Pierced by a Sword (38 page)

Karl could tell his words were working their
way into Lenny's psyche. Karl stopped, returned to the bar and got the Scotch bottle. He topped off the lawyer's drink. It was another old habit.

"You know, Karl," Lenny admitted finally, "I know you're liquoring me up. I know you're appealing to my ego. You're putting a challenge before me. You've even sunk to playing on my innate Jewish sense of being an underdog–all so you can blow your millions
on this Don Quixote Catholic Crusade. And I hate it whenever you bring up the part about us sharing a desk in that tiny office."

"Well, it is working, isn't it?" Karl said with a piercing look, raising his glass to Lenny Gold.

"It always does, Karl, it always does. Okay. I'll give you three months. Then I reevaluate. Capishe?"

"Capishe, Len," Karl echoed, raising his glass. "We're just getting
started, my friend." They clinked glasses.

Lenny just looked at Karl. He didn't smile as he might have done in years past, but he drank to Slinger's toast nevertheless.
Karl's "project" is dead serious,
Lenny thought uncomfortably. He had listened to Wheat's "Marian Apparitions" CD. It was scary stuff if it was true.

Karl broke the silence. "Okay then. Get that Jackson fellow on the phone and
light a fire under his boots. You flying out there?"

"Sure, partner." Now Lenny
was
smiling. "I'll take the corporate jet tomorrow."

+  +  +

Five minutes later, Karl's secretary informed him that Nathan Payne was on the phone. Karl hadn't spoken to the younger man since the accident. However, the largest flower arrangement in Nathan's room had been from Karl Slinger with a simple note attached:
"Get Well. Slinger." Tom Wheat had kept Karl informed of Nathan's progress.

"Payne here," Slinger heard before he could speak.
The boy just beat me to the punch,
Karl thought self-consciously.
How often does that happen?

"Slinger," Karl replied. "Joe tells me you're working for the Kolbe Foundation now. I also understand congratulations are due. Tom's daughter is a lovely girl. One of a kind,
son."

"Thank you, sir. The wedding is December eighth. You and Mrs. Slinger are invited, of course. Mr. Gold, too."

"I'll be there. Dottie's already excited about meeting Joe and Becky."

A barely perceptible pause ensued. Karl was acutely aware that he was waiting for instructions from Nathan.
Strange, I don't mind,
Karl thought.
I haven't taken orders from anyone since the Corps.

"Three items,
Mr. Slinger–if you don't mind."

"I'm all ears, son," Karl replied, a bit curtly.

"I think you should send Lenny Gold out to see Joe Jackson. Lenny could give Joe some guidance. And I think he could benefit from being around Joe, too. Joe's a great guy, but he's getting bogged down with details. Joe knows it, too. I'm sure Joe won't mind working in areas that are more suited to his strengths,"
Nathan suggested diplomatically.

"Done. Lenny just left my office with plans to fly to South Bend tomorrow–how's that for a coincidence? What else?"

Coincidence? I don't know if I'm a step ahead of Nathan or if he's a step ahead of me.

"Mr. Slinger, can I be perfectly frank with you?" Nathan asked tentatively.

"Shoot. Don't mince a word. You don't have to dance around with me, although I appreciate
your thoughtful consideration of your friend Joe. I also gather you've figured out that Lenny has been having second thoughts about our project. He just agreed to three more months of service."

"That's a relief. I was worried after talking with Lenny on the phone yesterday. I could hear it in his voice. We'll bring him around before three months are up." Slinger found himself taking consolation
from the certainty he heard in Nathan's voice.

Nathan continued, "Mr. Slinger, I want SLG to contact its associated ranches and farms–except for the ones owned by Mormons, of course. Offer them credit to purchase legal firearms, along with ammunition and resources to cache the weapons in hidden storage."

"Weapons?" Karl asked. "You really think it's going to come down to that?"

"I sure hope not.
But we should be prepared for the worst."

"I don't think Jackson and Wheat will go for that."

"I don't think they will either," Nathan agreed. "In fact I know they won't. But I've been reading up on what Augustine and Aquinas say about Just War."

"You're talking about legitimate self-defense?"

"Right. We're not starting an army, Karl. We're not going to start a war. But we have an obligation to
protect our families, and our freedom to communicate with each other.

"Even if the odds are one in a hundred, I couldn't live with myself if Joanie were hurt because we weren't ready for anything and everything. I'm not a Marine. I much prefer being a stock analyst."

Karl paused. "Hmmn. I think the analyst in you has been speaking all along."

"This is one time when the analyst hopes he's wrong."

"Me too, Nathan," Karl said gravely. "How should we get the ball rolling?"

"Becky is working up some language now for the 'offer,' and I'm sure Lee Washington can figure out how to get it all done in less than a month," Nathan replied. "Becky says we should consider the increase in crime nationwide, as well as SLG's concern for its associates to provide their own security. Unofficially, your ranch
owners can let their neighbors know that SLG is willing to 'share' resources.

"You and I both know that prayer is going to win this battle. But if Professor Wheat's summary of Marian apparitions is true, then part of what's coming down the pike is unprecedented economic and social breakdown."

"When do you think it's coming?" Karl asked.

"I don't know. Nobody does. I'm just trying to foresee what
we'll need. Social breakdown means no rule of law. Severe economic troubles in a culture with weak moral values will exacerbate social breakdown.

"I studied the documents Lenny Gold sent me a couple of days ago. I'm glad to see that SLG properties have a redundancy of communication channels–telephones, land-based computer cable networks, satellite uplinks, Internet stuff, and perhaps most importantly,
short wave radios. As long as money is no object, Mr. Slinger, I want to double or triple that redundancy. Uplinks on every property–not just the big ranches. Two extra short wave radios hidden on each property. Maybe you know of a better kind of radio system? Oh, and we should get mobile antennas–we may have to work with a manufacturer to fabricate something to fit our needs, based on existing
technologies.

"Along the lines of our self-defense project, we should offer comsystems to SLG ranch neighbors, in the context of all the bad weather in recent years and our desire to be neighborly." Nathan paused. Slinger's silence prodded Nathan to continue. "Do you see the big picture, Mr. Slinger? Do you know what I'm driving at?"

"I believe I do, but explain it to me anyway," Karl replied
soberly.

"I've been reading American history, Mr. Slinger–"

"Call me Karl, son."

"Call me Nathan," Nathan replied confidently.

"Touché, Nathan. Go on."

"There have been three major wars on our continent–the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, and the Civil War. The primary lesson of wars fought on American soil is that while enemies controlled the cities and every major port, no one has ever controlled
the countryside. Americans will fight for their land. The British won every major battle except one in the War of 1812 and controlled every city and port, but they still lost. The South held off the North for four years with one-tenth the men and one-twentieth the resources. During the American Revolution, an ill-equipped and outnumbered citizen army held off the regular soldiers of the
mighty British Empire for eight years. Again, the British controlled the major cities and ports for practically the entire war.

"In my opinion, the radios are more important than the guns. Joe says that the truth will set this country free, and if there
is
widespread breakdown of the rule of law, we want to have the ability to broadcast the truth with systems that can't be knocked out no matter
what the enemy does. We'll control the countryside if we win the battle of the airwaves. If our peacetime media blitz fails to avert massive social breakdown, we have to be ready to get the word out in the worst case scenario. This country might just turn into one enormous Vietnam. If you've read the papers, you know that the Russians are already having the same problems–the social upheavals are
already happening over there. I know, I lost my job over it before the accident."

"You lost your job over Russian social upheaval?" Karl asked, genuinely curious.

"Remember TDC?"

"I lost a few bucks in TDC myself, Nathan. Not much. Fifty grand or so. A dicey play–when I bought in I figured I might lose my shirt, so it didn't bother me when I did lose it," Karl fell into business small talk.

"But
you rolled the dice, didn't you?" Nathan was leading Karl.

"Sure did," Karl answered amicably.

"These guns and radios are the same thing. It's like buying gold in a bull market."

"A good investor always hedges, Nathan."

"Speaking of hedging, Karl, have you considered transferring a significant portion of your wealth into gold–"

"It's already been done. We think alike."

"I'm glad we're of the same
mind, then. I've got to go, Karl. Sorry to take up so much of your time. Say hello to Lee Washington for me. I can't wait to meet him in person."

"I will. My time is your time, Nathan. See you at the wedding if not sooner. God bless!"

"God bless you too, Mr. Slinger–I mean, Karl."

Both men hung up the phone at the same time.

He just gave me two multi-million dollar projects and I didn't bat an
eyelash. Nathan didn't even confirm that I would go ahead with his ideas, which I have to admit, are sensible, if not brilliant. He knows I'll do it. Boy, I'm glad that he's on our side. Nathan Payne might just put us over the top before it's all over.

For a reason that Karl couldn't fathom, he had a sudden and strong urge to light up a cigar–even though he didn't smoke cigars. He pressed the
intercom for his secretary. There was no screech or crackle in SLG's intercom system–it was completely digital.

"Sarah, get Lee Washington on the phone. Tell him I want to meet him for lunch. I've got a couple of projects I need to outline for him."

"Right away, Mr. Slinger."

"Oh, Sarah? See if you can procure me a fine cigar before I leave for lunch."

"Right away, Mr. Slinger," Sarah replied
through the crystal clear hookup.

"Thank you, Sarah. Keep up the great work!"

"Thank you, Mr. Slinger!"
Wonder what he's so happy about?
Sarah thought.

3

Monday Evening
30 October
New York City, New York

Harlan Gello sat on the floor in his tastefully appointed office at the Omega Institute. He was in a lotus position. He was lean, but powerfully built, surprisingly limber for a man of forty-six.
He emptied his mind of all thoughts–a technique mastered after years of practice. He pictured a completely blank white wall with a television screen in the center. In his mind's eye the screen came on and his spirit guide appeared to him. The spirit guide, who called himself Rangor, had been deceiving Harlan for several years. The conversation began. Gello believed that Rangor was the reincarnated
spirit of a Hindu mystic from the third century, as the spirit guide claimed. In fact, Rangor was a demon. Gello was looking forward to Rangor's advice as to what to say on the taping of the Tonight Show scheduled for later in the afternoon.

Gello was a famous man. He had written a
New York Times
best-seller detailing his journey to the other side. In the book (with the help of an expensive ghostwriter)
he had chronicled his life before being struck by lightning in 1976. Growing up, he had been a bad guy by his own account–a violent juvenile delinquent in high school; an abusive, womanizing alcoholic; a former Army special forces soldier and CIA operative. Before lightning struck, Gello had killed forty-seven people during covert missions for the CIA. He wasn't exactly an assassin but
the nature of his missions in Nicaragua, Kuwait, and other places had been extremely dangerous. Gello had thrived. He enjoyed being a bad guy for a good country. Until lightning struck.

In 1976, while Gello was working on the transmission of his classic car in his driveway in Athens, Georgia, it started to rain. He was underneath the car and he didn't want to stop working when the rain began.
What was a little water to a tough guy?

The bolt of lightning struck Gello in the feet and melted the metal pins holding the heels on his cowboy boots. His ears burned. He died. A neighbor called the paramedics. Like John Lanning, Gello went to hell while he was dead. Unlike Lanning, Gello didn't know it was hell. Lucifer himself appeared to Gello as an angel of light in the form of Jesus. "Jesus"
told Gello that he was loved by God and that all men are destined to be embraced by the light. "Jesus" led him to a room filled with faceless beings of light who showed Gello what was going to happen to the world in the coming years.

When Gello was revived, he was a changed man. He asked for and received an honorable discharge from the CIA due to his medical condition. He could still walk and
talk after the lightning, but he suffered occasional fainting spells. He carefully wrote down all he had been told by the beings of light, had his predictions notarized, and began meeting Near Death Experience (or NDE) experts to try to figure out what had happened to him. He began to explore various meditation techniques that fell under the general category of the New Age Movement, including Transcendental
Meditation, Mind Control, and others. He became an expert on NDEs, and was currently preparing a second book chronicling the experiences of hundreds of other people who also met the understanding beings of light at the end of a tunnel before being revived. Accounts of people experiencing hell similar to John Lanning's–rarely reported by terrified survivors–were written off by Gello as inauthentic
brain wave nightmares.