All the furniture was constructed from slats of pure, polished teak: stark in design and hard on the butt. Even the couch Webster was sitting on had no fixed cushions on the back. Sitting was made tolerable by the use of yellow silk pillows. Asnikov’s desk was an enormous chunk of rosewood grained with deep swirls of brown and black. The desk chair was a modular piece of blue leather. The walls, like the ceiling, were built with cherrywood planking. No artwork was hung on them because the picture windows provided the color—palettes of leafy green elms and sycamores. Through the windows, Webster caught sight of a rock waterfall.
An attempt at serenity was marred by the six-foot high gun safe in the corner, the locked shelving unit holding the newest of surveillance equipment and the fully loaded computer ticking out reams of paper. Asnikov’s phone system had more lights than an airplane’s cockpit.
A few moments later, Asnikov returned, hanging up his jacket on a brass coatrack. The man was built as solidly as a welder. His face was hard, his green eyes were intense and his square jaw had a mandible that worked overtime. His clothes were more Hollywood exec than PI. He wore a loose-structured tan Armani-type suit over a blue-and-brown striped shirt. For his sartorial accessories, he had chosen a yellow tie and matching pocket handkerchief.
He said, “Get out your writing pad and take notes.”
Webster held his tablet up. “Ready when you are.”
“Cults.” Asnikov started ticking off fingers. “You need a charismatic leader—someone with it. Because it’s the leader who attracts the followers. Which is the second thing you need.”
“Followers,” Webster said.
Asnikov smiled with closed lips. “You got it. Cults require adherents—ites. They’re the ones who guarantee survival, the drones who work the jobs and spread the word—which is the third thing you need.”
Up went three fingers.
“The word!” Asnikov said with emphasis. “The philosophy, the ism. Cults are always ritualistic and more than likely have an unorthodox philosophy specifically designed to develop an us/them attitude. The ism is the key to a successful cult. It must isolate and alienate its members from the outside world. Ergo, a successful cult is one that erases its members’ pasts. If the cult eradicates its adherents’ history, it’s free to create its own, substituting one that glorifies and extols the cult’s values and the values of the charismatic leader who, in fact, determines those said values. Are you with me?”
“I’m with you,” Webster replied.
“To recap, three things. The it, the ites and the isms,” Asnikov continued. “There are open cults and closed cults. Most of your religious variants started as open cults, founded on isms by a charismatic leader who held a vision. Some examples; Christian Science developed by Mary Baker Eddy, the Shakers forwarded in this country by Ann Lee, Mormonism with Brigham Young’s sighting of the angel, Moroni, Jewish Chasidism with the Ba’al Shem Tov. Today, many of these cults have been integrated into standard American religious practices. But way back when, these leaders were ridiculed and ostracized.”
“Just like Ganz,” Webster stated.
“Ah, but there’s a big difference,” Asnikov answered. “In these open cults, the adherents stick to a strict set of isms, but—a big but—they are free to come and go. No one is forcing them to stay. The leaders are generally non-obstructionist, and access to its participants is easier.”
“And that makes your job easier,” Webster said.
“Absolutely. If I can talk to a person alone, and on my turf, I may be successful in returning that adherent to the former life or I may not be successful. If I am sure that there is no coercion, I let well enough alone. The parents may be very unhappy, but if the kid’s over eighteen, them’s the breaks.
“It’s the closed cults that are my stock-in-trade—the ones that keep their followers under lock and key.”
“And you feel that the Order of the Rings of God falls under that category?”
“Without a doubt. When was the last time you ever saw one of its adherents in the supermarket?”
“I’ve never looked.”
“Well, Detective, I have looked. And let me tell you something. No one ever went in or out without Emil Ganz’s—i.e., Jupiter’s—say-so. You ever wonder how a cult that big survives when no one residing there has a conventional job?”
“How?”
“Two things. First, the group pools its followers’ collective money. You join the Order of the Rings of God, you give up all your worldly assets for the good of the group. Guess who determines how that money is spent?”
“Jupiter.”
“Two points, Detective.” Asnikov took out a bottle of water, and drank it empty. “Over the years, Jupiter must have conned hundreds of thousands from his adherents. How much Jupiter had pocketed for himself is anyone’s guess. I do know he bought a chicken ranch about a hundred miles north. It produces eggs and chicken for the Order with enough leftover eggs and feathers to sell for pocket change.”
“So Jupiter has used the money for the good of his followers.”
“Except that the ranch is under his name as the sole owner.” Asnikov glanced at his watch—a Steel Oyster Rolex. “Now this is a prime example of a closed cult. To get the chickens and eggs, someone from the Order has had to go up there on a regular basis. It’s a time-consuming and menial job—collecting eggs and chickens and feathers. You assign a chore like that to an underling. Yet the only people who I’ve ever seen leave the confines and drive up there were Jupiter and his attendants—Pluto, Bob, Nova and the lady Venus. No one else. Ever. You’ve got to ask why.”
“Jupiter doesn’t want to give his followers freedom.”
“Exactly. He keeps his adherents away—away from freedom, away from their pasts and from parents or old friends or, God forbid, me. If Jupiter loses his followers, he loses his power base. Personally, I’m always suspicious of people who love power.”
Asnikov’s jaw muscles started working.
“People say I’m a kidnapper. Uh uh, not a chance. I’m a redeemer. It’s people like Ganz who are the kidnappers.”
“But if the member is a willing participant—”
“No such animal. As long as the person is not permitted access to the outside world, he or she is a captive. Maybe one who is treated nicely—fed and clothed and fucked—but as dependent as a pet. You have children, Detective?”
“Indeed, I do.”
It came out as “Indeed, ah dew.”
Asnikov asked, “How’d you like if some goat treated your son or daughter like a circus animal—blindly obeying orders like some freak?”
“I could understand the heartbreak.” Webster looked at the deprogrammer. “But taking someone who is over eighteen and whisking them away—even for his or her own good—is against the law. Then again, I think you know that. I’ve doubts whether something like a law would stop you.”
“If those idiots at the Order say that I’ve been within ten feet of their compound within the last month, they’re lying. Even worse, Detective, they may be hiding something truly nefarious.”
“Like what?”
“A girl’s missing, sir. You figure it out.”
“You think they’ve murdered her?”
“I don’t think anything is beyond them.”
“You wouldn’t be trying…for instance…to deflect the attention away from yourself, now would you?”
Asnikov was straight-faced. “I don’t need to deflect attention away from myself. Watch me all you want. If I break the law, arrest me. I’m not worried.”
Webster said, “So you’re not involved in Lauren Bolt’s kidnapping?”
“No, I’m not involved. And who says she was kidnapped? With all the confusion yesterday, the girl could have taken the opportunity to slip.”
“And if I looked into your books, I wouldn’t find Millard and Patricia Bolt listed as your clients?”
“Now that is truly a theoretical question.” Asnikov gave him a hin
t of a smile. “If you could break into my books, which are written in code, I’d hire you in a snap at a starting salary of six figures.” He paused. “If you don’t believe me, Detective, ask Lauren Bolt’s parents.”
“We’ve been trying to get hold of them,” Webster answered. “Mr. Bolt’s secretary says they’re on vacation.”
“It’s America. They have a right.”
Webster slouched, trying to get comfortable on a rock-hard sofa. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“I don’t know why,” Asnikov answered. “We’re basically on the same side.”
“It’s the basically part that bothers me,” Webster said. “Y’see, my tactics always fall within the law.”
“Hence the high failure rate among the police.” Asnikov grinned, showing white-capped teeth. “I reiterate. You think I break the law, arrest me. You do your job, I’ll do mine.”
Webster licked his lips, deciding to redirect the interview. “In your opinion, what’s going to happen with the Order now that Jupiter’s gone?”
“An interesting question.” Again, Asnikov checked his watch. But he didn’t appear to be in a hurry. “There are four under him with a supposedly equal power base. But anyone who knows anything about the Order knows that Pluto is the number-two man.”
“So Pluto takes over?”
“Notice I said the number-two man. Problem is there’s also a number-one woman. And she holds just as much sway as Pluto. Right now, I’d say Pluto is probably in charge. No doubt, he’s trying to stonewall Venus. But once she gets her bearings that could all change.”
“Who do you think will win out?”
“Can’t tell. But there’s bound to be some sort of power play by Pluto, then a counter by Venus…a jockeying back and forth until someone will eventually come out the victor.”
“How long do you think that’ll take?”
“Who knows?” Asnikov’s eyebrows bunched in concentration. “A week, a month, a year. The longer it takes, the better it is for everyone. If the power play is made too hastily—without thought to consequences—things could get ugly. If I were the police, I’d keep a close watch on the compound. The Order’s a fecund bunch. You don’t want a pile of dead kids on your conscience.”
14
Pluto appeared to be praying, giving Decker a few extra moments to take in the temple sans the processional hubbub. The sanctuary was retangular in shape except for the northern wall, which was rounded and arched with a domed ceiling. The north side also held a spectacular mural of the nighttime heavens painted in deep jeweled blues and brilliant silvers and whites. In the middle of the heavens hung an idealized screen-sized, midtorso portrait of Emil Euler Ganz. Father Jupiter looked down sternly on his worshipers, his exaggerated, too-sharp jawline jutting outward from his face, stern, steely eyes that could cut through granite. He wore royal purple vestments, embellished with gold thread, and ruffed with a monk’s cowl fashioned from fur. Either a halo or spiral galaxy rested over his silver hair. His right hand held a scepter made from iridescent cosmic dust while his left hand twirled his namesake planet. It might have been comical had Jupiter not looked so godlike, as if he could inflict harsh punishments through plagues.
The three remaining walls of the temple were adorned with stained-glass windows of the other eight planets, each sphere held aloft by its respective mythological Greek god or goddess. Ten rows of twenty north-facing pews filled up the center floor space. Pluto was kneeling in the first row, his head bowed, his clasped hands resting against his forehead. His lips were moving but no sound came out. Decker cleared his throat. Pluto looked up and over his shoulder.
“Do you always sneak up on people?” His voice echoed across the room although he wasn’t speaking loud.
Decker said, “You learn a light touch when you do surveillance work.”
The attendant stood and faced him. “And is that what you’re doing now? Surveillance work?”
Decker approached him with measured footsteps. “You reported a missing girl, I’m here to investigate. We’re on the same side.”
“I certainly hope you mean that. We need action!” The small man’s face had become red. “Starting with that maniac!”
“Asnikov—”
“Of course Asnikov!” The little man began to pace—up and down the aisle…up and down, up and down. “That monster has been out to get us for years! Unsuccessfully, I’m proud to say. All his cajoling and bribing and heavy-handedness has failed miserably. So he has resorted to unscrupulous methods like this.”
“You think he’s kidnapped her.”
“No, I don’t think he did it. I know he kidnapped her!”
“Okay.” Decker paused. “Assuming you’re right. Any idea where he might have taken her?”
Abruptly, Pluto stopped pacing. “No. You’re going to have to do a thorough investigation of him. All-out manpower hunt. He needs to be tailed…talk about surveillance work. If you’re willing, I can help you work out a plan.”
Evidence of a crime would help. Decker ran his tongue in his cheek and looked upward. The ceiling had been painted with stars and celestial bodies. Funny he hadn’t noticed it before. “I’ve asked Bob and Nova to join us. Working together, maybe we can come up with a better solution—”
“Totally unnecessary! Too many people make for too many problems.”
Decker tapped his foot. “Aren’t they your equals?”
“How we utilize our manpower isn’t of your concern. Do what is your concern. Go find Andromeda!”
“Who decides when others are needed?”
“A very good question,” answered a husky female voice.
Both Decker and Pluto turned toward the entrance. Venus paused so they could take her in, then approached them with slow, purposeful steps, her red and gold robe sweeping across the floor as she walked. Her posture displayed a position of royalty, and not an unrehearsed one. “Why was I not informed about this latest development?”
Pluto made fists, then slowly relaxed his fingers. “I had every intention of telling you—”
“When?”
“As soon as I found the time! While you were meditating and praying in your room, I was quelling a near riot in the community hall!”
Venus said, “From what I heard, your words seemed more incendiary than calming.”
“Then you misheard!”
The two faced off in stony silence. Decker felt like a child caught between divorcing parents. Moments ticked by.
Venus spoke. “I am not a hothouse flower, Pluto. I will not be kept in the dark about things concerning my family! This is especially important to me because Andromeda was one of my favorites. I love her dearly.”
Pluto decided to give ground. “If it is your desire to dirty your hands, so be it. After all you’ve gone through, I was trying to save you the misery.”
“I appreciate the concern, albeit misguided.” Venus focused her attention on Decker. “I’m counting on you to return Andromeda to her home. Here! It’s where she belongs!” Hard eyes landing on his face. “If you can’t bring her back, I know others who can and will.”
Meaning illegally. Empty threats or does she have sources? Decker asked, “Do you know where she might be?”
“No. Asnikov is hiding her at some undisclosed location. You have your work cut out for you.”
Decker said, “To mobilize the kind of manpower you’re requesting…it would help if we had evidence that a crime was committed.”
Pluto broke in, “The girl is missing—”
“She’s over eighteen, sir, she’s entitled to come and go as she pleases—”
“She would never leave here!” Venus said.
“How do you know?”
“She loved it here. She was happy here. And she’d never leave the children. She loved the children!”
Decker asked, “Does she have children of her own?”
A male voice joined in. “No, she didn’t have children. She taught children.”
The
trio turned toward the newcomer. Guru Bob.
He said, “She taught the teenagers. She related well to them. Probably because she wasn’t much older herself.”
Pluto was perturbed. “Didn’t you say you were going to take over her class?”
“He wanted me here.” Bob cocked a thumb toward Decker. “For today, I combined the teens with Terra’s class. There’s only seven of them.”
“Seven?” Venus said. “I thought we had eight teens. I’m sure we have eight.”
Bob’s eyes grew restless. “No, seven—”
“No, I’m sure there’s eight.” Venus tapped her toe. “Vega, Rigel, Gamma’s two girls…Asa and…”
“Myna,” Bob said. “She was there.”
Venus continued, “Orion, Leo, Ursa…”
“They were all there, Venus.”
“No. We’re missing someone!” Venus insisted. “God, don’t tell me that monster got hold of one of our children!”
“Hold on, hold on!” Bob said with irritation. “Vega, Rigel, Asa, Myna, Orion, Leo, Ursa…I think that’s all—”
“No, it’s not all!” Venus grew nervous. “Lyra!” She said triumphantly. “Moriah’s kid. She’s thirteen now…”
“I didn’t see her today,” Bob answered. “Maybe she wasn’t feeling well.”
“What does that mean?” Venus scolded. “She was under your care.”
Abruptly, Bob’s demeanor darkened. “Out of the goodness of my heart, I agreed to teach them, not to baby-sit! Look, Pluto, I don’t mind you stepping in temporarily for Jupiter to give the family stability just so long as you realize that you’re not Jupiter—”
“I’m not trying to be Jupiter!” Pluto insisted. “But someone has to keep the Order running until things have calmed down. Certainly the others weren’t up to it—”
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