Chapter Thirteen
Mary Silo sat in her usual place at the back of the stage with Jerald Arbeid, her husband’s assistant and salaried brown-noser, seated next to her.
It wasn’t Sunday, but the sanctuary was filled to capacity anyway, standing room only, with an overflow crowd out in the foyer. In the meeting rooms, too, and even outside, people all watching on closed circuit TV if they couldn’t be inside.
The events in Los Angeles had created an excitement akin to Christmas morning in Reverend Hannibal Silo and Jerald. They talked in rapid, girlish tones when alone in her presence.
It was all Mary could do not to grin as she sat there on the stage and pretended to listen to her husband’s sermon.
But that would have been spotted. The drugs Hannibal had fed to her kept her placid, complacent, and emotionally numb. Normally she never grinned.
Not anymore. So she just couldn’t let him or anyone else see her grin…yet.
And her grin wouldn’t be over her husband’s performance, but over her own plans.
She imagined what she’d do once she exposed her husband’s actions to the world and brought down him and his aspirations to ascend to the presidency.
It’d be an added bonus to get rid of that weasel, Jerald.
Over the past couple of months, she’d managed to wean herself off all the medications her husband had forced her to take for decades. It’d been difficult to maintain the charade, but every time she’d felt herself falter, her will weaken, she’d remembered the greater purpose and forged on.
And she now had a secret cell phone he didn’t know about, a burner that had a voice recorder feature.
She’d been uploading secret audio recordings to a free online storage account she had set up through the phone. No way she could have done it with the computer in the living room at house. She suspected despite her infrequent use of the computer there that Hannibal likely had keystroke logging software installed to track her every move, or to see what anyone else had done on it, such as her nurses.
No, this was her little secret, her cache of damning evidence only she knew about. She wished she could get video of Hannibal and Jerald talking, but that would be difficult, if not impossible. For starters, he didn’t know she even had the phone. She’d snuck away during a hair appointment when her nurse was buying their lunch and purchased it.
Fortunately, where they lived they could access a public sat-link signal. And Hannibal had no way of knowing what she was doing.
It was the most freedom she’d had since college, when Hannibal had snared her.
No, I let myself get snared.
In retrospect, she could look back and see her other option would have been to stand up to Hannibal, and take whatever scathing rebuke her parents would have given her for what happened. All the while, pressing charges against Hannibal for having her drugged.
He’d been there on a charity scholarship. Her parents’ family reputation alone would have gotten police action.
But no. She’d been stupid and naive and let Hannibal run all over her then, and run her life ever since. She’d been more concerned about her reputation, what people would say about her, what her parents would think, instead of punishing Hannibal for his actions.
Not anymore.
Now she would do the running, far and fast away from him. One day, she’d snuck into his room while her nurse was on the phone.
Of course, he’d had his banking passwords and information written down, as he’d always had, in his desk. He was a pompous idiot who didn’t think anyone would dare try to steal from him.
And her bedroom and bathroom were the only rooms in the house under video surveillance. Not his.
She’d used her phone’s camera to snap pictures of the password and account lists. Here and there, she’d checked on the balances via her phone. Yes, she was still listed on all of them, especially the ones where she’d inherited money from her parents upon their deaths.
It shocked her how much was in them. Far more than she ever imagined.
She’d give Hannibal that much, he hadn’t splurged their money and put them into debt. He’d turned the church into a profitable venture.
Even more so now that the world was in crisis like never before. China nuking North Korea had driven a massive flood of fresh sheep into Hannibal’s churches all over the world, and they brought their money with them.
The good thing was, she could live for a hundred lifetimes, or more, on the money in just one of those accounts.
All she had to do was rid herself of Hannibal Silo.
As Hannibal finished his sermon to a rousing standing ovation, Mary remembered to don her placid, doped-up lopsided imitation of a smile and softly clap, the way she always did. Jerald always stood for the ovation, but Mary never did.
Her husband had paraded her around as his fragile wife. Everyone gave her pitying looks and spoke to her as if she was a total idiot.
Before, she’d simply let their words wash over her without listening to them, years of practice at smiling and nodding serving her well.
Now, it was as if rusty barbed wire dragged across her flesh. It took every ounce of will she had not to break out screaming in rage and frustration.
Can’t you see what a sham he is? Can’t you see what kind of monster you’re wasting your money on?
Smile and nod, Mary, was what she told herself.
Later, once she was free, there would be plenty of time to cry and scream. Yes, even swear.
For now, she had to carefully play her part. Fake her way through life the way Hannibal had been faking his.
Because if she didn’t, no telling how many innocents would pay. And those were lives she did not want on her conscience.
* * * *
Once Jerald led her backstage following the sermon, he left her at the bathroom door. That was her habit, to use the toilet after the sermon.
Now, she wanted to do that even more, to prepare the phone and activate the voice recorder function. She was very careful to dump all the recordings once a day to her online storage account. If Hannibal ever caught her with the phone, she didn’t want her only evidence disappearing. And if he did catch her with the phone, and she didn’t have any current recordings on it, she could simply lie and say she’d just found it and had forgotten it was in her pocket. It was a cash burner, no name or information needed.
She supposed he could track it back to the store next to her hair salon, but if things came to that, she would escape well before he discovered that.
As long as she kept up her act.
She was still alone backstage when she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. Keeping up her act, she slowly drifted over to the chairs and sat to wait.
It wouldn’t surprise her if Hannibal had installed a video camera backstage to watch her. Or have someone observe her from some concealed vantage she didn’t know about.
Nothing surprised her anymore about the man.
Had he simply stopped at bilking people, she would have let it go. He didn’t force money from people. Well, he did extort some people, but that wasn’t her concern. Parishioners willingly parted with their tithes.
But the girls.
When Mary overheard his plans taking shape with Jerald about selecting girls to become his new concubines and bear him children…
She knew she had to act.
She wouldn’t allow him to ruin their lives the way he’d ruined hers. And dammit, for better or worse, he was still her husband even if he wasn’t much of one.
But she wouldn’t let him forget that.
He’d taken her life from her, her happiness, her dreams of motherhood.
She would take this dream from him if it was the last thing she did, by God.
Eventually, Jerald returned to the backstage area. “Oh, sorry. Your husband is out front shaking hands.”
Of course he is.
She slowly nodded, the only reply she knew he’d expect from her.
After a moment of that, he cleared his throat. “Okay. I’ll go ask him what he wants me to do with you.”
As if I’m an annoying old dog.
She slowly nodded.
Well, that night’s recording would be a waste. She didn’t dare take the phone out of her pocket and turn it off for fear of being noticed. One day she’d had a fright when it had started vibrating in her purse after she’d gone into the bathroom following a sermon. It was obviously a wrong number, but fortunately she’d had the ringer turned off or it could have blown her plan.
After that incident, she took care to make sure she turned the vibrate mode off as well.
Another few minutes alone, and then Jerald returned. “He said to bring you out front.”
She took her time, remembering that her drugged-up self didn’t immediately respond to commands. Slowly, she stood and drifted over to Jerald, who turned and led her back out onto the stage and down to a side set of stairs. Up the side aisle, which had cleared out of people, and out to the foyer.
Oh, yes. There was Hannibal, holding court in the middle of a group of financially well-endowed parishioners, if their designer clothing was any indication.
Which, in her experience, it usually was. Early on, Hannibal had taken great pains to learn about those kinds of things, about spotting people with money, even if they dressed plainly. There was always some hint about them. Maybe not designer clothes, but sometimes their hair was always perfectly styled, or the wife carried an expensive handbag, or used the finest make-up available. There was always a splurge somewhere.
And if that didn’t work, there was always Hannibal’s extensive network of informants to tell him.
Not that he shunned the poor. No, despite his private feelings on the matter, he made a public point of never turning away from someone regardless of what their status in life appeared to be.
As he had taught her early on, you never knew who was watching.
And that was one reason people loved him. For all they could see, he seemed to genuinely live the life he preached.
If only they could see behind closed doors.
Hannibal looked as if he’d just noticed her standing there. “Ah, there’s my love now. I’m so sorry, dear.” The group parted as he extended his arm toward her.
After the noticeable delay, she slowly drifted to his side, forcing herself not to recoil in revulsion when he draped his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, but I do need to get my wife home. She insisted on coming with me tonight, not wanting to miss the service, and I just couldn’t refuse her.”
One of the women smiled up at Hannibal, adoration painted across her flushed cheeks. “You are such a good man, Reverend.”
“Aw, thank you. But I cannot take the credit. I would not be where I am today if it wasn’t for the unflagging love and support of my Mary.”
Well, part of that was right. It was her parents’ money early on, and then her father’s encouragement for Hannibal to go into the ministry.
Mary didn’t reply, the smile feeling like it was etched across her face with acid. After a final round of good-byes, Hannibal guided her out of the foyer and out the front door, where Jerald had left the car. He’d driven them tonight, meaning he and Hannibal would likely be talking on the drive home.
Perhaps this recording wasn’t a waste after all.
Hannibal made a big show of helping her into the backseat before taking the front passenger seat. Once they were well away from the church, his facade dissolved.
“Preliminary totals?” he asked Jerald.
“Finance said we took in fifteen percent more than at a regular Sunday afternoon service. Still waiting on numbers from the satellite simulcast facilities about viewer numbers, but no reason to believe those statistics wouldn’t carry over. And online tithing totals were up eighteen percent.”
“Excellent. I think we need to look into adding more services right now.”
“We can certainly do that, although your travel schedule might make that prohibitive in the near future.”
“We’ll have the crew travel with me. Film the services at the compounds.”
“I’m not sure we’ll be able to get the satellite streaming equipment moved that quickly, sir.”
“Oh, we don’t have to live-stream them. Spread them out a little. And then we can rerun them. Post them online, too.”
“I’ll make the arrangements.”
“I couldn’t do this without you, Jerald. You’re invaluable.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mary struggled not to throw up in the back of her throat. She knew the signs. She’d seen too many times over the years how Hannibal groomed his assistants, using psychology to keep them in line. Just enough ego-stroking and praise so that when he slapped them down over some failure, real or perceived, they would try that much harder to please him.
Jerald was merely the latest, albeit the longest-lasting, church lackey in Hannibal’s history. Jerald was also the first personal assistant with whom Hannibal had made his plans. Actually allowed Jerald to take a lead with the dirty tricks.
Well, most of them.
Jerald would be disappointed to learn Hannibal always had a backup plan.
The previous assistants never saw the dirty side of Hannibal. It was something he’d always undertaken in secret, away from the church, with the help of others he had his own leverage against. Even Jerald didn’t know the man as well as he thought he did. There were many others far deeper in the shadows of Hannibal’s underworld than Jerald.
Like Dr. Isley, her psychiatrist. The man who had, for decades now, been in charge of keeping her drugged to the gills.
Another man she despised with a passion to the very core of her soul.
But now, her ears perked up a little. Travel plans? That was news to her, even though she’d suspected there would soon be travel in his future.
She loved it when Hannibal wasn’t home. It was a blessed respite from his nightly pawings.
“I take it all the candidates have been notified and will be in attendance at the various strongholds?” Hannibal asked.
“Yes, sir. I coordinated it personally with the on-site managers at each location. Between twenty and twenty-five per location.”
“Excellent. I’ve already started memorizing their dossiers.”
“That was a brilliant idea, sir, to set up those awards last year.”
“Yes, well, I had no idea it would lead to this particular end. It would seem God’s will has blessed this venture.”
Mary closed her eyes. It wouldn’t do for Jerald to accidentally catch sight in the rearview mirror of her rolling them. She knew damn well when Hannibal had created this plan he certainly had taken that into account when he’d set up the awards. He just didn’t want Jerald to know that.
“They have no idea that the selected one from each group will be invited to move into the stronghold with their family,” Jerald said. “But I’m guessing that their love for their family, and their desire to keep them safe, will overcome any resistance they might have to the idea.”
“That’s the plan, son. And I’m sure there will be more than a little pressure from the families for them to keep me happy.” He chuckled. “They wouldn’t want to lose their secured spot, their guaranteed food and health care.”
“Genius, sir.”
“I’m sure it won’t take much to persuade them that I am right. Girls that age are extremely malleable. Especially these girls. They were raised in the church, taught that I am the authority. They’ll see it as an honor, a blessed duty, to go along with it.” Hannibal laughed again. “I’ll bring them up right. Get them pregnant immediately, and keep them that way. Oh, that reminds me. Were the initial samples for the Legacy Program safely transferred to St. Louis?”
“Yes, sir. The Legacy Program is ready whenever you are.”
“Excellent.” Another chuckle. “We’ll wait to execute that one. I want all the strongholds up and fully running, with a girl who’s
already carrying my child in every one. When we announce the program, that we want to make sure only the right people repopulate the country, I’m sure women will be standing in line to become one of the chosen.”
“Did you read the edited details I sent you?”
“Yes, thank you. Between guaranteed quarters while their child or children of my seed is under eighteen, and guaranteed food vouchers, we’ll have more volunteers for the impregnations than we can handle. Plenty of potential candidates to sort through to find the most suitable ones.”
“I’m sure we will, sir.”
That was news to Mary. He would spread his seed after willfully and maliciously denying her the one dream she’d had her whole life?
Like hell he will.
She seethed, biting her tongue to keep from jumping over the seat and clawing Hannibal’s eyes out right there.
“And that was a brilliant idea, son,” Hannibal continued. “Requiring the mothers to give their children middle names of Hannibal or Hannah, and then we will simply institute a law that no one can marry or breed with each other if they each have those middle names. Brilliant.”
“I thought it would be the least intrusive way, sir.”
“You never cease to amaze me.”
Neither one of them ceased to amaze Mary anymore. Now she was wishing they kept a gun in the house. Forget ruining Hannibal, she’d kill him in his sleep and then let her defense team play all the audio at her trial. Hell, Isley had done a great job of “diagnosing” her with all sorts of problems. She could use an insanity defense.
Even if she went to jail, that prison would be a blessed relief and a far more satisfying one compared to the hell she lived in now.
Reining in her rage as they reached the house, she took a couple of slow, deep breaths. Right now, Hannibal still held all the power and control. To make her move too soon would simply mean he’d stop her and ensure she couldn’t ever defy him again.
As Jerald pulled the car up in front of their door, Mary’s resolve strengthened like never before. And as Hannibal helped her out of the car, she fought to keep from kicking him in the nuts.
Barrel of Monkeys Page 8
