Terry Neale - Jo-el

I was going to keep out of sight for a while, at least from the Superpowers of the world. Work in the background and watch. I scared people and truly I didn’t want that. Maybe my plan could be put back on the rails. I hoped so, because I couldn’t think of a better approach. At least there was time. Seventy year was long time but the task ahead was colossal.

Pippa was another problem, I wanted to see her. She hadn’t been panicked by my abilities and she discounted the notion that I was a weapon of a foreign power. I played with the idea of telling her everything. Having another human to discuss this craziness was appealing and she’d seen enough that she might believe the story. I had Sally, but her perspective was all wrong. She didn’t care about individual lives, she relished action that resulted in death. Two hundred and forty million years observing the development of a planet. Three million years watching the coming and going of one generation after another. Humanity was evil in her eyes. Leaders decimated enormous swaths of society in the name of progress. It was all bullshit. Just in recent times, Stalin, Hitler, Mao, Pol Pot, even those we now consider civilized, not so long ago, conquered by eliminating anybody in their way. Ask the native people of colonized countries. Sally watched all this, how could I expect her to view the world any differently. Genocide was a way of life and it continued today. She didn’t feel the warmth of family, the tenderness of love. Someone died, someone was born, just change the face and give them a new name.

It was time to sow the seeds and watch the flowers grow. Same goal different approach and I wanted to share it with someone. Pippa.

Sally told me to check my mail. I found an envelope addressed to a Steven Brace, but with my address. Inside was a cash card issued by Wells Fargo Bank.

“What’s this?”

“The guy died about a week ago, he was hiking in Anza Borrego Park, in Southern California. He fell down a ravine, no one has found him yet, he’ll probably never be found, he was way off the main trail. He left a bunch of money, but he doesn’t have any children and was a bit of a recluse. I changed his address on file to here and had the bank re-issue a new debit card. There’s forty-seven thousand in his checking account.”

“That’s stealing.”

“Oh Joey, give it up. That money will end up with the government eventually, who cares?”

“Don’t I have to call and activate the card from his phone number?”

“Done that.”

I shook my head but secretly I was pleased, the whole episode with the cash in St. Barts was a nightmare.

I rented a cottage on the beach in Rodanthe, the Outer Banks, beginning on Saturday for a week. It was out of season and the house was small and innocuous. The owner was an old lady in her seventies who informed me that she lived in Durham because of her arthritis and didn’t get to the cottage that often, so I’d have to cope with issues alone, which suited my needs. I used Steven Braces’ name and told her that I wanted to pay cash and she wasn’t fazed. Renters in March were hard to come by, I was a blessing. She told me to give the money to a Mrs. Greelitch, who’d meet me at the cottage on Saturday with the keys. The marketing pictures portrayed a home festooned with knickknacks and ornaments that gave it an intimate, cozy atmosphere. The weather projection for the area was unpleasant at best, but I wasn’t going there to sunbath. I’d rent a car to look normal, but my plan was to ask Pippa to join me. I’d bounce her down there and if she needed to be back in Virginia I’d bounce her back, whenever she wanted. My only concern, assuming she agreed to come, was her son, I’d have to figure that out later. I wondered how Sally felt about babysitting?

About half an hour after I was due at the FBI office in DC, Sally picked up an email, purportedly from Pippa’s computer. It was cordial and short, simply asking why I hadn’t appeared at the meeting. I ignored it.

The sun had agreed to bless the Bay area that morning and the temperature had risen to the mid-sixties, Fahrenheit. I pulled on my helmet and went for a ride. First I stopped at my bank and went inside to withdraw one thousand in cash. I couldn’t use Steven Braces’ money, the card had a three-hundred-dollar limit and I didn’t have any ID for the guy.

I retraced the route down Highway twenty-five to the spot where I’d picked up the container that had radically altered my life, just eight days ago. The road was empty and I soon became lost in the twisty turns and striking vistas. I stopped at the point where I’d parked my motorcycle to find the container and stared up at the hill wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t come here that day. Maybe I was just one of many potential saviors and Ka-el would have moved on to the next in line. Maybe there were others before me. I didn’t ask Sally; I guess I didn’t want to find out that there wasn’t anything particularly special about Dave Murphy. I stopped for lunch in Paso Robles and walked around the square. Maggie and Adam were coming over that evening so I restricted my meal to a couple of Carnitas Tacos at one of the great Mexican restaurants in that wonderful little town.

I took route 46 over to Pacific Coast Highway and headed north marveling at the coastal scenery, wondering if the new planet would furnish mankind with such splendor. At Castroville I crossed over to the 101 to speed up my return. I was home before three, having picked up all the ingredients for chili, one of Maggie’s favorites and something I could cook with my eyes closed.

I showered and made tea. I had two hours before Maggie and Adam arrived so I asked Sally to join me and update what was happening on the other side of the country.

“Pippa’s pissed,” she said. “I think she expected you to go and see her.”

“Tomorrow, she’ll get over it.” Why did Sally bring up Pippa first? Women, she definitely had a few of their traits.

“Alberton sent three more emails from Pippa’s computer. Each one a little more subservient. He wants you to meet him again and the last one was almost a begging letter.”

“Yea, well, screw him!”

“Would you like me to tell him that?”

“No! Ignore him for now. What’s the FBI doing with all that stuff I sent them?”

“They are stunned. Lambert is piecemealing the work out all over country. They are just starting to pull in the perps. The enslaved children are the priority and a few have already been found. The press doesn’t know which way to turn, it’s headline news on every channel. Oh, Maggie sent a text, she’s had to cancel because of the work load, so your fault.”

“Oh, crap!” I didn’t know what to think. “I’ve got two pounds of mince.”

“Maybe the girlfriend can come?”

I beamed at Sally, any chance she gets.

Sally send Maggie a text, ‘no problem, I saw the news, what’s happening?’

I retreated to the kitchen and cut the mincemeat into two pieces. Half I left out, the rest I stuffed into a zip-lock bag and put it in freezer. I planned to make chili anyway.

I ignored Sally and turned on CNN. The picture showed a police officer leading a man in handcuffs into a police station. The voice over said it was Syracuse, New York and the man ‘s name was Leonard Keifer. He was being arrested on child kidnapping, rape in the third degree and a list of other offenses, which the reporter said he’d already admitted to. The picture went back to four people in the studio. An attorney was saying that so far twenty-three children had been found across the country, most of them were on a missing child list. It was the largest sting by law enforcement of this kind. The head reporter then butted in to add that there had been no information from the FBI, who had initiated the sting, about numbers or how they had gathered so much information.