The man’s name was Jonathan Maloney.
He kept a worn old leather-bound Bible to his side as he looked solemnly upon the corpses along the street. One body he found particularly interesting. It was a heavyset man who apparently died from multiple gunshots to the chest. He also looked badly sunburned, but as it had been cloudy for days, sun obviously was not the culprit.
Jonathan knelt down and examined the man. While doing so, he opened the Bible and leafed through the pages. What does this all mean?
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a quarter-size disc and placed it next to the dead man’s body. Immediately, a forty-letter by forty-letter grid of Hebrew letters holographically appeared.
After a few seconds of analysis, he used his right pointer finger to circle a few letters. On doing so, the grid immediately changed into a different configuration of letters. Over and over he did the same thing as he circled the same Hebrew letters each time.
Jonathan immediately took the disk and placed it in his back pocket. He had found what he was searching for. His job here in the town was complete. After saying a small prayer, he turned and briskly walked down the same road from which he entered.
The answer found in those Hebrew letters which brought him here would now guide him to a new destination. It was not a place this time but a particular person.
Alex Pella.
Chapter 4
How could I’ve let my guard down! Alex lamented to himself. I shouldn’t have assumed the NIH transport vehicle and team weren’t a possible security risk!
Alex hurtled a long black couch in the lobby as if he were an Olympic athlete. Despite wearing designer dress shoes, he remained limber on his feet and able to scramble through the piles of debris with ease. The culprit had just exited out the main entrance, and he, too, ran like a track star.
The security guards at the entrance thought the man was just fleeing for his life and never made the connection between him and the attack. And to be truthful, Alex was not a hundred percent sure of the man’s culpability. But his instincts told him otherwise, and his gut rarely led him astray.
While Alex raced out the exit, Samantha and Marissa tended to the injured. The emergency health services from the hospital had been activated and a few brave medical professionals trickled into the lobby despite the possible danger.
Marissa grabbed a bag from one of the EMS workers and tended to a woman with a crushed leg. The woman had tried to crawl to safety, but the exhaustion and pain hindered further movement. She had a compound fracture in her tibia, which was causing excessive bleeding from her lower leg.
Marissa was well versed in emergency medical care. As a medical field operative for the NIH, she had come into contact with exotic illnesses, traumatic injuries, and other acute care circumstances. She usually carried a similar-type EMS pack on her during fieldwork and knew its contents well.
Marissa grabbed a narcotic-filled syringe and injected it into the woman’s thigh. She needed the pain controlled before any other procedures could be performed.
The woman was losing blood fast. The fractured tibia protruded from her lower leg, causing life-threatening bleeding. Marissa tightly grabbed the woman’s ankle and knee. With a quick pull she snapped her leg back into place, repositioning the tibia under the skin. Though the bleeding did not stop, it significantly diminished.
Marissa next grabbed a silver pen-like object from the bag and ran it down the woman’s open wound. A red light glowed from its tip and wherever it came into contact with the skin the bleeding stopped. After the leg had been cauterized, the woman immediately fell asleep. Whether it was the narcotic, blood loss, or pure exhaustion, she needed the rest.
A Ph.D. and not an MD by training, Samantha did her part during the crisis. Because of all the commotion, dust and noise, it was difficult to generate any type of organization. She used her shrill-like voice to cut through the turmoil and commandeer the scene. It was as if her mouth were a bullhorn as she quickly organized all the medical staff entering the lobby.
“Prioritize!” Samantha yelled. “Tend to the sickest first. If they don’t have a pulse, they don’t need treatment.”
She grabbed a white towel from one of the physicians and waved it in the air. “Place any sort of linen over the heads of the deceased so that we don’t keep on checking them. Be efficient people!”
What was once a chaotic mess turned into an efficient and coordinated effort. Samantha gave each new person who entered a specific task and no matter who it was, they did it without argument.
Marissa went to the aid of another victim. He seemed to have suffered a head injury from falling debris and now appeared unconscious. His pulse was strong and his pupils were reactive to light.
Hopefully only a mild concussion.
She took out a two-inch-square object from the bag. It was flat with a clear center and a black strip around the edges. Placing it atop the man’s head, she maneuvered the object over his hair, scanning the entire area. Through its transparent part Marissa could see a clear picture of the brain and its anatomy as if there were no skull in between.
No bleeding. He’ll do fine.
Before Marissa could examine another victim, two burley-looking guards yanked her up by the arms. Each was dressed in the standard blue Neurono-Tek uniform and bore a striking resemblance to a really aggravated bulldog.
“What are you two Neanderthals doing?” Marissa yelled. “Unhand me!”
She tried to fight their grip, but to her dismay both men’s strength matched their ugliness.
“You’re coming with us!” one of the guards grunted. “House arrest.”
The other man chimed in, “I think it’s best you keep your mouth shut until we get things sorted out around here.”
Luckily for the victims, more physicians and nurses flooded into the lobby, making her presence less urgent.
“What authority gives you the right… ,” she attempted to say.
“Dr. Alex Pella,” one guard snipped, “and that’s as good as the governor himself.”
The guard did not overestimate Alex or his company’s clout. As Neurono-Tek was Pennsylvania’s most lucrative company and second only to The New Reality in the country’s most successful businesses, the governor had Alex’s back on most issues.
“Alex Pella!” she muttered. “I think I’ll need to have a little word with him.”
She looked over to the lobby’s entrance, but Alex must have exited too quickly for her to notice.
•••
Alex saw the man running ahead. His white scrubs with red NIH letters embroidered on the back made him conspicuous even through the growing chaos outside the main research building. Sirens blared as fire trucks, ambulances, police cars and a few military vehicles from the National Guard barreled through the streets.
Neurono-Tek had grown from a single building with an adjacent hospital into a modern medical mecca. Forty buildings in all, it was an architectural masterpiece laid down into a square-like grid.
Sneakers! Alex thought while still running full speed in his designer shoes. What I would give for a pair of sneakers!
The driver ran full speed in his pair of white running shoes. A police vehicle accidentally pulled in front of him, and he hurtled it without stumbling. Alex did the same and tried to pump his arms harder to gain ground. With a head start, the driver had a fifty-foot cushion.
Alex looked into his videre contact lens, and a satellite view of Neurono-Tek instantly appeared. He could see himself and the presumed terrorist running down the longest street in the complex, heading towards the hospital. There were a few buildings to each of their sides separated by dead-end alleys. The road split in front of the hospital.
Alex could see in his contacts a few fire engines driving in from the right.
If he goes right, they’ll be blocking his way. If he makes a left, he will be able to take the road leading out of Neurono-Tek and escape into the forest.
Alex had hoped the
police would blockade all the streets around Neurono-Tek, but with most vehicles already at the main research building and others too far off, he knew it was still too premature.
Plus, the presumed terrorist could have a getaway car, an aero-bike, or other vehicle waiting, Alex further contemplated. He did not see anything from the satellite but knew if this man were cunning enough to infiltrate the NIH and get through his security, anything was possible.
The driver looked back and gave Alex a sneer. Pride filled the man’s face, and he seemed to lack any remorse for his apparent actions.
My gut was right!
Alex took longer strides and tried to make himself as aerodynamic as possible in order to gain speed. It worked. The distance between the two narrowed to less than thirty feet by the time the man reached the hospital.
Unfortunately, the blaring sirens from the fire engines to the right gave away their presence and the man quickly headed left. Alex anticipated this move and had darted down a dead-end alley. He noted that the gates at the end of it had been removed, providing a more direct path to his adversary.
Alex flew down the tight alley full of delivery vehicles and a few heaping dumpsters. The terrorist continued fleeing, oblivious to Alex’s subversive maneuver.
A black aero-bike suddenly levitated out of the woods, awaiting the man’s arrival. It looked like a motorcycle but instead of wheels, it boasted a flat bottom with cylindrical gravity dampeners along the sides.
Alex saw the bike and knew if the man became air bound, capture would be impossible.
He had it all planned out, Alex thought. But for what purpose?
Alex emerged from the alley like a ball shot out of a cannon. The terrorist was shocked to see his foe now an arm’s length away, but he still smiled with contempt.
The aero-bike turned and faced away from them both. It then began to levitate backwards towards them. The terrorist obviously hoped to leap onto his bike like a bandit to a horse in an old western movie.
Alex would not let that happen.
Alex jumped forward and grabbed the man’s legs as if he were a defensive tackle stopping a running back from entering the end zone. The terrorist fell forward, smashing his face upon the aero-bike’s metal frame.
Blood poured from his mouth and oozed from his nose.
“You are not as smart as you think,” the man turned and blubbered. “We will win. Oh, yes. The time has come for a great change.”
The terrorist slipped a pill out of his back pocket and placed it under his tongue before Alex had a chance to stop him. Suddenly, his whole body became ashen in color and his veins began to pop out of his neck. After a quick jerk of the torso, the man’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp.
Alex knew what he had taken: an autolysis pill. It was now the choice of all spies worldwide. The pill caused almost instantaneous death and eradicated all genetic evidence of the person who ingested it. By triggering the immediate release of calcium in all cells throughout the body, it triggered the liberation of toxic enzymes stored in special cellular vacuoles. Once released, the enzymes caused the cells to digest themselves and their DNA. All that is left after a minute is a crumbled mass of necrotic flesh clinging to a skeleton. No DNA signature or other forms of identification remain. Perfect for hiding all evidence.
Alex ripped off the man’s shirt.
There has to be some identification here! A tattoo or maybe even a scar.
There was nothing. No mole, sign of surgery, or even a blemish could be seen. The man had no imperfection.
Time was running out. The terrorist’s skin began to turn even grayer and flake away while all his hair fell to his side like a shedding dog. All evidence quickly faded away. An expeditious inspection of his legs also failed to reveal any conspicuous markings.
Just as the skin began to turn black, Alex noticed a small tattoo on the back of the man’s head. Originally concealed by hair, it now became evident.
The tattoo clearly portrayed the outline of a falcon with its head turned to the left and holding a bundle of sticks with its talons. Alex blinked and the evidence disintegrated.
The symbol was unmistakable—one that Alex would soon never forget.
Chapter 5
The air tingled with great anticipation, and the stars shimmered above in the clear night sky. The only light illuminating the vast open arena emanated from an enormous ring of fire set above a barely visible marble platform.
The crowd stood in the darkness. Their excitement was palpable as they all waited for the culmination of the day’s ceremony. The anticipation was overwhelming. A few even fainted as the expectation proved too much for them to handle.
No one spoke.
Most tried not to hyperventilate.
Two spotlights from the bottom of the stage suddenly came to life and revealed two long, yellow banners hanging on both sides of the emblazoned ring. Each bore the symbol of why they all assembled there that night.
The falcon.
It was a beautiful golden bird with its head turned to the left as if looking towards something greater than itself. The falcon’s wings were held high at its side while its feathered talons tightly held a bundle of sticks underneath.
The crowd erupted immediately with joy as the roar of their adulation joined as one deafening sound . It was as if the individual did not exist and only the collective could be heard. No voice stood out regardless of how long or hard they cheered.
All were surrounded in a mystique of community that appealed to both their spiritual and visual senses.
These cheers and levity had enveloped the usually quiet desert city of Tabas, Iran all week. Once a year during the first full week in July, the government staged this enormous rally.
They spared no expense. Despite the marked decline in the economy, all attending had free accommodations along with full access to the weeklong festivities.
Aimed at glorifying the government, the rally and its activities had the same underlying message: Government can conquer all. All along the streets of Tabas, accompanying the falcon’s emblems, quotes such as “Pray not to God but to the Malik”, “We are all Children of the Malik”, and “Malik is Hope” hung prominently.
The rally made all those attending feel as if they were a part of something momentous—something more significant than even themselves or their meager lives. It was as if their presence in this place made them even greater.
Amidst the endless cheers, Xenon arch spotlights began to shine straight up into the air, parallel to one another. In succession, beginning behind the stage, the spotlights ignited until finally, an entire oval-shaped cathedral of light encircled the arena.
To amplify the awe-inspiring site, docking planes hovering in the stratosphere amplified the light and reflected it in parallel lines to encircle all of Tabas. People hundreds of miles away could view the event. Even those who could not partake in the festivities felt as if they were there just by gazing at this magnificent spectacle.
A hush befell the crowd at the arena. The magnificence of the site made further cheering at the moment seem redundant. Goosebumps chilled their skin.
A deep voice echoed through the arena and brought the people out of their trance.
“Attention. The Malik is here!”
From one end of the arena a single man entered. Looking straight ahead towards the circle of flame and its accompanying banners, he sauntered straight towards the stage.
A band began to play. Each stroked a traditional Arab string instrument. Whether it was the oud, rabab or the qitara they played in perfect harmony. In a high-pitched tone a woman accompanied the music by singing an ancient love song known as a ghazal meant for the Malik.
A new round of cheers began to drown out the music. Women cried, men shouted. It was as if their favorite football team had just scored the winning touchdown in the last seconds of the game.
The Malik’s name was Ari Lesmana, and he savored every second of this adulation. He donned a traditional A
rab black robe known as a bisht with a golden embroidered collar running down the chest. The symbol of his power, the golden falcon adorned each of the sleeves. Atop his head he boasted a red scarf known as a ghutra that covered his forehead to the back of his neck. A golden band called an igal secured the ghutra along his forehead.
Ninety-thousand men wearing the same traditional outfit stood before him. Instead of the red scarves, they each donned a white one with a black band.
Upon reaching them, Ari stopped and began to look authoritatively at all in attendance. Above the highest level of seating, many huge three-dimensional screens encircled the area. Each displayed Ari from a view looking up at him. If the fifty-foot screens did not make him appear larger than life, the angle in which he was captured definitely completed the look.
Ari turned his gaze to the men in front of him and shouted, “One People! One Blood! One Nation!”
The ninety thousand immediately positioned themselves into perfectly aligned rows with a ten-foot pathway down the center so that Ari could walk unhindered to the platform.
The crowd once again hushed as Ari strutted through the mass of men as if he were Moses leading his people through the Red Sea.
As he passed, the person standing along the aisle would hold up a white flag with the golden falcon emblazoned on each of its sides. The others behind him would turn and follow Ari with their bodies while standing in place. As he passed, the crowd raised their hands above their heads to make an O as a sign of reverence and respect to their leader.
The O represented the sun. Ari was their sun and the man who would bring light back into their lives and their country.
Besides the Malik, his followers also referred to him as the Red Leviathan. The scarf that covered his head was red, while his larger than life persona made him a leviathan.
Ari reached the platform and climbed a small set of stairs until he arrived at the top. He walked behind a golden podium under the flaming circle and looked out into the crowd. Again, the screens above the arena showed his image as if all were looking up to him like the great messiah.
The New Reality Page 3
