“This is not how this was supposed to work!” Achmed spoke loudly into the microphone plugged into his ten-year-old desktop computer. The power cable had just been taped back together after one of the wandering goats had decided to snack on it, delivering what proved to be a convenient method for quick-roasting goats, and also teaching the ya Homaar operatives a lesson about keeping your wires bundled and protected.
The voice coming through the dual cube speakers had an after-echo which annoyed Achmed to no end because he didn’t realize his microphone was in front of his speakers. Every sound that came out went back into the microphone and was carried through the system again, causing everything to repeat. “The deal was for free bombs,” said a decidedly female voice. “We give them to you, and you blow them up where you said you would, when we told you to.”
Achmed spoke slowly, carefully, and more loudly than necessary directly into the microphone. “But the bombs, they are too—” he struggled for the word ‘volatile’ before deciding on “—explodey. They are killing our members.”
An echoing giggle came from the speakers. “They’re suicide bombers, right?” she said. “They’re supposed to die.”
“Yes, but they’re supposed to be sending a message with their death!” Achmed sputtered. He raised his hands in frustration. In the back of the cave they used as a headquarters, Akbar was finishing up his portion of electrocuted goat. He looked up from his meal and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “You get what you pay for.”
“We did tell you that you were expected to adhere to a tight schedule,” the woman warned. “If your men are incapable of telling time then your problems will only continue. You still have over a hundred of the vests undetonated.”
Achmed took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the scent of goat manure. Along the rock ledge against which his computer station was positioned, a rat nosed its way along, dislodging pebbles as it foraged for something to eat and leaving a trail of droppings in its passing.
“It is not that we are not grateful,” Achmed replied. “But if we can’t budge our schedules even the slightest, then why teach our men how to use the detonator?”
More giggles poured out of the speakers. “Those aren’t detonators, baby,” she laughed. “Those are confidence props. Hand-held courage. The magic feather that lets the elephant fly.”
“Elephant fly?” Akbar asked from the back of the cave. He wiped goat grease from his chin, boggling at how Americans could have become such a world superpower and yet be so insane as to believe in flying elephants. Or did they actually have flying elephants? Who knew what kinds of things the scientists in American laboratories could put together?
“It’s easier to get someone to blow themselves up if they believe they’re the ones pressing the button,” she said. “But make no mistake, Mister Achmed, each of those bombs will blow up when we told you they would. So if you have any kind of statement you want to make, I’d start using recruits with more punctuality.” More giggling bubbled through the speakers before the system began to sputter, preceded by a painful squeak of the rat whose freshly spewed urine had just penetrated the loosely wrapped tape around the computer’s electrical cable, frying both him and the computer at the same time.
· · ·
In a repurposed warehouse, under a cold, gunmetal gray sky, the Reverend Billy Walker knelt in front of a leather couch. His elbows pressed into the cushions, and his clasped hands provided a resting place for his forehead, as he continued to shake the gates of Heaven with his prayers.
“Oh Lord,” he cried out in his solitude. “Where art thou, and where art the sounds of thine trumpets?” Walker’s cheeks were reddened with tears. “And great earthquakes shall be in divers places, and famines, and pestilences; and fearful sights and great signs shall there be from heaven.” Walker frequently quoted scripture in his prayers, a habit he had been taught by his own childhood pastor, to “pray the word.” “Father, You have told us Your word would not return void. Well, Lord, I have prayed Your words unto You, and I have put works to my faith so that it is shown to be alive. I have said unto this mountain we call Earth, ‘Be thou removed!’”
As he moaned from his soul, two women silently entered his chambers. They were dressed identically in white slacks and blouses, and their hair was pulled back severely in tight buns. They knelt on each side of him, careful not to disturb him, folding their hands in the semblance of prayer as they cut their eyes at each other and grinned.
“Father, I have seen to it that the mountain shall be removed. But I still do not see the signs of Your coming.”
The girl on his left bit her lip to stifle a giggle.
“But I hold out hope, Lord,” he prayed. “For without this hope, we would be of all men most miserable. Still, even so, come quickly, Lord. I long for Your returning, for the sake of the elect. Show us Your power and grace through the promise of Your glorious returning, I pray. Amen.”
The girls’ smirks were instantly wiped to passive expressions of tranquility as the Reverend Walker pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his forehead and cheeks, and blew his nose. “Oh, hello, girls,” he said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“We didn’t want to disturb you, Reverend Billy,” said the one to his left. She touched his shoulder gently. “All is well. We have spoken with our customer, and they have seen the light.”
Walker wiped at his nose and sat down on the sofa with a sigh. “I only hope it’s enough,” he said. “I was moved to prayer after a phone call from one of my foremen.”
“A phone call?” It was the second girl, speaking more sharply than she ever had to the Reverend before. “Billy, I thought we made it clear that there could be no communication. People in power can find you through your phone. You were supposed to leave it in California.”
Walker nodded. “I know, I know,” he said. “And you’re right. But I needed to know if things changed, and they have.” He sighed. “I believe someone has figured out my mission.”
“Why do you say that?” asked the first girl. Her lips formed a slight pout, and worry wrinkles marred the alabaster skin of her forehead. “The reporter died before he had a chance to tell anybody what he knew.”
“Nevertheless,” Walker said, “I’ve just been informed that the urban renewal in Detroit has been halted due to unexpected changes in the zoning ordinances.”
“That’s why we have a backup plan,” the second girl said.
“And the EPA has put a halt to the strip mining in West Virginia because someone phoned in that they saw a certain species of woodpecker in the area,” he added. “And the Mexican government has actually returned our incentive money and refused any further demolition efforts in Guadalajara.”
The girls paused, taking this in. “The backup plan is still viable,” the second one said. “The plan is far enough in motion.”
“Even if all our operations have been stopped? Because it’s certainly looking like that’s what has happened.” Walker looked at them hopefully. It was his dream, but it had been their science that had brought that dream close to reality. He had put as much faith and trust in them as he had in God—perhaps even more, since they had come through on their promises more frequently and more recently.
“Even if,” the second girl confirmed. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, her breasts lightly swaying braless in her blouse as she did. “We’ve nearly reached the tipping point,” she promised. “In a few more days, the process will be irreversible, even if we never detonated another bomb after that.”
Reverend Walker’s face radiated hope at hearing her words. “Thank you,” he gushed. “For everything.” He clasped both of their hands in his. “I only pray that our Lord will have mercy on you both when he returns. Your service is to me, but the sin is all mine, and should rest on my shoulders.” With that, he turned and left them in the makeshift office that had been waiting for him on their arrival, ambling down the echoing hallways, singing a hymn to himself. “He’s coming soon. He’s coming soon. With joy we welcome his return-ing.”
The sisters looked at each other. “It will work, won’t it?” the first one asked.
“You always were such a doubter,” the second replied, as she ran her fingers through her sister’s jet-black locks. “Trust the science. We’re about to make the final chapter of history.”
The first girl giggled. “Science is sexy,” she said, taking her sister’s hand.