Rise of the Mystics

by Ted Dekker

  I thought about it.

  “It was the way he talked to me. I don’t know, but it terrified me. I suddenly hated him. It was like, I had to. And then I saw the red spark in his eyes and I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “That!” he said, lifting his finger. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. If fear makes you move like that, then maybe I was wrong about letting go of fear, at least until we get past this.”

  “So now you’re saying I should feel fear?”

  “Think about it. You come out of the MEP with a clean mind, fearless. Fear causes most people to freeze up or run. Some fight, and it almost always backfires because they don’t fight smart. But you . . . You learn fear and some raw, ancient instinct kicks in. Every cell in the body carries dormant memories passed on genetically. No MEP can erase that. Point is, on a cellular level, your body’s remembering how to fight when you drop into the lower animal instincts of fear. Make sense?”

  “I guess.”

  “We’re depending on you for our survival. On the same kind of skills I saw you execute last night.”

  “They weren’t like people. I can’t hurt real people. Right?”

  He shrugged. “When it comes to enemies, and I mean people who want us dead, we have to protect ourselves. Sometimes the only way to protect ourselves is to harm others.”

  Like Karen, I thought. I didn’t even know who she was.

  “If they’re willing to kill hundreds of innocent people in churches, the stakes are much higher than you or me. It’s not just about us anymore. When you see Karen, I want you to remember that whatever she knows could lead us to saving thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of people.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way, but he was right.

  “So yes, I think you should embrace fear. Think of it like a radio wave. Tune in to it. Use it. Hate if you have to hate. People are dying out there. You may be the only thing that can stop it.”

  I nodded, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about hurting people to save people.

  “You believe in God, so think of God hating our enemy if you have to. Or think of how God will be upset if you don’t save the innocent people you could save by hating our enemy.”

  Did God hate people? I wasn’t sure. Something about the idea bothered me. Made me a little panicky. But he would punish whoever failed him, right? A brick settled in my stomach. What if I failed him?

  “I don’t like subjecting you to these kinds of ideas so soon after an MEP because you’re still in a fragile, innocent state, but I don’t know how else to handle this. What I do know is that I don’t have the power you do, and if fear and hate let you do what you did last night, do more of that. Hate the whole world if you have to.”

  He was giving me permission.

  “So you think there’s going to be problems tonight?” I asked.

  “I have no idea what we’re up against. You keep me safe, I’ll keep you safe. If anything happens to us, who else will stop them?”

  It made me nervous, I won’t lie, but maybe that was a good thing, like he said, so I gave him a brave grin. “Okay, but I have a question.”

  “Sure.”

  “I know you don’t know what they were and so you don’t want to talk about it, but who do you think they were? I mean, not human, so then what?”

  He hesitated, then spoke softly. “You mean Clive and Richard. What I wouldn’t give to have one of them in our labs to take energy readings. They’re clearly energy expressing itself in physical form—human form—a kind of spiritual technology, if you will. And I say ‘spiritual’ only because they have intention. They’re up to something. Like angels or demons, but I don’t know what to do with any of that.”

  “Then you believe in angels?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” He thought for a second. “Then again, Christian Scriptures say that angels walk among us as humans all the time. Sounds absurd to me, but maybe. And maybe lower energies can appear as well, in any form they choose.”

  He shook his head and blew out some air.

  “Crazy. Regardless, as far we’re concerned, they’re the enemy. Rage. We fight rage with greater rage.” He shrugged again. “It’s all we have to go on.”

  So Steve and I were kinda in the same boat. We had to fight force with force.

  Steve pulled the car to a stop in an alleyway next to Karen Willis’s neighborhood. It was a gated community and there was no way to drive in. Likely guards at the front gate. He didn’t even want to drive by.

  “This is it?”

  “This is it.” He reached over the seat and grabbed a black bag full of items he’d collected at the cabin. Flashlights, duct tape, a few hunting knives, that kind of thing. He’d left the shotgun because it was too big and would make too much noise. “Over the wall, down two streets. 459 Rampart. Remember the plan?”

  I nodded.

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “If anything happens to me, get back to this car. There’s a key above the right rear tire. I’ve programmed the self-drive to take you back to the cabin.” He pointed to the display. “Just press this button to start the car, pull up Destinations here”—he showed me—“and select Cabin. Then this—Self-Drive. Got it?”

  Seemed simple enough. “What do I do at the cabin?”

  “Hide. But it’s not going to come to that. We’re going to protect each other.”

  Then we were out and standing in front of a wall about eight feet tall. I remembered my hood and pulled it over my head.

  “Over?” I asked.

  “One way or the other.”

  No way over but straight up that I could see. So I jumped up like a cat, saw only dark houses, and dropped onto the grass on the other side.

  “Rachelle!” Steve rasped from the far side.

  “Jump over!” I whispered as loudly as I could.

  A long beat.

  “Catch!”

  His black bag sailed over the wall and I caught it easily. Then his arms appeared, hooked over the wall as he struggled to haul his body up. He rolled over and landed hard. In my excitement, I’d forgotten that he wasn’t as agile as me. Maybe not as strong either.

  He clambered to his feet. “This way!” he whispered, grabbing the bag.

  Steve led us down two streets, keeping to a line of trees along the edge, hopping over fences. Then up Rampart Street. We crouched under a tree, staring at a large, dark, two-story house with the number 459 on a post by the door. One porch light.

  “That’s it,” Steve whispered.

  We both stared, and if he was feeling like me, he was trembling. I knew the plan but I was suddenly sure I would fail. Something would go wrong. They would take me back to DARPA.

  “Okay, remember,” he said, grabbing my arm. “It’s simple. There’s no law against ringing someone’s doorbell. If no one answers, we wait. She isn’t married and lives alone as far as I know. Got it?”

  “Got it. What if she sees me and calls the police?”

  “She won’t. You don’t look threatening enough. Trust me. I’ll be right behind and out of sight until she opens the door. Ready?”

  “Now?”

  He looked at the house and nodded. “Now.”

  I stood and hurried across the sidewalk, then up three brick steps to the front door, glancing back only once to see Steve duck behind the bushes by the steps. My heart was hammering. Part of me wanted to run back to where he was, but I pushed that part aside and pressed the doorbell.

  A faint ding sounded inside. So I stepped back, arms behind me. Just a girl in a black hoodie needing help.

  But no one came to help, so I glanced at Steve peering around the bushes and he nodded. I pressed the doorbell again.

  This time the ding was followed by the sound of pattering feet. The door’s brushed-glass panels filled with light from inside. I rubbed my clammy hands on my jeans and waited, ready for anything, including running away if that ended up being the best thing to do.

  A small panel opened and a woman’s brown ey
es looked at me through the glass. If she recognized me, she didn’t show it.

  Apparently satisfied that she wasn’t in danger from a girl in a hoodie, she unlocked the door and cracked it as far as the chain allowed. White-and-black-checkered flannel pajamas. Short dark hair. I recognized Karen Willis from the pictures Steve had shown me, and now my heart was beating so fast I could hardly hear anything else.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Karen Willis? My name is Rachelle Matthews and I need some help.” Then I said the part Steve insisted would get us in. “Vlad sent me.”

  Her eyes went round, staring at me, unsure.

  “Can I come in?”

  “How . . .” She looked past me and saw no one else because Steve was hidden. “How did you find me? How did you get in?”

  “I told you, Vlad sent me. He said only you. We have to talk.”

  She looked confused and doubtful, and for a moment I thought she was going to slam the door and call the police.

  Just for a moment, and in that moment I reacted.

  I threw myself at the door, shoulder first. The chain snapped with a bang as the door crashed in, sending Karen sprawling. Then I was in and Steve was bounding up the steps.

  That’s when I discovered that Karen Willis wasn’t just any ordinary woman. Now that she knew what she was up against, she turned into a wildcat, kicking out and flipping back onto her feet. She charged me, screaming, then spun with a roundhouse kick to cut me down with her heel.

  And that’s when Karen Willis discovered that I wasn’t just any ordinary girl either.

  Steve had given me permission to use rage, so I did. I jumped straight up, over her swinging kick, and slammed my heel into the side of her as she came around.

  Her head snapped to one side and she collapsed on the wood floor, unconscious.

  The door shut behind me. The lock snapped home.

  “I think I knocked her out,” I whispered, feet planted on the wood floor. “Now what?”

  For a second I just stared, heart pounding. This wasn’t part of the plan.

  “Now we tie her to a chair before she wakes up. Wait here.”

  He ran down the hall, checking rooms as I watched Karen. Not dead—she was breathing steadily. This was my enemy, I had to remember that. This was the person who knew about Vlad because the Leedhan knew about her. Had to be.

  This was my enemy. Thousands of people depended on me hating this enemy, even though she looked like an ordinary person who’d just come to answer the door.

  “This way!”

  Steve grabbed Karen’s heels and dragged her down the hall, me following. Then into a large office, a fancy one with a huge desk and dark wood bookcases lining the walls. A small yellow desk lamp was the only light on.

  “Get the curtains!” he said, dropping Karen’s heels. He hurried around the desk and wheeled out the wood chair as I pulled the thick curtains closed.

  “Help me get her up.” He hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her up, and I rolled the chair under her body.

  Something about doing this to another person bothered me, but I had to remember that she was my enemy. Anger would keep me on my toes. I had to find some anger and stay with it.

  Two minutes later we had her arms and legs duct-taped to the arms and pedestal of the chair. We stepped back and looked at our handiwork.

  She wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Now we question her. Wake her up.”

  “Me? How?”

  “Just give her a slap,” he said, digging through the black bag.

  So I stepped up and lightly slapped her cheek. “Wake up.”

  “Harder.”

  I slapped harder, twice. “Wake up. Wake up!”

  “Harder! Much harder! We don’t have all night!”

  He sounded disappointed in me, and maybe that’s why I felt such a surge of anger. I hit her harder, much harder, palm across her jaw, screaming at her to wake up. Her head jerked to the side and she groaned. Blood seeped from the corner of her mouth.

  “Like that?”

  “Something like that.” He had a knife in his hand.

  Karen’s eyes slowly opened. Then sprang wide as she tried to jerk her taped arms free from the chair. “What are you doing?”

  “My name’s Steve Collingsworth. You met Rachelle at the door. We’re the two fugitives who’re being framed for the church bombings, but I think you already know all of that. Tell me what StetNox is.”

  Her eyes darkened and she set her jaw as her awareness of the situation settled in. She spit blood, furious. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “The president’s chief of staff,” Steve snapped. “Which is why we’re here. We were attacked by two men last night. They called themselves Clive and Richard. Far as we can tell, they work for Vlad. I need you to tell me who Vlad is, why he’s after Rachelle, and what StetNox is, and we’re not leaving until you do.”

  Karen stared. And then she began to scream. A wide-jawed scream that made me jump.

  “Shut up!” Steve leaped up to her, clamping his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. “Shut up, shut up!”

  I looked around in a panic, half expecting to see the army rushing in. She kept screaming. Then biting at Steve’s hand, which he jerked back with a cry. Then more screaming.

  I rushed in, shoved Steve aside, and slapped her cheek again, shouting for her to shut up. And when she didn’t, I slammed my fist into her temple.

  Karen sagged in the chair with me standing over her, arm cocked for another blow. But she was out cold.

  “Miss Karen?”

  We spun to the voice calling from down the hall.

  “Are you okay?”

  Steve snatched his finger to his lips and backed up against the wall. Seeing him take cover, I dove behind the desk.

  Someone walked down the wood hallway. We’d left the door open—I could see it from where I crouched behind the desk.

  “Miss Karen?” Closer. Much closer. “Did you call?”

  A barefooted woman in a green robe stepped into the doorway, and Steve rushed her. She gasped, but he was already there, behind her somehow, clamping his hand over her mouth. Knife at her throat.

  “Shut up! Not a peep, you hear me?”

  She was terrified and I felt sorry for her, but I knew what the stakes were, so I clenched my jaw and stayed hidden.

  “I’m going to let go of your mouth, but one scream and I swear I’ll cut your throat. Nod if you understand.”

  The woman nodded and Steve slowly removed his hand. The woman began to cry, doing her best to be quiet. I was horrified for her, because she wasn’t my enemy. But what could we do?

  “Just calm down. It’s okay,” Steve said. “What’s your name?”

  “Anika,” the woman said in a shaky accent. She was from India.

  “You’re a live-in maid?”

  She nodded. “Please don’t hurt me. I beg you, don’t hurt us.”

  “Are you alone?”

  A hesitation, then a quick nod. “Please, I don’t want any trouble. I beg you!”

  “Hush!” He pushed her toward one of two stuffed chairs next to a floor lamp. “We’re not going to hurt you, but we can’t let you go until we get what we came for.”

  “Mama?”

  A child’s voice echoed down the hall and my heart lodged in my throat. Bare feet, running.

  “Mama?”

  Anika whimpered, then called out to her daughter as bravely as she could, “It’s okay, Gracie. Go back to bed.”

  But then the small girl was there, in the doorway, staring in at Karen and Steve and her mother.

  “Mama?”

  I jumped to my feet, fixated on the girl. She was more than a foot shorter than me with brown skin and long curly black hair. Terrified.

  “Grab her!” Steve snapped.

  The woman tried to break free. “No!”

  “Quiet!” Steve clamped his hand over her mouth. “Sit d
own!” He shoved her into the chair. “You want to live, then keep your mouth shut. Rachelle, grab her!”

  This wasn’t the plan. Not at all. I stood staring at the little girl, mesmerized. She could have been me.

  “Grab her!”

  I glanced at Steve. He had the duct tape in his hands, tearing off a piece. The woman was sobbing silently, eyes wide. Seeing her mother so afraid, the girl began to cry as well.

  “Mama, Mama!”

  I rushed up to her and dropped to one knee. “No, no, it’s okay, Gracie. It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you.” But she kept crying.

  I put my arms around her and pulled her close, one hand on the back of her head. “I promise you, we won’t hurt anyone. I swear it! You don’t have to cry.”

  She kept crying. Her small arms wrapped around my neck, holding on for dear life. I could feel her soft cheek against mine. It was almost as if we were the same person somehow.

  Tears sprang to my eyes and slipped down my face.

  “I love you, Gracie,” I said.

  I had no idea where the words came from.

  23

  THE JOURNEY east toward the Circle camp presented me with many “opportunities for salvation,” as Talya called encounters with fear and worry in the world of troubles.

  As Maya had so cleverly stated, we were here to see ourselves as light in the darkness because Justin made us light, like him. That was the Third Seal. But these thoughts only enraged me because I wasn’t seeing myself as light. I was seeing myself as Horde and I hated it. All of Talya’s philosophical statements now felt like salt in the cracks of my skin, but I held my tongue, wishing he would do the same, even knowing he was here to help me.

  Talya looked at me and winked. “That’s why you are here: to see yourself as the light and so be the light. A fine calling, 49th.”

  “That’s why you are here,” Maya parroted, offering me a toothless grin. “You are special!”

  “Just like you,” Talya said.

  “We’re all special!” Maya said, spreading her arms wide. She hesitated, mind spinning behind her bright eyes. “So no one is special.”

  Talya chuckled and patted her hand, uncaring of the flaking skin that covered her little body. “Tell me, 49th. Is Maya embraced by the Horde?”