A Covenant with Death: The Peacock Trilogy - Book 3 Page 12

  As Ammad was closing, the cameras rolled in for a close-up. He clasped his hands together. His eyes were the center of focus. “Our First Citizen has long debated the closing of the entertainment centers, at least the pleasure houses. He’s told me a number of times he doesn’t want to be a moral policeman.”

  “The bastard!” Van Meer yelled. Pendleton raised a hand to silence him.

  “I fear he, like many Christians, has a skewed view of why God created sex.” Ammad smiled. “What happened when the tribe of Benjamin was close to extinction? How were women treated? During the Crusades, didn’t the Christian armies rape and plunder? God did not wish for women to be treated so.”

  “Where is he going?” Van Meer asked.

  Pendleton shook his head.

  “Here is a fact, when the blessed prophet is revealed. He will create Jannah, or Heaven, on earth. Believers in Jannah may have their heart’s desire, both men and women. Sex is one of the greatest of God’s gifts for both. It is not to be withheld.” Ammad motioned to Akbari, who nodded approval. “This is why Mohammed agreed to Mut’a, the temporary marriage. His warriors had no wife with them during the holy war. In his mercy, the Prophet allowed them to marry a woman (temporarily) by giving her a garment. Mut’a as a practice exists today. If a man and a woman agree to marry temporarily, and she accepts his gift without questions. They are married until they agree to separate."

  He pointed his finger and wagged it. “Entertainment centers achieve this same purpose. May Allah bless you.”

  The feed cut. Even Pendleton sat mesmerized. So eloquent and reassuring, the man offered everything without really offering anything. No specifics except the promise of the restoration of the primary religious sites to their former glory and keeping the entertainment centers open. Not a speech anyone on his staff had expected. He wondered how he would sound speaking after such an orator. “How did Edison rate him?”

  Van Meer shook his head as he stared at the screen. “Edison says Ammad’s speech was not measurable. His voice tones did not emotionally translate.”

  “What?”

  Pendleton shuddered. He tried to hide his shaking hand. He had no gauge to measure Ammad’s effectiveness, plus the speech gave him nothing to combat, except the entertainment centers and the attack on Muslim sites. If he denied the specifics of the attack, he’d sound defensive, and he would be.

  “You’re on in five minutes, First Citizen.”

  God. Give me your words, not mine.

  He almost chuckled aloud. In his most dire hour, he reached out to the Almighty. Why had he not done this before? His own pride. Calling on Him meant losing control. Pendleton figured he would only ask God for a favor when all seemed hopeless and save His Sovereign the trouble of bailing him out. He threw away his prepared speech. Time for faith. His problem—he had more head knowledge than faith.

  Pendleton took his position at the podium of the Global Realm, gold and black outfit—gold and black podium. He inhaled a long breath of air. The count started down as the red light flashed, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. The green light came on. Pendleton moistened his lips and said. “As of this moment, I am no longer First Citizen. I am candidate Arthur Pendleton. I could speak for a long time about our accomplishments over the past twenty-five years. But each of you has your own opinion.”

  Many old enemies were dead. Many old friends as well. He stood for a moment wondering where they were keeping his wife. He could always look to her for reassurance. No Lovey, no Milton, no Mum, only himself and God. “My daughter tells me the entertainments centers serve a realistic purpose and should remain. However, I regret allowing them, because God dislikes the acts that go on within them. If you retain me as First Citizen, I will close the sex parlors. The rest of the entertainment can remain.”

  He may have destroyed his hope of reelection by that statement. But God told the Israelites to tear down the pagan altars. They disobeyed and suffered His wrath. Pendleton wiped his forehead. He thought about making his plea for Christians to prepare for Christ’s return. But couldn’t speak the words. Instead, he said. “We, as humanity, will never agree on religion. So I will not make it an issue. Believe what you will. If you are happy with the way the Global Realm is run, keep me in power. If not, choose Director Chui. I’m comfortable with him in the job.”

  Pendleton called for a close up. “As for Ammad al-Sistani, when his lips are moving he is lying. Neither Director Chui nor I will lie to you. Thank you. God bless you all.”

  Van Meer’s mouth dropped open. Duarte, who was near the door, hurried to Pendleton’s side as the green light went out ending the broadcast. He wiped his mentor’s forehead and smiled. “Well, now the people will vote.”

  “All that preparation,” Van Meer shouted, face red and sweaty. “Why did you bother to appear at all? You practically told people to vote for Chui instead of you.”

  “Edison gave him an 85%.” Duarte said, pointing at the screen.

  “I’m surprised he did that well.” Van Meer wadded up Pendleton’s prepared speech and flung it across the room. “Too late to change things now.”

  “God told me what to say, and I said it.” Pendleton rushed to the door and left. “I’m going to reach out to my kids.”

  As he went, Van Meer called to him. “At least you landed a punch on Ammad’s jaw. I’ll say that for you.”

  Pendleton dashed across the hall to the loo, went in, slammed the door to the nearest stall, and sat down with his hands cradling his head. His life’s work flashed through his mind. Millions dead. The Earth failing. Miscalculating Ammad’s intentions. His Lovey might be dead. His daughter opposed his decisions. Only George, Harry, Hans, and Duarte remained on his team, and Hans was pissed at him.

  God. What do I do?

  Repent!

  Pendleton choked mid-breath. The sound of a mighty voice rang in his mind. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Confined and helpless, his lips trembled and streams of tears flowed down his cheeks. “I . . .”

  Silence.

  Pendleton gasped for air.

  “You are a vapor but for Me. Did I not know you before the creation of the world?”

  He’d heard that all his life. God knew everything Man would do and created him anyway.

  “You cannot know My plans. Your plans will fail. Now speak. Be sincere in what you say.”

  “Forgive the sinful man I am.”

  The voice he heard softened to that of a father speaking to his son.

  “Already done. I forgive your deeds and will save your soul. Consequences are a different matter. I cannot interfere with what is already in motion.”

  “Tell me what to do?”

  “Your reign is over. Go to Rome.”

  A chill rolled over Pendleton. He understood. Without saying the words, God told him to go. He would do only that—seek no advice—tell only Duarte. As he rose, he snickered. The snicker became an outright laugh. Leave it to God to speak to him on the pot in the loo. Heaven must be a wonderful place.

  Chapter 18

  “Where is my father?” Connor tapped her foot, a bad habit. She gave a bitchy impression when she did it, but didn’t care. “He was supposed to call us after his speech, if you could call it that.”

  “I’ll have Ziebach look into it.” Hans Van Meer’s rasping irritated her. “He left three hours ago, saying he was getting in touch with you guys. Hasn’t he?”

  “No,” She wanted to scream at him. She wouldn’t be calling him if her dad had called first. “Fine. Take care of yourself, Hans. Read your Bible and rethink your position on God. As of right now, you’re on your own, as am I.”

  Connor disconnected and turned to her brother, George. “How do we get the people to the transports or the transports to the people?”

  “I’ve already dispatched the biospheres via all possible means. Your husband is in charge of sixteen units being relocated to sites in the Americas. Harry controls nineteen units heading for cities in Australia, Africa, Europe, and Asia.�
�� He smirked. “Once the biospheres are launched and dock with their motherships, shuttlecrafts will transport citizens into space to join them. Who will actually show up to board them? Only God knows.”

  Maybe five million plus could leave. Not nearly enough to save those left behind from the wrath Ammad will bring upon them. “Father’s disappeared.”

  George paled and shrugged his resignation. “Events are on the move. The people will vote, and we’ll do our duty. You have to give him credit. He called Ammad out for who he is.”

  Head aching, stomach in knots, Connor kicked a Vapo-Waste trashcan and sent it flying against the wall of her brother’s London laboratory. The thud and subsequent rattling echoed throughout. A technician casually retrieved it unharmed, tossed a ream of paper into it, and watched the paper vanish.

  “I’ll be chugging along.” He walked away with a brisk Citizen of the Realm step in his gait.

  The world was about to collapse, yet the common citizenry took little notice. Programmed to the comfort of predictability, they didn’t find a change in First Citizen to be distressing.

  With only five hours left to the vote, Connor hadn’t heard one comment from an executive or a worker as to a favorite. What would be would be. Her father achieved his dream, an efficient world without war. The sterile atmosphere of the Realm made the life of the normal citizen—well, boring at best. Yet those engaged in fascinating professions found the freedom to push the edges of possibility, while the common citizen lived for the entertainment centers and an escape from the drudgery of normal life.

  Being a Pendleton meant excelling at everything. Although never pushed by her parents, she pushed herself to uphold the family legacy of excellence in everything she touched. George and Harry didn’t outwardly share the same urge. But they did yearn for the knowledge to be the best in their respective fields. The fact that they were men took a certain pressure off them.

  Perhaps because the top Realm officials considered her mother the #1 contributor, she felt the extra pressure, and her mother offered her all the help necessary, smiling and encouraging her throughout.

  “What are you daydreaming about?’ George touched his sister’s shoulder. “We can’t reach our father. We don’t know where Mother is. But we do have duty. Right now our duty is to God and every Christian on this planet.”

  “I’m committed to protecting the Executive level.” She pursed her lips and looked away.

  “Which executive level?” He turned her and raised her head. “Your people will not protect Ammad or Chui. They are in place for threats against the existing leadership. So forget your earthly obligations and concentrate on those that bring rewards in heaven.”

  Acid stung her throat. Obviously, her father’s security team obeyed his orders before considering hers. They didn’t answer her queries about his whereabouts. A deep breath and a sigh of resignation answered her brother.

  “Good,” George said. “I need you with me at the implementation of our evacuation plan. We’re leaving in six days.”

  #

  “Many Sunnis were angered by your statements.” Akbari paced the boardroom in Tel Aviv, with Ammad seated eating an orange.

  “Yes. Yes.” Sunnis will never be satisfied. “Radicals also despise me. Ask me if I care.”

  “Too late one way or the other.”

  “You’ve prayed and meditated on the election.” Ammad wiped his hands and stood. “What visions have you received?”

  “You will win, but war will come in the future.”

  “From Chui, yes. We’ll prepare for that when the time comes.”

  “If we have time.”

  Ammad laughed. “Don’t be a naysayer.”

  #

  Stan Kaplan adjusted his microphone. He had become Van Meer’s face to the world since he aided the Realm in the early months after the destruction of the United Nations Building. Stan relished the drama of a 24-hour vote. After Duarte explained the mechanics, the world would only see his face and hear his voice. At seventy-one, Kaplan’s energy level and spirited voice earned the love of billions around the globe.

  “Greeting citizens.” He smiled into the camera. “Today marks a milestone in Global Realm history. This election is a first. It sets the guideline for all to follow. Every candidate has committed to a peaceful transition of power.”

  Peaceful? Hmm. Kaplan didn’t hold much faith in that outcome. As compartmentalized as the world was, only the elite, thirty or so individuals, knew the infighting and posturing going on within their ranks. Kaplan understood full well the religious divide and fanatical factions vying to win this election. He also knew of the preparations for launching the Mars Colonization Project. He highly doubted the mission was really to colonize Mars.

  “Starting at the International Date Line,” Kaplan said. “Voters will register their votes when their time zone stands at noon. Each citizen will have one hour in which to vote.” He grinned and added. “There is no possibility of cheating. Once you enter your vote, your connection will cease to exist. Edison, our master computer will keep an ongoing tally, but will not reveal the vote until all time zones have been counted.” His head tilted. “Twenty-four hours and seven microseconds from the starting point. Amazing.”

  He pointed a finger at the clock and said. “You’ve all been instructed by Eduardo Duarte on the use of your devices. Time Zone 1, begin voting now.”

  He poured a cup of Arabian coffee and leaned back to relax. The regular programming continued showing a massive hurricane bearing down on the Philippines. Winds approaching 235 mph only two hours from coming ashore near Daet and expected to impact Manila a few hours after making landfall. Kaplan would come back every hour to start the next time zone voting.

  Years before, journalism held a tainted reputation, and rightly so. Sensationalism drove the industry—all money-motivated. Now, without a money motivation, he and others like him reported the facts, helped people understand them, and actively improved lives. Kaplan loved the Realm.

  When the final time zone had voted, he reappeared with a precise count of 92 percent of the world’s population watching. Ammad al-Sistani’s face appeared on the upper left corner of Kaplan’s screen, Regional Governor Chui on the upper right, and Hans Van Meer in the lower left, representing Arthur Pendleton. Kaplan watched intently as the votes by time zone scrolled along the bottom of the screen and a total appeared and fixed. Kaplan stared at the results attempting to understand the implications.

  “One moment,” he said. “I need to consult with the Head of the Election Board.”

  A moment later, Kaplan returned. “As you can see, Arthur Pendleton can no longer claim the title, First Citizen. His vote count did not reach 25 percent. Chairman al-Sistani has 37 percent and Regional Governor Chui has 38 percent. The computer has factored in test scores and declared Chairman al-Sistani the winner by virtue of the test scores.”

  Kaplan scrunched up his mouth. He perused the copy handed to him and said, “According to the Law. Chairman al-Sistani will assume power by transition in one week. The present staff will remain until they are told otherwise by the new First Citizen. Each candidate may make a two-minute statement. Chairman al-Sistani, please go first.”

  Ammad’s face appeared onscreen. “Fellow citizens of the Realm, you have no reason to fear. I am a man of peace, and peace shall reign supreme over the world. Today is a New Age. I welcome the cooperation of Regional Governor Chui. I have promised the Children of Shem the right to express their beliefs freely. This includes the rebuilding of the Hebrew Temple in Jerusalem and unrestricted pilgrimages to the Holy Sites of Islam throughout the world. I will have more to say after my official induction as First Citizen.”

  Short and sweet, Kaplan thought. But he disliked the man. Sly. Tricky looking eyes. No, he didn’t trust Ammad at all. Why there was no runoff where there was no majority didn’t make sense. But that was the law.

  Regional Director Chui appeared on the screen, but only for a moment. “I reject th
e decision of a computer. My region voted unanimously for me. There are two other regional governors in my camp. Our lands connect and so will our commerce. Regions 9, 10, and 12, respectfully secede from the Global Realm.

  Van Meer’s face no long appeared on-screen. No announcement came from Arthur Pendleton’s camp, and the video feed switched to hurricane coverage.

  Chapter 19

  Arthur Pendleton, accompanied by Duarte and his personal bodyguard, arrived in Rome without fanfare and was escorted directly to Pope Peter’s quarters.

  “So tell me about the voice,” Peter inquired after the appropriate papal hug. “I’m dying to know what’s going on.”

  Pendleton gulped. The last 24 hours had been a blur of activity. If he looked like he felt, people ought to be shying away from him, not badgering him for details. “I’m sorry, Holy Father. Forgive me, but I’m struggling. Let me rest. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

  “I’m a good listener,” Peter said. His brown eyes sparkled, and it seemed to Pendleton as though the weight of his thirteen-year reign as Pontiff had lifted from him. Younger in looks and in tone, Peter gave a strong grasp to Pendleton’s hand. “The sooner you release the tension inside. The brighter things will seem.”

  “In the morning,” he said. “I’ll hold nothing back over tea and scones.”

  “One thing is certain,” Peter said, as Pendleton turned to leave. “The average citizen outside Chui’s control will accept Ammad and blindly go on with their lives. Scripture is never wrong.”

  That night after a three-hour rest Pendleton grabbed a pencil and pad and jotted down a confession of sorts. He listed those things he had no remorse over and those he wished he’d done differently. He pondered how many times David had fallen into sin, only to rise back up into favor with God. How many times had he done the same thing? Too many. Thankfully, he knew heaven was his home. Hell was his fate right here on earth for the evil he’d done both knowingly and unknowingly.