A Covenant with Death: The Peacock Trilogy - Book 3

by Bill Wetterman

  “What!” Ammad swung his arm sending a pitcher of water flying across the room, drenching two of the Imams nearest him. “How can that be?”

  “No one knows. Her cell door remains locked. The slop man reported no empty tray and no sound from her cell in almost a week.” Akbari trembled, his face wane and gaunt. “They pulled back the shield over the glass and shined a light, expecting to see a dead body. She was gone.”

  “Kill them both. The slop man and the guard. One of them must be a traitor.”

  “No,” Akbari begged. “The jinn, the Marid who protects her, must be behind this. An evil is at work here. A slop man is no match for a Marid. What colors did you see when confronting the redheaded witch?”

  “No colors. I did not see the jinn. But . . .” Ammad reached back into his memory. He’d held a light, but it had changed color slightly upon entering the room. “My light took on a violet tone alternating blues and reds.”

  “No doubt an angry Marid. What she has promised him for such a favor I cannot guess.” Akbari rubbed his chin. “What say you Elders?”

  The oldest among them raised his hand. He rose and stroked his long beard. “Our lore is sometimes truth. It is said Solomon had a ring crafted of iron and brass. The metals weakened the jinn’s power so the being could be controlled. So Solomon could see its crafty lies and mischief. The jinn helped him build and hold his kingdom.” The old Imam swayed, eyes closed. “You cannot kill a jinni, and of them, the Marid is the most powerful. But you can weaken him and perhaps break the pact the redheaded witch has with him.”

  Akbari leaned close and whispered. “Allah Akbar, forge a ring.”

  Sweat ran down Ammad’s face. “Yes. Yes. Do it. I’ll need all the power I can muster against this thing.” He composed himself. The group settled down, and he sat. Akbari placed a green turban on his head and edged in on Ammad’s right.

  “Back to the subject,” Ammad said. “We must strike where we can destroy the evangelists who can incite the citizens by preaching false doctrine. Also, we must keep as many Pendletons as we can here. We can convert them by the sword and use their testimonies as positive propaganda.”

  The old Imam raised his hand. “The how is the question. We preach peace. So we come to power peacefully. The wonderful thing about the Global Realm is that none of the bad news travels across the world. When our plan was discovered and the missiles fired, London, Balmoral, and Rome suffered minor damage. The Pendletons will be in one of those places or scattered among the three. The evangelists will be in Dallas. We strike with SWAT teams. Seek out our enemies. Kill or imprison them. And proclaim a peaceful Realm without mentioning the incidents.”

  Crafty, Ammad thought. There are many things I won’t mention, even to you, old man.

  #

  Akbari rose from his incantations. The oven, heated to 2200 degrees Fahrenheit, held the mixture of iron and brass ready for pouring. The inside liner of super-duty, high alumina hardened air-rammed material had done its job to perfection. A model sculpted from wax with all the details he wanted the ring to have was prepared. He dipped the wax ring into a glass ceramic powder and fired the mold. As the wax evaporated in the oven, the mold shattered exposing the ring.

  Trimmed, buffed, and polished using a high speed dremel-type tool, Akbari held up his recreation of Solomon’s ring. “As of old, the power of the ring shall protect my master from the power of the Marid. He shall be victorious over the she-devil. Allah Akbar.”

  Chapter 22

  “Now that you’re settled here,” Pope Peter said. “Let your family know. Help them coordinate the evacuation plans. Use your contacts from here to assist in a maximum turnout when the ships are ready to depart.”

  “You’re right,” Pendleton said. “My inner circle should know. I also should throw my weight toward Chui and support his defection.”

  Too late for that. And not in My plan for you.

  Pope Peter’s head tilted. “I thought I heard something.”

  Pendleton smiled, but remained silent. He had his orders. There would be only a little time to help muster the word to the Christian communities that an evacuation was underway. He felt like a heavy load had been lifted off him. He wasn’t a ruler anymore. He was a servant. Why didn’t God want him to support Chui? No point second guessing God. He dialed George and noticed in the right hand box that all the regional governors and official personnel were gone from his list. Ammad moved quickly, the slimy rat.

  “Father, where the hell are you?”

  “Not for you to know. Ammad’s moving fast, replacing his enemies as quickly as possible. My official line to the government is gone.”

  He heard a sly chuckle.

  “Our phones have a name memory backup.” George said. “Connor had them installed for just such an occasion.”

  He heard Connor in the background say, “Someone has to be the brains in the family.”

  “The problem is,” George continued. “You can only make a call to an individual once, and the master tracking system will turn off that connection.”

  “I want to help insure that as many Christians as possible get on those transports.”

  Silence. He supposed George was evaluating the situation.

  “All right,” George’s breath came in short rasps. “I’ll have Hans call the teams at each location to have a speaker hooked up for a broadcast from you. That way you can make one call and be heard by as many as can be brought to one place. And Father . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “London, Balmoral, Rome, and Dallas are the four targets Edison predicts Ammad will strike. He or an emissary will come in peace. But, he’ll have a strike force to capture or kill the people he fears most.”

  “Does Ammad know where Edison is?”

  “No. If he did, we’d be cooked.” George paused. “I don’t even know where Edison is. Thaddeus Cline and his team are the only ones in the know. Save for the workers stationed there.”

  “All right. I’ll try to contact you later.”

  “Or, I’ll call you when Hans has made all the contacts.”

  Cline. Why hadn’t he thought of Cline earlier? He called Cline and got an abrupt. “What!”

  “It’s me, Arthur.”

  “They’re after me. I’m on a Supersonic to Rome. I’m going to Vatican City to seek refuge.” Cline sighed. “Arthur, twelve of my teammates are dead. Three are with me. I can’t talk further until I’m safe. I’ll call you when . . . if I make it to the Vatican.”

  The line disconnected.

  “I heard,” Pope Peter said. “I’ll have a security detail meet him at the station.”

  #

  Cline examined his phone. Damn. Arthur can’t call me again.

  He had one chance when he reached Rome to give his boss the information he needed. Things had gone horribly wrong in London. Ammad, the scourge of the earth, came smiling and waving to the populace. He preached peace and prosperity. He told the people not to fear. The transition of government would be peaceful. He apologized for the missile attack of a few weeks earlier. Blaming a missed communication between two satellites in orbit.

  People believed him. Global Realm media presented events on a need to know basis. The brief military exchange between Ammad’s people and Global forces didn’t make a ripple, except in the cities affected.

  Cline and his team were finishing instructions to Harry on entering the underground living centers advance crews had built under the Martian surface when an intruder alarm sounded. He disconnected the call and headed for the Center’s emergency exit chute, grabbing his file on Edison as he went. Whatever Ammad’s men were firing at his people, the weapon made no noise. Only the results—body parts and blood remained etched in Cline’s mind.

  Three of his team escaped with him, the last man closing and locking the chute’s door as he left. Within an hour, the four men were on the Supersonic heading for Rome. Cline had no time to warn anyone, except the crew guarding Edison. They in turn would gather to
gether the well-trained force prepared by Peacock and Connor themselves. A hundred bodies strong to hold off an attack, if Edison was ever found.

  But who would look around Supai, Arizona? Located at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, about four miles outside Supai, and built into the rock, Edison operated in an environmentally perfect world of its own. Guarded by fifteen Global Realm combat units loyal to the old regime, the brains of the world continued to function as though nothing had happened.

  Why did the citizenry accept this asshole, Ammad? In Cline’s opinion, the world had made advances by working together that surpassed what mankind could have done without Pendleton in 500 years. But the main complaint was simple. No one’s ego got stroked. Yes, there were certain privileges earned by rank, but no fame or accolades went with performance. People lived well, but felt used.

  Ammad’s mouth flowed with honey and sugar every time it opened. The man was the Devil, and few citizens realized it. Luckily, all the programming for the Mars missions was in Edison’s possession. Edison had analyzed the water in the Martian soil. Even at the equator, it was 5% water by weight. In the arctic regions, 60% water by weight. And the computer developed technology that baked water out of the soil to make it available.

  Sunlight at the Martian equator was about equal to that of Norway. And there was enough nitrogen and all the other elements needed to make fertilizers and so forth. So Edison determined that water, along with Mars' plentiful carbon dioxide, would make it feasible to grow food and other plants to make products such as clothing, at least in some regions.

  Mars produced enough geothermal power underground. Utilizing that power source, plus any exploratory combustion, nuclear, or hydroelectric power, mankind could sustain a population on Mars for several centuries. So crews drilled for access to geothermal heat, hoping they might also find liquid water as well.

  They hunted for structures underground, where that power could be harnessed and a mini-world could be colonized. Protected in a temperature controlled environment, humanity had a chance. Only Edison had all the details. Those biospheres had to hook up and leave before Edison was discovered and disabled, or mankind would be held prisoner on Earth until all human life ceased.

  There has to be another computer.

  Cline’s mind ran rampant with possibilities. To arm space modules, develop high power weaponry for his terrorists, and win an Edison-generated leadership exam took scientific prowess Ammad did not possess. Once safe inside the Vatican, he’d communicate with Edison and determine the likelihood. God help us if he was right and Ammad did possess an Edison-type computer.

  Chapter 23

  Pendleton greeted Thaddeus Cline, as Cline was escorted into the Pope’s quarters by the papal guard. Soon after Pope Peter led them to a place of safety. At least for the time being.

  “Inside the Vatican are places only a few in the Holy See know,” Pope Peter said, as he, Pendleton, Duarte, and Cline headed into the Sacristy & Treasury Museum and passed the list of Popes buried in Saint Peter’s. “We need seclusion. I’ve had my people clear the Sacristy for us.”

  Pendleton’s mouth dropped open as Peter led them down the corridor to the Sacristy and across to an altar with candles brightly burning. Twisted columns rose on each side. High above, a clock chimed noon.

  Peter edged down and pushed a small button at the base of a picture of Jesus being taken off the cross. A grinding noise accompanied the movement of the altar, as it slid a few feet forward revealing a narrow staircase leading downward. Peter descended a few steps and turned on a light. Then Pendleton and the rest followed. Once all had reached the lower room, Peter pushed another button and the altar slide back into place.

  “Good God,” Pendleton quipped. “Right out of the legends of the Knights Templar.”

  Peter chuckled. “Nothing so sinister. But this is a useful place to hide or seek solitude.”

  In a room some twenty feet square sat two sofas, three comfortable leather armchairs, a writing desk complete with computer capabilities, and a full-size bed in case one wished to nap. Pendleton asked. “Water and food?”

  Peter smiled. “Some.”

  He pulled aside the bed behind which was a small refrigerator/freezer stocked with enough food for a day or two, not much more. “It’s not the wine cellar, but everybody knows about the wine cellar.”

  “You seem pretty spry for your age,” Pendleton said.

  “Going down stairs isn’t a problem. Going back up taxes me. But in such times, God provides strength to the weary.”

  Duarte, who had been standing next to the staircase, said, “Sir, if George, Harry, and your daughter are to be given instructions, we need to prepare them soon.”

  A slight smile curled the corner of his mouth.

  “To business then.” Pendleton motioned for his companions to sit down.

  Duarte took a chair at the desk, while the others relaxed into the leather armchairs.

  “Professor Cline,” Pendleton said. “Tell us where things stand.”

  For the next half-hour, Cline related the attack upon his London facilities and his escape from Ammad’s forces. Then he changed the subject to his suspicion of the second computer. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Ammad scored well on the tests from the beginning. But not the top 1%. How else could he have accomplished what he did?”

  Pendleton considered the possibility. “If so, he’ll make finding Edison his top priority.”

  “Hence his attempt to capture me.” Cline pulled the file he’d left London with up into his lap. Opening it, he spread out the plans Edison developed for launching the biospheres and docking them to their transport ships. “These papers showing the location of Edison and the location of the biosphere launchings are what Ammad desires, even more than killing you and Laverna.”

  Pendleton feared Ammad had accomplished half that task already. “How can we stop him?”

  “What military forces do we have?”

  Pendleton shook his head. “The rules of the Global Realm are airtight. All protective and security personnel are under the rule of the First Citizen and his appointees.”

  “So we’re screwed.” Cline closed his file and tapped the corner against his palm. “Edison’s protection-personnel report to your daughter. They are loyal to you. But eventually, Edison will be found. Our job is to delay that from happening as long as possible to allow for the launches to take place.”

  “How will that be accomplished?” Pope Peter asked.

  “How to delay the enemy or how the launches will proceed?”

  “Both.” Peter chuckled. “There are some 40,000 Christians here in Rome alone who desire to depart.”

  “Harry Pendleton and Obadiah Abu positioned the major biospheres on launch pads, twenty-five in all.” Cline smiled broadly. “Tomorrow morning the first launches will take place. By week’s end, all units will be in orbit, and our teams will begin connecting and testing the life support systems. All launches will be accomplished with lighter-than-air technology.”

  “Mr. Pendleton and I had the pleasure of taking a ride in one of the lighter than air shuttlecrafts at least twenty years ago.” Duarte’s eyes glistened. “A remarkable memory during my time with the First Citizen.”

  “Yes,” Cline said. “And the technology has leaped since then. The new shuttlecrafts are ten times more advanced than the one you rode in. We have over a hundred being readied to carry Christians to their waiting space crafts for the journey to Mars.” He frowned. “Even so, the evacuation will take weeks.”

  Pendleton jerked his head left. “Why would Ammad wish to detain us? You’d think he’d be delighted to be rid of us.”

  “The run-of-the-mill Christian doesn’t interest him.” Cline sighed. “Leadership does. What a prize—a feather in his cap to have Arthur Pendleton convert to Islam on Global television.”

  Pendleton’s mind darkened. Ammad had Lovey. If he managed to capture George, Harry, and Connor, Pendleton would be at his mercy. But he m
ust leave an intervention to God. He had his orders, and he must obey them regardless.

  #

  Hans Van Meer wrung his hands as he circled his office in Balmoral for the umpteenth time. George had gone with Connor to join up with Harry and Obi. His communication with the world grew narrower by the hour. Edison still functioned, controlling the areas it was connected to, but those connections were rapidly being pulled down by Ammad’s people. Soon, only the core security protocols would be left until Ammad’s team finally found Edison and shut the computer down.

  A tear moistened his cheek. He yearned for Felicia’s presence to no avail. He had no one, but Michael Ziebach. His value to the Global Realm had ended. Before Connor ordered her brother to go with her, she summoned all her assets with a call to Cher. When he asked what he could do, she responded by touching his arm lovingly and saying, “Ammad is in London. Cline has run, but is still communicating with the launch teams. When Ammad comes here, you must delay him without revealing where any of us went.”

  So here he was. A blooming decoy—a dead duck, actually. Fine kettle of fish. His pacing increased. His security team surrounded the Balmoral Complex with orders to cooperate with the enemy. The tactic of passive resistance didn’t sit well with him. But like a good #2, he’d set up the line for Pendleton, wherever he was, to address the Christian community for the last time.

  “I’ve lived a damn good life,” he said aloud to no one. “Helped create a new society out of a bunch of greedy idiots. I did.”

  The sound of his own voice grated on his nerves. The glory days ended with Felicia’s death. The past was past, and the future—bleak as a fish’s bones drying in the sun. He glanced out the window. Snow in early October? The longer he watched, the harder the snow fell. Maybe the European Ice Age had moved to the west. Regardless, it was symbolic of the times. Maybe he should convert to Christianity. At least he could hang on to some delusion of happiness.