“Maybe they’re more cunning than we give them credit for,” Darcy said.
“I don’t think so. If they’re zealots, they’ll believe they’ve got God on their side and go charging in. At least, Father Webber would. Father Putnam tried the devious course, failed, and got a tongue-lashing for his troubles.” I smiled. “I don’t think they know there are three of us in here.”
“Then how did they track you down?” Richard asked again.
“Well, they seem to have a fairly sophisticated operation.” I ran through everything that had happened since the night of my father’s death. The only thing that stuck out in my mind was…
I put a hand to my neck.
“Damn,” I said as I pulled off the necklace Father Webber had given me this morning. I pointed to the silver cross. “I’ll bet it’s got a tracking device in it. I took it because he said it would protect me against a Watcher’s powers.”
Darcy frowned. “That one doesn’t. If it was blessed, you’d have felt it the moment you used your abilities.”
I threw the cross to the floor. “It was a trick, and I fell for it. He couldn’t know if Lawrence would survive the capture or not, and he wasn’t going to take the chance that I wouldn’t run if the Watcher transferred to me.”
Richard said, “But what difference does it make now? We’re surrounded.”
“The spirit trap exists around the outside of the building,” I said. The two of them nodded. “But not between rooms. If you could get into another part of the motel, you could hide. I’ll surrender, saving my wife, and then you two can escape once they’ve gone.”
The young man gave Darcy a questioning look, but she shook her head. “I’m not going to let you sacrifice yourself for us.”
“Then come after me and get me out. I can tell you exactly where Father Webber’s facility is. He’s got a country home on an acreage south of Chicago. It’s secluded. A perfect spot for his purposes.”
Darcy looked doubtful, but Richard nodded at her. “At least we’ll have the element of surprise on our side. I noticed a plumbing access door under the sink in the bathroom. I don’t think anyone is in the room next door.”
“All right,” Darcy said finally, and I gave her directions to Father Webber’s compound.
Richard went to the bathroom and quickly removed the panel. He kicked the panel in the adjacent bathroom, and the two of them hurried through, remembering at the last moment to take their tablet computer and backpacks with them.
To Darcy and Richard, I said, “Good luck,” as I replaced the panel and tightened the screws.
A loud thumping came from the front door.
“Mr. Chase,” Father Webber said. “We know you’re in there. We are running out of time. If you don’t cooperate, we’ll have to take drastic measures.”
Taking a deep breath, I strode over to the front of the room and called out, “Don’t hurt Andrea.”
“Don’t make us,” the priest replied. “Open the door, take four steps back, and lay down on the floor. Do as I say, Mr. Chase. I would rather avoid any unpleasantness. It doesn’t make me happy to harm an innocent, but I will in the name of our cause.”
I believed him. He was a true believer, and styled himself a defender of his faith. Whatever actions he took for his holy ends would be justified, from his viewpoint.
I drew the curtain back a crack to see for myself. Andrea was visibly frightened, and one of the burly priests had his meaty hand wrapped around her arm. I felt the urge to unleash the elemental power in me, but I knew the only thing I would accomplish would be to wreck the room. The effect would not extend beyond the boundaries of the spirit trap.
Succumbing to the Watcher’s influence would not only lead me down a dark path, as had happened to Lawrence, but it would not save Andrea.
“Where’s Hollingsworth?” I asked, not seeing the detective. “Is he all right?”
“Not that I believe you care, he suffered a concussion,” Father Webber said. “He’ll be fine in a day or so. Now stop delaying and comply, Mr. Chase. We need to bind the unclean spirit inside you before you do any more damage.”
Resolving myself to it, I went to the door and opened it, letting it swing wide. Instead of stepping back, I stood in the frame.
“It’ll be all right, Andrea,” I said. “They won’t hurt you.”
“Kyle,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry. The police guarding me told me Lawrence was dead, and it was safe to go back home.” She shot a glare of hatred at Father Webber. “They were waiting there for me.”
“Just do as they say.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “It’ll all work out. I promise.”
“Enough,” Father Webber said, his face turning red with impatience. “Step back and lay down on your stomach.”
I did as I was ordered, and for a moment, I had a thought to use my power on the first priest to step inside.
Father Webber made a grunt of approval as I lay prone. “Good.”
He wasn’t, however, a fool. He held out a complex leather harness to Andrea. “Now, Mrs. Chase, if you will go to your husband, please, and put this on him.”
I cursed under my breath. He wasn’t taking any chances. He knew I wouldn’t harm Andrea.
“Once he’s bound securely, make him drink this.” Father Webber gave Andrea an ornate glass vial.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Chrism,” the priest answered. “Holy Oil. You will drink it, Mr. Chase. Consider it something of an antidote to the evil that’s infecting you.”
Holding the harness in one hand and the vial in the other, Andrea looked into the motel room at me, the reluctance evident on her face.
“Go ahead,” I said to her. “Do as he says. It’s the only way.” Casting a hard look at Father Webber, I said. “You better let her go after this.”
The priest nodded solemnly. “I give you my word as a man of the cloth, she shall have her freedom, and no harm will come to her.”
Though I didn’t fully trust him, I didn’t have much choice. “Andrea,” I said. “I love you.”
The tears she’d been struggling to hold back sprang from her eyes, and she let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Kyle.”
“It’s all right.”
Wiping her cheeks with her sleeve, Andrea stepped through the door and knelt by my side. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
“Just go ahead with his instructions,” I said, and raised myself to a kneeling position, then put my arms out so that she could slip the harness over me. There was a tight collar with a short chain extending to the cuffs. Another strap wrapped around my elbows and pulled my arms back. I was completely immobilized from the waist up.
“Is that too tight?” Andrea asked.
“No.” I looked into her eyes. “I’m so sorry about everything I put you through over the past year. I was such an idiot. I should have been a better husband for you.”
“Oh, Kyle.” She started to cry again, and turned sharply when Father Webber called out in a harsh voice.
“Now the chrism!” he said.
Andrea unstoppered the vial and tipped the rim to my lips. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
To my surprise, it had an odd but not entirely unpleasant taste. At first, I couldn’t swallow, and let the contents sit in my mouth. Fighting against the impulse to spit it out, I gagged it down.
For the first few seconds, nothing happened, and then, as if I’d drunk liquid fire, the burning sensation spread through my guts, and I felt like I was going to die from the intense pain.
Barely aware of my surroundings, it was only in between waves of agony that I realized the priests had all entered the room. They were chanting a prayer of some kind, but I couldn’t make out the words through the roaring in my ears. It felt as if my blood were boiling, and my skin were melting.
Still on my knees, I flinched backward when Father Webber came at me with a sharp knife in one hand. Was he going to finish me off?
; With his other hand, he held the back of my head, and pushed the tip of the knife into my forehead, dragging the blade down in a sharp cut. Then he made another slice from side to side. The pain was excruciating, and I felt a trickle of blood roll down over my eyebrow.
He produced a rosary on a chain, and wiped the blood from my forehead with it. Then he slipped the rosary over my head and let it rest on my chest, out of reach of my bound hands.
A fresh wave of agony shot through me, and it felt as if my innards were being turned inside out.
After a few moments, the ritual was over. The pain receded, and I collapsed, completely exhausted.
The priests surrounded me and hefted me up. Together, they carried me to the priest’s van and hauled me inside. Dumping me in one of the bucket seats, they strapped me in with the belt. Outside the van, Andrea watched, her face a ruddy mess of smeared makeup.
“Let her go,” I said, the words coming out in a hoarse growl.
“You held up your end of the bargain,” Father Webber said as he climbed into the van and sat in one of the bucket seats beside me. “We have no more use for her at the moment.” He waved a hand at the priest standing beside Andrea. The man pulled her away from the van, pointed her in the direction of the motel office, and gave her a light push to send her on her way.
She took a few stumbling steps, then stopped and looked back.
Andrea locked eyes with me one more time, and she said, “I love you,” just as the van door closed.
Father Webber said, “The moment you cease to cooperate, however, our deal is over. For her sake, I hope you continue to be compliant.”
Though I was emotionally and physically spent, the only thing that kept me going was knowing that the priests hadn’t suspected Darcy and Richard had been hiding in the next room. They would come and find me.
Father Putnam got into the front passenger seat while one of the junior priests got behind the wheel. We pulled out of the parking lot and started down the highway.
It was only a few minutes later I realized we weren’t heading back to Chicago or south to Father Webber’s compound. Instead, the driver was traveling north, toward Wisconsin.
“I thought you were taking me to your facility?” I said.
Giving me an odd look, the priest answered, “Of course I am.” Then he seemed to realize the source of my confusion. “You don’t think I would build the prison of the Watchers where I live, do you?” He lifted the corner of his lip. “I assure you, your eternal home is in a much more secure location, well away from prying eyes.”
Darcy and Richard would be looking for me in the complete opposite direction.
I felt my last shred of hope fade.
Chapter Twenty-Six
We headed north toward Wisconsin, avoiding the interstate and its tolls. I was strapped to the seat of the van.
My imagination ran riot. What kind of prison had Father Webber set up to contain the most powerful entities in the world? Was it a dungeon, where I would be tortured? Was it like one of those super maximum federal penitentiaries, built out in the middle of nowhere?
Aside from the month I’d spent in jail after punching Dr. Mescalli, I didn’t have much experience with prison. Once, in my first year as an intern, I’d volunteered to spend a day at one Chicago’s correctional facilities to give inmates flu vaccinations. The infirmary was in a separate building, and though under-equipped, the only differences between it and an examination room in the hospital were the bars on the windows and the armed guards supervising the prisoners.
I couldn’t imagine how Father Webber had managed to create a private prison and keep it hidden so long. He couldn’t have achieved this by himself.
Richard had mentioned that Father Putnam admitted they were operating on their own. Their organization was not sanctioned by the Church. I wondered if that was a pressure point.
“What will your superiors at the Vatican will think once they find out what you’re doing?” I asked.
Father Putnam turned in the front passenger seat and looked at me quizzically, but Father Webber didn’t react visibly.
Conversationally, the old priest said, “I wouldn’t worry about that, if I were you. As a matter of fact, very soon, you won’t have to worry about anything.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, only then realizing Father Webber had deflected my question and put me on the defensive.
“Rest assured,” he said in a soothing voice, “I have no intention of causing you any more harm than necessary.”
I fell silent, trying not to panic at the fear of the unknown. I had to get as much information as I could, while I could. I had no idea what I would do with it, but I couldn’t just sit back and give up.
Operating a private prison would be expensive. I couldn’t imagine how much the building and the construction of the cells would cost. Staffing and security were another concern. Not only would they have to deal with a prohibitive payroll, they’d have to have a screening process to ensure no one even whispered about the prison’s existence.
I wondered how the priest had managed to fund such an undertaking. Though he seemed to have a lot of property, I didn’t think Father Webber had the kind of money needed for this operation. Someone had to have bankrolled him.
We cut west and headed for the shoreline of Lake Michigan before we hit the Wisconsin border.
At the end of a long, wooded drive, we arrived at a private dock, where a small motorboat waited. About a mile out, a large cargo ship floated on the water.
“Is that the prison?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Yes,” Father Webber said. “Mobility suits our purpose, and since we never dock at any port, the likelihood of attracting the attention of the authorities is negligible.”
“That thing’s got to be worth millions.” I gave the priest a look of incredulity.
“With the equipment on board, we estimate a hundred million or so,” he said matter-of-factly.
“How can you possibly afford it?”
“We have several generous benefactors,” he explained. “We also take contributions from those unfortunate souls who have unjustly gained from their unholy passengers. Some of them acquire a great deal of wealth while possessed.”
“You steal from the Watchers’ hosts,” I said.
“Our lawyers assure us our acquisitions are nothing less than perfectly legitimate.” He glanced at Father Putnam, who nodded.
To me, the balding priest said, “We have a transfer agreement being drafted was we speak. You’re due to inherit your father’s house—he doesn’t have any other assets.” He lifted a corner of his mouth. “I’d like to thank you for donating the property to further our cause. We’ll issue a tax receipt, of course.”
“Bastards!” I said in a sharp hiss.
The driver stopped the van, and all the priests got out. Four others, who’d been following in another vehicle, approached. They pulled me out of the van and escorted me to the motorboat.
The roar of the engine and the sound of the hull slapping against the water drowned out any conversation we might have had. Within minutes, we arrived at the ship.
A dozen other priests crewed the vessel. They all wore the same style of black suits with white collars as Father Webber.
How large was their organization?
Once they’d brought me on board, two priests put their hands on the ship’s bulkhead and began to pray. I realized they would have to maintain a constant spirit trap around the ship, in case any Watcher discovered the prison and attempted to board.
Father Webber and the other priests led me below. Following a narrow corridor, we arrived at a large hold.
We entered, and it was only then that Hollingsworth’s words came back to me when he’d described the facility: chilling.
Rows upon rows of cubicles lined the floor. Inside each compartment was a human-sized cryogenic chamber. I didn’t have to count; I knew there were two hundred of them there, and I could
see that there were at least twenty of the chambers activated.
“You’ve frozen them,” I said, gasping.
“For all eternity, we hope.” Father Webber took a step in front of me and surveyed the hold. “I can think of no better solution available to us. We can’t risk the hosts dying of old age, disease, misadventure, or for any other reason. The unholy spirit inside them would simply evacuate the corpse and find another vessel.” He motioned to the chambers. “Now, they can do no harm. They are, as the Book of Enoch prescribed, bound forever until the day of their judgment.”
While the original intention of cryonics was to preserve someone who suffered from a terminal condition until medical science had advanced far enough to both return the patient to an animated state, and cure that person, Father Webber had no intention of using the technology for that purpose.
Since Hollingsworth first mentioned the facility, I’d had the notion that the prison would be more along the lines of a conventional penitentiary. This was like something out of a horror novel.
Being locked up for the rest of my life in a cell was a fate difficult enough for me to accept, but knowing now that the rest of my life would be counted in millennia rather than years, suspended in liquid nitrogen, I felt an icy needle of panic run through my spine. The thought of spending eternity doomed to a dark abyss from which there was no return frightened me to my core.
I struggled in my bonds, but they were too secure. Two of the priests held my arms tighter to prevent me from trying to run.
“As I assured you, Mr. Chase, you won’t feel a thing.”
One of the technicians, also in the black suit of a priest, saw Father Webber and hurried over.
“There’s a power issue with the chamber we set out for him.” As he spoke the last, he nodded in my direction.
“What’s the problem?” Father Webber leveled a disapproving glare at the man.
The priest said, “It’s a simple matter of replacing a transformer.” He licked his lips nervously. “We should have it fixed in a couple of hours.”
The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels Page 57
