It was too bad that so many of the Apostles had been out on missionary work and hadn’t made it back after the earthquake: They would miss the spectacle. But even with half the congregation attending, he would conduct a magnificent Communion, and declare that Christ had returned to give the world a second chance so that the Horsemen would not ride.
And then Hannibal would inherit the ministry and all the benefits, monetary and otherwise, that went with being top dog. Everything was in place; Eldo would be blamed for the murders, as well as the kidnappings and vandalistic acts. Now he would have company, Caine decided, in the form of young Justin Martin.
They both would take the fall for the poisoned wine—amaretto, actually, to cover the taste of the cyanide—that would remove certain members of the Apostles, those who were especially loyal to Sinclair and knew some of his secrets.
He smiled. Eldo and Sinclair went insane, leaving Hannibal Caine to carry the ball. You were chosen to be the Judas this time. The words were a bare echo in his mind as he stood on the church threshold and breathed in the chilly night air. Not bad, he told himself, for a plan conceived only two days ago.
He still had to attend to the Communion preparations: to choose a special carafe for the poisoned amaretto, and to get Eldo’s prints on it and the cyanide container.
Obtaining the poison had been as simple as visiting the armory and unlocking the heavy metal cabinets that held illegal substances of all sorts. He would have preferred to use arsenic, which provided a less violent death, but lacked the speed and certainty—not to mention the dramatics—of cyanide. At least it won’t be as bad as watching the spikes being driven into Sinclair. At least there won’t be blood.
Looking at his watch, he decided to check on the state of the prisoners before getting down to work.
133
Cassie Halloway
CASSIE’S BROKEN FINGERS WERE SWOLLEN PURPLE SAUSAGES AND her ankle didn’t look much better, but her entire body hurt so much that these things were almost minor in comparison. She glanced up, saw Janet Wister’s body in the comer, looked quickly back at her hands, but that only made her imagine nails being driven into them.
She fixed her gaze on Alex Manderley. Cassie had no idea how long the scientist had been stubbornly working at the dead bolt with her bobby pin, but it had become obvious that lock-picking didn’t number among her talents. At first Cassie had been sure that the guards would hear, or at least notice the light beneath the door, but no one had come.
“Damn,” Alex said, turning to show Cassie the mangled pin. “This isn’t working.”
She silenced at the sound of approaching footsteps. Putting her finger to her lips, she moved to the hinged side of the door.
“Guard?” a man called. Cassie recognized the voice of the fat bald man, Caine. He rapped on the door. “Guard? Are you in there?”
Cassie heard mumbled cursing, then a key slipped into the lock. Alex pressed herself against the wall, the bobby pin clutched in her fingers.
The lock clicked, then the doorknob began to turn. Terrified, Cassie watched it, watched Alex, wondering if she was going to still be alive in five minutes.
The door swung silently inward a few inches, then the barrel of a gun appeared, and above it, a man’s blue eye. “Guard?” he asked. Receiving no answer, he pushed the door open farther and stuck his head inside, peering around cautiously. “Damn you, Eldo,” he muttered, seeing Janet Wister’s corpse. He turned his gaze on Cassie, his face an expressionless mask. Then his eyes widened, darting around the room. “Where’s—”
Alex sprang, slamming the door against his skull. Caine yelped, staggering, one hand grasping at the doorframe. “Guard!” he squealed.
Mercilessly Alex shoved on the door while Caine’s face turned redder and redder. She glanced back at Cassie, her face a desperate question.
“Run, get help!” Cassie cried, telling her what she needed to hear.
Alex nodded, and suddenly Caine’s hand was on hers, trying to pry her fingers from the knob, his face bulldogging through the door as he gave up pulling and started pushing. Instead of fighting, Alex yanked the door inward and Caine stumbled into the room, immediately turning, hands going for her throat, face livid, foam at the corner of his mouth. Alex backed up only one step before racing forward, her arms up, blocking his hands. She grabbed his shoulders and brought her knee up, connecting solidly with his groin.
The Apostle screamed and fell back, cursing. Alex stepped around him and glanced out the door, then glanced at Cassie again. “I’ll be back,” she breathed.
And then she was gone, unaware of Caine’s feeble grab at her ankle.
Cradling his crotch, Caine got to his knees, then shakily stood up. Tears of pain streamed down his cheeks and his eyes were bright with fury as he staggered toward Cassie. She pressed back against the wall, expecting him to lash out, to kick or hit her. But he stopped short and turned toward Janet’s body, stared at it for a long moment. “Damn you, Eldo,” he whispered. Then, without looking back, he strode out of the room, locking the door behind him. Faintly she heard him yelling for the guards.
134
Alexandra Manderley
RACING OUT OF THE ROOM, ALEX HAD RUN OUT INTO A LONG, bleak, and blessedly deserted hallway, knowing only that she had to get out and get help for Cassie.
She didn’t try any of the closed doors until she turned a comer, then the two she tried were locked. Glancing behind her, expecting Hannibal Caine to appear at any moment, she moved on and, in ten paces, was rewarded with a narrow stairwell leading down into darkness. A chain bearing a placard reading “Private” was strung across it.
Squatting down, she slipped under the barrier and, hand lightly on the railing, descended two stories, finally coming to another corridor. Dimly lit, it led in two directions. She hesitated briefly, then chose the right-hand path.
There were no doorways for twenty feet, then she came to another hall, one that was nearly lightless. She stepped into it and, trailing her fingers along the wall, continued on, alert to every sound. The passage turned once, twice, and she wondered if she’d ever find her way out, whether by locating a robe to disguise herself as Cassie said Marie had done, or by locating one of those tunnels she’d heard about at Tom’s the other night. A night that seemed a very long time ago.
She paused, hearing the echo of voices and running footsteps. The guards are looking for me! Panicked, she started trotting, trying the few doors she passed. All locked.
The footsteps were closer now, but she had no idea if they were ten yards or a thousand yards away, not in this echo-filled tomb. She ran, only noticing a dark, chained-off hallway as she passed it. Turning, she hesitated as she heard the footfalls again. Close, very close. If I can hear them, they can hear me. Crouching, she crawled under the chain.
“You hear that?”
“Come on!”
Men’s voices, very close. She ran into the darkness, suddenly tripping, tumbling down a short flight of stairs. Picking herself up, she found herself at a dead end. This has to lead somewhere! Frantically she felt for a doorknob, found it. Behind her, the voices approached. Dear God, let it be unlocked!
Beneath her fingers, the knob turned by itself. Dumbly she let go as the door opened, revealing warm yellow light and a white-robed figure.
“Down here!” came one of the male voices.
Blindly she brought her fist back to punch the Apostle before her. As her arm pistoned forward, the figure caught her fist in his hand and yanked her inside, slamming the door behind them. Frantically she tried to twist out of his grip.
“Alex!”
Startled, she looked up, straight into the man’s eyes.
“Carlo!” she whispered, and fell into his arms.
His hands pushed into her hair, holding her to him, and the sound of his voice whispering her name was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. Then there were three sharp raps on the door.
“Prophet Sinclair?” called one of the men.<
br />
Carlo stared at her, then turned to face the door. “Yes?” he said, in a clipped, deep voice.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir.” The man paused, and they heard soft murmuring outside the door.
“Yes?” Carlo called impatiently.
“Um, Elder Caine sent us to see if you need anything.”
“No. Good night.”
“Good night, sir.”
Alex put her ear to the door, listening until she could no longer hear the voices, then turned to Carlo. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” He took her hand and led her across the simple but elegant bedroom.
“How?”
He pointed at a smooth wall paneled in oak, except for a black, door-sized opening propped open with a straight-backed chair. “One of your UFOs was kind enough to point out a secret passage.”
She felt her jaw drop. “You’re joking.”
“No joke.” He paused. “Mine is not to reason why.”
She studied him, afraid to ask the next question. “Eric?” she asked finally.
“Tom found him. He’ll be fine.”
“Thank heaven,” she whispered, relief flooding her. “What about Marie?”
“I don’t know. Have you seen Cassie and Eve?”
“Cassie. She’s hurt. We have to get help.”
“Where is she?”
“This place is a maze,” Alex told him. “Is there something to write on around here? I should try to reconstruct the route I took before I completely forget.”
They found a pad and pen in a small writing desk and she quickly tried to sketch a schematic of the way she came. “I don’t think I’ve drawn this right. Maybe we should go and get help, some weapons.”
“Come over here.” He led her to the opening in the wall panels. Reaching inside, he flipped a switch and a dim light came on, revealing a tunnel extending into darkness. “Look,” he said, pointing at an electric cart waiting just inside. “This will take you to Olive Mesa. At the end of the tunnel, take the stairs upward. You’ll be on the north side of the plateau. Go across to the trail on the south side—the one you used before. Can you find it?”
“Yes, of course. But, Carlo—”
“Near the bottom of the mesa, you’ll find my bike hidden behind some rocks. It should be in plain sight from your angle. Can you ride?”
She nodded. “You’re not staying here by yourself, are you?”
He looked deeply into her eyes. “I have to. As long as the Apostles are wearing their robes, I’ll blend right in.” He paused. “I can’t explain, but it’s something I have to do. I don’t know what it is yet, but I have to be here.”
She stared at him, saw the determination in his eyes, and nodded her acceptance.
“Go to Tom’s, and if I’m not back by dawn, send the cavalry.” He said the last with false levity. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back. But if I’m not, you’ll know what to do.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“There are wheels in motion already. You’ll know.”
“You’re talking like a fortune-teller,” she chided, trying to hide the fear she felt.
“I’m sorry.” He smiled tightly. “There’s no time to explain now, even if I thought I could.” He sat down in the cart, started it, and pulled it into the path. He turned on its headlights, then rose, gesturing her to take his place.
She did. “Carlo?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful. I don’t want to lose you.”
He bent and kissed her, his lips warm and soft against hers. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you,” she murmured, meaning every word. They kissed again. “Be careful.”
“You too,” he said.
She pulled into the darkness, heading toward freedom.
135
Hannibal Caine
STANDING IN HIS APARTMENT, HANNIBAL CAINE POPPED FOUR Excedrin into his mouth and washed them down with brandy. “Eldo,” he began, turning to face Blandings, “where’s the shepherdess?”
Eldo, a robe thrown over his fatigues, his toupee crooked, met his eyes. “We were unable to locate her or the child, Hannibal.”
Caine started to shake his head in disgust, but the throbbing pain immediately made him stop. “There’s no excuse for the incompetence you and your committee have displayed. Why weren’t guards posted outside the prisoners’ room?”
Eldo’s eyes blazed. “Number one, I wasn’t here to supervise. Number two, I’m told you only ordered them to check on the prisoners once an hour.”
“Um-hmm,” Caine said, barely controlling his own temper. “Don’t you think they should at least know enough to tie up the prisoners?”
“They do what they’re ordered to do,” Blandings said grimly. “But I’ll speak to them.”
“Speak to them about their indiscriminate use of force, too. The prisoner—Wister, I believe is her name—died.”
“And the tattooed whore?”
“Stable. You were lucky there, Eldo. Very lucky.”
“If that’s all—”
“That’s not all. The other prisoner, Manderley, has escaped. She’s somewhere in the compound. Organize whatever’s left of your committee and organize a real search. Keep it quiet. When you find her, tie her up, but do not damage her. Is that clear?”
Glaring sullenly, Blandings nodded.
“One more thing. The gates are to remain locked. Instruct the guards that no one may leave or enter without the express permission of Prophet Sinclair, to be obtained through me while he is in retreat.”
“Some of our members caught in the quake today may show up tonight. Are they included in this?” Blandings asked, his voice a sneer.
“Have them all checked for ID.” Caine paused. “If anyone shows up for the services in the morning, tell the guards to politely deny entry due to earthquake damage. And, Eldo, make sure the guards are armed, but tell them no aggression. There’s to be no shooting unless someone actually breaks through the gate, and then only if they are threatened with weapons. Otherwise, use less drastic measures.”
“I suppose you expect them to check with you before they let the Four Horsemen enter?” Eldo asked snidely.
Caine studied him, finally deciding he was serious. Eldo took the Horsemen as literally as most of the Apostles seemed to, and that was something Caine couldn’t comprehend. However, he was quite willing to accept it. “Eldo, if—when the Horsemen show up, welcome them, by all means.”
Stonily Blandings nodded, then turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the apartment door hanging open behind him. Caine shut the door, then refilled his brandy snifter before returning to his kitchen, where he went to work measuring twenty portions of cyanide and amaretto into a silver carafe.
You are the Judas this time. Sinclair’s words haunted him as the clock chimed midnight.
SUNDAY
136
Carlo Pelegrine
HE CARRIED NO WEAPON AS HE WANDERED THE COMPOUND. Carlo had expected the place to be teeming with Apostles preparing for the last day of the world, but the compound was surprisingly quiet. Of course, it was now nearing three in the morning, but even at midnight there were few of the faithful out and about. He’d passed several pairs of armed Apostles who were obviously searching—for Alex, he assumed.
Things had seemed so clear on the mesa, but now, standing in the shadows of the church, he floundered. After Alex had left, he’d decided his best course of action would be to find Cassie and somehow spirit her down to Sinclair’s quarters, retrieve the electric cart and take her out of the compound, alert Moss, then return to do whatever it was he was supposed to do.
But hours had passed and he’d seen no sign of her. There was little time left. For what?
To find Sinclair. Though he had nothing to say to the man, he knew he had to see him. Why? He thought of the future card—the Moon—with its murky, mysterious meanings, and the ball of light that led him here, and realized that he was fated t
o be a cog in the machine. You don’t believe in fate, remember? Find Cassie and get out of here!
But the imperative only grew stronger when he tried to fight it.
“Apostle, come here a moment.”
Swallowing panic, Carlo turned to face a round bald man in a shirt and tie who matched Alex’s description of Hannibal Caine. Behind him, a side door into the church yawned open. Carlo had been so wrapped up in his thoughts, he hadn’t even heard the door open, and that wasn’t good.
Caine pulled the church door closed, then approached. “What’s your name, Apostle?”
“John Smith,” Carlo replied quickly.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” The man eyed him narrowly. Carlo could see bags under his eyes and dark swellings on his cheeks. Now he was certain this was Caine.
“Yes, I am, Apostle Caine.”
Caine smiled. “Elder Caine. You work in the cafeteria, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” he replied without hesitation.
It was the right answer. Caine smiled. “Yes, I thought I recognized you. What are you doing out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Excited about tomorrow?”
Carlo nodded.
“Apostle Smith, I’m exhausted. Perhaps you can help me.”
“I’d be glad to.”
“Follow me.”
Caine led him to the next building. Inside, they passed a multitude of numbered doors that Carlo assumed led to dorm rooms. Further on, the doors were farther apart, and Caine went directly to the last door and inserted a key in the lock.
Carlo followed him into a spacious modern apartment, through the living room into a dining area. Caine crossed to a glass and iron table that held an intricate silver carafe and a large cardboard box. He pulled a small bronze key from his jacket pocket and handed it to Carlo. “I want you to take the box into the church. You’ll see a long table set up in front of the rostrum. There are some pitchers on it.” He picked up the box and handed it to Carlo. There were paper cups, napkins, and a plastic bag filled with small round biscuits resembling Communion wafers inside it. “Set these things out on the table and ditch the box beneath it. Just leave the key on the pulpit for me, and make sure you close the door as you leave. Is that clear?”
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