Inside Lucifer's War (12 page)

I enjoy running next to Stacie. I occasionally glance at her to see the muscle pattern in her arms and legs though I pretend to stare at the lake. Her hair is in a small ponytail, and it jostles up and down as she runs. She looks straight ahead, though, never once looking over at me. I want to talk with her, but I haven’t the breath or the words to say.

Six miles go by fast. We finish, stop for a drink at the fountain, and walk over to an open field where Mike can see us. We find a tree on the side of the field and stand beneath its shade, though it only offers moderate relief from the heat. We are drenched in sweat. Stacie begins to stretch while I look back down the trail.

“I’m really glad you came this morning,” I say, breaking the silence.

“It was a good run,” she admits.

“That’s not what I meant. I enjoy your company,” I press on.

“You enjoy any woman’s company,” Stacie fires back.

“You’re not going to give me a chance, are you?” I ask with some annoyance in my voice.

She looks me in the eyes. “A chance for what? What do you want from me?”

“I want an opportunity to get to know each other better,” I say, trying to backtrack.

She understands my implications, though. “Are you serious? You just had a woman spend the night with you, and you’re asking me to give you a chance? For us to get to know each other better? What would she say if she knew we were having this conversation?”

“Last night . . . last night, I had too much to drink. She walked me home. I don’t think anything happened,” I respond.

“That’s the thing isn’t it? You’re always having too much to drink and not thinking. That’s not what I want in my life,” she says. Seeing Mike coming up the trail, she continues, “You’re Mike’s friend, which means you’re a friend of our entire family. That’s just how we are. I’m not trying to be mean. I just know that who you are and where you are going is not what I need or want. I’m not what you want, either.”

I turn away and walk toward Mike. “Hey, man, what happened to you? Age must be catching up. Maybe you should try my approach to running: upchuck and go.”

Mike hunches over, breathing heavily. He says, “Yeah, maybe so. I didn’t realize you two were in a race. Next time give me a heads-up. Talk about competitive people . . .”

Stacie and I avoid looking at each other, but we both flush at his words. We were racing each other. No doubt that there was a competitive spirit between us on that run. It makes me a bit sad, as I wonder if this is my last opportunity to be with Stacie.

As they leave me in the parking lot, my mind turns back to Paige and Kinsley. Were they working together when I met her on the trail? Was it after the meeting in the coffee shop? Who else is spying on me? Kinsley’s story of simply being involved in charities is not adding up. You don’t spy on guest speakers if you are simply interested in advancing charities. This is something much deeper, but I should have realized this—since Satan was behind it.

C
HAPTER 12

The Plane Trip

A few minutes after one o’clock I stroll into the lobby of my building. Waiting for me is the large man who accompanied Kinsley when we first met.

“Dr. Fields,” he says to get my attention, which is unnecessary since we are the only two people in the lobby besides the floor manager. “I’ll be taking you to the airport today.” He takes my bag from my hand.

Parked outside is a Suburban. As the driver opens the door, he makes sure I know the gift bag on the seat is for me. The beige leather seat is comfortable, and I open the bag. I try to hide my surprise when I open an envelope lined with hundred-dollar bills. I pull out a note:

Dr. Fields,

I trust you will have a great flight. Please take advantage of all the amenities on the plane. You are in good hands with Captain Brockard. He is an excellent pilot and a good friend. Here is a five thousand dollar advance on your fee. I thought you might need some spending money when you land in Dallas. I’ll meet you at the hotel lobby tonight at 7:30. You will be staying at the Joule. You will also find Bruce’s card (your driver) in the gift bag. He will be calling you on your cell phone to ensure you have his number. He will accompany you to Dallas. If you have any questions or problems, just call Bruce. He will take care of everything. He handles much of my personal needs, so you are in good hands.

Sincerely,

Kinsley McKee

As soon as I set the card down, my phone rings. It is Bruce. I smile at him and say, “Timely.” He turns and smiles back, telling me that I have his number and reiterating Kinsley’s message regarding his services. He says it in a way that is more a warning than a pleasantry. Maybe my imagination is out of control. Everything is clouded in mystery, or at least I am making it a mystery.

As we drive away, I notice we are heading north, away from the airport. I ask Bruce where we are heading, and he says we are picking up Andrew, although Bruce refers to him as Dr. Mayfield.

When the car pulls up to the house, Bruce steps out to greet Andrew by taking his bag and heading for the back of the vehicle. I notice Andrew doesn’t have a gift bag, so I slide mine under my seat and wonder how I will hide it from him when we reach the plane. Perhaps by letting him get out of the car first.

Andrew wears a big smile when he sits next to me. “Good to see you, Thomas. Are you excited?”

“The week has flown by too fast for me to have any emotions,” I say. “I guess, if anything, I’m a bit nervous about the speech. I didn’t get to work on it as much as I would have liked.”

We are interrupted momentarily by Bruce. “Gentlemen, I hope this won’t be too much of an inconvenience, but we had to book the two of you into a suite. There’s plenty of room, and the bedrooms are separated by a living room. I’m truly sorry about this, but apparently the hotel is booked this weekend because of the Texas-Oklahoma football game. Rooms are sparse.”

We relay our consent, and Bruce starts driving.

Andrew’s asking me about my excitement makes me think more about my emotions. Meanwhile, he talks much of the time about people and events I think inconsequential. More precisely, I think about the fact that I lack emotion. Shouldn’t I be anxious? After all, Satan himself has assigned me to this trip through some mysterious organization about which I know very little. The man who recruited me to speak is spying on me by setting me up with women. The only thing I really know about this trip is that they just handed me five thousand dollars and told me to contact no one but the brute driving me to the airport. I feel as if I’m a spectator in this event. But I’m not a spectator. I’m one of the main characters, if not the main character.

As I ponder these things, I can feel anxiety rising up within me. I know it is rising because Andrew is beginning to annoy me with his endless droning. I wish he would simply be quiet. Fortunately, we arrive at the airport at that moment.

We pass through a special security gate and pull up to an area filled with private jets. Andrew turns to me as we pull up next to a hangar from which a jet is emerging. “You’ll love this plane,” he says. “It’s loaded with amenities and well stocked with drinks. Too bad it’s such a short flight.”

Clearly, his intention is to ensure I know he’s already been on the plane, and it’s also clear that he is hoping I will press him further about it. Knowing this, I refrain from asking him about it. Within moments, his patience apparently lacking, he continues, “They’ve taken me on a few trips. I think my favorite was to Sydney last February. Of course, we took a larger plane for that trip.”

We exit the SUV and enter the plane. Andrew isn’t lying. The cabin is beautifully appointed. There are six plush leather recliner seats, three on each side. Passengers can sit upright to work; a desk comes out from under the armrest. In the back of the cabin are a bar and refrigerator. In the front is a wide-screen television tuned to CNBC. Pillows and blankets are stored above the seats in cabinets that run the length of the seating area.

Bruce follows Andrew and me into the plane, but he immediately goes into the cockpit, shutting the door behind him. Andrew and I make our way to the bar and pour ourselves some drinks as we get comfortable in the back two seats. Despite my lack of inquiry, Andrew launches into great detail about his Sydney trip. After several minutes, Bruce emerges from the cockpit with the pilot.

The pilot is a short, stocky man, probably in his midfifties. He has short gray hair that is almost white on the sides. He greets us and offers a firm handshake, saying, “I’m your pilot, Jay Brockard. I have the privilege of flying you to Dallas today. I see you’ve already made yourselves comfortable.”

“It’s a short flight, so we didn’t want to wait,” Andrew responds.

The pilot laughs. “Good point. Would you mind pouring me one then?”

We all laugh. Jay exchanges some more pleasantries, and then he and Bruce return to the cockpit, shutting the door behind them.

As soon as the plane begins to taxi to the runway, Andrew leans over and gestures for me to lean in. I’m sure he is going to share some additional boring detail about his Sydney trip, but I oblige him. Instead, he starts talking about the organization that Kinsley represents. It’s almost as if this secret has been bottled up with Andrew for years and he no longer can contain it. I’m surprised he has picked now as the opportune moment, but my curiosity prevents me from stopping him.

“Thomas, you have no idea who these guys are,” he says.

“Who? The pilot? Bruce?”

“No,” Andrew shoots back. “I’m not talking about those two. I’m talking about the organization. You don’t have a clue about these guys. I’ve had interactions with them for the past five years, and I’ve been researching them, quietlike. I couldn’t help myself with everything being such a secret and all. Let me just say that these guys are not people you want to tick off. That’s why I was trying to protect you last month at the coffee shop. I think they consider me some bought-and-paid-for professor. They think I’m content to be their ignorant schmuck. Kinsley treats me like dirt at our meetings, and he thinks I don’t notice or care. No offense, but you are their new shiny object. For the past five years, whenever they needed something from me, of course, I obliged them. But now they think they can simply discard me and treat me like some ex-girlfriend with a crush. That’s fine. They’re the ignorant ones, though. I’m on to them. I have more on them than they know. I can play this game as well.”

He gets up and refills his drink. When he returns to his seat, he looks at the closed cockpit door. “These guys . . . Kinsley . . . all of them . . . they’re all very powerful, and they are part of a secret organization. I’m talking about people at the highest levels in business, government, and education.”

I can see Andrew is getting excited, as his voice has risen from a whisper to a normal level, but I can also see that he is very nervous. His eyes never leave the cockpit door. I, too, am getting edgy about this conversation. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this in here,” I warn.

“No. We’re fine. Just make sure Bruce doesn’t come through that door. Check this out. They call themselves ‘the Principal.’ The odd thing is that they also use that term to denote the board and the head of the organization. You are never quite sure who they’re referring to when they use the word.”

“I thought they were called First Orchard,” I say.

“No. That’s just a charity they use as their cover. They have many covers . . . too many to keep track of,” he says.

“So this isn’t really a charity event we are going to?” I ask.

“You’re not listening to me,” Andrew responds, annoyed by my ignorance. “First Orchard is a real organization, and there are people within that organization whose main function is the charity. They probably don’t have a clue about the Principal. The ones running the show, though, are part of the Principal. Ultimately, they will use this charity and others to suit their purposes.”

I nod in understanding and encourage him to go on.

“Check this out,” he says, pulling a document from his briefcase. “I have created some Visios of their organization . . . at least what I have been able to figure out of their organization. I have more on my laptop, but I wanted to show you these. It’s a huge organization, with some of the most powerful people in the country. These people run the world, and I haven’t even made it close to the top. Seriously, look at some of these names. I can’t imagine who runs this thing.”

“Lucifer,” I accidently say aloud.

Just then the cockpit door opens.

Andrew grabs the document out of my hands and shoves it into his briefcase. His forehead is damp as Bruce enters the cabin and walks past us toward the bar. He pokes around under the cabinet for a while and then pulls out something that looks like a medicine carrier. With the carrier in hand, he says, “Gentlemen, if you care to top off your drinks with something a little different, please help yourself. We don’t need to worry about the police at twenty-two thousand feet.” Then he walks past us and into the cockpit, but I notice he glances at Andrew’s briefcase.

Andrew quickly looks at me. “I don’t touch that stuff. But that reminds me. At these parties, there will be lots of drugs and alcohol. Watch yourself. Be careful what you take. You don’t want to start mixing some of those things. You would quickly wind up owing somebody something. As for me, I don’t owe anyone anything. I’m the one who owns the books on people. And one other thing. There are also lots of very attractive women, and many of them are from escort services. You don’t have to worry about them. The Principal thoroughly vets them. You’re safe when it comes to that.” He finishes his drink and goes to the bar for another, making me another as well.