A horrible keening sound rent the air; the woman began screaming beneath the tape over her mouth. As one of the agents clicked on the television and jacked the volume up, another pulled Hunter upright. Dengler grasped Hunter’s wrist with his own meaty hand, then pressed Hunter’s index finger flat against the top of his hand, breaking the finger with an audible snap.
Kord didn’t even watch Hunter; his view of the wife was far more entertaining. The woman’s blue eyes bulged, and her face went white as the sound of Hunter’s scream drowned out the mindless noise of local talent singing Christmas carols.
Kord felt a small, fierce surge of satisfaction under his irritation as Brad Hunter fell and writhed on the floor like a cut snake. It might take all night, but he would learn what Daniel Prentice intended.
Daniel took the ramp onto Interstate 95 and drove steadily toward Baltimore, careful to keep the car just beneath the speed limit. Lauren lay curled up on the seat beside him, and he hoped that she had fallen asleep. He wanted to put as much geographical space between them and General Herrick as possible, and driving had seemed the safest choice. Once Herrick or Archer put out a bulletin—and they’d be foolish to wait until morning—Daniel’s and Lauren’s Millennium Chips would alert every law enforcement authority within a hundred miles if they walked into an airport, bus station, or train depot. But the highways of America were still free.
Daniel checked his rearview mirror and exhaled in satisfaction when he saw that no one followed. His watch glowed softly in the dark, reminding him that it was three in the morning, and he wondered what story Brad had told Christine when he dropped her at their house. He suspected that Brad had put far more thought into planning Daniel’s escape than he had his own, but he had always thought more of protecting his men than himself. If Brad was smart, he had taken Christine home, taken a cab to a nondescript motel in Maryland or Virginia, and paid cash for the room. Christine—who knew nothing specific about what Brad and Daniel had intended—would be safe as long as she remained ignorant. In a day or two, after Archer’s men had examined the treasury computers and found nothing wrong, Brad could quietly go home.
Daniel glanced over at Lauren and felt his heart soften as her hair lifted in the heater’s hot breath. He would have been honored to marry her even if he hadn’t fallen hopelessly in love. He had known few women as intelligent and loyal—and courageous. Her loyalty to Sam Stedman had put her at risk, and her marriage to Daniel would certainly put her in danger. But he would protect her with his life.
Daniel grinned and shifted his hands on the steering wheel as he recalled the memory of Stedman’s face as he ordered General Herrick and Adrian Romulus out of the White House. For an instant the president had been imbued with the feisty spirit with which he won the election, but that outburst would cost him—maybe not tonight, maybe not this month. But someday soon, Daniel feared that a Secret Service agent would enter the president’s bedroom and find him dead. They’d say it was another accident— a heart attack or possibly a stroke—but Sam Stedman’s dissenting voice would be silenced. The man was popular with the American people, and he spoke the truth—two qualities Adrian Romulus could not endure.
Truth—what had H.L. Mencken once said? “Nine times out of ten, in the arts as in life, there is actually no truth to be discovered; there is only error to be exposed.”
In an effort to expose error and corruption, Daniel had just risked his and Lauren’s lives to fight a man who would probably prove to be the Antichrist—without committing himself to the real Christ. His mother, who was certainly no logician, wouldn’t hesitate to point out the illogic in that.
So what’s your problem, Prentice? What’s holding you back?
He glanced out the window, watching the bright beams of a semi on the other side of the divided highway. What was holding him back? For years he’d convinced himself that he didn’t need his mother’s religion. Christianity was for grieving widows and helpless poor people; it was a colossal waste of time and energy. In the two or three hours most people spent at church he could write two hundred lines of code; while Christians read their Bibles and prayed, he poured over textbooks and committed them to memory.
So how had his mother known so much about the Antichrist? Daniel had known about Romulus, but his mother had been able to identify the inner characteristics of a man she’d never met.
She’d found her answers in the Bible. Lauren had found hers in faith and surrender.
Daniel shifted his weight in the seat, then pressed his hand to the back of his neck, kneading his stiff muscles. That bookbinder-preacher had broken down belief into three neat compartments: a knowledge in the mind, a feeling in the heart, an act of the will. Daniel had no problem accepting the historical validity of the person of Jesus Christ. The idea that God could become flesh wasn’t that hard to embrace, either—incarnation was the only logical way that fallible human beings could even hope to bridge the chasm between mortal man and immortal God.
The third step, the act of the will, was likewise a sensible and sound concept. Religion was worthless unless acted upon, so Daniel had no problem with the idea that an individual had to decide to invite Christ into his life, be born again, surrender, or whatever the current lingo was.
The part that eluded him, the missing ingredient, was the feeling in the heart. Daniel had never been the type to see ghosts in the attic or images in the stars; astronomy had been one of his worst subjects because he couldn’t envision or identify the constellations without a celestial map. He’d lost more than one college girlfriend because he wasn’t “romantic” enough, and even with Lauren he’d never felt helpless in the throes of passion. His love for her was steady and constant; it was the sure knowledge that he wanted her by his side for the rest of his life, no matter what happened. . . .
He breathed deep and felt a stab of memory, a broken shard from his past, sharp as glass. The panorama of black night deepened into the brown and gold tints of his father’s library, and once again he was six, sitting by the side of his father’s chair, feeling the weight of his father’s hand on his head.
“Son?” His father’s voice came from above, warm and crackling like the logs in the fireplace.
Daniel looked into his father’s eyes and saw himself reflected there, wide-eyed and chubby-cheeked. “Yes, Daddy?”
“You know I love you.”
Daniel looked up and smiled, feeling he might burst from a sudden swell of happiness. “Yes, Daddy.”
He looked down, saw the Lincoln logs in his hands and scattered over the rug. Silence reigned for a moment, then his father’s hand fell gently upon his head again.
“Daniel?”
“Daddy?”
“You know I love you.”
Daniel lowered his head as a slow smile crept across his face. This was a game, then. His father wanted to hear something in return, something more than a simple yes.
He waited a moment, then looked up into eyes that shone with love. “Daddy?”
“Yes, Son?”
“I love you, too.”
He had felt happy before, but when his father reached up and drew him into his arms, Daniel threw back his head and laughed, glorying in the simple feeling of love and being loved.
The voice and its memories passed over Daniel the adult, shivering his skin like the touch of a ghost—no, a Spirit. The Spirit of love . . . the Spirit of God. It moved through Daniel’s soul like a steady, rushing wind, breaking down the barriers he had erected, breaking the lifelong strongholds of fear and anger and resentment.
Daniel drove silently as tears rolled heedlessly down his face, hot spurts of loss and love. All these years he had been deluding himself. He thought himself too intelligent for God . . . but, truthfully, he had been too angry. Too hurt. Too proud.
Those crippling emotions had prevented him from feeling much at all.
“God,” he whispered, wiping his nose on his sleeve in a childish gesture, “forgive me for blaming you for my dad’s
death. I know you are love, and I know you didn’t kill him. Take me, Father, I’m tired of hiding from you. I give you my life, my ambition, my dreams of influencing the world. From this moment on, I’m yours.”
He blinked the tears from his eyes and tried to focus on the highway. The wave of riotous emotion faded like a cloud spent of its rain, leaving Daniel with a profound sense of peace.
Filled with the wonderful sense of going home, he pushed the car into the night.
Lost in reverie, Daniel drove for miles, skirting Baltimore, pushing northward. The thick black sky hung over the interstate, suiting Daniel’s reflective mood, but the stars seemed less brilliant than before. His eyes burned from weariness, and soon he’d have to pull over.
A car passed on the other side of the interstate with a drawn-out whooshing sound, and Daniel jerked the wheel, suddenly aware that he had nearly fallen asleep. The adrenaline that had energized him through the night had worn off; now he felt nothing but bone-deep weariness.
The sharp motion of the car must have awakened Lauren, for she lifted her head and peered at Daniel with sleepy eyes. “Do you want to stop?”
“I suppose we’d better.” Daniel gave her a smile, feeling suddenly childlike and awkward. “But first, I ought to tell you something.”
“Don’t tell me you already have a wife and twelve children.” Her hand flew to her throat in a dramatic gesture, but her eyes were shining.
“You know better than that.” Daniel tried to keep his eyes on the road, but the sight of her was irresistible. “I, uh—well, I prayed. I did what you did.”
Her voice went soft with surprise. “You did what?”
Daniel shrugged. “I just figured it was highly illogical to expend all this effort to expose the Antichrist without believing—really believing—in Christ himself. So I made it official and joined the ranks of the believers.”
She twisted in the seat, her eyes shimmering with the light from the dashboard. “Daniel, you wouldn’t be joking with me, would you? Because this is not a joking matter.”
“No.” He softened his tone as his eyes met hers. “No, it isn’t. And I’m telling you the truth, Lauren. It’s done.”
She bit her bottom lip, then tilted her head. “So—how do you feel?”
“How do I feel?” Daniel searched his heart for the answer, then reached out and intertwined his fingers with hers. “I feel more than I’ve felt in years. Love for you, love for God, and gratitude. A deep and abiding sense of gratitude. And I’m ready to go ahead with our plan; I have this sense that it’s the right thing to do.”
“Peace,” she whispered, nestling close to his side. “You’re feeling peace.”
They drove for a while without speaking, then Daniel lifted their clasped hands and pointed toward the glove compartment. “Brad said he’d put a couple of maps and some cash in the glove box. Why don’t you check and see if he remembered?”
“Of course he did.” Lauren turned the knob and a stack of maps spilled into her lap. A wallet had been tucked behind the maps, and as Lauren pulled it out and fanned it, Daniel saw that Brad had lined it with hundred dollar bills—at least five of which were Canadian currency.
“Cash?” Lauren laughed softly. “How far do you think we’re going to get with cash?”
“As far as we need to. I told Brad I’d try to make it into Canada, though I didn’t tell him where I’d go.” Daniel lifted his shoulders to work a cramp out of his back, then pointed to the Pennsylvania map. “Take a look at that one. I think we’re in Pennsylvania, but I haven’t been paying much attention to the road signs. See if you can tell which major city we’ll come to next.”
“Which one did we pass last?” Lauren murmured, unfolding the map.
Daniel ran his hand through his hair and tried to think. Aside from his occasional visits to the lake cabin, he hadn’t been on a road trip in years. “I know we passed Baltimore, because I got on I-83 there,” he said. “And I think I remember seeing something about York, Pennsylvania. We can follow the interstate for a few more hours, but after tomorrow we’d better stay off the main highways. I suspect they’ll put out a bulletin on us, if they haven’t already. But they don’t know what kind of car we’re driving.”
Lauren leaned forward, bringing the map closer to the light in the glove compartment. Daniel grinned, amazed that the light even worked, then remembered that Brad had arranged for the car. Brad would have checked every detail.
“The interstate will take us to Harrisburg, which is a good-sized town,” Lauren said, running her finger along the map. “That’s another twenty miles.”
“Sounds good.” Daniel checked the rearview mirror again, then smiled as Lauren moved closer so he could slip his arm around her. “I’d forgotten how nice these bench seats are,” he said, grinning at her. “I’m reminded of my teenage days when I learned to drive—back before they put bucket seats in everything. My buddy and I used to double-date in a car like this.”
“I don’t want to hear about your old girlfriends,” she whispered, her breath warm in his ear. “Just drive, Mr. Prentice. And don’t forget—this is our wedding night.”
Daniel didn’t answer, but kissed her quickly, then urged the old Chevy to quicken her pace and wing on down the highway.
THIRTY-SIX
10:03 A.M., Friday, December 24, 1999
AFTER A HARD, DREAMLESS SLEEP, DANIEL WOKE TO THE SIGHT OF SUNLIGHT leaking around the edges of the drawn curtains. Lauren lay snuggled in his arms, her sleep-tousled curls spangling her forehead and the nape of her neck. Daniel pressed a kiss to the warmth of her throat, then carefully slid away from her and pulled his watch from the night stand.
A few minutes after ten. They’d slept less than five hours, but they had to get moving.
Stumbling in the gloom, Daniel found the small suitcase Brad had placed in the back of the car and unzipped it. Knowing that Daniel could not very well travel in a tuxedo, Brad had tossed in two pairs of khaki trousers, two sweaters, socks, underwear, and a pair of loafers. Daniel held up the shoes and felt his mouth twist when he saw that the soles were scuffed and worn. A business card lay inside one shoe, and Daniel lifted it out and read the message scrawled on the blank side: “Couldn’t have you getting blisters on the run, so I broke these in for you. Hope they fit! Godspeed.”
Daniel showered, dressed quickly and silently, then gathered up his formalwear, and stuffed the clothes under the mattress of the extra bed. Tasha had slept there, and she looked at him now with dark, unblinking eyes.
“Shh.” Daniel placed his finger across his lips, then jerked his head toward the bed where Lauren still slept. “Guard her, okay?”
The dog wagged her tail in response. Daniel slipped the room key into his pocket, then walked out to the car. The morning was chilly, quiet, and still, and he realized with sudden shock that it was December 24, Christmas Eve morning. Most people were probably relaxing at home or out scouring the malls for last-minute gifts.
He moved toward the lobby, remembering that he’d seen a pay phone there last night. He had his Nokia personal communicator with him but didn’t want to use that phone unless absolutely necessary. He wasn’t certain how wide Herrick’s surveillance net extended, but if his agents had penetrated the inner sanctums of the CIA and NSA, he’d be able to track Daniel through credit card transactions, e-mail transmissions, or cellular phone activity. Daniel didn’t want to raise any alarms, but he needed to do one more thing—for Brad.
He slipped into the lobby, nodded a silent greeting to the young clerk behind the desk, then walked up to the pay phone and punched in Brad’s number. He was certain Brad would have told Christine that he’d be away for a few nights, but Daniel couldn’t shake a feeling of dread. As an elementary schoolteacher, Christine knew virtually nothing about Brad’s covert activities, and Daniel suspected that she didn’t want to know. But she might welcome a reassuring call.
The phone rang four times, then the answering machine clicked on. “Hello, you
’ve reached the Hunters’ house.” Christine’s digital voice sounded upbeat and happy. “Obviously, we’re not here to take your call, so leave a message and we’ll get back to you. Merry Christmas!”
“Christine—” Daniel paused, uncertain how much he should say. “I, uh, just wanted to let you know that we enjoyed being with you two last night. Take care! We’ll be in touch.”
He hung up and scratched his chin, then checked his watch again— 10:30. With no school and an absent husband, Christine could have turned off the phone and decided to sleep in, or maybe she ran out to the mall.
Ignoring the persistent voice that whispered in the back of his brain, Daniel told himself that everything was all right.
A tiny chip inside the Hunter’s telephone acted as a transmitter, sending Daniel’s call to an unmarked white van parked a block away from the Hunters’ house. Kord Herrick leaned forward as the answering machine clicked on, then he nodded in satisfaction.
“That’s Prentice. I don’t need a digital print to recognize that voice.” Kord jerked his chin at the man monitoring the phone line. “Where did the call originate?”
The man studied the ID box, then tapped the digital readout. “A pay phone in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. He’s probably at a hotel or rest station.”
“Find out which, then alert the local authorities.” Kord wrapped his heavy coat closer about him, then pulled the van door open. “And get me a helicopter. I’m going to personally bring him in.”
Kord paused outside the van, his breath steaming in the chilly air as he glanced back at the Hunters’ house. Built on a gentle hill, the brick house sat in peaceful repose, the little white Christmas lights still twinkling from the scrawny boxwood hedges. The newspaper boy had tossed a paper on the porch, and tomorrow he’d toss another one. He might not think there was anything odd about a pile of papers on the porch during the holidays, but eventually someone would come to investigate. Maybe by New Year’s Day someone would discover the truth.
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