The 13: Fall (6 page)

He finished and set the bowl and cup in the sink. The small breakfast was a good start. He would make sure to have a bigger lunch. And a protein bar for a snack in between. Or two.

Feeling a little better, he turned from the small kitchen and walked the three steps into the living area. He grabbed the book and thumbed through the pages. Its bindings were coming loose. He had scribbled notes and references throughout. If he hadn’t known its contents so well, he might not have been able to make out the words.

He spent the next hour flipping through the worn pages, reading the contents both silently and aloud. He went through his favorite passages and then settled on a particular title. This was perhaps his favorite section. It spoke boldly. It brought condemnation but offered refuge and salvation. He felt the tears well up inside as he read. No matter how many times he read it, it always had the same effect on him.

After the reading, he spent another hour in prayer. His knees hurt from the hard wooden floor. The carpet had been torn up long ago. The previous tenants of the small apartment all but destroyed the place. Some would say it wasn’t fit for someone to live in. But it was cheap. And it was unassuming.

And he needed to stay that way. Because last night was not the first warning. There had been three previous ones. And, he was sure, there would be more.

   CHAPTER 8   

K
eene took his seat, along with the other two guests, as President Grant had asked. The two directors, however, remained standing. Keene thought that odd. He guessed they were going to speak, too, about whatever it was that brought him here at this ridiculous hour in the morning. But then something different happened. President Grant thanked the two men for bringing Keene and the FBI girl in. And he walked them back to the elevator.

“Any idea what’s going on here?” Taylor whispered to him and the other guy.

Keene shrugged his shoulders. Hamilton shook his head.

When he returned, the president reached into his desk. “Before we start, I think it’s important that the two of you know”—he nodded to Keene and Taylor—”that Jennings and Preston are aware of the content of our meeting this morning. They are not staying because they have a debriefing with Director Levy this morning. And you all are probably wondering why I’ve called you here today. So let’s get to it.” President Grant leaned on the front of the desk, facing his three remaining guests. In his hands were three envelopes. Nothing significant, just plain white number-ten envelopes.

Keene watched as the man called Boz shifted in his seat and produced a little worn book and began thumbing through the pages.

“You all know my thoughts on God and faith,” the president continued. “I’ve never tried to hide it. I’ve never backed down from it. I talk openly about it. Ever since the first night I met Tess and went to that Bible study, my life has been different.”

He passed an envelope to each of his guests. Each one had written on it,
To the President of the United States.

“What you have there are three separate letters. Each written, I believe, by the same person.”

Keene opened his envelope and carefully took out the single, letter-sized page. He quickly skimmed the contents. The words were scribbled but legible. Two short paragraphs.

“Beginning three months ago, I received the first one, the one you have in your hands, Mr. Keene. One month to the day I received the next.” He motioned to Taylor. “And then, one month ago yesterday, I received that one.” He nodded to the man called Boz.

Keene looked at the FBI agent and the stranger. Taylor seemed as confused as he was, but the man called Boz looked as if he had a better grasp on what was going on.

“Excuse me, Mr. President,” Keene said. “Why are you showing these to us? Wouldn’t this be an FBI thing?”

“Because, I believe it’s the same man who sent me this last night. I’ll get to
why you
in a minute.” He reached behind him and turned the monitor of his computer around to face them. The video was up and ready to go. He pushed P
LAY
.

The three of them sat silently watching, listening to the man on the screen. When it finished, Keene was already fidgeting in his chair. The president held up his hands and continued.

“I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Keene. I can assure you. I’m taking it seriously now. But do you even know how many letters like this the White House gets every day?”

Keene didn’t answer. He did know.

“Usually,” Grant continued, “these don’t even see the light of day. Someone sends them over to the FBI, and that’s that. If there’s a credible threat, I get a briefing and we move forward.”

“But these did.” It was Taylor.

“Yes, Ms. Taylor. But not because someone over at your agency thought they deserved special attention. These three letters”—he reached out and took them back—”never made it to any agency.”

“I don’t understand,” Taylor said.

“Four months ago, I came downstairs, as I always do, and met Chief of Staff Hardy in the hallway. As we always do, we walked to the Oval Office and I listened as he gave me a brief summary of the day’s events. Then, as is my routine, I went into the office, where I spend fifteen minutes every morning in prayer and reading my Bible. As I sat down at the desk, I noticed this”—he singled out the first envelope—”sitting in the middle of my desk.

“Naturally, I flipped it open and read it. As you saw, it was a warning. I don’t know why, but I decided not to say anything then.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Keene said, “that was irresponsible.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mr. Keene.” The president’s glance was a warning. “Usually, the first thing I would do is call Lewis Hardy in here and begin asking questions. For some reason, one that I cannot explain right now, I didn’t feel the need to take it any further. I placed the letter inside my jacket pocket, and two minutes later my first appointment walked through the door.”

“What about the others?” Taylor asked.

“The second one came in the same way—I found it on my desk. One month later, to the day.”

Keene raised his eyebrows and blew out a long, loud breath.

Grant gave him a stern look. “I understand your disapproval. I will remind you again that you are here at my request. Please, let me finish.”

Keene shifted his gaze and lowered his head.

“Thank you,” the president continued. “All that matters at this point is this: I believed these letters to be of no threat. I kept them to myself because, well, whoever wrote them is right! This nation has lost its way. We are all but morally bankrupt as a nation. I kept them to myself to remind me that we—I—have work to do in this office.

“I’m well aware of the path America is on. And this man is right. If something doesn’t change soon, we are no longer going to be the country that our forefathers bled and died for! I kept the letters as a reminder to me that we are all at God’s mercy. And I wanted to use them as motivation for me to help lead this country back to where it came from.”

“So then …” Taylor began, waiting to see if she’d be barked at for speaking.

The president nodded for her to continue.

“So then … why not just send these over to the FBI? I’m sure Director Preston—”

“Because,” the president interrupted, “last night changed everything.”

Finally!
Keene thought. The president was coming to his senses.

“As far as the nation is concerned,” Grant continued, “this goes no further than this office. Do you understand?”

Keene was standing up to go. He was about to lose his mind. He wanted to be out the door five minutes ago, looking for this guy.

“Let me finish what I want to tell you and the others, Mr. Keene, and I’ll gladly hear your thoughts and objections.”

Keene forced himself back down into the chair and sat still.

“Mr. Hamilton.” President Grant shifted to his friend. “Would you please …”

The man flipped through the pages of the little book he had taken out earlier and began to read. “Behold, the day of the Lord comes, cruel, with wrath and fierce anger, to make the land a desolation and to destroy its sinners from it. For the stars of the heavens and their constellations will not give their light—”

“That’s what that kook just said on the video,” Keene said. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in. “Who are you?” He glared at Hamilton.

The president held up a hand.

Keene broke his stare and looked back to Grant. “My apologies, sir.”

“It’s scripture, Mr. Keene,” Boz said.

“From the book of Isaiah,” Taylor added.

“That is correct, Ms. Taylor,” Boz said. “Isaiah thirteen. Verses nine through thirteen. And then Jeremiah, and then, though the number of days is changed, Jonah.”

“I don’t understand,” Keene said.

“The speech,” President Grant explained. “The Prophet’s speech on the video is a collection of Old Testament prophets’ words. Warnings to nations to repent or have God’s wrath poured out on them.”

“Fourteen days means the Fourth of July,” Taylor said.

“Yes, it does, Ms. Taylor,” President Grant said. “And that is why I’ve called you all here.”

“But isn’t this different from the letters?” Keene asked. “And I don’t know that I’d go ahead and give this guy a nickname just yet.
The Prophet?
”

“I agree,” Taylor spoke up.

“I can promise you, as of now, I am taking this seriously, though as far as the American public is concerned, we aren’t. There’s no need to panic them. But our country will celebrate Independence Day in two weeks. If this man is a terrorist and threatening our country, I want you to stop him before it happens.”

“What do you mean? If?” Keene asked.

“You three are the best at what you do,” Grant said. “You don’t know him, but Boz here has military experience. I’ll let him tell you about that. But what you both need to know,” he nodded at Keene and Taylor, “is that Boz is a pastor. He still works with the army, now and again, but not as a soldier. As a pastor. He is a good friend of mine, and I trust his judgment on all matters of faith.”

Keene tried not to make a sour face. He was beginning to have a good idea of where this conversation was headed. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“I have decided,” Grant continued, “that the three of you will work together on this. To personally report back to me and answer to no one else
but
me. You will have the full resources of both your agencies and this office. I want you to find out everything you can about this
Prophet.
Everything. Who he is, where he came from, how he did this, all of it.”

“What about Homeland Security?” Taylor asked. “We’ll need to get this cleared by Director Levy. Won’t we?”

“You let me worry about Marianne Levy,” President Grant said. “It is still within my purview to use agents at my discretion. You three do what I’ve asked you to.”

Keene spoke up. “With all due respect, sir, I understand why I would be put on an assignment like this. And I’m at your service, sir. But I don’t need these two to help me find this guy. Give me a week, and I’ll have everything from where he was born to where he used the bathroom last. They’ll just get in my way.”

President Grant took a deep breath. “
With all due respect
,” he said smiling, “I’m very intimate with your file. I have no doubts of your abilities. But I also know their limits. This man hacked into my private e-mail. Last time I checked, you weren’t a computer genius. Ms. Taylor here is the best. And unless you can tell me how he did it, Ms. Taylor is with you. If she can’t tell us how this guy did it, then I’m forced to consider other options.”

Keene still disagreed with the man, but he was the president of the United States. He would take this up with Jennings after he got out of here. “And what other options would those be?”

“Me,” Boz answered.

Keene gave a confused look. “I don’t understand. I’ll concede the computer thing, for now. But I don’t need a preacher to help me catch a terrorist who has decided to use some ancient Bible mumbo-jumbo to scare people and threaten our country.”

“Mr. Keene,” the president looked for the first time like a worried man, “did you ever stop to think, even for a second—as far-fetched as it may sound to you—this man may not be a terrorist?”