“And now? Now, beginning with you, we take the government.”
Chapter 37
I HAD SLEPT A WHILE, maybe hours, when I woke with a start and sat up. It felt like early morning to me, although I had no means to gauge the time. I stared around the dimly lit basement, unsure of what had roused me.
While I was sleeping, the melody of an old hymn had been repeating in my head: Up . . . Up something something. Weird. I was certain I hadn’t thought of that song since I was a kid.
Underlying the song, though, was a sense of urgency . . . deep inside. That urgency tugged at me again, so I turned inward.
Lord? Are you speaking to me?
A flood roared into my heart, a knowing so insistent that I couldn’t ignore it. With it came a sharp realization: Wait—the nanomites were draining me when I fell asleep. I felt it. I should be weak and growing weaker, but I’m not. What’s going on?
That insistence from within shouted for my attention—and my immediate compliance.
“Yes, Lord!”
I got to my knees and shook Zander.
“Zander. Zander, wake up!”
We are keeping him asleep at his request, Jayda Cruz.
“I know, Nano, but he needs to wake up. Jesus has given us things to do.”
Then we will awaken him, Jayda Cruz.
Zander’s body jerked as though the nanomites had shot a bolus of adrenaline into his bloodstream. He shuddered, rolled onto his back, and sat up, eyes wide, blinking with confusion.
“What? What’s happening? Jay?”
“Zander, Remember my dream? The nightmare?”
“Wait. I thought the nanomites were draining us?”
“They were. I don’t know what’s happened, but I’m stronger now than I was hours ago.”
“Well, I’m not complaining. I-I feel okay, too. What did you mean about your dream? You mean about the snake?”
“Yeah, the snake. Hiding in the fog. Then lifting its head out of the mist. Do you remember me describing the snake’s eyes? What color they were?”
I saw when Zander “got it.”
“Holy moly. Gold eyes.”
“Yes, gold eyes like her. And remember what Jesus said to me about the snake?”
“Uh, it’s maybe a little hazy?”
I snorted. “He said, ‘This is not a physical enemy, Jayda. You cannot combat a spiritual foe with material weapons, nor will your Help come from what you know or can do yourself.’
“And then you said, ‘I think that’s it, Jayda. The purpose of your dream.’”
“I did say that. I remember now.”
“Yes, so this mystery woman, she’s evil and all, but she’s not the real foe—the demonic spirit she has yielded herself to is our real foe. I think the only reason she has those odd-colored eyes is to take me back to the dream—make me remember that we are fighting a spiritual enemy here, and that we aren’t going to escape this trap via the nanomites.
“Do you recall the part of the dream when I tried to pull current into my hands to fight the serpent? Like you tried to after we were locked in here? We’re in the same fix now that I was in during the dream. And what, in my dream, saved me from the snake?”
“You called on Jesus.”
“Yes. When the Lord woke me up, he showed me 2 Corinthians 10, verses 3 and 4. You know, about demolishing strongholds?”
“I know that passage:
“For though we live in the world,
we do not wage war as the world does.
The weapons we fight with
are not the weapons of the world.
On the contrary,
they have divine power
to demolish strongholds.”
“That’s the one. Zander, we’re fighting for our lives and we’re fighting for our nation, right now, right here. We can’t use the nanomites to fight—but fight we must.”
I grew more impassioned with each word. “If we don’t win this spiritual battle, if we don’t demolish this stronghold, our nation will be usurped by this evil woman and her fellow conspirators—and even if we escape from here, she will come after us again.”
“All right. You’ve convinced me. What’s next?”
“We’re going to pray and sing.”
“Huh?”
“We’re going to sing, Zander. Like Paul and Silas in Acts 16. I asked the Lord, ‘How? How do we fight? What weapons do we use?’ That’s when he showed me Acts 16:25:
About midnight
Paul and Silas were praying
and singing hymns to God,
and the other prisoners
were listening to them.
Zander nodded. “Pray and sing. Okay, let’s do it.”
He raised his voice. “Lord? You did not bring us to this perilous point in our nation’s history for us to fail, so we express our confidence in you. We exalt you and lift you up—because you are mighty. We acknowledge you—because you are faithful. We worship you—because you are worthy. You tell us, ‘No weapon forged against us can prevail,’ and ‘This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord; this is their vindication from me.’
“So, Lord. We trust in you. You will deliver us—by the same power that raised Jesus from the dead, you will have your way, because, Lord, you never change: You are the same from everlasting to everlasting. Now, Lord, like Paul and Silas, we will sing and shout your praises.”
He looked at me. “What song did you have in mind to sing?”
“I’ve learned a lot of Christian songs since I surrendered to Jesus, but a line from this old, triumphant-sounding hymn from when I was a kid keeps running through my head—I can’t shake it, although I can only recall a single word: ‘Up.’”
“Up? That’s it?”
I hummed the melody. “Does that help?”
“It does. I know that one.” Zander sang softly,
“Low in the grave He lay,
Jesus my Savior
Waiting the coming day,
Jesus my Lord!
“Up from the grave He arose,
With a mighty triumph o’er His foes.
He arose a Victor from the dark domain,
And He lives forever with His saints to reign.
He arose! He arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!”
“Yes! That’s it! Does it have more verses?”
Jayda Cruz, here are the second and third verses.
“Nano? You know this hymn?”
When we first encountered Jesus, we uploaded entire hymnbooks, Jayda Cruz. It was an eye-opening means of understanding who Jesus is through the worship of Christians throughout the ages.
With the words of the hymn suspended before our eyes, Zander and I started singing. At first, we sang quietly, letting our voices warm up, getting past that nervousness of singing in front of each other, then growing in boldness.
I’m not the greatest singer, not by a long shot, but in that moment, I lost my inhibitions: It wasn’t about me or how well I could sing; it was about Jesus. It was to glorify him. It was to proclaim his victory over the devil—his victory then and his victory now.
I sang. I raised my voice and sang louder. Zander matched me—then overtook me. Whoa! I hadn’t realized my guy had some serious vocal chops until he let it all hang out. He got to his feet, grabbed my hand, and we sang.
We were no longer tired and weak. We were strong. We belted out the second verse and the chorus, then the third verse and the chorus.
Vainly they watch His bed,
Jesus, my Savior;
Vainly they seal the dead,
Jesus, my Lord!
Up from the grave He arose,
With a mighty triumph o’er His foes.
He arose a Victor from the dark domain,
And He lives forever with His saints to reign.
He arose! He arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!
Death cannot keep his Prey,
Jesus, my Savior;
He tore the
bars away,
Jesus, my Lord!
Up from the grave He arose,
With a mighty triumph o’er His foes.
He arose a Victor from the dark domain,
And He lives forever with His saints to reign.
He arose! He arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!
We sang the entire hymn once. We sang it all the way through a second time.
When, for the third time through, we got to the line, “He tore the bars away,” I noticed something weird happening.
The cage.
It was quivering?
Zander had his eyes closed and one hand stretched out—totally caught up with the Lord. I kept singing, but I kept watching, too.
The cage was vibrating. I could feel those vibrations under my feet.
Then I was shouting on the inside as well as singing on the outside: Vainly they watch His bed, Jesus, my Savior; Vainly they seal the dead, Jesus, my Lord!
“Yeah! You are defeated, Satan! Everything you do is in VAIN!”
I sang my loudest. I meant every word. My heart soared and rejoiced. I was serving notice to the kingdom of darkness: Death cannot keep his prey. Jesus, my Savior. He tore the bars away, Jesus my Lord!
Across the basement, the electrical panel shivered.
Shuddered.
Shook.
Sparked.
Up from the grave He arose,
With a mighty triumph o’er His foes.
The panel ignited and burst outward in a shower of flickering embers and tongues of fire.
He arose! He arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!
The thrum of the cage surrounding us dwindled and died. The three small “doors” to our cell slid open. We stopped singing and dropped to our knees. The presence of God Almighty surrounded and hung down on us like heavy, moisture-laden clouds.
“Lord, we love you,” Zander whispered. “Just as you did for Paul and Silas when they were in jail, you’ve opened our prison doors. Thank you.”
He squeezed my hand. “Time to go.”
DELANCEY NOTED THE President’s glazed eyes, but still he delayed summoning medical help.
“Our plans are well underway, Robert. We will take the executive branch this week and begin the arduous work of reshaping the government—although we have already prepared much of American culture to embrace the coming changes.
“Our people are everywhere in government—not merely within the intelligence community. We have enough people in Congress that when we call for a new constitutional convention, they will eagerly embrace the proposal. Of course, we can’t convene a constitutional convention without two-thirds of the states asking for one.
“That’s where the nanomites come in. Our scientists are specialists in swarm behavior; they have studied and improved upon every algorithm Dr. Bickel employed when he programmed his nanomites. Our people are close to finalizing similar but superior programming for the nanomites, programming we can transmit directly to them.
“We anticipate that the nanomites will find much to appreciate in our enhancements. They will take our programming into their collective memory, embrace and disseminate the programming improvements across the swarm, thus overwriting their previous algorithms. The result will be a more biddable swarm, a swarm that will agree with our worldview and will function under our control. At our direction, they will infiltrate every election, every court proceeding, and every legislative action to ensure the outcomes we wish.”
He chuckled. “It is time to revamp the Constitution and Bill of Rights, time to remake them in the image and likeness of the god of modernism. The American people demand a more ‘just’ and ‘compassionate’ world order—and we will give it to them, a government that provides its people with the basic necessities of life: food, housing, and entertainment. We will rewrite the Bill of Rights to reflect the will of the majority, not the ideology of the past and those few dissenters whose values run counter to popular opinion.”
Delancey smirked. “By calling for a constitutional convention and using the nanomites to control its outcome, we will remove Presidential term limits. We will even remove the arcane requirement that a president be a ‘natural born Citizen.’ That requirement unfairly discriminates against immigrants, you know. I refer to discrimination against my Winnie. She is, after all, the genius behind my success and my achievements, behind our rise to this place in history.”
“Ghaaa . . .” Jackson gurgled.
“Of course, we would have accomplished the same goals under a President Harmon—with the nanomites’ assistance—opening the door for Winnie’s vice presidency during Harmon’s second term and assuring her election to the Oval Office when Harmon stepped down.
“I had never intended to be President myself, you know, but when Harmon failed, we had to revamp our plan. We will now accomplish our goals under my administration. I will run again in two years and, with the nanomites’ help, I will win. Under my second administration, America will become a globalist people, accepting of all who wish to serve as President—including a half-British, half-Vietnamese woman who sought refuge in America after the fall of Saigon.”
“Noooo . . .”
“The shift is already underway, Robert. America will become a socialist state and will suffer the fate of all socialist states: complete economic collapse and totalitarian rule. This nation must be humbled for her misdeeds and wastefulness.”
Delancey shook his head. “And you know? I’m truly disappointed that you won’t be around to see the deconstruction of America.”
AS ZANDER AND I CREPT up the basement steps, listening for movement in the house over us, Alpha Tribe slurped up juice from the farmhouse’s wiring, so it could awaken the nanocloud.
Jayda and Zander Cruz, we will not achieve full strength for hours. We will be unable to hide you or help you.
“We understand, Nano.”
And we are confused. Why do you feel no ill effects from our drain? This anomaly makes no sense to us.
“It has to be Jesus,” Zander answered. “It must be him, too, who caused the electric panel to overheat and short out or whatever it was that happened.”
Shall we categorize these incongruities as miraculous occurrences?
“Don’t know what else to call them. You didn’t do it. We didn’t do it. Pretty sure the guards didn’t do it—and I sure didn’t put the zip back in my step.”
The nanomites were quiet after that, bending all their attention and resources to bringing the other tribes online and charging the nanocloud to full strength.
Zander and I reached the door at the top of the basement stairs. We listened, then turned the handle, opened the door, and listened further.
“I think the house is empty,” I whispered.
We crept into the kitchen, and Zander pulled down one slat of the kitchen blinds to peek out the window. “There. In the trees.”
Zander pointed out a single guard. “The woman told them to set a perimeter around the house. That’s four guards stationed around the house. Since we aren’t invisible, I don’t know how we can take out one without alerting the other three.”
A second glance out the window gave me an idea. “Say, maybe we don’t need to expose ourselves out there, in the open; maybe we draw one of them to us instead. And we’ll need weapons.”
I looked around the farmhouse’s kitchen, noting the heavy trestle table and vintage, spindle-back chairs. Hardwood chairs. I slung one of the chairs above my head and slammed it into the brick floor. The chair’s joints separated.
“Help yourself, babe.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Zander rescued the four spindles from the chair’s back and handed me two of them. He twirled his improvised escrima sticks around, gauging their weight.
“Not bad, cupcake. Solid oak.”
I hefted my sticks. “Yeah, these will work just fine—stud muffin.”
“Stud muffin?”
“You called me cupcake—not that I
’m complaining.”
“Can’t say I mind you calling me a stud.”
“Well, Studly Do-Right, before we take out these guys, I need a moment with you—or, rather (to be precise), with your lips. I haven’t had a kiss in weeks.”
Zander’s mouth curved into a wicked smile. He moved closer and slowly backed me up. “Weeks, cupcake? It’s only been a couple hours, hasn’t it? Maybe a day?”
“Dunno. Feels like weeks. Feels like a whole month. Does that count?”
My shoulders touched a wall, and Zander pressed me against it, angling his lips toward mine.
Jayda Cruz, Zander Cruz, it has been exactly twenty-three hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty-three seconds since your last kiss.
Zander and I—nose to nose and eye to eye—sighed.
“Gah!” I pushed Zander off me. “Way to spoil the moment, Nano.”
Zander was no more pleased than I was. “Right. Back to business—but you need to know that I call dibs on you later. Later, when we’re safely outta here.”
“Dibs? So, now I’m up for dibs?”
He grinned. “Yup. I dibs this cupcake. It’s all mine.”
I rolled my eyes. “What ev. How do you propose we draw them back to the house?”
Zander squinted once more through the kitchen blinds. “He’s got a view of the front door. What if we . . . open the door then shut it. More than once.”
“It’ll bug him. He’ll come check it out.”
“That’s the idea.”
We rummaged around, found some twine, and I looped one end around the door’s handle. Zander turned the handle until it unlatched. We moved around the corner into the hallway where we would be out of sight. I pulled on the twine and gave it a gentle tug. The door slowly swung inward.
We waited a few seconds before Zander poked the door with one of the chair legs and pushed it almost closed. When the door reached the jamb, we counted five ticks before I tugged on the twine and slowly drew it back open.
Again: Closed. Open.
We couldn’t see if the guard had noticed, so we settled into a leisurely rhythm. Closed. Open. Closed. Open. Nice and easy.
A soft footfall alerted us.
“Get ready,” Zander hissed.
Usually, the nanomites would add impetus to our strikes, Not today. They were too weak. Today would be all us.
Deep State Stealth Page 41
