CHAPTER 25
“They’re rolling,” said Bravo Three.
“All right,” said Joseph, also known for the moment as Alpha One. “Top-Shelf, status?”
“Contact, and sweet lock on one phone.”
“Roger. Don’t burn them yet. Per the brief.”
“Top-Shelf wilco.”
“Vik package, check in.”
“Vik one, four plus one.”
“Vik two, four plus one.”
“Alpha One copies all. Stand by for a location.”
Now they waited. This Ashiro guy seemed decent enough. An Internet provocateur, to be sure, and somewhat anti-government, or at least suspicious of government, but not in his own right a threat. He was not a target, today, and he would only get hurt if he did something stupid. The girl was the target. She was the one hell-bent on bringing her government down in pieces just when the world needed strong governments, well and carefully managed, more than ever. As best Joe could tell, her motivation was nothing more than a sort of principled nihilism. Tell everyone everything and damn the consequences.
This even after she had willingly signed her non-disclosure agreements.
There was no way she came out of this alive. The President wanted her to go away, and stay gone away, and the top people had ruled out law enforcement. It was not enough just to arrest her and try to bury her in a prison cell before she could talk to the media, just as that had not been sufficient for the others. No, the top people had called his boss. They had called Royal. You called Royal when you needed dirty work done. Wet work. Really, it was just a continuation of the project he had already been given.
This was not the dirtiest, but it was certainly close. They had killed plenty of people over the years, including plenty of decent and moral folk, but those had all been foreign nationals. At the end of the day, war is war, and there would inevitably be good men on both sides. Good men killing good men was the price of war. The cost. Killing a fellow citizen, though—even an inexcusable nihilist like Melody Ritter, to say nothing of the others—was different, and it felt different. It felt like a higher transgression, and it surely was.
Joseph certainly had never been asked to do it before this case. One heard rumors of this sort of thing, in the business, but only rumors and speculation. He was pretty sure, given his discussions with his boss, that to the extent such actions were taken, they were assigned once in a lifetime to any particular operator. If there was someone out there taking on this illegal work as a regular occupation, he could see that becoming a problem, or that person losing all moral grounding. Better this way. Better to take on one, as a volunteer, under extraordinary circumstances, and then leave it behind and retire or return to ordinary work.
If there was to be any more ordinary work. Extraordinary circumstances indeed. All of them might be called upon to do uncomfortable things in the years to come, while authorities did their best to manage the world’s transition into a new order, a new reality. What that would look like he could hardly imagine.
“West,” said Top-Shelf. “Looks like they’re heading for the loop.” That would be the highway loop around downtown. Presumably, then, their meeting place was not downtown.
Points to Ritter for having an instinct for tradecraft. When she had decided to go off the grid, she had pulled all her cash, and all her boyfriend’s cash, and had vanished within a day, along with her parents and his parents and sister. How she had convinced them all to go, and where, no one could yet say. They could not stay hidden forever, but finding them, even with the full power of the Federal government behind the search, would take time. Further to her credit, Ritter seemed to understand that fact also, at least instinctively, and once she had decided to go off the grid she had moved forward very quickly with her plan, giving herself and her enemies only a few days to prepare for her meeting with Ashiro.
Joseph knew they were communicating, she and Ashiro, via the Internet—probably via anonymous Tor sites with very good encryption. The difficult part, though, was that neither of them were using any of their own machines to that end. Joe’s team had begun following Ashiro almost immediately after he announced his planned interview with Ritter, and they had watched him go to a small independent computer store and with cash of his own buy a refurbished laptop. He had used the store’s Wi-Fi to install some software. They had been unable to see what at the time, but Joe’s techs had deduced that he had established a line of communication with Ritter then and there, before anyone could determine his new system’s hardware address (it’s “MAC” address, they had called it) or take the other steps necessary to intercept its communications. Now—at least as it had been explained to him—the necessary keys or certificates or whatever they were had already been exchanged between his system and Ritter’s, so even if they could intercept messages, those messages were encrypted and unreadable. They would need physical access to Ashiro’s computer, and his password, in order to acquire anything useful. It would take days, at a minimum, to clone his device and then hack into it. Either that, or they could pick him up and squeeze him directly.
No one was yet ready to take that step. They had the MAC addresses of all of Ashiro’s primary hardware, along with those of the computers used by his associates. Rather than go hard on Ashiro and risk driving Ritter further underground, Joseph had opted to go soft, to wait and watch. They were planning a meet, and his team had assured him it would not be hard to shut down any transmissions or streams Ashiro tried to broadcast. Wait and watch, let him lead them to Ritter, block his feed and take them all down, ostensibly for violations of classified material handling laws. Ritter would be killed in the crossfire. Simple. Not as clean as the other two, but still simple, and this would put an end to it. They had underestimated Ritter a little, but she had underestimated them a lot.
Joseph closed his eyes and waited. He found, in dirty work like this, that it helped him to focus on the problem at hand, on the operation, and not to ponder its greater significance. Think like a technician, clinically, about the steps and desired end-state; keep the mind there; leave the philosophy for later, or for others.
After a while, Top-Shelf reported, “They’re exiting,” and a few seconds after that, “turning west again.” So it was confirmed that they were not heading for downtown.
“Alpha One copies. Vehicle package, start rolling that way.” He was in the back of “vik one,” and he felt it start to move. He remained with his eyes closed. “Any guesses?”
“My money’s on a coffee shop,” said one of the team. “Free Wi-Fi, and it fits the profile.”
“Looks like there’s an upscale shopping area out in Lakeview. There’s also a park a little further.”
“Start heading toward the shopping center,” said Joseph. He was in no particular hurry. Ashiro had named the time of his broadcast, and it was still more than two hours away.
“Turning south,” said Top-Shelf.
Joe opened his eyes, but only barely. “On a highway?” he asked.
“Two-lane hardball with a center turn lane. Stand by… Arnford Highway, south. Aaand now they’re turning west on a small street. Cassidy.”
“Stay on ‘em,” said Joseph, unnecessarily.
“We’re padlocked,” Top-Shelf assured him. A minute later, “North, now. King Ave.”
“How far out are we?” asked his vehicle’s driver.
“Six miles from the exit.”
“All right. When you get to the exit, loiter a bit until we know where they’re going.”
“Roger.”
“East now,” called Top-Shelf. “They’re back on Highway 9.”
“Coming back toward the loop?”
“Yes.”
“What the heck are they doing? Did they get lost?” asked one of his team.
“I think they’re trying to identify a tail,” said another.
Joseph nodded to himself.
“You think they know we’re tracking them?”
“No,” interjected Joe. “They’re not aware of the aircraft. They’re just trying to shake out a ground tail. Top-Shelf, just stay with them. Once they’re convinced they’re not being followed, they’ll go on toward their actual destination.”
“Top-Shelf copies.”
Sure enough, Ashiro’s van passed under the loop, but then turned north again, and west through another underpass, and proceeded roughly west, by a few more twists and turns, passing well wide of the shopping center they had identified earlier.
“Changing my bet to the park,” said someone.
“I don’t think it works that way,” said another.
“All vehicles start toward the park.”
“Vik one copies.”
“Vik two copies.”
Whether or not strictly legal by gambling rules, the late bet on the park bore out. “They’re pulling in. Parking. East lot,” reported Top-Shelf.
“Park it is,” said Joe. “Top-Shelf, keep eyes on. Vehicles, circle around and scope the place out until we know where they’re setting up, and how. Keep an eye out for a spot for Bravo Three.”
“Four pax exiting target vehicle,” reported Top-Shelf. “They’re unloading gear.”
“Alpha copies.”
Alpha and Bravo drove around the park, observing its entrances and parking areas, laying eyes on its topography.
“All four pax moving into the park, now,” said Top-Shelf. “Request to label Papa One through Four.”
“Not yet. I’m watching them,” said Joseph. “Good handshake.” He had activated Top-Shelf’s video feed on his tablet, and on it he could see the four little figures making their way up one of the paths. Thanks to the absence of foliage, trees did not much obscure them from the overhead view. He watched them pause, and then two of them broke off, one heading north, the other south. “Papa Four is breaking to the north. Papa Three is breaking to the south. How copy?”
“Labeling squirters, Papa Four to the north, Papa Three to the south,” replied Top-Shelf. Joe watched the feed zoom out and then switch to a thermal camera, highlighting the people as bright black spots in an otherwise white world of cold snow and nearly-as-cold trees.
“Okay,” said Joe to his team, “take us to the south lot. I want Alpha Two and Bravo Two to walk their dogs. Bravo three, did you find a place?”
“I think so, depending on where they go. There’s an apartment building on the east side. I’ll see if I can get access to the roof with my badge.”
“You need a spotter, or can you go alone? There’s a lot of open ground here; I’d like to keep bodies down here for coverage.”
“I can go alone, boss,” said Bravo Three, and Joseph could hear the chuckle in his voice. It was not as though he needed security. They were not expecting any actual resistance here. The only need he might have for a spotter would be to help him maintain situational awareness and perform ranging and wind estimation. Today was a cold but calm, clear day, and the ranges were not terribly long. A few hundred yards at most.
Top-Shelf came over the net again. “Looks like they’re setting up. Near the base of the bridge. Open area. Papa Three and Four took seats on benches on the east perimeter. Possibly acting as security.”
“Copy,” said Joseph. “Top-Shelf, you see the guy just down and left of your cross-hair, setting up the cameras?”
“Affirm,” said Top-Shelf. The camera image moved a few fractions of a degree to center on the hot spot in question. The camera field of view was very wide, so that the other two “Papa” targets could be kept in frame, and each person was but a little black speck, barely recognizable as animated, much less as a human figure.
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“Good capture. Label that one Papa Two. The other one Papa One.”
“Top-Shelf is capture Papa Two. Stand by.” The camera slid fractionally and centered on the other hot spot, milling about just west of the one setting up the cameras. “Confirm Papa One.”
“From Alpha One, that’s a good capture,” said Joseph. That would be Adam Ashiro. “Stand by.”
On the other channel, “Team, looks like they’ve picked a place for the photo shoot and are setting up. I’m marking it now on your tablets.” He and the others had satellite imagery of the park on their handheld tablets, as part of a software package designed for battlefield tracking and control. Each person could see his or her own location, plus icons representing the other team members, and any shared targets or other markers. Joseph plotted a marker for the interview location and shared it to the team. “Target labels. Papa One is Ashiro, Papa Two is his cameraman. Papa Three is the lookout to the south, Papa Four to the north. Bravo Two, dismount and work your way in. Make some doggy friends.”
“Copy. Good thing we brought the pooches.” Bravo Two’s animal was just her personal pet, a well-trained and universally friendly retriever. She exited the other vehicle and made her way into the park looking very ordinary.
“Top-Shelf, give me Papa Three again, followed by Four. I’m going to put markers out for their locations. We’ll see if we can get eyes on.”
“Copy. Slewing to Papa Three. Masked, but should be under this tree here.” The trunk of the skeletal tree obscured the camera’s view, but they had kept it in frame, and no hot spots had departed from that location since Papa Three had disappeared under it.
“Copy.” Joe marked the tree and then with Top-Shelf’s help marked Papa Four’s location as well.
“Bravo, drop Bravo Three off at the apartment building and then meet me at the east lot.”
“Copy.”
“Alpha,” Joe then said, not over the radio but to his two companions in his own car, “let’s go around to the north and drop off Two and his dog. Paul, stay remote for now. We don’t want too many persistent faces hanging around if they’re this paranoid. Just be ready to move in.”
“You got it.”
Joseph reactivated his radio. “All right, team, here’s the plan as it stands now. I’m going to let Alpha Two and Bravo Two execute the take-down when Objective Cannon shows up.” Cannon, i.e., loose cannon. “You know the drill. Objective Cannon is ‘presumed armed.’ We’ll say she presented a gun, and then you did what you had to do. Try to simulate arrest of the other two, but don’t take risks. If they interfere, put them down. They’re knowingly participating in a seditious act; they’re not innocent, here. Alpha Two and Bravo Two, you copy?”
“Bravo Two copies.”
“Alpha Two copies.”
“Bravo Three, if you have a clean shot on Cannon, you take it when they call ‘gun.’ Don’t wait for Paul or Claire to shoot first.”
“Bravo Three copies.”
“The rest will consolidate in one vik in the east lot and act as a QRF in case Cannon squirts or some other contingency arises. I don’t expect anything, but you never know.”
Joe and his driver dropped off Paul and Paul’s dog—a much less sociable military working dog with six kills to his name during his overseas tours—and then returned to the east lot, there meeting the other car. They who remained all piled into the larger (and all-wheel-drive) wagon, and Joseph resumed watching the ISR feed while they waited.
“Alpha One, Bravo Three, with good news. They have an empty apartment up on the third floor with a clean view of the camera setup. My badge got me right in. I’m golden.”
“Alpha One copies. Let me know when you’re all set up. Break: Bravo Two, how are you looking?”
“I’m good,” she said. “Moka is already making friends.” Then she said more quietly, “I’ve got eyes on Papa Three from my current location, and Two and One. Negative contact Papa Four from here.”
Joe swiped the panel on his tablet from the video feed to the overhead imagery, checking Bravo Two’s location to the southwest and that of Papa Four to the northeast. Not to worry. Alpha Two would have Ashiro’s other lookout in sight soon, and in any case they expected no trouble from the lookouts. Better to remain out of their sight than try to keep eyes on them.
“Bravo Three is set. Contact Papa One and Two. You said Ashiro is Papa One, correct?”
“Affirm,” said Joseph.
“Contact both.”
“Roger. Bravo Two, if you can keep an eye on Papa Three, that’s fine, but keep your distance and keep your cover.” Other radio: “Top-Shelf, drop Papa One, Papa Two, and Papa Three. Keep eyes on Papa Four for now.”
“Top-Shelf copies all.”
“Update,” said one of those in the car. “Ashiro’s stream is up. On stand-by, with a countdown. People are already tuning in, waiting.”
“And now we wait,” said Joe to the others in the wagon.
They waited. At one point, Papa Four stood up from his bench and moved around a bit, but eventually he returned. There was little to see there. There was little to see anywhere. All they could do was wait. They spent the interim discussing a containment plan, deciding who would go where to close the net once the objective appeared.
And then, suddenly, the time had come.
“Objective Cannon in sight,” reported Bravo Two. “South parking lot, exiting a taxi.”
“You’re sure?”
“Working on positive ID. Lone female, parka, skirt, black tights, entering the park now. She’s looking around like she’s nervous. Pretty sure that’s her.”
“We’ll know in a moment,” said Joseph.
“She’s proceeding into the park, toward the bridge. Papa One sees her. He’s calling to her. Sounds like… Korren. Korrin. Something like that. She’s responding.”
“Pseudonym?” ventured one of the men in the car.
“Probably,” said another.
“In sight,” called Bravo Three over the radio. “Positive ID. That’s Objective Cannon.”
“Good. Alpha Two and Bravo Two, begin approach. Take your time. Containment, dismount and set.” Joseph and two others climbed out of the station wagon, leaving two in it as a mobility element: a driver and their technical specialist, who could from there best monitor the state of Ashiro’s video feed and other factors. Per their containment plan, Joe and one other would cover the larger northern area behind Alpha Two, while one would go south to back up Bravo Two. The mobility package would remain ready to reinforce either side or take other tasking as necessary. “Top-Shelf, Alpha One,” Joe said as he moved away to the north.
“Go for Top-Shelf,” replied Top-Shelf.
“Lockdown.”
“Roger.”
“And drop all tracks. Move to a perimeter scan. We have eyes on.”
“Roger,” Top-Shelf said again. Ostensibly, this last direction was in order to provide perimeter security while the team on the ground were focused on the objective, but in truth Joe’s plan was to keep the view of the high-resolution airborne camera away from the events about to unfold. Top-Shelf’s crew were not aware of exactly what sort of mission they were supporting, and it was best for them if that remained forever the case. Joseph checked the video feed on his tablet. He could give them specific bogus tasking if necessary, but the camera had dutifully and satisfactorily moved away from the park to scan the surrounding streets.
“Bravo Two, moving in.”
“Alpha Two, moving in.”
Joseph felt the seconds pass individually, ticking away at a leisurely pace, as if they did not understand the tension of the moment, as if time was insensitive to his urgency. He could see Ashiro and the camera man, now, off to his left across the snowy field, as he trudged along the path to the north trying not to look like he was looking at them. He could also see Alpha Two and his dog, closing in.
From here, Joe could not yet make out Bravo Two, but she would be in view any moment from the south. “Looks like they’ve started their broadcast,” reported Bravo Three.
“So they think,” said their technical specialist, still back in the car.
“Alpha Two, contact Objective Cannon.”
“Alpha, Top-Shelf. Two SUVs entering your parking lot.”
Joseph looked back. Two big SUVs were indeed pulling into the parking lot at the far end.
“Net call,” said Joseph over the radio. “Possible hostiles coming from the east. Two SUVs. Mobility, stand by.”
“Copy.” Their station wagon began backing out of its parking spot.
There was a sudden squeal and static on the radio net as two stations tried to transmit at the same time, and it ended with the clear words, “—ade Bravo Two,” from Bravo Three.
“Bravo Three, you were stepped on,” snapped Joseph into his mic. “Say again.”
“Bravo Two is made,” Bravo Three replied.
“Alpha Two, moving in.”
“Bravo Three set,” said Bravo Three.
A moment later, Bravo Two’s voice shouted over the radio, “Gun!” and Joe heard the dull crack of a bullet traversing the park. Civilians would not recognize it as such, without any attendant muzzle report.
Bravo Three calmly reported, “Target down.”
The SUVs gunned their engines and jumped the curb, accelerating up into the park, through the trees and past the picnic pavilions.
“Net call! Hostile QRF, east eighty, two by SUV!” Joe mashed his secondary radio button. “Top-Self, eyes on the perimeter. Look for any more strangers.”
“Top-Shelf copies.”
“Bravo Three, call contact the SUVs!”
“Bravo Three, contact the SUVs.”
Joseph heard a sudden chatter of pistol fire from across the lawn, from near the objective, but he was watching the SUVs, and watching his team’s station wagon jump up over the parking lot curb and growl its way across the grass and paths after them. He could see the doors of the SUVs opening as they approached the objective. Men in full military kit were piling out. Joseph was sprinting, now, pulling his submachinegun out from under his jacket as he raced to get an advantageous angle and try to figure out who they were and what they were doing.
“Federal agents!” he roared as he charged toward them. He could see Alpha Three off to his right, running toward Alpha Two. The newcomers were shouting, “Drop your weapons!” and “Get down on the ground!”
From the direction of the vehicles there came a burp of an SMG immediately overwhelmed by a hailstorm from the suppressed rifles of the newcomers. Alpha Two fell. His working dog was down as well, lying in the snow near a patch of blood. When had that happened?
“Federal agent!” Joseph tried again, screaming at the top of his lungs and holding aloft his badge. This was an impossible fight. Their only hope lay in their fake law enforcement credentials. Who were these people? What had happened? “Bravo Three, update!” Nothing came back to him. “Bravo Three, Alpha One!”
Nothing.
“Cease fire!” someone was calling now, one of the opposition.
“You drop your weapons!” demanded Joseph, playing his role with all the commitment he could muster. “We are Federal Agents! This is a Federal law enforcement matter! Drop your guns!”
The shooting had stopped, but they were not surrendering. For every shout of his, they gave one back, demanding he and his team lay down their arms, ignoring their claims of authority.
“Bravo three, I need to know you’re visual me! Report!”
Still nothing. With curses on his breath Joseph stormed in anyway, looking for someone in a leadership role. He found such a person, just then shouting, “Put your fucking guns down! Put them down and let us treat the wounded!”
“Don’t fucking do it!” he commanded, pointing to Alpha Three and the others. Alpha Two was down hard, and he could see now that Bravo Two was on the ground as well, but she was still responsive, trying to stay in the fight. He focused on the one who seemed to be in charge. His only hope lay in pressing the legitimacy of his presence and the illegitimacy of theirs. At least his team were pretending to be cops. Who were these? A military unit? He had a sudden sinking feeling that there could be only one answer. “You people are off the fucking farm, here!” he bellowed nonetheless, advancing on their leader like he owned the place—and then he noticed Ritter, Objective Cannon, barreling toward him from the right, true to her codename. “Shut up!” she was shrieking. How could she even be alive?
“Melody!” a familiar voice barked, and Joseph felt his sinking feeling turn to rage. “What the fuck are you doing here? Get down!”
“Fucking Constantine!” snapped Joe, aware of his control slipping away as Constantine came forward from one of the SUVs. “Do you know what the hell you’ve done? You’re finished! You’re fucking dead, man,” he said. It wasn’t helpful, but he could not stop himself. Constantine, of all people. Constantine who had looked Joseph in the eye and promised he would stay home, stay out of it.
“Hey, Joe,” said Constantine. “Federal agents my ass,” he called to the others, and then he transmitted over his comms, “These people are Agency. Fuckin’ TF Royal kill squad.” Joseph felt himself go purple with anger, but Constantine did not let up. He pointed his rifle at a spot between Joseph’s eyes and said, “Fucking order your guys to stand down, and maybe we’ll patch ‘em up. Otherwise, we kill all you mother-fuckers.”
Joseph had never known such ire. He had never really understood the word “livid” before now. Constantine was not just disrupting his plans but trampling on every convention, every professional dictate. He was deliberately blowing everything.
“Mr. Constantine, don’t,” said the girl.
“Melody, not now!” snapped Constantine at her.
“No, you’re on camera.”
Joseph felt just the slightest bit of satisfaction through the haze of his hatred. At least he could have this one tiny victory—and Constantine knew it. “Your cameras are down, Melody,” Constantine was saying to her. “Whatever you had going, they took care of that before it ever went live.” So true. So true.
“No, I mean our backup camera,” she said. “The drone.”
“Bullshit,” said Joseph in his mind. “Bullshit!” But he kept his mouth shut.
“We’re live, right now, on multiple mirror streams,” she continued. “Everybody’s watching this.”
“Bullshit!” said Joseph aloud.
“It’s not,” she snipped, fixing her attention on him for the first time. “My boyfriend is flying it. This whole thing was recorded. Everyone’s going to know what happened here,” she said, closing in on him. “Everyone already does. Hash-tag LyraReport. Check it.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ move,” ordered Constantine. Joseph still had his SMG, but the firepower on Constantine’s side was overwhelming. Joe’s people were caught, and they knew it. Joe knew it. Even if they were not yet disarmed, not yet thrown down and hog-tied, this had already gone to hell. “What site do I go to?” Constantine was asking as he tried to make his phone work. Moron.
The girl took it from him with clear exasperation and began entering commands. His phone would connect with no trouble. They had only jammed Ashiro’s devices to keep his broadcast from going out. A wide-area cellular jamming would have caused too much havoc and notice.
As if this were any longer a low-profile operation.
She handed Constantine back his phone. He watched it for a moment, and then he showed it to Joseph.
Joseph stared at it, and stared at it, and then looked up in the sky. That little… The words which came to his mind even he found shocking. She really did have a drone up there. With a good camera, too. She had put some money into this, as well as some thought.
“Medics, get to work on the wounded,” Constantine put out over the radio. Joe made no objection. This was all gone. A Royal mess. He was finished. They were all finished. The cleanup would be handled at the highest levels, if it was even possible to clean this up. His only hope now, for his team, was to keep the situation as confusing as possible. Local law enforcement were closing in, judging by the sound of sirens approaching, and if they could not identify good guy from bad, Joseph still had a chance of extricating his people before their identities were compromised.
“So?” Constantine was asking. “What’s it going to be?”
Play for time. Play for advantage. Play for sympathy. He lowered his muzzle to the snow and engaged its safety. “You know, Rob,” he said quietly, for Constantine’s ears only, “when we do your kid, we’ll do it clean, like Sing.”
It was an evil play, and he knew that he was lucky it earned him only the butt of Constantine’s rifle, and not a bullet from it. It was a risk Joseph took for his team, for the seven others who had agreed to undertake this illegal and ugly venture.
“No!” shrieked the girl. “Stop!” But it was done. As he sank to his knees—he had intended to play-act that much at a minimum, but the strength of the blow made acting unnecessary. As he sank to his knees, he knew that he had what he needed. Constantine and his team had done most of the killing, and on her camera, in front of the world, Constantine had assaulted a surrendering prisoner. That would be sufficient—A new noise interrupted his train of thought, and drew his attention up, past Constantine and the girl, toward—
“What the fuck is that?” he asked.
Before his eyes, a small, darting shape resolved itself into a miniature gray aircraft.
Then, as the others were staring at that, he caught sight of something far more important behind it, stalking up out of the little ravine in which the brook flowed across the park. It advanced like a shadowy ghost, semi-translucent in the brilliant light of the winter day, until it was only a few meters away, and then it made itself visible. Joseph realized that everything he had been shown, everything which had been revealed to him, he had not really believed until that moment.