Spellbinder

by Harold Robbins

  “She hasn’t—yet,” the old man said. “But I think she will change her mind when she sees this.” He took a videotape cartridge and gave it to Ryker, who placed it in the videotape player. Randle turned to Mrs. Lacey. “You might want to leave the room, Mrs. Lacey. You do not have to subject yourself to perversions of this sort.”

  “No,” Mrs. Lacey said firmly. “As one of the founding board members of this ministry I feel it is my duty to know all the facts no matter how much I may feel repulsed by them.”

  Preacher was impassive. Suddenly he knew what was coming. Randle had not only bugged his telephones, he’d had a videotape camera placed in his bedroom.

  Randle nodded. Ryker started the tape, at the same time turning off the lights in the room. He went back to his chair and sat down.

  The screen spit black-and-white flashes, then suddenly rapid shots of color. A moment later the picture came on. But there was very little to be seen, just faint outlines of bodies moving almost indistinguishably in the dark; then a woman’s voice was heard. “Your cock feels so big in my mouth I have to see it.”

  Suddenly light flooded the screen. Now the figures could be plainly seen. He was naked on his knees in the bed, his back to the camera, hiding Kim, her head on the pillow before him, her hands hidden by his pelvis. She moved suddenly, turning him, so that now he was facing into the camera while she held his erect phallus in her hands, then she rolled over on her back and, raising her legs high, guided him into her. She closed her eyes as he began to thrust.

  “You can stop now,” Randle said. “I think we’ve seen enough.”

  Preacher was silent. Kim had set him up. He could see by the way she’d positioned him so that he faced directly into the camera that she had known exactly where it was.

  Randle looked at him. “Do you still think she will not file for divorce after seeing that?”

  “I can’t answer for Jane,” Preacher said. “What I would like to know is what you promised Kim Hickox for doing that?”

  Again Randle didn’t answer.

  “Or could it be that she is merely a good Christian woman sacrificing herself for the benefit of the ministry?” He laughed shortly. “I had been warned about that lady. Apparently this was not the first time she sought God in a minister’s bed.”

  Randle broke his silence. “We do not want to be too harsh on you. And we are interested in protecting the ministry. So we will not ask you and your friend to resign at this particular time. We will settle for your resignation to take effect the day after the Crusade. Of course, we expect to have the letter of resignation in our hands immediately.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Your wife will get the tape,” Randle said. “And the nigger will be turned over to the police.”

  Preacher was silent for a moment. “What if I tell you that I don’t give a damn? Go ahead.”

  Randle stared at him. “You’ll destroy the church.”

  “No,” Preacher said. “I won’t. You will. From the very beginning I should have known that it was not God’s word you cared about. Only the money and the power His word could give you.”

  “One of those men with your friend lost two members of his family in a bomb blast set by the Black Muslims,” Randle said, ignoring Preacher’s words. “Your friend’s wife will be lucky if all they do is turn him over to the police. She may never see him alive again.”

  Preacher looked into his eyes. “You’re a strange man, Jake. Murder one. Murder two. That means nothing to you, does it?”

  “My only concern is this church,” Randle said.

  “And your daughter?”

  “She chose to marry you. I didn’t,” Randle answered. “She’ll have to pay for her own sins.”

  “And whose sins will you pay for, Jake?” Preacher asked. “You don’t intend to pay for your own.”

  Randle didn’t answer.

  “First, there’s one thing I want from you, Jake,” Preacher said. “I want to announce on the air next Sunday that I’m going into a retreat for rest and meditation until the day of the Crusade.”

  “I won’t object to that,” Randle said.

  “Thanks,” Preacher said sarcastically.

  “Now, do we get the letter of resignation?”

  “Yes,” Preacher said. He got to his feet. He walked to the door and opened it, looking back at them. “Quite a telephone company you have, Jake. What other goodies do you have installed around here that even your friends don’t know about?”

  Randle shrugged off the remark. “When can we expect the letter?”

  “Just as soon as I hear from Beverly that Joe is home, safe and sound,” Preacher said, walking out and closing the door behind him.

  Chapter Twenty

  The green Buick sedan turned into the RV park on the Pacific Coast Highway just north of San Diego and drove down the narrow paved road to where the silver-and-black Winnebago was parked at the edge of a bluff overlooking the beach and the ocean. The car stopped and Joe, who had been driving, was the first to get out. A moment later Beverly and Tarz stood beside him.

  Joe squinted at the Winnebago. “That must be it. The only silver-and-black one I see.”

  “Why don’t we just knock on the door and find out?” Beverly suggested.

  They walked up to the Winnebago and Joe knocked gently on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. A little more loudly this time.

  A moment later a woman’s muffled voice came through the closed door. “Who is it?”

  Joe recognized it. “It’s Joe, Charlie. Open up.”

  The door was flung open and Charlie came down the steps and threw herself into Joe’s arms. “You’re here!” she laughed. “You’re really here! I can’t believe it!”

  “Didn’t Preacher tell you we were coming?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “But we’ve been waiting here more than a week. I was beginning to think you would never show up.”

  “It took time to get everything he wanted together,” Joe said. He glanced up as Melanie appeared in the doorway. “Hey, baby,” he said. “You’re lookin’ good.”

  She came down into his arms as Charlie turned to Beverly, hugging and kissing her, then finally to Tarz. For a moment they were all talking at once, then Joe looked around. “Where’s Preacher?”

  “He’s down on the beach,” Melanie said. “He goes down there every morning for meditation.”

  “Is he all right?” Beverly asked.

  “Beautiful,” Charlie said. “Come over here. You can see for yourself.”

  They followed her to the edge of the bluff and looked down to where she pointed. Preacher was seated on a rock, his back to them, staring out at the ocean, absolutely motionless.

  “He’s let his hair grow long again,” Beverly said.

  “Yes,” Charlie answered. “And his beard is back. He’s grown younger. Just like the Preacher we used to know.”

  “Was he upset about the divorce last month?” Beverly asked.

  “No,” Melanie answered. “I guess he expected it, so he wasn’t surprised when he telephoned Jane and she told him. He told us that he thought it was all for the best.”

  “What surprised me was that there was nothing in the papers about it,” Charlie said.

  “That’s her old man,” Joe said. “He kept everything quiet.” He turned to look down at Preacher again. “How long will he be?”

  “Maybe another half-hour,” Charlie said. “If you want, I’ll go down and get him.”

  “No,” Joe said. “We waited two months to see him; we can wait a half-hour more.”

  “Then come on back to the Winnie. We’ve got some cold beer in the refrigerator,” Charlie said.

  It was cool inside the motor home; the air conditioner’s silent hum was soft and soothing in its own way. Joe sipped at his beer. “So what have you guys been doin’ with yourselves every day? I know I kept getting your calls from all over the place. Like each week you’d be in another state.”

&nbs
p; Melanie sipped at her iced tea. “Going to church mostly. Every day a different church. Then Preacher would stand around and talk to people. He never said very much. Just listened. Then the next day the same thing in another town, another church.”

  “He didn’t do any preaching?” Tarz asked.

  “None at all. He said that this time, for once, he was doing what his mother had told him to do many times. Just talk and listen to people.”

  Beverly nodded. She looked at Joe. “He should be coming back real soon now. Maybe we ought to get those papers he wants from the trunk of the car?”

  Joe nodded and got to his feet. “Come on, Tarz,” he said. “No reason to leave all the heavy work to the black man.”

  Tarz laughed and followed him outside.

  Beverly turned to the girls. “Is Preacher really all right?”

  Melanie nodded. “Yes. Only thing is that he’s more quiet than he used to be. It almost seems like he’s talking to someone inside himself most of the time.”

  “It’s weird,” Charlie said. “You can be telling him something but half the time you aren’t sure that he even heard you. But then he’ll answer and you know that he did.”

  “And the rest of the time,” Melanie added, “he’ll be reading the Bible. By now I figure he’s gone through it so many times he’s worn the print off the pages.”

  Beverly was silent for a moment. Her voice was soft. “The Buddhist priests tell us that each word has a thousand meanings but only one of them is the right one for you. Maybe what Preacher is searching for is the meaning that is right for him.”

  ***

  The file folders and the papers were spread neatly on the table before him. Preacher sat quietly between Beverly and Joe while Tarz and the girls sat across from them.

  Beverly opened the first folder. “This is the computer printout from Churchland until the fifteenth of June. After that we couldn’t get any more information.”

  “Why?” Preacher asked.

  “They changed the access code,” she answered. “I think they became suspicious that someone had tapped into their lines.”

  “Is there any way they could trace it to you?” Preacher asked.

  She shook her head. “Impossible. We changed our base each time we went in on their line. And the computer doesn’t store records of who asked for the information.”

  Preacher nodded. “Without my reading the whole thing, can you tell me the highlights?”

  “I think so,” Beverly said. “The first thing Randle did was take care of himself. He sold Churchland and all the buildings on it to the Community for twenty-five million dollars in cash. Title and money were both due to be transferred on June thirtieth.”

  “That’s not so bad for about six million dollars’ worth of buildings and a thousand acres of worthless prairie land,” Preacher said.

  “Five hundred acres,” Beverly corrected him. “He kept the airport and the land beyond it for himself. Churchland’s leasing that for two hundred thousand a year.”

  Preacher was silent.

  “Approximately eight million dollars was donated to the Jake Randle Foundation for distribution to various other ministries and social and political action groups. One million dollars each was given to Mr. Craig’s Americans for a Better Way and Mrs. Lacey’s Christian Women’s Council. Also, new contracts were drawn for Drs. Sorensen and Ryker, increasing their salaries and expense accounts to one hundred and fifty thousand a year each, and a bonus of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars was paid to Mrs. Kim Hickox for her special assistance in securing additional talent for the Crusade for Christ.” Beverly paused for a moment to sip at her glass of iced tea, then continued. “As of our cutoff date, which was June fifteenth, approximately seven million dollars was paid out as advances on air time and advertising for the Crusade.”

  Preacher looked at her. “What was the balance in the surplus account?”

  “Between six and seven million dollars,” she answered. “Based on current collections and expenditures that should dwindle by at least half by the day of the Crusade, but if the computer predictions are correct they will pick up twenty-five million dollars or more from it.”

  Preacher picked up the printout folder and flipped through it. “Everybody got their pound of flesh,” he said.

  “Not yet they haven’t,” Joe said.

  “What do you mean?” Preacher asked.

  “You know too much,” Joe said. “Don’t you think for a minute the old man doesn’t know it. He can’t take no chances and let you blow the whistle on him.” He turned to Tarz. “Tell him what you found out.”

  “One night last week I went to a movie in Los Altos. I was thirsty when I came out, so I went into a bar for a drink. The bar was crowded, so I sat down at a table and ordered a beer. Before I could even get it, two men came and sat down next to me. One look and I knew they were flatfeet. They didn’t say anything until the waitress brought my beer and left. I didn’t say anything either.

  “Finally one of them spoke. ‘You’re an assistant pastor over at the Community?’ ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘You’re an old friend of the Preacher, aren’t you?’ ‘One of the oldest,’ I said. ‘Heard from him lately?’ he asked. ‘Nope,’ I said, ‘not since he went for his retreat.’

  “‘You don’t believe that bullshit, do you?’ he asked. ‘I believe what they tell me,’ I said. ‘Well, believe me, it’s bullshit,’ he said. ‘He took off with half the church’s money.’ ‘No,’ I said, hoping I sounded shocked enough. ‘Who would ever think a man like him would do a thing like that?’

  “He eyeballed me. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?’ ‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t even know where he’s makin’ his retreat.’ He looked at the other guy and the other guy nodded. He turned back to me. ‘Mr. Randle would like to talk to him and settle this whole business quietly. He don’t want no scandal for the church.’ ‘Neither do I,’ I said. ‘Mr. Randle will pay ten thousand dollars to anyone who can tell us where to pick him up.’

  “I take a deep breath and a sip of my beer. ‘That’s a lot of money.’ ‘Mr. Randle’s real concerned,’ he said, ‘real concerned.’ ‘Have you checked out his mother?’ I asked, knowing you weren’t there. ‘We got her place under twenty-four-hour surveillance and her phone bugged besides. Nuthin,’ he answered. ‘We even got his ex-wife’s place covered but she hasn’t heard from him in a month, not since she told him about the divorce.’ ‘I can’t think of anywhere else then,’ I said.

  “‘What about that nigger preacher who keeps movin’ around to all those little churches?’ he asked. ‘I don’t hear from him either,’ I said. ‘I have nothing to do with that end of it.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘How do you like ten grand?’ ‘Real good,’ I said. ‘Who don’t?’

  “He took a card from his pocket and pushed it toward me. I looked at it. ‘If you hear anything call that number. If we get him, it’s worth ten grand to you.’ ‘Ten grand for sure?’ I asked. ‘Ten grand,’ he said, getting up. ‘Real money. Don’t lose the card.’

  “‘I won’t,’ I said, sticking it in my pocket. And I didn’t.” He took the card from his wallet and gave it to Preacher.

  Preacher looked down at it. Special Security Services, Inc., Houston, Texas. The telephone number was a toll-free 800 line.

  “That’s the same bunch that picked me up,” Joe said.

  Preacher nodded silently and put the card in his shirt pocket. He looked at Tarz. “Thanks.”

  Tarz smiled. “For what? I didn’t do anything.”

  “For loving. And caring,” Preacher said. He turned back to Joe and Beverly. “How about our plan for the affiliates?”

  Joe smiled. “We got over ninety percent of them signed, sealed, and delivered. The rest should come through in a few weeks. That pile of ten file folders over there has a copy of every agreement.”

  “Good,” Preacher smiled. He looked at Beverly. “And the trust for the children?”

  “Tha
t’s done too,” she said. She moved a heavy brown legal envelope toward him. “It’s all in there. Notarized and approved by the bank. All that has to be done now is to send your ex-wife a copy.”

  He pushed the envelope back to her. “You send it to her by registered mail the day before the Crusade.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “What about the ministers’ petition to the court?” he asked.

  “That’s ready too,” Joe said. “They all signed the same time we gave them the shares. But our lawyers advise us to file it in a federal court in California. One, because we are incorporated here in California and, two, if we file in Texas, Randle’s got so much clout he’ll have it buried. Right now they’re checking out the federal judges here in San Diego to pick one they feel will be the most favorable toward us.”

  Preacher nodded.

  “They also advise us to file the Friday before the Crusade so that the court order will be effective on the day after because Labor Day is a legal holiday. That way we freeze everything, including the collections from the Crusade.”

  Preacher took a deep breath. “Then you’ll have to go into court for me. I won’t be here.”

  Joe stared at him. “Where the hell will you be?”

  “In Churchland, where I’m supposed to be,” Preacher said. “After all, they’re still carrying me in all their advertising. I’m supposed to deliver the closing sermon.”

  “Are you crazy?” Joe’s voice was shocked. “After what you heard from Tarz do you think they’ll let you get anywhere near the place?”

  “They can’t keep me out,” Preacher said calmly.

  “Then I’ll go too, and I better get a few of the brothers to come with us,” Joe said. “I can have them start makin’ up a few goodies right away.”

  “No one is going in with me,” Preacher said calmly. “I won’t have anyone hurt on my account. Either those for me or those against me. I don’t believe in killing.”

  “Do you think they feel the same way?” Joe asked angrily.