Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 80

Five Days, Six Hours, Forty-Eight Minutes

Pendley stared out across the bank of television monitors with nothing more than curiosity.

He watched several news anchors from a variety of cable news channels talking about the 'devastation' of the Vatican. He saw an entire fleet of ambulances – they must have driven in from every possible hospital in a twenty-mile radius – parked with their doors open, their lights flashing, and their medics scrambling. The scene was pure chaos – even after the last hour the authorities had to bring the situation under control – and it was clearly growing worse. One reporter had mentioned that people were looting. Looting? In Italy? Pendley couldn't imagine such a thing, but, then again, most of the Catholics must have feared that this act of terror – this single, indefinable moment in the history of mankind – signaled the end of the world. Of course, terrorism thrived overseas. Most European nations don't possess the police forces or the technologies to detect these criminals long before their plans are in motion … but this? No government had the skills to detect a temporal weapon, and he trusted he was responsible for the mobilization of several small armies. How to defend against this? There was no way. There was only a reaction to his action.

He pursed his lips in thick concentration. Had it really gone this far? He never intended to strike such a political target, but – damn him – President Campbell had left no alternative. Campbell and his minions were refusing to acquiesce to the demands, and Pendley couldn't back down now, no matter how disgusted he grew from the images flickering across the television screens, no matter how far this entire gambit of his needed to go. Right now, the world was teetering on the brink of insanity. He put it there. He'd happily bring it back, but only – and only – after he took control of the United States government. Campbell would have to surrender, in private, control of the US to him. It was an unconditional demand. No other option was open to any man, woman, dictator, nation, or the world. These fifty states had slipped too far of their proper course, so far as he was concerned, and he would personally see them put back on the path to sovereignty, to strength, to peace, to prosperity. If Campbell wouldn't do, if Campbell couldn't do it, then he would. Yes, innocent people would die in the process. Many already had. Many more would … if Campbell refused.

Anxiously, he reached for his cell phone, took it firmly in his hand … and then stopped.

No.

No.

It hasn't been long enough, he told himself. That idiot Campbell and his idiotic advisors haven't had enough to see. They hadn't watched enough of the carnage yet. They hadn't seen enough destruction. They hadn't experienced enough chaos. Pendley smiled. He wanted every world leader calling the White House. He wanted every premier, every dictator, every king, every queen, every prince, every ruler flood that switchboard, and he wanted Campbell to suffer not only from Pendley's demands … he wanted the man to suffer the demands of the world. Europe wouldn't stand for this. China wouldn't stand for this. Japan wouldn't stand for this. The North Koreans would be mobilizing their nuclear weapons program, and their government would be threatening the mighty old reliable United States to bring an end to this bloodshed any possible way it could … or the world would suffer the consequences. No nation would live in peace. It would be the Cold War, all over again, but amplified to the point of including every country around the globe. No one would live without the threat of temporal annihilation … but from where? Where did this lone warrior strike from? Surely, the United States with its vast resources, manpower, and intelligence had to know. Certainly, the President – this champion against terror – would already have committed a score of troops to prepare for any impending attack on his soil … but could he protect the world? They would demand it, all of those other nations. They would demand US intervention and protection. They would demand it, or this administration would pay the price for their negligence.

Then, Campbell would be ready to talk. He'd be ready to surrender his own family, if Pendley asked for it. He'd be willing and able to sign whatever document his advisors placed in front of him in order to give the world its assurance for a lasting peace against this …

Madman?

No, Pendley told himself. I'm not madman. I'm a crusader. I'm a liberator. That's what I am. Of course, these talking heads on the cable news outlet – damn those CVN wonks – they're saying different, but I know what I am. I'm a patriot, and I'll be revealed as such once all of this madness can be put behind us. Once Campbell agrees. Once the Administration does what it should have done hours ago. This all will be sorted out, and the world will come to recognize me as a brilliant strategist, a new leader for a bold new generation of cooperation and enlightenment. Time travel, they'll all learn, has been reshaping their destinies, but not any more. Not when I'm in charge. Not when they all bow down …

No, he told himself. That isn't what he wanted. He didn't want their blind subservience. He wanted their faithful allegiance to his cause. They'd understand. He knew they would. All of these commentators on the news? They have it all wrong. Ordinary people. The kind who elected him to office. They'll understand, and they'll forgive him for doing what had to be done. They'll forgive him for showing them the road to the future. They'll agree that the losses were … were … necessary sacrifices in order to create a final global unity, and he'll feel all the better for their support.

Glancing down, he realized he was still gripping his cell phone in his hand. He studied his fingers. They were red from exertion, clamped down on the small wireless device. Then he saw that his hand was trembling, and he released it to fall in his lap. Blinking, he looked at the small silver communicator, and he wondered why – all of a sudden – it frightened him. It was silent. He had nothing to fear from a telephone, did he? He had nothing to fear from anyone who would call him. He was a senator – a United States senator – and he had nothing on his mind that required so much apprehension. It was just a phone. A simple unimportant cellular telephone.

Why was he trembling?

In his lap, the phone chirped.

Quickly, he snatched it up, tapped a single button, and hissed, "What?"

"Senator?"

"What?" he demanded. "What? What? WHAT!"

"Take is easy, Arthur," DeMarco offered in a calm voice. "You've been working to hard."

Defiant, Pendley snarled, "What would you know about the work I'm doing, Richard? What would you know?"

The young man paused to think about the question. "I know that there are a great many things I've seen on the television, Arthur, and these events do not make much sense."

"Everything, Richard," the man began, his voice wavering from his anger, "has its purpose. Haven't I told you that over the years? Nothing happens on coincidence. Nothing happens on circumstance. Every single event that has occurred in the history of mankind can be traced directly back to a cause and a purpose." He took a deep breath. "I can only imagine that what you're seeing on the news has a purpose all of its own."

"How would you have me feel about them?"

"I would have you accept them."

"At face value … or at your request?"

Pendley sniffed. "Whichever approach changes this topic the quickest will suit my needs perfectly."

"Very well."

"What did you want?"

"You said you would have an address for me, Arthur."

The senator cleared his throat. Was it hot in here? Was he sweating? He reached up and wiped the beads from his nose. "And I have one, Richard, but before I give you anything I'm going to need certain assurances."

"I will offer what I can."

Firmly, he stated, "You will give me your word that you will not go there until I have instructed you that it is safe to do so."

"Safe?" DeMarco asked. "Arthur, you will forgive my impertinence, but when have you ever worried about my safety?"

"This has nothing to do with your safety, you fool," he shot. "I'm far more concerned about the number of mistakes you've made today."

"Mistakes?"

"Yes, mistakes," he answered. "Richard, I knew that you couldn't control your appetite, but really? You've gone after this woman you felt the need to sleep with. You've drawn the attention of the police, the local media, and now the NSA! She's being kept at a safehouse operated by one of the most clandestine organizations within the United States government, and all for what? Because of your irrefutable need for sex!"

"Is that all?"

"Hardly," Pendley continued. "Now, I've come to understand that one of the local terror cells the government has been shadowing out of their operations in a certain deli has come up missing two of its principle players … their leader and his sister. Tell me, Richard. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"I do not know what you are talking about, Arthur."

"Really?"

"As a matter of fact, I think you are … what is the word … rambling, at this point."

"You may think whatever you like," the senator countered, "but, from this point forward, I will withdraw my support of you … I will withdraw whatever information I can provide to assist you … unless you agree to do things at my direction." He craned his neck and felt the sweat rolling down his shoulders. It truly was warm in the Crypt. "You do as I say, or you are on your own. Completely and utterly abandoned. Is that clear?"

After a pause, DeMarco answered, "Yes."

"Tell me it's perfectly clear."

"I understand you perfectly, Arthur."

Pendley relaxed. He loosed his jaw, feeling the muscles ache. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I am sorry that I have become such a nuisance to you."

"Thank you. I understand. After all, we all have … appetites."

"I appreciate that."

From his pocket, the senator pulled up a slip of paper. "A colleague of mine was able to establish Ms. Farris's whereabouts. She's being kept under guard at a local hotel. The Georgian. To my surprise, it's one of the larger hotels in the outlying areas. One would think that the NSA would want to keep a low profile, but perhaps they're approaching this from the perspective that there is far greater safety where there are far more people to see an approaching killer … so Richard … please … don't do anything until you hear from me. I'll need to make certain that my contact is safe."

"Do you have the room number?"

Smiling, Pendley said, "Do you take me for a fool?"

"You know that I would do no such thing, Arthur."

"Then give me the luxury of retaining that specific information for the second call," he said. "I want to be sure that you don't disobey me again, Richard. If this is the only leverage I have, then I'll damned well use it."

END of Chapter 80