Under the Beetle's Cellar

by Mary Willis Walker

  “Molly, we’ve been brainstorming this for six weeks, and the only way is Operation Mom. Our only chance is to get Rain inside and give her a shot at him. The problem is he insists on you to authenticate her.”

  Molly was overwhelmed. She looked up at Grady. “Do you agree with that reasoning?” she asked.

  He continued to stare at the floor as he answered. “In dealing with someone as wacko as Mordecai, reasoning is beside the point.”

  In a low, gruff voice, Lattimore said, “If you were to take the evidence in to Mordecai, here’s how it would work. He agreed that you could do it right at the door. It has to be inside the door, though, because he won’t show himself. He suspects that we’re trying to snipe him. Imagine that.”

  “Pat,” she said, finally giving in to a gnawing fear, “that article I wrote about him. You’ve read it?”

  “Yeah. Several times.”

  “It worries me. I know from past experience that when people read things about themselves that contradict the image they want to project, they never forgive it. There is something about the printed word that stings worse than spoken words. Mordecai may be harboring a big grudge. I know this sounds paranoid.”

  “Molly, if you aren’t paranoid, it’s because you aren’t paying attention. These are all things we’ve thought about, believe me. We certainly considered that possibility. We just listened to the old tapes where he talks about you. Even Lieutenant Traynor here agrees with this: Mordecai thinks you’re as honest as it’s possible to be given the corruption of society. You did skewer him, but I don’t think he realizes that. The man has a sixth-grade reading level and that article was too sophisticated for him. He doesn’t read or think well enough to pick up on your underlying theme.”

  “Another thing,” Molly said. “What about Annette? Maybe he knows she told me about the babies and everything.”

  Lattimore shook his head. “He can’t know. We sent in some papers yesterday and he listens to the news, but we haven’t given out anything about Mrs. Grimes or Gerald Asquith. And there’s no communication in there other than our hostage line. We changed the other phone numbers. No one can call in but us, and he can’t call out to anyone but us.

  “I believe his killings need to be ritual, and only after fifty days of purification. I don’t think he presents a danger to you in a situation like this. The Sword Hand of God is another matter. They are loose cannons, beyond his control, on their own and probably scared as shit since we’ve rendered him incommunicado. But I actually believe him when he swears to us by his God that he won’t harm you. Now, Molly, I can’t ask you to do this. I’m just telling you what’s been said.”

  Grady spat, “That’s bullshit, Lattimore. You’ve set up a situation where if she says no she condemns those hostages to death. You’re manipulating her to do something no sane civilian would do.” He hunkered down next to her chair so his eyes were level with hers. “Molly, say no and get the hell home. This is spontaneous combustion just waiting for the spark. We could get a Waco-like conflagration here tonight. People could die.”

  Molly reached out to him, took his head in her hands, and kissed him on the lips, long and lingeringly. As always she loved the feel of his mustache against her upper lip. “I love you, too, Grady,” she whispered. “Always have.”

  She turned back to Lattimore. “How would this work, Pat?”

  Lattimore glanced up at Grady, to check out his reaction, then said to Molly, “Like this. You walk in through the gate, with Cynthia Jenkins in tow. No show of force anywhere, just two women alone. The two of you approach the door. They let you in. You go no more than four steps inside. He closes the door. You introduce him to Cynthia. But here’s what we worry about: a body search. We hope they won’t do it. And they probably won’t. They’ll see that you have no place for a weapon and anyway you’re both unlikely prospects as assassins. Even if they do decide to frisk you, it won’t be much of a search. The guys who train cops say the hardest people for beginners to frisk are women in skirts because it’s embarrassing, especially—excuse me—older women, because it seems so impolite.

  “Even if they do frisk you, it’s not a problem. The prothesis Rain is wearing will feel like the real thing. But if they strip you down, we could be in trouble. Though she might even pass that if they don’t insist on underwear coming off.”

  “Why panty hose?” Molly asked.

  “Oh, because Rain will be wearing support hose to hide the prosthesis hip seams and if you do, too, it will look like the norm.”

  “Then what?”

  “You show him the documents and tapes and tell him how you tracked down his mom. Five minutes. Then he’ll let you walk out. Your part is done. You leave, Rain stays. He’s asked for a private hour with her. You walk back the way you came. We pick you up outside the gate. Rain will delay what she’s going to do until you’ve had time to get clear. And that’s it.”

  “What does Rain say about this plan?” Molly asked.

  “Well, of course, she—”

  Grady interrupted. “She says she’d rather face a firing squad than go into a situation this volatile with an amateur like you, and she thinks you’d be crazy to agree to it. Also, she thinks you look like someone who can plan an assassination but would faint if you saw the reality close up.”

  “Nothing personal,” Molly said, managing a smile.

  “Well, she does have her reservations,” Lattimore said. “None of us like it much. This is not ideal.”

  “What if I don’t do it?”

  “We’ll tell him it’s out of the question for you to come in and hope he’ll back down.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “He hasn’t backed down once in forty-nine days. Oh, there’s one more complication.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He wants Thelma Bassett, too. The three Marys, he calls you. He says he’s been impressed with her and he’ll let her speak to her daughter once more before the Apocalypse.”

  “She’s more than willing,” Molly said.

  “I know, but we can’t allow it. If she were to go in, he might bring some of the kids up from where he’s keeping them. That’s the last thing we want to happen. We need them to stay underground until we’ve got the whole situation under control.”

  “When would all this take place?” Molly asked.

  “In an hour or so.”

  “An hour! I just went by the compound. How are the HRT guys going to get close without being seen?”

  “They’re already there. They’ve been in place since six. By now they’re peeing in bottles and getting the twitches.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I can’t tell you. If you don’t know, you won’t be tempted to look in that direction.” He rested his palms on the table, as if to show he’d dealt all his cards. “We need to get this show on the road. It’s your decision.”

  “Say no,” Grady said. “This is not your fight, Molly. Go home.”

  “Grady, it is my fight. I can’t say no. You know that.” She looked at him and tried to get him to smile.

  He closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them, he said, “So be it. But, Lattimore, you and I know that these Wild West maneuvers never go as planned. Let’s work up some contingency plans for what she does if this goes ballistic.”

  Lattimore nodded. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do now. Come on.” He put a hand on Molly’s arm. “Oh, one last thing—when this is over, it never happened. Rain will disappear. There will be no record of her having been here. We will never acknowledge any part of it. We will say Samuel Mordecai was a casualty of our tactical maneuver, shot while firing on government agents.”

  “Is that a prophecy?”

  “Yes, one that can’t miss. Mordecai won’t live through the maneuver,” Lattimore said. “We just got the ME’s report on the Benderson boy. He died of asphyxiation. There wasn’t a trace of medication in his body. That contemptible bastard didn’t even bother to give
the kid the inhalers that would have saved his life. When I saw that, I knew that Donnie Ray Grimes was bought and paid for.”

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  “They were not given power to kill them, but only to torture them for five months. And the agony they suffered was like that of the sting of a scorpion when it strikes a man. During those days men will seek death, but will not find it; they will long to die, but death will elude them.”

  REVELATION 9:5–6

  Samuel Mordecai leapt down first, in a shower of earth. Martin thudded down behind him.

  It was unusual for both of them to come down at the same time. It had happened only once before. Walter gripped the open knife in his pocket and watched them closely. It might be time.

  Martin reached up to bring down a large cardboard box. He had already brought them dinner an hour ago. He looked around at the kids. They had all stopped what they were doing and were sitting motionless.

  “Lambs, Lambs.” Samuel Mordecai stepped onto the bus. “We’ve got something for you. Tomorrow is your special day. And for a special day we have special things for you to wear.” He reached into the box Martin was holding and pulled out a white garment. He held it up for them to see. It was a long white robe, in a child’s size. “Come here,” he said, pointing at Heather. He never called any of the kids by name. He hadn’t learned them.

  Heather looked up at Walter for help. Her bottom lip began to tremble.

  Walter nodded encouragement at her.

  “Come here, Lamb,” Mordecai said.

  She stood up and walked slowly to the front.

  Mordecai held the white robe up to her shoulders, and studied the hem, as if checking the length. “That’s about right. For a pretty little blond girl. Our women made these of pure cotton just for y’all. When you get up tomorrow, cast off your old clothes and put these on. Put on the pure white raiment of the purified. Then I’ll come and tell you some wondrous gospel, the good news to end all news.”

  He raised his hands in the gesture Walter had come to loathe so intensely it made his teeth hurt. “ ‘They were dressed in white,’ ” Mordecai intoned, “ ‘and had crowns of gold on their heads. From the throne came flashes of lightning, rumblings and peals of thunder.’ Tomorrow, Lambs of mine, tomorrow.” With that, he stepped out of the bus and pulled himself up through the hole. Martin dropped the box and left without a word or a backward glance.

  Walter watched them go and thought that if he had the opportunity to kill them, he would do it without hesitation. He closed his eyes and indulged himself in a fantasy he’d been having lately. His current fantasy combined the Power Rangers scenes the kids acted out with Samuel Mordecai’s images from Revelation. He pictured the kids and himself bursting up from the hole and morphing from meek victims into fearsome giant scorpions. They would inflict horrible pain on the Jezreelites, so that they would long for death. The more vividly he could picture it, the more satisfying it was. If he ever got out of here, he decided, he might start drawing insects: beetles and scorpions.

  “I’m damned sure not gonna wear no dress,” Hector said.

  “Me neither,” Brandon said.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” Walter picked up the box and tossed it into the pit. “None of you are going to wear those.”

  Bucky and Lucy were both starting to cry, and Walter felt general panic building up. They knew the end was near. It was impossible not to know.

  “Mr. Demming, tell us the rest of the story,” Philip said. “Before we go to sleep.”

  “Is that something you’d all like?” Walter asked.

  The kids all agreed and settled into their seats.

  If ever there was a group that needed escape from reality, Walter thought, they were it. He hunkered down in the aisle and faced the kids. He counted heads, anticipating the stab of pain when he came up one short. Then he waited for the end of the story to come to him.

  “The old Tong woman,” he said. “She’s coming along the path with her shopping bag. Lopez is still trying to sniff out where the Astral 100 Galaxy Peace Ray is buried. The sun is rising. Now here’s what happens. Lopez stops sniffing, and he starts digging—furiously. Armadillos have these long front claws that are great for digging. Pretty quickly he makes a hole, and he hits something hard. He pulls it up. Whatever it is is wrapped inside a green plastic garbage bag. Dr. Mortimer says, ‘That’s it. That’s it—the Galaxy Peace Ray. We’ve found it.’ ”

  Bucky said in a slow, sleepy voice, “He wrapped it in a garbage bag so it wouldn’t get wet in the ground.”

  “That’s right,” Walter said. “It’s a very fragile machine, and it shouldn’t get wet.”

  “I forgot why he buried it,” Heather said.

  Hector said, “So the Tongs wouldn’t get it and destroy it. Open your ears, feather-head.”

  Heather’s face got red and she stood up. Walter was afraid a fight was coming.

  Philip stood, too, and raised his hands in the air. “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says.”

  It was something they had all heard Samuel Mordecai say scores of times, and Philip’s impersonation caught his twang and his theatrical intonation. They all laughed—even Heather, who sat back down.

  “So,” Walter said, “finally they’ve got it—what they came for—and the sun is up and they hear people shouting in the village. They need to get away. Just one Peace Ray wouldn’t be enough to defend against hundreds of Tongs. But Jacksonville doesn’t know what to do about the old lady. She’s calling out to him and waving. And she’s hurrying as fast as her short legs can go, and she’s smiling at him. She’s calling out something in Tonganese.

  “Lopez is saying, ‘Come on, come on. Let’s go.’

  “But Jacksonville’s real polite. You know how he is. He doesn’t like to offend anyone or hurt anyone’s feelings. And he remembers that she brought him the vegetable peeler, and was so kind to him and everything. He feels he ought to say goodbye. And thank you. So he walks toward her. She’s hurrying, but the bag looks kind of heavy. Jacksonville wonders if it’s a gift for him or maybe she’s bringing something for them to eat on their way home. Or maybe she wants to kill him. He doesn’t know.

  “She finally gets to where he is, and she smiles and bows. She puts her bag down and reaches inside.”

  Walter’s legs hurt from hunkering, and he was feeling dizzy. He sat down in the aisle and leaned his back against the seat. He felt like he was at some point of no return; he’d gotten the story to this point and the only way out was to keep on going. He looked around at the children. In the dimness, their white faces seemed disembodied. They had gotten so pale their skin seemed to glow in the dark.

  “At this point Jacksonville hears Lopez and Dr. Mortimer running up behind him. They’re both pretty slow, but they’re hurrying because they’re worried about what the old Tong woman is going to do. Dr. Mortimer has the Peace Ray, and he raises it to shoot her. Lopez says, ‘Wait. She’s just a harmless old lady.’

  “Jacksonville says, ‘I don’t know. Maybe we should.’ ”

  Kim interrupted. “But it wouldn’t hurt her, would it? It would just make her nice and peaceful if she wasn’t already that way.”

  “But shooting at someone is so rude,” Lucy said, “and she’s an old grandmother.”

  “They ought to do it,” Hector said, “just to be sure.”

  “Well, that’s how Jacksonville felt,” Walter said. “And Dr. Mortimer did, too. Anyway, he just felt like shooting someone with the Peace Ray, and she was there.

  “So Dr. Mortimer takes aim at the old woman and pulls the trigger and all these sparks fly out and land on her. And she twinkles—you guys know how the Galaxy Peace Ray works. It looks like she’s covered with these tiny fairy lights. And she gets this peaceful sweet look on her face and she hands the bag to Jacksonville. He looks inside, and he’s totally shocked and amazed by what he sees.”

  Walter stopped to let the suspense sink in. He thought
they might come up with guesses about what was in the bag, but they were silent, watching him with tense expectation.

  “What?” Bucky said. “What?”

  Walter lowered his voice to a whisper. “It was a bomb. A powerful bomb that would make a hole in the earth the size of an Olympic swimming pool. It would blow everyone around into smithereens.”

  “No!” Kim said, her voice shaking with passion. “She saved him. She wouldn’t want to hurt him.”

  “But, Kim,” Sandra said, “maybe she wasn’t planning to hurt him. Maybe she was going to give it to him to take along. You know, for protection.”

  “Shit,” Hector said, “I say she was going to blow him up and make herself a hero.”

  “You would say that,” Lucy said.

  “So, Mr. Demming, what was she going to do with it?” Brandon asked.

  Walter shook his head. “I don’t know. And they never found out for sure. Because once she was shot with the Peace Ray, she couldn’t imagine doing anything mean or hurtful. She couldn’t even remember anything violent she’d ever done or thought.”

  “That’s not fair,” Brandon said. “It can’t end like that.”

  “Well, it hasn’t ended yet,” Walter said. “Let me finish.”

  “Let him finish,” Bucky said.

  “All right. They were leaving now, but the old woman went with them. She had to because she couldn’t live with people so warlike and aggressive as the Tongs now that she’d been shot with the Peace Ray. They took the bomb with them in case they needed it for their escape. But they didn’t, so eventually they threw it in the ocean.