Mary Busche and Edith Duster recognized Jimmy right away; he was the young and very rude officer who turned them away from visiting Hank last night. Now they were right up at the head of this crowd, and although none of these people had any intention of doing anything rash or improper, they were not about to be trodden on.
Jimmy had to get out of his car whether he wanted to or not. He did have to report to work today.
“Officer Dunlop,” said Mary, quite brazenly, “I believe you told me last night that you would arrange for me to visit my husband today.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, trying to push his way past.
“Officer,” said John Coleman respectfully, “we’re here to ask that you honor her request to see her husband.”
Jimmy was a police officer. He did represent the law. He had a lot of authority. The only problem was, he didn’t have any guts.
“Uh …” he said. “Listen, you’ll have to break up this gathering or face possible arrest!”
Abe Sterling stepped forward. He was an attorney who was a friend of a friend of an uncle of Andy Forsythe and he had been gotten out of bed last night and invited for just this occasion.
“This is a legal, peaceful gathering,” he reminded Jimmy, “according to the definition of RCS 14.021.217 and the decision rendered in Stratford County Superior Court in Ames versus the County of Stratford.”
“Yeah,” said several, “that’s right. Listen to the man.”
Jimmy was flustered. He looked toward the front door of the courthouse. Two officers from the Windsor precinct were guarding the fort. Jimmy walked toward them, wondering why they were letting this continue.
“Hey,” he asked them with a subdued voice, “what’s all this about? Why didn’t you get rid of these people?”
“Hey, Jimmy,” said one, “this is your town and your ball game. We figured you had the answers, so we told them to wait until you got here.”
Jimmy looked at all the faces looking back at him. No, ignoring this problem would not make it go away. He asked the officer, “How long have all these people been here?”
“Since about 6. You should have been here then. They were having a regular church service.”
“And they can do that?”
“Talk to that lawyer of theirs. They have the right to peaceful demonstration as long as they don’t impede the regular conduct of business. They’ve been behaving themselves.”
“So what do I do now?”
The two officers only looked at each other somewhat blankly.
Abe Sterling was right behind Jimmy. “Officer Dunlop, you are within the law to hold a suspect for up to seventy-two hours without charges, but seeing as the suspect’s wife does have the right to contact her husband, we are ready to file suit in Stratford County Superior Court requiring you to appear and show just cause why she has been denied that right.”
“You hear that?” someone piped up.
“I’ll … uh … I’ll have to talk to the police chief …” Under his breath he was cursing Alf Brummel for getting him into this mess.
“Where is Alf Brummel, anyway? This is his pastor he’s thrown in jail,” Edith Duster declared.
“I—I don’t know anything about it.”
John Coleman said, “Then we as citizens are asking you to find out. And we would like to talk to Chief Brummel. Can you please arrange that?”
“I’ll—I’ll see what I can do,” Jimmy said, turning for the door.
“I wish to see my husband!” Mary said quite loudly, stepping forward with her jaw set firmly.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Jimmy said again, and ducked inside.
Edith Duster turned to the others and said, “Just remember, brothers and sisters, we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.” She got several Amens to that, followed by someone starting a worship song. Immediately the whole Remnant took up the song and sang it loudly, worshiping God and making His praise heard in that parking lot.
RAFAR COULD HEAR the praise from where he stood on the hill above the town, and he glowered at these saints of God. Let them whine over their fallen pastor. Their singing would be curtailed soon enough when the Strongman and his hordes arrived.
Countless spirits were arriving in the town of Ashton—but they were not the kind Rafar desired. They rushed in under the ground, they filtered in under the cover of occasional clouds, they sneaked in by riding invisibly in cars, trucks, vans, buses. In hiding places all over the town one warrior would be joined by another, those two would be joined by two more, those four would be joined by four. They too could hear the singing. They could feel the strength coursing through them with every note. Their swords droned with the resonance of the worship. It was the worship and the prayers of these saints that had called them here in the first place.
THE REMOTE VALLEY was now a huge bowl of boiling, swirling ink accented by myriads of glowing, yellow eyes. The cloud of demons had multiplied so that it filled the valley like a boiling sea.
Alexander Kaseph, possessed by the Strongman, stepped out of his big stone house and got into his waiting limousine. All the papers were ready for signing; his attorneys would meet him at the Administration Building on the Whitmore College campus. This was the day he had waited and prepared for.
As the limousine carrying Kaseph—and the Strongman—made its way up the winding road, the sea of demons began to shift in that direction like the turn of the tide. The drone of countless billions of wings rose in pitch and intensity. Streams of demons began to trickle over the sides of the big bowl, flowing out between the mountain peaks like hot, sulfurous tar.
IN THE DARKROOM at the Ashton Clarion, Bernice and Susan stood at the enlarger, looking down at the projected image of the negatives Bernice had just developed.
“Yes!” said Susan. “This is the first page of the college embezzlement records. You’ll notice the name of the college doesn’t appear anywhere. However, the amounts received should match exactly the amounts dispersed from the college records.”
“Yes, the records we have, or our accountant has.”
“See here? It’s been a pretty steady flow of funds. Eugene Baylor has been skimming and channeling college investments just a little at a time into various accounts elsewhere, every one of which is actually a front organization for Omni and the Society.”
“So the so-called investments have all been going into Kaseph’s pocket!”
“And I am sure they will comprise a substantial part of the monies Kaseph will use to buy the college out.”
Bernice moved the film forward again. Several frames of financial records rolled by in a blur.
“Wait!” said Susan. “There! Go back a few frames.” Bernice rolled the film back. “Yes! There! I got this from some of Kaseph’s personal notes. It’s hard to make out the handwriting, but look at this list of names.”
Bernice did have trouble making out the handwriting, but she had written those names herself quite a few times.
“Harmel … Jefferson …” she read.
“You haven’t seen these yet,” Susan said, pointing to the bottom of a very lengthy list.
There, in Kaseph’s own writing, were the names Hogan, Krueger, and Strachan.
“I take it this is some kind of hit list?” Bernice asked.
“Exactly. It goes on for hundreds of names. Notice the red Xs after many of them.”
“They were disposed of?”
“Bought out, driven out, maybe murdered, maybe ruined reputations or finances or both.”
“And I thought our list was long!”
“This is the tip of the iceberg. I have other documents that we need to get photocopied and stored somewhere safe. It could all work into a very good case against not only Kaseph but the Omni Corporation—evidence that could prove a long history of wiretapping, extortion,
racketeering, terrorism, murder. Kaseph’s creativity in these areas knows no bounds.”
“The ultimate gangster.”
“With an international mob, don’t forget, unnaturally unified by their common allegiance to the Universal Consciousness Society.”
Just then Kevin, who had been running off photocopies of Susan’s stolen documents, hissed at them, “Hey, there’s a cop out there!”
Susan and Bernice froze.
“Where?” asked Bernice. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s across the street. It’s a stakeout, I’ll bet!”
Susan and Bernice went carefully toward the front to look. They found Kevin crouched in the doorway of the copier room. It was broad daylight now, and light was streaming in the front office windows.
Kevin pointed to a plain old Ford parked across the street, just visible through the front windows. A plainly dressed man sat behind the wheel, doing nothing in particular.
“Kelsey,” said Weed. “I’ve had some run-ins with him. Dressed in his civies and driving an old Ford, but I’d know that face a mile away.”
“More of Brummel’s doing, no doubt,” said Bernice.
“So what do we do now?” Susan asked.
“Get down!” Kevin hissed.
They ducked into doorways just as another man came up to the front window and looked inside.
“Michaelson,” said Kevin. “Kelsey’s partner.”
Michaelson tried the door. It was locked. He looked through the other front window, and then he walked out of sight.
“Time for another miracle, huh?” Bernice said, a little sarcastically.
HANK AWOKE EARLY that morning and thought for sure that some great miraculous intervention of God had occurred, or that he was about to ascend into heaven, or that the angels had come to rescue him, or … or … or he just didn’t know what. But as he lay there on his cot, half asleep, still in that semiconscious state where you’re not too sure of what is real and what isn’t, he heard worship songs and hymns floating around his head. He even thought he could hear Mary’s voice singing among all those other voices. For a long time he just lay there enjoying it, not wanting to wake up for fear that it might go away.
But Marshall exclaimed, “What the heck is that?”
He heard it too? Hank woke up at last. He jolted up from his cot and went to the bars. The sound was coming in through the window at the end of the cellblock. Marshall joined him and they listened together. They could hear the name “Jesus” being sung and praised.
“We’ve made it, Hank,” said Marshall. “We’re in heaven!”
Hank was crying. If those people out there only knew what a blessing this was! Suddenly he knew he was not in prison any longer, not really. The gospel of Jesus Christ was not imprisoned, and he and Marshall were now two of the freest men in the world.
The two of them listened for a while, and then, startling Marshall a little, Hank started singing too. It was a song painting Jesus Christ as a victorious warrior and the church as His army. Hank knew all the words, of course, and belted them right out.
A little embarrassed, Marshall looked around. The two car thieves in the next cell were still too dumbfounded to complain yet. The phony check writer only shook his head and went back to his paperback novel. Some other guy in the last cell, offense unknown, cursed a little, but not too loudly.
“C’mon, Marshall,” prodded Hank. “Jump in! We just might sing ourselves out of this place.”
Marshall only smiled and shook his head.
Just then the big door at the end of the cellblock burst open and in strode Jimmy Dunlop, his face red and his hands shaking.
“What’s going on in here?” he demanded. “Do you know you’re causing a disturbance?”
“Oh, we’re just enjoying the music,” Hank said, all smiles.
Jimmy shook his finger at Hank and said, “Well, you cut that religious stuff out right now! It has no place in a public jail. If you want to sing, you do it in church somewhere, not here.”
Yeah, thought Marshall, I think I know the words well enough by now. He started singing as loudly as he could, singing right at Jimmy Dunlop.
It brought a very satisfying response from Jimmy. He turned on his heels and got out of there, slamming the door after him.
Another song began, and Marshall thought that maybe he’d heard this one somewhere before, maybe at Sunday school. “Thank you, Lord, for saving my soul.” He sang it loudly, standing next to that young man of God, the two of them holding on to those cell bars.
“Paul and Silas!” Marshall suddenly exclaimed. “Yeah, now I remember!”
From that point, Marshall wasn’t singing for Jimmy Dunlop’s sake.
TAL COULD HEAR the music from where he stood in hiding. His face was still a little grim, but he nodded his head with satisfaction.
A messenger arrived with the news. “The Strongman is on his way.”
Another messenger informed him, “We have prayer cover now from thirty-two cities. There are fourteen more being raised up.”
Tal brought out his sword. He could feel the blade resonating with the worship of the saints, and he could sense the power of God’s presence. He smiled a slight smile and put the sword back. “Gather in the sources: Lemley, Strachan, Mattily, Cole, and Parker. Do it abruptly. The timing will be important.”
Several warriors disappeared to their missions.
CHAPTER 37
SANDY HOGAN CONTINUED to primp in front of the mirror in Shawn’s bathroom, nervously brushing her hair, checking her makeup. Oh, I hope I look okay … whatever will I say, what will I do? I’ve never been to a meeting like this before.
Shawn had given her some explosively good news: Professor Langstrat had decided that Sandy was an excellent subject with exceptional psychic abilities, so much so that Sandy was now being considered as a prime candidate for a special initiation into some kind of exclusive fellowship of psychics, an international fellowship! Sandy now recalled hearing just a fleeting mention here and there of some kind of Universal Consciousness group, and it had always sounded like something very lofty, very secret, even sacred. She had never dreamed that she would be granted such an extraordinary opportunity, to actually meet other psychics and become a part of their circle of confidence! She could imagine the new experiences and the higher insights that could be achieved in the company of so many gifted people, all combining their psychic skills and energies in the continuing search for enlightenment!
Madeline, did you have something to do with this? Just wait until we meet again! I have a hug and a load of thanks to give you!
BERNICE, SUSAN, AND KEVIN could do nothing but try to preserve the evidence Susan had gathered at so great a risk. Bernice made prints of all the pictures Susan had taken, then Kevin ran photocopies of the prints, along with copies of all the other material. Bernice looked about the building for a good hiding place to stash all the material. Susan looked over a map and pondered different escape routes out of town, different means of getting out, different people they could call once they did get out.
Then the telephone rang. They had ignored it before and let the answering machine squawk out its usual message. But this time, after the little beep tone, a voice said, “Hello, this is Harvey Cole, and I’ve completed working on those accounts you gave me …”
“Wait!” said Bernice. “Turn it up!”
Susan crawled over to the desk in the front office where the answering machine was sitting and turned up the volume.
Harvey Cole’s voice continued, “I really need to get in touch with you as soon as possible.”
Bernice snatched up the telephone in Marshall’s office. “Hello? Harvey? This is Bernice!”
Susan and Kevin were horrified.
“What are you doing?”
“The cops are going to hear this, man!”
Harvey said through the telephone and also through the turned-up answering machine, “Oh, you’re there! I heard you were arrested last nig
ht. The police won’t tell me anything. I didn’t know where to call …”
“Harvey, just listen. Got a pen or a pencil?”
“Yeah, now I do.”
“Call my uncle. His name is Jerry Dallas; his number is 240-9946. Tell him you know me, tell him it’s an emergency, and tell him you have materials to show Justin Parker, the county prosecutor.”
“What? Not so fast.”
Bernice labored through the information again, more slowly. “Now, this conversation is probably being listened to by Alf Brummel or one of his lackeys on the Ashton Police Force, so I want you to make sure that if anything happens to me that information will still go to the prosecutor so he’ll wonder what’s going on in this town.”
“Am I supposed to write that down too?”
“No. Just make sure you get in touch with Justin Parker. If you possibly can, get him to call us here.”
“But, Bernice, I was going to say, it’s pretty clear that the funds have been going out, but the records don’t show where—”
“We have the records that show where. We have everything. Tell my uncle that.”
“Okay, Bernice. You really are in trouble, then?”
“The police are after me. They’ll probably find out I’m here because I’m talking to you and our phone has been bugged. You’d better hurry!”
“Yeah, yeah, okay!”
Harvey hung up quickly.
Susan and Kevin looked at each other and then at Bernice.
She looked back at them and could only say, “Call it a gamble.”
Susan shrugged. “Well, we didn’t have any better ideas.”
The phone rang again. Bernice hesitated, waiting for the answering machine to go through its little recitation.
Then came the voice. “Marshall, this is Al Lemley. Listen, I’ve got some pretty stirred-up feds here in New York that want to talk to you about your man Kaseph. They’ve been tracking him for quite some time, and if you can supply them with any good evidence, they’d be interested …”
This Present Darkness Page 45