Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru

by Marshall Masters

  De Bono sat up on the edge of the tub and filled another glass with champagne. “Pull up a chair and have a drink.” Johnston did and swallowed the champagne with great relief.

  “So, let's see. You've put Captain Darkazani in command of the security unit, and once Yasin is out of the picture, I'm sure you can control him until I can find a replacement security team. After that, we need to kill them all. Have Danielle see to it after the new team arrives."

  “And the boy?"

  “Now that we have involved medical teams in the care of this boy, we have to assume that there will be security risks. You are to keep a close watch on the situation. Until I can replace the security team, you are never to be more than one hour away from the silo. Since you have your own V-22 Osprey which can land right next to the silo, this will not be a problem."

  “What about the boy?"

  “If he dies, then we shut down the whole operation after we eliminate Jones and Jarman. No matter what happens with the boy, these two have become too problematic for us to ignore."

  “I'm concerned about the Inner Council. This could cause some heavy blowback, if you know what I mean."

  “You've been watching too many James Bond movies. If the boy dies, the Inner Council will, of course, be disappointed. However, in the overall scheme of things, this situation is rather minor. A real problem would be something like the world learning that we've known the Chinese actually engineered the 3G flu and said nothing about that. In terms of UNE credibility, that would be a true crisis. Relatively speaking, this boy is nothing more than a faint blip on the radar screen."

  “Then why not kill the boy now and shut this whole thing down right now? I'm tired of looking over my shoulder here."

  De Bono smiled devilishly, “Merl, I like the way you think, because we both like to cut short our losses. Frankly speaking, if it were my call, I'd say terminate everyone in the silo plus Jarman and Jones, and then dispose of the evidence. However, this Jarman boy has become a pet project for the Grand Secret Master, which means we need to manage our risks the best way we can and hope the boy has a full recovery. I do not like it any more than you, but that is the way it is."

  “Then let's kill Jones and Jarman now. If Jones was able to force us to move the boy from Colorado to Texas, it is only a matter of time before he finds out about our silo at Fort Hood."

  De Bono shook his head. “You're forgetting that we have to terminate Jarman, and as long as he's the current rage in reality television we simply cannot touch him. Be patient."

  “Fine, so let's assume that Jones tracks us to Fort Hood. What then?"

  “Terminate the boy, even if you have to do it with your bare hands."

  Johnston's shoulders sagged. This was more than he bargained for, and he wondered if he could live with himself after doing such a thing.

  “Having second thoughts, Merl?” De Bono asked in a firm tone.

  “I would be lying to you if I said no. Sure, I had a revenge grudge against Chavez, but in retrospect, it was a mistake. I should have let Danielle handle it. But killing an innocent boy with my own two hands—I don't know how I'd live with it, or if I could. Still the same, if it comes down to that, you can depend on me. If it has to be done, it has to be done."

  * * *

  The Senator's Deathbed

  TANYA AND RAMONA had just finished their lunch as Anthony walked through the mess tent looking for them. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Ramona teased as he approached.

  “Hi, Anthony. Won't you sit down and join us?” Tanya asked.

  He leaned over the edge of the table. “Sunny just told me that we're flying out this evening on a chopper to the Berkeley hills. I thought we had some time. What gives?"

  “I got a call from Senator Chavez's Chief of Staff this morning. She's slipping fast and asked if we could do it this evening. I was hoping to tell you myself."

  “That's OK. So, what's the drill?"

  “Her Chief of Staff has already made the transportation arrangements. Their chopper will be here at 19:30 hours. Perhaps you can tell Ann-Marie."

  “Sure. Is anyone else going?"

  “Yes, Vigo and myself. According to Tzu, he rolled in early this morning."

  “Vigo?"

  Tanya shrugged her shoulders. “They asked for him. Go figure. As for me, I'm coming along by my own choice."

  “Vigo doesn't make sense to me, but if Connie wants him there, who am I to say no?"

  “If you'd rather he didn't go, I'll back you up. It's your call."

  “Do you mind if I speak with him first?"

  “Sure. The last I saw of him, he was headed off to find Private Gibbs. Find your orderly, and I'm sure you'll find Vigo."

  “Say, Anthony, what in the heck does he want with Charlie anyway?” Ramona asked.

  “Search me. Maybe he's brought Charlie some new tools or something. After all, the guy is the most gifted scrounger west of the Mississippi, so why look a gift horse in the mouth?"

  “If you did,” Tanya replied with a grin, “you'd see he's a number of things, but a gift horse? Forget it. Horses are mild-mannered herbivores. Sometimes, he makes me feel as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, although I couldn't tell you why."

  “Whatever,” Anthony said with a yawn. “I'll be at the chopper pad by 19:15 sharp,” he said and then left to find Vigo and Charlie.

  As they watched him leave the tent, Ramona turned to Tanya. “God I've been dying to ask. So how chummy did you two get the other night?"

  “We had a nice meal and a long chat."

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. And the two of you were howling loud enough for half the camp to hear you. I gotta tell you. The scuttlebutt amongst the staff is pretty ripe. Everyone wants to know if you two did it."

  “Did what?"

  “Don't be coy with me. You know what I mean."

  “Between us?"

  Ramona crossed herself. “Absolutely."

  “Ramona, you're not a Catholic."

  “Yeah, and you're stalling. Hell, you know you can tell me."

  Tanya spoke in a low whisper. “If you tell a soul I'll..."

  “I know, they'll find me dead, or worse yet, in a nunnery."

  Tanya shook her head from side to side. “Only if you're lucky. OK, so we came close. Ramona, I really wanted to do it, but I'm still not ready. He took it well, but I'm sure it was frustrating for him. It sure was for me."

  “Don't worry, he'll get over it,” Ramona assured her. “But the real question is, when are you going to be ready? No. Let me rephrase that. Are you going to play this guilty grieving widow role out till you drive the both of you into a pair of crazy, old peach orchard boars?"

  “Stop pushing me,” Tanya protested.

  “Like hell, I will,” Ramona shot back.

  “Fine, then how are things with you and Dodge Murphy? Have you bopped him into ecstasy yet, or are you stringing him along?"

  “Whoa girl, I thought my deal with Murphy was supposed to be platonic."

  “There isn't a platonic bone in your body Ramona. So are you two doing the dirty or are you talking about mining aggregates and then reading romance novels all by your lonesome?"

  “You bitch!"

  “Takes one to know one.” Tanya sipped her coffee nonchalantly. “You know, this stuff works both ways, and I know you too well, Ramona. If you didn't want to bop him, you wouldn't be playing games with me. So when are you two going to do the dirty?

  “OK, so what if I do. Stop pushing me."

  Tanya held her hands up to the sky. “Is that an echo of myself I hear bouncing off the wall?"

  Ramona grimaced. “All right. Don't rub it in, already.” She jabbed a finger into Tanya's arm. “But I can tell you this, I'll be bopping Dodge long before you stop playing your poor, pitiful me routine."

  Tanya drained the last of her coffee and smiled dreamily. “You care to put money on that?"

  * * * *

  ANTHONY FOUND HIS orderly, Private
Charlie Gibbs chatting idly with Vigo as he methodically cleaned Anthony's pistols. It was Vigo who first noticed him standing silently at the entry to Gibbs’ tent.

  Anthony announced himself in a jocular voice, “Funny seeing you here, Sergeant; not much to scrounge here."

  Startled by Anthony's appearance, Charlie stopped cleaning the pistol and laid it down on his workbench. Before he could stand up, Anthony held up his hand. “As you were, Charlie. I just dropped by to have a few words with the Sergeant, here."

  Vigo stood to attention, and saluted. “You're looking fit, Captain. How can I be of help?"

  Anthony returned his salute, which only made him even more aware of Vigo's odd comings and goings, as saluting was a military courtesy that had quickly lost its relevance amongst the staff of the triage center. It made Vigo seem like even more of a stranger. “I came by to ask you about this evening.” He nodded towards the outside of the tent.

  Since arriving at the triage center, Anthony had only visited Charlie's tent a few times and could see a number of additions and changes since his last visit. The sawhorses and plywood Charlie had used for some time had been replaced with a well-designed workbench that dominated one complete side of the small tent. But what caught Anthony's eye were two metal boxes sitting on top of the bench. One was painted green and the other red. Both were half full of new .22 cartridges. “Hold on,” he said to Vigo. “Say, Charlie, what's with the painted boxes?""

  “Well, sir,” Charlie replied, “I use them to cull out the marginal cartridges—you know—the ones most likely to cause a feed jam in your pistols."

  “But we're using fresh, brand name ammo Charlie."

  “Just because they're new cartridges, doesn't mean squat, sir.” The young man looked away for a moment as he reconsidered his answer. “Well, let me put it to you this way. When was the last time one of your pistols jammed on the line?"

  The question caught him slightly by surprise. Anthony pondered it slowly and replied, “You know, come to think of it I can't recall one jam. Not one at all. I've had a couple of jams in New York, but not here—not since you became my armorer.” He pointed at the painted boxes. “Is that why?"

  “Well, partly, sir. Sure, I've done some work on the pistols, but one real help is the synthetic Teflon lubricant Sergeant Jones brought me. While our Ruger Mark II pistols are a time-proven design, that lubricant really works. However, the ammo is another thing. That's where you get most of the jams, especially when the Rugers get warm."

  Anthony turned to face Vigo again. “Sergeant, if you don't mind, I'll meet you in a few minutes outside the tent. Or if you like, why don't you join me for a cup of coffee in the mess hall in, say, twenty minutes?"

  “If you don't mind, sir, let's meet over by your dome. I have something for you, and there's no point carrying it through half the staff area to bring it to you."

  “Fine, I'll see you over there in a few.” Anthony pulled up a chair as Vigo left.

  “I'm curious as to what you're doing with these cartridges. Show me what you do?"

  Charlie nodded. Laying out a work cloth on the bench, he picked up a bright new .22 long rifle cartridge from each box and laid them on the cloth. He pointed first to the one that came out of the green box. “Pick this one up and hold the bullet with your right thumb and forefinger. Then hold the back of the cartridge case with your other hand."

  Anthony did so. “So what's next?"

  “See if you can wiggle the bullet, sir."

  Anthony tried and found that the bullet was firmly locked into the cartridge case. “Seems I can't."

  “Now pick up the other one, sir, and do the same thing."

  This time Anthony picked up the other bullet and this time he could feel the bullet wiggle. “So, what's the difference?"

  “You see, sir; these rounds only cost a few pennies. It may be fresh ammo, but if you ask me, it's just your typical government low bidder stuff. Not the kind of rounds competition shooters use. While these rounds will work just fine in a revolver or a rifle, they can cause a feed jam in a semi-automatic pistol, especially if it gets hot. Now here's the secret. Forget what you feel with the hand holding the bullet. If you can feel a popping sensation in the hand holding the cartridge case, you've got a round that's more likely to jam."

  Anthony set the cartridge down. “You know, Charlie, I'm getting the feeling that I take you for granted. Come to think of it, we never talk much. I meet you out on the line, and you do your job, but we seldom say anything to each other.” He put his arm on his orderly's shoulder. “I know this is late in coming, but I want you to know that I really do appreciate the good work you're doing, Charlie."

  A warm smile came across Charlie's face as his eyes lit up with pride. “Thank you, sir. Yeah, I guess we never really do speak much to each other, but that's OK. Each day on the line, I see how much effort you put into what you're doing—how you comfort those people and all."

  “Like it or not, that's my job, Charlie. If it were up to me, I'd use lethal injections, but it seems the UNE prefers we do it with pistols for the ambulatory patients."

  Charlie pursed his lips for a moment and finally said. “Can I be honest, sir?"

  “Of course."

  “When we first started doing this, sir, I wondered how long it would be before you just started getting mechanical about this, or if you'd start going around the bend, if you know what I mean. I've heard it happens to most other ELMOs, but you never seem to show any wear. Each day, I see you treat every one of them people who kneel down on the line like they are special. When I'm not reloading one of the pistols, I listen in, and I hear how much they appreciate you in their voices. I'm proud to serve under you, sir, and I'd be happy to march into hell for you on broken glass, if need be."

  Those words struck deeply for Anthony and caused a great sense of regret to fill him for being too consumed with his own responsibilities to take the time to get know this quiet and dedicated young man. “Perhaps one of these nights, you might want to drop by and try some of our homebrew?"

  “Oh, you mean that still you're tinkering with in your dome, sir?"

  “Yes. I guess the word is getting around about that."

  “There are no secrets in this place, at least not for long. Right now, the motor pool sergeant is laying off odds that you guys will set fire to your dome with that contraption."

  “Don't tell me you've got a piece of this action, Charlie."

  “Well sir, I do, but I'm betting on you, sir. That is, not to blow yourself up and all. But, still the same, I'd be glad to take you up on that offer. My grandfather was a bootlegger back in Tennessee, and he taught me a few things before he passed on. That is, if you're interested in a few pointers?"

  Anthony slapped his leg and laughed. “To be honest, sometimes I've had my doubts about that still, as well. A few good pointers sure wouldn't hurt. We'd all be mighty appreciative."

  “Just tell me when, and I'll be there for sure."

  “Well, tonight is out. I've got a special favor to perform, you might say. But the day after tomorrow should be good. I'll let you know on the line."

  The orderly grinned. “Like I said sir, just let me know when."

  “Done!” Anthony took a deep breath. Now, things had relaxed to a point where he could pursue the original reason why he'd chosen this moment to visit. “By the way, does Sergeant Jones visit you often?"

  “Most every time he shows up at the center. I do some gunsmithing for him and we like to talk about things. I really like talking with him, and he always gets me the things I want like aerosol gun cleaner, tools, etc. Much better stuff than the regular issue you know."

  “Anything else?"

  “Nope. That about covers it. Nice fellow, though. I really do enjoy his company."

  Anthony nodded and stood up. “Well, a good working relationship with someone possessing the sergeant's capabilities can't hurt. In the meantime, I'll let you get back to work. See you tomorrow on the line."


  He went to his dome to speak with Vigo. Since he had arrived, he'd waited for Vigo to tell him something new about his son, and every time he tried to get a straight answer, Vigo would suddenly disappear. If he had time to spend jawboning with Anthony's orderly, then he certainly had to have time to tell him what was new, even if it was nothing but another dead end.

  He arrived at his dome, and to his consternation, Vigo wasn't to be found. He went looking for him elsewhere and still failed to turn him up. It was obvious the man was evading him, and now it was getting his blood to boil.

  * * * *

  ANTHONY SAT DOWN in the mess tent with his dinner. He was running late and only had 30 minutes to eat his meal and make it up the hill to the helipad in time for the 19:30 departure for his appointment with Senator Chavez. He had just swallowed his first mouthful when Vigo appeared out of nowhere and plopped down in front of him. “You might want to eat that nice, fluffy biscuit there to cut your appetite and leave the rest of that slop,” he said quietly. “You'll eat better at the Senator's house tonight. Much better. Trust me on this."

  “Where in the hell were you today? I looked all over for you."

  “Something came up."

  Anthony's face became flushed with anger. “Something always comes up with you, and I'm getting damn tired of it!"

  Anthony set his fork down. “And by the way, how do you come to know Connie Chavez?"

  “We've been friends for several years. Like I said, forget the slop on your plate. She's always been a great host, and even if this is her last night, she's not going to let it stop her from being a great host. It's a damn shame about this cancer business. She is one incredible woman, and the world is losing a true human treasure tonight."

  “You know, I've been wondering why you were invited along on this little junket. So, what's the real connection between you two?"

  “It's a long story, and some night I'll show up with a bottle of single malt Scotch whiskey. We'll go someplace private, and I'll lay it all out for you.” He leaned across the table and said in a hushed tone. “That business this afternoon in Gibbs’ tent. There was no need for that. We're both on the same side, and we've got to trust each other."