Seven Unholy Days (36 page)

My shot had grazed the back of his neck and the wound was oozing blood. “Thank you so much for bringing my whore back to me,” he said when he recognized Jana. “She—” Jana slapped him, and the unthinkable happened. He caught her arm, twisted her around in front of him, and from nowhere came a small semi-automatic pistol that he pressed against her temple as her own gun clattered onto the hard floor of the cave.
             
:45

He was standing in front of and to the left of the table, his left side facing me, and Jana’s back pulled tight against his chest as he held the gun to her head. Cunningham stood squarely in front of them, his finger on the trigger of his rifle. “Lower your weapon and release the lady,” he said.

Hart threw his head back and cackled. “You mortal fools. I will release this whore at my leisure and after my pleasure.”
             
:40

I had no choice but to concentrate on the countdown as best I could. I started trying passwords: REVELATION ... ACCESS DENIED ... ANTICHRIST ... ACCESS DENIED ... CHRIST ... ACCESS DENIED ... GOD ... ACCESS DENIED ... :34  BIBLE ... ACCESS DENIED ...

“Mr. Decker, step away from the computer or she dies.”

“Don’t do it, Matt! Stop the missiles!”

“A noble whore. How very quaint.”

In the space of a few seconds my mind, heart, and soul were wracked by what seemed like a hundred conflicting thoughts, emotions, and fears. Jana was more stunning than ever in the dim light, jaw set, defiant, unafraid, ready.
              :27  ISRAEL ... ACCESS DENIED ... MESSIAH ... ACCESS DENIED ... ARMAGEDDON ... ACCESS DENIED ...
             
:21

“You amuse me, Mr. Decker. You sit in the very presence of God and yet you do not see.” He cackled again.
             
:16

“Lower the weapon and release the lady, sir!”

Hart turned the gun and shot Cunningham in the throat as if he were shooing a fly. The poor Marine clutched at his throat in vain, trying to speak but only making a horrible gurgling sound as he fell to his knees and then crumpled face first into a pool of his own blood. Then the gun was back at Jana’s head.
             
:08

I heard Hart cackle again and say, “You’ll never get it, Dec
ker, because you don’t have it.”

SATAN ... ACCESS DENIED ... DEVIL ... ACCESS DENIED ... I was out of time, and worse, out of hope. I was powerless to stop the launch, and probably powerless to save Jana’s life or my own. After a week of hellish mental battles against a ma
dman, I had failed. I’d never get it because I didn’t have it. Was that one final cryptic clue? What didn’t I have?”
             
:02

My fingers flew even as the thought was forming in my mind. F – A – I – T – H. Then the ENTER key. And as the coun
tdown switched from :01 to :00, the screen flashed and said: LAUNCH ABORTED.

70

9:16 PM EASTERN EUROPE SUMMER TIME (LOCAL)

2:16 PM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME

ARMAGEDDON (TEL MEGIDDO), ISRAEL

              “Nooooooooooo!” Hart wailed like an animal when the countdown stopped, shoving Jana to the ground and turning the gun toward me. His mouth stayed open, still in the scream though the sound was gone. I kept my eyes on him but I could see Jana feeling on the ground for her gun. Mine was lying on the table beside the computer but there was no chance of getting it before he could shoot me from three feet away. Jana suddenly froze. She saw her gun, about six inches from Hart’s right foot.

“What have you done with my father, Hart?” I said.

His eyebrows bunched up in a look of confusion. “Nothing, although I clearly should have exterminated the decrepit sloth and fully bastardized you.”

“On top of being a failure, you’re a liar,” I said. Jana’s hand was moving a millimeter at a time toward the gun.

“Believe what you will, you insignificant gnat. As I told you in my last email, I decided to spare his pathetic existence. In a way it is more satisfying to have you continue to grieve over him in the way you have for so many years, hopelessly.”

“What email? You never answered my last message.”

“Oh, but I did, little one.”

The broken laptop. “I didn’t get it.” Jana’s hand was halfway to the gun. He proudly claimed every other barbaric deed of the week, so why would he deny abducting my father?

“What now, Hart?” I said, trying to give Jana time to get the gun. Her hand was close. Almost there. Just as she reached for it, Hart slammed his foot down on top of it.

“Now you both will die. And you will spend an eternity su
ffering in the flaming pits of hell for the decadent evil you have perpetrated against me this day.”

“Actually, I was wondering about you. What does a washed up, defeated, psychopathic, wannabe ‘god’ like you do now that you’ve had your butt kicked thoroughly by a mere mortal like me?”

His eyes raged and his nostrils twitched. Sweat rolled off his face and, along with large splotches of blood, plastered his robe to his body. As his blood pressure increased, the stream of blood from his neck grew stronger. “Defeated? Me, defeated by you? You are sadly delusional, Decker.”

“Really? You know the bomb in Mississippi, your sixth seal? It was harmless. All you managed to do was break a few wi
ndows. Or Earth, Texas. You picked a blink-and-miss-it little town and had your ass handed to you by a posse of cowboys. And in case you haven’t noticed, Israel is definitely not ‘over.’  You’re not only a loser, Hart, you’re a pathetic loser!” I threw my head back as he had done, and let out a roll of laughter that echoed through the cave and tunnel. I hoped to distract him long enough. I would soon find out.

He pulled the hammer back on his gun and said, “Prepare thyself for hell, sinner!”

“You first,” Masters said just before he loosed a three-round burst of .223. The Land Warrior display in his helmet had let him keep his body and head perfectly still and slowly move the rifle into position. Hart fell face forward onto the table, three bullet holes in the right side of his head and looking as mortal as they come.

I stood up, reached down to Jana, and helped her to her feet. We looked around the room and found a switch by the tunnel entrance that bathed the room in light.

“Masters, let’s get you out of here,” I said. He barely grunted as I hauled him to his feet.

“I can walk. I’d really appreciate it if you could bring Cu
nningham out, though. If you don’t feel like it I’ll wait here with him until you can send someone back in.”

“Not a problem, Colonel.” That turned out to be a lie. Until that moment, all I’d seen in Cunningham was a gung-ho ja
rhead. Lying there on the ground, he looked like someone’s kid. Dead. A sheer waste, like the incredible number of other people who had died within the past week. If I had been a little sharper, could I have saved him? I bent over to pick him up and salty tears fell from my face onto his. “Semper Fi,” I said as I hoisted him onto my shoulders.

71

FOUR DAYS LATER

12:20 PM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME

OVAL OFFICE

THE WHITE HOUSE

             
Arnessy had a diabolical grin on his face as he leaned on the president’s desk. “Here’s how we play it. We already have Brandon in the can, and Justice is sure they can make a charge of treason stick. Now we don’t have anything that we can actually charge Decker with, but that doesn’t really—”

President Stanson was shaking his head slowly, looking at his buoyant chief of staff. “No.”

“What do you mean? We talked about this. We may have gotten the madman but the people will want someone to blame for the breakdown that happened after the attacks. Decker’s perfect.”

“Have a seat, Dick.”

Arnessy plopped down with an impatient sigh.

“This,” Stanson said as he picked up a sheet of paper and dangled it between his index finger and thumb, “is my stat
ement. I wrote it myself. Tell me what you think.” He stood and handed it across the massive desk to Arnessy.

The look on Arnessy’s face changed from giddiness to disb
elief as he read the page. “You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am. I will present Mr. Decker with the Preside
ntial Medal of Freedom next Monday. Israel’s prime minister, along with the heads of state from a half-dozen other countries, will also be on hand to honor him with their respective highest honors.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re fired,
Dick
.”

4:15 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

YELLOW CREEK

My father was still missing and there were no leads. It was as if he ceased to exist. I was heading to the area with a team of private detectives. Power was restored across the nation and a pall of grief replaced the fear and panic. Congressmen and women blathered without pause on the news channels. America would be stronger, they said. She would be better. Her people did not give up and she did not cower. They pledged and pro
mised ad nauseum to fix the shattered economy. The first day of Congress back in session was a show of Kumbayah bipartisanship. On day two it became clear the Republicans had one recovery plan and the Democrats another. Business as usual in the Beltway.

Los Angeles was anything but usual. The Governor, backed by FEMA, ordered the whole metro area evacuated so the u
nfathomable task of cleaning up could begin. The death toll from the chemical weapon attack was being estimated at 2.2 million, its aftermath beyond all comprehension. Decaying bodies bred disease and created an odor that could be smelled thirty miles away. Looters moved in to plunder the grisly ghost town and discovered that “no means no” when soldiers are enforcing martial law with unequivocal orders to defend the homeland against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Eight thugs were shot on sight and their erstwhile colleagues left en masse.

Hart’s warheads were traced back to a general in Moscow who made a critical mistake when he checked the balance in his Swiss bank account on a wiretapped phone. The Russians opted for a swiftly assembled firing squad instead of years in court.

Yellow Creek was a mess but the cleanup was moving forward at a good clip.

I wanted to confront Abdul myself before putting him under a cloud of Fed suspicion that would follow him forever. I walked into the control room and found him at his console, hammering away at his keyboard. We were alone. “Got a s
econd?” I said.

“Yes, Matt Decker.” He was grinning from ear to ear. “Now I know not only a computer hero but a super hero, as well!”

“Abdul, drop the accent. I know.” The toothy smile vanished. “You care to fill me in on anything before I bring the FBI up to speed on your multiple personalities?”

“How did you know?” he said in English that sounded more like Indiana than Iran.

“I’m more concerned with how Hart knew I was in the Middle East.”

“I have no idea. He didn’t learn it from me. I’ve never sp
oken to him; wouldn’t know him if he walked in the room. You and I are on the same side, Matt. I’d like to think we could be friends. You really have been a sort of hero to me with all you’ve accomplished in technology.”

“Friends don’t deceive each other with bullshit play-acting, especially when the heat is on.”

“I was working on my Master’s at MIT when the terrorists hit the World Trade Center. Looking like an Arab, even though I’m really Persian, brought me a lot of grief. I understood why—didn’t blame people for the way they felt—but it still got old. As time went by, I discovered that people accepted me a lot more when I played the part of an almost comical character. That’s how the heavy accent came into play, and the dork persona just sort of became a natural for me. I love America. One of the happiest days of my life was when I finally became a citizen. I hope you’ll forgive me for the charade. I was always on your side. Always. I’m sorry.”

I knew he was telling the truth, felt it down in the bottom of my soul. I shook his hand and said, “Apology accepted. Think you’d be interested in talking to me about a job a little later?”

“Definitely.”

“Great, I’ll be in touch.” We shook hands, then abandoned the silliness of man-acting and hugged each other.

             
I came to Mississippi eleven days earlier with notions of rednecks running amok and an eagerness to get in and get out. This visit was different. I was there to say goodbye to friends for whom I had developed profound respect, people I would be sad to leave behind.

Brett Fulton’s funeral had been held the day before. Jana d
ecided to stay at her parents’ farm for a while. The land was gorgeous. We walked the fields and talked about ... well, about a lot of things. I left with her phone number and a kiss.

I visited the Tarkleton home and met Peggy, a petite beauty who obviously adored the man. He tried one last time to co
nvince me that I believed, that I just hadn’t been patient enough. He didn’t get the job done, but I did listen, and finally, it was time to go.

After I bid farewell to Peggy, Tark and I walked out to my rental car and said goodbye, which involved another hug. Just as I pulled on the door handle, my cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket. “Hello.”

“Mr. Decker?”

“Yes.”

“This is Dr. Adderson at Alpine Village.”

“You have news about my father?”

“He’s safe and sound.” Tears streamed. I covered the phone and told Tark, “My father is back!” He squeezed my shoulder and beamed one of those foot-wide smiles.

“Did you find out what happened, where he was?”

“Yes sir, can you hold on for a moment?”

“Sure.” I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt and looked at Tark. “I’m so relieved to—”

“Matty?”

“What?” I said, cranking up the volume on the phone and pressing it harder to my ear.

“Matty, it’s me, your father.”