbath on the seventh day of the week. They also have an oral history which dates back thousands of years, to antiquity in fact.”

  Lloyd nodded his head in agreement. “My contact here in Houston told me the same things. Is it true that they can trace their roots back to Moses’ brother Aaron in the book of Exodus?”

  “Their oral history certainly suggests this and there has also been DNA to support this assertion. But they seem to be less interested in publicity than in preserving the sanctity of their customs and traditions. In fact, they shun the spotlight. That’s why I’m surprised that you were able to get your friend to talk.”

  “I met him purely by accident, I assure you,” said Lloyd. “He seems to have taken a liking to me, almost as if I was his own son. He told me that his sons were still in Zimbabwe, so maybe by taking me under his wing he can still feel close to them, in a way. What more can you tell me?”

  “They say they built the ancient city of Great Zimbabwe, the ruins of which are still standing.”

  “I’ve done quite a bit of research on my own and I know about the DNA, the Great City and even Senna and Pusela,” Lloyd told him. “I was hoping you could tell me something that may not be part of the historical research; something that you perhaps discovered while you were living among them.”

  Professor Gastalt paused, then said, “Well, this isn’t necessarily something for publication, but I’m pretty sure they have an enforcement squad.”

  “An enforcement squad?” asked Lloyd. Hamisi hadn’t said anything about the Lembas’ style of policing nor their concepts of justice. “What kind of enforcement squad? What does this squad actually do?”

  “Every tribe, group, country, whatever has a system of defending itself. That is, if they plan to survive,” replied the professor. “The Lemba are no different.”

  “Do you mean like the Japanese ninjas or samurai? What’s this enforcement squad called?”

  “I’m not sure if they have a formal name, but only a select few from each region qualify. According to one of the Lemba elders, the squad members go through years of special training and are able to break nearly every bone in a man’s body with their bare hands.”

  Lloyd was intrigued. “Wow. I doubt my contact had those types of skills. He seemed like the sort of man who wouldn’t lift a finger against anyone.”

  “Don’t let his appearance deceive you. These guys are highly skilled and can infiltrate a situation in a matter of seconds. I’ve never actually seen the squad in operation, but

  I’m told that they operate in stealth fashion. If you’re one of their targets, you never see them coming, and death comes quickly.”

  The professor bent down underneath the table and retrieved a manila folder out of his satchel, which he handed to Lloyd.

  “Anyway, here’s a copy of some of my research on the Lemba during my months with them in Zimbabwe. This should help you with your article. Do right by them, okay?”

  “I want nothing more than to introduce the Lemba to the world in the best possible way,” Lloyd assured him. “I give you my word on that. Now, let’s eat.”

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  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 35

  Once Lloyd got home, he spent his evening refining the article, combining the information he already had with the research documents he received from the professor. There were some of Gastalt’s statements he could use, but he still needed some first-hand statements from an actual Lemba to add credibility to his article. He doubted Ed or any editor would accept it without that central, critical piece of data. And he also needed the all important “art”—a term in the newspaper business that meant a photograph of the subject featured in the article.

  Lloyd could not quote nor take a photo of Hamisi; his new Lemba friend had been emphatic about that. But if he could get in touch with the head of the Lemba Cultural Society, he was hoping he could convince the guy to make his statements on the record.

  He wanted to contact Hamisi and ask him about the enforcement squad, but he wanted to reserve his communications with Hamisi until there was something really important to say. He had a feeling that if he attempted to communicate with his new friend too frequently, Hamisi would simply
disappear.

  Lloyd looked at the clock and couldn’t believe it was nearly 2:00 a.m. He had completely lost track of time; totally absorbed in the work he was doing. He had to get up to go

  to work in less than five hours, and he was fairly exhausted although his mind was still engaged, still churning with ideas.

  But he decided to go to bed; otherwise, he wouldn’t have the energy to focus at work the next day. Since he had been out of the office for a few days, he didn’t want to risk dozing off at his desk while waiting for Ed to give him an assignment. Ed was probably still pissed off at him—no need to pour salt into the wound.

  The next day when he arrived at the office, he had a few notes of congratulations on his desk from co-workers. A couple of them were people who’d barely spoken to him in the past. What a difference a Time magazine cover made!

  While he was checking his office voice mail, Charles walked up and sat on his desk. When Lloyd was done writing down his messages, he hung up the phone.

  “So man, how does it feel?” asked Charles.

  “How does what feel?”

  “How does it feel to be famous?”

  Lloyd laughed. “First of all, I’m not famous. After a few days, this will all blow over, and I’ll go back to being a mild-mannered reporter again like Clark Kent.”

  “Don’t laugh. Clark Kent went into a phone booth and emerged as Superman, which is basically what you did with the Pauley story. I’m real proud of you, man, and thanks for bringing me along for the ride.”

  “You had my back, Charles, and that means a lot. Thanks for being a true friend,” said Lloyd, as he gave Charles a fist bump.

  “By the way, did you hear about the special section the Ledger is doing for Holy Week?”

  Lloyd wondered what in the world the paper would be featuring for Easter and Lent, unless it involved a travel tour guide to the Holy Land. During this time of year, the paper made lots of advertising dollars from retail stores trying to sell all types of Easter paraphernalia: Church outfits for the kids, hats for the ladies, and more chocolate Easter bunnies than could be easily counted.

  Some folks only went to church one Sunday of the year and that was on Easter. And even folks who didn’t attend church purchased Easter eggs, egg-dying kits, candy and baskets used for Easter egg hunts and rolls. The day represented a tremendous bonanza for apparel and discount stores, and with subscription revenues shrinking rapidly, the Ledger depended on holiday ad dollars for its very existence.

  Ed tended to steer clear from delving into controversial religious topics for fear of offending one denomination or another or, worse, being sued by atheist fringe groups for daring to mention religion or a deity at all. Lloyd was mystified. “What possessed Ed to venture off in that direction?”

  “I think he’s trying to piggyback off of the Museum of Fine Arts exhibit that’s in town. There are some religious artifacts on display right now, including the Dead Sea Scrolls that are on loan from the Israel Museum. Someone from the Lifestyle section planted the seed and Ed decided to run with it. I don’t know all the details, but apparently they plan to include several articles and try for some local tie-ins. Check with Ed on it.”

  As Charles was talking, Lloyd’s mind was churning. He was thinking about how he could position his feature about the Lemba for inclusion in the special section. These special sections tended to have a longer shelf life with readers and often received recognition beyond the city or even the state. He then realized he had begun daydreaming and had lost focus on what Charles was saying.

  “Hey, man, are you listening?” asked Charles, snapping his fingers in front of Lloyd’s face as Lloyd emerged from his self-induced trance.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Charles. I was thinking about something.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I’ll check with Ed, but I’m hoping he’s not still pissed at me. He was pretty steamed at me last week—about everything.”

  “He’ll get over it, Lloyd. In fact, I’m sure it’s already blown over. Just remember that he’s an editor first, and he’ll be most interested in putting out the best product he can from an editorial standpoint.”

  “Are you sure about that? You have a lot more confidence in Ed’s ability to put personal issues aside than I do. But thanks for pulling my coat about this. I’ll talk to Ed about it soon.”

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  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 36

  Lloyd didn’t have a lot of time to develop a game plan before Ed called him into his office. Lloyd figured he could drop a hint with Ed about the Holy Week section so he could gauge whether or not he should push further. After all, he didn’t know whether or not his article about the Lemba would even fit with what Ed was planning. Things were still quite tense between them.

  Ed’s office door was open, and Lloyd sat down in one of the two chairs facing Ed’s desk. “What’s up, Ed?”

  “There’s an accident that happened a few minutes ago, and I want you to cover it. Close the door, will ‘ya?”

  “Okay, Ed,” Lloyd said, and rose from his chair. As he grabbed the door’s frame to push it closed, Audrey walked past and blew him a seductive kiss. Lloyd closed the door and rolled his eyes. Good grief, he thought. Audrey never quit.

  “A five-year-old boy was just hit by a car at the Money Mart on the North Beltway,” said Ed, before Lloyd could sit down. “I’ve put you on this one because, since you’ve become the public face of the guy who solved the Pauley kidnapping, the public sees you as credible, especially when it comes to stories about crimes against children. You’ll need to leave right away.”

  “Wait a minute, Ed. Did the kid get hurt? What hospital did they take him to?”

  “Unfortunately, he was pronounced dead at the scene. A real tragedy; apparently the mother left him in the parking lot, as a way of teaching him a lesson. There’s also at least one eyewitness. That’s about all the info I’ve got. Now, get going.”

  “Okay, Ed. I’m leaving. But I do have one quick question.”

  “Shoot. What is it?”

  “Charles told me the paper is publishing a special religious section for Holy Week.”

  Ed was writing something on a pad and kept right on writing. He barely looked up. “So, what about it?”

  “I was wondering what it’s all about exactly.”

  Ed raised his head from the notes that had been occupying his attention. “Why would you want to know about that?”

  “Oh, I’m just curious.” Lloyd had to be careful. He didn’t want Ed to get suspicious.

  “If you must know, it’s about local religious groups and their connection to Biblical history. One of the religion reporters found a Houston area synagogue that claims to have dust from the Wall of Jericho in its repository. And there’s an Episcopal church in Tomball that says it has some artifacts from Jesus’ last supper with his disciples. We’re using those examples, along with the Museum of Fine Arts exhibit, as the basis of a religion piece.”

  “Sounds interesting. Well, I’m heading out to the Money Mart now. Hopefully, the witness will still be there but if not, I’ll get her info from law enforcement. I’ll check in later.”

  Lloyd smiled as he left Ed’s office. His plan was now in full effect.

  311

  Gwen Richardson

  CHAPTER 37

  Money Mart stores had sprung up all over the state of Texas. These bargain merchandisers advertised that they would beat any competitor’s prices for standard household goods, from paper towels to flat screen TVs. Because of their cheap prices, these sprawling megastores, with their aisles and aisles of made-in-China merchandise, attracted people from all backgrounds. Low-income families headed by single mothers, stressed out from the pressures of raising children alone on limited resources, were some of Money Mart’s most frequent customers.

  Such was the case for poor Tommy Ray Samuels’ mother, the woman who left her five-year-old in the Money Mart parking lot because he was walking too slowly and she
was in a hurry. Lloyd learned this from Jennifer Green, the woman who was exiting Money Mart and on her way to her car with her packages when the horrible accident happened.

  Lloyd had arrived at the scene about fifteen minutes after leaving the office, and Green was still on the premises, according to Sheriff Martin, the officer Lloyd spoke with when he arrived. Martin pointed to Green, who was sitting on a bench outside the Money Mart Garden Center.

  “She’s still pretty shaken up,” said Martin. “She saw the whole thing happen.”

  “What about the mother? Do you know anything about her?”

  “Well, she was pretty hysterical when we took her into custody. About the only coherent information we could get out of her was that she lived in the Mountain Pines Trailer Park over on Cutten Road.”

  Lloyd took out his notepad and wrote down some notes. “What happened to the driver of the vehicle?”

  “He was taken to the precinct to give a statement, but I don’t think he’ll be charged with anything,” replied Martin. “From all accounts, he wasn’t exceeding the speed limit. He just couldn’t see the little tike until it was too late. It’s a damn shame, too. The boy’s name was Tommy Ray Samuels.”

  Lloyd wrote down some more details, then looked in the direction of the witness, who was sitting on the bench with her head in her hands. “Okay, thanks Sheriff Martin,” he said, as he walked over to the bench where Green was sitting. When he got there, he placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “Ms. Green, may I speak with you a moment?”

  She turned and looked up at him with reddened, swollen eyes. She’d obviously been crying for quite some time.

  “Who are you? A detective?” she asked, between sniffles.

  “No m’am. I’m Lloyd Palmer with the Houston Ledger. Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “No, it’s okay. I guess you’re here about the little boy.”