“Jackson, let’s go!” Christopher shouted into the radio.
“I am way ahead of you. I’m heading toward Gilana’s light already,” Jackson answered.
Christopher jumped and slid down the hill and began running to the dirt tourist road and the safety of Gilana’s van. Jackson was a few meters in front of him when he heard the gunfight erupt between what he assumed was Uri and the guards who had turned around.
Gilana pulled up in a cloud of dust, screaming at Christopher and Jackson to get in the van.
“We need to get up there and help Uri,” the major shouted back as he jumped in the back of the van.
“No, we must go. The U.E. called for reinforcements from the Iraqi national police. Listen, you can hear the police sirens,” Gilana replied as she sped away from the ruins of Babylon and toward Highway 8.
“You can’t leave a man behind, Gilana,” Jackson said, punching the console in front of him. “That’s not how we operate.” Gilana slammed on the brakes, causing the van to slide to a screeching halt under a highway light on the access ramp to Highway 8. “You have no idea how hard it is for me to leave the man I love to his death, but Uri knew the risks, as do you. Don’t lecture me on my duties. No one is above the mission—no one. If you two are caught along with Uri, it could lead to disaster for both our countries,” she said harshly, tears streaming down her half-silhouetted face.
“Where are we going?” Christopher asked.
Gilana replied, “I am taking you to Al-Mafraq, Jordan, and the King Hussein Air Base. Uri and I established the air base as our non-permissive environment escape and evasion airport. An aircraft will be waiting for you there. I will contact General Havid to make all the necessary arrangements once we get out of this area.” All three occupants were silent as the van made its way up Highway 8 toward the infamous MSR Tampa from the distant Iraqi Conflict of the early 2000s. Christopher didn’t even know where to begin. Gilana had lost more than just a fellow soldier. He and Jackson had confirmed only that this location held significant value to Draven and the U.E. The fight for survival is already a grind, Christopher thought. There is no way any of us will make it until Jesus returns.
* * *
“Cease fire, boys. I think we got ’em,” John Barnes instructed the guards and the Iraqi national policemen advancing toward the location of suspected Omega operatives who had returned fire for the last fifteen minutes. “What? It was only you back here? I could have sworn you were someone else, and that you had a whole army with you,” he spat to the wounded and dying man. Bending to grab Uri by his sweat-soaked and blood-matted hair, he barked, “Who do you work for, and why are you here?”
Uri, defiant to the end, spat bloody phlegm in John Barnes’s face with his last bit of strength.
Barnes swore and shot Uri twice in the chest. “Check him for something that will identify who he worked for. Give me a name…something,” he said, wiping his face.
“He’s clean, boss. Nothing on him,” a U.E. special activities unit member responded.
John Barnes swore aloud. He had thought for sure the attack had been perpetrated by Omega. He knew he had to find that team, as they posed a credible threat to the U.E. and Draven Cross. “All right, boys, get a few hours of sleep. We’re heading back to New York tomorrow,” he ordered, pulling out his cell phone to call his boss.
CHAPTER 19
Draven Cross was sleeping peacefully when Evan Mallory burst into the presidential quarters aboard the aircraft now known as U.E. One.
“Sir, I am sorry to wake you, but something horrible has happened at the Babylon-alternate headquarters site,” Evan reported. “I have an urgent call from Barnes.”
“Evan, why do you always expect me to handle your inbox, instead of you?” Draven asked disgustedly as he grabbed the phone from Evan’s hand and said into it, “What do you want, Barnes?”
John Barnes described what had taken place and related his fear that the attackers had been Omega.
“Well, that is troubling, John, but I do like the way you handled the situation. I am sure the next security force will take their jobs more seriously. Don’t worry about Omega. It seems Gabriella has been straightforward, though I must admit her candor surprises me. Yes, I will see you in New York,” Draven said, ending the phone call.
“Sir, is everything okay?” Evan asked worriedly.
“Yes, everything is going fine. It seems that a group of Islamic fundamentalists attacked the Babylon construction site. Barnes proved to be every bit of the savage I thought he was, which demonstrates his usefulness. In any case, we will discuss this matter in further detail in New York. Get out of my room and turn off the light as you leave, Evan,” Draven barked.
* * *
Christopher woke to find Jackson driving and Gilana counting out what looked like a large sum of U.S. currency. He asked, “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been driving while you’ve been getting your beauty rest,” Jackson replied dryly.
“Thanks for the obvious, Jackson, but I meant why the money,” Christopher replied.
Still counting out the money, Gilana answered, “It’s to make sure we don’t end up in an Iraqi or Jordanian prison. We’re about ten kilometers from the Iraqi border crossing.”
“Man, how long was I out?”
“About twelve hours. I left water and a sandwich in the seat next to you,” Jackson said.
“Thanks. You heard from Gabriella or General Havid?” Christopher said through a mouthful of some sort of meat sandwich.
“Gabriella, no. General Havid, yes,” Jackson replied. “He has secured the C39XER at King Hussein Air Base and said he’s convinced the prime minister to leave the two witnesses alone…for now.”
“That’s great news about our ride, but bad news on the other fronts, I guess.”
Gilana shoved two wads of hundreds into two different sacks and threw one sack in the back of the van with Christopher as a road sign indicated it was five kilometers to the Tarbil Border Crossing and six kilometers to Al Karamah Border Crossing, Jordan.
“Listen to me carefully,” Gilana stated calmly. “Jackson, wrap your keffiyeh around your head and mouth and put on your sunglasses now. When we reach the border crossing, I’ll get out and talk with the guard. No matter what, stay in this van. Christopher, stay down until we tell you it’s safe.
“If I am detained, drive through the crossing and then run off the road just short of the Jordanian crossing so you’re not shot. The Jordanians will be more likely to detain you than the Iraqis. Give them the other sack of money and then tell them to call General Havid. If this doesn’t go well, we will all be joining Uri soon.”
“Lord, I know You’re going to be with us right now,” Jackson said as he pulled up behind a car being inspected at the Iraqi checkpoint.
Gilana got out with one of the money sacks, while Jackson kept one foot on the clutch and the other hovering over the gas pedal, ready to make a dash across the Iraqi border if required. The head guard waved over two other men, all of them peering into the bag and then back at Gilana.
“I don’t think they’re buying it. Gun it, Jackson,” Christopher said, peering over the front seat.
“Just have a little faith. If we go now, there is no guarantee any of us make it out of here alive. Sit tight and stay low,” Jackson directed coolly.
After a few tense moments of talking, Gilana jumped back into the van. She said tersely, “Drive, and don’t make eye contact with any of them. Stay out of sight, Christopher.”
Jackson shifted into first gear and crept across the Iraqi border, sweat soaking his clothing as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. The Iraqis moved from the roadway and waved the van through. Just as they were crossing the border, an Iraqi guard jumped in front of the van, causing Jackson to hit the brakes hard, slamming Christopher against the front seat.
Gilana lowered her window, yelling at the guard angrily in Arabic.
“Should I drive through?” Jackson mumbl
ed.
“No,” Gilana shouted without turning to face Jackson. “Give me the other sack of money.”
From the back of the van, Christopher slid the sack into Gilana’s outstretched hand, and she threw it at the guard’s chest, who flashed a toothy grin, showing rotted teeth.
“Yalla imshi,” the guard yelled at Gilana, smacking the van with a free hand.
“Drive. Now. I hope your God is watching because we are out of money,” Gilana muttered through clenched teeth.
Jackson prayed the entire kilometer to the Jordanian border crossing, which seemed to be a million miles away. Gilana stayed in the vehicle this time, displaying a fake document claiming she was a Jordanian citizen who had been conducting humanitarian aid in Iraq for the last month.
While the guard scoured Gilana’s document, another guard with a dog walked around the entire vehicle and paused for what seemed like an eternity to stare at Jackson. After the guard with the dog signaled to the head border agent an all-clear sign, the guard waved them through.
They drove another five kilometers past the border crossing before anyone spoke.
“Thank you, Jesus! Whew!” Jackson exclaimed, breaking the silence.
“I thought for sure bullets were going to rip through this van any moment, and that would be that. I need some water. I am sweating to death back here,” Christopher complained, throwing off a pile of blankets.
“God must have been watching over us,” Gilana asserted.
“He always is, and He is always ready to help, my friend,” Jackson assured her as the group passed a road sign that read al-mafraq 276 kilometers. “Three more hours until we are heading home. Thank you, Jesus,” he shouted again.
* * *
As U.E. One taxied to its hangar in a remote section of JFK International Airport under the first rays of a new day, Draven Cross finished his coffee, secure in his thought that the world was under his influence. As the cabin door opened, he was pleased to see a red-carpeted staircase and Gemma Sutherland awaiting him at the bottom of the stairs.
“Gemma, you always know how to welcome me back from a business trip,” Draven greeted as she opened the door to his limousine.
“I do my best, sir,” Gemma commented calmly. “I’m sure you’re eager to get to work.”
“Yes…where is Evan?” Draven looked out his window to see Evan conversing with the flight crew and leisurely making his way down the staircase. He shouted impatiently out his window, “Evan, if you plan to ride with me, move with a sense of purpose.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I just thought it would be good to commend the flight crew on your behalf for doing such a good job over the last few days,” Evan explained as he climbed into the limousine and seated himself across from Gemma and Draven.
“Evan, they’re paid…well…to take me wherever I want and whenever I want. I don’t need to thank them any more than I do every two weeks.”
“My apologies, sir,” Evan replied timidly.
“Sir, here are a few of the most interesting news articles from across the globe while you were in transit overnight,” Gemma said, handing the secretary-general a folder of selected news articles.
“Evan, have you seen this? I am being defamed by these religious nuts around the world. What are you and your Interfaith followers doing to combat this dribble?” Draven asked, handing Evan copies of the Die Welt and The Times, which carried stories of mass Christian rallies led by men of the former Jewish faith in opposition to a Draven-run U.E.
“Sir, I was traveling with you. How could I have seen these articles?” Evan asked nervously.
“I realize where you were in time and space, Evan,” Draven spat sharply. “However, you were also aboard the most technologically advanced aircraft in the world. I’ve said this before. Stay ahead of me, Evan, or you will find yourself fired.” He turned to Gemma and said, “I want to have a security staff meeting within the next two hours. I’m ready to discuss the final planning to consolidate my power.”
“Sir, John Barnes is en route from Iraq to New York right now. Shall we patch him in for the meeting?” Gemma inquired.
“Yes, I have a special mission for Barnes, one that requires his savagery.” Draven’s smile of anticipation looked positively evil.
* * *
Christopher laughed as he watched Jackson sleeping on top of a stack of cargo boxes in the “executive terminal”—aka a storage warehouse—at the King Hussein Air Base as Gilana made the final arrangements for their departure. I declare that man can sleep anywhere at any time—a skill I wish I could imitate.
“Okay, the plane has been fueled and your flight plan’s cleared with the Jordanians. This is where we say good-bye,” Gilana said firmly.
The major said, “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Uri. I know what it feels like to lose someone you love.”
“I appreciate your words, Christopher. The good news is that I will get to say good-bye. General Havid was able to secure Uri’s body from the Iraqi government. The claim was made that he was radicalized and his wealthy family wanted to bury him at home. A cargo plane is being flown from Israel to Baghdad to pick him up as we speak,” she answered softly.
“That’s good news. Well, thank you for everything. I hope we get the chance to work together again in the future,” Christopher replied as he kicked the boxes where Jackson was sleeping.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Jackson asked.
Gilana laughed at Jackson as he struggled to regain coherent thought.
“Jackson, get up. It’s time to go,” Christopher answered before walking out of the warehouse toward the C39XER on the tarmac.
“Gilana, thank you. I’m so sorry about Uri. Will you be okay here?” Jackson queried.
“Leich l’shalom, which means ‘go toward peace.’ I wish you both the best. I will be fine. I have a commercial flight home later tonight,” Gilana replied with a sad smile.
“God bless you, my friend.” Jackson ran to catch up with Christopher.
Christopher prepared to send President Rodgers a summary of his findings on his communicator as they departed the Middle East, but he found himself once again with more questions than answers regarding God, faith, and his future survival.
* * *
Gabriella dreaded having Draven back at the U.E. headquarters; she felt confident he would find some way of blaming her for what had happened at Babylon. She couldn’t be sure until she spoke with Christopher and Jackson, but the incident had all the hallmarks of those two in action. Gemma had given her a phone call from JFK that Draven had arrived and wanted to have a security staff meeting, and she really had no idea what to expect.
President Rodgers’s latest message indicated that he planned to attack the U.E., or more precisely Draven, in two weeks, based on updated intelligence from the field. “From the field” was likely Christopher and Jackson, but she had no idea how to slow down this train heading for sure disaster. Surely God would intervene and stop President Rodgers from thrusting the world into a global war—at least, that was her hope.
“Ma’am, the secretary-general just arrived,” a staff intern told Gabriella.
“Thanks,” Gabriella replied. Well, time’s up. The best I can hope to do is warn everyone of any trouble Cross is throwing their way, she thought as she placed her communicator on her desk and made her way to Cross’s office.
* * *
Somewhere over the Arctic Circle, closing in on Anchorage, Alaska, Christopher’s mind was consumed with reaching Gabriella, especially given the mission he had just completed for the president. However, the present view drowned out his worries, at least momentarily. The vast dark horizon before him seemed to be dancing as he watched the red and green glow of the northern lights lapping around the sky in front of the plane. Charlie Smith, the lone C39XER pilot, had invited Christopher up to the cockpit for the show.
“Amazing, right?” Charlie said across his headset to Christopher.
“I am at a loss for words
that would even begin to describe how amazing this view is right now. I also want to thank you, Charlie. I know you’ve been tasked to fly us at a moment’s notice around the world,” Christopher replied.
“No worries. It’s a pleasure to support you guys. Plus, it keeps me focused on something that keeps me sane. You know, those disappearances were something else.”
“You prior military?”
“Yeah, I did a stint in the Air Force as a fighter pilot. I even flew in the first Gulf War. Got out of the service after that and started flying for the Agency, in and out of some interesting places. I retired a few years ago, but I maintain a contract flying for various government programs. It gives me flexibility and keeps me flying—the best things in life for a rolling stone former fighter pilot,” Charlie responded with a smile.
Christopher liked Charlie’s down-to-earth approach to life. He could only imagine the places the fifty-something Agency man had seen during his career. In a hushed tone, he asked, “So where were you when it happened?”
“If you mean the disappearances, I was right here in this seat, flying a test flight with my copilot Tim Johnson. We were about halfway between D.C. and Miami when I looked over at Tim, who was smiling and happy like always—he was the best guy. Well, the next thing I see is his headset drop into a pile of his clothes. I think the plane nosedived about a thousand feet before I was able to shake that image from my mind and regain control.” Charlie’s voice sounded almost haunted.
“Wow, that sounds about how my disappearance day went, besides pulling myself and sleepyhead Jackson back there out of the Potomac.”
“I was floored when I landed in Charleston, South Carolina, to find out that my experience was only one of millions around the world.”
“You lose anybody significant?” Christopher asked.
“Nah,” Charlie replied. “I divorced a long time ago, right as I was going into the CIA. I tried tracking down my ex-wife just to see if she was still around. I couldn’t reach her, so who knows if she was taken or just caught up in the immediate aftermath and died?”
Rapture Advent of the Last Days Page 30
