The Switch (41 page)

CHAPTER 29

Brother Gabriel was at prayer.

Ritualistically he prayed three times a day—before breakfast, before dinner, and before bed. His prayers this evening were effusive because it had been a productive day. The sermon he'd taped this afternoon for his television show had been particularly inspired.

The subject had been tribulation. Not the Tribulation with a capital T as described in the New Testament's Book of Revelations, but the minor annoyances that occur in everyday life. He shared with his followers the solution to handling those persistent, nagging nuisances.

"Give them to me," he'd implored in his sincerest voice. "Lay them on my shoulders." He went on to explain that this transference was possible only if the burdened one had absolute faith in him and his ability to improve one's quality of life.

Actually, it wasn't that hard for him to sell the idea because he believed it.

He could improve lives. He demonstrated a perfection to which his followers should aspire. He bestowed love on the unloved. His promise of a new world order gave hope to the hopeless. He was benevolence personified.

Benevolence personified
. Hmm. Catchy phrase. He must remember it.

In the courtyard below his balcony, the children were at play. Each evening for thirty minutes following their dinner, they were free to do anything they liked. Except watch TV.

With the single exception of his telecasts, television programming was banned from the compound. So were newspapers, radio, and books, unless he had personally approved them. He wanted nothing to pollute the minds of these who had achieved a level of worthiness that qualified them to live in the Temple and work directly for the ministry.

On clear, clement evenings like this, the children were allowed to play in the courtyard, which was an ideal opportunity for them to see him at prayer. There must never be a doubt in their minds as to the level of his dedication. He hoped to cultivate in each a desire to attain that level for himself or her
s
elf.

The children were supervised by their mothers or surrogates, but he insisted that each child be given free rein to pursue the kind of play that interested him or her. How else was he to learn what that particular child's strengths and talents were? Was that boy a scientist? Was that girl a healer? Joel was a natural athlete, Margaret an intellectual. William had a talent for attracting loyal friends as a magnet attracts metal shavings. Sarah was a comedienne but also a diplomat when disputes arose. Did he see in David entrepreneurial skills? Did Jennifer possess outstanding leadership qualities?

Naturally, the boys interested him more than the girls. The girls would become women, and the main function of women was obvious. But Brother Gabriel was a realist. Women had wormed their way into industry, politics, commerce, every area of society, particularly in North America and Western Europe. Until that trend changed, he must plan accordingly. The girls must be prepared to enter fields of endeavor just as the boys would. In fact, there were areas that they could permeate probably better than their male counterparts.

He studied them all, watched their patterns of behavior, looked for weaknesses that might eliminate them from the Program. Only a very few of the children failed to meet his
standards, which spoke well of the selection process he had designed.

On his knees, head bowed in prayer, he used his time in the evenings to plan a future for each child. He considered all the mind-boggling changes that would take place when they were
turned out into the world to do what they'd been created to do. Just to think about it made him giddy.

"Amen."

He stood and picked up his Russian prayer cushion. Someone below noticed that he had concluded his prayers and called up a greeting. He waved. Soon all eyes in the courtyard were focused on him. They vied for his attention.

"Watch me, Brother Gabriel."

Joel shot a basketball that swished through the goal. An NBA star in the making? If that were to come about, think how many young men would look upon him as a role model. Imagine how many lives he could influence, make converts of.

He made a mental note to bring in a coach to hone Joel's natural skills.

He applauded enthusiastically. "Good job," he called down to the boy.

Leslie, the Iowa farm girl, was looking up at him with unabashed adoration. Since her visit with him, her attitude had notably improved. It had been reported that she was no

longer forlorn and homesick. She had applied herself to her studies and chores with renewed rigor.

He winked at her, and she blushed becomingly. As she should. In bed, she demonstrated an earthy sensuality that bespoke her rural upbringing. What an incredible fuck she was.

But it was too soon to summon her again. The others would get jealous.

Mary, the girl with the beautiful dark curly hair, was using both hands to cradle her pregnant belly. She looked as luscious as a piece of fruit so ripe it was on the verge of bursting. Beneath her clothing, her projecting nipples looked as large as thumbs, ready for the infant to suck.

Instantly Brother Gabriel swelled with desire for her. Her pregnancy was too far advanced for intercourse, but there were other ways to achieve pleasure. He resolved to send for her later.

He waved one final time and turned to go inside.

Benevolence personified
. The words popped into his head again. The slogan would look good on a billboard written in gold script beneath a picture of him with his arms extended in a gesture of encompassing love.

Mr. Hancock was waiting for him with a pre-dinner drink made just the way he liked it. Exchanging the prayer cushion for the drink, Hancock said, "You have a call from Dallas."

Brother Gabriel gave his assistant a meaningful look, and Mr. Hancock nodded subtly. "Brother Gabriel took a sip of his drink, then lifted the receiver. "Yes, Joshua?"

"Your problem has been taken care of."

"I'm listening."

Because of the sensitive nature of this call, he had not engaged the speaker phone. Nor would he ask any questions or make any statements that could later be incriminating. He had every confidence in his various security measures and their backups. But there was always an outside chance that they weren't as foolproof as they should be. Technology wasn't entirely trustworthy. People certainly weren't.

Joshua said, "He thought we were taking orders from him. Never occurred to him that as of this afternoon we started getting our orders directly from you. Cocky little prick."

Brother Gabriel knew from experience that people yearned to please him. The less he commended them, the harder they tried to curry his favor. For example, if he wanted optimum performance from a woman in bed, he acted bored and distracted. She would then go to all lengths to inflame his passions. The same could be said for men. If he appeared unimpressed, they would boast about their feats, and he would learn what he needed to know without having to draw it out a bit at a time.

Sure enough, after a short silence, Joshua continued. "It was a slam dunk. No chance of resuscitation."

Brother Gabriel regretted losing Jem Hennings. For the past few years, Hennings had been a valuable commodity. But he had suddenly turned into a liability. He was dangerously close to the Gillian Lloyd murder investigation. Dale Gordon had been easy to pass off as a psychotic. But the authorities would have looked more thoroughly into Hennings's involvement, which might have led them to the gates of the Temple.

Moreover, Hennings had taken the matter of Linda Croft into his own hands, issuing orders without receiving approval. Of course, he agreed with Hennings's course of action. He would have issued the same order. But how dare a mere follower be so presumptuous as to make a decision of that magnitude on his own?

Hennings had performed his job well, but he wasn't irreplaceable. There were others who'd been trained to do his type of work and were anxiously awaiting a commission. Jem Hennings deserved no further contemplation. Brother Gabriel dismissed him from his mind.

"What about the other matter?"

Joshua's reluctance to answer spoke volumes. Brother Gabriel sipped his drink in an attempt to curb his temper.

Finally Joshua grumbled, "I guess you could say we're batting five hundred."

So Christopher Hart was still alive, and Melina Lloyd hadn't been taken. A tide of fury washed through him. "Why is that?"

"We're not dealing with dummies, you know"

"I am," Brother Gabriel snapped. "How difficult can it be?" His grip on the highball glass threatened to shatter the crystal. "You do not want to disappoint me," he said, enunciating each sinister word. "The gentleman tonight ... ?"

"Yes, sir."

"He had disappointed me. You do not want to do that."

Joshua wasn't exceptionally bright, but he picked up on the reference to Jem Hennings. "No, sir."

"Then I suggest you bring me good news by morning." He ended the call abruptly and angrily quaffed the remainder of his drink.

"Another?" Hancock asked.

"Yes. Then I want Mary sent to me."

"The—"

"Mary, Mary," he repeated impatiently. "You know the one."

"But Brother Gabriel, she's eight and a half months into her pregnancy."

"I know how far along she is!" he shouted. "Why is everyone arguing with me tonight?"

He could feel the blood vessels in his head and neck straining against his skin. He rarely lost his temper. Even rarer did he lose it in Mr. Hancock's presence. He turned away so he wouldn't have to see the man's wounded expression. Nor did he want Mr. Hancock to witness his loss of self-control. Losing one's temper was a human weakness. But for Brother Gabriel any form of weakness was an anathema.

It's that woman
, he thought bitterly. Gillian Lloyd was to blame. His temper tantrum, every mishap that had occurred over the past several days, could be attributed to her and her night with the astronaut. Now her twin sister was proving to be equally as vexing.

"Mr. Hancock," he said abruptly.

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you completed your background check of Melina
Lloyd?"

"I'm still researching her, sir. I didn't want to bring the report to your attention until I was satisfied that it was complete."

"I appreciate your thoroughness," he said, throwing Hancock a bone to make amends. "But as soon as you're satisfied that you have everything, I want to see it immediately. I want
to know everything there is to know about this woman, beginning on the day she was born."

"Absolutely, sir. I understand. I'll get back on it immediately after summoning Mary. Would you like your dinner now or later?"

"I'll ring when I'm hungry." "Yes, sir."

He went into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. As he waited for the girl, he paced, his mind not on her but on
Melina. She was probably every bit the whore Gillian had been, he thought contemptuously.

No woman, no matter how desirable, was worth all the trouble she had caused. In the grand scheme of things, she was a blip. No more significant than a gnat is to a summer evening. It was laughable to think that the Program would suffer if Melina Lloyd didn't participate. It was bigger than
she. It was bigger than all of womankind. One woman couldn't stop its progress or even impede it.

But his pride wouldn't let him simply write her off and forget about her. It had become a contest of wills, an undeclared war between them. If he gave in, what message would that send? What kind of example would that set for the soldiers in the field who were confronted by obstacles every day as they carried out their missions? They would lose faith in him if word got out that he'd been bested by a mere female. Heads of state all over the world called him for advice and encouragement. A man with the power he wielded couldn't have it said that he'd been stymied by a woman. The negative impact
of such a surrender would be monstrous. It simply couldn't happen.

Melina Lloyd had refused to accept her sister's
self-imposed
fate and had allied herself with the FBI. She had cost him Jem Hennings, who had been a valuable asset to the ministry. She'd formed an attachment to the same man who had contaminated Gillian. For these transgressions, she must be brought before him to receive her punishment.

Only then, when she was humbled and repentant, would he consider forgiving her, blessing her, embracing her, and making her a member of his family. Ultimately she would accept the gift of his benevolence. Of course she would. Who wouldn't want to be among his chosen?

He was going to rule the world.

"What is this place?"

Chief had paid the taxi driver, who'd dropped them seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The skyline of Dallas was nothing more than a glow against the northern horizon far off in the distance.

The area was so remote it had made the taxi driver skittish. He'd been in such a hurry to leave, his tires had spun in the gravel as he had executed a sharp U-turn and sped off in the direction from which they'd come. The road they'd taken off the interstate highway had come to a dead end at the spot in which she and Chief now stood.

He took her hand and half dragged her toward a corrugated tin building. "Leave all the talking to me."

"Fine. I'm at a loss for words anyway."

The building was like a tin can that had been halved lengthwise and then laid flat side down. One industrial-strength floodlight shone down from the midway point of the arc. It lighted the concrete apron that extended for several yards in front of the building.

To their left, she noticed, was a landing strip.

Behind them, total darkness.

In front of them was a German shepherd with its teeth bared.

"Chief!" She jerked hard on his hand, pulling him to a stop.

Just then a man came out of the narrow door cut into the tin. Wiping his hands on a faded red shop cloth, he squinted against the glare of the floodlight overhead. Apparently they didn't look very threatening because he commanded the dog to "cool it." Then, "Can I help you folks?"

"It's Christopher Hart."

The greasy hands holding the rag became still. The man's bristled jaw went slack. Chief stepped into the fan of light so the man could see them better. "Well, I'll be damned."

"I didn't know if you were still here and open for business."

"Open. Not much business. What happened to your face?"

Chief provided no explanation. Not even a lie. The two men stared at one another for several moments, then Chief introduced her. "Melina, this is Pax Royston. Pax, Melina."

The man gave her a cursory nod. "Ma'am."

"How do you do?" Under the circumstances, the civility sounded ridiculous. This was hardly a tea party, and between the two men was an underlying tension of unknown origin.

As Pax studied them, she studied Pax. He was dressed in grease-stained overalls that zipped up the front. His face had the deep etchings of a longtime smoker, making him look older than he probably was.

He glanced beyond them, apparently looking for the means of transportation that had brought them there. "Y'all parachute in?"

"Taxi."

"Taxi," he repeated, as though the concept were alien. "From Dallas?"

"Are you here alone?"

"Just me and Bandit." He divided a curious look between them. "You want to come in?"

The interior was dim in contrast to the floodlight. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. A hockey game was being telecast on a black and white TV sitting atop a fifty-gallon oil drum. Pax turned down the sound but left the snowy picture on. Bandit sniffed her hand curiously, then, obviously approving of her, trotted over to a water bowl and began slurping noisily.

Pax said, "He scares the shit out of people, but the truth of it is that he's a sorry excuse for a guard dog."

"Lucky for us." She smiled at Pax, and he smiled back. "Y'all want some coffee?"

"A plane," said Chief, bringing the small talk to an abrupt close. "I need an airplane."

The only airplanes parked inside the hangar were in various stages of disembowelment. It was obvious that Pax had been working on one when they arrived. A lightbulb encased in a metal basket was hanging directly above a disassembled engine. Parts were scattered over a piece of salvaged carpet that was unraveling around the edges.