Madness

by Bill Wetterman

  “What do you think about Laverna?” Anne asked. “Arthur’s dreams could turn sour without her.”

  “She’s the most dangerous person on the planet. But I believe she will choose Arthur’s side in the end.” Rogers said. “Arthur and Laverna were made for each other, intelligent, bullheaded, and able to read each other’s emotions.”

  “I like her. And I love my grandchild.”

  Rogers rubbed her hand. “I’m turning sixty-nine next week. I’m giving up everything I’ve ever earned or worked for to follow Arthur Pendleton in his quest. May I have the honor of taking you to dinner when all the fuss settles down?”

  Oh my. “I think that would be jolly. But you must promise me one thing.”

  “And what is that?”

  “We never mention my son.”

  Chapter 20

  Peacock’s eyes opened. She shook her head. She didn’t remember who or where she was. Her mind didn’t function in words. Her senses guided her and the emotions those senses evoked. Trembling, she envisioned explosions and fire. Flying creatures clawed at her, trying to keep her from performing her mission. She rolled onto her stomach and peered down into a military complex. She recognized the sign saying, “Welcome to the Asteroid Project.”

  Her hands searched her body. She touched her weaponry, a .38 caliber revolver, three knives, two of which were bloody. She found chemical packets. A sense of self-preservation told her not to use them. Flying enemies lurked in the air around her, and she had to stop them from—she couldn’t recall what. Prepare for hand-to-hand warfare, she thought. Someone’s electronic handset lay on the floor where she’d fallen. She ignored the device.

  Peacock glared at the people below her and attempted to understand what was going on twelve feet beneath her and across the complex. A man in a white lab jacket appeared to be answering the technician’s questions. He didn’t faze her. He didn’t pose a threat. She’d snip him like a twig. She kept her eye on another man standing in the far corner. He looked formidable. She sensed an equal and he looked familiar.

  She noticed the man in the lab jacket glance under his desk, place his hand underneath, then pull his hand back out.

  “That’s strange,” one of the technicians said.

  “What,” the man replied.

  “Maybe nothing, the missile code light blinked green just for a second.”

  “Probably, an unexplained anomaly.”

  “Sir, missile banks, 20 through 24 are rotating into firing positions.”

  Missile banks! I must stop the missiles.

  Peacock leaped to the door and pushed herself out of the area behind the one-way glass. She half-ran, half-slid, down toward the main floor, led by an animal rage bent on destroying her enemies.

  “Cline, drop to the floor,” the formidable man yelled. He shot two of the technicians. The third reached for a red switch on the wall next to him, but his reach fell short as a bullet ripped through his back.

  Running at full speed, Peacock slid to the front of the first console, hit the abort button, and shut it down.

  The man called Cline yelled, “Van Meer, shoot her before she reaches the middle console.”

  Van Meer raced to meet her, and she dove under his legs and tripped him. She rolled over the top of him as the name Van Meer rang in her head. The two exchanged several kicks and blows. This man was a warrior. Fighting came naturally, turns, rolls, tumbles across the floor. Neither of the two gained an advantage.

  Her instincts screamed, “Stop the missiles from firing.”

  She was about to throw herself against the middle console when the man named Van Meer shouted, “Laverna, Arthur has a surgeon waiting to help you.”

  “Arthur . . .?”

  She slammed against the middle console sending it crashing against a wall post. She bounced back around toward Van Meer. Then her mind exploded again and everything went black.

  #

  “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”

  Hans Van Meer couldn’t believe his eyes. Professor Cline stood grinning, holding a baseball bat in his hand. “This one’s autographed by the Miami Marlins.”

  Van Meer dropped to his knees. He waved the pompous Thaddeus Cline away and examined the impact area on Laverna’s skull. Cline had struck Laverna square on her implant scar. “God help us.” Van Meer felt her pulse strengthen. She groaned. Her heartbeat stronger—An Amazing woman.

  “What are you doing?” Cline asked. “Leave her here.”

  “This is Pendleton’s wife, you idiot. My orders are to take her with us.”

  Laverna groaned again and opened her eyes.

  “Help me pull her up.”

  “Are we leaving now?”

  “Yes.”

  “One moment.” Cline rushed back to his desk and flipped on a different switch under his console. Then he helped Van Meer pull Laverna to her feet.

  “Can you walk?’ Van Meer asked her.

  She wobbled zombie-like. Her eyes stared blankly, open but not responding to her surroundings.

  “We have to leave, Professor. How many others must I disable to get us out?”

  “Trust me. None.” Using his visual scanner and thumbprint, Cline opened the lab door and looked around. “It’s not six o’clock yet. Come on through. The sensor will do some irritating beeping. That red light will flash, but no one will see or hear either until we’re far away.”

  Van Meer and Cline helped Laverna stumble out of the building and crawl into the backseat of Van Meer’s car. Then Van Meer called Pendleton.

  “Yes.”

  “All bloody hell broke loose. Your wife showed up as the missiles fired off. I’ve got her with me.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Get your priorities straight, Arthur,” Van Meer screamed. “She made a bloody mess of the lab, me, and herself. No, she’s not all right. First, she’s taken a blow right on that infernal implant. I’d say physically she’ll recover. Mentally, I don’t think there’s much chance.”

  “I’ve got a medical team standing by to operate on her. They’re the only team capable to my knowledge. So don’t speculate with me about her chances.”

  He’s blind when it comes to the bitch. Bloody blind!

  “Put Cline on the phone.”

  Van Meer winced at Pendleton’s tone and clicked on his Bluetooth connection.

  “Cline here.”

  “What’s your assessment of our success?”

  “You’ll have to check with Franks to be sure, but I’d say the first four banks fired on time and precise. After that, I’m sure several banks fired. However, your wife arrived and shutdown at least one console mid-operation. I don’t know how they fared at all.”

  “What about the other bank, particularly number four?”

  “All’s well.”

  “Let me talk to Hans.”

  “I’m on, Arthur.”

  “How did she hurt her head?”

  “She got into the center, passed security, and was upon us right after the first missile banks fired off. She and I were hand in hand when she leaped to shut down the middle bank. Cline hit her with a baseball bat.”

  As he pulled in where his aircraft was waiting, Van Meer said, “We’re almost to the plane. We’ll be there in seven hours. Are you holding up all right?”

  “No, I’m not all right. Bring Lovey to me. Now I’ve got to talk to Franks.” Pendleton hung up.

  “Touchy fellow,” Cline mumbled.

  Van Meer did not reply.

  #

  Pendleton’s aircraft reached its cruising altitude of 30,000 feet. Calling Franks ranked first on his list of priorities, but he couldn’t speak to Franks just yet. His Lovey was in dire trouble, and he couldn’t help her.

  She’s fooled you.

  No, she hasn’t. She’s the victim. She reached out for help and I’m helping her.

  Nothing was more important in his life than Lovey was. What good would changing the world be without Lovey by his sid
e? Nevertheless, her wellbeing was out of his control. Damn Cline, what if her brain hemorrhaged? Levi and his team could remove the implant, but they were a seven hour flight way.

  This grand adventure, manipulating world powers to gain the authority to make changes, had already cost him the services of trusted friends and skilled protectors. Morgan and Dunn, the first team sent to assassinate Monroe, Lytle, though he didn’t know him personally, who Lovey killed on the beach near Malibu, and now Reed.

  Maybe his words to Thomas were too harsh. Reed had been the best, but Laverna had been better. He shouldn’t have faulted Reed, but that didn’t matter now. Reed was gone. He still had Van Meer, Milton Rogers, and his new world-governing team. If the missile strikes did their job, the world was his.

  Once at cruising altitude, he dialed Franks.

  “Sir, I’m sorry,” Franks gasped. “We’re in the midst right now. I’ll have to ring you back.”

  “Well bloody hell,” Pendleton screamed, but Franks was gone.

  #

  A few moments before Pendleton’s call, Franks thought things were going swimmingly.

  “Satellite verifies direct hit for Bank 4, Missile 12.”

  Franks marked the strike with his computer program simultaneous to the data showing up on the main console in the control room.

  “I’ve got another no fire from Bank 17. Missile 3 didn’t launch and we missed the code window.”

  A pattern was forming that Franks disliked. Per priority, all missiles aimed at China and the first third targeting Russian cities, a hundred and seventy-five in all, were recoded, fired at new locations, and hit their preselected targets. However, in the middle of firing those banks, the signals from the Missile Defense Agency abruptly stopped.

  One hundred and twenty-five missiles did not fire, all originally aimed at Russia. The controllers working those banks called back-up technical support to no avail. While the other two missile banks continued to aim and fire per plan.

  Someone shouted. “What the blooming hell? It’s happening again.”

  The Program Director ran by him yelling, “The bloody banks shutdown mid-cycle on grouping two. We’ve got over eighty shot off to God knows where.”

  Franks flexed his fingers, his breathing shallow and rapid. Once a missile fired, they couldn’t redirect with the technology they possessed. All he could do was to busy himself recording the results. If China or Russia were hit by just one rogue missile, things could turn nuclear.

  The third grouping activated and the first eighty-one missiles recoded, fired at new locations, and hit their targets. Then those banks shutdown as well and all communications ceased.

  “Help us here,” a project leader yelled to Franks. “Check your data with ours.”

  Franks check his numbers with theirs. “Yes, I agree. Three hundred and sixteen were flawless per our plan. All the Missile banks shut down before four hundred and fifty-nine even fired. I have eighty-one missiles fired before completing their code change. Where in the hell did they land?”

  Franks’ cellphone vibrated. This was a God-awful time for Pendleton to call.

  “Sir, I’m sorry,” Franks gasped. “We’re in the midst right now. I’ll have to ring you back.”

  “Satellites are pinpointing locations. We’ll have a schematic in a moment,” the project leader said.

  “Where were the targets locations originally?”

  “They were aimed at Iraq and Iran, mainly weapons manufacturing areas.” The project manager hesitated. “We’ve got the schematic now. Well, the missiles shifted locations eastward, and with no specific targets, piled into an area near and into Islamabad.”

  Pakistan! Not at all good news with all the turmoil going on there, but there was hope. “Did the missiles targeting Pakistan’s nuclear facilities hit their targets?”

  “Hold on. Yes, they did.”

  “Bloody good luck.”

  Chapter 21

  al-Sistani gazed up from his rooftop vantage point, as his body slumped. The horrid glows of rockets exploding on targets containing chemicals lit the eastern sky like an aurora of flames. The Islamic world erupted in fire while he could do nothing. His wives comforted him with their tears. His sons wailed and rocked on their knees—all to no avail.

  Most means of communication in his area had shut down an hour ago. He had nothing but a battery operated two-way radio system he and his followers set up. According to the chatter, Islamabad no longer existed. Pakistan and India’s nuclear-weapons facilities vaporized where they sat. Only one piece of information reached him from North Korea.

  From offshore near the western coast nothing moves—no lights, no sounds, and no wind.

  Unlike in Teheran, in southeastern Iran the electric power still operated. With Iraq, Syria, and the border with Jordan aflame, over half the population of the Muslim world was under siege. Still, “Allah Akbar,” escaped his lips.

  He rose to his feet and waved to his family to join him inside the house. Once settled comfortable in their living quarters, he said, “Islam will survive today. We will survive today. While there is life and breath, this family will never bow to the infidels. I need time to think. Those loyal to us who still have a heart wait only for instructions from me. Now is the time for planning. Pendleton and this Global Realm will not remain in power forever.”

  #

  Sir Jarvis Franks’ spirits rose. The advance of Russian forces toward Israel stopped abruptly when United States missiles struck the Tomb of the Patriarch’s in Hebron and the Israeli Nuclear Command Center. Wailing filled the streets of Jerusalem. Authorities begged for calm. At approximately the same time, four rockets exploded—two each in Gaza City and Ramallah—destroying fifty square miles of populated land.

  Damascus burned. Jordan escaped unscathed, as did Saudi Arabia. The eyes of the new Global Realm had been on the world’s most ruthless dictators for months. Having pinpointed their enemy’s exact locations, the rockets from the first bank fired destroyed the worst of the world’s dictators. Projected opposition during the aftermath dwindled in numbers.

  That should please the powers that be.

  #

  Pendleton hung up the phone after Sir Jarvis finally called him back. He bowed his head and thanked God. The critical part of the missile deployment succeeded. As of now, his organization ran the world.

  He felt like talking, but his trusted advisers were on other assignments. He wouldn’t see Van Meer or Rogers until he reached the Widder Hotel where he would deliver his first speech to the Global Realm. He waved over the steward, a man named Duarte.

  “Fix me a Vodka Martini on the rocks and give me a moment of your time.”

  “Anything you ask, Mister Pendleton.”

  “Call me, Arthur.”

  “As you wish, Sir, you are now Arthur to me.”

  “Where are you from, Duarte?” Pendleton asked, now sipping his drink.

  “I’m from San Salvador, not the city, the country. My family name is prominent there. I’m fortunate. My people are better off than those in most of Central and South America.”

  “This will change when the Global Realm takes power.” Pendleton relaxed as Duarte slipped into the seat across from him. “Do you know what’s happening right now?”

  “No, I have no idea.”

  “The whole order of the world economy and social structure is being radically altered—by force, but for the good of humanity.”

  Only a quizzical expression greeted Pendleton. “I know war is looming worldwide. Everyone is fearful.”

  Pendleton waved his hand dismissively. “The war is over. Those living have nothing to fear, if they cooperate with the Global Realm. Have you studied Maslow?”

  “Yes, at the university. I fear self-actualization turns individuals into prideful snobs. The world’s technical advancements exceed humanity’s social advancement. We’re killing ourselves and our planet.”

  Here was a man Pendleton could admire. To find him as a steward on his p
ersonal aircraft meant Duarte’s thinking agreed with The Sons of Tiw. “Precisely correct, my friend. Without a significant, world-altering event, our planet is doomed.”

  Pendleton took another sip and cleared his throat. “Those who oppose the brotherhood of men have been dealt a critical blow. On Maslow pyramid, the physiological needs of those people are in dire lack. The Global Realm will supply those needs, food, water, shelter, a restful night’s sleep in exchange for their loyalty.”

  “To everyone?”

  “To everyone who joins us, the others will live apart from us if they choose as long as they don’t break our laws.”

  “As I recall,” Duarte said. “Establishing this government also provides safety and security. So men can work on their self-esteem.”

  “Yes and no,” Pendleton answered. “I prefer the term self-respect within human society. Maslow felt self-respect to be more important than self-esteem, but he accepted the premise. I frown on the pride the word esteem brings. The Global Realm will not tolerate elevating one’s self. Accomplishment will enlighten the individual, but not bring him popularity.”

  “Are you creating a beehive-like society?”

  Pendleton sucked in air. Would people view the Global Realm as a beehive? No, impossible, “In a beehive there is no capability to achieve other than what you are born to be. A drone is a drone is a drone.”

  Duarte nodded. “So, each person can become what he sets his mind on becoming?”

  “Well, now you get into genetics. When God made Adam, every possible combination of talent dwelt inside him. However, after the Fall, genetics shuffled the cards. The Global Realm will encourage people to achieve to their genetic capabilities. And reward them for doing so, regardless of what those capabilities are.”

  “Okay,” Duarte said. “But Maslow states self-actualization is the highest level of achievement for any individual, reaching one’s full potential for one’s self.”

  “And Maslow is wrong. God is a social being. Humanity is a social creation. The highest achievement for an individual is melding self-actualization with species needs. Achieving for the good of us all, not for ourselves. Imagine a world free of greed, ego, and pride. Imagine people striving to advance humanity into our next level of adaptation.”