The Veritas Conflict (72 page)

Victor reached out and gripped her chin. She tried to flinch away, but his grip was
strong as steel. He turned her head this way and that, looking at her as if he were a wolf eyeing an exhausted deer after a long hunt, a still-breathing prize.

“Yes.” The word was soft. He turned his head and spoke to Anton. “The Masters have revealed it. These are clear waters indeed. Not like the brackish water in which they tortured her.” His glance flickered to the portrait.

He released Claire’s chin and stepped back a pace. “It will be a perfect atonement, a perfect sacrifice. We have never gotten our hands on one of the enemy dynasty. This will surely be a pleasing offering to our Master, a curse to stop the work of the Enemy in his tracks. The college will be ours, a place of peace and tolerance again.”

“Enemy dynasty?” Claire blurted out. “Peace and tolerance? What are you talking about? You’re all crazy!”

Victor and Anton stared at her in disbelief. Then Victor threw back his head and laughed.

“She does not know! Oh, this is good. Much better that she was not killed with the others.”

Anton was staring at Claire with a tight smile on his face. He crossed his arms, keeping his eyes fastened on her as he spoke to Victor.

“We must not get complacent, brother. There is an … unsettled feeling. We may be seeing a backlash. Like that terrible unforeseen wave after the high school shootings a few years ago, when so many students were lost to the Enemy. We must not let that happen here!”

Victor nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Another reason for the sacrifice. Unless, of course, the Enemy daughter wants to renounce her calling and her God and offer herself to our Master. That might be equally effective for our purposes.”

At Claire’s offended look, he leaned closer and rubbed his finger down her cheek. “Think about it, Claire. If you turn, you will not suffer this chosen fate.” His eyes bored into hers. “And you
will
suffer.”

A Scripture flew into her mind. She straightened and spoke directly into his face. “ ‘Nebuchadnezzar, I don’t need to defend myself before you. If you throw me into the blazing furnace, my God is able to rescue me. But even if he doesn’t, you can be sure that I will never serve your god!’ ”

Victor winced backward, revulsion and rage on his face.

“We have our own scriptures, Claire Rivers,” Anton said. “And we will be praying them over you tonight.” He looked at the henchman standing by the doorway. “Unbind her and lock her in. We must prepare.”

The two brothers left the room as the large man untied Claire’s wrists. As he closed the door, all lights went out but the one that shone on the woman’s portrait, plunging Claire into darkness.

She charged toward the door, feeling for the light switches. She flicked them on. Nothing happened. The blackness pressed in. A cold, clammy feeling began to crawl up her legs, her arms, her head.

“In Jesus’ name, leave me alone!” she shouted to the empty room.

Instantly, the clammy sensation vanished.

For several long moments she fought to keep her breathing steady, fought an elemental fear of the dark. In order to get into the light, she’d have to get near that satanic symbol in the middle of the table, and that was not going to happen.

“God, I know You’re with me here in this place.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Father, come near me now.”

Her mind turned to a story her mother had told her about one of the nation’s war heroes who was locked up as a prisoner of war for several long years. He’d been in solitary confinement for nearly two years, and when his captors pulled him out they had expected him to be insane. Instead, his face shone like that of an angel. He’d spent two years singing hymns of praise, reciting Scriptures, and—as he said—“communing with the Lord Almighty.”

She faced the blackness, tears prickling her eyes. Well, she might not have two years. And she might be seeing the Lord face-to-face soon. But until then she would commune with the Lord almighty.

She got down on her knees, and began to sing.

The kitchen was crowded, every eye on Stefan as he described his uncle’s home on Nantucket Island. He had explained that Claire was certainly being taken there, was probably already there in the house on the bluffs.

Ian watched as another man slipped into the room. Where were they all coming from? They asked pointed questions, probing, gleaning all sorts of details Ian would have never thought to ask.

What was the layout of the house, the bluffs? Would the island authorities cooperate or be unwilling to help without further proof? How many people would be on the property?

A tall young man leaned forward, catching Stefan’s attention. “So where would they conduct a ritual sacrifice? I hate to even ask this, but it should be considered.”

“Probably on the edge of the bluffs. I know there were some ceremonies downstairs in the conference room, but I think those were mostly the blood oaths, and I never saw them.”

“Midnight sacrifice?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Would the subject be alive when taken?”

As Stefan nodded, Ian couldn’t help himself. “You seem to know a lot about this!” he blurted toward the stranger.

The man turned toward him, his eyes serious. “It’s wise to know the ways of one’s adversary, although I don’t recommend it unless you’re well protected in prayer.”

“Ian, this is my grandson, Gage Grindley,” Edward said. “He is named for a patriarch of our family who came over from England with the early settlers.”

Gage stretched forward and shook Ian’s hand. Then he turned back to Stefan. “What do they do with the body?”

“They’re good at making things look like an accident, or disposing of the body so that it’s never found. The person just disappears and becomes a footnote in a missing person’s file somewhere.” He pulled one of Claire’s highlighted pages off the kitchen table. “For instance, this woman is dead. She ended up on the rocks below my uncle’s home. Oh, her body was found somewhere else—a tragic rock-climbing accident in the Poconos, I believe. But that’s not where she died.”

Gage nodded slowly, then glanced at Edward. “I doubt the police will have a search warrant in time:”

The group conferred some more; then Edward rapped his cane against the floor.

“It’s time!” He rose from his chair. “Ian, we have a five-seater plane, and we can be on Nantucket in little over two hours. We must not delay. Who should go?”

Ian jumped to his feet. “You’re not going without me!”

“The others have more experience, Ian.”

“She’s
my friend.”

Ian didn’t blurt out the next words that sprang to his mind, the cry of his heart, but Edward saw it in his eyes. The old man nodded slowly before turning back to the group.

Stefan stood up. “It’s my fault that Claire is in this mess. I should go.”

Edward didn’t demur. “Two more.”

“
Two
more?” Ian said.

“Yes.” Edward’s smile was amused. “We do want to be able to bring Claire back.” He looked toward his grandson. “Are you willing, Gage?”

“Of course, Grandfather. And I’d like Aunt Kathryn to pilot the plane. She can stay in contact with those here and coordinate the intercession.”

Ian stared at her, bemused. She gave a quick smile back.

Edward looked around and gave a sharp nod. “Let it be so.”

As one accord, every knee in the room bowed before God almighty.

Ian prayed silently, the Word of God running through his mind.
Those who are with us are more than those who are against us…

Somewhere in the background a clock chimed eight. Edward rose to his feet, looking at the four travelers.

“God be with you.”

Kroiech was giddy, reveling in the worship as Anton and Victor made their slavish preparations before him and his minions. He had sent word to Leviathan of the important offering to be made this night, the surge of power to come soon, very soon.

Ah, could anyone but a lord understand the sweet stench of a sacrifice? And to think that it was being made to him! Would this give him the leverage he craved to unseat his masters?

The girl was the key. He felt it. He would stand before Leviathan himself with legal right, having proved himself lord over greater realms than a mere college town!

He mulled over his ambition as he watched Katoth relaying his orders to his troops. Katoth had stayed very much in the background all day, brooding over the fate of his charge.

Krolech’s eyes narrowed. He would not take the blame for the loss of the heir. The sacrifice of the Enemy daughter would protect him from the wrath of Leviathan or … Lucifer himself. After the sacrifice, Katoth was on his own.

In a dark room underground, Gael watched as Claire sang.

“Jesus, lover of my soul, let me to Thy bosom fly …”

Her voice created shimmering waves in the air, no longer black but crystalline, shimmering in the spirit. Claire raised her hands, her face upturned to the God she knew was there, watching her.

“Other refuge have I none; hangs my helpless soul on Thee.
Leave, O leave me not alone; still support and comfort me.
All my trust on Thee is stayed, all my help from Thee I bring;
Cover my defenseless head with the shadow of Thy wing.”

Gael watched the young woman hesitate, then look at her watch. Almost ten o’clock. He saw a great shudder go through her body. Then she put her face in her hands, trying not to cry, rocking back and forth, praying, praying.

Wings outstretched, Gael put his hands on her head and sought the Lord anew. He stood still, listening, as the message was given.

FIFTY-NINE

T
HE HUM OF THE MOTOR MADE CONVERSATION DIFFICULT
as the little plane flew across the black straits to Nantucket Island. The group conferred and planned as best they could, saying a quick prayer as the plane touched down and taxied to the area reserved for private accounts.

Stefan pointed to a darkened hangar, shouting something to Gage over the noise of the rotor.

As promised, those in Edwards house had called ahead. A car and a boat were ready for them along with various tools requested by radio during their airborne planning session.

Ian was silent, pale, the urgency he had stuffed down for so long starting to rise again. He tried to listen as Stefan described the switchback path that rose from sea level to the top of the bluffs, but it was hard to concentrate. It was all he could do to pray coherently.

As they drove away, Ian looked back at Kathryn standing beside the plane. Her lips were already moving in earnest prayer.

And skimming invisibly over the water toward the island, the troops came in.

The car bumped to a stop as Ian and Stefan pulled up near a beach access, a half-mile from the house. Gage had left them thirty minutes before to pick up the boat at the marina. He would anchor the boat at a small pier Stefan had indicated on the map.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Ian said. He squinted into the darkness. “Is this the right path?”

There was no answer, and he looked over at his partner. “Stefan, is this the right one?

Stefan glanced dully out the window. “Yeah.”

“Well, lets go.”

As Ian pulled their simple gear from the trunk, Stefan began muttering to himself. Ian looked at him sideways, a bit anxious, as they walked down to the beach. He
glanced at his watch. “We’ve got forty-five minutes.”

The area was dimly lit by a sliver of moon behind scuttling clouds. Ian put a pair of binoculars to his eyes and stared at the nearby spot where the land began to rise into the distinctive steep slope of ocean bluffs, cut out here and there into sheer cliffs. Perched on one such cliff, not far away, Ian could make out a series of buildings.

He pointed. “Is that it?”

He looked behind him. Stefan was holding his head. Ian grew cold.

“Stefan … are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”

Ian shoved the binoculars in his pack and turned to face him. “Stefan, you’re scaring me, buddy. You need to pray.”

“Yeah, pray for me.”

“No.
You
need to pray. You need to make a commitment to Christ. If you dont, there’s nothing to keep your old friends from coming back home.”

He stared into Stefan’s disoriented eyes.
“Please
, Stefan. This is your eternal life we’re talking about.”

Stefan wavered, then stood straighter. “I can handle this. They won’t come back, and we don’t have time anyway. Come on. I’ve got an idea.” He set off toward the bluffs, and Ian scrambled to keep up.

Fifteen minutes to midnight.

The door creaked open.

Claire was on her knees. She looked up, trying not to shake as Victor and Anton Pike walked in. They wore black robes, their eyes again insane, unearthly. In Anton’s hand was a pike with a sharp steel point.

She tried to catch her breath, but couldn’t, tried to pray, but could find only one word.
Jesus
.
Jesus…
This was it. This was it.

The two henchmen pushed past the brothers, grabbed Claire, and dragged her out the door and up the stairs.

The night was freezing cold, her jacket poor defense against the biting wind. Her entire body trembled as she was dragged across a dark lawn. Her meager struggles were futile. She had long decided that if she were to get out of this, it would be a miracle straight from heaven.

The men stopped several feet short of a cliff and turned, facing her toward the dark house.

Victor and Anton appeared, and following them came a strange procession. More
people, some robed, some not. Other than the moon, there were no lights. She could not tell the size of the crowd.

The two brothers stopped in front of her. At Victor’s nod, each henchman grabbed one of her wrists and pulled outward, stretching her between them until she felt her sinews would snap. Despite herself, she cried out in pain.

“You … will … not win,” she said, trying to breathe.

Anton smiled, a lecherous, dirty smile. “Perhaps you believe, even now, that your friends will save you.”