Cat's Eye

by William W. Johnstone

  Carl headed for the front door.

  “Go with God,” Pastor Speed whispered.

  Book Three

  Hell’s broken loose.

  —Robert Greene

  Chapter 31

  Carl flagged down Father Vincent. “You wouldn’t by any chance be looking for your wife, would you?”

  “Yeah!” The priest almost screamed the word. “She’s supposed to be over at Marie’s house. But I didn’t have to get out of the car to see that maggots were all over the place. I—”

  “Relax, Chuck. She’s at the clinic with the other women.” He explained what had happened. “And I turned in my badge to Jim.”

  Chuck studied his face for a long moment. “Are you going head-hunting, Carl?”

  “I’m not going out to kill indiscriminately, if that’s what you mean.”

  The priest nodded. “Jim has asked for all the . . . untouched, I guess is the way to phrase it, to ride patrol shifts until this is over. Let me check with my wife and get her plans, and I’ll meet you . . . where?”

  “Chuck, I’d give that some thought. I . . .”

  A car pulled up behind Carl, the driver blowing the horn; long, irritating, arrogant blasts. “Get out of the way, you goddamned son of a bitch!” he yelled.

  Carl uncoiled his lanky frame from behind the wheel and walked back to the car. He could smell the man’s body odor before he reached the car. Without a second’s hesitation, Carl jerked the door open and pulled the man out and to his feet. Carl hit him a vicious blow to the stomach, doubling the man over; then grabbing the man behind his head and bringing his knee up at the same time, he impacted the man’s face against his knee, smashing the nose and loosening teeth. The man dropped to the pavement, moaning and blubbering through his busted nose.

  Carl knelt down beside the man and reached into his back pocket, coming out with a leather slapper. He laid the leather-covered lead lump against the man’s head and the once-belligerent man went to sleep, painfully and totally against his will.

  Carl stood up as Chuck walked up to him. “You know this asshole?” he asked the priest.

  “Owns and operates a service station. Name’s Neuroth, or something like that. Stinks like a cesspool! What are you going to do with him?”

  “I’m going to take him out to Conners Woods and ask him a few questions.”

  “And then?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind about that.”

  “I’ll help you load him in the car.”

  Carl handcuffed the odious gentleman and the men tossed him in the back seat of the Jag.

  “I’ll meet you at the clinic,” the priest said. “I’ll ride out to the woods with you.”

  “The interrogation is not going to be pleasant, Chuck.”

  “Neither is worshipping the devil.”

  Later, on the way out of town, Chuck pointed to the mobile phone. “I’m told all the calls out are being monitored by some government people, with a ten-second-delay capability to censor anything they might feel would give this situation away.”

  “That’s right. But that’s not a standard phone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s actually a shortwave rig. Conners Industries has their own microwave systems and satellite in place. The state and government boys obviously don’t know about this phone. I’ve spoken to Edgar several times during the last couple of days. He has a scrambler on this frequency. It’s very high frequency; six- or seven-meter band. Push that button there, and the modular phone takes over. That’s the one that’s being monitored.”

  “Well, I’ll be. And you didn’t tell Jim?”

  “No.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “Jim is a good man, Chuck. A fine man. But he’s got to be one of the most go-by-the-book lawmen I have ever seen. He just can’t seem to get it through his head that the laws he lives by—the ones we all live by—just don’t, can’t, apply here. But in his own way, he’s given me carte blanche.”

  The man in the back seat moaned and cursed them both until he was breathless.

  The men in the front seat ignored him, Chuck saying, “It’s going to be a slaughter, isn’t it?”

  “Not if I can help it. Jim doesn’t believe that. But I’ll try the course of least resistance first. I have a plan to destroy Anya and Pet; but I haven’t got all the details worked out in my mind.”

  “You’re saying that in front of this . . . heathen?” He jerked a thumb toward Neuroth.

  “He isn’t going to say anything to anybody once I’ve questioned him.”

  “You’ve made up your mind about that.” It was not a question.

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  Neuroth died before any questions could be asked of him. He suddenly moaned, arched his back, and fell over by the side of the road as they were walking toward the timber.

  Carl and Chuck knelt down by the body. The flesh that was visible to them was very red, the skin beginning to peel like that of a person with an extremely bad sunburn. Chuck tentatively touched Neuroth’s neck with a fingertip, yelped in pain, and jerked his hand back quickly. The tip of his finger was blistered.

  “My God!” the priest said. “He’s been cooked!”

  “Someone didn’t want him to talk to me.”

  Chuck looked long at the coven-buster. “By someone, you’re implying . . .”

  “Yes,” Carl said quickly. “I am.” Neither man wanted to speak the word aloud while so close to the dark evil of the timber and what it contained.

  “Then . . .” The priest paused in thought. “He has decided to take a direct part in the events ... is that what you’re thinking?”

  “Yes. Neither Anya nor Pet has that much power. They didn’t have in Ruger, and after what my dad and Father Denier did to them, I’m sure their strength has been severely limited.”

  “But I thought after what happened that night out at Dee’s ... well, there would be no more interference from . . .” He swallowed hard. “Him?”

  “I feel his involvement, his personal involvement, will be minor.” Carl shrugged. “But that’s only one man’s opinion.”

  The men stood up, the priest looking down at the cooked body of Neuroth. “What do we do with the body?”

  “Nothing. It will probably be taken and given to the Old Ones to feed on.”

  Chuck shuddered.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  On the short drive to Dee’s, Chuck said, “You mentioned that you’d spoken with Mister Conners; could you tell me the gist of the conversation?”

  “He’s coming in with enough of his security people to secure the A-frame and the property around it.”

  “How? The roads are blocked.”

  “Helicopters. And his security people are not taken off the street and paid the minimum wage like so many other companies do. They’re all ex-military personnel. Rangers, Marines, Special Forces, SEALs, Air Force SOCOM.”

  “Air Force what?”

  “Special Operations Command.”

  “Does Jim know?”

  “No.”

  “When are they coming in?”

  “Tonight.”

  * * *

  “I wish you had told me, Carl,” Dee said.

  Carl shook his head. “I’m not going to be here to help protect you, Dee. I explained that to your father and he understands. He knows what I have to do—must do. That’s why the security people are coming in.”

  “I know, Carl. And I understand. What’s my father’s involvement in this?”

  “He’s also coming in. I don’t know whether he’s staying. I have a feeling he will. He strikes me as the type of man who enjoys a good fight.”

  “How right you are. And Mother?”

  “She’s gone out of the country. Your dad sent her to England; something to do with some holdings they have over there. Don’t worry about sleeping arrangements, the men will—”

  Dee waved him silent. “I know how my father�
�s security people operate, Carl.” She smiled to soften her words. “If they come in at first dark, by midnight this place will look like the perimeters around Da Nang.” She looked at the forest’s edge. “What will happen to the animals who have stationed themselves out there?”

  “I don’t know. I like to think they’ll take the fight to those animals, both four-legged and two-legged, who have aligned with Satan. We’ll just have to see.”

  “And you?”

  “You mind if I borrow your car for the duration?”

  “Of course not. Take it.”

  “I’ll be back at dark to see the choppers in.”

  Dee stood up on tiptoe and kissed him, pressing against him. “When this is over, Carl . . .”

  “We’ll talk of that when it is over, Dee. Don’t plan on too much of a future for us. I don’t know that I have much of a future.”

  She pulled away from him, an angry look on her face. She walked to the edge of the porch. With her back to him, she said, “Did God talk to you and proclaim you to be His warrior here on earth?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  She whirled around. “Why you, Carl?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because I’m not a member of the fanatical far religious right. Perhaps it’s because I’m young enough to understand that kids are going to experiment and try to buck the establishment, with the majority of them—thus far—returning to God in a few years. Perhaps it’s because I’m cold enough to be able to kill and live with it, and compassionate enough to know when to back off. Perhaps—”

  “I don’t want a damn sermon, Carl!” She tossed the words at him. “Just go on! Put your life on the line for a bunch of people who don’t give a damn for you or what you’re doing. Just go on!”

  She stomped into the house and slammed the door behind her.

  Carl began loading equipment into the Jag, Chuck helping him. The priest had said nothing about Dee’s tantrum.

  Just before they pulled out, Carl stood by the car and watched as Dee came out onto the porch to stand, staring at him.

  He lifted his hand to her.

  She glared at him and turned, walking back into the house.

  “Well, as they say, hell hath no fury . . .” Carl observed, getting into the car.

  A dark chuckle rose from the timber as lightning licked at the sky. The chuckling ended with a harsh note as the wolves began howling.

  * * *

  Jim looked at his deputies, minus Carl and Chuck. The priest’s wife had called and told him what her husband was going to do. Jim felt the priest was making a big mistake, electing to ride with Carl, but that was his business.

  He sighed as he gazed at the Stinson boys. There was a sight that had never been and, hopefully, would never again be equaled in the annals of law enforcement. Jim could but shake his head and hope for the best.

  Sonny, Bullfrog, Bubba, and Keith looked like they were preparing to ride out with Quantrill’s Raiders to do battle with the Yankees. Each of them carried at least three pistols of various calibers, all of them large magnums and all of them single-action, with bandoliers of cartridges and shotgun shells looped and crisscrossed over their chests. Each of them carried a shotgun and had a lever-action rifle slung by leather over one shoulder.

  Brother Speed looked in dress like General George Patton. He wore two pearl-handled .45 pistols. He had looked into the sheriffs department gun room and spotted an old World War II Thompson submachine gun that hadn’t—to the best of Jim’s knowledge—been fired in more than thirty years. The pastor had requested the SMG and all the ammunition that could be rounded up. Jim had asked him if he’d ever fired one of the old Thompsons. No, the pastor had replied, but he’d seen John Wayne use one in a war movie. Could he please have it?

  Jim had said no, and had given him a riot gun instead.

  Brother Speed wore bloused riding breeches, polished high boots, and a helmet liner he had picked up—only God knew where.

  Tom Malone had picked out a Colt AR-15 from the gun room, and carried a .38 in a holster. Jim wasn’t too sure about the Stinson boys and Brother Speed, but he knew that Tom Malone was hell on wheels when somebody was dumb enough to push him.

  The women were over at Doctor Bartlett’s clinic, the sheriff and his wife over at the mayor’s place with Wilber and Meg.

  Dee Conners had called and said everything was okay out at her place.

  She’d sounded a little bit miffed to Jim, and he figured she didn’t like it at all that Carl had taken off head-hunting.

  “We got maybe a half hour of daylight left us, people,” Jim told his crew. “And I ain’t gonna kid you: I don’t have no idea what’s gonna happen when the sun goes down.”

  The faint sounds of gunfire silenced him. An M-16 by the sounds of it, and firing on full auto, in three-round bursts. Carl has gone to work, Jim thought.

  In a way he envied the young man his cold attitude. But only in a small way.

  Jim picked up the ringing phone. Chief Max Bancroft. “Me and my boys are holed up down here at City Hall, Jim. We’re bunkered in pretty well with lots of food and water and enough ammo to re-fight Hamburger Hill. I just spoke with Daly and Tolson over at the clinic. He said they were in pretty good shape, all things considered. Those four guys that you and me suspected was some of Edgar Conners’s security people just left the motel, all dressed in battle gear. They headed out toward Conners Woods. Is the original plan still in effect?”

  “That’s ten-four, Max. Me and my people are going to cruise the town until we have to hole up someplace. If that happens, we’ll all meet back here at the jail. I’m thinking you’re going to have the hot spot, located like you are darn near in the center of town. Keep a sharp eye out, Max.”

  “I’ll do that, Jim. Luck to you, boy.”

  “Same to you, Max.” Jim slowly hung up.

  “Chief?” the dispatcher called from the radio room. “The teletype’s gone crazy in here. There’s some sort of weird picture being printed out. It’s . . .”

  Jim waited for the rest of it. But the radio room was silent. Eerily so.

  Then the dispatcher started screaming as sparks began erupting in multi-colored sheets from the electronic equipment. He was suddenly flung from the radio room as if picked up and tossed by an invisible hand. His clothes were on fire and his hair was a burning torch. Everyone there heard his back crack as he impacted against a door jamb. The dispatcher fell to the tile floor and lay still while the flames began to burn themselves out.

  Jim grabbed a fire extinguisher and ran to the man, dousing the flames. He knelt down. The man was dead.

  Jim looked into the smoking and ruined radio room. The teletype machine had exploded, as had all the radio equipment and the phone.

  Jim had no doubts as to whose picture had been printed out on the fanfold paper of the teletype. The dispatcher had looked at it for too long. He remembered the words back at the Conners place that night: “Anyone who looks upon the face of Satan dies.”

  He walked into his office, picked up a mobile unit from its charger, and walked back out into the main office and held up the walkie-talkie.

  “Everybody take one of these, people. Make sure the units are fully charged before taking them. Tom, try the phones.”

  The deputy picked up a desk phone and held the receiver to his ear. He met the chief deputy’s eyes and shook his head. “Dead, Jim.”

  “Use your handy-talkie to bump Max down at City Hall. Have him try his office phones.”

  The phones were out at City Hall, and as far as Max knew, dead all over the town.

  “The Devil’s doin’ this, ain’t he?” Keith Stinson asked, literally shaking in his cowboy boots.

  “Yes,” Pastor Speed told him. “Get ahold of yourself, boy. God is with us. We have to fight His fight and you can’t do that trembling like a leaf in a storm.”

  “I been a sinner all my life, Preacher!” Keith shouted the words.

  “Of course, you
have. We all have. But the main thing is to try to obey God’s words. All of us have been spared for some reason, and that reason is to fight the evil that has taken this town. You’re part of God’s army now, boy. Now straighten up and get a grip on yourself.”

  The sun was sinking fast, the evening shadows casting long over the town.

  “The electricity will probably go next,” Tom said.

  “I ain’t lookin’ forward to this night,” Bullfrog said, his eyes on the dead dispatcher.

  “I hope Judy made it over to the clinic.” Mike whispered the words.

  “I thought she was out at the Conners place,” Jim said.

  “She come into town to check on her mom and dad. They were drunk and naked and screwin’ on the floor. Them and half a dozen neighbors. She decided to stay at the clinic.”

  “Your wife, Pastor?” Jim asked.

  “At the clinic with the other women. She’s badly frightened but holding on. She can be a rock when she has to be.” He sighed. “And if there ever was a time, this is certainly it.”

  More gunfire drifted to the men at the jail. This time the automatic weapon’s fire was joined by a shotgun’s heavy booming.

  “Father Vincent is sure lettin’ the hammer down,” Tom said. “He’s giving them hell.”

  “That is certainly one way of putting it,” Pastor Speed agreed.

  Night settled swiftly over Butler, Virginia.

  The lights suddenly went out, hurling the room into darkness.

  “Here we go, boys,” Jim said.

  Chapter 32

  The rapid thock-a-thock of the blades gave the helicopters away. They were flying low and without running lights. Dee turned on the floodlights to aid the choppers in their landing on the clearing. Carl and Chuck had just driven up, and were watching from the road side of the chain-link fence as the security men jumped from the choppers and assembled on the ground. They were dressed in dark clothing and carried bulky bundles in addition to their backpacks.

  Someone called out an order and the men ran for preassigned positions. It was obvious to even the most uninitiated that the men had studied maps and probably mock-ups of the area, for they knew right where to go.