The Portent Read online

  “Nope. There’s sixty-three, single troy-ounce bars in there. Count them yourself. At today’s value, that’s a hundred grand. A month from now it may be more.”

  The soldier’s expression softened slightly. He took one of the bars from the bag and bit it, then inspected his teeth marks. “Good.”

  The commander turned and barked some instructions in Bantu. A dozen of the men in the jeeps sprang into action, heading for the trucks. The rebels screamed at the human payload, pulling them from the trucks with determined speed. The sound of frightened weeping, punctuated by an occasional cry of pain from a soldier’s slap, began to mix with the shouting.

  Neff and his bodyguard watched the scene passively. The captive merchandise ranged from late teens to toddlers, all native Africans. Some were naked. The rebels pushed them along mercilessly toward the helicopter. The woman manning the machine gun, along with the pilot, waved pistols at them, motioning them inside the cargo hold. It was over in minutes.

  “One more thing,” Neff said as the commander turned to depart. The soldier eyed the tanned white man quizzically as he unhooked his body armor and pulled it over his head. Neff handed it to the surprised commander, who beamed with delight, a spectacular white smile appearing on his creased black face.

  “British Osprey, state of the art. Now we’re friends.”

  ***

  Neff sat down in one of the available seats inside the helicopter. He closed his eyes. It had been a clean operation. The helicopter was safely airborne, so he could relax a bit. He was dozing off when his bodyguard touched his shoulder. He opened one eye.

  “That was a risk back there,” she said, her voice raised so she could be heard above the noise of the aircraft.

  He read the concern on her face. He wrinkled his brow as if to ask what he’d done. He already knew what she’d say.

  “Giving Bahar your body armor. Not a good idea. You were unprotected.”

  “It was good for business, you’ll see. It’s not the first time.”

  “I know, and I warned you those times. You’re not a very good listener.”

  He smiled. “I have Nili Oren with me, the most lethal bodyguard on the planet. What’s a little body armor?”

  She wasn’t amused.

  “What’s Madison doing?” he asked.

  “Watching the payload. I think she’s trying to tell them what’s expected.”

  “She doesn’t speak Bantu.”

  Nili looked back into the cargo hold of the plane. The other woman was making hand gestures. The captives’ faces told her it was pointless. They were huddled together, quivering with fear, eyes darting about, completely bewildered. Some of the older girls wiped the tears from the faces of the little ones. Open mouths and pained expressions betrayed loud wailing, the sound of which was drowned out by the loud whirr of the rotors.

  “Is she still armed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good—there’s more of them than her. We don’t want any problems. Bad for business.”

  Nili produced two pieces of paper from a pocket inside her body armor. She handed him the first. “This came from Tel Aviv. Ward printed it just before we landed.

  Neff unfolded the paper and read it quickly.

  “You think it’s for real?” he asked.

  “Yes. If they had nothing to say, they wouldn’t bother. They have them both.”

  “Superb timing. We can divide up our passengers in Tel Aviv. Let our contacts know. Then we can take care of those two.”

  “Already done. And that’s not all.”

  “What’s in the second one?”

  “You won’t believe it,” she said, handing him the message. “It’s from Malone. He left this morning, so he’s already on the ground and will have the necessary equipment. Madison showed it to me after we took off. She’s convinced.”

  Neff read the note and shook his head in astonishment. “The same place?”

  “The same place. Dress warmly.”

  5

  Always remember that the future comes one day at a time.

  —Dean Acheson

  “I can’t look at another one,” Melissa groaned, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. She moved her head from side to side to relieve the tension in her neck, her soft, dark red hair gently tossing with the motion. “Make it stop!”

  Brian, seated a few feet from Melissa on the sofa, peered at her over the top of a book. He smiled at the sight of her stretching her legs, pointing her toes straight across the top of the ottoman. She was really starting to show. Brian did the math in his head. Almost twenty weeks now, based on what they had learned at her first ultrasound.

  “How many yet to grade?”

  “Why did I assign papers?” she moaned, eyes still closed. “You should have stopped me. I’d kill for some graduate students.”

  “Wasn’t it Einstein who said that the supreme art of the teacher is to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge?”

  “What a blowhard.”

  Brian laughed and saw the smile form on Melissa’s lips. It was good to see her like this, particularly given the stress of the past few months.

  “You need to take me out,” she said abruptly, looking over at him.

  “It’s eleven degrees out there, and we’re a half hour away from anything that would be open.”

  “It’s only seven thirty on a Friday night.”

  “Everything closed an hour ago. It’s small-town North Dakota, not DC, remember?”

  “You betcha,” she replied with a laugh, mimicking the native accent. “I’ll get dressed. Let’s go out for coffee.”

  “You know I don’t drink coffee,” Brian said, chuckling at the imitation.

  “And you know I don’t care. You’re taking me out for a treat. It’s what couples do—we’re married now, remember?”

  “You’re just bored.”

  “I need a break. You’re the one who gets bored.”

  “I’m not bored.”

  “Yes, you are,” she insisted lightheartedly.

  “It’s nice and warm, I’m settled, I have a good book and good company. What more could I want?”

  “You must be bored. I’ll prove it. What are you reading?” she asked, tilting her head, trying to see the title.

  Brian closed the book and set it down on his lap. “I know what you’re up to.”

  “What is it?”

  “You just want to mock me.”

  “If you don’t tell me, I’m coming over there,” she warned playfully.

  Brian sighed and looked at the ceiling. He held up the book.

  “Phoenician grammar? Seriously? How can you even be conscious?”

  “Like I said, you just enjoy making fun of me.”

  “Really, let’s go out,” Melissa persisted. “We’ll find something open in Fargo. You start training in two weeks, and when that happens, it’ll be harder to get the free time. I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Go get your shoes on—and change that shirt.”

  He watched her disappear into the hallway, then got up and headed downstairs. She was right. He’d finished what he’d promised Father Benedict three months ago that he would do—at least in the way he conceived it could be done. Now it was time to begin his own new life. He missed the priest desperately. Where are you, Andrew?

  Brian changed quickly and came back upstairs. Melissa was waiting for him. He knew instantly her mood had changed.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, just … this again,” she muttered, putting her hand over her abdomen. “I shouldn’t have looked at myself … and having to wear maternity jeans, and …” She let her voice trail off, her lip quivering.

  Brian walked over and took her in his arms, holding her tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, carefully wiping away a tear. “I’ve been trying not to think about all this … all the uncertainty … about Monday.”

  “Everything will be all right,” Brian tried to assure her. “You’ll be in and out of the
doctor’s office. The first ultrasound went fine. None of the tests detected anything unusual.”

  “All we learned from the first one is that it’s alive—” she caught herself. “I mean, that he … or she … has a heartbeat. This time we’re going to see something.”

  Brian heard the fear in her voice and hugged her again. “Look,” he said gently, tilting her chip upward. “No matter what, we’re going to get through this. We’ll make the right decisions. You’ll be safe.”

  The two of them left the house together in silence. Brian started the car and, after waiting a couple minutes to let the engine warm, pulled out of the driveway. All was quiet. The streets were empty.

  Only the silent figure in the idling car two blocks away, watching the house through night-vision binoculars, noted their departure.

  6

  Take from the church the miraculous, the supernatural, the incomprehensible, the unreasonable, the impossible, the unknowable, and the absurd, and nothing but a vacuum remains.

  —Robert Green Ingersoll

  Beeeeeepppp! Beeeeeepppp! Beeeeeepppp!

  The sonic burst from the medical alarm jolted the sleeping woman to consciousness. Her mind focused immediately. Pulling on the robe that was draped over a nearby chair, she bolted through her door, and down the short hallway into the center of a circular hub filled with furniture. She darted across the hub and into the corridor immediately opposite, cleanly bisecting the central living space with her path. The sprint took only seconds.

  She pushed open the door and rushed toward the man lying on the bed. His CPAP face mask was secure, but his head jerked erratically from side to side, his shoulders shuddering in slight convulsions. She quickly scanned his vitals and then breathed a sigh of relief. Only a nightmare—again.

  “Sabi,” she said calmly as she removed his mask, her voice just over a whisper. She stroked the beads of sweat from his forehead with her hand, then patted his cheek. “Sabi, it’s me. Wake up. You’re okay.”

  His eyes fluttered open. His pulse and breathing slowed and soon returned to normal. A weak but apologetic smile creased his face. “So sorry,” he whispered in the heavy eastern European accent that endeared him to his “family,” as he referred to them.

  “Quite all right.” She dabbed his face with a soft towel. “Same dream?”

  “Yes,” he replied thoughtfully, “but this time … new things. I was moving toward a door—the same door as always. It was very dark, but small lights on the ceiling helped me see. The door opened for me—”

  “And just like always, it’s a room you’ve never seen, and it’s very large—like a warehouse—and has lights and lots of equipment, boxes, and other things scattered everywhere?”

  “Yes, but …” He closed his eyes in concentration. “But this time I hear voices … a woman. She is angry, but also frightened—very frightened. Some great evil is in the room as well. I smell … blood. It is the stench of blood. And I can feel her terror.”

  He started to gasp. The woman peered at the monitor and saw that his readings were ascending rapidly. “It’s okay,” she comforted him, patting his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I am not afraid,” he said, recovering his voice. “She is so very afraid. In my dream I am calm, even as I hear her scream.”

  His caretaker frowned. “How is that? Why?”

  The man’s eyes gazed into the blackness of the room’s ceiling, fixed on the scene running through his memory. “The presence of God is there … somewhere … everywhere.” His eyes widened. “He bids me to—to defy the evil.”

  “But … how?” she asked, startled by his description.

  “I do not know.”

  7

  It is a mistake to look too far ahead. Only one link of the chain of destiny can be handled at a time.

  —Sir Winston Churchill

  “Oh, that is so good.” Melissa gingerly sipped her latte, holding the cup with both hands, inhaling the aroma rising in sinewy, steamy vapors from the cup. “You just don’t know what you’re missing,” she said, diverting her attention to Brian, who was seated across from her at the strategically undersized table.

  “Actually, I do,” he replied, watching her contentedly. “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.”

  “Mormon,” she teased. Brian laughed heartily.

  Melissa took another sip and put down her cup. “Thanks for getting me out of the house,” she said, stroking Brian’s hand. His gaze moved from her mesmerizing green eyes down to their hands. He watched her fingers moving lightly across his own.

  “You’re doing so much better now in public,” she congratulated him with a knowing smile. “You didn’t even flinch that time.”

  “You’re never going to let me forget about that dinner, are you?”

  “Nope.” She took the cup in her hands once more. “We can laugh at it now, but that was unbelievably awkward.”

  “It wasn’t that bad, like everyone saw it or stared at us—for too long, anyway,” Brian objected weakly. Awkward didn’t even begin to describe it. The memory made him grin now, but he could still feel some of the sting of the moment.

  “I felt like I was on TV.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “No matter. I don’t care if we ever go back to that restaurant anyway. We can always drive to Fargo if we want to go out.”

  “I’m sure there’s another place in town.”

  “There’s a McDonald’s, the college dining hall, and a grill with a three-lane bowling alley. I already looked.”

  Brian laughed again. “Admit it—you’re getting attached to the charm of small-town life.”

  “I’d use the word ‘adapting.’ ”

  “ ‘Adapting’ is good,” he continued, inching his chair a bit closer to the table. “You were right about pretending to be married. It was a much better idea than the brother-and-sister routine. It deflects a lot of questions.”

  “But it’ll create others if we’re not in married mode.”

  “For sure.”

  “And speaking of marital bliss, let’s do something else couples do,” she said, pausing to catch his expression.

  “Is this going where I think it’s going?”

  “Let’s talk,” she said, smiling. “There are things a husband and wife should know about each other. We don’t want to get our wires crossed in a conversation with other people.”

  “Haven’t we done this at least a half a dozen times?”

  “Really?” Melissa feigned surprise. “You mean that in three months, we’ve cast five or ten minutes to the wind of personal details six times? That’s really overkill.”

  “Okay, okay,” he surrendered. “You know I’m not exactly skilled at this sort of thing.”

  “You’re the only pretend husband I have, so you’ll have to do.”

  “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

  Melissa took note of his body language. “If you feel uneasy now, wait until I make you start these discussions.”

  “Did you want to talk or just terrify me?”

  “As much as I enjoy the latter,” she laughed, “we have to be practical.” She thought for a moment. “Tell me one thing that you’ve learned about me since we started living together that surprised you.”

  “That’s easy—you can cook.”

  “You’re right,” Melissa replied. “You really aren’t good at this.”

  “No, I mean you can really cook. I’m thoroughly impressed. You’re amazing.”

  “Well, that’s a little better.” She smiled appreciatively. “And why was that a surprise?”

  He paused for a moment, struggling to come up with a good explanation, “I think of you as a professional. I guess I didn’t think that you’d be so … domestic.”

  Melissa sighed and rolled her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You should never tell a woman you can’t picture her as domestic. Even if she wouldn’t use the word herself, it’s offensive.”<
br />
  “Why?”

  “Because it is. You’ve been alone too long.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine—I know where your heart is,” she said, smiling. “Anyway, you have to remember, I was raised a good little Baptist girl. Women must be ‘keepers at home,’ you know,” she added in a preachy twang.

  “A profound piece of biblical wisdom.”

  “Sexist,” she accused him lightheartedly.

  “Well, you’ve got me all figured out,” he chuckled. “You’re turn now. What revelations about me have come to light?”

  “Actually, not much,” Melissa answered matter-of-factly. “That’s something I aim to change.”

  Brian looked at her in uncertain silence.

  “I’ve learned that you like routine,” she began. “You basically do the same things every day, in the same way, and in the same order.”

  “Is there a problem with that?” he asked, feeling a bit defensive.

  “Of course not. It’s cute, actually. You also like to arrange your books by topic and height, left to right. You love football. You’ll eat anything if I call it pizza. You like to rinse the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. You actually enjoy shopping for groceries. You use only three fingers when you type. You—”

  “Whoa, I thought you weren’t learning anything about me!” he protested, amused. “I feel like a test subject.”

  “Well I’m not learning anything about you,” she replied, earnestly. “I’m just picking up on your habits. None of these things are personal.”

  “The habits are more interesting.”

  “Oh, stop it.”

  “You already know the important things, anyway,” Brian insisted. “And I can’t say I’ve learned a lot about you that’s very personal, either.”

  “Have you ever asked?”

  Brian sat back in his chair. Melissa raised her eyebrows, punctuating the question.

  “You win,” Brian said.

  “I don’t want to defeat you. I want to know you.”

  Suddenly, Brian and Melissa abruptly turned their heads in the same direction. They were seized by the sense that they were being watched. A young woman in jeans and a rumpled pullover fleece, her heavy winter coat draped over her arm, stood a short distance away staring at them. Her curly, light-brown hair looked as though it hadn’t been washed in days. She wore no make-up. There was a small but noticeable infinity-loop tattoo on her neck. Her astonished expression—lips apart, eyes wide—unnerved them. They froze for a few eternal seconds.