He smoothed his flyaway gray hair and slid into an oversized chair at the head of a table of dark wood polished to a high sheen, and forced a smile. Everyone beamed at him, puppies eager to be scratched behind their ears. Those assembled weren’t entirely worthless. All had some degree of power and influence in the secular world, but the men of true worth in the Dominion would not be found here, save one or two. Those men understood his vision and didn’t mind getting their hands dirty to achieve their purpose.
“My friends,” he began after a sufficient pause, “I am pleased to report that our first attempt was successful, and we are making plans for the next stage.”
The men exchanged nervous glances before Utah Senator Nathan Roman cleared his throat.
“Bishop,” he began, “we are all wondering about this next stage. Will it be similar to the last one?”
Hadel stared at the senator until the man broke eye contact. “If you are asking if we are targeting another city, the answer is yes.”
“Do you think that is wise?” Roman stared at a spot just above Hadel’s head. The others wouldn’t notice, but the bishop could tell. “Another unnatural disaster and the feds might take notice.”
“Do you think me a fool?” Hadel’s voice was like ice, though the senator’s question did not bother him in the least.
“Of course not.” Mitchell Sanders, president of one of Utah’s largest banks, spoke up.
“Then, by definition, my decisions are wise, are they not?” Hadel waited for a challenge he knew would not come. “Let them take notice. In fact, when the time is right, I intend to let the world know who we are and what we can do. I want the people frightened, with no confidence in their government’s ability to protect them.” A few heads nodded. “Look at what happened after the terrorist attacks of 2001. Yes, the United States changed the regime in Iraq, but to what end, and at what cost to the people? Americans rushed to surrender their liberties in exchange for the promise of security, surrendering freedoms the terrorists could never have taken from them. The terrorists might lose the battles, but in one sense, they are winning the war. We will capitalize on that fear, and that eagerness to be cared for at any cost.”
“What happens then?” Roman shifted uncomfortably in his seat and adjusted his tie.
“I am not ready to reveal the subsequent stages, but we have solid plans and ample resources.”
“What I would like to know is how we caused the destruction in Key West.” Steven Ellis was a dean at Southern Utah University, and had a sharp mind, though it was slanted a bit too heavily toward the world of academia. “I assumed it was a bomb, but descriptions of the phenomena contradict that.”
“I fear I am not qualified to explain the science behind it, but our researchers are preparing a report for the board, which I hope to have available at our next meeting. Suffice it to say, we have at our disposal, a weapon unlike any in the world. Indeed, it is so remarkable that I can credit only the grace of God that we discovered it.” The frowns around the table indicated a degree of dissatisfaction, but no one pressed him.
“Why are we spending so much money on archaeological expeditions?” Sanders jumped back into the conversation with a question from his domain. “I can only describe these expenditures as exorbitant, with little to be gained.”
Hadel smiled. If they only knew the real number, which was much higher than the one reported to the board. “As I have explained to you before, there are a number of reasons. First, the search for Biblical relics, the discovery of which would strengthen the devotion of our flock, draw new followers to our ranks, raise our profile in the Christian world, and prove to the skeptics the truth of Scripture.
“Second, we are a church, and it is important that we act like one, or else we risk unwelcome scrutiny from the outside. Supporting missionaries and, yes, Biblical archaeologists, and the Archaeology departments of Christian universities, are some of the things that churches like ours do. I also have other, more personal reasons, that I do not wish to share at this time.” He steepled his fingers and stared at Sanders. “Repeating myself is not a good use of my time. I trust I will not be expected to answer the same questions at every meeting?”
Duly cowed, Sanders shook his head and lowered his eyes.
“We apologize for making you repeat yourself, Bishop. Understand, our motives are sincere.” The speaker was a square-jawed man with intense, green eyes. He seemed uncomfortable in his finely-cut suit, but perhaps it was merely the juxtaposition with his powerful build and GI haircut. Jeremiah Robinson was the only board member whom he had considered bringing into his inner circle. To the outside world, he was a National Guard recruiter, but he was also one of the highest-ranking members of the Dominion’s paramilitary branch. The other members of the board underestimated him, which made him a perfect mole. “Would you mind telling us which city is the next target?”
Hadel pretended to consider this. He and Robinson had, of course, planned this ahead of time. “San Francisco,” he said. “We considered New Orleans, but we want to send the message that our power extends beyond the gulf.” He made a show of checking his watch. “I thank you for your time, gentlemen. Members of my staff will meet with you individually to give you your instructions. I bid you a good day.”
They all rose as he stood and left the meeting room. Some of the instructions the board members would receive were important, but most were inconsequential, serving only to convince the board members of their value to the Dominion.
He retreated to his private office. It was not the “secret” office known only to board members, which was, in fact, a red herring, but a conference room hidden in plain sight, where picture windows offered mountain views that calmed his nerves and reminded him of God’s majesty.
Thirty minutes later, Robinson let himself in and locked the door behind him.
“Were you successful?” the bishop asked.
“I was able to speak with each of them individually, giving every one of them a different city as the “real” target. If one of them is leaking information, we’ll know it soon enough.” He declined the Bishop’s offer of a chair, instead standing with his hands clasped behind his back.
“How are we progressing on the skulls?”
“As expected, the Smithsonian skull is a forgery, and thus, is completely useless.”
“And the Paris Skull?”
“Our man on the inside failed, and the skull has been taken off display. A team is on its way as we speak to acquire it.”
Hadel rubbed his chin and watched a golden eagle ride an updraft. An omen of the Dominion’s rising, perhaps? It was superstitious nonsense, of course, but pleasant to contemplate.
“So we will have but a single bullet in our gun, should the Paris skull be genuine.”
“We have analyzed the skulls but, so far, have failed to synthesize them. We think we might have found an alternate source for crystals. A research team discovered a cave…”
Hadel held up his hand. “I don’t need every detail. Put it in a written report. Now, what about the rest of the operation?”
“Sofia Perez has gone to ground in Spain. We’ve had her passport suspended, so she can’t leave the country. We’ll find her. Until then, we have people working on translating the codex.”