The Voting Machine

The Messengers of God

The Los Angeles FBI agents were clearly disturbed at the story of how my life had unraveled in the past year. That's because they knew me from a different time, a time when I was a solid person who was in control, a person who did the right thing even when faced with a challenge.

Now I was describing a very different Temo McCarthy. I was describing a man who was out of control, who did not do the right thing.

We like to think of ourselves as consistent personalities. This isn't realistic. People are never consistent. We all play the hero and the villain at different times under different circumstances. I was as guilty of this as anyone.

I was telling Chang and Weisbein about the crash when Special Agent in Charge Stevens returned to the room. He whispered something that made the two LA agents shudder. Then they shared information with Stevens. I couldn't make out the details but I knew it was about me, I knew it was something I'd told them.

"What is it?" I asked. "You promised me you would share."

Chang and Weisbein looked to the Special Agent in Charge for approval.

Stevens turned and addressed me. "Postings in chat rooms. Websites popular with Islamic militants. We have linguists in the Bureau who monitor these sites twenty-four hours a day."

"So what are they saying online?"

"There are messages in the Urdu language that make reference to what happened this morning here in Las Vegas. They talk about killing voters in the city of sin in the country of sin. They say this is the first attack, with more to come as we get closer to the national election next Tuesday."

"So that means terrorists killed David and Zeke," I said.

"That's what it has to mean," Stevens said. "How else would they know what happened this morning? We haven't made this information public."

"Do they mention the details?"

"No, nothing specific. The posts mention killing and then they start sermonizing. They denounce American democracy as a fraud. They say its propaganda used to justify imperialism and murder. Then they say that Americans are going to start paying in blood for their elections. They say it all starts today."

"So do you know the group behind this? Is it Al Qaeda? You said they were trying to make ricin bombs in Yemen, right?"

"We're not sure who it is, but we have some leads. The posts are in Urdu, a language spoken in India and Pakistan. The rhetoric around democracy is similar to statements made by a group called the Messengers of God."

"The group that bombed the hotel and killed Gina? They're the ones behind this?" I cried.

"We're not sure, Temo," Stevens said. "That hotel bombing in Bangalore was famous among militant groups. It happened in the run-up to India's parliamentary elections. The Messengers of God were very critical of the government and the voting process in India. They made similar claims that the democracy was a fraud used to justify murder and oppression."

I was seething with rage and hatred, thinking the same terrorists could've plotted the deaths of Gina and David, two of my dearest friends.

"So this group, The Messengers of God, you think they are right here in Las Vegas?" I said. I was racking my brain for ways I could hunt them down myself.

"Honestly, Temo, we just don't know," Stevens said. "Until now, we thought they were confined to South Asia. They could have had a cell that's been waiting here in the US for years, just biding their time under the radar. They could have links or alliances with other groups. Or they could've spawned a copycat, inspired by their attempts to disrupt the elections in India."

"Well, you know I want to help you. I've lost two friends in the past year, two people who helped me in so many ways. Neither one of them deserved what happened in any way. Anything I can do to stop the murder of another innocent... You know I'll do whatever I can."

"Then keep talking," Stevens said, gently touching the massive scar on his forehead. "Everything you've lived through is going to help us understand this. You came from LA and you've been on the ground here in Vegas for more than six months. You've spoken with thousands of people all over the city during the voter registration drive. Whoever did this has been here in the city plotting for a long time. They've been studying the way our elections work. They've been here among us, watching the whole process so they could find a way to sabotage it."

The Special Agent in Charge checked the number of an incoming call on his cell and stepped toward the exit.

"Washington. I have to take this," he said. He glanced at me, Chang and Weisbein, waving us on to proceed with our conversation. "Tell them everything, Temo. God knows how many lives might depend on the information you provide."

The Special Agent in Charge left the room and I returned my story.

"You were telling us about your last night in LA," Chang gently reminded.

"That's right," I said. "I thought I would die on the freeway that night."