Having forced the Devil to show his hand, her “betrothed” had spewed a tale of desperation, claiming that they had slept together back in March while vacationing in Cancún. Frustrated sexually, Andrew admitted having slipped a little something into Mary’s rum and cola, unleashing her libido’s bursting dam. It had been a wild night of passion and lust — that Mary had no recollection of the event having more to do with her not wanting to remember than the benign chemical concoction he had used on her.
The poisonous lie had cost Andrew dearly. Having bound her fiancé to the old barn’s center post, she poured acid over his wrists and handcuffs, clear up to his elbows. He had screamed until he passed out, the dilapidated structure’s heavy interior walls dampened the sound, the nearest neighbor more than half a mile away.
Resecuring him to the structure’s center post, she had waited patiently for him to awaken. Finally, she had prodded him with the business end of the 12 gauge.
“Darling Andrew, open your eyes. Mama has something for you.”
The blast had splattered brains and blood and skull shrapnel across the entire back wall and rafters, the heavy jolt spraining her right shoulder, causing Baby Jesus to kick for ten straight minutes. She had rested in the manger until he calmed, then she cleansed the barn with fire, sending her fiancé on his one-way journey to oblivion. Mary had remained behind long enough to convince the local firefighters to allow the ancient structure to burn itself out, then she treated herself to a lobster dinner at the Benito Grill before heading off to her bio lab at Fort Detrick to pack.
The news came on the radio, beckoning her attention.
…world leaders clearly divided on how to deal with Iran, arriving in New York for an emergency session of the UN Security Council. Iran’s Supreme Leader is scheduled to address the Security Council in General Assembly Hall at 9:15 this morning. President Kogelo’s address is tentatively scheduled for 10:30, followed by China’s General Secretary later this afternoon. Meanwhile, the US aircraft carrier, Theodore Roosevelt is expected to join the USS Ronald Reagan battle group already in the Persian Gulf — a direct response to the sale of Russian-made ICBMs to Iran on August 9. Now back to more music on WABC New York.”
Mary powered off the radio, her heart beating faster as she exited the Queensboro Bridge to FDR Drive South — the United Nations complex situated somewhere up ahead. Today she would teach the elitists a lesson. Today they would fully comprehend the meaning of Matthew 5:5. “Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth.”
She glanced at the pile of blankets laid neatly on the passenger-side floor, fighting the urge to pull aside the wool camouflage and gaze upon the hidden object — a metal briefcase containing her key to the Pearly Gates. In God’s time, Mary. The Lord will be with you when you need Him. Don’t anticipate the pain. Focus only on the present…
Lost in the past, Patrick Shepherd dreamed…
They are moving down the streets of Baghdad, David Kantor on his right, Eric Lasagna on his left. Three Pied Pipers, followed by a dozen Iraqi children begging for handouts.
David pauses, allowing the young horde to circle his fellow soldiers. “Either of you two ever see Moby Dick?”
“I have,” answers Lasagna. “Gregory Peck as Ahab. Classic.”
“Remember when Ahab told his men to watch the birds, that the birds would tell them when Moby Dick was getting ready to breach? The locals are your birds. They usually sense when trouble is going to happen, so if you see them vacate the street, be ready. The kids are great, just be careful. Fanatics sometimes strap bombs to them, forcing them to approach our troops.”
A bright-eyed, dark-haired seven-year-old girl smiles at Shep, clearly flirting. Reaching into his knapsack, he removes an MRE, the presence of the recognizable portable meal generating excitement. “Okay, let’s see what Uncle Sam has given us today. Anyone interested in two-day-old beef ravioli? No? Can’t say I blame you. Wait, what’s this? M&Ms!”
The children jump and wave and call out in Farsi.
Shep distributes three boxes worth of the chocolate candies so that each child gets an equal share, saving the last double portion for the smiling seven-year-old girl.
She consumes the handful in one palm-sized mouthful, chocolate saliva oozing from her grinning lips. Shep watches her, lost in her big brown eyes — windows to a soul that has witnessed so much pain yet can still lose itself in innocence.
His new friend beams a muddy chocolate smile. She blows him a kiss and runs off—
— her exit ending his momentary reprieve in the eye of the storm, returning him to war.
The Cathedral of St. John the Divine, situated on thirteen acres just south of Columbia University’s main campus, was the largest cathedral in the world. Built on a promontory overlooking the Hudson River, the Romanesque-Byzantine structure was designed in 1887, yet still remained unfinished.
Pankaj Patel paused on Amsterdam Avenue to gaze at the illustrious House of God. The cathedral was decorated in holiday lights, yet Patel felt anything but festive. It has been more than three months since the professor of psychiatry was accepted into the Society of the Nine Unknown Men, and the stress associated with the clandestine encounter with the Elder still weighed on his mind.
He stared at the cathedral’s Fountain of Peace, its surrounding lawn carpeted white with snow, encircled by bronze animal figures. The detailed carvings depicted the epic struggle of good versus evil — the archangel Michael decapitating Satan, whose horned head hung to one side. One more day until the winter solstice… the day of the dead. If the End of Days is really upon us…
“Dad, come on! I’m going to be late for our holiday party.”
His attention turned to his ten-year-old daughter, Dawn. The girl’s long onyx hair, separated into braids, hung over her winter coat, her dark angelic eyes exuding a combination of anxiety and impatience. “I’m sorry. Was I lost in space again?”
“Totally.” Tugging him by his wrist, she led him toward the entrance of the Cathedral School, a kindergarten-through-eighth-grade elementary school for children of all faiths. “Remember, I’m staying after school for band practice. See you at dinner.”
“Wait!” Catching up with her on the frost-covered lawn, he bent down on one knee. “You know I love you. You are God’s gift to your mother and me, our little angel.”
“Dad”—she touched his cheek with her wool-covered fingers—“now your knee’s all wet.”
With a heavy heart, he watched his only child hustle to join the other children converging upon the school entrance. Brushing at the wet stain on his right pant leg, he continued up Amsterdam Avenue to Columbia University’s East Campus.
Mary Klipot’s arms trembled as she gripped the steering wheel, her white-knuckled hands clenching the rosary beads. The bumper-to-bumper traffic on First Avenue had not budged in ten minutes, and the police presence along the adjacent United Nations Plaza was everywhere.