Never Too Far (26 page)

The picture was of a topless young woman with dark brown skin like Eve’s. She wore a skirt with the same pattern as the man’s robe, red with white flowers, which was tied around her hips. A breeze blew against the fabric and made her long black hair flow behind her. She was looking over her shoulder at a bay of rippling blue water and green mountains that stretched into a big blue sky. Next to the waterfall was a large panel photo mural of another naked young woman. She too had long black hair flowing behind her. Above her head she held some kind of gourd, which dripped clear liquid into her mouth, liquid that spilled down her neck, across her breasts, and over the most arresting part—her round pregnant belly.

The rest of the walls followed the same pattern as the two photo murals. They were covered from floor to ceiling with photographs and paintings of young women, waterfalls, lush forests, sandy beaches, blue waters, and green mountains.

The man eased himself out of his chair and spread his arms wide as if he wanted to embrace them, as if he was their father who’d just returned from a long trip and Joe and Mary were supposed to rush into his arms. Of course, that didn’t happen. With the ghoulish mask, he looked more like a demon than a man.

“So you like what I’ve done to the place,” the man said. “Normally, I’d be surrounded by a bevy of GeMs and
Amalgams.”

“Is this for real?” Joe said.

“It looks like a dream. Like the visions in your sleep before you wake up.”

At that moment, Joe recognized the voice behind the mask. He couldn’t be sure, but the voice sounded exactly like the voice of the Minister of Peace and Security he saw on television. Despite that revelation, and the web of connections between Eve and Templeton, it was nothing Joe was going to dwell on. He didn’t care who it was, just as long as he got the money for the diesel.

“Every man has a dream,” the minister continued. “Mind you, this is only but a taste, because this place does exist. Beautiful young women. So much fruit that it lays wasted on the ground because people can’t eat it all. The oceans around it teeming with fish. Fresh water cascading from the mountaintops. It’s heaven. Only it’s not cheap getting there.”

“So you haven’t been there?”

“Not yet.”

“Then how do you know it’s real?”

“Look at the evidence all around you. Besides, I know the very man who took these pictures and painted these canvasses. He’s back at the islands right now with all the money I gave him for all this.”

It must be true, Joe thought. Or at least he wanted it to be true. As he looked around the room again, his eyes settled on something he hadn’t noticed at first, a long table with various artifacts on it—statues and carvings and trinkets. There was a magnificently colored stuffed bird with a bright red breast, an orange beak, and a green and purple crown.

“Are those from this land?” Joe said.  

“Yes, of course. Come see them. Browse about. Your little companion probably wants to see the young girls with child.”

It didn’t register in Joe’s mind that they were being separated. Mary was going one way, and he was going the other way, which left the minister in the middle, right between them. “The vigilant heart,” says the Viridian proverb that Joe knew well, “never wanders.” But Joe remained too fascinated and too taken in by the false splendor and the magical promises that all the items in the room offered that he didn’t take into account the position he’d put them in. He stood at the table with his back turned, with the diesel still clutched in his hand, and stared at the objects, especially the brightly-colored bird. He couldn’t get over the vividness of the colors. And he couldn’t get over that such a place as this could be real. Yet here it was. It existed.

The stories were true
, then. There
were
“promised lands.” No dust. No wind. No cracked dirt. No withering crops. No shortages of water. No hungry nights. A true land of plenty. He’d always been told that the only true “promised land” was Welkenglebe. Any other promises were hollow dreams that led to ruin. He wanted to believe that what he saw in the room was real, especially since the stories of “promised lands” always captivated him. Maybe this was it.

Like the minister said, all the evidence was here. On the table were woodcuts, stone carvings, totems, and clay pots, all illustrating that fact. But there was also something else, an old pistol lying on a snakeskin. The metal was tainted with patches of rust. Joe lifted it off the table. It was heavy in his hand.

“Whose gun is this?”

The minister didn’t answer right away. And when he did, his voice sounded rushed and a bit startled. Once again Joe didn’t pick up on this sign of trouble.

“Gun? Yes, gun, of course. It was retrieved from a cave on one of the islands. The cave was a pirate hideout. Supposed to belong to a Captain Nero.”

After Joe set the pistol down, he heard some rustling behind him, followed by what sounded like a squeak, and then what was definitely a grunt. He stood still a moment. All the clues that he’d missed before began to add up and came rushing into his mind all at once. He dropped the diesel and wheeled around to find the very thing he feared most. Mary’s head was caught in the noose of one of the minister’s arms. The snarling white mouth in his mask seemed to be laughing now. He held a knife to Mary’s throat. Her feet dangled off the floor. What made it even worse was how Mary’s body hung slack and silent, as if accepting that this violence was what she needed to do. It was her sacrifice in order for them to get the money.

“Stop!” Joe shouted. 

He charged recklessly at the minister, but then halted abruptly.

“Good choice,” the minister said.

He held the blade right under Mary’s chin. With one stroke, he could slit her throat.

“Let’s be reasonable here,” the minister said. “You have something I want, and I have something you want.”

“Give her to me,” Joe said.

“That’s not how it works. This is a matter of negotiation.”

“There is no negotiation. Let her go.”

“That kind of strategy isn’t going to get you far, especially when I have more leverage than you.”

“I don’t care. Just let her go. You can have the diesel. I don’t want any money. Just let her go.”

“That’s just it. I don’t care about the diesel, either. I’m more interested in who sent you. And what kind of operation they have going on. There has been a rash of small-time smuggles recently. I’m beginning to think it’s some kind of coordinated effort or a distraction perhaps. When you appeared on the radar screen, I saw my chance to get to the bottom of it. If you give me what I want, your little girl lives. And if you work with me, you get your money.” He nodded toward a briefcase beside the wicker chair. “So now that I have your attention, who sent you?”

“No one sent us. I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe that two teenage dirt-eaters just happen to come into possession of nearly five gallons of diesel? You are insulting my intelligence.”

For a second, Joe thought about making something up that would satisfy the minister, but even if he did, this man seemed like the type that would kill Mary anyway. He must’ve killed Templeton and Eve, after all, or at least his minions did. At the same time, though, Joe had to find a way to get Mary free and then find a way to get out of there. He couldn’t panic. He just had to think.

Then he had an idea. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and felt for the three rifle shells he still had left. He didn’t know if they would fit the rusty pistol or not, but he knew the shells were .22 caliber, and many types of guns took that kind of ammunition. Joe glanced to his side. He stood about three steps away from the pistol. But in the time it took him to grab it, load it, and fire it, the minister could
have easily killed Mary. However, if he created some kind of diversion that took the minister off guard, he might have enough time. Of course, the question remained if the pistol would even fire.

“If you don’t want to cooperate,” the minister said, “I can make this even more difficult. Would you rather I torture her right here in front of you? Would you rather hear her scream in pain? I’m making this easy on you, but evidently she doesn’t mean that much to you.”

Even though Joe was angry at the remark, he didn’t lose his temper. He didn’t take it personal in the way he would’ve a week ago when he probably would’ve flown off the handle and gotten them both killed. In fact, he used the opportunity to slowly pull the shells out of his pocket.

“Don’t say that. She means everything to me.” He slowly slid both hands behind his back and switched one of the shells to his left hand. “But I’m telling you, I don’t know anything. We found that diesel in a wrecked Arbyter.”

“What?” the minister said. “That was Operation Dust Storm. They were on a retaliation mission against the SRF. We lost complete contact with one of the units.”

“Not anymore!”

Joe raised his arm and whipped the two shells at the minister’s masked face. He didn’t wait to see if they hit their mark. He lunged for the pistol, snatched it in his hand, and pivoted toward the minister. He swung open the pistol’s cylinder. Initially, he couldn’t shove the shell in one of the chambers, and he realized they might not be the same caliber after all. His one chance had apparently failed. He glanced at the minister and was surprised to see he hadn’t moved at all, as if he wasn’t the least bit worried that Joe had a gun.

Then the bullet slid in. Just like that. And he quickly shut the cylinder and pointed the loaded pistol at the minister.

“You’re not serious, are you?” the minister said. “That was quite a lot of sound and fury. That rusty old pistol is not going to fire. And if it did, it would more than likely blow up in your face. And I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Joe ignored him. He squeezed the trigger. His finger dug into the rusty metal stem. But just like the minister said, the hammer didn’t pull, and the pistol didn’t fire.

“What did I tell you?” The minister shook his head. “Tell me who sent you and this will all be over. Was it the SRF? Did they threaten your family?”

Joe wouldn’t give up. He squeezed even harder. The more he squeezed, the more the pistol shook. It shook to the point where he was afraid if it did fire, he might hit Mary, so he shifted the barrel further away to the far side of the minister’s body. He gripped the pistol with both hands now, with both fingers struggling to squeeze the trigger. It still wouldn’t fire. His hands trembled. The pistol shook.

He was about to give up, about to lower the gun, when the trigger finally gave. The hammer snapped back and then slammed forward. The primer cap on the shell ignited. The bullet blasted through the barrel. At first Joe wasn’t sure if the bullet had hit anything. He stared at the minister who looked as surprised as Joe that the pistol had fired. The minister pulled his ghoulish mask off and dropped it on the floor. With his face revealed, there was no doubt that he was the Minister of Peace and Security. He looked surprised once again when he turned his head and realized he’d been hit in the shoulder. A trickle of blood fell from the small hole.

“You hit me,” he said.

Joe still couldn’t believe it worked. But then he panicked, because even though he’d hit the minister, the shot had done little damage. He needed to shoot the minister again. He frantically dug in his pocket for the other shells, only to realize he’d thrown both of them at the minister. They lay scattered on the floor somewhere.

The minister obviously saw what happened. He said, “That’s all you got. No more bullets.”

Joe had to think fast now. His only plan to rescue Mary had turned out to be futile. He looked at the pistol in his hand and at the long barrel like a stave. It was the only thing he had now. He flipped the pistol upside down. He looked at Mary and then the minister. This was it.

He charged at the minister, not even aware of what he was going to do next. He sprinted across the floor with the pistol held aloft like a dagger. The figure of the minister bounced in his view with each step. Suddenly Joe left his feet. He jumped. He sprang forward as hard as he could. He leapt toward the minister’s stunned face. Swinging his arm high, he drove the tip of the pistol right into the minister’s eye. He drove it in like a stake.

Even though Joe slammed against the minister’s chest, the minister only stumbled back a few steps. Nevertheless, he wailed in pain as Joe fell to the floor. When Joe looked up, the pistol’s handle and cylinder were sticking out of the minister’s eye, while the barrel was stabbed deep. The minister staggered back some more. He dropped the knife. He threw his hands up into his face, setting Mary free. He grabbed the pistol and yanked it out of his eye. A stream of blood squirted out. Some of it splattered across Joe’s cheek and white shirt. The minister’s eye was a red gaping hole. He hurled the bloody pistol to the side where it smacked against the photo mural of the pregnant girl before it clattered to the floor. It left a streak of blood across the girl’s belly.

Meanwhile, Mary scrambled away and snatched the knife that the minister dropped. Joe got back to his feet. The minister teetered, his hands over his wounded eye
. Blood seeped through his fingers and ran down his arms. The pain must’ve been excruciating because his lips were twisted in a hideous grimace. And then he finally fell to his knees.