Eddy's Current (38 page)

“I can’t be like you. I wish I could, but I don’t believe I can,” River said.

“That’s a good thing. I’m not sure you want to be like me. I’m forty–eight years old. Whatever I’ve accomplished will never be known. When the bad guys finally do get me — eventually they will — I’ll go six feet under an unmarked gravestone. A few agents who knew me will stand over my grave site, the imam will say a few words, and that’ll be it. No eulogy, no long service, no relatives, nothing. Just a grave.”

“Are we talking freely or are we still in our roles?” River asked.

“What is your religion, River?”

“Christian. I’m a Presbyterian.”

“That’s nice. Presbyterians are good people.”

“What about the apostate, al Ilstad? Did he have a family? Any children?” River asked.

“I don’t know, but I know who you can ask.”

“Who?”

“A friend of mine. Here he comes now, walking back toward us from the front of the plane.”

River looked up. When he saw the man walking toward him, he felt the vomit rush up again from his stomach. This time Dane was not around to force it back down.

“It was a test. Dane passed with flying colors, but River failed. Don’t worry, my friend, River was supposed to fail,” al Qatari explained.

“You see, my friend here, my fellow former CIA agent, al Ilstad, escaped before the bomb went off. As soon as Dane ran from the car, al Ilstad lifted the steel trap door, bolted through the short tunnel to the other side of the wall. Al Ilstad was posing as a member of the radical group who was more than willing to be a part of the test.

“The whole thing was a test?” River asked in disbelief.

“The whole thing was a test. The other terrorists knew of the test, and they knew al Ilstad would escape to the other side of the wall. The wall was specially built behind the mosque for terror training purposes. It is solid concrete, thirty–six inches thick, poured over stainless steel re–bar. The wall’s footers are fifteen feet deep, and the wall stands twelve feet high. Buttress supports on the back side of the wall were built every four feet, and were also buried fifteen feet deep. As soon as al Ilstad got to the other side of the wall he was safe. He then walked around to the front of the mosque and was picked up by USFIA agents and driven out of the area.

“You see, the other terrorists were aware of the test, and they were aware that al Ilstad would disappear, but they did not know that he was one of our agents.”

“Sorry, River, but when you’re dealing with these guys everything has to be realistic. Even a hint of compromise picked up by any one of the terrorists could have resulted in your death,” al Qatari explained.

Al Qatari was able to explain the story of al Ilstaad, but he was not able to explain many of the other details of what had transpired in the Medina terror group. Al Qatari couldn’t have explained the details because he didn’t know many of them. But Peterson knew them. The terrorists, as vicious as they were in their own right, had been used by Peterson. Hernandez had given them the suitcase bomb. Peterson’s cronies had stolen the bombs in the first place. The bombs had not been stored in Pakistan by the USFIA, as Hernandez told Downing.

Hernandez had both bombs all along. He used one in Crimpton. He had planned to create unspeakable carnage and chaos in Pakistan with the other. The Medina terrorists would then be blamed for both bombings, and the U.S. would be blamed, as always, for not doing something to prevent it all, and for somehow causing it in the first place. It was all meticulously planned by Peterson. Those meticulous plans were beginning to fall apart, and Peterson was not happy about it.

LINES

11 JUNE 2025

The news about Angel Cannes, Eddy’s best friend since childhood, sent Eddy into emotional shock and then sent her cascading down into emotional oblivion. Angel was first diagnosed with Ehler’s Syndrome, and, soon after, with a life–threatening brain aneurysm. Angel was broke, alone and out of options. Her parents died before she reached her thirtieth birthday. Angel’s boyfriend moved on with his life long ago—a life that didn’t include Angel. The only relatives she had were her cousins in Ohio whom she hadn’t seen in years, and who wouldn’t know her if they saw her.

The doctors told Eddy that Angel would have to be watched pretty much twenty–four hours a day. Sometime in the next six weeks, absolutely no longer, Angel’s brain would be flooded with blood from the hemorrhaging blood vessel. There was no hope that Angel would survive because there was a one hundred percent chance that the large aneurysm would burst, drowning Angel’s brain in blood. There was no treatment or operation that would reduce that probability.

Angel moved in with Eddy and the twins. She and Eddy strengthened their friendship. They became like sisters. A few weeks after moving in, Angel had a particularly bad day. “Eddy, I want you to take me to a hospital and drop me off. Leave me there, and let them take care of me. Better yet, just take me to Houston Hospice. They’ll care for me. They care for the dying. You don’t deserve this. You have your twins to contend with, and your sister is getting worse. It’s only a matter of time before you’ll have to care for her. When River returns, you don’t need to be burdened down with my problems. I’ll be okay; just take me to the hospital.”

“Angel, if I take you to the hospital, there will be no one there to care for you. Hospitals can barely pay their light bills nowadays. How in the world do you think they would provide round the clock care for you? Now please don’t even think of asking such a foolish thing of me, ever again. You’re staying with me. That’s the way it is. By the way, how are you feeling? Are you okay today? You’re having a bad day, aren’t you?”

“Eddy, why do you put up with me? I’m a drag on you. Look at you; you can’t even take a break with me around.”

“Okay, the answer to my question is that you’re having a bad day. Now listen to me. You’re my friend. That means that you’re my friend in good times and bad. Right now you’re having a bad time of it. You’re still my friend. Do you understand?”

Angel tried to lighten up the atmosphere. “Have you reconsidered your relationship with River yet? Remember I gave you the option of ending it with him years ago. Have you changed your mind yet?” They both laughed. They stopped, and then they cried. Between her tears, Angel asked Eddy, simply, “When am I going to die, Eddy? When do you think it will happen? Is God ready to take me, Eddy? Why is He waiting, Eddy?”

Eddy was speechless. She had no idea what to say. God was big business to her, as was death. She knew only to provide support and love. That was her way of taking care of God’s business.

“When He’s ready, He’ll take you, Angel. Until then you’ll stay with me.”

“How in the world are you going to care for me? What about food, medical care, or just getting to the store and back? I’m more afraid that I’m a burden to you than I am that I will die.”

“Come on, Angel, you need your rest. Lie down and sleep. You are supposed to be resting twenty–four hours a day. That requirement is supposed to leave you no time to worry. Go lie down while I fix dinner.”

Eddy was busy fixing dinner when she heard noise from Angel’s bedroom. She went in to check on her. “Angel, are you okay?”

“Angel. Angel. Angel!”

Eddy pushed open the door and saw Angel writhing on the ground, next to the bed.

“My head, my head!” Angel screamed in agony. “This point right here on my head. The pain is about to kill me. I can’t take it!” Angel yelled, as she held her head in her hands, her body still writhing.

Angel’s neck stiffened, and her head was completely erect. Her neck was unable to pivot or bend, and she began to vomit. Her body was thrashing out of control as she lost consciousness. She came to long enough to complain about the light in the room. It was far too bright, she said. She felt an uncontrollable urge to reach out again and again to take hold of Eddy’s hand, even though their hands were clasped together.

Angel looked up at Eddy, screamed out some nearly incoherent rambling—that there were many different Eddys in the room. She slumped off to Eddy’s right — still clasped to her — and stopped. Everything stopped, except the flow of blood from inside Angel’s head, out, through her sinus cavities, to her nose and ears.

Angel’s memorial service was held at the local funeral home. The service was attended by a handful of funeral home personnel, Eddy and the twins, and a few distant friends of Angel’s who hadn’t paid much attention to her since she was diagnosed, but whose consciences would not permit them to stay away from the service. Her boss from years ago read about Angel’s death and felt obligated to attend. She arrived late. The Rabbi on call that day presided over the service. Angel was cremated. Her ashes were offered to her cousin. During better economic times, the government provided coffins and full burial services for indigent persons. Eddy would have preferred that, but it was not to be.

Three months after Angel’s death, Eddy’s life took another dramatic turn when her sister, Emily, died of cancer at the age of thirty–seven. Emily’s death was a long time coming. Near the end, for the final three months, her life was complete agony. Eddy was with her every step of the way, from the initial diagnosis until her burial. She visited Emily daily with the twins. She bathed Emily. She watched over her, brushed her hair, read to her from her favorite book of the Bible, the Psalms. She cleaned her clothes, fed her dog, told her stories, and served as her best friend and dutiful little sister. The twins were there with Eddy all during the time she cared for Emily.

Eddy was the beneficiary of Emily’s life insurance policy of five hundred thousand dollars. She and River knew the money was coming, and they had plans to buy a large home. With River gone to Medina for so long, and unable to have any contact with her, Eddy changed their plans. She would explain it all to River upon his return.

One young girl after another seemed to find Eddy and ask for her help; Angel and Emily were only the beginning. Pregnant teenagers, runaways, even abused young children, all sought out Eddy for her help and compassionate understanding.

Eddy was exhausted from months of shouldering the problems of others. At only seven o’clock at night, the twins fast asleep for the night, Eddy dozed on the couch and began to dream.

Air is important, and water plays a vital role. Dirt and tiny, insignificant creatures are critical to its survival as are the moon and stars, especially the sun. It depends exclusively on outside sources for the components of its existence. Unlike some other composite materials, its makeup is not the result of any particular recipe. Whatever comes along to be added to it is fine with it, and whatever is taken from it is not missed so long as a few of the basics are there, but even some of the basics can change. Change is not much of an issue. It knows of no such thing as deviation because it knows of no norm from which to deviate.

It makes its living on, and exists as a result of, things picked up here and there, from a wide variety of sources—borrowing, mostly, sometimes stealing, but seldom giving back. Though it steals some of the things that make it what it is, it is guilty of no crime. And there is no need to return things. No one or no thing needs the junk or other free items it needs in order to exist. It owes its entire existence to other things yet it is burdened with no debt. It costs nothing and yet it is completely worthy.

Roaring as it does like a lion, it is no king. Its life’s blood is a blend of the faded colors of its composite junk, not blue, and it will not be mistaken for royalty. It will have nothing to do with the things of the royals. They care. It doesn’t. It isn't common, either. Commoners care as well. They care either to be proud of their common existence and heritage or they care enough to be jealous and envious of their opposites, the royals. It simply doesn't care either way.

Time stands still for it, or at least has no authority over it. It has its own clock, and it sets and follows its own time? Perhaps so, but if it does have a clock it pays little attention to it or none at all. Maybe it has no concept of time by any definition, and just won’t be bothered. Probably time just doesn't matter, not because there is anything wrong with time, but because nothing matters.

The sun bakes it for hours each day but it remains cool. Extreme cold freezes it but it still exists in freezing weather. Frozenness can't stop it because nothing can stop it. It is in a different form when frozen but it is still there. Bad weather can't hurt it. Rain actually helps. Tornados, hurricanes and earthquakes all help, too. Lightning, which can hurt most anything, causes it no damage. It learned long ago to work around lightning. In fact, it never even notices lightning even though it is struck regularly by it.

It alone defines its purpose, if it even has a purpose. It seemed, at first, to be the source of its own strength. Nevertheless, it didn't know why because it didn’t care about reasons. It knows nothing of loyalty, so it doesn't matter if something else gives it its purpose. It simply continues on without gratitude. Its job is to continue on, not to look back, not to give credit or even acknowledgment.

It’s shallow. It won’t stand deep, won’t stand in anything, won’t stand for anything. It won’t be accused of depth of character. The surface is its home. It has to be there to work, to regenerate, to go on. Penetration causes sluggishness.

Small animals scurry away from it, and even older people allow and encourage it to tease them. Both serious and playful, it seems motivated, yet without a real job to do. It exists only for the fun? Wouldn’t that be something. Persistent but aimless, it appears to go on forever because, in fact, it does—at least in this world. Eventually it forms a sort of colossal twisting circle. Though seemingly disjointed and hopelessly meandering, it somehow seems connected, though not always so. In the end it seems directed toward a central purpose without ever stating its precise intent.