Glenn Beck: The Eye of Moloch

“Hi,” Noah said.

“Hi.” She slid a stack of envelopes toward him. “I brought you some mail.”

“How the hell did you find us here?”

“It wasn’t nearly as hard as it should have been,” Virginia said. “That’s one of the things we need to talk about right away.”

Over breakfast the three of them discussed many things. Chief among these was the unexpected aftermath of their mission to Pennsylvania. Noah had said that they’d lost this one, that nothing had been accomplished there, and at first that had seemed to be true.

Though the evil powers-that-be had been poised to make the most of any threat that might have materialized, when it was all over the nationwide terror alert had been quietly rescinded and no hint of the incident at Garrison Archives had yet appeared in the traditional press.

Nothing had happened—that was their story and they were sticking with it. All evidence to the contrary was being mocked and shouted down as usual. The blackout seemed complete. And it would have stayed that way, except for one small thing.

Despite every attempt to stop it—including a government-ordered shutdown of the entire domestic Internet for several hours that fateful night—Molly’s final video had found its way out of Garrison via the modem that Lana had set up, trickling out over a single analog phone line. That one copy reached the public download section of an old-school dial-up bulletin-board system in Michigan, and from there it began to multiply and spread.

For every copy that was scrubbed away ten more soon reappeared. Home-brewed DVDs of it began to turn up on store shelves, inserted into the cases of popular movies. News of it passed from inbox to inbox, whole websites sprang up devoted to it, and finally, the top alternative news site on the Internet linked to it, and then it was everywhere. Now, weeks later, the impact was not only hitting, it was growing stronger every day.

Meanwhile, the so-called mainstream press was following their usual script. Hired experts were marched before the cameras to debunk the grainy video as a fake. Molly and her cause were once again being vilified, laughed at, and denounced. For a short time the video itself was actually blamed for inciting the recent wave of violence—even by the President himself—but that blatant lie was soon withdrawn when it became clear that the people weren’t going to buy it. The old script didn’t seem to be working as well this time around.

Calls had begun to flood the switchboards of elected representatives and the demands to know the truth were rapidly becoming too numerous for the politicians to ignore. After witnessing the brutal murder of Molly Ross at the hands of a government-sponsored killer, a growing audience of people from across the political spectrum were digging deeper, learning the facts behind her simple message of liberty, and hearing in it all an urgent call to action.

There was suddenly great power in this nonviolent uprising that had been begun by the Founders’ Keepers. And with Molly now gone, it was beginning to seem that this power was falling into the hands of Noah Gardner.

“I don’t think so,” Noah said. “I’m just not the right man for the job.”

“Read your mail,” Virginia replied, passing the stack across.

The first letter was from his attorney, Charlie Nelan. He’d met with Ellen Davenport and quickly freed her from any fallout of her involvement over the recent weeks. She’d like to come for a visit—in fact, Charlie added, they both would, as soon as things settled down a bit.

After sharing his condolences he also noted that Noah’s father’s estate might take a while to settle but there was a minor sum of money that could be made available immediately if it was needed. This interim fund amounted to a little less than $90 million.

All the other letters were from politicians and the power brokers behind them.

Some were household names from both major parties, two were outspoken libertarians of long-standing influence, others were up-and-coming voices in the very beginning of their careers. They weren’t exactly asking for endorsements, or offering them; it was still too soon to judge what the benefit of that would be. But the elections were coming, and it couldn’t hurt to talk. They just wanted to let him know that they were on his side—tentatively, and privately, of course—and to open a line of direct communication for the future.

As he was finishing his reading Hollis retrieved the coffeepot and brought it to the table. “We’re going to need to do some new construction,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of new people, and I hear there’s more on the way.”

“What about this dog?” Noah asked. “I’m not really a pet person.”

Having eaten his breakfast earlier, the animal had found a comfortable perch near the back window. He was a handsome beast, looking more like a well-groomed wolf than any domesticated species. To say he was aloof would be a serious understatement, though. Unlike most dogs in Noah’s experience, he didn’t seem to crave much contact with anyone.

“His name’s Cody, but don’t expect him to answer to it. He was Molly’s through and through. He’ll likely come to tolerate you after a spell, though,” Hollis said, refilling their cups as he spoke. “In my case, it took six months or so. Just keep your hands away from his mouth and don’t ever look him in the eye, and you should be fine.”

“I know a family that I’d like to see settle here, if it’s what they want,” Virginia said. “A mother and three kids. They’ve just lost their dad.”

“Right now I don’t know how we’re going to buy the materials for all these homes,” Hollis said, “but we’re not going to turn anyone away. God’ll provide, I’m sure.”

“We can afford it,” Noah said. “Go and buy whatever you need.”

“These folks give a lot of charity, but they’re very reluctant to take it.”

“It’s not charity, then. Tell them they can pay me back down the road.”

The front door had been left wide open to let in the early morning air. The dog had begun to growl and they turned to see that a large man had quietly walked up onto the porch. He stopped at the doormat, removed his hat, and nodded a greeting.

“What can I do for you?” Noah asked.

“Are you Mr. Gardner, then?”

“Yes.”

“George Pierce sent me,” the man said.

In a flash both Hollis and Virginia had stood and drawn their pistols, sending their chairs clattering to the floor behind them.

“Please,” the man said, showing himself unarmed. “I’ve just come here with a message, nothin’ more.”

“I’m going to count to ten,” Hollis said, “and mister, it’s gonna go quicker than you think.”

“Mr. Pierce, he says he calls a truce,” the man said, rushing his words. “He says there won’t be any trouble, long as you don’t make none for him. He says if you want, he can even send up some protection. Hell, if I could track you down, somebody else sure can, too.”

Hollis thumbed back the hammer on his pistol, but Noah raised his hand.

“Hold on.”

“Hold on?” Hollis said.

“That’s what I said. Let’s let him finish.”

“Thank you, sir. Now, Mr. Pierce says he’s going to do you a service, and he don’t expect nothin’ in return. You’ve got one big problem left out there lurking, and him and me, we’re going to make it go away. When you see what we’ve done for you, you’ll know, it’s a show of good faith. After that he’d like to meet you in person, sometime in the future, wherever and whenever you say. That’s all in the world that he asks.”

The room stayed silent for a while. Through his excessively humble manner, this man seemed to be making an effort to appear less threatening than his physical presence might otherwise suggest. Several rough, black letters were tattooed across the backs of his fingers. Taken together, they spelled out “Y O U R N E X T.”