Operation Wolfe Cub: A Chilling Historical Thriller (THE TIME TO TELL Book 1) (47 page)

Eddie asked, “More than I know?”

“Satan can get into the minds of our teachers. Another crazy idea? Maybe I shouldn’t tell any more.”

Chantain inched closer. “No, go on. I want to hear. You sound so—”

“Convincing? The idea of Satan’s symbol is engrained in everyone’s heads so much, it’s hard to wipe it out. Go ahead, Eddie. Open my Bible and turn to Revelation thirteen or fifteen…it’s all there.”

Eddie read out loud, “Fifteen. And he had power to give life unto the image of the beast, that the image of the beast should both speak and cause that as many as would not worship the image of the beast should be killed—’’

The pastor smiled. “You see? That’s when the beasts reach equal portion in numbers…a critical mass must to be reached…okay, go on.”

Eddie continued, “Sixteen. And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads—”

The pastor went on, “That means richer or for poorer, free or for bonded…it means basically everyone. Notice the mark being in the
right
hand? That’s not with the
right
hand as it says. ‘Right’ meaning, they have the
right
to choose by hand of doing it. Notice the mark
in
their foreheads, not
on
their foreheads. It says
in
their foreheads because that’s where everyone points to think. Now, skip to verse eighteen and read the rest of it.”

Eddie went on, “Eighteen. Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of a man; and his number is six hundred three score and six.”

The pastor then carried on with his writing. “There…you see? Two things. It says ‘score’…like keeping track? Secondly, it means being guilty, not twofold, not threefold, but say, sixfold many times more.”

“But—”

“I know what you’re thinking, Eddie…it’s the Prophet John’s wild writing style. It’s not only John’s writing; it was my professor in my advanced religious studies that gave me the terrible grade.”

“What’s was wrong with your professor? Did he hate you or something? I mean maybe this is dead-on correct.”

The pastor put his pen down. He sobered up, looking straight over to Chantain, then gave the same jaded look to Eddie. “You saw how damning my talk was, didn’t you?”

Eddie nodded. “Yes, so who was he?”

“My professor was one of the biggest figures with a monster agenda and an ego bigger than you, or me.”

“His name? I’m curious.”

The pastor picked up his pen and started writing again. “It makes no difference the name…my professor was a woman…Sorry, Chantain, that’s just the way I feel.”

Chantain shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, it doesn’t bother me. All your stuff, though. It sounds so believable.”

The pastor nodded: “
Hu
...I can’t find a church out there that knows how to read John’s work in Revelations. Lots of people think they know…some think he wrote his work in a cave. Rumors claim there were delusionary gases in there. He had to eat and make fires. Who knows what kind of fungus or leaves he ate or burned.”

As he put their file back away, he turned back to them. “Just leave it alone. Everyone else does.” He then grabbed up his clipboard. “Now where were we? Oh yes…my tithing is usually seven percent of your pay, but you don’t make anything, sooooo—I figure about ten hours of Chantain per week should do.”

Chantain grinned. “Are you sure that would cover it? I mean, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Eddie fell back in his chair as if he had received a jolting shock.

Pastor McKoowey smiled at both of them. “Oh no, you’re not taking advantage of me at all…how about starting as soon as you can?”

Chantain took her time thinking cool and coy. She bit on her pinky nail, surprising Eddie even. Finally, she rambunctiously blurted, “
Um
, okay. I can start tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good! Mondays are actually clean-up days.” Before anything else was said, the pastor quickly stood to shake their hands.

Quickly again, he showed them to the door and led them outside, but as he said his final good-byes, the pastor caught a look at the unsightly Pribil. As he stood there wondering what it was, the all-too-familiar Pribiling expression crept upon on his face. In the midst of his struggle for something
to say. Chantain didn’t stick around to hear. Immediately, she darted out into the parking lot and distanced herself.

The pastor asked, “What is that?”

Eddie cordially stopped walking as Chantain whipped back around from the middle of the parking lot. “Eddie! Pick up Doll and hurry it up, will you?”

Eddie started walking again. “Excuse me, Pastor. I’ll tell you some other time! She really wants to go. I-I’d better go.”

After they loaded up, Chantain looked as if her migraine was giving her trouble again. “How embarrassing. Am I really riding in this thing, or am I just dreaming?”

“No dreams, honey. You’re riding in it right now.”

“Thanks for telling. Do us a favor and try to take off without making that blasted noise.”

Eddie reached for the keys.

Kirpop!

Chantain covered her face while Eddie drove away slowly. After getting some distance from the church, Chantain broke out, “Can’t you fix this thing? I’ve got to drive it to church, now.”

“I’m going to fix it, I promise.”

Silence prevailed inside the car for a good while, when Eddie decided that he was going to make a move for the radio, causing Chantain to grumble, “Can you just leave it off ? I’m getting a headache.”

Eddie turned it on anyway. “Never know, it might help your headache…did you hear Al saying stuff back at church this evening?”

“Who cares what he said. It’s about the war again, I already know.”

“I didn’t think you heard him. He said we confiscated flying saucers from Germany.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Al said he heard it on the radio today. Something about us going to the moon with them or something crazy like that.”

Chantain lifted her head off her hand. “Really? You just drive. It’s getting dark, so I’ll find it…
hmmm
, looking…
hmmm
, nothing but static.”

Just then a scratchy signal came in.

“—and we thank the general for his comments just a while ago… J-Devil bringing you up-to-date news as we hear it…here’s more news from our exclusive edition of—Wars of the World—”

Eddie pushed her hand away from the radio. “Right there, leave it alone.”

“Oh, God…more war crap.”

“—controversy is sprouting from President Harry Truman’s speech last August sixth. According to some critics here in America, they now widely believe we were in an arms race with the Germans to produce the first atomic energy. To back it up, President Truman was quoted as saying that the Germans were working feverishly to find a way to add atomic energy to the other engines of war with which they hoped to enslave the world
.

“More accurate critics are now saying that it’s not true…I repeat, not true. We now have unconfirmed reports through private sources that the Germans were working on other technological advancements—so advanced that they go beyond the U.S. in aeronautical rocketry and spacecraft technology
.

“Already, the United States and Russia leaked out evidence of superior rockets and jet aircraft development called the Me 262
³³
, and the Horton Ho 229
³⁴
. They also leaked out their directional-guided
missile capabilities, also known as the V-1 and V-2 rockets
³⁵
,
but where was their atomic bomb capabilities the President spoke about?

“We are currently waiting to hear more: If the Germans were
not
pursuing atomic bombs as previously thought, then just what were they pursuing that was so advanced? To keep things quiet, the U.S. government has been standing by its story that they were, in fact, pursuing technologies of mass destruction to enslave and massacre the world
.

“Here’s what to look for next time on JDVL’s Wars of the World to support more of the story… a little talk from a brilliant man in the field of rocketry will be coming to you. Aeronautical engineer Roy Fedden has been contacted and has been asked to elaborate on these ideas if he can, so stay tuned.”

Click
.

Chantain turned off the radio, letting discouraging silence do it’s thing. The farther Eddie drove, the more discouraged they became. Eddie couldn’t stand it anymore, so he hit the steering wheel, blurting, “
Shhhhh
, I can’t believe it…they didn’t find any flying saucers…Al is so full of crap sometimes. I don’t know about him.”

Chantain thought briefly, biting her nail. “No, Al was right if that’s what he said…rockets and spacecrafts are flying saucers anyway, aren’t they?”

“Don’t be so gullible, Chantain. Flying saucers have never been found. They’re supposed to spin and float…jets and rockets don’t do that. They blast into space, for Christ sake.”

“Then how do flying saucers get into space?”

“What? You can’t be that naïve, can you?”

“No, I guess not. I knew flying saucers were from outer space all along…maybe I was testing you. They’re rockets, like I thought.”

Eddie stopped holding his breath. “You already believe they exist.”

Chantain reached for her pack of cigarettes and lit one up as fast as she could. After calming down, she looked at the tip of her cigarette, softly speaking through her smoke, “Doesn’t everybody believe in saucers? You’re the weirdo, not me.”

“Thanks…that’s just great. I’m the weirdo?”

A piece of cigarette ash fell on top of Doll’s head, which didn’t seem to bother her much. She took another drag then blew it off with a good dose of smoke. “Are you really going to fix the backfire on this thing because I don’t want to be driving to church sounding like a popcorn machine—”

“I said I would, damn-it. Leave something alone for once…it’ll be fixed tomorrow, for crying out loud.”

Chapter 13

Eddie lived up to his word, fixing the Pribil the very next day. In fact the afternoon weather was so warm, that the back-firing problem finally got the attention it needed right out in front of the Coolidge house.

A few things were going on for such an anomaly of a car under repair. Someone, namely Eddie, believed Pribil’s were fixable. Secondly, as uncommon as she was, music played from her radio like any other vehicle on three or four wheels. Eddie heard a particular tune he liked, so he turned up the volume as he worked on the motor. This was possible since the radio was right next to him and the motor was exposed between the seats.

Bing Crosby was on the radio, but Crosby’s song came with an unexpected accompaniment. Eddie’s whistled badly along to the tune when he should have been leaving his whistling to the birds standing on top of the vehicle’s roof. The birds, who weren’t whistling at all, were content enough to pick at their feathers and scratch their wings instead. They also seemed comfortable enough to gaze down at the ground at yet another animal attended Eddie’s repair. Major wagged his tail a time or two at Eddie’s legs hanging part way out the passenger door.

And so the music continued with the irrational mix of birds, dog, and a struggling backyard mechanic whistling sporadically. That was almost all of the entertainment band, except there was one more member to add. Doll was the other member and he was into it just as much as the rest of
them, but hidden further inside the back of the Pribil. In a sense, he was the unspoken young apprentice under Eddie’s eye.

For the most part, Doll seemed interested in other things at the time. He simply sat on a small stool while playing with his spinning top by the bed, with a magazine next to him. Every so often he took his eyes off his business to watch Eddie with no cause for alarm. So far, nothing exciting had happened, so he went about his job of putting different spins on his top. He had one hand gripped tightly on the toy’s handle as he spun the rest of it faster and faster with his other hand. His little game resembled that of a basketball player spinning a ball on his finger. The only difference was that he had a good hold of his spinner by the handle so it wouldn’t fall away.

As a result of his spinning, many shapes caught his eye. On one side were the ten little Indians, and on the other were several other shapes he couldn’t quite make out. He flip-flopped, comparing, but he wasn’t done just yet. He compared a third version by holding the top up to compare the fictitious flying saucer on the cover of the science fiction magazine next to him. Every so often he took his eyes off the cover of the magazine while spinning his top. He seemed entertained by the changes that took place on the face of the disc-shaped top itself. Safe to say, he was not lost by comparison in the coordination of shapes and colors with ideas.

Eddie didn’t see or care too deeply about what Doll was educating himself with, as he worked on his Pribil. He did, however, hear his giggling. This caused him to poke his head out of the engine bay to jokingly ask, “Hey, Mr. Gemini Leo… what’s so funny?”

Doll stopped giggling. “Not Gemin-leo…it’s Doll.”

“Oh, it’s Doll,
huh
? Well,
Doll
, hand me that thing over there.” He continued, “You see it right there where I’m pointing? It’s a wrench…do Daddy a favor and give it here, will you?”

Doll cordially stepped over to where the wrench was, picked it up, and handed it over without a problem. After that, he stepped back to his stool and continued with what he was doing.

Eddie blurted, “
Awh
, spider! It’s got me! It’s got meeee!” He popped up with a funny surprise, shaking a mess of black wires in his hand. In a way it did resemble an awfully big, spider-like thing, except it was dripping gunk.

Doll saw it all from the front row of his stool and gasped. He ditched for cover, as if perhaps he thought it was real.

Eddie keeled over across the car seat. “
Ha ha ha
…it’s just a distributor cap and wires
ha ha ha
. Mechanics call this the octopus, boy that was good…
oh ho
. It’s really called an octopus. No spiders around here, Doll.”