“Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places.
Matthew 24:7
eff left Emory, Samarra on his mind; and he was grateful for the slightly cooler temperatures. The heat had been unbearable. Today hovered around a hundred. He did
think it strange that the security guard from CDC awoke from his coma within just a few minutes of Samarra’s awakening. His concern for Samarra’s and Jack’s coming ordeal was sincere, and he was thankful that they had lots of financial wealth. The legal fees would be tremendous.
Jack’s senatorial duties had pretty much been on hold since Samarra’s accident. Their son, Thomas, had been little help in locating the person, or persons, who severed his finger; nor did the young boy have a clue as to the disappearance of his nanny. She had never been located, nor had her body been found.
The new disease that was affecting citizens of many countries had been positively identified as a derivative of the 1918 Spanish Flu virus, a derivative that was only stored at the CDC in Atlanta. The modified Spanish Flu virus had been Samarra’s baby, a task she had enjoyed since the expedition to Norway to isolate the virus, just a few years earlier.
The authorities had patiently awaited Samarra’s emergence from her coma, hoping to get more specifics about the modified virus. According to data obtained from her computer at CDC, the virus appeared to be as deadly as the original, but not equally contagious.
Even so, the modified virus had infected thousands of people; and like its predecessor, it infected primarily young adults between 22 and 30. The disease had now been discovered in at least eleven countries. That information changed daily. The death toll in the forty-eight contiguous states stood at 143, but that information also changed daily.
Samarra was not tied, at this point, to the disappearance of the smallpox from USAMRIID, though she did remain a “person of interest.” Jeff figured that meant she was a suspect.
There had been no reports of smallpox in the United States; but there were cases galore in Europe, Africa and Asia. A disease that had reportedly been eradicated, smallpox raised its vicious head, bringing a plague of death and blindness with it, especially in Africa. There were great concerns within the World Food Program that the African outbreak would lead to even more famine for the impoverished continent.
Jeff glanced at the GTR’s clock and noted that it was almost 3:30. Park Place Café would be opening soon. He aimed the sports car south on I-85, toward I-285, the dreaded Perimeter. One could get killed on that sixteen-lane highway, and they too often did.
“NPR.”
The voice recognition system in the GTR changed the radio station from light jazz to the National Public Radio station in the blink of an eye.
“The war of words between Azerbaijan and Armenia is no more. The two countries are now involved in a full-fledged fighting war. The U.N. is calling for restraint. Israeli and American troops remain massed at the Iran-Azerbaijan border, as they have been for months. Israel has shown great restraint, considering the threat posed by Iran. Shots continue to be exchanged between North and South Korea.
“And then there’s this troubling news, as if we need more: The first confirmed case of HIV AIDS transmission via mosquito has occurred in Ghana. More tragedy for the African continent.
“Stay tuned for the next segment of Newshour, Keeping Nukes Out of the Hands of Terrorists. Dr. Dan Brunson from the Georgia Institute of Technology is the featured speaker.” The station went to commercial.
That caught Jeff’s interest. It was his theory that Iran already had nuclear weapons and their reported manufacturing attempts were just a guise, as they secretly purchased nuclear weapons from North Korea and Pakistan. Until recently, the rest of the world had not learned of North Korea’s expertise in the field of miniature nuclear weapons design.
Jeff daydreamed as traffic began to slow, thoughts drifting to Melissa, the twins and Audry, and the good times they once shared. He speculated again about what could have possibly gone wrong; but there were just too many reasons to ignore, mostly his stuff. It took Jeff many years to begin to recognize his baggage, his flaws. He always thought he was pretty close to the ideal man. He now reconciled with himself and knew there were many reasons Melissa left besides the church thing.
Before Melissa filed for divorce, she expressed her frustration to Jeff and said if he would start going to church maybe God would help him deal with his issues. At that time, he wondered what issues she was talking about. Now, almost four years later, he had figured out a lot of them and questioned why she hung around so long.
“…take the case of the so called briefcase nukes. United States intelligence gathering agencies, know that Ukraine lost, misplaced or sold, numerous nuclear armaments just after the fall of the Soviet Union. From the Ukraine stockpile, we know of at least 150-200 briefcase nukes that are unaccounted for and suspect that some have made their way to our borders, maybe beyond.”
Dr. Brunson paused for a question from the commentator.
“Dr. Brunson, how large is a briefcase nuke? What do these things weigh? Does it actually fit inside the standard briefcase?”
The commentator asked the three questions, taking advantage of the pause.
“Let me start with your last question first. No, a small nuclear weapon will not fit into a standard, slim briefcase. It will, however, fit into a catalog case or samples case, about twice the width of a briefcase. They will also fit in a backpack or a hollow frame, like the gutted frame of a copier or fax machine. “As for your second question, a BC nuke can weigh as little as 50-60 pounds, easily transported and disguised. The first man-portable nuclear weapons were manufactured in the 1950s and 60s under the banner, Special Atomic Demolition Munition (SADM) and were designed to be delivered by a single soldier into enemy territory to blow up dams, bridges, power plants or any large structure. These weapons were designed with a yield of 10 tons of TNT to 1000 tons, or one kiloton. The explosive power was kept small intentionally. A 1-kiloton bomb is less than ten percent as powerful as the bomb dropped on Hiroshima but powerful enough to level several city blocks. It is possible that a 2-kiloton device has been produced.
“Question one, how big is a BC nuke? The smallest that we know of is about ten inches in diameter and a foot long, like a fat hotdog; not very big, easy to hide and hard to detect with even the best radiation detectors. It takes at least 21 pounds of enriched uranium to sustain a nuclear explosion, 7 pounds for a plutonium bomb. That’s not much.”
Jeff had hoped to beat the happy hour crowd so he could have some time to talk with Abe. He eased into the right-hand lane and prepared to exit at Ashford Dunwoody Road. Traffic should not be this heavy, and he thought there must be an accident. It slowed to a crawl.
“Dr. Brunson, as a specialist in the threat of Nuclear Terrorism and as author of the book by the same name, do you believe any of these devices are in America? Do you think there may be sleeper cells already in possession of these BC nukes? How much damage could a 1-2 kiloton device cause, say in a small town like mine?”
As Jeff exited I-285 he saw the holdup. There were National Guardsmen on every corner, all armed with assault rifles, a few with the newer M-4A1s. Edging ever closer to the traffic light that would allow him entrance into the Park Place Shopping Plaza, he saw several cars and vans being searched by the uniformed and slightly intimidating Guardsmen, all dressed in standard, long-sleeve camouflage uniforms, in spite of the 98 degree temperature. Of course, 98 seemed almost like a cold spell. He looked at the Guardsmen, gave a thumbs up. The soldier didn’t smile. Was this a sign of what was to come?
“There is no evidence that any of these devices have made their way across the U.S. borders. They’re most likely P.O.E. would be the ports, and...” The commentator interrupted.
“Can you define P.O.E., Dr. Brunson, for our listeners?
Sorry to interrupt.”
“Point of Entry. The borders are vulnerable for the transfer of weapons, especially the southern border. However, only 10 to 15 percent of cargo containers arriving at our ports are searched or checked for radiation, though these devices as I mentioned, emit only small amounts of radiation in their non- exploded state. Prior to the presidency of George Bush, the last Bush, less than 1% of the arriving cargo was actually inspected.
Of course, the increased rate of inspection was very costly to maintain, and still is. A lot of money has been spent since nine- eleven. While we agonize over the economy, we must remember that the investment has been necessary.
“So, to answer your first two questions, yes it is feasible that these BC nuke devices are within our borders, and likely with cell groups; but we have no evidence. If so, there shouldn’t be many, according to intelligence. Of course, one is too many.”
Dan Brunson was troubled with that particular intelligence, as the real evidence, the classified data, said otherwise.
“Question three, how much damage could such a device cause in a small town, or a large town for that matter.”
Jeff pulled into a parking space at the far end of the parking lot. Before he pressed the stop button to turn off the engine, Jeff spoke, “Record Program.”
“Thank you Mr. Ross.” The car spoke back.
Leaving his car well away from others, Jeff would be able to listen to the rest of the Newshour program on the way home. The digital recorder would disengage when the program ended at 5:00. He loved his GTR. He walked into the bar at exactly 4:01 P.M., and Abe was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey Mr. Ross. Abe’s in the back and will be right out. He saw you coming and went to the wine cellar to get your Duckhorn. Do you really know Mr. Duckhorn?”
Jeff recognized the waitress as new; but he did not remember her name, so he just called her Sweetie. He smiled at the memory of that night a couple of years earlier when daughter Audry asked him why he called everyone Sweetie.
“Well it seems to be a nice thing to do,” he told her. “The girls seem to like it.”
“Dad, you do it because you can’t remember their names. That memory’s not what it used to be Dad. You’re getting old.
You get discounts at Kroger, for Pete’s sake.” She repeated the term so often used by her father. Out of the mouths of babes.
“Here you go.” Abe set the slightly chilled merlot on the bar in front of Jeff.
“Thanks. Cheers.” He toasted Abe. “So what did Pamela want to discuss this morning? I see you still have your job. I thought she might finally be getting us a good lookin’ babe bartender, instead of, well, you know…”
“You wish. Well, it looks like I may become a Duluth resident. Pamela just bought the new club that’s opening on The Towne Square, The Divide. She wants me to manage it.”
“That is way too cool.” Jeff and Abe shared a double-fist bump. “What’s she going to do with Park Place?”
“Not sure. It’s not making the money it used to before the bombings last spring. Now, between all these religious fanatic end-of-the-world groupies and the National Guard everywhere, I would be surprised if she doesn’t sell.”
“So when is The Divide opening? It’s a great location by the way. I’ve felt for years that downtown needs some sort of night life. There needs to be some energy.”
Jeff had been preaching for a place on the Square where folks could socialize without having to drive to Roswell or Alpharetta. He never thought it would happen because of the police presence, but it looked like it was soon to be a reality. The Duluth police ran a tight ship and were well respected by the other cities that made up Gwinnett County.
“The week after Labor Day is the soft opening, at least that’s the plan. We’ll kind of practice for a week, have a few party events and work out the kinks. I want everything to go smoothly from the start.”
She walked up behind Jeff and planted a kiss on his left cheek, the five o’clock shadow just beginning to show.
“Hey Mr. Jeffrey Ross.” It was Pamela MacLott, the owner and proprietor-to-be.
“Hey Pam. I just heard you’re taking my favorite Dunwoody bartender away.”
“I am, but it just means you won’t have to drive near as far to see him. That should be a lot safer for all those people on I-285. No more Jeff Andretti zooming down the road. Abe told me he was going to help you get some religion. I told him, ‘That’ll be the day.’”
Pam turned to greet another regular.
“Put Jeff’s tab on the house tonight Abe. As a matter of fact, put everybody’s tab on the house tonight.”
Pam would be selling or closing Park Place soon, so she might as well pamper her following. Maybe they would follow her all the way to Duluth.
“Why did you name your new spot The Divide instead of The Eastern Divide?”
“The sign’s a lot cheaper!” She chuckled. “I talked with Chris MacGahee, do you know him?” Pam figured Jeff knew everyone in Duluth.
“I do know him. Real nice guy. He designed the Eastern Divide Monument that’s in front of the new city hall and had all the drainage grates painted, green for the Atlantic side and blue for the Gulf.”
“You are absolutely correct Mr. Ross, as usual.” She winked. “The club actually straddles the Eastern Divide. All the water from the kitchen actually flows to the Atlantic Ocean and all the water from the restroom facilities flows to the Gulf of Mexico.”
The thought of sewage floating to the Gulf of Mexico stirred a little laugh among the three. What’s a little more nastiness for the Gulf going to hurt after all that oil?
“I met with Chris and with the City. Chris is going to help with our opening promo by having a big kickoff for the dedication of the monument. News cameras, reporters, radio stations, fireworks, you name it.” Pam seemed in rare form. “Be the most excitement since the Runaway Bride fiasco.”
“What kind of club will it be? Will it be all news channels like Park Place?” Jeff hoped so. There were just too many sports bars already.
“It’s going to have twenty flatscreens, all tuned to the news. Real news, not Entertainment Tonight news. The motif is ‘70s Disco. It’s time for a comeback! Glass dance floor, fog and lights, and a DJ playing the best of Disco. You will like! Donna Summers singing Bad Girls just for you.”
Jeff knew he would like because he was a lover of the old disco tunes. The music was upbeat, not a lot of talk about sex, drugs and divorce, just happy music. It would be great for the downtown area, he was sure.
Pam excused herself and went to her office. Her apparent happiness just camouflaged her sadness, because she knew the closing of Park Place would cause much dismay for the regulars who had visited for decades.
Pamela MacLott had owned Park Place Café for just two years, buying it when it went on the block like so many other businesses did in the falling and failing economic environment at the time. She was hesitant to buy a bar, it seemed to go against her Christian leanings; but she was hearing a lot about Park Place from her girlfriends who were divorced, or widowed. They liked it, said it didn’t have the decadence-factor of so many other bars, it wasn’t dingy and smoky. Not really a “meat market.”
Pam visited PPC to make her own assessment. She had been barhopping many times a few years back, before marriage, before Christianity. She prayed earnestly about it before making the visit, hoping that the Good Lord would forgive her for considering this bar owning possibility, but at the same time wondering if he was presenting her with a new chapter in her Book of Life.
The Good Lord had certainly sent blessings her way, she felt; and she could afford to buy Park Place from the funds in her Piggy Bank, a million dollars just a drop in her bountiful bucket. Her husband had been such a blessing too, and she felt guilty at first about the whole bar owner concept.
Pam found the bar dark but not dingy, no smoking; but by the time midnight rolled around, she did note a certain decadence- factor, like the stripper wannabes dancing on the black Grand piano.
The next morning, Pam sat straight up in bed and stated to no one in particular, “I’m going to do it!”
“What’s the matter, hon?” Jim sat up too. Pam didn’t usually get up before daybreak.
“Jim, I had the strangest dream. You know I’ve been agonizing over this club deal. My friends want me to buy Park Place so it will stay open.”
“Couldn’t help but notice.” Jim had seen the indecision. “What changed your mind? This morning when you got home, you said absolutely not.”
“I know this sounds nutty, maybe a little neurotic; but I had a dream. In the dream, I walked into Park Place, the girls dancing on the piano, and across the bar, it’s circular, there was a man who was drinking coffee. He looked up at me, and Jim, he asked me to come over. He never moved his lips, but I heard him. It didn’t seem like a dream at the time, though it seemed dreamy. Know what I mean?
“Not really.”
“No one seemed to notice him, only me. I swear, he looked like Jesus, you know? At least from the way he has always looked in pictures and movies. He was just sitting there in a linen garment, shoulder-length hair, having a cup of coffee.
“I walked over to him, and he looked at me, never moved his lips; but I could hear his thoughts.”
“What a dream, my dear. What did he think to you?” Jim took her seriously, Pam was always serious, and tried not to be aloof though he thought the whole thing to be a little strange.
“He said, ‘Pamela, it’s the sick who need a doctor, not the healthy. Don’t take the easy route by saving the saved. Go after the sick,’ and then he disappeared. So I’m going to buy it!” And she did.
The first thing Pamela did to improve Park Place was establish piano dancing rules. She didn’t mind if the ladies danced on the piano, a tradition, but the undies could not show; and if they did, the lady would be escorted off the property. Next she installed several flatscreen televisions, each programmed to a different news channel, including CNN, MSNBC, FOX, Aljazeera English, BBC and local stations.
The Divide would have the same rules, and the black Grande piano would adorn the lower level, just like it had adorned Park Place for so many years.
Abe grabbed the Duckhorn, and the night crowd grew.
“So, did you buy the books I told you to buy this morning?” Abe asked the question as he poured Jeff another glass of merlot.
“Nope, not yet; but I will tomorrow I promise. Talk to me.”
“First, if you want a Cliffsnotes version of the Bible, at least my version, there have to be some ground rules:
“First, you have to assume that what I tell you is true. “Second, you have to assume the devil, also known as Satan, Lucifer and Beelzebub, is a reality. He is identified in the very first book of the Bible and Torah, first sentence of the third chapter.
“Finally, you have to do your own research and form your own opinions. I will be expressing my views and opinions. God has not spoken to me, no angel has given me a revelation of any kind, it is just my opinion. Every single preacher, rabbi and cleric has their opinions; and some actually believe their opinions are factually 100% accurate. No one except God is 100% correct.
“With me so far?” Jeff shook his head, yes.
“Oh yeah, also please try to confine your interruptions. If you have a question, hang on a minute. I might answer it.”
Then Park Place Café disappeared. Or so it seemed.
As if standing in quicksand, Jeff and Abe sank at the same time, choreographing their own ballet of disappearance to the basement below, as the floor began to shake violently and the air filled with dust and broken glass. A homegrown suicide bomber in an old Volvo loaded with a fertilizer bomb intended to target the heavy National Guard presence, and he or she was successful. The destruction of most of the Park Place Shopping Plaza was a byproduct of the terrorist’s evil design.
Park Place Café had been in business twenty-three years and two days. The tall blonde in the short black dress had entered Park Place Café a minute before the suicide bomber ignited himself in a ball of fire and fury, and her black high-heel shoes were all that could be seen under the rubble.
The bomber who believed he was going to heaven with 72 virgins, or maybe it would be 72 Chippendales dancers if the bomber was of a different gender, was most likely making the journey to Hell.