Here is a short chapter.
Whit's phone rang. The screen said 'restricted'. He motioned to Eugene, mouthed, It's him. Eugene nodded, and began typing furiously as Whit said, "Hello?"
"Hello, Whit," said a low, mechanically distorted voice. "You were wondering when I was going to call, weren't you. Have you had enough yet? Or do I need to give you another demonstration?"
Anger surged through him. He struggled to keep it in check; he had to keep Will talking. "Can't you just leave us in peace?"
"Peace. That is my goal. If you want peace, then perhaps you will consider giving me what I want."
"If you use methods like this, I'm not very optimistic about what the future will look like in your hands."
"If the only way to obtain peace is through violence, then the end more than justifies the means. Of course, if you would just give me Zephyr, and your son would give me his secret, then even the means would be much more peaceful. I have the pieces assembled to take over the world; I have weapons from every corner poised to attack centers of power. But I would much rather do so without a shot fired. You can save lives, Whit. The lives of your people, and thousands more. You will be ushering in a new world, without wars, without hate. I am offering you the chance to be a part of it."
"I would never be a part of slavery disguised as peace that you propose."
"Well, then. If I can't reason with you, I'll have to do this the hard way. I don't want to, but then, I have to make sacrifices in order to pave the way for the future."
Whit cringed at the word 'sacrifice'—Connie was in the hospital; Jason was missing. How dare this man ask him to sacrifice them for a cause he did not even believe in. "We will never have peace on this earth," said Whit. "The most we can hope for here is temporary cease-fire, or the artificial peace that demands slavery of some to another's will. True peace is what only God can give."
"I gave up on God a long time ago," said Will. "He never came through for me when I needed him, and so I decided to create a new world without any god to help me."
"Setting yourself up in God's place is the most dangerous sin."
"I can see we're not going to see eye-to-eye on this. I just thought I would try to get you to see reason, but with people as recalcitrant as you, violence is the only means of coercion." He sighed. "One last chance to do this without anyone else getting hurt. Going once—going twice—"
Whit held his breath. He knew by now that Will was not bluffing. The next time a bomb went off, it might do more than injure. But the plan just might work; he had to hold out until then.
"Okay. On the twenty-four hour mark—I'm sure you remember when that is—another bomb will start ticking. Have fun trying to find it, because it will be in a place you least suspect. But this time, it will have more than just a few ounces of explosives.
"I am generous. You can still stop this. You can save thousands of lives, if you act within the time frame I offer. I will be in contact." He hung up.
"Did you get through?" said Whit, turning to Eugene, who was sitting in front of the computer.
Eugene shook his head. "I would have—only his phone has so many security measures in place, when I broke down one barrier, another would appear. I'm sorry."
Whit's heart sank. "You did your best. At least we know he'll call again."
"And at least I know what some of the blocks are. It is a smartphone. If it were a regular cell phone, it would be less compatible with Zephyr while we to try to glean its data."
Whit nodded. "Did Will know what we were doing?"
"I don't know. It is what Zephyr is good at—getting in without anyone knowing."
"You sound like you know the program as much as I do."
"If only I did. I have learned a lot in the past few hours. I just…don't know if it's enough." A pained look crossed Eugene's face.
"If I could work with Zephyr and talk to Will at the same time, I'd be able to do this on my own, but that's not the case. We'll have to wait till next time, whenever that is."
"I will try to know more about the program before then."
"I'll try to keep him on the line longer. But you never know when he'll hang up…
"I thought Zephyr was the right way, but now—It still may be our only hope. I just wish I could come up with multiple plans of attack. It's just that…my mind is barely functioning as it is." Whit sat back in the chair, wishing more than anything he could lay back, sleep for a hours, and wake up to a normal day, serving kids behind the counter, not the scorched floor that was downstairs, a Whit's End that might never reopen.
"My mental capacity also seems to be severely limited at the moment," said Eugene. "The only thing that I want to do more than sleep is to see Katrina."
"Would you like to?"
"I can't leave you here alone."
"I doubt Will will call within the next hour or so. You need a break. It'll help you focus when you come back."
Eugene nodded, weary gratefulness in his eyes. "I will see if I can bring back some sort of stimulant that will keep us awake. And I will see how Connie is and report back to you in an hour."
"Thank you, Eugene."
Eugene left, and Whit sat back, the dim light from the lamp on his desk throwing long shadows on the wall. The computer hummed, the code on its screen idly flashing.
It has to work, thought Whit. It's the only weapon I have. But at least, if our endeavor fails, it means that it's not the all-powerful weapon Will thinks it is…
Something flashed across the screen of his phone. A new voice message. He opened voice mail and listened.
Jason. Relief flooded him, until he heard the pain in his voice that belied the message. What if Jason had been forced to make that message? What if he wasn't really fine? He hadn't said where he was.
Whit called Jason's number, but he didn't pick up. He left a message, telling him briefly about Will's call.
Then he sat back, at a loss. The weapon had not worked. His son was in the hands of a sadistic murderer. Will would unleash more bombs across the city in a little more than a day. What could he possibly do?
Zephyr might be his only physical weapon, but it wasn't the only one he had at his disposal, and not even the most powerful.
Whit leaned over his desk, forehead in his folded hands, and prayed, tears spilling from his eyes onto the old, polished wood.
J
Connie stirred. She peeked at Katrina; she was sleeping, head back against the headrest, magazine open in her lap. Penny and Wooton had gone home an hour ago at Katrina's insistence; outside Connie's door, a policeman paced, his predecessor's shift having been relieved about fifteen minutes ago.
She could escape past Katrina, but she wouldn't be able to get past the policeman. And then there were the myriad nurses and hospital staff between her and the outside door. To escape would be terribly selfish; she wouldn't inflict that on everyone.
Still, she found herself mulling the idea over in her mind. She had to do something. To just lie here, while Jason was out there, in Gray's hands—
The feeling was as strong as ever, pounding with every beat of her heart against her chest, that Jason was in trouble. She longed to be with him; at least she could take some of his pain from him, bear it herself. She longed to kiss him, like a mother would kiss a child who had been injured. But he was so far away. He couldn't come to her; she couldn't go to him. The agony of their separation filled her heart; she curled up on the bed, longing burning through the center of her being.
If only she could contact him—if only a message could fly to him through the air to where he was—
Wait a second. She mentally berated herself for not thinking of it earlier. But then, she'd hardly been herself, with her head injury and the drugs in her system. Her phone. She didn't have it with her—they must have taken it when she went into surgery. If it had even survived the bomb.
She turned over, looked at Katrina. Hating to wake her up. "Katrina?" She said, her voice barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat. "Katrina?"
Katrina stirred; the magazine fell off her lap onto the floor with a 'slap'. She dove for it, and said, "Are you okay, Connie?"
"I'm fine. I need to see if Jason left a message. Do you know where my phone is?"
"I can check." Katrina left; a few minutes later, she brought in Connie's phone.
Connie took it as if it were a bottle bearing a precious message from across the sea. She dialed voice mail.
And there was Jason's voice. His beautiful, beautiful voice. She immersed in it, reveling in the fact that he was alive.
But pain made his voice ragged, tense. And despite his message that he was fine, he didn't sound like himself. And his message had been too short, abrupt. She listened to it again, and her alarm grew.
The feeling in her heart told her that wherever he was, he was in the midst of danger.
She called him, but he didn't answer. She left a message, putting all her love into her voice, hoping that, if he got it, she could somehow help him through whatever darkness he had yet to face.