“You sound just like Daddy,” Danielle said with a sad, broken grin. She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. “Always got to do the right thing.”
“It’s what Dad would want,” he said. “Mom, too.”
“I know,” she said, a faraway look in her eyes. Then she blinked, fixed him with a stern glare. “I wanted to ask you: how the hell did you find out about all this? We never told anyone.”
“Someone on the inside of the church clued me in and has been feeding me info. We’re close to a major break.”
“I hope you bring ‘em down,” she said. “Him, especially. I know I can’t be the only one that sick bastard’s touched.”
Anthony thought about Kelley Marrow. How many more Kelley Marrows and Danielles were out there, suffering the consequences of Bishop Prince’s perverse desires? How many promising young lives had been cut short, or wrecked? How many families destroyed?
“I’m going to bring this to an end,” he said. “I promise.”
68
Once Cutty was inside the house, he drew his pistol.
Music thundered from upstairs, making the floor, walls, and windows vibrate. The devil’s music.
He swept through the first level. The house was dusty and cluttered, decorated with old upholstered furniture and soiled carpeting spotted with cigarette burns. It reeked of cigarette smoke, and faintly of marijuana, too.
This home was an incubator of iniquity, a womb of the wicked.
Little wonder that Thorne had grown up there.
After proving the first floor vacant, he ascended the staircase, raking his glance over the framed photographs assembled along the wall. Hell-bound sinners, all of them. No one who feared God would live in such a spiritually vapid house.
Upstairs, all of the doors were ajar, except the one at the end. The satanic music came from behind the door.
The knob turned when he twisted it. He didn’t worry about the occupant detecting the sound of his entry. The music of the damned was so explosively loud it would have prevented one from hearing the Judgment Day trumpets.
Inside, a thin teenager sat at a desktop computer, hammering away on the keyboard, his back to the door. He didn’t even hear Cutty crossing the trash-strewn room.
But the kid certainly felt the gun that Cutty placed at the back of his head.
Part Three
The Kingdom
69
They returned to the home of Danielle’s boyfriend so Danielle could retrieve her car. Until his work was done, Anthony had advised her to pick up Reuben and hide out at a friend’s house. Although he hadn’t been worried earlier that the zealots would harm his sister and nephew, as they’d seem concerned solely with him, with his newfound knowledge of the importance of their roles he considered them potential targets, and he would not relax until they were safely sequestered.
As the three of them stood in the driveway beside their vehicles, he peeled several hundred dollars out of his money clip and offered the bills to Danielle.
“This is for anything you need in the interim,” he said. “But I hope I don’t have to tell you—“
“I’m not going to smoke it up, Junior, all right?” She folded the money into her purse. “I don’t even feel like doing that shit right now. I wanna keep my head clear—shit, I need to keep it clear to talk to my baby about everything I gotta tell him, you know?”
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her, and when he let her go, Lisa stepped forward and embraced her, too. In the past hour, the two women had found an unexpected kinship.
“Hurry up and get out of here, Danny,” he said.
As Danielle walked to the house, his cell phone rang. The display didn’t give the number, which immediately stirred the hairs at the nape of his neck.
In spite of his reluctance, he answered—and heard the voice that he expected.
“Found you again, Thorne,” Cutty said. “Did I not tell you that God would lead you to me? Seek, and ye shall find.”
How had they gotten his cell number? Anthony spun around in a circle in the driveway, half-expecting to find the fanatics hidden in the shrubbery. He’d been so meticulous . . .
“Is it them?” Lisa whispered.
He covered the phone, nodded.
Near the front door, Danielle had paused, somehow sensing the changed mood.
“What the hell do you want?” Anthony said into the phone.
“I have someone who wants to speak to you,” Cutty said. “Say hello to your nephew.”
Anthony’s breath stopped.
“Uncle Tony,” Reuben said. His voice was tight as he strug-gled not to cry. “Man, come get me, okay, please? They . . . they said they’re gonna . . . gonna k-k-kill me if you don’t listen to them . . .”
Reuben’s voice snapped, and a sob escaped him. The sound tore like a serrated blade at Anthony’s heart.
“Reuben, listen to me, everything’s going to be fine,” Anthony said, striving to keep his own tone calm. “I promise you that. I need you to stay strong, okay?”
“O-okay . . .”
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. You hang tight, keep your head up.”
“All . . . all right.” Reuben sucked in a shaky breath.
“Where are you?” Anthony asked.
“I-I don’t know. They . . . they got a blindfold on me . . .”
“Did they snatch you from the house?”
“Y-yeah. I’m . . . sorry . . . I know you told me to leave . . .”
He realized they’d placed a wiretap on his family’s house. When he’d called earlier that morning searching for Danielle and had spoken briefly to Reuben, they must have traced his call, which gave them his cell phone number—and probably the idea to snatch his nephew, too.
In hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming.
“Don’t worry about it,” Anthony said. “It was my fault. You just stay strong while I work on bringing you home safe, all right?”
“How inspiring,” Cutty said, on the line once more. “Everything’s going to be fine now that Uncle Tony is on the job.”
“You keep your goddamn hands off him.”
As if summoned by maternal instinct, Danielle raced across the driveway, back to them. Lisa moved forward to intercept her.
Cutty said, “I’ve told you before how profanity offends me, Thorne. Would you like me to vent my displeasure with your language on your nephew?”
“Don’t touch him, Cutty,” Anthony said. “Please. He’s innocent.”
“I beg to differ. When I collected him from your family home, this young sinner was listening to music so obscene that I’m rather surprised my ears didn’t bleed. He’s on the same wicked path that you’ve been walking, a journey that’ll take both of you straight to hellfire and eternal damnation.”
“He’s only a kid. Leave him out of this. This is between you and me.”
“Indeed it is,” Cutty said. “You’ve led me on quite a chase. It is clear that the devil highly values your service, as he continues to aid you. But my God is far greater than your fallen angel.”
Anthony ground his teeth. Cutty had him by the balls, and he knew it, and the wacked-out asshole was going to prolong the agony.
Lisa and Danielle huddled next to each other, faces tight with trepidation. He wanted to assure them that everything would be okay, but he had only a fuzzy notion of the play Cutty was going to make, and it was not comforting.
“You’ve obviously snatched my nephew because you wanted leverage,” Anthony said. “Well, now you’ve got it. You’ve got the ace. What’re you going to do with it?”
“I’ve always held the ace, Thorne. My God is always in control. He’s the architect of my destiny, the captain of my fate.”
“God’s been leading you all along, huh? That’s why we kept giving you the slip.”
“Trials and tribulations are placed before us to strengthen our faith.”
“You have an answer for everything.”
“
Those who serve God have access to his infinite wisdom, Thorne.”
Anthony wanted to pull his hair out. It was impossible to hold a reasonable conversation with the guy. He was utterly committed to his delusional beliefs, and there was nothing more frightening than a man who never doubted himself, who never questioned his actions.
“What do you want from me?” Anthony asked.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“What are your orders, sir. Say it like you were taught to do in the Marine Corps, with enthusiasm.”
“You want me to sound off?” Anthony almost laughed. “I’m not going to dishonor the Corps by sounding off to a piece of shit like you.”
“We have the ace, Thorne. Don’t test the Lord.”
“Whatever.” Anthony exhaled through clenched teeth. “What’s your big plan?”
“We’re going to make a trade. I turn over your nephew, and you come with me.”
“Come with you where?”
“Wherever God decides you must go.”
“I thought you wanted to kill me.”
“I am only a loyal servant of the Kingdom, Thorne. I obey a power greater than myself.”
“Bishop Prince, you mean,” Anthony said. “The so-called prophet.”
“The Prophet. God’s mouthpiece. The Anointed One. Don’t you dare speak disparagingly of him—you’re hardly fit to serve as his footstool.”
Anthony hesitated. Presumably, once he gave himself up to Cutty, he would be transported somewhere, and interrogated.
They must’ve believed that he’d learned something so damaging to their organization that they couldn’t take any risk on him passing along the information. They wanted to get him in a cold room, put the screws to him, and force him to confess whatever he knew, and to whom he’d told it—and then they would kill him. It was the classic interrogation scenario, and once he was in their custody, there would be no bargaining for his freedom, no opportunity to escape.
It would be over.
Telling them that he hadn’t managed to fully decipher Bob’s messages would prove fruitless, too. They believed that he possessed the evidence that could harm them, and they weren’t exactly open to debate.
He needed time to conceive some kind of counter action, but time was something he simply didn’t have.
“I don’t know,” Anthony said, stalling for time.
“Pardon me?”
“I’ve gotta think about this. You’re asking me to give up my freedom.”
“I’m not asking you, Thorne—I’m commanding you. Disobey, and your nephew suffers. Is that what you would like?”
“Then we make the trade in a public place,” Anthony said quickly. “We can do it at South Dekalb Mall, it’s in Decatur.”
Cutty laughed. “You’ve no leverage here. We’re doing this my way.”
Anthony swore under his breath.
“We will make the exchange at a church on Hidden Creek Road,” Cutty said. “It is called Mount Moriah Baptist. The building is abandoned, concealed within dense foliage, and has a large parking lot in the rear that abuts a forest.”
“I think I know where it is.”
“You’ll come alone. You’ll be unarmed.”
“Fine.”
“Listen to me very carefully, Thorne. If you attempt any heroics, I will kill your nephew.”
Anthony glanced at Lisa and Danielle, nodded grimly. “Understood.”
“You’ll be there in forty-five minutes. That’s precisely one-thirty. Not a minute later.”
Cutty terminated the call. Anthony looked at the phone as if it were a snake, and turned to the women.
“There’s been a change of plans,” he said.
70
His angel had arrived.
A bank of twelve televisions covered a wall of Bishop Prince’s master suite, the displays broadcasting video from surveillance cameras placed throughout the estate. Although he normally dressed in a chamber designated for that purpose, as he donned another custom-tailored Armani suit he could barely keep his attention away from one of the screens.
His angel was bathing in a guest bathroom. The camera, concealed in a light fixture, offered a side-view of her lounging in the frothy Jacuzzi.
As he watched, she lifted a slender leg out of the water, stretched it in the air before her with the easy limberness of a ballerina, and caressed the smooth skin with a bar of soap. It was such a sensuous act that he was convinced she knew he was secretly observing her, and was teasing him.
With effort, he turned away to fetch his shoes.
On an ordinary day, one of his personal assistants would have brought all of his clothing to him, and attended to him as he dressed. He had given the house staff and his assistants the day off, as he did at least once a week. The Lord had rested the seventh day, so surely he could grant those in his employ a day of rest.
The only individuals laboring for him that day were his Armor of God security detail. There were two agents stationed at the estate gates, and three more distributed throughout the property. As Satan never ceased his attempts to sow discord and wickedness, those who served as God’s warriors must be ever vigilant.
The Kingdom had to be advanced, at all costs. There was much work yet to be done, and unlike Moses, he intended to be present to lead God’s people into the Promised Land—an era of total Kingdom rule over the earth.
Other fundamentalist leaders had sought to restore God’s sovereign control over society through political maneuvering: backing candidates sympathetic to their causes, lobbying those in power, and attempting to sway the faithful masses to vote for change. While of noble intentions, their failure was the result of ill-conceived strategy. The average American was a slothful, unrepentant heathen and could not be relied upon to cast the proper votes at the ballot box, or even to vote at all, and politicians were notoriously corrupt, peddling their influence to the highest bidder.
No, Kingdom rule had to be installed by more forcible means. Had not Joshua, Moses’ successor, led an army into the land of milk and honey?
Enter Project Revelation, his divinely-inspired vision to return God to his rightful place as the head of society, with God’s anointed servants executing his will.
In the dressing chambers, he eased onto the gold-trimmed bench, and slipped on a pair of Italian loafers. The room, like every other space in the mansion, was spacious, and lavishly appointed with antique furniture, much of it from the Louis XVI era.
The home covered fifteen thousand square feet and included seven bedrooms, but he lived there, alone. His wife and their four children resided in a much smaller home on campus, and received him for visits perhaps once a week, sometimes less often.
The estate had been built solely for his pleasure, and the pleasure of those he entertained.
After inspecting his appearance in the mirrors, he left the suite and entered the main hallway on the second floor, an eighty-foot long corridor with marble flooring. The marble tiles were so highly polished they reflected his face almost as clearly as a pool of water. The cathedral ceiling was well above his head, with a panel of skylights that admitted sunshine by day, and moon glow at night.
Several doors led off the hall. He stopped at a closed door on the right, twisted the knob.
It was a huge bedroom, decorated entirely in white: white walls and ceiling, white carpeting, white wooden furniture. The white, queen-size, hand-carved poster bed was draped in a white duvet. The bedside clock was white. Even the doorknobs were white.
He crossed the room to the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar, and pushed it open.
Like the adjoining room, the large bathroom was also entirely white.
The only thing inside that was not white, in fact, was the thirteen-year-old girl in the bathtub. She was of bi-racial heritage—Korean mother, black American father—with flawless, honey-brown skin and a ripened physique that belied her tender age.
Her name was Chastity.
For the past se
veral months, her mother, a longtime servant of the Kingdom, had allowed her to stay with him whenever he requested her company, in return for divine blessings that he spoke into their lives. There were, after all, many ways to sow seeds and reap a bountiful harvest.
Soaping her body languorously, her back to him, Chastity did not notice that he stood at the door. She was softly singing one of his favorite hymns, “Blessed Assurance.”
As he looked upon her, pleasant warmth spread through him.
His father, the late Dr. Theodore Prince, had spoken often to him of his “thorn in his flesh,” a reference to Paul’s letter to the Corinthians. But his father had talked of it in vague terms, declining to provide details when pressed, and Bishop Prince had begun to believe that his father suffered from some debilitating, mysterious ailment.
Matters became clear when, as a seminary student, he entered his father’s church office one day to find an adolescent girl sitting on his father’s lap, his trousers gathered around his ankles and his eyes squeezed shut in rapture. The girl let out a startled screech, but his father had only looked at him and said, So, you’ve discovered my thorn.
Bishop Prince had backed out of the room, face burning. Ashamed of his father, but more ashamed of himself.
Unexpectedly, the shocking scene had excited him.
Later that day, his father had pulled him aside. Whatever you may be feeling about what you witnessed, son, remember what the Lord said to Paul: I will not take away your thorn, for my grace is sufficient for you, and my strength is made perfect in your weakness.
He had expressed gratitude to his father for the insight. His father had always been such a wise man, strong in the Lord. Bishop Prince was proud to be his son and to have inherited the mantle of the Kingdom . . . even though he’d inherited his father’s weaknesses of the flesh, too.
Chastity suddenly caught sight of him in a mirror. She looked at him over one suds-capped shoulder, and grinned.
“You were listening to me singing,” she said.
“With pleasure,” he said. “You sing like the seraphim.”
Covenant Page 27