Cult Following: No Faith To Lose (The Capgras Conspiracy Book 0)

by Simon J. Townley

  “Congratulations. You pass. Now you’re really one of us.” He lifted himself off her, sat on the edge of the bed and began to dress. She sat behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, nuzzling at his face.

  He took hold of her hand, examining her fingers and turned his head towards her. She kissed his cheek. He smiled.

  “So, tell me,” he said. “We know you’re good in bed, skilled with a man’s equipment.” He reached into his jacket pocket and took out his favourite handgun of the moment. “But what about this?” He held it against her cheek, rubbing up and down her face, enjoying the look of shock and fear. “Tell me darling, you ever fired one? Would you like to? You might have to. Time to learn. Give me the truth, gorgeous, what are you like with one of these?”

  Chapter 14

  Mind Control

  The minibus rattled and lurched on the rough, unmade road. Five hours of driving, spent hunched and cramped on a hard seat, with shoulders squashed on either side, had brought them, finally, to their destination: a converted manor house and farm at the heart of Dartmoor.

  Capgras had woken on the sofa, a free man, and crept back to his prison cell, locked the door behind him and waited to be released. He had passed the test, and was heading for the full indoctrination: a four day retreat taking place right now, leave in an hour, the chance of a lifetime they told him, some people wait months or years for such an opportunity. He would learn so much more, it would be a fast track to the truth. But it meant escaping London, joining some of the leaders of the organisation in their remote refuge.

  Tom was familiar with the technique. It was a classic feature of mind control: remove the subject from their normal life, deprive them of access to friends and family, make it somewhere they can’t easily leave. Start with grand promises, entice their curiosity, then unravel their individuality.

  He was one of ten recruits on the minibus. They had talked, off an on, during the journey: enough for him to learn they were all at the beginning of the brainwashing process, all vulnerable, in their own ways. The middle-aged woman near the front was going through a messy divorce; the elderly man next to her had recently lost his wife and was weighed down by grief and loneliness; while the man next to Capgras, in his twenties, had lost his parents (and inherited their home and money, which made him at attractive convert). A woman in her thirties epitomised the classic lost soul, an artist and designer, successful in business but drifting through failed relationships and from one ‘new thing’ to another.

  And so it was with all of them: not disadvantaged or destitute. Again, this fitted the pattern. The cults wanted people who had resources to plunder and who could do useful work on their behalf.

  But what did they see in him? As far they knew, he was a jailbird, fresh out of nick with few prospects and no job, and an unwillingness to divulge information. Yet they had accepted him, perhaps too easily. That niggled in the back of his mind. Did they know? Was this a trap?

  The minibus slowed as it approached the manor house. Nearby stood an even older farmhouse and a set of barns that had been converted into living accommodation. Behind the buildings the land rose towards a wooded hilltop. The house itself overlooked farmland, with a river running through the valley below, more woods along the bank, and moorland on the far side, with a scattering of trees and gorse. In the early evening sunshine, it seemed idyllic. What was it like, Tom wondered, in the sleet and rain?

  A man in an immaculate, dark suit and a woman in a long, lilac dress emerged from the manor house and welcomed them to the retreat. “Come inside,” the man urged. “You’re later than we expected. There’s just time for a toilet break, a cup of tea. The first talk starts in ten minutes, so don’t hang about.”

  A groan rippled among the new recruits. Tom braced himself for more hours of being uncomfortable, and not able to control his own movements, his own thoughts or his own life. They had started how they meant to go on: restricting, constraining, dominating.

  He rushed his coffee and a stale sandwich, before they were ushered into a long, low meeting hall set out with plain wooden chairs, facing a table at the far end. The new recruits were surrounded, at all times, by members of the group. They hovered, greeting the newcomers, introducing themselves, offering compliments, giving smiles and encouragement and assuring them they were about to learn astonishing things. The next moment they would criticise the recruits for their posture, or their dress, or for not paying attention, or for something they had said. Challenges, flattery, criticism, questions: they kept coming from different angles, keeping him unbalanced. Capgras was forewarned, forearmed. He had researched the techniques years before. He’d refreshed his knowledge before plunging into this organisation. But he knew the hidden dangers too: it was always the strongest, who thought they were immune and couldn’t be influenced or changed, they were the ones who fell the furthest, who tumbled deepest into the quagmire. Who became the zealots, the bigots and the future leaders.

  A man emerged from a door near the stage. Group members called for quiet, urging the recruits to silence. The room wafted to a hush. He wore the same uniform as the others: black suit, white shirt, lilac tie. But he had the looks of a film star, the tan to go with it, the smile, the charm and charisma. In moments, he held the room captivated.

  He welcomed them, existing members of the church - and that was the first time anyone had used the word in Tom’s hearing - along with the new disciples.The terminology had turned decidedly religious.

  He spoke to them of a shattered society, disjointed and unequal, of deprivation and worse: spiritual poverty. He told them of wars and hate and damage to nature, and all the things that everybody knew was wrong with the world. But he dressed it up, as though the whole cause, all along, was that people had failed to listen when messengers came from the gods, when prophecies were brought, when rules were laid down, and guides were given for how to live this life. These insights were ignored. But no longer he said. A new messenger walked the Earth and his Truth would change things forever. But only for those who listened, and obeyed, they alone would saved.

  The woman next to Capgras clenched her fists, as if wrapt in this gobbledegook, believing every word. Capgras glanced at her: the woman from the minibus, the one whose every relationship failed, who struggled for friends, or happiness or meaning. Had she finally found something here which she felt could lift her life? There would be new friends, for sure, and plenty of them. The ‘church’ would make certain of that. And maybe a lover too. There was nothing these cults liked better than deciding who could marry whom.

  He longed to help her. To stop her from falling into this trap. Should he stand by and watch while they tricked her, programmed her, and took away her life, made her a pawn to be pushed this way and that?

  The charismatic leader called for prayer. Eyes and minds tightly closed. His words became soft and slow, lulling the room into a trance.

  Another trick. Stay awake. Stay sharp. The trance was a chance to implant ideas, to begin the process of unfreezing the personality, and implanting new frames of reference. Smash all they held dear and thought they knew, take them from their home and family, keep them off balance, give them no time to think. Deprive them of information about the outside world. Control their emotions, their thoughts, their behaviour. Capture one of those, and you could take the rest. Capture all of them, and you had a willing slave.

  Capgras, head bowed, glanced once more at the woman. She had screwed her eyes shut but her face quivered as if the rapture and the bliss had swept away all sense and reason. He moved his leg, kicked her, making it seem an accident. Her eyes flew open. He mouthed an apology. She appeared angry at being pulled from her trance. She might thank him one day if she ever recovered her true self. Soon she was sinking once more.

  Capgras looked up. A woman in a lilac blouse and grey skirt glared at him.

  He bowed his head as if in prayer. And the words droned on. His eyes were heavy, after the disturbed night’s sleep and the long drive
down here, and the lack of fresh air in here. And the heat of bodies.

  He shook himself. How long had he been dozing? What words, what ideas had they slipped into his ears, and his subconscious? Stay awake, or lose everything, he told himself. Is this what happened to Gina? Had they stolen her? Warped her? Twisted her to their will with promises of heaven and gods and powers over the rest of the world? They would be the chosen ones, the man in the lilac tie assured them, whispering his endless prayer.

  Capgras drifted off once more, head lolling, shoulders hunched, eyelids heavy, it wouldn’t hurt for a moment just to close them. Not for long. He woke again as people moved and chairs were pushed away. He’d slept, missed the end of it. Stupid, stupid. Don’t let down your guard, he urged himself. Too late. What harm was done? It was hard to know.

  He was urged to stand, to follow, to come with a group, help with clearing the room, do this, do that, go here, go there, listen to this, remember that. You’re doing it wrong, you’re so clever, you’re so stupid. You’re really spiritual, aren’t you? No, not enough. Not yet. There are secrets, strange words, jargon you don’t know. That’s because you haven’t learnt enough, you don’t understand. It’s all a enigma, but ohhhh the mysteries you will learn. Hour after hour, it went on, never stopping, not a moment to themselves, until Tom felt ready to find a gun, or a bomb, or whatever weapons these people had and use them now. Wipe them all out. Who would care? It would be doing the world a service. But wait, don’t act, or put a word out of place. Keep going, get deeper.

  Finally, they were told they could sleep. Fifty new recruits from across the country were led to the barns, and to two dormitories, one for men, another for women, strict segregation, with a freezing cold bathroom for each, where they should shower before bed.

  A bed that was hard and narrow, the blankets scratchy but Capgras fell into a deep sleep all the same. At last it was safe to doze off with no one whispering poisoned words into his ear.

  He woke with a jolt. Hands grabbed him, pulled him up. “Come with us,” said a voice. They hauled him to his feet and pushed him from the room, torches flashing from side to side as they led him into the dark, cold night.

  Chapter 15

  Revelation

  Capgras stood in the doorway of the converted barn, holding his bundle of clothes.

  “Get dressed,” said a voice in the dark.

  He pulled on his trousers, fumbled with his shoes. “What’s this about? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Are you saying you are without sin?” It was a new voice, softer than the rest, older and more confident. One of the leaders, by the sound of it. “Everyone has things they are sorry about, you more than most I think. We don’t know enough about you. So it’s time to talk.” The man stepped closer. It was the one who had led the meeting the previous evening, but there was something different about the way he spoke, maybe because he was close by, talking softly, rather than projecting his prayers to a room full of worshippers. “Walk with me.”

  Capgras fell in beside him. He sensed two bodyguards following, near enough to listen.

  The man introduced himself as Beloved Disciple Daniel. Capgras forced himself not to smirk.

  “I want you to reveal to me the worst thing you’ve ever done,” Daniel said. “Something you would never tell anyone. A crime. A cruelty. The one act you are ashamed of, more than any other.”

  “Why?”

  “To confirm that you trust us, and we can help you. It gives insight into your pain. Your character. Your sins. Your place in our church.”

  “Who says I want to join?”

  “Who says you’ve been invited?” Daniel stopped, stepped in front of Capgras. “This is the opportunity you have been searching for your whole life, the doorway into a new reality, where you will glimpse a far deeper truth than you have ever imagined. You’ll make better friends than any you could hope for in the outside world. You will be cared for, protected. Given direction, help and support. But you must obey our rules and accept our teaching. That is most important because it comes direct from God.” He put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Do you believe?”

  Lie, Capgras told himself, like you’ve never lied before. “I believe in something. What though, I’m not sure. There’s so many people say they possess the truth.”

  “Partial truth, some of them. But they don’t benefit from access, as we do, to a Great Teacher. You should meet him. Sitting at his feet is the most wonderful experience. Only his most devout disciples get so close. But one day that could be you. There is much to learn before then.” Daniel stared, despite the darkness, into Tom’s face. “It begins with truth. With self-revelation. Tell us all, so we can bring you to redemption.”

  Tom Capgras was not a violent man by nature. He didn’t get into fights, or fantasise about guns and explosions and killing. But part of him longed to punch the man’s mouth. Instead, he used the only effective weapon he had at his disposal: words. Words that spun tales that might mean one thing or another. Words that weren’t strictly true. Outright lies, but in a good cause, for the sake of getting closer to the truth. Not the truth the man dangled as a distant possibility, full of religious revelation, but the real truth, around the death of that girl in the Tube station, and the injuries to countless innocent bystanders. He made up a story of selling drugs. It would fit with what he had hinted at previously regarding his prison sentence. He was caught by the police, he said, but there was more they didn’t know. Much more. How he had sold bad stuff and someone died and it was down to him but he ran away from that and hid and he could never go back to his home town, or see old friends. Let them think he was vulnerable, afraid. Give them the ammunition they sought. That’s what this was about. They wanted leverage over him. If he complained about his treatment or the living conditions, or questioned the truth of what they told him, if he tried to leave, this story would be thrown in his face and used to torment him, to force his compliance. If he ever fled their organisation, this was the blackmail they would use to drag him back, tail between his legs.

  “You haven’t given us your real name, have you?”

  Tom shook his head, gave a new false identity. They would use it to trace him, find out more about his background, his family, his crimes. They would come up with nothing, and then they would return with more questions, harsher this time. How far would they go? Would they kick him out? Or kill him?

  “I’m glad you’ve chosen to trust us, at last,” the man said.

  This latest lie would be revealed once they started digging. He didn’t have long. A few days, a week maybe. He had to act, get information while he could. This man was a source of it. He had to take a chance. “There’s something else I haven’t told you,” Tom said.

  “It sounds important,” Daniel said.

  “There was a girl. I’ve been trying to find her, someone said she was part of your group. That’s what made me come to the meeting.”

  “You’re hoping to see her again? We may not allow that.”

  “I wanted to check she was safe, that’s all.”

  The dead girl’s name hadn’t been released by police, but Tom had learnt it, using sources. They wouldn’t suspect. Even if they did, they might give something away. Take the chance.

  “Who was she?”

  “She’s younger than me,” Tom said. “Very pretty.”

  “They always are.” Daniel smiled, like an indulgent grandparent. “Her name?”

  “Verity Compton.”

  A scowl flashed across the man’s face.

  “If she was here… I haven’t seen her, but if I could pass a message on to her, anything…”

  “I’ll see. We can check our records. She may not be with us. Your information could be wrong.” Daniel clicked his fingers at the two goons who loitered in the dark. “I’ll let you know.” He strode off into the night, heading for the manor house. The two men stood close to Capgras, ready to escort him back to the barn.

  They walked in silence. Did the
se men know? Probably not. They would have no access to the news and might think she was still alive. Or they might never have known her. All the same, he sensed hostility. Their body language had stiffened. He’d thrown a stone into the pond, now wait to see what waves it would create. It was in motion. There was no going back.

  Chapter 16

  Betrayal

  All day he worked. All day he listened to sermons and speeches and people quoting the Great Leader of their church, the father of their movement, the illustrious, wise and divine Hernando de Landro (he of the extraordinary name, sure to be false). All day Capgras was surrounded by group members, fluttering and hovering, listening to every conversation, guiding them and telling them what to do, how to behave. All day, he toiled and held his tongue, biding his time.

  All day long, Tom had done as they asked. He had washed floors, cleaned clothes, weeded the vegetable plot, sat in prayer meetings, read the teachings of their prophet, discussed the theology, nodded his head and tried to appear interested. For most of the day he had been working in a group of men, some of them new recruits like him, but always outnumbered by the faithful who imposed the discipline of the cult. Wrong thinking could not be tolerated. Wrong speech would be punished. They had started with subtle rules, but Capgras could see in the faces of the long-time members of the organisation that they had been programmed to reject all doubt. If a thought questioning the teaching or their involvement ever entered their heads, it terrified them, and was shut down instantly. The idea of leaving would horrify them. They had been made to imagine terrible visions of what would happen if they betrayed their great leader: sickness, death, the devil himself coming for them, and their families. The world would suffer. Their souls would be damned. Punishments would be created, exotic and fierce, to be endured for eternity.