Mark of the Beast (31 page)

“Aha … and what do you suggest be done to Dr. Millons, the 666 man?” Calabar asked with a mocking smile.

“Send him to hell,” Dickerson said without hesitation.

“How do you propose we do that?”

Dickerson did not answer, knowing full well that whatever answer she gave would be twisted by Mr. Calabar.

Sensing her dilemma, Mr. Calabar continued, “You see, you are no different after all. Send to hell those whom you disapprove of, the 666s, as you call them, and what do we do? We also send six feet under those we disapprove of.”

Where are you Pinky, and your elaborate scheme for my rescue? Dickerson asked silently, her pulse racing. Did they lose the signal in this remote area? They must be watching all this … or are they? Is it too dark in here, or have these people disrupted the signals?

“What I'm going to propose we do…” Mr. Calabar was about to elaborate when, suddenly, there was a thunderous, earsplitting, blinding flash. The candle went out immediately, and Dickerson could hardly hear the exchange of bullets. Half-deaf, her eardrums throbbing, she dove straight to the floor as she had been previously instructed to do in any circumstance like this, and covered her head with her hands. Just as quickly as it started, it was over, and floods of light illuminated the entire room. Somebody was leaning over her, feeling for something.

She could hear echo-like sounds from a distance. She could not make out what the echoes were saying, then it dawned on her that the echoes were calling her name. She raised her head and opened her eyes to look for the source of the echo, then heard another echo.

“She is alive,” said the vibrating echo.

“Of course I am alive, you stupid echoes.” Dickerson could barely say it aloud.

 

PART

XIII

 

1

D
ICKERSON WAS KEPT OVERNIGHT
at the university hospital for observation. She woke up next morning and thought she had had another nightmare. A dressing covering a throbbing pain around her left upper arm quickly brought her back to reality. Pinkett was sitting on the hospital chair next to her bed.

“Hi, Pinky. I did well, didn't I?” Dickerson asked.

“You were superb,” Pinkett replied.

Why does she still sound like she's talking out of a bottle? Dickerson was puzzled.

Pinkett, seeing the anxious look on her friend's face, quickly reminded her that her hearing would clear up by tonight.

“You were never in danger. Agent Watts, the man on the passenger side of the car, was watching you all the time.”

“What about Millons? What happened to him?”

“He was killed in the exchange, and so was his wife.”

“Mr. Calabar—did you get him?”

“He tried to kill you, but the bullet only grazed your left elbow. He was shot dead by Agent Watts.”

“You guys are just as bad as the old KGB,” Dickerson said.

“We are here to serve and to protect,” Pinkett replied.

“Seriously, thank you for looking after me,” Dickerson whispered.

“You're more than welcome. After all, what are friends for?”

*   *   *

At the Federal Court of Appeals in Sacramento, California, at the corner of Folsom Boulevard and Fifth Street, the tense atmosphere of the day seemed to be everywhere. There were reporters, photographers, and onlookers blanketing the entrance to the building.

When Dickerson appeared, she was mobbed by reporters who wanted to know how she was feeling after her recent trauma, which had captivated the nation. She was, however, quickly escorted inside the courthouse by the California State Police and federal agents.

Facing the five court justices, the U.S. government again made its case for federal authority and control of the HLA B66 legislation.

The state of California star witness, Dr. Dickerson, after recounting what had happened to her the other day, announced that an emergency testing of the assailants showed them all to be HLA B66 positive. She then strongly argued in support of mandatory testing, not only in California, but throughout the United States, an argument that the federal lawyers dismissed as post-traumatic stress syndrome.

Next, Pellagrini and Pinkett were cross-examined by the lawyers. They reported that close to 80 percent of the cases they had handled so far had tested positive, and that their correlative exercise strongly supported the assertions of Dr. Dickerson and Dr. Abramhoff. Pellagrini even sought and tested the old celebrated cases involving Joanne Stead in Chicago; Alex Andalusia in Indiana; Martin and Stella Montgomery in Savanna, Georgia; Bill Stockton's remains in Atlanta; Dr. Lee Kwon Nsi and his gang in Indiana; Mr. Fleming and his Baton Rouge, Louisiana disciples; and now Mr. Calabar and his San Diego disciples.

All tested positive.

Various nationally renowned church leaders took the witness stand, at the request of the state of California, in strong support of mandatory testing. They methodically cited Dr. Dickerson's analysis with demonstrations of her deductions and subsequent calculations for the conversion of HLA B66 into 666.

“They are surreptitiously living among us today,” argued Archbishop Joseph Meeks of the dioceses of Sacramento.

He sermonized that the second thousand years were upon us, and it was high time we finally seized the initiative and resolved that the hour had come for the beast and their disciples to be cast back to hell.

A week after the testimonies, the Federal Court of Appeals ruled four to one in favor of mandatory testing. The United States government immediately filed an appeal for an urgent hearing at the United States Supreme Court.

 

2

T
HE EXOTIC RESTAURANT,
L
A
Valencia, on Prospect Street in La Jolla, was typical of the restaurants in the exurbs of Southern California. Nestled in the middle of trendy Prospect Street, it had its own glass-enclosed, beautifully designed valet parking. It had always attracted movie stars and prominent business leaders. Lunch and dinner were by reservation only, and if a request was made for a seat on the outdoor umbrella-covered deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean, patrons needed to be prepared to pay extra.

Always ready to enjoy the beautiful California sun and the cool breeze from the ocean, Dickerson remained a frequent customer of the restaurant. The owner of the restaurant knew Dickerson personally, and the waiters and waitresses were very familiar with her favorite dishes. The cool breeze from the ocean had a healing and soothing effect each time she visited. Sitting at the farthest corner of the deck, with an unobstructed view of the ocean, Dickerson could experience total body relaxation.

“This is beautiful,” Pinkett marveled, breaking Dickerson's reverie.

“Yes, this is the place to be,” Dickerson said.

“You must come here often—everybody seems to know who you are.”

“Not as often as I would like to,” Dickerson replied, leaning her head back and closing her eyes to soak in the cool breeze.

“This is too ritzy for me.”

“No, it's not that bad.”

“Of course not, if I made your income.”

“What would you like to drink?” interrupted the waitress.

“Iced tea for me, with lime, no sugar,” Dickerson said.

“Tonic water,” Pinkett said.

“Are you ready to order, or should I come back?”

“Give us a few minutes.”

“What was that? Tonic water? Yuck … that bitter-tasting thing.” Dickerson made a face like a little girl about to drink unwanted tonic.

“Oh, I love it,” Pinkett said. “It soothes and relaxes cramped muscles and joints, especially after a strenuous body workout. You should know that, Doc.”

“I've never heard of that.”

“Well, it's true. I'm a living example.”

The waitress came back with their drinks, served them, retrieved a small notepad from her pocket, took their orders, and left.

“How is your arm?” the detective asked.

“It's okay, still hurts a little bit when I try to use it.”

“Mr. Calabar had a gun with him, and he took a potshot at your heart,” the detective said.

“I thought you told me that nothing would happen,” Dickerson stated.

“The agent had never met Mr. Calabar before. He infiltrated the San Diego chapter, and luckily for us, he was assigned to the unit that abducted you to meet Mr. Calabar.”

“He had no clue that Mr. Calabar was packed. When the shooting started, his job was to eliminate Mr. Calabar while making sure that neither Dr. Millons nor the other fellow had an angle on you.”

“You guys had it all figured out.”

“Yes, after months of preparation.”

“I could have been shot out there, you know.”

“Yes, you could have,” said the detective, after some hesitation, “that's why I suggested you pray. Apparently your prayers were answered.”

“Thanks a lot. Tell me, Mr. Calabar … that was your man?” Dickerson asked, shaking her head.

“Yep, that was him.” The detective nodded.

*   *   *

When Dickerson returned to the office after lunch, Abramhoff called to congratulate her on her successes in California.

“You're now a celebrity, and guess what? You're in the right state for that,” Abramhoff joked.

“Well, thank you, David.”

“I heard about your incident near the Mexican border. What was that all about?”

“I guess this guy, Mr. Calabar, a North African-looking fellow, somehow did not like my interpretation of the HLA B66,” answered Dickerson.

“So he kidnapped you, while you were wired?”

“Apparently so, but the police had been following his movements for a while. They suspected that he might come after me. Why, I don't know. My suspicion is that it's because of my interpretations. Anyway, the Pellagrini-Pinkett people had that GEES on me. I was hooked up to this thing for over two weeks, then bingo! Mr. Calabar made his move, and the police moved in.”

“You were like bait?” Abramhoff asked, clearing his throat.

“Yes, I was.”

“Did you know that, or did you find out later?”

“I knew.”

“Pinkett convinced you to do that?”

“Yes, she did.”

“I don't know how you do it. Me, I'm too much of a chicken for that kind of drama.”

“You know something? Somehow, I wasn't even afraid.”

“Some angel must have been watching over you.”

“You might say that,” Dickerson replied, thinking about her dream of the face on the car window. “How's Illinois with the mandatory testing?”

“We are waiting on California. Once it clears the Supreme Court; that will open the floodgates. Have you guys actually started testing in any locations?”

“Not really,” Dickerson said. “We are still under a restraining order from the court until the case is totally resolved.”

“That's unconscionable, but what if the Supreme Court rules against the mandatory testing?”

“You know, I never even thought about that. We've been winning all these court cases, so I'm assuming it will just be a given,” Dickerson reflected. “I actually don't know what will happen if they say no.”

“Let's just hope they don't,” Abramhoff said.

“As soon as the Supreme Court renders their positive opinion, let's get together, Chicago or San Diego, to celebrate and plan the next move, because there's still the issue of what to do with thousands, or maybe millions, who might be positive,” Dickerson said.

“Come to think of it, I've never been to San Diego before,” answered Abramhoff, excited. “You, on the other hand, have been to Chicago two or three times.”

“Oh, I will take you to this wonderful restaurant. It will take your breath away,” Dickerson replied.

“I am looking forward to it. Can I bring the wife and kids?”

“Please do,” Dickerson said, not giving it a second thought.

Such a family guy. I didn't even know he was married, thought Dickerson when she hung up.

*   *   *

The dean of the medical school called next, asking for an audience with Dickerson. Wanting to get out of the office for a little fresh air, she strolled down the hallway, entered the elevator, exited at floor fourteen, then continued on to Dr. Matthew Gus's office.

“Sit down, please,” Dean Gus said. “The reason I called to see you is that I want to personally thank you for all you have done for the university: your impeccable research and the secondary benefits the university has enjoyed by your esteemed performance.”

“Well, thank you,” Dickerson smiled, while sipping on club soda.

“Two things I need to ask you.” Dean Gus clasped both hands together.

Oh, here we go, thought Dickerson.

“First, you have been working on the HLA B66 for…?” the dean asked.

“Almost five years now,” Dickerson stated.

“During that time, you've hardly taken any vacation time,” the dean said. “I am therefore suggesting that you take a paid sabbatical for a year, travel around the world and experience nature.”

“Thank you very much, but we still have a lot of work left to be done.” Dickerson smiled. “We are still waiting for the Supreme Court to clear the way for mandatory testing, and when they do, I would very much like to get that project moving, since the governor's assigned me to be the medical director on the project. It is going to be a lot of work, you know, but I believe I can handle it, if that's what you're afraid of.”

“Oh no, I know you have a great stamina for the job, but don't you think sometimes the body needs a rest?”

“I really appreciate your concern, but trust me, as soon as things settle down, I'll take some time off.”

“Okay.”

“What was the second thing?” Dickerson asked, after the dean hesitated. “You said there were two things you wanted to talk about.”