He knew it had to come. He’d hear their boots in the hall and then the troopers would appear. Three, maybe four. There’d likely be an officer, too. And when he saw them, he’d know. That there wasn’t any time left to live, that everything was over and done. So he let himself think about it coming, walked through it in his head, thinking maybe that would make it work, that it wouldn’t be all that bad if he knew just how it would
And when it happened, nothing helped at all. He didn’t feel courageous or resigned; instead, he was scared out of his wits, numb all over with fear. When the soldiers appeared, he retreated to the far end of his cell and pressed his back against the wall. They would have to come and get him. That was the thing to do. Make them come the extra ten feet. Steal an extra minute of life. Maybe two. Something would happen and everything would change from the way it was.
There were two troopers and an officer. The troopers held their rifles at port arms before their chests.
“You going to give us any trouble?” The officer stopped a few feet inside the cell and gave Howie a wary look. He wore captain’s tabs on his freshly pressed greens. “It’s gain’ to happen either way, you know that. We can leave here easy or hard.”
“I won’t give you any trouble,” Howie said.
The captain looked over his shoulder. The troopers stepped forward smartly, one on either side of Howie.
“Let’s go,” the captain said. “Just keep between them two.”
Howie didn’t move. “Listen, is it a hanging or a gun? I want to know that.”
The captain nodded, as if he fully understood this concern. “It’s a hanging.”
“I been inside here a spell. I don’t even know if it’s daylight or dark.”
“It’s day. About sunup.”
“Thanks,” Howie said. “I kinda figured it was.”
The hallway was dimly lit and smelled of earth. The passage curved sharply to the right, and Howie had to duck to avoid a root as thick as a man. They were underground, then. He had been out cold when they brought him in. Somehow, he felt better knowing where he was.
It made a lot of sense, Howie reasoned. Everything looked real nice at High Sequoia. The Church would want to keep something ugly like a cell out of sight, so they’d burrowed beneath one of the giant trees. Lawrence was good at that, hiding all the bad stuff where no one could find it.
The first sight of daylight hurt his eyes. The greens were too harsh; even the muted sunlight from high above was too bright. A high wooden fence circled one side of the giant tree. The path was scarcely four feet wide; Howie couldn’t see past the trooper and the officer ahead. Where would they do it? He wondered. Out of sight somewhere, a place where most of the Churchers would never go. Hell, Ritcher Jones would find them a good spot.
Howie didn’t doubt for a minute that few of the Brothers and Sisters had any knowledge at all of the events going on in their midst. Ritcher Jones and Michael, Lawrence, a few others they could trust. That was the thing about a place like High Sequoia. Lawrence and God told you when to eat and pee and go to bed. You didn’t ask questions and you did what you were told. There were rebels in the ranks now and then, like Brother James, but he didn’t count. James didn’t want to change anything, he simply wanted a place at the top of the heap.
Howie’s thoughts were on James, and the sound of a pistol he’d never even heard, and the picture was so clear in his mind he imagined it was happening again. It happened so fast he had no time to blink, no time to even move. Three rapid sounds, as if someone had coughed close by. The trooper ahead of Howie stumbled, tried to catch himself, and dropped to the ground. Howie saw the captain on his knees, moaning and trying desperately to crawl away. The coughing sound came again and the officer collapsed and lay still. Howie stopped cold. He heard another stifled cry and jerked around. The other guard was flat on his back, staring at the sky. Chan stood over the trooper, a pistol in his hand. It was the same kind of weapon Brother Michael had carried, a revolver with an awkward black pipe on the end of the barrel.
“Hurry, this way,” Chan said, gesturing with his weapon.
Howie stared at Chan as if he’d never seen him before. “What—what the hell happened?”
“This is no time for talk,” Chan said. “We must go!”
Chan stepped over the dead trooper, gripped Howie’s arm, and shoved him roughly down the path.
Howie balked. “Listen, friend, this is the way they was taking me to string me from a tree.”
“Fine. You are free to take any path you wish,” Chan said sharply. “I am going this way. I wish you good fortune on your journey.”
Chan trotted off quickly down the path, leaving Howie behind. Howie hesitated only a moment. He glanced back once at the carnage, then followed after Chan.
It seemed to Howie they were doing nothing more than circling the giant tree. Chan paused every few yards to search the thick patch of ferns to his right, poking the foliage with his weapon. His face was strained, the skin taut across his cheeks. Howie didn’t figure this was any time to poke around plants, but managed to keep his silence.
A man shouted in the distance. Another answered, crying out in alarm. Howie was ready to take his chances, climb the fence and run, do anything but stay where he was.
“Ah! I have it,” Chan said. “In here, quickly!”
“In where’?” Howie said.
In answer, Chan stepped into the stand of ferns and vanished. Howie looked curiously at the spot where his friend had disappeared, then stepped into the greenery. Chan tapped his ankle. Howie started and looked down. Chan was halfway down a hole, a narrow cleft at the base of the tree.
“Be careful,” Chan said. “It is quite steep.”
Howie gripped Chan’s shoulder and followed him through the darkness. He smelled earth and the scent of wood. Touching the sides of the tunnel, he felt wet roots and dirt.
In a moment, the passage widened. Chan stopped. The air was cool and wet; Howie heard the steady drip of water somewhere. Chan handed Howie his weapon. Howie could hear him searching about. A spark lit up the darkness; a flame came to life in Chan’s hands. He moved the flame to a lantern, and turned the wick up high.
The tunnel came to life. Howie stared in wonder at the sight. Tangled roots gripped clots of stone and earth. Everything glistened with beads of moisture. The passage was narrow, and no more than six feet high.
“I have only been here once before,” Chan said. “We are fortunate to find my lantern. I was afraid I had left it in another passage.”
Howie stared at Chan. “You been here before? How’d you find this place?”
“As you recall, I am a spy,” Chan said patiently. “Spies are supposed to find things. There are maps, drawings, from a time even before the days of old High Sequoia. This place is not supposed to exist, but it does. As you can see. We are fond of saving old things in China. That is where I discovered the map, and many other ancient things. Do not ask me how it came to my country from here. We know little of that terrible time, but it is my belief that men hid in this place during the Great War.”
“And the Churchers, they don’t know about the tunnels?”
“Certainly not.” Chan looked sternly at Howie. “We would not be here if they did. For a man who is supposed to be hanging from a rope at this moment, you ask a great many questions.”
“I ain’t ungrateful,” Howie said. “I just like to have some idea what I’m doing. I don’t see nothing wrong with that.”
Chan leaned back against the damp earth. He closed his eyes a moment, then looked thoughtfully at Howie. “Yes, you are right. I cannot blame you for being curi-ous. I am quite curious about a number of things myself. I am especially curious about a friend named Cory, who also seems to be a person called Howie Ryder. This Howie Ryder is a person who has killed a very prominent member of the Loyalist delegation. I learned of this event from a Churcher who is Lawrence’s cook. I have paid this Brother well for some time, in order to gain certain informa
tion. Finally, he earns his keep, and I am able to vanish from my quarters with seconds to spare. If I had not been warned, I would now be dead.” Chan shook his head. “It is not healthy to be a friend of this Howie Ryder. People who know this person seem to suddenly disappear.”
“What—what are you talking about?” Howie stared at Chan. “Who’s disappeared?”
“Howie Ryder, everyone who knew you is dead,” Chan said gently. “The Churchers have eliminated any person who had anything to do with you. A Sister named Lorene, another named Marie—”
“God, no!” Howie cried out. A terrible fear gripped his heart. “Aw, they wouldn’t! They wouldn’t murder them girls!”
“Yes,” Chan said, “They would, my friend. There is also a Brother named Jonas. He is dead as well. And several more.”
“I rode in a carriage with him from New Los Angeles. All I did was talk to him.”
That is apparently enough,” Chan said. “This thing you have done, it is clearly of great importance, some-thing the Churchers are determined to keep to themselves.”
Lorene, Lorene! Tears blurred Howie’s good eye. He tried to hold back the sorrow, but all he could see was Lorene, her face and her shining hair, her mouth when she laughed.
“I am sorry,” Chan said. “I do not pretend to under-stand all this. I only know that it is so.”
“They—Ritcher Jones,” Howie said, “He knew I wanted Harriver Mason dead. The thing is, he wanted the bastard out of the picture, too, and he used me to get it done.”
“Ah, the peace talks. Yes.” Chan nodded in sudden understanding. “This explains a great deal.” He looked soberly at Howie. “There is much here I do not know, but the picture is growing clear, Howie Ryder. High Sequoia is determined to maintain control of this war be-tween the Loyalists and Rebels in your country. I know this is so. And to do this, they must control the peace talks as well. It is they who will decide the points of compromise. The two opposing forces will imagine they have agreed upon terms—but those terms will truly come from High Sequoia itself.”
Howie looked confused. “The Churchers have got that much clout in California? They can really do that?”
Chan showed Howie a weary smile. “I see you are unaware of the truth, friend Howie Ryder. This is not surprising. It is what you, and everyone else, is supposed to think—that High Sequoia is a small religious sect and nothing more. That is not so. Lawrence has a great deal more than this clout you speak of. High Sequoia is the ruling force in California. Its people are in key positions; they have been there for many years. Public officials are elected, yes—but it is men like Ritcher Jones and Lawrence who make the real decisions.”
Chan paused. “That is the true danger to your country, and to the rest of the world as well. This new High Sequoia is new only on the surface. It grew from a haven for the lawless, where men could get anything they wanted for a price. Arms, women, food. Anything, if you could pay. Now the men who rule High Sequoia wear robes and call themselves a church. But nothing has changed. It is the same. Lawrence’s ‘new tomorrow’ will be subtly but rigidly controlled. He has manipulated the war to his liking by controlling the source of supply for both armies. He will manipulate the peace as well. The war will end when High Sequoia wishes it to end. Then the people Lawrence has placed within both the Loyalist and Rebel governments will form a new United States. High Sequoia will rule not only California, but your entire nation as well.”
“God A ’mighty,” Howie said. He was startled by the enormity of what Chan was saying. The whole country, run by men like Lawrence and Jones. Chan was right— they were far more dangerous than Lathan or Colonel Jacob, or a bunch of damn generals out for glory. All the armies had was men and guns. Lawrence had God whispering secrets in his ear, and that made everything fine. If you were crazy as a loon, it was right to kill Lorene or Marie or anyone else who got in the way, because dying was the greatest thing anyone could do. You were doing a person a favor, sending him off to the Lord. A terrible picture appeared in Howie’s head—Lorene and Marie, lying cold and still, all the color gone from their cheeks, their lips pale as chalk.
“My friend, we have very little time,” Chan said, as if he guessed Howie’s thoughts. “There are things I must know. Things that perhaps you can tell me.”
“I figured there was a lot of things 1 knew,” Howie said bitterly. “It don’t appear like I know hardly anything at all.”
The lantern began to flicker, and Chan turned the wick up higher. “There is much here that few people know,” Chan said. “High Sequoia has covered its tracks well. And they are not the only danger, my friend.”
Chan laughed, a quick, hollow sound laced with anger. “If I had not been marked for death through my friendship with you, my own companions would have managed to murder me before we returned to China.”
“I got an idea there was a problem,” Howie said. “I just didn’t know what.”
“It is a great deal more than a problem,” Chan said shortly. “If you have been to New Los Angeles, you have seen the great stock pens there, and you know that Asia is a major market for meat. There are factions in China that strongly oppose these dealings. Unfortunately, these factions are weak. The people you met at our quarters represent the party presently in power. These men care little for China; they are blinded by the lure of great profits.”
Chan hesitated, then placed his hands on his knees and leaned closer to Howie. “In China, we have long raised other kinds of—stock. Creatures, animals, that have not been seen in your country since the Great War. This stock is still in short supply. The stock from your country is not. It is shipped to my country—live—then butchered in remote areas and sold in markets throughout Asia. My friend, the people who eat meat from California do not know that it comes from stock with two legs. They are not aware that such a horror has taken place in your country since the Great War.”
“My God …” Howie stared at Chan.
“Ah, I was almost certain that you knew the truth,” Chan said with some relief. “I see that it is riot necessary to convince you.”
“I know stock’s the same as people, if that’s what you mean,” Howie said darkly. “I know a whole lot about that.”
“It is an appalling secret,” Chan said. “And one that the trading powers in my country will go to any length to protect. They share this interest with the few in your country who know the truth. I will tell you, Howie Ryder, that I was sent to California to spy on my people, not yours. I was sent to attempt to stop what is almost certain to begin—here, at High Sequoia.”
Howie shook his head. “If you’re goin’ to try to stop this trading in meat, you got a damn near impossible job on your hands. Especially right now.”
“No. You do not understand,” Chan said. “What I came to stop has riot yet begun. But it will, if High Sequoia and traders from China have their way.” Chan gripped Howie’s shoulder. “There was a place in your country called Silver Island. It was not what people believed it to be. Things were done in this place that—”
Howie cut him off. “I know all about Silver Island,” he said harshly. “What the hell do you know about it?”
Chan raised a brow. “You are full of surprises, Howie Ryder.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Howie said. “What do you know ’bout Silver Island?”
“I know that High Sequoia was the silent partner, the major force behind the breeding experiments that took place at Silver Island. I know this is why my people are here—they are willing to pay any price to learn how to set up such a facility in China. They have come to California to learn these procedures firsthand.”
Howie was puzzled. “Firsthand how? Silver Island’s gone. Hell, I been there. The whole thing’s burned to the ground!”
“The place you saw is gone, my friend,” Chan said. “But the terrible things that happened there are not. Silver Island is here. At High Sequoia.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Howie felt as if a gr
eat and awesome presence had risen up within him, a surge of pain and anger that threatened to consume him. He heard himself cry out, felt his fists tighten until his palms began to bleed.
Chan was startled by the sudden, frightening change in his friend; the face he saw in the dim light was a face he didn’t know, a man he’d never seen before. He waited, held his breath until the storm began to subside.
“You know this,” Howie said finally, staring at his hands. “You sure what you’re saying? Silver Island’s here?”
“Yes. It is here.”
“Where is it? How far from here?”
“Not far. Two, perhaps three miles to the west. The
Brothers and Sisters are told it is a private retreat for Lawrence and the elders of the Church. No one who is not supposed to be there goes anywhere near it.”
“I expect they got some guards.”
“Some. Not many. Obedience is the guardian at High Sequoia.”
Howie looked wearily at Chan. “They start out here with new people and stock, or did they bring some with ’em from Silver Island?”
“I cannot say. I know where it is—I have certainly not been inside.” Chan looked curiously at Howie. “What is it, my friend? Why do you wish to know these things?”
“Because Silver Island took my sister,” Howie said harshly. “They took her away when she was a kid to their goddam better tomorrow. That’s why I came to this place, ’cause Ritcher Jones said Mason was here.”
Chan was silent a long moment. “Yes, of course. I am most sorry, my friend. It is little wonder you have such anger in your heart.” He laid a hand on Howie’s arm. “I believe I know what you are thinking. But you must not allow yourself to dwell on this. Your sister could not be here. You know this isn’t so.
“How do I know she’s not here?” Howie’s eyes blazed with sudden anger. “I don’t know nothin’ at all. They didn’t murder everyone at Silver Island. Some of ’em got away. A few down Mexico to Nueva Panama. And some others hid out in the ’glades. I talked to them, Chan. They knew her. A girl there told me she was good with little kids. She kept them from getting scared.”
Neal Barrett Jr. Page 24
