by Jon Land
“Yes.”
“And with all these soldiers at his command, your father couldn’t even save Ratansky. With all these soldiers, it’s the two of you he sent to do this job?”
“We volunteered!” insisted Jacob.
“We are the last ones left,” said Rachel.
“What happened?”
Rachel looked at her twin brother before replying. “Our father’s control over the Fifth Generation was not as strong as he thought. Various factions became apparent after his departure from the Seven. Groups splintered off, some sticking with our father, others moving to Frye. Still more embraced neither and went off on their own. By the time he faked his death, only a select few he could trust remained, and now even these …” A shrug completed her thought.
“Where does—er, did—Arthur Deek fit in?”
“He renounced my father and desperately wanted to become part of the Key Society. But Frye wanted no part of him.”
Blaine was nodding. “So when your father decided to spring Ratansky, he made the late Arthur Deek think the request had come from Frye. The dearly departed son of a bitch thought he was getting himself into the Reverend’s good graces by helping.”
“Exactly!” from Rachel.
“How did you know?” asked Jacob.
“It’s the way I would have done it, that’s all.”
Jacob looked suddenly proud. “I know that. I’ve studied you, everything my father could obtain.”
“Starting when?”
“New York. Ratansky’s death brought us there. We had no idea of your involvement until we secured the police report,” Jacob explained, and gazed at his twin.
“We’ve been tracking you ever since. Always a step behind. New York, Illinois, and then the Flash Pot.”
“But you finally caught up. What changed?”
“Jack Woodrow,” said Jacob. “He was kind enough to talk.”
McCracken didn’t like the confident sneer that had spread across the boy’s face, making him look younger instead of older. “He have coaxing?”
“Some.”
Blaine looked in the boy’s eyes and knew. “You killed him, didn’t you?”
“He knew where we were going. He knew where you were going.”
“But he wouldn’t have talked. Jesus, he couldn’t. Then they’d have killed him.”
Jacob looked at him emotionlessly. “We couldn’t take that chance. Besides, he was one of them. I was merely following through with the intended plan. We’d have done the same if Ratansky had succeeded in delivering the list to our father.”
“But since he didn’t, how did you know to come to Atlanta and Jack Woodrow’s Flash Pot?”
“Woodrow was publicly known to be his largest donor by far. When we learned you were en route to Atlanta, the connection was unavoidable. We knew you must have had the list in your possession and had chosen to start at the top.”
“But you would have killed all the people on it right down to the bottom. So why not take Woodrow out before?”
“We were afraid of alerting the rest before their identities were even known to us,” answered Rachel.
“This is a war,” her brother added. “You must see that; you, of all people.”
McCracken looked away from the controls long enough for the Chinook to waver in the dark air. “What I see is a boy who thinks he’s doing a man’s work. Well, let me tell you something, kid, killing’s got nothing to do with being a man.”
“Was it all right when it helped us save your lives tonight?”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
“Because they were trying to kill us and you. They had guns. Jack Woodrow didn’t.”
“But his money helped pay for what we’re facing here, for the Judgment Day Harlan Frye is soon to enact. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“It might have if Woodrow had been a willing and knowing participant.”
“How were we supposed to know whether he was or not?”
“You find out. You make damn sure you find out before you kill a man.” Blaine lowered his voice. “Listen to me, kid, I’ve got a pretty good notion of what kind of person you fancy yourself as, so I’m going to give you some advice—call it partial payback for saving my life. Everybody thinks their side is right—the bad guys and the good guys. And the only thing separating them, the only real determining factor, is how they feel about people, how they feel about life. You don’t kill anyone you don’t have to and you never kill anyone who isn’t about to do the same to you.”
Jacob stayed crouched between Blaine and his sister, looking suddenly like a scared and lonely seventeen-year-old boy.
“Otherwise, it gets to you. You become like what it is you’re fighting, and once there’s no difference, well, there’s no reason. Got it?”
It was Rachel who spoke. “We could not become what we’re fighting here.”
Blaine looked at her briefly before he spoke. “Nobody ever thinks they can, young lady.”
Chastened, Rachel gave a conciliatory nod. “We need you,” she said to McCracken. “We need your help and we need your skills.”
“We also need your contacts,” Jacob added, glad for the change in subject.
“Contacts usually mean Washington, and we can forget about that in this case,” Blaine told them. “I misbehaved out there yesterday afternoon and then again in San Diego at Van Dyne Pharmaceuticals last night.”
The twins looked at each other.
“What brought you to Van Dyne?” Rachel asked.
“An AIDS vaccine they had discovered,” Karen responded before Blaine had a chance to speak. “Van Dyne was testing it on part of Beaver Falls’ population. But something went wrong, and whatever it was forced the need for a replacement. My treatment was the only alternative.”
“But what could an AIDS vaccine have to do with Frye’s Judgment Day?” Rachel asked.
“I don’t know,” sighed Karen.
“Neither of us does,” McCracken added. “But we do know the entire town was evacuated on Monday morning.”
“Then who captured the four of you tonight?” asked Jacob.
“Replacements,” Blaine explained.
Jacob shook his head, unconvinced. “How long could Frye have hoped such a strategy to work?”
“Long enough for him to bring on Judgment Day.”
“If only we knew how,” Rachel sighed.
“Where would do just fine,” said Blaine, “as in where Frye can be found.”
“If we knew that …”
“We don’t,” Rachel picked up from her brother. “But we know someone who might.”
They flew on through the desert night.
“There’s an airfield two hundred miles northwest,” said Jacob. “A jet is waiting for us.”
“To take us where?” Blaine raised. “No, don’t tell me: to that other former member of the Seven.”
“The woman,” added Karen.
Rachel smiled briefly at Karen. “Her name is Sister Barbara.”
“The jet will take us to Knoxville, a few hours’ drive from her home in Asheville, North Carolina,” added Jacob.
“Sister Barbara can fill in the holes we have been unable to. She stayed with Frye for several years after our father fled, until just over two years ago.”
“The Reverend is building a kingdom for himself and his legion,” Jacob expanded, “but our father left the Seven before construction had started. He never learned of its location. Sister Barbara did, though. She can tell us where it is.”
“But she hasn’t told you before because she doesn’t approve of your methods, right?”
The twins looked at each other. It was Rachel who spoke. “We tried to satisfy her. She has never proved very cooperative. She never believed Frye was actually capable of bringing on Judgment Day.”
“Of course not. Otherwise you wouldn’t have had to send Ratansky to steal the list of the Key Society from her. Bottom line is that you took
from her the very thing that insured her safety, and now you want me to convince her to tell me what she’s never shared with your father.”
“Things have changed,” said Rachel.
“Everything has changed,” added Jacob.
“Without the list as insurance, Frye will kill her. She will be desperate. She will need us.”
“All we need to do is convince her that Judgment Day is about to dawn.”
“So she can tell us the location of the Kingdom of the Seven.”
“That’s the hope,” said Jacob.
“The fear, too, kid.”
“You’ve seen our work.”
“Impressive to say the least, but carried out with the element of surprise on your side. That’s gone now. We make it into this kingdom, they’ll be ready for us.”
“There is no choice.”
“Let’s see what Sister Barbara has to say, son, before we pass judgment on that,” advised McCracken.
Wareagle took the pilot’s seat from Blaine minutes later to complete their flight to the airfield where the jet was waiting. The twins stayed in the cockpit with him, Jacob in the passenger seat. He had grown committed to his father’s effort to destroy what Preston Turgewell had once been part of. No other concerns had entered in. The boy had been born into a purpose, and that purpose now dominated his very being. Blaine wondered if there was a life for Jacob and Rachel beyond the Seven, no matter how all this turned out. There was so much he could tell them if they were willing to listen; he’d been there himself, after all, and had lived long enough to learn the lessons on his own. But Jacob and Rachel weren’t ready to accept any more than what lay before them right now, the only world they knew.
McCracken retired to the Chinook’s passenger hold and sat down next to Karen Raymond.
She looked at him with a calm he hadn’t expected. “I’m not scared anymore.”
“Congratulations,” Blaine said, without any trace of celebration in his voice. “You’ve crossed over. Welcome to my world, Doctor.”
“I wouldn’t have entered, wouldn’t have been able to do all this, if it weren’t for my kids. Frye’s animals would have killed them.” She shivered, as much from emotion as the chill of the hold. “They still might.”
Blaine wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her closer to him. “Not if I can help it.”
Karen trembled in his grasp. Her eyes drifted toward the cockpit. “That boy and girl, their father sent them into this. He trained them for it. I think of how I feel about my kids and I find that repulsive.”
“He did what he felt he had to, same thing you’re doing now. Different perspective.” Blaine paused. “Different world.”
“Yours?”
“Pretty much, yes.”
“No,” Karen said, and looked up at him. “I heard what you said to Jacob about killing that man in Atlanta. He didn’t have to, yet he still did. But that didn’t bother you as much as the fact that it didn’t bother him.”
Blaine smiled ruefully. “Very good, Dr. Raymond.”
“He emulates you, wants to be like you.”
“I suppose.”
“He never will, though, because he doesn’t feel; he just believes and acts accordingly. But he’d be a difficult man to face for that same reason.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“I’m learning.”
“Then let’s try another lesson. My contacts may not be able to help us with Frye and the Seven, but there’s an ugly little man back east who can be of immediate service to you and your kids.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“You trust me.”
Karen let her face brush his shoulder and stay there. “Of course. Did you have to ask?”
“I didn’t ask; I said. And when we reach this airfield, I’m saying now you shouldn’t go on. Let me make a call. Get you and your kids someplace where even Frye won’t be able to reach you.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”
She shook her head and pulled away from him. “No.”
“You won’t do it?”
“Because you can’t.”
“I’m offering you a ticket out of my world, Dr. Raymond.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she told him. “I don’t doubt you can keep me safe from Frye’s killers, but can you keep me safe from what he’s about to unleash on the world? Beyond that,” Karen continued, before Blaine had a chance to respond, “you need me. Judgment Day’s got something to do with Van Dyne’s AIDS vaccine, with whatever went wrong in Beaver Falls. I’m the only one in this group who’ll be able to explain how, if the chance ever comes. Tell me I’m wrong, Blaine McCracken, I dare you.”
Blaine tried. Briefly. “Sorry. I can’t.”
“Of course not. What I was after and what you were after led us both to Van Dyne for a reason. Now the trick is to find out exactly where the connection is.”
McCracken glanced at Patrolman Wayne Denbo, who seemed to be sleeping, his head against the hold’s near wall. “Along with what happened to the real residents of Beaver Falls.”
CHAPTER 29
Sister Barbara came awake early Friday morning to the unexpected murmur of voices outside her open window. She rose from the chair where she had taken what little sleep the night would give her, stiff and cold.
More voices reached her, dozens of them.
She moved to the window and threw back the sheer curtain blown inward by the breeze. Below, her followers who called the Oasis home for as long as they desired were at work in the sprawling, lavish flower garden that separated her mansion from the rest of the theme park.
But she had issued orders for them to leave! Roland Bagnell was to have made sure those orders were carried out by this very time!
As if on cue, a knock rapped on her door.
“Come,” Sister Barbara called.
Bagnell entered, his cane tapping the floor with each step.
“What’s going on, Roland?” she demanded. “I was very clear in my—”
“Yes,” he interrupted, “and our residents were equally clear in their refusal to leave.”
One of Bagnell’s principal duties was to coordinate the Oasis’s residential services. The people who came seeking spiritual fulfillment or recharging needed to be boarded, fed, and given work assignments throughout the park. Roland Bagnell himself had been one of the first residents of the Oasis, walking in as a crippled alcoholic who never walked out after shedding his crutches and the bottle. He had supported Sister Barbara through all the various stages and swings of her ministry, including her never-explained decision to forsake the huge television revenues and return to the road. In her upper echelon of trusted directors, Bagnell was the most loyal of all. And yet she had never shared even with him her dealings with the Seven.
“You don’t understand, Roland,” Sister Barbara scolded. “I ordered them to leave for their own good.”
“But I do understand, Sister, and so do they. They know you’re scared. They know there’s something wrong. They want to help. I want to help. Talk to me.”
She looked at him with as much anger as she could summon. “I want the Oasis evacuated, Roland. Leave a skeleton staff in place if you wish, but I want them in a position to flee at the first sign of …”
“Sign of what, Sister?”
“Get them out of here, Roland. Get them out of here now.”
If anyone had bothered to ask Warren Thurlow what he thought of all this, he would have told them it was nuts. Chief federal marshal for the state of North Carolina, Thurlow had been awakened in the midst of a deep sleep just hours before with instructions to serve Sister Barbara with arrest warrants at her Oasis complex as soon as possible. The warrants arrived by courier while he was dressing, alleging that a huge drug ring was operating out of the theme park. Thurlow didn’t know what bullshit the allegations were based on, but he did know there was little he could do to brush them aside at this end.
&
nbsp; He also knew Sister Barbara; not personally, but he’d seen her enough times on television and knew enough about her work to be certain she could not be capable of such a thing. Nor could she be capable of letting it go undetected right under her nose. The problem was that Thurlow was nothing more than a messenger boy. Bring a few deputy marshals with him and serve the warrant, and then get the fuck away with his tail tucked between his legs. Leave Sister Barbara to chew up her accusers and spit them out.
Thurlow roused the top three deputies from the on-call list and told them to pick him up at 6:30 A.M. sharp. He wanted to be done with this as quickly as possible.
The car picked him up right on schedule, and he sat in the backseat through the duration of the ninety-minute drive, doing his best to doze. He couldn’t even keep his eyes closed, and his head began pounding up a storm by the time the car reached Asheville, a town he’d always dreamed of living in. Set in the heart of the Smoky Mountains, Asheville was green and beautiful. Even the smaller homes boasted picturesque and elegantly manicured settings, with views of rolling hills. Plentiful trees dappled the yards and streets with shade, and the lawns were a uniform dark green. Thurlow thought of his own browning grass and chewed his teeth.
His mood had grown even more foul by the time the car pulled up before the main entrance of the Oasis. He ordered his deputy marshals to hang back and started for the gate before they had all climbed out. Halfway there, Thurlow saw an informally dressed man appear from within the guardhouse that was set inside the high, white stone wall that enclosed the entire complex.
“Warren Thurlow, federal marshal,” he announced, fishing for the warrant in his jacket pocket. “’Fraid I need to see Sister Barbara. Course, if she isn’t presently on the premises …”
The man didn’t take the hint. “No, she’s here,” the guard said, feeling for the phone inside the guardhouse. “What’d you say your name was?”
“Warren Thurlow.”
“And you’ve come here to …”
Before Thurlow could respond, the guard’s face vanished in an explosion of blood and bone that sprayed up against the federal marshal’s best suit. He heard his deputies screaming and swung in time to see a fusillade of bullets rip into them and drop their bodies to the ground. Before he could take cover himself, one bullet hammered his shoulder and another struck him like a swift kick to the ribs.