Woe man, p.22
Woe Man, page 22
“Mmm,” adds his brother.
I see Mike’s point, but my gut tells me the bishop lacks a sincere bone in his body.
“I hate to ask the obvious,” Lisa yells from the kitchen, “but what are we going to do? We’re in bad shape if we get stuck here, but I don’t see an easy out.”
“Good point,” Hank agrees. “We need another out and this place was my last back up plan.”
I see the time has come to bring them all up to speed. I pitch my voice louder. “I’m working on a potential exit strategy with Jason Matthews. He works for Kent Jamieson, the self-made robotics multi-billionaire. Kent invited us to go to stay at his estate in Duvall. Jason’s working on an angle to get us out of here.”
Mike shakes his head. “But what if that doesn’t pan out? I hate to admit it, but all the medical issues popping up are wearing me down and it’s bound to get worse if others start glowing or Brad’s labor turns real.”
“Real?” Brad scowls. “You try dealing with this so-called false crap It’s totally real and it bites.”
“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t mean you aren’t feeling it, but it’s bound to feel worse when you deliver your baby.” He turns to me. “But my point remains the same. I could use some help.”
I nod in agreement. “Which is why I’m considering Kent’s offer. Jason says the estate has a world class medical facility. He said they have everything we’ll need.”
“I thought you were worried Jamieson Industries is tied up in a hoax,” Lisa notes.
I turn and offer a shrug. “Jason says they aren’t. I think I believe him.”
“You think?” Mike groans. “That doesn’t sound very convincing. Aren’t there any other options beside Jamieson?”
I spin back around and take a deep breath. “There is at least one we need to consider. I hate it, but we shouldn’t dance around it, either. We could be in over our heads. Maybe we should ask the government for protection. I’m…”
“But they’ll lock me away,” Brad cries.
Facing her requires I swing around. “I’m not saying we hand you over without a fight. It might be worth opening lines of communication to negotiate a deal. After all, the resources of the government are vast. The right agreement might protect you and it might just help calm fears.”
“You can’t control that,” Hank disagrees. “Once you get the politicians and bureaucrats involved you can forget about having any say in what happens.”
“Mind if I say something?”
I spin three-quarters of the way around to face Dwight. “Not at all. Go ahead.”
He motions to include his brother who stands at his shoulder. “When Uncle Hank asked us to come, he didn’t tell us why he needed us. Then once we saw what was going on, we knew we wanted to help. The thing is we’re not strangers to providing security. Up until we converted to Islam a few months ago we were running our own security business. We know how to keep people safe.”
Since I didn’t even know Hank had nephews this is all news to me. “Are you saying you have a specific suggestion about Brad’s safety?”
“We do.”
“Go on.”
“It can’t involve the U.S. government.”
“Why?”
“Because the rest of the world believes Christians own this country. If we turn her over to the government, there are a whole lot of Muslims, Hindus, and Buddhists who are bound to get upset over the idea. People are already worked up over Brad because of the potential of what she represents, but this significantly ups the stakes.”
Mike shakes his head. “That sounds like a vast overgeneralization to me.”
Dwight turns to Dog a moment before responding, which leaves me to wonder once again over his ability to know his brother’s mind. At last he turns back. “All we’re saying is the U.S. is more a Christian nation than not. Sure there are other religions here, but Christians are still the majority by far. That’s not true in many other parts of the world. Thus, you should expect a ton of skepticism from other countries and those outside of the Christian norm that the U.S. government—that is, a largely Christian government—will have Brad’s interests at heart or won’t be at the heart of some cover up or hoax.”
His logic seems both impeccable and frightening. “Are you suggesting we might spark a religious-based terror attack if we hand this off?”
He nods as if weighing it. “I hesitate to use the word terror, but yes. When you start talking about a divine creator intervening in human affairs the entire world has a stake in the outcome. The best option is to keep her out of the hands of anyone who could claim a religious advantage by holding her.”
“But who would that be?” I ask, putting it to the group. “And wouldn’t the same logic apply to anyone watching over her? I’m sure Kent Jamieson has his own corporate interests to protect.”
“This is horrible,” Brad groans. “I don’t see as I am safe anywhere.”
“Guys, guys!”
I spin to see Lisa pointing to her phone.
“That bishop took off, and now they say Diana’s somewhere outside the building.”
“Here?” I ask. “We have to talk to her.”
“I don’t want to talk to her,” Brad mumbles gloomily behind me.
I pretend not to hear. “Did they say where she’s headed?”
Still staring into her screen, she shakes her head. “Not yet. It’s still an unconfirmed rumor.”
My mind clicks into gear as I visualize our next steps. “Lisa, I need you to go out and find her. You have to bring her back here. We need to talk to her. I want to know whatever she knows about Brad.”
“Me?” When she looks up her eyes appear huge through her glasses.
“You have to. It’s a few minutes to eight and Brad and I are supposed to meet the FBI in an hour. I need Mike here in case of a medical situation and I need the twins to keep watch over Brad. That leaves Hank and who’s fighting off indigestion. I doubt he’s any match for that crowd out there.”
“Speak for your self,” he complains.
I pretend to ignore that, too.
“But will she even talk to me?” she asks.
“I don’t know, Lisa. It’s a long shot, but I need you to try.” I glance to Mike for assistance.
“Shelly’s right,” he says, picking up on my cue. “We need Diana’s input to formulate a plan. I would go, but I should stay with Brad, until we have more clarity over her labor.”
“I’ll go,” Hank says, pulling himself upright on the couch. “I’m old so if anything happens…”
“Stop it,” I snap. “You aren’t so old it doesn’t matter what happens to you. I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. In any event, I need you to get back on that computer of yours and do whatever you can to jam up the surveillance on the building. I want you to figure out how to get Lisa past any prying eyes and we need a plan for dealing with the FBI.”
“But I already jammed up the surveillance cameras,” he argues. “The trouble is it’s a temporary stopgap. When the FBI brings in a tech that knows his business it’s game over.”
“But they haven’t, yet, right?”
He swings his feet off the couch and shrugs. “How would we know? The only thing we found so far is the bug they planted in your condo and those spy cams in the halls. I guess the fact they aren’t pounding on our door should give us some measure of comfort.”
“Don’t plan on getting too comfortable,” Dwight warns. “I bet your condo upstairs was stripped from top to bottom. They won’t stop looking for answers, until they can explain our disappearance.”
Sighing, I turn back to Lisa. “We’re all on borrowed time here. Please do what you can.”
I see her struggling to work up her courage, but something must shift. She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “Any ideas where to start?”
I look to Mike, but he only shrugs. Spinning, I note the twins standing like two silent black pillars. No hope there. I turn back to Lisa. “Bring your phone and follow the news as you head out. If she’s out there someone’s bound to report her location.”
“I hope the media doesn’t get to her first,” Mike remarks. “If they catch wind you may never get through.”
“Let me check the halls first,” Hank suggests. “If we don’t see any FBI agents out on our floor you should be good to go.”
I nod my tacit approval as I head for the kitchen to give Lisa a hug and some last minute encouragement before sending her off.
Chapter 34
“You already have all the proof you need. The only issue is whether or not you choose to believe it.”
- Diana, “Book of Life” Inquisition
Tuesday 8:55 AM
Elation is a funny thing. You experience it with perfect clarity one moment and find it fleeting and elusive the next. A half hour ago I was ecstatic for the simple reason I stopped glowing. I felt this huge weight lifting from my shoulders. Then out of the blue my n-Jewels started overwhelming me with report after report of rioting, unrest, and bombings. The virtual visions of despair in my head demanded so much of my attention I kept bumping into walls and stubbing toes on furniture. Shutting down the news feed provided some relief, but it only lasted until Lisa called to inform me she’s still out looking for Diana and having a hell of a time getting through the crowds. That’s when the line went dead.
After listening to Hank speculate whether the cause was my n-Jewels, Lisa’s phone, or perhaps something more sinister like a satellite disruption, we stood around for the next twenty minutes and discussed our deadline with the FBI. Hank voted against the meeting. Brad was terrified. The twins seemed ambivalent. And Mike waffled back and forth because of our medical needs. In the end, after going around and around a dozen times or more, the conversation stopped and they all stared at me. “Well?” Hank asked. “What’s the verdict?”
It was a sobering thought to realize how much they’re following my lead in all this. I just hope their faith in me is warranted and my first decision doesn’t qualify as a disaster. I let the FBI in on our location. Everything was pointing to it: One, someone’s bound to spot us if we go traipsing through the halls. Two, the condo board has it in for us, which means we’re living on borrowed time. Three, if we meet per the FBI’s requested schedule we demonstrate our good intent. And last, I made a couple forays and got a verbal commitment there will be no more than two agents at a time in our condo. The actual number was irrelevant. What made the difference was their willingness to consider terms—any terms at all.
A sharp knock on Hank’s front door brings home the incredible risks involved. Gulping air, I crack it halfway open and face the two men standing on the doormat.
“FBI, Ma’am. May we come in?”
I swallow hard to keep an unwelcome wave of nausea at bay. “Do we have a choice?”
The taller agent frowns. “If you prefer to do it the hard way, I can have three dozen of my agents swarming around here in about two minutes.”
As I swing the door wide, the sweep rubs against the carpet and generates a soft swoosh. “No, we have nothing to hide. Come in.”
Pointing out the way I wait for the men to lead. The taller one immediately pads down the short hall into the living room. Agent Two hesitates a moment to stare at me, before racing to catch up with his partner. As they clear the path of the door, I swing it shut and come up from behind.
The men tense as they enter the room, no doubt surprised by the giant twin black pillars planted menacingly before Brad. Hank and Mike are hidden away in the master bedroom, monitoring our backside via several concealed webcams.
We relocated all the furniture except Hank’s overstuffed chair to the guest room. The chair is now stationed where Hank’s couch normally rests, back against the wall to my left. Brad sits in it and the twins stand before her with their giant arms crossed. Dog is to her right; Dwight to her left. Both glare at the agents. Brad appears the part of a reluctant queen, being guarded by two giant Rottweilers.
As I move down and past the men on their right, the tallest agent rotates his neck toward me and lifts an eyebrow. He’s also the younger of the two, maybe forty, and appears exhausted. No doubt his night was as sleepless as my own. He wears a khaki colored suit with a white shirt and maroon tie. He has a good build, and though his nose seems a tad long for his face, I find him surprisingly handsome.
I size him up at about six-one as he runs a hand through his jet black hair and locks on my eyes. The action reeks of a typical law enforcement tactic, one designed to intimidate. Good thing I have ample experience dealing with cops and know enough not to get rattled. Unfortunately, my win turns into Brad’s loss: As he breaks eye contact with me, she ends up on the receiving end and wilts under the scrutiny.
Watching her becomes painful. Her cheeks flush, her body trembles, and her eyes dart about in desperation before coming to rest upon on agent Two.
Older and shorter than his fellow agent, he has a slight hunch to his back and appears to be going bald on top. His eyebrows are gray and bushy. The left one arches high as he stares at Brad over a pair of thick reading glasses riding the tip of his nose. Wearing a look of complete astonishment, he gapes as if he’s seen too many crazy things in his long career and she’s the last and worst of it.
Brad’s quivering lip screams a diversion is long overdue.
Swallowing down against some last second hesitation I dive right in. “Gentlemen, don’t I get an introduction? And what’s this nonsense about a hoax or terrorism?”
My inquiry does the trick as both men turn to face me.
The taller agent remembers to smile. “I’m sorry. I’m Special Agent Johnson and this is Agent Davies.”
After motioning to agent two, he extracts a card from his wallet and passes it off.
I give it a quick glance. “My, my, Trace Johnson, Special Agent in Charge of the Seattle Office. Impressive. Well, I’m Shelly Armano, attorney for Mary Tomay. For now, I’ll ask you to please direct all your questions to me.”
He shakes his head. “I’m afraid that won’t do Ms. Armano.”
“Oh, please call me Shelly.”
“As you wish. Shelly, please tell your client to speak freely. We need some answers.” He waves a hand at Brad.
“Join the crowd,” I smile.
“What’s that supposed to mean? This is serious. We have a number of issues to clear up.”
“Don’t we always,” I sigh.
Agent Davies steps around his partner and tries to reach for my elbow. “Listen, lady, I’m not sure who you think you’re…”
I block his hand with one of my own. “You boys aren’t going to find the answers you seek talking with us. Aren’t you up on the news? Everything you need to know was recorded for you in 3-D, high-def color. Hell, the original disks are in your possession, and you had some twenty plus hours to examine them. That’s more than we can say.”
Frowning, Trace glances at his fellow agent before refocusing at me. “You have nothing to gain by being uncooperative.”
I set my jaw. “Uncooperative? I’m the one who called you, remember? And wasn’t it me who kept faith to meet you at nine and informed you of our exact location? And didn’t we just establish you’re the ones holding the only real evidence in this matter? Furthermore, who insists this is all some hoax. It isn’t us, I assure you.”
“But it is a hoax,” Agent Davies asserts. “It has to be.”
I roll my eyes. “So where’s the proof? All I hear from your agents is some ill-conceived notion we’re suspects in a devious plot. I can promise you we’re not.”
“But the facts…”
“Are being manipulated. Now, I suggest we go back to the basics.” Raising my hand, I hold up a finger. “Fact one, my unfortunate client was a man up until Sunday night and was somehow transformed into a pregnant woman against her will. I know it sounds preposterous, but it’s the truth. Fact two, if it wasn’t true, you would plaster whatever proof have all over the media to diffuse this crisis. Fact three, since you haven’t done that, you have no proof. End of story.”
Davies opens his mouth as if to rebut, but Trace nudges his elbow. “Enough,” he scolds. Ignoring the glare his fellow agent returns he steps a foot closer. “It was Shelly, right?”
“Agent Johnson, you must have memorized my complete FBI file by now. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry, you’re right. Look, I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over.”
“By all means.”
He rotates his neck to glance at Brad and the twins before rotating back to me. “I didn’t expect this.”
“Oh?” I lift an eyebrow. “I suppose you thought my client should be happy for all the attention, is that it?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I was talking about the bodyguards.”
Stepping across the room, I turn and end on Dwight’s left side. “Don’t you think it’s a good idea under the circumstances?”
He sizes up the twins. “It is, but it won’t be enough if and when it comes to real trouble. I’m hoping I can still change your attitude.”
“My attitude?” I clamp down on a surge of frustration by latching onto Dwight’s thick biceps. “What’s wrong with my attitude?”
“You have the wrong idea about us,” Trace pleads. “We aren’t out to get you. We were…”
“Aren’t out to get us?” I laugh it off as I let go of Dwight and step toward him. “Is that why your agents have harassed us since yesterday? My god, who other than you guys are more invested in labeling us terrorists, calling Mary a hoax, and threatening to disbar me?”
He expels a weary sigh. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry for all that. It’s…my goodness; you have to understand this is just an unprecedented situation. You wouldn’t believe all the differing opinions and flak I’m getting. Let me assure you, all we want is to get Mary out of this building and into protective custody. If you would please consider letting us transfer her to a fortified facility down in…”
