Part 3
Blackburn, Idumea
Federal Republic of Centralia
August 21, 2021 - 11:46 PMEmmanuel Sutherland. The fugitive priest behind the 11/11 attacks in Tytor. Godfrey still couldn't quite believe it, and he'd been holed up with his ragtag "Lord's Resistance Army" (a much better name, in Godfrey's opinion, than "Rapture") for more than two months now. They'd been darting from town to town, hiding from the pervasive surveillance measures of Pullman and Homeland Security. Now they were in Blackburn, population 800, deep in the backcountry of the State of Idumea. That was one thing Godfrey appreciated about Centralia - there were so many place names of Biblical origin. However, all the moving around begged the question: what exactly was Sutherland going to
do with the fanatics under his command? The terrorist leader didn't seem to know. Heck, his liberation of Godfrey from the black site in Vandalia seemed to serve little discernable purpose in and of itself. In all likelihood, the man was completely insane.
This was not a terribly happy thought, but Godfrey had experienced worse. From what he'd seen the few times they'd had access to a television over the last couple months, it seemed his church had been shut down after his abduction. It was a pity that the Word of the Lord was no longer going out to his flock, but more still that he was no longer dominating the televangelism circuit every weekend. It was such a lucrative business, and one that gave him far more exposure to the public than almost anyone else in the country, except the president, and he was in Lance Pullman's pocket (the stupid, weak-willed idiot).
Godfrey sighed, gazing around at the walls of the dingy second-floor motel room he'd holed up in. Sutherland was a few doors down, doing whatever it was he did at this time of night. Sleeping, hopefully, since the LRA was due to leave town first thing tomorrow morning. Godfrey sighed again, and stood up, vacating the spot on the bed where he'd been sitting. No, Sutherland was either insane or incompetent, and that would never do. The man had no chance of doing what had to be done to make a real change in Centralia. But Godfrey did.
He went to the door of his room, unlocked it, and stepped outside. The gold cufflinks on his freshly-laundered white suit sparkled in the flickering shine of the motel's exterior lighting, at least half of which really ought to be replaced. Sutherland's room was easily identified, as it was the one with a pair of sentries posted out front. Godfrey strode purposely toward them.
"Hold it, Mr. Godfrey," one of them said resolutely, "No visitors after 10:30." The man had a rifle in his hands, a somewhat beat up EMRC R-8 which had long since seen better days, but he was holding it loosely. His companion had an Austrana 941 handgun (doubtlessly stolen from somewhere abroad) in a holster on his hip, but otherwise seemed unarmed.
"No, it's okay," Godfrey lied soothingly, "He's expecting me."
"Sorry, sir, but rules are rules," the second sentry said, "'Less we hear it from the big man himself, we can't let you in."
"Ah, I see," Godfrey said, steeling himself for his next move, "A pity, really."
He lunged suddenly forward, seizing the startled first sentry, who was closer, by the front of his shirt. His assault rifle clattered uselessly to the ground, and Godfrey flung him headlong over the railing into the parking lot below, where he landed with a sickening crunch and lay still. Godfrey rounded on the second sentry, who seemed to reconsider his prior reluctance to cooperate and took his hand off his still-holstered pistol.
"Now," Godfrey said quietly, "Why don't you go see to your friend there? Just hand me the key to this room and you can be on your way."
The remaining sentry nodded mutely, stuck his hand in his pocket, and pulled out the spare key Sutherland had given him earlier that evening. Godfrey took it without comment and watched while the smaller man retreated downstairs to the ground level. Then, after considering the discarded assault rifle for a moment, he unlocked the door and entered the room.
Sutherland woke up the moment Godfrey closed the door behind him with a snap. "What do you think you're doing in here?" he demanded somewhat groggily, "I'll have those two idiots flogged for letting you in at this hour."
"Oh, there's no need for that," Godfrey replied smoothly, "I didn't exactly give them a choice."
"What are you talking about?" Sutherland asked slowly.
"They were not cooperative," Godfrey said, "I dealt with them accordingly."
Sutherland blinked, but said nothing, his mind evidently taking some time to process what he had just been told.
"You see, Reverend," Godfrey went on, putting a mocking stress on the title, "I've been doing some thinking. You are not what this movement needs in a leader. You are weak and incompetent, and too unwilling to use the resources available to you here in this country." He paused for dramatic effect, but held up a hand to silence the terrorist as he started to argue indignantly. "I'm not here for a discussion," Godfrey continued, "See, I've already made up my mind. I merely wish for you to understand the reason why I am doing this. The Lord's Resistance Army has a great future ahead of it, but not with you in charge, and as I cannot have you challenging my own leadership..."
Sutherland went white as Godfrey allowed the sentence to hang unfinished in the air between them. The larger man grinned, and then moved forward, stretching out his hands for his erstwhile rescuer's mouth and throat.