The Illuminati (47 page)

When they were driving out of the parking lot, Shepperd said, “Since we've been seen kissing, you can at least tell me your name, can't you?”

She laughed. “It's Kathy Birk. I thought you knew, since you spent so much time in the file room.”

“No,” he replied honestly. “I wondered, but I learned a long time ago that people who ask questions get asked a lot of questions.”

“Besides,” she said mockingly, “you looked into some files where you didn't have a ‘need to know.'”

“How could you—”

“How could I have known that?” she finished his sentence. “Mr. Shepperd, I'm not a librarian. I'm a trained field agent placed in Records just to catch defectors like you. It's a good thing that I'm also a defector, wouldn't you say?”

“That's for sure,” he agreed as they turned the corner onto a side street. Just as they passed, a bakery truck pulled out behind them blocking the street.

When she saw the puzzled look on Shepperd's face, she said nonchalantly, “That's just in case anyone may be following.”

Shepperd was impressed. Apparently this was not some fly-by-night outfit. They had escape routes and alternate road blocks arranged. They had to have known he would come with the girl.

“My car's been swept clean,” she said. “We can talk freely.”

Shepperd nodded.

“Are you willing to help ferret this cancer out of the government?” she asked bluntly. “Even at the risk of your own life?”

“You're pretty direct,” he said.“How do I know that you're not a part of the cancer?”

“If I were, you'd be on your way to a camp or have an extra hole in your head, Mr. Shepperd,” she replied.

“I hear you,” he said. “The one thing this group is not is subtle.”

“Yes, and you only know part of it. The intent is to remove all the Christians and Jews to detention camps, turn the government over to a man known as ‘the Leader,' Amir Razzak, and—”

“Razzak?” Shepperd interrupted. “As in Amir Razzak, the new emissary to Israel?”

“The same. A group of fanatics, calling themselves the Society, believe he is their long-awaited leader who will rule the world and bring in a one-world government.”

“How do you know that?” Shepperd asked, trying to absorb what he was hearing. “Control the economy, maybe . . . but take over the government?”

“They allowed three million people to die in the Japanese earthquake without a second thought, and they're planning to kill twenty million Americans. What makes you think they won't take over the government? The country is in shambles. America is ripe for a dictator who will promise them prosperity. What are a few million Christians and Jews, compared to a new car every three years?”

“How do you know this?” he asked again. “What proof . . .”

“You will have all the proof you need in good time.”

Kathy knew that Shepperd was a vital link in stopping the Society. But could she convince him of that?

For the next two hours, Kathy filled Donald Shepperd in on all she knew about the Society and its leaders. Often Shepperd would stop her to fill in some gaps, like the processing centers he had located through his research. Finally, she dropped him off several blocks from his hotel.

“You must convince Dr. Eison to help,” she said emphatically. “Jeff Wells is the key to their control, just as John Elder is the key to organizing the CRC.”

Shepperd was too shocked to answer. She had guessed his intention to contact Dr. Eison.
Could I have been that obvious?

“You checked out his file,” she answered without being asked.

As he was getting out of the car, Kathy said, “We arranged for you to watch Dr. Eison when he arrives. Good luck.”With that, she drove off.

The earlier meeting with Dr. Eison had led to the scientist's message through Data-Net. That contact through Data-Net had been an act of desperation that worked. On such acts the fates of nations are often decided. But now he hadn't heard from Jeff or Karen for several days. His encrypted messages went unanswered.

25

R
ESCUED

Plans to free John Elder had been discussed several times, but, since he was being held in the top security wing at Andrews, it seemed impossible. When one of the guards tipped off the group that Elder was being moved, they had acted swiftly. As soon as it was certain that Elder was being transported to the capital, the plan had been activated.

The call had come in on Warner's cellular phone while he was meeting with some of the local Atlanta CRC organizers. Warner also learned that an FBI agent from Washington was working with the CRC and would soon be joining them in Atlanta. He wanted desperately to know the agent's name but decided that it was too risky to ask any more questions.

After the call, Warner could hardly contain his excitement. He relayed the message to the group leaders, then made his way out of the abandoned office building that served as their temporary headquarters. He needed to call Rutland—quickly. This would be his ticket to get Franklin off his back.

Once outside, he decided to make the call immediately. Stepping into a small alley beside the building, he flipped the “on” switch of his pocket-sized phone and waited to connect to a government channel. Normally he would have been more cautious in such a tough neighborhood, but he was too excited to wait until he reached the security of his car.

The two men watching Warner come out of the building had lost sight of him. One said, “Where did that guy go?”

“I don't know,” the other replied angrily. “But let's find him. I really need a fix.”

Just then they heard the beep of a phone coming from the alley. They stepped around the corner just as Warner was dialing Rutland's Washington number. The last thing Archie Warner ever heard was the soft “pop” of the silenced hand gun. In less than a minute, the two thugs had stripped him of all his valuables, including the cell phone. The gunman picked up the phone as Rutland's receptionist was asking. “Who's calling, please?”

“Sorry.Wrong number,” he said, laughing, as he flipped the phone to close it. John Elder never knew it, but he owed his life to those thieves.

A few hours later Elder found himself being hauled out of bed before sunrise and hustled into a waiting car. It was all done so quickly and secretively he thought he was probably going to be killed. He knew better than to ask questions without first being asked to speak. The several interrogations he had gone through had been brutal experiences.

Elder had heard and read about torture, especially within the ranks of Christianity throughout the centuries, but until he experienced it himself, he had no real appreciation for how psychologically demoralizing it could be. The pain was bad enough, but it was the feeling of helplessness, quickly followed by hopelessness, that took the greatest emotional toll. John Elder had a great appreciation for why prisoners of war capitulated to their captors. Without a total dedication to a greater power, all else seemed trivial and easily renounced.

The confusing part of his ordeal was that his interrogators didn't really ask anything of him. It was as if he was being softened up for something. He wasn't asked to sign a confession or to renounce his faith, which he had originally expected. He was asked his name, his occupation, and the name of his wife. The latter had the desired effect of placing her foremost in his thoughts. If he dared challenge a question or resist in any way, he was tortured.

This morning he was simply whisked away without a word. He knew this would not be a normal interrogation and was truly frightened. The windows of the limousine were totally darkened so he could not see out; nor could anyone see inside. From the sounds outside, he guessed they were approaching a city. Since he knew he was being held at Andrews, he assumed it had to be Washington.

The car stopped, and Elder heard a slightly familiar sound. It took a moment until his senses made the connection. It was a garage door opening. The car moved again and he heard the door close. Before the car stopped, the interrogator shoved a black cloth bag roughly over Elder's head and muttered, “Not one sound . . .”

Elder felt himself pushed along a concrete floor, and heard what he assumed to be an elevator door opening. He was shoved inside.
An office building
, he thought.
But where, and why?
The elevator stopped, and Elder was shoved out into the hallway. He stumbled and another man took his arm, pushing him down the hall. Still he had no hint as to where he was. The bile of fear rose in his mouth. He choked it back and silently prayed for God to give him strength. He was pulled to a halt and his handcuffs were removed. He stood silently awaiting the next move from his captors. Someone pulled the bag off his head. At first he had difficulty focusing. He had been kept in a poorly lighted cell and then hooded for several minutes; his pupils were trying to adjust.

“Welcome, John Elder,” the man said smoothly. “I have been waiting a long time to see you.”

Elder squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the lighted room. Suddenly, as the image came to him, he felt a pang of fear rise from his spine. “You!” he said hoarsely. He would have shouted it but his vocal cords were unaccustomed to talking, much less shouting. The image he saw filled him with near terror. It was straight out of his childhood nightmares. The dark man sitting behind the president's desk was the one in his nightmares. The Leader.

“It is me,” the man responded.“I trust our friends have kept you well.”

Elder said nothing. He knew that his nightmare had become a reality. The man sitting in the chair of the nation's highest office was the enemy of all he held true. He recalled the words of the prophet, Daniel, who said, “Then the king will do as he pleases, and he will magnify himself above every god, and will speak monstrous things against the God of gods; and he will prosper until the indignation is finished, for that which is decreed will be done.”

“I know you!” Elder blurted out. “You're the evil one!”