Abigail and Joshua were in their hotel room in D.C. after meeting with Pack McHenry. Abigail clicked off her Allfone and said, “That was Pack’s wife, Victoria. She’s made reservations for brunch tomorrow, just the two of us. Great, huh?”
Joshua was irritated. “So what do I do? Stay here in the hotel twiddling my thumbs? Abby, excuse me, but the world’s falling apart and you’re doing lunch!”
“Brunch actually,” she said with a look that said she would not be moved. “And about your thumb twiddling, well, I have a message on my Allfone that concerns you, Josh. I’ve got a suggestion …”
“A message from whom?”
“Pastor Campbell. He’s here in D.C. He had a meeting with the Senate Chaplain but said he would like to take you out for lunch. Sort of a way to congratulate you on getting the Medal of Freedom. He was very impressed.”
Joshua had become an occasional golf partner with Campbell from time to time when the two would meet up at some of the upscale golf courses outside of New York City. The pastor wasn’t a half-bad golfer, and he was good company, although he would inevitably introduce the topic of his wife’s faith, and Joshua’s own lack of it. For Joshua, that was always the sticking point.
He gave his wife a doubtful look and complained that he needed to get back to his work on Israel’s request for advice on their RTS system.
She walked over and gave him a lingering kiss. “I’m not going to
coerce you or badger you, but I’m looking forward to a great time with Victoria. What you do on your own time tomorrow is your business.” She slipped him a piece of paper. “Here’s Pastor Campbell’s number.” Then she added, “And on the Israel issue that you’re working on … that may be more important in the big picture than you think. Just my little thought.”
“Big picture?”
“Yes, and you know what picture I’m talking about.”
He did. Abigail’s Christian faith, which had proved to be a fully operational lifestyle for her, had also made her a keen student of the Bible. She talked a lot about the theological significance of the Holy Land and Israel’s role in the wrapping up of all human history. It came up more and more recently, ever since Joshua was invited to work with the Israeli defense officials. Yes, he knew about her “big picture.”
Joshua called Campbell. He figured he owed him that.
The next day they met for lunch at a pricey place with a grand view of the Capitol Dome and a menu that included some great Maryland crab cakes. Joshua tried to tell himself that he had done it for Abby. But then, he knew that wasn’t exactly the truth.
As usual, the two of them led off with some golfing stories. Campbell was relating his last defeat on the links. “I couldn’t concentrate,” Campbell admitted. “Every time I got that putter in my hand, I felt distracted.”
Joshua knew the feeling. “People don’t appreciate the mental aspect of golf.” Then he remembered something. “I saw the blurb on your press conference in New York. Looks like a riot broke out. And here I thought I was the public instigator.”
Campbell chuckled. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad. You know how cameras can make a small group of protestors look like a major revolution.”
For Joshua it seemed evident. “Well, pastor, you tell people that the world’s coming to an end — that the earth is going to blow up, which I gather is what you were saying — then you’re bound to get a reaction. On the other hand, you know my approach: if I know an explosion is coming, then I’ll try to stop the timer on the bomb.”
“Some explosions can’t be stopped,” Campbell said. He was pushing himself away from the table a little to stretch out.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Josh, if God’s directing the cataclysm, you’re going to be sorely disappointed if you think you can stop it.”
“That’s a big
if.”
“Fair enough.”
Campbell thought about it for a few moments. “Okay, so we need to resolve your ‘big if’ issue. Now here is how I do it. I search the Scriptures and I read the news. Put the two together. My group of fellow ‘searchers of the times,’ the prophecy scholars I meet with regularly, agrees with me about one thing — that the signs of the times, foretold thousands of years ago, are starting to unfold. Right now. Right here on planet Earth. God is about to make a miraculous showing. Awesome. Fearful. Mighty. The human vocabulary fails us when we try to describe the importance of what is coming.”
Campbell tossed his napkin on the table. “The thing is to recognize that it is unstoppable. You can’t pull the pin out of the preordained providence of God. The first order of business has to be to prepare to meet Him.”
Joshua resisted the urge to challenge Campbell, so he let it drop. But he sometimes felt that the pastor and Abby, and yes, even his own son and daughter, were visitors from a distant world. They saw things he couldn’t see and felt things he wished he could experience but didn’t: a spiritual awakening. He had seen the change in Abby over the years. That much was undeniable.
As they were strolling out of the restaurant, Campbell stopped him, “Keep your eyes on Israel,” he said. “That’s how you can read the time on God’s clock.”
That startled Joshua, particularly in light of the call he’d received two days before from the commander of Israel’s IDF, requesting a meeting eventually in Tel Aviv about the RTS system.
Campbell said something else. And when he did, it struck Joshua as both odd and strangely pointed: “But Josh, you can’t be prepared
for those great events, for God’s imminent revealing, His apocalypse, until you make a very personal decision. To open the door of your heart to His Son, Jesus, the Christ. The coming King. Listen, the return to this world of Christ the King of Kings is a fact. One that is absolutely certain, more certain than you can possibly comprehend.”
Abby was waiting for Joshua in their hotel room. As he came through the door, he expected her to start grilling him about his time with Pastor Campbell, but she didn’t. Nor did she expound on her chick lunch with Victoria McHenry. Instead, with an urgency in her voice, she said, “Josh, your office has been trying to reach you. It’s about Israel. They said you need to check your encrypted DOD Allfone right away.”
Joshua grabbed his deep blue Allfone, the one he used only for top secret Department of Defense business. He pulled up an email that had been routed through the Pentagon and cleared through the Technology Transfer Office. It had originated from the office of General Jacob Shapiro, chief of the general staff of the Israeli defense forces. It read,
Col. (Ret.) Joshua Jordan
We had previously extended an invitation to you to meet with our U.S. representative from our Antimissile Research & Development branch, to be followed up with a visit here in Israel at an unspecified time in the future. However, our operational timeline has shortened, and we would greatly appreciate a joint testing conference with you and our team here in Tel Aviv as soon as you can make travel arrangements. If at all possible, we would like to convene the session the day after tomorrow at our headquarters at the Kirya compound. I have spoken personally with Lt. Gen. Michael Wooling, the director of the U.S. Missile
Defense Agency, and he has kindly concurred with our request for an expedited meeting and has verified Pentagon approval.We hope to receive your confirmation soon.
Best regards,
For General J. Shapiro,
Lt. Gen. Gavi Havrel,
Deputy Chief of Staff
The email had an attachment. He clicked it and read the certification document. Then he looked at Abigail and explained, “The Israelis want me over there in twenty-four hours.”
“So soon?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the rush?”
“They didn’t give me the specifics.”
Abigail waited for her husband to process the news and then said, “Josh, don’t these defense-technology transfers take a long time to iron out? Approvals from DOD and everything?”
“Usually. I knew they were testing the Return-to-Sender system with DOD approval, but this is different. They want me to consult with them personally in order to make it operational. That usually requires a whole additional level of Pentagon sign-offs, tons of red tape. But this time it’s all been done in advance. It’s right here in this attachment. The Pentagon certifies compliance with NATO mandates, approval obtained from our four-star regional commander and from the Missile Defense Agency. This thing’s been put on a fast track, triple time.”
“I hear the wheels churning in your head. Talk to me.”
“I’m thinking about the Roundtable, the threats that Pack McHenry told us about, the White House paralyzed. Maybe, as you put it, there’s some kind of silent coup going on. And a plot to bring hostile nukes into our borders.”
“I think you’ve got to ask yourself where you can do the most good.”
“I don’t know. I founded the Roundtable. I can’t walk out on everybody now. This is a crisis moment.”
Abigail placed her hand softly on his back. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done. How can I help?”
“The attached document says that Michael Wooling, director of the MDA, apparently wants me over there stat. He’s a rock-steady guy, so if he thinks this is an emergency, sees smoke, it’s not just from a burned pot roast … he must believe the house is on fire. He’s also close to Admiral Patch, the national security advisor. The two are clones on the need for strong national defense. I’m wondering …”
“Maybe they know something we don’t.”
“Remember the intel that Pack McHenry gave us a year ago?”
“That the United States and Israel were both at risk?”
“Yes. And our briefing a few days ago. Evidence that Iran is closing in on a nuclear strike against Israel, just as Russia and North Korea are moving toward a nuke attack against us.”
Joshua was thinking out loud, his head bobbing as he dissected the problem. “So where does that leave us? Abby, you could run the Roundtable for me, of course. But is it really a defense-system question that the Roundtable has to answer? Or could it be something else? Something like — ”
“A critical failure in the executive branch?”
Joshua nodded, his face showing a granite resolve. “Exactly. The fact that the attack might be successful is really secondary to a constitutional implosion that’s preventing the Feds from intervening to protect us. I guess it’s really more a political crisis, which is where you come in. That’s your skill set.” Joshua looked up. The decision was made. “Okay. I go to Israel. Abby, you stay here and lead the Roundtable discussions about what we can do here on the home front.”
They looked at each other, and as they did they recognized the familiar expression. The silent acknowledgment that they were not only lovers and friends but also partners. And they were facing once again a crisis that was so titanic that it dwarfed who they were even when they were together.
Abby spoke it, but Josh felt it too. “Josh, we’ll do what we have to do, what we’re called to do. But I’m heartsick that we have to be away
from each other, separated by thousands of miles, an ocean, and by whatever danger is out there, pulling us apart.”
For a moment, Abby looked as though she was about to say more but didn’t. As Joshua gazed at his wife he couldn’t get his mind off the deadly gravity of their mission. As Abby kissed him on his square jaw, she noticed that he’d rushed out without shaving that morning. She half smiled, then kissed him on the lips. She pulled back to look him in the eye, to remember his face and everything about him and quietly whispered.
“God help us.”
John Gallagher had returned to Hawk’s Nest on Sunday night so he could make the meeting the next morning at 10:30. Some of the members would be joining in by conference call. Others, like him, had decided to make the trip to the Jordans’ Rocky Mountain retreat.
That night, by phone, Joshua had directed Gallagher and the others to make themselves at home in the guest wing; while he had urgent business overseas, Abigail would act as the group’s temporary chair. Of course, no one objected. Joshua also gave Gallagher a briefing of what the “Patriot” would reveal to the Roundtable the next day.
Each of the guestrooms at Hawks’ Nest had a name. Gallagher laughed when he saw the plaque over the door of his room: The Roy Rogers Room.
He smiled. “This is great.” The retired FBI agent had always been accused by his stiff-necked, rule-book supervisor of “playing cowboy” in his pursuit of bad guys. So for John Gallagher this was the perfect room.
Hungry, he wandered down the spiral staircase at the west end of the lodge, past a row of antelope antlers over doorways. He caught a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror, his belly hanging slightly over his belt.
Boy, I’ve got to get to the gym.
He recalled that the Jordans had a full-size Nautilus workout room, including a treadmill and a stair climber.
Maybe I’ll work out a little … man-up with a good sweat.
Then the next thought.
But only after I feed my face.
He sauntered into the restaurant-sized kitchen. Carletta, the Jordans’ chef, had been working on the food for the Roundtable meeting the next day. She was cleaning up.
“Señor Gallagher, can I fix something for you?”
“I don’t suppose you have any chili dogs?”
She shook her head.
“Just a sandwich would be fine. Just point me in the right direction. I’ll fix it.”
A moment later Cal walked into the kitchen and greeted him as “Agent Gallagher.”
“Come on, Cal, you know I’ve retired from the Bureau. I’m just plain John now.” Cal gave a hearty nod. “After all,” said Gallagher, “you and I were partners in battling evil last year, fighting for truth, justice, and the American way. Right?”
Cal grinned at Gallagher’s loose, good-buddy approach.
As Gallagher threw a club sandwich together, he got serious. “You know, you were the one in the closet with duct tape over your mouth and a bomb around your neck. And where was I? In a surveillance truck on the street eating donuts. Who had the tougher job that day?”
“Yeah, well, you saved my life.”
“Naw. Your dad did that. I was strictly an FBI bystander, trying hard not to screw things up.”
“You’re still one of my heroes.”
Gallagher gave a half smile and felt a little embarrassed. As he crunched on a dill pickle, a jolting thought occurred to him.
Cal noticed the change in Gallagher’s face and gambled that he and the former special agent were thinking the same thing. “You ever get any news on Atta Zimler after he slipped away from Grand Central Station?”
Gallagher chewed slowly and swallowed. “Listen, kid, now that I’m sort of officially part of your family, if that scumbag ever comes within a hundred miles of you, I’ll take care of business.” Gallagher wondered aloud about an unrelated thought. “Shouldn’t you be at college?”
“Got a few days off. No classes for a while.”
“So then why aren’t you going off on a date with some pretty coed?”
“I wanted to be here. I’m interested in this Roundtable stuff. Would love to be involved.”
Gallagher sat down and hunched over the table, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. With a full mouth he managed to say, “Youth … man, it’s wasted on the young. So what’s your interest in the Roundtable?”
“I just want to be part of what my dad and mom are doing.”
John Gallagher sat up a little straighter. “Boy, to have my son say that … that’d be great.”
“You have a son?”
“Yup. I’m not sure where he is right now. Maybe with his mom.”
“So …,” but Cal didn’t finish the thought.
“That’s okay. You can ask. Yes. I’m divorced. My wife says I was a jerk to live with. One of the few things she ever said that was absolutely accurate. The divorce was finalized years ago. Water under the bridge.” Then he added. “Though now that I think of it, my wife got the bridge in the divorce settlement too.”
Cal tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it.
“A good laugh is a healthy thing now and then.”
Cal smiled.
Gallagher added, “Especially for you guys. Man, you have
one intense family.”
“Copy that.” Now Gallagher was laughing.
“So you want to be involved in the Roundtable, huh?”
“Yeah. Anything, really. Doesn’t have to be big.”
“What’s your expertise? Everybody in the group’s got a specialty.”
“Well, I’ve changed majors to poli-sci. Up to now I’ve got straight A’s in all my classes, dean’s list.”
“Gee, with two genius parents, I’m shocked. I guess you could do research.”
“Sure. Certainly.”
Gallagher paused and looked Cal in the eye. “And your dad is okay with this?”
Cal was caught. He knew his father didn’t want him involved, but on the other hand, just doing some research, that wasn’t really being involved, was it?
“I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”
“Okay. So here’s a hypothetical. Let’s see what you come up with. Pretend that one day the Russians sit down and decide to bring some small nuclear weapons into the United States …”
Cal blurted out, “You’re kidding! That’s what you guys are dealing with?”
“Whoa, hold your horses. I said this was a story, a hypothetical. Got it? Not real life, just a mental exercise. A pop quiz.”
Cal nodded.
“So go along with the assumption. Now do some research on that. Ask yourself, where would they bring portable nukes, what would their targets be? Show me what you can do.”
“Where do I start?”
Gallagher grinned. “You figure it out. You’re the straight-A student, aren’t you?”
The former special agent settled back in to his sandwich. He figured that he’d placated Joshua’s son sufficiently. He liked Cal, but he also knew that Josh probably wanted to keep him out of too much of the sensitive stuff. The assignment he had just given him — the hypothetical — should do the trick. By his estimate it would keep the kid busy for the next year.