Covenant A Novel

BEN GURION INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

ISRAEL


The late-afternoon sun flared off the hot asphalt as Lieutenant Jerah Ash guided the jeep to a manned barrier on the edge of the airport. In the rear of the jeep sat Aaron, Safiya, and Rachel, while Lucy Morgan sat next to Ethan, guzzling water from bottles and gorging on Israeli Army ration packs.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Ethan said to Lucy. “You need a hospital.”

“Like hell,” Lucy shot back between mouthfuls. “Do we know if they’ve taken off yet?”

Ethan shrugged as Lieutenant Ash signaled to the guards manning the barrier and drove through. As they reached the gates where rows of private aircraft were parked, Ethan could see several large jets with towering T-tails, shiny white fuselages, and chrome fittings.

Lieutenant Ash stopped and climbed out of the jeep to scan the airfield for one aircraft among dozens.

“There, that one,” Ethan said, spying a distant sleek jet with a blue MACE logo emblazoned across the fuselage. “It’s taxiing out right now.”

Lieutenant Ash nodded, keying his microphone and speaking quickly. Ethan didn’t wait to hear what he said, leaping instead into the driver’s seat and gunning the engine as the MACE jet taxied to the edge of the runway.

“Hey!” Lieutenant Ash shouted.

Ethan barely heard him as he accelerated directly toward the runway, yanking the wheel to avoid clipping the tails from a line of parked training aircraft.

“Jesus, Ethan!” Aaron Luckov shouted. “Take it easy!”

Ethan ignored his friend as he forced the jeep into a hard turn around one plane, the tires screeching on the tarmac and the chassis shuddering. Ahead, the whine of the MACE jet’s engines suddenly climbed to a deafening roar, the jumbled city horizon behind it blurring in clouds of heat.

“They’re taking off without clearance!” Lucy shouted, hanging on desperately in the rear of the jeep.

The jet suddenly sprang forward as it released its brakes, accelerating down the runway.

Ethan turned the jeep, mounting the taxiway with a thump before surging onto the open grass alongside.

“That’s a twenty-five-ton aircraft!” Rachel shouted as she realized what Ethan was about to do. “Are you suicidal?”

Ethan turned a pair of cold, gray eyes to her. “Almost.”

Rachel sat back in silence. The jeep bounced violently as it left the grass verge and skidded onto the dark tarmac of the runway. Ethan struggled for control of the jeep as it swerved into the path of the oncoming jet, wrestling the wheel back into his grip and steering the jeep to the edge of the runway and leaping out.

The Gulfstream jet roared toward him, a cloud of translucent brown haze billowing behind it as it accelerated. Ethan dashed to the center of the runway, the Sig pistol in his hand as he took aim at the undercarriage of the jet rushing toward him and filling the sky. Ethan aimed carefully and fired three times, the sound of the pistol drowned out by the roar of the jet’s turbofan engines.

The second bullet punctured the left nosewheel tire, the third piercing the right as the jet swerved violently. As the Gulfstream thundered past in a crescendo of jet blast, Ethan hurled himself to one side, rolling and looking back to see the plane’s air brakes pop open and the thrust-reverser buckets close over the engine exhausts.

“She’s disabled!” Ethan shouted, as Lieutenant Ash jogged breathlessly to the edge of the runway, joining soldiers in two other vehicles as they accelerated in pursuit of the rapidly slowing jet.

Ethan leaped back into the jeep as the Gulfstream taxied off the main runway and came to an ungainly halt nearby. The three vehicles converged on the aircraft even as the boarding steps unfolded and three men scrambled out in a desperate attempt to flee.

“Freeze!” Lieutenant Ash bellowed, drawing his pistol and aiming it at the men. “Hands in the air!”

Ethan watched as the crew members came to a standstill and were surrounded by a dozen armed troops. Lieutenant Ash waved two of his men forward, and they cuffed the crew before leading them away. Ethan looked up the steps of the aircraft, and then at the lieutenant. Without hesitation, the Israeli officer led the way into the interior.

The jet had been heavily modified, with plush leather couches and a minibar, but none of that interested Ethan as much as the large crate lashed down in the center of the fuselage. Lieutenant Ash checked the consignment numbers on the side.

“Listed as medical supplies and equipment,” he said. “The package is for a private residence in Washington DC.”

He tore open a consignment note stuck to the side of the crate, and raised his eyebrows in surprise as he read the address.

“It’s for a Kelvin Patterson.”

“The man behind everything,” Lucy Morgan hissed as she looked at the crate. “I’ll bet a year’s salary that the remains I found are in there.”

Lieutenant Ash looked at one of his men. “Open it.”

The soldier produced a digging tool from his webbing, lodged the hook under the lid of the crate, and pulled hard. The wooden lid splintered as the nails popped out, and Jerah Ash reached over and pushed the lid clear.

Ethan stared down into the crate to see a rectangular block of sandstone. Inside, illuminated by the interior lights of the aircraft, lay the skeletal remains entombed in rocks that had held its body for millennia.

“That’s the one,” Lucy Morgan said as she joined him beside the crate.

Lieutenant Ash stared at the remains, apparently caught between relief and alarm. “And this … thing. It’s—”

“Some kind of ape,” Ethan said, shutting the lid. “First things first, this isn’t over yet. There’s still Kelvin Patterson. He must be involved and he must have people waiting for this to arrive in DC. Let’s fly this plane over there and see who turns up.”

“Not a chance,” Lieutenant Ash snapped. “You can’t fly this plane anyway.”

Aaron and Safiya Luckov, standing behind the officer, spoke together as though prompted.

“We can.”

Lieutenant Ash looked over his shoulder at them in mild surprise, but shook his head vigorously as he turned back to Ethan.

“These remains belong here in Israel, and I’ve already risked enough bringing you here. This ends now.”

“It won’t if you don’t let this aircraft travel back to the United States,” Ethan said calmly. “If we repair the aircraft’s tires and leave now, then you’re in the clear. You found and protected Lucy Morgan and you ensured that I left the country, as ordered to by Shiloh Rok. You’re the hero of the hour, Jerah. If you don’t, there’s going to be one hell of a diplomatic spat over these remains. We only have Sheviz’s testimonial evidence against Patterson, but people have died in America as a result of these experiments and neither I nor the United States of America want to let that go unpunished. Do you?”

Lieutenant Ash stared at Ethan for a long moment, and then a bitter chuckle erupted from his throat. He shook his head and rubbed his temples wearily.

“If I do this, will you promise that I’ll never, ever see you again?”

Ethan grinned.

“That, I can promise you.”

Jerah Ash sighed, and turned to the troopers standing behind him.

“We wouldn’t have time to offload that … thing anyway. Seal the crate and repair the damage to the aircraft’s tires.”

As the soldiers hurried to do their work, Lieutenant Ash turned back to Ethan.

“And what exactly are you going to do in Washington?”

Ethan wiped the exhaustion from his eyes with one trembling hand, and looked longingly at one of the Gulfstream’s plush leather couches. Suddenly, for the first time in years, he desperately wanted to go to sleep.

“I’ll figure that out when I wake up.”

Rachel looked at Ethan, but said nothing.

“Not like you to be at a loss for words,” Ethan said.

Rachel smiled, shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. You were right.”

“I’m making the most of it—doesn’t happen that often.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Lucy Morgan said from one side. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me two,” Ethan said, and gestured to the crate. “Why did these things leave one of their own behind, do you think?”

“Everything dies,” Lucy said sadly.

“Unless what?” Ethan encouraged her. “There’s a reason. Sheviz said it himself: he couldn’t find as many remains as he felt sure were out there. Why would that be?”

“Sheviz said that he found similar remains in India and Iraq,” Lucy replied, looking at him curiously. “Both are part of what was once Mesopotamia, the cradle of civilization and the origin of many claimed instances of extraterrestrial influence on mankind in ancient history.”

“And Hans Karowitz told us about the change in climate at the end of the Younger Dryas, which affected sea levels,” Ethan said. “That would alter certain conditions.”

Lucy paced up and down in deep thought.

“He said something about experiments in Washington DC too, something to do with blood groups?”

Ethan nodded.

“They think that O-negative blood stems from these beings, as it has no apparent origin in human evolution and can’t be cloned.”

Lucy looked at the crate for a moment longer.

“Blood groups, DNA, climate,” she murmured softly to herself. “Why would they try to—”

“Think about it,” Ethan said with a brief smile. “There may be one in every ancient city.”

Rachel gasped, her eyes flying wide.

“My God,” she said. “They left it here on purpose. It’s a Rosetta stone.”





What the hell’s a Rosetta stone?” Lieutenant Ash asked, dumbfounded.

Lucy gestured to the remains.

“It’s a stone tablet that recorded a decree issued in Memphis by King Ptolemy over two thousand years ago. The decree was in three texts: Egyptian demotic script, ancient Greek, and Egyptian hieroglyphics, and allowed archaeologists to decipher hieroglyphics for the first time. Don’t you see? They must have left behind one of these skeletons at the site of every early civilization they encountered; that’s why Sheviz found fragmentary remains in different countries.”

Jerah Ash shrugged.

“Why bother?”

“Because it was the best way for them to leave us a message,” Lucy gasped, turning a full circle on her feet and holding her hands to her head. “My God, I can’t believe I didn’t realize it before.”

“You think that’s what really happened?” Ethan asked.

“Of course,” Lucy replied. “For years we’ve wondered, if they visited us in the past, why they hadn’t left markers or evidence of their presence. We know the ancients expended enormous effort, materials, and even lives on building temples and pyramids when the time would have been better spent building fortifications instead, so whatever the reason it must have been important. So why would such visitors just leave our ancestors to build ambiguous megastructures, maintain oral traditions, or carve figurines that could be interpreted in any number of ways? But we’ve been looking at the problem the wrong way round, thinking in terms of our own technology, not theirs.”

Rachel frowned.

“You think that the answer is in the burials?”

“Not the burials,” Lucy said, “but the bones, the mitochondrial DNA. That’s why the blood could be so important. O-negative blood could have had its origins in these beings. If so, the fact that it remains today means that it could be traced via people with O-negative blood using mitochondrial DNA that’s been passed down the feminine line from seven thousand years ago.”

Ethan thought for a moment.

“Could they actually do that? Leave a message in the remains?”

Lucy nodded enthusiastically.

“It would be like a message in a bottle,” she said. “The bottles are living cells and the message is encoded in mitochondrial DNA. Viruses are designed to infect organisms on Earth and upload their DNA into the genomes of those organisms, so there is a well-understood pathway for getting information into DNA. Our own genomes have got huge amounts of this junk that has climbed onboard from viruses over evolutionary history. Now there could be a message encoded in it, maybe in a string of nucleotide bases.”

Ethan caught on to her train of thought.

“We wouldn’t be able to decipher the message until we’d reached a certain technological standard.”

“Exactly,” Lucy agreed. “And the climate change since these beings were on our planet has hidden the evidence from view.”

“How?” Rachel asked.

“Virtually all of the megastructures that appeared during the Bronze and Copper Ages can be considered as cargo cults,” Lucy said, “but we can’t see all of them anymore because so many of them are underwater.”

“Underwater?” Rachel repeated.

Lucy nodded.

“All of the world’s religions have their global flood myth, like Noah in the Bible. About a decade ago divers off the coast of Japan found an enormous city complete with its own pyramid. It’s called the Yonaguni Formation, and is around eight to ten thousand years old. Sea levels were much lower after the Younger Dryas when these cities were first flourishing, and like today people built on rivers, floodplains, and coastal estuaries. When the planet warmed, the glaciers melted, and sea levels rose and swallowed entire cities in a matter of years, burying them forever. Many of mankind’s earliest megastructures are to be found not on land but underwater.”

“How sure can you be?” Ethan asked.

“Yonaguni isn’t the only one,” Lucy said. “There are others: Dwarka, off the coast of India, and Poompuhar, in the Bay of Bengal, a submerged city that may be Kumari Kandam, where local fishermen are often forced to dive to free their nets caught on underwater temples with columns, pyramidal pagodas, and buildings with doorways.”

“So there may be other humanoid remains like the one you found, marking the locations of ancient settlements,” Lieutenant Ash said, trying to keep up.

“Exactly,” Lucy said. “It all fits, and even explains why in the ancient past it wasn’t male gods who were worshipped but female deities, with men honoring the fertility of the female form. Perhaps they understood something of the importance of the way in which the visitors regarded fertility and hereditary mitochondrial DNA.”

“Could the messages in the remains you found still survive?” Ethan asked.

“Probably,” Lucy said. “I was careful not to contaminate the remains in any way. The bone marrow should contain preservable genetic material, provided Sheviz’s goons haven’t tampered with it. I should get to work on this immediately and find out what—”

“Not a chance,” Rachel said, gripping her daughter’s shoulders. “You’re coming home first, and there’s no way I’ll take no for an answer. You need rest before you start playing around in the dirt again.”

Lucy was about to protest when Ethan spoke.

“This has to go into the hands of the DIA,” he said. “Part of the deal to get you out of Gaza.”

Lucy sighed, but nodded reluctantly.

“I thought as much,” she said, and then on sudden impulse stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “Like I said, I owe you.”

Ethan returned the embrace, and as she released him, he pulled a small plastic jar from his pocket and handed it to her. Lucy saw the label and smiled. Right metacarpal.

“Like I said,” Ethan corrected her. “You owe me two.”

Rachel stepped up to Ethan as Lucy turned to leave, and kissed him on the cheek.

“I hope you find Joanna, wherever she is.”

“Me too,” Ethan said.

With that, Lieutenant Ash led Rachel and Lucy off the Gulfstream. Aaron and Safiya looked at Ethan expectantly.

“Let’s go,” he said.





NEW COVENANT CHURCH

WASHINGTON DC

AUGUST 26, 8 P.M.


Pastor Kelvin Patterson sat at his desk and listened to the call coming in on his secure line as his heart seemed to stop in his chest.

“… there’s nothing left. Dr. Sheviz apparently managed to escape the raid but was abducted by the Bedouin relatives of his victims and vanished into the deserts, so whatever he learned out there has disappeared with him. All MACE assets have been seized by Israel and what’s left of Spencer Malik and Byron Stone is being collected in small bags in Jerusalem. Their jet is on its way here, however, with the remains on board.”

Patterson tried to speak but found himself unable to form coherent words. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

“Is there any chance that the connection between MACE and the Evangelical Alliance has been made by the authorities?”

The voice on the other end of the line was grim.

“Everyone is dead so nobody’s talking now, but we can’t take any chances.”

Patterson sat in catatonic silence for a long beat before slamming a clenched fist down on his desk. The sound made the two MACE guards standing by the door of the office glance across at him. He forced himself to calm down.

“Then this is damage limitation. We must hold them off for as long as possible. Intercept the jet when it reaches Dulles and ensure that the remains on board are safely locked away before the FBI or anyone else can seize them. Destroy everyone and everything that may betray our involvement, is that clear?”

“That may involve people, not just material.”

“Do what must be done, for the greater good.”

Patterson put the phone down and looked at his two guards. “Gentlemen, Senator Isaiah Black will be attending his primary rally in the District this evening. I am going to request that he call in here beforehand. Please ensure that the church is secure, that all church employees are sent home, and all security staff are at their posts.”

One of the guards frowned.

“We heard that Byron Stone is dead,” he said uncertainly. “We’re not sure who should be giving us our orders if—”

“Byron Stone is indeed dead,” Patterson snapped. “Which means you do as I tell you. Unless you’d rather be unemployed?”

Both of the guards nodded curtly and left the office.

Patterson waited until they were gone before rubbing his face with his hands, struggling to maintain his composure. He walked across to the towering chrome crucifix, standing before the altar and falling slowly to his knees.

“Give me strength, Father, to do what must be done.”

Slowly, he stood, and with one hand moved the bronze eagle on his desk. Moments later, and he was walking down a narrow passage concealed behind the walls of his office, descending in silence to where a door opened into a chamber where the sound of his footfalls sounded dead, as though soulless and without form.

He flicked a switch on the wall, and a single fluorescent tube illuminated an operating theater complete with heart-bypass machine, monitors, glass cabinets filled with vials and serums, and a single, T-shaped operating table.

He checked that everything was in order and ready for his guest before returning to his office. He picked up the phone and began to dial Senator Black’s personal number.





ROOM 517, HART SENATE OFFICE BUILDING

CONSTITUTION AVENUE, WASHINGTON DC


Please wait one moment, Detective.”

Tyrell stood in a plush corridor and considered the opulence around him as a young aide hurried into one of the Senate offices. He’d already waited two hours, but then he was a mere mortal walking among the most powerful men on Earth.

The United States of America was built upon the policy of all Americans being equal. The American Dream was supposedly their future, yet too many were born into unimaginable squalor and hardship, their lives expiring from a cocktail of drink, drugs, and sickness, like his older brother. The American Nightmare. It didn’t much matter whether you were black or white, Mexican or Latino; for the Phillies or the Knicks, a Fed or a Yankee. Life was gonna be short and would likely end much as it had begun: feeble, dependent, and flat broke.

“Detective, this way, please.”

Glass doors at the entrance to the two-story duplex suite were flanked by dark-blue flags bearing the Texas State emblem. Senator Isaiah Black extended a hand as Tyrell entered the suite, a bright smile painted across his permatan features. Tyrell relaxed a little as he looked into the senator’s eyes and judged that smile to be genuine.

“My apologies for arriving unannounced, Senator.”

“It’s no problem,” Black replied, gesturing to a chair. “But I’m due out in about ten minutes so this may have to be a little rushed.”

“That’s fine, sir,” Tyrell said. “I’ll be brief.”

Tyrell reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved the images of the dead bodies from the Potomac projects, fanning them out across the senator’s desk before he sat down. Black froze with hands flat on the desk and legs half-bent.

“Three young men whose postmortems suggest they were murdered, the killings made to look like a drug-related act of misadventure.”

Black slowly sat down. “Do you know who they are?”

“All three have been identified. Two of them were petty criminals but the one in the middle was a respected scientist working in the District with no history of drug abuse. Do you know him?”

Senator Black shook his head, still looking at the gruesome images. Tyrell swept the photographs out of sight, eager to judge the senator’s expressions as he continued.

“The victims all suffered an illegal medical procedure designed to alter their genetic structure by contaminating them with foreign DNA.”

Senator Black’s jaw dropped like a stone. “You’re not serious.”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Why are you here?”

“We believe that the procedures were financed by the American Evangelical Alliance, with the knowledge and consent of Pastor Kelvin Patterson, who believes the DNA to be that of angels known as Nephilim.”

Black’s face collapsed like a pile of granite slabs.

“Kelvin Patterson?” he repeated, his mouth moving slowly as though wrapping itself around the name. “That’s not possible. The pastor is a man of God.”

“Many have committed terrible crimes with God’s name on their lips,” Tyrell said. “That has been true for all of human history.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Black asked.

“I am trying to connect the events in the District with those in Israel. We believe that there is a link and we think it may be this man.” He handed the senator a picture of Dr. Damon Sheviz and decided to twist the screws a little. “I don’t want to expose you to any negative media at such a sensitive time in your campaign by applying for a subpoena from the district attorney. I thought it best that we should be able to speak privately about this first. Do you know or recognize this man?”

Senator Black looked at the picture and shook his head.

“Never seen him before in my life.”

“He’s a surgeon of some repute. He was here in DC at the time the murders were committed, working for one of the Evangelical Alliance’s churches, and has since traveled to Israel.”

Senator Black nodded slowly. He looked at the picture again.

“You remember something?” Tyrell prompted.

The senator shook his head. “No, I’ve never seen this man before, but …”

“Anything, no matter how trivial, may be worthwhile knowing.”

The senator looked out of his office window, trying to remember.

“Kelvin has spoken publicly of his support for Israel based on a biblical interpretation of history. I’ve tried to distance myself from his comments, and his association with other companies involved in such lobbying.”

“Which companies?”

“MACE, a security and arms company, owned by a man named Byron Stone.”

Tyrell frowned. “This MACE is involved with the alliance?”

“Yes, and they’re one of the companies supporting my campaign,” Black said.

“Why would an arms company ally themselves to an evangelical church?” Tyrell asked.

“MACE is owned by the church,” Black explained. “They’ve invested large sums into advanced aerial drones and cryogenic battlefield trauma surgery to save lives that otherwise would be lost to …”

Tyrell didn’t hear the rest. Four words rolled through his mind. Cryogenic battlefield trauma surgery.





What kind of surgery?” Tyrell asked. “How were they doing it?”

Isaiah Black seemed momentarily stumped.

“Something to do with a kind of advanced suspended animation, I think.” Tyrell felt a shiver down his spine as the senator spoke. “They rapidly freeze people with severe injuries to prevent death and then thaw them out once surgery is complete. Quite remarkable, although I don’t really understand the details of it all.”

“I’m beginning to,” Tyrell murmured thoughtfully. “Senator, the battlefield surgery could be a cover for these experiments.”

Senator Black looked at him for a minute as his brain processed the allegation.

“That’s ridiculous,” he stammered.

“Ignoring the connection would be ridiculous, Senator, for more reasons than one.”

“This could be detrimental to my campaign,” Black uttered as he made the same connection, then rubbed a hand across his face. “I should disassociate with them. I should have done it years ago.”

“That might be premature,” Tyrell said. “It might alert either Patterson or his accomplices to our investigation. We’ve already had one witness die under suspicious circumstances.”

“Suspicious?” the senator echoed in alarm.

“I would seriously suggest that you do not approach Patterson in any capacity, Senator,” Tyrell cautioned.

The senator sat for a moment, and then shook his head.

“I can’t let this get out to the American people,” he said finally. “It could upset the entire primary campaign and throw the party into confusion. If we lose our way now, we’ll never get our momentum back before the election.”

Tyrell saw his chance slipping away.

“We could preempt any political fallout, Senator, if we act now. Would you be willing to accompany me to the district attorney’s office? With you there I feel certain that I can obtain a prosecution, which would alleviate any pressure on your campaign, but alone I’m not able to present a case.”

Senator Black sat for a long moment and then looked at a copy of the United States Constitution affixed to the wall nearby.

“You’re sure that your case is sound, that the DA will be open to a prosecution? It’s a hell of a chance for me to take.”

“I’m sure,” Tyrell said. “All it needs is your support.”

The senator took a breath and was about to speak when the glass doors to the office burst open behind Tyrell with a loud crack, and he whirled in his seat to see four Capitol police officers rush into the office.

“Detective Tyrell, would you come with us, please?”

Tyrell struggled to his feet as the officers surrounded him. “What the hell’s this?”

Before the police could answer him, Captain Louis Powell swept into the suite.

“This comes to an end, now,” Powell growled.

Tyrell felt a plunging sense of dismay sink through him. “Lopez,” he said softly.

Powell turned to Senator Black.

“My apologies, Senator, but your time has been wasted.”

“I’m not wasting anybody’s time!” Tyrell shot back at the captain.

Senator Black raised his hands.

“Gentlemen, please. What the hell is going on here?”

Captain Powell gestured to Tyrell.

“Detective Tyrell has been ordered off this case by the District commissioner herself. It’s based on dubious evidence, unconvincing methods, and has been dismissed by every single authority involved, including the FBI.”

Tyrell struggled to keep himself under control.

“People have died and the case has been closed despite the evidence, not because of it.”

“The evidence you’ve acquired is inadmissible,” Powell said before turning again to the senator. “With your permission, Senator.”

Senator Black looked from Tyrell to Powell and back, and his survivalist political instinct took over.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I can’t help you.”

Powell grabbed Tyrell’s arm, pulling him out of the suite. Tyrell looked over his shoulder at the senator.

“Stay away from Patterson,” he said as he was manhandled out of the suite.

Powell released him as the suite doors closed behind them.

“What the goddamn hell do you think you’re doing here?” the captain demanded.

“It’s something to do with a security company, MACE,” Tyrell said quickly. “They and the Evangelical Alliance are planning something in Israel. Get in touch with Interpol and—”

“The hell I will,” Powell said, cutting Tyrell off. “Your badge and your weapon.”

Tyrell felt the bottom drop out of his world. “You’re kidding me?”

Powell held out his hand.

“You looked at where we’re standing, Tyrell? You thought about the fact that it might not be your ideas that are crazy but your way of following them? Hand them over or I’ll have departmental charges made against you through Commissioner Devereux.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Maybe,” Powell said. “But you’ve already made yours by putting yourself where you shouldn’t damned well be.”

Tyrell was about to say something when his train of cognition slammed to a halt. Putting yourself where you shouldn’t damned well be. An image of Daniel Neville’s room at the hospital drifted through the field of his awareness and he gasped as a flood of revelations rushed through his mind.

“Damn, I’ve been an idiot,” he said out loud.

“Smartest thing you’ve said all day,” Powell snapped. “Badge and weapon.”

Tyrell focused again on Powell and handed his service pistol over as an image of Claretta Neville flashed through his mind. You gimme somethin’ to have faith in.

“There’s no way I’m going to walk away from this. I know how the kid died. It ain’t over till it’s over, and the key to it all is Casey Jeffs.”

Captain Powell rubbed his temples with his free hand.

“You want to keep chasing rainbows, Tyrell, then go ahead, but make damned sure neither I nor the commissioner hear a damned thing about it till you can prove something. As far as the department’s concerned you’re suspended until further notice.”

Relieved of his weapon and badge, Tyrell strode past Powell toward the Senate building’s elevators.

* * *


Senator Isaiah Black watched as Detective Tyrell was stripped of his badge and gun before he and the remaining police officers stode away to the elevators. He was thinking deeply about what he had heard when he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He lifted it out, and saw the name flashing on the screen. k. patterson.

The senator took a breath, and answered the call.

“Kelvin.”

“Senator,” the pastor replied formally down the line. “I hope that I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No, Pastor, but I’m just on my way out to the rally. What can I do for you?”

The senator heard a sigh down the line before the pastor spoke.

“You were right, of course. I can’t afford not to bridge our differences, especially not at such a critical time in your campaign. America needs you as much as I do, and we will be stronger unified. Perhaps you could stop by the church on your way through? I’d be delighted to join you at the rally, and proclaim our support for your campaign.”

Senator Black struggled to control the broad grin that spread across his face as he glanced at his reflection in the suite’s glass doors, an image of the White House appearing unbidden before him. Detective Tyrell’s image materialized before the reflection, his warning echoing around the senator’s brain. Two guards, that was all he’d need, and he could slip out of the Hart Senate Office Building’s tunnel entrance and avoid the army of journalists camped outside the building.

“I’d be delighted, Pastor. I’ll be there in half an hour.”