The Tears of Nero (The Halo Group Book 1) (22 page)

“It’s ok,” Nick said.  “My brother didn’t commit suicide.  He came to his senses and left the group before all the bloodshed.  But when I heard what had happened, it made my blood run cold.  I thought about Grant and how he could have been one of the ones who died.  I tried to understand how someone could let themselves get sucked into that kind of atmosphere and buy into that kind of mentality.  It scared me to death.”

“So you signed up with The Halo Group?”

Nick laughed.  “The Halo Group isn’t one of those organizations that men like me get to choose.  The organization chose me.”

“Right,” Edward said.  “Because it’s secret, and you weren‘t even supposed to know about them.”

“Exactly.”

“So what makes you so qualified to be a member of this group?”

“Among other things, I’ve been a sniper, a hitman for hire, and a spy.  I hold degrees in theology, abnormal psychology, and computer engineering.  I speak five languages fluently.  I’ve earned black belts in several martial arts disciplines, have studied explosives for a while in Mother Russia, and did a stint at Area 51.  I spent time abroad in Iraq, Iran, Syria, most of the Middle East for that matter.  I‘ve worked behind the scenes in North Korea, Somalia, Romania, Venezuela, and the old Czech republic running errands for Uncle Sam that I couldn‘t describe to you without risking your life.”

Edward interrupted.  “And let me guess-by day, you’re a mild-mannered reporter working at The Daily Planet.  You love to read by candlelight, enjoy champagne, bubble baths, and long walks on the beach.  You‘re a Taurus and looking for that special someone to bring a little love into your life.  You‘re a ladies’ man and not afraid to show it!”

Nick laughed.  “Not quite.  I guess listing the resume seems a bit egocentric, doesn’t it?”

“A tad,” Edward admitted. “But, hey, I asked.  I only blame myself.  You sound like a dangerous guy.”

“If I have to be,” Nick said with a wink.  “Hopefully, you’ll never get the chance to find out.”

“So where are we headed?” Edward asked.

“I think I know the answer to that one,” Marshall mumbled, stumbling on deck, still half-asleep. 

Nick looked at the man with curiosity.  “Do tell.”

“Florida,” Marshall said.  “I saw it circled on a map.”

“Very good,” Nick said.  “Lindell has a church in Miami.  A big one.  I’m fairly certain that’s where he’s going.  That’s where he’s going to hold his mother’s funeral.  That‘s where we‘re headed.”  

“Is there something we can do to prepare?” Edward asked. 

Nick pointed to the steps leading down below deck.  “There’s a movie projector waiting for you.  Go down and watch Lindell wax poetic on the injustices of the world and what he plans to do to fix it.”

“Great,” Marshall sighed.  “Why couldn’t the in-flight movie be something good like Twilight or Harry Potter.”

Chapter 35

When Marshall flipped a gold toggle switch on the wall of the cabin an LCD screen slid out of a concealed panel.  Just as he appeared to millions of viewers every week, Halford K. Lindell was seated at his desk, wearing a green sport coat and a hideous wedge of a paisley tie that might have seemed stylish in the seventies.  Rows of religious texts filled the wall behind him.  He sat with his hands clasped earnestly in front of him, and he stared into the camera like a man about to lay bare his soul.  But this wasn’t a confession.  This was a proclamation.  

“Welcome to Metatron,” he said jovially.  “This craft is so named because it is a vessel of transcendence.  According to the stories, Enoch was transformed into Metatron when God took him out of this realm of existence and lifted him to a higher plane.  So shall you be lifted into a greater realm of understanding, transformed from ignorant creatures of Eden to men like Adam who have eaten the fruit that grants knowledge.  I will show you why bad things happen to good people, and I will show you what I am going to do about it.  I will give you the knowledge of that forbidden fruit, and you will thank me for it.  Think of this as an orientation video of sorts for the coming days ahead.  The horses of Armageddon are stabled, but soon, very soon, they will be galloping.” 

The video feed cut away from Lindell’s maniacal leer to an old home movie showing a grainy, scene from a childhood filled with pain and misery.  Young Hal played in the front yard, dirtying his hands in a mud puddle while his father snarled at him from the porch.

“For as long as I could remember, that scowl on my father’s face summed up his feelings for me.”

The scene shifted.  The picture that filled the screen showed the patriarch of the Lindell family dressed in his Sunday best, sporting garish mutton-chop sideburns and a leisure suit that looked like it had been crafted from the dream-fabric of an LSD addict. 

“My father was a fake.  He clothed himself in the merits of Christianity and put on a show for all the world to see.  But that wasn’t who he really was.”

The next picture in the slide show revealed a much different man with raccoon eyes and a hand that shook too much, a man wearing a yellowed undershirt, licking his lips in anticipation of his next drink. 

“Does this really look like a servant of God to you?” Lindell asked.  “I think not.”

The movie segued into a picture of Lindell’s mother, the doomsday angel that he was going to use to infect thousands of people with Morningstar. 

“This is what a true servant of the Lord looks like,” Lindell said.  “This is the woman who remained true to her values and stood in the gap when I needed her.  This is the woman who took punches so I wouldn’t have to and endured beatings at my expense.  This is the woman who showed me how much she loved me everyday by the amount of pain she was willing to go through.  I loved my mother, and I know she loved me.”

This time the picture that replaced Lindell’s mother was a caricature of the Roman emperor, Nero. 

“Am I crazy?” Lindell asked.  “A little bit perhaps.  But aren’t all the great leaders throughout history a tad deranged?  Let’s take Nero for example.  He hated Christians, and he showed the world how he felt about them by killing them off every chance he got.  Christians made Nero’s life difficult.  I can sympathize.  I suffered at the hand of a Christian every day for the better part of twelve years.  I was also loved by a Christian.  It stands to reason that I have a love/hate relationship with all of God’s children.  Part of me wants to mow down every last believer and exact revenge for all of the things my father did to me.  Part of me wants to embrace the Lord’s flock and rejoice in God’s love as my mother once did.  You see where the conflict lies.  How do I reconcile these feelings?  How do I examine the yin and the yang?  I’ve thought about this for years.  I’ve dealt with the pain and misery for decades.  Yet, I’ve remained strong too.  My mother gave me what I needed to help make that possible.  God blessed me by keeping her in my life…and then He took her away from me.  Why do bad things happen to good people?  My mother did nothing but show love to me…and to my father, despite all he did to her.  What was her reward?  Cancer.  Death.  A cold, unforgiving tomb.  I love Christians, but I also hate them too.  So the question remains.  How do I punish them and love them at the same time?  I have the answer.”

“Those of us who are believers and have been saved will go to Heaven to be with the Lord.  But how to get there in the first place?  Car wreck?  Gunshot wound?  Leukemia?  Drowning?  Asphyxiation?  Spontaneous combustion?  The ways of crossing the divide are myriad.  Some can be effortless.  Others can be very, very painful.  But what if I helped the Christians along in their journey?  What if I give them that one way ticket to Heaven?  I could punish their bodies here and help them move on to a greater reward.  I could pay them back for all my father did to me, and at the same time thank them for all of God’s love that my mother tried so hard to show.  It has a certain amount of poetic justice, don’t you think?”

Lindell looked at the camera as he had done a hundred other times, smiling sincerely and clasping his hands in front of him with an earnestness that might have seemed downright funny if not for the lethal threat implied in his words.  Lindell was crazy, and this was undeniable proof.  But even more chilling was the dark winged shadow which crouched in the back of the video, watching Lindell’s monologue. 

“I’m sure you’ll be racing toward the mainland with hopes of stopping me, but I should warn you that the Slaves of Solomon are not a group to be reckoned with.  One by one, my parishioners will walk past the body of my mother, pay their respects, and breathe in death.  They will leave my church feeling fine, go home to their beds, and never wake up again.  On their way home they might stop to get gas, order a hamburger, rent a movie, or visit the post office.  All the people they contact along the way will take a nice, deep breath of death too.  They’ll go home feeling fine, crawl into their nice, cozy beds, and never wake up again.  But not before they spread the good news along to someone else.  This will be the most dangerous chain letter ever written, and I will be the author.  The horses of Armageddon are about to be loosed.  Bad things will happen to good people, and they will happen because that’s the way I want it.  Bye for now, and Godspeed, although I can assure you that won’t help.”

The television screen slid back into place, and white noise hissed from speakers that had been concealed inside the cabin. 

“Well, at least he didn’t ask for a donation like he usually does,” Edward joked.

“So what do we do now?” Marshall asked.

“You can put your hands up and don’t move a muscle,” Nick said, pulling his gun. 

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Marshall said.  “I’m not quite sure I understand.”

“Me neither,” Edward replied.  “Care to explain?”

“He’s a sneaky one,” Nick said.  “But not sneaky enough.  One of the requirements of being a member of the Slaves of Solomon is having the sigil tattoo.  Marshall has one.  His is above his hairline.  You can see it when the wind tousles his hair.”

“I don’t get it,” Edward said.  “Why would he….?”  As he thought about the implications of Marshall’s membership, all of the anger that came from losing his family rushed back all at once.

He charged at Marshall and was swinging his fists unmercifully before the man could raise his hands in defense.  Marshall tried to put up a fight, but Edward’s rage was his advantage.  His fists were bloody and lacerated within a minute, a near match for Marshall’s face.  Nick stood by idly, watching Marshall get his due.   

“Stop, please,” Marshall pleaded through swollen lips.  “I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

Edward stopped, thought about it, and punched Marshall one more time before getting up.

“Hand me the gun,” Edward said, gesturing toward Nick. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nick said.  “You might actually kill him this time.”

“I might,” Edward conceded.  “That’s the point.”

“You’re not a murderer,” Nick said.  “I’m not going to give you the chance to become one.  On the other hand, I am quite adept at shooting people, and my conscience is fine with it.  So, Marshall, start talking or I will empty the contents of this gun into your body without remorse.  Let‘s hear the real story here.”

“Lindell hired me to kill your family,” Marshall said, his voice shaking as he spoke to Edward.  “You were an experiment to him.  He wanted to see how you would react if faced with horrible circumstances.  His life had been filled with pain, and he knew how he turned out.  He wanted to see if someone else might handle misery differently, if there was a way to come out of something like that with a positive outlook on life.”

“An experiment?” Edward said, flabbergasted.  “I was an experiment?  He had my family murdered to test my emotions?  Give me the gun, Nick!”

“I’m tempted to shoot him now on principle,” Nick admitted.  “But let’s hear the rest first.”

“He’s been watching you for a long time,” Marshall said.  “You’ve been on his radar ever since seminary, and he considered you to be a virtuous man.  It seemed logical to him to see how far a virtuous man could be pushed before he broke.  He let me decide the way and the time they would die.  The car wreck wasn‘t planned.  I was actually on my way to spy on you and your family when I saw them coming.  I knew that was my chance.”

“You killed my family,” Edward said, wiping tears away angrily with the back of his hand.  “You took everything from me.”

“I’m sorry,” Marshall said.  “I mean that.  My actions didn’t seem real until today.  I beg your forgiveness.”

Edward turned his back on the man, unwilling to look at him anymore.  “Lindell had my family killed.  I want him to pay.”

“He will,” Nick said.  “I promise you that.  But first we need to tend to Marshall.”

“Are you going to shoot him?” Edward asked.  “I’d really like the chance to pull the trigger if that’s your plan.”

Nick laughed.  “Easy now.  Marshall’s going to pay, and he’s going to pay without us committing murder.  We’ll let the sharks do the dirty work for us.”

Marshall’s face went white at the mention of the word, and he immediately began to beg for their mercy.

“On your feet,” Nick said.  “I’m giving you a chance to survive.  That’s more than Edward’s willing to do.”

Marshall stood up and headed to starboard side of the boat. 

“Jump,” Nick said, pointing the gun at his head.

“I can’t,” Marshall stammered.

“Jump or I’ll throw you overboard,” Nick said.  “I hope you’re a good swimmer.”

“I’m bleeding,” Marshall said, licking his cracked lips.  “The blood will bring the sharks.”

“You’re a quick learner,” Nick said.  “Now jump.”

“Please,” Marshall begged.

“OK, have it your way,” Nick said, planting his boot in the middle of Marshall’s chest.  The man flipped over the railing and hit the water with a loud smack. 

They listened to him scream for a while until the roar of the ocean and the hum of the engine drowned everything out.

“Do you think the sharks will really get him?” Edward asked.

“I don’t know,” Nick said.  “It’s possible he could make it to shore.  We’re only a couple of miles out.  Then again it’s possible he won’t.”

“And if he manages to survive?”

“I’ll have men waiting for him on the beach,” Nick said.  “He’s not getting off the hook.  I promise you.”

“So what do we do now?” Edward asked.

“We go stop Lindell and show him how bad things can happen to bad people too.”

“I like the sound of that.”