by Jim Laughter
“Now Agent Morris, what do you want with Reverend Preston?”
“Could we step inside, sir?” Benjamin asked. “It might be easier on your wife.”
Griffin held the door open and invited the agents inside their small home. His wife, Sarah, sat down in a rocking chair in a corner near the kitchen. The pastor asked Morris and Benjamin to sit on the couch while he pulled a dining chair away from the table for Keller.
“Okay,” he said, “what’s going on?”
Morris leaned forward on the couch that sunk a little too low for his taste.
“Reverend, you have a man named Samuel Preston preachin’ for you. Is that correct?”
“Yes sir. At least he was supposed to preach a revival for me starting this evening but he had an emergency and had to leave. I drove him to the airport first thing this morning.” Thaddaeus Griffin looked confused. “What’s he done?”
Benjamin decided that he could probably speak to the pastor more evenly than Morris. He knew that if Morris got aggravated, he could go off on a tangent that might build a wall between them and the pastor.
“Pastor Griffin, the man you scheduled to preach in your pulpit is more than just an evangelist.”
“Uh-huh,” Griffin said, not offering any more information.
“Have you heard about the series of murders that’s been taking place along interstate highways and in national parks for the last several months?”
“I saw something about it in the newspaper,” Griffin answered. “We don’t have a television or home computer.”
Traditional Pentecostals. They keep themselves isolated from the rest of the world in an effort to be holy.
Benjamin continued. “Well sir, we have evidence that Samuel Preston is responsible for those murders.”
“Dear Lord!” Griffin said. “Reverend Preston?”
“That nice old man is a killer?” Sarah Griffin asked. “But he’s a minister.”
“He’s a maniac,” Morris said before Benjamin could say anything. “And you say you drove him to the airport this mornin’?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you know his flight numbers or where he was goin’?”
“Yes sir. He was going to Denver. He caught the Friday morning American Airlines economy flight 7512 at 9:30. It’s an all day flight with a layover in Seattle and it doesn’t arrive in Denver until around 4:30.”
Morris checked his watch. “He’s been there for damn near six hours. There’s no tellin’ where the son of a bitch is now!”
“Duncan!” Keller snapped, motioning toward the distraught Sarah Griffin.
“Oh, sorry,” Morris said.
“Did Reverend Preston say why he had to go to Denver?” Benjamin asked.
“He said he had something to do in Denver that just couldn’t wait. But he said he had reservations on the 12 noon flight out of Denver on Saturday and that he’d be back on the 5:50 to finish up with me here in Portland.”
Chapter Forty-Six
“What the hell do you mean the airplane is broken?” Morris yelled at Cooper. “Are you tryin’ to tell me that we can’t leave for Denver?”
Cooper moved back a step from the senior agent who had begun to yell and wave his arms around in the air. It reminded Cooper of the robot from Lost in Space, a rerun television series he’d seen as a kid. He half expected Morris to yell “Danger Will Robinson” but the urge to laugh left him as quickly as he thought about it.
“What the hell is wrong with the damn airplane?” Morris yelled again. Sweat glistened on the top of his head.
“There’s something broken on the hydraulic system,” Cooper said. “Some kind of actuator they have to replace before we can take off.”
“And just how long is that gonna take?”
“Could be two or three hours, sir.”
“Two or three hours? Are you out’ta your friggin’ mind, Cooper? We gotta get to Denver!”
“Sir, I…”
“Just shut up, Cooper! You’re ‘bout as worthless as tits on a boar hog. You know that, boy?”
Cooper turned to leave but Keller motioned for him to stand still. She knew Morris was just blowing off steam and would come to his senses soon. Morris checked his watch again.
“It’s damn near 1 o’clock in the mornin’! That son of a bitch’ll have a twelve hour head start on us before we can get to Denver.”
“More like thirteen,” Keller said. “Denver is an hour ahead of Pacific Time. It’s almost 2 there now.”
Morris handed Keller his cell phone. “Call Agent Gregory in Denver and tell him to call that nut-case’s son and let him know his father’s back in town. And tell him he damn well better let us know if deadly-daddy shows up at his house or church.”
It took a few minutes less than three hours to replace the malfunctioning hydraulic actuator on the FBI executive jet. By the time the aircraft was able to raise its wheels over Portland, the sun had already crested the horizon over Denver. The two hour flight dragged at a snail’s pace while the jet cruised at 30,000 feet on its way to deliver the Washington agents to try to stop a killer before he could claim his next victim.
Denver bureau Special Agents Bastion Constanego and Sherman Gregory met the FBI jet at the Denver International Airport. The jet taxied to an emergency static pad away from the main terminal where Gregory stopped his bureau vehicle to pick up Morris, Keller, Benjamin, and Cooper.
It was already after 7 a.m. Morris knew the killer had a return flight to Portland booked at noon, which meant whomever he planned to kill would meet their death sometime this morning.
“Where’re we headed?” he asked Gregory when the SUV pulled away from the airplane.
“We’ve had agents checking every hotel and motel in Denver but haven’t found Reverend Preston, so I thought we’d go to his son’s house in Aurora. See if he showed up there.”
“You told him to call if his father showed up, right?”
“Sure I did. But you know how people are about their parents.”
The FBI vehicle sped through the streets of Denver escorted by a city police car and two motorcycle units. The sounds of their combined sirens disturbed the peaceful Saturday morning in the otherwise bustling city.
The vehicles turned off the main thoroughfare and entered an upper middle-class neighborhood in Aurora, Colorado, a suburb of Denver. The houses were mostly two and three story brick or stone structures in the half-million dollar or better range.
“Preachin’ must pay pretty good,” Morris said when he saw Simon Preston’s neighborhood. “You should’a stayed in seminary, Reverend George.”
“Now don’t be a jerk,” Keller said.
“Me?” Morris winced. “Have I ever been a jerk?” He turned around in the seat and faced Cooper. “You ever known me to be a jerk, Cooper?”
Cooper didn’t answer. He just lifted his hands and sighed. He had no idea where he stood with Morris or Keller, or even with his friend Benjamin.
“Listen, Cooper,” Morris said. “About all that shit I said to you back in Portland. I didn’t mean it, okay?”
“Yes sir, I…”
“It’s just that ever now and then I get a bad case of the big mouth and my horse gets ahead of my sense. But I don’t mean nothin’ by it. Just ask Keller or Kunta there. They’ll tell ya I’m a hell of a nice guy once you get to know me.”
Cooper leaned across to Benjamin, “Kunta?”
I really am going to have to kick Morris’ ass.
Gregory stopped the SUV in front of Simon Preston’s house. The bottom floor of the house was already well lit while only one room upstairs showed any signs of life. Morris assumed since it was on the front part of the house, it was probably the master bedroom. The kid’s rooms were most likely on the back side away from their parent’s room.
Simon Preston opened the front door and stepped into the small alcove that served as a receiving entry porch. It was obvious by his disheveled appearance that he’d been up most of the night, prob
ably pacing the floor over the disturbing news that his father was a serial killer.
All of the agents accompanied Simon into the house. He led them to the kitchen where his wife, Cheri, had made a fresh pot of coffee. Gregory introduced Morris, Keller, Benjamin, and Cooper, then told them what they had learned by their visit with Thaddaeus Griffin.
“You’ve not heard from your father, Reverend Preston?” Keller asked.
Simon shook his head. “No ma’am, not since he left here Wednesday.”
Cheri Preston put her hands on Simon’s shoulders and lovingly tried to rub the tension out of them.
“We still can’t believe it,” she said. “Dad is the sweetest, most gentle soul you’d ever want to meet.”
Morris refrained from speaking. He knew he’d say something insensitive to offend these people. After all, it wasn’t the son’s fault that his father was a lunatic. He’d let Keller and Benjamin speak to them.
“Are your children home?” Keller asked. “Agent Gregory said you have a son and a daughter.”
“They’re upstairs asleep in their rooms.”
“I hope the news about their grandfather hasn’t been too upsetting for them.”
Simon and Cheri exchanged worried looks. “We haven’t told them yet,” Simon said. “I didn’t want to say anything until we were absolutely sure.”
Keller said she understood their misgivings but that she thought they should wake the children and have them come down to the kitchen. Cheri said she would awaken them. At just that moment, Abigail entered the kitchen. She pulled her housecoat shut when she saw they had visitors. A few minutes later, Cheri returned to the kitchen.
“Robbie’s not in his room!” she said, panic in her voice.
Simon rose up from the table. “What do you mean he’s not in his room? Did you try the bathroom?”
“He’s not there either.”
“He’s not here,” Abigail said. She held a carton of orange juice in her hand. “He’s with Grandpa.”
“With Grandpa!” Simon shouted. “What do you mean he’s with Grandpa?”
Simon’s sudden outburst scared the girl and she dropped the carton of orange juice, sending the liquid across the floor. She didn’t know what was happening. She’d never seen her parents this scared. She began to cry. Her mother gathered her into her arms. “There, there, baby. It’s okay.”
Simon held his hand out to Abigail. “Come here sweety,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I don’t understand. I thought it was alright for Robbie to go with Grandpa.”
Simon hugged his daughter close to him. She buried her face in his chest and wept.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said. “But when did Robbie leave here with Grandpa?”
“This morning around six,” she sobbed. “He called me on my cell phone and told me he needed to pick Robbie up to help him with something.”
“Where was I?” Simon asked.
“You were asleep in your chair. Grandpa said not to disturb you and that he’d see us later.”
“Did your grandfather say where he was taking Robbie?” Keller asked.
“No ma’am. He just said he needed to take Robbie up to a high place and that they’d both be home soon.”
“This don’t make no sense,” Morris said. “Why would he take the kid?”
Keller shook her head. She was as confused as Morris. She looked at Benjamin who had a strange expression on his face.
“What is it, George?”
Benjamin took his new testament out of his pocket and turned to Matthew chapter 10. He read through the names of the apostles: Peter, Andrew, James the son of Zebedee, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas and Matthew. The next name on the list was James the son of Alphaeus, otherwise known as James the Lesser, followed by Thaddaeus, Simon the Zealot, then Judas Iscariot.
Why would the killer go all the way to Portland, Oregon to kill Thaddaeus Griffin but return to Denver to visit his grandson before completing his mission? There has to be a reason. A man like this doesn’t make random decisions, not if he believes he’s on a mission from God.
“My Lord,” Benjamin whispered. “Does your church have a steeple, Reverend?”
“Yes.”
“What?” Keller asked. “George? What?”
Benjamin turned to Abigail. “You said your grandfather was taking Robbie to a high place?”
“Uh-huh.”
Benjamin faced the Prestons again. “Robbie isn’t your son’s given name, is it?”
“No sir, it’s Robert,” Simon said.
“What’s his middle name?”
“James,” they said together.
“His name is Robert James Preston?”
“Yes sir.”
“He’s not a junior?”
“No sir. He’s named after my wife’s father. He’s Robert James Preston, the second.”
“The second?” Keller asked.
“Yes ma’am.”
“James the Lesser,” Benjamin said before anyone else could say anything.
“George?”
“The Pinnacle,” Benjamin said. “The church has a steeple. He’s taking James the Lesser to the Pinnacle. He’s the next apostle sacrifice.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The parade of police and federal vehicles screamed into the parking lot of the All Faith Worship Center on Aurora Avenue, Denver, Colorado. The lot was empty except for a single blue Chevy Malibu with a Budget Rental Car sticker on the back window. One of the front doors leading into the church foyer stood ajar propped open by what appeared to be a sack full of smooth river stones.
The FBI agents, along with Simon Preston, jumped out of the lead federal vehicle. Benjamin looked up at the steeple on top of the church. It rose a hundred feet above the front portico entrance. A stained glass window reflected the light from the morning sun.
“Damn that’s high!” Morris said.
“One hundred feet,” Simon Preston said. “Same as the temple in Jerusalem.”
“Damn that’s high!” Morris said again, this time stretching out the daaaamn.
“You stay here, sir, and direct the swat team,” Benjamin said. “Cooper and I will go up.”
Morris nodded. It had been too many years of fast food, cold beer, and strong whiskey for him to consider climbing the stairs to the top of this big damn building.
“Where’s the access to the steeple?” Benjamin asked Simon.
Simon told Benjamin to take the left hallway until they came to a door marked Men’s Changing Room which would lead them to the north side of the baptistery. He said that just before entering the baptistery they’d see an access door marked Roof. A narrow stairway would lead them to where they would need to push a sealed access panel that would open into a hallway that ran around the parameter of the building to the steeple on the front of the building.
Benjamin grabbed a portable radio from one of the swat team members and he and Cooper raced for the building. They found the hallway and entry doors easily enough and climbed the narrow stairs to the access panel. Benjamin pushed the panel open a few inches, looking into the hallway that Simon Preston had told them about.
“All clear,” Benjamin whispered to Cooper.
He and Cooper entered the hallway, and with weapons drawn made their way cautiously around the parameter of the building. The distinct sound of a man praying caught Benjamin’s ear. He raised the portable radio to his lips. “I hear someone up here.”
“Do you see anyone?” Morris asked over the radio.
“No sir, but I can hear someone speaking. Sounds like praying.”
When Benjamin and Cooper rounded the last curve in the hallway, they were met by the most bizarre sight they could have expected. A young boy lay on a table bound hand and foot and was gagged with a cloth across his mouth. He was dressed in what appeared to be a tunic and sandals reminiscent of biblical days. A man stood over the boy, his hands raised in prayer. His right arm was crooked inwar
d at the elbow and wrist. He was praying in a language that neither Cooper nor Benjamin understood but that Benjamin recognized as speaking in tongues. The boy was crying, tears streaming down his face.
Cooper didn’t see a piece of iron pipe on the floor and he kicked it as they approached the man and boy. The noise of the pipe rolling on the cement floor caused the man to stop praying and look around. When Preach saw the two agents, he panicked and grabbed the boy off the table and held him around his waist while all the time backing toward the stained glass window.
“Stay away!” Preach yelled.
The muffled voice of the boy crying, “Grandpa, grandpa” caught Benjamin’s ear. His eyes were red from the tears he’d cried.
“Reverend Preston,” Benjamin said, “you don’t want to do this.”
“I said stay back!” Preach shouted again. “You’re interfering with an ordained mission from God!”
Preach pulled open the stained glass window that looked out the front of the church. Down in the parking lot, Morris and the other agents and police officers watched the scene unfold before them.
Benjamin and Cooper crept closer to Preach and his grandson. Benjamin could see the determination in the preacher’s eyes. He wasn’t going to surrender.
This is going to end badly.
“You need to turn Robbie loose,” Benjamin said, using the boy’s name with the hope of jarring the killer from his religiously inflamed state of mind. “He’s not the Apostle James, sir. He’s your grandson.”
“What’s going on up there, rookie?” Morris asked from the radio.
“Stand by with the swat sniper,” Benjamin whispered into the handheld radio.
Morris signaled to a swat team sniper that had taken position on top of a SWAT vehicle and told him to take aim but not to fire until given a direct order.
“Reverend Preston,” Benjamin said. “We’re here to help you, not to harm you.”
“You were sent from the devil to stop God’s mission!” Preach yelled. “But God’s work will continue. It must continue! I’ve got to restore order to the church!”
“Yes sir, I agree with you. I’m a Christian too, sir. We’re brothers in Christ.”