Sullivan Saga 2: Sullivan's Wrath

by Michael K. Rose

  Miller raised his eyes from his tablet. “Jensen? What is it?”

  “I overheard what happened, sir. Are you going down to the scene of the attack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “No, thank you, Jensen. Carry on as you were.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jensen returned to his desk, took his tablet out and put it on his lap, out of sight.

  Miller on his way to scene of attack on K. Alexander, he typed. Recommend action.

  Resources not available, came the reply.

  Orders?

  Stand by.

  Jensen frowned. He glanced up at the outer office door. Miller was standing at the elevators, waiting. He was tired of being delayed, tired of being told to stand by, to wait. He’d had countless opportunities to kill General Miller. Why hadn’t he been given the order? Right now, with Kate Alexander still in harm’s way, was the time to act. If Miller could be killed and another attempt made on Kate Alexander, before she was taken to safety, it might be enough to motivate the loyalists who were keeping their heads down. And if Prime Minister Hall and Richard Sullivan—wherever he was—could also be killed, Jensen was sure the people would demand the return of their rightful leaders.

  Jensen stood up and walked across the office. He entered the hallway just as the elevator doors opened.

  “Sir!” he called as Miller stepped in.

  “Yes, Jensen?”

  “Something to report, sir.”

  “Ride down with me.”

  Jensen followed the general into the elevator. He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and closed his fingers over the switch blade he kept there.

  “What is it, Corporal?”

  “Just this, sir.” Jensen withdrew the knife and extended the blade in the same fluid movement. He thrust it upward toward Miller’s heart.

  The general fell back against the side of the elevator car as the blade struck him. It made contact with the button on his pocket and slid off, diminishing the force of the thrust. Miller felt the knife slice through his flesh above his left breast, but the cut was superficial.

  He balled his fist and punched Jensen squarely on the bottom of his jaw. The corporal dropped the knife as he was knocked over to the far side of the elevator. Miller drew his sidearm and aimed it at Jensen’s head.

  The elevator dinged, and Miller looked toward the doors. The men at the security desk would have seen the attack on the camera in the elevator.

  Three men rushed in as soon as the doors opened and picked Jensen up.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  Miller holstered his gun and looked down at the tear in his uniform, wet with blood. “It’s just a scratch.”

  “You should go to the infirmary all the same, sir.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Have my staff meet me down there. And tell them to have Kate Alexander brought directly to me.

  25

  ALLEN NODDED TOWARD the scene outside the cockpit window of the freighter. “Looks like we have company.”

  Sullivan stood up. “They’re bringing a shipping container. Must be the weapons.”

  The two men stepped toward the rear of the freighter and opened the side hatch. The men with the container approached them.

  “Let’s see the guns,” said Sullivan.

  They opened the hinged lid of the shipping container. Sullivan glanced inside and quickly counted the weapons.

  “All right. Frank?”

  Allen took the credit card from his pocket. He handed it to the man who seemed to be in charge. The man swiped it across the reader on his tablet to confirm that it held the appropriate amount then, in a single fluid motion, placed it into his pants pocket and drew a gun from his waistband.

  Sullivan was quicker. He grabbed the man by the wrist and jerked his arm downward as the first shot went off. Sullivan grabbed him around the neck and spun the man around, yanking the gun from his grip as he did so.

  Holding the man by the throat and aiming a gun at his head, he wheeled around to face Alvo’s other men.

  “Just back off,” Sullivan said.

  He dragged the man to the side hatch of the ship and, after making sure Allen had already gone in, pulled him inside.

  Sullivan pistol-whipped his captive on the back of the head. He fell, unconscious. Sullivan slammed the hatch shut and sprinted to the cockpit.

  “So much for our deal with Albo,” said Allen.

  Through the window they watched more men arrive with another shipping container. They set down the container and pulled off the top. A large anti-aircraft gun smoothly rose up from its tripod and began flashing red lights.

  “It’s on automatic!” Sullivan yelled. “Let’s get the hell out of here. It’ll take a few seconds for the gun to calibrate.”

  “No, we need the guns!”

  “Forget the guns,” said Sullivan.

  “I can’t.” Allen manipulated the controls in front of him, and the ship lurched forward, toward Albo’s men and the big gun. The men scattered, leaving the gun. The ship rammed into it, sending it toppling to the ground.

  Allen set the ship down hard and turned to Sullivan. “We need those guns.”

  “The crate is too far away. But I have an idea.” Sullivan ran back to the side hatch. He threw open the hatch and glanced around. There was a man on the ground just a few meters away. Sullivan guessed he had been hit by part of the freighter. He made sure the man was out and crept around to the other side of the ship. He spotted the big anti-aircraft gun. It had powered down when it had been knocked over. Sullivan sprinted toward it and hoisted it over his shoulder.

  A shot hit the concrete at his feet, and he nearly dropped it. He ran back around to the side of the ship and in through the hatch before any more of Alvo’s men managed to move around to that side.

  “Get us a couple meters off the ground, Frank!” Sullivan yelled toward the cockpit.

  The ship rose from the tarmac. Sullivan could hear the sound of bullets bouncing harmlessly off the hull. He stepped into the big cargo bay and set the gun up near the door but off to one side. He hit a button below a ship-wide intercom box on the wall next to him. “Open the bay door, Frank!”

  The door began lowering. Sullivan took position behind the gun and waited for the door to open completely. “Tilt the ship back a bit and spin her, slowly,” he called into the intercom.

  The ground came into view. Sullivan spotted a man raising a rifle to his shoulder. A quick burst with the big gun sent him to the ground. As the ship swung around, more of Alvo’s men came into view. Standing behind the gun’s protective shield, Sullivan was safe from most of their fire and was able to take them down one by one.

  When the ship had made several rotations, Sullivan called to Frank on the intercom again. “They’re all down. Set us on the ground.”

  Cautiously, Sullivan scanned the area around the ship. In the distance he could hear sirens. He found the crate of energy weapons and pulled it into the ship. Allen met him at the entrance to the cargo hold, dragging Alvo’s unconscious man behind him.

  “You get your credit card back?” Sullivan asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then toss him out. I’ll get to the cockpit and shut this door.”

  Sullivan made his way to the cockpit and made sure no critical systems had been hit during the firefight. He watched on a monitor as Allen set Alvo’s man down on the ground behind the ship. As soon as Allen was back in, Sullivan closed the cargo bay door and lifted the ship off the ground.

  Allen joined him as they left Abilene’s atmosphere.

  “I’m guessing whoever’s left alive down there doesn’t have long to live,” Allen said. “Not once Alvo finds out they’ve lost both the guns and the money.”

  Sullivan nodded. “Not our problem now.”

  “How about that big gun?”

  “I spent the magazine.”

  “Too bad. I’m sure that would have come in handy.”


  “For what, Frank? You still haven’t told me what these guns are for.”

  “I told you I don’t know yet. Why won’t you believe me?” Allen nodded toward the controls. “Let me take over. I want you to go back and check those weapons, make sure nothing’s wrong with them.”

  Sullivan shook his head. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, Frank.”

  In the reflection of the window in front of him, Allen watched his friend leave the cockpit. “So do I, Rick,” he whispered.

  26

  WORD SPREAD QUICKLY. Cenobian orders around the globe had received word from Father Curtis that a miracle had occurred in their midst. None of the other monks doubted him. Christ had appeared in front of thirty-two monks, and their accounts were all exactly the same. Not only Cenobian monks but faithful Christians everywhere believed the story.

  Non-Christians—both those of other faiths and non-believers—were more doubtful. The technology certainly existed to create such an illusion. The monastery was flooded with requests to have scientists and engineers examine the scene of the vision. They wanted the food the monks were eating to be tested for hallucinogenic compounds. Some accused the monks of outright deception.

  “It is clear,” said one prominent scientist, “that whatever the cause of this vision, it is not supernatural in nature. Such ‘visions’ go back millennia, and they have never been verifiable. Just as tales of ghosts and goblins, witches and werewolves, pixies and poltergeists, have plagued the more irrational among us, so have encounters with gods or saints. Still, the Cenobian monks seem genuine in their belief. I, for one, believe that they—whether they are aware of it or not—have had some drug put in their food or drink. To paraphrase Ebenezer Scrooge, there's more of gravy than of grave about this.”

  Brother Peter had been identified as the monk who had received the first visions. He was inundated with requests, or so Father Curtis had informed him, for interviews and audiences. Peter was grateful that as long as he was at the monastery he could rely on Father Curtis to keep him safe from scrutiny. Even so, a handful of reporters had been caught trespassing on monastery grounds. There had even been a woman who had managed to scale the wall to seek Peter out. She’d found him in the garden, tending to the tomatoes, and had declared herself the reincarnation of Mary Magdalene before stripping off her clothes and attempting to mount him. Fortunately, several other monks had been nearby and had managed to drag her off.

  There was only one request Father Curtis felt he should pass on to Peter. He called Peter into his office and smiled when he arrived at the door. “Brother Peter,” Curtis said, “please sit.”

  Peter nodded and sat in front of Curtis’s desk.

  “That unfortunate incident with the woman… I hope it didn’t disturb you too greatly.”

  “No, Father. I was rather taken aback, but I’ve gotten over it.”

  “This little monastery has become quite famous because of what’s happened here.”

  “I know, Father.”

  “And you, in particular, are somewhat famous now. You had the first visions. God spoke to you before anyone else. It is believed by many that you have been chosen to prepare humanity for Christ’s return.”

  “I don’t know about that, Father.”

  “Those are the beliefs of others, not me. I do not rule it out—nor do I discount your importance—but I want to have more information before coming to any conclusions.”

  “I agree, Father. I don’t think I’m special. I don’t feel special.”

  “Well, you are. In fact, this arrived this afternoon.” He pushed an envelope across the desk.

  Peter took it up. It was unusual to receive printed correspondence. He opened it and nearly dropped the letter as he read it. “It’s from the Pope!”

  “Yes.”

  “He wants to meet with me?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “He does know we’re not a Catholic order, doesn’t he?”

  “Pius XV is a very progressive pope. He’s not so concerned with denominational divisions. Besides, he has a duty to determine whether or not our vision is genuine. If so, he’ll need to instruct his followers accordingly.”

  “How will meeting with me help him decide that? And why me? Like I said, we all had the last vision.”

  “I can’t answer that for you, Brother Peter. But I do urge you to accept this invitation.”

  “This is in two days!”

  Father Curtis stood. “Then I’d suggest you pack your things.”

  27

  RICK SULLIVAN LOOKED up as Frank Allen stepped into the cargo bay. “How do they look?” Allen asked.

  “Good. They’re all operational and fully charged.”

  “If Albo was going to ambush us, why’d he send the weapons at all?”

  “He was being smart. If we’d hidden the credit card somewhere, he knew he’d have to show us the weapons before we’d tell him where it was.”

  Allen shook his head. “Then why not just ambush us when we first met him?”

  “Because he was there. If he’d had his men attack us, he could have gotten caught in the firefight. No, he wanted to size us up first, see how many of us there were. When he saw it was just the two of us, it was then that he decided he was going to kill us and take our money.”

  Allen nodded. “Well, let’s get these guns packed up.”

  As he turned, Allen heard one of the Mark Four energy rifles power up. He froze.

  “Sorry, Frank,” said Sullivan. “I need you to take this ship back to Edaline and let me off. I helped you get your guns, and I don’t really care what you and the entities want with them. But whatever it is, I’m not going to be involved.”

  Allen slowly turned around. “Rick, you don’t know what you’re doing. The entities can get to Kate. They can make you do what they want.”

  “I’ve thought about that. So here’s the deal: we’ll go back to Edaline and collect Kate. Then we’ll head to Faris where Kate can get a line of credit. We’ll give you money, whatever you need, and you can use it to hire someone else to do the entities’ dirty work.”

  Allen licked his lips. “I don’t know if that’ll be acceptable to Liz.”

  “Ask her.”

  On cue, Liz Wagner appeared between them. She was facing Sullivan. He moved to the side to keep Allen in his sights.

  “Richard Sullivan,” she said, “you do not know what you’re doing. I don’t blame you; we haven’t been as forthcoming as we could have been, but it was necessary to get you on this ship.”

  “Then be forthcoming now. Tell me what this is all about.”

  “Put down the gun.”

  ”Tell me first.”

  Before he could react, Liz had crossed the space between them and had her hands on his chest. Sullivan brought the energy rifle up and fired, but it passed through her. It hit the front wall of the cargo bay and tore a hole through it, exposing the interior of one of the cabins on the other side.

  Sullivan could feel his heart muscles beginning to seize as an unbearable chill passed through his body.

  “You are in hyperspace now, Richard Sullivan,” she said. “I have power over you here.”

  Sullivan reached up and tried to remove her hands. He could not grasp her arms.

  “You see?” she said. “Nothing you can do will stop me. I can kill you, but you cannot kill me.”

  Sullivan cried out in pain as his heart seized for several seconds.

  “Will you submit?” Liz asked.

  Sullivan gritted his teeth and continued to try to fight.

  “Will you submit?”

  Tears formed in Sullivan’s eyes.

  “Stop it!” Allen yelled, running up and kneeling beside his friend. “Please,” he said, looking into Liz’s eyes.

  She ignored him. “Richard Sullivan, will you submit?”

  Sullivan nodded, and Liz removed her hands. He put his own hands over his chest and rubbed away the chill.

  Allen put his finge
rs on Sullivan’s neck and checked his pulse. It was racing. “Relax, Rick,” he said. “Just relax.”

  Liz stood up and withdrew. As soon as she had moved away, Sullivan began to feel warm again; he began to feel alive again.

  Allen sighed. “I’m so sorry, Rick. I don’t want it to be like this. I don’t want you to be hurt. But you don’t have a choice in this. Neither of us do.”

  Sullivan watched as sorrow passed across Allen’s eyes.

  “But,” Allen continued, “I know this, all of this, is what must be done. Liz and the other entities have their reasons for keeping us in the dark. I know it’s frustrating, but she’s assured me that soon we’ll both know what’s going on. Just be patient.”

  Sullivan closed his eyes. “They’d better tell us soon, Frank. They’d better tell us, and it had better be a damned good story, too.”

  Allen nodded. He stood up and helped Sullivan to his feet. “Go lie down for a bit. I’ll let you know when they’re ready to tell us.”

  Sullivan shrugged Allen’s hand off his arm and made his way forward into the crew compartment of the ship.

  28

  KATE COULD TELL that the pilot she’d hired was confused. She’d asked him to take her into hyperspace for a few hours then return to Edaline.

  “You mean you don’t want to actually go anywhere?” he’d asked.

  “That’s right. Just into hyperspace and back again.”

  The pilot hadn’t argued further. She was, after all, paying him for his time and the use of his ship.

  Once they were in hyperspace, Kate closed herself into one of the cabins. She placed her hand uneasily on the back of a chair and looked around her. “Liz?” she called.

  Kate sat in the chair and waited. “I think you can hear me. I’m trying to contact the entity who appears in the form of Elizabeth Wagner. She came to me before.”

  Kate reached into her bag and withdrew the copy of Epictetus. She read quietly, every once in a while looking up and calling out for Liz Wagner.