Deadline (28 page)

Spawned in the sea of your Creator’s consciousness,

Woven in the Artisan’s loom,

Spun by the Potter, molded in his hands.

You are so much more than that world sees.

No aimless product of time, chance, and natural forces;

Destined to be ruler of beasts, not descendent of them;

Climax of Elyon’s creative genius: the Magnum Opus of God.

As the simple watch must have a watchmaker,

So you must have a Creator,

An author of your genetic code,

A draftsman, architect, and builder of your soul.

A God so big the cosmos cannot contain him,

So small he too once slept in a mother’s arms.

One day you will know that awesome mystery:

A baby born in a barn is Creator of all.

Bearer of God’s likeness,

Object of his love,

Carved on his palm;

Apple of his eye.

When the stars collapse,

When the solar systems breath their last,

When the galaxies crumble with age,

You, Karina, will still be young.

So helpless there in your mother’s protective shelter,

So vulnerable, susceptible to harm.

So frail and weak, dependent on your elders;

So unsuspecting of the ugliness that lies outside.

A sin-stained world, no longer Eden’s paradise;

Torn and disfigured, marred by human will;

Testimony to man’s indifference to his God.

Tombstone on the grave of human sin.

True, that world is dark,

Held in the grasp of the lord of darkness.

But dark, Karina, that your light might brighter shine,

That straining eyes might sooner turn toward your unfading radiance.

Answer to our prayers,

Fulfiller of our dreams.

You are Elyon’s gift to us;

We give you back to him.

Ours to love,

But only His to possess;

For on your tiny shoulders will be borne

the reputation of the Creator’s Son.

As a prism reveals

the manifold excellence of light,

May you project to a tarnished world

the multifaceted beauty of your Creator.

Our prayer, Karina,

Daughter of God:

That when eyes of men and angels gaze upon you,

They might always and only see Him.

Finney, his mother, and his daughter Jenny smiled broadly at each other. Heaven erupted into still greater applause, and once again they found themselves immersed in the contagious laughter of the kingdom.

As on the day of his entrance, Finney saw a bright and wonderful being standing at the back of the crowd, quietly orchestrating this marvelous event, his eyes on Finney, smiling his approval. And Finney knew when the celebration was over and the crowd dispersed, he would take another unforgettable walk with Elyon’s Son, the Creator and Redeemer of this new child.

What was that name, that wonderful name the angel had called Karina? He could hear its echo in his mind, yet could neither pronounce it with his lips nor even remember exactly how it sounded. Now he knew why. It was Elyon’s name for her. She would not be called by that name until she was given it by him, on a glorious day after she would be born into heaven, graduated into glory, joining her grandfather and her great-grandmother and her aunt, and whoever else migrated home before her.

He looked again at the fair fabric of Elyon’s creation, this delicate living being. In another nine months she would be born, and in the Shadowlands they would say she had become. But she already was, before anyone on earth knew of the pregnancy. Finney had been there to behold her becoming, when she was spoken into being by the Word of God. Birth would merely be passing through a door, a rite of passage.

Overwhelmed, Finney longed at once to hold this girl, to hold Angela, to hold Sue and Little Finn. And yet in the longing itself there was joy, as if the anticipation of the embrace of reunion were the embrace of reunion itself. So strong were his longings in that moment, though separated by the veil, Finney thought Sue must be able to feel his presence. But not with the clarity he felt hers.

Suddenly, the embrace he longed for was real and physical, for Jenny wrapped herself tightly around him, and Finney’s mother made it a threesome again.

“O Daddy. Can you believe it? Look! Listen! Everyone’s rejoicing. I have a niece. You have a granddaughter. Grandma has a great-granddaughter! Angela and Bruce don’t even know! Mom’s a grandma and she doesn’t even suspect! I can’t wait to see the expression on her face. And little Karina. I long to hold her. Let’s pray that she’ll be a great champion for Elyon.”

Spontaneously, Jenny prayed aloud, head not bowed but looking toward the One who stood among them, who was always there in every nook and cranny of this vast realm, yet who sometimes focused his presence in one place, now this one.

“Protect her Lord. Give her mother—my sister!—and father your strength and wisdom. Let them know the privilege and responsibility that is theirs. Be with them in long and weary nights. Let them never think that any possession or opportunity or career compares in worth to this little one. Help them to see each moment invested in her is an investment in eternity!”

A chorus of “amens” erupted. Finney marveled that those of Zyor’s great race would say “amen” to a prayer offered by his little Jenny, who was as pure and innocent—no, much more so—as ever on earth. Yet now, compared to him, Jenny was a veteran of the new world, knowing its ways far better than he. Finney was so proud of her. He hugged her tightly, and they both trembled with excitement at the advent of Angela’s child.

After a while, Finney felt a hand on his shoulder, a great and mighty hand. It was Zyor.

“Congratulations, master. Angela is a godly young woman. You raised her to follow the Almighty. She will be a fine mother for this girl, as her mother was for her. And the father is a godly man—with your guidance, Angela chose him well. Elyon is pleased.”

“Thank you, my friend. The sense of wonder is so strong. I fear I’ll become callous to it, that it will somehow grow old to me. Yet how many times have you seen a child conceived, and the wonder seems new and fresh to you. How can that be?”

“Here you do not grow callous to wondrous events. You deepen in your appreciation of them each time. You gain new insight into the old wonder, making the old wonder always new. You never ‘get used to it.’ It never ‘gets old.’ It is always wonderful, always fresh, as if it were the first time. And there is something else—each time you see a child conceived, it is a reminder of
the
child,
the
conception,
the
incarnation of Elyon’s Son—the day God became man. Each child’s conception is a sacrament, a symbol, an enactment of that greater drama.”

Zyor’s voice trembled. “And that is the wonder of wonders. Never shall we fully comprehend it; always shall we joyfully celebrate it. The applause you heard was not only for your granddaughter, but for the One who once became as your granddaughter now is, that you and she and any of Adam’s race might have the privilege of being where you now are.”

Finney, one arm around his daughter, the other around his mother, pondered the words of his old guardian. He thought fondly of Sue, of the years they’d shared together, and of how happy she would be when she learned Angela was carrying this child. He peered again in unmasked adoration through the window into Angela’s womb, gazing upon this wondrous creation that those without eyes would call a mere blob of tissue.

The celebration was suddenly eclipsed by a realization that something was happening in the dark world, something somehow connected to him. Finney’s mind went first to Jake, and then to Jake’s teenage daughter Carly. Yes, that was it. Carly was in trouble, and Jake didn’t know about it. But Finney was being called to prayer. He rushed to the portal.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

J
ake stood staring at the FBI badge. He’d spent enough time with police and military to know these two standing at his door were the genuine item. Right down to the formal politeness, the air of respect in addressing him as “sir,” and even the use of the word
imperative.
Still, he wasn’t going to let them intimidate him. His mentor Leonard once told him, “Show me someone with respect for authority and I’ll show you a lousy reporter.” Jake was not a lousy reporter.

He stood there silently, studying their eyes, assessing the situation, as they grew more uncomfortable. Good. They were probably genuine, but it would be stupid to let two strange men into his apartment. Yet if these guys wanted to take him, he knew they could. He could see the outline of their holsters strung under their suits, and it was obvious both of them put in their time in a weight room. He decided the best approach was to go along with them, but on his terms.

“Where’s your office?” Jake ushered his best I’m-not-intimidated voice, as if Feds were always dropping by on the weekends and he was getting a little bored by it.

“The Federal Building on Fourth Street. Seventh floor.”

“All right, I’ll go. But I’ll drive separately and follow you.”

“No problem, Mr. Woods.” Agent Sutter seemed gracious enough.

“Okay, give me ten minutes to take a shower and change.”

“Sure. We’ll wait outside.” Jake wasn’t about to offer them his living room, but it was nice of them to back off on their own.

Jake’s adrenaline rushed as hot and hard as the shower water. Obviously these guys were on the case. What did they know? How much would they tell him? What did they want from him? He’d heard Feds often didn’t let local police in on what they were doing. Did Ollie know about these guys? Jake was out of the shower and in his jeans and sweatshirt in five minutes. The whiskers would stay. On weekends Jake never shaved until his face itched, and it didn’t. Besides, it would remind these guys he was a civilian, with all the rights and privileges thereto.

Jake grabbed a spiral notebook and pen and stepped out the door. Sutter and Mayhew were pacing on the apartment’s front lawn, looking about as inconspicuous as two guys in full suits and trench coats could look on any Saturday afternoon outside an apartment complex.

“Ready,” Jake said. “I’ll pull out my car from that driveway over there.” He pointed to the driveway exiting from the secured parking lot. Jake saw Mayhew eye his spiral notebook uncomfortably.
This could actually be fun
.

The car with federal plates pulled into one of many open spaces in front of the building, Jake following. The federal building looked unoccupied today. Agent Sutter ran a card from his wallet through a scanner to gain entry to the front door, then nodded to the security officer manning the desk at the entry way. Sutter signed the log book. The officer looked bored, as though pulling the weekend shift was effortless but tiresome.

The three men entered the elevator and quietly rode to the seventh floor, where they turned to the right and snaked down a hallway to a room marked FBI. Sutter stuck in another coded card, a light turned green, and the door unlatched. The three walked in, past an office that said “Special Agent Sutter,” and into a small conference room with a fancy tape recorder set up on the center table.

“Sit down, Mr. Woods.” The chairs seemed new, virtually unused, and surprisingly comfortable for government issue.

“Coffee?” Sutter asked.

“Okay,” Jake shrugged. Little did he know when he got up that morning he’d be served his third round of coffee by the FBI.

Agent Mayhew got the three coffees while Sutter sat down and took out a large notebook, which seemed to be a procedure manual of some sort.

Jake watched Sutter take a sip of coffee, coal black, from his transparent mug. Jake tried his own, which wasn’t hot enough.
Viennese. Been in the pot too long
.

He studied Sutter’s every move, trying to gain any advantage he could in a situation where the advantage was clearly not his. Trying to look more at home than he felt, this time he took a gulp of coffee.
Way too long
.

One deep draught of his own and Sutter moved the coffee aside like a man who wouldn’t be coming back to it. He turned on the tape recorder second naturedly, like he’d gone through this routine before, then opened the clasps on a large bulky manila envelope. Without looking at the contents, he flipped them across the table to Jake.

“These may interest you, Mr. Woods.”

He looked at the photographs. A five-by-seven of Jake entering the front door of his apartment. Another five-by-seven of him standing by the Mustang, plugging a meter on Morrison. An eight-by-ten of him jogging in the park. Another buying milk at the convenience store. Having lunch with Ollie at the deli. Standing by Doc’s Suburban hoisted up at Ed’s Garage. Jake felt his ears turn red. These were professional close-up photos any
Trib
photographer would be proud of.

“So much for the right of privacy. I suppose my phone’s tapped too?”

“Nope. Could have, but I didn’t think it was necessary.” Sutter turned toward the microphone extending from the tape recorder. “Let the record indicate we are discussing the surveillance photos of Mr. Woods.”

“Didn’t think it was necessary? That’s considerate of you to give some nominal recognition of constitutional rights.”

Both sides knew this was more than a citizen who felt violated—it was the classic adversarial relationship between government authorities and the press.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit, Mr. Woods? It’s perfectly legal to drive around the city and take photographs of people without their knowledge or permission. In fact, your newspaper does it all the time. You call it journalism, I believe. Have I heard you say something about the first amendment?”

“It
is
different and you know it. But why do I have the feeling it wouldn’t make much difference to you whether it was legal or not?”

“We’re a legal agency, Mr. Woods. We’re here to uphold the law, not to break it, no matter what you’ve read about us. Or wrote about us, for that matter. Okay, I know it’s unnerving to find out you’ve been followed. But I didn’t have to tell you about this. I’ve laid the cards on the table. I’m being honest with you, in the hopes you’ll be honest with me.”

There was still one picture he hadn’t shown Jake yet. It was face up but mostly covered by the envelope. Jake sensed Sutter was debating whether he should show it to him. Jake reached across the table, under the envelope, and pulled out the photo. Sutter didn’t object. Jake saw a line of people in front of a coffin.
Of course
.

“You were at Doc’s funeral, both of you. I saw you there.”

“That’s right.”

“You don’t respect much of anything, do you?”

“Just doing our job, Mr. Woods, like you do yours, even when people don’t understand or like it. One of our associates took dozens of pictures at the funeral—it was a disguised camera with a silent shutter, so it didn’t bother anyone. It’s not uncommon for a murder to be committed by an acquaintance who makes a point of being at the funeral, either out of propriety or some twisted sense of curiosity or smugness. Like he wants to take one last look to be sure he did his job, or to congratulate himself. We studied the pictures to identify who was there, who should have been but wasn’t, who shouldn’t have been but was.”

“What did you discover?”

“I’m not free to discuss with you, at least not now.”

“You can’t talk to me, but you want me to talk to you?”

“Look, Mr. Woods…Jake. We’re on your team. Whether or not you believe it, that’s the truth. We’ve been watching you partly for your own protection.”

“Really?” Jake didn’t hide his skepticism.

“Obviously you can guess some of the reason. We know you’ve been talking with Detective Chandler. We know everything he knows, and more. We also think you’re in greater danger than you imagine.”

“Danger? From whom?”

“That’s where this gets a little tricky, Jake.”

“How?”

“We can’t divulge more information to you without some assurances of full confidentiality and cooperation.”

“Forget it. I’m not going to agree to anything until I know exactly what’s going on.”

Agent Mayhew, leaning against the wall, crossed his arms.

“You
don’t
agree and you might have to live with letting the boys who wasted your friends get away.”

“Boys? As in more than one?”

“You get nothing else without agreeing to some conditions.”

“Tell me what you want me to agree to. Maybe I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. Most of it’s standard. It includes a commitment that you put nothing about this in print without our prior approval.”

“Oh, is that all? Well, this is going to be easy, then. I won’t agree to that. You can’t tell me what I can write and what I can’t.”

“Spoken like a true reporter. But you have to play by the same rules everybody else does in this situation. You don’t agree, then you head on home. We’ll leave you alone, and you’ll never figure it out. If we withdraw completely, you may not live to write again. We’re under no obligation to tell you anything. It’s a question of how much you want whoever killed your buddies. We’re taking a big risk by talking to you. Signing the document is nonnegotiable.”

Jake stared blankly. Inside he was starting to give a little, but wasn’t about to show it.

“Look, Jake, on the confidentiality thing, I’m just talking about information you receive from us, or as a direct result of what we give you. If it’s something you know without us, we have no control. You can do what you want with it. But if it’s something we tell you, we’re taking you on as a major security risk. You were in the army. You know how it works.”

Jake had to admit it made sense. They were in the driver’s seat. Without their information he might waste weeks going down blind alleys.

“Here’s the paperwork. Sign it and we’ll give you some info that should prove very helpful. We’ll also ask you for some information and hope for your cooperation. You don’t have to agree, but for your friends’ sake we hope you do. Don’t sign it and we can’t do business. It’s up to you.”

He took a deep breath, as if putting his last card on the table. “Now here’s the thing that’s going to bug you the most. We’ve got a very important reason for it. You can’t say anything about us to
anyone
, including the local police. That includes Detective Chandler.”

“Ollie? Why not? I’d trust him with my life. Which is more than I can say for you guys.”

Mayhew didn’t seem to appreciate the comment, but Sutter handled it in stride.

“As far as we know, Detective Chandler himself is no problem. But he has superiors he’s obligated to report to. And if they became aware of some of this information it could compromise our investigation, maybe result in more people being killed. And the lowlifes who killed your friends could just disappear, and I don’t mean with their throats cut, which wouldn’t make any of us shed a tear. I mean disappear to some Caribbean island for the rest of their lives, sipping margaritas, or whatever they drink down there.”

“You’re saying you don’t trust the police?”

“I’m saying there’s good cops and there’s bad cops. Most of them, maybe 98 percent of them are good cops, but it only takes one bad one to ruin this whole operation. If it was just Chandler we’d probably bring him in. He seems straight enough. But he’s obligated to talk to his superiors. For everything Chandler learns there’s a few sergeants and lieutenants and deputy chiefs and all kinds of people in the chain of command that are going to know, and probably a few assistants and secretaries, maybe even a custodian who looks over what’s on the desks. There are leaks over there, Woods. We know that the hard way. Leaks that relate directly to our situation here.”

“Look, I’m working with Ollie. He trusts me, and I trust him. If I can’t talk to him about this, forget it. What’s going to keep me from walking right now and telling him the whole thing?”

Agent Mayhew squirmed.

“Nothing, Woods. You can do that very thing. In fact, we know it’s a chance we’re taking. But if you do, the only thing you’ll know is the FBI is on this. You won’t know what we know. All you’ll know is because you refused to cooperate, the chances will be much better that your friends’ killers will live to be a ripe old age while all that’s left of your buddies is food for the night crawlers.”

Sutter’s insensitivity rubbed Jake the wrong way, yet had its desired effect. What did he have to lose? Better to have info he couldn’t directly give Ollie than have no info at all.

“Okay, Sutter. Let’s see what your document says.”

Agent Sutter passed over a single paragraph, typewriter style Courier, about thirteen point. It was stuffy but surprisingly jargon-free, as if written by a reporter rather than a lawyer. Still, any editor would have pared it down, shortened the sentences and cleared away some of the fog:

Special Agent Colin G. Sutter of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation has been authorized to reveal classified information to Jake Harvey Woods. It is understood that Mr. Woods’ revealing of this information to any person or persons could severely compromise an ongoing criminal investigation. After being given this information Mr. Woods is free to choose not to cooperate in the investigation, but he is not free at any time to divulge, in print or in conversation or in any other way, any information released to him by federal agents pertaining to said investigation. In signing this document Mr. Woods agrees that if he does divulge any such information to anyone for any reason—including officers of any other legal agency—he would be interfering with a criminal investigation and violating section 793 of Title Eighteen of the National Security Act. In the event of such a violation he understands he will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

Jake leaned back. “I take it this means you don’t want me to talk?”