Hidden Pearl

by Trueax, Rain

  "I-- I don't know where the camera is," he said finally, obviously unable to come up with an answer to her question.

  "That's fine. I'd hoped to hear some of Reverend Soul's talk anyway."

  "You had?"

  "Of course. He's a wonderful speaker, don't you think?"

  "Yes." He stared at Soul's office door down the hall from them. If he had been sent for something, he was clearly conflicted now. Should he leave her to wander around by herself or neglect the task he'd been sent on?

  She didn't help him. "Can you help me find a place to sit where I won't interrupt the sermon?"

  George looked down at her, then nodded. Together they walked toward the auditorium and she only prayed S.T. would get what he came for and quickly because she would not be able to protect him from another intrusion.

  In the office, S.T. left the door and hurried back to the computer. He'd already seen the code was too complex for him to break it within an hour. He couldn't let anyone catch him here, not with Christine nearby. So that meant execution of plan three.

  He took the duplicate computer from his backpack, put Soul’s into the pack, plugged in the phony which had been turned into a permanent black screen. The possibility was that Soul would see it as a hard drive failure-- if he was lucky. There were several jump drives in the desk drawer which he also took leaving a few that looked the same but were blank. Everybody had computer failures even gurus.

  He looked around the room, saw one of the desk drawers had a key lock, tried it but found it to be secured, possibly even an alarm on it; so he left it. Everything else looked innocuous, but he took out the little camera and photographed what he could see, especially of the books on the shelves. He wanted more time to research Soul’s influences—if these books weren’t all subterfuge, part of a masquerade. The ceremony the night he’d been drugged had seemed an odd amalgamation of several cultures and religions. What was Soul really up to here?

  Going back into the hall was too risky; so he opened the window as quietly as possible and slid out into the fresh air, watching carefully where he put his feet, brushing out traces of his steps as he went.

  Heading back down the gravel drive, he hurried to the Silverado, stuffed the stolen disks, camera, and his jacket under the lockable back storage space. He would wait, but not the hour he'd told her. He glanced at his wrist watch, guessed the sermon might last another half hour. Then he'd drive up the road to the compound. One way or another, he'd get her out or wouldn't leave himself.

  #

  Peter Soul's oration was as disturbing to Christine as the first time she'd heard it. He used a snatch of Scripture, but the rest of his message was pure Soul, pushing his own agenda of control, the need for obedience--not to God but to Peter Soul. Loyalty was measured by its depth for the Servants of Grace.

  Trying not to be noticed, she scanned the audience, wondering if any of these people heard what she did, understood what was happening to them. From what she could tell, they didn't. She saw smiles everywhere, but when she looked into eyes, she could read nothing.

  Finally the sermon was over. A woman sat down to the large harp beside the podium and began playing, the melody gently floating over the room. Christine sucked in her breath, as she saw Soul come toward her, delayed only slightly by people wanting to talk to him. Would he believe her excuse for being here? There was a smile on his firm lips, but his features were carefully schooled, revealing little of what he was thinking. She could not deny the man's handsomeness, the almost ethereal cast to his face and body, but it served to not reassure but rather to frighten her. Was it what she knew about him, what he'd done to S.T., what he might have done, or was it instinctual, the inner voice that had served her so well in the past?

  "Fair Lady, you return to us," he said taking her hands in his.

  "Well, you did have a ransom," she said, attempting to keep her tone light.

  "Ah yes, your camera. Did you perchance remember to bring the photographs from your last visit with you?"

  "I'm saving that for my next visit to you.”

  His smile widened, blue eyes sparkled. "You're becoming attached to us."

  "How could I not?" she asked, managing to free her hands as she gestured around the room. "All the love, the messages about God, the work done here. It's an addictive place."

  "Not addictive," he corrected, "rather let us say enticing."

  "Agreed. Uhmm, I looked for my rental car when I arrived but didn't see it."

  "As requested, we returned it."

  "How considerate. I can see I worried about that for nothing."

  "And how did you arrive this time?" he asked.

  "Because I thought I'd have to drive the rental car, I asked a friend to drop me."

  "Mr. Taggert?"

  She smiled. "I have other friends. I just wish I’d asked this one to wait."

  "I’m sorry. Of course, you are welcome to stay. We can find space for one such as yourself."

  She looked around the room. "I think you have more followers than when last I was here."

  "We are growing," he agreed, "but I'd prefer we call them disciples."

  "Is there a difference?"

  "Followers imply one person beneath another. Disciples are learners on different levels of the same path."

  "Interesting distinction," she said. "One I'd never have thought of."

  "Will you stay for dinner with me?" He looked deeply into her eyes as he took hold of her arm.

  "I really have to get back. Of course, with my rental car no longer here, I do have a problem with transportation."

  "Not at all," the deep voice behind her caused her to jump and Soul to react by a narrowing of his eyes as he looked up.

  "Mr. Taggert, I didn't see you arrive," Soul said, a tinge of irritation in his voice as he took S.T.'s hand in his. "To what do we owe this visit?"

  S.T. smiled crookedly. "Didn't you invite me back?"

  "I rather expected you to call first."

  "Next time," S.T. said, glancing at Christine then for the first time. "I'm here to see a soil analysis, but if you don't mind waiting a bit, I'm running on a tight schedule and have to get back myself."

  "Ah yes, the illusive soil analysis," Soul said. "Now where do you suppose George got to? I'm sure he has it." He signaled Sharon over and asked her to find George. She glared at S.T. but went off on the assigned errand.

  Soul turned back to S.T. and Christine. "Why don't you both eat with me?"

  "Sorry," S.T. said with a cold smile, "I ate on the way down. Of course, if Ms. Johnson wants to stay, I could wait." He leaned one broad shoulder casually against the wall, folding his arms over his chest as he looked around the room.

  "Not at all," Christine said, relieved to put the weight of her problem onto his shoulders. She felt a fear that they would neither easily get out of the compound, but at least they would be together.

  Sharon came back. "I'm not sure where George went. Is it important?"

  "Rather," Soul said. "Have him come to my office when you find him, ask him to bring the soil analysis." He turned back to S.T. and Christine. "You will at least have a cup of tea with me while we wait?"

  S.T. shook his head. "I'm not much of a tea drinker, but we can wait in your office, if that's what you want."

  Worried at what they might find in Soul's office, Christine accepted S.T.'s air of confidence as reassurance that there would be nothing in that room to show evidence of his earlier visit.

  Moments later, they were seated across the desk from Soul. He had poured himself a cup of tea, again asking them to join him.

  "George was in the hall when I arrived," Christine said, again refusing the beverage, "helped me get seated. I can't imagine where he got too so quickly."

  Soul smiled, his glance traveling from her to alight on S.T. "George is my every man. He is where he's needed and that often puts him afield."

  He was unsuccessful if he had meant to rattle S.T., whose smile was affable, his gaze steady. "E
very one needs somebody he can trust. I imagine that's true of you more than most."

  "Why would you think that?" Soul asked, leaning back in his chair.

  "Aren't religious leaders under attack... from within and without. Seems to me I've heard their own followers sometimes turn on them. "

  Soul considered him for a long moment. His contemplation only broken by the knock at the door. Sharon entered at his permission, her gaze quickly cast downward, her demeanor apologetic. "I can find George nowhere."

  "Hmmm, that's strange," Soul said, looking again at S.T.

  S.T. rose. "I can't blame you for this. I should've called like you said. I had business down state and just thought I’d kill two birds with one stone—so to speak." He reached out his hand, assisting Christine to her feet.

  "Oh," she said, "I almost forgot my camera. Where is it?" She saw Soul consider, almost guessed he was trying to come up with an excuse to avoid handing over the camera, but in the end, he reached into a cupboard, pulled it out and handed it to her.

  "Can I come back on Wednesday?" she asked, with no intention of doing so as she put the bag's strap over her shoulder. "I can bring the proofs, take more photographs if that's needed.

  "Of course," Soul said, his tone uneasy. He obviously didn't much like not being the one to call the shots, but he was in the corner for once. If he still hoped to convince S.T. and maybe her to become his disciples, he couldn't be too forceful at this point. She could see the moment his smile loosened and he decided to allow them to depart without further argument.

  It was only when they were in the Silverado, and turning onto the main road, that Christine breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't relax too soon," S.T. said, pushing his foot down on the gas pedal.

  "Why? What happened?" Then she knew. "Where is George?"

  S.T.'s grin was wolfish, his Navajo heritage showed through stronger than she'd ever seen it. "Tied up."

  "You... don't mean literally."

  He lifted his eyebrows, never taking his eyes from the road as he increased their speed. "Don't I?"

  "What happened?"

  "He came across me waiting by the Silverado. He didn’t seem to buy my explanation.” He shrugged. “When Soul comes across him, he's going to be the one with questions for once."

  Christine sucked in a breath. How had S.T. managed such a calm demeanor, betraying nothing to Soul or her? She bit her lip, not wanting to think about the uneasiness she suddenly felt. "What did you find out from his computer?"

  "Nothing, except that the codes are more complex than Jerry had hoped."

  "So this was all for nothing."

  Again that brash smile. "No, it just means we have to work for what we get."

  "Explain that."

  "The computer and some extra flash drives are in the back of the Silverado."

  Her eyes widened and mouth gaped open. "You took them. Why didn’t he instantly know that?"

  "I had brought a computer with me. When he opens it, it’ll be one of those dread black screens. I am not sure how long it’ll take him to realize. We will have some time now.”

  "What if he goes to the police?"

  "He won't. George wasn't hurt, other than his dignity, and Soul doesn't want the authorities involved anymore than we do. For all he knows all we are covering up is an affair."

  She looked over to see his expression but there was no clue from his hard profile. She sat back in her seat. "So where do we go?"

  "Back-up plan, Robin," he said, giving her a quick smile. "I made arrangements to use the Baileys' cabin in the mountains. Hopefully that'll give us time to get past the code and find out what we have."

  "While Soul looks for us."

  "I would expect that. I could take you to Hank's first. I don't see how they could know about him. You'd be safer there than with me."

  "We're in this together."

  He glanced over at her. "It could prove dangerous."

  "I knew that almost from the day I met you."

  Chapter Nine

  Christine stood on the deck looking down at the Umpqua River which seemingly flowed under the cabin. The river sounds were soothing, would have been joyful if she'd been here in any other situation. In the three days since she and S.T. had arrived, she'd taken photographs of everything, grateful to have her favorite camera back in her hands. She had undeveloped rolls filled with shots of the river rapids, of the cedar-shake cabin, of birds attacking the fresh seed she'd put out, of a squirrel that attempted to raid the bird feeders, and several rolls just of S.T. --bent over the computer, stretching to work the kinks out of his back, doing push-ups, giving her a disgusted look, standing by the river. Despite a few grimaces, she figured he was getting used to having a camera click whenever he did something photogenic which, considering the man's natural grace and structural beauty, was almost every time he moved.

  The vacation home was not only picturesque but had something almost spiritual about the way it had been placed in the midst of huge boulders which likely had come to their resting place millenniums ago. Its interior was spacious, simple with large windows on one side to view the cedar and fir forest, and glass doors on the other that led to the deck.

  A deep pool not far down river would have been a temptation on a warmer day, but as Christine looked toward it, she shivered. The weather in this mountainous terrain, even in this season, was anything but warm. Her heart felt even colder as she thought about the man who was probably even now searching for S.T. and her.

  Not having thought as far ahead as S.T. in terms of packing clothing, Christine wore one his flannel shirts, oversized on her slimmer frame, but comfortable and cleaner than her own which she'd washed and hung to dry on the deck overlooking the river.

  Fortunately the Baileys' cabin had been well stocked with basic food items. Adding to it the things S.T. had brought, Christine had enough to fix interesting meals and enjoy herself in the modern kitchen while S.T. wrestled with the computer. Listening to him groan and grouch about the modern devices while he was foiled again and again at getting past the codes, she was glad she could escape into the more known world of putting together certain ingredients with a reasonable expectation of tasty results.

  She was beginning to wonder if they would be able to get anything worthwhile after all the risk. She kept expecting Soul to drive up the narrow lane with those men S.T. had described as goons. She found it difficult to think of the whole seeming misadventure in any sort of positive way. What if they discovered nothing?

  S.T. came up behind her, his arms going around her waist, pulling her against his hard frame. He bent his head to breathe deeply of her hair. "You smell like sunshine," he said.

  "And what does sunshine smell like?"

  "Like you."

  "How is the computer espionage going?"

  He grunted and moved away from her to lean against the railing and look down at the river. "I think it's going to take a computer genius, which I am not, to figure out what to do next."

  "We could call Jerry."

  He shook his head. "Ignoring the fact that the cabin doesn't have a phone, and cell phone coverage doesn’t seem to work out here, I am hesitant to show up at his house just in case they have figured out your local connections. I don’t know how good they are at this game and don’t want to find out the hard way. Let's go for a walk. Maybe fresh air will help me figure out what I'm missing."

  "I'd like that. Can we go downstream? I'd like to get a better look at that pool."

  "You thinking of going for a swim?" he asked as they walked down the steps leading to the river trail.

  "I didn't bring a suit."

  "That's never stopped me."

  She sucked in a breath at the tempting image that brought to mind. S.T., his black hair hanging loose, balanced on a big rock, then diving into the river, nothing but brown skin between him and the elements. She cleared her throat. “I suppose a camera would be unwelcome.” He just gave her a look and she smiled. “Just kidding.” They both
knew she wasn’t.

  "What do we do if we can't get into the files?" she asked, trying to distract herself from what she really wanted, as she followed the path he forged along the river.

  "We will."

  "But if we don't."

  He turned and grinned at her. "Build up my confidence, woman. Tell me how we'll find everything we want."

  "I want to believe that, but I'm afraid."

  He stopped and took her into his arms, the strength of his body against hers reassuring. Then she thought how easily a small bullet could put an end to that muscular body, take away the reality she held, and she shivered.

  "What's wrong? Don't you trust me to take care of you?" he asked, his mouth against her hair.

  "I trust you. It's just--"

  "I know. You're afraid," he said, pushing her away a little so that their gazes met. His eyes were dark, the expression in them serious. "It's going to be okay."

  "How can you know?" She felt irritated with herself that she was the one needing to be bolstered, the one who didn't have enough faith. She had been in tough situations before. She hadn’t had so much to lose though.

  "I feel it in my bones," he said, smiling. "Is that good enough for you?"

  She made a face. “How reliable have your bones proven to be in the past?”

  He grinned and shrugged. “Fifty-fifty.”

  They began walking again. She kept her eyes on his broad shoulders, his narrow-hipped walk until she tripped, only saving herself from a fall by a clumsy maneuver that kept her on her feet, but reminded her to watch the trail.

  "Where are we going?" she asked as they passed the beautiful pool.

  "A special place," he said, taking her hand to help her over a tumble of boulders. A few minutes later, he stopped and pointed to the other side of the river. Mossy covered, fern laden, sheer cliffs and in the center water fell fifty feet to a wide pool below.

  "Beautiful," she said, resisting the temptation to suggest she go back for her camera.