Beyond Belief

by Roy Johansen

  Before Joe could answer, there was a crash from the hallway. And another.

  They rushed into the corridor just in time to see a plate fly through a doorway and shatter on the floor. The remnants of two other plates lay nearby.

  One of the feds stepped toward the doorway. He ducked as another plate flew out and shattered against the wall behind him.

  “A little too close for comfort,” Joe said.

  The agent leapt into the room and switched on the light. The others gathered to see what he'd found.

  Nothing. Just the dining room set, china cabinet, and wet bar. The agent went to the windows, drew the heavy blinds, and checked the windows. “Locked from the inside.”

  Fisher grinned. “There aren't too many windows that lock from the outside, kid.” He turned to Joe. “Okay, how'd you do it?”

  The pots and pans were clanging in the kitchen again.

  “I didn't do it,” Joe said.

  Howe tried to ignore the sounds from the kitchen. “You expect us to believe it's Jesse Randall?”

  “No, but somebody wanted Dr. Nelson and his girlfriend to believe that in order to lay the foundation for his supposedly psychic murder.”

  “Who would want to do that?”

  “I'm not positive yet. But I can tell you how.”

  Another plate flew out of the dining room and shattered. Everyone turned to look. This time they saw that a ceiling panel had been moved aside and a hand was waving at them from above, just inches from the china cabinet and a stack of plates.

  Joe moved a dining room chair under the opening and helped his assistant down. Suzanne, dressed in a black body suit and covered with dust, hopped to the floor.

  She smiled. “Sorry about that third plate. I threw it a little closer than I realized.”

  “This is Suzanne Morrison,” Joe said. “Believe me, she's an expert in the art of illusion.”

  She made a face at him.

  He smiled. “I'll let her explain how she did this.”

  Suzanne described the suspended ceiling and her technique just as she had discussed with Joe the night before.

  After she finished, Howe nodded. “I'm impressed, Bailey. Not only that you guys were able to figure this out, but also with the fact that you were able to find a beautiful woman who's just as interested in this weird stuff as you are.”

  “Yeah, but was she able to tell you how Nelson was murdered?” Fisher said.

  Joe put the chair back at the table. “No, but in a way, Jesse Randall did.”

  Fisher gave him a strange look.

  “And after we get the results back from a search warrant I had issued this afternoon, we may even know who did it.”

  Gerald's portable phone beeped, and he answered it. “Gerald here.” He listened, then said, “Okay, we're on our way.” He cut the connection.

  “What is it?” Joe asked.

  “There's a hostage situation at a pharmacy in Stone Mountain. The perp just tried to get the same corti-costeroid inhaler that Jesse Randall uses.”

  Charles crouched behind the pharmacy counter and tried to decide how many cops he'd spotted in the parking lot. Twelve? Fifteen?

  Too damned many.

  He'd screwed up big-time. He'd killed a cop and let the other one leave to call in the entire squad. He should have killed them both.

  No. He shouldn't have drawn his gun in the first place. They'd only wanted to ask a few questions about the prescription. He could have bluffed his way through it.

  There was no way out of this.

  Now, taunting him behind the counter, was the bulletin urging area pharmacists to call the local police whenever a first-time Pulmicort Turbuhaler prescription was presented. If he'd only known.

  Ness probably knew. That's why he was being so damned careful.

  At the far end of the counter, bound by threaded packing tape, the elderly pharmacist was trembling. “There's a back way out of here,” he said.

  “I'm sure they have that covered too.”

  Charles stared at his gun. The same gun he'd used to kill the helicopter pilot that morning. It was all Ness's fault. If he hadn't decided to kidnap Jesse, none of this would be happening.

  He peered over the counter again, and a chill ran through him. The cop he'd shot was gone. He was sure he'd killed him. Where the hell was he?

  Charles turned to look at the small black-and-white security monitor just in time to see the wounded cop rise from behind a coin-operated blood pressure machine and take aim with his revolver.

  Joe, the Atlanta P.D. task force, and the feds arrived on the scene as the wounded officer was being transported to a waiting ambulance.

  A burly local cop introduced himself. “Chief Edward Pine, fellas. We got everything under control here.”

  “Where's the suspect?” Joe asked.

  “Inside with the paramedics. My man put two bullets in ‘im. You know, we've been running down these prescriptions for a couple days now, they've all been legit. You don't think this guy—?”

  “Who is he?” Gerald asked.

  “We think his name is Charles Lane. That's who his car is registered to anyway, and—hey!”

  Joe, Howe, and the others bolted into the pharmacy.

  They ran past the racks and stopped abruptly at the back counter.

  “Jesus,” Howe said.

  The suspect's torso was sopping in blood. A paramedic team was trying to stop the bleeding.

  “We have to talk to him,” Joe said.

  “He's busy,” one of the paramedics replied.

  Joe knelt beside Charles. “Where's Jesse Randall?”

  Charles looked at him and his oxygen mask fogged.

  Joe glanced back at Gerald. “He's trying to say something.”

  The paramedic pushed him back. “Let us do our jobs, Detective.”

  Joe leaned forward. “Where is he? Where's Jesse?”

  “Child of Light,” Charles murmured through the clear plastic mask.

  “Yes, the Child of Light. Where is he?” Joe edged closer. “Tell me.”

  Charles blinked several times, then froze.

  The paramedic grabbed Joe's arm. “Enough.”

  Joe didn't fight him. At that instant he realized Charles Lane was dead. He stood as the alarms and flatline tone sounded, watching the paramedics try to resuscitate him. It wasn't going to happen.

  Gerald pulled Joe back. “We'll fingerprint him and find out if he's who we think he is. Maybe there's something he can still tell us.”

  Ness stared in total disbelief at the wall-mounted flat-screen monitor. The local TV stations had been covering the hostage standoff for the past half hour, and a newscaster had just reported that the wounded suspect had been attempting to get the inhaler prescription that Jesse Randall used.

  Before Ness had a chance to absorb that, the camera cut to a car in the parking lot. Charles's Cutlass. He was positive.

  That son of a bitch. What the hell was he thinking?

  Ness strode to the intercom panel and punched the P.A. button. “We're evacuating, everyone. Prepare to leave in twenty minutes.”

  Myrna burst into the room. “What's happening?”

  “Charles got caught trying to get the inhaler prescription. It's only a matter of time before the authorities link him to me. You didn't know anything about this, did you?”

  She was stunned. “Of course not. Where is he?”

  “Wounded and possibly dead. We have to get out of here.”

  Ness's estate generally ran with incredible efficiency, but for the next fifteen minutes chaos reigned. He'd recently winnowed down his large household staff to just a half-dozen devoted Millennial Prophet followers, and they weren't prepared for the evacuation order he'd given them. They were now rushing around, loading Ness's mobile office and two smaller trucks.

  Damn. He'd hoped to keep Jesse here until the Caribbean facility was finished, but fortunately he had a backup ready.

  Ness climbed down the stairs to the holdi
ng facility, which, only the month before, had been a massive wine cellar. He hoped Dunning was correct about Jesse not being able to consciously use his powers against them. There wasn't time to “Jesse-proof” the new holding area he had in mind, a forty-room mansion in South Carolina that he had secretly purchased from a trusted business associate.

  He walked down the narrow hallway and stopped. Something was different tonight. It was usually darker down here. There were no windows and only a few lights in the corridor, and as he glanced around, he realized where the light was coming from: Jesse's room.

  The door was ajar. Had someone already come to prepare Jesse for the journey?

  Ness slowly moved into the containment room. Jesse still made him nervous; what if the boy was dreaming right now? Ness peered through the open door. He couldn't see Jesse. He stepped through the doorway, turned, and found himself face-to-face with Garrett Lyles.

  “Hello, Vicar,” Lyles said.

  Ness frantically glanced around the room. Jesse appeared to be fine, thank goodness, but was huddled in the corner.

  “Lyles … what do you think you're doing?”

  “I'm through thinking about doing things, Vicar. I should have known that you were the one who took him, but it just didn't seem like your style,” he said bitterly. “I thought that kind of bold, aggressive action could get a guy removed from the sect.”

  Ness tried to compose himself. Christ, the son of a bitch would kill him. Think of a way out….

  Lyles smiled. “I assume you still have a panic button on your cell phone. If your hand even looks like it's heading that way, I'll shear it off at the wrist.”

  “Don't be foolish. There's a place for you here, you know. You can play a part in the boy's development.”

  “Is that why you sent Teague and Manning to find me with their cattle prods?”

  Ness glared at him. “Teague's body was found washed up on a riverbank. I assume you killed Manning too?”

  “You shouldn't have sent them.”

  “We've missed you, Lyles.” He moistened his lips. “We realized how right you are. It is a holy war, and we need good soldiers.”

  “I haven't come back to rejoin you.”

  “Then why are you here? It couldn't have been very easy getting inside.”

  “Easier than you might think. I've been to your house before, remember? I have a bad habit of imagining ways to circumvent security systems in every place I visit. It's gotten me through some excruciating dinner parties. Plus your people are running in and out of the house, loading up the trucks, so they've shut down your systems. You're down to a skeleton staff, everyone's in a state of panic. You've made my job a lot easier.”

  “And what is your job?”

  Lyles raised his hand to show Ness a large knife. “It begins with this.”

  In one smooth, effortless motion, Lyles slid the knife across Ness's throat. Blood instantly poured from the wound, drenching Ness's shirt and jacket.

  Lyles glanced at Jesse. “Turn away. It will be over in a few seconds.”

  But Jesse couldn't take his eyes off the gurgling, gasping man whose blood-soaked hands were trying to stop the fountain at his throat.

  Ness fell to his knees, then tumbled facedown onto the padded floor.

  Joe stared at the blotchy thermal fax paper that Fisher had torn from the console in his car. “Paltak Innovations?”

  “Charles Lane was an employee stockholder in that company.”

  “You found this out in the last ten minutes?”

  “More like fifteen. I called in the license plate as soon as we realized it was his car. There'll probably be some more info coming any minute now. Our guys at the office are whizzes at this stuff.”

  “I believe it. But did they give you any information about what this Paltak Innovations does?”

  “No, but it's a subsidiary of”—Fisher consulted another fax page—”Oasis Holdings.”

  “Oasis?”

  “Yeah. Heard of it?”

  “That's a Roland Ness company.”

  “One of many.”

  Joe's mind raced. “Ness's estate is just a few miles from here.”

  “You don't think—?”

  “I'd bet on it.”

  Stewart Dunning paced around the large fountain in the center of Ness's circular driveway. He checked his watch. What the hell was taking so long?

  He wasn't concerned for Ness; a guy with that kind of money could buy any brand of justice he wanted. But what happened in the next few days would go a long way in shaping the power and reputation of the Millennial Prophets.

  Shit. Now everything was going downhill. If the cops knew that it was Charles Lane in the pharmacy, it would be all too easy to trace him to Ness. Jesse had to be removed from the premises at once.

  Come on, dammit.

  He heard a car at the back of the house, roaring up the narrow service driveway. As it blew past him, he could see that it was one of the white pickup trucks the gardeners and groundskeepers used.

  His heart jumped in his chest. Lyles was in the driver's seat.

  “Mr. Dunning …” Myrna was at the front door.

  “Myrna, tell Ness that I just saw Garrett Lyles on the premises.”

  She was dazed. “Ness is dead. And Jesse's gone.”

  After taking a moment to comprehend what she'd told him, he jumped inside Ness's large mobile office, slid behind the wheel, and leaned out the open window. “Get the team together. Tell them to lock on to the mobile office's security tracking system.” He started the vehicle and took off.

  Jesse checked his seat belt as Lyles sped around the sharp curves of Rockbridge Road. The first time he'd seen the giant, he had felt safe and protected. This time was different. Lyles was drenched with sweat, and he looked … crazy. It was one thing to watch him push a bully around, but he had killed that man. He jerked his thoughts away from the memory. “Are you taking me home?”

  “Not right away.”

  “Then where are we going?”

  “Someplace you can be safe from people like Ness. Okay?”

  “I want to see my mom.”

  “I know you do, and maybe we can arrange that. But Roland Ness had a lot of powerful people on his side. We have to go someplace where they can't find you.”

  “Why don't we go to the police?”

  “We can't trust ‘em. We have to be very careful about who we trust, Jesse.”

  “I know who to trust.”

  “How do you know?”

  By then Jesse knew what kind of language these people responded to. “I can sense it. My power will show us the way.”

  “It will?”

  “Yes.” Jesse stared at a small Hawaiian doll hanging from the rearview mirror. He opened his eyes wide and pushed a blast of air through his left eye socket. The doll twirled and bobbed up and down, almost as if it were dancing.

  “Amazing,” Lyles whispered.

  “You must not worry. The power within me will be our guide.”

  Lyles nodded.

  Jesse tried to look calm, in control. Lyles was buying his act, just as everyone else had. He hadn't wanted to do any more demonstrations, especially after he had to blast that poor mouse's head with air every time it went off track in the maze. This was it, he told himself. His last performance.

  “I am here to serve you,” Lyles said.

  Something hit them.

  “Shit!” Lyles fought with the steering wheel as the truck fishtailed. He finally regained control and Jesse spun around. The entire back windshield was filled with the chrome grille of an RV.

  “It's Dunning,” Lyles said. “Shall I take care of him?”

  Jesse bit his lip. Would Lyles really kill a man because he told him to?

  “You must do what you feel is right,” he replied.

  A broad smile illuminated Lyles's face. “You trust me.” He drew his gun. “I used this to take care of that TV reporter, Jesse. I honor you with my every thought and action.”

/>   Reporter? At first Jesse didn't understand, then a cold sickness rushed over him. As much as he'd hated that reporter, he hadn't wanted her dead.

  Mama. He wanted to be home with Mama.

  Lyles lowered the window, thrust the gun outside, and fired four shots at the RV. It didn't even slow down.

  Lyles squinted in the rearview mirror. “Bulletproof. It's a goddamned tank.”

  It rammed them again.

  Lyles unbuckled his seat belt. “Jesse, I need you to apply pressure on the accelerator. Try to keep us over seventy. Can you do that?”

  Jesse wasn't sure if Lyles wanted him to use his powers on the accelerator, but the man didn't look surprised when he slid over and pressed his foot on the pedal.

  “Like that?” Jesse said.

  “Yes. Try to keep the speed constant.”

  With one hand still on the wheel, Lyles leaned out the window and fired at the RV's tires. Jesse glanced in the rearview mirror. Several direct hits. But the RV kept coming.

  “Self-inflating tires,” Lyles said. “You'd almost think a billionaire built that beast,” he added sarcastically.

  It hit them again. Lyles gripped the steering wheel. “We have one advantage. We know he can't do anything to seriously hurt you.”

  “He doesn't care.”

  “Well, if we keep trying to fight that thing, we'll lose. We need to pull off the road and make a run for it. Once he gets out, I can handle him.”

  The RV rammed their right rear bumper, sending the truck into another fishtail. Lyles struggled to correct it, but the passenger compartment's left side swung squarely into the path of the RV.

  The last thing Jesse remembered seeing was the RV's chrome grille and Lyles's intense expression reflected in it.

  It struck them. Jesse heard the sounds of breaking glass, groaning, twisting metal, and shrieking tires on asphalt.

  Then nothing. Darkness. Silence.

  Jesse couldn't breathe. Was this what it felt like to die?

  Two strong arms were suddenly under his armpits. He was being pulled out.

  He could breathe again. He could see, and he could hear the chirping of crickets. He looked down and realized that he had been encased in an airbag. He glanced up, expecting to see Lyles saving him once again.