Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series)

by M. P. McDonald

  "Hey, in my defense, I was under just a little bit of stress." Mark smiled.

  Tilting his head in acknowledgment, the smile faded from Jim's face. "True. Sorry for joking about it."

  "No, it's all good." Mark took a deep breath and discovered it was the truth. Joking about the horror eased some of the awkwardness.

  "I wonder if you could do it again?"

  "Do what?"

  "What if you reached out again? Would it only be to me, or could you do it to others?"

  Mark shrugged. "I could try, but how would I know for sure? If I told someone beforehand, like Lily or someone, they might 'hear' me because they expect to. If I don't tell someone, they might just think it was some bizarre hallucination."

  "What if you sent out a message and Kern received it?"

  "First of all, that would be beyond creepy, but secondly, how would I direct it? How did I send it to you?" Mark closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was revisit that scene, but how could he know how he'd done it if he didn't look back and see if there was something he'd done? "I remember the smell of the smoke, and the crackle of the fire. I was...beyond terror. I was going to die." He paused, all humor gone from his mind now.

  "Never mind, Mark. Forget about it." The car jerked as Jim put it into drive. The sound of the blinker was loud in the silence.

  "I kind of zoned out while it was happening. Just before the hammer and nails part. I thought of my family, friends, events in my life. Not like my life passing in front of my eyes, exactly. It was more like I just wanted my last thoughts to be something other than the fear. They were tying me down, I guess, but at some point, my mind went back to all those prayers I half-learned in Sunday school." Mark gave a wry chuckle. "Maybe if I'd have memorized them like I was supposed to, they'd have worked a little better for me."

  He glanced at Jim to find the other man watching him, his face inscrutable. "Anyway, that was pretty much it. There was nothing special I did that I can recall."

  Jim took a deep breath and turned to look out his side window before facing Mark again. "I felt it again, just now when you were talking. I saw a flash of something. Your Sunday school teacher—she had strawberry blond hair, right? A little on the plump side? And I also saw some little kid stuffing his mouth with cookies."

  The confusion on Jim's face would have been comical in other circumstances.

  A chill washed over Mark. "Yeah, she did have reddish hair. You saw it?" As he'd thought about Sunday school, he'd had a quick mental image of Mrs. Perry standing in the dim living room, her own son polishing off the cookies that were supposed to be for all of them. "Maybe you're the one with the magic?'

  "No, I don't think so, but we may never know for sure if you don't know how you do it."

  "Honestly, if I have to feel that fear every time I send out some kind of mental image, I'd rather not have the power."

  "I don't blame you, but if you could try and focus it just enough to draw Kern to a meeting, afterward, you can forget all of this and go back to your semi-normal life."

  "I thought flyers were going to draw him to the meeting?"

  "They might, but he might not risk it, despite the temptation, but if he can be enticed by a little mental summons, that would make it a sure thing."

  Mark shook his head. "Okay, so assuming Kern is there, however he gets word of the revival, what are you going to do? My idea was just to get him there so he could be arrested. I didn't plan to hold an actual revival."

  "It has to look real, or Kern will get spooked and may not show his face. I'm going to talk about your miracles a little bit and then, I hate to say it, but you're going to have to make an appearance. Nobody will come out to see me."

  "But I thought that would look suspicious?"

  Jim drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes distant. "We might have to make it look like we'd 'captured' you—like Kern did."

  Mark turned and leaned back against the car door, holding his hand up. "No way."

  "It's the only way I can think of to draw out Kern and his followers. In fact, we can approach Kern's group ahead of time, tell them personally about the revival. It'll be a secret meeting, but we'll make sure to invite his followers, possibly make a pact to join his guild."

  "You want to hold a revival with me as the unwilling guest, and invite Kern's group to attend?"

  "Yes, and mixed in with the worshipers will be police and FBI."

  Jim stopped the car in front of a derelict building, and Mark leaned forward to see past him. So this was it. It certainly wasn't impressive. The crumbling cement steps led up to a building that looked like it should have been demolished about the time of the Vietnam War. The yard was nothing but a narrow strip of mud split by a cracked sidewalk. At least three of the windows were boarded over with plywood, and the brick had graffiti decorating the lower third of the building.

  Mark looked around. "I'm going to get some shots. Keep an eye out for me." He slipped his left arm out of the sling. He could manage without the support for a few minutes. He stepped out of the car and took a half dozen snapshots of the building and the neighborhood.

  If nothing else, there could be something useful in the photos that might not jump out at them now. As he raised the camera to squeeze in a few more, a jolt of energy shot through his hands.

  Chapter 23

  Adrian exited Union Station, shouldering his way through the throngs of commuters. He was tired and stiff from the long train ride, and the bus ride from El Paso to San Antonio had been even worse. His neck felt stiff and he rolled his head to ease the pain. If only the border police hadn't taken him aside to question him. He couldn't believe they'd searched his rental car. Good thing he'd made other provisions to send the goods north. Did he look like a drug mule? Hell no. Even in his disguise, it should have been apparent to the cops that he was above that kind of thing.

  Now there would be a detailed record of him crossing the border, even if it was under an alias, he hated to leave a loose end dangling. He glared at a woman clutching a toddler's hand as they impeded his way on the sidewalk. He skirted around them, his irritation adding to his foul mood. It still angered him that he'd been forced to use his last established alias.

  He'd already burned through three for this trip. Not only did it cost him money to create a new one to replace the used ones, but it took time to build a legitimate history for each one. Sure, Tom Peterson, his newest identity, had a paper history, but a good detective would be able to cut through it if he was looking. Adrian hated to use it to buy his bus and train tickets, it was a potential paper trail, but there was no way around it. At least he'd had the foresight to keep this complete identity package at Sonya's home in El Paso.

  Despite the cold drizzle, the memory of Sonya's welcome embrace warmed him. She was the only woman who understood him. When he achieved the power due him, he would bring her to the new compound, when he established it.

  As a cab drove by and splashed him with dirty water, he vowed it was going to be sooner rather than later and definitely not in Chicago. Sonya's pitiful begging to come with him to Chicago had almost swayed him, but he'd placated her by telling her of his need for a place to hideout, a bolt hole, if needed.

  He'd contemplated buying a plane ticket, but security at airports was too tight. The chances were slim that anyone would recognize him with his blond hair, but he wasn't taking any chances.

  Taking the 'L'was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was the last train he'd have to take for awhile. As he settled onto the hard plastic seat, he froze. On the floor of the train was a bright yellow flyer with Mark Taylor's photo. He ignored the dirty look from the woman on the opposite seat as he lunged from his seat and snatched the paper off the floor.

  * * *

  Mark swished the developer over the prints, wondering if this time, the magic would return. It had been a week since he'd taken pictures of the cult's building. Those photos hadn't developed into anything special, but the energy had returned
to the device. It had been a week since then and even without the future photos, Mark had been busy. Jim and Jessie had been busy doing their own parts, putting word on the street about the revival. With their connections, they could plant information.

  Meanwhile, Mark arranged the use of a warehouse, folding chairs and a sound system. It was almost a good thing he didn't have any future photos to worry about. Tomorrow was the big day, and his stomach was tied up in knots. Even though his 'capture' would be faked, just the thought of having to re-enact something like that made him shiver. He forced the thought out of his head as he noted the images emerging on the prints.

  Damn. Deja-vu.

  Lily and Jessie looked up from where they were hunched over a floor plan of the warehouse as Mark approached with the still damp photos, and held up the prints, his feelings mixed as he announced, "I have pictures."

  Jessie held a red pen poised over the paper. "You mean, you have pictures? Future ones?"

  "Yep."

  Lily beamed at him. "I told you. The camera was waiting for you to be healed before putting you back to work."

  He gingerly rotated his shoulder. It was far from completely healed, but he didn't need the sling anymore, and that was a relief. "Maybe, except while I have pictures, it would have been nice to start out with something easy. Instead, it looks like a repeat of my kidnapping."

  Jessie tossed the pen on to the desk and stepped over to him, her hand out to see the photos. "Well, it's not like you weren't aware of the kidnapping, and it's not real, so it shouldn't be all that shocking."

  "Yeah, well, even if the photo depicts a staged scene, it's still a little disconcerting to see a photo of myself lying in a puddle of blood."

  Lily rubbed her hand up his arm, her expression concerned, before turning her attention to the pictures. She tilted her head to look at the images as Jessie flipped through them.

  Mark crossed his arms as he watched them examine the shots. Jim's idea had been okay in theory, but now that he could see the outcome, it wasn't looking so promising.

  Jessie held one up. "I'm not positive, but the tall guy in the background could be Kern."

  He shook his head. "I suppose it's possible, but he's out of focus so it's impossible to tell."

  Lily pointed to another shadowy figure. "Is that Medea?"

  Mark shrugged, and instantly regretted it as the muscles, unused for so long, protested the sudden movement. "It's a woman with her build, but the hair color is wrong. That's all I can tell." He waved a hand at the stack of photos."Truthfully, I barely looked at those pictures. The other one I mentioned sort of took priority in my mind."

  Jessie moved that photo to the top of the pile. "I can see how it might." Her eyes met his, and he was sure the fear in hers mirrored his own.

  Lily squeezed his arm and said, "Mark, I know it looks bad, but you can change this like you do your other photos—don't forget that."

  He tore his gaze from Jessie and took a deep breath before focusing on Lily. "Yeah, I'm trying to keep that in mind. Guess I should let Jim know about this new development." He tried to smile at his bad pun, but if it looked as sickly as it felt, it wouldn't fool either of the women.

  * * *

  Jim exited the car, and slammed the door of the old beater. He tugged on the ragged Army surplus jacket, and ran a hand over his unshaven face. As soon as he'd begun contemplating the ruse, he'd forgone shaving, and in just a few days, he had a nice bristly shadow. The amount of gray whiskers mixed with the dark ones had been an unwelcome surprise, but he had to concede it lent him a scraggly look that he couldn't have acquired any other way. To finish the transformation to Reverend Jim, he'd obtained a hair piece of long, stringy gray hair. Undercover operations had plenty of people who'd been able to help him change his appearance completely.

  With a slow look around the seedy neighborhood, Jim sauntered up to the front door of the house believed to be the headquarters of the Guild of the Rose.

  The house had been under surveillance since it had been discovered, and word had come that Kern might be in the residence. Nobody had seen him enter, but someone matching his height and build had been seen silhouetted against a shade.

  Jim knocked.

  After about thirty seconds a woman's voice came through the intercom. “Who is it?"

  Jim smiled. "Hi, ma'am. My name's Reverend Jim, and I'm here to talk to y'all about a meetin' I'm planning."

  "You must have the wrong building. Nobody here is interested in a 'meetin'."

  Rubbing a hand against his whiskers, Jim shook his head. "Well, see, that's not how we heard it. We heard that the Rose had an big interest in Mark Taylor. I just thought y'all might want to take a gander at him in a few nights. He's the guest of honor at a revival I'm planning. We was wonderin' if y'all might want to help out"

  Muffled voices came over the intercom, and a minute later, a young woman opened the door. "Come in. We'd like to hear more."

  "Yes, ma'am. I thought you would." He grinned and followed her down a flight of steps into a large dimly lit room that probably was a laundry room at one time. Chairs lined up six rows deep and about ten chairs per row. This confirmed the estimate that the Guild had expanded. A podium anchored one end of the room, but the woman led Jim to the far end.

  "Have a seat, please. Someone will be with you in a moment.'

  Jim obliged and relaxed against the back of the metal folding chair, his hands intertwined behind his head, and his ankles crossed. He expected the wait to be relatively long. They would be looking up his name on the Internet. That's what Jim would have done, and Kern seemed like a bright man too.

  They'd get plenty of hits, at least. Reverend Jim was a flashy preacher. Of course, they wouldn't be able to tell that all the search engine hits had been planted by some of the FBIs best computer geeks. A few even had photos of Jim preaching to groups. He smirked. Gotta love Photoshop. A couple of pictures of Jim against a green screen with different attire, and his team had created an evangelical empire.

  After almost thirty minutes, a door behind the podium opened and a tall man entered. Jim recognized him from his photos, although he'd changed his hair to a darker color and had a touch of gray at the temple, presumably to lend distinction. Instinct pressed him to stand and be on guard, but he fought it, holding onto his relaxed pose for several long seconds after Kern had stopped a short distance beyond Jim's crossed feet. Damned if he was going to show any fear or concede any power to this man.

  Kern's presence filled the room, making the six men who flanked him insignificant. His cold, dark eyes fixed on Jim. "You have succeeded in piquing our curiosity. A revival, you say? What do you plan to do at this meeting?"

  Jim planted his feet on the floor and straightened in the chair. "Are you the one who runs this Guild?"

  Kern smiled and clasped his hands loosely in front of him. "Who I am isn't important. I have been given the authority in this matter. "

  Jim pretended to think the matter over as he stood and began pacing. "I don't know. I was kind of hoping to talk to the man in charge—the one who tested Taylor the first time. That was a stroke of pure genius."

  The only reaction from Kern was a lift of his eyebrow.

  "See, here's the thing. I don't know how y'all did it. How you were able to draw me to the ceremony that night?

  Real confusion flashed across Kern's face before he was able to mask it, but Jim pushed his advantage. "It was incredible! There I was, just mindin' my own business, sleeping, and next thing I know, I'm sucked into the warehouse like a spirit or something."

  "Excuse me?"

  Jim nodded, hoping his enthusiastic reaction wouldn't displace the hairpiece. "I was right there, man! All those prayers and the Hail Mary right at the end—it was inspiring, let me tell you."

  Shock and disbelief warred on Kern's features, replaced an instant later with anger. He grabbed Jim by the front of his shirt. "Who have you been speaking to? If one of the members of the Guild has leaked anything, they
'll have to be dealt with."

  It was all Jim could to do not to shrug off Kern's hands and lay him out, but he stayed in his role. "I'm tellin' ya, I saw it with my own two eyes. I think Mark Taylor pulled me there with his prayers."

  Eyes narrowed, Kern released him. "Prove it."

  "Satanus, non sum dignus... sed tantum dic verbo." Jim plucked Kern's hands from his shirt. "Yer followers, they couldn't hear you whisper it over the fire, but I could. I was right there and I saw your doubt." Jim used his fingertips to push Kern away as he said in a low, mocking voice, "Satan, I am not worthy, but only say the word."

  Kern stepped back, his arms dropping to his sides in surprise.

  Jim smirked. "Yep. I'm the only one who heard you voice your fears, and it just so happens I know just enough Latin to understand the phrase." He'd kept Kern's utterance a secret, not even telling Taylor, holding it back as an ace in the hole if he ever needed it.

  He rubbed his hands together and paced in front of Kern. "So, at the little shindig I'm holding, I am planning on recounting the whole thing, but of course," he paused his pacing, and held a hand on his chest, "I can omit that last bit...if you co-operate."

  With a stiff nod, Kern said, "I'll pass along my recommendation to our leader, but I can't promise anything."

  "Here's the deal. I want lots of folks at the meeting so I need your help to spread the word. I plan to collect boatloads of money from the people who turn up. I've already printed up hundreds of flyers, t-shirts and even—get this—we have small crosses that we can sell for a fortune after Taylor blesses them." Jim grinned.

  "Where does the Guild of the Rose come into this picture?"

  "I want your people at the revival. They are experienced at this sort of thing. They are disciplined. My people, well, they get to shouting and feeling the spirit. They aren't much good for what I have in mind."

  Kern regarded him with hooded eyes, having regained control of his emotions and giving nothing away. "And what do you have in mind?"