Echo of Tomorrow: Book Two (The Drake Chronicles) (21 page)

“I get a nervous feeling standing around like this, maybe we should get back in the limos and wait.”

Scott nodded at Janet’s suggestion. “That might be best under the circumstances….” Just then an old man hobbled up, leaning heavily on a cane. He looked at them with watery, apathetic eyes, first Scott, then Kat. His heavily lined face became animated and he lifted a trembling hand as if to touch Scott.

“Are you real?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Yes, we are real,” Scott answered with a smile, attempting to reassure the man. The dirty fingers reached up to touch the ribbons on Scott’s chest as tears ran down his dirty, lined face. Janet took a step forward, but a slight movement from Scott’s hand stopped her.

“Thank god!” the old man sobbed, slowly drawing himself up in a parody of coming to attention. He lifted a shaky hand to his forehead in what Scott could only think of as a salute. Without thinking, he returned it.

“You know what these mean?” he asked, touching his chest.

“Yes, sir. You are a soldier.” His eyes traveled to Kat, moving up and down her body. There was nothing sexual in his look, just pride, shining out of his eyes as if he’d seen a vision.

“How do you know this, old-timer?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Once, long ago, in my youth, I was a soldier.” He let out a soft sob. “That was just before they disbanded the last of us. Said we were no longer needed.”

“How old are you, Grandfather?” Scott asked.

“I’m …” His face pulled into a puzzled frown. “I’m not sure,” he muttered, looking down at the dirty pavement. Just then a small shrouded figure moved up beside the old man, grasping his hand.

“Please, honored sir. Forgive my grandfather for speaking to you.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“He is very old, and sometimes says things that aren’t true.”

“He has said nothing to offend me, child.” Scott realized this was a child, even through the muffling shrouds of her hijab.

The head under the robes turned toward Kat. “You … you are female, yes?”

“Yes, I am female.”

“And your man permits you to dress like that, and go out barefaced for all men to look upon?”

“Yes, but he does not permit me, this is my choice.”

“How can that be?” The bundle shook its head. “Your husband and master, or your honored father would not permit this.”

“I have no master, and my father is long dead.”

“But … but, the police wou—” Someone started screaming over a loudspeaker, drowning out her words.

“What on earth is that?” Kat asked, looking around. People all around her were getting down on their knees, facing northeast. Scott looked at his chronometer and nodded, as did a few of the others.

“That, my darling, is the call to prayer,” he answered, gritting his teeth. It was the last thing he wanted to hear just now.

“Shit!” Brock spat on the ground. Scott sighed and looked around as the people in the street faced toward Mecca and began to pray.

“Let’s get back in the cars, people. We don’t want to cause trouble here.” The limo windows were tinted dark enough so people outside couldn’t tell if anyone was in there or not, or what they were doing.

“What the hell!” Janet said, pointing back up the street.

Brock gasped. “Shit! Get in quick, and hope to hell they haven’t seen us.”

A group of bearded men in dark robes came toward them, beating people as they came. Scott watched as one of them went into a shop and came back out dragging a woman with him. He began to savagely beat her to the ground while the rest of the group watched.

“Scott! Who the hell are those people, and why are they beating that poor woman?” Kat yelled as he pushed her into the back.

“SSP … State Security Police … or religious police, unless I miss my guess.”

“The what?” she asked in outrage.

“You don’t want to know, Kat, believe me,” Brock added.

The driver looked distraught, and pulling some papers out of his pocket, ran toward the group. He didn’t get far with all the bodies in his way, and before he’d only gone a few feet they reached him. Before he could say anything, they began to beat him, knocking him to his knees. Two of the men came up to the limo, one on each side, and started beating on the roof. “Out-out-out, everyone out!” one screamed, jerking the door open.

“Oh shit! Here we go,” was Janet’s contribution. The man reached in, grabbed Kat by the arm and pulled her out. The moment her head cleared the doorway, he let go and stepped back in shock, his face a mask of horror and hatred.

“Harlot!” he screamed, and raised his stick.

“Get your hands off me, asshole,” Kat snarled, pushing his away. Even as she did, the rest of the man’s group rushed up, all looking equally shocked.

“You dare!” one of them sputtered. “You dare to dress in that manner and come into the street, harlot!”

“Please, honored sirs,” their driver crawled up, tugging on the hem of the leader’s robe.

“Silence, dog!” he snapped, smacking the driver’s arm away with his stick.

“Honored sirs, they are visitors to our city.…” That got him another beating, but he didn’t stop. “They are here to see the president.”

“It matters not who they are, or here to see!” The leader of the group clubbed him again. By this time, everyone was out of the limos, and for a moment, the religious police just stood there and stared in disbelief. Janet and her security team were dressed in pants, and from the look on the group’s face, this offended them even more.

“I can explain,” Scott said, but before he could finish, one of the men swung his staff. His intent was to smash it across Scott’s face, but it never landed. Scott caught it in his open palm in mid-strike. “That’s not exactly a smart idea, dickhead!” Scott jerked the staff out of the owner’s hand and calmly broke it in half, dropping it to the ground.

“You are all under arrest!” the leader screamed.

“Fuck you, asshole!” Janet spat, walking toward the leader. Another jerked around, swinging his staff. It never landed. Janet simply ducked under the swinging stick and snap kicked the man in the crotch.

The man croaked something and fell, clutching himself. That started a melee of waving arms and sticks. It didn’t last long before all six were on the ground, writhing. By now, most of the people around them were on their feet, looking on in horror. To them the impossible had happened. Someone had dared to hit one of the religious police, and they wanted to be as far away as possible before more turned up. That wouldn’t be long by the look of it: more bearded men came running down the street.

“I guess we’re in for a street fight, Scott. Isn’t that wonderful?” Brock chuckled.

“Fucking wonderful,” Scott growled.

“Look on the bright side, Admiral,” Janet chuckled.

“And what might that be?” he asked, stripping off his dress uniform jacket.

“At least we know they don’t have guns or knives.”

“That’s a comforting thought.” Leaning into the back of the limo, he placed his neatly folded jacket on the rear seat, kicking out with one foot at the same time. He caught a man in the gut as he was attempting to grab him, driving the man back into his fellows.

“Oh goody, morning exercises,” Kat cooed, spin kicking another one running at her.

Then the fight was on in earnest as over twenty men joined the fray. Not that twenty, or even a hundred would have been sufficient. They had no organization, or training to take on eight combat-trained soldiers. It was like children fighting adults—adults who didn’t mind hurting the children one bit. In less than ten minutes it was over, but other than the downed men and Scott’s group, the street was empty, and a strange silence hung over everything. It was as if the entire place was holding its breath.

“Well, I guess that takes care of that.” Janet carefully straightened her uniform and tucked a stray hair back into place.

Scott walked over and picked up their errant driver, and helped him to the car, while his security cleared the man out of the street in front of the limo, sitting him in the driver’s seat. “I think you might want to get hold of someone in charge before this gets out of hand,” Scott told the driver.

“Yes, sir.” He wiped blood from the side of his face and picked up the comm unit. His expression was one of bewilderment, never in his life having seen anything like this.

“That was fun while it lasted,” Brock laughed.

“I don’t think the president will be laughing when he hears about this,” Scott said, shaking his head.

“No, can’t say that he will, not very humorous from his point of view.”

“
True, but I’m not sure I give a shit at this point. These people have got me pissed off to the point I want to kick some ass
.
”

“Yeah, this place is starting to depress me as well,” Brock growled, and spat on the ground as he looked around. “Is this the world we made after our trip to Iran?” He asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. All this is our fault, or the end result.”

Brock shook his head. “Then I wonder if it was worth it.”

“We can’t change what we did, only what we will do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Try to make a better world for these people.”

Brock eyed him for a moment. “Are they worth it?”

“I hope so. I really do.”

* * * * * *

The next morning, the limousine, now chauffeured by a new driver, stopped in front of an impressive-looking tower somewhat reminiscent of the old UN building. A uniformed page waited for their arrival, and for a moment, he backed away when a tall black woman stepped out. To the page, she looked like something out of a storybook his mother had read him. He tried to stay calm as he escorted them through the lobby and over to the elevator bank, standing back in the corner as they crowded in after him. He looked up, thinking these people had to be gods.

“
Welcome to the World Council Headquarters. Which floor would you like, please?
” a male computer voice asked.

“Floor one hundred and fifty,” the page answered.

“
Thank you. Floor one hundred and fifty
,” the computer answered, and they felt the elevator rising rapidly. Once on that floor, the page led them down a long hallway and knocked on a set of double doors at the end. Hearing “Come,” he opened the doors and stood back. Janet and Kat stepped first into the room, hands inside their jackets, and moved to one side.

“Come in, Admiral Drake, we’ve been expecting you,” President Westwood said, coming forward with his hand outstretched. If the rest of the people in the room were expecting Scott, none showed it. No one turned, or acknowledged their presence in any way, making it plain they didn’t want to talk to him, or hear what he had to say.

“I hope you are recovered from your experience yesterday?” Westwood said.

“Oh, we are, but I wonder if those other people have.”

A frown crossed the president’s face. “I think, the less said about that the better.”

“Yes, I agree.” Scott would have liked to say more, about the beating of innocent people, but this wasn’t the time or place. He also had more important things to consider at the moment, like defeating the lizards. When that was done, the time would come to speak of other things.