Dark Rule (COIL Book 3), page 15
"You did it, Brad!" a particular female voice cheered.
Knowing the two were a couple, Brad's teammates deposited him on the ground in front of Josie, a bright-eyed brunette with a wide smile. He hugged her, though he wasn't nearly as enthusiastic as others about the win.
"Alden!"
Looking beyond Josie, Brad saw the short, white-haired man.
"Yeah, Coach?"
"They're waiting." He pointed at the dugout. "The scouts, son. Get to it. Make us proud."
"Good luck!" Josie smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to kiss him on the cheek. "I'll wait with your parents, okay?"
Entering the dugout, Brad found three men from the Major League Commission.
"Fine game, Mr. Alden," Mr. Daniels greeted as they shook hands. The other two men hung back, watching. "Have a seat. I know we're not the only folks who want to talk to you tonight, so I'll try to make this quick before you go off and celebrate. We want you. Five million a year for three years. If your young shoulder is still firing ninety-mile-an-hour fastballs after that, we can discuss another extension with the franchise."
Brad felt light-headed. Fifteen million dollars? With that kind of money, he could do anything, go anywhere, have anything! He'd never have to work a day in his life, and never have need of anything, never have to worry about anything—ever! His father could even retire.
"When do you need an answer?" Brad asked.
"A week," Mr. Daniels stated. "You might have a fist of lightening, but you still need some refining. That means training, Mr. Alden. You up to it?"
"I'm not afraid of hard work." Rising to his feet, Brad offered his hand. "But I need to think and pray about it."
"Pray?" Mr. Daniels shook Brad's hand, a cynic's smile forming on his lips. "Serious? You're religious?"
"Mr. Daniels, I'm a Christian, if that's what you're asking. It was nice meeting you. If I'm interested, I'll call you within a week." Brad turned to leave the dugout.
"Wait," Mr. Daniels called, confusion on his face. "What about the other scouts? You're only meeting with us?"
Brad checked his watch. He didn't have long.
"I have to catch a plane." He shrugged. "If they want me, I guess they can wait until I get back."
"That's not very responsible, Mr. Alden," Mr. Daniels said. "A lot of these people are reporters. They came from miles around. Like I said, it's not very responsible."
"Well, no offense, Mr. Daniels, but that all depends on what sort of emergency I'm running off for, doesn't it?"
Climbing the steps out of the dugout, Brad jogged across the expanse in front of the backstop rather than tempt the lingering crowd near the bleachers. He found Josie and his parents in the parking lot.
"Wow, that was quick!" Josie hopped off the hood of the blazer. "You talked to them all?"
Checking his watch yet again, Brad walked around Josie and stepped up to his father who sat in the driver's seat with the door open.
"Dad, I've got to get going. I'll see Josie off."
"Call when you can," Frank said.
"Now you mind your manners." Jennifer wagged her finger. "And watch what you eat. Your system isn't familiar with that spicy food."
"Keep your focus, Son." Frank shook his son's hand heartily. "Thank you for doing this, Brad. We'll be praying."
"Thanks, I'll need it."
"Spend wisely," his mother said, though she'd been told the Kassvineys were footing the bill. "You run out of money over there, you'll be up a creek!"
"I know, Mom." Brad chuckled and hugged his mother. Though she was a tough woman, she still shed a tear over her departing son. "Don't worry. I'll probably only be a couple days."
His parents left, and Brad faced Josie. He took a deep breath and exhaled, knowing she had a million questions.
"You mind telling me what's going on? We're supposed to be going to the party at Jeremy's."
Noticing the time, Brad took her hand and led her toward her car parked nearby.
"Come on. You drive. We'll talk on the way."
It was a short drive out to Bandon's airport. Along the way, Brad explained the possible dilemma facing his relatives. Josie knew Lacy well, the two having attended school together most of their lives, so she shared his concern. But she wasn't happy about being left behind.
"Well, you know I'll be in Illinois when you get back, depending on how long you'll be," she said as they parked at the airport.
"Yeah, I know." Brad took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. "I was hoping I'd be seeing you off, not you seeing me off."
"Maybe when you get back, we can get together at some point, discuss things?"
Brad nodded. He knew they'd never go back to the way things had been. They'd never discussed the future. Was she the girl for him? Was marriage in the picture?
"We'll find time, one way or another."
"Why do I feel like this is goodbye forever, then?" Her voice quivered.
"I don't know. I guess I'm just being rude, Jos. All I can think about is getting to Zalzuna."
"Be safe over there, huh?" She tried to smile, then pulled him close for a hug.
"I will."
"Don't forget about me, okay?"
"I won't, Jos. I won't."
He waved as she drove away. As soon as she was out of sight, he turned toward the airport's only terminal since he'd checked his baggage earlier. Licking his lips, he walked through the sliding doors. Josie, friends, and his baseball future faded from his mind as he focused on what lay ahead.
*~*
Chapter Seventeen
Walter Kassviney turned in his swivel chair to see Brad Alden enter the PT7 Turbo Jet. It was one of three trans-Atlantic aircraft the Kassviney family owned. The PT7 was for Walter's use, while his father used the other two to shuttle guests to and from his home when he wasn't up to traveling himself.
Waving Brad into the cabin, Walter couldn't greet him since he was on hold on the phone with someone in the Ukraine. The pilot poked his head into the cabin from the cockpit and Walter gave him a thumbs-up to let him know they could take off. Brad slumped into one of four seats in the small jet. Walter didn't think it odd at all that Brad was suited in a baseball uniform. He knew Brad had always been something of a jock in school. Occasionally, he saw his old classmate in the sports section of Bandon's rag.
As the jet engine started up, Brad fiddled with the strap of his duffle bag. Walter held up one finger at Brad to let him know he'd be only a minute more, though he'd already been on hold for ten minutes. Before they reached the end of the runway, the line clicked through.
"Hello?" a woman answered in English, which surprised Walter. He'd hoped to have a chance to use his Ukrainian or Russian. "Is someone there?"
"Ms. Kooper?"
"Yeah? Who's this?"
"My name is Walter Kassviney. Jasper O'Shottie said you were the one to call for a problem we have in the Aegean."
"Jasper! What is this, some kinda joke? How old are you, kid?"
"Excuse me?" Walter cleared his throat, hating the fact that yet another person thought his young voice was that of a ten-year-old. "I assure you, Miss, this is no joke. We're flying from Oregon right now, to meet Jasper O'Shottie in Athens in twenty hours. What'll it take to get you and your team there?"
"Well, I'll have to make some calls. It's summer, so everyone's scattered, ya know? What kinda job?"
"Possible missionary extraction. Family of three. Zalzuna."
"Zalzuna? I'll see who I can scare up. That all?"
"Yes. Thank you."
Click.
Walter wiped his brow. He hated talking to women—let alone talking to them over the phone. They always thought he was a child, no matter how sophisticated he spoke, and he was so rarely taken seriously. Dealing with people in person was usually another matter altogether. With an IQ that doubled most, it was simply a matter of seeing him in action.
"This still isn't sinking in," Brad said with a grin. "A jet to Athens? Unbelievable."
Forcing a smile, Walter was nervous about how he and Brad would work together. Most youths didn't understand Walter, and he certainly didn't understand them. He hoped this wouldn't be the case with his childhood friend.
"Maybe you should change." Walter pointed toward the tail of the plane. "There's a decent bathroom, then you can stow your bag in the overhead compartment."
As soon as Brad was in the bathroom, Walter pulled his calculator from his suit breast pocket. He always wore a suit. It was the most fitting attire for his type of business, which usually involved management. Though he didn't know what it was like to mow the lawn or dig a trench, laborers didn't know what it was like to analyze a graduate student's physics thesis, either. A suit fit his social status.
On his calculator, he measured the distance between Bandon and Atlanta, their first layover. He inserted the earth's rotation and wind speed into his calculations. The PT7 wasn't the fastest jet, taking five and a half hours to travel from New York to Miami, but it did the job. After calculating the flight time to Athens, Walter linked via satellite onto the net and studied a map of downtown Athens on his small screen. It was much more than a calculator, of course, but at a glance, it appeared to be merely a student's trigonometry tool.
Over the years, Walter had gutted the handheld device and inserted his own hardware to compete with, if not surpass, the most advanced commercial communication devices. He could type with one hand as fast as most could with two on a full-sized keyboard. For security, since a child, he'd been logging personal notes in Greek. This trip to Greece was an exciting opportunity to put his Cretan knowledge to work.
"So, what's up?" Brad stowed his belongings. "You've obviously been busy."
Quickly, Walter studied Brad. The over-sized teen had changed into jeans and a t-shirt. He had blond hair, bleached from time spent in the sun, but the shadow of a goatee on his chin had a hint of red. Walter's eyes stopped thoughtfully on Brad's left hand—his pitching hand. It looked strong, though his nails were dirty. His hands were probably calloused, too. Thinking back, Walter had played with Brad enough as a child to know Frank Alden had raised Brad to work and play hard. And now that they were practically adults, they were each prepared for what was to come.
As an analyst, and from everything he knew about Brad, Walter decided he'd stick close to Brad if circumstances abroad became hazardous—and Walter was nearly certain things would become hazardous. Walter couldn't foresee any way to stay out of the storm that brewed around the Jamison family—and those in Zalzuna who'd abducted them didn't even know the storm was coming.
"We have an old friend named Jasper O'Shottie. He's ex-Coast Guard." Walter folded his hands. "He retired in Piraeus, a port city east of Athens. He has a boat that'll get a team to Zalzuna. Jasper also knows the type of people we want for the job."
"Team? What kind of people? How do we fit in?"
"This kind of operation requires people who function on the edge of society—any society. Jasper knows them. Sometimes they work in the shadows. Jasper himself has worked for Father several times, for jobs that are under the radar, so to speak. You understand?"
"Yeah, I think so. They don't have names, right?"
"Yes, but they're not criminals, either," Walter said. "At times, legit businessmen need special tasks done overseas. There's a database of people like that. Most would kill you as soon as look at you, but we can select people more qualified for this type of operation."
"Christian operatives?"
"They're out there. Like I said, we've used Jasper before. We don't have to kill the enemy to help your family."
"Dad would approve of that type of offensive."
"So would the Jamisons. If we proceed wrongly, we ruin everything they've worked for, which is to share Christ."
"I hadn't really thought of that—their testimony for Christ. All I can think about is getting Lacy out alive and unharmed. When Dad and I left your place last night, he told me we need to keep our anger in check. I think he was talking to me more than to you."
"Us geeks—we have tempers, too, you know."
A couple seconds passed before they both burst out laughing, the tension from their years apart, forgotten. They were still the boys who'd posted a stick flag on the sandy beach, promising to be comrades for life.
"Remember that time Lacy beat us both in the foot race?" Brad reminisced. "I thought you were going to box her!"
"But I didn't, did I?" Walter laughed. "You know why?"
"Because she would've boxed you back?"
"Exactly! Why do you think I became a bookworm? I have no temperament for physical exertion—or the physique for it!"
Recovering from their laughter, they both sighed.
"Man, I sure hope this trip is worthwhile, Walt. I know you're putting a lot into this."
"It's nothing, for Lacy." Walter shrugged. "Trust me—if I didn't believe this was a reasonable risk, I would've never left my doctorate party."
"What did you say?" Brad blinked several times. "Your doctorate? That's what that party was last night? It was for . . . Dr. Walter Kassviney?"
"Lacy needs us, right?" Walter turned to face a laptop. "It was just a party. Right now, we have other things to go through."
"So, what kind of doctorate did you get?" Brad asked. "I haven't even received my official high school diploma, yet!"
"Forget about it. Look." Walter pointed at the screen. "You need to familiarize yourself with the Island of Zalzuna."
"I thought we were only going to Athens and Piraeus, leaving the rest to some team you're bringing in."
"Do you want to know what's going on or not?"
Brad stood, then knelt next to Walter's seat to view the screen.
"Tell me what I'm looking at."
"This is Zalzuna, the island. Population, five thousand. The whole island is only two hundred square miles. Mykonos, a tourist hotspot, is to the southwest about twenty miles away. Zalzuna itself is over eighty miles from Piraeus, which makes for a two-hour boat ride. They speak English, Greek, and French—and some Arabic. Most of the citizens are European, but down here on the southern tip of the island, Libyan refugees have populated one of the three small cities on the volcanic rock. That town is called Sankaddan.
"The other two cities are New Manchester, here in the north, and the capital, Zalzuna, here in this eastern natural harbor."
"What's this hill here in the middle of the island?" Brad pointed at the map.
"It's a volcano, and yes, it's active—one of the few active volcanoes in the Aegean, but it usually only smokes. There are just two fresh water sources, north, and south. New Manchester and Zalzuna share the northern source, which has resulted in a number of violent skirmishes in the past. But right now, the troops in Zalzuna run the island. Most of them are Cretans. The Europeans have populated New Manchester so there's obviously a degree of ethnic controversy that hasn't been remedied by their lack of diversification."
"Talk to me about my aunt and uncle. What kind of line do you think they crossed on this island?"
"Religion is banned on the island. The Libyans are making a surge with Islam, but the Cretans are brutal and repressive, backed by Chinese, Cuban, and North Korean fascists. Without a doubt, if Sarah, Lacy, and Albert were discovered to be Christian missionaries, they've been arrested. Most people have sense enough to avoid countries like this, but there've only been rumors as to how Zalzuna treats their religious prisoners. Human rights groups graded this country with an F, same as Saudi Arabia and North Korea."
"Which is why we're expecting the worst." Brad returned to his seat. "Maybe I wouldn't mind going to that island after all. Maybe they'd like to try pushing me around."
"You're not a soldier, Brad, and they're not high school punks."
Walter held Brad's gaze until Brad looked down at the floor. He shook his head and rubbed his face with both hands.
"It's getting late. Does this seat recline?"
As Brad dropped the seat back to its horizontal position, Walter studied his laptop screen once again. He pulled up additional satellite images of the island to study the terrain and alternate approaches to the island. Zalzuna wasn't known for its tourism, so a rescue party couldn't arrive and expect to blend in. Tourists did happen upon the island, but they regretted it later.
Ten minutes later, Walter heard snoring from Brad. Closing out his research windows, he opened an email he'd already read twenty times. For someone with a photographic memory, twenty times was the most he'd ever read anything in his life:
Wally,
Gonna be in Zalzuna for about a month. Write back if you're not too busy. Sure like to catch up with you when I'm back in the States after summer.
XO
Lacy
Checking the date again, Walter confirmed she'd sent the note only one day before Brad's dad had reported a problem. Wally. She'd always called him that. But the email was Walter's secret, for now. Brad wouldn't understand, he figured. And he certainly wouldn't understand that Walter loved her. He'd always loved Lacy Jamison.
*~*
Chapter Eighteen
"Just tell us the names of the other Christians you were meeting with, Mr. Jamison," a giant bald man with a British accent said soothingly to Albert, "and we can end this pain. We won't even bother with your daughter anymore. Why would you want to hurt your daughter?"
Albert hung from a chain attached to his wrists. He was naked except for bruises and welts. His head hung forward, his chin on his chest, and his lips moved in a silent prayer. It was just pain. It would pass. He'd been saved in Christ, so the sting of death was no sting at all, but a very real taste of salvation.
A second man swung a thin broomstick at the back of Albert's legs. Before it connected, he could hear it whooshing through the air. An hour earlier, when the interrogation had begun, he'd been able to brace himself for the strikes. But he was exhausted now. The broomstick connected. His whole body rocked on the chains. Albert was certain he'd gained another welt, but that part of his legs was already numb from previous blows.
