Terry Neale - Jo-el

‘Three weeks,’ I mused. I checked down the list, the next two groups weren’t really groups. The second was a single guy in Los Angeles who had amassed an arsenal of weapons and was planning to kill as many people as possible at an event yet to be decided.

“How do you know this Saied guy is planning a mass killing?” I asked Sally.

“He spoke to his girlfriend in those terms, five weeks ago.”

“What did she say or do?”

“She tried to dissuade him, so he told her about three days later he’d changed his mind and wouldn’t do anything, but he’s been reviewing events on the internet almost daily with large crowds. He went to a pre-season baseball game at the Dodgers last week, apparently to check on the security. He hardly watched the game, just walked around the stadium, checking exits and such like.”

“Keep an eye on him and if he loads up, tell me immediately.”

“Sure.”

The third group was a husband and wife in Tucson, Arizona. Like the single guy, they had amassed weapons and intended a mass killing. All three groups were unknown to the authorities because they were American and had no prior record of violence or support for radical Islam.

“Okay, good. Make sure none of these idiots get close to succeeding. No more terrorist acts on American soil.” I instructed Sally.

“What about those crazy people who walk into schools and cinemas and kill innocent people?”

“There’s quite a few of them, all over, but most won’t do anything. Interestingly one of the most likely is a girl in Denver, she’s a Goth. They’re unpredictable, most with some mental problems, none have a set date to act that I can point to. It’s all in their heads and you know I can’t read people’s thoughts.”

“Can you warn me if one of them loads up with weapons and look like they may do something?”

“Sure.”

“Just out of interest, how many people can you monitor at one time?”

“Almost unlimited.”

“But not Japan or Taiwan?”

“I can monitor them but the network isn’t strong enough for you to act there.”

“I guess we should do this in Europe, too?”

“No problem.”

“Looks like I’m going to be busy?”

Sally smiled, it was so obvious to me that she loved this. I’m sure if I let her she’d just go terminate all the people she thought were a threat. End of story. Might not be such a bad plan. I’ll hold that thought for another time.

Tuesday morning was sunny, a welcome return from the dreary, overcast days of winter. We were edging slowly towards spring. My immediate plan was a motorcycle ride, I’d missed Sunday with the guys and hadn’t ventured out on the steed for a week, since I’d ridden down Airline highway to retrieve the package that had taken over my life.

It was early, not yet seven when I headed toward the coast, then south on highway one. I’d avoided Sally and hadn’t turned on the TV. I knew if I did that I’d probably be distracted by some event in the world. At eight I was enjoying a full plate of bacon, eggs over-easy, hash-browns and wheat toast at a café on Pacific Coast Hwy. I was spared the news due to the lack of a TV in the café. I was in hiding, taking a break.

Shortly before ten I was back home, refreshed and content, nestling a hot cup of coffee in my usual spot. I called up Sally, curious if I’d missed a major world event that would affect my day. I was not sure if I was delighted or saddened that my presence in public hadn’t stirred up something more dramatic while I slept and then amused myself on the twisty roads by the Californian coast.

The talking heads had taken a break from postulating my existence and were simply speculating if my brief explosion onto the world stage had ended in my demise while flying across some ocean or vast expanse of baron land. My lack of visibility since Shanghai, just twenty-four hours previous, had resulted in a collapse of my infamy, my fifteen minutes of fame had ended. Here was a perfect example of the speed of life in the western world. I was surprised but elated.

“Is the task-force still meeting?”

“Sure,” Sally’s favorite word.

“Same time?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see?”

Sally placed the disc monitor in the air, once more. It flew up there by itself.

“How’d you do that?” I asked.

“With your mind.”

I’d have to try that.

The room filled with a three-dimensional hologram of four people sitting around a conference table. Three of them had laptop computers in front of them, the other, an older looking man with a bushy grey beard and monk-like hair had a notebook and pen. They were chatting amongst themselves. The room was sparse, an easel at one end and a TV monitor at the other. There were no windows. A low bookcase with a coffee machine was against the wall, behind the easel. The whole thing looked very low tech and old fashioned. Bushy beard was at one end of the table; the others were sitting on one side. I postulated they were the CIA contingent and was correct. There was a black man, completely bald, but with soft, kind features. A younger man wearing a light grey jacket appeared to me to be Hispanic, his hair thick and jet black. The last member of the CIA team was a very attractive young woman. A mix of Indian and Caucasian, she had wide, very round, brown eyes, and long black hair. Her features were classic beauty. I admit I couldn’t take my eyes off her for quite a while.

The door opened and four more people entered. One woman and three men. The men were all immaculately dressed in dark suits, white shirts and ties. All were white. The lady, in the group was black, very business-like, she took the seat opposite Bushy beard at the other end of the table, obviously the head FBI honcho. Everybody shook hand and exchanged business cards. After a few moments, the black lady, whose name was Georgina Lambert said, “let’s get this started.”

The head CIA guy with the bushy beard, Colin Alberton said. “I think this will be a very short meeting, we have nothing, Georgina. No satellite pictures, no sightings, no contact of any kind. All we know is what the whole world has seen on TV. The pictures on the beach in Caicos, the video in Palm Springs and Shanghai. We don’t have any idea where to look, where he resides, what his nationality is, we are dark. Our British friends in Turks haven’t found anything, no trace whatsoever. The Chinese are being supercilious; they think he’s one of us and want answers we can’t provide. It’s not exactly a diplomatic incident but it certainly doesn’t help our relations.” He stopped and looked pensively at Georgina Lambert at the other end of the table, his bushy eyebrows raising hopefully.

“We have a bizarre event in LA but no definitive leads as to who this birdman is or where he might be,” Lambert said.

The personnel in the room shifted in their seats at the word ‘bizarre’. No doubt from their point of view this whole thing was completely bizarre and anything resembling unusual might be of assistance.

Lambert continued. “We confiscated the anoraks of the hikers he rescued in Palm Springs. We wanted to check them for fingerprints.” She then recited the events of yesterday stating that because of the nature of the investigation they weren’t discounting any event however unlikely. When she referred to the doppelganger, grimaces, frowns and wide-eyes accompanied quiet expletives from around the table.

“I think it’s time for me to join them,” I said to Sally.

“You’re going to bounce in there?”

“I think a gentler approach might suffice,” I replied.

Sally looked at me for once devoid of understanding. It was nice to be ahead of her for a brief moment.