Grenier’s hands shot out and gathered the fragments to him. When he finally looked up his expression was so cold and so hateful that Richard began to tremble.
“Let me kill him,” Andresson said eagerly.
Sadness and regret closed on the back of Richard’s throat. He hadn’t thought he would die. He had really thought they would reach him in time.
“No,” said Grenier.
“But he played you. He’s gotta have the cops coming.”
“His associates are coming, but they’ll never be able to get help. He’s a rogue cop out of his jurisdiction, they have no proof, and I’m Mark Grenier.”
“And we want these people here why?” Andresson asked. Richard shared the psychopath’s confusion.
“For reasons you don’t need to know about. But in the meantime we may as well convince Richard to tell us where he left the sword. It will be useful even after—” Grenier broke off as if suddenly aware he was saying too much. “Where is the sword, Richard?” Richard carefully set aside the ice pack, took one final sip of cognac and remained silent. “Well, all right. Actually I’d just as soon hurt you,” Grenier said cheerfully.
Richard briefly wondered if he could take what was coming. But I manipulated Andresson into beating me, and I endured that. And he remembered what he’d said at his mother’s casket. I’m not weak. It sure as hell hadn’t been meant for her. He had been the only person in that room who could listen and hear. Richard took a deep breath and met Grenier’s eyes. He’d hold on.
Weber worked the phone from the moment they reached cruising altitude, and had gotten nowhere. No local cop was going to roll into the World Wide Christian Alliance on the say-so of an Albuquerque cop. Now, if he could get them any evidence that a police officer had been kidnapped, but of course he mustn’t harass Reverend Grenier while obtaining that evidence.
“I won’t kid you, this ain’t good,” Weber said to the group. “If we were rolling up with a line of cop cars there’s less chance of Richard getting killed. Flunkies tend to give up when they see cops, and not want to face a capital murder charge, especially not of a police officer.”
“What about the FBI?” Kenntnis said. “You’re a federal judge.”
“What’s the allegation?” Oort asked. “I think my son’s being held prisoner by one of the country’s foremost evangelists?”
“Maybe your wife,” Weber began. “We could shuck and jive about new evidence that the suicide wasn’t—”
“What about nuclear terrorism,” Rhiana said quietly. Everyone looked at her. She focused on the judge. “I’m a physics student. I was building a nuclear bomb for them.”
“You would testify to this?” the judge asked.
“Yes.”
“They’ll want to take you into custody,” Oort warned.
“They’ll have to come to Grenier’s compound to do that, won’t they?” Rhiana said with a small smile.
“Will they come?” Kenntnis asked. “The current administration has close ties to Grenier.”
“And after 9/11 the new FBI motto is CYA,” Oort replied. “An abject apology for inconveniencing Mr. Grenier is preferable to congressional hearings over the failure to prevent a nuclear attack. Oh, they’ll come.”
Since they were only moments away from landing, the call had to wait. As soon as they were wheels down at the private airport in Virginia, Judge Oort turned on his cell phone. It started ringing immediately. He answered as they hustled across the tarmac.
“Hello? … Pamela, I can’t talk right now. I have to make a call—”
Angela could faintly hear a woman’s voice. She sounded stressed, panicked and pissed, but Angela couldn’t distinguish any of the words.
Oort stopped walking, and as she watched, the blood flowed out of his face. Weber, Kenntnis, Cross and Rhiana closed ranks around them.
“No, I can’t say when I’ll be back. You handle things.” He listened and two dull pink spots blossomed high on his cheeks. “What I’m doing right now is pretty damn important!” He snapped his phone shut. “That was my daughter, Pamela. My house in Newport has been burgled and set on fire. The fire department managed to save it, but when they got inside they said it had been trashed. Ripped apart.” He slowly took the hilt out of his overcoat pocket and gazed down at it thoughtfully.
“Looks like those nuclear terrorists heard you were after them,” Weber said. Oort met the cop’s gaze and nodded. He opened his phone and called the FBI.
Weber was a rapidly dwindling figure standing next to the big Land Rover. Angela, peering down through the side door of the helicopter, thought he gave them a salute before climbing into the car.
Even with the headphones, the chatter of the blades was a bone-shaking presence.
“Poor guy,” Angela said. “One of us should have gone with him.”
“The FBI was not going to allow any of us to enter the compound with them. They will take Weber, even if they treat him like shit,” Kenntnis replied over the comm.
“Boss,” said the pilot, “the FAA is grounding air traffic around our destination.”
“Damn, I thought we’d timed this better,” Kenntnis grumbled. “So fly real low,” he told the pilot.
The man’s thumb shot up. “They’ll think we’re a car.”
Angela could see the pilot’s teeth, white and straight as he grinned beneath his helmet. She hated him for his cheerfulness. She hated helicopters. She hated Richard for taking this insane risk. She hated Grenier for making it necessary for Richard to take this insane risk.
She touched the rough material and ceramic inserts in her vest, and then the barrel of the shotgun nestled beside her seat; party favors from Weber’s duffel bag of mayhem.
They swooped down the road. The bare branches of the trees trembled under the assault from the rotors, and a few withered but stubborn leaves that still clung to them were whirled away in tatters. The few cars they encountered swerved in dismay at the sight of a large helicopter skimming just above their roofs.
Oort senior had been totally silent, but he stirred, leaned into Angela and indicated for her to lift her earphones. She did. He yelled into her ear. “Who is he? How can he arrange all this?”
“Money,” said Cross in a perfectly normal tone of voice that somehow carried over the noise of the motor and blades. Oort’s eyes widened. “It’s the real magic power.”
“Boss,” came the pilot’s voice. “We’ve got an FBI helicopter closing fast. If I leave the road, I can take us over that ridge and straight down into the compound.”
“Do it.”
“You’re going to have to get me out of the hoosegow later,” the pilot warned.
“I’ll handle it,” Kenntnis said.
Angela forced herself to keep her eyes open, but she was sure the skids scrapped the rough granite outcropping as they roared over the top of the bluff. Suddenly another helicopter drew up next to them. The armored, helmeted and heavily armed figure in the doorway of the chopper made hand signals. The bottom fell out of Angela’s stomach as their pilot took them straight down the cliff. Below her spread a beautiful snow-covered valley dotted with blue-green evergreens, bare-branched oaks and chestnut trees. Their pursuer overshot them. Their helicopter buzzed the peaked roof of a three-story house.
There was the sharp, stinging scent of an ammonia ampule being broken beneath his nose. “Richard.” The voice was soft and reasonable.
Richard jerked back to awareness. The room spun around him, and slowly things came back into focus. He was tied in a chair. His ankles were tied to the chair legs. His wrists were swollen and blood slick from his maddened attempts to break free. It hadn’t taken long for his confinment phobia to kick in. His pants were unzipped and his genitals pulled through the opening in his jockey shorts. His balls ached and burned. He bit back a whimper.
Grenier stood over him. “We searched your father’s house. The sword isn’t there.” He picked up the ends of the frayed electrical wire, and brushed them agai
nst each other. Electricity arced. Richard’s back arched in anticipation.
“My people were very unhappy. I’m afraid they burned the house down. It’s unfortunate about your father. Now, where is the—”
A pulsating roar shook the house. Followed closely by another.
Helicopters, Richard realized. I did it. I hung on.
Grenier dropped the wire, walked to the study window and looked out. “Ah, they’re here.” He suddenly frowned. “Why are there two—”
Willie entered the office. “Boss, the front gate called. The FBI is here.”
“This wasn’t part of the plan,” Grenier said, his frown deepening. “Stay here with him. We still don’t have the sword so I’d like to keep him alive, but if it looks like they’re about to rescue him—kill him.”
Grenier left. Willie pulled out his .45. But he didn’t look happy.
The helicopter slalomed between a couple of tall pines kicking up snow. It dropped into a clearing and landed hard.
“Go! Go! Go!” the pilot yelled, and Angela figured he was mentally back in Iraq.
Kenntnis slid the door open and they all piled out. Angela managed to remember her medical bag and the shotgun in the mad scramble.
They scurried in five different directions like quail exploding from a covey, heading into the cover of the trees. The judge stuck close to her, but she soon lost sight of Rhiana, Cross and Kenntnis.
“Great, leave the two ordinary humans on their own,” she gasped, as they paused under the low sweeping branches of an evergreen. They stood on a deep carpet of richly scented needles free of any snow.
Oort carefully parted the branches and looked. “The house is only a few hundred feet to our left.”
“Let’s go.” She glanced back at him and couldn’t help adding, “Think you’ll still be a judge after today?” To her surprise a small smile played across the thin mouth.
They ran for the house.
“Cross and I will scout,” Rhiana said. “You wait here. That way if Cross’s … feeling is right you’ll be safe.” She pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll call you when we’re sure it’s okay.”
Kenntnis hesitated and glanced over at Cross. The three of them were pressed against a thick hedge. “I’d rather stay with you,” Kenntnis said.
That show of insecurity, almost fear, shook Rhiana’s resolve. But if she didn’t go through with it no one would ever believe that she could have done it. She wouldn’t be the one they had worked so long to create. She fanned the embers of anger and resentment as she said, “We need to know the extent of the magical incursion. Only Cross and I can do that, and if we run into something we don’t want to be trying to protect you too.”
“Who made you queen? You’re not in charge here,” Cross snapped.
The embers became flames. She gave the homeless god a thin smile. “Well, you’re pretty useless right now, but maybe you can help me a little.”
Kenntnis nodded. “She’s right. We need to know how far Grenier has gone.”
“What about Richard?” Cross asked.
“He’s got his father,” Kenntnis said.
Rhiana nodded and ignited a penny. It led the way. She didn’t look back at Kenntnis.
Willie hadn’t raised the gun yet and that gave Richard a small flicker of hope. Also Willie seemed to be smarter and less vicious than Bruce. Richard’s throat was so raw from screaming that he wasn’t certain he could make a sound. He tried, a squeak emerged. He tried again, harder, for the sound had brought the Willie out of his thoughtful funk.
“Please, it’s just … worse … for … you … if you … kill … me.” The words were a thread of sound.
Somewhere down the hallway they heard the thunderous roar of a shotgun discharging. Willie’s head snapped up. The .45 was lifting.
The door to the study flew open. Richard couldn’t turn to look. There was the sound of a pump working, a steel clash that said death was coming.
The chair was solid wood, heavy. With his last strength Richard threw himself hard left. The chair listed, teetered and went over with a crash. At the same time guns bellowed. The exertion had Richard’s vision narrowing to a dark tunnel. His last sight was of the front of Willie’s chest, exploding into hamburger as the shotgun pellets ripped into him.
Rhiana ran through the thin blanket of snow toward the cliff face. The penny danced in the air in front of them.
“What the fuck is it sensing?” Cross panted behind her.
“I don’t know. I guess find out when we get there. It’s powerful, whatever it is.” She darted through a modified shoji gate into a small dell shielded on one side by a spur of gray granite.
“Yeah, no shit, I feel like I’m swimming there’s so much magic.”
Wind chimes hung from the thin birches around the perimeter. Even though there was no breeze a dissonant overtone hung like a sigh in the cold air.
It was a sculpture garden of glass. Green, gray, red, purple, black, pebbled, swirled and clear monoliths, some with straight angles but more often twisted lines, stood in the dell. In front of some the snow had melted away, revealing matted brown grass, and in front of one a char of ash.
“What the fuck is this?”
Rhiana stopped, turned slowly and stared at him. Cross looked down to where the snow was melting from beneath her feet.
“Ohhh, fuck.”
Rhiana smiled, enjoying his fear. Payback time had finally come. She spread her arms wide. Cross’s splinters, his deadly brethren, flowed out of the sculptures and through her body. She became the lens, focusing them into a single ribbon of power. The bands of pulsing color enveloped Cross and forced themselves between his lips. The human form bloated and swelled. The belly burst through the dirty jeans and flannel shirt. Soon it no longer resembled a human, just a mass of viscous colors, twining and coiling.
Cross’s wailing fear and rage as his essence was diluted flowed hot into her. As their minds touched, Cross read the full magnitude of what they planned, and fear became despair, unleashing a jolt of power so great that it knocked Rhiana to the ground. The fractals blew apart and vanished. Cross was gone.
A shadow bubbled out of a purple-colored monolith. It resolved into Madoc.
“That was impressive,” he said and held out a hand to help her to her feet.
“Thank you.”
“All set?” he asked.
“Kenntnis isn’t carrying the sword.”
He seemed disappointed but not surprised. “You rarely achieve perfection. I do have one tiny question about another deviation from perfection. Why is the FBI at the gate?”
“It made everyone more comfortable. And deaths means more power.” But Rhiana couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Yes, but the components for the bomb are here,” Madoc said.
Rhiana covered her mouth with a hand. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t think … I thought it was just a ruse.”
“It was … partially. But we had intended to have you detonate it. You know enough now that you wouldn’t have been hurt, and we could have ushered in the Armageddon that the humans are so eager to enjoy.”
“Isn’t that going to happen anyway?” Rhiana asked.
“Yes, but a nuclear bomb exploding in the United States would have started the wars much more quickly. Ah, well, I’m certain the monkeys will find ample reasons to kill each other.” Madoc caressed her cheek and twined his hands in her hair, shaking her head from side to side. “So you want your little human alive. That’s all right. You shall have him if that’s really what you want.” He dropped a kiss onto her forehead and laughed. “You can have anything you want if you pull this off.”
Chapter THIRTY
Hands were on his face. Richard remembered them being larger the last time they’d held him. He opened his eyes and looked up into his father’s face.
“Papa,” he whispered, and his voice broke. “You came. I tried not to tell them I knew you would come it hurt so bad they burned the house I lost my ring.”
The words ran together.
“Shhh. Quiet. Angela, help me. These cords are embedded in his skin.”
Then Angela was there. “Hold the shotgun. Watch the door.”
“I don’t know how to use a gun,” his father said.
“You don’t need to. It’s a shotgun. Brace your back against a wall and pull the trigger.” She pumped it and handed it to the judge. “The shot disperses widely. It will hit anything in the general direction you’re pointing.”
Kneeling next to Richard, she opened her bag and pulled out a scalpel. Her hands were cool on his abraded skin. He gazed unbelieving at her gamine face. She cut the cords, but relief soon gave way to new agony as blood flowed back into Richard’s hands and feet.
They pulled him to his feet. Richard fumbled at his crotch, trying to tuck himself away. Angela took command, and soon had him zipped. They got him over to a couch and laid him down. Angela broke one of the darkened mirrors with the butt of the shotgun. The judge knelt next to Richard gently chafing his hands.
“You’re going to be all right. The FBI is coming. These people are going to pay.”
“The sword. Do you have it?”
“Yes.”
The judge pulled it out, and Richard clutched it to his chest. Angela hurried over, carrying a large piece of glass. She opened her case and took out a square of folded aluminum foil and a Dairy Queen straw. The foil peeled back to reveal a small folded white paper. Richard and Robert watched, bemused, as she poured out two neat lines of cocaine onto the glass.
She positioned the straw. “Snort,” she ordered.
“Are you crazy?” the judge said.
“I’m a cop,” Richard said at the same time.
“Analgesic, and upper. He needs both real bad now.”
“His mother,” the judge began, and laid a hand on hers.
She pushed it away. “Look, if he becomes an addict I’ll pay for the Betty Ford Clinic myself, okay? But he won’t.” She smiled warmly at him. “He’s not the type.”
The Edge of Reason Page 33
