Cult Following

by Donn Cortez

  “The ETD detected trinitrotoluene and ammonium nitrate,” Delko said. The device was a portable High-Speed Gas Chromatograph, with a micro-differential Ion Mobility Spectrometer that could isolate and identify explosive or narcotic traces down to a trillionth of a gram.”

  “Amatol?” Horatio said. “The smoke was awfully white for that—must be close to a fifty/fifty mix.”

  Wolfe looked visibly impressed. “Forty-eight/fifty-two,” he said.

  “Jason, Jason,” Horatio muttered. “Anybody else would have just gone with half-and-half—but you had to tweak it, didn’t you?”

  “These are all the components we could find and identify,” Wolfe said. It used to be thought that all parts of a bomb were completely destroyed by an explosion, but forensics experts had known that wasn’t true for decades—up to ninety-five percent of a device could survive. Trained investigators could detect those pieces by spotting distinctive traits like soot patterns and jagged breakage.

  Horatio examined them critically. “No timer, which is no surprise…. Ah.” He picked up a small piece of wire. “This looks familiar.”

  “Looks the same as the fragment we found on the rocket,” Wolfe said. “Copper with a Kevlar coat.”

  “Which makes sense,” Horatio said. “Model rockets are usually triggered by wire, not remote. I’m guessing that the other explosives are actually hard-wired as opposed to using a radio detonator.”

  “Which means our bomb-jammer isn’t much use,” Delko said. One of the pieces of equipment Horatio had offloaded from the Coast Guard vessel was an electronics countermeasure device, which jammed radio frequencies that might be used to set off a bomb.

  “It’s not much use now,” Horatio said. “We turn on the jammer, we also disrupt cell phone transmission. Right now, communication with the doctor is paramount…and his ego won’t let him take a subservient position. Trying to negotiate by bullhorn will just reinforce a siege mentality—it may even push him over the edge.”

  “What if he’s just talking to you to keep us from jamming him?” Wolfe said. “They could even have the bomb rigged to a phone.”

  “I don’t think so. Sinhurma’s paranoid and Jason is smart—between the two, they’ll know we can jam radio frequencies. And if they’ve figured that out, they won’t use a method we can easily block. No, I think we’re looking at a wire-controlled system.”

  “Which means we have a chance to find and cut the wires,” Delko said.

  Wolfe shook his head. “Sinhurma will never let us get that close. If there’s a camera watching the bomb, there’s probably a camera watching the area between the trailers.”

  “True,” Horatio admitted. “But knowing there’s a link that can be cut is a good first step.”

  “What’s our second?” Delko asked. Wolfe frowned—the question seemed a little insolent, as if Delko were insinuating Horatio didn’t know what the next step could possibly be.

  In fact, it was exactly the opposite—Delko was so sure Horatio had a plan that it never ocurred to him his remark could be taken as other than a request for information.

  “Our second, gentlemen,” Horatio said, “is establishing a link of our own….”

  “All right, Doctor, I’ve downloaded and printed out the forms you’ll need,” Horatio said. “I’m going to send an officer into the trailer with Kim to deliver them. I assume you have a camera trained on him as well?”

  “Your assumption is correct.”

  “Then you know the officer will be on his best behavior. He won’t approach Kim in any way—he’ll simply leave the forms in plain sight.”

  “And then?”

  “I understand if you don’t want to leave the trailer yourself. I know you’re not alone in there—you can assign one of your disciples to travel between the buildings. She can get Kim to sign the documents and take them back to you. You can sign them and get them to me.”

  Horatio mentally crossed his fingers. What he needed was for Sinhurma to send Jason over—but he couldn’t specifically request that, or the doctor would suspect he was up to something. He was hoping his use of the word “she” would push the doctor in the other direction, increasing the chances that he would choose Jason. Of the other three men, Ferra was unlikely—too unstable, too nervous—but both Cheveau or Humboldt were possibles. Cheveau seemed unshakable, while Humboldt was a born follower.

  “And how do I know you will not attempt something foolish? How can I guarantee my envoy will be safe?”

  The doctor’s voice was calm, but Horatio sensed something else. As long as the doctor held the detonator, he had all the cards; he could blow the trailer sky-high with Kim and the officer in it, and still have the upper hand. His envoy had nothing to fear, but Sinhurma was still worried.

  Getting a little nervous up on the high-wire, Doctor? Horatio thought. I think it’s time to point out just how far away the ground really is.

  “No guarantee at all,” Horatio said. “But if I wanted you—or any of your people—dead, I’d just lob a tear gas grenade through a window and see if you fish or cut bait. Frankly, I’m tempted to do just that.”

  A pause. “Yet, you have not. Why?”

  “I’m not sure, Doctor. I know you’d like to believe it’s because we have some mystical connection, but the more I think about that, the less certain I am. See, I’m a man of science. The people I work with, they’re scientists, too. Those are the people I feel a connection with, those are the people I care about. I can relate to you as a member of the medical profession, as someone who took an oath to do no harm; as a messiah….” Horatio paused. “Let’s just say you’re a few miracles short of sainthood.”

  “I see. Being impoverished of faith, you require some sort of sign. Spiritual collateral, if you will.”

  “I don’t require anything, Doctor; I’m fully aware of what you can do. Harming somebody else won’t prove—”

  “It’s too late for that, Horatio. But I understand, I do. We all need to be shown, sooner or later. My own sign will be arriving any minute…and so will yours.” Sinhurma hung up.

  Horatio took out a handkercheif and mopped sweat off his forehead. Would it work? Had he planted enough hints, without tipping his hand?

  And even if Sinhurma did choose Jason, Horatio had no idea what frame of mind the scientist would be in. As a recent convert, he might be having doubts right about now, might be willing to listen to reason—but if Sinhurma had convinced him that Horatio was somehow to blame for Ruth Carrell’s death, he could be consumed with hatred.

  Horatio had to fight to suppress a smile. Ironically, what it came down to was his belief in someone else’s rationality—belief being what you were left with when evidence wasn’t available.

  Horatio’s instincts against Sinhurma’s. Science versus superstition.

  In the end, no matter how you looked at it, it all came down to faith.

  15

  HAVING AT LEAST GOTTEN a glimpse of the layout, they sent Eskandani in again. Sheathed in body armor, carrying two sheets of paper in one hand and a ballpoint pen in the other, he felt like a postapocalyptic accountant. All I need is a semiautomatic briefcase and a calculator chain saw, he thought.

  Officer Eskandani didn’t have either of those—he wasn’t even carrying a sidearm. He did, however, have something else concealed inside his bulletproof vest.

  Lieutenant Caine watched him from the ridge of the dune through a small pair of binoculars as he approached the trailer. Caine didn’t think Sinhurma would destroy the trailer just to make a point, but acknowledged it was within the realm of possibility.

  Which was the sort of statement, Eskandani reflected as he trudged up to the building, that didn’t exactly fill him with optimism. Still, he knew Caine would have gladly gone in his place if he could—his loyalty to his team was legendary. There were also a few ugly rumors floating around, mainly because Caine’s brother had turned out to be dirty, but Eskandani didn’t much care about that. Eskandani had started his career in
New Orleans, and after a few years in the Big Easy you acquired a different attitude toward bribery. As far as he was concerned, making a little money off the books had nothing to do with how good a cop you were. That came down to dedication, loyalty and compassion; taking a bribe was one thing, letting innocent people get hurt was another.

  He glanced over toward the center trailer, but he couldn’t see any movement through the towel-shrouded windows. He reached out, took a deep breath, and grabbed the doorknob.

  It wasn’t locked.

  He swung the door open, peered inside. Short hallway, no windows. He took a step inside.

  “Mister Kim?” he called out. “I’m a police officer. Don’t be alarmed.”

  The voice that replied came from the left, and was filled with terror. “Get out of here! There’s a bomb! He’ll kill us both!”

  “It’s all right, sir! He’s given us permission to enter!” He stepped down the short hall to the end, where it branched to either side. Kim was in a windowless room on the left, three walls lined with lockers and one with a floor-to-ceiling mirror. The shock wave of the explosion had shattered the mirror; a few shards still clung to the frame, but most of it was scattered around the room in silvery fragments.

  Kim was tied to a chair in the center of the room. He had a few minor cuts on his face from broken glass, but seemed otherwise unharmed. “Get me out of here,” he hissed.

  Eskandani glanced around, looking for the camera. He couldn’t see one, but that meant nothing; it was probably stashed in one of the lockers, spying on Kim with a pinhole lens.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that,” he said. “If I attempt to free you, Doctor Sinhurma has made the consequences clear.” He looked around, then settled for placing the pen and paper on the floor.

  “Then what are you doing here? What are you putting there? At least untie me!”

  “Just calm down, sir,” Eskandani said. “We’re doing our best to get you out of here, but for now you’ll just have to be patient. These papers are documents that Doctor Sinhurma wants signed; I’d advise you to do so.”

  “What? Documents? This is—this is crazy. He’s crazy…. And how am I supposed to sign anything with my hands tied?”

  “Someone will be along in a moment to take care of that. Are you aware that the doctor is monitoring this room?”

  “I—yes.” Kim glanced nervously at the bank of lockers on the right. “But I don’t think he can hear us—it’s video only.”

  “Good. For now, just play along. We’re doing our best.”

  Eskandani turned and left the room. Once he was out of sight of the camera he reached into his vest, pulled out a BlackBerry Personal Digital Assistant and placed it on the floor of the hallway. He exited the building quickly, shutting the door behind him.

  Horatio waited.

  Eventually, the door to Sinhurma’s trailer opened and his envoy stepped out. A few seconds later he was inside the other building. Horatio gave him a few more, then used Delko’s cell phone to place a call to the PDA Eskandani had left behind.

  It rang. Once, twice, three times. Horatio waited.

  On the eleventh ring, someone answered.

  “Hello, Jason,” Horatio said.

  Silence.

  “I don’t know what the doctor’s been telling you,” Horatio said, “but I can’t believe someone as intelligent as you are would make up his mind before getting all the facts.”

  Still no reply. This time, Horatio let it stretch out.

  Finally, Jason said, “I shouldn’t be talking to you.” His voice sounded angry, suspicious, defiant. The voice of a teenager who knows he’s in the wrong but refuses to admit it.

  “Why? Because I’m evil incarnate? Because all I’ll do is lie to you, try to confuse you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “That sounds like the doctor talking, Jason. I didn’t realize you let other people do your thinking for you.”

  “Thinking is vastly overrated, Horatio,” Jason said, and suddenly his voice didn’t sound angry at all; it sounded bone-weary. “I’ve been thinking my whole life. You know what happens when you think all the time? You don’t do anything. You spend so much time scrutinizing data that the situation it pertains to becomes meaningless. Life passes you by. Knowledge without action has no value.”

  “What about life, Jason? Does that still have value? Because you’re about to throw yours away.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Not all life is created equal, Horatio. My life wasn’t worth much of anything before I met Ruth—did you know sometimes I’d go to a stylist to get a shampoo and haircut just so I could feel a woman’s hands on my skin? And then everything changed, it was good, too good, it was like a dream and then suddenly it was a nightmare, she was dead and everything hurt so much. I just wanted it all to go away. And the doctor helped, they all did, they were there for me.”

  “I know, Jason. I understand that—”

  “Do you? Do you? Doctor Sinhurma says you’re responsible. He says Ruth was killed as a warning to all of us, that we threaten the status quo. That we’re outsiders, and outsiders are always the ones to get blamed.”

  “And what about Phil Mulrooney, Jason? Am I responsible for that, too?”

  Another long pause. When Jason spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “No. That was…that was my fault.”

  Horatio’s heart sank. He didn’t want to ask the next question, but he knew he had to. “Jason—are you saying you killed Phillip Mulrooney?”

  “I might as well have,” Jason said miserably. “I built the rocket. I showed him how it worked. I—I didn’t know anyone would die.”

  “Who did you show, Jason?”

  “Doctor Sinhurma. He wanted to use it to set off fireworks, he said—it was supposed to be part of a big celebration. And then Phil got killed in that—that accident.”

  “Listen to me, Jason—Mulrooney’s death was not an accident. He was set up—”

  “He was a traitor!” Jason snapped. “You sent him to us! He was spying on us and God struck him down!”

  “You’re not making any sense, Jason. Was Phil’s death an accident or holy retribution? Which is it?”

  “There are no accidents. Phil was messing around where he shouldn’t and God sent a thunderbolt to punish him. It looked like an accident but Doctor Sinhurma could see the truth. He told me what you’re doing—trying to make it look like we’re guilty of something so you can destroy us. But you can’t frame God—that’s ridiculous! So you assassinated Ruth instead….”

  It almost made sense. If you were paranoid enough, drugged to the gills and overwhelmed by grief, that is.

  “I’m not trying to frame anyone—least of all, you,” Horatio said. “I know you don’t trust me right now, but I don’t think you’re willing to discard a lifetime’s worth of trust in science, either. Evidence doesn’t lie, Jason, and I know you still believe that.”

  “I don’t know what to believe….”

  “Then take a look at the facts yourself. Decide for yourself. I promise you, I won’t try to influence your judgment.”

  “What…what facts?” Tiredly.

  “Let’s start with why you’re feeling so light-headed, why it’s so hard to think. The vitamin shots you’ve been getting are laced with hypnotics, stimulants, antidepressives and other potent drugs. I can prove that, Jason; Ruth’s blood was full of the same thing.”

  “He—he said that was just a temporary side effect of the vitamins—”

  “Phillip Mulrooney didn’t set off that rocket by accident. He died holding on to a steel toilet seat that was connected via jumper cables from a pipe in the wall to the Kevlar wire of the rocket. He was on the phone to Sinhurma at the time.”

  “The doctor said—he said Phil was trying to sabotage the rocket—”

  “The doctor’s the one who’s been lying to you, Jason. He killed Mulrooney because Mulrooney had stopped taking his shots and Sinhurma was afraid he’d reveal the scam. R
uth came to me with a few suspicions of her own, and Sinhurma had her killed too.”

  “No—no he wouldn’t, he loved Ruth, he loves all of us—”

  “He doesn’t love you, Jason. Everything I’ve been telling you, everything I’ve been saying, I can prove. I have lab reports, I have photos, I have DNA.”

  “That—that can be faked—”

  “Is that the approach you want to take? That it’s all one big conspiracy, that my team and I spend our time creating elaborate deceptions instead of uncovering the truth? Because this is the fork in the road, right here; you’re going to have to pick a direction, and you don’t seem to understand which way you’re headed. The road you’re on means you’re going to have to renounce everything you’ve ever learned, the entire foundation of knowledge your world is built on. You’re going to have to reject Newton, Galileo, Copernicus, Einstein. If you buy what Sinhurma’s selling, the whole world becomes unreliable; everything is suspect because no one can be trusted. Is that what you want?”

  “He said I could trust him,” Jason said plaintively. “That Ruth and I would be together again in the Garden of Eden….”

  “The man you want to trust has you sitting on top of a bomb, Jason. Thirteen of the people he professes to love just died as a result. I’m out here trying to match severed limbs to charred torsos, wondering how I’m going to tell their families, and I do not want to have to do that for yours.”

  Horatio stopped. He could hear Jason on the other end of the line; it sounded like he was crying.

  “It’s so hard,” he sobbed.

  “It’s okay, Jason. It’s okay. The hard part is over. There’s only one more thing you have to do.”

  “What. What do I have to do?”

  “You have to tell me about the detonator. You have to tell me how it’s wired and how Sinhurma’s going to set it off.”

  “I need to see, Horatio,” Jason said, sniffling. “I don’t know who to trust, who to believe. I need to see.”