\"Writing.Com
*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2062605-Chapter-1---A-Gift-From-the-Gods
Image Protector
\"Reading Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: E · Chapter · Sci-fi · #2062605
First chapter of my 911/alien conspiracy novel.
New York City, September 11, 2001 0530 hrs

She had lived almost her entire life in the guise of someone else, never revealing her true self to anyone outside of her family and her closest associates. Today would be no different. Carefully, she pulled the dark brown shoulder length wig she usually wore over her auburn curls, and then used a hand mirror to check for any strays. Satisfied, she opened the contacts case and perused the various choices. She decided on brown.

“Good choice,” said her husband as he came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You look great with brown eyes. But then again, you always look great,” he told her as he kissed her cheek.

“Well, it wouldn't be wise to change my look too drastically--the neighbors might notice,” she joked as she turned around and put her arms around his neck.

“You're right about that,” he smiled. “Sorry about this morning,” he said, as he released himself from her grasp and walked out of the bath and into their bedroom. “But I promise I'll be there before the meeting starts. If something comes up, call me.”

Beth couldn't help but to grin. She knew he would do anything for her—all she had to do was ask—but she rarely took advantage of his generosity. “Thanks, and you know I will,” she told him as she leaned toward the mirror--a small brown contact now balancing on her index finger. Gently, she pulled down her bottom eyelid and eased the contact into place. “Maybe one eye green and one brown...” She giggled.

“What's so funny?” he asked as he was tying his shoes.

“Nothing. It's just that...sometimes I wish I could be me. I was thinking of not putting a contact in the other eye. Just a silly thought.” Ben didn't say a word. He didn't have to.

After putting the remaining contact in her eye, she blinked a few times. She wore an off-white Chanel pantsuit--Labor Day fashion laws be damned--with a violet silk shirt, and did a slow pirouette to check the results. Happy with what she saw, she asked, “Could you bring me my necklace? It's on my night table.”

Ben grabbed the jewelry and went back into the bath. As he put the necklace around her neck, he looked at her in the mirror and for the thousandth time, he couldn't help but think how beautiful she was. “It’s going to be OK Beth—you know it is,” he reassured her.
“I know, but I just have an uneasy feeling…”

“Who wouldn’t? Today isn’t going to be an ordinary day for us, but listen,” he told her, “even if the unthinkable happens and I don't make it on time, you know what to do. It'll be fine. Look,” he said as he glanced at his wristwatch. “I've gotta get going. The faster I can get this damn security orientation over with, the faster I can get to our meeting.” He went back into the bedroom, picked up his briefcase off the floor next to the night table, and headed towards the bathroom for one last kiss. “I love you sweetheart,” he said as he placed a hasty peck on her cheek. A soft spoken, 'love you too,' drifted towards him as he hurried out the bedroom door and down the stairs of their Waverly brownstone.
Some people--Beth and Ben included--believe fate has a part in bringing people together, and that whatever we experience in this life is a lesson we haven't yet learned. Like Nietzsche's 'eternal recurrence,' Beth and Ben both believed they have lived and loved as a couple throughout eternity--each time learning new lessons along the way, and each time becoming better people.

Beth hailed a cab fifteen minutes after her husband left. Now she was stuck in traffic and getting impatient. She hated feeling rushed, but it was almost unavoidable in this city. Despite the fact it was 6 a.m., the streets were already bustling with girls in short skirts sipping their lattes, children laughing on their way to school, men in suits, and an odd assortment of characters unique to New York. She wasn't too surprised to see the streets crowded this early--she just wanted them to get out of her way. “Can't you go any faster?” she asked her cab driver, knowing the answer before she asked it. Her cabbie recognized people like her immediately--they were everywhere in New York City. Rushing around. Always late. Always stressed.

With dreadlocks partially obscuring his face, he turned his head to face hers. “Nah, miss, dis cah ain't goin' nuh weh',” he said as he faced forward again and pointed ahead at the mass of vehicles in front of him.

Damn, why today? Traffic in this city is such a nightmare...

The towers were now clearly visible. They were so close--just a few blocks away. All she had to do was get there. A seemingly impossible feat of engineering, they were an architectural behemoth that overshadowed everything in the city. The prima donnas of skyscrapers, the twin towers of the World Trade Center may have been the biggest, but they lacked the aesthetic qualities of many other skyscrapers in the city--notably the Empire State Building. But that wasn't a fault of the towers themselves. It was their generation. Gone were the elegant Art Deco stylings of the '20's and '30's; the towers were a prime example of the structural expressionism popular in the '70's. They were high tech. They were functional. They were huge. They were not beautiful.

Deciding on an alternate route, Beth pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of her purse and handed it through the partition to her driver. “Here, keep the change. I'm going to get out here and walk the rest of the way.” Without waiting for a reply, she stepped out onto the street with the faint echo of her driver's gratitude wafting in her ears. This wasn't the first time she had gotten out of a cab before reaching her destination. Patience--like her fashion sense--wasn't one of her strongest characteristics. Luckily, her flats and her long stride made it easy for her to navigate the busy sidewalks.

Beth was forty years old, nearly six feet tall, willowy, and rarely wore heels unless she felt it absolutely necessary. According to her, that was almost never. Heels weren't conducive to her way of thinking. In her way of thinking, they were a form of slavery, much like ties were leashes around the necks of the slaves that wore them. Nearly everyone was a slave. They just didn't know it yet. Beth wanted to change all that.
As the sun's golden rays began peeking through the New York skyline, she reached Fulton Street and the entrance to the North tower of the World Trade Center. Without wasting a moment, she entered the lobby and couldn't help but to appreciate the visual contrast between the bright and colorful banners on display in the lobby, and the gray and somber monochromatic exterior of the building. It made the lobby, in all its simplicity, seem much more appealing.

Heading straight towards the security desk, she got the attention of the older, slightly paunchy security guard who was talking on the phone. After a few minutes of negotiation, she finally had a key in her hand to an office on the 99th floor and headed towards a bank of express elevators behind her. There weren't many people waiting at this hour, and it took no time at all for the elevator to arrive. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside, leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for the 10-minute ride to the sky lobby where she could take the stairs to get to her floor.

Beth chose the tower to hold the meeting because of her familiarity with it. Moreover, holding a meeting in the clouds gave her more of a sense of security than using an office building within sniper distance. In preparation for the meeting, a catering company was scheduled to deliver their breakfast in half an hour, and a security firm was meeting her in an hour to sweep the offices for any recording devices--she wasn't about to take any unnecessary chances.

She had leased this space under the name of a shell company she had created which led to another shell company that could never be traced back to her. She'd made sure of that. She'd left her business cell at home, but she and Ben always carried burners with them. She had no computer with her either. She didn't need one. Nothing that transpired at this meeting would be recorded, and nothing could be traced. Everyone coming to the meeting carried fake ID's and would be arriving in disguises. She would be expecting all the senior members of the Association at 8 a.m. sharp.

After the hired help had come and gone, she surveyed the room. The room itself was huge--it had once been a call center and had held multiple cubicles, which were now long gone. In their place stood two giant conference tables that could seat twenty-five people each, with fifty soft black leather chairs gathered around them. A dais stood in front of the tables, and two more black chairs stood to the left. An elegantly laid buffet with a centerpiece of red roses was against the wall laden with plates of fresh fruit, muffins and croissants--waiting to be consumed by her eagerly anticipated guests. She was satisfied.

Despite Ben’s confidence in her, she was nervous and her sweaty palms were becoming cold and clammy. She grabbed a cup of coffee from the buffet in an attempt to warm her hands, sat down and did her best to calm herself before their arrival.
So much had led to this meeting--it had to go well. It took years of planning and work, but they were finally ready. Now, it was time to organize, present their progress reports, and discuss the implementation of the Agenda.

The Agenda’s focus was on the worldwide hostile takeover of every major corporation. A seemingly impossible task--but theirs, nevertheless. Which corporations would be taken over first? When would the takeovers begin? These were some of the decisions that would be made today, and when the Agenda was complete, the world would never be the same.

As her guests began arriving, a portable biometric vein scanner confirmed their identities she had brought with her before she greeted them and directed them towards the morning repast. Looking intermittently at the gold watch on her wrist that Ben had given her on her 35th birthday, she was getting anxious. Not only because Ben was late, but certain key members had not shown up yet either. Trying Ben’s burner cell, he answered on the first ring. “Where are you?” she whispered.

“Sorry honey, I just got out of there. The security orientation went later than I thought. I'm going to get there as fast as I possibly can.”

“I hope so. I’m getting worried.”

“Why, is something the matter?”

“You’re not the only one that’s going to be late--a few others haven’t shown up yet either.”

“Don’t worry about it honey. Maybe they’re stuck in traffic. I’m still on the highway myself, but I should be there in a few minutes, so just try to appease the masses until I get there. Maybe tell a few jokes. I won’t be long.”

Beth had to chuckle at Ben’s remark. They both knew she had a sense of humor only few could appreciate. “Ok, Ben, I’ll try.”

Before Beth could utter another word, however, a male voice interrupted her. “Holy crap! Everyone, look outside!” They all turned to look out the window and were shocked to see that a passenger jet was less than half a mile away. It appeared to be headed directly towards them, its wingspan already stretching the expanse of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Oh my God Ben, there’s a plane heading right towards us!” she screamed as the Association got up off their chairs and started running towards the exits.

“What?” He could see the tops of the towers from the highway, and when he looked over his shoulder, there was a huge jetliner flying below normal altitude—headed straight for the tower. In panic, he almost hit the railing. "This can’t be coincidence Beth! Get out of there—get out now!! Beth! Beth!!"

With her ear to the phone, she ran. The mammoth metal beast bent on destroying them closed in as they headed towards the stairwell—a cacophony of voices drowning out her own. A deafening roar shook the tower as the plane hit its mark. All Ben heard through the phone was a barely audible, “I lo…,” before the signal was lost. Glass shattered and hurled towards the Association like Japanese throwing stars--blood splattering everywhere as they fell. It was too late. Her last thoughts were of Ben and Alison before the flames engulfed her, and her world sank into the abyss.
© Copyright 2015 LCCooper (lindae35 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2062605-Chapter-1---A-Gift-From-the-Gods