David Golemon - Legacy

“Thank you, Doctor,” Denise Gilliam said for Niles.

Compton turned away and walked a few feet away as the surgeon left the observation room. He put his hands in his pocket and looked up at the monitor, where Europa had placed the view of the events in the Nuclear Sciences Lab. He watched as the engineers and nuclear sciences people, Virginia’s men and women, started taking core temperatures to confirm the cooling of the mud and concrete cocoon. As he watched, he found he wasn’t seeing the destroyed lab; he was looking at the monitor itself. As Denise became concerned with his stillness, Niles ran from the observation room.

Compton practically sprinted for the elevators as men and women passed by with curious looks on their faces. They had never seen their director walk at even a fast pace before. As the elevator carried him back up to Level 7, his thoughts turned to the note that had been forwarded by Jack through the American embassy in Berlin. When the elevator doors finally opened, Niles ran into his office and past his assistants. Once inside the office he slammed into his seat and hit the intercom.

“Europa, bring up the Faith Channel on broadcast television please.”

“Yes, Dr. Compton.”

Niles watched the main screen monitor blaze to life and, a moment later, Compton was looking at the Reverend Samuel Rawlins as he treated his congregation to ridicule of the president of the United States and his blatantly obvious attempt at destabilizing the faith of billions across the globe.

As Niles watched, the good Reverend reminded him of the old films of Adolf Hitler as he screamed his manifesto to fanatical countrymen in 1939. As he watched, he thought about the attacks being launched against the efforts around the globe. This man couldn’t be responsible; no one man could have that much reach without a government backing him. He had heard that Rawlins was rich beyond easy measurement, but even wealth couldn’t provide a madman access to terrorist cells around the globe. They would disdain his American wealth. Niles’s thought processes hit a snag as he thought the question over from another point of view. Terrorists around the globe and the fundamentalist wings of certain religions did have a common goal, the retardation of scientific advancement and the eventual withdrawal of anything that didn’t match their interpretation of the future-the strict adherence to the Bible or the Koran.

Niles stood from his desk and approached the screen. He watched the white-suited Rawlins as he was joined onstage by a young woman of about sixteen. He introduced her as his younger daughter and swore he would protect her from the community of nonbelievers that threatened her future and the future of all true believers. He screamed for his followers to take action, to take the battle for the Lord to the steps of the White House.

At that moment Niles saw something that really caught his attention. Right in the middle of this tirade a dozen of his followers slowly stood and made their way from their seats. The camera view immediately switched back to Rawlins, who chose not to recognize the rebuke by his congregation, though Niles could see the large man stumble a bit as he hailed the calamity that had just befallen the ESA Moon shots. Instead of the large crowd cheering and applauding or shouting the amens that usually accompanied his outrageous pronouncements, the audience was silent. The Reverend stumbled again but continued with a quick change of tactic.

“These brave men and women of the misguided space organizations of the world were sacrificed in the name of science, in the name of advancing the curse of warfare. These poor souls were ordered to fight the will of God, a will that dictates we stay on the planet he created. His heavens are off limits-off limits to those who refuse to believe in his divine word.”

This time Compton heard a smattering of applause, but he knew that for some reason the Reverend had lost the crowd of over two thousand. The director of the TV program was no longer showing congregation shots. The views were locked in on the Reverend and his daughter, who were both looking very uncomfortable. This seemed to infuriate the man on the subject of the president.

“The man who is now preparing to send our men and women, our brave astronauts, to seek the hoax that is being perpetrated just to continue a space program that is and has been a drain on every economy the world over is directed-no, that’s not the right word-it’s being manipulated by one man, a man who swore there would be no future attempts at landing on the Moon, a man who lied about cutting the budget for this continual drain on the poor of this nation, a man who cares not for the word and warnings of God! This man is the president of the United States!”

Niles made a decision-Jack was telling him that this is what he was uncovering, and that meant that he had found a connection with Columbus to the man he was watching on television.

“Europa, cut the feed,” he said as he sat back down at his desk. He immediately hit the intercom. “Jimmy, get me the direct link to the president. No video, just audio.”

“Yes, sir,” came the answer.

Niles waited and then hit another switch. This time he connected with the Computer Center.

“Yes, sir,” came the voice of the man subbing for Pete Golding.

“I want everything you can dig up on Samuel Rawlins, and his corporation, Faith Ministries.”

“Sir?” the tech asked.

“I need it ASAP, and get me a link with Colonel Collins. He’s in the air on his way to Ecuador.”

“Yes, sir.”

Niles waited a moment and then his assistant stuck his head through the double oak doors.

“Sir, the president is on his way to Annapolis to watch the Ares mission launch from Vandenberg. He’s just now preparing to leave the White House on Marine One.”

“Thank you,” Compton said, leaning back in his large chair. For some reason that Niles couldn’t fathom at the moment, he had a dreadful feeling that he had been too late in heeding Jack’s cryptic message from Germany. “Europa, put CNN on the main viewer please.”

On the main screen at the center of the room he saw a reporter standing on the back lawn of the White House, just as his friend, the president of the United States, began waving at the onlookers lining the roped-off area. He saw him turn and salute the Marine guard and then bound up the short set of stairs into the helicopter designated Marine One. His wife and daughters weren’t traveling with him to Annapolis that day, and for that Niles felt relieved. He reached out and hit the intercom one last time.

“Jimmy, the president will be airborne in just a minute. Give him a moment and then contact him with a 5656 priority message. I have to speak with him.”

Niles clicked the intercom off before he received an answer from his outer office. He stood and walked toward the screen again, watching the giant rotors of Marine One start to turn.

Laurel Rawlins watched through binoculars as Marine One started spooling its twin turbine-driven engines. From her vantage point, she could only see the extreme top of the rotor. She moved the glasses to the right and saw two identical helicopters with the exact same paint scheme as Marine One. One came from the direction of Andrews Air Force Base and the other from the east, following the Potomac River. She smiled. That old fool Darby had said in passing one day many years before that the president had not one but three Marine One Sikorsky helicopters that rose into the air at exactly the same moment when the president was utilizing the aircraft-one carrying the head of state, the other two flying as decoys in case someone attempted exactly what she was about to attempt.