The Eye of Madness (37 page)

“I can't be calm, Gestas,” Rebekah said. “Not now, not when my son is away from me.”

Before Gestas could reply, a noise like violent thunder rattled the tent making it sway as if in a high wind.

“What was that?” Rebekah cried, raising her head up as far as she could.

Gestas did not answer immediately, but when he did, chills ran through her body.

“Oh my God,” he said, and then she could feel him drifting away from her until she could no longer sense him.

Jack awoke from a dream. In the dream, he threw Donna in his cage then pummeled, prodded, and bashed her to death. He felt good until consciousness coalesced. By the time he was wide awake he was no longer excited or satisfied; Jack was pissed. He got up and paced around his cell.

He was starting to feel caged and trapped. He knew he would never be free again. They found the cage. As soon as it was possible, they would check the marsh near his house and uncover his great service to humanity. It
was
a great service after all, but he didn't expect them to understand. Mankind was flawed and imperfect, not to mention ignorant. Man's arrogance would not allow them to understand the great works he accomplished. He was sure he would die an unappreciated man, yet he could make peace with it. The dark appreciated him; he felt it. Jack started to get a small fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it was short lived.

He was jolted out of his brooding trance by a rumbling noise. It shook the building and vibrated his furniture across the room. It was as if a bolt of lightning ripped the sky in half and struck outside the wall. There was no bright flash nor a burning smell of ozone, yet the thunder persisted for several long and deafening moments. He heard agitated whispers and frantic clicks coming from the dark hallway. Jack's warm fuzzy feeling went out as fast as dropping a match into a bucket of water. It was soon replaced by terrible fear and dread.

Two Secret Service agents rode up front. David Fields, a White House junior secretary, rode with Carmella in the backseat of the limousine. Carmella was fidgety. Perhaps it was because David Fields was the most notorious sexist and narcissist she knew. Under normal circumstances, she would rather have a root canal with no Novocain. Today was not normal. David sat uncharacteristically stoic, saying nothing as he gazed out the window at the monuments. Carmella was sure he was thinking the same thing as she was—
“Is this the last time I am ever going to see this town?”

She gazed out the window too and said a silent prayer. Her stomach churned, but it was not just because they were on their way to kill Garrison. It was also because a few feet behind her back, sat about eighty pounds of explosives in the trunk. The road was pocked with more pot holes than she ever noticed before. They soon passed the Lincoln Memorial and headed out of town towards their date with destiny.

Carmella studied the massive building and thought of the kind man who lived in the White House for a short time during the storm. He soon left, forced out by his own sense of morality and decency. Where was he now? She did not know the answer. She hoped and prayed all the Impals had moved on.

A half hour later, they arrived at Quantico where they were quickly flagged through the gate. As they made their way to the administration building, no one noticed the people in the distance trudging across a field toward a large hangar. There were five of them in all. If Carmella had seen them, she might recognize one of them as President Garrison.

They pulled up at the administration office where Joan and Sebastian met them.

“You stay and drive!” Joan shouted, pointing at the Secret Service agent behind the wheel. The agent glanced with horror at his companion. What could he say? Any argument would raise suspicion and this would be their one chance to get to Garrison. The other agent was about to open the passenger door when Sebastian slammed it shut.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped. “We are going to need a security detail … keep your ass in your seat!”

Joan flung open the backdoor and ducked her head inside, glaring at David and Carmella.

“Who in the hell are you?” she growled.

“I'm Carmella Danson. I'm the president's executive assistant and this is David Fields. He is a junior secretary in the Executive Office.”

“Nobody asked for you to come!” Joan shouted. She reached in and grabbed Carmella by the hair and jerked her outside. She rolled across the sidewalk before slamming her back into a concrete planter. Carmella let out a moan and lay motionless.

“Get your ass out!” she yelled, lunging at David.

David was no idiot. He jettisoned himself out the far door, landing on his hands and knees before crawling away.

Sebastian Gardner leaned in the front driver's window and relayed instructions to the driver. He then climbed in the back and sat beside Joan.

“What did President Garrison tell you?” he asked, leaning towards Joan.

She took his posture as a little aggressive and glared at him. “First, you stay on your side of the car, understand?” she said then hit the window power button and stuck out her head. She yelled at Carmella who was starting to get up. “You better get your ass inside, it's going to be dark soon!”

Carmella had the wind knocked out of her. Her aged joints and muscles ached. She cursed Joan in her head and wisely nodded. Carmella did not know Joan at all aside from a brief introduction at the White House.

This was not going according to plan at all. Tip Saunders, the Secret Service agent driving the limo, was to be the president's chauffer. He would also be a probable suicide bomber. His first priority would be to make sure that Garrison died, even if it meant he went out with the president. A remote switch would activate the bomb. Not a sensitive automatic detonation switch, rather one that would arm a one-hour countdown. This might give the agent the opportunity to distance himself from certain death if given time and opportunity. Agent Saunders would not have the opportunity. Everything happened so fast, the activation remote was not handed off to Agent Saunders. It was still in someone else's possession. The uncomfortable bulge in Carmella's slacks pocket confirmed this.

As the limousine turned the corner and disappeared from sight, she reached down and pulled it out of her pocket. She drew it close to her face, squinting in the bright rays of the descending sun. It was not yet activated.

“Do it!” David said, scrambling to her side. A handful of soldiers came out of the administration building to investigate the commotion.

“But he's not in there,” Carmella protested.

“He will be in a minute,” David said. “They are scheduled to arrive at Camp Lejeune about midnight.”

David cut his eyes at the approaching soldiers then turned back to Carmella.

“Do it now, you won't have another chance!”

Carmella believed Garrison needed to die. However, believing it and serving as the instrument of someone's death are two different things. Several thoughts flashed through her head at one time, most of them were of Steff. This was her grandfather. She knew Steff loved him in spite of the things he had done. Carmella loved Steff. Of course, Steff was gone now. Was her Impal standing nearby and watching to see what she would do? She knew she couldn't let conjecture influence her. As the soldiers approached, she held the remote against her chest and took a deep breath. Carmella closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. She then opened them and stared straight ahead. “I'm sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered.

Carmella closed her eyes again and pushed the button. In one hour the car would explode killing whoever was in it.

CHAPTER 40

TRICKS

“Tricks and treachery are the practice of fools, that don't have brains enough to be honest.”

~Benjamin Franklin

Cecil Garrison had visited the enormous hangar housing the Tesla Gate once before. He was familiar with the infamous Shredder. This time, it was like entering an unfamiliar location in a convoluted nightmare. Today, the Gate crackled with hungry intensity. The archway no longer resembled a benign construct; it was the gaping maw of a leviathan, ready to devour whatever came close. The blue light dancing around the hangar made Cecil think of a violent lightning storm. Perhaps it is why he or Musial didn't notice the sudden thunderous rumble coming from outside. President Garrison and Avery noticed. They glanced at each other as they marched their prisoners up the wooden platform in front of the Shredder. The platform swayed as the dark corners of the hangar hissed with venomous anger.

“We are not going to waste a lot of time with you traitors,” President Garrison proclaimed. “At least your deaths will serve a purpose.”

“What purpose?” Cecil spat.

“Perhaps you will take a few of these demons with you,” President Garrison said.

It dawned on Cecil what his father had in mind. “You're going to turn the lights out and then swing us into the Tesla Gate?” he asked, noticing the two ropes dangling from a beam high overhead.

“You may have been a disappointment, but you were always intelligent,” President Garrison said.

“Don't we get last words?” Musial asked with a wide, snarky smile.

“You can save those for God, son. I'm really not interested.” President Garrison said.

“I'm sure God doesn't care what either one of us have to say,” Musial said, regarding President Garrison with disdain. “He has someplace dark in mind for you,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. President Garrison backhanded him. Musial stumbled backwards. “Fascist,” he muttered under his breath.

“I guess you get the honor of going first,” President Garrison said. He motioned for Avery to bind the rope under his arms.

Musial shrugged and stared at Garrison with cool defiance. He offered no resistance as Avery slid the rope under his bound arms. He then pulled it tight, squeezing Musial's lungs in the process. Musial did his best to avoid gasping as air puffed from his pursed lips. President Garrison did the same with Cecil. He postured himself more akin to a military official presenting a medal than an executioner presenting a rope.

A few moments later, the clanging of a metal door shutting echoed through the massive structure. A solitary soldier marched across the floor; stopping to salute President Garrison. He then walked over and took a seat at a long console of buttons and monitors. After several minutes of inspecting the controls, he gave Garrison the thumbs up.

“Is he the man you interviewed last night?” Avery asked.

Garrison nodded. It seemed they had found another kindred soul in the military population of the base.

“Yes, another Godsend,” President Garrison said. “God be praised.”

Of course, Garrison did not care about his peers who shared the trait of immunity to the dark. In his mind, God had put them there in order for him to pick and choose. The ones who did not serve his purpose were discarded like diseased cattle. If allowed to live, they might damage his unique stature in the world. He could not allow it.

President Garrison pulled Cecil back and lashed the slack in his rope around a post protruding from the back of the platform.

“Can't have the darkness make you do anything premature after we turn the lights out,” President Garrison said. “You wait your turn,” he said, wagging his finger under Cecil's nose.

The only way for Cecil to get comfortable, was to slump to the ground. He slid down, planting his haunches on the deck and his back pressed against the pole.

President Garrison and Avery conversed quietly in the middle of the platform. Cecil's mind raced with thoughts of his family. He would go quietly into the Tesla Gate if only he knew his family would be okay. A moment later, his worst nightmare was visited upon him. Another metallic clang echoed through the hangar as another door opened and closed. This time the echo was underscored by a strange squeaking noise. Cecil strained hard to see, but could only catch a glimpse of the silhouette of a hospital gurney pushed by a person in military fatigues. The curvature of the shadow on top of the gurney suggested someone lay upon it.

President Garrison noticed Cecil straining for a peek. He turned to face him with his hands open in supplication. “I'm sorry, I should not have tied you down so soon,” he said. “Not until you had a chance to see your coconspirator.”

Cecil's heart palpitated so hard he felt as if his head were throbbing. Who had he brought on the gurney? The most logical choices were Burt or Barbara. He hoped his father wouldn't be
that
cruel.

“Who is it?” Cecil croaked.

His father's face beamed with satisfaction.

“You have been a poor example to my granddaughters,” President Garrison scolded. “But it's not all you. Your harlot wife had a hand in their upbringing too.”

“Please,” Cecil begged. “Please spare her. I'll do whatever you want. I'll sign a confession. I'll even go on the radio and proclaim I was wrong. Just please let her live.”

President Garrison shook his head and spoke completely devoid of affection.

“Son, the only thing that is going to make this world better is the elimination of the evil in it. This includes anyone who harbors and supports it.”

The sound of thunder rumbled again, this time it was much closer. The ropes which the two men were now attached quivered as the support beam above vibrated.

“What the hell is that?” Garrison snapped at Avery.

Avery shrugged. “I don't know … another thunderstorm maybe?”

Garrison watched until the vibration ceased. When convinced it had stopped, he turned back to Cecil. “Sorry, son. I'm sure in her catatonic state she won't suffer much,” he said.

Cecil raged against his binding and uttered a string of expletives at his father. President Garrison didn't mind killing or torture when it suited the situation. However, profanity was something he just couldn't abide.