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Mastermind- Rise of the Trojan Horse

Page 45

by Tom Wheeler


  “That was fast,” said Capucine.

  “Evidently this was the last bit of information they needed to put all the pieces together,” I said. “Émilie, you said you had a story to tell me.”

  Capucine listened in, her head just behind ours as she leaned forward.

  “Last time I met you, we had a 20-or-so-minute talk,” Émilie said, looking at me.

  “About what?” I asked, looking at her as she glanced into my eyes and then to the front.

  “Emmanuel,” she said, smiling.

  “You sure you have the right person?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s the reason I am a believer. Probably the reason I am alive, and certainly the reason I am here right now.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Hassan’s goons had drugged you before they tossed you in the helicopter in Tehran. The last thing they told me was that you were out for at least 12 hours, if not longer, because of the amount of drugs you’d been given.” She turned to look each of us in the eyes for a moment.

  “The last thing I remember was eating breakfast,” I said. “Then I woke up . . .”

  “Except you woke up before that, and we had a talk about religion.”

  “No . . . not true,” I said.

  “I told you I was agnostic, believing all you religious people were demented and hypocritical. Rather than taking offense, you agreed with me. Then you casually told me about Emmanuel, as though He were speaking through you. The last thing you told me before you passed out was to pray about something only He could solve. At the time, I was awaiting results from pancreatic cancer testing. I was told I was Stage IV. So I prayed.”

  “How did you know I didn’t hear you?”

  “Because when you woke up and I asked you questions about it, you looked at me, clearly clueless. Do you remember now?”

  “No, sorry,” I said. “You’re dying?”

  “Well, we’re all dying, I suppose, but that’s the thing. After that man-truck hit me . . . Ahmez, I believe he was called?” she asked ruefully.

  I nodded.

  “He broke several of my ribs, which landed me back in the hospital. I looked up the Grand Book and Emmanuel before I went in for what ended up being titanium plates. I prayed for Him to heal me if He was real. I returned to the doctor, and he told me the cancer was gone. All of it. He was as shocked as I was. So, thanks to you, I am a believer,” she said, pausing as both Capucine and I took it in.

  “It’s as if that entire episode . . . I know, at your expense, but it’s like the Almighty One did all that in order to save my life. Just me! I know it sounds crazy,” she said. “Besides that, you weren’t scared to die. I had never met anyone who was about to be turned into roadkill who wasn’t begging for their life.” She fell silent for a moment. Then, “I owe you my life, Mason Thomas,” she said as tears fell from her eyes.

  “Are you serious?” asked Capucine. “You had Stage IV pancreatic cancer, you prayed, and it was gone?”

  “Well, the weirdest part was that Mason told me the story of Emmanuel in the only manner that I could have heard him, and he wasn’t even conscious!” she said, smiling. “Then I prayed and was healed.”

  “Oh my gosh, Émilie!” I said.

  “Mason, what do I have to do to be saved?” interrupted Capucine.

  “Seriously?” I asked. Both Émilie and I beamed.

  “I am,” Capucine said with a serious look.

  “Well, you know that Emmanuel was sent by the Almighty One—”

  “. . . to save us from our sins, yes. I am Catholic.”

  “Well, that means he took all of our sins on the cross,” I said. “When you ask Emmanuel into your heart and ask Him to be Lord of your life, He saves your soul from eternal damnation. Then you have to live accordingly.”

  “If I stole something, am I going to hell?” Émilie asked. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “Did you repent of whatever it was you stole and return it?” I asked.

  “It’s this helicopter,” she said.

  “Repent in Germany,” I said, smiling.

  “Mason!” exclaimed Capucine. “Will you lead me in the prayer?”

  “Are you serious? Of course! Oh, did you know I dreamt this happened while we were at CEDRA training?”

  “Is that why you asked me if I had been saved? I remember, Mason. I just didn’t . . .”

  “I know. You weren’t ready,” I said.

  “There is so much deceit in this world. I guess I’ve always known something was wrong; I just didn’t know how to fix it,” Capucine said. “Or . . . ,” uttered from her mouth sheepishly.

  “Or?” I asked as the blades of the helicopter slapped against the dirty air, making a whining sound.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Okay, repeat after me. Emmanuel, I believe You are the Son of God who was sent to earth . . . ,” I said. She repeated.

  “. . . to save me from my sins,” I said, and Capucine repeated, phrase by phrase, “I invite You into my heart and make You my Lord and Savior . . . I love You, Lord. Help me to live like it, in the Name of Emmanuel.”

  “That’s it?” Capucine said, after we had said the prayer together.

  “As long as you have confessed your sins and repented of them, yes. Simple! You are totally forgiven.”

  “What do you mean by confessed?”

  “Literally it means telling someone the bad or deceptive things you have done. But you can do it silently for now.”

  “It’s about coming clean from your past,” said Émilie. “I’m still in process. Of course I have done so many bad things . . .”

  “Oh, Mason,” sighed Capucine.

  “What is it?” I asked. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  Capucine began to cry.

  “I am Dominika,” she blurted out, putting both hands over her face. “We are the same person.”

  “What?” I asked as my body flushed. “The Russian?” I turned my body hard against the seat belt so I could look at her more directly.

  “But I’m not a Russian agent! I promise. I created Dominika Vladimirovich when I suspected the Russian government was trying to infiltrate the French DGSE,” she said as tears flowed from her eyes. “I suspected the Illuminati was a real entity, despite rumors. In fact, I still . . .”

  “Are you talking about the picture you gave General Crane?” I asked, remembering their recent interaction.

  “Yes,” she said, still in tears. “I couldn’t tell him the truth, since Dominika was accused of things I never did. You have to believe me, Mason, I never meant to . . .”

  “Capucine, according to the Grand Book, you are saved and all your sins are forgiven because of what Emmanuel did on the cross,” I said with tears in my eyes. “Thank you for telling me, but your past has been forgiven—all of it.”

  “But who will believe me?” she asked.

  “I believe you,” I said. “Anyway, you wore the Telepathic Auditor - they obviously read your mind.”

  “It’s more complicated than that, Mason. I am trained . . .”

  “Geez, Capucine. You have more in common with me than I thought!” exclaimed Émilie interrupting Capucine. “And if I can be saved, well, like Mason said, so can you, sister,” she said, smiling.

  “Oh, Mason, I am so sorry. I would have told you, but . . .”

  “It doesn’t matter. I love you, Capucine. And I always will,” I said, telling the truth.

  “I love you too,” she said as I unbuckled my seat belt and moved to the back to hug her.

  “Aw. You guys are making me cry. I can’t see out the window,” Émilie said as she wiped her tears.

  120

  The Final Leg

  “Where are we?” I asked groggily after dozing off for a bit, the events of the past couple of days catching
up with me. I noticed Capucine was also sleeping.

  “We are crossing the Baltic Sea; just leaving Lithuania.”

  “Why are you crossing here?” I asked.

  “Because over there is the Line of Death; crossing it would invite a military response,” she said.

  “From whom?”

  “Russia. It’s an enclave called Kaliningrad,” she said, looking me in the eyes.

  “Oh, right. Good call,” I said as Capucine’s head fell to the side.

  “Are you okay, Mason?” asked Émilie.

  I nodded.

  She continued. “This is the only leg I was concerned about, if you want to know the truth. Something is going on with the Russians that scares me, and I mean besides the latest events that just intensified my concerns. They don’t play by the rules.”

  “Who does anymore?”

  “Capucine looks to be at peace,” she said, changing subjects.

  “We’re all believers. It’s probably the first time she’s really rested in . . .”

  “. . . forever,” said Émilie.

  “Right,” I said, returning a smile.

  “That was true of me, although, well, never mind. I did a lot of bad things, too, Mason. You’ve got to let it go.”

  “Let what go?” I asked.

  “Every human being is in a spiritual war with a devil who hates our guts. Capucine was just doing her best to survive the life she was dealt.”

  “I know. I don’t blame her, Émilie. If I did, I would be the worst hypocrite on the planet, since we ‘all fall short of the glory of Emmanuel,’ ” I said as Émilie nodded.

  “It just makes it difficult to trust anyone. What is that over there?” I asked, looking out the window back where we came from.

  “Poland,” she said. “Oh my God,” she said, looking toward the starboard side of the craft.

  “What?”

  “Look,” she said, jerking her head to the right. I peered out the window to see a stealth-like jet flying next to us. I stared at the craft for a second or two. Just the sight of it sent fear racing through my veins.

  “It’s a Russian Sukhoi Su-57,” said Capucine, now wide awake and wearing a stricken expression.

  “What do they want? He looks like he’s pointing down,” I said, able to see the pilot, my heart now pounding.

  “Unidentified helicopter, you travel Russian airspace,” came over the radio in thickly accented broken English. “Please turn aircraft around and land at Airport Khrabrovo, or we shoot down.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Buckle up, you two. We aren’t going to Russia,” she said, and looked over her control panel. “How would they know we’re here?” she asked looking at me and Capucine. “I’m sorry, we are having some communication difficulties. Could you repeat?” said Émilie over the com.

  “Neither of you has a chip, do you?” She asked as Capucine shook her head.

  “Oh my God. Yes, I do! But it’s not supposed to be a GPS!”

  “Right, according to who. Too late now. Mason, I may need your help.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked as the same voice repeated the instructions.

  “We have to get across the Baltic Sea.”

  “But we aren’t in Russian airspace!” I said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Someone’s given them orders to shoot us down. This is their way of making an excuse to do so.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “Don’t ask,” Émilie replied. “Are you both secure?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Capucine?” She tugged on her seat belt, nodding.

  “Can I help?” I asked.

  “Pray,” said Émilie.

  “Already have,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing until I see them react . . . The longer they wait, the better off we are,” she said as another warning came across the radio.

  A moment passed before the jet banked off hard.

  “What’s he doing?” I asked.

  “Coming around the back of us,” she said as she stared at her instruments. “Can you see what kind of ship that is below?” she asked.

  “A freighter? I don’t know, but it’s big,” I said, straining to look out the window.

  “We’ve got probably 30 seconds before they fire,” she said.

  My heart was beating out of my chest. “Please, Almighty One, protect us in the Name of Emmanuel,” I said.

  “Hold on,” said Émilie.

  “What happened?” I asked as the sound of the engines disappeared.

  “I turned off our engines; the missile tracks engine heat,” she said. We were falling like a giant rock.

  “You’re doing an autorotation in this thing?” I asked, holding on to my seat, my stomach in my throat. I grabbed Capucine’s hand.

  “You wanna live?” Émilie countered.

  “Oh my God, it’s a cruise ship, not a freighter,” she said as she opened the throttle re-engaging the engines, pulling up the stick hard and moving the copter toward the stern of the huge ship full of people. “Hold on, this is not going to be pretty,” she said as fear gripped my soul.

  I turned to look Capucine in the eyes. “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you, too, Mason. I always will,” she said as something ripped into the rear portion of the helicopter, causing it to spin uncontrollably, and all the alarms sounded. I could see Émilie doing everything she could to get the chopper back under control using both of her hands as my ears popped; then all I saw was water. We had crashed into the Baltic Sea.

  121

  Chopper Down

  “Capucine!” I screamed with my last gasp of air as the chopper slowly sank further into the green water. Panic-stricken but functioning, I was able to grab a deep breath of air. I unbuckled my seat belt before reaching back in the water to see Capucine motionless, still in her seat belt. Blood darkened the water. I fumbled my way in the water, grunting as air escaped my lungs, unbuckling her as I vaguely saw Émilie yanking on the door latch. I pulled Capucine’s limp body to the now-open door, pushing off the giant sinking chopper, using one arm to move me toward the surface, the other holding Capucine. I noticed my right ankle bleeding and pain coming from my right side.

  “Capucine!” I cried when we reached the surface, her body floating next to mine. “Oh, Emmanuel, help! Please help!” I screamed as I checked to see if her chest was moving. It wasn’t. “Émilie, she’s not breathing!”

  A moment later, I saw a boat being lowered from the cruise ship as if they had somehow known this was coming. “Help!” I screamed, waving my arm in the direction of the ship, probably too far off to hear my cries.

  “Mason!” screamed Émilie.

  “Émilie, I need your help. Capucine’s not breathing,” I said as she made her way toward me. I could see blood coming from Capucine’s head. “Come on!” I screamed, waving to the boat now headed our way. I noticed some of the water on fire behind us. Kicking my legs furiously to stay on the surface, I gave Capucine several rescue breaths, but without enough force to raise her lungs.

  What seemed like an eternity later, the rescue boat arrived. Several of the crew pulled Capucine’s limp body onto the craft and began CPR immediately. I dragged myself into the small boat, still praying, my body screaming with adrenaline as another member of the crew saw to Émilie.

  “I’ll do it,” I said, taking over CPR. “Please, Emmanuel! Please,” I said. “Come on, Capucine, come on. Breathe,” I said as her limp body lay before me, her eyes closed.

  I continued CPR all the way back to the cruise ship, which was another eternity, although it must have taken only a couple of minutes.

  122

  Zoe and Porsha

  Thirty minutes later, after we’d made our way onto the cruise
ship, Capucine was dead. The vomit came out so suddenly from my mouth I didn’t have time to react except to turn my head so it missed her body.

  “Nooooo!” I screamed, sobbing uncontrollably. “Capucine! Nooooo. Nooooo, please, noooooo, Emmanuel, please, not her! Please, noooooo!” I begged, raising my face toward the heavens. “I prayed for You to keep us safe! She was my heart! Now we are both dead!” I shouted while gasping for air.

  “Why?” I cried as if it was the first time I had ever cried, as several people tried to console me; I jerked away from them. “Noooooo!” I screamed one last time, my heart and soul broken into a million pieces. “How many times can my heart break? Porsha! You said you were protecting me and that you would never leave me! Where are you?” I screamed, pounding my fist on the deck.

  “Noooooo!”

  “Mason,” said Porsha, appearing before me. My cries immediately ceased. I wiped my eyes. I likely looked psychotic—eyes wide open, bulging.

  “Oh my God! Thank you,” I said with excitement, awed by her presence.

  “Who is she?” I asked, seeing another angel as well as several gargoyles moving around the ship, maintaining their distance.

  “What? Mason?” asked Émilie as my eyes returned to Porsha. I shook my head quickly. “Are you okay?” Émilie asked me, moving toward me, her face clouded with concern.

  “Stop, Émilie. I’m fine,” I said, sticking my arm straight out, hand up, as I studied Porsha and the other angel. My head cocked.

  “They won’t bother us,” said Porsha, looking at the gargoyles and raising her sword as she stood next to me. “Her name is Zoe. She is Capucine’s guardian angel,” she said as Zoe knelt beside Capucine, moving her hand through her hair. I stood up.

  “Hello, Mason,” said Zoe, with a peace that surpassed understanding.

  “Save her, Zoe! Please,” I begged. “Isn’t she your responsibility?” I asked, noticing several wide-eyed spectators with jaws dropped.

  “They cannot see or hear us, Mason,” said Porsha, turning to look at their faces, particularly that of Émilie, whose jaw hung open.

 

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