Khull smiled. He almost laughed. “No, Mr. Santinelli. You pay me to do that. I’m not as dignified and respectable as you are. I’m just a plain little rotten Satanist.”
The Strongman gave Destroyer a shove, and Destroyer spoke quickly to Steele’s mind.
Steele offered, “We’re talking about a commodity here. Sally Roe’s only value is in what use she is to us. Let’s get that information and be rid of her.”
Khull did chuckle a bit this time. “How about it, Mr. Santinelli? It’s your decision: do you want her tortured?”
Santinelli glared at Khull. “Do I want her tortured?”
Khull smiled. He loved to see a big man like Santinelli squirm. “Okay, I’ll tell you what: Add two extra grand to my fee and I’ll pretend that it wasn’t you that hired me.” Then he tilted his head the other way, his eyes full of mocking. “Maybe you’re still a little too Christian, huh?”
Do it! shouted the Strongman. Just do it!
Sally closed her eyes and prayed.
“I CAN’T COME to work!” Lucy cried into the phone. “It’s Amber again! She’s beside herself! I’ll call later!”
She slammed down the telephone and went after her berserk little daughter, following a trail of chaos and destruction: in the kitchen, the drawers were yanked open and the contents spilled all over the floor, including the knives Lucy had tried to hide; in the dining room, the tablecloth had been yanked from the table and the azalea centerpiece now lay broken on the floor, the potting soil strewn everywhere.
From the front of the house, the shrieking voice of Amethyst the pony continued to rant and rail against unseen enemies. “No! No! Leave me alone! My master will destroy you! Leave me alone!”
Lucy ran into the living room. The coffee table was upside down, the books and magazines flung everywhere.
Amethyst’s voice came from the front entryway. “She is mine! I have a right to be here! Go away!”
Lucy ran and found her daughter cowering in the corner on the floor, her arms covering her head, screaming in fright.
“Leave me alone, leave me alone!” the pony screamed.
Lucy stopped in her tracks and observed for a moment. Had she ever heard Amethyst frightened before?
MOTA AND SIGNA stood in the entryway near Lucy, swords drawn, in full glory, their light washing out any darkness around them. In the distance, the dull thundering of angelic wings grew louder and louder, and the light of Heaven’s Host began to stream through the windows.
They had chased and cornered the imp, the teaser, the liar named Amethyst—and Amethyst was not a cute little pony. She was a small, crinkled, warty lizard with toothpick arms and legs and a dragonlike face, cowering in the same corner, her body superimposed over Amber’s, her arms covering her head.
“She is mine,” Amethyst insisted, even pleaded. “She invited me in!”
Mota held his sword right under Amethyst’s flaring, chugging nostrils. “Saints of God are coming, and they will deal with you.”
“No . . . please . . .”
The doorbell rang. Lucy’s first thought was: No! Not now of all times! God, how can You be so cruel to me?
But she could see the outlines of her visitors through the frosted glass of the front door. She threw the door open.
Marshall and Kate Hogan.
“Hi,” said Marshall, “we’re—”
Amethyst screamed, “No, go away! Go away!” Then she began to curse.
Lucy stepped back from the door and motioned for them to come in. “You may as well know everything!”
They stepped through the door.
At the sight of them, Amethyst leaped to her feet, her back flat against the wall, her eyes bulging with terror. “Stay away from me! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill her!”
It took only a split second for the Spirit of God to tell them what they were facing.
“You be quiet!” said Marshall.
Amethyst’s head bumped against the wall as if she’d been thrown a punch. She glared at them through wide, glazed eyes, hissing through tightly gritted teeth like a muzzled, rabid dog.
“Just stay there now, and be quiet.”
Kate stood by Lucy and held her. Lucy clung to her without reserve.
“Amethyst?” Kate asked.
Lucy nodded.
Marshall and Kate couldn’t help staring. This was the initial cause of it all; the lawsuit, the heartache, the mystery, the gossip and division, all the trouble began with this imp now trembling and cowering before them. It was like isolating a virus—or cornering a rat.
“Amethyst,” said Marshall, “it’s all over.”
Amethyst glared back at him defiantly. “She’s mine. I won’t let her go!”
Marshall spoke evenly and firmly. “Spirit, my Master has defeated your master. He has disarmed all the powers and authorities, right?”
Amethyst drooled in defiant silence.
“The shed blood of Jesus Christ has taken away your authority, right?”
“Yes!” Amethyst hissed.
“And my Master, the Lord Jesus Christ, has granted me His authority over you, hasn’t He?”
“Yes!”
“And you are defeated, aren’t you?”
Amethyst put his clawed fingers over his own mouth and refused to answer.
Mota flipped the hand away. “You answer him!”
Amethyst could hear the angels everywhere, could feel the heat of Mota’s blade, and could not back away from the authority of this believer in Jesus. It was no use resisting.
“AWWW!” AMETHYST CRIED. “I hate you! I hate all of you!”
“Come out of her.”
“No!”
“I’m binding you right now, in Jesus’ name!”
Amethyst cried out, writhing, struggling against unseen shackles that held her arms and legs. She couldn’t move.
“Let go of this little girl. Come out, and go where Jesus sends you.”
One claw at a time, Amethyst began to let go of the little girl, her eyes darting back and forth from Marshall to the angels and back again. Mota and Signa began to close in.
With an anguished scream she dropped the girl and made a break for it, shooting through the roof of the house. Mota and Signa made no attempt to chase her.
It wasn’t necessary. Amethyst had no sooner cleared the roof of the house than she saw an incoming wave of white fire rolling over the town, heading her way.
The Host of Heaven!
She let out a squeal and shot across town, heading for the big white house. The spirits at LifeCircle! They got me into this!
AMBER SLUMPED TOWARD the floor as if in a faint, but Marshall caught her. Lucy and Kate knelt beside them.
“Mommy . . .” said the girl, dazed and exhausted.
Marshall gave the girl to her mother. “She’s all right, but we’ll have some praying to do. We’ll have things to talk about.”
Amber fell into her mother’s arms, and then nestled there with no desire to leave. That was fine with Lucy. She had her daughter back, and she wasn’t about to let go.
With tearful, weary eyes she looked at these two rescuers and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Marshall and Kate were in a terrible rush, but they had to be gentle about it.
Kate started. “Can you help us?”
Lucy couldn’t answer. She was torn and confused, pulled from all directions.
Marshall spoke gently but quickly. “Listen to me, Lucy. We know Sally Roe is alive, that she’s been writing letters, and that you’ve been intercepting those letters from some people who want to kill her. The last letter she wrote gave away where she could be found. If she isn’t dead by now, she soon will be if you don’t help us.”
Lucy looked down at her daughter, peaceful though shaken. “It’s been just awful.”
Kate asked, “Where did you send those letters, Lucy? Please tell us. Sally Roe’s life could depend on it.”
Lucy looked at them, then at her daughter. Her mind was so conf
used; it was just so hard to know what to do anymore.
DESTROYER WAS FILLING Khull’s mind with some marvelous inspirations as Khull held his knife in plain sight, always sure that Sally could see its clean, keen edge. “Might as well face it, gentlemen. We’re all made of the same stuff. All our hands are dirty, and we’re all killers at heart. You want power, we want power, and we walk on the disposable people to get it. That’s the name of the game.”
Santinelli looked at Sally. Her face was still red from where he had struck her. “I will not have your blood on my hands, Ms. Roe. What follows will be your doing, not mine.”
Sally spoke for the first time since being bound in the chair. “The responsibility is yours, sir. I appeal to you in the name of decency itself, in the name of all that is right.”
“Law derives from power, Ms. Roe, not from morality. Spare me your newfound beliefs.”
“The rosters, Ms. Roe,” prompted Goring.
Do it, said the Strongman.
“SHE’LL TURN STATE’S evidence, John. Yeah, and she’s got an earful for you.”
Marshall was sitting at Lucy Brandon’s dining room table, on the telephone with John Harrigan, his friend in the FBI. Lucy, Kate, and Amber sat in the living room; Lucy was still holding Amber, who hadn’t made a sound. Pastor Mark Howard was there as well, at Lucy’s invitation.
“Ever heard of the Summit Institute? Well, let me give you the location. Sally Roe’s letters went there, and now she’s probably there too, if she’s still alive.”
Lucy spoke up from the living room couch. “They’ll kill her. They want her for no other reason.”
Marshall liked what he was hearing from Harrigan. “Yeah, right, those agents shouldn’t be too far from there right now. That’s good. Well, get them over there, and I mean now! Yeah, right.”
Lucy told Kate and Mark softly and bitterly, “LifeCircle! They got me into this! The whole lawsuit was their idea! Claire Johanson and Jon Schmidt—the whole lot of them! They’ve done nothing but threaten me and coerce me since this whole mess started, and now where are they? Well, I’m not going down alone!” She called to Marshall, “Tell them I’m ready right now.”
Marshall heard her. “John, you can send somebody over here right now. She’s ready to talk.”
THIS WAS IT! The brushfire was catching on! From here it would burn upward—hot, hungry, inextinguishable!
Mota took a golden trumpet in his hand and shot through the roof of the house, soaring through the white light of his warriors still rushing over the town. Upward, skyward, slowly spinning, wings afire, he put the trumpet to his mouth.
IN THE MOUNTAINS above the Summit Institute, the signal reached Tal’s ears loud and clear.
“Done!” he cried, leaping to his feet. “They’ve set the fire in Bacon’s Corner!”
“Better late than never,” Guilo said with a shrug.
“It will reach Summit soon enough,” said Tal, drawing his sword. “Prepare to attack!”
AMETHYST WAS GETTING close to the big white house, the home of LifeCircle. The roar of Heaven’s wings thundered in her ears. She whimpered, she cried, she fled before them. My masters in LifeCircle! They will save me!
SANTINELLI SMILED a bitter smile as he looked long and hard at Mr. Khull, still brandishing the knife. “I believe you’re right, Mr. Khull. I do see myself.” He looked at Sally. “Power is power, whether it be wielded through legal decisions or . . . from the edge of a knife. And as for our gentle followers . . .” He looked upward, thinking of the hundreds of peace-seeking conferees now gathered from around the globe. “We are equal. We are devils, all.”
He stepped back and took his place by the wall, out of the way. Goring and Steele joined him. He crossed his arms and with chin jutted out resolutely, said, “Teach us, Mr. Khull. We will learn.”
Destroyer clicked his talons, and the spirits of Broken Birch moved the five Satanists like puppets.
Khull smiled with diabolical pleasure and nodded to his men. Two of them immediately looped a chain over a beam and affixed a hook to it. The other two released Sally from the chair and yanked her to her feet.
The Strongman, Destroyer, and all their wicked lords and commanders gathered, moving in close, ready for the triumph.
Sally knew there was no more time. “The rosters are in Ashton!”
“Too late,” said Goring. “Please proceed, gentlemen!”
They bound her hands in front of her.
“The rosters are in Ashton!”
Where? growled the Strongman.
“Where in Ashton?” demanded Santinelli.
“I sent them to a Post Office box!”
Santinelli put up his hand. Khull looked disappointed, but he motioned for his men to stop.
Santinelli stepped forward. “What Post Office box?”
Sally really did try, but . . . “I . . . I can’t remember the number.”
“Proceed, gentlemen.”
They grabbed her arms and started lifting her.
“I planned all those letters!”
Santinelli held up his hand again, and Khull’s men set her down. Santinelli exchanged encouraged glances with Goring and Steele. “My, how the revelations are beginning to flow!”
Destroyer didn’t like the subject matter. He nudged Steele.
“She’s lying,” said Steele.
“I remember the mail room, Mr. Steele!” Sally cried with a trembling voice.
Steele only leered at her. He didn’t know what she was talking about.
“I used to work in the mail room at the Omega Center, remember?”
Steele didn’t leer this time. He remembered.
Sally spilled it out rapidly, desperately. “You told me how to intercept mail you didn’t want the staff to read. You said it wasn’t wrong because it protected our purposes. You said your people did it all the time! Remember that, Mr. Steele?”
Goring and Santinelli looked at Steele. He was silent because he did remember it.
The Strongman suddenly grabbed Destroyer around the neck, but he didn’t start squeezing. Not yet. He was waiting to hear the rest.
“Go on,” said Santinelli.
“It was the only way to find you. I figured whoever tried to kill me would have to keep anyone from finding out I was still alive, so they’d have to intercept my letters; and I knew from the papers that you were using the postmaster in Bacon’s Corner for your lawsuit, so that’s where I sent them, and . . .”
“And you addressed them all to the defendant in the lawsuit, Tom Harris . . .”
“I knew you couldn’t let him see the letters.”
Santinelli smiled. He was impressed. “So your letters were to be a trail to the peole ultimately responsible for your . . . alleged death!”
“Professor Lynch knew about my concern for Tom Harris, and Khull knew exactly where to find me, and you all knew without my telling you that I’d embraced Christianity. That was confirmation enough that you’d stolen my letters, but of course . . . now you’ve shown them to me. You have them. Every one of them.”
Destroyer tried to force a leering, cocky smile as he choked and gargled out, “So what?”
Goring stepped in. “Marvelous! Yes, the letters are all here, and so are you. Now you have the satisfaction of knowing who your would-be killers are. But you recall, of course, that no one else has seen those letters, and the world has lost all track of you!”
“That’s why I made copies.”
There was a strange delay, as if that sentence took a few seconds to reach their ears and register in their minds. They all looked at her dumbly.
She drew a breath and went for broke. “The copies are in the Post Office box too, along with the rosters and James Bardine’s ring, the one I took from the finger of that woman who tried to kill me. The ring you took from my neck is the one I got years ago from Owen Bennett. You can doublecheck his code name, Gawaine, on the inside of the ring if you like.”
Santinelli came close, and he was e
ven shaking a little. “What Post Office box, Ms. Roe?”
“It’s empty by now anyway. I sent a letter to a lady who works at the Ashton Clarion, and I enclosed the key.”
NOW THE STRONGMAN applied the pressure, and Destroyer had to struggle for breath. “I never heard of any such letter! What do you know about it?”
Destroyer tried to answer. “I sent the twelve captains to Ashton to look into it—”
The Strongman began shaking him, making Destroyer’s eyes look like horizontal, yellow blurs. “Where are those twelve?”
“They . . . they . . .”
“Wasn’t the intercepting of those letters your idea?”
Suddenly Destroyer thought he was reliving his first feelings of doom; he was hearing the sound of a trumpet again, just like before. But this time it was louder. It was reverberating all around them. It was so loud he couldn’t be imagining it.
He wasn’t. The Strongman heard it too, and let out a growl that shook the room.
Then they heard a resounding shout from so many voices it sounded like waves of the ocean. “For the saints of God, and for the Lamb!”
The Strongman roared again and threw Destroyer to the floor. “The enemy! We are discovered!”
The hundreds of demons in the room—the Strongman’s aides, the bloodstained murderers of Broken Birch, the lofty and conceited deceivers controlling Santinelli, Goring, and Steele—flew into a panic, reaching for their swords, jostling each other, shouting and shrieking.
The floor and walls began to shake with the rumble of heavenly wings descending from above like a violent storm.
IT WAS EXHILARATING, thrilling, reviving, rewarding—everything an angelic warrior was made for!
The Host of Heaven had waited so long and had built up such fervor that when the signal finally came, they broke over the crests of the mountains on every side like a violent, shimmering ocean wave and showered down like hail upon the dark cloud of demons in the valley, scattering them like dust before the wind, routing, battling, swinging, and pushing down, down, down toward the Summit Institute.