James BeauSeigneur - In His Image James

The search team expanded their search to include some likely alternate routes and at about seven thirty a. m. Israel time, they located what was left of the car, which was positively identified by the license plate.

"Decker, I'm sorry," Hansen concluded. "It appears that the car took a direct hit from a stray missile or artillery shell and was completely destroyed. There were no survivors."

New York

The wealth of the Bragford family was clearly evident in the solid cherry wood paneling, rich carpeting, and highly polished brass which presented former U.N. Assistant Secretary-General Robert Milner and Alice Bernley with perfect mirrored images of themselves and the operator who was piloting the private elevator to the penthouse office of the family's guiding force, David Bragford.

Most of Robert Milner's adult life had been spent in the presence of the wealthy and powerful. Raising large amounts of money from rich patrons for special projects at the U.N. came with the job of being Assistant Secretary-General, and Milner was quite good at it. The experience had its benefits. He knew what it took to separate the rich from their money, at least small portions of it. He had become adept at getting what he wanted by alternately stroking an ego and stoking a sense of guilt for having so much while others starved.

Still, Milner held a deeply seated distrust of those with great wealth, and certainly there were few on earth who possessed such wealth as did the Bragfords. Men like David Bragford were altogether different from the garden-variety rich. While it was true that the Bragford family had been very extravagant in their support of the U.N. – indeed, the Bragfords had been instrumental in financing the original organization of the U.N. – Milner had found that such extravagance is never born purely of generosity. When they gave, there was usually something they expected in return and in Milner's experience, at the very least that meant intrusion.

It was, therefore, with some discomfort that he agreed to accompany Alice Bernley to Bragford's office. Bernley was positive, she said, that this was the right thing to do and that Bragford would help them. She had consulted her spirit guide, the Tibetan Master Djwlij Kajm, and he had left no doubt that Bragford was to be consulted.

At the conclusion of their ascent to the penthouse, they were met by David Bragford's administrative assistant who escorted them past two security posts to a mammoth office where David Bragford sat comfortably on the edge of his desk, talking on the telephone. Beside the desk, on the white carpeting, lay a full-grown black Labrador retriever who, unlike their host, seemed to take no notice of their arrival. Bragford quickly finished his conversation and joined his guests in a sitting area of the office.

"Alice, Mister Assistant Secretary-General, welcome," Bragford said, affording Milner the honor of his previous post. "Can I get you anything? Would you like some coffee?" Bragford had his secretary bring coffee for his guests while he shared niceties with Alice Bernley and Robert Milner about their recent projects. The arrival of the coffee seemed to mark the end of small talk and the beginning of discussion of the business at hand.

"So," David Bragford said, directing his opening to Milner, "Alice tells me that you would like my help with something."

"Yes," Alice Bernley said, taking the lead. "As you know, Master Djwlij Kajm many years ago prophesied that both Bob and I would live to see the true Krishnamurti, the Ruler of the New Age. Yesterday, we saw him."

One would never have guessed it from the look on his face, but with each word Alice spoke, Robert Milner was dying inside of embarrassment. Why, he asked himself, had he allowed Alice to do the talking? He should have known this would happen; Alice was not one to control her emotions. This was not the correct approach for the uninitiated. Sure it was all true, they had seen him, but Milner knew damn well that David Bragford did not believe one word of this about Bernley's spirit guide. Bragford, after all, had never been present at a demonstration of the Master Djwlij Kajm's power.

"That's great," Bragford replied to Alice Bernley's introduction. "When can I meet him?"

Though there was absolutely no evidence of it, Robert Milner was sure Bragford was patronizing them, but he was suffering too greatly from the embarrassment to respond.

"Oh, well, that's the problem," Bernley said. "We don't know where he is. He was at the U.N., but then he left with a man, possibly his father."

"His father?" Bragford asked. "Just how old is this… uh," Bragford was trying hard not to say anything that would make his skepticism too obvious, but he could not for the life of him remember what Bernley had called this person.

Alice spared him the difficulty of finishing his sentence. "He's just a boy," she said. "I'd guess he was about, oh, what would you say, Bob?" But Bob wasn't saying. It didn't matter though, Alice was already starting to answer her own question: "fourteen or fifteen, I'd say."

"Fourteen or fifteen?" Bragford echoed.

"Yes," Bernley said, ignoring Bragford's raised eyebrows and the skepticism in his voice. "What we need is your help finding out who he is."

To Milner's surprise, Bragford was ready with an answer. "I think I have just the right person to help you. Just a moment," he said as he reached for the phone on the coffee table. "Betty, would you ask Mr. Tarkington to join us in my office?"

Almost immediately, the door opened and a tall muscular man entered the office. "Come in, Sam," David Bragford said, as he sat his cup down. Bernley and Milner rose to meet him. After the introductions Bragford got right to the point of explaining what was required, but leaving out the stranger aspects of Bernley's and Milner's interest in finding the individuals.

"Do you think you can do it?" Bragford asked.

"I believe so, sir. The security cameras at the U.N. record everyone entering and exiting the guest lobby. I can get the tapes from U.N. Security. If Ms. Bernley and the Assistant Secretary-General can identify the man and boy from the tape, then I'll put our people to work finding out who they are. If they went anywhere in the building that required signing a registry, such as the Secretariat Building or the Delegates Dining Room, it'll make our job a lot easier."

"Great," Bragford said, satisfied with the prospects and confident of Tarkington's abilities.

"Great," echoed Alice Bernley. "Now, once we find out who they are, there's one other thing we may need your help with."

Tel Aviv

The darkened streets were nearly silent as the tall bearded man walked among the rubble scattered across the pockmarked asphalt. His long purposeful strides and the soft muffled sounds of the leather soles of his shoes gave no hint of the great weight the man bore over his shoulder. The long brown, curled hair of his traditional Hasidic earlock was flattened against his cheek, sandwiched tightly between his face and the load that he carried. For more than six miles the darkly-dressed man carried his load, from the business district of the city, down long straight streets, to a cluster of apartment buildings near the shore of the Mediterranean.

Finally, the man stopped in front of a ten-story apartment building on Ramat Aviz and went to the front entrance. The glass doors, which had been destroyed in a blast the night before, had been replaced with sheets of plywood. The man knocked, and a moment later the door was cracked open and two eyes peered out at him. As recognition registered in the eyes, the door was quickly shut again and a table moved so that the door could be fully opened. A rather plain woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in a blood-stained surgical gown, greeted her unexpected guest.