Johnston pursed his lips and scowled. “Connie, I was hoping you'd be more flexible. Frankly, I'm disappointed, but that's life.” They stood silently on the stage and watched the closing scenes of the video with feigned interest.
After the closing credits rolled up the screen, the room lights returned to their former brightness. Johnston switched the microphone back on and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, let's get this maglev system on its way."
With that, he led Chavez and her delegation to the signing table off to the edge of the stage, next to where Danielle was now standing. Johnston sat down at the table and opened the leather bound document. He rubbed his hands for a moment and then carefully picked up the pen with the gold clip just as he had been instructed to do. He removed the cap, penned the first few strokes of his signature and replaced the cap. Chavez stepped close, and he handed her the pen with one hand while shaking the other. “I'll win you over in time Connie,” he said under his breath. She laughed. “You are a persistent man. I'll give you that."
Johnston smiled and then proceeded to complete his signature at a leisurely pace while Chavez stood next to her delegates holding her pen tightly in her hands.
* * * *
THE PHOTO OP and open question and answer session had gone a little long, and Johnston was glad that Chavez, her delegates and the media hounds were on their way back to wherever it was they came from.
Danielle was waiting for him in the Jacuzzi, and he sat with his back against her while she massaged his neck and shoulders. “I got to say it again, Merl, you did a first rate job, today. I'm talking stopwatch perfect. What's even better is that we saw her giving the pen to one of her aides as she left the building, and the stupid idiot dropped it on the street while getting into her limo. That was just the icing on the cake."
He chuckled. “Maybe for you, but the icing on the cake for me was seeing her smile at me when I handed her the pen. I've been waiting to see that particular smile for a long time."
She wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding her groin against him. “And you get to have your cake and eat it too.” He laughed as he stretched his neck. “By the way, I've been wondering what the two of you were talking about during the presentation. She seemed to go on for a bit."
“Some cockeyed story about a scorpion and a frog that she used to tell her daughter."
Danielle went suddenly still. “A few days ago I ran a routine background check on her daughter, Lucinda Chavez. For being fifteen, this girl is really on the ball. She's on her high school debate team and is a reporter for the school newspaper as well. There is no doubt in my mind that she intends to follow her mother into politics."
Johnston detected the unease in her voice, “So, where are you going with this?"
“She and her mother are extremely close, and no doubt her mother is passing her classified information. This girl could grow up and come to haunt you in five to ten years."
He swiveled around to face her. “And so?"
“And so, I think you need to terminate her as well. Since there are no other family members except a few still living in Spain, terminating the daughter as well will ensure full closure of this threat aspect. I know the child is innocent, but one has to be practical."
His head drooped. “I hadn't bargained for this but I see your point.” He rubbed his chin for a moment and said, “You handle it."
“OK, I'll do it personally. We'll wait for the mother to go, and then we'll do the daughter. That also gives me time to find her."
“You mean you don't know where she is?"
Danielle shook her head. “Darn funny, that. Two days ago, the kid just simply vanished. We've tried to pick her up again at school, friends, you know, the usual places. There's no sign of her."
“Danielle, I've got kids, and that's bizarre,” he replied. “If one of my kids disappeared like that, the last thing I'd be doing is flying out-of-town for a photo op."
“Obviously, the mother knows where she is and how to reach her, which means we can count on the girl to be at her mother's death bed. Terminating her after that will be easy.” She rubbed her nose against his. “This is a small matter,” she reassured him. “I'll handle it personally when the time comes, so just put it out of your mind and relax.” Johnston smiled, kissed her and turned back around in the tub.
As she resumed the massage, the troubling events of the day played through her mind once again. While Chavez's clumsy aide had mitigated their errors when he lost the pen, Johnston had been both intentionally and unintentionally inventive.
She had overheard the entire conversation between him and Chavez and his intentional last minute effort to win her over. He never told her that he would do it or suggested that he had any intention, so what he did was to inject an unnecessary element of complexity.
However, his overt effort did not trouble her half as much as his unintentional mistake. Before signing the executive order, Johnston had absentmindedly rubbed his hands together. To a professional like herself, it was a clear tell, as poker players like to say. Another pro would spot it in a heartbeat, and if he or she also spotted the different colored pen clips, there could only be one conclusion. How fortunate it was that Chavez's aide had lost the pen and that her operative had found and destroyed it.
After Johnston was sound asleep, she would slip away from his bed and use the security dome to consult with her old master at the School of Assassins, before privately informing De Bono of her concerns. It was not a clean kill.
* * * *
THE WARM MEDALLION dangling from Lucinda Chavez's neck told her that she was near other Indigo children like herself, just as Vigo had told her it would.
When her mother, Senator Connie Chavez, had been her age, she had been thin and curvaceous in the manner of Castilian royalty. However, Lucinda was stouter, more like her father, who had passed away when she was very young. While her build was more athletic and square, she had inherited her mother's wide-set black eyes, dark brown hair and fierce sense of independence.
She had passed several small groups of wandering homeless as she pedaled her mountain bike towards the rally point. Driving directly there would have been simple, but as Vigo had told her, it would have also looked out of the ordinary as well.
Her medallion had guided her faithfully and true to the mile marker Vigo had mentioned to her and her mother. An unexpected delay at a road-crossing checkpoint had cost her valuable time, and she picked up the pace.
All that was left of the sunset now was a dull, reddish glow on the horizon, which meant she was violating the curfew. If a Homer patrol found her, she'd be handcuffed, hauled to an interrogation center and held indefinitely, or until her mother or Vigo could secure her release.
Desperate to find the mile marker alongside the road in the fading light, she didn't notice a boy about her age standing right in the middle of the road on top of the dividing line.
“Follow me,” he shouted out to her, holding his medallion up over his head. She slowed as he turned and began sprinting down a sloping embankment to small stream that passed through a culvert under the roadway. After a skidding stop in the streambed, she dismounted and waited for him, out of sight of the road.
As he approached, she held up her own medallion and said, “I was really beginning to worry. Thanks for being there."
“You're welcome,” Timmy Watkins cheerfully replied. “You just missed a Homer patrol by a few minutes. They'd have gotten you for sure."
“Like I said, thanks for being there,” she replied noticing that he was a littler shorter than she was. She was used to being taller than most boys her age and knew that would change in time, but it was the large pistol tucked into the boy's holster that caught her eye.
He saw her staring at the .357 pistol Vigo had given him and held out his hand, “I'm Timmy Watkins, but you can call me Tim. I guess Vigo sent you because no girl in her right mind would be out here in the middle of nowhere on a mountain bike all by hers
elf."
“Uh-huh."
“What, cat got your tongue? Stop gawking at my revolver like a dummy. He gave me it when I got my medallion."
She blushed with embarrassment and smiled. “My name is Lucinda Chavez, but my friends just call me Lucy, and by the way, I'm no dummy, you stupid gringo."
Tim raised his hands and shook them mockingly. “Oh, sensitive, aren't we. Maybe you're too good to eat dinner with a gringo.” Turning his back on her, he began walking briskly along the streambed.
Angrily, she watched him walk off and realized that if he had been trying to contact her that he'd also taken a huge risk by standing out in the middle of the road. She cursed her own temper and started out after him.
“Tim, I'm sorry.” She said as she caught up with him. “I was being a little bitchy because this crazy stuff is making me weird, I guess. I'm really sorry for calling you a gringo. I was being stupid and rude."
He stopped and turned to face her. “Well, I shouldn't have called you a dummy, either. If my mother heard me say that, she'd peel the skin off my butt; I can guarantee you that. Mom always tells me to be a gentleman."
She nudged his arm. “And my mother told me never to argue with a man carrying a gun.” The operative word “man” rang nicely with Tim and he smiled appreciatively. “Tim, can we start over?"
“Ah, sure. God knows we got enough problems without being angry at each other without any good reason."
Lucinda smiled warmly, “Agreed, and I'll be sure to tell your momma that you're a perfect gentleman too. And speaking of your momma, how many more of us are there?"
“Well there is me, my mother, Helen, my younger sister, Jenny, along with six other folks; Bob and Kristen Burdette and their two daughters, Annie, who is nine, and Patricia, who is six. Patty is a real pain in the backside, if you ask me. Then there is Bob Cummings and his son, Randal, who is about our age and real cute, but don't get any ideas. He already told me he thinks he is gay or something, which doesn't make sense to me. His father looks like Grizzly Adams and has about the same temperament. Personally, I think Randal is a bit mixed up, but that's his business. Besides, he's a natural born tracker, and I respect that. Anyway, they're all great folk, and they're anxious to meet you, because now that you're here, we can finally make contact with JALA. TRAC."
“Sounds like interesting company, but confidentially speaking, aren't you worried that the small children will slow us down?"
“Yeah,” he admitted reluctantly. “Especially that six year old, Patricia. She does nothing but complain and whine all the time, and her parents just don't seem to have the guts to deal with her."
Lucinda chuckled. “Well, it's like what I heard in this movie once, ‘life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're gonna get.’ Funny though, I can't remember the name of the movie."
“The movie was Forrest Gump,” he replied, “I guess that makes you a Gumpette."
She punched him in the side hard enough to make him wince. “Damn, that hurt! What you'd do that for?"
“I'm no damn Gumpette!"
He rubbed his side with a pained expression. “OK, OK, chill out.” As they rounded the bend, he could make out the flickering glow of their campfire. “Everyone has been waiting for you all day, and my mom is cooking up some tinned beef with beans and rice. It'll be mighty good eatin’ too! And if you punch me like that again, don't be surprised if I forget my natural good manners."
“I surrender, oh great and mighty hunter,” she taunted him playfully. “I promise not to beat on you again—unless you deserve it."
“Go ahead and push your luck, then."
“Don't be surprised if I do. Not to change the subject, but Vigo told me that we should only ask JALA.TRAC five questions when we see him the first time."
“He didn't mention it to any of us, but that doesn't surprise me. Once we all got around to comparing notes, we picked up on all kinds of new things. So what do you think these five questions should be?"
“I've been thinking a lot about them while I was riding here. I've got some ideas but I think it is best if we figure them out together."
“Works for me. When we get to the campsite, I'll show you where you'll be bedding down. You'll be sleeping with my mom and sister in their tent, I guess, but you will have your own sleeping bag and other gear. You can get situated while my mom finishes cooking supper, and then we can sort out those questions after we've finished eating."
“Are you sure your momma and sister will want to share a tent?"
“Sure. No problem. Besides, Vigo gave them to us, so it's only right."
He could see the others waiting for them on the other side of the stream, so he stopped and grasped the handlebar of her bike. “We need to cross here, along these large rocks. Be careful; I know this stream, and it's trickier than it looks, so I'll push your bike across for you."
Lucinda was perfectly capable of getting her mountain bike across the stream but let him take it. Despite the choppy first introduction, he was a nice boy, and kind of cute at that. “Thanks, Tim; you really are a gentleman."
“You're welcome, Lucy,” he said warmly as he gazed at her in the dimming light of the receding sunset. “Glad you made it here safe and sound, Lucy.” She was Latina, but not like the Mexicans he went to school with. Rather, she was more European looking even with her athletic build. Normally, he wouldn't have paid much attention to her, but in the last couple of months, his voice had begun to lower in contrast to his rising interest in the opposite sex. He realized that there was something unusual about this girl that made her different from all the rest, and he was attracted to her because of it. As the others began walking towards them, he pushed the thought out of his mind and hollered out, “Yo, to the camp!"
* * * *
LUCINDA HAD EXPERIENCE watching her mother; and as an award-winning reporter for her high school newspaper, had honed her instincts for cutting through the fog of indecision. While she was largely silent during the debate after dinner, the few times she did speak, her comments drove home to the crux of the matter like the aluminum shaft of an expertly aimed arrow.
She could have steered the conversation, but her mother had taught her that building consensus through participation not only yielded workable answers; it avoided the friction of polarized debates. Lucinda had brought a notebook with her and kept notes as the group debated their questions, occasionally reading them back when asked.
The process worked well, and after a simple hand vote, the group decided on five questions from a field of nine. That done, they decided to finish their chores before making contact, and Lucinda helped Timmy stack extra firewood for the following morning in case they stayed up late.
Once they had attended to their camping duties and groomed themselves, they gathered in a circle next to the fire and, holding their medallions together, formed a small jagged circle so the edges of their ten medallions could form a connecting ring.
They looked at their medallions, assuming that something would happen. Perhaps they'd light up, get warm or do something to indicate that they were doing the right thing. Nothing was happening, and Timmy asked Lucinda: “Are we supposed to do something else?"
“I don't know,” Lucinda replied. “This is all that Vigo told us to do. I guess one of us should have asked him how to know it was working. All I can figure is to keep doing this for a while and see if anything happens."
They all continued to stand in a circle with perplexed faces as Helen Watkins used one hand to hold her medallion, and the other to steady her 6-year old daughter, Jenny, as she straddled her hip. Pushing her own medallion harder against the circle, Jenny began repeating the word, “JALA.TRAC,” until a faint, white glow formed over the circle of outstretched hands.
The other nine people looked at the child with amazement, and one-by-one, each added his or her voice to the chant until all ten were repeating the name, “JALA.TRAC,” as though it were a rhythmic prayer mantra. It only took a moment before a
ball of light grew within the circle of medallions and they watched with wonder as it floated up away from them and then shot itself out into space.
“Sit down, sit down,” Jenny commanded. Following her lead, they all sat down around the campfire and waited in silence.
Even though she was the youngest in the circle, her natural, instinctive ability had become apparent. They didn't know how she seemed to understand these things, but she did, and nobody saw any point in arguing with success. As for Jenny, there was nothing magical about it. She wasn't trying to find reasons and explanations for what was happening like the others. Rather, she felt it happen, accepted her feelings without question and then followed her instincts.
Most 6-year old children find it difficult to remain still for any length of time, but Jenny just sat there, staring quietly into the darkness and humming the popular children's tune of “Itsy Bitsy Spider” as she waited.
After what seemed like ages to the rest, her face lit up with joy. “JALA.TRAC,” she exclaimed jubilantly, as all turned to look into the night sky. However, Jenny's eyes remained transfixed on the darkness just beyond their campfire. Again, her instincts were rewarded as a solitary figure stepped from the darkness.
Fair-skinned and nearly seven feet tall, the slim, green-eyed Nordic-looking man reminded Tim of a basketball player he once met, except this man wore a long, flowing, white robe with beautifully woven golden bands around the cuffs of his sleeve. The translucent robe seemed gauze-like and light, yet solid and lacking transparency.
“I am JALA.TRAC, and I am a Friend,” he announced with a sweet tenor that pleased the ear. His hair was golden with bands of silver along the temples, and almost disguised the clear impression that his cranium was noticeably larger in proportion to his face than that of a human.
Jenny jumped up to her feet and ran to embrace him. All were surprised when she passed through JALA.TRAC's body as though it was smoke, most of all, Jenny! It only took a moment for the extraterrestrial's lifelike shape to reform.
Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru Page 29
