'Gray.' With a pang of grief, Tess vividly remembered the compelling color of Joseph's eyes. Their intensity. Their charisma.
'But if the Inquisition came so dangerously close that the heretics abandoned Spain,' Craig asked, 'why do you think that the central nest is still in…?'
'Spain? Although the heretics came from France, they eventually considered Spain their homeland. We believe they returned. We've searched. But we haven't been able to find that nest.'
'Another question. And this one really bothers me,' Craig said.
The stranger motioned for Craig to continue.
'If Joseph Martin believed in Mithras, why did his fellow believers turn against him?' Craig asked. 'Why did they hunt him down and set fire to him in Carl Schurz Park? It doesn't make sense for them to turn against one of their own.'
'Ah, yes, Joseph Martin. Interesting. He'd have made an excellent informant,' the stranger said.
Tess felt a tremor of confusion. 'Informant? What do you-?'
'As my associates continued searching, they discovered something totally unexpected,' the stranger said. 'One of the heretics had bolted from the ranks. The deserter was appalled that his group was engaged in massive killing. He fled, determined to practise his religion in private. Cautious, he assumed many false identities, moving from city to city, aware that his former brethren would now consider him a security risk. After all, he knew too much, and if he revealed what he knew, he might have directed us toward his brethren. Obviously, from the heretics' viewpoint, the man who eventually called himself Joseph Martin had to be killed. So while we tried to find him, his brethren did the same. Los Angeles. Chicago. New York. We followed his trail. We found him. But my associates waited too long. They hoped that the vermin who tracked him would also arrive. My associates wanted many targets. Unfortunately, their plan didn't work, and Joseph Martin was killed.'
'Not just killed. He was burned!' Tess said.
'Of course. Why does that surprise you? Remember the torch of Mithras. The god of the sun. Of fire. That's why the vermin are so devoted to killing with flames.'
'Don't sound so righteous. They're not alone in that. Didn't the Inquisition also kill with flames?' Tess demanded.
'True. There is, however, a distinction.'
'Tell me about it!'
'Their fire, like the phoenix rising, sends their victims to another life, or so they believe. To them, death doesn't always lead to heaven or hell but rather to another stage in existence, a rebirth, a further chance for salvation. Reincarnation. One of the reasons they want the world to survive. So they can be reborn,' the stranger said. 'But our fire punishes, nullifies, and purifies, reducing sin to ashes. More, it gives the vermin a foretaste of the ravaging flames of hell.'
'Yes. That's what this conversation keeps coming back to. Hell.' Tess grimaced.
'Not only that.'
'What?'
'We have to go back to something else.'
'What?' Tess repeated.
'Just as I'm confident that you intend to keep your promise of silence, so I kept my promise. I've told you what I know. Now I repeat. I ask what I did at the start. Will you cooperate? To save your life, are you prepared to help us exterminate the vermin?'
'Save my life? Exterminate the…? I don't see how the two are related.'
'It's really quite simple.'
'Not to me, it isn't.'
'To prevent you from revealing information about them, the vermin will continue to hunt you. The only way to stop them is for you to help us complete our mission.' 'And how am I supposed to do that?' The stranger's gaze intensified. 'By presenting yourself as bait.'
TWENTY-TWO
Again Tess finched, the pain in her forehead sharper. 'But that means nothing's changed. I'll still be in danger!'
'I guarantee we'll protect you,' the stranger said.
'That's bullshit,' Craig said. 'You know you can't possibly guarantee that. The minute Tess shows herself, the minute the killers find out where she is, they'll organize an attack. They've proven how determined they are. The only defense I can think of is to get Tess to a safe house and surround it with policemen.'
'But how long will they stay there?' The stranger shook his head. They can't keep guard forever. It's too expensive. Eventually they'll be needed elsewhere. For that matter, how long will they manage to remain alert? After a few days, if nothing happens, it's human nature for a sentry to lose his edge, to start to get bored. And that's when-',
'Wait. I know how to save myself!' Tess interrupted.
'Oh?' The stranger sounded skeptical.
'There's an easy solution!'
'Really?' Now the stranger sounded perplexed. 'If so, I haven't thought of it.'
'All I have to do is tell everyone I meet. The police. Reporters. TV crews. Whoever. I mean everyone. About what's happened. About Joseph. About my mother. About the heretics and why they want to kill me. If their motive is to shut me up, after I've finished blabbing, they won't have a reason to shut me up. Because I'll have already told what they didn't want me to say! Don't worry. I promised. I'll leave you out of this. But your enemy-!'
'And yours,' the stranger said.
'Right,' Tess agreed, 'and mine. The bastards who killed my mother won't have a reason to keep hunting me. They'll be exposed. They'll be hunted. They'll have to go into hiding!'
'Tess' – the stranger bowed his head in despair – 'you still haven't understood.'
'But the logic's so convincing!'
'No,' the stranger said. 'In the first place, the vermin would want to get even. They'd do their best to kill you on principle, to punish you for the trouble you caused. In the second place, do you realize how outrageous you'd sound? The police, the reporters, the TV crews, they'd think you were deluded. In the third place, the information you'd reveal wouldn't make a difference. Suppose – against all odds – that the authorities managed to repress their doubts and actually, amazingly, believed you. What then? If we, with centuries of experience in hunting the vermin, still haven't tracked down and killed every one of them, what chance do you think the police would have? You've missed the point. Oh, yes, indeed. I'm very much afraid that you've missed the essential point.'
'Which is?' Tess demanded, furious.
'You.'
'What's so special about…?'
'You, Tess. Think about who you are! Think about your background! Think about your dead father!'
'What does he have to do with-?'
'Influence, Tess. I'm talking about influence. Suppose you did tell policemen, reporters, and… No matter. Whoever. When they didn't believe you, what would you do? Give up? Say "I did my best" and hide in fear that you'd still be attacked?'
'Of course not!'
'I ask you again! What would you do?'
'Keep trying. Keep struggling to avenge my mother's death and Joseph's death.'
'Exactly,' the stranger said. 'You'd use your influence. You'd demand that the friends of your dead, martyred father pay their debts of gratitude. You'd insist - at the highest levels of government – that those friends of your father cooperate. And they would, Tess. I believe they would. To satisfy you. To ease their guilty consciences for having sent your father to his death in Beirut for the sake of an illegal arms deal that would have tilted the balance in the Lebanese civil war and given the Christians power over the Moslems. But I told you – and I remind you – that the vermin have risen to the highest levels of government. We don't know who they are. We haven't been able to identify them. But believe this. Count on it. Your survival depends on it. As you keep insisting, you'll eventually encounter your enemy. You won't know it. You won't be able to identify them. But they'll know you. And they'll do their best to have you executed before you accidentally expose their network and possibly them .'
Tess shuddered. 'It never occurred to me. I never thought…'
'I hate to say this,' Craig murmured. 'He's right.'
'Of course,' the stranger said. 'So now you have
your choices. Leave. Keep your pledge of silence, except for what you already knew about the vermin. Or cooperate with us. Follow my directions. Help us discover the vermin at the highest level. Then permit us to do our duty and-'
'Killing. I'm so sick of killing.'
'I guarantee you wouldn't like the alternative,' the stranger said. 'The options are before you. Think carefully. Consider your future. Then make your choice.'
'There isn't a choice.'
'Be specific,' the stranger said.
'The way you put it, I'm forced to do what you want.'
'Exactly.'
'But are you certain I'll be protected?'
'On my honor,' the stranger said.
'I certainly hope you value your honor.'
'More than the vermin, Tess. And remember, we have an advantage.'
'What?
'The one true Lord is on our side.'
'I wish I shared your confidence.'
Tess spun, an abrupt sound jolting her nerves, the rectory's door being opened.
But a man who'd been standing guard didn't seem concerned.
Another enforcer entered, the man who'd driven the Porsche back to Mrs Caudill. 'Nice old lady,' he said. 'She even told her butler to drive me back to Washington. I got out fifteen blocks from here so he wouldn't know about the rectory.' He handed a paper bag to Tess. 'Before I returned the car, I searched it, in case you left anything that might attract suspicion. I found these under the Porsche's front seat.'
Despondent, Tess peered inside the bag, although she knew what she'd find – the two boxes of ammunition.
'Thanks.' Her shoulders sagged. The way things are going…' Her voice cracked in despair. 'It looks like I'll be needing these.'
JUDGMENT DAY
ONE
Two cars pulled up outside. The engines stopped. Doors were opened, then shut.
On edge, Tess warily studied the guard at the entrance to the rectory, who peered through its window, held his weapon at his side, and didn't seem concerned.
Footsteps approached. A moment later, four neutral-faced, trim, lithe men came into the vestibule. Two of the men Tess recognized, the driver and the paramedic who'd taken Priscilla and Professor Harding to the clinic.
The other two men she hadn't seen before. Presumably one had driven the UPS truck, the other the gray sedan, following, then veering from the row of vehicles as the group neared the rectory.
'You disposed of the truck and the car?' the stranger asked.
The latter two men nodded.
'In a parking lot at a shopping mall,' one of them said. 'Counterfeit license plates. Fake registration. No fingerprints. We even left the keys. With luck, both vehicles will soon be stolen.'
'Good. And surveillance? I take for granted-'
'We detected none. Our substitute car hadn't been tampered with. A clean exchange.'
'And what about…?'
'The funeral of our associates? It's being arranged. I regret, however, that we won't be able to attend.'
'As do I. But our prayers go with them.' The stranger lowered his head. After a solemn brief silence, he made the Sign of the Cross, exhaled, then turned to the driver and paramedic from the van. 'I'm sure Tess will want to know.'
'You bet I want to know. The clinic. What did the doctor say about Priscilla and Professor Harding?'
The first man made a reassuring gesture. The woman was given insulin. After she ate, she became alert.'
'And Professor Harding?'
The second man frowned. 'The diagnosis is a minor stroke. He's been given medication. Before we left, he managed to speak.'
'What did he…?'
'Three words. To his wife. With effort.'
'And what were…?'
'"I love you."'
Tess felt her throat cramp. 'My fault. It's all my…'
'No,' the stranger said. 'It's the vermin's fault.'
'You can't know how much I want to believe that. But if I hadn't gone to them for information, Professor Harding wouldn't have…' Tess glared. That's what it keeps coming down to, doesn't it? Fewer and fewer choices. Then only one. To cooperate.'
The force of circumstance,' the stranger said. 'And now, I'm afraid, it's time.' He gestured toward a phone on the dust-covered desk. 'Begin. Call your father's contacts. Demand their assistance. Tell them how helpless you are. Make them feel guilty because of their responsibility for your father's death. Among those who respond, at least one of them will be-'
The man who'd driven Priscilla to the clinic interrupted, 'This might be important. In the van coming back, we monitored the news on the radio. The fire and the corpses at the house in Washington are being linked to last night's fire, the identical tactics, the similar massacre in Alexandria. The police are…'
The stranger bristled. 'I don't care about the police. The phone, Tess. Pick up the phone. Call your-'
'Not just yet,' Craig said. 'I promised the police chief in Alexandria that I'd keep in touch.'
'That promise will have to wait.'
'Wrong. If I don't phone to reassure him, my career is finished. I could go to prison for failing to cooperate in a felony investigation. That's assuming I manage to stay alive, of course. I mean, why be optimistic? But I like my work. I'd like to keep doing it. However, there's one thing I don't like – not knowing the name of someone I talk to.'
'My name? A mere formality. It isn't important.'
'To me, it is.'
'Then call me…' The stranger hesitated. 'Yes. Call me "Father Baldwin".'
'Are you sure you don't want to make it Father Smith or Father Jones?'
'I believe "Father Baldwin" will do.'
'But it's not quite appropriate. Am I wrong, or do I sense a vague European accent? French perhaps?'
'Lieutenant, you finally asked one question too many. Pick up the phone. Reassure the Alexandria police chief, if that's what you feel is necessary for Tess to conduct her mission. Simply tell him you haven't been able to contact her yet. There's no need to worry about the call being traced. A black box routes the transmission through London and Johannesburg.'
'Thorough. I'm impressed.'
'We try. But then, after all, we've had hundreds of years of practise.'
'It shows.' Craig pulled a slip of paper from a pocket of his rumpled suitcoat. He studied a number he'd written on the paper, picked up the phone, and dialed.
At the same time, Father Baldwin pressed a button that activated a microphone, allowing everyone to monitor the call. Tess listened to static, to the click of long-distance relay switches, then a buzz as the call arrived in Alexandria.
Another buzz.
A man's voice answered. 'Chief Farley's office.'
'This is Lieutenant Craig from Missing Persons at NYPD. I believe he's expecting my call.'
'Damned right he is. Hang on.'
Click. More static.
Craig had been put on hold. He glanced at the man who called himself Father Baldwin. Then he reached to put his arm around Tess. 'I know it's tough, babe. Just stay calm.'
'If anyone else had called me that,' Tess said.
'It's what my father called my mother.'
'In that case, it sounds wonderful.'
Click.
'Chief Farley here. Where the hell have you been? I expected you to phone…'
'I know. A couple of hours ago. The trouble is, I haven't been able to find…"
'Theresa Drake. She's not my problem anymore. My men are still trying to make sense of what happened at her mother's house last night. The Washington police had a similar attack in their jurisdiction this afternoon. They want to know if the two are connected. But what I want to know is how the hell did the FBI get involved?'
'What?'
'They weren't invited, and I can't think of a reason why Melinda Drake's murder should be their business.'
At the mention of her mother, Tess winced.
'The FBI?' Craig said.
'Eric Chatham – the Bureau's direct
or himself – got in touch with me shortly after noon. He wants to talk to Theresa Drake. National security. Top priority. Confidential. Blah, blah, blah. Hey, I'm good at my job, and when an outsider tries to tell me how to… Never mind. I explained my arrangement with you. Now it's out of my hands. I have orders – high level government orders – to instruct you to forget about banging Theresa Drake to me and instead to phone Chatham. Three times this afternoon, he called to find out if I'd heard from you, to remind me to tell you to contact him at once. Immediately. Craig, what in Christ's name is going on?'
'Chief, I swear I wish I knew.'
Then, you'd damned well better find out. As Chatham says, now. The last thing I need is trouble from the FBI.'
'I hear you.'
'Well, while you're at it, hear this, Craig. Some day, you and I will meet, and you'd better be prepared to explain. Take my word, you don't want me pissed off at you. Because I'm a vindictive son of a bitch, and I'll make sure your captain's pissed off at you as well.'
'I repeat, I hear you.'
'What a holy hell surprise. Someone's actually taking orders from me instead of giving them to me. Phone Chatham. Here's his private number.'
Craig wrote it down.
'Get that bureaucrat off my tail,' Farley said. 'So I can do my job. So I can find out who murdered Melinda Drake!'
'I promise. It'll be taken care of.' Troubled, Craig set down the phone.
'So,' Father Baldwin said, 'it's already started.'
Tess frowned in amazement. 'You think Eric Chatham's part of the group that's trying to kill me?'
'Possibly. I told you they'd risen to top positions. But this might be coincidental,' Father Baldwin said. 'Did Chatham know your father?'
'Very well.'
Then he might be acting out of loyalty, to try to protect you.'
Tess raised her hands, intensely frustrated. 'There's just one problem with that logic.'
'Oh?' Father Baldwin waited.
'Only the enemy knew I was at my mother's house last night.'
'Not true. There was Brian Hamilton, and of course, my associates.'
'But Brian Hamilton's dead!' Tess said. 'My point hasn't changed. The Alexandria police chief learned I was being hunted because Craig told him. But how did Chatham find out?'
The Covenant Of The Flame Page 35
