“I really wanted Martin to be the first to know. You have to promise me not to say anything to anybody until I tell him.”
Juanita’s eyes lit up with understanding. “That explains a lot. He doesn’t know yet?”
Anna shook her head. “I found out the same day he left.”
“You poor thing. The biggest news of your entire life and you can’t tell a soul. No wonder you’re going nuts.”
Anna looked at her pleadingly. Juanita zipped up her lips and threw away the imaginary key. “Your secret’s safe with me. Promise.”
“Thank you.” Anna watched as Juanita expertly put the finishing touches on her makeup. It was at that instant that Anna decided that she really liked Juanita. Anna couldn’t believe that this was the same glamorous woman from the pages of all those magazines. She would have never imagined that the bigger-than-life Juanita Darrell could be so . . . real.
“So, do you think I should go back to the table and apologize before I leave?” Anna asked.
Juanita shooed the idea away. “The next time we get together, it will be forgotten. Trust me, they’d much rather live in their perfect little fantasy worlds than hold a grudge. Besides, everything you said was completely true.”
“What?” Fear flooded Anna’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, no. Not that. I don’t mean Donald Jackson. As far as I know, he really did kill himself. I mean all that crap about their husbands being Eagle Scouts.”
Anna’s tension eased instantly. “That did seem a little odd.”
“Like I said, they live in a fantasy world. They worship their lifestyles so much that they pretend not to see what’s staring them right in the face. Me, I refuse to play head games with myself. I ignore it because I choose to ignore it.”
“Ignore what, exactly?” Anna asked with some hesitation.
Juanita remained silent a moment. Then she sighed and said, “When they go off on their little trips, they literally disappear off the face of the earth for days. They’re completely out of contact, not just from us but from the entire world. Why?”
“What do you mean? When I called, you said it was because they’re in an isolated location.”
“Right. I told you that crap because that’s the crap they tell us. But come on, you’re a smart lady.”
Anna was puzzled. “I don’t know what you mean. Maybe I’m not as smart as you think.”
Juanita chuckled. “Ever hear of a satellite phone? You can make a call from anywhere on the planet with one. And I mean anywhere. I asked Damon to get one for when he goes on these trips, just for emergencies, and he completely refused. It’s the twenty-first century, for God’s sake. And those men have enough money to buy a whole satellite, much less a satellite phone. The only reason our husbands are out of touch is because they want to be out of touch. Plain and simple. Whatever they’re doing on these so-called camping trips, they don’t want us or anyone else to know about it.”
“But wait. Donald Jackson was pulled out of the river. I read that. That has to mean that they really go camping. At least that part of their story is real, right?”
Juanita shrugged. “I guess. But why do they need to be unreachable if it’s just a camping trip?”
Anna began to feel overwhelmed. She tried to reassure herself that Martin would never betray their marriage, but she quickly realized that, like the other wives, she was idealizing her man to soothe her own fears. Put in the wrong situation, she believed that any man could lose his footing, even Martin, as much as she hated to admit it. Anna looked at Juanita. “Okay, so what do we do?”
Juanita laughed. “We deal with it.” She nodded toward the restroom door. “Those women at our table, they deal with it by pretending that their husbands are saints. Me, I deal with it by calling it what it is, the cost of living a life that most women can only dream about. Our husbands are rich and powerful men, and your husband will be one soon too. These are men who can have anything and do anything they want. Okay, every once in a while they run off to some mysterious place and do Lord knows what, but then they come back home. They come back home to us, the women they love.”
“But aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know what they’re up to?”
Juanita shook her head. “Nah, let them have their little secret. And you and I, we’ll have ours.”
“What secret is that?”
Juanita smiled like the devil. “That we’re onto them.”
CHAPTER 59
Martin sat alone in his bedroom, watching the clock and waiting. Trying to remain calm.
Earlier that evening, at the dinner table, only one comment was made about the upcoming ritual. When everyone first sat down, Dr. Kasim, in a formal tone, informed Martin that after dinner he was to return directly to his room, where Damon would collect him at eight p.m. to escort him to the initiation ceremony. When Martin asked where this mysterious ceremony would take place, Dr. Kasim and the others simply ignored the question.
Martin resisted asking any further questions. He didn’t want to appear too worried, and he was also quite certain that none of the men would offer him any clue. For all he knew, watching the new guy squirm with worry was an appetizer for the night’s upcoming festivities. That was certainly true for Carver; he was clearly enjoying Martin’s anxiety. More than once Martin looked up from his plate and caught a gleam of amused anticipation in Carver’s eyes. Whatever Dr. Kasim had planned for Martin, it was obvious that Carver was champing at the bit to get to it already.
Martin glanced over at the clock beside his bed: 7:55. Just five more minutes and it would be time to get some answers. The butterflies in his stomach seemed to multiply in number. Martin took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. It was only an initiation. How bad could it be? But even as he thought these words, Martin could not ignore that tiny yet persistent warning voice in the back of his mind: It could be bad. It could be really bad. There’s a damn good chance that it could be that one awful thing that you don’t even want to think about.
Martin gave his head a little shake, as if he could fling loose the dark thought from his synapses. But it held fast, like an old song you can’t get out of your skull. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that Damon and the others would never expect him to do such a thing, the possibility was too real to deny. The initiation could be murder.
Martin had never been a member of a fraternity or a cult, but he knew that a typical initiation ceremony could range anywhere from something harmless, like swearing a solemn oath or performing a humiliating act, all the way to the unthinkable: cold-blooded murder. And usually it was the groups who were engaged in malicious activities, the secret organizations with the most to hide, that levied the initiation fee of human sacrifice. Like the street gangs that required an act of random murder before you could join their ranks, or a crime syndicate in which membership wasn’t truly achieved until you’d killed for the family. The high price of entry into these groups was due to their illicit nature. They had the most to lose if details ever got out, so they made absolutely certain that anyone allowed in would put loyalty to the group above all else and take their secrets to the grave.
That’s what was troubling Martin. What secret could be more vital to protect than what was going on at Forty Acres?
When you put it into perspective, the truth became obvious. The initiation into Dr. Kasim’s club wasn’t going to be a simple swearing-in. It couldn’t be. There was too much at stake here, and these men were too smart to admit anyone so easily. Then Martin remembered Dr. Kasim’s comments about his ancestry. The only way they could know that for certain was to do a DNA test. And if they knew that, what else did they know about him? His financials? His medical history? And what about Anna? Did they probe every inch of her life as well? Was she, without knowing it, in the same danger he was?
Martin glanced at the clock: 7:59. One minute.
If some sort of murder was required, what would he do? He needed a plan. An excuse to get out
of harming someone.
That’s when that little voice in his head changed its tune. You have to do it. The logic was simple, of course. If faced with sacrificing one man to save dozens, he would have to do it. The police would understand, wouldn’t they? Of course there was a possibility that they wouldn’t. The law had a habit of being really stubborn when it came to murder. They might not believe his story. They could say he changed his mind after fleeing, anything. The legal ramifications swirled in Martin’s mind until he realized one truth: it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what the police said. Right now, in this moment, Martin knew it was the right thing to do. It was the only way that he was going to rescue all those people, and the only way he was ever going to get back to Anna. It didn’t matter what they asked him to do. He had to do whatever it took to get back to civilization. Even if it meant murder.
There was a soft knock at his bedroom door. Martin glanced at the clock by the bed. Eight o’clock on the dot.
Martin opened the door and Damon stood on the threshold. His usual sly smile was gone. He laid a firm grip on Martin’s shoulder. “You ready?”
CHAPTER 60
Martin asked no questions as he trailed Damon across the moonlit compound. The storm clouds that loomed earlier in the day had moved on. The twinkling sky above was now as clear as glass. Martin felt as if every star in heaven were watching him at that moment. That the universe had paused. The future of everything seemed to hinge on his ability to pass the test that he was about to face.
They walked down a stone-lined dirt path that cut through a brief stand of pines. The earthy crunch of their footsteps and the pillow talk of night creatures were the only sounds. The muted outdoor lamps that illuminated the path attracted churning swarms of gnats and a few fluttering moths.
They emerged from the narrow path into an open field, and finally Martin could see where Damon was leading him. Fifty yards ahead loomed a large horse barn. Unlike the other structures on the compound that appeared to be meticulously maintained, the barn’s wood-plank facade was pitted and weather-beaten. Whether the barn’s decrepit appearance was intentional to add character to the place or truly the result of neglect was impossible to tell, but to Martin one thing was certain: he did not like it. The brooding and rotted structure looked like a bad place where bad things happened. The closer they got to the old barn, the tighter the knot grew in Martin’s gut.
One barn door was cracked open and a glow of warm light could be seen within. “They’re not going to ask me to ride a horse, are they?” Martin asked, trying to make light. “I mean, I really suck at horses.”
“No horses in there,” Damon replied flatly, without looking at him. Damon just kept marching forward, quiet and distant. His cold single-mindedness ratcheted up Martin’s fear another notch.
A few steps before they reached the barn, Damon paused and turned to Martin. Squeezed Martin’s shoulder. “Whatever happens in there,” Damon whispered, “do not show weakness. You must be strong. Got it?”
For three weeks Martin had battled the man in court, and never had he seen Damon Darrell appear more serious. Fighting an invisible battle to push back his fear, Martin met Damon’s gaze and nodded. “I got it.”
Damon patted Martin on the arm. “They’re waiting. Let’s go inside.”
CHAPTER 61
The first thing that struck Martin when he entered the horse barn was its emptiness. He expected the interior of the old building to be strewn with rusted farming equipment, the walls shrouded in monstrous cobwebs. Instead the high-ceilinged structure had been stripped to its timber columns and rafters. All that remained were ten vacant horse stalls, five on each side, that ran the length of the space. Vintage oil-lamp-style electric sconces infused the barn with a dim glow that left the empty stalls in shadow.
Dr. Kasim, Oscar, Carver, Kwame, Tobias, and Solomon were gathered near the center of the barn. With the exception of their elderly leader, they were all dressed in simple black suits, with black collared shirts and black ties. Dr. Kasim was draped in a full-length black dashiki trimmed with ornate gold embroidery. Perched upon Dr. Kasim’s head was a matching kufi hat. The kufi hat’s embroidered design was so elaborate and striking that the doctor appeared to be wearing a golden crown.
The men stared at Martin in silence. The warm, brotherly smiles that had lured him so far away from home were gone. In their place were expressions so stern and frosty that Martin barely recognized the men.
There were also two black-garbed security guards flanking the main door. Both men wore hard stares and had handguns ready at their hips. During his stay Martin had encountered several members of Dr. Kasim’s private army, but these two he did not recognize. Martin watched as the two guards pulled the creaking barn doors shut, swung down a wooden latch, then retook their original positions.
Staring at those huge locked doors, Martin couldn’t help wondering if he would ever see the outside of the barn again.
Damon gave Martin a quick, supportive pat on the back, then he crossed to join Dr. Kasim and the other men. The instant Damon fell into their ranks, his face, like those of his colleagues, turned to stone.
Dr. Kasim, leaning on his walking stick, took a few steps forward. His steady, wizened eyes scanned Martin from head to toe. This inspection was slow and careful, as if the old man’s ghostly orbs could somehow scrutinize every cell in Martin’s body.
The unease gnawed at Martin. But he fought the urge to speak. Finally Dr. Kasim’s eyes met Martin’s. More tense seconds as the doctor held him with an unblinking stare. Martin could almost feel the doctor’s will. The urge to avert his gaze was overwhelming, but Martin held fast. He knew what would happen at any sign of weakness.
When the old man finally spoke, his voice wasn’t much more than a whisper, but each word still seemed to boom in Martin’s mind. “Brother Zantu, are you ready to restore your dignity and honor?”
Martin nodded.
“Speak up,” Dr. Kasim said.
Martin’s mouth was dry. He swallowed. Forced his lips apart. “Yes.”
“Are you ready to avenge the torture and murder of your African ancestors?”
Martin knew it wasn’t enough to just say what they wanted to hear. He had to sell it. Had to make them believe that he shared their passion. “Yes,” Martin replied with more conviction, not just in his voice but also in his stance, straighter, holding his head high. “Yes, Doctor. I’m ready.”
The faintest smile creased Dr. Kasim’s face. “Good.” The doctor turned to the right side of the barn and pointed his walking stick at the center stall. “The object of your vengeance waits for you in there.”
Martin felt a rush of dread. The Dutch doors on every stall in the barn were wide open, except for the stall that Dr. Kasim pointed to. Not only was that door closed, it was locked by two rusted slide bolts. Something was imprisoned inside that stall, and Martin felt pretty certain that it wasn’t a horse.
Dr. Kasim motioned the other men back, allowing Martin a clear path to the selected stall. Martin understood what he was supposed to do next, but fear froze his feet to the ground.
“What are you waiting for?” Carver said. “Open it.”
Dr. Kasim motioned Carver quiet, then turned back to Martin. “Go on, brother.”
The other men continued staring; he caught only the slightest nod of encouragement from Damon. The lawyer’s final words of advice resounded in Martin’s head: Whatever happens . . . be strong.
Taking the first step felt like pulling his foot out of wet concrete. But then Martin was moving. One heavy step after another. The crunch of dirt underfoot was almost as loud as his racing heart. Martin could feel the stares following him. He could hear the shuffle of their feet as the men converged behind him.
The instant Martin paused before the stall door, he heard a muffled whimper from within. The pitiful, terrified sound made Martin queasy. Be strong, Martin repeated in his mind. Be strong.
Dr. Kasim whispered behind him. “Th
ose bolts should open right up.”
Martin gripped the handle of the top bolt. The cold, corroded metal flaked in his hand. He yanked the bolt and it slid open with a dull bang. From inside the stall came a startled gasp and more whimpers. Martin did his best to ignore the sounds as he seized the lower bolt. He tried to slide it open gently, but the old bolt would not cooperate. Martin had no choice but to yank the bolt as hard as he could. It slammed open, evoking another feeble gasp from within.
“Good,” Dr. Kasim said. “Very good.”
A thick, frayed rope with a fat knot on one end served as a handle for the stable door. Martin reached for the rope, but Dr. Kasim stopped him short.
“Wait. Not yet, brother.”
Martin yanked back his hand to conceal its trembling.
“Turn and face us.”
Martin did as he was told.
The six men flanking the doctor resembled a jury of statues. Dr. Kasim signaled Oscar with a nod. Oscar stepped forward and paused directly in front of Martin. For the first time since entering the barn, Martin noticed that Oscar gripped a small, black leather case. Oscar flipped open the two silver latches but he did not open the case. Instead, he carefully laid the case across his open palms and held it out to Martin. The meaning of this gesture was unmistakable: You open it.
Oscar’s presentation of the case was executed with a solemn deliberateness that felt almost like a sacred offering.
Dr. Kasim nodded at Martin. “Open it, brother.”
Martin reached out and swung the lid up. The scent of old leather and saddle soap filled his nostrils. The case’s red silk lining made the black whip resting inside look like a coiled snake lying in a pool of blood. The whip’s entire tapering length was constructed of thick, tightly braided rawhide. And at the whip’s very tip, a mean frill of knotted leather strips.
Forty Acres: A Thriller Page 22
