25

“RANOLD,” MARGARET CALLED OUT, “the message light is blinking on the phone.”

Jae followed him into the kitchen, where he mashed the speaker button and played a long message from Bia Balaam:

“General, I know it’s after midnight there and you’re not likely to get this until morning, but you may want to rethink sending Mrs. Stepola. I know this will sound strange, but instinct tells me Agent Stepola may be legit. I have too many years’ experience to go off half-cocked, but unless he’s the best I’ve ever encountered, he’s convinced me. I got a brief update from him on the way to the airport this morning, and I fear his wife might be in the way as he closes in on Magnor and the underground. It’s your call, of course, but that’s my professional opinion. I’ve got to get on a plane here in a second, but let me play you this recording of a call he made to Chief Koontz in Chicago last night and also of our conversation today, and you be the judge.”

Jae’s heart sank as she listened. She could tell what Paul was up to. Once she had told him of the bug, he used it against Balaam. He was a master, but if his brilliance had cost her the chance of seeing him over there, she was not going to be happy.

When the recording finished, Bia rang off.

Ranold was preoccupied. “I don’t know what to think,” he said. “Maybe he’s onto us. Didn’t she think of that?”

“Frankly, Dad—and this is not easy for me to say—but I trust your judgment on this. He’s always had a way with women.”

“He has, hasn’t he? Let’s get some grub and get you in the air; what do you say?”

Paul and Chappell sat listening to news reports over Lothair’s radio. International response to the threat from the underground reminded Paul of the reaction the Los Angeles warning had generated. Only the California result seemed to temper this a bit. There were pockets of atheistic loyalists who didn’t want the government to test these waters. Callers to talk shows ran the gamut from hysterical laughter to mockery to disdain, but also included cooler heads. These were the ones who said, “Maybe if religion were not outlawed but rather ignored or even tolerated, it wouldn’t have such an appeal to weak minds. Let them be.”

Others said they were convinced now that Styr Magnor and his international cabal of terrorists would target firstborn sons around the world and try to make it look as if some angry God had acted. “This man,” one woman said, “wants to inflict terrorist attacks on families one at a time. I agreed with Chancellor Dengler’s initial response of never negotiating with terrorists, but isn’t it time for at least a sit-down, a meeting of the minds? Find out what has this man and his followers so upset.”

When Dengler’s official response came on, Paul was particularly intrigued. He had gotten to know the man somewhat and was persuaded that the chancellor was well-intentioned. He was a man of character and principle, and while Paul was diametrically opposed to his worldview, it had not always been that way. Baldwin Dengler personified what Paul had once believed with his entire being, and the man articulated it better than anyone. He truly seemed to believe that a government and a society of peace depended on the abolition of religion, racism, and—of course—terrorism.

As Dengler approached the podium at the International Government of Peace’s assembly chamber, Paul could picture it, hearing the cameras of hundreds of journalists.

Chappell Raison’s phone chirped and he put Styr Magnor on speaker.

“You watching this?” Styr said.

“Radio,” Chappell said, “and I don’t want to miss it.”

“Me either. I just wanted to make sure you knew he was on. You see, Raison, this is when we should have sent a devout rebel carrying a megaton bomb on his back. Wham, bam, and we start over, ma’am. He’s about to start. I’ll call you back.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, International Chancellor Baldwin Dengler. Mr. Dengler will not field any questions this afternoon, and his remarks will be brief.”

“Thank you,” Dengler said. “As the world knows by now, Styr Magnor has taken responsibility for this latest threat to the security of our global village. As I stated when he wantonly attacked innocent civilians in London, Rome, and Paris, there will be no negotiating with terrorists.

“That remains the stance of this government. As for those citizens Mr. Magnor claims to represent, we maintain that they are a much smaller rebel faction than he claims. And as for his assertion that they believe they have the ear of almighty God, I remind you that it is this very belief that caused the wars that led to World War III, the establishment of a New World Order, and the banning of religion.

“If the last nearly forty years have not proved there is no God, surely they have at least proved that society is the better for not acknowledging that there is. I personally reject the idea, and this government unanimously asserts that we do not believe there will be any mass supernatural deaths resulting from our refusal to cower in the face of this warning.

“I am not so naive as to doubt that Mr. Magnor, in his frustration with our refusal to capitulate, will attempt some terrible affront against people of goodwill. I can assure every citizen that we will respond forthrightly and with swiftness to avenge any such attack.

“If Styr Magnor were a man of honor and dignity and intelligence rather than a coward, he would come into the open and compete in the marketplace of ideas. That is my challenge to him. Show yourself and stop lobbing your bombs of cowardice against right-thinking people.”

Again the airwaves filled with the responses of the people, many lauding the courage of the chancellor, others horrified at his reckless challenging of a madman.

Within minutes, Magnor was back on the line with Chappell. “I have connections all over the world,” he said. “But I need more manpower if we are going to carry out this threat. I have learned that Dengler believes his own rhetoric when he makes these pompous public statements. But now we have to call his bluff. Do you have people willing to effect this action?”

Chappell hesitated, looking to Paul, who nodded. “I might.”

“Now you’re talking, Chappell. Come and see me and we’ll make our plans. Time is short. We’re already down to fewer than thirty-six hours.”

Paul vigorously shook his head.

“I’m not coming to see you,” Chapp said.

“Well, there’s no way I’m going to France.”

“Where then? You name the place.”

“Somewhere neutral. But not too far from either of us, eh, Chappell? And no lieutenants. Just you and me.”

“I would insist on that.”

“Let’s get this done today, friend. You say where, and I’ll be there.”

Paul scribbled, Suggest somewhere totally impossible.

“Alaska,” Chappell said.

Magnor laughed. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. No one knows either of us there. We’ll have total privacy.”

“We don’t have the time, man!”

“If time is the enemy, let’s meet in London.”

“London!” Magnor said. “You would suggest London. What’s that, three hundred kilometers from you? Naturally I’m public enemy number one there.”

Paul gave Chapp the cut sign again.

“You know, Styr, I didn’t want to be involved with this—or you—in the first place. If London doesn’t work, and you won’t do Alaska, find someone else.”

A long pause. “Tell me something, Chappell,” Styr said, his voice cold now, “what were you going to do? How would you carry out this manifesto without me?”

“We’re trusting God to act.”

Styr howled. “I love it! Well, go ahead, but when God decides your battle isn’t His battle, then what? Then can I expect a call from you?”

Paul put a finger to his lips.

Chappell said nothing.

“Thinking, Chapp? Your faith a little thin today? Worried how you’re going to look and what will become of all your followers when the big firstborn wipeout doesn’t happen?”

“It might not hurt to have a plan B,” Chapp said.

“Ah, the voice of reason at last. Listen, Chapp, I’ll meet you in London, but I get to pick the place. And while I won’t have anyone with me, they will be close enough to see whether you’re alone too. If you’re not alone, you’ll never see me.”

“Same here.”

“All right, hear me. I’ll say this only once. In the northeast corner of central London, in the Shoreditch area—do you know it?”

“I can find it.”

“There’s a noisy, crowded place called Horsehead’s Pub. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Eight o’clock this evening. I’ll make sure I get the table in the corner by the back door that leads to the alley. You’ll come in and leave from the front door. I’ll come in any way I well please and leave by the back. Any funny stuff and you’ll find yourself in the alley for the rest of your days, follow?”

“You don’t have to threaten me, Styr.”

“I know I don’t, friend. We’ll be just over twenty-four hours from Operation Firstborn, eh? We’ve got a lot to cover.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be there first.”

No, he won’t, Paul decided.