The next likely safe business occupied the fourth and fifth floors of a well-appointed office building near the Temple district. With Zion Health Services and Research compromised, Gabriel had chosen World Travel Associates.
He smiled at the receptionist.
“Senator,” she said.
“You haven’t seen me, Mary,” Gabriel said. The woman, who looked like a female marine drill sergeant out of uniform, glanced over his shoulder then back to Gabriel.
“Welcome back, whoever you are,” she said, smiling.
“I need a secure phone.” The woman pointed her thumb toward a door marked private. At the sound of the buzzer, Gabriel entered a soundproofed room with a video telephone. He locked the door behind him and, in five minutes, the face of John Owen was on the screen.
“Gabriel, excellent disguise.”
“Then how did you recognize me?”
John grinned. “Mary warned me. I just saw your ‘last’ webcast. May I ask, what happened?”
“A small military detachment surrounded my Idaho place.”
“And you made it out in one piece? I am impressed.”
“John, it was a lightning bolt that saved my butt…of biblical strength and beautifully timed. But I’m fresh out of miracles at the moment. It’s going to be very problematic getting me out of here. I was followed.”
John’s face betrayed a new tension. “I’m not surprised. But—” He glanced off screen. “It’s nothing we can’t handle. Gabriel, this sounds like the big crackdown we were worried about. I’ve been trying to warn Thurston Smith. We heard they will try to arrest him on campus. Snowfeather is back in jail, and my attorneys are working on that. All this means that you need to stay clear of your old offices, your friends, your associates. What can we do to protect Alice?”
“Thanks, but Alice is well hidden. But, if a certain Olympic medalist in archery attempts to contact you, please take him seriously.”
“Understood.”
“Wait? Did you just say that Snowfeather is in jail?”
“Yes. She’s safe in NYPD hands and, as I say, my attorneys are on it.”
“Okay…I guess.”
“First things first: We need to get you here, where you will be safe.”
“Where is that?”
“This line is probably secure. But Walter and Julie Owen didn’t raise an idiot son. Trust me, it’s a long drive.”
“Fair enough. But if Thurston is in danger of getting arrested, maybe I should get his files out of his apartment.”
“Is there enough time for that?”
“I have to chance it. So I’m going. What can you do for me?”
“I’m sending you some help right now. Just stay put where you are for half an hour.”
“Thanks. What kind of help?”
“More FlashCash, some old fashioned currency, special clothes, two disguises, new ID materials. All in a small package. As of last week, I had two ways to get you to the West Coast. Now I’m down to one. But I still think we can get you out of danger with minimal risk.”
“With a good disguise, I could just take a bus.”
“We can do better.” John frowned. “Let me check on something…” He looked aside and spoke to someone. “Okay. You can use Trans-Pack Trucking. At least for the next few hours or so. Are you claustrophobic?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Get over it. We have special cargo containers. Air conditioned, provisioned with food, rest rooms, even movies. We use them all the time for drug couriers and our special friends.”
“I’ll do it.”
“You know how to get to Trans-Pack?”
“I memorized the packet Mary gave me. Thanks again, John. I’m going to try for Thurston’s apartment. I won’t take longer than three hours. Tops.”
“That gives you another two to get to Trans-Pack. Aren’t you cutting it too close?”
“I know, I know. Anything else?”
“I’m praying for you.”
“Thanks. Coming from you, John, that’s a big deal.” Gabriel pressed END and the screen went blank. He started to get up; then he hesitated. If the line was secure enough to call Owen, it was certainly secure enough to call locally. Gabriel called Thurston Smith’s apartment.
“Good afternoon.” It was the canned response. Gabriel waited another second, then he keyed in the peek code. A series of camera views followed, bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, office. Everything was in order. No one was home. Gabriel dissolved the connection.
He hit the intercom button. “Mary?” he called.
There was silence. Gabriel almost repeated himself; then he suddenly thought better of it. He slipped out of the secure room and down the corridor he had just entered earlier. At the door to the reception area, he opened the peep. Mary was talking to two men in long coats. Idiot! He shouldn’t have used the intercom without knowing who was in the reception area.
After a moment, a stocky man with a lined face turned to the other and shrugged. Both left to stand by the elevator directly across the reception area, just out of his field of vision. Gabriel waited a full minute, and opened the door a crack.
“Are they gone?” he whispered.
“They took the elevator. Looking for a man named Gabriel Standing Bear. Good thing nobody like that was here.”
“Thank you, Mary. That was dumb of me to use the intercom.”
“No problem. I killed it when they first came in.”
“Still dumb of me. Which way did they head?”
“Up.”
“Looks like a building search,” Gabriel said.
“They will be back, then,” Mary offered. “Do you have a plan?”
“Do you suppose somebody could find me a pizza delivery uniform?”
“Great, Senator. Don’t you think this is a little late for another career change?”
——
Former Senator Thurston Smith, a Professor of History at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City, always checked the web before he went to class. Under “Breaking News”, his browser led him to a “hot” webcast. It was his old friend again.
On the screen, Gabriel Standing Bear Lindstrom was in jeans, flannel shirt, down vest, crouching next to a small campfire. Smith watched transfixed as a red glow poured into the deep purple sky behind Gabriel. Not a very recent shot, Smith thought. Must have pre-recorded this one some time ago.
Gabriel’s long gray hair hung loose against his weathered face. “If you are getting this webcast, I have been arrested or otherwise silenced.” It’s happening, Smith thought. A cold wave of fear settled in his chest. His old friend, the dissident ex-Senator from Idaho was only the first. I am next. Smith saved the entire webcast to disk. He hesitated, considering an escape path. Then he shrugged and headed for class. Let them just try to invade this campus, he thought. Fowler promised they’d leave me alone…
The classroom was packed for his lecture. After he organized his notes, Thurston Smith looked up from his podium. One of his TAs, Carla, a grim woman in her later twenties, seemed unusually smug. She met his eyes with chilling hostility. Two equally grim men in business suits sat near her in the classroom. Carla looked back over her shoulder and smiled at them.
“Welcome to History 503,” Smith said. “The TAs will have distributed the reading lists. Let me give you a succinct course overview. This is not a class for the faint hearted.
“Nearly every political revolution has been accompanied by terrorism in some form. The truism that one person’s terrorist is another person’s freedom fighter is often repeated but rarely analyzed. As many of you know, in my previous life, I served for ten years as the head of the U.S. Senate’s Select Committee on Domestic Terrorism. Following my voluntary retirement—” Smith paused for effect while a number of students laughed appreciatively. “I made a special study of the relationship between terrorist groups and specific sociopolitical movements, such as the Gaia movement early in this century. I can promise you an interesting discussion and a course like no other.
“We will explore the nature of the relationships between terrorist organizations and the individuals and groups who achieve power during a sociopolitical revolution. We will examine three mass movements and their social consequences: The Nazism of twentieth century Germany, the Soviet form of Communism in twentieth century Russia, and this century’s Gaia cult.”
Later, as his promised multi-media presentation began, Professor Smith slipped out of the darkened classroom, leaving his research assistant in charge, and walked to his office. He dropped his lecture file on a table near the door, found his favorite chair and rebooted his computer. He reached into his desk, pulling out a bottle of Scotch. He poured two fingers worth into a paper cup.
Some Mormon you are, he thought. Smith sipped it slowly, and leaned back. How long do I have?
A loud pounding at the door interrupted his reverie. Not that long, he thought. “Come in,” he shouted. Carla, the TA and the two grim men in suits bustled into the small office. “Hello,” Smith said, killing the power to the computer.
“Professor Smith, or should I say Senator,” the senior agent began, his smile was cold, his tone beyond unfriendly. “We are here to confiscate your lecture notes, and your computer.”
“You have no authority to do that,” Smith said, not moving from his chair. “Carla, you can leave now,” Smith added. His TA flushed, hesitating.
“We will be taking you in for an interview.”
Senator Smith stared, grimly silent as one agent pulled back his coat jacket to reveal his shoulder holster, while the other flashed Commission ID. “I see you have brought what passes for authority in your world,” Smith said. “I don’t suppose you people bother with warrants?”
Smith’s TA allowed herself a triumphant smile as she slipped out of the room.
“You are under arrest,” the agent said. “Where do you keep your notes?”