Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru

by Marshall Masters

  Johnston held his head with both hands and grunted as he scratched his scalp. “My God! We just don't seem to catch a break, do we?"

  “No, Merl. All we can do is play the cards we're dealt to the best of our skills and abilities and hope for the best. Between us, what concerns me most is that we're moving too quickly now, and that is when mistakes happen. The Illuminati is now challenged with a greater threat to mankind than Nibiru, and we've already lost the advantage of time."

  “Then, I just can't sit by the sidelines on this and be happy biting my fingers. Antonio, I've got to be involved in some way. What can I do?” Feeling nervous, he picked up his cigar and began puffing it back to life.

  The evening had finally worked its way to this moment, the crux of De Bono's main goal for the evening. He picked up the lighter and relit Johnston's cigar for him. “The Secret Grand Master is personally interested in Anthony Jarman's son."

  “Because he carries the Mystery Gene?"

  “Precisely. The Mystery Gene is the key to celestial navigation. If we are to go out there, it will give us an edge, provided we can raise the boy to become a willing member of the Illuminati."

  “Well, I read about the kidnapping and the brutal murder of his parents, so I doubt that you'll be able to get him to participate willingly."

  “If it comes to that, we'll clone him and start over. It may take several attempts to regenerate the gene, but it can be done, even if we only use him as breeding stock. However, we have a plan and we need your help."

  “The contractors we used to abduct the boy, who also killed his parents and the neighbor, were Nigerian Muslims."

  “Neighbor?"

  “During the assault, the boy escaped the home through a hidden passageway to the adjacent home of a neighbor, where he placed a call to an unlisted number at the American National Reconnaissance Office. We later learned that the number was assigned to Colonel Arthur Jones, one of their top men. He is also known as Master Sergeant Vigo Jones; he has been conducting an intensive search for the boy ever since the kidnapping and pulling in every personal marker he has with other national and international intelligence agencies to do so. He has yet to learn of the boy's whereabouts, nor is he aware of our involvement, but, given that he has gotten close to discovering us on a few occasions, he undoubtedly has his suspicions."

  “Then, he has to be dealt with. Likewise, we can assume that there is a connection between the boy, his mother, Jarman and this Jones fellow. Dealing with Jarman and Jones is one thing, but what about the boy?"

  “The Nigerians actually work for a Syrian operative by the name of Colonel Yasin. Normally, we would be directly involved at this point, but we cannot with Jones snooping about looking for the boy. Therefore, the Inner Council Illuminati has decided to keep the child in the custody of Colonel Yasin, who will now command an elite Syrian Peacekeeper unit to be stationed in an abandoned missile silo at Fort Hood, Texas. The missile field itself is deserted, and the silo is impenetrable and well defended."

  “And the last place Jones will look for the boy is on an American military base,” Johnston added, “which just happens to fall within the supreme authority of the Southwestern UNE Governor."

  “Now, you're catching on."

  “Back to the boy. How do you intend to recruit him?"

  “We view this as a critical task, and you will be interested to know that your mentor, Secret Master Hans Gebhard, will also raise and mentor the boy. A few weeks after we've transferred the boy to Ft. Hood, Hans will be introduced to the boy as his new male nurse. In the course of spending time with the boy, Hans will form a relationship of trust with him. Once we've dealt with Jarman and Jones, we will stage an escape for the boy and Hans, who will secret him away to a remote place. There, he will raise him as his own son and in such a way as to let us trigger the boy's dormant mystery gene without driving him to madness."

  “That's tough assignment, but if anyone can do it, Hans certainly can,” Johnston noted solemnly. “So, what about Jarman and Jones? I don't know about you, but the words ‘dead men tell no tales’ come to mind when I think about how to deal with them."

  “Well put, Merl! Rather than wracking our brains on that one, I took the liberty of asking Danielle to formulate a plan. She's has the right background for this and been following the news coverage on Jarman very closely. Let's see what she has to suggest before we make any further plans."

  Johnston whistled appreciatively. “And she can cook too!” He winked at De Bono; “tonight was a blind date, wasn't it?"

  De Bono scratched his ear. “So far, your training has been largely about history and theory. In this regard, you have come a long way, Merl. However, there is still a lot you do not know, especially when it comes to our operational capabilities.” He poured a brandy into the glasses with a devilish smile.

  “This brings me to Yvette and Danielle. They are more than you think. Our own School of Assassins has trained both of them as personal bodyguards. This evening, you'll find Danielle to be an incredible lover, which was also part of her training. But you should also know that she has been trained to kill a man twice her size using her hands alone, and she knows at least a dozen different ways to do it. Further, you would not have met her this evening had she not already proven herself in mortal combat."

  Johnston gulped. “Antonio, I'm not so sure about this."

  “Relax, Merl. It gets better.” He puffed his cigar and then took a sip of brandy. “If you choose her and she accepts, Danielle will be totally devoted to you and everything you do for the Illuminati. She will help you in anything you do without question and you will surely come to appreciate her abilities as I have come to appreciate Yvette. Yet, Danielle's most important role will be that of your last line of defense. We may be powerful, but we do have our enemies, and sometimes they can get too close for comfort. If that happens to you, know it in your heart without any reservation that Danielle will eat a bullet for you, if that is what it will take to save your life. Again, as I said, you must offer and she must accept. Only then is the bond made."

  “A dozen different ways with her hands?"

  “At a minimum, and trust me, the day could come when you'll be damn glad of it.” With that, De Bono drained the last of his brandy and snubbed out his cigar to signal that their conversation on the veranda had ended. “Let's find the girls and go skinny dipping."

  “Works for me,” Johnston said happily as rose up out of his chair and followed De Bono back into the dining room where they found the women waiting patiently for them.

  De Bono put his arm around Yvette and said, “We'll see you two at the pool. Yvette and I are going to stop by the kitchen first. It seems that she has prepared some tasty tidbits for us to enjoy later on."

  Yvette smiled and waved as they walked out of the room. Turning back at the door, she said, “Don't be long."

  “OK; we'll be there shortly,” Johnston answered as the double doors closed behind the Secretary General and his mistress. He then turned to Danielle. “Let's sit down and talk for a moment."

  “Certainly,” she said with a soft smile.

  They both sat in their same seats at the table and he emptied the last of the Syrah into their wineglasses. “I know all the basic details about Jones and Jarman,” he said frankly. “The Secretary General told me that you might have a suggestion or two as to how we can deal with them."

  “Politically speaking, Jarman is definitely the more dangerous of the two and must be neutralized before we can deal with Jones. The problem is that Jarman has become a tragic global figure, thanks to the continuous news reporting on him by Fox News reporter Rose O'Hara. Other End of Life Management Officers would have already gone insane or demanded assisted suicide by now. However, Jarman has broken the mold. He refuses to show any signs of instability or any self-destructive tendencies. The man is becoming a tough egg to crack, and killing him now is impossible, given his global popularity. Even though Jarman has avoided making any political stat
ements, it will only be a matter of time before he does, and that is when he will become extremely dangerous to us. In my opinion, this man knows who did this to him, and he's waiting for payback."

  Johnston picked up his glass and gently rolled the Syrah around. “So, how do we neutralize Jarman?"

  “Right now, he's in New York, and things are starting to ease. However, a rash of breakouts of 3G has been reported in Northern California, especially in the Bay Area. I've studied all of the triage centers being constructed right now and the one that I like the best is the Los Gatos Triage Center south of the Silicon Valley. It is nestled in the Santa Cruz hills, and access is easily controlled. My suggestion is that the outgoing governor should order Jarman to this new triage center, so that you're not connected with that decision. After you become the new Southwestern UNE Governor, you declare the triage centers as quarantine sites, which means only military personnel can leave the centers until the quarantine is lifted."

  “OK, but why?"

  “I examined all of the media coverage on Jarman since his call-up. The first thing you notice is that it is not continuous. As a matter of fact, O'Hara only runs a story on him about once every ten days on average, mostly to help boost her ratings. If she enters the triage center as a reporter, she'll also be entering as a civilian. In other words, she'll be trapped there, and I doubt that Fox News or any other network is about to devote any news crew to cover Jarman on a permanent basis. These people work on budgets. Once we bust their budget, they'll move on. After that, it will be a simple matter for Jarman's health to fail, if you get my meaning. Once he's gone, the task of neutralizing Jones can be left to the School of Assassins."

  “Damn, but you're good!"

  “I try my best,” she answered demurely.

  “Yeah, well I know good when I see it. But I still have one question, though."

  “And that is?"

  “If you had evidence that I was doing something to betray the Illuminati, what would you do?"

  She slowly waved her finger at him. “Tsk, tsk, that's a tough question, but then you have the right to ask. In terms of what I would do, I believe you really want to know if I would kill you. The answer to that is no as it would be against the code. I cannot harm you because of our bond, and even if I did suspect you I would still forfeit to defend you, but if I have solid proof that you've betrayed our cause, I would have to report it to the Inner Council. If they come to believe that you are a traitor, the first sign of that change will be my sudden departure from your life. Then, the assassins will come for you in the night."

  Johnston cleared his throat. “You can be pretty damn direct, too, but that's OK, since I have nothing to fear.” He took a sip of wine. “As a matter of fact, I liked your answer. Better yet, I like most everything about you. So why not? Let's bond."

  Danielle dipped her finger in his glass and rubbed the wine-moistened finger gently across his lower lip. “Let's not rush this. You know I like to get ‘it’ too, and a hard man is good to find. I'll give you my answer in the morning."

  * * *

  Ash Streams in the Sky

  THE TRAIN RIDE from New York to Louisville, Kentucky had been long and tedious, with several grinding and jolting stops, but for Homeland Defense Captain Anthony Jarman it would be remembered as the more luxurious segment of his cross-country trip from New York to his new duty station in Los Gatos, California. The next leg of his journey would be a gut-wrenching affair in the minimally pressurized cargo hold of a C-130J Hercules II air transport.

  A grizzled, potbellied old weekend warrior who had retired from the Air National Guard six years earlier met him at the train station. His name was Sergeant Mike Tompkins, and Anthony was bored to tears by his ‘happy to be back in the saddle’ attitude. Unlike Anthony, who had been drafted into the Homeland Defense, Tompkins had been recalled as the result of a severe manpower shortage after the Nibiru flyby. This, despite the consolidation of all branches of the National Guard, Reserve and Coast Guard into one huge, barely manageable force called Homeland Defense after America ratified the UNE treaty in 2011.

  Another aspect of the UNE treaty was that America could keep its active service branches, the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines, but they now served under UNE command as UNE Peacekeepers when deployed outside the country. The UNE Peacekeeper plan was simple. America was responsible for maintaining its own military services, which would train in America for deployment in foreign lands under UNE field commanders. Likewise, foreign armies from around the globe now served as UNE Peacekeepers in America with authority over the Homeland Defense forces, which could only be deployed within their own national boundaries.

  Sergeant Tompkins met Anthony trackside and threw his gear in the back of the dilapidated, old HUMVEE. The Army National Guard markings had been crudely spray painted out and replaced with stenciled letters bearing the new Homeland Defense designations.

  Exhausted and hungry from the train ride, Anthony crawled into the HUMVEE as Tompkins kicked the old diesel engine to life. “So, you're that ELMO guy from New York I've been seeing on Fox News ain't ya?"

  “I guess today is your lucky day, Sarge,” Anthony answered laconically.

  “You bet your sweet ass, it is. Me and the old lady think you're a damn hero, we do. We see all those poor folks dying of cancers and bugs and what all and how you do such a kind job of sending ‘em across to the Lord and all. Yes sir, you're a damn hero."

  Anthony patted the old sergeant on the shoulder and said, “I'm not sure I caught your first name. Mike isn't it?"

  “At your service,” Tompkins chirped back as he whipped the HUMVEE around a corner.

  “Well, Mike. I appreciate it and I want you and your missus to do me a favor."

  “Sure enough, Captain. What is it?"

  “Stay alive."

  The sergeant pounded a fist on the steering wheel and burst out laughing. “By God, we will. I'll tell the old lady you said that first thing I get home. Damned if she won't split a gut and gossip across the fence till the cows come home! Yes sir."

  In good spirits, the sergeant talked about his wife and hunting dogs as they drove towards the Louisville International Airport, home of the 123rd Airlift Wing, former home of the Kentucky Air National Guard. As they approached the airport, he pointed a thumb towards the back of the HUMVEE. “By the way, I got two cases of fresh .22 ammo for you in the back that are supposed to go with you to California."

  “Thanks,” Anthony replied. “Make sure they get on the plane for me."

  “Will do, Captain,” Tompkins replied in a more somber tone. “I guess them rounds are for folks wantin’ to die, now."

  “Yeah. With the current shortages of drugs, the decision came down from the folks who seem to know better and live better than the rest of us, that anyone requesting their right of assisted suicide who can still walk gets that instead of an injection."

  “That's a damn shame, Captain. Getting a bullet in the back of the head isn't my idea of how to go, if you know what I mean."

  “I know what you mean, but that is the way it is. Only children and the bedridden will get lethal injections now but a bullet in the back of the head is quick. Before I left for New York, they trained me on it with cadavers. It's amazing, but a well-aimed .22 in the base of the skull goes right through the medulla oblongata, and death is instantaneous."

  The sergeant shivered. “Orders is orders, but this stuff really gives me the willies. What do you think about it?"

  Anthony looked at the sergeant with a calm face. “It's the way it is, Mike. Plain and simple.” He then decided to switch the conversation to another track. “Say look, tell me about this night flight to California. I've heard a lot of horror stories about these wind shear crashes. What are my chances of making it there alive?"

  “Ah, hell, Captain, fer starters, you're flying with 123rd AW. We're the best damn Herky Bird drivers there is, and you're in luck! We mostly fly the C-130H Hercules for humanitarian operations, but you'll
be going to California on the newer J model we use for special night drops and high priority cargo runs. She's a real beauty, too, called The Flying Circus. I hear tell she used to fly as a weather reconnaissance bird for the Brits before we got her, so I guess her first crew named her the Flying Circus in honor of their favorite English TV show."

  “That's interesting, but will I get there in one piece?"

  “You bet you will. Let me tell you why. For starters, she's got extended range fuel tanks, and she's an all-weather airdrop-capable bird, which means she can get around these damn volcanic ash streams. Something our H model Herks can't do so well, so they fly mostly during the day. Now, that is damned dangerous flying. Yes, sir. Last month, we lost two Herks to wind shear. One crew walked away. The others didn't, the poor bastards."

  “So what does a J model do differently?"

  “Well sir, the Flying Circus ain't your run of the mill Herk. She got better engines, propellers and avionics and an upgraded cockpit. She's got four humping Allison turboprop engines that can develop a whopping 4,591 shaft horsepower each, which really comes in handy when the pilots are trying to climb above an ash stream. But if they do hit an ash stream, the J Herk has got six-bladed composite propellers that are a mite tougher than the ones on the H models, which comes in handy, considerin’ the sandblasting effects of an ash stream."

  “Well, that's reassuring,” Anthony replied with a little bit more enthusiasm.

  “It ain't that simple, sir. Even something as sophisticated as a six-bladed composite propeller ain't enough to prevent a heavy intake of volcanic ash from grinding one of them Allison turboprop engines apart. Ask any stick jockey and he'll tell you that losing only one engine at a time to volcanic ash is a rare and exceptional blessing, as in most cases you lose more than one engine. If you're in a overloaded Herk, that can really tear you a new asshole, if you know what I mean, or as the stick jockeys liked to say, ‘The only difference between wind shear and volcanic ash is the amount of time it takes to crash. Either way, you buy the farm.’”