Darkly The Thunder (19 page)

No problem, Howie typed as he grinned.

“Do it,” Gordie ordered.

Talk to you later
, Sand's words appeared.

The screen went dark.

Howie went to work.

Martin Tobias and his people were boarding a plane at Andrews Air Force Base.

In the Oval Office, the president picked up a phone, hesitated, then – bypassing the White House operator – punched out the numbers.

At a top secret listening post, deep in the Rocky Mountains, a CIA staffer sat behind his huge bank of computers and watched as Howie hacked his way into the Colorado State Patrol's computers.

The CIA man smiled. “The kid is good. Damn good. We need to start talking to him as soon as this is over,” he said to Gen. Brasher.

“Isn't ten years old a bit young?” the general said, the sarcasm thick.

“Naw. Just right. Colleges give football players money, cars, and pussy to play stupid games. We'll give the kid a new computer. Everything balances out in the end, General.”

Brasher shook his head at the man's logic. But it was just logical enough to stall any argument. “Can you talk to the boy?”

“Oh, yeah. When the time comes.” The CIA man was not military.
Yes, sirs and No, sirs
were rare from his lips.

At the White House, after completing his phone call, the president took a mild sleeping tablet before retiring. He knew he had to get at least a few hours' sleep.

In Los Angeles, the bureau chiefs of two major networks were rapidly working themselves into a blue funk over the abrupt disappearances of their reporters and crews. They could get nothing from Willowdale. For once, they were cooperating with each other, talking on the phone.

“If I don't hear from Jill by dawn, I'm going out there myself,” one said. “You want to come with me?”

“Something big and funky and ugly is going down, Bob. Our man in Washington reports some strange goings-on in and around the White House.”

“Andy? What the hell does Willowdale, Colorado have to do with the White House?”

“I don't know. You really want to wait until the morning to leave?”

“Hell, no. Match you to see whose Lear we use?”

“Come with me. I'll meet you at the airport in an hour.”

The prime minister of Canada was awakened by the ringing of his telephone. The United States secretary of state was on the other end. The PM listened for a moment, spoke a few words, then hung up.

He sat up in bed and rubbed his face. “Holy Mother of God,” he muttered. “A neutron bomb!”

“Sand said the Fury wants us,” Gordie mused aloud. “Because we are the strongest. Does it think that if we kill in defense of our lives, that will weaken us?”

“It kills and grows stronger, because it feeds on evil energy from souls,” Watts picked it up. “Sure. Wait a minute! What does it do with the . . . well, compassionate souls it consumes? What I'm thinking doesn't say much for the human race as a whole.”

“Perhaps,” Sunny said, “that is why the only Being that could have prevented this, is doing nothing.”

“I can't believe that,” Jill said. “Babies are innocent.”

“They are also insured a place in Heaven,” she was reminded by Hillary. “But Jesus said: suffer little children, and forbid them not to come unto me; for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.”

Those in the room became silent, each with their own thoughts.

Norris finally broke the silence. “I don't know whether it's in the Bible or not, but there is that bit about God helping those who help themselves.”

“Aesop,” Bergman said. “The gods help them that help themselves.”

“While we're on the subject,” Dr. Anderson said, “there is a fable about the eagle who was stricken with a dart. And when the eagle saw the fashion of the shaft, said, ‘With our own feathers, not by others, are we now smitten.' ”

Angel thought about that for a moment, then said, “God is giving us a way out.”

All looked at her. Dean said, “Go ahead, Angel. Finish it.”

“Ourselves,” the girl said. “But I don't think that's all of it. I think He sent Sand to help us.”

“Or Michael,” Watts said with a smile. “The mercenary.

God's bodyguard. And it would be like Sand to buddy up to him.”

“Kick ass and take names!” Howie yelled from his room. “That sounds like Sand.”

Watts grinned and shook his head. “Sand's made another convert. Even dead, people still rally to him. In all my years, I never met a man like him.”

“I cannot believe,” Shriver said, “that in this entire town, we are the only ones He would choose to save. What's so special about us?”

Someone rattled at the door, and cursing filled the air. Somewhere close, a man screamed in pain and a woman laughed.

“I don't think God picked us at all,” Howie called. “I think we all chose to save ourselves. We might not have known exactly what we were doing at the time . . . from a religious point of view. But it worked out that way.”

“The priest was a man of God,” Hillary pointed out. “Yet he died horribly.”

“Perhaps he was not what he seemed,” Sunny told them. “Or perhaps that was his fate. Richard stressed fate several times when I spoke with him.”

“I've listened to a part of those tapes you made with Richard,” Gordie said. “There's something in there that puzzles me. At one point, he said something like, ‘Don't be afraid when this is over, for if you survive, you might see that it all happened in the blink of an eye.' ”

“There's lots about this I don't understand,” Mack grumbled.

“Fury is coming!” Howie yelled.

They all felt the Fury's presence. Stronger than ever. The air seemed charged with static.

I JUST HAD A LITTLE SNACK. IT WAS QUITE DELICIOUS. It burped and shotguns and pistols and ammunition clattered to the floor. Several badges shone amid the pile of weapons. THE INTELLIGENCE OF COPS HAS GREATLY IMPROVED SINCE MY LAST VISIT, I AM HAPPY TO REPORT.

“Why do you say that?” Watts asked. He had gotten over feeling like a fool for talking to empty air.

HOW QUICKLY THEY RESPONDED AFTER I DINED ON ONE OUTPOST, THAT'S WHAT I MEAN. COPS USED TO BE THE DUMBEST FUCKERS IN THE UNIVERSE.

Naturally, no one had anything to say to that. But all breathed a sigh of relief at the knowledge that the Fury did not know who had tipped the state patrol.

HOWIE, MY BOY, WHAT ARE YOU AND YOUR SISTER DOING ALL COOPED UP IN THAT LITTLE ROOM?

“Playing space games, sir,” Howie said.

ISN'T THAT SWEET? SHOOTING DOWN ALL THE BAD GUYS WITH YOUR LITTLE FLASH GORDON RAY GUNS. OH, I JUST LOVE IT. WELL, BYE ALL!

Howie stepped out, after checking to make sure the Fury had really left them. “It knows nothing of the advancement and technology over the past thirty years. Nothing at all. It would have said Luke Skywalker or Darth Vader or Captain Kirk or Spock. But it's locked into the fifties.” He walked back into his computer room and sat down behind his terminals, typing.

Sand. What does all this mean? How can that knowledge help us?

The screen quickly flashed:
That is something I cannot tell you, Howie. You have figured out why you survived thus far; it's up to you to put the rest together.

You won't help us?

I understand.

“I don't,” Gordie spoke from behind the boy. “What do you mean, Howie – you understand?”

“Obviously, he is forbidden.”

The screen flashed, and words appeared.
This could well be not the end, Howie, but the beginning.

Howie typed: Now I don't understand.

The screen went dark, as if waiting.

“And spread the word,” Gordie whispered, and Howie typed.

One word appeared on the screen: Amen.

 

 

Megan LeMasters and Larry Adams had been briefed on the flight from Andrews to Stapleton Field in Denver. Since Megan professed to be an agnostic, and Larry an avowed atheist, both thought the situation – whatever it really was – amusing, as did Martin Tobias.

All three had a good laugh.

They stopped laughing over the matter, when they got to Willowdale and found the state patrol barricades had been moved even further out from the town.

“Why?” Martin asked.

“We lost six people to that . . . thing last night, sir,” a captain of state patrol told him. “Sheriff Rivera ordered us to pull back a half a mile.”

“What happened to your people, Captain?”

“They were dissolved, sir.”

Martin arched one eyeball in visible skepticism. Before he could pursue the dissolved bit, their conversation was halted by the arrival of news reporters, camera crews, and several bureau chiefs, from both coasts.

A microphone was stuck under the nose of Martin Tobias. “What is going on in Willowdale, Mr. Tobias? And why is the White House involved? And how?”

From behind the barricades, Gordie and Maj. Jackson, along with Norris and Bergman, leaned up against cars and watched and listened.

“We're in for it now,” Bergman said. “And they're playing right into the hands of the Fury.”

“Yeah,” Gordie glumly agreed. “That's what the Fury wanted all along: modern knowledge. And that is something we cannot allow it to have.”

Gordie walked to the barricades, a riot gun in his hands. He faced the gathering crowd. “I'll be very brief, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Sheriff Gordie Rivera, and I will personally shoot anybody who tries to cross these barricades.”

Martin turned to face the sheriff. “Do you know who I am, young man?”

“Yeah, I know who you are. And I don't particularly give a damn. Captain,” he spoke to the patrolman. “Keep these people on your side of the barricades.”

“Gordie, I can't shoot the president's chief of staff, for Christ's sake!”

“If you don't shoot him, I will.”

“Why don't you want us in there, Sheriff?” Megan asked.

“Get those reporters away from here, Captain,” Gordie said, ignoring Megan.

“Gordie, how?” the captain pleaded. “It's a free country.”

Gordie turned to the men behind him, motioning them up to the barricades. “Gentlemen, you all know the situation. I wish to speak to the president's man in private.”

He waited for the Fury to speak. When it did not, Gordie knew it would not – not yet. This was what it wanted: for him to look like a fool. It was not going to tip its hand to the outside world. Not yet.

“Shoot the first reporter that follows us along the barricades,” Gordie ordered his men. Bergman, Norris, and Jackson raised their shotguns. Reluctantly, very reluctantly, the state patrolmen followed suit.

“You wouldn't dare!” a bureau chief hollered.

“The hell I won't,” Bergman warned.

Cameras were recording it all.

“This is an outrage!” a reporter yelled. “I'll see you in court for this, Sheriff.”

Gordie smiled, and Martin made a mental note of the smile. “For a fact, buddy, we are looking at some judgement.”

“You damn right.”

Martin walked away from the crowded barricades, motioning Gordie to follow him. Away from the others and with the barricades between them, Martin said, “Would you like to bring me up-to-date, Sheriff?”

“You'll report to the president of the United States and not to the press?”

“That is correct. You have my word. I shall have nothing of substance to say to the press. I will have to make some sort of statement, certainly, but I am sure you are aware of any government officials' ability to utilize double-talk.”

Gordie smiled at the man. “Oh, yes. I've used a bit of that myself, from time to time.”

“No doubt.” Martin's remark was offered drily, but softened with a returning smile.

Gordie spoke for several minutes, speaking quickly and as succinctly as possible, leveling totally with the president's man.

Martin Tobias did not change expression, so Gordie did not know if the man believed what he was hearing, or thought him to be a raving nut.

When Gordie finished, Martin asked, “How many dead do you have, Sheriff?”

“At last count, over three hundred.”

“I knew it had to be a great many. The odor is, ah, pungent.”

“Very.”

“And you are convinced that this . . . problem is something supernatural?”

“Yes. I am fully convinced of that, sir. I was not at first. But when some invisible force picks you up, personally, and tosses you around a room. Well . . .”

“Yes. I get your point. That might convince me as well. And you really think that you are in contact with a dead man? This Sand person?”

“I know we are.”

“Very well. I see your dilemma, Sheriff. I really do. I'm not saying I believe all that you've told me. But I can see why you don't want this story to be spread all over the world.”

“And . . . ?”

“I don't know yet, Sheriff.”

“That's an honest reply. Mr. Tobias, while we are talking over here, and have the attention of the press, one of my people has passed a box of videotapes of Sand's story, several boxes of computer disks containing Howie's work, and all the transmissions that have passed between . . . one world and the other, to a trooper. They have just been put in your car. Go back to your motel room and review them, sir. Then make up your mind.”

“Sheriff, even if they prove everything you've said to be true, that still leaves us with one hell of a big problem, doesn't it?”

“Go on.”

Martin waved Megan and Larry over and very quickly laid out the problem. “Suggestions, people?” he asked. “And make it quick.”

“You're buying this fairytale, sir?” Megan asked.

Gordie just about lost his cool. He just about reached over the barricades and slapped the piss out of her. He controlled himself with a visible effort, an effort that did not slip by Megan.

“Sheriff,” she quickly said. “I am not implying that you are lying. Not at all. I'm sorry, if you took it that way. What I am saying is, that you must be under a great deal of stress.”

“You can say that again, lady. If I wasn't so concerned about your safety, and the safety and survival of the world, I'd ask you to bring your uppity ass in here and see for yourself.”

Martin's smile was tiny. It vanished when Megan said, “I'd like that, Sheriff.”

“You're a damn fool, lady,” Gordie told her.

“I should like to accompany her, sir,” Larry offered.

Martin looked at Gordie. “Sheriff?”

Gordie gripped the barricades. “Haven't any of you been listening? Once you're in here, you can't get out! And this is what the Fury wants. He, it, whatever that thing is, must have more modern day knowledge before it makes its big move. That's a guess. Guess or not, I'm trying to prevent that.”

“When is your term of office up, Sheriff?” Larry asked.

Gordie sighed, knowing what the man was implying. “I was elected by an overwhelming majority. I have good reason to believe I will be, or would be, unopposed in the next election. So that won't hold water. People, listen to me: don't you think Maj. Jackson and his team would leave if they could? Can't you smell the stink of the dead? We're going to have a major health hazard in here pretty damn quick. Do you think I'd risk the lives of Angel and Howie for personal gain? My God, what kind of a man do you think I am?”

Larry flushed and opened his mouth. “Sheriff, I did not mean to ...”

“Shut your goddamn mouth, pretty boy!” Gordie's frayed temper broke. “Now you all listen to me. We've got to get the Fury, all of the Fury, in one spot, and it's going to have to be coordinated right down to the last degree, and then it has to be destroyed. I've told you what will destroy it.” He placed several sheets of paper on the barricade. “That is the list of everyone in town – as far as we now know – still possessing their facilities; the adults and the two kids. Everything else is spelled out on those pages.”