Yet why should he be nervous?
The previous day, Tuesday January 25, had seen the launching of Operation Silence. It was the first electronic non-lethal weapon ever to be perfected. Today would be his day of triumph. Today would herald the end of war and the beginning of a new era of non-violence.
The operation was his swan song. When it was successful, when the world had recognised the greatest invention of his life, he would return to Iowa, to his country, his home and his family.
Sir Charles Hawthorne, Q.C., looked at his watch.
Wednesday 26th January, 11:45 hours. Carefully he synchronised it with the digital clock on the control panel. It was good that he had his own room at this time. He needed to think.
He had worked for years for this moment. It had begun with the acquittals of the mass murderers in Africa and the agony in the eyes of his father.
Today was his day of triumph. The Brotherhood, up till now hidden in the corridors of power, were to emerge – the healers, the saviours of Christian civilisation.
But the enemy had broken into the sanctuary and the whole project was endangered.
He had anticipated this and changed the plan. Now he alone was standing against the tide of pagan reversion. He alone had the courage to do what was required. That was why he had to take the power to himself.
His plan would be just a clean surgical act, a cut with the knife, which would remove from the body the cancer which had been growing for so long. A delicious sensation came on him as he thought of the operation, so quick, so efficient, and so final. He had named it Operation Hygiene.
He moved to the glass panels which formed a kind of picture window on the outside wall, giving a 200 degree view. He glanced momentarily down to the valley a thousand feet below and saw about fifty jungle green figures moving slowly down the river flat towards the mouth of the gorge. Above them he saw the black shapes of the defence force helicopters hovering. He felt the sensation again as he thought of the kidnappers, the trampers and the Maori vermin trapped at the mouth of the gorge. After noon he would be able to watch them being eradicated by Colonel Peter and his men.
His eyes narrowed as he looked out ahead. Range upon range unfolded before him, fading into the blue distance. Out to the north was the Bay of Plenty. To the west and beyond the ranges lay Rotorua. It was a helicopter flight of just two hours. Operation Hygiene would begin at 14:00 hours Wednesday 25th January.
Highway attacks in the Mamakus by the so-called Arawa republic had achieved their aim. They had filled the non-Maori people of the district with fear. As a result the Brotherhood in Rotorua included a large part of the Pakeha population. He had made sure that these people had been warned in advance but he had not told them the nature of the attack.
At 12:00 hours the new plan would come into operation. The secret store of canisters had been taken down to the launching floor. Not even the pilot knew what was in the canisters.
His chief scientist believed that his brain-child, Operation Silence, had been a great success. But Stephen did not know that it had now become a warning sign so that members of The Brotherhood could evacuate from the target area of Operation Hygiene. Only a wimp like Stephen would believe that jamming the power station in Rotorua could bring a country like New Zealand to its knees.
It was only force that the enemy understood. The evil that opposed them was so great that he had to hit them, hit them so hard that they would howl for mercy. If they did not give in, he would hit them again and again and again.
He pushed a button.
“Sir!”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes sir.”
“Launching is at 12:00 hours?”
“Yes sir.”
He had a moment’s unsteadiness, and sat down, gripping the sides of his chair.
He switched on the TV screen and there appeared a large lake and a city alongside with little wisps of steam drifting up from its southern outskirts.
More vermin where the ones down below came from.
A feeling of power seized him.. The mountain appeared to be coming alive under him like a powerful steed. He was riding the mountain, and he was totally in control. Through him alone evil was about to be conquered – and he was an instrument of God’s justice.
Suddenly he remembered he had an appointment with Stephen Deveney at 12:00 hours in the operations room to see if there was any word from the Prime Minister. It was only going through the motions, pleasing Stephen.
He had another thought about Stephen. He opened the drawer of his desk and put a revolver into his pocket.
The long act was over.
11:50 hours Wednesday 26th January. Nearly 24 hours after the launch of Operation Silence.
Stephen was standing alone in the main control room looked anxiously at his watch. The reports coming in indicated that he had succeeded. The sleepers had done their job. The power station had stopped operating. He had predicted social and economic dislocation but he thrilled with expectancy at the inevitable outcome, the first example of a war without bloodshed.
He had anticipated that twenty-four hours of chaos due to the power outage in Rotorua would be sufficient to achieve compliance. At 12:00 hours a call was expected to say that a new Christian-based government had taken over in an undertaking to restore the power and bring back public order. At the request of this new government he would send out the order to reverse the programmes.
A grateful, genial Chairman was to be here to receive the call.
In the excitement of his success his nightmare had been forgotten.
He scanned the screens. It was unusually quiet. The Chairman should have been here, directing, giving orders.
He caught a message on the intercom. It was the Chairman’s voice, but it was not addressed to him.
“Are you ready?”
He was suddenly alert. He listened to the next command. It was like a knife twisting deep in a wound.
His heart pounded as he checked on the screens the launching pads for the helicopters and then the launching deck. A helicopter was loading up with small canisters. He called the floor operator keeping his voice as calm as he could.
“Deveney here. What is in those canisters?”
A voice sounded behind him. “Stephen, what are you doing?”
He turned. Towering above him was the mountain of a man that could only be the Chairman. The voice was his, but not the face.
“What is in those canisters?” he asked again.
There was no smile, no dimple, no kindly wrinkles. Instead there was a leer on the face and he saw the eyes – the same eyes as those of the admiral on the flight deck which he had seen in his nightmare.
At once he realised. He had always trusted his smiling and benevolent chairman. Now all was revealed in the icy cruelty of those eyes.
“You said you would never use violence.”
There was no need of any words. The answer was in the eyes.
He glimpsed on the screen the helicopter leaving the side of the mountain.
“You are too late, Stephen. The anthrax is already on the way. Rotorua is just the first.”
“But you made me a promise.”
“You are no longer chief scientist.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your work is done.”
Stephen found himself looking into a revolver. The eyes held no mercy.
“We no longer need you.”
At that moment Stephen saw his own death. Worse than that he saw the Vietnam war replayed. He saw the death of everything he had believed in, the destruction of all he worked for. He saw that he had been used and was now to be thrown aside.
He fell towards the control panel as the first shot came. As the blood spurted from his shoulder and the other shots rang out, he reached out in one last desperate lunge.