Wired Read online

  WHEN YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE COMES TRUE…

  At four-thirty the phone rang. Graham glanced at his watch and then reached for the receiver, thinking it must be Jackie. Maybe something had come up.

  “Hello.”

  “Peck?” the male voice said. “Graham Peck?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is the Peck who lives on Crown Point in Airlington Heights?”

  “Sure. There's a problem?”

  “Yes. I'm Detective Bevins with the police department. Your secretary said to call before I came in. Are you sitting down?”

  “Sitting down?” Graham grimaced. “Of course, I'm working.”

  “Stay there. I'm outside with you secretary. I'll be right in.”

  “What's going on?” Graham protested. “What's happened?”

  “I'll explain to you in a moment when I come in your office,” Bevins said. “We need you to come home at once.”

  “I have been reading Dr. Robert Wise's novels for years.This is his best one yet. It is a must-read!”

  —Dr. Larry Jones, president, Feed the children

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2004 by Robert L. Wise.

  All rights reserved.

  Warner Faith

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  www.twitter.com/faithwords

  The Warner Faith name and logo are registered trademarks of Warner Books.

  First eBook Edition: September 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-446-56527-1

  Contents

  When Your Worst Nightmare Comes True…

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  To Sophia Amneh Saphorah Wise

  Number Thirteen

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks so much to Dr. Fred Pike and David Howlett for assistance with research and framing the issues of the final struggle. In addition, the editorial assistance of Stephen Wilburn and Rolf Zettersten is deeply appreciated, as is the work of my agent, Greg Johnson. Good friends make all the difference!

  CHAPTER 1

  November 1, 2022

  THE EERIE RUMBLING of a small boat engine echoed across the murky waters of the Long Beach Naval Shipyard harbor at three o'clock in the morning. Clouds hanging low in the sky covered the moon and killed all light. The craft followed the same route that the passenger ferry took returning from Catalina Island. Cruising in unnoticed through the San Pedro Bay breakwater, the ebony craft aimed toward the rapidly approaching sandy shore. The pitch-black night sealed off the stars and painted the entire harbor in the ominous smudges of darkness.

  Hunching over the dashboard, the driver pointed toward the shoreline. “See that string of lights along the edge of the harbor?”

  “Yeah,” the man sitting next to him growled.

  “Underneath every one of them is a surveillance camera. We want to miss getting caught in their glare. Understand?”

  The burly man in the thick dark coat nodded. “Don't worry. I don't want Big Brother down here at Long Beach dock to get a shot of my mug.”

  The motorboat turned to the left and started easing parallel to the shoreline. “We got to watch for naval surveillance as well,” the driver said. “You can bet that none of these ships are floating out here unguarded.”

  “You're the man. Whatever you say.”

  “Don't forget it,” the driver snapped. “This operation has to be precise. Remember, if anyone asks your name, you tell 'em it's Abel, Abel Rabi.”

  “Abel, huh?” the man laughed under his breath. “Strange name for a boy from San Francisco. You want to know my real name?”

  “No,” the driver said. “Rabi is Arabic. Leave it at that.”

  He shut off the boat's engine and the craft drifted toward the shoreline with the incoming tide pushing them toward the beach. For several minutes the small boat floated silently toward a large naval tanker anchored in the harbor. Searchlights shot their huge swords of illumination out over the ocean, but none were aimed low enough to spot the black boat easing toward the tanker a few hundred yards away.

  “I don't even know your name,” the man in the dark coat said to the driver. “You call me Abel, but I don't have any idea who you are.”

  “That's correct,” the driver said. “And it stays that way.”

  “How come you people paid me such a wad of money to do this job hauling stuff?”

  “'Cause you're big and strong,” the driver said. “That's it. Stop asking me questions.”

  The man now called Abel grumbled under his breath, but he didn't say anything more.

  Staying on the backside of the enormous tanker, the driver steered his craft parallel to the large steel hull. The menacing towering side of the tanker loomed over them, completely hiding them in the threatening blackness.

  “This tanker won't move,” the driver said. “Watch for a rope ladder. It should be hanging around here somewhere.”

  The motorboat drifted on top of the gentle waves spreading out from the side of the tanker. The driver in a dark coat pushed them away from side of the tanker with a long wooden paddle. Off in the distance another wave of shore lights swept over the ocean. From the backside of the tanker, the outline of a rope ladder dangled just ahead of them.

  “There it is,” the driver said. “We're right on target. The ladder is hooked on the deck.”

  “Good. Get closer.”

  “We have to drift,” the driver said. “Get that bundle on your back and carry it up the ladder. Hurry up. We're going to be there in a moment.”

  The man called Abel bounced over the seat. Sitting behind him was a large package tied to a backpack harness. He slipped his arms through the harness straps and pulled the entire apparatus toward him. “This thing is really heavy,” he mumbled.

  “That's why we hired you and you're so well paid.” The driver pointed at the rope about to float over t
he bow of their boat. “Get it on, and be ready to climb.”

  Abel exhaled and took another deep breath. “Man, this thing is really, really heavy.”

  “There's the rope—grab it and get up there!”

  With a quick step, the large man stepped onto the rope ladder and started crawling up the steps. Each movement was labored, but he kept moving. The motorboat floated on.

  “It's a long way up,” Abel shouted over his shoulder.

  “Shut up,” the driver whispered. “Just get up there!”

  Pulling small earphones out of his pocket, the driver pushed them into his ears and turned on the amplifier in his pocket so he could hear everything happening on the rope ladder and on the deck. The boat kept drifting silently away.

  Abel maintained his steady progress, climbing on up to the top. As he neared the deck, a head appeared over the edge. “Who is it?” a sailor demanded.

  “Abel,” the man puffed. “Abel Rabi.”

  “Make it quick,” the sailor barked. “We don't have much time.”

  The driver of the motorboat listened carefully, realizing everything seemed to be on schedule. He could hear the man called Abel talking to the guard on the deck and felt confident about the drift of the conversation.

  “Where we going?” Abel asked the guard.

  “I've been told to take you down to the hold of the ship. We've got to move carefully. Can you carry that bag on your back down several flights of stairs?”

  Abel cursed. “Easier than I carried it up that shaggy rope ladder.”

  “Let's go,” the sailor said.

  The driver of the motorboat waited a couple of minutes and then hit the starter switch. The engine sputtered for a moment and then settled into a low purr. Turning the wheel sharply to the left, he guided the boat back toward the breakwater and the passenger ferry route out of the harbor toward Catalina Island. Once he cleared the ship's perimeter by a hundred yards, he pushed the throttle to full speed, roaring away from the inner harbor area.

  Reaching down beside the seat, the driver pushed a red button on a switch next to the seat. Suddenly a ball of fire exploded from the deck of the tanker, spewing fire and debris straight up in the air. For a moment the black night appeared like noon as human figures shot through the air with pieces of the smokestack. The 20,000-ton tanker shook like a child's toy and a huge wave ripped across the channel. With vibrant red and orange flames sparkling in the night air, the tanker started to sink.

  The instant the motorboat's driver saw the explosion, he pointed the boat out to sea so that the oncoming wave would lift him and carry the motorboat forward. Within seconds a torrent of water picked up the boat and slung it onward. He jerked the speed control forward and the craft lunged forward out of the harbor.

  “Goodbye, Abel, or whoever you are,” he said to himself. “We appreciate you delivering the bomb.” He chuckled. “And yourself to the bottom of the ocean.”

  CHAPTER 2

  November 1, 2002

  THE MORNING NEWSPAPER crashed into the front door an hour before the bedside alarm was set to go off. Graham Peck usually didn't hear such predictable sounds, but the noise ricocheted through the house like a burglar intruding and forced his eyes open. For a minute he lay in the dark waiting for the next crash to follow, but nothing happened. The family had lived through another night without incident or assault, as he had expected. No reason not to go back to sleep, but he couldn't.

  Graham kept looking up into darkness and at the strange shapes the outside trees cast, slinging their shadows across the ceiling. Another day had started much earlier than he usually expected. There would be the rigorous ride downtown on the Metro Express train that would hurl him like a guided missile across Chicago at one hundred and fifty miles an hour. He would exit at the stop nearest the Sears Tower and walk on to the mayor's offices where Frank Bridges and the rest of Bridges's staff assembled. The office noise would be as subtle as the Metro Urban train clamoring over loose tracks. Party bosses, secretaries, and political analysts would be everywhere. Media personnel always hummed along behind the scenes, waiting for some big break they could turn into a headline story featuring the mayor on the evening television newscasts. Graham would be in the center of the chaos like a spinning gear in a transmission box. The job as special political assistant to the mayor of Chicago might have pushed anyone to their limits, but Graham took his responsibilities with a personal sense of obligation. The thought of the grind left him tired, and he hadn't even got out of bed yet.

  “Graham…” Jackie reached over and ran her hand down the side of his back. “What was that noise?”

  “A ghost.”

  “What?” Jackie leaned up on her elbows. “What did you say?”

  “The newspaper.”

  “Newspaper? I thought you said…”

  “You were asleep.”

  “Oh?” Jackie fell back in bed and closed her eyes. “It's too early.”

  “No,” Graham said resolutely. “It's too late.” He turned the covers back. “Extra time in the host shower might make me feel better.”

  “Sure,” Jackie said, keeping her eyes closed. “Sure…” She sounded like she had drifted off to sleep again.

  Graham got up and stumbled into their private bathroom off of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He could keep the sound low and stand in the hot water for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, letting the sound of classical music soothe him. He always felt empty in the morning and something about a quiet symphony seemed to position his feet more firmly on the earth, assuring him he could keep on moving… regardless.

  For a moment Graham stated in the mirror. His brown hair hung down into his eyes, but he had a pleasant round face and striking dark eyes for a forty-year-old. At six feet tall, Graham always had a handsome look even after just dragging himself out of bed. A second glance only confirmed the fact that a shower ought to do him a great deal of good.

  He reached inside the shower door and hit the digital button to start the music at a low, quiet level. He touched the next electronic switch that instantly produced hot water exactly at the temperature that Graham previously set the regulator.

  Haunting sounds of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata drifted across the bathroom, giving Graham Peck the closest thing to a spiritual lift that he had ever received. He needed to start the day with something, anything, a lift.

  Maria Peck was already scurrying about the kitchen when Graham came downstairs. The spacious room had a chopping block in the center. In front of lace drapes purchased from Europe, a long deacon's table sat along the back window with an expansive view of the backyard. The large way floor tile added a majestic appearance to the room.

  Although Graham's mother was a small woman in her early seventies, Maria always arose earlier than everyone else. She seemed to get a particular pleasure out of setting up the table for the children to sit down and eat breakfast, but they seldom spent more than a couple of minutes gobbling down whatever they were consuming for the day before rushing off to school.

  Maria's childhood had been spent in Millinocket, Maine, near Baxter State Park and the Penobscot River with a cluster of lakes nearby. Her father emigrated from England as a common laborer and Maria grew up with the simplicity of a backwoods child. Life had always been basic, but she had absorbed fearlessness as well as a decided common sense from the forests. The endless buzz of the rampant busyness of her son's family left he somewhat befuddled by the hubbub of everyone rushing off each morning.

  “Good morning, Mother.” Graham kissed Maria on the cheek. “You look happy this morning.” He picked up a glass of orange juice.

  Maria beamed. “I'm happy every morning when I wake up in this home, my dear. It's wonderful to be here.” She hugged Graham. “You're up rather early this morning.”

  “The newspaper hitting the house woke me up, but I need to get to work early today. Lots to do.”

  Maria nodded. “You work so hard, Graham. I worry about you.”


  Graham smiled for the first time that morning. “You always did fret over me.”

  “Everything is upside down,” Maria said as she popped a slice of bread in the toaster. “Yes, I know. All them people disappearing has made everyone extremely nervous. The election is so important and all these strange events have happened lately.”

  “Yes,” Graham said matter-of-factly.

  “Shootings and robberies are everywhere these days and it's dangerous to walk out at night,” Maria rambled on. “The weather has turned crazy and the world is upside down. I saw how eerie the moon looked last night. Our mayor has to worry about running the city under such demanding conditions, don't ya know.”

  “Hi, Grammy!” Mary sailed into the kitchen. “I've got to leave early this morning.” She stopped. “Oh, hello, Dad. You up chasing last night's monsters at the crack of dawn.”

  “Ha, ha.” Graham's voice was flat and sounded cynical.

  “I thought maybe the vampires or werewolves would attack last night,” Mary teased. “Can't ever tell about what could happen on Halloween Eve.”

  “I wouldn't laugh about such,” Maria said, shaking her finger in her granddaughter's face. “I know you young'uns don't believe in much anymore, but I grew up knowing that evil is really out there.”

  “Come on,” Mary taunted. “How could you believe in all that nonsense?”

  “I know, I know, twenty, thirty years ago lots of people lost their interest in religious things, but I didn't,” Maria insisted. “The Church almost faded away, but then again, your parents didn't go anyway.” She abruptly shook her finger in her granddaughter's face. “I'm here to tell you, Mary Peck, that the dark side didn't disappear. It's real and you ought to be careful of what you say about these things.”

  Mary laughed. “Come on, Granny. You're starting to sound like one of those Wicca freaks at my school. The truth is I don't believe in any of it.”

  “Your grandmother is trying to tell you something for your own good,” Graham said. “Pay attention to her.”

  “Whatever.” Mary rolled her eyes.

  “If nothing else, there's too many creeps walking up and down the streets these days. A few people have a lot of money and a lot of people have nothing. Makes for a bad mix. You have to watch out for thugs sulking around the city.”