Yet they were.
She closed her eyes. Nothing seemed to make sense. After reading the report in its entirety and finding other evidence of sanitation, all she could do was nibble on her lower lip in bewilderment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The wrapped body of the governor had been placed in the false bottom of the cargo hold. Team Leader drove the vehicle southbound on Route 1 without complication. The roadblocks had thinned considerably since their northward trip, the troops having been redistributed to more centralized positions near D.C.
Apparently, that was where the body politic assumed the Soldiers of Islam to be. Team Leader found himself unable to dispel the preamble of a smile that was forming on his face.
By nightfall he reached the outskirts of Washington, D.C., and drove the vehicle into a storage unit large enough to hold the truck and a sedan. Team Leader lifted the corpse from the hold and placed the body in the trunk of the diplomat-registered car. Once done, he checked the packaged video of the governor’s execution to make sure everything was neat and untraceable then drove away from the facility.
Since D.C.’s populace is strictly a workforce, the streets had emptied by eight o’clock. By ten o’clock it was a ghost town.
Team Leader then drove the sedan to M Street where he parked on the top floor of a parking garage, tucked the video into an inner pocket of his combat fatigues, and took the stairs to the entrance to rendezvous with his contact.
As he waited in darkness, police cruisers made their rounds, which was why he hadn’t parked the sedan outside. A car bearing diplomatic tags parked along M street at such a late hour would only draw suspicion.
“You’re getting sloppy,” a voice said.
Team Leader turned and drew a stiletto with the quickness and agility of a cat. An eight-inch blade shot from the hilt, the point directed at Judas’ throat.
“Take it easy,” Judas said, throwing up his hands. “No need to get your bowels in an uproar.”
Team Leader pressed the knifepoint into Judas’ throat and indented the flesh. “Do that again, Judas, and I will kill you. I don’t care what your position is or what Yahweh will think when I tell him why I cut your throat.”
Judas backed away from the knife. “Relax.”
“You’re a lucky man.” The blade fell back into the hilt and Team Leader packed it away.
“You’re still getting sloppy,” Judas told him. “Letting an old man like me creep up on you.”
Team Leader curbed his anger and removed the keys to the sedan from his pocket. “You know where the car is,” he said. “You know what to do.”
“How come I get all the crap jobs?”
Team Leader couldn’t see Judas’ face, obscured as it was by the brim of his hat and the deep shadows. “You do it for ten million reasons. I do it for only one. And in this case, my one outweighs your ten million.”
Judas accepted the keys. “What about the video?”
“Yahweh wants to see it before we send it off to the proper authorities.”
“That’s macabre-ish of him.” Judas slowly backed into the shadows and was gone, silent, quick, and wraithlike.
Team Leader worked the muscles in the back of his jaw, admonishing himself for letting a man like Judas sneak up on him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Unlocking the sedan and opening the door, Judas was met by the faint odor of body rot. As he descended the levels of the garage, he decided on his route to the Tidal Basin, the path of least resistance. He wanted to scope the area to see if it was heavy with law enforcement.
He paid the garage fee and drove west, then north, making sure he kept below the posted speed limit and used his blinker at every turn. Driving along South Capitol Street to Independence Avenue, he turned east, then north, passing the Library of Congress and the Supreme Court. After making a single pass and sighting no one, he moved south to Independence, then west to the Tidal Basin.
The time was now 2:17 a.m.
Judas drove to the Basin and parked the vehicle right at the water’s edge.
After placing the vehicle in PARK, he moved quickly to the rear of the sedan, opened the trunk, and pulled the governor’s body to the ground. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Judas feverishly peeled away the plastic wrap that covered the governor. As he pulled back the plastic, his nostrils were assaulted by the stench of death. Disgusted, he tossed the materials back into the trunk.
Standing over the exposed body, Judas hardly recognized the man. The governor’s pajamas stretched too tight across his flesh, the methane gas build-up beneath the tissues bloating the body. The fluid in his skull provided pressure so great that the eyes bulged fantastically from their orbital sockets. And his skin, having marbled, held the purple arterial lines of lividity, marking the regions where the blood had ceased to circulate. To Judas, the governor didn’t even come close to resembling the person he was when he was alive.
Cupping his gloved hands beneath the governor’s arms, Judas dragged him to the edge of the Tidal Basin and set him sailing across the water, the body floating dreamily across the surface from the gases still trapped in his lungs and tissue.
After checking the area thoroughly for anything he may have left behind, Judas got into the vehicle and worked his way northbound.
Yahweh sat at the upper echelon of the American political pecking order, one of the most powerful men in the world. In the light of day, he was beloved by the people, devoted to his country, and willing to fight for the cause of justice. But in the darkness he was corrupt and vile, willing to do anything necessary to achieve his own aims, even if that meant bypassing the laws he was sworn to protect and killing innocent people.
As far as Yahweh was concerned, the pope was a pawn in his scheme — a man whose death would usher out the ways of old and serve as a new beginning. Regrettably, he saw no other way.
Yahweh was a man who catered to the public and reveled in their cheer. He found no excitement in the obscurity of clandestine meetings. But Team Leader insisted that all matters pertaining to the cause be discussed in a sterilized environment, free of any type of surveillance. A federal limo in constant motion apparently fit the bill.
Yahweh’s chauffer drove his black Fleetwood to the front of the M Street garage and stopped. The limo’s door opened in invitation, and Team Leader stepped inside, taking a seat opposite Yahweh in the darkness.
“Is it done?” asked Yahweh.
Team Leader nodded. “Judas is dealing with the governor’s body as we speak.”
“Good.” Yahweh’s voice remained impassive. “And was it quick?”
“What?”
“The killing.”
“Of course.”
“Did you look in his eyes before you killed him?”
“I did.”
“And what did you see?”
Team Leader leaned forward. “I saw in him what I have seen in the eyes of all men,” he said. “I saw a man who was terrified of dying — someone who didn’t believe in anything beyond the moment of his pathetic life.”
Yahweh nodded, then turned to view the passing terrain outside the window.
While the limo continued through the empty streets, a moment of silence passed between them before Yahweh spoke again. “I do believe you have something for me.”
Team Leader reached into the inner pocket of his combat fatigues and produced the videotape. “When will the proper authorities get this?”
Yahweh took the tape and held it close. “After I view this for myself and after they find the governor’s body. I’ll distribute the tape to a CNN affiliate. And then the world will cry like frightened children, knowing there is no hope for the Holy One.”