This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
- The Marisol Deception - Part 19
Could it be love? They may never know, and is it worth the risk to find out?
She made her way to Tony's room. The door was partially open. She peeked in. The room seemed to be empty as she entered. Tony indeed had left. All Kinsley could feel was her breaking heart.
Tony's journal lay open on the bed. Kinsley fought the urge to read it but couldn't help herself. There was no entry for the day, but yesterday's entry was telling.
I can't go on fooling myself. Kins doesn't know who I really am, and I can never let her know. I can never be what she needs. These strange feelings I have, I wonder if it could be love. That's something I never experienced. This much I know, I can never allow myself to find out. It's too dangerous.
And I saw one of his heads as it were wounded to death; and his deadly wound was healed: and all the world wondered after the beast. And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon. And he exerciseth all the power of the first beast before him, and causeth the earth and them which dwell therein to worship the first beast, whose deadly wound was healed. - Revelation 13:3, 11, 12
Dickinson followed by Wexford and several Secret Service agents made their way to the limo. It wasn’t known if it was already in the works or if Dickinson’s speech angered someone, but a shot rang out. Dickinson slumped to the ground. The horrified onlookers screamed and ran for cover. Dickinson’s SS had their hands full. It was much more difficult to protect the world leader than the President of the United States. Three men fell on Dickinson shielding him from more danger while others looked through the crowd to find the culprit. The Israeli police also invaded the territory.
Nobody found anything. The gunman was long gone and left behind no immediate evidence. The limo, with Dickinson sprawled on the seat, headed for Shaare Tzedek Medical Center. The hospital received information on Dickinson’s condition while en route. No news was released was by the doctors. The world would only wonder. What had happened to their leader?
Wexford’s phone rang. Marisol was ranting and Wexford felt the uneasiness in his stomach.
“Board a plane and get to Area 51 immediately. We have little time. Be here by tomorrow night. Don’t make me wait!”
Wexford took the next flight out.
The news media finally released a statement which read in part . . . Our New World leader, Aaron Dickinson, has been shot after his address to the world this afternoon. He is, however, a strong man. He is resting comfortably now that the ordeal is over. An all-out search for his assailant is underway . . . .
Wexford’s plane taxied on to the salt flats at Area 51. An Air Force recruit whisked him away to Marisol’s underground chambers. He sat in his usual chair as he waited for Marisol. And wait he did - 15 minutes, half an hour. Another hour passed. Still, there was no Marisol. He grew tense, sensing something was wrong.
The door flew open, and in stormed an angry Marisol. Wexford knew trouble was brewing, but he didn’t know what or why.
Marisol continued her rant. “What were you doing when Aaron was shot? We had it made. You blew it, you idiot. You blew it. We can’t let the world know he’s dead. You better come up with something - and fast.”
Wondering aloud, Wexford commented, “Aaron’s not dead. I heard the news. He’s resting and will recover soon.”
“Not a chance.” He’s dead and so is the New World Order. You best figure this out before the world knows he’s dead. Mr. Wexford. . . “ Kerry hated it when Marisol referred to him as Mr. It was like his mother calling him by his first and middle name. He knew he was in serious trouble.
Marisol kept up her verbal assault. “ . . . The issue isn’t if he’s dead. The issue is he could have been, and in this case, he is. You and the other men simply weren’t doing your job. Now, see what you can do about rectifying the situation. The world must believe their leader is alive. Now, get out of here!”
His mind was turning as he raced to catch his private plane. “Oh, great!” Wexford spoke only to himself. “The guy’s dead, and I’m supposed to make the world think otherwise. Maybe I can rerun a few of his old speeches. No, that won’t work. Someone is bound to remember one of them and then the conspiracy theories will start. Okay, what’s next?”
Wexford continued to search for ways to bring life to the dead Dickinson. “It might be possible to create a new speech by editing words from his old ones and matching them to frames of past speeches. That might work, but what can I do about his personal appearances. He is the leader . . . no, was the leader of the world. His public must see him as a living being.”
Crossing his face was an enormous smile. “I’ve got it! I’ll clone Dickinson. He did it once to me. If he can do it, it can’t be that hard - can it? I mean, isn’t that what YouTube is for?”
Once back in Washington, Wexford created his team of doctors and scientists. A new Dickinson was waiting to be raised - or so Wexford thought.
Paul Jennings, the lead scientist on the team, offered Wexford a chair. “Look, Kerry. Cloning is no simple matter. It takes time, effort, and sometimes, most of the time, it doesn’t work. It’s terribly expensive and if anyone hears about this, the world is in trouble. Let me rephrase that. You are in trouble.”
“Come on, Paul. We’ve sent men to the moon and back. You made a copy of me for Dickinson to use. It can’t be that difficult.”
Believe me, it is. Do you even know what’s involved? First, we need to take a somatic cell from the one we plan to clone. Then we will have to extract the cell’s nucleus, which contains the cell’s nuclear DNA. Then we will have to remove the nucleus of an egg cell and insert the somatic cell nucleus in its place. We don’t have a cell from Dickinson - Big problem. I’m telling you. It can’t be done!”
Listening to Jennings, Wexford knew it would not happen. He was not the leader of the New World Order. Dickinson spoke the words, and it was done. Wexford didn’t own that kind of authority. Maybe he should. His mind shifted to ways he could gain control of the world. Obviously, there was an opening, and who else knew the ins and outs better than Wexford.
His dream was short-lived. Jennings picked up the ringing phone. “Here, Kerry. It’s for you.”
He dreaded the sound of the voice. It was Marisol. “Wexford, not to worry. I took care of it myself. The hospital will release Dickinson from the hospital tomorrow.”
Should he ask or just be grateful Marisol took care of the situation? He took a deep breath. “So, if I may, how did you fix it?”
“You forget who I am, Wexford. I have power over death - well, in a sense. I inhabited his body once. I’ll inhabit it again. I will live through him, and no one will be the wiser. I will speak through his vocal cords. I will move his arms and legs. I will give life where there is no life. I will animate his dead body. I will resurrect his body and take up residence in it.”
Wexford shuddered. “You mean - like a zombie.”
“Exactly. Like a zombie.”
“Won’t bodily decomposition be a factor?”
“Wexford, really? You underestimate me.”
Kinsley started out again. After a brief time, she heard a rattling sound coming from the back of the car. Car trouble was not an option. She pulled to the side of the road but knew no matter what she would have to continue, at least to the next town. The noise was coming from her right back bumper. Stooping down, she looked behind the wheel. Trouble had to be close. Just how close, she didn’t know. She pulled the GPS from the frame and threw it over the embankment.
Back in the vehicle, she sped down the road. In the next town, she stopped at the police station to file a report. “Officer, someone is following me. They placed a GPS on my car.”
“May I see it?”
“I don’t have it. I left it when I found it.”
“Ma’am, if you don’t have the GPS, how do I know someone was really following ya. We don’t have time to chase after gooses around here - uh, I mean geese. Hey, you ain’t one of those dissenters, are ya? Maybe I should arrest ya, but I really don’t have much to go on. I guess you can go.”
“But . . . “
“I mean ya better go ‘fore I change my mind.”
For now, Kinsley felt safe. The GPS no longer was an issue. Still, someone knew her general direction. The sun dropped behind the horizon in the distance. Hoping to find shelter, she turned off the main highway and made her way to a small town. The only motel was dirty and rundown, but there was no other choice. Kinsley took a room. The night was falling fast.
Reaching for the remote, she turned on the TV. It didn’t work. She tried the tiny radio. It was out of commission, too. The Gideon’s Bible looked as though nobody had ever used it. She opened it to I Thessalonians 4:16 - For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.
She remembered how millions disappeared as God called them to their heavenly home three-and-a-half years ago. In a flash, she remembered the words her father underlined in his Bible the night of his murder. Sleep was creeping in and she closed her thoughts with verse 18 - Wherefore comfort one another with these words.
The exhausting day brought sleep. Interrupted by muffled voices and a turning doorknob, she awoke.
- The Marisol Deception - Part 21
Someone is at Kinslwey's door. No, more than one!
© 2020 William Kovacic