The Babel Conspiracy

by Sylvia Bambola

  “So far, the news of your rescue has not been made public. But Pete has scheduled a press conference for early evening. An official DHS statement will be given. He also wants a brief statement from you. Audra won’t be there. They say physically she’s healing nicely, but questions have been raised about her mental stability.”

  Trisha took a bite of her sandwich. Though she had been given a clean bill of health not all was well with her, either. Resentment and anger continued to gnaw at her. Since her return she had thought of nothing but her ordeal and the people responsible. She found it difficult to pray, and was moody. And Iliab’s words haunted her.

  Everything was bought with a price.

  God had paid an awesome price for her. He had paid with His Son. The price she must pay was to surrender to His will. She would have to forgive. “Well, how reliable are Joshua’s sources?” she repeated.

  “Reliable as any bribed information can be.”

  “So you’re saying that while Gunther was trying to steal our specs, Tafco was trying to sabotage the project, to stop the P2. I guess I can understand that, in a way. At two hundred fifty dollars a barrel of oil, Tafco stands to lose a great deal of future revenue if our plane is successful. As long as ISIS and ISA continue to wage war, oil prices will continue to soar. And the war could last for years. It also means that Tafco is not only responsible for the autoclave explosion, but Nolan and . . . Renee’s death.”

  “Yes. And do you know the worst part? They may get away with it.”

  “What about Joshua’s proof?” Trisha asked almost desperately. Forgiveness was easier if it came with a pound of flesh.

  “I’m not sure it would hold up in court. Understand that this information was bought in a back alley or extracted by torture.”

  Trisha felt her stomach knot. It couldn’t end like this. Surely justice would be served. But even the man who had abducted her had not been found, despite her detailed description. He had disappeared without a trace. “What about this Hanagan . . . Bubba Hanagan that Audra claimed kidnapped her?”

  “During her debriefing she told Pete about the incident on the bluff. But she swore she was mistaken; that she had temporarily snapped under the pressure. She claims he’s just a former boyfriend who jilted her. That could account for her hostility. But DHS will check him out. And Pete will also investigate Alex Harner and Gunther.”

  Trisha placed her sandwich on the paper plate. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Mike leaned over and took her hand. “When the dust settles and we have more time, I want to hear all about what happened out there, at Seco Polvo and in the mountains. Every detail. We’ve had a page ripped off our calendar, an entire month stolen from us, and we need to try and get it back. And I have a lot to tell you, too. I’ve been reading that Bible you gave me and stumbled on the story of Jacob. And I guess you could say I had a fight with God, too. And it changed me.”

  “Can’t you tell me now? I’d love to hear about it.”

  “No. We need to rehearse what you’re going to say at the press conference. You’ll be facing a battery of cameras and have to be prepared.”

  Trisha swallowed her disappointment and nodded. Yet she knew that even when they had the long hours to share their experiences, it would only be shared in part. There would be fragments, pieces of that month, which could never be fully explained or understood by the other.

  And in a strange way, that made her sad.

  • • •

  Audra still had a slight limp as she walked down the corridor of a dilapidated apartment building. She scanned the numbers on the doors and stopped in front of number twenty-four. In her mind, she had stood before this door a hundred times. The past week was all a fog. She remembered few details. The only consistent and clear memory was the scenario she was about to enact. It had been the one overriding imagery filling her mind. And she had managed to be very clever when DHS questioned her about Bubba Hanagan. She was not going to allow them to mess things up.

  But getting out of Everman City Hospital, undetected, had been tricky. DHS had already retrieved some clothes and shoes, and even her purse from her apartment so she didn’t have to wear those hideous hospital gowns—all in an attempt to make her feel less a patient and more like the “guest” they insisted she was.

  They hadn’t fooled her. Their agents were everywhere, watching her and making sure she didn’t escape. Still, she managed it by climbing out a three story window.

  Audra chuckled to herself as she thought of it. The experience in the mountains had proven useful after all. She was able to shinny down the drainpipe with ease. After that, she had stopped at her apartment to pick up the .25 caliber.

  DHS had removed the one in her purse.

  She also picked up the key which she now carried in her hand. She inserted it into the lock. No, DHS wasn’t going to rob her of her revenge. It was for this that she had managed to survive the descent on the ridge, the painful trek in the gorge. It was for this that her will to live had been restored.

  She removed the gun from her purse then turned the knob and entered the apartment. It was dingy and ill kept, with newspapers and empty snack bags of chips, pretzels and the like littering the floor.

  He was such a slob.

  She moved through the cluttered living room toward the kitchen where a radio blasted a country-western tune. And there was Bubba Hanagan, standing by the counter making himself a ham sandwich and singing off key.

  “Oh little darlin’ I knowed you’d leave me some day-a.”

  She pointed the silver .25 caliber at his face. She knew what a bullet could do to human flesh. She had seen it in Mexico. One blast could render it unrecognizable. That’s what she was going to do to him. “Your little darlin’ has returned,” Audra said with a sneer.

  Hanagan’s massive body recoiled. “How in the world . . . ?”

  “I’m going to kill you, Bubba!” Audra shrieked. Her eyes were wide, fierce. In one blast she was going to erase the memory of her crawling on straw mats, the vodka bottles, the trips to Mustafa’s office. They were going to be gone, all gone, wiped away like a bad dream. And she was going to wake up and be Audra Shields again: brilliant, hard working, respected.

  “Well, hello there, sexy!” Bubba said, straightening. “Now, don’t tell me you’re still sore because I walked in on you and that dude? You never did forgive me for that. But live and let live, I always say.” He moved toward her as he spoke.

  “Stay where you are! Not another step!”

  Hanagan smiled boyishly. “Okay, I’m easy.” Even so, he continued walking.

  “I’m warning you . . . .” Audra’s hand shook.

  There was a popping noise as the gun went off. The bullet grazed Bubba’s shoulder, but still he kept coming. Audra had time to squeeze off one more shot. The bullet lodged in his upper left arm making him wince with pain. In one swift motion, his muscular right arm swung away from his chest, back-handing her and knocking her to the ground. The gun flew out of her hand and skittered across the floor. Then Hanagan picked up one of the metal kitchen chairs and smashed it across Audra’s body, and she went blank.

  “Look, Gunther, I need money and I need it now!”

  Audra opened her eyes and saw a blurred figure of a man talking on a cell phone. When she tried to move she almost blacked out again from the pain. Breathing was difficult. She felt wet, then realized she was lying in a puddle of her own blood. She remembered the encounter with Bubba and realized she was still on his kitchen floor. Obviously, Bubba thought he had killed her. She dared not move. She closed her eyes and took short, shallow breaths.

  “. . . Don’t tell me to keep calm! The cops will be looking for me, not you! And remember, if I fall, I won’t fall alone!”

  “ . . . You could call it a threat. You owe me.” “. . . Yeah, I know you already paid me for the job. But you told me this bimb
o had a one-way ticket, that she was never coming back, and the next thing I know she’s standing in my kitchen with a gun.”

  “. . . Don’t con me. I didn’t bargain for this. There’s a dead broad in my apartment and I need to get out of here, fast. I’m just asking you to do right. That’s all. Just asking for enough cash to get out of town and carry me until this thing blows over.”

  “. . . Mexico? Sure, I’ll go there. The further away from here the better. And by the way, I need a doctor to get a slug out.”

  “. . . That’s right, the bimbo shot me.”

  “. . . No, I’ll live, but I can’t travel like this.”

  “. . . Okay. I’ll meet you at the usual place in thirty minutes. And Gunther . . . thanks. I knew you’d come through.”

  The pain made Audra lightheaded, and for a moment she blacked out again. When she came to, she heard drawers slamming as Bubba pulled clothes out of his dresser. She had heard enough of his conversation to know he was preparing to leave town. She held her breath when she heard footsteps approach, then stop next to her.

  She dared not move a muscle.

  She was lying on her stomach; her face partially covered by her right arm which was wet with blood and so painful she was sure it was broken. If her breathing was shallow enough he’d still think she was dead. It was her only hope.

  Her eyes were closed so she didn’t see Bubba raise his foot, but she felt the tan boot smash into her ribs. The crushing jar to her body caused her to bite her tongue. Hot, sticky liquid ooze between her lips. Audra heard his footsteps as he headed into the dingy living room and out the front door.

  Then everything went blank.

  • • •

  “They’ve just brought Audra Shields to Everman City Hospital,” said an agitated Peter Meyers, powering off his phone. He had joined Trisha and Mike at the motel. Two hours ago his agent had reported Audra missing. Since then, DHS had been raking the city and this was the first news they had of her.

  “What happened?” Trisha asked.

  “I don’t know,” Pete said, the muscles of his face clenching. “And she’s in no condition to tell us, either. She’s unconscious, and by the description my man gave, has taken quite a beating. She might have broken bones, possibly a concussion, and who knows what internal injuries. My man said she’s a bloody mess.”

  Mike shot an anxious glance at Trisha. “It’s not ISA again, is it, Pete?”

  “No. Doesn’t look like it. Audra left the hospital on her own, and, for whatever reason, didn’t want us to know about it.”

  “Where did they find her?” Trisha asked.

  “Some dumpy apartment. One of the tenants heard gunshots and called the police. When they arrived, they found the apartment door ajar and Audra on the floor, but no one else.”

  “Until you know more, I want Trisha to have extra protection,” Mike said.

  “I’ve already taken care of that. And I’ve moved the news conference up a few hours. It will be held at Everman Hospital. I want to talk to the press before this news about Audra gets out.”

  • • •

  CHAPTER 18

  At four o’clock sharp, a black, unmarked SUV pulled behind Everman City Hospital. From it, stepped Mike, Trisha, and Peter Meyers. They were followed by two heavily armed men in black suits. A back door was opened by a DHS agent dressed as an orderly in a white uniform. The man led the five down the hall, onto a freight elevator used by hospital personnel, then into a large conference room on the fourth floor.

  When the group entered, members of the press strained to see the heroine who had escaped the tentacles of ISA while DHS agents strained to detect any sudden or erratic movements.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” Peter’s clear, crisp voice rang out over the microphone. “I’m sure you’re all eager to hear Miss Callahan’s story and how she survived her hellish ordeal. And, you’ll have your chance. But first, I’d like to open this press conference with a statement. The other survivor of this ghastly kidnapping, Miss Audra Shields, now lies in critical condition right here in this hospital. It appears that another attempt by ISA was made upon her person. When she resisted, she was brutally beaten and left for dead. The doctors don’t know if she’ll make it. As you are all aware, we live in perilous times; times of uncertainty and tension. And we at DHS . . . .”

  As Peter droned on, a heaviness fell over Trisha. The reporters had packed the room in hopes of hearing a titillating, perhaps gory story of violence and terror. Certainly Peter was priming them for that. And he had briefed her on what to say. There was not to be the slightest hint of Tafco’s involvement. She was to give them what they came to hear: the agonizing ordeal of the kidnapping, the brutality of her captors, the hardships endured throughout her escape. When it was finally her turn to go on, she took a deep breath before stepping up to the podium.

  Well, they would all be disappointed, all except Peter. He’d be angry.

  “I’m grateful to be home,” she said, speaking slowly into the microphone. “I thank God for my safe return. Truly, He went before me always. I also wish to acknowledge the brave Israeli fighters whose efforts were primarily responsible for my escape.”

  The room exploded with chatter as everyone spoke at once. Cameras clicked while reporters scribbled on their pads, Peter’s face reddened, and Mike’s eyebrows arched in interest.

  “And last of all,” Trisha continued, “I want to remember Nathan Yehuda, the Israeli who laid down his life so Miss Shields and I could escape.”

  As Trisha left the platform, dozens of reporters shouted out questions, creating pandemonium and causing DHS agents to surround her while others cleared a path for an exit. A flushed and bewildered Peter Meyers jumped in front of the podium and shouted into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I’m sorry, no more questions . . . no more questions, please . . . that’s quite enough. Thank you. No . . . I’m sorry . . . this press conference is over.”

  • • •

  “Why did you do it, Trisha?” Peter asked as he paced back and forth in one of the doctor’s lounges that had been sealed off for their use. His face was still flushed, and his cheeks puffed in and out like two fanning billows.

  “Why did you lie about Audra?” Trisha snapped.

  Shortly before the news conference, DHS had learned in whose apartment Audra Shields had been found. It didn’t take long to figure out the reason she was there. A Raven .25 caliber hand gun had been found on the floor when the apartment was searched. The serial number was registered to Audra. The blond metallurgist had lied to Peter and the other DHS agents regarding Bubba Hanagan. It was clear she had gone to his apartment in hope of extracting revenge. In light of this intelligence, Peter had deliberately falsified his information at the press conference.

  “I didn’t intend to embarrass you,” Trisha continued, her voice softening. “But this entire story is becoming muddled. And when it’s finished being told and retold, it won’t resemble the truth at all. If I had given them what you wanted, the news media would have buried the public with an avalanche of gory details. No one would ever know about Nathan Yehuda or the other brave members of the Mossad. And they deserve more, especially now, with all the anti-Semitic fervor President Baker’s crowd is whipping up. He didn’t . . . he isn’t . . . for heaven’s sake Pete, Nathan didn’t even get a decent burial!”

  Peter’s cheeks stopped billowing and he sat down. “I suppose you did what you thought was right, but now I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do. Many in my department are in lock-step with Baker and they’re pushing the so-called ‘Hitler Plan’, too.”

  Trisha nodded. She already knew about this plan from Mike. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. That was selfish of me, putting you in a bind that way.”

  “Okay, so the partnership between DHS and the Mossad becomes public,” Mike said, shrugging. “What’s the h
arm? If people understand how valuable the Mossad is to us, maybe it will do some good; stem the tide of anti-Semitism here in the U.S..”

  “Maybe.”

  Mike chuckled. “Let’s face it, Pete, you’ll turn out to be a hero, and in a few months they’ll give you a promotion.”

  “Well . . . .”

  “How does U.S. Secretary of Homeland Security sound?” Trisha teased.

  “Here, here,” Mike said, laughing.

  “Well, as head of DHS I would be in a better position to expose Tafco Oil.”

  The smiles disappeared from everyone’s face. The chances of bringing Tafco Oil to account for sabotaging PA and for Nolan and Renee’s death were slim.

  And they all knew it.

  The remaining hope was that Peter, using the evidence he had regarding the collusion between Tafco, President Baker and various Islamic groups, could bring down Baker and martial law.

  “I guess the important thing now is to get our country back and put an end to Baker’s dictatorship,” Mike said with a frown.

  “I’m working on that and so far it’s giving me nothing but insomnia. It’s going to be an uphill climb.” Peter shrugged. “I’ll work it out. But now, let’s check on Audra and see how she’s doing.”

  Before anyone could move, a DHS agent appeared. “Sir,” said the well-groomed agent, “Miss Shields has just died. We were unable to get a statement. She never regained consciousness.”

  • • •

  Joshua sat in front of a bank of monitors and watched Cassy move from one room of her apartment to the other, making silly faces. She knew he was watching and it irritated him that she was trying to make light of the situation. He wished she’d stop trying to be so brave. She was a decoy, a sitting duck, a lure to bring in one of the most vicious terrorists he had ever encountered. And though DHS had set up headquarters in the apartment right next to hers, and her apartment was wired with the most sophisticated surveillance system known to man, he still knew there was plenty of danger, and no guarantee she’d come out of this in one piece.