Journey Into the Flame (27 page)

That which supports you in your vigilance

Will ultimately be your savior.

There was a quizzical expression on her face as she handed the note back to him.

“Look in front of you,” he said. He pointed to the monument. “Sitting here, we can see, or
mind
, the name of my father’s enemy, his name etched into stone.”

Valerie nodded, taking the note back from him. “So what does the last part mean? Our savior?” They were silent a moment, trying to piece the puzzle together.

“The bench!” Logan cried out. “ ‘That which supports you’—my father is talking about this bench. Somehow this bench is our savior.” He stood and walked around it, inspecting it for any additional markings or anything out of the ordinary.

“Maybe it’s the symbol he carved into it?” Valerie proposed.

“There has to be something more,” he answered, as he walked around the bench, looking for something that might support his claim.

“Leave it for now,” she said. Then she grabbed him by the arm. There was an intense look on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“That black vehicle over there, right around the corner from the park entrance, drove up about four minutes ago and has been idling there. What’s it waiting for? And you see that couple over there, near the fountain? They’ve been tossing coins for ten minutes now. No one makes that many wishes. We need to get out of here.”

“You think we’re being followed?”

She ignored his question. “When I tell you, we are going to walk casually out of the park and back across the street.” She pulled her PCD out of a jacket pocket.

“What are you doing?” Logan asked. “Let’s just go.”

“Standard procedure,” she calmly replied. “Calling for backup. They will be able to track my PCD and send help.” She finished issuing the distress call and put her PCD into her pocket. Then she took her gun from its holster and placed it in the other pocket of her jacket.

Logan realized his heart was racing.

“Ready?” she whispered as she stood. “Just act as if we’re enjoying the evening.”

As they walked away from the bench, they heard the sound of a police siren in the distance, and Logan felt a bit of relief.

Valerie looked back over her shoulder at the fountain. “Where’d they go?” she asked.

Logan turned. The couple who had been tossing coins was gone.

Valerie and Logan walked down the brick path and made their way to the street. The arched entrance to the park was about thirty meters ahead of them. Logan noticed two men entering the park, walking toward them. Valerie grabbed his elbow with her left hand and slipped her right hand into her pocket, where her gun was concealed. “Stay calm,” she whispered, gripping her gun. “If they try anything, drop to the ground.”

Logan’s heart raced faster. As the men passed without incident, he could hear them talking about the local baseball team. The exit was only a meter away, and the sirens were getting louder.

“Almost there,” Valerie said, continuing to hold Logan’s arm.

They passed under the arched entrance. A sports car sped down the street, blasting music. Then the barrels of two guns were suddenly pressed to the backs of their heads, and a large hand clamped down on Valerie’s as she withdrew her gun. Instinctively, she struggled for control of her weapon.

“Let go! It would be real easy to shoot your friend,” a male voice warned.

Logan shoved the man’s arm, trying to help her.

“Don’t, Logan!” she said, reluctantly surrendering her gun.

“She’s got the right idea,” the male voice said.

Plastic zip ties were slipped around their wrists, binding their hands, and black sacks were placed over their heads. Simultaneously, the black vehicle came screeching around the corner and skidded to a stop in front of them.

“Deactivate their PCDs,” a female voice said. “The cops are almost here.”

Logan and Valerie were shoved into the back of the vehicle, and seconds later, it sped away. The last thing they heard was: “We have them.”

30

If it be a lie that all people have a holy spirit within them, and if it be a lie that you should endeavor to honor and have compassion for all around you, then let these be the greatest lies ever uttered.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

NEAR BANARAS, INDIA, 8:30 A.M. LOCAL TIME,

3 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

Sebastian Quinn sat on a hilltop overlooking a small Indian village a few hundred miles southwest of Banaras, India. His ever-watchful companion Bukya—named after a great warrior from one of the adventure tales recounted in
The Chronicles of Satraya
—sat next to him, listening to the sounds coming from the forest beyond the village. Sebastian sat motionless, gazing at the eastern horizon. The glorious rays of the mighty sun had driven the haunting light of the night’s moon and stars into faded memory. A new day had dawned.

“Greet every morning. For each rising sun represents the dawning of your enlightenment. And perhaps one splendid morning, it will be the sun that watches you rise.” Sebastian’s father had spoken those words to him as they watched a similar sunrise together from Peel Castle. Like the sages of old, Sebastian and Bukya, two travelers from a distant land, now watched from on high as the day began for the villagers below.

After a day of searching, Sebastian had located the remote village he had seen in his candle vision thirty-six hours earlier. He recalled the
main dirt road that ran through the center of the village and the many small clay hovels that stood on either side of it. There was a small creek, born of a sinkhole, just to the north, which supplied water for farmers to irrigate their crops in a field nearby. During the Great Disruption, sinkholes had formed all over northern India. While the holes that accumulated water proved useful to farmers, the ones that remained dark and empty posed problems. Barricades were constructed around them to keep careless people from discovering just how deep they were.

Sebastian watched now as the villagers awoke and tended to their many daily tasks, which generations of people before them had performed. Despite its impact on the terrain, the Great Disruption had had little effect on these people. Their needs were simple and easily met, and they depended on no one but themselves for their sustenance. The younger children took care of the chickens and milked the cows while their fathers used horses and oxen to drag plows through the fields. The women of the village walked to the creek, carrying baskets of clothes on their heads. It was washing day.

Sebastian was relieved that the scene in front of him was so vastly different from the one he’d witnessed in the candle. “Looks like fortune has blessed these people and their lands,” he said to Bukya, who was now starting to pant as the heat from the sun intensified. “I am most relieved that this is not the adventure I thought it was going to be.” He poured some of the water from his bottle into a small bowl so his faithful partner could slake his thirst.

Bukya suddenly stopped drinking and rose to all fours, his ears pointed straight up, his nose sniffing frantically in all directions.

“What is it, my friend?” Sebastian asked. He couldn’t detect anything unusual taking place in the village below. Nevertheless, Bukya began to whine. Flocks of birds flew from the trees. The livestock of the village became agitated and began a frantic march toward the forest. Sebastian rose to his feet, knowing that the birds and animals were reacting to something that humans couldn’t see or hear.

As Sebastian surveyed the valley, hoping to ascertain what was causing
the disruption, a sudden flash of intense green light filled the village below. Bukya let out a series of loud barks. Sebastian watched the light form a greenish dome over the village. He stroked the fur on Bukya’s forehead to calm him. After a few seconds, the green bubble faded, and the light was gone.

“I do not know. I do not know what that was,” Sebastian said, as if answering Bukya’s question.

The light vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Sebastian could see the villagers lying motionless on the ground. Helicopters could be heard approaching the village from the north. Sebastian knelt and watched as two black craft hovered low, one over the farming fields and one over the village. Three people wearing white hazmat suits jumped from the latter. Each was carrying a black case to which some kind of measuring device was tethered.

Sebastian watched their activities as they moved from body to body along the main road, but from his distant vantage point, it was difficult to tell what they were looking for. After no more than three minutes, the people in the hazmat suits reboarded the helicopter, and both craft sped off to the north, the same direction from which they had come.

Sebastian rose to his feet, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. His vision had been accurate after all. His initial relief was replaced with sadness. He gathered his belongings and walked back to the Jeep with Bukya. Then he cautiously drove down a winding trail that led to the village.

He parked the vehicle at the edge of the village and walked slowly down the center street. A strong wind from the east blew dust around. Bukya had ventured ahead, weaving his way in and out of the small hovels and sniffing the numerous bodies now lying on the road. Sebastian stopped and knelt by an elderly man who had been carrying a basket of wheat, which had spilled on the ground around him. He examined him for any signs of life, but there was no breath or pulse. He pushed open the man’s eyelids to examine his pupils.
What evil is at work here?
he thought, as he left the man and walked over to a teenage girl who was
still grasping the sack of dirty clothes she must have been carrying to the creek. He checked her pulse and sadly confirmed that she, too, was dead. He removed an empty syringe from his bag and extracted a sample of blood from the girl’s body. Ten or more other corpses lay scattered on the main road, more could be seen in the farming fields, and yet others lay near the creek. Sebastian looked around for any sign of survivors, but he saw none. It seemed the entire village population had been killed. Sebastian watched as the birds returned to their nests in the trees and the animals settled back down.

A loud bark rang out. Sebastian looked around and saw Bukya standing in the doorway of a small clay house. A second bark rang out, indicating that the dog had found something.

An old woman was slouched in a bamboo rocking chair under the covered porch of the hovel. Sebastian pressed her eyelids closed. He could hear whining inside. Upon entering, he saw Bukya standing at the foot of a makeshift baby crib. A slight breeze entered through an open window, moving a handcrafted wind chime. From the crib, a set of tiny hands and feet motioned excitedly at the movement and the sound of the chimes. Sebastian walked over and gently took the baby into his arms.

“So you have been spared the fate of your parents,” he said. He looked for any signs of distress on the infant’s body. “And for what reason we cannot say at this moment.”

Holding the baby, he examined the inside of the hut and realized it was the village’s infirmary. Small shelves contained a variety of bandages and other rudimentary supplies. A corner cabinet held more potent medicines.

“So what is your secret, little one?” Sebastian said in a soothing voice as he walked over to examine the contents of an open box that displayed the emblem of the World Health Administration. Sebastian took one of the medicine vials from the box labeled “Tetanus Toxoid.” “Looks like your village received vaccinations recently,” he mused aloud. “Did they give you some of this?” He put the vial into his shoulder bag and,
with the baby still in his arms, walked back outside, Bukya following closely behind him.

He activated his PCD and reported the tragedy in the village to the local authorities.

“What should be your fate, my tiny friend, now that your family is no more?” He looked into the baby’s deep brown eyes. “What say you, Bukya? Do we leave this little one here for the authorities to find? Or do we set him asail on an adventure in which this intended tragedy is transformed into his unintended destiny? This little one may hold the key to what happened here.”

Bukya let out another great bark and nudged Sebastian to turn around.

Sebastian turned. Walking toward them was a young girl, about ten years of age, carrying another infant in her arms and closely followed by twin boys who Sebastian guessed were about two years old. Soon there were five pairs of innocent eyes looking up at him.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to explain all of this to Lawrence. One of you was going to be hard enough, but five?”

Bukya let out another loud bark to express his approval of the decision.

31

See life through your own eyes, not through the lens of someone else’s advice.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA, 10:15 P.M. LOCAL TIME,

3 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

Logan didn’t know where he had been taken. He surmised that they had traveled approximately thirty minutes, and mostly on a highway, because there had been few stops or turns. The sack was still secured over his head, and his hands were still bound. He wondered how Valerie was faring and hoped his backpack was somewhere in tow. When the car had stopped and the door had opened, he’d felt a blast of warm, humid air. As he’d been led into a building, he’d heard the sound of crickets. They were in the country, somewhere in Virginia or Maryland, he figured. Now he was seated in a straight-backed chair in an un-air-conditioned room.

“You there, Val?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” her muffled voice responded.

“Quiet!” a male voice yelled.

As they sat in the darkness, Logan continued to think about who would have the audacity to kidnap him and Valerie, a WCF agent, from a public park.
Was this the Coterie finally carrying out their threat?