2013: Beyond Armageddon (4 page)

Zeke and Nolan had Price pinned—but not before the family had been ripped apart.

Andrews was also the team’s medic. It took him less than a minute to confirm what everyone could see. Every one of those seconds burned the horror deeper into Zeke’s soul.

“They’re all dead.”

Zeke put his mouth an inch from Price’s ear and released a volcano of whispered rage:

“You crazy son of a bitch. What’d you do that for?”

“I heard the voice again.”

“Voice?”
His hands tightened around Price’s neck. “You crazy fuck. You think God told you to slaughter six innocent people?”

“Not your god.”

Price’s vacant stare sent a chill wriggling across Zeke’s back. The man he’d spent three years with was no longer there.

Nolan pulled on Zeke’s shoulder. His voice was calm but commanding. “Sir. We’ve got to get out of here. Remember our orders. Under no circumstances is anyone to know we were here. If anything goes wrong we are to abort and extract immediately.”

Zeke wanted to smash Price’s face over and over, but he knew his friend was right. They had a task to perform, and he was the one in command. The one who had just lost this entire family and the last chance for the MIAs.

His eyes bore into Price. He leaned even closer, their faces almost touching. “Listen to me, you vile motherfucker. If I ever have the chance, I will personally send your ass straight to hell.”

He recoiled up into a standing position as if he had just released a deadly snake to slither back into the woods.

He looked at his watch. Extraction wasn’t scheduled for another two hours, but that was based on a four-mile round trip through the jungle that wasn’t going to happen. The noise from Price’s rampage made it imperative that they get out of there
now
.

Zeke gave Becker the emergency order to break radio silence and tell the chopper to come get them, then ordered everyone out front to the LZ to await extraction. Price had staggered to his feet like he was coming out of a trance.

“Secure that piece of shit,” Zeke said to Nolan before stomping out of the house. He didn’t dare look back at the carnage on the floor.

Outside, he looked toward the sky in the suddenly foul-smelling air. All he could see was the faint smile on the oldest girl’s lips as she lay dead.

She seemed to be forgiving him.

Washington, D.C. October 5, 2012

Zeke Sloan sat in his office, staring at the phone, trying to make sense of the call. He hadn’t spoken to Professor Connolly since—when? Since his former theology professor at Catholic University had finally reluctantly retired. Zeke had taken him to lunch to thank him for helping turn his life around. They’d parted with the usual promises to keep in touch.

That had been ten years ago, at least. Maybe fifteen. With a pang of guilt Zeke realized that not only had he not kept his promise, now it might be too late.

Professor Connolly’s voice had sounded so weak. But his words had come through loud and clear. The chilling echo still reverberated inside Zeke’s head:

“It’s a matter of the utmost urgency. It may be mankind’s last hope at salvation.”

What could a retired college professor possibly be involved in that was that serious? Nothing. Not possible. The poor guy must be having delusions. He had to be in his eighties. Maybe his mind was going. Whatever. He was obviously desperate, and Zeke owed him for helping revive a faith he thought had died that night in the jungle.

His eyes flicked to the digital clock on the wall. 4:31. He flipped to the page in his appointment book for today: October 5. The self-defense class that he and Reese taught on Fridays from six to seven was crossed out. Reese would be handling it by himself tonight. The one word written underneath the crossed-out entry made him smile: Leah.

Normally she took the self-defense class and they went to dinner afterwards, but his birthday was tomorrow, and she wanted him at her place by six so they could get an early start with “a nice, romantic pre-birthday celebration.” He’d have to hustle to see Professor Connolly and still make it by six. His eyes were drawn to the two pictures on his desk.

In one, a five-year-old Leah stood on a dock, beaming proudly, as a fish dangled from a little pink plastic fishing pole. The fish was only a few inches long, but her father stood behind her holding his hands as far apart as he could.

In the other, Zeke and Leah stood on a beach at sunset in Maui, arms around each other, lush foliage in the background. Their perfect tropical paradise. God, they looked good in that picture. Tall, tan, in shape, their dark hair bleached light by the sun and the water. What beautiful kids they would make.

Best week of my life, Zeke thought, closing the appointment book. He locked his desk and put on his coat, trying to remember the name of the guy who’d invited him to the party where he and Leah met. One of his customers at the gym. Ron, he thought it was.

“Zeke, you have to come to this party,” Ron had said. “It’s on Capitol Hill, right down the street from where you live. The congressman I work for is throwing it. The woman who runs his office is perfect for you, and she said she’s coming.”

“Now why would you think she’d be perfect for me?”

“Same sense of humor, likes the same music, likes to work out. Sometimes when I’m talking to her it’s almost like talking to you.”

Zeke had gone—reluctantly. The rest, as they say, was history.

The sudden knock at the door yanked him back into the moment. He was mildly irritated, knowing he needed to get going, but the instant he saw Leah’s face his irritation disappeared.

“This is a pleasant surprise.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I was just thinking about you. I was sitting here staring at that picture when you caught your first fish.”

“I was quite the little angler, wasn’t I?”

“Absolutely. Very nice angles. You certainly had no trouble angling me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You put up a little fight. I was ready to get the gaff.”

Zeke laughed. “Yeah, I was a regular Moby Dick.”

“Well, I don’t know about the Moby part—”

“Hey, watch out.”

She gave him a mischievous smile and went to the chair on the other side of the desk. Zeke rolled his chair until they sat facing each other, knees touching, holding hands.

“Listen, sweetie,” she said, “there’s a slight change in plans. Your parents called me at work. They’re in the neighborhood with Valerie. They wanted to see if we can meet them for happy hour, before they head back to their place. I think they just want to help you milk your birthday a little, since we’re not having a party. I told them I’d meet them at the Bipartisan, since it’s right down the street, and you could join us as soon as you get off work.”

They’re up to something for my birthday.
The “since we’re not having a party” remark was a tipoff, and his parents wouldn’t just happen to be “in the neighborhood.” And his sister Valerie should still be at work.

“What about our romantic evening? I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

“That’s still on. It’ll just start a little later than I had planned.”

“Okay. I’ve got something to do first, though. I got a call from my old college professor, Dr. Connolly. You remember me talking about him?”

“He was kind of your mentor at Catholic University, wasn’t he?”

“Savior was more like it. Anyway, he said he needs to see me very badly, so I told him I’m on my way. He lives out by CU, so depending on how long I spend with him, it might take until six-thirty or so to get to the Bipartisan.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got a quick errand to run, so I’ll call them back and tell them six-ish. We can hold the fort till you get there.”

“It’s a plan. You need me to bring anything special tonight?”

“Just that gorgeous body of yours. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“What about my brilliant mind?”

“Save it for Alex Trebek. Tonight is not for thinking. It’s for
feeling
.”

“I like the sound of that. You are one heck of a woman, you know that? I’m so glad that little girl in the picture grew up and said ‘yes’ to me.”

“I’m glad you’re the one that asked the question.”

Zeke tightened his grip on her hands. Sometimes it almost hurt to look at her. The blue eyes, beautiful face and skin, an inner goodness that shone through. “You’re the love of my life, Leah Hardin. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. As you are mine.”

He forced himself to get up. “Come on, then. The longer we sit here the longer it’ll be before we can get to romancing.”

They kissed and she squeezed his butt. “Nice buns.”

“Backatcha,” he said, and she was out the door.

Up front, Zeke smiled when he saw Reese Nolan at the bench press machine. Early as usual, warming up for the class. In the Army, when they’d been Captain and Lieutenant on the same Delta team, Reese had been his right-hand man. As general manager of Zeke’s Gym since the day it opened, he’d become more like his right arm.

Zeke stood monitoring conditions in the gym. The temperature was right, not too hot or cold, no weird body smells, nobody was clanking the weights too hard, the grunts of the serious lifters weren’t in the danger zone. Oldies played at a soft volume. Zeke loved his father’s music more than most stuff from his own era. Somewhere around the mid-eighties he’d given up on pop music entirely—all that technocrap, robotic garbage. From day one he’d decided that the music in his gym would be stuff he liked, played at a reasonable volume. That’s why they called it background music. If people didn’t like it, they’d have to work out somewhere else. He’d never gotten a single complaint.

“Sea Cruise” by Frankie Ford came on and he waited for one of his all-time favorite lyrics:

I got to get to rockin’

get my hat off the rack,

I got the boogie-woogie

like a knife in the back
.

He boogied over to the bench press and looked at Reese. “How much you benching now?”

“Well, this here’s just warmups. About 250 when I get serious.”

“Nice. Keeps me on my toes.” Zeke was up to a few reps at 300. “Listen, buddy,” he said when Reese had finished his set, “I gotta get moving. A little emergency just came up. Then I’m meeting Leah and my family at the Bipartisan. Thanks for covering the class tonight.”

Reese stood and toweled himself off. “No problem. Since I won’t be seeing you tomorrow, happy birthday, birthday boy.”

“Ain’t no boys around here. We mens.”

Reese shook his head “You been hanging around black folks too long.”

“Born and raised in D.C. What are the odds?”

They did the latest three-part black handshake and Zeke turned to leave. At the door he paused to zip his coat before going into bitter cold that was unheard-of this early in D.C. Yesterday they’d gotten hit with the earliest snow on record: October 4. And not just a dusting, either. Four inches. He glanced through the front window, shaking his head at the white that still covered the sidewalk. Pulling up his collar, he completed his nightly ritual by taking a last quick look around before leaving. Inevitably his eyes lingered on the words painted on the back wall:

Zeke’s Gym.

The ritual wasn’t complete until he looked at the quotation painted in large letters on the wall behind the customer service counter. People thought it was the gym’s motto, but for Zeke it was the solution to all the world’s problems:

DO UNTO OTHERS AS YOU WOULD HAVE THEM DO UNTO YOU.

Half an hour later he parked his car in front of Dr. Connolly’s house near Catholic University.

“House” seemed a very generous thing to call it. The tiny dwelling rose up through a blanket of snow, making it seem even more like a sad outpost in the vast, engulfing wintry darkness. Sitting in the middle of a small parcel of land at the edge of woods, it had an air of a poor man’s mausoleum, long forgotten in a potter’s field. Summoning all the lightheartedness he could muster, Zeke trudged up to the door and knocked. He noticed a sign in the window to the right, a slashed circle emblazoned over a lit cigarette. Underneath the picture it said: NO SMOKING. OXYGEN IN USE.

The sign added more weight to the already leaden thought uppermost in his mind: what in the name of God had happened to Professor James Connolly?

“Come in,” said the barely audible voice.

Zeke stuck his head inside the door and gave his jauntiest “Anybody home?”

“Just us ghosts,” came the weak reply. “Come in, Ezekiel.”

Professor Connolly looked ghastly. He sat in his recliner, face almost chalk white. The sound of his labored breathing through the tubes in his nostrils filled the room. He seemed to have shrunken—no, shriveled—to the size of a ten-year-old boy. His body seemed way too small for the recliner. A chill rippled across Zeke’s back. He could only stand and stare.

“I know I look horrible, son, but I’m not contagious. Come over here and sit down.” He indicated a small frayed couch beside his chair.

Snapped out of his daze by the wheezing voice, Zeke haltingly advanced to the couch, appalled at the beer cans and cigarette butts, the dirty laundry and dishes, the squalor that was everywhere. Professor Connolly was a smoker, and had a fondness for beer, but—this. The reek of stale tobacco and beer hung in the air. Everything about the scene screamed: here is a man who does not want to live.

Zeke sat and groped for something to say. “We know each other too well for me to say something phony like ‘how are you?’ I can see how you are. Awful. What’s happened?”

“I’m dying, Ezekiel. I know that’s obvious. I’ve probably got a month at most. The doctors have said maybe six, but they’re wrong. A month. No more. I doubt seriously it will be that long.” He caught Zeke frowning at the beer cans and cigarettes. “Bad habits,” he wheezed. “I’ve always been too afraid to stop them.”

Afraid?
Zeke puzzled over the word choice, but his friend went on.

“I’ve been an alcoholic since 1947. All these years I’ve used alcohol to keep from thinking about a horrible secret I’ve kept hidden from the world. To keep from thinking about what a coward I am for never having done anything. Of course the alcohol couldn’t kill the secret. All it has done is kill me. With a little help from the cigarettes. Coffin nails, I’ve heard them called. How apt.”