They dreamt the improbable, and pulled off the impossible. A group of right-wing militia zealots combine forces with a band of rogue police officers, led by the city's police commissioner, and commandeer New York's City Hall. Among the hostages taken is the mayor. A young FBI director is given a 48-hour deadline to release a convicted domestic terrorist in exchange for the hostages. Can he and his fellow agents come up with a solution to thwart the anarchists' threats in time?

Deuteronomy: The New Ten Commandments

By Michael J. Molloy

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Michael J. Molloy
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-1030-0

Chapter One

Day 1

Monday May 4TH

Lexington, Kentucky 11:26 AM, EDT

I am so tired. But I must keep going. I must complete.... I must complete the mission.

This was the mantra the weary traveler kept repeating to himself as he tried to fight off countless hours of sleep deprivation. Although he had just filled up the gas tank of his late 90s Dodge Ram pickup, it was he who was running on empty. The eyes of the middle-aged road warrior were beginning to sag as much as the brim of the Indiana Jones-style hat he wore. His brain was as parched as his weather-beaten face.

The traveler was moving along New Circle Road as best he could in a college town that tried to mimic bigger brethren to the north in Cincinnati and west in Louisville. He was battling other motorists as well as an endless blur of fast food restaurants, gas stations and used car dealers.

Finally he spotted an oasis up ahead which read The Fayette Motel. He couldn't keep up the pace any farther and suddenly veered his truck off the road's course, cutting off an angry driver in the process. He had been driving on the road for the last few days, and had used the cab of his truck as his bedroom when he tired. Truly he was in need of more capacious quarters that would offer him a more restful sleep. Not to mention the fact that he was starving, having had only a cup of coffee and a pre-packaged wafer bar in his system that day.

The inn's lot was in some disrepair. There was a rut here, a minor pothole there, and a few tufts of grass protruding through the macadam to further exacerbate its horrid appearance. The sprawling two-story building had a balcony circling its second floor. The terrace had a thin metal railing to protect the visitors from falling down to the ground, but there were spots where pieces of plywood had replaced missing portions of the railing. The location was far from the Plaza Hotel; however, the man did not seem to mind much. For him it was a place to bunk out, and he was not terribly picayune.

The man pulled his pickup into a vacant spot and placed the vehicle into arrest. After shutting off the engine, the man grabbed the large canvas bag next to him. He rose from his seat and, with belongings in hand, got out of the vehicle's cab. Once outside, the man locked up the truck as he slowly perused his surroundings. The midday sun was brightly shining, but the drooping brim of the man's hat protected his eyes. Immediately he spotted an unlit shingle that signified the location of the office. Not sparing another second, the man moved with quickened pace towards the sign.

The man walked up to the window of the office. He looked inside and spotted a figure of another man with his head down. The traveler could not identify the figure accurately, for there was the bright reflection of the outside that was clouding his vision. He spotted the handle of the adjacent door and reached for it with his left hand. In one fluid motion the man opened the door and walked into the establishment.

The figure behind the counter became apparent. It was that of a man who was bald, and overweight by about 20 pounds. The man looked around 60 years of age. He wore a gray golfer's shirt with thin alternating teal, salmon and yellow bands running horizontally across it. He had been reading the sports section of that day's version of the Lexington Herald-Leader. The sounds of Reba McIntyre emanated from a nearby radio, with the famous country singer belting out one of her well-known ballads. When he heard the front door open, the counter man picked up his head and gazed up at the visitor.

"How y'all doin' today?" the fellow behind the counter greeted the traveler. The counterman, who spoke with a thick Kentucky twang, put the newspaper down and turned off the radio.

"I'm looking for a room," the traveler said. "Do you have one available?"

"As a matter of fact we do. It's down on the ground floor. I just had the occupants that were in there leave this mornin'. We were jam-packed in here over the weekend with a lot of people here for the Derby."

"The Derby? But that was in Louisville."

"I know. I know. Everybody says the same thing. But if you want to go the Derby and stay in Louisville, you'd better book a room well in advance. If you don't, you have to settle for places like Lexington. It's like this year every year. Hey, did you see the race?"

"No, I'm afraid I missed it."

"Oh, man! What a finish! Everybody thought Slinger was going to win in a cakewalk, but I was one of those who knew better. Dante's Torch. Fourteen-to-one shot. And I picked him on the nose. I won $350."

"Congratulations," the man replied with a faint hint of a grin. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to book a room. I'm a little wiped out."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the counter fellow responded apologetically. "Let me bring up my book."

He went underneath the tabletop and dug out a notebook-size binder. He opened the book to where it showed that day's date. The counterman presented the book to the traveler and then reached for a nearby pen and handed it to the man. With the pen now in his writing hand, the man signed the registry with the name of Robert Elliott. The fellow behind the counter turned the book around so that it read legibly to him.

"Robert Elliott," the counterman said. "And how long are y'all plannin' to stay, Mr. Elliott?"

"Probably for a couple of days," the man named Robert Elliott answered. "But if I plan to make it longer, I'll let you know."

"Please. It certainly helps us."

The clerk grabbed a set of keys from a compartment of a wooden mail slot holder. Before handing the keys over to Robert, the counterman required some remuneration to secure the room for the following two evenings. Robert pulled out his dog-eared wallet and reached inside for some cash. He handed the clerk a $50 bill as well as a $20 note. The clerk took the money and added Robert's cash to a wad of bills he had pulled out from his right front pants pocket. The counterman handed back Robert the correct change of four singles. He then took out a receipt book off to the side, and wrote out a certificate in the amount of $66. The clerk ripped off the top copy of the receipt and handed it, as well as the room keys, to Robert. The traveler took both from the counterman.

"Here you go," the clerk said. "Your receipt and the keys to Room 126. You'll find it by walkin' to your left. It's straight down. If y'all need somethin', just come by the office. I'm usually here until 9 o'clock at night. But if I'm not, just ask the person on duty to find Dean for you. That's me."

"Thanks, Dean," Robert replied as he offered a smile back to the host.

"Hey, no problem," Dean happily answered. "Oh, one more thing. We don't allow any cookin' in the room. And we don't have any phones in the room. We do have a pay phone here right outside the office."

"That's okay. I've got a cell phone."

Dean asked Robert how the traveler's cellular phone had been working for him. Robert stated that it was great and the clerk responded that he had been looking into getting one himself instead of relying on a simple pager. Dean explained that the only thing that had been holding him back was the cost. Robert then assured him that it wasn't as expensive as Dean had thought, and advised the clerk to get one. The counterman was going to take it under strong consideration. Dean then thanked Robert for his patronage, and wished the traveler a pleasant stay while at the motel.

Robert took the keys to the room, along with his oversized canvas bag, and exited the motel's office. Remembering Dean's instructions, Robert turned to his left and walked down the concrete path towards his room.

As he walked along the way, Robert took a quick glance at his pickup. The truck's shabby appearance was not going to make it a target for thieves. But there was something about the vehicle that Robert was concerned about. It was something that caused the traveler to gaze intently at it for several seconds. Robert was almost tempted to walk over to the truck to put his mind at ease. But after giving it some thought, he decided against it and proceeded to his hotel room.

Robert arrived at the door marked "126" a few seconds later. He gave the door a quick look over. It had recently been colored teal, as the scent of fresh paint was still quite evident. Robert inserted his motel room key in the slot and turned both the key and the doorknob simultaneously. After opening the door, the road-weary wanderer walked inside the room.

Robert scanned the quarters. There was a simple walnut-grain dresser, a television set supported by a metal stand, a night table, and a bed that was covered with a turquoise flower-print quilt. The mattress covering had been re-stitched many times over to cover previous tears and cigarette burns. And although the outside portion of the door had been refurbished, there was evidence of some decay to the interior of the portal by virtue of some peeling paint. Still, Robert was not complaining of the lack of appeal. He just wanted to crash from a long journey.

The traveler doffed his hat and tossed it on the bed. He then used the fingers of his right hand to comb his hair back away from his forehead. Robert then allowed the shoulder strap of his oversized canvas bag to slink down along his left side. He calmly placed the bag on the scarlet-carpeted floor next to the nightstand.

Robert had a mission to accomplish. It was a mission that was going to fill his time over the next several days. And the mission meant that he had to do something right then and there, as exhausted as he was. Robert sat himself down on the right side of the bed. He was within arm's reach of his canvas bag. Robert looked down at the huge satchel intently. He gazed at it for almost half a minute before he sighed and shrugged his shoulders. It was time for the first phase of Robert's task.

The traveler reached over for a zippered compartment on the side of the bag. He pulled down the metal toggle to where the pocket was only half-opened. Robert then searched inside with his left hand. Because the compartment was small and crammed with other items that were of no use to him at the moment, Robert had to use the sensation of his fingertips to feel for the item he sought. Looking up at the ceiling Robert finally sensed the object of his quest. He pulled it out of the compartment and gladly discovered he had made the right choice.

In his hand was the cellular phone which Robert had spoken to Dean about earlier. Releasing his grip on the canvas bag, Robert extended the small antenna on the phone. Once he turned the unit on, Robert pressed a series of numbers which he had committed to memory. After the last of the numbers was pressed, Robert heard the line ring four times before a message tape was heard. Frustrated by not reaching his intended party live, Robert called a second number in his determination to reach his target.

A woman answered on the other end of the line. Robert replied by asking to be switched to a particular person. The woman responded by stating that the party in question was attending a special luncheon at a hotel. Robert was at first flustered by not linking up with the person, but he recovered quickly by asking the woman if there was any way he could contact the party at the hostelry. He told the woman that he was a family member of the person and even went so far as to give her a specific name. The woman recognized the name of the relative, for she had heard it mentioned before. She immediately gave Robert the best direct number to reach the person. The traveler asked her to hold one moment while he retrieved a piece of paper and a pen.

Robert scrambled once more into his canvas bag to snare the writing instrument and anything to transcribe the phone number on. He captured a pen and rapidly wrested an envelope which had contained junk mail literature in it. With this equipment in front of him Robert asked the woman to recite the number. As the woman read off the number, Robert diligently wrote it down on the back of the envelope. The traveler then politely thanked the woman for disseminating the number to him and bade her a good day.

After he had gotten off the line with the woman, Robert disconnected the phone. He looked at the phone number she had given him. Without further hesitation Robert utilized the services of his cellular phone once more. He punched in the number that was written down on the envelope. It was time to push forward with the mission. And the person Robert wanted to get hold of was going to play an integral part.

New York City 12:07 PM EDT

In the ballroom of the Pennsylvania Hotel, that historic structure directly across from Madison Square Garden on Seventh Avenue, the atmosphere was both festive and frenetic. A huge gathering had assembled to honor Salvatore Fontana, the mayor of New York City. The organization that was sponsoring the event, made possible through various donations, was Empire State Friends for Housing, a non-profit agency that was bestowing the mayor with plaudits and kudos for his efforts to garner public funding and allocate it for their agency. The specific aim for Empire State Friends for Housing was to help families in New York obtain their first homes in spite of the current downward spiral in real estate.

Besides Mayor Fontana, there was an array of special dignitaries lined up at the front table. For starters there was Joe Rosenbluth, the president of the Empire State Friends for Housing agency. Rosenbluth was a robust man with about 40 extra pounds on him. Despite his girth, Rosenbluth carried a lot of respect in the community and had years of experience in working with many politicians and activists. The 54-year-old agency leader was at the dais, about to introduce the mayor before the packed house of approximately 150 guests and media personnel covering the event.

Mayor Fontana sat next to the podium itself. The middle-aged chief executive of the city was quite distinguished looking. In spite of a slightly receding hairline, he had well-chiseled facial features that gave him a matinee-idol appearance. Married with two children of school age, the mayor looked very trim and proper wearing an expensive designer suit.

Sitting next to the mayor was the 60-year-old police commissioner, John Kowalchuk. With silver hair that was recessed much farther than that of the mayor's, Kowalchuk sat back in his seat, as quiet as a mouse. He gently stroked the burgundy and gray necktie he wore that day, which went along with his gray pinstripe suit. Although he manifested outward calmness, the police commissioner was chomping at the bit to be somewhere else or do something else. If it hadn't been for the strong coaxing by the mayor, Kowalchuk might not have been there to begin with. The father of four and grandfather of five looked around the ballroom as he seemed disinterested in the social affair.

To the right of Kowalchuk sat Public Advocate Nancy Saperstein. Looking elegant in her two-piece royal blue outfit, Saperstein wore enough jewelry on her fingers, ears and wrists to open her own store. The 42-year-old mother of two made a special effort to be there. She always made a special effort to be anywhere, for Nancy had aspirations of attaining higher political office.

Although Mayor Fontana was able to get City Council to overturn term limits, a vote later backed up by a judge's ruling, to seek a third term in office, Saperstein still had her eye on the position. Of course, there was Senator Dennis Grady's seat up for grabs in a couple of years, and Nancy gave that strong consideration as well.

On the opposite side of the dais sat Rosenbluth's top aides, Gloria Hendricks and Ismelda Rivera. Although they were of different backgrounds - Hendricks never married while Rivera and her three children were survivors of an abusive ex-husband and father - the two women shared Rosenbluth's beliefs in fair and equitable housing for those who could least afford it.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Deuteronomy: The New Ten Commandmentsby Michael J. Molloy Copyright © 2009 by Michael J. Molloy. Excerpted by permission.
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