CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
General Koster had attended many meetings of magnitude throughout his illustrious military career. All taking place in wing seven of the Pentagon, allotted for the United States Army. If a subordinate had summoned him, he would have stayed on his home turf. Instead, he sat in wing four, at a meeting organized by a man levels above the norm.
Spotting a beautiful crucifix on the dominant wall brought immediate comfort. Thirty inches high, the artist etched Jesus to perfection: emaciated body tensed, muscles straining, face calm, turned to the side, accepting His necessary sacrifice; a life Koster related to.
Nearly as fabled as the oval office, the drama that unfolded within the Pentagon often covered a wider spectrum with less civility and greater consequences. The meeting rooms throughout acted as refineries for a majority of the crucial talks presented to the President. When taking all five floors into account, the Pentagon had seventeen-point-three miles of wide, marbled hallways. That made it over a hundred times the square footage of the White House, allowing it to offer ten times the situation rooms, and proportionately more problems. With the current global strife, he expected this meeting to center around an immensity.
The stocky man in the gray suit introduced himself as Carter, but Koster had seen the Man of Gray before; ten years back, talking with a now retired, two-star Major General—the very man Koster replaced. Yet his friend of two decades had become quite stiff when pressed as to both the identity of the short man in the restricted area, and the reason for his presence.
Over the years, Koster had heard about the Man of Gray (under different names) heading strange projects. One employed mind-control using intestinal bacteria and some form of communication with them. Another where he headed a department that mixed hypnotic and mentalist fundamentals to create a form of persuasion capable of being administered within a handful or words, granting access to a person’s belief system. No one could hack Koster’s belief system. The world was black and white. No gray. No mercy.
Koster found the above experiments more legitimate than the common, “he worked with aliens” angle. He knew enough about physics and the vastness of space to know the impossibility of leisure travel between galaxies. Excluding worm-hole technology, if little gray men scoured the cosmos, and found life, like shipwrecked sailors suffering from exposure, they would make contact and hope for the best.
The Man in Gray dimmed the lights as if about to show a video. But with no screen present, Koster figured it a ploy to hide his identity, or to insert discomfort. A few of Koster’s peers gripped about the lights affecting their vision, but to their chagrin, were ignored, which started this meeting on a clubfoot.
These men and women worked hard and were entitled to respect. Particularly from a man with a nickname, who, through some unorthodox means, sat higher than them on the chain of command.
As the Man in Gray started his sermon, Koster surveyed the room. To his left: Nadine Dewind, assistant to Terry Eding, head of the CIA; Brandon Palmer, presidential advisor; Jim Standly, FBI; Jeff VanNoord, NSA; Colonel Stafford; and one-star General Onaki from the Air Force.
Koster couldn’t quite put his finger on the common denominator linking these people, but one existed, because Koster normally disliked people, but he respected all present.
The Man in Gray promised monumental intelligence. A few sentences proved his merit. Koster listened for the subtext—the meaning beneath it all. He’d use that to determine his level of interest, involvement, and dedication.
“Gentlemen,” The man in Gray said, drawing the info dump portion to a close. “I’ve brought you up to speed, and now, there is much to do and little time.” He remained at the head of the table as he spoke. “You’re all soldiers of faith. God’s warriors. These troubling times grant us an opportunity to serve.”
Koster flushed as the room’s link hit him: Christian faith. Brandon Palmer even attended his church.
Behind these walls, he followed the ongoing developments of the Lobby as a representative of the United States Military—keeping his opinions to himself. He had listened to the media discuss the aspect of the Lobby stealing souls. Sickening bullshit. Seething internally, he’d focused on his duty.
However, religious undertones had crept into recent conversations. Judging from the glares in the room; the two people he saw kiss the crosses around their necks; the one man who dropped into prayer; these members had serious—willing to die for—opinions on the subject.
“We have an enemy I won’t name,” the Man in Gray said. “Things are progressing rapidly, attempting to catch us off guard. Your commitment will keep us abreast of evil intentions. Lean on your faith. Listen to your hearts. You will find that everyday citizens are willing to pay the ultimate price to mitigate this blasphemy. What I intend to outline for those of you willing to help is of a delicate nature, but its question will be the same: in this dire hour, will you use your appointments to heed God’s call?”
He let a moment pass in silence, then continued, “There are countries openly refusing to comply with the ban on the Lobby. Right now, Inside Today is airing. Rebecca Trevino will be reviewing the events of the past week, captivating the world as usual. Yet, it is tomorrow’s special edition that will rock the fabric of society and ignite a controversy to divide the globe.”
Koster found the way the man stayed ramrod stiff, unnerving. His voice hardly fluctuated, yet his intensity rocked a ten. Perhaps those voice control rumor had merit. As the Man in Gray droned on, Koster wanted to interrupt, to tell him he didn’t need to hear any more spin. Tell me what to do and it’s done.
“Tomorrow night’s program will expose the Death Trips operating in all four of the Japanese Atriums. It will also show evidence that Russia, China, and India are providing Death Trips.”
General Koster’s back stiffened at the naming of countries, especially as if they were aligning against the United States. That particular step preceded building a case for military action.
Koster, along with everyone in this room, understood no government held the authority to enforce the ban on the Lobby globally. America intended to try all the same.
Koster would back whatever country decided to act. Suicides must be stopped. The desecration of religious beliefs, intolerable; regardless of their geographic location. The people in this room could spurn military action. And all present were aware if they didn’t mesh church and state and radicalize, it might soon be someone they loved falling victim to the madness.
The citizens of this planet needed a voice of reason, a guiding light, not some man from across the sea speaking about a Seventh Plane of Existence and every person’s right to die.
Thankfully, others supported his philosophy. An estimated one point six billion Christians populated the world, with Muslims matching that number.
The amount of Fahtwas issued against each Atrium, and a prominent employee of the Broumgard Group, had grown too numerous to count. Millions of Islamic people swore their lives to destroying the Lobby, and despite every inclination he’d ever had about the nutty jihadists, Koster found pride in their conviction.
One hundred percent of his Christian brothers might not fervently rally, many would. Clandestine talks of taking action in their own hands—pure treason—populated the military and government. They increased daily. Now this, an open meeting in a U.S. facility. Koster’s heart knocked. Count me in.
“Japan has been gathering allies,” the Man in Gray continued. “Demarcations are being drawn. Countries with no Godly ties are uniting to impose their Atheism or Buddhism or Hindu falsity on the world. Fourteen nations are putting aside old grudges, coming together.”
The Man in Gray motioned to Jeff VanNoord, the presidential advisor. “Our commander in chief is securing his own allies. Christian and Muslim nations are sitting at the same table without animosity for the first time in modern history. Unified in their determination to stop the spread of the warped Buddhism and to eradicate this blasphemous concept of suicide as an accomplishment.”
The Man in Gray stepped to the side and, using a cell-phone as a projector, cast an image on the wall. “I’ve edited a probable copy of tomorrow night’s episode of Inside Today. In this struggle to avoid the End of Days, I expect your loyalty above all else. I have thirty years of across-the-board clearance, and am one of the few men on our planet who has overseen projects at Sci-deck, Area 51, as well as every bio and nanite technology none of you will ever hear about. I pray you will accept my self-edification. If you do, then hear these words: there is a God. He possesses a form of lethargic emotions. He rewards those who do more than vocalize their sympathies. Once you know this as surely as I do, nothing else matters.
“I will call on each of you to act in His defense. Your response will mold the eternity you spend floating in the paradoxical single-entitied vastness, know to us as the universe; a place of unlimited joys or torments, where all will reside until the rejoining; a time when the chosen will know the absolute bliss of God’s love until the new birth, trillions of years from now, that ends existence for us all.”
A cold numbness traced Koster’s spine. The man’s words didn’t totally compute, and Koster wouldn’t ask him to elaborate. The Man in Gray’s simple confidence left an imperceptible presence in him, as if what he heard stirred dormant understanding embedded in his DNA.
“This video will be shown to the world tomorrow. Imagine the impending problems. Ask yourself if they merit your involvement.” The Man in Gray activated his phone, strolled to the door, and, after a survey of the attendants, exited.
Koster didn’t want to watch a video. He wanted to behead in infidel.