E Michael Fisher & James Clifford Bird Aliens, the Other White Meat

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impressed by the interior. To the Inquisitor, the controls and fixtures of the ship seemed like one of the
many science fiction shows that he d seen while indulging his lately acquired addiction to American cable
television.
Familiar with the Kosmodrome, and having experienced space flight himself, Kafard recognized it for
what it was a space vehicle. He had not expected to see such a thing in a chicken house in this pastoral
backwater. It seemed incongruous that a private individual, even a wealthy one like Franklin Pardoe,
could build such a thing. Of course, it couldn t have come here from another planet, there being only one
God, Allah, who would have no need of creating any other beings to place in the firmament. Or would
he?
LaFarge expressed his amazement and the two engaged in a conversation about the ship s possible
origins, while touring its environs. Kafard theorized that the sort of genetic engineering activities Franklin
had been involved in, as evidenced by Poulet and what they d seen in the van, required an advanced level
of technological expertise and immense resources, and that anyone capable of such work could probably
build a spaceship. Kafard suggested that the American government was perhaps using the Pardoe operation
as a front for carrying out this work in secret, but if that was the case then he couldn t understand why
security was so lax.
Eventually they left the ship and made their way into the workshop. LaFarge walked to the
workbench and picked up one of the handbooks that rested there.
Turning to Kafard he asked, What is this device?
I don t know, but from that very window I observed Franklin Pardoe put that piece to his forehead
and push that button, Kafard was pointing to the components of the handbook as he talked.
Like this? LaFarge put the device to his head and inadvertently pushed the button. His body
stiffened and was racked by spasms as the machine hummed with an oscillating frequency. When it cut off,
LaFarge dropped to the ground, convulsed for about ten seconds, then opened his eyes. Kafard had been
too stunned for even his well-trained and lightning reflexes to react, but now the Inquisitor was on his feet
and seemingly, none the worse for the wear.
Sacre bleu! Je comprends tout! I see the means to the end. LaFarge bolted out the door and Kafard
followed him for a change.
Chapter 41
Pardoe Farms
May 31, 2008
The Avenging Angel
Delbert Paynter could hear the excitement of the crowd gathered adjacent to the shrine as they
watched the daily Hour of Forgiveness. He shook his head in disgust when he saw the Inquisitor make the
sign of the cross then whispered to himself, These Whores of Babylon degrade the very name of Christ
by claiming membership in Christendom. Let them mock the Lord as they might now& very soon they
will feel his vengeance.
Flies buzzed lazily around his head as he stood in the Pardoe Farm s outhouse, peering through the
chicken wire that covered its narrow window. The rustic building afforded a good view with a clear line
of fire to the grease spot. It was a nondescript structure, some four feet square and eight feet high. The
boards of its walls were gray and dry-rotted with age. A single piece of rusted corrugated sheet metal
served as its roof.
With all attention focused on the Hour of Forgiveness, Delbert had slipped unseen into position. On
his entering the outhouse, the door had fallen off its hinges. Unable to find a clean place to set his Bible, he
spread a handkerchief on the bench and laid the leather-bound tome upon it. After propping the door back
in its jamb, he began setting up for the kill.
He opened the Bible s cover and from its hollow interior removed the components of a small
lightweight rifle. With the precise movements born of practice, he assembled the weapon a bolt-action
with a digital scope and just enough rifling to keep the .223 caliber bullet stable in flight. This was the
same cartridge used in the M16 rifle and the round was designed to tumble end over end upon striking its
target to maximize the damage.
His plan was a simple one. When Clay laid his face in the grease spot, he would shoot him in the
head.
Then, God willing, I ll escape in the confusion, Delbert thought. As simple a plan as it was, it had worked
for him before.
As he waited for the prey to crawl near, he reflected on the circumstances that had led to this
mission. He had gotten notice of this contract in the usual way by reading the personal ads in the
National Tattler weekly tabloid. In an ad, under the heading of Meditations on Second Timothy, he read: And
the angel of the Lord went further, and stood in a narrow place, where was no way to turn either to the right hand or to
the left.
A verse from a curious passage that speaks of a man called Balaam, who conversed with his donkey.
Eventually, Balaam was able to speak only words that God put in his mouth.
As vague a reference as it might have seemed, it contained specific information for Delbert Paynter.
He packed his frugal clothing into a canvas duffel bag and caught a Greyhound bus to Elkton, Maryland,
where he was dropped off in front of the drug store on Main Street. From a safety-deposit box at the Elk
Neck National Bank, he retrieved his leather bound Bible, a video camera, and an envelope containing
money.
Delbert Paynter was of average height and weight, and not particularly muscular or wiry. With his
pompadour hairstyle and long sideburns, he had what he thought was an Elvis look if Elvis had been [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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