Immortal (39 page)

“Bomb!” John yelled. Grace looked up at him,
confused.

“This way!” Sarah yelled as she grabbed
Bradlie and ran down the hall, the bomb alert message still flashed
across her Smart Contact display. John hustled Grace after them, as
she noticed the message that she had also received. A bomb had just
exploded at the front of the building. They rounded the last corner
of the hallway, and reached the two Secret Service agents assigned
to Grace. Both had weapons drawn, pointed towards the ceiling.

“This way!” Agent Roderico Gomez yelled, as
he hustled them towards the rear exit. The other agent kicked open
the door, and moved into a crouch, checking the alleyway. Shots
rang out. The glass in the door just behind him shattered, as
bullets peppered the door. He returned fire. Gomez, stepped up and
fired down the alley, just as a black armored vehicle slid to a
stop in front of the door. The side doors of the boxy vehicle flung
open. “Move! Move! Move!” Gomez yelled. Sarah ran the gap between
the building and the vehicle, shielding her daughter with her own
body. Bullets zipped by, as Gomez tossed a smoke grenade towards
the attackers. John rushed Grace across the gap, just as Sarah
disappeared inside. The grenade exploded on contact with the ground
flinging bits of heavily smoking streams in every direction. Shots
continued to fly, and pinged off of the doorway and vehicle beside
it. A blanket of dense smoke quickly filled the alley.

“Rod!” Grace yelled. The agent glanced at
her, but turned back and fired down the alley. John shoved her
inside, and fell in himself. The door slammed shut. Gomez, pounded
bullet proof glass to signal the driver to leave, just as a bullet
pierced his throat. A burst of crimson showered the side window, as
the vehicle began to accelerate away. Gomez fell to the ground, one
hand on his throat. His other hand fired his weapon down the alley
one last time, before it fell from his dead hand.

Bullets continued to ricochet off of the rear
of the escaping vehicle, as it slid around the corner and
accelerated into traffic, sideswiping a small car into the next
lane. The driver continued to accelerate, bumping the van in front
of them off of the road. He swerved into the middle lane to avoid
the vehicles stopped at the light ahead, and yanked the wheel to
the right as he burst into the intersection. As the heavy armored
vehicle slid sideways, it rocked up on two wheels. Traction caught,
and the driver hammered the accelerator down. Suddenly, an alarm
sounded from the navigation system.

“Target Lock.” A female voice said.

“Hold on!” The driver said, as he saw both
the alarm and the rear view monitor superimposed on his field of
vision. He watched in horror as the man standing in the middle of
the street behind them, holding the rocket propelled grenade
launcher, disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Automatically, the nav
system fired counter measures from the rear of the vehicle. The
grenade exploded in mid air just ten feet away. The blast lifted
the still spinning rear tires off of the ground. When they landed,
smoke poured from them as they fought to gain traction. The driver
spun the wheel against the slide, and pumped the brake. The tires
caught, and the acceleration slammed him back in his seat. Bradlie
squealed behind him. Sarah held her tight.

On the rear view monitor, the driver saw the
man bring the rocket launcher up to his shoulder again. Not waiting
for another chance for the vehicle to escape the attacker fired
right away, without a target lock. The driver cut the wheel left,
and sideswiped a steel barrier. Sparks flew as metal screamed
against metal. The grenade whistled past them to the right, and
exploded up ahead. He cut the wheel back to the right, and barely
missed the crater. Behind them, the shooter once again raised the
launcher. The driver watched, as he prepared to evade the next
shot. Suddenly the screen flared an intense white, cleared, and the
shooter was no longer there. The grenade launcher had misfired. The
shooter was blown to pieces.

The replay of Mason Alexander’s speech ended,
and Bazir Malek waived his hand and muted the vid screen. A news
channel continued on in silence. Images of the evening’s attack
flashed by as the ticker at the bottom of the screen listed fifty
three people dead, and one hundred twenty seven injured. Reshmina,
Bazir’s wife, stood quietly next to his chair.

“Well?” Roger Bishop, Bazir’s campaign
manager asked.

“He has a way with words.” Bazir replied
quietly.

“That’s no surprise. We knew he has charisma
on his side. But Bazir, you know that was all staged, right?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters.”

“Then how? Explain that to me. Explain to me,
how it matters if the speech was staged. Explain to me how it
matters if the audience’s reaction was staged?” Bazir rose from his
seat. “Explain to me, Roger, how any of that matters, when he can
weave together such words, and create such passion in the hearts of
men. Explain to me, if you would, how we have even the remotest
chance to win this election, when even I was inspired by his
words.”

“Look, Bazir-”

“No, Roger. You look. The first debate is in
a matter of days. Tell me how I will face this man, with his innate
ability to string together words that will cause voters to rise up
and storm the polls on his behalf. What is your answer to this,
Roger?”

“Bazir.” Reshmina said softly.

“No, Reshmina. Let Mr. Bishop provide his
answer.”

“Bazir, it was just one speech. At their
convention no less. You know how it is. At our own convention
wasn’t the crowd cued on when to cheer, when to applaud?” Roger
stood up. “It’s all a big production. A theatrical show! You know
this.”

“Yes. This I know. But the passion which his
words evoked...”

“Bazir, my love. Your own words carry that
same passion.” Reshmina said as she touched his arm. He looked up
into her dark eyes. She smiled warmly.

“Ah, Reshmina. I take comfort from you.” He
turned away from her, and approached Roger. “Mr. Bishop. We must
begin our preparation for the upcoming debate immediately. There is
no time to waste when there is such a worthy opponent.”

“No problem, Bazir. I have things scheduled
to begin first thing in the morning. We’ll be using the same
training platform that we used for you to rehearse your convention
speech.” Bazir looked up at him.

“I do not like this system.” He said.

“But Bazir, it’s just a simulation. And
we-”

“I know what it is, Mr. Bishop. That does not
mean that I like it. I do not trust this thing.” Reshmina stepped
over to Bazir.

“Bazir,” She began, “maybe this is for the
best.”

“No, Reshmina.”

“Husband. Do you not wish to inspire the
hearts of men?” She asked.

“But Reshmina-” Bazir began.

“Do you not think that your opponent will use
every tool at his disposal?” She continued. “Do you not think that
Mr. Alexander will be quite prepared for the debate?”

“No, Reshmina. I do not like-”

“Do you not think that if this system can
benefit you, and that it may help you to better inspire the voters,
that you should consider its use?”

“No!” Bazir exclaimed. “This...this system,
this tool, it is a thing from the great satan. It is evil.” He
said, shaking his head.

“Evil?” Asked Reshmina. “How can such a thing
be evil, Bazir? It has no heart, no mind. It is not a man. It is
simply a technology.”

“She’s right, Bazir.” Roger said.

“It is not a thing of Allah. It is evil.”
Bazir reiterated.

“Husband, do you know that this is not of
Allah? Has he spoken to you of such?”

“Watch your words, wife!” He exclaimed.

“Bazir,” She continued, “If Aisha herself had
brought this technology to her beloved husband Muhammad, so that he
might spread the word of Allah, would it then be evil?”

“There was no such technology then. What use
is this reasoning?”

“Bazir? Are you not doing the works of Allah?
Are you not trying to save this nation on behalf of Allah? Are you
not like Muhammad?” He turned and met her eyes. Her sincerity was
evident in her expression.

“Look, guys. It’s just an interface. You
know, like a keyboard. It’s not really a big deal.” Roger said,
obviously thinking that Bazir was over the top with his concern.
Bazir sighed.

“Perhaps you are right Reshmina.” He turned
back to Roger. “Tomorrow then, Mr. Bishop.” Roger smiled.

“Great!” He said. “I just received an updated
plugin for the debate prep last night. So...in the morning? Say
nine?” Bazir nodded. “Great. See you then. Reshmina.” He said with
a nod her way, and then left the room.

“A peculiar man.” Bazir said.

“True.” Reshmina agreed, nodding her head.
“But necessary.” She sat down in the chair across from him.
“Bazir?”

“Yes?”

“This attack...” She said, waiving her hand
towards the vid screen. His expression clouded.

“No.” He said.

“No?”

“No. It is not of our doing.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” He looked down for moment, and then
back into her eyes. “No. I am not certain. In today’s world, how
can any man be certain of such things.” He rose up and stepped over
to the vid screen. Video of the dead lined up in front of the great
hall shot from the news drones streamed on the screen. He shook his
head. “If our people were responsible for this...the battle may
already be lost. Reshmina, I pray it was not our brethren.” She
rose, stepped over to him, and gently placed her hands on his
shoulders.

“As do I, husband. As do I.”

“Earl Grey, with cream & sugar.” Grace
said. A soft ding sounded, and she opened the beverage dispenser
door. Inside sat a steaming cup of tea. Gently she withdrew the hot
cup, and left the kitchenette of the hotel suite. “Curtains, open.”
She said as she crossed the living room. The curtains whisked aside
to let in the morning sun. She glanced out the window, noting the
blueness of the sky, and the water far below, before advancing into
the sitting room where she had left her Smart Contact to clean and
recharge. She sat her tea on the table and carefully retrieved the
clear device from the solution tank, lifted her eyelid, and
inserted it onto her right eye. She blinked, then blinked again,
and the device activated. The time appeared across her vision. Only
a few minutes left, she thought as she picked up the small thin
half circle headband from the table, turned it over in her hand,
and then sat it back down. She had promised Bradlie that she would
join her for a tea party. No, correct that, a Princess tea party.
And it was nearly time.

She could not get the events of the days
before out of her mind. Even after the harrowing escape from the
terrorist attack at the convention, and ultimate safe arrival at
the hotel, her nerves were still shot. There had been almost an
hour before she was able to reach Mason, and know that he was safe.
And poor Bradlie. Her mother could barely console her. It had not
been the first time they had been front row for such a horrible
thing. In the last two years they had survived two such attacks,
but never when Bradlie had been there. In fact, several of the
Freedom Republic candidates had been attacked in the last few
years, including Arthur Johnson, a front runner just a year ago,
who had been assassinated during a campaign speech in Des Moines.
It was terrifying, but it was also part of life. If a candidate
dared to publicly embrace Christianity, it was certain they would
face some form of persecution. And sometimes it was violent.

And poor Rod, bless his soul, she thought. He
was a good man. A believer. He had been assigned to Grace’s detail
for all of the last two years. She had called his wife last night,
to give her condolences, and had been shaken by the grieving
widow’s strength. God’s will, she had said. And though Grace
believed with all her heart in her savior, Jesus Christ, she had a
hard time reconciling what had happened. Was it really God’s will
that Rod, a husband and father, a faithful man, a man of faith, had
to give his life to protect her and her family? How could that be,
she thought? How could her time on earth be worth more in the grand
scheme of things? How could her life be more important than that of
such a good man? What was it that she was meant to do? What could
she do to better serve God’s wishes? What could she do, as one
person, that could mean so much? She sighed, and took a sip of her
tea.

And poor Mason, bless his heart. He was a
good man. He had left the suite early this morning to work on his
last minute preparations for the debate tonight, but had made sure
to remind her of her promise to Bradlie. He had been so comforting
after the attack, and assured her that they were perfectly safe. He
had immediately arranged for a replacement for her security detail,
but Grace had been uncomfortable with the female agent assigned.
She was too gruff, too direct, and Grace hated to admit it to
herself, but she was concerned with the woman’s ability to protect
her. When Grace told Mason of her concerns, without a question he
requested another replacement. The new agent would start today, he
had said this morning. He had even promised to come back and make
the introduction himself. She sighed.

Noticing the time again, she picked up the
VirtuaScape band. Even after the horrific events from the attack,
her son-in-law, John had done as he had promised, and set her up to
use the VirtuaScape contraption. He reasoned that it would be
better for Bradlie if she could spend more time with Grace,
especially after the attack. But Grace was apprehensive. Though not
a luddite, by any means, she did not like change. Especially with
the increasing rapidity of changing technology, she grew more and
more uncomfortable. She wasn’t afraid of new things, at least she
didn’t really think she was. But she could not deny the dread she
felt just looking at the VirtuaScape headband. She sat down, as
John had said she should, and reached for the device, but just
couldn’t quite bring herself to pick it up. Not yet at least.
Another glance at the time. A few minutes remained. She sipped her
tea, relishing the warmth and sweetness. She sat the cup down, gave
a brief sigh, and picked up the headband. Carefully she positioned
it around the rear crown of her head, as John had shown her.