I Am the Eagle

By Arogun Olayinka

It all begins when an American Historian vanishes into thin air, on LIVE international TV. Sparking off an investigation; originating within the confinesof, the Federal Bureau of Investigations, of the United States of America;traversing the world. Exposing a plot, so diabolically sinister, as to threaten, not just existence as a whole but, reality, as we know it; extending to the farthest reaches of the earth; redefining the very essence of humanity.

A rich talented genius; He already has everything and, anything, any man might desire or, hope to accomplish still feels the need to prove himself! He is of the opinion that a hero was only as powerful as the strongest villian he ever vanquished. In a quest to prove himself ultimately the best, he decieded to square off against the best of the best.

You don't do any better than THE LORD ALMIGHTY HIMSELF!

He sets aside to recreate the original language that was lost at Babel. The language he surmised held the very power of creation.

The one time the LORD'S sovereignty was challenged, was contained by a confusion of tongues.

He has found a way of reversing that!

Once again the very sovereignty of the MOST HIGH is challenged by, a puny human

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463428129

Arogun Olayinka

Arogun Olayinka is the Publisher/ Editor of Showbuzz Nigeria Magazine; and resides in Abuja; where he is employed by, The Federal Capital Territory Development Authority, Secondary Education Board, as a Physics Teacher, stationed at Government Girls Secondary School Abaji. He is a graduate of Agricultural Engineering Department, Ahmadu Bello University Zaria, Kaduna, Nigeria, West Africa; He hails from the little village of Ogbom, Yagba East Local Government Area, of Kogi State. The second son of Late Mr. J. O Arogun, of Federal Department of Agriculture Abuja and, Deaconess V. O Arogun, of God Will Do It Ministries Abuja; His siblings are, Adebola Arojesu, of Power Holding Company Nigeria, Ilorin, Kwara State, Omofaiye Olatokumbo Arogun, who resides in Dallas Texas USA, Tope Abayomi Daniel of Yantech Services FCT Abuja and, Iyabode Temitope Pele of Manchester City, England, UK.

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CHAPTER ONE

CHIEF

Special Agent Lauder Craftfield sighed, looking across his office; this was just the kind of assignment he needed, why did he have to get the spooky stuff? He hadn’t caught it on air, but he was sure, there must be a logical explanation. People don’t just vanish into thin air. Whoever pulled the stunt, did it live, on international television, this has gotten the president worried; when the president gets worried, the director gets worried, and that means problems for him.

So here it was on his desk; his problems were his unit’s problems, the sooner they got here, the better.

Daddy, someone just disappeared on live TV, he could still hear Wynona’s voice ringing in his ears. His first thoughts were . . ., actually his mind went blank. His daughter, though only seven, was very real and practical, a bit too practical for her age. She was definitely not given to visions and, illusions of grandeur, if she says

Daddy, someone just vanished on live TV, then, Daddy, someone just vanished on live TV. The problem was, people don’t just vanish at all, how much more, on live TV, CNN of all channels. That was why those statements’ coming from those lips, were a contradiction all on its own.

Hence, it struck him as no surprise to receive, the two phone calls, that invariably succeeded such an occurrence. He used to wager on which would precede the other, this time, Cathy had won. ‘Cathy’, the name he only called her in the privacy of his thoughts.

Special Agent Catherine Stage; delicate, attractive Cathy, maybe, if he were ten years younger, and single . . ., that were neither here, nor there, he was neither young nor, single, quite on the contrary, he was married, happily married at that.

Angie; the epitome of sweetness, his one and only, his jewel of inestimable value; he hasn’t, and would never, regret the day he made up his mind to acquire, and, christen her, ‘his most prized possession’.

All this aside, he was of the opinion that, of all the fundamental human rights, the most fundamental of them all, was the right to dream. The world, if you allowed it, would take everything else from you, but the right to dream was altogether inaccessible, hence ever so often, he afforded himself, a dream, or two, and his favorite involved, him and Cathy, in another place, at another time.

Of his four member unit, she was the most practical of them all. She and Wynona were definitely kindred spirits; she was the anchor of the unit, providing for the balance that kept them grounded and, down to earth. The others were definitely equipped with greater a sense of imagination.

When all was said and done, she too was accorded her own portion of fantasies. There must be credence to the saying ‘good girls are more often than not attracted to bad boys’, for he knew, as sure as he knew anything, the most prominent object of her fantasies was none other than, Special Agent Brad Camry, the hunk of the unit.

The ladies adored him, and he welcomed them with open arms, all of them, that is, except for Cathy; no one ever said anything, but it was all too obvious. Many a time, he had caught that look in her eyes, that went far beyond the bonds of camaraderie, past the realms of friendship, even bypassing that of lust, passion, and or, affection but embedded in the deep trenches and realms of love, heartfelt love. Cathy in her scintillating sensual voice had called and said

Chief, did you catch what happened on live TV. No he hadn’t, but Angie had filled him in, right after Wynona’s declaration, hence he felt quite confident in replying.

Yeah

Well what do you think? asked Cathy.

I’d say we’d better assemble the unit

Have you heard from the director?

No, but . . ., what do you know, that must be him right now, for she most definitely had heard the beep that heralded the call coming through.

Tomorrow, Catherine.

Bye Chief

Craftfield, the director barked into his ear,

See me ASAP. He had seen him and, here he was three minutes to eight waiting on his unit. Their entrance was as predictable as clockwork. In a minutes time Cathy would come waltzing in, right on her on heels would be none other than Saint Saintless, for together, they were always two minutes early, and exactly four minutes later, Brad would come trudging in, he was always two minutes late, which was somewhat understandable, taking into account the fact that he couldn’t have gotten much sleep all night.

Even he could not keep up with the names, as the broad’s changed in complexion, hair color, eye color and stature. Hope he is aware of the AIDS epidemic.

Morning Chief, Cathy said interrupting his thought process as she glided in, as on a layer of thin air.

Morning Chief said Special Agent Chris Jacobean a. k. a Saint Saintless.

Hun grunted the Chief.

As would be expected, Saintless had the coffee, each after everyone’s taste, espresso for Chief, de-cafe for Cathy, regular for himself and, black for Brad, who trudged in, with one minute to spare.

Someone must have had an early night, Cathy said.

From my time I seem to be a minute late Brad said, taking his coffee.

Hey, we all know that for you, a minute late is a minute too soon . . . Saintless chipped in,

 . . . Ain’t that right Chief he said, turning to the Chief for fatherly support.

Hun grunted Chief, knowing very well that any, and every iota of predictability, accorded his unit, terminates at this juncture, from here on out, anything goes.

I guess you are all aware of yesterday’s fiasco, which leaves on us, the inevitable burden of ascertaining what really went down

With all due respect, Chief . . . ? Have you considered the possibility that we do, know what did go down?

Well enlighten us Chris.

The possibility that he did, just vanish,

And where would that possibly, be coming from, Chief inquired, not a little bewildered.

Where do you think Chief, interjected Brad,

Have you forgotten why he is called Saint Saintless?

Come on Brad, don’t start.

No, no Chief, he has a point, the Good Book tells us that at the last days such wonders shall occur.

People vanishing on live TV? asked Cathy,

. . . What chapter? What verse?

Well interjected Chief, restoring order, to the chaos, that was beginning to unfold,

It is in our job to consider all possibilities, including the spiritual, but at this time, let us try to exhaust the more earthly possibilities, shall we? They all nodded in agreement.

With that he opened the file,

"Catherine, you check out his house, Brad, you take the office, Chris the museum and I’ll take CNN, as usual be thorough and, in as much as, Chris’ suggestion holds some merit, somehow I don’t think we are ready for Armageddon just yet!

CHAPTER TWO

Coming out of CNN, Chief was only more miffed than when he went in. If at all such were possible. He had no idea exactly what he had expected, only that it, definitely was not what he got; he was unable to meet with any of the crew that actually witnessed the fiasco. The camera crew was in therapy, the engineer was in a coma, the anchor, called in sick. All things considered, whatever might have gone down, the CNN crew was certainly convinced that they saw what they saw, and had the psychological trauma to prove it. What he was able to secure, was an original copy of the tape, which he hoped, digital forensics would be able to dissect and, analyze and, come up with some kind of logical explanation.

His next port of call was the house of the anchorman, whom seemed to have been the strongest of them all; Chief was hoping that at least he should be able to shed some light into the, increasingly darkening tunnel.

* * *

BRAD

As Brad shuffled through the papers in the files on Dr. Rushmore’s desk, he had no idea what he was searching for, Chief had asked them to be thorough, and thorough was what he intended to be, but even as he went about this arduous task, he could not but stop his mind from wandering towards Cathy. Good old’ Cathy, his unicorn, the one girl that he must have, but could not afford to take. It wasn’t that he doubted his emotions for her; he knew it was ever wit, as intense as, that which she had for him.

It was just not that simple; sometimes two plus two, was more than just four. Dates come and go but that which he felt for Cathy could, by no means, be ephemeral, transient or, shallow.

It was general knowledge that he did not lack dames to grace his, insatiable appetite, what was not generally known was, underneath the well fronted playboy persona, was an ever shadowed, but deep rooted, yearning for a more intense fulfilling relationship, a yearning which he had, somewhat subconsciously, vowed never to allow see the light of day.

And what was it that his math’s teacher used to say,

‘mathematics is to be studied for mathematics sake, to study its application, was to corrupt it’s beauty’, he had no intention of corrupting that which transpired between him and his seemingly, only true love, an emotion he felt from the very first time he had set eyes on her, and from the faraway look in her eyes, he was all too aware, that she felt it too…

‘This looks like the keys to some kind of safe deposit box’, he mumbled under his breath, recovering a key carefully concealed at the bottom of the drawer,

‘Now we’re getting somewhere’.

* * *

SAINTLESS

Coming out of the museum, Saintless wondered, ‘what next?’, he was well aware, that the Chief’s directives were, to keep their minds, down to earth but, he had been bombarded with a series of teachings on the end times, close of age, the rapture, the anti-Christ, Armageddon, and apocalypse, that it would strike him as no surprise, if the surveillance disk, he retrieved from security, checked out alright at the lab.

The security Chief himself, was still very much shaken, over the whole situation, in spite of the fact that, he viewed the proceedings from the comforts of his post, by reason of close circuit monitors. Saintless had hoped for a different perspective, as against the rest of the world, that viewed it, via satellite on CNN, he had the luxury of viewing it from four different angles, and all the angles indicated that the man disappeared. Even magic palace operated with only a limited number of cameras angles.

* * *

CATHY

Do you have any idea whom it might have been? Cathy asked Mrs. Rushmore, they had been speaking for half an hour, getting nowhere fast. Amidst several shots of bourbon, laced with cigarette, she had recounted how, somehow, it all had to do with that woman, her husband was seeing; her dear hubby was yet alive and well but, for how long she was not sure; what she wanted to know was, what the Feds, were doing about it?

How the hell would I know, was her curt response,

‘This is going to be a long day’, Cathy thought as, she heaved a heavy sigh.

* * *

CHIEF

How has the day been? Angie asked Chief, as her husband dined her, at their favorite spot. They, as much as it were possible, in accordance with the flexibility or, rigidity of, their schedules, kept their lunch dates, to rewind and, generally bask in the warmth of each other’s presence. Staring into her eyes, he thought of how he could lose himself, in the endless expanse that they defined; he could literarily feel every stress, the bureau and, the world at large, had caused him, shimmer away, none of it could survive the warmth they emanated.

Eight years of marriage had done nothing to diminish the intensity and, bliss of that, which existed between them. If anything, it had only strengthened it. In fact, if this trend continued for the next eight years, even death would be powerless in its separating wiles.

Well, so far so good . . . was his tactful reply.

 . . . I’m still waiting on the reports from the lab,

What do you suppose it would prove Ordinarily, he would have shrugged such a question with a

we’ll wait and see, but he knew very well where that particular question was coming from; they were both well aware of his uncanny knack of, all but peering into the future, by his inexplicable but, no to be ignored, instincts; nothing short of E.S.P. Be it natural or metaphysical, there was no disputing the fact that, it has saved his life and, that of others, more often than he cared to recount. It has also gotten him into, as much trouble, as it has gotten him out of. Angie often said ‘the only thing he did better than getting into trouble, was getting out’, which went a long way in explaining why, he had done so well in his line of work, that strives on chaos and confusion.

Hopefully, the boys at the lab will come up with some sort of explanation . . . . The words had scarcely departed his lips than, the inclination of her, immaculately fashioned cranium, which said volumes, only eight years of marriage could comprehend, which at this juncture was asking ‘who are you fooling?’

 . . . But somehow I doubt it was his answer to her unasked question.

* * *

BRAD

As Brad waited for Cybil to place her order, he pondered on the morning’s proceedings. Going through Rushmore’s office, revealed nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that held any iota of explanation, as regards last night’s fiasco, or in any way linked him to any form of terrorist activity.

The very fact that no one has mentioned it, only served to re-emphasize the general thought, that the enemies of America are, somewhat invariably, behind whatever it was, that went down; why it has thus far, remained un-discussed was, by no means, farfetched.

Tracking down suicide bombers might be tedious but, it’s by all means, doable; their means and, methods of attack, is familiar to us, as well as, their motives, and possibly, their identity; leaving us, primarily the burden of proof and, apprehension; not necessarily in that order.

What if they had somehow, gotten their hands on something that America, has no inkling on? And the Rushmore scenario was just some kind of test run? Or worst still, what if it had been perfected and Rushmore was just the first victim? If so, why him . . . ?

Was it he or, the fact that he, being on live international TV, a way of telling America, and the world, ‘look what we’ve got’, if so then God help us all

Brad, Cybil’s gentle voice, intruded his thoughts, as she signaled the waiter,

‘I guess she is ready to order . . .’ Brad mumbled to himself

‘ . . . it’s about time’.

CHAPTER THREE

SAINTLESS

Whazzup!!!! echoed Mortimer and, Saintless in unison, as they shared, a hearty bear hug; which never failed to indicate how happy they were to see each other. Mortimer; Saintless’s elder brother, was a used car salesman and, from the nature and expanse of cars that lined up his lot, a damned good one at that. At another time, things could have been better, but then it could as easily have been worse; considering the mountains and, valleys that have plagued their paths.

How are things in ‘Spooks Ville’? Mortimer wanted to know, as he grabbed his younger brother, in a vice like, headlock; a relic from the raggedy street life, from which they both hailed; the streets that had, all but claimed, their lives.

From that very familiar vantage point Saintless couldn’t help but view the scars; scars, the bitter reminder of the years of drugs and needles, that prelude years in the slammer, and at rehab.

As spooky as ever replied Saintless, positioning his left leg behind his brother heels, in a ploy to trip him. A couple of years back, such a maneuver would have been attempted in futility but, time in the slammer and, rehab had obviously softened the one, whom was once, ‘The lord of the Streets’, or so Saintless thought. All the years of FBI training and practice didn’t even begin to prepare him for the side step and, flip that followed his thwarted efforts, bringing him and his FBI behind, crashing to the ground.

What are they teaching you at that place? Mortimer inquired, amidst bouts of laughter; they were both sprawled down on the floor basking, in the warmth of each other’s presence,

What’s for lunch? Saintless asked in mocked frustration.

* * *

CATHY

Nice to see you again, ma’am said the doorman of ‘Sedrick and Ram’ as he opened the door. Cathy glided in, oblivious of the nods and looks of approval she had invariably grown accustomed to. As she made her way across the lobby to the elevator, holding up the elevator door, was none other than Shane.

Cathy he chimed as they shared a hearty hug.

Shane had been a pillar for Carmen and Cathy, at the wake of the ‘September 11’ tragedy,

How’s the world of litigation going? she inquired as the elevator made its way to the eleventh floor, where Carmen awaited their arrival,

You know what they say, ‘catch ‘em and hack ‘em’ hey you wouldn’t by any chance be on the Rushmore case, would you?

By every chance she replied as they made their way out the elevator, to Carmen’s office.

Come on in boomed Carmen even before they touched the door; gradually gaining his zest and, vitality, which had taken a dive, at the loss of Henrietta. Henrietta, good old Henry; it’s funny how you never appreciate something until you lose it.

At first, Cathy and Henry could not so much as stand each other; the only thing they had in common was Carmen. That they both loved him dearly was by no means, in dispute, but that was as far as any form of commonality went. Underneath the inherent disdain that arraigned their comradeship, was the subtle but, irrevocable knowledge that someday, they had to get their acts together, for the last thing either of them wanted, was to put any undue strain, on their common love. Cathy had often questioned herself; why was it that she and Henry were always at daggers drawn? Surely it must be that air of arrogance that defined her composure? But deep down inside her, heart of hearts, she wondered if the reason was a bit closer to home.

Prior to the advent of Henry, all they had was each other; losing their folks at a tender age, only served to reinforce the bond that was already steadfast, they hence shared everything; dreams and aspirations, fears and failures, peaks and lowlands as well as the plains. Notably among the peaks was Carmen’s graduation, top of his class, from law school, this had earned him a place at ‘Sedrick and Ram’, ‘the golden fleece’ of all the law students. Another was Cathy’s triumph, in making the Bureau.

The lowest of the lowlands was the loss of Henry, at the World Trade Center, in the 9/11 terror attack.

Carmen was so devastated, it was like part of him, went down with the Twin Towers. As always, the only person he could turn to, to find solace and comfort was, of course, Cathy, or so they thought. It was then that Shane had shown his worth, as a friend and, a pillar, a retaining wall, that helped stem the, spillway of misery that encompassed them.

Though such was a loss from which one could never fully recover, they realized that at least they could move on, for who knew what the future holds?

* * *

CHIEF

Is everything satisfactory the stewardess inquired, flashing her, air hostess smile that comes with the job

Quite retorted Chief in his equally professional FBI demeanor, sighing as he eased back, bracing himself for the flight, which he had embarked. He could not help but ponder, the extra security measures that were set in place, at the wake of, the 9/11, at all airports. He could not help but to view it as, a one up, for the terrorist; some argued that the main mark of terrorism was not, so much on, the victims, than the survivors; not so much on those that are annihilated, by the direct consequences of their actions, even though it’s significance on them, cannot be over emphasized, but rather, the imprint it leaves on the surviving populace.

The terrorist target is not anyone in particular, not even a group, in general but an idea; the dream of a free, capitalist and, democratic world, the American way. As much as, we owe it to ourselves to protect what we have, after all whatever is worth living for, should also be worth dying for; but the extra hassles one has to endure, just to board a commuting plane, something that, up till now, was but a stroll in the park, seems only to stem that liberty. Which is the cornerstone of, the American way of life, thus the, one up, for the terrorist.

Any which way, that is one for the policy makers, his job is, to enforce the policies that have been made, hence his flight to California, to the humble abode of Mr. and Mrs. Pen, the enlisted party as, next of kin to, Dr. Peter Rushmore. The results at forensics were inconclusive, hence, right now, any information could only shed light to this dark mystery which, if anything, appears to be pervading, in darkness, as the time, and facts go by.

Knowing very well, the distinction between facts and truth, but if you got enough facts, the truth invariably shows up. The truth that should explain this disappearing act, that’s making ‘Harry Houdini’ look bad.

Angie had dropped him off, at the airport, right after lunch; by now, she must have picked Wynona from, ‘The Tanners’, and headed home.

If ever he needed inspiration in performing his duties, all he had to do was, look up to his wife and kid, and up comes fulfillment for playing his part to ensure the safety of America and Americans. And the sooner he clears this Rushmore issue, the safer America would be.

* * *

BRAD

UN headquarters Brad said to the cab driver, he was making his way from the airport, following up on his investigation.

On opening the safe deposit box, by reason of the key he had found lodged in Rushmore’s desk, he had no idea what he had expected to find, it was definitely not what he did find, which was nothing, nothing but blank, UN stationery.

Who would go to such a length, as to conceal blank office stationery? As empty as those sheets were, he was doubly surprised to find out later that the disk he had recovered along with the stationery, were also blank. At first he thought they had been erased or, encoded, in such a manner as to render them invisible, to the naked eye, but the forensics said, as far as they could tell, nothing had ever been on the papers or the disk.

Thus far the, Dr. Rushmore case, has been enshrouded in questions, questions and more questions, each answer leads to an even bigger question, the boys at forensics, despite all they’ve been given to work with, have not been able to shed, an iota of light, on the situation; if anything at all, they’ve just been able to prove that Dr. Peter Rushmore did just vanish into thin air, the one possibility that was not just possible.

Other than the fact that Mrs. Rushmore somehow suspected her man of be playing the fields, he could as well be a choir boy, nothing in any way linked him to anything mischievous, and he was adored by his coworkers and colleagues. The fact that he was also representing his country at the UN HQ, spoke for itself, for all UN personnel are screened under a microscope.

Pondering over it only seemed to be rewarding him with a headache so, he decided to cast his mind to less stressful lines of thought, like Cybil, he wondered how long she will last? A freelance photographer with a unique perspective, always seeing angles that others would simply disregard or overlook; she was endowed with talent, beauty and brains, qualities that are not usually found alongside one another.

For Brad, you had to have at least two, out the three to qualify; for him, contrary to popular opinion, it wasn’t all about the sack, he required someone that aroused him intellectually, creatively, as well as physically, those that truly knew him, which of course were few, called him ‘a diamond in the rough’, underneath the bad boy persona strived, a functional beating heart, buried beneath layers, upon layers of, heart break and disappointments, from his earlier quest for true love. Finally he settled for love, without the true, which, although a lot less fulfilling, was a lot safer for him.

Cybil, on the other hand, was doing okay for herself in affection, compassion and raw passion, but love? He didn’t think so. Maybe with Cathy, good old Cathy, where art thou, Cathy?

CHAPTER FOUR

SAINTLESS

As Saintless made his way into the state penitentiary, he pondered the poetic justice that saw him, once more, at this place, that he should be saddled with this particular aspect of the assignment, was it coincidence, the hands of fate, or the deliberate workings of a Higher Power?

Raymond Rushmore; Peter’s brother, was currently a guest of the state. He was convicted, three years ago, on some insurance scam, though Peter’s name was not, so much as mentioned, Life Way Insurance wasn’t too happy with the whole thing. When Ray was still in their employee, he was their star salesman, it wasn’t anything that, he got his brother to take up, a half a million life insurance. Especially since it had those funny clauses excluding death by natural causes; the fact that Ray was convicted of, trying to scam them, was not enough a reason for the insurance company to do away with, the many juicy accounts, he had procured on their behest, that of Peter inclusive. Now with this, nobody even knew what to make of it. The insurance company had braced themselves for the claim, which up till now had not been made.

FBI Saintless said, flashing his badge before the warden, whom on strict scrutiny ushered him in, for his visit with the states finest, most distinguished guest.

He cast his mind back, to the last time he was accounted worthy of visiting these premises, a couple of years back, Mortimer had just made parole. It’s funny what it really took to touch a man’s heart; for Saintless, it had been a wrong turning in a dark alley, for Mortimer, it had been, the years at the state pen and rehab. ‘All things work together for good’, The Good Book says. He remembered the days he ‘faithed’ and prayed that, the Good Lord, would touch his brother, saving his soul from eternal damnation and, his life from the streets; that was another time, another place.

* * *

CATHY

If they had a body, then there would have been forensic evidence, to determine whoever it was, that Dr. Rushmore, was having an affair with, but absence of a body is what defines the intricacies of this situation, coupled with the fact that Mrs. Rushmore had little or, nothing, to contribute in the way of evidence, did not go a long way in making Cathy’s job any easier. She had no choice but to resort to, other unconventional means and methods. These were the thoughts that crossed her mind, as she made her way through the doors of the ‘Night Sing Motel’.

FBI she said, flashing her badge before the man behind the counter, glaring at her with naked disdain.

Relax, I just need some info she said choosing to start here because, statistics show that most people having affairs, more often than not, have them with people at their work places or, neighborhood, if they must visit a motel, as they often did, chances were, it would not be too far from those environs, the ‘Night Sing’ was the closest motel to the museum.

She had decided to work her way through to the outer perimeter, it was a long shot, but she was armed with the privileged knowledge that ‘chance favored the prepared mind’.

I wonder if you’ve seen this man she inquired paying close attention to his eyes, looking out for even a flicker of recognition; nothing, ‘it’s going to be a long day’ she muttered under her breadth.

* * *

CHIEF

Coffee . . . ? Mrs. Pen said offering Chief a cup

Thanks Ma’am Chief replied receiving the cup with gratitude, Mrs. Pen returned back to her place, by Mr. Pen. Chief had arrived at their apartment and introduced himself, they on the other hand, were all but too happy to receive him; they seemed like the regular kind, but then who knew.

I was hoping you could give me some insight to the life of Peter, anything would be helpful at this point

We’ll do all we can to help replied Mr. Pen.

Tell me officer interjected Mrs. Pen,

What really happened?

at this stage, I’m afraid we know just as much as everyone else, that he seemingly just vanished, and believe it as you may, we haven’t learnt anything to the contrary, that’s why anything you can tell me, would be more than a little helpful.

With all the technology we’re so proud of, couldn’t we just find him via computer or satellite maybe she persisted,

You could be rest assured America’s finest, are putting in all they’ve got, to resolving this issue technology wise, but so far neither computer, nor satellite has been of much help.

I gather you are related to his mum Chief asked,

Yes she was my sister, God bless her soul, when I heard this I could almost hear her turning in her grave.

I understand she brought them up, all on her own.

Rushmore is my wife’s maiden name Mr. Pen finally contributed,

She never really talked about their father just that, it somehow did not work out.

It’s okay dear, you can tell him his wife said, holding his hands.

Are you sure? he asked, deep concern etched all over his face, even as she nodded her reply.

‘Now we’re getting somewhere’ Chief said taught to himself.

* * *

BRAD

I’ve been expecting you Howard Rumpfield of the UN said, as Brad made himself comfortable on the settee, that seemingly took up, half the space in the office, quite on the contrary, the room was cramped with computer consoles and, the great mahogany table, behind which Howard sought refuge.

Yeah, I guess with the Rushmore fiasco . . .

I’m afraid, this goes far beyond Rushmore

What could possibly be beyond Rushmore? at this point, Rumpfield had Brad’s full attention.

I don’t know what to make of it, up front, only it’s more than could be discarded as sheer coincidence

I’m listening

The UN sponsors a number of research projects, projects that could, in some way, or the other, contribute to world peace, it so happens that Rushmore’s expertise was required in one of such projects. The funny thing is, of all the people involved in that project, Rushmore was not the only one put out of commission

Out of commission you say?

"Yeah, that’s exactly what I said, that is all, except one,

I don’t understand, why didn’t you report this?

Report what? More to the point, to whom . . . ?

Now you’ve lost me

In order to explain this, I think I should take it from the top

That might be a good idea

Dr. Rushmore belonged to the ‘Babel Project’,

Babel?

Yeah Babel, as in the tower, I believe you are familiar with it?

Just as much as anybody else

The concept of Babel epitomizes all that UN stands for; the Babel Project was designed to recreate the Babel scenario

Recreate you say?

The general concept is, a common ancestry, Adam, if you would, which means a common culture, tradition, family and language. All this could be traced back to Babel, the birthplace of diversification, when everyone, seemingly went their separate ways. We invariably meet again but such contacts are laced with chaos, strife and, confusion, the very reason that makes such an entity as the United Nations necessary.

And the Babel Project was meant to undo what Babel did, figuratively of course?

Not necessarily, our main objective is grounded in science rather than theology,

That’s comforting

Geography tells us that prior to continental shifts, the earth was, one huge land mass, a common continent, a common nation; by reason of Teutonic shifts, the landmass gradually, but steadily, drifted apart, this division has come to define our various and varied continents, nations, culture and traditions,

At least it’s not all some, theological hocus pocus,

There’s more

I’m sure

* * *

SAINTLESS

Special Agent Chris Jacobean said Saintless flashing his badge at Raymond Rushmore, across the glass partition that separated the bond from the free; all the while communicating by reason of the receivers, the state so generously provided.

I’m looking into the disappearance of your brother; I believe you are aware of what happened?

It wasn’t me

Very funny, but somehow I didn’t think it was, Howard Houdini was not your style

And you’re supposed to be an expert on convicts, seeing you’ve helped put so many of us here?

If it’s any consolation to you, I have a pretty good idea how it is on the inside.

Don’t tell me, you got time off, for good behavior

Yes and no; yes, as in he did, get time for good behavior, no it wasn’t me

Am I supposed to find that amusing?

Why, you’re the comedian, in any case, there was nothing funny about the time my only brother spent in here,

Yeah and there is nothing like the love for an only brother.

That’s why in a way I can say I feel your pain, it runs deep, share it with me,

Oh cop comedian turned priest.

I don’t know about the cop comedian, but I sure am a priest; as The Good Book says ‘we are a royal priesthood . . .

A chosen nation, a peculiar people called forth to show the praises of him that called us . . . or something like that,

At least that’s one thing serving time gives you, time for reminiscing and, sober reflection and possibly, as was in the case of my bro, finding The Lord.

In that case the church should pray more people to the joint

It takes all sorts of things for all kinds, for me, it was a wrong turn in a dark alley, for my bro a prison sentence, but this visit isn’t about me and my brother

It’s about me and, my brother, and don’t you forget it

CHAPTER FIVE

CATHY

What’s a fine cop like you, doing in a dump like this? at the question