Terminal Justice (38 page)

The halls of Barringston Tower were quiet; the lights in most of the offices had been turned off. Only a few employees were working, the janitorial staff and those in the communication department. A.J. stood alone and watched the red and white lights of the traffic on the street more than fifty floors below him. He envied the people in those cars. He knew many of them were headed home to cozy dinners or to restaurants with friends. Some would watch television, others would read books, and still others would dance with those whom they loved. They were building
memories that would warm them in the colder days and nights of the future.

A.J. had none of that. His warm and comforting memories had all been scarred by death, disease, and violence. The image of Judith Rhodes rose in his mind and bobbed on the swells of his emotion. Other images joined hers, images of emaciated people refusing food because an insanely ambitious man had told them that the food was poisoned. He saw the faces of hollow-cheeked youth who would never know what it meant to fall in love, learn a trade, or hear their own children laugh. He saw again the poignant drama of mothers holding dead infants to their withered breasts. The images moved across his mind like a videotape, but unlike a videotape A.J. could do more than see and hear the pitiful scenes. He could smell the decay of death and sense the heavy weight of despair.

The red from the taillights and the white from the headlights blurred as tears filled his eyes. The sadness was profound, the guilt so heavy that A.J. felt he might collapse. People brought the pain, not the weather, not the soil, not the sun or the wind, but specific people whose moral conscience had been consumed by voracious greed for power and wealth. Those people, people like Mahli, who kill on a whim and let thousands die to further their cause were nothing more than dogs made mad by rabies; they were animals that preyed on the weak. They were subhuman and unworthy to exist on this earth. They were dark, ugly souls, trolls who terrorized passersby.

Such men had to die.

A.J. Barringston, founder of Barringston Relief and defender of the innocent, wondered when his metamorphosis had taken place. Once his only goal had been to provide lifesaving food and medicine. But some people worked against him and blocked him in every way. Because of people like Mahli, many others died. People like Mahli couldn’t be allowed to interfere with the greater good. He would stop them at any price.

A.J. wondered when he had changed from relief worker to
militant, ready to kill those animals. Was he becoming just like them? he wondered.

David awakened to the sound of his own voice—screaming. He sat up in bed, sweat rolling from every pore, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked slowly to the other side of his bed and exhaled noisily when he saw it unoccupied. It had been a dream, only a dream, the most authentic, frightening dream he had ever experienced. A moment ago he was certain that he saw the violently disfigured body of Ian Booth lying in bed next to him. Unlike the photo he had been shown by Woody and Stephanie, this body was far more than two-dimensional; it had depth and weight and presence.

Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, David drew in bushels of air. His stomach churned roughly, mixing bile and acid in a noxious concoction known to every person who has been truly frightened beyond all reason. He blinked hard and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “That was bad,” he said aloud, “really bad.” Getting to his feet, he swayed for a moment, then walked in uncertain steps into the bathroom, turned on the shower, disrobed, and crawled in the tub. The water ran warm to hot, and David sat, letting the streams cascade over his head and down his back. The dream slowly dissolved into the real world, and the night terror diminished into a manageable memory.

Twenty minutes later David was standing in the kitchen making a cup of tea and thinking about how his life had suddenly turned into a roller coaster. Why him? Why did the FBI and CIA have to choose him? Several hundred people worked at Barringston Relief, and they had to choose him. They had answered that question the first time they met, but the answers provided no comfort. Other questions plagued him. Was this all part of God’s plan? Had God placed him in this situation to test him or maybe involve him in some important cause? If so, then what was the cause? Protect A.J. and Barringston Relief so that the work would continue? Or
submit to the wishes of the FBI? What was right? What was true? David had no idea which course of action to take.

The tea, an orange pekoe, felt warm and soothing on his throat. David sat at the dining table and stared at the highly polished woodgrain, letting his thoughts run random and hoping to find some guidance. A passage of Scripture popped to the surface of his mind like a submerged cork that had been suddenly released. He wasn’t sure exactly where, but he knew the text was from the book of Esther. “Who knows,” Mordecai said to Queen Esther, who was being called upon to save the lives of thousands of Jews, “but that you were chosen for such a time as this.”

Chosen. Chosen for what?
David wondered.

With his teacup drained and the clock on the wall reading 2:30, David cast a wishful glance toward the bedroom and wondered if he could go to sleep again, and if he did, whether the night terror would return. He was tired, his eyes burned, and his mind seemed fogged. He had to sleep. And he had to make a decision—a decision that would change his future forever.
Who knows
, David thought as he climbed back into bed,
but that I was chosen for such a time as this
. Fifteen minutes later, he knew what he would do. Ten minutes after that, he was swallowed by peaceful sleep.

“I’M GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT,” DAVID SAID, RISING from his seat and hugging Kristen lightly.

“Your invitation rescued me from washing clothes and dusting my house. It’s not very exciting, but it fills a Saturday.”

David studied her for a moment and tried to imagine her busy about household chores. He found it difficult to conceive. Kristen didn’t seem the type to be occupied by such mundane things as laundry and furniture polishing.

“I’ve forgotten how lovely it is out here,” she said softly. She closed her eyes and turned her face skyward. “The sun feels good on my face.” A gentle breeze wafted along the concrete plaza, carrying the fragrance of eucalyptus trees and green grass. The sounds of people strolling along the walk mingled with the bubbling of the fountain behind them.

Balboa Park was the favorite destination of both tourists and San Diego residents who visited the many museums and strolled through the gardens. The area was verdant and lush, filled with the best of San Diego’s scenery and architecture. The museums held some of the nation’s best displays of aircraft, natural history, and art. There was also something magical about the place. It seemed, to David at least, that the concerns of the real world were prohibited from entering the byways of the park. Only that which was interesting or beautiful was permitted to linger here.

“It’s warm for the season,” David commented innocently.

“Why is it that I think you’ve asked me here for some other reason than to discuss the weather?”

David bowed his head and laughed softly. “It’s true,” he said, turning to look at her. He motioned to the concrete berm that served both as the edge of the fountain’s bowl and a seat for foot-weary sightseers. Once seated he slid closer to her and placed his arm around her shoulders. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“Uh-oh,” she said, her voice betraying her puzzlement. “It sounds serious.”

“It is,” David replied softly, “but first …” He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. At first she held back, allowing the kiss but not returning it, and then her caution crumbled and she eagerly surrendered to the embrace. Gentle lips stroked still gentler lips, and the sounds of the milling crowd diminished to a mere murmur bathed in the bubbling of the fountain. The gentle, heavily scented breeze caressed their skin, and the sun immersed them in soft light. When the embrace ended, they sat in silence and watched a young boy on a skateboard doing tricks on the concrete plaza. A couple, younger than David by ten years, leisurely rode by on bicycles.

“I’m scared,” Kristen offered.

“Scared?”

“First you say you want to talk to me and ask me to meet you here, then … then this,” she touched her lips. “I’m afraid you’re going to drop some bad news.”

“Not about us,” he said. “I need your help, your wisdom. What I have to talk to you about isn’t easy for me to say. It affects someone we both admire, and I’m not sure what to do. I’m also concerned that you may end up thinking less of me.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” she said smiling.

“I hope you’re right.” He stood, took her by the hand, and began to walk. They passed through the Spanish-style arcade with its graceful plastered arches. As they walked hand in hand, David
unburdened himself. He told her everything about the FBI, the CIA, and their allegations against A.J. He spoke of Ian Booth and his murder and of Mahli. He told her of his dreams, fears, and guilt. As he spoke, Kristen listened in silence, her head down as she took in every word.

“I have resisted this at every turn and in every way, but I’m now being plagued with doubt. I’ve grown close to A.J. and think he is a wonderful and powerful man. I can’t begin to tell you how much I admire all that he’s done. He is, perhaps, the most compassionate man I’ve ever met. I can’t bring myself to believe that someone who has invested his life and wealth in the alleviation of hunger could be guilty of such intrigue.”

They paused at a rail next to the walkway and gazed down into the recessed area called Zoro Gardens. The gardens were sheltered on the east and west by buildings and a dense grotto of trees, ferns, and other plants that created a small paradise isolated from the noise of traffic and the clamor of tourists. Its beauty made it a popular place for summer weddings. This day it was empty except for a gathering of sparrows that hopped from place to place hunting for fallen seeds.

“But …,” Kristen prompted.

“Part of me, a very small part of me,” David continued, “wonders if it might be possible. Not A.J., but someone else in the company.” Exhaling heavily, he rubbed his eyes. “At times it makes sense. Someone could be so devoted to the cause that they might be willing to undertake … unusual methods.” He turned to face Kristen. “I know that you’re as loyal to A.J. as they come. I admire that, but I have to ask you this for my own sanity: Do you have any reason to believe that these accusations might be true? Could someone in Barringston Relief be involved in computer piracy? Could someone like Roger be involved in covert activities and even murder?”

Kristen didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stared unblinkingly down into the grotto. Looking at her, David could see that
her jaw was clenched tightly, her muscles tense, and her eyes slightly squinted. “That is what I was afraid of,” David replied softly.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me all of this,” Kristen replied tersely. “This is preposterous. It’s unbelievable.”

“Just remember, I didn’t create this.”

“How could anyone suspect A.J.?” she snapped. “And how could you be part of this?”

“I’m not part of it,” David objected. “I didn’t invite the CIA and FBI to come knocking on my door, but they came anyway, and so far I’ve refused to help. Not that I could have done anything anyway. What little I did was a disaster.”

“I know this wasn’t your choice. It’s just so maddening, that’s all.”

“
Maddening
is a good word for it. I hate to ask this again, but I feel I have to: Do you know anything that would give credibility to these accusations?”

Kristen shook her head slowly. “I suppose someone with access to the computers could break into another system, but that would take special knowledge and special equipment.”

“What do you know about Eileen Corbin?” David asked.

“Not much. Her work and mine seldom cross over. She heads communications. I’ve heard that she’s brilliant, but I don’t know anything more than that.”

“What about Roger? Do you know anything about him?”

“I’ve met him a time or two, once in Africa, but you were there so you know that. He seems to be close to A.J. At least he did that night in Ethiopia. Again, that’s all I know.”

“I’m sure this sounds like an interrogation, but I don’t mean it to,” David said apologetically. “What about Sheila?”

“She’s an enigma. A.J. seldom goes anywhere of significance without her. If he leaves the country, she goes with him. She lives in one of the apartments, but all that’s to be expected. She is, after all, his bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?”

“You didn’t know that?” Kristen was surprised. “That’s why she’s so protective of him. That and she’s in love with him.”

“You know that for sure?”

Kristen smiled. “It’s a woman thing. I can tell by the way she looks at him.”

“That’s pretty subjective, isn’t it?”

“Spoken like a man. Trust me, she’s in love with A.J. But I don’t think that he’s in love with her. A.J. loves his work too much to be distracted from it even by love. Nothing stands in the way of the work.”