by Greg Iles
“Let’s nail this arrogant son of a bitch.”
Chapter 22
Dr. Lenz and I have been logged on to EROS for nearly two hours. He went into Microsoft Word for five minutes to compose an analysis of the “Strobekker” note and fax it to Daniel Baxter at Quantico, but aside from that, we’ve been trolling the private chat rooms like bass fishermen on a slow morning, casting spinners under likely looking trees and piers, dragging artificial worms across dark bottoms. With Jan Krislov’s conditional approval, Miles has given Lenz the ability to monitor rooms that the subscribers believe to be private. The psychiatrist seems surprised by each new encounter, whether a steamy tryst in Regency England or a postnuclear tête-à-tête in some virtual retropunk dive.
All my system queries on the Strobekker account have come back: Subscriber not currently logged on. The characters scrolling across my screen turned to alphabet soup long ago, and the dot-matrix printer recording them now sounds like a herd of cocaine-addicted gerbils.
Suddenly my eyes come clear and a numbing tingle heats the back of my arms. “Move over!” I tell Lenz, jumping up from the Toshiba.
Before he can even get out of his chair, I’m clicking the Dell out of the room he was in and into the room I was monitoring.
“What is it?” he asks over my shoulder. “Is it Strobekker?”
“Maybe,” I reply, reclaiming my seat at the Toshiba.
“Just read and follow along.”
Lenz takes his chair and leans forward until his nose is almost against the screen of the Dell. “ ‘Levon’ and ‘Sarah’? Those aren’t his aliases.”
“I think ‘Levon’ is him.”
“Why hasn’t Turner called, then?”
“Read the screen, damn it! Read ‘Levon.’ ”
“This stuff about God?”
“Yes! Look how quickly his responses pop up. And not a single error. Now shut up and read!”
I focus on the dialogue moving down my screen:LEVON> If it were given to you to create God, what qualities or powers would you give him?
SARAH> What do you mean? I can’t create God. God already exists.
LEVON> But if he _didn’t_ exist. How would you conceive of him?
“What are those marks?” Lenz asks. “I saw them in your printouts. Emphasis?”
“Yeah. Like italics.”
SARAH> Well . . . I’d make Him all-powerful, like He is.
LEVON> Is he?
SARAH> Of course.
LEVON> And what of the Devil?
SARAH> What about him?
LEVON> Doesn’t Satan have any power?
SARAH> Some. The power to tempt, I guess. But God has more.
LEVON> Then why does evil flourish in the world?
SARAH> Because humans are weak. We choose evil.
LEVON> But why does God _let_ us choose it? Why have evil at all?
SARAH> Well, to test us. Because of free will.
LEVON> But if God made us, Sarah, why must he test us? If God is all-knowing, he must know ahead of time that we are fallible. So the test is meaningless, isn’t it?
SARAH> You’re confusing me. Not everyone chooses evil. Some choose good.
LEVON> Of course. We all choose good _some_ of the time. But we choose evil sometimes as well. Haven’t you done things you were ashamed of?
SARAH> I don’t like this conversation.
LEVON> I’m sorry. I’m a nosey parker, aren’t I? What about this? If you were creating God, what would he _look_ like?
SARAH> Well . . . fatherly, I guess. Strong. Strong but fair. Just.
LEVON> Why not motherly? Was your mother not just, Sarah?
SARAH> Of course she was.
LEVON> But . . . ? She wasn’t strong?
SARAH> She was strong. In her way. But
LEVON> But what?
SARAH> Not strong like a father. Not strong enough to protect me.
LEVON> Protect you from what? From your father, perhaps?
SARAH> What are you trying to do?
LEVON> I didn’t mean to offend you, Sarah. But sometimes I sense things. Pain. I sense pain now. In you I sense something dark. Hurtful. No one likes to think about those spiritual cubbyholes, but we all have them. I would make God very different than you would, Sarah. I would make God a woman. A mother. A strong mother. Strong enough to make up for the weakness of fathers. Strong enough to _defy_ fathers. There are women like that in the world.
SARAH> Was your mother like that?
LEVON> No. My mother was like a silk veil in a strong wind.
“It is him,” Lenz whispers, his eyes glued to his monitor. “I remember something like that from your transcripts. Jesus.”
“Stay cool, Doctor.”
“We’ve got to trace him!”
“Baxter’s guys are taking care of that. I’m a hell of a lot more concerned about this woman he’s talking to.”
“He’s still got a zero error rate,” Lenz says. “He’s not close to her.”
“You’d better fucking hope not.”
“Quiet, Cole! We’re missing it!”
Suddenly a frightening thought hits me. I tap out a system search on the Toshiba and my fears are confirmed: Brahma isn’t using the Strobekker account. I grab Lenz’s arm. “Baxter’s techs can’t trace this connection! It’s not Strobekker’s account! They don’t know what to look for. Call EROS right now and give them the new alias and the name of the room!”
Lenz hits a speed-dial button on the nearest phone. I read as fast as I can to catch up with the text that appeared while we were talking.
LEVON> My name is not Levon, Sarah.
SARAH> I know that.
LEVON> Would you like to know my real name?
SARAH> I don’t know. You frighten me a little. I like talking to you. But you see too much. I’m afraid you want too much.
LEVON> Too much what?
SARAH> Honesty.
LEVON> How can one want too much honesty, Sarah?
SARAH> You know what I mean. It’s not human nature. We need little white lies. To get along with each other.
LEVON> And to get along with ourselves? SARAH> Is that so terrible?
LEVON> Doesn’t God demand total honesty, Sarah?
SARAH> That’s different.
LEVON> How?
SARAH> God is God. He accepts us no matter what. He forgives us.
LEVON> I would accept you no matter what.
SARAH> That’s easy to say. But you don’t know. You don’t really know me.
LEVON> I don’t need to. Nothing you could possibly say or do would offend me.
SARAH> Are you so sure?
LEVON> Yes.
SARAH> But acceptance isn’t the same as forgiveness. You can accept someone but still be disappointed in them. You can live with them but never forgive them.
LEVON> Not me, Sarah. I’m not like that. SARAH> How do you mean?
LEVON> In my eyes you could never do anything that required forgiveness.
SARAH> What do you mean?
LEVON> I mean whatever you could possibly think of doing, and then have will enough to carry through, that would be your nature. I would never wish you to go against your nature.
SARAH> But that’s crazy. That’s like saying everything is okay. What if I were a mass murderer? Or a rapist?
LEVON> I would accept you.
SARAH> But what if I were a child molester?
LEVON> I would fold you into my arms, Sarah. It’s not my duty to judge you. If that is your inclination, so be it. It is someone else’s biological imperative to stop you from molesting children. That duty belongs to the parent. And if a parent were to kill you for doing that, I would accept his or her behavior as well.
SARAH> But what if _I_ was the parent? The parent _and_ the molester? That happens, you know.
LEVON> Alas, it is the rule. But then it is the imperative of the other parent to stop it.
SARAH> But what if the other parent _can’t_ stop it? What if she’s too weak?
What if she’s afraid?
LEVON> Your tears are scalding my heart. If someone is too weak, they either enlist help or they fail.
SARAH> Help? No one can HELP in situations like that! The police don’t DO anything.
LEVON> Who said anything about police? One should always look first inside oneself. That is where help lies.
SARAH> But what can a woman do in that situation? A weak woman? A woman who’s afraid of guns?
LEVON> Pour strong whiskey on the father’s face and torso while he is sleeping, then set him afire with a cigarette.
SARAH> My God. Did you just think of that?
LEVON> Yes. But I’m sure it’s been done many times. There are other ways. So much misery builds up in the world because people are afraid to act. They would rather endure. That is the nature of Homo sapiens. To endure unmitigated hell and hope that if we sit through enough of it things will change for the better. But they never do. Look at the Russian peasants. The Jews in Germany. The Armenians. One must be willing to risk everything at every moment for survival. And the more you have to lose, the more willing you must be to fight at a moment’s notice. If a man accosts you on the street, push him away. If he curses you, knock him down. If he is stronger than you and attacks you, shoot him.
SARAH> Are you really like that?
LEVON> I do not tolerate impudence. My father taught me that.
SARAH> Are you very rich?
LEVON> Yes.
SARAH> That explains it.
LEVON> NO! I am rich _because_ I have never taken abuse from anyone.
SARAH> I don’t know.
LEVON> You think GOD takes shit from anyone, Sarah?
SARAH> That’s sacrilegious!
LEVON> Is it? Isn’t that what the Old Testament is really about? Isn’t that what the Book of Job says? I AM GOD AND I DON’T TAKE SHIT FROM ANYBODY! I DON’T EVEN TAKE _QUESTIONS_!
SARAH> That’s awful!
LEVON> But true, yes? God in the Bible is sort of like Don Corleone, isn’t he? He makes people offers they can’t refuse. And minor bosses like Pharaoh have faith in their own power, and they wake up with a horse head in their bed. Or locusts. It’s all the same.
SARAH> I can’t believe you’re writing this. Aren’t you afraid?
LEVON> Of what? A lightning bolt? Now that I think of it, God isn’t really like Don Corleone. He’s more like a film director. We think we’re his actors. We think he’s in charge of us, that he has a Plan, that he wants good things for us. That he is slowly working toward some divinely inspired vision that we actors are too dim-witted to see. We think that’s why we exist. But that isn’t it at all, Sarah. We exist because GOD WANTS AN AUDIENCE. What’s the point of being the Alpha and the Omega, the be-all and end-all, if there’s no one around to applaud? No one to cower in fear or kneel in supplication? Once in a while God shouts like Bob Barker: “SARAH! COME ON DOWN!” And we think we matter for a while. But God is the only actor, Sarah. That is the secret. We are the audience.
“This guy’s scary,” I say under my breath.
“Shut up, Cole. This is a forensic gold mine.”
“Was Miles at EROS when you called?”
“That was him on the phone.”
I feel a sudden release of tension, an inexplicable gladness that Miles cannot possibly be the man behind “Levon.” Already the prompt looks different to me.
SARAH> I think that kind of talk
LEVON> What? Don’t be afraid to speak. SARAH> It’s what the Devil would say! To confuse me!
LEVON> You think I’m Lucifer, Sarah?
SARAH> Maybe you are.
LEVON> I’m flattered. Did you know that Lucifer is Latin for ‘light-bringer’? Something to think about.
SARAH> Are you trying to scare me?
LEVON> It would probably frighten you more if I told you I know your real name and address.
“He’s never done that,” I tell Lenz. “He’s never told anyone that.”
“Shut up, Cole!”
SARAH> This isn’t right.
LEVON> Calm down, Sarah. I was only joking.
SARAH> I don’t like it. I’m frightened. How do I know you don’t know my name?
LEVON> Everyone’s protected on EROS, Sarah. That’s what we pay all the money for. I just wanted you to feel my strength. To know I mean it when I say I do not take abuse from anyone. And I think you need someone like me. Someone who could take care of you. Protect you.
SARAH> You make me sound so weak.
LEVON> We all have needs, Sarah.
SARAH> What do you need?
LEVON> Love.
SARAH> What kind of love?
LEVON> Unselfish love. The love that a good mother gives her child. Could you love someone like that?
SARAH> I think I could. I have a lot of love to give.
LEVON> I sense that, Sarah.
SARAH> I’m not beautiful, Levon. I want to tell you that now, because I couldn’t bear to go further and have you building up all kinds of expectations I couldn’t fulfill. I mean, I’m not fat or anything. I’m about five-seven, a hundred and twenty-five pounds.
LEVON> You don’t have to tell me this, Sarah.
SARAH> I want to. I _have_ to. I’m forty-six years old. My hair is brown, a little mousy maybe, but I have really good skin.
LEVON> You’re a healthy girl, aren’t you?
SARAH> I take care of myself, if that’s what you mean. All I’m trying to say is that I don’t look like Cindy Crawford or anything. But I’m not unattractive. I mean I get asked out at work and everything.
LEVON> Do you accept?
SARAH> Not often. I’m sort of skittish about dating. I got hurt by someone a while back, and I don’t think I’m completely over it.
LEVON> Someone at work? A superior?
SARAH> How did you know?
LEVON> A married man.
SARAH> Yes. Though it still hurts to admit it. I feel so guilty about his wife and children. He said he loved me. But he just wanted
LEVON> To use you.
SARAH> Yes. I felt so dirty. Sometimes it seems my whole life has been like that. I try to have faith in men, but it just never works out.
LEVON> You are unstained, Sarah. You cannot be dirtied by such men.
SARAH> It makes me feel nice when you say that.
LEVON> It is but the truth.
SARAH> I don’t want you to get the idea that I have something against sex or anything. I mean, from what I said about my skittishness. I mean, I feel strange writing this, but I do get stared at a lot. I mean, because of—Well, men stare at my chest. I’m fairly well endowed in the bosom department. Not that they’re huge or anything, but I never had kids, you know, and so they’re still, well, firm and high. I’m not conceited about it. I don’t even like them sometimes. It’s like people don’t see me because of them, you know? It alienates female friends too. But I mean, for the right man, if he liked that and all, it might be nice for both of us. Would you like that?
LEVON> The needs of the body are secondary to me, Sarah.
SARAH> Oh. You mean, like sex isn’t that big a deal to you?
LEVON> On the contrary. Sex is of primary importance.
SARAH> I’m not sure I understand.
LEVON> I speak of a passion you have yet to experience. Spiritual, refined, prolonged sexual union, a melding of heart and mind and flesh. A marriage of the sacred and the profane.
SARAH> Wow. That sounds, I don’t know, poetical or something.
LEVON> But my time has ended for tonight, Sarah. I must go now.
SARAH> Oh. Will you be back tomorrow?
LEVON> Perhaps. I am never far away. Remember, you are far stronger than you believe yourself to be. You need no one.
SARAH> I think I need you. I mean it. Can you tell me some more about this spiritual sex? I mean, like describe it?
LEVON> I must go now, Sarah. When you most need me, I will be there.
SARAH> I’ll be waiting.
LEV
ON> I know you will. Good-bye.
SARAH> Bye. And thank you.
“You see that?” I ask. “Christ. One session and he’s got this woman ready to do anything he wants.”
“He simply played to her needs,” says Lenz. “As I intend to play to his. A little mysticism, a little danger, a little sex.”
“Forty-six years old and simpering like a schoolgirl. She was practically begging for a chance to tell him where to get her.”
Lenz taps his fingers on the desk and exhales heavily. “That’s common with serial killers. Many times the victim acquiesces to a situation that puts her in harm’s way. Often when she’s in an environment where she feels no immediate danger, such as this one, she makes a critical mistake. The last one she’ll ever make.”
“It’s like she’s on standby for murder.”
“No question about it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Calm down, Cole. He’s not close to her yet. I’ll call Turner back and get ‘Sarah’s’ real identity. Then Baxter can have the local police department wherever she lives do a drive-by at her residence, use some pretense to verify that she’s okay.”
“You really think that’s enough?”
Lenz punches the speed-dial code for EROS. “Within four hours we’ll have FBI surveillance on her around the clock. If she’s in a major city, less than one hour. Daniel’s already got the budget approved.”
“You’re relying on the zero error rate to tell you he isn’t close to her. But what if he’s changed his methods? He already changed his victim profile, you said. What if he’s changed his hunting method too? Shit! We’ve got to shut down the network!”
“Calm down, Cole! You sound like a rookie cop.”
“Okay . . . okay. I’m just trying to cover every angle.” Lenz speaks to Miles in measured tones. Even hearing only one side of the conversation, I can tell the phone trace went nowhere. Glancing over to make sure Lenz isn’t watching, I send a copy of the entire Levon-Sarah thread to my personal mailbox in EROS’s server.
“Sarah’s legal name is Phoebe Tyler,” announces Lenz, stabbing another speed-dial code. “She is indeed forty-six years old and a resident of Aurora, Illinois. The Chicago field office can have a team at her house in thirty-five minutes. They’ll use a ruse to ensure that she’s okay, then organize around-the-clock surveillance. Daniel? Arthur here. . . .”
