Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 50

Five Days, Twelve Hours, Twenty-Nine Minutes

Arthur Pendley sat on the rear of his limousine silently contemplating what he should do next.

He had anticipated the President's response, but he had assumed that, given the severity of the threat, there would be ceremonially concessions offered. He wasn't exactly certain, at this point, what he had truly wanted, but he came away from the phone call with absolutely nothing ... other than a threat he now had to act on. The President had called his bluff, Stoddard had tried to make peace, and Pendley had threatened to continue down this course of action. What more was there? Could he do it? Could he actually strike his own country again? He knew what the Elders wanted; they wanted death, destruction, collapse, and ruin ... but did he truly want the same? He had erringly convinced himself that someone – anyone – in the Administration would force the President to concede something. Anything. A truce. An agreement. A compromise.

But nothing?

Were they all that convinced? No, he told himself. He knew them well enough to know that this was Campbell's trump card to play. He knew the lapdogs would fall obediently to the feet of their commander-in-chief, as they had done previously. He cursed himself for refusing to see the harsh reality weighting him down at the shoulders now. He cursed himself for beginning this ... this ... this crusade without having admitted to himself it would end miserably. He cursed himself for taking the word, taking the direction, taking the money from the Elders. Washington had taught him well that words, promises, oaths were conditions of circumstance, inconvenience, irrelevance. They were meant to be broken. They were transient. They didn't last. But money? Big money carried with it a credible permanence that he couldn't deny. The Elders had expectations. They wanted results. They intended to bring down America, and, now, he was part of their insane league. He was a collaborator against his own country – a traitor, in every sense of the word – and now he couldn't think of how he could save it.

Growing weary, he stepped down onto the concrete and moved back into the limousine. His laptop was lit up, and he stared at the blinking cursor.

AMIR: I have been expecting your update.

He closed his eyes. The strain of activity had worn on him. He took a deep breath, held it, and then released it slowly. Opening his eyes, he placed his fingers to the keys and began typing.

PEND: My apology. I have been delayed.

AMIR: I have been expecting your update, senator.

Pendley glanced up at the back of the limo driver's head. The man was clearing leaning forward, reading some newspaper, magazine, or book. 'What delight' there must be in taking a time-out from the world, he thought.

PEND: The White House has refused my demands.

AMIR: You will begin the second phase.

The senator's palms suddenly grew moist with sweat. He stared at the brief response, considering the alternatives, and then took another breath.

PEND: I believe we should talk.

AMIR: There is nothing to be said.

PEND: I'm not convinced that this is their final decision.

AMIR: You said they had refused.

PEND: I will show them what we are fully capable of.

AMIR: You will show them what you are capable of.

He read the words again and again. Amir was dismissing himself and the Elders from any degree of responsibility. He knew it, but he wouldn't accept that.

PEND: We have all agreed to this course of action.

AMIR: You will show them what you are capable of.

PEND: I believe we should talk.

AMIR: The time for talk has passed.

PEND: It's not that simple.

AMIR: Only you are making it complicated.

PEND: I'm trying to achieve our goals.

AMIR: My goal is to see your country eliminated.

Again, Pendley glanced up toward the limo driver when he heard the rustling of paper. The man must've shuffled his newspaper about.

PEND: There is no need of that.

AMIR: You will show them what you are capable of, or you will die.

Instinctively, he jerked his hands away from the laptop. The single sentence was simple enough, and he understood the threat to be perfectly real. He knew that the Elders had operatives within the United States – hundreds if not thousands of willing accomplices – and Arthur Pendley could never had known all of them. So far as he was concerned, his very driver – his staff driver who had served him loyally for several terms – could be affiliated directly with the terrorists or his could be a blood relative of one. Shifting, he quickly checked his pocket for his Waltham. After assuring himself that he hadn't forgotten it at home in the top drawer of his dresser, he placed his hands back at the keys.

PEND: I will not be threatened by you.

AMIR: You will show them what you are capable of.

PEND: I will not concede to threats.

AMIR: If you do not, you will be dead by tomorrow's dawn.

Pendley bit his cheek.

PEND: I wish to speak with the Master.

AMIR: The time for talk is over, Arthur.

PEND: He will speak with me, or

He didn't know what to type. He didn't know where the man was. He didn't know whether or not the man he had spoken with previously really was the Master. In a shock of realization, he guessed that he didn't even know if the man he had spoken to had any affiliation with the Elders. For all he knew, the man could've been reading from a script, rehearsed and and replayed, before Amir or any one of a hundred agents put a bullet in his head.

AMIR: I will give you until the dawn.

PEND: I will strike.

AMIR: That is your only choice.

PEND: I will strike. I give you my word.

AMIR: If you do not, you will give me your life, senator.

"Matthew?" Pendley asked.

"Yes, sir?"

"Take us back to the Heston," he said, "at once."

END of Chapter 50