Warning Shot

by Jenna Kernan

  “Yeah! My first field assignment and your father is on my watch list.”

  “He wasn’t. You never mentioned him.”

  “But you knew that he should be. You knew that one of his followers was arrested by Border Patrol for transporting an Eastern European into the US.”

  “A Croatian. My father denied knowledge.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe. Only what I can prove.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “Part of the indoctrination is to believe that he is one of God’s chosen. I believe that none of his followers would take such action without his specifically ordering them to do so. I told ICE exactly that when they questioned me.”

  Immigration and Customs Enforcement had charged one of Reverend Wayne’s followers, William Evers, with human trafficking. The illegal immigrant was deported and, as far as Axel knew, Evers was still in federal prison.

  “You lied to me,” she said.

  “I omitted.”

  “You were born there, in that compound. I’m looking for a foreign agent on US soil and now I learn that one of your father’s followers was engaged in human trafficking. That kind of activity points to the possibility of ongoing human trafficking. The sort of trafficking that might bring my suspect to your county.”

  “Do you have evidence to that effect?”

  “We know a foreign agent carried a deadly virus strain onto US soil. We know that person is missing. Additionally, we know that one of Wayne Faith’s followers once transported an Eastern European illegally into this county. And we know that you are the son of Wayne Trace, whose surname was changed to Faith. Do you have any idea what my affiliation with you will do to my career?”

  “Who you sleep with is your business, Rylee.”

  “The trouble is I don’t really know who I slept with. Do I?”

  He glanced away.

  “It’s not just that you lied, Axel. It’s that I can’t trust anything you say, or don’t say, again.”

  He looked back at her. “You ever been ashamed, Rylee? During your years traveling with your family or in college or maybe in your stellar career? You have someone in your past that you’d do anything to distance yourself from?”

  “If you wanted distance, why did you move back here after your discharge?”

  It was a question he didn’t think on because the answers hurt too much.

  “Maybe I wanted to be near my mother.”

  “Who is?”

  He looked away again. “I don’t know. But if she ever wanted to leave, I wanted her to know I was close. That I could help her if she’d let me.”

  “Is that all?”

  He looked up and then to the river and then to the ground. Everywhere and anywhere but at Rylee.

  “Why else, Axel?”

  “To stop him. I wanted to be here in case he set a date. I have siblings there. I have childhood friends who never left. If Father Wayne decides that the Rising is coming, I wanted to be here to stop him.”

  “Stop him from what, Axel?”

  “They rehearse their departure to Heaven’s Door. That’s what he calls mass suicide. Not death, just a door. They have costumes and rituals. He holds their lives in his hand. On his word, they’ll all kill themselves.”

  He hazarded a quick glance to see Rylee’s mouth had dropped open.

  “Can’t you close them down?”

  “I told you, I’ve tried. It’s not illegal to believe what they believe. I’ve had Child Protective Services out there dozens of times. The children show no signs of abuse. And their upbringing is no harder than Fundamentalists or any number of religious subgroups.”

  “His religious beliefs are crazy.”

  “But not illegal.”

  She closed her mouth and gave him a troubled stare. She seemed to be deciding something. Axel held his breath. When she didn’t speak, he broke the silence.

  “If you have something on him, some law that he’s broken, I can help you.”

  Rylee shook her head. “Perhaps you do really want to stop him. I don’t know. But you can’t be involved in this investigation any longer and I cannot have anything more to do with you.”

  “Rylee, please.”

  “Goodbye, Axel.” She started to turn away.

  He felt the panic squeezing his heart. He couldn’t breathe. Axel’s hand shot out and he stopped her, drawing her back.

  “You can’t tell me you don’t have feelings. That what we shared meant nothing to you.”

  “I can’t say that. But I can say it is the reason why this hurts so much. You made a mistake. I can forgive you. But it’s over between us. I can’t take the chance that you are holding back other secrets or that my association with you won’t jeopardize this case. It’s too important. Far more important than either of us.”

  “Then let me help you,” he begged.

  “Too late for that, Axel. You know it. Now let me go.”

  He didn’t want to. But he did, releasing her and with her, the best chance he’d ever had at a normal life with a woman who made his body quake and his heart sing. Now, both seemed to be burning to ash. What right did he have to a woman like her, anyway?

  Axel watched her go back to her sedan. The engine purred to life and she rolled away, looking straight ahead, as if he didn’t even exist. In a moment, the fog made her, and her vehicle, disappear.

  * * *

  AXEL STOOD AT his office window in the building that held all city offices, including his. Right on time, the charcoal gray sedan arrived driven by an unknown female agent with Lieutenant Catherine Ohr in the passenger seat. Behind them, a second car pulled in, this one announcing Border Patrol. Two officers exited, one male and one female, in uniform. He knew them both. Captain Sarah LeMaitre and Officer Greg Perhay. They’d worked the Ogdensburg Bridge and the forty-eight miles of US coastline along this posting for as long as he’d been sheriff, and today their expressions were all business.

  Ohr exited the vehicle and headed across the parking area with the second agent in tow. He lost sight of them as they rounded the building. It gave him time to return to his desk and the computer and the mobile phone that still had no texts or messages from Rylee, despite his making three unanswered calls to her.

  The two women appeared in the hallway, visible from his office through the glass panel, and entered, coming to a stop before him in the small seating area beyond his desk. In the hallway, LeMaitre and Perhay flanked the entrance. Axel’s unease grew as he turned to his visitors.

  Ohr wore a business suit and black leather trench coat with the collar upturned, bright red lipstick and a low-heeled shoe. She was gaunt, even with the coat adding much-needed bulk. Her cheekbones stood out and the makeup she used did not hide the unhealthy color of her complexion.

  The second agent, by contrast, was tall and fit with brown skin and dark curling hair clipped close to her head. She wore a thigh-length blue woolen coat with an upturned collar, gloves and a cashmere scarf the color of oatmeal.

  Ohr shook his hand. Her long bony fingers clasping his for the briefest time possible. Then she introduced the second agent, Lucille Jackson.

  “What can I do for Homeland Security?” he asked, wondering why Rylee was not here with them but unwilling to ask.

  “I understand from Kurt Rogers that you were born on the compound of the Congregation of Eternal Wisdom,” said Ohr. She might as well have slapped him across the face.

  His cordial smile slipped and he straightened, feeling the need to sit down.

  “Yes. That’s correct.” He motioned to the chairs before his desk. “Would you care to sit down?”

  Ohr gave a shake of her head but not a hair moved. She stepped in, crowding his personal space.

  It was a technique of which he was familiar, and so he forc
ed himself not to step back. She smelled of ash and tobacco. He glanced to Jackson, who had a pad of paper out and was jotting down notes.

  “Are you still a member?” asked Ohr.

  “No. There are no members outside of the compound. You are either in or out.”

  “Emancipated at thirteen?” asked Jackson.

  “Yes.” Axel did not like being on this side of the questioning.

  Ohr leveled him with a steady stare. “We have reason to believe that the individual who escaped capture on Monday, September 4, may be here on Congregation’s property.”

  He straightened. “Your source?”

  “I’m not able to share that. The message was received by a Border Patrol agent.” She lifted a hand and motioned to the agents behind her without turning her head.

  Captain LeMaitre stepped forward and handed over the letter, which Ohr passed to Axel. The page was torn from a lined composition book. He recognized the type of paper from his early schooling on a twisted version of the world beyond the compound walls.

  He read the note.

  The Rising is near. We are prepared and joyful to reach Heaven’s Door. Please tell our son, Axel, we will miss him and have missed him greatly. Ask him to come home to us.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked.

  “One of the brothers from the congregation delivered it to a border agent. Do you want to tell me what this means?” asked Ohr.

  “This congregation believes that they are the chosen people and that a great disaster is imminent.”

  “And they’ll be spared?” asked Jackson, her eyes rolling toward the ceiling as if having heard this on too many occasions.

  “The opposite. They believe they will be called to the Lord before the Desolation. They prepare by readying themselves to meet God by living according to their leader’s mutation of religious scripture.”

  “Mutation is an interesting choice of word,” said Ohr.

  Axel absorbed this gut punch with only a twitch of his brow. She knew about the rituals of castration, then?

  Ohr smiled and extended her hand for the note. He returned the page, folded as it had been.

  “There’s something else,” said Axel. “Part of their ceremonies are preparations for the Rising. If Father Wayne tells them the Desolation is near, it is possible they might all take their lives.”

  “You are talking about mass suicide?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m aware of their beliefs. Unfortunately, shutting down this organization is not our objective. We are not interested in another Waco. My objective is recovery of the foreign agent who slipped through Agent Hockings’s fingers.” She tilted her head in a way that was birdlike. “Are you certain Wayne Trace is your father? I understand that he gives all children born on the compound his name. Isn’t that correct?”

  “That is because all the children born in the compound are his. He is the chosen one. The only man allowed to touch the women. That means any and all women of age.”

  Ohr folded her arms as if finding this unsettling. Her expression showed her disapproval. “Your mother is there?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “What is her name?”

  It was such an obvious question. But the answer made him sick to his stomach. He wrinkled his nose and swallowed. Trying not to look at Ohr, he spoke.

  “I don’t know her name. The women who elect to join the cult, they are not allowed to claim their children. All those born there are separated from their birth mother and raised communally by women who have not yet born children or are past the age to bear children.”

  Ohr’s brows rose high on her forehead. She and Jackson exchanged a look. He recognized the silent exchange, having witnessed it before—pity mixed with disgust.

  “Why is that?” asked Ohr.

  “Part of Reverend Wayne’s dictates. Children belong to everyone.”

  “During your time there, did you ever see any illegal activities?”

  “No.”

  “Funding?”

  “Donations to his cause and the assumption of all assets from those who decide to throw in with him.”

  “You know what Agent Hockings recovered here. You know that we are still in pursuit of the person who transported this package. Our investigation leads us to the conclusion that this individual is still in your county. In your opinion, would your father have any reason to shelter such an individual?”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “But Reverend Wayne Trace is your father.”

  Axel lowered his head. The truth was impossible to bury. He knew because he had tried. He took a moment to breathe, the air heavy with the stink of stale cigarette smoke, and then he answered her question.

  “He’s been preaching the coming apocalypse, the end of the days, for nearly twenty years now. That’s a lot of days gone and his followers all willing and wanting to meet their maker. Eager, even. The outbreak of a plague would give his prophecies more credence. Earn points with his followers. Maybe bring in a pile of more followers. So, yes. I believe it is possible that he would assist and shelter such an individual.”

  “Our findings exactly. We have the layout and all the information on known members within. What I need from you are details on the life inside and the interior layout of buildings to which we might need access. Drone surveillance shows us that one individual never leaves the women’s compound. Is that normal?”

  “No. Every one of the members have work assignments. The only exception is illness.”

  “Thank you.”

  Axel wondered who was ill or injured. Then another thought struck him.

  “Do you think this person, in the women’s compound, is the one who transported your package?”

  “Not at liberty to say,” said Ohr. “Now, your congregation hosts retreats for outsiders.”

  “It is not my congregation.”

  “Yes. In any case, they allow outsiders in for up to three weeks.”

  “But they are housed in a separate area.”

  “For the most part. But not during meals.”

  “If they wish to join the congregation for prayer or meditation or meals, they are welcome,” said Axel. “The congregation makes their way of life look ideal. Pastoral, simple. Wayne is a very charismatic guy and he knows how to sell the soap.”

  “Soap?”

  “His lifestyle. The congregation. Most of the converts are unhappy people who have been on more than one retreat. Folks who don’t fit in anywhere else, I guess. He makes the unhappiest among them feel a part of things until they just let go of their old life and join him.”

  The possibility hit him like a fillet knife to his stomach. He braced as he looked from one woman to the other.

  “Which brings me to our next concern. We need to identify the residents there. Do you have a list of some sort?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “Then we need agents inside. Drones can only do so much. The members never look up, so there is no way to identify any of the residents. Damn bonnets, hats and veils. And if they are hiding someone, our suspect, we need access to find him.”

  “You think they’ll walk your agents to the very spot where they might be hiding someone?”

  “That’s the mission. We don’t require their cooperation.”

  “I could assist.”

  “Your connection with this group makes that impossible. But we will inform you when operations are complete.” With that announcement, the lieutenant turned and left his office. Jackson fell in beside and slightly behind her.

  “How much personnel do you have up here?” he asked the retreating figures.

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Because he’s got fifty or more. And he’s got contacts.”

  “Who do you mean?”
r />   “The North Country Riders. That adds another thirty. You are badly outnumbered. I’d advise against charging into the lion’s den.”

  “You are being dramatic. They’re federal officers. They can handle themselves.”

  Axel knew his sire was fully committed to his little empire. What he didn’t know was what he was capable of, when his kingdom was threatened.

  Would he follow through and call for the deaths of all his followers? Would they do as he commanded, go to their bunks and take the cocktail of drugs inducing a sleep from which none would ever awaken?

  Axel found himself on the move without even recalling leaving his office. He had to speak to Rylee.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rylee looked from one woman to the next. Each wore a brown head covering that allowed her to see no part of her hair color. Their complexions ran the gamut from a deep walnut to a freckled pink. But they all shared the same cautious eyes and rigid posture.

  The meeting with Reverend Wayne Faith had not gone well. The man talked in circles, repeating himself and the same quotable truisms.

  God’s hand will bring justice.

  We are the chosen.

  This life is the true path to Heaven’s Door.

  We pray for the souls of the lost.

  By the lost, he included Rylee and all who lived outside the walls of his compound.

  It was just past 5:00 p.m. on Saturday night and she and Agent Lucille Jackson stood before his stylish desk surrounded by murals depicting people dressed in shapeless brown garments being lifted into the sky. The Rising, he had explained in detail. The mechanics of which seemed to involve the trigger of a great human disaster followed by God welcoming home only these few men and women. She’d have laughed if they were not all so serious and deadly sure. What she didn’t know was if the good reverend would be willing to give his predicted apocalypse a little shove forward by helping to smuggle into their country a population-decimating virus.

  “We will need to see the living quarters,” said Agent Jackson, keeping her voice calm while revealing a bit of the southern accent. She had not removed her mirrored glasses and so the stare down was one-sided.