“He get caught in that accident this morning?”
“Yep. Drunk driver somehow got into the northbound lanes on Lake Shore Drive heading south. Hit the USSATN van head-on. Davis was the only survivor.”
“The Drive can be dangerous,” Straight said. “So, you’re going to slow him a little, keep him sedated here so he can’t be helping broadcast propaganda over the state network?”
“That’s the thing, Mr. Rathe. He’s not hurt as bad as he looks. He was in the front passenger seat, belted in. His forehead apparently hit the visor, and that gave him a couple of colorful black eyes. They called me in to release liquid pressure in his skull. I was doing my customary inventory of his body first, just in case Emergency missed anything, and what do I find between his big toe and the next? A tattoo. The ichthus.”
“You don’t say.”
“And get this. I determined he had no unusual cranial pressure, so I didn’t have to operate. I did, however, mark in his chart that he needs to stay in ICU for a few days of observation. Didn’t want Scooter to scoot away before I found out whether he might be of any use to you.”
“He’s conscious?”
“And lucid. He looks like he’s been through it, but he wants out, and I can’t blame him. But I put enough in his chart to make his superiors agree he should stay under my care awhile longer.”
“I’ll try to get over and see him yet tonight.”
“That won’t draw any suspicion? You could see him in the morning on your regular rounds.”
“Nah,” Straight said. “I do this all the time. People see me there all hours. I set my own schedule.”
* * *
Hector had advised Felicia to be careful of anyone following her, but how would she know? Paul had been one of the best at espionage and counterespionage, but that sure wasn’t her game. How was one supposed to know if any of the thousands of cars also heading south on I-294 were following her specifically? It seemed they all were.
She couldn’t determine one car from another anyway. The sun sank early during Chicago winters, so everything behind Felicia was just pairs of headlights. One set that had stayed consistently about a dozen cars behind her exited toward Joliet when she did, but so did a score of others. Felicia decided she simply couldn’t concern herself with tails unless one became obvious. And what had Paul told her? That professionals were never obvious. Only someone from the NPO would be following her, and they were the best in the business.
* * *
Ranold B. Decenti sat at his kitchen table eating delivered Chinese, his leg bouncing. He kept glancing at his watch and was tempted to call for a status report. But she had promised to let him know when the deed was done.
His eagerness made him eat too fast, and the food stuck in his throat. Was he off base to wonder if someone had poisoned him? Maybe delivery was not the way to go anymore. He had been a pursuer for decades. Was he now the pursued? Well, people were going to pay.
His home phone rang. Surely that would not be her. He hadn’t even given her that number. On the other hand, she was well-placed and could probably procure any information she wanted. He certainly hoped she was trustworthy. She had to be. She owed him.
“Decenti residence,” he said.
“Chief, this is security at headquarters, and I’m afraid I have bad news for you.”
“I’m listening, son. What’ve you got?”
“Commander Bia Balaam works for you, does she not?”
“Yes, now what’s happened?”
“We found her dead in her car, sir.”
“Dead? What happened?”
“Looks like a professional hit, sir. Three small-caliber rounds to the back of the head.”
Ranold affected his most grave tone. “I can’t believe it. Would you mind calling the motor pool and sending a car for me?”
“I’d be happy to, sir, but the body has been removed, and there’s really nothing you can do here.”
“Has someone informed her daughter?”
“I’m not aware of any of that, sir.”
“I’ll see to it someone does.”
“Thank you, Director Decenti. I’m sorry to have had to—”
“That’s all right, son. I appreciate it.”
Ranold rang off and threw his food box across the kitchen. Could he trust no one anymore? This news should have come from Chicago before the body was even discovered.
41
STRAIGHT STARTED in the locker room, where he changed into his greeter’s uniform, the adult clown version slightly different from the children’s. For kids he wore the big shoes and the bulbous red nose and made up his face. For adults he just wore an ancient zoot suit and pushed a cart with reading materials on it.
The nurse in ICU greeted him by name. “Who you seeing tonight?” she said.
“A Mr. Davis. Stephenson Davis.”
She pointed to the room and said, “Word to the wise. He hates that first name.”
Straight stopped and leaned back conspiratorially. “He’s got a nickname?”
“Scooter.”
He winked at her and pushed his cart down the hall, singing quietly: “Nobody knows the trouble I seen. Got me a first name that’s not too keen. Name’s Stephenson but I go by Scooter. . . .”
Straight pushed the door open to find a patient with the raccoon look of two purple eyes and a discolored forehead. “If you don’t like my singin’, I can dance.”
Scooter Davis seemed to force a smile, and Straight shut the door. “I’m the official greeter,” Straight said. “If you’re hurting, I can come back.”
“No, I’m fine. Could use the company. Truth is, I want out of here.”
“That’s out of my jurisdiction,” Straight said. “Reading material?”
He shoved the cart next to the bed, and as soon as Davis looked at it, Straight tugged at the tucked sheet, exposing the man’s feet.
“Hey! What’re you doin’?”
“Just checking,” Straight said, reaching for the man’s toes.
Davis wrenched away. “You want trouble, old-timer? Do I need to call someone?”
“What’s that between your toes, young man?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard you’ve got a tiny tattoo.”
“That’s just something I did as a fool kid. So much for protecting the privacy of patients, hey? What’re you going to do, turn me in? I work for the government TV network, you know.”
“I know,” Straight said. “He is risen.”
Scooter Davis stared at him, and Straight went cold. If he didn’t get the proper response, he had exposed himself to the wrong person—big time. Was it possible this guy had gotten a tattoo as a kid, just to be rebellious? to bug his parents?
“He is risen indeed,” Davis whispered.
* * *
“I already got the word, Harriet,” Ranold said. “No thanks to you.”
“It’s not as if I don’t have other things on my mind, General.”
“You should have called me.”
“I’m calling you now.”
“You use local muscle?”
“Of course. You certainly didn’t give me enough time to send someone from here.”
“How’s the other thing going?”
“On schedule. I’m on my way there now.”
“Who you using for that?”
“Mostly Chicago-based personnel. I don’t know anyone here outside the bureau.”
“You sure everybody’s true?”
“Are you kidding? After finding out how many cohorts Stepola had here, what could I do but run them through lie detectors and sodium pentothal? Caught one in that net. The rest are mobilized.”
“The one you caught. Anyone I know?”
“Doubt it. Security guard. Sang like a canary when I promised his life in exchange for the truth.”
“You promised him his life?”
“So I lied.”
* * *
&nbs
p; Once behind closed doors in a private room at Wilson’s in Joliet, Felicia found Hector and embraced him. “Does everybody always look this petrified at these things?” she said.
“Actually, no. We’re all spooked right now. Hopeful about what’s happening in Bern, probably within the next few hours. I mean, if it doesn’t go our way . . .”
“You’ve got to think positive.”
Hector recoiled. “You’re kidding, right?”
Felicia studied him. “Yeah, I guess. Not too much to be optimistic about, is there?”
“Not this side of eternity.”
Felicia scanned the room as others arrived; many were as shocked to see her as she was to see them. They all began their greeting the same way. Rather than “He is risen,” they said, “What are you doing here?” leaving her to start the proper greeting and put them at ease.
Once everyone was assembled, Hector shut the door and a woman Felicia recognized from data processing took the microphone. “Welcome to the monthly meeting of the South Side Bowlers,” she said, and people chuckled and clapped. “Let me read off the top scores from last week.”
The names associated with the high scores bore no resemblance to any real names here, Felicia decided, unless there were that many people she didn’t know at the bureau. And she thought she recognized everyone.
Trudy showed up a little late and sat next to Felicia. She leaned over and whispered, “I was afraid I was being followed, so I drove around a little once I got in the neighborhood.”
“Be sure to greet the newcomers,” the emcee said. “And enjoy your fish dinner.”
There was no menu. The waitstaff entered in a neat row, trays held over their heads, and quickly distributed combination seafood platters and took drink orders. When they left and shut the door, people began picking at their food. Felicia saw some holding hands and praying, others talking softly.
The place went dead silent when the door opened and Harriet Johns stepped to the dais. “Well, good evening,” she said. No one responded. “I said good evening!”
A few mumbled a response.
“Isn’t this nice? I so love that bureau employees get together informally. It makes them work better together, don’t you think? Oh, say, do you want to hear something? Listen to this.”
She produced a tiny tape player and held it to the microphone. The raspy, staticky voice of Trudy Nabertowitz filled the room. “Boss is still suspicious. And watching. Let me go through the motions of checking your after-hours passes; then I’ll tip my hat and be on my way. You might act a little offended so it looks realistic.”
Felicia felt Trudy shuddering and turned to see her red-faced, tears rolling. “Oh no,” she squealed. “Oh, God, please. No.”
Felicia reached to touch her, and Trudy lowered her head to the table.
The tape continued. Felicia’s voice: “Haven’t we already been through this? Didn’t I show you my pass days ago? You think my status has changed?”
Trudy: “Excellent. Now let’s see it. . . . See you tonight at school. Little fish joke there.”
“‘Little fish joke there,’” Harriet echoed. “Hey, know what? He is risen!”
People looked at each other.
Felicia knew her life was over.
“Did I say it wrong?” Harriet said. “Yes? No? I guess I’m not welcome here. Well, enjoy your meals and your drinks.”
She left and the waitstaff reentered, delivering the drinks. As soon as they were gone, Hector rose. “Don’t anyone be foolish enough to eat another bite or take a drink. Does anyone happen to be armed?”
The door locked with a loud click, and Felicia heard something being forced up against it. From beneath it came a cloud of white smoke, and as soon as some tried to block it with cloth napkins, they fell, convulsing. Felicia grabbed the tablecloth and yanked, sending eight settings flying, but the cloud was already reaching her, burning her eyes and throat.
“The window!” Hector shouted, and a dozen people streamed toward it.
Felicia fell to her knees, then rose and followed the crowd. But when Hector removed a shoe and threw it through the glass, a shot erupted from outside and his head seemed to explode as he hit the floor. The others dove away from the door and the window, filling the opposite corners of the room, dropping one by one.
* * *
With the kids at their group activity, Paul and Jae were discussing the vagaries of their future, as if he or she had a clue what was in store. At the tone in his mouth, Paul checked his caller ID and answered.
“Hello, Ranold.”
“Paul. I can meet you on your timetable if you can meet me at my suggested location.”
“Friday night at seven at the former National Cathedral.”
“I’ll be there,” Ranold said.
42
STRAIGHT HAD NEVER HEARD PAUL SO LOW. “Have you been watching the news?”
“No,” Straight said. “Why?”
Paul’s voice shook. “Word out of Washington is that Bia Balaam was assassinated in her car in the parking garage at NPO.”
“Oh no.”
“I’m convinced she was a believer, Straight, but it’s just . . . I can’t—”
“I know, Paul. This is no game. This is real life-and-death stuff. We have to realize we may not be long for this world ourselves.”
“That’s not all, Straight. Did Felicia tell you about her meeting tonight?”
“The one in Joliet, sure. What?”
“They were made, and Harriet Johns personally supervised the gassing of the place. Nitric oxide. No survivors.”
“Felicia—”
“No survivors, Straight.”
* * *
Jae had never seen Paul like this either.
“This is all your dad’s work,” he said.
“Now, Paul . . .”
“Nothing that big within the NPO would go down without his blessing, or likely without his planning. He’s just eating this up, Jae. He can’t wait to hear how I respond. It’s a good thing we’re not meeting until Friday night, because right now I’m murderous.”
She let him stew, not knowing what to say. Finally, after several minutes of silence, she said, “I know you won’t take the law into your own hands, Paul.”
“I won’t? Why won’t I? That’s what I’ve been doing since I became a believer, isn’t it? We’re at war, Jae. You don’t think your dad already knew what had happened when he called to arrange our meeting? He can’t wait to see the look on my face.”
“What are you going to do, Paul?”
“I don’t know yet. Straight has an interesting possibility though. He’s found a secret believer who works for the state television network. He’s supposed to be in the hospital over the weekend, but Straight’s doctor contact assures him he’s all right. Maybe we can make use of him somehow.”
Jae opened the door to vigorous knocking. Jack Pass and Greenie Macintosh entered with apologies. “Can we steal Paul for a few minutes?” Jack said.
“Let’s talk here,” Paul said. “There’s nothing Jae can’t hear.”
Pass and Macintosh glanced at each other, and Jae offered to make herself scarce.
“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Stepola. No need for secrets anymore.”
They sat, and Greenie jumped in. “These NPO executions have hit the news, and people are outraged. It’s fixing to be a true backlash, Paul, and it could affect the Bern meetings. This is the very kind of thing people wanted to avoid, and now, with peace and—who knows—maybe amnesty on the horizon, it’s like the NPO is getting in its last shots.”
“That’s why I want to do something drastic,” Jack said. “I know how y’all feel about praying down a flood from heaven—”
“Don’t be so sure you know how I feel about it anymore,” Paul said. “I thought you were nuts at first, but now—”
“Same here,” Greenie said. “If your father-in-law is worried about what’s happening in Bern, he could do anything anytime.”
“May I say something?” Jae said. “I don’t care what you do. Call down rain. Call down fire, whatever. But we’ve got to keep getting people out of here. We’ve got children, babies, and you think anyone topside gives a hamster’s hide whether they’re safe?”
“I know you’re right,” Jack said. “Greenie, let’s tell the guys that we’ll stay in the same order, but no breaks between shifts. Everybody just gets in line to get out of here.”
“You still gonna call down the rain?” Greenie said.
“I don’t know,” Jack said.
“I’m going to the other end to see Angela first.”
“Fine!” Jack said. “Just go!” As Greenie left, Jack turned to Paul. “I’m curious about your meeting with Decenti. If his attack is planned for then, why would he want you safe?”
“I wouldn’t be safe,” Paul said. “At least not in his mind. Maybe he doesn’t know I know when the attack is planned.”
“Then why’d he kill this Balaam woman?”
“Lots of reasons, not the least of which is that she’s the one who gave him the talisman found on Aikman. But even if he knows I know the attack is coming at dark on Friday, our meeting is a couple of hours later. If I’m there, he’ll know I was out of here when the missiles came.”
The explosion that broke windows and sent Jae flying to the floor knocked out the lights too. She screamed and leaped to her feet. “The children!”
“You all right, Jae?” Paul said.
“Yes! You? Jack?”
“I’m okay,” Paul said, and she could tell from his voice that he was standing.
“Nothing serious here,” Jack said, “but that won’t be the last of it. Emergency lights ought to be burning in the hallways.”
Jae felt for Paul in the dark, and the three of them edged through the damaged door. Jack was right. Lights dimly illuminated the corridor for as far as she could see to the left and to the exits people had been using.
But the kids were to the right. And that’s where she was headed.
* * *
If Ranold Decenti had killed Paul’s kids, Paul would find him and exact revenge and seek forgiveness later. He grabbed Jae’s arm and turned to Jack. “Keep in touch with me by cell. Assess the damage and casualties and see if we can keep people moving out. If you hear anything more, hit the deck.”
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