Moore was not only stranded on Route 7 in Penobscot County without transportation, he was also very close to being overcome by guilt at having been forced to fire his shotgun upon another human being. He knew he had shot the young man who had intended to shoot him. Yet it was the uncertainty of not knowing whether the man was alive or dead, which ate away at him the most.
This uncertainty only added to Moore’s dilemma.
He was standing in the middle of the road without his truck. The young men had intentionally placed a blockade on the road causing him to stop and then they had successfully taken his truck from him. One of them may be dead. If that were true, Moore didn’t understand why they didn’t return to end his own life out of a need for revenge. Maybe they weren’t the fighting kind of men. Maybe the young man he had shot wasn’t dead. Maybe they were taking him to some help. Whatever the case was, it still left Moore without transportation.
He had to keep going.
He was the bearer of bad news. A stranger lay dead on the sofa in his home. Another man may have been killed by Moore’s own hands and it didn’t matter to him that it was in self defense. He still had a long way to go yet and it was going to be longer because he just wasn’t as young as he used to be. Walking the rest of the way was not what he had intended on. Shaking his head in frustration, he didn’t believe it could get any worse than it already was. The world as he knew it was coming to an end and nothing could cause his heart to tremor any more than it was.
Or so he thought.
He was proven wrong when he came to the farmhouse.
Before then, he had no other choice before him but to go on. He moved around the blockade in the middle of Route 7 and then began his long walk along the road. The task forced upon him made his heart heavy with despair and all he wanted to do was finish it. Then, he really didn’t care what became of him afterward. He hung onto his shotgun, wishing for a moment that it was long enough to use as a cane or walking stick. He needed it anyway in the event he ran into more trouble. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to use it again.
Unfortunately, the future was even more uncertain now than it ever was before. Every day of his life seemed to add more of a heavy burden to his heart.
He continued to walk onward. The road stretched on for miles ahead of him with no signs of civilization. He hoped it stayed that way. He wasn’t up to meeting anyone else. Now that his truck had been stolen he had nothing but his shotgun and just maybe a small shred of dignity left to his name.
For Moore, time just dragged on. What seemed like an eternity passed. Yet it was only one hour later when he came upon a farmhouse.
At first he didn’t see it. What caught his attention was something he saw above the trees as he walked. It was round and metallic. The sun shone off from it, causing him to shade his eyes. He continued to walk and waited to see what it was when he passed the trees. He finally came to it and stood still, catching his breath.
It was a silo. The barn and silo were back behind a farmhouse, which looked deserted from where he stood. There was a black Ford truck in the driveway, but he doubted it was able to run. Someone else must have decided that as well for the windows had been smashed out and it appeared as if someone had taken a beating to it. As Moore stood there wiping sweat off from his brow, he contemplated his options.
“Well,” he said out loud, “I could go on up there and knock on the door. ‘Hi, nice farmhouse people. It’s just a harmless old, black man passing by with a shotgun. Mind if I come in and sit for a spell? Can I use your bathroom or do you have an outhouse somewhere around the barn? Say, could a brother get a bite to eat or something?’” He shook his head. “Oh, yes…This has the makings of a horror film and I don’t want to be in it.”
He let out a sigh.
Finally, muttering to himself as he shook his head, he made his way to the front door of the farmhouse. He began to wonder if he was making the right choice in asking for help because the closer he got, the worse he felt. Something was very wrong here. Some of the windows in front of the house were broken. When he stepped onto the porch, an odor greeted him. He looked around the porch, realizing that some spots on the floor seemed to be damp.
He lowered himself down and touched a damp spot on the floor with the tips of his fingers. Then, he brought his fingers to his nose and smelled them.
“Gasoline.”
Rising to his full height, he looked at the front door. Someone had poured gasoline onto the porch. For what purpose, he could only imagine. His concern was that the person or persons responsible had to still be around and if he stuck around, he was going to run into them.
If he left, however, then those who lived in the farmhouse were going to be in trouble.
Shaking his head, he slowly moved toward the front door. This time, he held up his shotgun. He was ready to use it if he had to. He had intended to knock on the door at first, but now that there was bound to be trouble he decided on a different approach. He put his hand on the door and tried it.
It was unlocked.
Slowly, he turned the doorknob and pushed open the door.
It creaked as it opened. He waited in the doorway with his shotgun at the ready and searched the living room for any sign of trouble. Nothing moved inside. There wasn’t a sound from within the farmhouse.
There was one thing he did notice right away. The smell of gasoline was stronger inside the house than on the porch. He wrinkled up his nose and stepped inside, listening for any sounds.
There was one.
Something upstairs fell on the floor with an echoed thud. It sounded like someone had dropped an empty gasoline canister. Taking a look around, he noted some of the furniture had been drenched with the deadly liquid. A thought occurred to him. One he really didn’t like. Why would someone pour gasoline from outside the house and then continue into the house if they actually intended to light it up? He had thought this was going to be the work of some vandals like the boys who had stolen his truck, but now realized it could be the actual owner of the place who intended to send up his home in flames.
For a moment, Moore stood still and listened intently for any other sounds from up above him. When he couldn’t hear any, he stepped cautiously into the living room. He saw a set of stairs leading upward and at the bottom of those stairs was a canister. From the way it was laying on the floor with no cap in sight gave him the impression it was now empty and obviously the contents had been gasoline. It had been poured out all over the room around him. He noticed it was a five-gallon container and five gallons could spread out pretty far if someone needed it to.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. He wasn’t at all certain what to expect when he went up there, yet since his heart was pounding in his chest because of fear of the unknown he decided to try a new approach.
“Hey, up there!” he called out. “There’s an old man down here who wandered into your nice, lovely…gasoline scented home, so don’t do anything crazy. Okay?” He listened.
Nothing but silence greeted him.
“Listen, I’m coming up for a visit. It’s okay. I’m not dangerous or anything. Just don’t go lighting any matches!”
Again, there was no response from upstairs.
He shook his head and muttered, “Ooh, Lizzie Borden…I sure hope that ain’t you up there.”
Drawing up some courage, he slowly went up the stairs even though what he really wanted to do was to get out of that house as fast as he could. However, he felt that someone might need his help whether they knew it or not. How could he pass his fellow man up when there was a need? Maybe someday someone would return the kindness to him. That was if he himself lived through this.
At the top of the stairs, he smelled more gasoline. It seemed to him that the gasoline here was simply splattered on the walls and a trail of it led down a corridor. He began to follow the trail.
He didn’t have to.
Standing there in the doorway of a bedroom was a woman holding onto a small container of what he could only assume was more gasoline. There was another empty one on the floor further down the hall. It was the one he had heard from downstairs as it fell onto the floor.
The woman was silently regarding him through her glasses, but appeared not to care about his presence one way or the other.
Moore slowed his pace, which was fine by him because all the walking he had done was taking its toll. He made sure the shotgun was pointed at the floor. He didn’t want to alarm her and realized it was most likely too late for that. By her countenance, she didn’t seem like someone who could be alarmed by anything anymore. It was as if she had seen enough. He also didn’t want to alarm himself any further and moved his finger away from the trigger. If the shotgun fired off now, there would be a catastrophe he wanted very much to avoid. It wasn’t that he didn’t like fire. He just didn’t want to be in one.
As he regarded the woman, he realized she wasn’t bothered by his arrival. He saw that she was already determined to do what she had set out to do, which was to set the entire farmhouse on fire. By the impression he was getting from the way she simply stood there watching him, she intended to light the house on fire while still inside it herself.
“What have you got going here?” Moore inquired, hoping for a way to stop her. “Are we going to have a bonfire? I like bonfires, but I didn’t bring any marshmallows.”
The woman blinked.
It was a reaction anyway, yet she still wouldn’t speak.
He stopped a few feet away from her. “Okay. I know you’re not really making a bonfire. You’re up to something though, aren’t you? I can tell. Now I know you don’t know me, but people call me ‘Pa’ ‘cause I’m the old, black guy named ‘Pa’. And I just want to tell you that you don’t have to do this. I know things are…very bad right now. We just have to find a reason to keep on living. So put that container down and walk away from it.” He shook his head. “Would you do that for me? We can do it together. We can put it down and go outside where the air smells fresher.”
She looked away from him and into the room she was standing in front of.
Moore paused. “What’s your name?”
She didn’t answer.
He scratched his head. “Well, since you’re about to make a fire, I think I’ll just call you…Firewoman. May I call you Firewoman?”
She continued to look into the room.
“What happened here?”
She didn’t answer him, but this time she stepped aside to give him room to look into the bedroom. Hesitantly, Moore stepped beside her to have a look for himself. His eyes widened in amazement at what was before him. The bedroom was lit by several candles. They were cluttered about the vanity dresser, upon the nightstands on either side of the bed and on the window sills.
A young woman lay still on the bed and he assumed she was sleeping. He soon realized she wasn’t sleeping at all. She looked peaceful and content, yet she had passed away.
Moore glanced at the woman beside him. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
The woman nodded her appreciation for his words, but still couldn’t bring herself to talk. She looked down at the small container she held in her hands.
“You’re the only one left, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “Of your family I mean. When the vanishings happened it was just you and…your daughter?”
She cleared her throat and spoke for the first time. “Sabrina.”
“Are you Sabrina? Is that your name?”
She shook her head. “My daughters name is…was Sabrina.” She paused. “She was pregnant. A boy. She was going to have a baby boy.”
Moore turned to look into the room once more at Sabrina lying still on her deathbed. Her stomach appeared to be flat. He assumed the young woman had had a miscarriage. “I don’t know what to say, Firewoman,” he said softly. “I can only offer my condolences, but somehow, I don’t think it’s going to be enough.”
Silence descended on them.
After a moment, she said, “That’s okay. I’ll see them both again.”
He watched her. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to see them again…in heaven with Jesus.” She paused. “My husband was a Christian, but he’s gone now. I found his clothes in the kitchen where he must have been standing when the rapture happened. As far as I know, all of the family on his side were Christians, too. I think they vanished like he did. My family were also Christians.” She let out a weary sigh. “Well, I thought I was a Christian myself until the rapture happened, but my daughter and I were both left behind. The baby Sabrina was carrying wasn’t. Jesus came for him, too, just like He came for everyone else who knew Him.” She shook her head, still amazed and horrified of that day of the rapture. “My hand was on her belly because she had told me he was kicking. It…it just went flat. Like a balloon losing air in a split second. I thought I had done something wrong because Sabrina just started to scream. And she wouldn’t stop screaming.”
Moore didn’t know what to say so he remained silent.
“I really don’t know what happened then. My daughter just collapsed. I tried to call my husband for help, but he never answered because he had vanished and I didn’t know he did until later. The phones weren’t working either. I finally put her into the truck to take her to the hospital, but it wouldn’t start. So I helped her into her room and tried to make her comfortable. She was in a lot of pain and I had to wonder if it had to do with the baby vanishing from within her, or if there were just…other hidden complications we didn’t yet know about.” She shrugged helplessly. “I just don’t know. Something was wrong with her and I didn’t know what it was. I still don’t. So I mostly stayed by her side, reading to her.”
When she didn’t go on, Moore asked her, “What did you read?”
She nodded her head toward the nightstand on the left side of the bed. “I read her passages from the Bible. Psalms. The Book of Romans. And I read from the Gospel of John.”
“Did it help?”
“It helped us both. We got saved the night after the rapture happened…” She paused. “Better late than never, I guess. Sabrina got saved just in time. She died earlier this morning before the sun came up. I…I just cried until I couldn’t cry anymore.”
Moore nodded and paused. “Then, you went to get some gasoline to start a fire.”
She looked at him. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay here. I have no one left because they’re all gone. I just want to go and be with my family.”
“Okay…okay, look. I’m not a Bible scholar or anything, but I don’t think God would be pleased with you if you just go and kill yourself, now would He? I mean, do you really believe He would want you to do that?” He looked at her. “Hold on, now. I have read this book before. Job lost everything he had, didn’t he? I believe he wouldn’t curse God even though he had a reason to. Maybe you have a reason to, too, but just because you have a reason to react doesn’t make it the right thing to do.”
“Are you saved?”
“Saved?” He considered the question. “You mean…did I pray the sinner’s prayer and repent of my sins?” He sighed and shook his head. “No.”
She turned to face him. “Why not? Can’t you see where we are? We’re at the end of the world. We may not be able to survive what’s coming. Wouldn’t you want to be assured of a place in heaven?”
“Well…every man and woman has to reach that place in their lives when they re-evaluate the things they’ve done and the way they‘ve lived. And I’ve done things. Things I’m not proud of I’m sorry to say. Things I’m not sure He could ever forgive me for. But this isn’t about me right now. It’s about you. I think you need to put the container down and live your life the way your family would have wanted you to live it.”
She regarded him. ‘I’ll do that…if you consider one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You must consider that the problem is not about God being unable to forgive you, but it’s you who are unable to forgive yourself.”
He paused as he thought about his life and what he had done as a Marine. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll give it deep consideration for you, Firewoman.”
“Thank you, Pa.”
“Now we have to figure out what to do about your home. I think opening all the windows to air it out just isn’t going to be enough.”
She paused. “I have to burn it.”
“Why?”
“I’ve already had vandals visit three times here. Three different groups of them. The first ones came in and went through looking for whatever they wanted while Sabrina and I hid up in the attic. We hid the second time, too. Heard a lot of laughing and looting.” She sighed. “I thought I’d never see the day.”
“What about the third time?”
“Yesterday afternoon…Sabrina was in bed and unable to move. I stayed with her when they came. I can tell you…We must have had guardian angels at the door of her bedroom.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They wouldn’t come in.”
He looked at her. “They wouldn’t come into the bedroom?”
“Yeah. This tall boy with a baseball bat came right to the doorway and I thought he was going to come in swinging. He looked violent. Like he wanted to use the bat to smash things. To smash us. But he stopped right in the doorway, looked at us, looked around the room…and then, his eyes got as big as saucers. Something scared him and I can’t say what it was. He just abruptly turned and ran off. I heard him running down the stairs, yelling for the others to get out of the house. Then…they were gone.” She paused. “I can’t let anyone else come into this house. I’m just one woman and won’t be able to prevent anymore vandals. And I can’t give my daughter a proper burial.” She shrugged. “The only thing I can do is burn the place up…with Sabrina in it. I can’t leave her like this.”
Moore looked into the room. “Times are hard now, aren’t they?” He sighed. “I’ll help you, but we’ll light the place up from outside so we don’t get stuck in here, alright?”
She nodded.
“Do you want me to take that container and do the rest?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll do it.” She looked at him. “Could you wait outside? I promise…I’ll come out when I’m ready to.”
He regarded her. “Alright. I’ll wait. Just…just don’t pour any of that gasoline onto them candles in there ‘cause that would light up this place prematurely and we wouldn’t want that. Pa will have to come running back in here and he can’t really run as fast as he used to, but it won’t stop him from trying.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Moore nodded his head. Then, he turned and honored her request by going outside to wait. The air was a whole lot fresher outside than in the farmhouse and he breathed in deeply. He walked over to the damaged truck and sat down on the open tailgate. As he waited, he wondered about his next options. The woman was going to have to go with him on his journey because he couldn’t leave her here. There wouldn’t be a place for her to stay after the house caught on fire.
He waited for her and after a time, she came out of the house. She walked off the porch with a rolled up newspaper in her hand. She lit one end of it on fire with a lighter. Then she tossed it onto the porch and took a few hurried steps back. The porch lit up wherever the gasoline had been spilled. As Moore got off from the tailgate and caught up with her, the flames had gone into the house and continued to follow the gasoline trail.
The two of them went into the field beside the farmhouse and moved away from the growing flames. When they were back far enough, they stood in silence to watch. The flames had proven to be hungry or some power they could not explain was now at work. Flames were leaping out through the windows and coming up through the roof. Neither one of them could believe it was all due to what gasoline she had poured out.
“It was an old house,” she finally said.
Moore looked at her. “Was it the right thing to do?”
She nodded. “It was the only thing to do.”
“I’m sorry you had to do this, Firewoman.”
She paused. “My name is Donna Perkins.”
“Well, then I think I’ll call you Donna Perkins. Can I just call you Donna?”
“Yes. Or you can call me Firewoman.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
Then, they were silent and watched the farmhouse burn.
Barrington led the way up the stairwell with his flashlight. He had returned Erin’s pink flashlight to her earlier and she was using it to add light to his as they headed up the stairs. Staci was with them, concerned about the mission before them. She felt overwhelmed. Barrington was a trained field agent, Erin was an assistant to the Director of the Anti-Terrorist Division of the FBI and she was a Medical Doctor. She wasn’t in any agency. She had no idea what was expected of her and feared she might make a mistake.
Lenox had already voiced his strong disapproval of having her joining them on the mission to Maine. He didn’t believe Erin should go either. Staci felt like she was only going to be in the way. She didn’t know how Erin felt about it.
Barrington glanced at her as they continued up the stairs. He knew his friend Lenox could be hard on people because it was just in his nature and even though it wasn’t necessary, he sometimes felt the need to apologize for him. “Staci,” he began, “don’t let what Knox said earlier bother you. He’ll get over it.”
“I’m not,” she assured him. “I mean I won’t.” She shrugged. “It’s not bothering me. I’ve never done this before…so I understand where he’s coming from.”
“It’s just that we don’t know what to expect out there. We may encounter terrorists. We may come across other problems. Just keep your head down and we‘ll protect you. Both of you.”
Staci hesitated. “Do you think we’ll run into trouble?”
“I’m not expecting to. I’m sure Ace and Rookie will take a flight path over unpopulated areas. We’ll probably go over Vermont and New Hampshire and then right into Maine. If we run into any trouble, I imagine it will happen when we get to where we’re going.” He paused. “The Director had thought of asking if either one of you would take a weapon.”
“He did ask me to,” Erin replied.
“You didn’t take one?”
She looked up at him. “Actually, I did. I have a standard Berretta. I’ve been trained to use it…Just never fired at anyone and hope I don’t have to.” She turned to Staci. “The Director didn’t ask me to take it. He ordered me to. He didn’t approach you about a weapon?”
Staci shook her head. “No. I don’t suppose he would approach me either. Not about taking a weapon.”
“Why not?”
“The Hippocratic Oath,” Barrington answered as they reached the eighth landing. They still had twelve more floors to go. “Doctors devote themselves to saving lives, not taking them. The Director probably figured you wouldn’t even consider arming yourself, even if just for protection. Isn‘t that right, Doc?”
“Yes, of course, it is,” Staci told them. “The Oath has changed over the years, but for the most part it’s the same. It‘s all about giving care to those who are in need.” She took a deep breath. “How many floors does this building have?”
“Twenty.” He shone the light upward, trying to see to the very top but unable to. “Since we’ve got a little way to go, can you tell us about the Oath?”
Staci paused. “What about it?”
“Where did it come from? What exactly does it say? Can you quote it?”
“I’ve heard it enough times to have it memorized. I can quote you both the classical and the modern version of it. Why do you want to hear it?”
Barrington shrugged. “It’s something new to me. I’ve heard about the Hippocratic Oath, or at least in name anyway. I’ve never actually had it quoted to me though.”
“Well…okay. The Oath actually came from a man named Hippocrates of Cos, who was an ancient Greek physician. Today, he’s known as ‘the Father of Medicine’. The oath originated from him, so that’s why we have the Hippocratic Oath. And the Oath is this; ’I swear by Apollo Physician and Asclepius and Hygieia and Panaceia and all the gods and goddesses, making them my witnesses, that I will fulfill according to my ability and judgment this oath and this covenant…’” She shook her head. “Please don’t ask me about those other names. I’m not a Historian.”
She sucked in her lower lip as she thought of the Oath. Then, she continued, “‘To hold him who has taught me this art as equal to my parents and to live my life in partnership with him, and if he is in need of money to give him a share of mine, and to regard his offspring as equal to my brothers in male lineage and to teach them this art - if they desire to learn it - without fee and covenant; to give a share of precepts and oral instruction and all the other learning to my sons and to the sons of him who has instructed me and to pupils who have signed the covenant and have taken an oath according to the medical law, but no one else.’”
Barrington nodded appreciatively. “It sounds like you’re expected to hold your mentors in high regard.”
Staci nodded, but her thoughts briefly went to her own mentor, Dr. Richard Manning. The last time she had seen him, he had disowned her and suspended her license. “We are and in most cases, we do.” Then, she quoted, “‘I will apply dietetic measures for the benefit of the sick according to my ability and judgment; I will keep them from harm and injustice. I will neither give a deadly drug to anybody who asked for it, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect. Similarly I will not give to a woman an abortive remedy. In purity and holiness I will guard my life and my art. I will not use the knife, not even on sufferers from stone, but will withdraw in favor of such men as are engaged in this work. Whatever houses I may visit, I will come for the benefit of the sick, remaining free of all intentional injustice, of all mischief and in particular of sexual relations with both female and male persons, be they free or slaves. What I may see or hear in the course of the treatment or even outside of the treatment in regard to the life of men, which on no account one must spread abroad, I will keep to myself, holding such things shameful to be spoken about. If I fulfill this oath and do not violate it, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and art, being honored with fame among all men for all time to come; if I transgress it and swear falsely, may the opposite of all this be my lot.’ 1”
Erin was impressed. “Wow. There’s really something in the original Hippocratic Oath about not giving an abortion?”
“Yep. But in the modern version, it‘s not mentioned at all. It‘s completely taken out.” She then quoted, “‘I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant: I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk, and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow. I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures that are required, avoiding those twin traps of over-treatment and therapeutic nihilism. I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug. I will not be ashamed to say "I know not," nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient's recovery. I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I must not play at God. I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick. I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure. I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm. If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter. May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.’2 ”
Barrington stopped on the eighteenth landing to regard her. “That’s amazing you remember all that.”
Staci shrugged. “I remember it because I know it. I also believe in it. Well, except for the part about it being in my power to take a life. I’ll never do that. It goes against everything I believe in and I’d rather it were my life instead of someone else’s. Especially now that I know there’s an eternity beyond our deaths.”
They reached the top and Barrington pushed open the door, which led to the roof. The three of them, Barrington, Staci and Erin stepped onto the roof and discovered the black Storm Breaker on the helicopter pad waiting for them. The rotors were moving and Lenox had the side door open, gesturing for them to hurry it up. Barrington and Erin turned off their flashlights. Erin shoved hers into her bag, which she was carrying. The three of them increased their pace and lowered themselves as they got closer to the helicopter.
Lenox reached down as they approached. Staci glanced up and looked at his hand. Then, he took her by the hand and helped her in. When they were all in and ready to go, Lenox closed the door. He signaled to Jeremy, who was watching for it and then, without a word, took his seat beside Staci. She looked at him and noticed he was ready to go into battle. Since they had come out of the stairwell, she noticed Barrington was also wearing Kevlar as his partner was.
To the left of where she sat, there were weapons. She didn‘t know what type of weapons they were for she wasn‘t an expert when it came to such things. She wasn’t in favor of any type of man-made object that could inflict serious harm, even death, to people.
Lenox chose the weapons himself. There were two 9mm MP-5 submachine guns for when they were on the ground, a box of ammo and one other rifle. Lenox had decided to bring along a 50 caliber sniper rifle in the mix just in the event they had to “reach out and touch” a terrorist from above.
Staci understood that they were field agents who were trained for combat and they needed their weapons to do their job, but she didn’t have to like it. Apparently, they had their own oath to live by as she had hers.
Fuller was more than ready to go as he came out of the darkened stairwell and headed through the lobby. He was relieved to see armed ATD and FBI agents positioned at the ready in the event of an attack on the Federal Building. Shiva was waiting at the front doors when the he made his approach.
“You ready?” Fuller asked him.
Shiva shrugged. “Yeah. Where are we heading?”
“Al’s apartment complex.”
The two men walked outside and onto the sidewalk along North Pearl Street. They headed toward Clinton Ave. West Avenue was only a few blocks away and they would get there in a short time.
“Bear just left for Maine,” Shiva reminded him, trying not to show his disappointment at not being able to go. “What’s at his apartment?”
“A terrorist who has changed his convictions.”
Shiva stopped on the sidewalk and stared at him. “What?” Then, he shook his head and pointed. “I knew Bear and Ricochet were talking about something! That has to be what it was. Are you telling me Bear’s harboring a terrorist in his own apartment? Director, how can a terrorist convert?”
“I can’t answer that,” Fuller responded as he stopped to face him. “I can tell you I believe Jesus once said it would be harder for a rich man to get into heaven than it would be for a camel to get through the eye of a needle.” He shrugged. “Maybe that applies in this case.”
“What are you talking about…sir?”
Fuller gestured for him to join him. “Come on. We can talk while we walk.” They continued their walk toward West Avenue. “I don’t really know the exact meaning of the eye in the needle thing, Marc. I only know it’s in there somewhere.”
“That’s in the Bible?” Shiva asked.
He nodded. “Yes, it is. I guess I’ll look into that one, too.” He paused. “I never realized the Bible has so much too learn until a few days ago. Unfortunately, there hasn’t been a lot of time on my hands to get into it.”
“I’m with you there.” Shiva glanced at him. “About this guy we’re going to see…Who is he?”
Fuller gave his question consideration. “Let’s just call him David for now. Okay?”
“But who is he?”
“Marc, don’t ask me anymore questions about who he is. I’m sure you’ll know soon enough, but you’re just going to have to trust me on this. No one must know who he is…so we’ll call him David.”
“David…”
Fuller nodded and smiled. “That’s right. David.”
“Does this David have a last name?”
“I hadn’t thought that out yet.” He gave it some more thought. Fuller realized that the times ahead were going to get worse and they would need all the allies they could get. If Darwyn Musad had truly converted Fuller wanted to include the ex-terrorist as one of the Gatherers.
They made it to the apartment complex on West Avenue and entered without any interruption. They used their flashlights to lead them up to the fifth floor. As they were opening the door, Shiva thought he heard a sound from above, like something scuffing against the floor. He shone his light up toward the sound and peered upward, hoping for a glimpse of whatever caused it.
“What’s wrong?” Fuller asked, pausing in the doorway.
Shiva let out a sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I thought I heard something.” He turned to the Director. “I guess it’s nothing.”
The two men headed out the door, allowing it to close behind them.
Unknown to them, Brian Yorke was on the sixth floor landing. He waited until the door was closed and then he came down and looked out the small square window. He watched as Fuller and Shiva approached the apartment he and Groh had been asked to watch at Lenox’ request. The two men were allowed entrance by a man who very well could be a terrorist. Someone was hiding in the apartment. A terrorist had already paid a visit to apartment #55 when Groh had been on stake out.
As far as Yorke was concerned, he wasn’t sure he would wait to report anything to Lenox. Lenox wasn’t signing his paychecks. If there was any terrorist activity going on in apartment #55, he would find out about it…and act accordingly.
1 Translation from the Greek by Ludwig Edelstein. From The Hippocratic Oath: Text, Translation, and Interpretation, by Ludwig Edelstein. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1943.
2 Written in 1964 by Louis Lasagna, Academic Dean of the School of Medicine at Tufts University, and used in many medical schools today.
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