Christopher Golde
Date: 20th December 2003 Location: Singapore
It was more than fair to say, she was very nervous, as she pressed her way down the crowded Singaporean streets. Twenty-three years on the run and now she was about to tell all to a complete stranger. A complete stranger who would probably tell her story to the rest of the world and most likely force her to confront the dangers she has tried so hard to avoid all this time. Kirstie knew very well just how much they wanted the secret kept. Many times, she had escaped narrowly with her life. Many times, she had made herself disappear. Now she was about to reappear in the most public way.
She looked nervously at the shining glass tower in front of her.
‘This was it!’
She took a deep breath, looked from side to side, up and down the busy traffic-filled street. Her cautiousness, a result of twenty years of forced survival habits while on the run. When she was satisfied no-one was following her, she started to walk towards the entrance of the building. A giant revolving door began to rotate as she approached and she felt the cool air from within spin towards her, chasing away the oppressing humidity of the street. The cold air suddenly became like a wall to her and she stopped.
‘I must do this,’ she told herself, ‘I must get it over with.’
She forced herself to move towards the revolving door, until it finally consumed her, like a giant whale, and she was swept along by its momentum, into the cool belly of the skyscraper. She scanned the giant directory that covered the wall next to the elevator doors for the name Stromberg Media until she saw it listed as on level thirty-five.
To her, the room seemed to be spinning slightly and she fought to keep control and suppress the almost overwhelming urge to turn and run. She moved numbly towards the lifts and she focused on the lift lights that moved up and down indicating the floors each lift was stopped at.
The chime of a lift bell startled her from behind and as she looked over her shoulder, the door behind her slid silently open, inviting her to enter. A suited, dark-haired, European looking man with glasses, stood to one side placing his arm in the path of the door and waited for her to enter. There seemed to be no other option now and she felt compelled to enter. She knew entering meant almost certain commitment, no more illusions, no more shadows, for better or for worse it was time.
As the lift door once again opened, the light next to the door indicated that it was the thirty-fifth floor and when she looked out, a sign on the opposite wall announced that she was in fact at the office of Stromberg Media. She looked sideways at the European looking man with glasses, who was still in the lift with her and stood opposite her. He smiled as if to ask her if this was her floor.
She swallowed. Behind her, she thought she heard a voice.
“Go on, you can do it!”
She spun around but there was no-one else in the lift. She looked back towards the European looking man. He looked at her quizzically.
“Kirstie Martin,” came another voice?
She looked out the lift this time, where she saw one of the most beautiful Asian women she had ever seen, standing there, expectantly looking at her.
“Kirstie Martin,” the Asian woman asked?
She smiled kindly at Kirstie.
“Yes,” Kirstie answered, softly.
Kirstie noticed the European looking man had his finger on the button of the elevator controls, holding the doors open.
“I’m Julie Peirce,” said the beautiful woman.
This was the point of no return she realized. She turned to look at the European looking man and smiled weakly, before turning and leaving the elevator. The beautiful Asian woman smiled at her.
“Come this way, Kirstie,” she said, in a voice that Kirstie noticed only had a slight hint of an Asian accent. She then turned and walked towards a large glass door and Kirstie followed obediently. Julie Peirce pushed open the glass door and beckoned for Kirstie to enter before her.
Julie had experience with nervous interviewees on many occasions and she knew not to ask too much before it was necessary. Just let them settle into their surroundings, with as few words as possible. To Kirstie, it looked like what she would expect a newspaper office to look like, with lines of desks, each mounted with a monitor and keyboard, a swivel chair in front of each one. The only thing that did seem strange, was that there was no-one else there; the whole room was devoid of any staff. Julie walked past her and towards another door on the other side of the room. When they arrived at the door, Julie opened it and beckoned Kirstie to enter with a smile.
Kirstie looked around the office as she entered and the first thing she noticed were the two chairs opposite and facing each other. Between them, was a table supporting a microphone on a long flexible extension arm. She had obviously entered a recording room and this immediately terrified her.
“No it’s not for us,” said Julie, “we will just be talking today.”
Kristie’s heart slowed again at this reassurance. She felt comfort and warmth in the beautiful woman’s voice; it was even kind of sensual to her, although she thought it strange that she would think that way about another woman.
“Sit down here,” said Julie Pierce.
She had indicated with her soft beautiful hand, two couches perpendicular to each other, end to end, that we're facing a full-length glass window looking out over the city of Singapore,
“Beautiful isn’t it,” said Julie, “I often just sit here to relax and catch my thoughts.”
This was true; Julie would just sit here often and just think about the strangeness that of recent times, had invaded her life. Sometimes, she would think about Aldo. Sometimes, she would weep gently. Other times, she would smile and think about the mysterious Jason King and how he had kissed her on their first meeting.
“Can I get you a drink? Tea, water, anything at all,” Julie asked her?
“I would kill for a coffee,” said Kirstie, beginning to relax.
Julie smiled.
“Me too; latte, cappuccino or flat? I haven’t had one all morning yet.”
“Latte would be great.”
“Coming right up, we have a great coffee maker; just relax and enjoy the view, I will be right back.”
The beautiful Asian reporter left her and she breathed out, falling back into the large, soft, leather-clad, sofa. She really needed to smoke, but at least having a coffee would calm her nerves a bit. She looked out of the window and although the view was magnificent, she could not relax enough to enjoy it.
She looked around the office she was in, only just noticing now that it was quite Spartan, the only two colours in the room either being black or silver. There were no pictures or ornamentation of any kind in the room, except for a single red rose, standing erect from a slim black vase, on a silver and glass table, between the two black leather couches. The rose represented the only colour in the whole room, which made it all the more striking.
The beautiful reporter re-entered the office holding two large mugs.
“I thought you could do with a big one, I know I need it.”
She smiled sweetly at Kirstie, as if they were old friends, then put the mug of coffee in front of her and sat on the opposite couch.
“Why one red rose,” asked Kirstie, as she picked up the mug?
She sipped at the hot coffee.
‘It’s not bad,’ she thought, relieved to draw the warm fluid into her mouth, ‘all I need now is a smoke.’
She looked hopefully about the room but new there would be no chance of lighting up, it was a habit. Her hands shook and the surface of the coffee trembled. Kirstie didn’t notice but Julie did.
“It’s a habit of mine,” said Julie.
Kirstie looked at her blank.
“The red rose,” Julie said, “I put one there every day. A friend of mine gave me one once and I put it there, now I always keep one there.”
Julie did not want to say that it had been Aldo and now that he was gone, it was to keep his memory alive.
“Nice,” said Kirstie. ‘A little desperate,’ she thought to herself.
Both women sat for a minute, both in total contrast to each other. There was a definite beauty in both of them, but they were both inside and out, chalk and cheese.
Julie thought she should start.
“You came here to see me because you read my article about religion and prophecy, is that right?”
Kirstie hesitated momentarily, took a deep breath, another sip of coffee, and then began. She told the beautiful reporter everything from the first time she walked into the Swiss Alps chalet of Nigel Stansen, through her escape and a summary of her twenty-three years on the run, hunted by an elite team of spooks for the whole time.
Julie listened and said nothing. She could feel the pain and tiredness in the woman’s words and she thought about what Aldo had told her and then of the mysterious Jason King.
By the time Kirstie had finished telling her story, tears were welling up in her eyes and Julie could see that her fingers were white from the tight grip she had on her coffee mug. There wasn’t much she could say that she thought would ease the pain, so when Kirstie finished her story, both women sat there silently living in their own thoughts, until Julie thought she should have an attempt at support.
“I do have some knowledge of what you have said, but not with so much detail and only a little personal experience, so I do not doubt anything you have told me.”
Kirstie looked longingly into Julie's eyes. Julie could feel the need for more comfort and more explanation, but she knew not how to, or where she should start.
Finally, she broke the prolonged silence.
“Do you have any proof of what you have said?”
Kirstie turned to her bag, shuffling inside until she pulled out a very old looking bunch of papers.
“I have carried and protected this for twenty-three years and it is all I have.”
She handed it to the reporter who carefully unfolded the well-worn documents.
Julie read the heading on the front page.
‘United Nations Research Team’
Kirstie sat nervously watching, as the reporter turned each crumpled page, carefully, one at a time. She finished and looked up at Kristie’s expectant expression.
“This is quite something and not even what I expected, do you mind if I make a copy of this?”
Kirstie looked at her nervously. She was thinking to herself ‘Why, in twenty-three years, have I never made a copy?’
“I guess not,” she said, quietly.
When Julie returned, she had a clean white copy in one hand and the stained, crumpled, original in her other hand which she handed to Kirstie.
“I am going to make a suggestion to you, that probably will seem a little strange,” said the reporter, “I won’t write about this just yet until you meet with a friend of mine and tell him exactly what you have told me. He most likely will not need to see this; he will evaluate your words; that will be enough for him. Once you have spoken to him, I want you to then come back to me and tell me what you want me to do.”
Kirstie looked at her suspiciously.
“So who is this friend of yours, I need to know that, I don’t just trust anyone,” she said, obviously nervous.
“Do you trust me,” asked Julie?
“Well I have just met you, but…I guess I feel I can.”
“Then you should trust my judgment. I think this person will know what to do and could help you to escape your plight.”
Julie saw a faint glimmer of relief on Kristie’s face, before it disappeared again and was replaced by nervous tension.
“Okay,” she said finally giving in, “but can you give me at least an idea of who it is?”
Julie looked at her and wondered how she would react to the name.
“Have you ever heard of a guy called Jason King?”
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth;
For the first heaven and first earth had passed away,
And the sea was no more.
John Revelation 21.1
Chapter sixty three
The Righteous