Soon

by Jerry B. Jenkins

“You’re misguided, Angel,” Mort said, and Paul was struck that he had come so close to her name. “Your heart is in the right place, but it’s not right to try to convert people unless they have no religion. My girls already have faith.”

  Paul called the main number of the Babylon and asked to speak to the chief of security.

  Angela said, “I have faith too, so why are you trying to convert me?”

  Paul asked security if room 2202, immediately to the right of 2200, was occupied.

  “Two gentlemen are registered in that room, Agent Stepola. Our motion and heat detector tells us they are not currently there.”

  Paul moved quickly down the hall, using the universal key to slip into 2202. The men were reasonably tidy, and housekeeping had already cleaned the two-bedroom suite. The gigantic flat-screen TV was embedded in one wall, and on the other a wide, chrome column rose from floor to ceiling with a sliding panel in the center.

  “By the time we leave for the ceremony,” Mort was saying, “you will not feel forced. But you will have been converted. God made the substance that will free your mind.”

  “Peyote?”

  “Precisely.”

  “That’s nothing but mescaline, and natural or not, it’s still illegal.”

  “According to the laws of men. But can you fathom the presumption of man trying to outlaw something God created?”

  A call came through Paul’s receivers. He rushed to the back bedroom and slipped into the closet so as not to be heard through the wall. “Stepola,” he said.

  “Sir, the occupants of 2202 are on their way up.”

  “Detain them. Don’t let them into this room.”

  “Sorry, but we noticed them too late. NPO is here also, by the way.”

  “Keep them downstairs for now. I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Paul hurried to the door and peeked out the peephole. Two suited men were getting off the elevator; the taller one was black. Paul rushed back into the bedroom and crouched by the door. He heard a key and watched as the main door opened and the men entered. The black man turned on the television and settled into a chair while the other kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the couch.

  Paul didn’t want to startle them, so he thought about phoning from the closet and telling them he was here and why. But he noticed both were armed. Before he did anything, he wanted to know which side they were on. He stayed and listened.

  “I’d like to at least see her first,” the tall black man said.

  “Me too, but Morty said just sit tight.”

  “All we do is sit, Jimmy.”

  “What’re we supposed to do if she doesn’t cooperate?”

  “I don’t think he cares. He doesn’t want to know.”

  “They in there?” Jimmy said. “I don’t hear a thing.”

  Jimmy moved past the other man, who sat watching the mute TV, and stood by the service door. “They’re talking, Danny,” he whispered, “but I can’t make it out.” He returned to the couch. “I’m starving. You want something?”

  “Sure. Whatever you’re getting.”

  Jimmy phoned in their order.

  Paul was in noman’s-land. It was three against two, and Angela was neither armed nor trained, and she was bound. The problem was, to kill one he’d have to kill all three. Maybe that happened in the movies, but it rarely did in real life.

  “He shoulda used us to grab up the girl,” Danny said. “But no, we would make too big a scene. He had to do it himself.”

  “Well, he did, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, and we’re just yesterday’s celery, waiting here—”Jimmy laughed. “We’re what? Yesterday’s celery?”

  “Or whatever they say.”

  Paul could hear Mort still trying to sell Angela. “See, with peyote your mind goes to a different dimension, and God speaks to you.”

  “You’re going to have to force them down my throat.”

  “I wouldn’t want to do that. I want you to see that this is a monumental moment in your life. You may have thought you were serving God before, but you’ll hear Him speak today.”

  “Tied up and against my will?”

  “That’s just a precaution. We’ve got an hour, and I can’t sit here holding a gun on you the whole time.”

  Jimmy rolled off the couch and stepped into the bathroom. Paul pulled his side arm from the leg holster and crept up behind him, waiting. As soon as Jimmy pulled up his zipper, Paul pressed the barrel of the gun into the base of his neck. “Not one sound,” he whispered, reaching for Jimmy’s gun. He patted the man down and found no more weapons.

  “How many pieces is your friend carrying?” Paul said, and he could feel Jimmy shaking. Jimmy held up one finger. “If you’re lying, you get it first. Now I’ll follow you out. You tell Danny, very quietly, to put his gun on the floor and kick it to me.”

  As they shuffled out to stand behind Danny, Jimmy squeaked, “Danny, let me see your gun.”

  The big man didn’t turn. “Hmm?”

  “Danny?”

  Danny turned and instinctively rose, reaching for his gun.

  “Don’t,” Paul whispered. “I can put you both down in a half second.”

  “Put your gun on the floor and kick it over here,” Jimmy said. “Please, Danny, do it.”

  Danny, scowling, did as he was told, never taking his eyes off Paul’s. With Jimmy’s piece in his pocket and Danny’s in his left hand, he quietly told Danny to lie facedown on the couch. “Any noise, any signal, that’s all the excuse I need.”

  He had Jimmy take the sheet off the bed in the back bedroom and tear it into strips. “Tie Danny’s wrists and ankles together behind him, then connect them with another strip. I’m going to check your work, and if it isn’t perfect, you won’t be going home tonight.”

  Jimmy was so enthusiastic he made Danny madder. He tied his wrists behind him first, then his ankles, then lifted Danny’s feet and struggled to tie them together, leaving him in a most uncomfortable position, feet up behind him, bound to his wrists. The connector between his wrists and ankles made it impossible for Danny to even squirm.

  Paul had Danny open his mouth and told Jimmy to wrap several lengths of strips around Danny’s head and between his teeth like a bridle bit. He could emit no sound. Paul tugged at all the bindings.

  “Good job, Jimmy,” Paul whispered. “Now put your left hand between your legs from behind and your right hand between your legs from the front.”

  Jimmy squinted as if he didn’t understand, but by squatting slightly, he managed it. Paul cuffed his wrists, then nudged him onto the floor where he flopped onto his back. Paul tied his ankles and put a gag on him. Paul frisked Danny one more time to confirm he’d had only the one weapon.

  The playing field was finally even. Mort began sounding as if he were at the end of patience. “Listen, Angel, you can have a life like you never dreamed.”

  “Like Lucy’s? No thanks.”

  “C’mon, missy. She’s on the hard stuff. If she’d stayed with the natural, she could be sitting where you’re sitting.”

  “What a privilege,” Angela said. “And where does she get the hard stuff, Morty?”

  “Jonah. The only reason she gets it from me is that I don’t want some scumbag ripping her off. She could get off it if she’d switch to peyote and do what I say spiritually.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Angela seemed to be trying to engage Mort in small talk to keep him from force-feeding her the drugs.

  Paul jumped when he heard a noise behind him, coming from the chrome column in the far wall. The panel slid open to reveal a wide dumbwaiter, and there sat Jimmy and Danny’s room-service order. Paul removed the tray and set it on the floor, then pushed the Received button, which closed the panel.

  Paul studied the mechanism, realizing that every penthouse suite had to be equipped with the same. He examined the wall that adjoined 2200 and found nothing until he reached the bathroom. There, jutting from the wall three feet inside a utility closet was
what had to be the back side of the dumbwaiter that served the next room. It was painted over, but when he lightly tapped it with a fingernail, Paul found it was metallic.

  He moved back out into the living area and tried to determine how far from the chrome column Mort and Angela sat. He decided they were far enough for what he had planned, knowing Angela’s life depended on it.

  Back in the bathroom closet, Paul found the back of the column enclosed by screws and a thin sheet of metallic ductwork. His car key was all he needed to painstakingly and quietly remove the back panel. It opened onto the dumbwaiter, where there was a horizontal floor every five feet or so. A flange on each floor could apparently be programmed to trip a lever, which would open the sliding door in the room and display the delivery.

  Paul squeezed a leg between the exposed floors and tested the load-bearing strength of the platform. It floated some but seemed solid enough. He gingerly slithered all the way in until he was crouching, facing the sliding door that opened into 2200.

  Kitchen smells wafted through the shaft from twenty-two floors below. And it was steamy. Paul knew it was only a matter of time before someone on a floor below placed an order and the whole mechanism would move. He had to act now.

  “We leave in about half an hour, so I want you to willingly take the prescription of God,” Mort said. “It will be the most wonderful feeling you have ever had. And God will confirm what He told me, that you are to be mine. And you will assist me on a mission for Him that will bring many souls to heaven.”

  Paul slipped his weapon from the holster under his pant leg and reached for the lever, his face dripping.

  “Receive these in your mouth.”

  “I won’t.”

  Mort was clearly angry now. “You will or you’ll regret it. Open your mouth.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t do it.”

  “Maybe you’d like a gun barrel in your throat. Open up.”

  Angela apparently obeyed.

  “Now chew them.”

  Angela whimpered. “No!”

  “All right,” Mort said. “I’ll fill your mouth with water, and you’ll have to swallow to breathe.”

  Paul waited a beat, hearing Mort leave the room. He pushed the lever and the panel slid open. Angela was taped to a chair. Paul put a finger to his lips. Her eyes bulged and she spit out the dope. Paul slid behind a door between her and where he heard water running.

  The water stopped. Mort returned, glass in one hand, gun in the other. Paul was behind him now.

  Mort knelt before Angela. He stuck a thick finger into her mouth as she tried to squirm away. “You spit them out?” he said, incredulous. “I had hoped we wouldn’t have to do this the hard way.”

  Paul edged close and raised his weapon over his head. He brought it down so hard on Mort’s forearm that he heard both ulna and radius crack as Mort’s gun went flying. Mort screamed and flopped onto his side, staring terrified into Paul’s gun.

  With his free hand, Paul freed Angela. “Call security,” he said. “Tell them we’ve got Jonah and two of his lackeys in custody and to send up the NPO.”

  27

  BEFORE PAUL COULD HUSTLE Angela away, the press showed up. Paul called Bob Koontz, who predicted he would be feted in Washington again. “Great job, buddy. I can’t wait to hear the details.”

  Finally back at her hotel, Paul walked Angela to the elevator and could see she was still deeply shaken. She melted into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Fearing she might collapse, he held her tight. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him hard. He froze, not responding, much as he wanted to.

  Angela pulled back, smiling. “You’re shy in public,” she said. “I need to shower and change for the meeting tonight. Would you mind giving me a ride?”

  “To the meeting? Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “Today was grueling, I have to admit. But the outcome more than confirmed my mission here. And Paul, thank you for rescuing Lucy. You saved her life.”

  That night, as Paul drove her to the bungalow, Angela slid over and sat with her hand on his leg. “We’ve been through a lot together,” she said, gazing at him. “Nothing like a shared trauma to let you really know someone.”

  If only that were true . . .

  “Angela, we need to talk.”

  “I could talk to you forever.”

  “You’re a wonderful person. Brave, beautiful. I—”

  “The feeling is mutual, Paul. I’m sure you know that.”

  “Thanks, but I haven’t been totally up-front with you.”

  “Uh-oh,” she said. “This sounds like a brush-off, and we haven’t even gotten started yet.”

  “It’s not a brush-off, Angela. It’s an I’m-not-available.”

  “What? Now you’re going to tell me you’re married?”

  “I am.”

  Angela pulled away.

  “I’m sorry,” Paul said. “I should have said something.”

  “What, you didn’t think to? You couldn’t tell what was happening, or didn’t you think I might fall for you?”

  “Fact is, Angela, I fell for you too.”

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better? At least it wasn’t one-sided?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

  She sat shaking her head. “So you NPO guys don’t wear your wedding rings on the job.”

  “Protocol.”

  “How convenient. So how was I to know?”

  “I should have told you.”

  “You sure should have.”

  “Forgive me, Angela.”

  “That’s the least of it, Paul. This is going to take some getting used to.”

  They sat in silence for most of the rest of the way.

  “Drop me off a couple of blocks south,” she said finally.

  He stopped, but she didn’t get out immediately.

  “You have a family too?” she said.

  “A girl and a boy. Seven and five. Jae and I have been married ten years.”

  “So you’re very married.”

  “I am.”

  “You had no business even letting yourself fall.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Paul said.

  “Well, good for you. Feel bad. Regret it awhile. Miss me. And go back to your family. I’ll survive.”

  Paul drove slowly back into the city and to his hotel, then sat in the parking lot, thinking. Angela was everything Jae wasn’t, at least everything Jae hadn’t been for a long time. And he’d had her in his arms. Why was he staying in his marriage?

  Jae had been unfair, but maybe she had a right. Paul thought back to when they were new to each other, when they would drink each other in with their eyes, live for each other. That had lasted a few years, until he had begun to yield to the thrill of adventure. It had seemed fun at times, but he had to admit that, ultimately, it was a shallow, bankrupt thrill—a sugar rush instead of a decent meal.

  Straight was right. With Paul’s new faith and new life came new responsibility. Paul had an idea what kind of a husband he should be. What was he going to do about his marriage? There were no options. He had to work it out. Rebuilding with Jae sounded like a chore when his heart wished he could start over with Angela. This would be a true test of his faith.

  The news on the car radio trumpeted the arrest of Jonah, the religious figure who had duped hundreds and had been responsible for the overdose deaths of sixteen. Paul decided to see what it looked like on TV. Besides bringing down a monster, he was grateful for what it would mean to him as a mole within the NPO. The brass wouldn’t know the difference between Jonah and his misguided followers and the real believers.

  The walk from the elevator to his room seemed to take forever, and he realized how bone-weary he was, both from the tension of the day and his talk with Angela. He felt as if he could sleep twelve hours. Maybe he would.

  He pushed open his door, but before he reached for the light he noticed the thick silhouette of a man sitting on his bed.
Paul dropped to a crouch and pulled his weapon.

  “Put it away,” a familiar voice growled. “You wouldn’t shoot your own father-in-law, would you?”

  Paul held his breath. “Tell me Jae and the kids are all right.”

  “Sit down. They’re fine.”

  Paul collapsed into a chair. Then what? Did Jae show him the letter? Have I been tailed? Am I busted?

  “You’re going to tell me who she is. And then you’re going to get rid of her.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You think I’m ignorant, Paul? You used a woman in this operation today.”

  “She was working locally. Had a contact with my suspect.”

  “Yeah? Well, you know what? She was in the background in some of the TV reports. Looked real familiar to me. Know why?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “I’ve seen pictures of her before.”

  Paul fought to maintain composure. “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. What’s her name, Paul?”

  “I never share names of informants.”

  “She’s an informant now?”

  “She was in this case.”

  “What was she in Washington? and Toledo?”

  “Sir?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “No! I don’t know what you’re—”

  “You certainly do, Paul.”

  “You’re so smart, you tell me.”

  “Don’t use that tone with me, boy. That’s Andy Pass’s daughter. We had her on file.”

  What?

  “How do you know she’s not a subversive like her old man? You’d better clean up your act, Paul. This is my daughter you’re cheating on.”

  “I’m not cheating at all—on anyone.”

  “Fix it, Paul.”

  Of all the things to be caught for . . .

  “But that’s not why I’m here,” Ranold said. “There’s trouble brewing in Sunterra. Shaping up to be a terrible crisis.”

  “What’s going on?”

  The old man scooted up so he could rest his back on the headboard. “Christians. The regional governor himself made an appeal to the agency. The Zealot Underground task force will be involved, but you don’t have the know-how or manpower—or the guts—for a major operation like this. It’s Special Projects.”