Steele contributed, “Ms. Roe is quite familiar with our agenda for social change through state-controlled public education. She was a major contributor to that effort at one time.”
Santinelli nodded, impressed. “So you do realize how great a deterrent to our cause the Christians are as long as they are allowed to raise and educate their own children according to their Biblical beliefs. Even before your years at Omega, we were seeking legislation and legal precedent that could be used to stifle that deterrent. It’s taken this long for that to develop.”
“But it did,” said Goring with a gloating smile.
Santinelli indulged in the same smile and continued, “The latest legislation for our use was the Federal Day-care and Private Primary School Assistance Act, and the Munson-Ross Civil Rights Act, each a rather muddled stack of laws that—as we had hoped—would require testing and clarification in the courts. The Good Shepherd Academy case seemed tailor-made for that purpose. It not only involved federal funds spent in a Christian school, and therefore government intervention and control, but also included the useful, inflammatory child abuse angle, something we could use to incite support in the media and in the public mind, getting them all on our side regardless of the real issues. And that, of course, was the object. With the public outraged and preoccupied with the protection of innocent children, we would be seen as no less than champions for children in establishing through case law the right and duty of the state to control religious education.” He couldn’t resist a laugh of delight. “Even after the initial trauma—real or concocted—against the child fades into the past and is forgotten, the laws will still be on the books, and the government firmly planted within the walls of the church.
“As you yourself taught and were taught, once such control of religious instruction is established, the methodical, gradual elimination of religious instruction altogether is only a matter of time. And then such people as you once were will have tremendous, far-reaching power to control and mold every segment of the next generation without resistance.”
Sally nodded. She’d learned this catechism.
Goring picked up the narrative. “Well, it did look promising, of course. But that was before you happened along. You can imagine what a shock it was to learn you were out of prison and living in the very town where we’d brought the lawsuit. Worse than that was the way we found out: Our little prize, the very child in question, supposedly the pristine, totally innocent victim of Christian bigots and abusers, suddenly chose to demonstrate her true colors one day in the local Post Office. Ah! I see you remember the incident! Of all people to witness such an outburst, it had to be you!
“When Mrs. Brandon brought the incident to her attorneys’ attention, they passed the word to us, and, knowing who you were, we saw a substantial risk that you would recognize the child’s condition, especially since you wrote the very curriculum that caused it. We were aware that you could severely jeopardize our case should you decide to step forward.”
Santinelli allowed himself a mournful chuckle. “But really, we hadn’t yet decided what our course of action would be before a misguided member—uh, former member now—of our staff took matters into his own hands and secured the services of an assassin.”
“That part you are quite familiar with,” said Goring.
“Oh, yes,” Sally answered.
“And that,” said Santinelli, “brings us to why we’ve all been on this merry chase. Ms. Roe, had you died then, we could have absorbed the error and continued with our plan, none the worse for our friends’ impulsiveness.” He sighed. “But impressive person that you are, you not only lived, but a) you killed the assassin and left her there to create all kinds of questions should she be found, and b) you made off with a ring the assassin was wearing on her finger, a ring that could eventually link the whole wicked affair with us.”
Sally said nothing, and tried to keep her face from saying anything.
“The assassin was a crafty sort. She was a paramour of that former member of our staff, and pilfered his ring, we believe, for the purpose of blackmail and manipulation. That ring could have told anyone who its owner really was—all it would take would be the securing of the Nation’s rosters in which all the code names are listed. Both items are now, we believe, in your possession?”
“I’m prepared to bargain,” she replied.
They all stifled a laugh and exchanged glances.
Steele ventured a question they all felt was unnecessary. “So . . . you are willing to relinquish the rosters and the ring in exchange for something? Just what would that be?”
Sally looked them all in the eye and spoke clearly. “Abandon the lawsuit. Leave the Christian school alone, and let Tom Harris have his children back.”
This time they didn’t stifle their laughter at all, but enjoyed her appeal thoroughly.
“And then,” Goring asked, “you will release the ring and rosters back to us for our disposal?”
“We can certainly talk about it; I’m sure we can arrange something.”
Santinelli leaned forward. “Is that a chain I see around your neck?”
Khull found out for sure. He forced her head sideways and grabbed at the chain, yanking it from under her blouse.
The gold ring dangled on the end.
With a vicious jerk that pulled her from the sofa and gouged her neck, he snapped the chain and tore it from her. She landed on the rug with a cry of pain, only to be gathered up by the thugs and flung on the sofa again.
“Here now, enough!” said Goring. Then he pointed to her bleeding neck. “Put a cloth on that. I don’t want it staining the sofa.”
One of Khull’s men placed his handkerchief around Sally’s neck.
Khull dangled the ring above Santinelli’s palm, and then dropped it.
Santinelli examined the ring. “Mm-hm. The Ring of Fellowship in the Royal and Sacred Order of the Nation. A sacred object, to be sure.” He glared at Sally. “Too sacred to be in your possession . . . and no longer in your possession.”
Sally held the handkerchief to her neck, stunned and deflated in her spirit and wincing from the searing pain from her wound. “I see you belong to that group.”
Santinelli looked at the gold Ring of Fellowship on his own hand. “Oh, the Nation consists of many brothers, all in vital places: in government, in banking, on the federal bench, on college boards and regencies. You were quite familiar with Owen Bennett, of course, and I’m sure you’ve already read an impressive list of names from those rosters you stole. Like any other secret society, we help all our initiates get established in the right places, and we see to each other’s interests—provided, of course, that each man’s interests conform to the interests of the society.”
“Apparently James Bardine’s interests did not.”
Santinelli smiled. “Ah, yes, that ‘former member of our staff’ does have a name. Then it was you who called our office? I understand our receptionist recently informed an anonymous female caller of his untimely death.” He dropped the ring back and forth from hand to hand. “Brotherhood is one thing; violation of sacred blood oaths of secrecy is another.”
He looked out the windows toward the mountains. “There are some things that are best kept sealed, Ms. Roe. If you could have toured these grounds, or walked through the town of Summit and met some of the people that are here this week, you would have found many different esoteric organizations represented, as well as some very . . . unique . . . individuals. We’re all one global family, you know; that is the unifying cry of every heart. We proclaim that idea here and everywhere, just as you yourself have proclaimed it, and we teach that all are equal.” He paused for effect. “But we keep to ourselves the fact that some are more equal than others, and far more fit to rule.”
He set the ring on the glass coffee table and then looked directly at her. “I trust that now you fully appreciate what the stakes are here, how ruthless and determined we are, and how desperate your situation is. We are not here to ba
rgain, Ms. Roe, but to put an end to the threat you pose to us. Exactly what process will be necessary to accomplish this will depend largely on yourself.” He looked toward Khull. “I’m sure you’ll find little comfort in the fact that Mr. Khull and his four accomplices are members of the same secret order to which your assassin belonged, a Satanic cult known as Broken Birch. They’re a ruthless bunch who thrive on bloodletting, torture, human sacrifice. Quite unsavory.” He looked back at Sally. “Ms. Roe, we are decent men, and we desire no more discomfort for you than you may make necessary. To be blunt, your fate depends on your performance.”
NATHAN THE ARABIAN and his small band of sentries continued to ride shotgun in the mail truck as it drew closer and closer to Ashton. Armoth the African had flown ahead to warn Krioni and Triskal, the watchcaring angels of the town—it was only a matter of time before Destroyer heard about the letter aboard that truck.
IN THE HERB garden not far from Goring’s chalet, a group of about thirty conferees gathered in the crisp, scented air for a morning workshop led by a well-known recording artist. The young, blond-haired man had his guitar along, and some songs were planned before his talk on “Ecology: The Merging of Earth and Spirit.”
There was a certain giddiness in the group. These people had never been this close to such a famous person before, and he was not the only famous person sitting there amid the rosemary, thyme, and lamb’s ears. Two newsmaking clergymen of global stature were also in attendance, as well as a director of mystical science fiction films whose name was a household word and whose film characters were now plastic toys in every kid’s room in this country and abroad.
The blond singer strummed his guitar, and they all began to sing one of his well-known ballads. The moment was magical.
The demons among them were enjoying it as well. Such worship and attention as they were now receiving was like getting a good back rub, and they even twitched and squirmed with delight at every bar of the song’s carefully shaded double meanings.
Huh? What was that? The demons twisted their heads around to look toward a disturbance.
Two demonic warriors were gliding in over the top of the Goring Pavilion, apparently heading for Goring’s chalet. They carried between them the drooping, limp form of a battered demon, still whimpering and wailing in agony. With a soft, rustling sound, they passed right over the herb garden and then disappeared beyond the tall evergreen hedge.
The demons in the herb garden fidgeted, stirred, and muttered to each other. What was that? Who was that? What has happened?
Some psychics were in attendance, and the demons attached to their brains were just as stirred up as the others. The psychics could immediately sense it.
The blond man even stopped the song. “What is it?”
“A disturbance,” said a woman attorney and psychic.
“Yes,” said a fifth grade teacher, his eyes closed. “Some kind of bad energy. Something’s wrong somewhere.”
IN THE CHALET, Destroyer was relishing the entire conversation, as was the Strongman, though the Strongman was getting impatient.
Why wait so long? he growled. Make her talk, and then finish her! The Plan is waiting!
“Destroyer!” came a gravelly voice outside the building. It was one of Destroyer’s henchmen. “A warrior brings news!”
“Not now!” Destroyer barked, wanting to watch what happened to the woman.
“Go!” said the Strongman.
He went, ducking outside the chalet to hear from a most pitiful-looking spirit.
“What happened to you?”
The demon sat on his haunches on the ground, his wings spread like tattered black tarpaulins, wrinkled, limp, and full of holes. His head was battered, and he braced himself to keep from falling over. “We attacked a mail truck on its way to Ashton.”
Destroyer stooped low. “Ashton, you say?”
The demon started to topple.
Destroyer grabbed him by the neck and jerked him upright. “Did you say Ashton?”
The demon slurred a faint answer. “Ashton. A letter is bound for Ashton, and the Host of Heaven guard it.”
Destroyer shot a glance into the chalet. The Strongman was still watching the interrogation of Sally Roe. He was still impatient. He wanted results. If he didn’t get results, and fast, certain heads were going to roll.
Destroyer could just feel his head rolling. He let the demon flop to the ground, then motioned to his captains who gathered around him. “There is a letter bound for Ashton, guarded by the Host of Heaven. They do not guard it for nothing!” His face crinkled grotesquely at the thought of it. “Sally Roe may have written to someone there.”
The captains gawked at each other.
“Well?” Destroyer demanded. “Did you hear me?”
“Ashton!” exclaimed one.
“We can’t go back there!” said another.
Destroyer shushed them with a quick gesture. “Just look into it, and do it quietly. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, just one little letter.”
They looked back and forth at each other. “Which of us should go?” they wondered.
Destroyer held back a scream and hissed instead, “How about all of you? And take some spare warriors with you.”
They all went, gathering as many demon troublemakers as wished to go.
Destroyer hurried back into Goring’s chalet. The Strongman was intently listening to Sally’s interrogation and didn’t ask what the interruption was about.
Destroyer had no intention of telling him.
IN ASHTON, KRIONI and Triskal could see the mail truck entering the city limits, right on time. Unfortunately, the precious letter inside was one truckload and one day late.
Triskal looked toward the west. “All clear so far.”
Krioni was not optimistic. “They’ll be here.”
CHAPTER 41
SANTINELLI LEANED BACK, relaxed, and with an instructive glance at Goring and Steele encouraged them to do likewise. Then he looked at Sally and became suspiciously cordial.
“Sally, I have always considered myself a gentleman, a man of dignity and honor, and respectful of the dignity of women. I sincerely desire an intelligent, productive dialogue with you, and I’m sure, given the alternative, you desire the same.”
“I would prefer it,” Sally admitted.
Santinelli nodded. “Then, having agreed on that, it might be well for us to consider your credibility as a witness against us. It seems to me that you’ve forgotten what you are.”
Sally answered simply and directly, “I’m an adultress, a baby killer, and a convicted felon.” They looked uncomfortable. She’d answered that question a little too easily. “I’ve been reminded of that constantly since the day it first happened, by seven years of prison, by spirit tormentors, and by my own conscience.”
Steele said, “Sally, that’s a shameful and disgusting set of labels.”
She smiled, and that even surprised her. “Actually, those labels are marvelous and beautiful because . . .” She hesitated.
Goring completed her sentence. “Because of the Cross?”
She brightened at that question. “Yes, Mr. Goring. I’m surprised you would know about that.”
Goring sneered a little. “We know about a lot of things, Ms. Roe.”
Sally gave that statement no reaction, but went on. “I’m far from competent in Christian theology, but I do know I’ve met this Jesus personally, and I know I’ve been forgiven. Considering what my deeds were, I find that fact exhilarating, inspiring.”
They didn’t like that answer at all.
THE STRONGMAN DIDN’T like it either, and let out a roar that filled the building and set the demons stirring. He shot a sideways glance at Destroyer, who looked away.
SANTINELLI TRIED TO keep cool, but his face was getting a little pink. “So are we to understand that you’ve turned to antiquated religion in one final attempt to expunge your past?” He laughed derisively. “That, Sally, is a marvelous delusion for th
e fainthearted and weak-minded. The notion that your sins are forgiven is as much a fable as the sins themselves. You are God, Sally; you are accountable to no one.”
“Then I should be free to go, shouldn’t I?”
“That’s a side issue,” said Goring with a wave of his hand, “having no bearing on our present purpose. Sally, let me be blunt: Even if sins were real and this Jesus could save you from them, what you must face at this moment is that He cannot save you from us.”
“I wouldn’t presume that He should.”
Now Santinelli even raised his voice. “Ms. Roe, I’m sure you know that this conversion of yours has placed you in even greater jeopardy. You could have done no better in assuring enmity between us, and even your own death, than by becoming a Christian!” He leaned forward and with a controlled rage pointed his finger in her face. “You have established yourself as a supreme enemy of this enterprise, deserving of our hatred!”
Just like Amber, Sally thought. Steele, Santinelli, and Goring are showing the same demon eyes, the same diabolical hatred.
She acknowledged Santinelli’s words. “I know.”
THE STRONGMAN COULD see the peace in her eyes, and it incensed him. Strike her!
SANTINELLI SLAPPED HER across the face. “You will tell us where the rosters are! What did you do with them?”
KRIONI AND TRISKAL greeted Nathan and his warriors as the mail truck reached the Ashton Post Office.
“So you’ve had some trouble?” asked Krioni.
“A little,” said Nathan.
“Well, we’re expecting more,” said Triskal.
Armoth followed the driver into the building and watched intently as he set the mailbag with some others on a receiving cart. Soon the mail would be removed and sorted, and that would be the most critical time of all.
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