The Harvest

by John David Krygelski

  “Tonight might be my last chance to talk with Reese before we leave,” said Reynolds to Craig McWilliams.

  “You’re probably right, Nicholas,” answered Craig, between bites on the vending-machine tuna sandwich. “But this is also his last evening here with his family. Maybe you should call him.”

  “Tried that. Goes straight to voice mail. Tried his room, no answer. You might be right. He probably is just tuning out for the night, ignoring everything and just hanging out with Claire and the kids.”

  “Did you leave messages?”

  “Yes. On his cell phone and at the front desk.”

  “Okay. If he doesn’t give you a call within a couple of hours, maybe we worry.”

  “Sounds like a plan. How’s it been going in there with Debbie Bennett?”

  “I don’t think she’s going to be much of a source. As far as she was concerned, she was just helping the cause – the cause as defined by William Stavros. According to her, she has never met Kaval.”

  “How’d she meet Stavros?”

  “It’s ironic. Preston introduced them. I guess it was at some Washington dinner party.”

  “Ironic, yeah. How long has she been feeding Stavros information?”

  “Quite a while. About three years.”

  “Did it all go to Kaval?”

  “Most of it, apparently. Margo’s talking to Stavros. A lot of it Stavros just used for political stuff. He hates the President, you know.”

  Reynolds laughed. “No kidding.”

  “A lot of the information trickled to the ‘right’ people on the other side of the aisle. Things they could use to make the Chief look bad.”

  “Same thing with the UN, I’m sure,” added Reynolds. “There have been occasions over the past few years when Kaval smeared egg on our faces with information he shouldn’t have known.”

  “True. Well, the boss wasn’t really liked very well by that group, either.”

  “You know,” Reynolds said thoughtfully, “this is a little strange. I mean, usually, when prominent people like Preston get compromised by their wives, doesn’t it start long before the marriage?”

  “A lot of times, yes. A spy agency will hook up its own agents with head guys on the other side, trying to make a marriage happen. Sometimes it does. Our own pals at the CIA have managed to do it, also. You know the cases.”

  Reynolds nodded.

  “The information Debbie Bennett was turning over made her a spy de facto, but she wasn’t the classic, career spy who was trained to infiltrate. It looks as though she was just a bored, idealistic housewife. The life of a diplomat’s wife was tedious, and throwing in with Stavros was exciting. Add to that the fact that she was politically a basic ‘peace, love, and rock ’n roll’ kind of person, married to a man who worked in an administration not really well liked by that group, and you’ve got all the ingredients needed to turn someone.”

  “And Stavros was probably always on the lookout for just that type.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Craig finished his sandwich, crumpling the wrapper and tossing it into the trash can. “I think I’ll go back in for a little while and take another whack at her before calling it a night. What are you going to do?”

  “As tasty as that sandwich looked, I think I’ll go grab a bite somewhere and then head back to the room.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  “Yeah. You, too.”

  א

  Margo Jackson sat across the desk from William Stavros, fighting back her own fatigue and marveling at his energy level. Rather than taking him into the FBI offices for more questioning, she had decided to allow him back into his own office. Maybe sitting behind his desk would help him to forget about the federal charges he was facing and prompt him to be even more helpful in nailing Suri Kaval.

  Stavros’ eyes darted around the bank of monitors, as they usually did, searching for an image to pique his interest. The technicians had removed the hard drives from his two computers and, at Margo’s request, burned a ghost image of each onto new drives which were then installed in the machines to restore their functionality. Again, she was playing a hunch, hoping his unfettered access to all of his information would somehow help her.

  Without his eyes leaving the frenetic searching of the televisions, Stavros asked, “So he’s up to something else, huh?”

  It was a rhetorical question, asked several times since Margo had, in general terms, disclosed Reese’s concern to him. She recognized by now that this was his technique to direct his thoughts, so she did not respond, allowing his mind to work on the problem.

  As she observed Stavros, Margo could not help but think that it was such a waste – a man of his drive, intelligence, and energy soon to go to a federal penitentiary for his part in the conspiracies hatched by Kaval. His cooperation during this day would substantially mitigate the sentence, yet he would still spend years behind bars. It was a testament to his ability to focus his mind, at a time when most would be overwhelmed with the reality of their situation, that he was able to mentally sift through the multitude of facts, coming up with helpful nuggets for Margo.

  William Stavros’ cooperation began the moment it became obvious to him that he had been nothing but a pawn to Suri Kaval, a pawn gladly sacrificed when the need arose. Obviously, Kaval had framed him, set him up to take the heat. And yet, in all of the hours of conversation with Margo, Stavros had not once gone on a tirade against Kaval. There had been no outbursts, no rantings swearing revenge – only a calm, methodical dissection of all of their dealings together, searching for any piece of the puzzle which might help.

  Margo had no idea how things would play out for Stavros in a courtroom, but, personally, she was convinced he was not an evil man. She believed he had no knowledge of or involvement in any of the attacks. She did not think he was a patriot, if the criterion was a tendency to put one’s own country above all others. Far from it, in fact. He truly was a believer in the ‘community of man,’ a belief which transcended all borders, races, religions, and any other distinctions.

  Stavros was the embodiment of the nebulous and nefarious conspirators the one-worlders believed existed, the same one-worlders Dick Williams had accused George Collins of promoting. Stavros suddenly turned his attention from the screens, seeing Margo gazing at him. “I’ve read the transcripts, you know, all of them.”

  “That’s quite a feat,” she answered.

  He shrugged dismissively. “I read them last night.”

  “You must be one of those speed-readers.”

  Instead of acknowledging her comment, he continued, “So, tomorrow night you go to Heaven?”

  Margo nodded and said, “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  “If, when you get there, the first thing you do is take a quick nap, by the time you wake up, I’ll be out of prison, maybe dead.”

  “I don’t think it’s quite that fast.”

  “Well, out of prison, probably.”

  “Probably.”

  His eyes bored into hers. “Looked at that way, it doesn’t seem too bad.”

  She could not help but smile at him. “No. I guess it doesn’t.”

  Neither spoke for a moment, and then he continued, “I was so damn sure.”

  “About what?”

  “God. Religion. All of it.”

  “A lot of people were. Some still are.”

  “Did you ever doubt it?”

  “Several times. I understand how He works a little better now, but when really horrible things happened, I asked the same question everybody asks. You know, if there is a God, how could He let this occur? How about you? Did you ever believe?”

  “Not really. I think, in retrospect, I confused the messenger with the message. Both of my parents were very religious. Talked about it all the time. Went to church regularly. Gave money to the church, a lot of money. But, as people, they were scum – they cheated; they stole; they lied; and they destroyed other people’s lives. They did whatever it to
ok to get what they wanted and then sat in our living room in the evening and bragged about it, laughed about it as though it was some game or something. From a young age, I hated them. Both of them. I guess I decided to hate their god, too.”

  “Elohim wasn’t…isn’t their God. He has a special plan for people like that.”

  “I figured that out about halfway through the transcripts.”

  “Good.”

  “Reading them scared me, though.”

  “Why?”

  “The part about the devil living through us or living through the people who let him in. It was easier before. If you don’t believe in a god, you don’t believe in the devil. When I realized that I was a patsy for Kaval, that I was being used – my money, my organization, and my people were all being used to do rotten things, things much worse than anything my parents ever did – I started wondering if he could be in me.”

  “You mean Lucifer himself? Like possession?”

  “No. I think I’d know if that were the case. I’m just talking about the millions of people Elohim described, the ones who allow him to tap into them, darken their souls, lead them down the wrong road…whether I’m one of those.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve got a pretty good gut. What does it tell you?”

  Without hesitating, Margo answered, “You probably are.”

  Stavros broke the intense eye contact, staring down at his desk. Shaking his head as if trying to eradicate an errant thought, he cleared his throat and said, “From a practical standpoint, that’s not good.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Well, if he’s tapped into me, isn’t he listening to us right now? I’m, like, carrying a wire for the devil, except it’s one we can’t just rip off and drop in the toilet.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  A slight smile curling one side of his lips, he said, “You were just worrying about my eternal soul?”

  One single, breathy chuckle came from Margo as she answered, “I thought maybe you might be.”

  “There’s plenty of time for that later. Right now, we need to stop him.”

  א

  Matthew finished playing his last token and glanced at the clock. Threading his way through the crowded arcade, he found his sister at the glass counter, redeeming her Skee-Ball coupons for a large stuffed rabbit. “It’s 9:03,” he said to Melissa, pointing at the wall clock behind the counter.

  “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

  Hugging the huge rabbit close to her, she turned to follow him as he pushed through the mass of kids clogging the aisle. When they exited into the relatively empty lobby, Matthew fell back to walk alongside her, asking, “What’daya think you can take with you tomorrow night?”

  His sister’s eyes widened at the question. “Oh. I really haven’t been thinking about that.”

  “Really?” he said sarcastically. They crossed the lobby to the row of elevators. The doors were still open on one of them. “C’mon, hurry up.” The elevator was occupied by four young men who looked like college students with a bit too much to drink. The doors started to close but Matthew shouted, “Hold the door!”

  One of the occupants reached out and stopped the door at midpoint, saying, “Hurry up, kid.”

  Matthew and Melissa were about to step through the open doors, when a middle-aged man approached them from the side and said, “Excuse me, young man, could you help me?”

  Matthew paused, eyeing the open elevator and then the man, before saying to the college boys, “Go ahead.”

  As the doors closed, he turned to the man and asked, “Sure. What do you need?”

  The man answered, “Ice. My wife sent me for ice. She said there was an ice machine in the lobby. I can’t find it.”

  Rolling his eyes, Matthew said, “There’s a machine on each floor…right by the elevators…ice machine, Coke machine, and candy machine.”

  The man shook his head, saying, “I didn’t notice. I’m so sorry.” As he spoke, he punched the button to call for another elevator. One of the other doors opened instantly, and Matthew and Melissa both went in, followed by the man. The stranger quickly pressed the button for the eighth floor, and the doors began to close. Matthew was reaching for the button for their floor, when a hand and arm suddenly squeezed through the elevator doors, triggering the sensor.

  As the doors reopened, Melissa squealed, “Nicholas!”

  “Hi, kids.” Nicholas Reynolds smiled as he entered, only glancing at the stranger. He stepped between Melissa and the man, turning to face both of them. Seeing the stuffed rabbit, Reynolds asked, “Where did you get that? A boyfriend?”

  Melissa blushed as the elevator doors again closed, and the car began rising.

  “Nooooo! I won it.”

  Her answer, Matthew thought, was too loud and too animated.

  The stranger from the lobby was concealed from both Matthew and Melissa by Reynolds’ body, so neither of them noticed the stranger reach into his pocket and remove a knife with a six-inch blade. In a sudden movement, Lazlo punched the elevator emergency stop button with his left hand while jamming the blade of the knife into Reynolds’ back.

  Purely on instinct, Reynolds reacted immediately, raising his left elbow and spinning to face the attacker. The elbow violently connected with the side of Lazlo’s face, bouncing his head against the teak-wood panel, as Reynolds, with his right hand, pulled out his service pistol. Finishing his turn, he saw that the man was reaching for his gun as well, having it nearly out of the armpit holster. Worried about a ricochet injuring one of the children, Reynolds rammed his pistol deeply into Lazlo’s abdomen while grabbing for his gun arm.

  Melissa was immobilized from the sudden, unexpected fight between her friend and the stranger. Matthew had the presence of mind to press the alarm button on the control panel. He then whirled back to his sister who was staring wide-eyed at the struggle. Pressing his body against Melissa, he pushed her down to the floor, shielding her.

  Lazlo, flooded with adrenaline, jerked his gun hand free from Reynolds’ grip and tried to bring the barrel around, when he both heard and felt the thunderous report of Reynolds’ weapon, the single slug ripping into his sternum and exiting through his spine, instantly paralyzing the bottom half of his body. Reynolds felt the gunman go limp and, pinning him against the wall, again grabbed for the gun; this time he was successful although the effort was not needed. Lazlo’s eyes, inches from Reynolds’ own, rolled back, exposing the bottom whites as his face became lifeless. Taking no chances, Nicholas pulled the semi-automatic from the dead man’s fingers and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He then reached up to the man’s neck and felt the carotid for a pulse, finding none. Only then was he satisfied that the stranger no longer presented a threat. He lowered the body slowly to the floor, leaving it propped in the corner, and turned to check on Matthew and Melissa, relieved to see them both huddled on the floor at the opposite corner. Matthew was still blanketing his sister’s body, his hands covering her face.

  “Are you two all right?”

  Hearing his friend’s voice, Matthew rolled over, releasing Melissa who was still clutching the rabbit. It was she who first noticed the knife still protruding from Reynolds’ back. “NICHOLAS!” she shrieked, pointing.

  For a moment Reynolds thought Lazlo had somehow come back to life, and as he spun around to check, he heard Matthew, in a shaky voice, say, “A knife. There’s a knife in your back.”

  א

  The emergency room doctor, a young, slender man from Pakistan, came through the double doors leading to the waiting room. Reese and Claire Johnson were seated on either side of Matthew and Melissa who were both curled up in uncomfortable chairs, trying to remain awake. Craig McWilliams was standing at the opposite side of the room, speaking with Bill Burke.

  “Are you all with Agent Reynolds?” he asked. Although his speech was accentless, it still contained the tonal uniqueness of his home country’s language.

/>   Melissa nearly leaped from her chair and ran to the doctor. The others followed.

  “Is he okay?” she asked, her voice intense with worry.

  “He’s fine. It is actually quite amazing. The knife blade missed all vital organs. I only needed to seal off some bleeding, which I did arthroscopically; however, that, too, was amazingly minor. Whoever decided to leave the knife inside the wound until the paramedics arrived made a very good choice.”

  “That was my brother,” Melissa said proudly, pointing at Matthew.

  The doctor turned to the young boy. “You may have saved his life.”