Clothed with the sun, p.5
Clothed with the Sun, page 5
The door slammed shut and the plane jerked into motion. We were soaring away before I could stand. The plane stabilized and I took in the surroundings. We were in a small supply room, with a door leading to a tube-shaped aluminum hall. It looked like the inside of the plane Chris and Patrick had been flying when they picked up Naomi and me on Patmos. Not a pleasant memory. Where was Naomi? I wondered, growing frantic.
“Did they see us?” Aisha asked, her eyes on Patrick’s drone.
“Of course they did!” It was the Captain’s angry voice, coming through the plane’s intercom system. Hearing his voice again sent a shiver down my spine. “Come to the cockpit,” he ordered. “Now.”
“This way,” Patrick said from the drone. The little hovering machine tilted, as if gesturing for us to follow.
We hurried after it down the hall. There were no signs of others. It was strangely quiet. The cockpit was a mirror copy of the other plane. Images of Bart and Gregory and the dragon flooded into my mind. I could still see the cracked windshield and Bart falling toward the desert in the dragon’s jaws.
“We got lucky. They sent only a scouting force.” The Captain’s voice was coming from the plane’s control panel. Beyond it, through the glass, were the blues of sky and ocean racing past as we flew forward. The Atlantic? “The UN will know we were there,” he continued, “but it’s safe for now. You’ll be back soon.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, thinking of my dream. “Only a scouting force?”
“Were you expecting a dragon?” asked the Captain, in a mocking voice.
“No.” I kept my face smooth. If I had any chance of helping Naomi, I had to learn more. “Were you?”
“That depends on you,” he said. “Patrick told me what happened to the last plane. A shame, too. We have only three of these left, and the Chinese won’t be selling any for a while. They lost half their fleet to a tsunami, right after they’d sold a dozen planes to the UN.”
I said nothing, puzzled as to the Captain’s point.
“You know why you failed the ISA-7 test, right?” Patrick’s voice sounded sympathetic, while his drone showed the emotion of a toaster.
I shook my head, surprised by his question. For once, I wished I could see Patrick’s face. How was the ISA-7 test relevant? “No one told me anything,” I said.
“It was my decision,” said the Captain. “It didn’t matter what you scored. I wasn’t going to let in an unstable kid with images of disasters in his mind. But that was before your visions started matching reality. I want to know what else you’ve seen.”
So that’s it, I thought. This man had failed me out of ISA-7, and now he wanted to use me? Someone had to be lying to me, and the President of the UN and a dragon were trying to kill me. I took a slow, deep breath. This was not the time to fight. I had to preserve my options.
“I might be able to help,” I said. “What’s your plan?”
“We have a secure link back in Washington,” the Captain answered. “We’ll reconnect your precept there. You can see more then. What matters now is that we’re on the same side. We want to find Naomi, just like you. ISA-7 knows now that President Cristo is a threat, even if we disagree about why.” He paused. “You can understand why I questioned your sanity, right?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Well, now I’m starting to think you’re not crazy.” The Captain did not sound entirely convinced.
Nor did Aisha look it. She had pulled off her head covering. Her beautiful face studied me with skepticism. “There must be a reasonable explanation for what is happening, and we will find it.”
“Some things cannot be explained with reason,” said Patrick’s voice.
“We’ll see,” said the Captain, “now that Elijah’s back on board.”
I LEFT THE plane’s cockpit to shower and shave. The little bathing chamber was far better than the desert’s well water. I set the pressure settings high enough to wash off a month of sand. Then I changed into a black suit that was waiting for me on the plane. It felt tight and foreign compared to Jacques’ loaned desert garb.
Where was Jacques now? I could think of no better explanation for Naomi’s disappearance than her seeing danger and fleeing back to him. If Aisha and ISA-7 hadn’t detected her, and Don hadn’t been around, where else could she have gone? But would she have abandoned me like that? Surely Jacques had followed us and found her. He would be mad, but he was still a leader of the order. He would keep Naomi safe. I had to believe that. And wouldn’t Patrick warn me if it weren’t true?
The questions plagued my mind as I returned to the cockpit. Whatever Aisha and the Patrick-drone were talking about when I entered, they stopped abruptly.
“Anyone want to catch me up on the past month?” I asked, forcing an innocent tone into my voice.
Aisha met my eyes and, with her lips pressed tight together, shook her head slightly. What, she wanted me to stay quiet? Or she couldn’t answer here?
“We’ve gone into full resistance mode against the ISA and the UN,” piped in the Captain’s voice.
“Who? ISA-7?”
“Yes.”
“Why, and what is resistance mode?”
“It’s a result of many things.” The Captain’s voice was clipped and stern, like always. “Here’s one you know. Charles came back to ISA-7 after you were with him at the Super Bowl. He gave us false intelligence and then he disappeared, totally off the grid. After that, it did not take us long to discover his death. His body is probably at the bottom of an ocean. Don had been controlling him. No one does that to one of my agents, not even the ultimate commander.”
“We believe this is happening across the world, not just to ISA-7,” said Patrick’s voice.
“Mostly to world influencers,” added the Captain. “Just two days ago, another U.S. citizen disappeared. He was a major religious leader who had gone to Geneva for a UN conference. Patrick had warned us that this man might be taken. Remind me, what was his name?”
“Christopher Max,” said Patrick.
“Right. Well, we couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
“So you say,” replied Patrick.
“Keep up the good reports,” said the Captain, “and you might regain my confidence. We can’t lose another plane.”
“I told you, we were attacked. I was lucky to survive. So were Naomi and Elijah.” There was heat in Patrick’s voice. “You have to let me try to infiltrate the UN.”
“The time is not right,” said the Captain. “And you may not be the right person.”
“We,” Aisha intervened, “have to focus on building the resistance. We cannot risk any direct missions against President Cristo. Not yet.”
“Agreed,” said the Captain.
It was not much longer before I saw the Washington Monument rise up on the horizon before us. I felt a surge of hope that it still stood there, unchanged. The plane soared toward the city and came to a stop over the Pentagon. The simplicity of the desert felt very far away.
“Welcome back,” said the Captain’s voice as the plane lowered. “Best time of year in the nation’s capital.”
It had been weeks since I’d left Washington en route to Rome. The city had exploded into bloom. Through the plane’s windshield I could see pale pink blossoms powdering the shore across the Potomac. The river was a magnificent ribbon of glistening ripples. Maybe I’d be okay never visiting a desert again. I’d missed water like this.
“Come to my office,” ordered the Captain. “Patrick, open the roof door for them. Don’t let anyone see you.”
The plane’s lights blinked off. The Captain had ejected from the link.
“See you in five,” said Patrick’s drone, as it came to a rest on the ground and went motionless.
“Let’s go,” said Aisha, leading the way out of the cockpit. “Things have changed around here.”
ONCE WE WERE outside, a fresh cool breeze played upon my skin—at least it felt cool compared to the desert. The greens and blues around me were overwhelming after the month of browns.
Aisha tapped my shoulder to get my attention.
“Precept disconnect,” she said under her breath, to turn hers off. She held my gaze and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “Don’t trust the Captain.”
That would be easy enough—I never had. “Okay,” I said. “Why not?”
Aisha spoke with fast, clipped words. “The Captain is past his prime. Even if he gets some things right, he is missing the bigger picture. President Cristo has outwitted him at every move. They are both trying to use you.”
“Why?”
“I’d say your visions¸” she answered, “but the Captain doesn’t really believe in those. I bet he thinks you can get him into the UN, that you can help him figure out which side Naomi is on. You’re rich. You have access to places reserved for the elite.”
Her words brought more questions than answers. “Like what places?” I asked. “And what’s in this for you?”
“My family…” A faint smile touched her lips. “My people’s leader. He is our best hope. I will introduce you. You will see. We will work together.”
“Hey!” Patrick climbed out of a door in the Pentagon’s roof. “Over here.” He motioned for us to come, holding the door open. I’d forgotten how tall he was, how blond.
As soon as we reached him, Patrick grabbed Aisha’s arm. “What is it this time?” he demanded. “You turned your precept off again. What did you say to Elijah?”
Aisha yanked her arm away. “Ask him.”
They both turned to me. “So?” Patrick asked.
“We talked about Aisha’s leader.” It seemed like a safe starting point, but apparently it wasn’t.
Patrick’s face grew red as he faced Aisha again. “Your loyalty is here!” he shouted. Then he stopped, as if catching himself. He smoothed his face and continued calmly. “Please, try to leave your leader out of this. Our numbers are dwindling. We need you.”
“Leave them out of this?” She was shaking her head. “Haven’t you been listening to me, Patrick? The Mahdi has reappeared.”
“What’s a Mahdi?” I asked.
Aisha glared at me, but Patrick answered first. “She thinks her people’s leader is some sort of redeemer of Islam. They believe he comes before the end of times. Well, the Iranian king, apparently he disappeared over a thousand years ago and now he’s back.” Patrick shrugged as if it was crazy. “The royal family, Aisha’s family, they embraced him, put him on the throne. They say he’s this Mahdi.”
“It is known,” Aisha insisted, with hands on her hips. “He is the Mahdi. His forehead is high. His nose is long and curved.” She carved the arc of her elegant nose. “The faithful unite under him. He is no king. He is the Imam and Caliph. He fills the earth with fairness and justice. This marks the seventh year of his reign. Isa will come soon. Together they will slay Dajjal and rid the world of evil.”
“Who’s Isa?” I looked from Aisha to Patrick, and back again. “Who’s Dajjal?”
Aisha shook her head. “For a boy with visions, for a prophet—you know nothing.”
“Yeah, I know,” I admitted. It seemed all the religions were coming up with some way to explain what was happening in the world. But none of them could explain the dragon I’d seen.
“Isa is Jesus in Islam,” Patrick said. “Dajjal is the false messiah. It might be Don Cristo.”
“Cristo is the Dajjal,” Aisha agreed. She pointed to her eye. “He is blind in the right eye. Isa will come. He will pray behind the Mahdi, and they will kill Dajjal.”
“Great,” I said. “So why don’t we just relax?”
“Prophecy must be earned. We cannot relax,” Aisha said, through gritted teeth. “If we do, Don will kill us. Just like he killed Charles. He is killing the world.”
“You think he caused the disasters?” I asked.
Aisha nodded. “His power is growing.”
For once Patrick seemed to agree. “Have you heard what happened to New York?” he asked.
“No.” In my dream, my Mom had shown me the city flooded, and my Dad had died.
“A tidal wave hit it just a few days ago,” Patrick said. “The city still stands, but the death toll is in the thousands.”
“Hear anything about my Dad?”
Patrick shook his head. “Our missions have been abroad, searching for you and Naomi. I just heard about the wave. A smaller one hit LA, too. Scientists say it’s because of the earthquakes, and that they might get worse.”
“It will get worse,” Aisha added. “All the checks on Don Cristo’s dominion are crumbling. ISA is fully in his hands, and ISA-7 can hardly monitor him anymore. We have to set up defenses in Iran, a ring of protection around the Mahdi.”
“We can’t just defend,” Patrick countered. “We have to infiltrate Geneva. We have to rescue Chris.” Patrick paused. “But you are right, our resources are limited.”
“What you have to do,” said the Captain’s voice, “is come to my office. Now.” His drone was hovering behind me, without making a sound. I wondered how long he’d been listening.
“Coming,” said Patrick and Aisha together. They shared a look of distrustful respect. It seemed their feelings about the Captain were all that united them. We followed after his drone into the building.
THE HALLS OF the Pentagon reminded me of ISA orientation. Normal looking people scurried around doing normal looking things. The ceilings, floors, and walls might have been a century old. Modernity had barely touched this place. There was comfort in the drabness.
The comfort ended when we walked up to an anonymous looking elevator. It was tucked away in a remote corner, with no one else around. Its door was plain steel. There were no markings around it. Patrick and Aisha each reached out and pressed their hands onto the metal. The door slid open.
We stepped inside the grey box. There were no buttons. The door slid closed and down we went.
“Remember,” Patrick said to me, “almost no one knows ISA-7 exists. Our badges and files show that we have random desk jobs in ISA. I checked yours. They show you’ll be a summer intern for the administration bureau.”
“So does this mean I’m in ISA-7 now?”
They both shook their heads. “No, but you should be soon,” Aisha replied. “You still have to pass the test and survive initiation.”
Survive? She sounded dead serious. “What if I don’t want to take the test?” I asked.
The elevator stopped and the door opened.
Patrick stepped forward and looked back at me in disbelief. “You’re still pushing, still trying to be special. We’ll let you talk to the Captain about that. Speaking of, I’d avoid bringing up anything related to Naomi or her friends.”
“Why?”
He stared at me, as if I should know the answer. Was he talking about the order? “Trust me. This way.” He motioned for me to follow. We were in the same long hallway where we’d been attacked on our first day of orientation.
As we walked, Aisha asked me, “Does this place bring back fond memories?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “The décor is so uplifting, really. And it’s tough to beat the robot arms dropping from the ceiling.”
Aisha grinned. “It’s good to have you back, Eli.”
We stopped in front of a plain door. Patrick leaned his face toward a red sensor. It blinked green a moment later.
“Guests first,” Patrick said, as the door opened.
I walked right in. No use being timid now.
The smell of rubbing alcohol hit me immediately. The room was spotless. The cleanest looking room I’d ever seen. The floors, walls, and ceiling were white. Total-absence-of-color white.
“Sit,” the Captain ordered without turning around.
He stood facing the blank far wall. A bundle of wires emerged from the ceiling above him and connected to the circuit board on his bald head. Because his completely white outfit blended in with the walls, his head looked like a cantaloupe suspended from the wires above.
There were six chairs. Five of them facing the one nearest to the Captain. There were no other pieces of furniture in the room. In fact, there was nothing else at all in the room.
“Take the middle seat,” Patrick said to me. “This meeting is about you.”
I did what he said.
Aisha and Patrick sat on either side of me.
We sat there in silence for a few moments. A question came to me.
I looked to Aisha. “Why did you come in body to Zag, if the Captain and Patrick came in drone?”
She put a finger to her lips and shook her head.
“I ask the questions in here.” The Captain reached up and pulled the wires out of his head. He turned to me. I had not missed that hard glare. “Where’s Sven?”
“How should I know?”
The Captain’s eyes stayed locked on me as he sat slowly in his chair, planted his hands on his knees, and leaned forward. “Who asks the questions in here?”
“You ask the questions,” Patrick said. “Sven will be here in two minutes.”
“Good. Before he comes, tell me Elijah, why would President Cristo let you and Naomi go in Rome, but now want so desperately to capture you?”
“How should I…”
“Answers!” shouted the Captain. “Give me answers. Save your questions for another time and place. And, ‘I don’t know’ is never an answer in this room.”
I wanted to ask, who do you think you are? But I didn’t. Maybe it was fear. I had a feeling this guy would just as well kill me as eat his breakfast.
“I’ve heard several theories about Don,” I said.
“Spare me the theories.” The Captain pointed his stubby finger at me. “I want to know what you think.”
How was I supposed to answer that? You see, Captain, Don is either the devil incarnate or a demented UN president who’s a savant with technology and has a pet dragon. No, that wouldn’t work. And I certainly wasn’t going to mention Naomi’s baby. “Cristo wants power,” I began. “For one reason or another, he thinks Naomi can help him gain more power.”
“Good try,” the Captain said. “At least you’re not completely lying. But why Naomi, and why you?”
“Did they see us?” Aisha asked, her eyes on Patrick’s drone.
“Of course they did!” It was the Captain’s angry voice, coming through the plane’s intercom system. Hearing his voice again sent a shiver down my spine. “Come to the cockpit,” he ordered. “Now.”
“This way,” Patrick said from the drone. The little hovering machine tilted, as if gesturing for us to follow.
We hurried after it down the hall. There were no signs of others. It was strangely quiet. The cockpit was a mirror copy of the other plane. Images of Bart and Gregory and the dragon flooded into my mind. I could still see the cracked windshield and Bart falling toward the desert in the dragon’s jaws.
“We got lucky. They sent only a scouting force.” The Captain’s voice was coming from the plane’s control panel. Beyond it, through the glass, were the blues of sky and ocean racing past as we flew forward. The Atlantic? “The UN will know we were there,” he continued, “but it’s safe for now. You’ll be back soon.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, thinking of my dream. “Only a scouting force?”
“Were you expecting a dragon?” asked the Captain, in a mocking voice.
“No.” I kept my face smooth. If I had any chance of helping Naomi, I had to learn more. “Were you?”
“That depends on you,” he said. “Patrick told me what happened to the last plane. A shame, too. We have only three of these left, and the Chinese won’t be selling any for a while. They lost half their fleet to a tsunami, right after they’d sold a dozen planes to the UN.”
I said nothing, puzzled as to the Captain’s point.
“You know why you failed the ISA-7 test, right?” Patrick’s voice sounded sympathetic, while his drone showed the emotion of a toaster.
I shook my head, surprised by his question. For once, I wished I could see Patrick’s face. How was the ISA-7 test relevant? “No one told me anything,” I said.
“It was my decision,” said the Captain. “It didn’t matter what you scored. I wasn’t going to let in an unstable kid with images of disasters in his mind. But that was before your visions started matching reality. I want to know what else you’ve seen.”
So that’s it, I thought. This man had failed me out of ISA-7, and now he wanted to use me? Someone had to be lying to me, and the President of the UN and a dragon were trying to kill me. I took a slow, deep breath. This was not the time to fight. I had to preserve my options.
“I might be able to help,” I said. “What’s your plan?”
“We have a secure link back in Washington,” the Captain answered. “We’ll reconnect your precept there. You can see more then. What matters now is that we’re on the same side. We want to find Naomi, just like you. ISA-7 knows now that President Cristo is a threat, even if we disagree about why.” He paused. “You can understand why I questioned your sanity, right?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Well, now I’m starting to think you’re not crazy.” The Captain did not sound entirely convinced.
Nor did Aisha look it. She had pulled off her head covering. Her beautiful face studied me with skepticism. “There must be a reasonable explanation for what is happening, and we will find it.”
“Some things cannot be explained with reason,” said Patrick’s voice.
“We’ll see,” said the Captain, “now that Elijah’s back on board.”
I LEFT THE plane’s cockpit to shower and shave. The little bathing chamber was far better than the desert’s well water. I set the pressure settings high enough to wash off a month of sand. Then I changed into a black suit that was waiting for me on the plane. It felt tight and foreign compared to Jacques’ loaned desert garb.
Where was Jacques now? I could think of no better explanation for Naomi’s disappearance than her seeing danger and fleeing back to him. If Aisha and ISA-7 hadn’t detected her, and Don hadn’t been around, where else could she have gone? But would she have abandoned me like that? Surely Jacques had followed us and found her. He would be mad, but he was still a leader of the order. He would keep Naomi safe. I had to believe that. And wouldn’t Patrick warn me if it weren’t true?
The questions plagued my mind as I returned to the cockpit. Whatever Aisha and the Patrick-drone were talking about when I entered, they stopped abruptly.
“Anyone want to catch me up on the past month?” I asked, forcing an innocent tone into my voice.
Aisha met my eyes and, with her lips pressed tight together, shook her head slightly. What, she wanted me to stay quiet? Or she couldn’t answer here?
“We’ve gone into full resistance mode against the ISA and the UN,” piped in the Captain’s voice.
“Who? ISA-7?”
“Yes.”
“Why, and what is resistance mode?”
“It’s a result of many things.” The Captain’s voice was clipped and stern, like always. “Here’s one you know. Charles came back to ISA-7 after you were with him at the Super Bowl. He gave us false intelligence and then he disappeared, totally off the grid. After that, it did not take us long to discover his death. His body is probably at the bottom of an ocean. Don had been controlling him. No one does that to one of my agents, not even the ultimate commander.”
“We believe this is happening across the world, not just to ISA-7,” said Patrick’s voice.
“Mostly to world influencers,” added the Captain. “Just two days ago, another U.S. citizen disappeared. He was a major religious leader who had gone to Geneva for a UN conference. Patrick had warned us that this man might be taken. Remind me, what was his name?”
“Christopher Max,” said Patrick.
“Right. Well, we couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
“So you say,” replied Patrick.
“Keep up the good reports,” said the Captain, “and you might regain my confidence. We can’t lose another plane.”
“I told you, we were attacked. I was lucky to survive. So were Naomi and Elijah.” There was heat in Patrick’s voice. “You have to let me try to infiltrate the UN.”
“The time is not right,” said the Captain. “And you may not be the right person.”
“We,” Aisha intervened, “have to focus on building the resistance. We cannot risk any direct missions against President Cristo. Not yet.”
“Agreed,” said the Captain.
It was not much longer before I saw the Washington Monument rise up on the horizon before us. I felt a surge of hope that it still stood there, unchanged. The plane soared toward the city and came to a stop over the Pentagon. The simplicity of the desert felt very far away.
“Welcome back,” said the Captain’s voice as the plane lowered. “Best time of year in the nation’s capital.”
It had been weeks since I’d left Washington en route to Rome. The city had exploded into bloom. Through the plane’s windshield I could see pale pink blossoms powdering the shore across the Potomac. The river was a magnificent ribbon of glistening ripples. Maybe I’d be okay never visiting a desert again. I’d missed water like this.
“Come to my office,” ordered the Captain. “Patrick, open the roof door for them. Don’t let anyone see you.”
The plane’s lights blinked off. The Captain had ejected from the link.
“See you in five,” said Patrick’s drone, as it came to a rest on the ground and went motionless.
“Let’s go,” said Aisha, leading the way out of the cockpit. “Things have changed around here.”
ONCE WE WERE outside, a fresh cool breeze played upon my skin—at least it felt cool compared to the desert. The greens and blues around me were overwhelming after the month of browns.
Aisha tapped my shoulder to get my attention.
“Precept disconnect,” she said under her breath, to turn hers off. She held my gaze and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “Don’t trust the Captain.”
That would be easy enough—I never had. “Okay,” I said. “Why not?”
Aisha spoke with fast, clipped words. “The Captain is past his prime. Even if he gets some things right, he is missing the bigger picture. President Cristo has outwitted him at every move. They are both trying to use you.”
“Why?”
“I’d say your visions¸” she answered, “but the Captain doesn’t really believe in those. I bet he thinks you can get him into the UN, that you can help him figure out which side Naomi is on. You’re rich. You have access to places reserved for the elite.”
Her words brought more questions than answers. “Like what places?” I asked. “And what’s in this for you?”
“My family…” A faint smile touched her lips. “My people’s leader. He is our best hope. I will introduce you. You will see. We will work together.”
“Hey!” Patrick climbed out of a door in the Pentagon’s roof. “Over here.” He motioned for us to come, holding the door open. I’d forgotten how tall he was, how blond.
As soon as we reached him, Patrick grabbed Aisha’s arm. “What is it this time?” he demanded. “You turned your precept off again. What did you say to Elijah?”
Aisha yanked her arm away. “Ask him.”
They both turned to me. “So?” Patrick asked.
“We talked about Aisha’s leader.” It seemed like a safe starting point, but apparently it wasn’t.
Patrick’s face grew red as he faced Aisha again. “Your loyalty is here!” he shouted. Then he stopped, as if catching himself. He smoothed his face and continued calmly. “Please, try to leave your leader out of this. Our numbers are dwindling. We need you.”
“Leave them out of this?” She was shaking her head. “Haven’t you been listening to me, Patrick? The Mahdi has reappeared.”
“What’s a Mahdi?” I asked.
Aisha glared at me, but Patrick answered first. “She thinks her people’s leader is some sort of redeemer of Islam. They believe he comes before the end of times. Well, the Iranian king, apparently he disappeared over a thousand years ago and now he’s back.” Patrick shrugged as if it was crazy. “The royal family, Aisha’s family, they embraced him, put him on the throne. They say he’s this Mahdi.”
“It is known,” Aisha insisted, with hands on her hips. “He is the Mahdi. His forehead is high. His nose is long and curved.” She carved the arc of her elegant nose. “The faithful unite under him. He is no king. He is the Imam and Caliph. He fills the earth with fairness and justice. This marks the seventh year of his reign. Isa will come soon. Together they will slay Dajjal and rid the world of evil.”
“Who’s Isa?” I looked from Aisha to Patrick, and back again. “Who’s Dajjal?”
Aisha shook her head. “For a boy with visions, for a prophet—you know nothing.”
“Yeah, I know,” I admitted. It seemed all the religions were coming up with some way to explain what was happening in the world. But none of them could explain the dragon I’d seen.
“Isa is Jesus in Islam,” Patrick said. “Dajjal is the false messiah. It might be Don Cristo.”
“Cristo is the Dajjal,” Aisha agreed. She pointed to her eye. “He is blind in the right eye. Isa will come. He will pray behind the Mahdi, and they will kill Dajjal.”
“Great,” I said. “So why don’t we just relax?”
“Prophecy must be earned. We cannot relax,” Aisha said, through gritted teeth. “If we do, Don will kill us. Just like he killed Charles. He is killing the world.”
“You think he caused the disasters?” I asked.
Aisha nodded. “His power is growing.”
For once Patrick seemed to agree. “Have you heard what happened to New York?” he asked.
“No.” In my dream, my Mom had shown me the city flooded, and my Dad had died.
“A tidal wave hit it just a few days ago,” Patrick said. “The city still stands, but the death toll is in the thousands.”
“Hear anything about my Dad?”
Patrick shook his head. “Our missions have been abroad, searching for you and Naomi. I just heard about the wave. A smaller one hit LA, too. Scientists say it’s because of the earthquakes, and that they might get worse.”
“It will get worse,” Aisha added. “All the checks on Don Cristo’s dominion are crumbling. ISA is fully in his hands, and ISA-7 can hardly monitor him anymore. We have to set up defenses in Iran, a ring of protection around the Mahdi.”
“We can’t just defend,” Patrick countered. “We have to infiltrate Geneva. We have to rescue Chris.” Patrick paused. “But you are right, our resources are limited.”
“What you have to do,” said the Captain’s voice, “is come to my office. Now.” His drone was hovering behind me, without making a sound. I wondered how long he’d been listening.
“Coming,” said Patrick and Aisha together. They shared a look of distrustful respect. It seemed their feelings about the Captain were all that united them. We followed after his drone into the building.
THE HALLS OF the Pentagon reminded me of ISA orientation. Normal looking people scurried around doing normal looking things. The ceilings, floors, and walls might have been a century old. Modernity had barely touched this place. There was comfort in the drabness.
The comfort ended when we walked up to an anonymous looking elevator. It was tucked away in a remote corner, with no one else around. Its door was plain steel. There were no markings around it. Patrick and Aisha each reached out and pressed their hands onto the metal. The door slid open.
We stepped inside the grey box. There were no buttons. The door slid closed and down we went.
“Remember,” Patrick said to me, “almost no one knows ISA-7 exists. Our badges and files show that we have random desk jobs in ISA. I checked yours. They show you’ll be a summer intern for the administration bureau.”
“So does this mean I’m in ISA-7 now?”
They both shook their heads. “No, but you should be soon,” Aisha replied. “You still have to pass the test and survive initiation.”
Survive? She sounded dead serious. “What if I don’t want to take the test?” I asked.
The elevator stopped and the door opened.
Patrick stepped forward and looked back at me in disbelief. “You’re still pushing, still trying to be special. We’ll let you talk to the Captain about that. Speaking of, I’d avoid bringing up anything related to Naomi or her friends.”
“Why?”
He stared at me, as if I should know the answer. Was he talking about the order? “Trust me. This way.” He motioned for me to follow. We were in the same long hallway where we’d been attacked on our first day of orientation.
As we walked, Aisha asked me, “Does this place bring back fond memories?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “The décor is so uplifting, really. And it’s tough to beat the robot arms dropping from the ceiling.”
Aisha grinned. “It’s good to have you back, Eli.”
We stopped in front of a plain door. Patrick leaned his face toward a red sensor. It blinked green a moment later.
“Guests first,” Patrick said, as the door opened.
I walked right in. No use being timid now.
The smell of rubbing alcohol hit me immediately. The room was spotless. The cleanest looking room I’d ever seen. The floors, walls, and ceiling were white. Total-absence-of-color white.
“Sit,” the Captain ordered without turning around.
He stood facing the blank far wall. A bundle of wires emerged from the ceiling above him and connected to the circuit board on his bald head. Because his completely white outfit blended in with the walls, his head looked like a cantaloupe suspended from the wires above.
There were six chairs. Five of them facing the one nearest to the Captain. There were no other pieces of furniture in the room. In fact, there was nothing else at all in the room.
“Take the middle seat,” Patrick said to me. “This meeting is about you.”
I did what he said.
Aisha and Patrick sat on either side of me.
We sat there in silence for a few moments. A question came to me.
I looked to Aisha. “Why did you come in body to Zag, if the Captain and Patrick came in drone?”
She put a finger to her lips and shook her head.
“I ask the questions in here.” The Captain reached up and pulled the wires out of his head. He turned to me. I had not missed that hard glare. “Where’s Sven?”
“How should I know?”
The Captain’s eyes stayed locked on me as he sat slowly in his chair, planted his hands on his knees, and leaned forward. “Who asks the questions in here?”
“You ask the questions,” Patrick said. “Sven will be here in two minutes.”
“Good. Before he comes, tell me Elijah, why would President Cristo let you and Naomi go in Rome, but now want so desperately to capture you?”
“How should I…”
“Answers!” shouted the Captain. “Give me answers. Save your questions for another time and place. And, ‘I don’t know’ is never an answer in this room.”
I wanted to ask, who do you think you are? But I didn’t. Maybe it was fear. I had a feeling this guy would just as well kill me as eat his breakfast.
“I’ve heard several theories about Don,” I said.
“Spare me the theories.” The Captain pointed his stubby finger at me. “I want to know what you think.”
How was I supposed to answer that? You see, Captain, Don is either the devil incarnate or a demented UN president who’s a savant with technology and has a pet dragon. No, that wouldn’t work. And I certainly wasn’t going to mention Naomi’s baby. “Cristo wants power,” I began. “For one reason or another, he thinks Naomi can help him gain more power.”
“Good try,” the Captain said. “At least you’re not completely lying. But why Naomi, and why you?”
