Crisscross rj-8

by F. Paul Wilson

  "He still behind you after the suits and threats?"

  She nodded. "He's a human bulldog. He doesn't let go." She pointed at Jack and he noticed how her pinkie stuck up. "But you—" She must have spotted his stare; she pointed the stub straight at him. "Can't keep your eyes off it, can you. I'll answer your unasked question: boating accident eight years ago. Outboard propeller. Satisfied?"

  "Hey, I wasn't—"

  "Yeah, sure." She switched to her index finger as a pointer. "Anyway, I've got George and the paper to watch my back, but you're just one guy. For your own good, my advice is stay away."

  "Can't do that."

  "Listen, I told you: You're not going to find anything, and you risk making nasty enemies."

  "Wouldn't be the first time. I've managed to tick off a few people in my day."

  "Not like these, you haven't. These aren't just a bunch of kooks—kooks believe their nonsense, charlatans don't. Bottom-rung, true-believer De-mentedists qualify as kooks, but the charlatans at the top have got tons of money, a shark tank full of lawyers, and a huge number of volunteers who will be only too glad to ruin your career, your reputation, even your marriage—if you're married. They're tenacious, relentless, vicious. Have you got a life situation that will stand up to a gang of pros and amateurs peeking into every corner of it?"

  Got to find me first, Jack thought.

  But the idea of a well-financed horde prying at his life, uncovering his secrets—he had so many—made him edgy. More than edgy…

  "That would make me very upset," he told her.

  Something in his tone must have caught her attention. She stared at him for a long moment.

  "Are you saying you're not a nice person when you're upset?"

  "I'm saying I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me the mistakes you made that got you kicked out."

  She lit another cigarette. "Are you fucking deaf? I'm telling you, you can't move high enough up the ladder to get access to membership records."

  "I think I might have a way to, shall we say, accelerate my progress."

  Her eyes narrowed. "How?"

  Jack wagged a finger at her. "Trade secret."

  Her face darkened. "After all I've just given you?"

  "You tell me what you know and what I should avoid, and when this is all over I'll tell you how I got in, what I saw, and what I learned—just you."

  "An exclusive," she said, leaning back. "Maybe."

  That surprised Jack.

  "Maybe? You've got something better?"

  A little cat smile here. "Maybe… maybe a lot better." The smile faded. "And maybe not. Okay. I'll trust you—to an extent. I can tell you that the intake procedure is pretty straightforward: Just fill out the forms."

  "A church has forms?"

  "It's only legally a church. In real life it's a closely held corporation with a CEO and a board of directors, although they don't call themselves that. I've poked at many religions and cults, but no one's come after me like the Dementedist Church. That's because it's not a church, it's a for-profit behemoth."

  "I've gathered that. But do they ID you on day one?"

  "No. You don't have to showr ID then and there—that would create a cloud in the relentlessly sunny atmosphere they like to present—but they'll run a background check on you within a day or two. That's how I got caught. After filling out the forms—one of those, believe it or not, is an NDA—"

  "More Dormentalese?"

  "No. That's a common business practice—a non-disclosure agreement. After signing that you'll be asked, very pointedly, to make a donation to the temple and pay for your first Reveille Session in advance."

  "What happens there?"

  "The supposed purpose of Reveille is to wake up your sleeping xelton so you can start the fusion process. It's really a cover for the RT—Reveille Tech—to pry out the most intimate details of your life. These go into a file that will be used against you should you turn against the church."

  "That's it? We sit and play Q and A?"

  Grant gave him the full smile this time, stained teeth and all. "Oh, no. There's so much more to it than that."

  "Like what?"

  "You'll see, you'll see."

  Jack wasn't sure he liked the way she said it.

  She reached into a drawer and took out a couple of sheets of paper.

  "Take a look at these," she said, handing them across. "It's a list of the Dementedist hierarchy and all their abbreviations. Some are my work, some come right out of the church bulletins and newsletters. I've stuck in a few comments here and there."

  Jack took the sheets and scanned them.

  Cooper Blascoe—Prime Dormentalist (PD)

  Luther Brady—Supreme Overseer (SO) and APD (Acting PD)

  High Council (HC)

  Grand Paladin (GP)

  President of the Council of Continental Overseers (PCCO)

  Continental Overseer (CO)

  Regional Overseer (RO)

  Temple Overseer (TO)

  Temple Paladin (TP)

  Fusion Aspirant (FA)

  Fusion Initiate (Fl)

  Reveille Candidate (RC)

  Null (N)

  NB:Cooper Blascoe was the first PD with Luther Brady as his SO.

  When Blascoe went into suspended animation, Brady took over PD

  duties while retaining the SO position.

  Jack looked up. "Oh, yeah. I meant to ask about this suspended animation thing. What's up with that?"

  "He was in such close contact with his xelton that he's immortal, and put himself into a state of suspended animation to await the Great Fusion."

  "No, really."

  "You're a big boy: Read between the lines."

  Jack shrugged. "He's dead, right?"

  "He was on in years. You can't have the founder of an apocalyptic cult die before the apocalypse. So he doesn't die, he goes into suspended animation to wait for it."

  "In Tahiti?"

  "That was where he was living. Probably where he's buried."

  Jack sensed a lack of conviction on her part.

  "What's a paladin?"

  "Security." Grant jetted a stream of smoke from the corner of her mouth. "Think of them as the Dementedist KGB. The Grand Paladin's name is Jensen; he's their Beria."

  "Sounds ominous."

  "He is."

  Jack read on.

  Other Designations:

  Fusion Ladder (FL)—The progressive steps ascending toward FF.

  Fusion Aspirant (FA)—One who has passed through the FI stage and has started to ascend the FL.

  Full Fusion (FF)—One who has ascended the FL all the way to the top and achieved complete fusion of both xelton halves.

  Null (N)—A member of the unfortunate 7.5 percent of humanity who houses a xelton that cannot be awakened. A certain number of FAs do not learn until they are far along the FL that they are nulls and have been experiencing SF.

  Sham Fusion (SF)—When a null FA's desire for fusion is so great that they enter a state of denial, believing they are achieving levels of fusion when they are not. This is a tragic occurrence.

  Xelton Name (XN)—When the FA reaches the fifth level, his TO will be able to discern the name of his or her xelton. The name always contains a double-o.

  Lapsed Fusion Aspirant (LFA) (unofficially called a "lapser")—An FA who progresses well, then exhibits sudden LFP (see below) tendencies. A meeting with the local temple's Fusion Progress Review Board (FPRB) is mandatory; punishment must be accepted or the LFA will be designated DD.

  Low Fusion Potential (LFP)—This can be anyone deemed too skeptical, too questioning, not accepting enough. Although it's highly unlikely they'll ever achieve FF, they are allowed to take the courses but are closely monitored.

  Wall Drone (WD)—Most of humanity. They are content to allow things to remain as they are. They aspire to nothing better than their present circumstances. It is the Church's mission to win them over to Dormental-ism so that they may proceed with the fusion of their x
elton with its Hokano counterpart.

  Unwelcome Person (UP)—Anyone who unintentionally causes ripples in the tranquil pool of Dormentalism. These are often people with disruptive personalities incompatible with the Church's goals.

  Detached Dormentalist (DD)—LFAs who have become too frustrated or have lost their direction and refuse to accept their punishment from their FPRB. They are banned from all temples and no Dormentalist is allowed any contact whatsoever with them. The DD has a high potential of becoming a WA.

  Wall Addict (WA)—The greatest threat to Dormentalism: These are ruthless, disturbed persons who, for whatever reason, want the Home and Hokano worlds to remain separate. They infiltrate and attempt to interfere with, undermine, and sabotage the Church's mission to break down the Wall of Worlds. They act as roadblocks on the path to maximal human potential and should be treated as enemies of humanity.

  Negative Null (NN)—A WA subset; as a rule, nulls are to be pitied, but there are some nulls who, out of spite, envy, or resentment, try to undo the Church's work.

  In Season (IS)—A WA, DD, or NN who poses such a threat to the Church that they must be brought down by any means necessary—lawsuits, character assassination, wiretapping, physical and mental harassment, the works.

  Jack shook his head in amazement. "These folks are crazier than I ever dreamed."

  "Just don't confuse crazy with stupid. Look how they've covered their asses with the Null category. If someone spends a small fortune going through a whole bunch of rungs on the FL and still isn't finding any new powers, he must be a Null. But no way he gets his money back."

  "I think I'll designate myself LFP now, just to save them the trouble."

  Grant's laugh broke up into a phlegmy cough.

  He glanced at the two sheets again. This would save him hours and hours of reading.

  "Can 1 have a copy?"

  Controlling her cough she waved at him. "Take it. I've got it filed on my computer."

  "One more thing," Jack said. "You mentioned you might have a better source. Mind telling me who that might be? Once inside, maybe I can—"

  "Forget it. That's my exclusive. And believe me, it just might overturn the Dementedist rock and shine a—you'll pardon the expression—light on all the slimy things beneath."

  Jack watched her. What—or rather, who—was she hiding?

  "You told me The Light isn't afraid of anyone. How about you? These Dormentalists scare you?"

  "Shit, yes. But that doesn't mean they're going to stop me. Installment two hits the stands next Wednesday."

  Jack smiled and nodded. "Good for you."

  This Jamie Grant was one tough broad. He liked her.

  4

  Jack left The Light and turned east, heading for Lexington Avenue. He put in a call to Ernie as he walked.

  "It's me," he said when Ernie answered. "My shipment ready for pickup?"

  "Not yet, sir. I have confirmation that it's in transit, if you know what I'm sayin', but it ain't here yet. I expect it tomorrow."

  "What's the holdup?"

  "Well, sir, this item was pretty freakin' hard to find and took longer to track down than I originally thought. Plus it's real delicate, so the packin' has to be perfect, if you know what I'm sayin'."

  Jack knew what he was saying. "Let's hope it's worth the wait."

  "Oh, it is, sir. Some of my best work." Ernie's voice took on a gleeful tone. "You might even say it's a, whatchacallit, work of art. Yeah. A work of art, if you know what I'm sayin'. Should be ready first thing in the morning."

  Jack kept walking toward Lexington. From what Jamie Grant had told him, he wouldn't need a full set of ID when he signed up. Might as well get the intake process out of the way so he could set up his first Reveille Session for tomorrow.

  He remembered Grant's vaguely malicious grin when she'd mentioned the Reveille Session. What was he getting into?

  5

  When Jack arrived at the Manhattan Dormentalist temple, he had to admit it was pretty impressive: twenty-plus stories of red brick and white corner blocks, with setbacks at the tenth and twentieth floors. And spotless. Looked like it had been scrubbed with a toothbrush. No New York City building had a right to be so clean.

  According to Grant's article, the Dormentalist Church owned and occupied the whole thing.

  As he approached the arched entrance he saw a group of half a dozen people, four men and two women, exiting onto the sidewalk. All wore steel gray double-breasted jackets buttoned all the way up to their high military collars. Two of the jackets sported braided fronts.

  Jack occasionally had seen similar uniforms on the subway and around the city, but hadn't connected them with Dormentalism. As the group approached he considered asking them whether they were going for the Sergeant Pepper or the Michael Jackson look, but decided against it. He simply nodded and they smiled back and wished him a good afternoon.

  Such happy people.

  He stepped through the etched glass front doors and stuttered a step when he saw the metal detector. Another one? Why hadn't Grant mentioned it? Not that it mattered; he was still unarmed.

  The detector stood to the left; to his right was a turnstile. A smiling, young, uniformed woman stood behind a barrier table between them.

  Jack opted for the turnstile but the young woman called to him.

  "Sir? May 1 see you over here?"

  As he turned and approached her, Jack put on an uncertain expression that was only partially feigned.

  "This is, um, my first time here and…"

  She beamed at him. "I could tell. My name is Christy. Welcome to the New York temple of the Dormentalist Church."

  Jack detected an uppercase C in her tone.

  Christy wore her dark hair long and couldn't have been much past twenty. A college girl, maybe? She had three braids across the front of her jacket. She also had circles under her eyes. Looked tired. Probably one of the volunteers Grant had told him about.

  "How may I help you?" she said.

  "Well, I'm interested in, um, joining the Church, or at least looking into it, and—"

  "Were you at the rally yesterday?"

  "Rally?"

  "Sure. In Central Park. We were there to spread the word."

  Jack remembered passing a cheering group on his way to Maria Roselli's.

  "Oh, yes. I heard some things that interested me and I…" He pointed to the metal detector. "Why's that here?"

  Her smile held. "Just a necessary precaution in this world of terrorists and fanatics from other religions who feel threatened by the miraculous spread of Dormentalism."

  Jack wondered how long it had taken her to memorize that.

  "Oh. I see."

  "If you'll just put your keys and change into this little bowl—just like at the airport—I'll clear you through."

  Just like the airport… Jack's last airport experience had had a few shaky moments. But he expected none here.

  As he emptied his pockets, he looked beyond her and saw other gray uniformed people of all ages bustling around the two-story lobby—

  Lobby… right. That was what it was. This place hadn't been built as a church or temple; it looked like a hotel. A balcony ran along the rear wall. A closer look revealed a lot of old Art Deco touches still hanging on; enough so you might expect to see George Raft or William Powell hanging out near the registration desk.

  Instead, with all these uniforms passing back and forth, he felt as if he'd wandered into a Trekkie convention.

  "Do you wear the uniforms all the time?"

  "Oh, no sir. Only in the temple—and traveling to and from, of course."

  "Of course."

  He saw a uniformed woman enter and walk to the turnstile. She swiped a card through a slot, waited a couple of seconds, then pushed through.

  Jack put on a smile. "You take MetroCard here?"

  Christy giggled. "Oh, no. After you reach a certain level, you get a swipe card that's coded into our computers. See that Temple Paladin over th
ere?"

  Jack spotted a burly man seated in a kiosk a dozen feet away. His jacket was like Christy's but deep red, almost purple.

  "When you use the card your face pops up on his screen and he lets you through." She smiled apologetically at Jack. "But newcomers like you, I'm afraid, have to go through here."

  For the second time in as many hours Jack stepped through a metal detector. As he retrieved his change and watch, Christy picked up a phone and mumbled something into it. She hung up and grinned.

  "Someone will be here soon to escort you to one of the interview rooms."

  "Who?"

  "Atoor."

  She said it the way some women still said "Bill Clinton."

  6

  A few minutes later a good-looking guy, maybe thirty, approached and extended his hand.

  "Welcome to our Church," he said, smiling like everyone else Jack had seen. "I'm Atoor and I'll guide you through the introductory phase."

  Jack shook the guy's hand. "Jack. Jack Farrell. Pardon me, but did you say your name was Atoor?"

  "It's my xelton's name."

  "He's Fifth Rung," Christy said, beaming up at him with a gaga look. "He has powers"

  Atoor had a good build, brush-cut blond hair, a fresh-scrubbed face, and an air of confidence and serenity. If he had any powers, they weren't showing. But he made an excellent poster boy for Dormentalism.

  Christy gave Jack a friendly little wave. "Bye."

  "Live long and prosper," Jack said.

  Atoor led the way toward the left rear of the lobby. "What brings you to our Church?"

  Jack had been expecting this. On the way over he'd rehearsed a mixture of fact and fabrication.

  "Well, I was raised Presbyterian but that never gave me what I needed. I've tried a number of things but I still feel walled in, like I'm marking time, not going anywhere. I think there's more to me than what I've seen so far. I'd like to open myself up and, you know, achieve my full potential."

  Atoor's smile widened. "Then you've come to the right place. You've just made a decision that will change your life forever—and only for the better. You'll be more fulfilled, more satisfied, even healthier than you've ever been. You're taking the first step toward unlimited potential."