The Illuminati (46 page)

“You people don't know a lot for a bunch of wild-eyed terrorists, do you?” Shepperd interrupted with a smile.

“No, I guess not,” Randy agreed. “We've always operated within the law, not against it.”

“That's how I knew the whole thing was a plot to get rid of some pretty ordinary citizens,” Shepperd said. “No organized group would do the stupid things you people are accused of.”

“But who is behind this?” Randy asked as Shepperd signaled him to slow down for a turn onto a small farm road.

“Apparently it comes from the highest levels of our government. Your people made some bitter enemies. Someone inside the government has given them a free hand to get rid of you. Take the next left . . .”

Randy turned down an old farm road that looked as if it hadn't been used for years. Ahead of them the brush had grown over nearly half the roadway. He slowed down to stop and noticed that a tree had fallen, almost blocking the road.

“Keep going,” Shepperd ordered.

“But I can't get around that tree,” Randy said as he shifted into second gear.

Even as he spoke, the tree was pulled back out of the road. He drove past and it moved across the road again. On the other side he saw several men and women pushing the tree back into its original position. Others were brushing away the tire tracks they had just left. Within seconds, only a trained tracker could tell that a vehicle had passed on the road.

“Who are they?” Randy asked as he accelerated slightly.

“They're some of your friends,” Shepperd replied with a grin. “They learn pretty quick.”

They had driven about another quarter of a mile when Shepperd signaled Randy to pull into a driveway leading to a huge old farmhouse with two large barns out back. As far as Randy could tell, the place was totally deserted. There was not a telltale sign of a car track leading in or out of the drive. He was about to stop when one of the barn doors opened and a man signaled him to drive the truck inside. Once inside, the doors closed again. Through the rearview mirror Randy could see two children brushing away their tracks.

Shepperd reached out the window and pulled the door handle. Once out of the truck, he signaled Randy to follow him. But as they walked through the barn Randy almost stumbled as he stared at the enormous supply of food and other kinds of supplies filling the barn.

“The other barn is even better equipped,” Shepperd said. “We have a benefactor in high places.”

Puzzled, Randy followed the agent out of the barn and into the house.

Randy was fascinated. From the outside there appeared to be no sign of life, but inside, the old house was a hubbub of activity. As they passed the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of several people preparing food in several large commercial microwave ovens.

“No smoke,” Shepperd said, without being asked.

Randy just grunted in response. They proceeded to what had obviously once been the living room for a large family.

Randy recognized several men and women he had met at rallies before the riots, including his old friend, Rod Wilton.

“Rod, it's good to see you,” Randy said enthusiastically. “How is Cory?”

“She's in one of the camps somewhere,”Wilton responded sadly. “I haven't seen her since before the riots. I would have been with her, but we were in the middle of a launch at the Cape with the Japanese.”

Randy felt compassion as he saw the hurt on his friend's face. “I'm sorry, Rod. I didn't know.”

“Yeah, I know,”Wilton said as he hugged him. “How's Harriet? And Matthew?”

“Harriet! Oh, I need to contact her. She'll be worried sick by now. They're both fine,” he added.

Turning to Shepperd he said, “Is there any way I can contact Harriet?”

“You won't need to,” Shepperd replied as he handed Randy a cup of coffee. “Somebody's on the way to the cabin right now. Your family will be brought here in the next day or two. The others at your cabin will be dispersed to other sites.”

“Other sites?” Randy questioned. “You mean there are more like this?”

“Bigger and better in some cases,” Rod Wilton offered. “There are a lot of Americans who don't agree with our government.”

“But a lot more who do!” Shepperd interjected angrily. “And don't forget that!”

24

S
URPRISE
M
EETING

At the Livermore laboratory in California, Bill Eison was troubled. He had been trying to reach Jeff and Karen since that first day when he broke into the main compiler and sent them a message. He knew that Dr. Loo probably suspected something by now, but without the keys to crack the compiler's code, he would have no way to prove his suspicions.

Dr. Eison desperately wanted to tell Jeff that he had made contact with a group of people who were trying to help the Christians and Jews evade the government trackdown. Actually, the contact had come as a result of the arrest of and old friend, Dr. Ben Moore. Eison had to call in every favor due him from anyone in Washington to get Moore released. Finally, he had convinced the FBI that Moore was essential to the completion of a top-secret project being developed jointly by Livermore and Cal Tech: the highly touted antimissile system called “Star Cluster.” Sooner or later he knew someone would discover that Moore's name had been added later to the list of contract personnel, but with the threat in the Middle East and the terrorists in the West, it would take a while.

About a month after he had secured Dr. Moore's release, Bill Eison had been sent to Washington for a briefing on the Star Cluster program. One evening he received a visitor, an FBI agent by the name of Shepperd. The agent had shown him the file that had been altered to add Moore's name to the Star Cluster program. Eison feared his time was up. But instead of arresting him, Shepperd had told him an incredible story about concentration camps and that only one person could really help— his friend, Jeff Wells.

Shepperd knew the risks in contacting Dr. Eison when he heard the doctor was coming to Washington. If Eison decided to turn him in, he would be on the way to a camp himself; of that he had no doubt. But while working in Washington, after the episode in Chicago with the Cofers, he had learned that a young computer genius named Jeff Wells was the one who had designed and built Data-Net. The name rang a bell, and after checking the archives, he had found what he was looking for. Jeff Wells' grandfather and namesake, Colonel Jeffrey Wells, had been a friend of Shepperd's father. Colonel Wells and Shepperd's father had worked together during the war, and for several years afterward at the space center in Florida.

He had a hard time believing that any man his father trusted so totally would have a grandson who was a traitor to his country. He had taken a very great risk in checking the top-secret file on Jeff Wells, which noted that Wells had tried to skip out on the project but had been caught and returned. It was also clear that the single hold the administration had over Wells was his assistant, Karen Eison. The file revealed that the girl's father, Dr. William Eison, was being watched closely, and he demonstrated every indication of becoming a defector himself. He was scheduled for internment as soon as Wells completed the Data-Net system and Star Cluster was operational.

Dr. Eison had been called to Washington to report on the progress of Star Cluster. Shepperd realized it was the only chance he would have to get to Eison. With surprisingly little difficulty, he got himself assigned to watch Eison while he was in Washington. His orders were explicit: Eison was to have no contact with his daughter or Wells.

It was only by chance that Shepperd had come across the altered personnel file on Star Cluster while it was still in the processing basket and had not been reviewed.

Unknown to Shepperd, his efforts had not gone unnoticed. Within the cadre of agents assigned to round up the terrorists were a group of men and women who secretly opposed the government's actions. They had helped many Christians and Jews to escape. Shepperd had already guessed that several well-organized resistance movements existed throughout the government. Determining which side somebody was on was a little like the old Abbott and Costello routine of “Who's on First,” he decided.

Shepperd knew he had to do something.
But what?
he asked himself one evening as he walked toward his car in the government parking lot.
This “Society” is bigger than the government itself. Somehow Wells is the key to their control. Without the Data-Net system in place, they can't hope to control several millions of Americans. And without the help of the media, they can't hope to dupe the rest
. “Freedom of the press has become a charade,” he yelled out in frustration. “They're the problem.”

“I agree,” a soft voice said from the shadows.

Startled, Shepperd automatically reached for his weapon. “Who is it?” he growled.

“I'm a friend,” she said in an easy, unassuming manner. “I believe we share some of the same concerns.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Shepperd said cautiously as he eyed the woman. He recognized her as the head of the Records department where he had spent much of his time during the last several days. His superiors had assumed he was gleaning the files for evidence of terrorist activities that could be used in the searches, and he had fed them enough information to keep them satisfied. But the majority of his time had been spent piecing together a secret organization, known only as the Society, that was working within the government. He suspected that it went far back in history and had spread its infection to the very heart of the government, including the presidency.

Shepperd cautiously made his way to an area that was better lighted. The young woman followed but was careful to stay just beyond the direct light.
It is her
, he thought with certainty as more light reached her face.
The one in charge of Records
. It had been hard the first several days for him to avoid staring at her. Her piercing blue eyes, chiseled features, and flawless skin made her look like someone on the cover of
Vogue
magazine. He had been impressed that she never seemed to look up from her desk, and rarely, if ever, took breaks. He never had a chance to personally speak to her. Any question he had was relayed by one of the other workers, but it was clear they respected her, and she always had the answers to any questions asked. His years of training served him well, though. Every part of him cried out:
Be careful
.

“I don't blame you,” she said gently.

“For what?” Shepperd asked cautiously.

“For wondering what is going on inside our government.”

“I don't . . .” he started to say.

“What is going on is a conspiracy to imprison and eliminate millions of Americans on the basis of their religion or race,” she said angrily. “I know who and why, but I don't know what to do about it.”

“Why tell me?” Shepperd asked, every nerve now on edge. “I'm just a field agent.”

“You underestimate yourself, Agent Shepperd,” she replied.“Now you had better kiss me or someone will think we're conspirators.”

With that, she walked up to him and kissed him as if it were the most natural thing to do. The low-light television cameras equipped with motion sensors picked her up as she entered the light.

In the closed circuit monitoring room, the security guard said to his companion, “I knew that agent was spending a lot of time in Records. Now I know why. Check out the heat in the garage,” he said as he zoomed in on the couple.

“That lucky stiff,” the other guard said. “She's gorgeous. Who would have believed that little ‘Miss Prude' would go for some guy twice her age?”

“I don't know, but if that's what it takes, I'd gladly trade with him.”

“Listen, she might be crazy, but that doesn't mean she's also stupid,” the other guard said jokingly as Shepperd and the young woman disappeared into her car.