A Covenant With Death Read online

  The pathway to her id remained express-train fast, lucky for Arthur. She smirked, remembering Doctor Beatrice Kolb, the fiend who implanted mind-control devices in her brain—the affects now proven irreversible. One of those devices over stimulated her libido. An advantage to her ever since.

  She changed into her Global Realm business suit stored in her closet, joined her husband in the hall, and grasped his hand. “Lead on, noble prince.”

  “King Arthur, Darling,” he said and winked.

  “Hardly,” Hans Van Meer poked Pendleton in his ego. “His royal pain in the arse is more appropriate.”

  “I’ll call him whatever he asks me to.”

  Van Meer huffed. “Yes, you and the other five billion citizens of the Realm.”

  Next to Van Meer stood Laverna’s best friend, Felicia Lange-Van Meer, looking drop-dead gorgeous. Van Meer picked Felicia to marry, because she hadn’t minded his earlier indiscretions. One look at Felicia’s beauty and jealousy rose inside Peacock. She quickly quoted a scripture she used to keep perspective. Thou Shalt Not Covet.

  All the southwestern block of rooms in Balmoral Castle had been converted into residences for the Pendleton family and their administrative staff. The rest of the castle housed conference rooms and executive offices. Laverna loved Balmoral and the Scottish countryside. When Arthur traveled, she’d hike up the hillside to a glen he’d shown her on their honeymoon. Though the European Ice Age froze the ground six months of the year, the rest of the time life flourished, plant and animal alike.

  The decision to move Global Realm Headquarters to the Isles came after the eruption of five volcanos in Iceland and Italy. The ash and debris dropped temperatures in Europe an average of twenty degrees and caused snowfall from Norway to Turkey to leap up fifty-five percent. That happened eight years earlier and hadn’t improved much since. The Isles experienced a lesser cooling of seven degrees on average, so Pendleton moved locations. Laverna didn’t understand the science, but while Europe froze, the rest of the earth continued to warm. North American winters were a balmy 65 on average. Summers reached 118, as far north as Maine.

  The four arrived at Boardroom Global Admin A. Before they entered, Laverna whispered to her husband. “I had another vision. Can we talk about it tonight?”

  He pulled her close. “Remember, you’re traveling to the Bering Strait Bridge tomorrow. I’ll give you an hour. Then it’s to bed by nine.”

  “Thank you.” With her cancer and her memory problems, she needed more rest than she received.

  Laverna took her seat to the left of her husband at the head of the table. Van Meer positioned himself on Pendleton’s right. Fifteen scientists from the Global Warming Task Force filled out the attendees. Now donning spectacles at age 62, Pendleton scanned several pages of raw data.

  “Synopsize this for me.” He frowned and scratched his head. “Too complicated for a novice.”

  The spokesman for the group, a thin Italian with curly black hair, answered, “Bluntly put, we’re winning the battle with the oceans but have already lost the battle of the weather and the land.”

  “How so?”

  “Through controlling methane and our species harvesting practices, the oceans are rebounding. That’s not to say they’ll ever return to their former state. But a new, healthy environment for aquatic life will develop.”

  “Shouldn’t Global warming be curbed as well because of methane control?”

  “Sir,” the curly haired man said. “We’re too late to save the land.”

  “Don’t ever say that!” Pendleton flushed.

  Laverna rubbed his arm to calm him down.

  The researcher took a deep breath, but didn’t flinch. “We’ve seen an increase in the devastation from massive cyclonic storms. The rivers are as pure as we can make them, but still polluted and below par. In another decade, most of North America, Africa, Asia, and the Middle East will produce little of edible value, requiring us to rely on South America and Australia, plus what we produce within each complex to sustain the population. Eventually, the mini Ice Age will end. Earth will repair itself with time, but not fast enough for our present human population to survive.”

  “Well, that’s all jolly good. Are you planning for us to have another series of volcanic eruptions, so the Ice Age goes on even longer?”

  Her husband’s sarcasm escaped before he could hold it back. Where was his self-confidence? Laverna thought.

  “All right.” Pendleton cracked his knuckles. “Save the oceans, but I won’t give up on the land. Double the manpower working on a solution.”

  “The top fifty people in the world have tackled the problem all with the same conclusion.”

  “Unacceptable. Put the up-and-coming scientists on the task. Look for a new prospective.” He slammed his fist and waved the team away.

  After this group left, Pendleton’s daily schedule flashed by in ten-minute blocks—a meeting, a quick decision, another meeting. Troubles mounted with few solutions, Laverna leaned in close. “I didn’t think things were this bad.”

  The last report on world topics occurred two months ago, far past her ability to recall.

  Pendleton’s lips pursed. “For three years now, we’ve followed the land’s decline. We’ve had problems with rebels. People died. I hate giving up on the land.”

  Van Meer’s head tilted. “People died because you put them to death.”

  “They weren’t put to death!” Pendleton pounded the table. “Combatants died aiding rebels. Those rebels were assisting Ammad al-Sistani, the sneaky bastard.”

  Van Meer touched Pendleton’s arm with a soft, reassuring gesture. “Milton and your mother are gone, my friend. Your children serve the Realm. I know you miss their counsel. Who can speak the truth to you, if not me?”

  The overhead screen rotated into place, announcing the next presenters. The Pacification of the Non-Citizen World Committee and its Chairman Ammad al-Sistani would soon appear via satellite. Ammad and Pendleton hadn’t met face-to-face in two years, ever since Ammad declared the Muslim complexes to be composed of Islamic believers only. Transferees in must be practicing Sunnis or Shias. Rumors abounded that Shia Muslims and Sufis received preferential treatment.

  Ammad, the peacemaker, earned Pendleton’s ear when civil disobedience broke out in the Global complex of Jerusalem a decade earlier. To maintain control, the Jerusalem governor had limited the Christian Easter pilgrimage to 50,000 visitors. Ammad negotiated an agreement involving Jewish, Muslim, and Christian factions that eased the tension. Still the single most difficult problem the Realm faced was the zealots on all three sides.

  Ammad proposed and negotiated a neutral Jerusalem, with the rest of the Israeli complexes to be Jewish exclusively. Pendleton, believing this to be a road to pacification, bought into the plan. Then Ammad used the Jewish precedent to justify his claim to Muslim complexes being restricted to Muslims only. Laverna cringed at the sight of the man’s face as it formed on the screen. As Peacock, she remembered this teenage son of Grandayatollah al-Sistani.

  Van Meer had warned Pendleton that any al-Sistani was a threat. Pendleton took the position that Ammad was useful. If he became a problem, he’d deal with him. Thus far, he had not dealt with him.

  #

  25 years earlier.

  “Where are we?” Ammad al-Sistani followed his rescuer along the steep, rocky mountainside.

  “Nearing the Valley of the Magi.” Atash Akbari answered. “Our meeting place is in sight. See the crescent-shaped rock across the gorge, jutting out like a weapon embedded in the ground?”

  Ammad squinted. “The whole area looks lifeless and barren. I see the rock you mention, but nothing near it.”

  “The entrance to the cave is positioned out of sight. There we will learn our fate.”

  Ammad’s teeth clenched as the wind peppered his face with specks of debris. “Stop a moment. I need to catch my breath.”

  He took a drink of water from a goatskin bag given to him as the two
fled the ambush that killed his father.

  “Pain accompanies your tariq’, my youthful friend,” Akbari said. “Best to thirst and succeed, than satisfy the body and fail.”

  “So what my father suspected is true.” Ammad smiled at the words his protector spoke. Only a Sufi cleric would speak this way. His father lifted the ban on Sufi practices, and Ammad was endeared to him all the more. “You are a Sufi.”

  “Yes, a spiritual descendant of Imam al-Ghazali in practice. I come to enlighten you to the truth in this final age.” Akbari touched his shoulder. “Our paths connect for life, and soon you will understand why.”

  The two descended the mountain, following a winding trail that weaved snakelike along the western side. Ammad still bled from the wounds of battle. His father died at the hands of the redheaded devil-woman. If not for Atash, he most likely would have suffered the same fate. Minutes turned into hours. Ammad’s eyes moistened from sorrow and pain. But he did not complain. Sacrifice and pain would be his to accept if Allah said so. He would not see disappointment in Akbari’s eyes again.

  Finally, his mentor left the path and the two ducked behind the rock he’d seen from the opposite side of the valley.

  “Here.” Akbari slipped into a narrow fissure that split the rock. Ammad followed.

  “Behold,” Akbari said.

  Behold echoed in Ammad’s mind, and his senses opened to the faintest sound and beam of light.

  The rock wall gave way, revealing an immense cavern. Two shafts of light illuminated the space inside. Small holes in the rock ceiling allowed eerie, orange rays of sunlight through, appearing like the eyes of a leopard. The wind howled one moment and whistled the next. He swore he heard voices within the streams of air swirling inside the cave.

  Akbari fell to his knees as did Ammad.

  “Here is the place where the Magi of old spoke to the spirits in Jannah,” Akbari said. He bowed low to the ground and chanted his mantra.

  “Wait.” Ammad grabbed Akbari’s sleeve. “Allah forbids calling up a spirit.”

  “This is the place Jannah meets earth.” Akbari pulled away. “I interpret the Quran differently. We will see. If nothing happens, nothing happens.”

  There was no guile in Akbari’s voice. Who was Ammad to question his friend and his father’s closest adviser, even if the man was only six years his senior? Ammad remained silent. The chant continued—hypnotic and melodic. Gradually, the wind quieted and morphed into a clear whispering of voices. One voice spoke to Akbari. One voice spoke to him. The others echoed eerie murmurs of approval.

  At first, images and concepts filled Ammad. Images of power and authority spun in his mind. He was to wait, bide his time, and use deception against the Enemy.

  You are my herald. When you have been prepared for the defeat of the followers of Christ, I will reveal myself and reward you.

  He saw the flags of Israel and the crossed keys of Saint Peter in flames, as the figure of the Egyptian God, Set, carrying an Ankh, loomed overhead.

  I will give you the power to bring Jannah to Earth for a time. Convert the infidels, using the pleasures of the houri. Fulfill the desires of their hearts. This is your gift.

  As quickly as the voices came, they vanished. Ammad wiped the sweat from his brow. Akbari knelt beside him trembling. He opened his eyes and bowed low to Ammad. “The Savior of Humanity Al-Imam al Mahdi. You are the Twelfth Imam.”

  The words The Canon is my word, the order is my deed, and the truth is my interior state, rang in his head. Mohammad, the Prophet, must have spoken in the wind. Ammad knew one thing for sure. He was meant to do something great. The pride of being chosen mingled with the sorrow of losing his father.

  “We must go back and bury my father, not run and hide.”

  “Of course.” Akbari’s head tilted left and his eyes took on a questioning look. “You know what to say?”

  “I do.” Ammad smiled with gratitude. “You shall be my spiritual advisor. But do not say the words Twelfth Imam again. The concept is misunderstood. I have been reborn, not hidden. And I only realized this now.”

  “Then, lead on.”

  #

  Ammad gulped three deep breaths before Boardroom Global Admin A came into focus. He centered his gaze on the redheaded bitch, the She-Devil, who murdered his father. When the On-Air light flashed, he nodded to Pendleton, gaining pleasure in seeing the First Citizen’s wife scarred and dying a slow death. Only the inner circle knew of her cancer, and he prayed Allah would allow him the pleasure of murdering her when the time came.

  “Good morning, First Citizen,” he said, feigning allegiance. “I bring some good news from the Island of Sumatra. Four hundred outsiders, mostly Muslims, have decided conditions are no longer suitable for them to survive without our help. They request citizenship.”

  “Have they gone to the rebuilt Complex of Medan to register?”

  “No, First Citizen.” Ammad said. “They fear the sight of the walls and the massive area of the Medan Complex. Several have had encounters with your security forces in the past and have been shot with stun guns.”

  Pendleton’s hand moved to his chin. “They must base within a complex, be tested, and secured into work details before being allowed to work or travel outside a complex of the Realm. Can we acclimate these people in stages?”

  The First Citizen blabbed nonsense unworthy of Ammad’s time. But not for long. His wait was nearly over. Victory over this madman was only a matter of weeks away.

  “We could bring them to a holding area outside the complex,” Ammad answered. “Test them, put them to work in the fields near Medan, and after a month, bring them inside the gates.”

  “Agreed.”

  Ammad had cultivated over a thousand such groups, indoctrinating them into Al-jihad fi sabilillah, readying them to strike for the cause of Allah. That time was now.

  As the meeting progressed, the redheaded bitch jotted down notes. This irritated Ammad. A man of Pendleton’s stature protected and aided by a woman—unfathomable. But, he wouldn’t have to put up with these infidels much longer. The First Citizen had relaxed his vigilance since his mentor, Milton Rogers, died. Ammad smirked.

  He won’t know what’s coming until it’s too late.

  Chapter 3

  After a long day of meetings, a cool shower refreshed Laverna. Her disease hadn’t hindered her ability to keep fit and give sound advice to Arthur on things she could recall. She worked out with the team her daughter Connor assigned to protect the First Citizen—Peacock’s old team of Shin Mao Ming, Sharesca Baidya, (nicknamed Cher), and Klaus Bruegman. Five times in an average week, Laverna played Peacock again hiding her pain and puffing through the full unit training exercise.

  This, however, wasn’t an average week. Tomorrow, she and Arthur would head to Cape Prince of Wales, Alaska to christen the third Bering Sea Cargo Bridge. The oceans were pristine to the eye. To pollute them as they were recovering would be criminal. Moving cargo across the strait by truck linked together most of the world. This final bridge guaranteed cargo ships would never again sail the Pacific.

  She grabbed a towel and slipped into bed next to Arthur. He caressed her as she satisfied him. Her mind and body pleasured him with energy and drive equal to her best years. She understood from the Bible that sex was a gift from God to mankind and was to be enjoyed by husband and wife. She had confessed to God all her many indiscretions and been forgiven.

  Arthur nuzzled her close afterward, running his fingers along the scarred ruts lining her cheeks—compliments of Beatrice Kolb.

  “Now tell me what vision you saw this time,” he said.

  “My gut tells me I saw an angel.”

  “That’s what you said the last four times.”

  “I don’t remember those times. I wish...”

  A sigh escaped her lips.

  “All right now,” he whispered. “Whatever you’ve seen or heard has hit spot on. I think you hallucinate. And because you’re brilliant, you’ve been right. S
o speak to me my oracle.”

  “The angel said, ‘God commands you to warn your husband his rule is ending. He is to follow God’s instruction and ready true believers for the Lord’s return.’”

  “Ouch!” Arthur’s face reddened. He shot up straight. “I know you want me to step down. But I’d be a lunatic to off and declared the end of the world. I couldn’t pull it off. It’s a huge undertaking to even identify true believers.”

  “Not for you. You reorganized the whole world with lightning speed.”

  Her husband’s shoulders drooped. “I’ll have to think on this. Right now all I can visualize is walking through complex after complex with a sign reading, ‘Repent! The End Is Near!’ Maybe I should grow a beard and wear a goatskin tunic. I’m not prepared for the task.”

  Laverna wrung her hands. “I’m frightened. I feel so inadequate, and I don’t trust myself with the way my brain functions. But I believe I’m speaking the truth.”

  “I love you, but I don’t trust this vision.” He stroked her hand, and her neck relaxed. “The first time you came to me, you told me to evacuate parts of Boston and New York and move the residents inland. I refused until our own oceanographers explained the science to me.”

  She chuckled. “I get so confused. I know the rising oceans flooded the coast, but I didn’t know I warned you it would happen.”

  “That’s the thing. You never give me details. Maybe that’s how God tests my faith. Until I learned differently, my best scientists thought dikes were the answer. Dikes would have been a disaster. So how do I accomplish this noble task?”

  “Nano 7,” Laverna said, brushing her hair back from her eyes. All citizens wore a thin wristband used for incoming transmissions. Selective executive levels accessed outgoing lines for Realm purposes only. A ten-contact personal communication device completed the Realm’s citizen access. “Spreading the word to believers could happen instantly through the Global Communications Center’s Nano 7 technology.”