Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru

by Marshall Masters

  “You're playing with fire, Puhl."

  “Maybe so, but you and your friends started this fire, and now we're going to get our payback, but not through the courts. That would be too messy and embarrassing. No, we're not interested in that. Rather, we're interested in you, Yvette. It's time you started working for the good guys."

  She laughed, “The CIA? Oh give me a break."

  “I'm serious,” he replied sternly. “I also like your taste in hand sewn wedding dress designs.” His face relaxed and he leaned back again into his chair. “Your fianc©, Douglas Thornton, has already filed for your fianc© visa with the INS, and he has already requested a berth for you on one of America's new space arks. Of course, if we flag you as a persona non-grata, that will pretty much bring all that to a screeching halt, along with your dreams of making babies in space with him and running a hydroponics farm."

  “You're full of crap, and you know it. I can blow through all that before you get to first base."

  “Maybe yes and maybe no, but trust me, this red flag on your file will come down straight from the White House. It will be interesting to see if your boss is ready to pull out all the stoppers on this one. In the meantime, I'll see to it that you have your hands full, nonetheless. You see, we know the whereabouts of your surviving family members and unless you decide to be more cooperative, we'll let a certain Swiss banker know exactly who ran a certain operation against him and then turned his only child into a human vegetable. Of course, as you know, under all that affable civility, most Swiss bankers are about as compassionate as Pol Pot.” He folded his hands and waited patiently as the fire in Yvette's eyes grew into a raging inferno.

  “So you're looking to start a war, are you?” she hissed vehemently. “If so, you're just a pitiful amateur."

  Puhl knew he had gotten to her. He had been hoping for a way to compromise her for over a year and now he knew he was close. “As I recall, you turn thirty in a few months, Yvette, and then there is that nasty little biological clock thing. Tick tock. Tick tock. We'll keep you tied up with a miserable little war, and your lover boy will dump you and go raise vegetables and babies in space with someone else, while you become a used up and expensive whore. You should have never allowed the assassination of Chavez. She was a popular woman and well respected in Washington, and we're not about to roll over on this one and let you think that you and your employers are little gods without having to pay a price.” He pointed a finger at her. “This comes from the top, you bitch, and I'm here to give you your last chance. You agree to work for me and I'll make all these problems go away, and you can go and live in Las Vegas and get something I can't get, a berth on a space ark. On the other hand, keep playing games with me. But mind you this, if I walk out this door today with a ‘no’ from you there is no going back. You, your family, your dreams of marriage and your little tick-tock biological clock are dog meat. And that, as they say, is that. You've got five minutes to decide.” He crossed his legs and looked at his wristwatch, then eyed her passively.

  Yvette looked down at her gown and gently smoothed the creases in her satin silk gown, turning the situation over in her mind as the minutes slowly passed. She had been trained to deal with such situations by the School of Assassins, but these things were different. That pompous idiot, Merl Johnston, should have never used his position to carry out his personal revenge on Chavez, and De Bono had been an even bigger fool to allow it. Worse yet, he had forced her, against her better judgment, to have the Swiss banker's daughter brutalized. What had they become? What had she become? The questions tore at her deepest doubts and regrets, and now if she were to have any semblance of a future life, she'd have to betray everything and everyone. She ran her hands along the smooth satin silk and realized that she had never agreed to pay a price such as this, especially for foolhardy decisions that had in her own mind crossed the line between that for which she was ready to sacrifice her own life, her family and dreams.

  Puhl looked at his watch one last time and rose up from his chair. “At least I gave you a chance,” he said as laid her purse down on the chair.

  Yvette watched him closely. It was like some awful movie that she hoped would end quickly, but she knew it was not a movie that she'd seen today. Rather, it was a brief trailer that showed her what to expect if she continued to resist the inevitable. “Wait,” she said meekly.

  The CIA field operations officer paused mid-step. “Your five minutes is up. What's it going to be, Yvette?"

  “What do you want from me?"

  “In a word, information. Here and in Las Vegas."

  This would not be a one-time betrayal. They would use her as a mole within her own organization, against those for whom she cared. Worse yet, she would have to spy against Melissa Chadwick, a woman who would have no feelings for her that she could manipulate. She smoothed the fabric of her wedding dress one more time. “Assuming I agree, what are you looking for today?"

  A faint smile crossed Puhl's lips. “What we're looking for now is the most current version of the information on that missile silo you control at Fort Hood, Texas. We want everything; blueprints, schematics, personnel and duty rosters—everything."

  Her head popped up. “Why do you want that?"

  Puhl sighed. “Yvette, we need to have a little understanding. We're not interested in blowing your cover, but when we want something from you, we just want it. We don't have to explain why, and the first time you fail us, all bets are off. Do we have an understanding?"

  Yvette slowly nodded yes.

  “Say the words, Yvette,” Puhl insisted.

  “Yes,” she shot back in disgust. “We have an understanding.” She threw the small webpad back at him.

  He caught the webpad just inches from his face. “Good,” he nodded appreciatively. He removed a plain white business card from his pocket and laid it on the fitting room pedestal. “This is an unlisted extended subnet IP address. You'll use it for making drops from your security dome in Geneva. You have until midnight to complete the transfer. After that, the next time you'll see me is in Las Vegas. I'll find you when I need you."

  “You'll get it,” she answered meekly.

  “I'm glad we've finally come to an understanding, Yvette. I know this sticks in your throat. I also know you're not the kind of pro who would have ever allowed herself to be compromised by a couple of idiots with more power than sense, but that's the way it is. Personally speaking, I'm sorry I had to be the one to drop you on your head, but look on the bright side; I'll be in a position to see to it that you look back on this day as the beginning of a new and better future. You take care of me, Yvette, and I'll take care of you."

  “Time will tell,” she admitted. “In the meantime, I'm sure that young thug of yours has got my seamstress frightened out of her wits by now."

  “Ah heck,” Puhl winked with a grin. “He's a pussy cat. No doubt, he's blown a month's wages on dresses for his wife already. I'll send your seamstress back in on my way out."

  “I'd appreciate that."

  “It's the least I can do. After all, a stunning bride-to-be like you deserves the best. As one last offer of good faith, I won't contact you again till after your honeymoon. I've already got that cleared at the top."

  “My, but you're generous."

  “Actually, I am, and I hope you'll give me plenty of opportunities to prove that to you. However, in the meantime, remember: all of the Fort Hood silo data by midnight tonight. I'll be looking for it."

  As he left the room, the seamstress returned. Yvette could see fear in the poor woman's eyes. No doubt, Puhl's thug had frightened her into silence. On the one hand, she resented it, but on the other, she knew it was for her own protection as well. “Manisha, let's continue with the fitting,” she said as she stood up again upon the pedestal. As the seamstress nervously resumed the fitting, Yvette quietly wondered how she could both protect and betray De Bono at the same time. The quandary Puhl had suddenly placed her in would plague her thoughts and deeds for
the remainder of the day and far beyond.

  * * * *

  AS WAS HIS usual habit, UNE Secretary General Antonio De Bono enjoyed taking his dinner on the patio of his Swiss Chalet overlooking the Val Lumnezia. Sitting across from him was his wife of twenty-five years, Maria.

  While De Bono enjoyed his meal with gusto, his wife only picked at her food while making small talk as she built up her courage. Finally, she asked, “Antonio, I was hoping we could make love tonight. You know, we haven't made love in over two months, and darling, I'm a healthy woman. I have needs, too."

  De Bono laid down his fork with a sigh. “I'm really not up to this tonight, Maria. Perhaps another time."

  “But it's been so long, darling."

  “I'm sorry, dear, but you know I have many things on my mind now."

  Maria's lower lip began to tremble. “Like that French-Vietnamese whore you keep in your bed now!"

  “Is this really necessary?” he replied in an annoyed tone.

  “I'm your wife and the mother of your children. How dare you treat me this way! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

  “Fine, so I have a beautiful mistress. You still want for nothing and neither do our children. Besides, look at yourself. You've gained ten kilos in the last year and your hair is a fright. The least you could do is respect yourself. How am I supposed to be aroused by a frumpy middle-aged woman anyway?"

  Maria's jaw fell as her whole body began to tremble. “You bastard!” She screamed as she swept the dinner service off the table onto the floor with a great crash.

  De Bono stared at the broken plates at his feet in disbelief. “You stupid bitch, that was my favorite bone china."

  Further enraged, Maria stood up and raised her hand to slap him across the face, but was frozen mid-swing by the deep, ugly glare in his eyes. She knew he had become a murderer and enjoyed it. If she pushed her luck, even she could become his next victim. That alone did not frighten her, but the thought of never seeing her children again did.

  Tears began streaming down her reddened face, “I hate you. I hate what you've become. Keep your little whore, you miserable bastard. You're nothing to me anymore."

  He winced with annoyance. “Why must you be so theatrical?"

  The realization that her only remaining destiny in life was to be a photo opportunity arm piece for her twisted husband was a bitter realization she'd been fighting since he had become Secretary General of the UNE. All that was left to her now was the gilded cage of an empty marriage and her children, from whom she spared this awful truth.

  Without saying another word, she rushed back into the chalet in tears. De Bono watched her leave with an exasperated look as she noisily stormed out of the chalet to her waiting limousine.

  As the limousine pulled away, De Bono's Chief of Staff, Edward Boretti and one of the kitchen maids walked out onto the patio. As the maid began to pick up the broken china Boretti calmly noted, “I trust all is well, sir?"

  “Nothing to concern yourself with,” De Bono replied noticing the webpad in his secretary's hands and he looked down at the maid. “Quickly, now."

  “Yes, sir,” she replied nervously as she quickly whisked the broken china into a bin.

  Boretti stepped around the stooped-over maid and placed the webpad on the table before him. “Wasn't that your favorite bone china, sir?” De Bono grunted. “Most unfortunate. Rest assured, sir, that the broken pieces should be replaced in a day—two at the most."

  “Please do. Now, what have you got for me?"

  “A few routine matters that require your approval. The files are on the webpad. Also, Yvette has requested that you contact her this evening at your office in Geneva. It appears that she has something urgent and highly sensitive to discuss with you."

  “Fine. Get my security dome ready, and tell her to be online and waiting for me in twenty minutes."

  As Boretti and the maid left, De Bono closed the webpad and sat fuming. He was too agitated to bother with paperwork. The fight with his wife had been disconcerting, but that wasn't what was troubling him now. Since Jarman had humiliated him with that public rebuke, a feeling of uncertainty haunted him, yet he still could not put a finger on exactly what it was that was now bothering him.

  Agitated and worried, he picked up the one remaining unbroken plate on the table and threw it down on the floor, smashing it into a hundred little pieces. Staring at the pieces, he realized that it had been a rash and stupid thing to do. It really was his favorite bone china. As he looked at the broken pieces, they reminded him of his own plans and schemes. It was in that moment he instinctively realized that the tide of events was turning against him.

  * * * *

  AS DE BONO slipped on his VR gloves, the door to his security dome closed with a hiss and he saw that Yvette was already online, waiting for him. He completed his connection and the image of her face materialized in the HUD.

  “You look troubled, Antonio,” Yvette quickly noticed.

  He groaned. “I had a fight with Maria. She hates your guts."

  “So what else is new? Did you tell her I'm leaving for Las Vegas?"

  “Under better circumstances I would have,” he admitted. “But there will be time for that later. In the meantime, how was your day? Did you finish getting fitted for your wedding dress?"

  “Yes, Antonio,” she answered carefully, trying to avoid any slip-ups that would signal him about her meeting with Puhl earlier in the day. “You know I feel guilty about leaving you."

  “I really do appreciate that, but this is your chance to have a family, and it is about time you started,” he grinned. “I sure do envy Douglas. If I were a younger man and free to choose, I'd marry you in a heartbeat. As it is, I'm losing a good friend."

  “You're not losing me, Antonio. I'll always be there for you."

  “Right, if I need a bushel of cucumbers from outer space I'll call you."

  “You'd better,” she teased. “So what's on your mind?"

  “I'm feeling antsy. This whole business with Jarman and his son is turning into crap."

  “Everything with this guy seems to turn into crap,” Yvette agreed. “Early this morning, I reviewed the boy's condition with Danielle. It doesn't look good. He's been in a coma for too long now. Even if he comes out of it I doubt that he'll be of much use to us."

  “I'm sure the Inner Council will be overjoyed at that news,” he said regretfully.

  “I've been thinking about this all day, Antonio. May I make a suggestion?"

  “Of course!"

  “Let's proceed from this point on the assumption that the boy will not recover from the coma. Given that, we can keep him alive on life support if need be for years as a live sperm donor. After all, the boy's real value is that he inherited the Mystery Gene."

  “OK, so let's assume that is all he is worth to us now."

  Yvette smiled calmly. “Let's pull a rabbit out of the hat. My suggestion is that we move the boy to Geneva, where we can keep him alive while we harvest his semen for in-vitro fertilization. No doubt, we can create hundreds if not thousands of fertilized eggs using his sperm. We can then test the zygotes for the Mystery Gene and implant the successful ones into willing hosts. Look at it this way; we could trade one boy for a hundred such gifted children without all the headaches of dealing with their life traumas. Once we have raised enough children, we can let the boy expire naturally and dispose of him."

  De Bono nodded his head in agreement. “That's brilliant, Yvette. Why didn't I think of that earlier?"

  “You've been too focused on the one boy, because you've been worried about disappointing the Grand Secret Master. However, if we can create dozens if not hundreds of Mystery Gene babies you'll become a regular hero. Better yet, it will give us a free hand to get rid of Jarman and his friends once and for all."

  De Bono sighed with relief. “Now I really know why I'm going to miss you. Yes, this is what we need to do."

  “Then I suggest we get moving quickly."

&nbs
p; “Why is that?"

  “Danielle reported to me this morning that our operative at the Los Gatos Triage Center has failed to check in for several days. As you know, this particular operative, who is one of the maintenance men in the center, has been exceptionally reliable. His disappearance is troubling and more so since we've no longer been able to receive any signals from the monitoring devices he planted in Jarman's quarters. My suggestion is that we proceed on the assumption that our operative is dead and that we have been compromised."

  “Do you think that is why Jarman refused to go to Washington for an award ceremony in his honor?"

  “Possibly, but I'm not sure of that. Rather, I think someone else is involved, especially after his visit to Senator Chavez's home to assist in her death. Plus, inserting a new operative will be next to impossible as the center is actually starting to transfer out some of its staff due to the reduced workloads."

  “So are you saying we're blind as a bat?"

  “Not entirely, we still have an unmanned monitoring camera on the hill overlooking the center from the opposite side of the Interstate 17 freeway. If Jarman breaks his normal routine or suddenly disappears, I think it would be safe to assume that he knows more than we suspect and could be trying to launch a rescue of his son at Fort Hood. My suggestion is that we move the boy as soon as possible and then terminate Jarman and Jones. As for LeBlanc, he seems to have given up on his search for the boy but a visitor matching his description did show up at the center a few days ago, so for added measure, we need to eliminate LeBlanc as well."

  “Damn the luck,” De Bono cursed under his breath. Things were beginning to unravel faster than he could manage them. The only question would be Jarman. Would he still submit to blackmail in the hopes of seeing his son alive? Or, would he organize a suicidal assault on a military base?

  Worse yet, Yasin was now lying in an unmarked grave on the outskirts of Mexico City and his second in command, Captain Darkazani was questionable at best—but what to do with the boy? “I believe your plan is solid. I'll personally meet with the Grand Secret Master as soon as I can and get his approval."