by Lynn Sholes
“Faster!” she ordered.
the decision
The reaction of the Korean authorities was swift. The Pitcairn had not traveled more than a quarter of a mile before the emergency lights of police vehicles appeared on both sides of the broad Taedong River. Soon after that, a number of small police boats sped out of the darkness and began circling. As the ship slipped under the Chungsong Bridge and passed by Turu Island, larger naval gunboats roared at them from both directions, followed by combat helicopter gunships circling overhead. Searchlights lit up the research vessel, and shrill commands amplified from the speaker systems of the gunboats blasted the Pitcairn with what Cotten knew had to be orders to halt and shut down.
“They are demanding you stop immediately,” the interpreter said. “Or they will fire upon us.”
“And risk killing big-shot boss?” Ivanov said, tapping the pistol barrel on the top of the General Secretary’s head. “No chance.” He turned to Cotten. “We keep going, right?”
“We have no choice,” she said, despondent over Dr. Chung’s escape.
The General Secretary spoke, and his assistant interpreted. “Dear Leader informs you that you have failed. Dr. Chung is going to the lab to give the final Black Needles launch order. There is nothing you can do to stop her. He says that if you give up now he will see to it that your lives are spared.”
Victor had pushed the throttles to their stops, causing the ship to pick up speed along the river. He turned to the others. “We stop, we die. Korean pricks are lying bastards.”
The woman said something to the General Secretary and he replied. Then she said, “Dear Leader assures you that you will not be executed. Your mission has failed. Once Dr. Chung issues the final launch commands, there is nothing you or anyone can do to stop what will happen next. Give up now and you will be shown—”
Colonel Ivanov reared his hand back in a threat to strike her. She grimaced, but the blow never came. Instead, he said, “Shut mouth or I shut for you.”
Feeling the weight of looming defeat pushing her down, Cotten dropped into her chair as her thoughts raced. She watched the searchlights sweep over the decks of the Pitcairn and flood the bridge with blinding light. The whooping of the helicopters overhead shook her dwindling courage, and the blast of the bullhorn commands kept her from concentrating. It had seemed like such a simple plan to kidnap the Korean leader and Dr. Chung, and escape on the ship. Now, with Chung gone, the General Secretary was right. Dr. Chung would issue the orders and there would be no stopping the virus from killing millions, and the world as she knew it from coming apart. Cotten felt she was resisting the inevitable. At some point, the military would storm the ship and rescue the General Secretary. She and her friends would wind up dead or spending the rest of their lives in a Korean prison. Either way, it was time to make a decision—surrender and cut her losses.
She stood, composing her words in her head to give Victor the order to shut the ship’s engines down. At least she had saved John. She slipped her hand in her pocket and touched his crucifix, and suddenly she realized she had a solution.
The answer had been there all along, but somehow she hadn’t seen it. Her hand closed around the cross. Cotten shook her head in dismay at her lack of faith, and she smiled at the simple clarity of what she had to do.
“I’m going to leave you for a while,” she said.
Everyone’s head turned in her direction. The interpreter whispered to the General Secretary, and he donned a confused expression.
“What?” Colonel Ivanov asked. “No place to go.”
“It’s something I must do,” Cotten said. “Trust me. I have no choice. I should have done this before now, before I put your lives at risk.”
“You have lost mind,” Krystof said, standing beside the exit from the bridge to the deck. “Go outside and they fill you with bullets.”
Cotten stood beside Krystof and placed her palm on his cheek. “Trust me like I trusted you.” Then she opened the heavy metal door and stepped into the glare of the searchlights.
stardust
Remember ye implored
The assistance of your Lord,
And He answered you:
“I will assist you
With a thousand of the angels,
Ranks on ranks.”
—Koran vs. viii. 9
Cotten stood on the open deck of the Pitcairn, knowing she was an exposed target for the Korean snipers. But she had to trust, had to believe. She must force back the Darkness or it would win.
Trembling, Cotten lifted John’s cross and chain from her pocket and raised it in her clenched fist toward the sky.
“I call upon the Almighty Creator of the Universe to send down His Heavenly Host. I call upon His legions of angels and archangels to bring His swift and just wrath upon this place. I call upon the armies of Heaven to stand beside me and strike out at the Darkness.”
The ship picked up speed along the Taedong River, and she had to shield her eyes with her arm from the lights of the hundreds of military vehicles and circling aircraft that illuminated the vessel. Cotten closed her eyes, knowing that she had played her last card. There was nothing more to be done. Either her gamble would work, or she was breathing her last breath.
“I pity you, Daughter of Furmiel,” the Old Man said, coming to stand beside her on the ship’s deck. “Why can’t you just acquiesce to the fact that you have lost? There is no reason for you to stand here risking your life. Do you not understand that you have finally come home? Your real family welcomes you with open arms. Embrace your fate, your heritage, your true calling. Have I not given you what you wish? Do not be afraid. This is what you are, what you were meant to be.”
Her anger grew as the Darkness inside her swelled. Hate festered inside. She wanted to reach out and rip open his flesh, spill his wicked blood on the steel plates at her feet.
Cotten pressed her fingers to her temples. She had to fight back. It was him putting the hate into her mind. It was his evil rankling inside her. The true meaning of the Darkness was showing itself.
“Embrace your family, Daughter of Furmiel,” the Old Man said, his voice reminding her of a serpent’s hiss.
Cotten had to still his voice, to rid herself of him. What had she learned along this journey of life? Think, Cotten, think. Concentrate. The thoughts came slow at first, deliberately constructed, then gained momentum until they tumbled like water over the falls. The blood that flowed through her was not only that of the Fallen.
She carried the bloodline of the angels.
Those who had chosen to fall from grace had done so of their own free will—their choosing. But their blood was still the same as all angels. And inside her flowed the heritage of those angels of Heaven as well as what God regarded as his most precious creation—man. The realization that she was the perfect mix of natural and supernatural made her quiver. Now, for the first time in her long, strange journey, she understood.
Perhaps the passage into the Darkness was the only way for her to be shown the truth and who she really was—to make her aware of the goodness inside her. The fact that she was standing there, resisting, fighting, rejecting the Darkness, was the real proof of life—her life.
Turning away from the Old Man, she raised her arm, letting the cross dangle from her hand. Tears flowed down her cheeks as the floodlights glimmered off the metal’s surface.
But this time the light took on a strange, ethereal transformation. Instead of reflecting off the metal, it appeared to be emitting from the surface. Like golden waves on a glistening ocean, its brilliance grew to a blinding white that rushed across the surface of the river and up onto the shore. It swept through the air in a flash of blast-furnace intensity.
Then it transformed again, breaking apart into smaller fragments. Each fragment formed a star-shape that spun like a top. The sound of the spinning filled the air to a whirling roar as t
housands, then millions of stars covered the surrounding river and enveloped the ship. As the stars spun, they showered down sparkling dust that settled upon the vessel, giving it the appearance of being coated with crushed diamonds.
“What is this?” the Old Man said, glancing around. He seemed to be taken aback by the transforming light. “A trick? Do you honestly believe you can trick me? There is no form of deceit that I did not invent.”
“Maybe you missed one,” Cotten said.
thunderclap
For he shall give his angels charge over you,
to keep you in all your ways.
They shall bear you up in their hands,
lest you dash your foot against a stone.
—Psalm 91:11-12
Even in the blinding glow of the stardust, Cotten saw the fiery hate filling the Old Man’s eyes as his face contorted with rage.
“Did you think you could outwit me?” he said. “I gave you every chance I could to make you one of us. But you have denied the truth—down deep in your soul you are just like me.”
Cotten met his glare with equal determination. “I am nothing like you.”
“It no longer matters, Daughter of Furmiel. It is over—you have lost. For I am about to consume this place in the fires of hell.”
In the next instant, Cotten saw them coming up the river. A few at first, then more and more. Tiny pinpoints of pale red light gathering and multiplying.
Fireflies. She immediately recognized them as demons taking the form of innocent-looking insects—Satan’s legion summoned to do his bidding. Their deceiving glow reflected off the Taedong River like tiny rubies.
Cotten turned toward the stern of the ship and saw an equal number of fireflies coming from the direction of the city of Pyongyang. Thousands, perhaps millions of tiny dots of light swarming toward her.
When the first wave of fireflies met the spinning stars, an earsplitting thunderclap cracked across the water and shook the ship, sending Cotten crashing to the deck. The blinding glare of the stardust caused her to again shield her eyes.
Another thunderclap, like a supersonic jet breaking the sound barrier, slammed into the steel skin of the Pitcairn. For a second, Cotten believed the rivets holding the vessel together would pop from the metal and cause it to break apart.
Standing over her was the Old Man. He seemed frozen in place, staring straight ahead, fixated on the raging battle taking place around him. At times, he fell out of focus like the distortion of an image through heat rising.
Cotten felt the ship gaining speed, and she strained to see the shore in the blinding white light of the spinning stars. The Pitcairn was well beyond the city, passing forests and countryside, their details shooting by like raindrops on the window of a speeding car. Great foaming waves, caused by the momentum of the racing ship, folded from its bow and rushed toward the banks.
She tried to stand, but with each attempt she was thrown back to the deck as the concussion from another thunderclap slammed into the ship.
And with each blast, the stars spun faster, causing the fireflies’ glow and numbers to diminish.
Cotten strained to see the Old Man, wondering just what he saw through his eyes. Could he see the angels themselves? Or his demons? His shape undulated, becoming a mirage as he watched the Host of Heaven and the Forces of Hell collide in a raging battle.
A scorching wind screamed across the deck like a gale over the crest of a desert dune. Stinging pinpricks blasted Cotten’s skin, the sand-like particles spraying off the dissolving form of the Old Man as the wind eroded his body. His features disappeared until only his clothes whipped and snapped. Then they, too, rose up onto the blistering cyclone and disappeared into the stardust.
___
The ship trembled and quaked, shuddering all the way to its keel. The General Secretary cried out as he was thrown against a bulkhead of the bridge.
“Dear Leader!” the interpreter called.
He lay on the floor. “Where are my soldiers? My army? Why have they not come to rescue me?”
A moment later, parts of the ship’s interior—the instruments, the helm, and the controls—flashed before falling back into the darkness that had engulfed the bridge since Cotten left.
“Am I dying?” he cried.
The lights flickered again, illuminating the bodies scattered around the deck. The cycle of deafening thunder and the flashes of light followed by darkness went on for what seemed like hours until the ship suddenly stopped rocking and shaking. A dead calm fell over the vessel.
The General Secretary sat up, working to move his limbs.
Beside him lay a haggard and weak-looking Colonel Ivanov.
Slowly, everyone struggled to their feet. Like dreamers awakening from a long sleep, they made their way to the windows. The water was as flat as slate, and the sky devoid of clouds. The sun had just emerged over the horizon, its golden orb ablaze on the surface of the sea.
Everyone turned at the sound of the metal latch clinking as the door to the bridge opened.
blockade
Cotten entered the bridge of the Pitcairn, followed by a number of men in military uniform. She scanned the control center of the research vessel, then gazed at each of the living and the dead. Her friends stood around with dazed and confused expressions. Victor, the white-haired grandfatherly man with thick glasses and crooked teeth, was still at the helm, but his white knuckles revealed that he held the wheel with a death grip. Krystof, the skinny little man with sad eyes and a perpetual growth of stubble, sat in the corner holding his head in his hands. The overweight Alexei leaned against the back wall, staring at the ceiling. And Colonel Ivanov still kept his pistol aimed at the Korean leader who was sitting beside the interpreter, her body prone on the floor.
As they all finally focused on Cotten, she said, “This is United States Navy Commander Walter J. Phillips, captain of the missile frigate, USS Robert G. Bradley.”
As her words seemed to bring them back to reality, everyone looked from Cotten to the officer and the other men who now entered the bridge. There was a mixture of naval personnel and armed U.S. Marines. Behind them came medics who went to each person, checking for injuries. All the survivors had been bumped around enough during the mysterious assault on the ship that they bore cuts and bruises.
Commander Phillips walked over to the interpreter and said, “Inform the General Secretary that he is in no danger. He is temporarily in my custody and under my protection.”
She translated Phillips’ words. The Korean leader rose to his feet and stood straight and proper, obviously trying to maintain his dignity.
“My God,” Colonel Ivanov said. He had wandered over to the windows overlooking the port side of the ship.
“Sweet Jesus,” Krystof said, joining him.
The interpreter, who was now standing, also went to the window and gasped, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.
Stretching across the bright horizon were more than thirty warships, many bearing the flag of the United States, but others flying the colors of the United Kingdom, Australia, and Japan. The Bradley lay closest, perhaps a few hundred yards away. The others, ranging from destroyers, frigates, supply ships, and missile cruisers, lay scattered across the water beyond, with helicopters circling overhead. A number of motor launches shuttled between the Pitcairn and the other ships.
“Where are we?” Ivanov asked.
“Approximately one hundred kilometers off the west coast of North Korea,” Phillips said.
“How could we have come so far?” Alexei asked. “And how did you find us?”
The interpreter translated their questions to the General Secretary.
“We came upon the Pitcairn just before dawn,” Phillips said. “Your ship was powerless and adrift. How you got here we have no clue.”
The Korean leader spoke and the woman translated, “Why are
all these warships here?”
Phillips gave the General Secretary a stern look. “There are over 150 United States and allied warships off the east and west coasts of your country, about to put into place a total naval blockade. This is in response to the biological attack you have launched on our countries. Yesterday, President Brennan, the United States Congress, and the governments of our allies authorized the blockade. I fully expect that the Congress will enact a declaration of war against North Korea within the next forty-eight hours. And before noon today, the Secretary of Defense and the Foreign Minister of the United Kingdom will be arriving here to inform you of the terms of surrender.”
The woman translated the message. Cotten watched the General Secretary’s face turn red. It was obvious he didn’t like what he heard.
Through clenched teeth, he spoke in a rapid pace to his interpreter. She said, “This is preposterous. I will not surrender to you or anyone. The charges you have made are unfounded and without merit. I demand to be released immediately.”
Cotten stepped forward to give him even worse news, details Commander Phillips had told her a few moments earlier after he landed on the Pitcairn’s helo pad. “Tell your Dear Leader that Dr. Chung’s attempt to send the final launch commands was intercepted and blocked. There will be no further Black Needles attacks. And the combination of medications that were used to halt the advance of the viral infection on Cardinal Tyler are now being adapted and used in hospitals throughout the world to stop and reverse the effects of the disease. Your grand plan to attack us and our friends is over. I would suggest you start to consider how quickly you will accept the unconditional terms of your surrender. Commander Phillips has assured me that the alternative will not be pleasant for you or the future of your country.”
