Designed with a Destiny (35 page)

“If they keep this up there’s going to be
reverse immigration back into this country,” Bernie muses.

“What now Lawrence? We’re helping thousands
of people turn their lives around, yet we’re expected to ignore the
fact that our own families are still in danger?” Alisha says,
voicing a concern that's been on all of our minds lately. As far as
Lawrence is concerned we’re living out our divine purpose,
following a path that he envisioned for us long before we were even
born. Undoubtedly he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep the momentum
going for a broken country full of poverty, crime, and corruption
that’s teetering on what he would consider is a spiritual
breakthrough. I brace myself for what I assume will be his eloquent
and sympathetic expression of understanding, followed by a speech
about the obligations and duties of being a Designer. After all,
this would be an ideal opportunity for him to test our level of
mastery over thoughts and feelings.

“Yes, of course—we need to make finding your
family a priority now,” he replies, catching me off-guard. He
glances at Bernie, and gives a slight nod, and my eyes shift to
her, wondering where she plays in to all of this. She sets her fork
down and carefully dabs the corner of her mouth with her napkin
before clearing her throat.

“I don’t want any of you to get your hopes
up,” she says, pausing to peer at us over the bridge of her
glasses. “I’ve managed to retain the loyalty of some credible
sources still working in the industry, and they’ve informed me that
the CIA has located a man by the name of Haroun Seif—the Sirdar as
Zane refers to. He’s believed to have connections to Al-Qaeda.
Although he’s been on the list for years, apparently our President
has made finding him a top priority after learning of the
connection to you guys.” A hush falls over the large dining hall in
the main lodge. Even Rosie automatically lowers her voice while
giving her string of orders to the kitchen staff. She’s privy to a
lot of information about us that normally wouldn’t be shared. Not
only has she witnessed the dramatic changes in others, she’s
experienced the same, and now considers her involvement as part of
her own destiny. She’s made it clear that we’re no longer
considered guests at the ranch—we’re considered family.

“Okay…so where is Mr. Seif, Bernie?” Alisha
asks in a slow and deliberate manner. Jason places an arm around
her shoulder and she leans against him for support. Bernie pulls
out her iPad and loads a page with a map of the Greater Middle East
countries, pointing to a small country bordering Iran.

“Turkmenistan,” she replies, tapping the
screen. “He’s staying at his brother, Nasser’s private residence in
Ashgabat.”

“Do you have an address?” I ask, trying not
to sound overly enthusiastic.

“Not yet. I think the wisest thing to do is
to just sit tight and let the Special Forces do their job. I’m
confident that I’ll be notified if and when they find your family
members,” she says.

“But Ronan can get information in a much
more efficient way. You have to get the address Bernie,” Alisha
presses her.

“Ali’s right, Bernie. Give me an address or
a photo and I can remote travel anywhere in the world.”

“I’m working on it, Ronan. It’s highly
classified information and the only people in the know are the
President and the U.S. Special Forces working on the case.”

“Then why don’t you just call Mr. President
and ask him?” Claire innocently questions, not realizing Bernie
severed our ties with the Commander-in-Chief. Bernie appears
nervous to explain this to her.

“Well if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll
catch a nap before the next round of visitors,” Zane says, yawning.
Cat grips my hand beneath the table, anticipating my reaction to
the Brit slinking away from a discussion that involves our family
members—a discussion he’s partly to blame for.

“Everyone should go and rest. You all need
to rest,” Rosie says, taking advantage of his departure to shoo the
rest of us away from the table, which I suspect really has to do
with the fact that she wants the dining room cleaned before she
takes her own afternoon siesta.

“I’m not taking a nap. Chord and Liz
promised they’d take me riding,” Claire announces matter-of-factly,
glancing sideways at Jason and Alisha. They are about the only ones
that hold traditional ideas of how a child should be raised, and
often express their opposition to the amount of freedom Claire has.
Practicing I guess.

“Claire would you prefer to take a short nap
now, or go to bed early tonight? If you lay down for at least an
hour, maybe you’ll still have time to ride before more students
arrive,” Cat says diplomatically, trying to follow Jason’s advice
by giving her a choice.

“I would prefer to do neither,” she says,
bravely challenging not only Cat, but all of the adults in the
group. I quickly look away when she attempts to make eye contact
with me. I was just like her when I was her age. She cracks me up
and she knows it—often times leveraging my poorly contained
amusement to her advantage.

“
Callahan don’t you dare laugh at
her,”
Cat silently warns me, also discerning my weakness.

“Come on Chord, let’s get the horses ready,”
she says grabbing Liz by the hand. She doesn’t know that he’s been
dying to get some time alone with Liz, and this gives him the
perfect out.

“Cat’s right, Claire. Even I could use some
rest. How about tomorrow morning? We can go at sunrise before it
gets too hot,” he attempts to change her mind.

“Then I’ll go by myself,” she retorts,
jutting her chin out.

“Claire you can’t go by yourself. No one
gets to go out alone. It’s not just our rule, its Rosie’s rule
too,” Alisha says impatiently. Claire stares hard at all of us,
waiting for that one person to advocate on her behalf.

“Fine, but when mom and dad get back, you
guys are going to stop bossing me around,” she mumbles, stomping
away as she heads for the room she shares with Elizabeth.

“Claire, wait.” Cat stops her. “Actually I
changed my mind. Chord and I will go with you,” she says hastily,
giving Chord an apologetic smile as she telepathically exchanges
information. It’s apparent to me, as it must be to the others, that
she’s made an impromptu decision to tell Claire about their
parents. None of us dare interfere.

“Sure—why not,” he says, glancing wistfully
at Elizabeth. Claire’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. She’s
so excited to have Cat and Chord to herself that she’s oblivious to
their solemn moods. We silently watch as they head for the barn,
then we disperse to our own rooms.

***

The unexpected light tap on my door easily
wakes me from an intermittent nap that never has the same restful
quality when Cat’s not at my side.

“Open up Callahan—I need to talk to you,” I
hear Zane’s voice, barely above a whisper, on the other side of the
door. Considering the fact that he only comes near me when Cat’s
around I’m immediately intrigued by his announcement.

“It better be important,” I say, opening the
door. The frown on his face immediately puts me on guard.

“She’s either lying or has been misinformed
about Haroun Seif,” he blurts out the minute the door shuts behind
him.

“What the hell are you talking about,
Harrington?” Anyone else delivering his message would have my
undivided attention—he just manages to irritate me.

“I remember my father telling me that Haroun
hasn’t spoken to his brother in over ten years,” he says, treating
the info as if it’s solid proof of a deception.

“So what! Families change and relationships
mend.” I reach for the door handle ready to kick him out.

“Alright Callahan—I went back to her room
while you guys were still dining, and I checked her phone for
recent calls.” Before I have a chance to lay into him he holds his
hands up in defense. “I know, I know—but you just might be
interested in knowing that in the last week, she’s made over a
dozen phone calls to the same international number with a country
code of Chile.” He pauses and pulls a piece of paper out of his
pocket. “She also had a text message with an address in Santiago,
Chile,” he quietly says, handing it to me.

“The others would pick up on a change in her
color screening, Zane. Lawrence is with her all the time…”

“Except when he goes out for his meditation
sessions every morning. All of the phone calls were made at the
same time—six AM our time.” He doesn’t need to point out that
Lawrence is always out on the bluff by then. My stomach tightens in
a knot at the thought of Bernie betraying us.

“Look, I’m not saying that she’s doing
anything wrong. She may have a close friend or relative that lives
in Santiago,” he adds.

“Zane, you know I can bust you in a
heartbeat if you’re making all this up.”

“Yes—I’m well aware,” he murmurs. “Here is
my IPad to look up that address. You have nothing to lose by
checking it out.”

***

Various satellite maps give me enough aerial
photos and image angles to decipher the U.S. Embassy in Santiago,
Chile—the address provided by Zane. I sit on the edge of the bed
for several moments trying to calm my racing heart, sorting through
the possible explanations Bernie could give. In the end I give up
trying to make sense of it and lie back on the bed. I just need to
go there and find out for myself, so I drop into a theta-wave state
allowing me to enter the unconscious mind—the travel conduit for
remote viewing.

The main hall within the Embassy building is
vacant but voices can be heard in the distance. Having already
searched the exterior, I’m prepared to encounter only a handful of
people based on the number of cars in the parking lot, and I dodge
in and out of offices until I find one occupied—U.S Ambassador,
Hugh Corkery.

“Sir, Punta Peuco is inquiring on how long
they’ll be holding the Americans. They want a guarantee that it
won’t be longer than thirty days,” a young man in a suit says to
the Ambassador.

“The President thinks it’ll be less than
three weeks,” the distracted Ambassador mumbles, not bothering to
look up.

“I’ll let them know.” Several seconds pass
before he interrupts him once more. “Um, sir?” he says, fidgeting
as he waits for the superior to acknowledge him.

“What?" The Ambassador sighs, removing his
glasses to rub his eyes.

“They haven’t eaten for two days, can I
order take out?”

“Um, sure. Get me whatever they’re having.
Send Gifford to pick it up—the President doesn’t want them
unsupervised.”

“Oh yeah right,” he responds, looking
somewhat embarrassed and quickly exiting the office. I float above,
following him down a long corridor to a set of elevators which he
takes to the basement. It didn't even occur to me that the
Americans he’s referring to are anyone I'd know, until I’m hovering
in the same room, watching with horror as he tells a group of gaunt
people; my parents, and Alisha’s mom and sister, that they’ll be
provided with a complimentary meal before being transported to the
prison facilities at Punta Peuco.

***

It’s barely dawn when Zane radio’s the
airport tower in Santiago, Chile advising them that he’s on final
approach for a full stop landing. Cat’s in the co-pilot seat, ready
to use her technical skills as well as telekinetic skills to help
him should the need arise, while Natalie and I gather up the few
belongings we thought we might need. As soon as we’re on the
ground, I take a moment to remote travel back to the ranch.
Everything’s as we left it including the note on the main dining
room table which explains how the four of us went into town for the
day, and won’t be back until later tonight. For the safety of
everyone involved, we didn’t even tell Alisha about finding our
families or our plan to rescue them. Best to keep it clean and
simple. If Bernie is involved somehow, we don’t want her warning
the U.S. Ambassador or anyone else that we’re on our way. The next
time I connect with Alisha telepathically, I plan to be sitting
next to her sister and mother, and my own parents on a flight back
to Mexico City.