Soon (26 page)

27

BEFORE PAUL COULD HUSTLE
Angela away, the press showed up. Paul called Bob Koontz, who predicted he would be feted in Washington again. “Great job, buddy. I can’t wait to hear the details.”

Finally back at her hotel, Paul walked Angela to the elevator and could see she was still deeply shaken. She melted into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Fearing she might collapse, he held her tight. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him hard. He froze, not responding, much as he wanted to.

Angela pulled back, smiling. “You’re shy in public,” she said. “I need to shower and change for the meeting tonight. Would you mind giving me a ride?”

“To the meeting? Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Today was grueling, I have to admit. But the outcome more than confirmed my mission here. And Paul, thank you for rescuing Lucy. You saved her life.”

That night, as Paul drove her to the bungalow, Angela slid over and sat with her hand on his leg. “We’ve been through a lot together,” she said, gazing at him. “Nothing like a shared trauma to let you really know someone.”

If only that were true . . .

“Angela, we need to talk.”

“I could talk to you forever.”

“You’re a wonderful person. Brave, beautiful. I—”

“The feeling is mutual, Paul. I’m sure you know that.”

“Thanks, but I haven’t been totally up-front with you.”

“Uh-oh,” she said. “This sounds like a brush-off, and we haven’t even gotten started yet.”

“It’s not a brush-off, Angela. It’s an I’m-not-available.”

“What? Now you’re going to tell me you’re married?”

“I am.”

Angela pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” Paul said. “I should have said something.”

“What, you didn’t think to? You couldn’t tell what was happening, or didn’t you think I might fall for you?”

“Fact is, Angela, I fell for you too.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better? At least it wasn’t one-sided?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

She sat shaking her head. “So you NPO guys don’t wear your wedding rings on the job.”

“Protocol.”

“How convenient. So how was I to know?”

“I should have told you.”

“You sure should have.”

“Forgive me, Angela.”

“That’s the least of it, Paul. This is going to take some getting used to.”

They sat in silence for most of the rest of the way.

“Drop me off a couple of blocks south,” she said finally.

He stopped, but she didn’t get out immediately.

“You have a family too?” she said.

“A girl and a boy. Seven and five. Jae and I have been married ten years.”

“So you’re
very
married.”

“I am.”

“You had no business even letting yourself fall.”

“Don’t I know it,” Paul said.

“Well, good for you. Feel bad. Regret it awhile. Miss me. And go back to your family. I’ll survive.”

Paul drove slowly back into the city and to his hotel, then sat in the parking lot, thinking. Angela was everything Jae wasn’t, at least everything Jae hadn’t been for a long time. And he’d had her in his arms. Why was he staying in his marriage?

Jae had been unfair, but maybe she had a right. Paul thought back to when they were new to each other, when they would drink each other in with their eyes, live for each other. That had lasted a few years, until he had begun to yield to the thrill of adventure. It had seemed fun at times, but he had to admit that, ultimately, it was a shallow, bankrupt thrill—a sugar rush instead of a decent meal.

Straight was right. With Paul’s new faith and new life came new responsibility. Paul had an idea what kind of a husband he should be. What was he going to do about his marriage? There were no options. He had to work it out. Rebuilding with Jae sounded like a chore when his heart wished he could start over with Angela. This would be a true test of his faith.

The news on the car radio trumpeted the arrest of Jonah, the religious figure who had duped hundreds and had been responsible for the overdose deaths of sixteen. Paul decided to see what it looked like on TV. Besides bringing down a monster, he was grateful for what it would mean to him as a mole within the NPO. The brass wouldn’t know the difference between Jonah and his misguided followers and the real believers.

The walk from the elevator to his room seemed to take forever, and he realized how bone-weary he was, both from the tension of the day and his talk with Angela. He felt as if he could sleep twelve hours. Maybe he would.

He pushed open his door, but before he reached for the light he noticed the thick silhouette of a man sitting on his bed. Paul dropped to a crouch and pulled his weapon.

“Put it away,” a familiar voice growled. “You wouldn’t shoot your own father-in-law, would you?”

Paul held his breath. “Tell me Jae and the kids are all right.”

“Sit down. They’re fine.”

Paul collapsed into a chair.
Then what? Did Jae show him the
letter? Have I been tailed? Am I busted?

“You’re going to tell me who she is. And then you’re going to get rid of her.”

“Excuse me?”

“You think I’m ignorant, Paul? You used a woman in this operation today.”

“She was working locally. Had a contact with my suspect.”

“Yeah? Well, you know what? She was in the background in some of the TV reports. Looked real familiar to me. Know why?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“I’ve seen pictures of her before.”

Paul fought to maintain composure. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. What’s her name, Paul?”

“I never share names of informants.”

“She’s an informant now?”

“She was in this case.”

“What was she in Washington? and Toledo?”

“Sir?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“No! I don’t know what you’re—”

“You certainly do, Paul.”

“You’re so smart, you tell me.”

“Don’t use that tone with me, boy. That’s Andy Pass’s daughter. We had her on file.”

What?

“How do you know she’s not a subversive like her old man? You’d better clean up your act, Paul. This is
my
daughter you’re cheating on.”

“I’m not cheating at all—on anyone.”

“Fix it, Paul.”

Of all the things to be caught for . . .

“But that’s not why I’m here,” Ranold said. “There’s trouble brewing in Sunterra. Shaping up to be a terrible crisis.”

“What’s going on?”

The old man scooted up so he could rest his back on the headboard. “Christians. The regional governor himself made an appeal to the agency. The Zealot Underground task force will be involved, but you don’t have the know-how or manpower—or the guts—for a major operation like this. It’s Special Projects.”

Ranold grinned. “I always knew this day would come, Paul, ever since we saw those first little snakes in the woodpile. Congress and the agency lacked the will to crush them then. The new generation is a bunch of liberal pantywaists—careerists and politicians with no firsthand war experience—and they were scared of public outcry. At least they knew they needed a tough old wizard behind the curtain. That’s when I founded Special Projects.

“I set the best protocol they’d let me: Lop off leaders for intimidation, set up a task force, leak selectively to the press to avoid creating martyrs. I warned all along they were trying to shoot a bear with a popgun, and now they see I’m right. In just six months, snakes have overrun our country. Terrorists don’t slink away—they proliferate.

“So while you task-force types have been investigating and making arrests, I’ve been watching for the right opening to drop the bomb on the pit of vipers. This is it, Paul. Congress has granted me emergency powers, and I’m calling out the army. Sunterra is where we smash this insurrection once and for all.”

“Ranold, I’m . . .
shocked
is the word, I guess. I figured you were handling something major but—”

“You didn’t know how bad things had gotten. Paul, you were out of commission a long time. What you’ve seen is just the tip of the iceberg. We’re finding Bibles everywhere, along with what they call ‘tracts’—little brochures with the ‘gospel’ in them. Plenty are turning up in your own backyard, all over Michigan and Ohio. We don’t know where they’re printed. And the same stuff’s flooding the Internet. We’ve got laws against that, but they’re almost impossible to enforce.”

Paul nearly burst with pride over what his brothers and sisters were accomplishing—just as he had been told in the salt mines—but he maintained a disconcerted look.

“The movement is bigger and stronger—more ruthless and cunning—and more widespread than you know. That’s why it’s time.”

“What’s happening in L.A.?”

Ranold turned and put his feet on the floor, warming to his topic. “The zealots there are pervasive and bold,” he said. “And I’m sure you know how important the film industry is to our government.”

Paul massaged his eyes. “Important enough that all the studios have been conglomerated into one.”

“One government-run studio, right. L.A. Idea Co. And why? Because movies are more than our most important propaganda tool. They are also among our most valuable exports, both in terms of culture propagation and income. Well, the zealots are trying to sabotage the business. But they’ve made a fatal miscalculation.”

“What are they doing?”

“You’ll see. We’re heading out there tomorrow.”

“Does Koontz know?”

“Of course. And you’ll still report to the NPO through the bureau chief in L.A. Nepotism breeds dissension, Paul. Besides, for this operation, I’ve decided to play the role of General Decenti—military consultant, old soldier called out of retirement to advise. That’s the beauty of Special Projects. I’m spared the burden of public scrutiny and—” he smiled—“the law. It lets me run the show as I see fit. For the day-to-day, I’ve put Balaam in charge.”

“That agent I met at the awards ceremony?”

“I told you she was a comer, Paul. She’s made a real contribution on my team, strategically and in detention situations, even if she hasn’t been tested in the field. But I’ll be keeping you close. We’ll travel together, and we’ll bunk together.”

Ranold stood. “I got a room two floors below. Flight’s at oh-eight-hundred.”

“Dad, you need to know there is zero between me and Andy Pass’s daughter.”

“Whatever you say. But unless you’re trying to get next to her for information on the underground, you’re playing with fire.”