Double Threat

by F. Paul Wilson

  “You look great!” he said when she opened the door.

  When was the last time she’d heard a compliment? Not that she craved them, but still … nice to hear one that sounded sincere.

  “You clean up pretty good yourself,” she said. It seemed like the thing to say, even though he always looked scrubbed and neat.

  He’d gone super-prep tonight, with a sports jacket over an Izod and Dockers. Not the usual taste of guys she tended to go out with, but it worked for him.

  He led her down the back steps to his Highlander where he opened the passenger door for her.

  “Wow. You’re making me feel like such a lady.”

  “Well, that’s what you are. At least from all appearances.”

  As he slipped behind the wheel he said, “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Would you mind coming up to the Lodge for a moment before we head out?”

  “Isn’t that where you live?”

  “Correct.”

  “It’s a little early to be meeting your parents, don’t you think?”

  He laughed. “Exactly what I said! But it’s just my father—his idea. He asked me to stop by with you so he could say hello to the new entrepreneur in town.”

  “‘Entrepreneur’ … I never saw myself as that.”

  “Well, starting your own business is as entrepreneurial as can be, so that makes you…”

  He gave her an anticipatory look, so she finished for him.

  “… an entrepreneur. It sounds so capitalist. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it always conjures up visions of paunchy guys in suits.”

  “And you’re anything but that.” He raised his eyebrows. “Well? Do you mind?”

  “Not a bit.” She made a queenly wave. “To the Lodge, Jeeves.”

  “Yes, Miss Daisy.”

  They both laughed as the car started rolling, Rhys because he seemed to like his own joke, Daley to hide the twinge of anxiety at meeting the leader of the Pendry Clan. She was having trouble buying that it was merely to say hello to the new entrepreneur in town. But what other reason could it be?

  As they passed Healerina, she saw the blue tarp Jason Tadhak had tacked over the broken front window next door. He’d told her a glazier was on his way tomorrow with a replacement.

  When they arrived, the Lodge surprised her with its size. She’d glimpsed it from downhill in the town, but up close it loomed.

  “Built in 1925 by my multi-great-grandfather Osian Pendry.”

  “Did Frank Lloyd Wright have anything to do with it?”

  (“Frank Lloyd Wright? Really?”)

  Well, I might as well sound knowledgeable when I can.

  (“You do sound like you know what you’re talking about.”)

  In a way I do—thanks to you. And aren’t you supposed to be timed out?

  (“You never gave me the word.”)

  Consider it given—now.

  (“Can it wait just a bit? I want to see this Lodge and meet the boss.”)

  Okay, but as soon as we’re back in the car, you go bye-bye.

  (“Deal.”)

  Rhys was saying, “The designer was obviously influenced by him, but no. The place did fine until the 1940 earthquake that damaged a lot of the valley. Griffwydd Pendry rebuilt it to better earthquake standards and we’ve upgraded a couple of times since then, so it’s pretty solid now.”

  “Osian … Griffwydd … are weird names a tradition in your family?”

  He shrugged. “We’re Welsh. We’ve got a thing for the letter Y. It can be a pain. Do you have any idea how many people see my name and pronounce it ‘Rice’? Even in college?”

  “I’ve never seen it spelled.”

  Pard chimed in with (“R-H-Y-S.”)

  Rhys had spelled his name and was saying how he would tell people it rhymed with Reese’s Pieces. Then he was leading her inside.

  “Someday I’ll give you a tour, but right now I want to take you to my father’s office, put the meet and greet behind us, and get on our way to the restaurant. I hope you like steak.”

  “Love me a good sirloin.”

  “Great.”

  He led her up a few steps to the first floor, and then down a long hallway.

  “My family occupies the second floor,” he said. “The first floor is devoted to the clan’s business.”

  “You have a business?”

  “Making money for the five families. My father’s very good at it. That’s how we can afford to build things like our Tesla tower.”

  Finally they reached a wide open room with a huge partner’s desk and filing cabinets and multiple computer monitors. Panoramic windows overlooked the valley. Not as impressive as the view from the tower, but not without its own “wow” factor. A trim, distinguished looking man with long dark hair—gray at the temples and combed straight back—had his back to her as he poured from a decanter.

  “Dad?” Rhys said. “I’d like you to meet—”

  He turned toward her with a smile but that vanished into a drop-jawed, wide-eyed look of shock as the decanter slipped from his fingers and hit the carpet.

  Luckily it didn’t break and both Rhys and his father dropped to pick it up before too much spilled. The older man reached it first and rose with it in his hand.

  “So sorry about that,” he said, his smile back but looking forced.

  Now that she had a chance, Daley saw a striking father-son resemblance.

  “What happened?” Rhys said.

  “Just clumsiness on my part.” He was staring at her white patch as he extended his free hand. “Ms. Daley, so good to meet you.”

  She shook it. “Mister Pendry.” She didn’t bother getting into the “just Daley” bit.

  “I was so shocked to hear about the damage to the unit next door to you the other night. Things like that simply don’t happen here in our little town. I told Rhys that I wanted to meet you and tell you that if there’s any way, any way at all my family can be of service, you have only to say the word.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir. But my shop was untouched.”

  “Yes, so I heard.” His gaze became penetrating, almost as if he were trying to see into her brain. “Do you have any clue as to what the motive might have been? I mean, an empty storefront vandalized … it makes no sense.”

  “I agree,” she said. “No sense at all.”

  (“He’s a strange one. What’s his game, I wonder?”)

  No idea, but he’s def creepy.

  (“Maybe he’s just intense.”)

  Yeah … intensely creepy. Did you see his expression when he saw me?

  (“How could I miss it? Almost like he’d seen a ghost.”)

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” the father said, “and please understand I mean no offense, but your hair.… Is that a new fashion or has it always…?”

  “You mean the white patch?” Daley forced a little laugh. “That just happened for no known reason.”

  “When, may I ask?”

  “Oh, let’s see. Two weeks ago, I’d say. Almost to the day.”

  He kept staring. “Almost to the day…”

  Stiff small talk followed along with some stroking about how brave she was to start a business all on her own out here in the desert. He seemed awfully interested in whether or not she had a silent partner.

  After her third denial she gave Rhys a penetrating look of her own.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Well, as pleasant as this is, Dad, we should get moving. I don’t know about Daley, but I’m starving.”

  And that did the trick. After goodbyes and a quick handshake, they were on their way back to the Highlander.

  “Sorry about that,” Rhys said as he held the door for her.

  (“He should be. After the seen-a-ghost look, that was like an interrogation.”)

  Not so bad.

  “No problem,” she said. “But he seemed awfully interested in whether or not I had a business partner. What’s up
with that?”

  Rhys looked away as he started the car. “He’s a bit of a chauvinist. Maybe he thinks a woman can’t do it on her own. Anyway. You’ve met the head of the Pendry Clan and your life is complete.” He gave her a smile. “Now let’s go get some steaks.”

  (“I don’t know if I’m buying all of this.”)

  Well, you’ll have plenty of quiet time to ponder it during your time-out. Buh-bye.

  (“Right. See you when?”)

  Give it till midnight.

  (“Got it. Over and out.”)

  4

  Mouth dry, Elis watched Rhys drive away with the Duad.

  No doubt now. All gone, vanished.

  He rushed to his computer and opened the password-protected encrypted files where he had been reading about the Duad.

  Rhys had never mentioned her hair and every time Elis had seen her through the telescope she’d been wearing a cap. If he’d been prepared he could have controlled his reaction, but her appearance had taken him completely by surprise.

  He found the scan he sought and stared in wonder at the ancient etching of a human figure—androgynous with no hint of its gender. In fact no distinguishing features at all except the white patch centered in the dark of its hair.

  Nothing in the Scroll had indicated that this was the Duad—random-seeming illustrations, some crude, some highly detailed, were salted throughout the text. He hadn’t associated this one with the Duad, but now there could be no doubt.

  No doubt left as to what must be done with her.

  The only question remaining was how to do it.

  5

  Turned out Thursday night was country-western night at El Toro, with a live band playing at just the right volume to make conversation difficult but not impossible.

  “Sorry about this,” Rhys said. “I didn’t know. If you want we can find another place.”

  “No, I’m good. I heard a lot of country music growing up.”

  Gram was a bluegrass fan. Said it reminded her of the music back in the Auld Sod.

  She felt like celebrating but didn’t want to run up the bill with champagne, so she drank prosecco. The waiter couldn’t take his eyes off her white patch as he took their orders. The house specialty was steak and Daley ordered a sirloin strip. She couldn’t remember when she’d had one better—medium rare, exactly as she’d ordered, perfectly caramelized on both sides and seasoned to perfection. She didn’t know how she knew about caramelizing—she knew how to microwave and little else—but figured Pard was somehow at the root of this arcane knowledge.

  Arcane?

  Rhys finished his rib eye ahead of her and sipped his margarita while watching her consume her last bites.

  He half-shouted, “Nothing better than dining with a person who enjoys her food.”

  She put down her knife and fork and leaned back, waiting for Pard to crack wise about her frozen dinners. But it never came because he hadn’t heard. She’d forgotten about his time-out.

  She pointed at her empty plate. “Now that is what I call a good steak.”

  When the current song ended—something about a honky-tonk bar and a whisky bottle and a broken heart—the band announced they were taking a little break.

  “About time,” Rhys muttered. “Now we can talk without shouting.”

  But that was not to be. A woman with Dolly Parton blond hair, a sparkly blouse, tight jeans, and cowboy boots grabbed the mike and said it was line dance time.

  Rhys groaned.

  “We’re gonna start off with ‘Achy Breaky Heart,’” she announced. “Yeah, I know it’s an oldie, but everyone knows that dance and it’ll get y’all movin’.”

  “Not everyone,” Daley said.

  She’d never line danced in her life.

  As if she’d been listening in, the blonde said, “And those poor souls out there that ain’t learned it yet, y’all gather over here to my left and I’ll show you the steps.”

  Rhys leaned across the table. “I think that’s our cue to leave.”

  She didn’t know where the urge came from, but she slapped the table and said, “No. That’s our cue to learn to line dance.”

  His expression turned horrified. “No-no-no! I can’t dance. I’m terrible!”

  She rose, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward the dance floor.

  “And you think I can?” She loved music but dancing had never come naturally to her. She could get by in a crowd, but could never let go like other people. “This is all new to me too. We can be terrible together.”

  The opening notes of “Achy Breaky Heart” filled the room.

  “You’ll regret this,” he said as she hauled him toward the group of line dance newbies. “You have no idea how bad I am.”

  Turned out he wasn’t exaggerating. He proved to be a truly awful dancer—absolutely no sense of rhythm. She remembered Elaine’s dancing on Seinfeld. Elaine was better.

  But Daley had to give him credit for hanging in there with her—and for his good humor about it all. They wound up learning next to nothing about line dancing, but had a ton of laughs. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed this much.

  The band had drifted back as the line dancing wound down. As soon as the last record ended, they broke into a slow tune about—of all things—whisky and a broken heart.

  Rhys held out his arms. “Okay, Daley, this I can handle.”

  She hesitated a second, waiting for the comment by Pard that never came, then stepped into his arms. What the hell.

  He held her right hand up, ballroom style, and shuffled her around—again with no sense of rhythm. He didn’t hold her too tight, didn’t press her boobs against him. A perfect gentleman.

  Daley decided she liked Rhys Pendry. Liked him a lot.

  The frantic up-tempo of the next song—“East Bound and Down,” one of Gram’s faves—sent Rhys scurrying for their table.

  “I’ve never understood dancing,” he said.

  “No appeal?”

  He shook his head. “Not a bit.”

  “You mean to tell me you’ve never heard a song with a groove that makes you want to move your feet, shake your body?”

  “Of course I have. And if I could move my feet and shake my body in a way that didn’t make me look like a complete spaz, I might have a different opinion. But as it is, I don’t understand why people do it.”

  “It’s a way of connecting,” Daley said.

  He looked at her. “And did we connect?”

  She paused, then, “Yeah, I think we did.”

  “Great. Then maybe dancing isn’t so bad. What do you want for dessert?”

  6

  Rhys probably could have driven back to Nespodee Springs just fine. El Centro’s Thursday night traffic was light and, outside the city limits, the desert roads were virtually deserted. Even though they’d hung out at the El Toro bar after finishing dinner, he seemed pretty well coordinated and his blood alcohol level was probably within legal limits. But he’d had two for her one at the bar and didn’t need a lot of convincing to let her take the wheel. Another point for him.

  Once back in town, she pulled around to the rear of Healerina and stopped the car by the stairway.

  “Want to come up?” she said.

  “Sure. I think I can handle a nightcap.”

  “I don’t have any tequila, only vodka.”

  “I’ve got tequila up at the Lodge.”

  “No, my place or no place, that way you have to do the walk of shame.”

  She waited the few heartbeats it took for that to sink in.

  He cocked his head. “Wait … are you saying…?”

  “I’ll understand if you’re not in the mood.”

  “Not in the mood? Are you kidding me? You have no idea how much I’m in the mood.”

  She jumped out of the car and headed for the stairs.

  “Race you!”

  7

  Elis clustered under the tower with the four other Elders. The headlights from his Land Rover,
parked beyond the gate, provided the only illumination. He had the lower junction box open and was adjusting the rheostat.

  The substation had gone online, giving the tower access to the extra voltage from the Tadhaks’ wind farm. All he had to do now was to throw the switch to send the current to the Tesla coil below.

  “I’m choosing a fifty-percent setting,” he said.

  “How do we know that isn’t too much?” said Baughan, a shadowed figure among shadowed figures.

  “We don’t. We’re in uncharted waters here.”

  “But what if it’s too strong? We don’t want to be premature. We’ll ruin everything.”

  He had a point—a better one than he knew. The big day was the twentieth—the equinox. He was keeping that from Rhys as well, letting his son think they had more time. Rhys was getting too close to the Duad and … well, who knew what he might let slip, or what she might make him do? Better to let them think the solstice was the target instead of the equinox … which came exactly two weeks from tomorrow.

  “Should I dial it back to twenty-five? I’m open to consensus here.”

  After much muttering and murmuring, Baughan said, “Leave it at fifty and pray it’s not too much.”

  “Done,” Elis said, and threw the switch.

  One hundred and twenty feet below, the Tesla coil started to spark, its flashes filling the shaft.

  8

  “Doctor Heuser! Something’s happening here!”

  Becky Heuser had just turned off the light in her second-floor office in Caltech’s South Mudd Building when Mark Hendry stuck his head out of a doorway down the hall and shouted.

  “Can you be a little more specific?” she called back. She was tired and wanted to get some much-needed sack time.

  “The sensors down in the desert are picking up some weird signal.”

  Her lethargy vanished as she rushed down the hall and followed the grad student into the data analysis center. It measured not much more than an extra-large dorm room, the walls lined with computer stations. Large black letters high on the longest wall informed you—on the outside chance you didn’t know—that this was part of the Southern California Seismic Network. Below them hung two giant monitors. The one on the left displayed seismic maps of Southern California, the western US, and the world. The right screen showed multiple feeds—up to twenty at a time—from seismic sensors scattered around the southern end of the state. A neurologist had once said it reminded him of an EEG—a brain-wave tracing. Usually the feeds showed a steady, staticky pattern, but now some were tracing a strange sine wave configuration.