"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. I'm aware that August's claim that Garth healed him really kicked off the whole thing, but he had his own reasons. He's just a very sad human being, not a K.G.B. plant."
"Mongo," Lippitt said tersely, "you must make every effort to find Garth and take him out. Before tomorrow night."
"My thoughts exactly. You agree that he's in danger?"
"Most definitely."
"This business about Garth going into retreat to prepare himself for some announcement that he really is the Messiah is bullshit; it's contrary to everything Garth has said and done up to this point."
"Precisely."
"It's why I called; I was hoping you could help me. Does your man have any idea where Carling could be keeping Garth?"
"No-and he's not in a position to find out, even if it were a good idea for him to risk exposure by pressing for information. He started off as just another guy on an air mattress, and now he wears a green jacket."
"Who is he?"
"Mongo, because of who you are and what we've been through, I'll tell you-but only if you insist."
"You don't want to?"
"No. The information won't help you. He's doing everything he can do right now to find out where Garth is being kept, and for him to be seen talking to you might totally destroy his effectiveness. It might even be a death warrant for him. I also think it could be extremely dangerous for you even to go there. Whatever the K.G.B. is planning, it's very close to the witching hour; Carling and the woman will be extremely watchful to make sure their plans aren't upset at the last moment. He's already tried to kill you twice before; this time, if you show up out of the blue after so many weeks and he even begins to suspect that you're on to him, he might decide to kill you out of hand. What excuse could you give for going there?"
"For Christ's sake, Lippitt," I said, feeling my frustration and fear winding up like a mainspring, "Carling and the woman are probably the only people who know where Garth is! How the hell am I supposed to find my brother if I don't confront them?!"
This time there was a very long pause, and I could hear the Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency breathing heavily on the other end of the line. He was thinking again … to no avail. "I don't have an answer for you, Mongo," he said at last in a very low voice. "Your death would upset me."
"I appreciate your thinking about me, Lippitt, but that still isn't an answer. I was thinking of walking in there and sticking a gun in Carling's ear."
"It wouldn't work, Mongo-and after you've given it some thought, you'll know it won't work. Both Carling and the woman are K.G.B., which means they're as tough as they come. Neither one will tell you what you want to know-and that's assuming you could get one or both alone, which may be a false assumption at this point."
"I'll get them alone-and I'll blow their brains out if they don't tell me where they've got my brother."
"In which case, you'd almost certainly end up blowing their brains out-and that wouldn't get Garth out of danger. You don't know how many K.G.B. soldiers Carling and the woman may have around them in there, and you don't know what contingency plans they may have. At the very least, you'd tip your hand. I've told you I don't know what way you should go, but I'm sure that isn't it-not yet. We still have a little over twenty-four hours to try other ways."
I screwed my eyes shut, sucked in a deep breath, slowly let it out. "You think they plan to kill him, don't you, Lippitt?"
"After hearing what you've told me. . yes."
"But, damn it, why would they want to kill him now? Like you said, they have control of a global religious movement. Talk about. . killing … the Golden Goose!"
"But they've never had control of Garth, Mongo. Also, if I read my history correctly, the death of the central figure in any messianic movement always solidifies that movement. Even after Jesus' crucifixion, it was a whole lot of years before Paul produced the writings that would form the basis of Christianity. I don't see the Russians being that patient. The K.G.B. may be thinking of solidifying their gains right now, taking over the whole operation by removing their one potential threat-Garth himself. I wouldn't be surprised if Harry August was also on their hit list. I think a more interesting question is why they felt Garth had to disappear days before this supposed announcement."
I thought about it, suddenly felt short of breath. "You think the drug could have finally worn off, Lippitt? You think Garth could be Garth?"
"It would explain what seems to be a lot of hurried action, and also the disappearance." Lippitt paused, continued quietly, "There's something else you should know, Mongo."
"What's that?"
"Two Mossad agents who'd been seeded into Garth's People are also missing."
"The Mossad?! What the hell. .?"
"The United States is not the only country for which the phenomena surrounding Garth have presented difficulties, Mongo."
"Right," I said, and sighed bitterly. "Having a live, loose Messiah traipsing around the countryside is a real pain in the ass from a national security viewpoint, isn't it?"
"For every country in which the movement exists and is strong, yes. Because of the very nature of its existence, there's been a tremendous amount of turmoil in Israel over Garth and Garth's People. Although I'm certain that many other countries have intelligence operatives planted, it was the Mossad operatives who were recognized by my man. They disappeared the same time as Garth. In effect, all the intelligence agencies have been sort of war-gaming against God, predicting and taking steps to prevent political problems caused by a Messiah who might say the wrong things or motivate people to behave in a way that was not in a particular country's political, social, or economic best interests. The Russians, in their war-gaming, would have realized early on that they were in a unique position to create political problems, perhaps on a massive scale. And that could explain why the Mossad agents disappeared-the Russians recognized them too."
"Oh shit, Lippitt. You think that's what Carling plans to do?!"
"I think it's not beyond the realm of possibility."
"That's insane."
"Not if you're war-gaming this thing for the Russians. The Soviets always fish in troubled waters. Garth is perceived by many people as a Messiah-by many Christians, as the Second Coming of Christ. If Jews, specifically the Israelis, can be blamed for the death of this Messiah, it will have a disastrous impact not only on Israel's relations with the rest of the world, but with our relations as well. The entire western alliance could be sent into disarray, with Israel ending up even more isolated and condemned. Those are the benefits the Russians could reap if they kill Garth, and somehow manage to pin it on those two Mossad agents."
"Lippitt, what the hell am I going to do?!"
"I really don't know, Mongo," the old man said, real pain in his voice. "I just wanted you to be aware of all the dimensions of the danger to Garth, as I see them. We'll be doing all we can, and we'll have our people there tomorrow night when Garth is scheduled to make his announcement. But I'm afraid that if we can't find Garth before then, it may be too late."
"I've got to go, Lippitt," I said tightly. "I've got some heavy thinking to do; I've got to think of some valid excuse for walking into that bathhouse."
"Yes. Mongo?"
"What?"
"Go with God."
19
I was at my bank in the morning when it opened. I gained access to my safe deposit box, took out the black leather attache case inside, opened it and studied the magnificent knife and scabbard nestled in a bed of red velvet. I had not looked for years at Whisper, with her jeweled handle and blade made of Damascus steel by a process lost for centuries, and now memories cascaded through my mind. I had stolen it from a murderous commune which had intended it as an "offering" to a man they considered the Messiah-Siegmund Loge; now I needed the blade to try to save another man many people considered the Messiah. I closed the case, walked out into the morning. It had begun to snow.
It was after ten by the time I got to the converted bathhouse. The street in the front of the building was clogged with television equipment trucks; all three networks were to televise the Christmas Eve proceedings, and the broadcast would be relayed around the world by satellite. Whatever was going to happen, Tommy Carling had gone to great pains, on relatively short notice, to make certain a global audience would be watching.
I hoped it meant that Garth wasn't already dead.
In view of the fact that scores of sports figures, movie stars, and politicians had indicated their desire to attend the event, it didn't surprise me that the two green-jacketed men flanking the entrance to the bathhouse carried metal detectors. I'd anticipated some kind of security check; I unstrapped the shoulder holster holding my Beretta and slung it over my shoulder, then ducked under a police barricade, skipped over a treacherous sea of thick electrical cables, and went up to the entrance.
"Here," I said, holding out the gun to the burly, sandy-haired guard standing to the left of the door. "I assume you'll want to take this off my hands before you let me in there."
"What is it you want, Dr. Frederickson?" the thinner guard on the right said in a voice that was polite but cold. Both men ignored the gun I was holding out.
"I want to see my brother."
"You can see him tonight, sir. You're much too early. Nobody is allowed in the building now but our people and the television technicians."
"Garth's People used to be more hospitable."
"I apologize, sir, for the inconvenience. We feel these measures are necessary for the security of some of the people who will be celebrating here with us tonight."
"Check with Garth; he'll want to see me."
"He's not to be disturbed," the sandy-haired man said.
"Do you know where he is?" I asked the bigger man.
"He's not to be disturbed. We'll reserve a place for you in the reserved section if you'd like, Dr. Frederickson, but we can't let you in now."
"I have something to give him; it's very important to him, and to Garth's People."
"What?"
I slung the Beretta in its holster back over my shoulder, hefted the attache case. "This."
"What's in it, sir?"
"It's for Garth. If you're not authorized to put me in touch with my brother, at least let me inside to talk to Tommy Carling."
The thinner man on the right switched on his metal detector, passed its steel wand back and forth over the surface of the case to an accompaniment of harsh, insistent buzzing. He shut off the detector, shook his head. "There's no way you can go in there with that, Dr. Frederickson; not unless you show us what's inside."
"Very well," I said with an exaggerated sigh as I rested the case on my left forearm, unsnapped the clasps, lifted the lid, and shoved Whisper toward the two men. "This is my gift to my brother and Garth's People."
My little theatrical flourish had the desired effect; the eyes of both men opened wider and they took a step backward as they stared at Whisper.
The thinner man licked his lips, then looked at me. "Is that. .?"
"Yes. It's the Great Knife. I want Garth to have it with him when he makes his announcement tonight." I closed the case, took my gun and holster off my shoulder, and once again offered it to the two men. "Now will you let me in to see Carling?"
The sandy-haired guard took my gun, set it down behind him, just inside the entrance to the bathhouse. "I don't know where Tommy is at the moment, Dr. Frederickson," the man said with just the slightest touch of awe in his voice. "He's been all over the place supervising things all morning. But you go on in, and we'll send somebody to scare him up for you."
I'd like to scare him up, I thought as I walked between the two guards, and I couldn't. But I was inside the bathhouse. And I was armed. As I'd hoped, the men with their metal detectors had been so distracted by all the hardware I was carrying upstairs, that they'd neglected to check downstairs; I still had my Seecamp in its holster strapped to my ankle. And I had Whisper.
Inside the cavernous bathhouse, hordes of workers and members of Garth's People were milling about, attending to their various tasks as they threaded their way up and down, back and forth across the hall through a polished wood sea of folding chairs tightly packed together in narrow rows. Speakers, klieg lights, and television cameras were mounted on the stone balcony ringing the hall, and at the far end, erected in front of the entrance to the showers, was a huge stage. At the lip of the stage was a lectern, and at the rear a huge bank of electronic equipment. Above the stage a massive green banner with the rings-and-knife logo of Garth's People hung suspended by wires strung from one of the four curved steel girders supporting the vaulted glass dome, which now glowed with milky light. I didn't like the light from that glass sky, which suffused the entire hall like a shroud.
Everything seemed to indicate that Carling planned to use Garth in whatever production he was planning, and logic dictated that Carling would have Garth locked up somewhere inside the bathhouse, ready to be marched out-drugged, or with a gun at his back-at the appropriate moment, if only to step through the curtains at the rear of the stage into bright television lights before being gunned down. At least that was the logic I had to operate on. If Garth was somewhere inside the building-and, if he wasn't, all of my machinations were going to be largely irrelevant-I had to find him. But first I had to run the gauntlet of Tommy Carling and Sister Kate, who sooner or later would learn that I was inside the bathhouse.
Wanting to get as far away from the main entrance as possible, I started walking casually down the side of the hall toward the massive stage. Carling intercepted me just as I passed a row of pea-green Port-O-Johns.
"Hello, Mongo," the ponytailed male nurse and K.G.B. officer said as he stepped down out of a staircase. His voice was flat, his eyes cold, as he studied me, and he did not extend his hand.
"Hello, Tommy," I replied, and forced a smile. The other man was not even bothering to play his usual role of good-natured, slightly effeminate healer, and I wondered why; it most certainly disturbed me. I heard a faint rustle in the darkness of the staircase behind him, but nobody emerged.
That, I thought, could very well be Sister Kate, riding shotgun. Something had happened to convince Tommy Carling that it was no longer necessary-or possible-to accommodate me with his fun and games, and I didn't like that one bit. "How are you?"
"I'm just fine, Mongo," Carling replied in the same flat voice. "How are you?"
"About half."
"What do you want here, Mongo?"
"Didn't you get the message?" I asked as I hefted the black leather case.
"I was told you'd brought the knife you call Whisper."
"And which Garth's People call the Great Knife. I'd understood that it had become an important religious symbol for a lot of you, but you don't seem all that impressed-or even curious. Wouldn't you like to see it?"
"Why bring it now?"
"Because I thought it might be nice for Garth to have it with him tonight when he makes his announcement-I assume he's going to tell the world that he is, indeed, the Messiah. I thought his followers might enjoy the experience of actually seeing the Great Knife. Don't you?"
"Why didn't you bring it to him before? Why now?"
"Why not now?" I replied with a shrug. "Better late than never. I want to make peace with my brother, Tommy. I still can't say that I believe he's the son of God, but there's no question that he's become a world-class religious leader, and will remain so for the rest of his life. I love him, I'm proud of him, and I just want him to have the knife; it means more to him and the rest of you than it does to me."
"I'll give it to him."
"No. This is a very personal thing for me, Tommy, and it will be for Garth too. I want to give it to him myself."
"Then you'll have to give it to him tonight. I have express orders not to disturb him for anything, no matter how important it may seem to me."
"When can I see him? I'd think he'
d want to be carrying the Great Knife when he appears on stage."
"I won't know when he's emerged from retreat before he actually appears here. You're welcome to stay around and wait if you'd like. There's plenty of work left to do, and I'll assign you to one of our setup crews. Then you'll know the minute he arrives."
And Carling would be able to keep a close eye on me. "I'd love to, Tommy, but I've got a luncheon date, and then a whole load of last-minute Christmas shopping to do. I figure I can't be back here before seven or eight. One of the guards said he'd be able to save a seat for me in the reserved section."
"No problem," Carling said evenly. "I'll put you in the front row."
"See you tonight, Tommy," I said, and started back up the hall.
"Mongo?"
I stopped, turned back. "What?"
"Did this sudden change of heart you've experienced come before or after all the work you've been doing and the conversations you've been having during the past week? Did Harry make you a believer?"
Oh-oh. "How do you know what I've been doing in the past week, Tommy?" I asked in as mild a tone as I could muster.
"You're marked, Mongo, remember?" Tommy Carling said with what I thought was just the faintest trace of a humorless smile. "It's not only the scar on your forehead that marks you, but your stature. Garth's People are everywhere; they know who you are, and they very much fear that you mean to cause Garth harm. They repeat things."
It could very well be that Mrs. Daplinger had told Carling about my visit to her, but it was also possible that the K.G.B. had been tailing me. Or Harry August. Or both of us. It would explain Carling's attitude, and sudden lack of pretense. Game time had been over before I'd ever walked in the bathhouse door, and I hadn't even known it. The only question that remained was how much Tommy Carling knew I knew-or had guessed. Staying around to explore that question didn't seem like a good idea.
"What I did last week, or last year, is none of your business, Tommy," I said evenly. "I'll see you tonight."
"Good-bye, Mongo."
Exit stage right, very quickly. I'd feared that Carling would try to escort me to the door, but he seemed content to remain where he was as I turned and walked back up the hall. It was only after I had made my way through a knot of TV technicians that I abruptly turned left and ducked into the first stairwell I could find. It led down, which was fine with me; I had no idea of the dimensions of those sections of the bathhouse I hadn't seen, and in my search for Garth one direction seemed as good as another.
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