by Ted Peters
On the desk she found Neshat’s open laptop and assorted note pads, pens, and paper clips. A leather jewelry box caught her eye. Out of curiosity she opened it to see a red felt lining holding what she at first thought might be a collection of cuff links. Upon closer inspection, she was astounded to see an array of earrings, women’s earrings. She fingered them. It seems that none are in pairs. They’re all singles. Odd.
One was particularly striking: a jade earring with a yin-yang symbol. Then her fingers touched an item so very familiar: acubic zirconium double stone. Kelly? She paused. Oh my God!
She tried to think. She put Kelly’s earring in her clutch purse. She searched through the jewelry box again until she found something else recognizable. She picked up the Spirit of Detroit. Leona had seen this one before. She had seen it between her mother’s fingers displayed on a monitor. It belonged to another murdered young woman. She threw the Spirit of Detroit back into the jewelry box but did not close the lid. She grasped her purse tightly, opened the door to the hallway, and ran for the elevator.
She was stymied. To make the elevator work, Leona would need an electronic key. She turned abruptly and followed the exit signs to a stairwell and began her descent on foot. She threw off her heels and leaped downward, three to four steps per bound.
When Khalid returned to the fireplace parlor and saw the open box plus the absence of his guest, he raced out into the hallway and looked both directions. He thought he could see the stairway door closing. He withdrew a Glock 17 from his belt and sped toward the stairwell in pursuit.
Not remembering how many stories she would need to descend, Leona’s heart raced as fast as her legs. Her ears picked up the sound of other feet on the steps. He’s chasing me! Could she move any faster? Are those footsteps sounding louder or softer? She could not be sure. She would need a diversionary move. What could that be?
Have I descended far enough to make it past the locked floors? Through a door Leona raced, finding herself on the twentieth floor. She ran down the hall to the elevators, pushing a down button. She waited. She waited some more, pushing and tapping and slamming the button. Did he see where I went? Finally, after a bell ring, Leona was in the elevator pushing the button to the basement. I hope this is an express. I hope no one tries to stop me.
When Leona’s elevator door finally opened, she leaped out onto the floor beneath the Palmer House lobby. She passed quickly from the elevator well and into a shopping promenade. She turned right and walked rapidly past the boutiques in the direction of Wabash Avenue. She heard a second elevator door ring. Could that be him? She began to run, weaving between sauntering window shoppers and commuters.
Suddenly, she heard a loud voice, “Leona! Down!”
Dumfounded, she looked ahead toward the Wabash opening and saw a human form. It was a man. Legs spread for stability. In his hand he seemed to be holding a gun, aiming a gun. Could it be Graham?! She dove onto the floor like Hank Greer making a head-first slide into second base. She could hear the blast of a gunshot. And she thought she heard the bullet whizzing past her right where her head had just been. Did Graham fire his weapon?
The other pedestrians in the shopping promenade either flattened themselves to the walls or ducked down to near floor level. As soon as all was quiet, they resumed their normal posture while keeping a wary eye on Graham. “What was that all about?” shouted a rather indignant man.
Graham ignored the remark, racing to where Leona lay and kneeling down. He directed his eyes not at Leona but at the elevator well. “Don’t move, Lee.” Then Graham shouted, “Everyone! Take cover! Stay down!” Everyone froze. Graham slowly stood and walked gingerly to the elevator well. When he saw no one he turned to the frightened crowd to announce, “All clear. You may return safely to what you were doing!” Soon everyone was milling about and murmuring about the excitement. More than one was dialing 9-1-1.
“Let’s go, Lee!” ordered Graham while helping Leona to her feet. She complied without saying anything. In moments they made it through throngs of pedestrians to the Metra station without stopping to engage any arriving police.
Chapter 61
Chicago
Once on the train, Graham and Leona found a bench seat below a large poster of Sugar Daley, Mayor of Chicago. The feminine but firm face of Mayor Daley looked straight into the eye of the poster viewer to say, “Proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.”
After taking a deep breath, and despite the stern ambiance, the two could finally talk to one another.
“Whom did you shoot at, Graham?” asked Leona.
“Neshat,” he responded.
“What? Why? How did…?”
“While talking with Holthusen and Lee and Hurley, I kinda put two and two together. Actually, I didn’t get four. But, what I got was just a bad number. I raced over to the Palmer House to find you. I felt I needed to prevent something happening to you like what happened to Kelly. I just didn’t like that guy, Neshat.”
“Did you see Neshat with a gun?”
“Yes. He was aiming at your back while you ran toward me.”
“Oh, Grammy! I’m so grateful to you!” Leona gave Graham a hug and a cheek kiss. “You were right, Grammy. Look at this.” She extracted and displayed Kelly’s earring. “This is evidence that Khalid’s responsible for Kelly’s murder. And the murder of that poor young Miss Detroit. And, perhaps many others as well. He’s some kind of maniac.”
The two watched the telephone polls pass by through the train windows.
“Lee, are you attracted to Khalid?” asked Graham in a barely audible voice.
“No, Graham, of course not.”
“He’s intelligent. Rich. Cosmopolitan. Exotic.”
“He’s evil, Graham. What is evil, is ugly. I’m attracted to what is good. And so are you.”
“But, some women kinda like the bad boy. Maybe there’s just a part of you, just a little part of you, that’s still attracted to Khalid the bad boy.”
“The bad boy lovers are giggly airheads in their twenties. In case you haven’t noticed, that’s not me. And, furthermore, bad boy doesn’t really fit Neshat. Not only is he a rapist and serial killer, his delusions of grandeur are leading him to play a game of geopolitical extortion that risks a thermonuclear disaster of hellish proportions. He borders on candidacy for the Anti-Christ.”
“Even so, doesn’t he elicit just a little titillation in you?”
Leona took time in answering. “Remember Leona’s Law of Evil: you know it’s the voice of Satan when you hear the call to shed innocent blood. Khalid Neshat has shed innocent blood. I don’t like Satan, Grammay. I like you.” She nestled her head in Graham’s lap. He wrapped his left arm around Leona. Leona ran the fingers of her left hand across Graham’s scalp and kissed him lightly on the forehead.
“Grammy?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not shopping for a boyfriend. If I were, I certainly would not give a guy like Khalid a second look.”
“Despite the fact that he can afford Silver Oak?”
“Silver Oak a boyfriend does not make. Anyhow, Grammy, I simply do not have a need for a boyfriend as long as I have you!”
Graham winced. Both laughed.
Chapter 62
The Cloud
“John Blair here.”
Each member of the TaiCom group watched Blair on video screen while hearing his voice on their respective cell phones. Abnu Sharma in Mumbai. Buzz Kidd and Olga Louchakova in Mountain View. Lionel Chang in Taipei. Geraldine Bourne in Toronto.
“Glad you’re with us, John,” said Chang, who was chairing the conference call. “Let me continue. I have two items of good news. Our satellite is up, in orbit, and connected.”
The group applauded, showing their clapping hands to their respective cameras.
Chang continued. “The second item of good news is that we at TaiCom have our first paying customer: HaMossad leModiʿin ule Tafkidi
m Meyuhadim, that is, the national intelligence agency of Israel. Just this past week Geraldine flew to a secret location and implanted two chips in Mossad assets. Mossad paid well and was quite willing to buy in even though we are only at the clinical trial stage. We did not need to make any guarantees.”
“Probably got the cash from the US,” offered Kidd.
“Doesn’t matter to us now, does it?” said Chang.
“Just how does Israel plan to use our device?” quizzed Kidd.
“I will answer your question, but first I must lower the curtain of confidentiality. That is, this is the equivalent of top secret. All agreed?”
Affirmations were heard from all parties. Chang continued. “Here is the larger picture. Israel has an opportunity to develop a positive alliance with Sunni Muslim countries, because these Arab states cower in fear at the growing influence of Shia Iran. If Israel can demonstrate a capacity to protect Sunnis from Shiites, it will be in a strong negotiating position. Israel is ramping up its intelligence gathering and espionage. TaiCom and Mossad agreed to conduct an experiment, a trial run. Israel wanted to sabotage a construction project. They wanted to disable the Islamic gas pipeline running from Iran through Syria to the Mediterranean. We asked our partner, Doctor Neshat, to provide satellite transmissions to our implantees with all the intelligence—logistics, on site activity, and everything else—they need to carry out a clandestine bombing operation. If successful, this would add to our proof of concept. It would persuade Israel to become a regular customer.”
“How successful were we?” asked Sharma.
“Well,” drawled Chang, “this is the bad news. The bombing operation went off at just the right time. However, what was bombed was not the Islamic pipeline. Rather, what was bombed successfully was the Qatarie pipeline. The United States and Saudi Arabia are building a pipeline stretching from Qatar through Iraq, Syria, and Turkey to Europe. That’s the one bombed. Mossad disabled the wrong pipeline!”
“Will Mossad come to disable us now?” asked Kidd.
“There’s no place to hide,” added Sharma.
“Time to learn to speak Hebrew, and fast!” exclaimed Bourne.
After a brief period of interchange with nearly everyone in the group speaking at the same time, Lionel Chang raised his voice authoritatively. “Perhaps you know now why one member of our group has not been included in this call.”
“Do you mean Khalid?” asked Olga.
“Precisely!” responded Chang. “I need to tell you frankly that I’m a bit worried. Suspicious, actually.”
“Do you think Khalid would object to our selling to Israel?” asked Sharma. “Do you think Khalid deliberately provided disinformation to those two Mossad agents?”
“Maybe,” responded Chang. “Maybe he would do more than merely object to doing business with Israel. He might even go rogue.”
“What do you mean?” asked Buzz.
“Let me be very frank,” continued Chang. “I do not believe Phee Seng died of natural causes. I have spoken at length with his wife. Yes, Phee Seng had sleep apnea. But, he also carried a portable CPAP when he traveled. The police report does not indicate Phee Seng was wearing it at the time of his death. This suggests that he died before he could put it on. In short, I believe he may have been murdered.”
The group gasped.
“We know that Phee Seng’s death put Khalid in sole control of our satellite operations,” interjected Blair. “Khalid is a physicist and quite capable of handling the quantum key. Might there be a connection between Phee Seng’s death and the Qatarie pipeline?”
“I have thought of this,” answered Chang. “I am now considering a plan to remove Dr. Neshat from his responsibilities and to replace him. I have not acted because I cannot yet be sure about these things. I’m asking you to assist in my decision.”
“If Khalid has taken full control of satellite transmissions, then he could have determined what gets downloaded into the Mossad chips,” exclaimed Bourne, “and every other chip we eventually implant.”
“Yes,” said Chang with a pause. “I fear this is the case.”
Chapter 63
Chicago
Leona pulled out the business cards she’d gathered on her recent trips. She laid them her desk and brought up her Skype. She put in the Skype address of Chris MacDonald and requested contact. It was relatively early morning in Chicago, so MacDonald in Mountain View might not see the request for another hour or more.
Next she clicked on the name of Hayim Levy. In moments a video connection was established. “Hi, Hi. How’s my favorite rabbi?” asked Leona in a singsong rhythm, as was her routine.
“Your favorite rabbi is suffering from jet lag,” said Hayim Levy. “Nancy and I just got back last evening from Israel. Got some jet lag to sleep off. How’s my favorite Lutheran? Got grace?”
“Was it hot in Israel?”
“Hotter’n hell! But, Chicago’s not much better this time of year.”
“Apart from the heat, is the Holy Land still holy?”
“We had some excitement before we left. Everyone was a buzz about a terrorist bombing. That giant gas line—you know the one from Qatar through Syria that the US and Saudi Arabia are building—it got bombed. Big explosion. I mean big! It won’t be sending any gas to Europe anytime soon. Nobody knows who did it. Maybe the Iranians. But, everybody was talking about it. Did it make the news here?”
“Oh, no. Our news still pretends it’s a religious war going on there.”
After more small talk, the rabbi invited Leona, “gonna come by as part of another long jog?”
“Not gonna run that far today. Anyway, your bagels are fattening. Gotta keep my figure.”
“Why? Nobody can see your figure beneath that tent sized white alb you wear.”
A Skype tune interrupted Leona so she signed off with Hayim. In a moment she was face to face with Chris MacDonald.
“Why are you up so early, Chris. Californians should still be in bed at this time,” jabbed Leona.
“I get to the lab early every day,” said Chris, not acknowledging Leona’s humor. “I work best in the morning. Why am I getting a call from the Chicago clergy?”
“To get to the point, Chris, tell me what’s happening with the NASA satellite? I know it’s up. Who’s in charge of the TaiCom transmissions? You?”
“Nope. We turned everything over to Doctor Neshat. I may have mentioned this at Kelly’s funeral. Neshat runs around with a special laptop that Kurz and I put together. It’s got the power and the range to maintain satellite communications wherever he goes. No need for a NASA location as long as Neshat’s got his computer with him.”
Chapter 64
Chicago
Leona stepped out her front door and stood for a moment on the porch. She reminded herself of the weather report. The thermometer would spout above the century mark by midday. It would be a day of sun without clouds and enough humidity to still all but the most essential movements of every living creature. Such a portent had no affect on Leona’s disposition. Whether due to a good night’s sleep or the refreshing oxygen of the early morning air or a sanctified spirit, Leona was feeling no stress or even the threat of stress. She took a deep breath while appreciating the roses and lilacs. By the time she was out of the parking lot, her jog was full pace. She headed north on Burnham and east on 79th toward Lake Michigan.
Although she’d seen this Great Lake almost daily for a couple years, each encounter refreshed her anew. The sun spoke and the water responded with dancing sparkles, with white mirages gliding and jerking atop the undulating blue green surface. Leona didn’t merely see Lake Michigan. Her skin celebrated the fresh breeze. Her ears tended to the subtle lapping of the waves punctuated by robins singing. Her nose inhaled the symphony of scents wafting from the grass, the flowers, the trees, and the shore. Somehow Leona could feel the depth of this unfathomable sea welling up and taking its rightful place within her soul.
Three miles north. Three miles back.
There was no one Leona envied. Nothing she wanted to possess. What evils she had suffered she had forgotten, at least temporarily. How does that poem by Czeslaw Milosz go? she asked herself. Was it called “Gift”? The implanted chip answered: “a day so happy.”
Her happiness was interrupted by something else taking place within her head. Some sort of sensation. Some sort of activity. Her mind’s eye began watching a mental You Tube video. What she saw was startling. She saw herself with a handgun, firing bullets. At whom? At Graham. Graham’s dead body fell to the ground. Then, Leona walked away from Graham’s corpse.
All this took place within Leona’s mind. Leona stopped for a moment to assess what was going on. Then, she resumed her jog.
Chapter 65
Chicago
Leona slowed her jog as she turned into the church parking lot. She opened her awareness to allow the stultifying alliance of heat and humidity to encroach on her previous sense of wellbeing. How can I turn this sow’s ear into a silk purse? she asked herself. Suppose I wash the car. Yes, that’s it. I’ll wash the car.
By midday she was wearing her two piece Speedo. The car had been pulled up to the parsonage front walk near the church’s rear door. A bucket with soap and a sponge sat by the left rear tire. She glanced up at the sun through her Ray-Bans and then reached for the spring loaded hose nozzle. She heard a faint voice.
“Good morning, Pastor Lee.” It was the voice of Cupid, the six year old African American girl who had become Leona’s best little friend. “It’s hot,” she exclaimed, hopping from one foot to another on the parking lot asphalt.
