“I appreciate it,” she said.
Marcos stood forward, holding out a green poncho. She thanked him, took it, slipped it on.
“I can go with her, Lieutenant,” Marcos offered.
“You will do nothing of the kind,” the lieutenant said. “We’ve already lost one man. We’ll wait for reinforcements. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” Marcos said reluctantly.
Colleen thanked Marcos, headed off, poncho flapping. Hoping that Pamela might come to her senses.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The stench of sulfur and smoking earth stung Colleen’s nostrils as she approached the summit. Smoke smarted her eyes. Close to the rim, she heard the groaning of the volcano over the chanting of voices.
Finally, she reached the top, peered over the lip of the crater. Hundreds of Kerkers stood on a huge shelf of earth facing a chasm on the other side churning orange. Her face warmed, even from where Colleen stood, like standing too close to a campfire.
Torches blazed.
The Kerkers sang in Afrikaans, low and dissonant.
She pulled the poncho’s hood over her head, drew the pistol from her waistband, racked it, which cocked the hammer back. The gun hidden in her poncho, she made her way down the short incline into the crater to join the group.
Brother Adem sat on the shoulders of the large bearded man adorned in black leather, their backs to the cauldron, facing the crowd. His surgical face mask was down below his neck.
The Kerkers were in a state of euphoria, standing in an arc around him. Twenty-two women in white stood off to the one side, closer to the pit. Colleen couldn’t see their faces yet, tell which one was Pamela.
Colleen scrambled down the inside of the rim, joined the congregation along the edge. Chanted along. Gun at her side under her poncho, she wormed her way through the crowd. Jostled behind the front row. The hissing lava in the basin was mesmerizing, a sea of boiling rock. Waves of heat wafted from the pit, like a giant sauna.
The women in white robes stood in line along a length of rock jutting out. Their gowns clung to their bodies with sweat. Their faces were feverish and pink.
With a shock, Colleen spotted Pamela in the line. Pamela’s eyes were closed in calm resignation.
In the face of her daughter just turned twenty, Colleen saw the face of an eight-year-old child broken by a father who had taken her innocence. Pamela had never recovered, no matter what she thought; she continued to follow men who lied and captivated and used her, each one progressively worse. Her father. The biker in Santa Cruz. Fletcher at Moon Ranch. And now Brother Adem, enticing women to their deaths to feed his sick ego.
Adem spoke to the crowd in solemn tones Colleen could not understand. The group responded with mumbled song. The other side of the crater responded, hissing, belching up a chunk of white rock that fell back into the pit, leaving a white arc of light.
Brother Adem gave a command and the women turned, formed a single line, pointing at the fire.
Lining up to jump. Pamela was third.
Colleen felt her stomach tighten.
From the front of the crowd, a drumbeat thumped, slow and steady.
Under her poncho, she had her pistol ready.
Brother Adem squeezed his knees together, commanding his human steed to bend down. Adem dismounted. The big man in leather stood to one side.
Brother Adem strode over to the line of women.
“Vroue, berei jou voor vir die perfekte dood.”
Colleen understood the last phrase well enough: perfekte dood—perfect death.
“Ursula,” he said.
The first woman in line closed her eyes, made a sign of prayer with her hands, pressed them together, released them, straightened them by her side.
She broke into a sprint.
Then, like a swimmer off a diving board, she leapt into the cistern of lava.
There was brief silence, followed by a high-pitched scream.
The crowd chanted.
Perfeksie!
Brother Adem nodded with satisfaction, spoke in Afrikaans.
Colleen had to act soon, or her daughter would follow.
She saw Pamela, second in line, her eyes clenched shut, her face a mask of fear and uncertainty. Thank God for her indecision. Colleen only prayed it wasn’t too late.
Colleen realized that what she was about to do would probably end in her own death. But so be it. Over ten years ago, she had let her anger take priority. Now Pamela would.
Brother Adem was speaking. She could make out the words “vroulike offer.”
Pistol under the poncho, Colleen pushed through the front line, marched quickly out toward Brother Adem.
“Wat maak jy?” someone said. It sounded like where are you going?
She dashed behind Brother Adem on the ledge. It was feverishly hot on her back. One or two more members raised questions in Afrikaans.
Brother Adem turned, looked at Colleen in surprise.
“Wat dink jy doen jy?”
She brought the gun up fast, amidst the gasp of the crowd, pointed it at his head.
His mouth dropped.
She clinched her free arm around his neck, tightened the gun on Brother Adem’s temple.
“There’s been a change of plans,” she shouted.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The Kerkers stood along the ledge inside the crater of the volcano, staring in disbelief at Colleen holding the pistol to their leader’s head. For her part, Colleen stayed well behind Brother Adem, using him as a shield, one arm around his neck. He wasn’t any taller than she was. Up close he reeked. The pit of lava behind bathed her back in heat. The molten rock whistled and popped.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Brother Adem said to her in trembling English.
“Exactly what it looks like,” Colleen said.
“You’re insane,” he gulped.
“I’m insane? Oh, that’s good.” She had been worried Brother Adem might take a nihilistic view of his own existence and actually welcome death in whatever form it took, and that this intervention would be worthless but, as it turned out, when push finally came to shove, survival was the first thing on his mind.
She saw Pamela, second in line to jump. Her mouth was agape as she looked at this woman in the hood, unaware that it was her mother holding Brother Adem hostage.
Brother Adem shouted out a command in Afrikaans to his people, reverberating in Colleen’s ears. She gathered it was along the lines of “stop this person.”
Several men in black berets stepped forward, rifles at the ready. A shot rang out.
Colleen held the pistol up alongside Brother Adem’s head, fired into the ashy cloud. Her hand jolted with the shot, which cracked the air next to her and Brother Adem, making him flinch. Her own ear buzzed as well.
The guards stopped in their tracks. Noise and commotion broke out amongst the ranks.
“One step further and Brother Adem dies!” Colleen shouted, the tip of the gun barrel to his temple again. Brother Adem shook with fear and the disorientation of the shot. She realized that if he called her bluff and his men charged her, she’d have to shoot Brother Adem, whose head was inches from her own. She’d be covered in brains and blood, and then they’d kill her. Pamela’s death would follow. She couldn’t let that happen.
“Tell them to stop,” she instructed Brother Adem between her teeth.
Brother Adem shouted for the gunmen to desist.
The crowd froze. A momentary feeling of relief washed over her.
“The military is on their way,” Colleen yelled. “Reinforcements have been called. You have two options: stay here and take your chances with the soldiers, or leave now, and hope you get down the mountain before they arrive.”
Members watched, uncertain, fearful.
Gun to Brother Adem’s head, Colleen released her grip on him for a moment, pulled her hood back.
Pamela stood forward, mouth open, blinking in disbelief. Her white robe loosened from her
sweat-steeped body, blew in the breeze.
“You have no right to do this!” she shouted. “No right!”
“I’m sorry, Pamela,” Colleen said. “But all the same, I’m doing it. It’s over. Please! Stop this madness.”
Pamela shook, her teeth clenched with rage. Her eyes shut tight and Colleen sensed her frustration, her humiliation at her mother’s interference. This kind of thing was not covered in Parenting 101.
“You can’t stop us from jumping!” she yelled.
“You’re absolutely right,” Colleen said. “But the next person who does is responsible for Brother Adem’s death.” She pressed the gun tight to his temple, making him recoil.
“Stop!” Brother Adem yelled. “Don’t jump, children!”
“There are hundreds of us,” someone said. “And only one of you. We can easily overpower you.”
“And Brother Adem can just as easily die,” Colleen said.
Brother Adem was shaking in her clenched arm.
“And I don’t think he wants that,” she said. She spoke to Brother Adem. “Do you?”
“No,” he said in an unsteady voice.
“Then tell them it’s over, Brother Adem. Tell them to disperse. Now.”
Brother Adem began to speak in Afrikaans. She cinched his neck.
“In English!”
“Do as she says, my children,” he said in a wavering voice. “Return to Verligting. We’ll regroup there. Tonight is not the night for perfection.”
The man in black leather, who had been Brother Adem’s “horse,” stood forward.
“But, Brother Adem, is this not the most perfect death? The one you have always spoken of ?”
“No, Haven,” Brother Adem said. “A perfect death is one of our choosing—not one thrust upon us.”
“But, Brother, if you stay and die, rather than leave, is that not of your own choosing?”
“Get out of that one,” Colleen whispered to Brother Adem, her arm tight around his neck.
“It is not my time!” Brother Adem shouted. “I still have much to do.”
“Not your time, Adem?” Pamela shouted, squinting, taking another step forward. “What do you mean—not your time?”
“I must guide all the flocks to perfection before I go to mine,” Adem said in a voice that shook. Colleen felt him tremble in her grasp. “In multiples of eleven, remember? You are only the first of many. There will be more. Many more.”
Colleen watched her daughter’s face as it shifted into a suspicious grimace.
“You’re a coward,” Pamela said to Brother Adem. “Nothing but a coward.”
“No, Fenna, you misunderstand, child. There are still many to make the journey. My role is to guide you to Verligting, then here, to perfection. Only when that work is finally done will it be my turn.”
Colleen spoke: “Wise up, people. The way Brother Adem is playing this, it will never be his turn. He’ll die an old man in his sleep while you jump to yours now. That will be his perfect death.”
She watched several faces turn to doubt.
Then, over the ridge, they heard the wup-wup-wup of helicopter blades.
“What’s that?” someone said.
“You can stay and face the soldiers,” Colleen shouted, the gun still to Brother Adem’s head. “Or you can leave now.”
The arrival of the soldiers changed many moods.
“The military,” one man said, turning. “I’m leaving.”
“Where are you going, Brother?” Brother Adem said.
“I’m leaving, too,” said another.
More members left, climbing over the rim, disappearing into the darkness. Guards surrounded the group loosely, many of whom stood by, watching in doubt. Some wandered about, as if lost.
The helicopter came into view, blades spinning with the reflection of the lava, blowing hot air and dirt far and wide. Then the aircraft lowered out of sight, settling on the other side of the crest somewhere.
More members scrambled over the rim.
Pamela stood, looking askance at Colleen and Brother Adem.
“What are you going to do now?” Pamela asked her.
“Wait until you leave, Pamela,” Colleen said.
“And what makes you so sure I will?”
“Because you figured it out, Pamela. You need something in your life but it’s not Brother Adem.” Thank God.
People were frantically pushing to get over the crest, back down the mountain. They could hear soldiers over the ridge yelling.
Brother Adem was shouting at the fleeing Kerkers desperately in an apparent bid for unity.
Soon, less than a few dozen of the former members remained, surrounded by guards. Some followers began chanting in Afrikaans. Others simply did not seem to know what to do next. But for many, unlike the volcano, their fire had been extinguished.
More soldiers appeared over the ridge, rifles poised. People fleeing were ignored. The lieutenant instructed his men to disarm the Die Kerk guards and break up the group that was chanting. One Kerker guard shouted and a shot rang out, but soldiers quickly circled him, separating him from the pack. Another man flung his rifle aside, turned, and ran for the pit, leapt in, screaming as he plunged to his death. Colleen shuddered.
It took several minutes for the soldiers to subdue the crowd and disarm them.
The lieutenant approached Colleen, along with two men, one of them Marcos.
“One other woman jumped to her death as well,” Colleen said in Spanish.
“Not your daughter, I hope?”
“Thankfully, no,” Colleen said, nodding at Pamela, standing by, then at Brother Adem, still in her clinch. “Here’s your instigator. If he had had his way, many would be dead. With many more to follow.”
Colleen released Brother Adem.
“Take this man into custody,” the lieutenant said to Marcos. “He is responsible for the death of one of my men.” More Die Kerkers were slipping away, including guards now, eager to avoid arrest.
“We will need you to make a statement,” the lieutenant said to Colleen.
“Of course. Tomorrow?”
“Yes. Do you have somewhere to stay?”
Colleen shook her head.
“At the very worst, you can probably stay at the church.”
“That works for me. I’m just so grateful to you and your men for helping save my daughter. I’m so sorry you lost a man.”
The soldiers cuffed Brother Adem’s hands behind his back.
“I demand a lawyer!” he shouted in English.
“All in good time,” the lieutenant said in English. “This isn’t the United States.”
They left, taking Brother Adem with them. Less than a handful of Die Kerkers remained, singing softly. Soldiers herded them away from the edge of the volcano.
Thankfully, Pamela was still there. She seemed to be waiting for Colleen.
The relief Colleen felt was immeasurable. Whatever happened next, Pam had been spared from immediate danger.
Colleen flicked the safety on her pistol, shoved it down the back of her waistband, went over to Pam. She told herself she was done interfering.
“Where do you go from here, Pamela?”
Pamela gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know.”
“Sometimes not knowing what comes next is fine.”
“I can’t go back to Verligting.”
Colleen felt another release of tension. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”
Pamela shrugged.
“Do you have a passport?” She knew Pam didn’t.
Pamela gave a weary shake of the head. “Brother Adem took care of those things.”
That sounded about right.
“The embassy in Quito can straighten this out,” Colleen said. “Do you have any money?”
Pam replied that she did not.
“I can help,” Colleen said.
“No. I don’t want a thing from you.”
Colleen suppressed th
e hurt. “No strings, Pam. Just to help get you back …”—she almost used the word home, but caught herself … “to the United States.”
Pam stared at the ground. “I don’t know.”
“You can’t stay here, Pam. This isn’t your country. They won’t let you stay. You’ve got nowhere to go, no money.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Come back with me, Pam,” Colleen said. “To San Francisco. I’ve got a spare room made up for you.”
Pamela looked up, eyed her suspiciously. “I’m not so sure.”
Colleen put her hands up defensively. “No strings.”
“You keep saying that. But how? How do you figure? With your spare room ‘all made up’?”
“Just until you get on your feet, Pam. You’ve been through hell and back. And a lot of that is because of me.”
Pam shook her head. “You don’t mean that.”
“I’ll be honest, there was a time when I wouldn’t have. But what happened to you when you were little … I should have seen it coming. And I didn’t. And I should have reacted differently.” Differently than killing Pam’s father. “I was wrong. I paid my debt to society—but not to you. Now it’s your turn. I want to make it up to you, Pam, if you’ll let me. Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I just want to get away from you.”
Those words stung.
Colleen blinked away the beginnings of tears. “Come with me to the church in Baños tonight at least, Pam. We can talk. At least give me that.”
Pam sighed. Her face softened. She gave a fragile smile. “I’ll come but just until I figure out what I’m going to do next. Don’t think this means I’m coming home.”
Colleen returned a smile herself. She would take whatever she could get.
“Whatever you want, Pam. Whatever you want.”
“Alright, then.”
Alright, then. That was all she was going to get for now. But at least her daughter was still part of this world. Not Die Kerk’s. Colleen would count her blessings.
“Alright, then, Pamela,” she said.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
SAN FRANCISCO
NOVEMBER 28, 1978
“Pamela—we’re back,” Colleen said, gently shaking her daughter’s shoulder as the jumbo jet skidded on slick runway, late evening, SFO. She caught herself almost adding the word “home.”
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