"I think he's promising a prize the Bible tells us is gigantic in size. I think he wants someone to use the Serpent to find and dig up the Golden Head of the statue of Nebuchadnezzar."
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THIRTY-FIVE
LAURA SAT ON the bench at the top of the little hill overlooking the campus. It was a beautiful day, a warm breeze blowing leaves across the grass while starlings chattered in the little stand of birch trees behind her. The kind of day when you'd catch yourself smiling for no reason. She was meeting after Murph's class to go for a quick lunch.
The tranquillity was shattered by a car she did not recognize screeching to a loud and sudden stop in front of her bench. She involuntarily frowned when she saw Chuck Nelson in the driver's seat, though she knew it could not be his car. It must belong to the pale, thin man with dark glasses and dressed all in black who sat in the front passenger seat. Neither man looked very happy to have given a ride to Shari, who was getting out of the backseat.
"Thanks, Chuck. Will you be home for dinner?"
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Without answering, in fact without even waiting for the back door to click closed, Chuck sped away. Despite his dark glasses, Laura had the uneasy feeling that the stranger had been staring at her the whole time it took to dislodge Shari. Laura was glad he was wearing the sunglasses, because even shielded, there was something about the stranger's face and manner that gave her chills despite the warmth of the sun.
She was not alone in this discomfort. As came and sat beside her, Laura could almost see the dark clouds hovering over her head. Without saying anything, she reached across and wrapped Shari in a tight hug. When she gently pulled back, Shari had tears in her eyes.
Laura felt her own tears coming and willed herself to be strong. But it was so hard. She thought back to the long sessions they'd spent in her office talking about the pain Shari still felt years after her mom and dad had died in a five-car pileup on the interstate, her dad at the wheel with half a pint of Wild Turkey inside him. How she'd tried to help Shari make sense of it all. Help her work through the anger she felt toward her dad and try to reconnect with the love that had once been there. Help her find a way of giving thanks for everything her mother had been and would always be.
And hardest of all, Laura had tried to give her the strength to reach out to her brother. Chuck had been getting into mischief from the day he could walk, and by the time he was sixteen, the neighbors were no longer taking bets on how long it would be before he found himself in jail. Throughout his troubled adolescence, he'd treated both parents with everything from sullen indifference to outright contempt--and Shari was sure her father's drinking was his way of numbing the hurt,
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while her mother's heart quietly broke behind her ever-loving smile.
But when Chuck found out that his parents were gone forever, he seemed to go into some kind of shock. As if he suddenly realized there was no chance now of making amends. For a brief period Shari dared to hope that their parents' tragic death would be a kind of terrible wake-up call for him.
Unfortunately, as soon as the shock wore off, Chuck cranked up the bad behavior to an all-new high--drinking, fighting, dealing drugs. It was hard to figure out who he was really trying to punish, his parents or himself, but there was no doubt he was set on a path of self-destruction now and it would be only a matter of time before he achieved his end.
For a sister still dealing with her own grief, seeing Chuck do his best to destroy himself was just too much. So when Judge Johnson handed him some jail time after the police stopped him in a stolen car filled with drugs, it gave Shari some much-needed breathing space. She could sleep at night knowing he wasn't getting into any harm, and maybe her daily prayers for her brother would have a chance to work at last.
But the Chuck who'd turned up on her doorstep was meaner than ever.
And now there was an added concern, this new friend. Laura knew the stranger was the main reason Shari had asked her to lunch.
"I just met him for the first time in the car. I couldn't even see his face with those creepy dark glasses and his cap pulled down. The way Chuck talks about him it's like he's some sort of godfather. He says he's giving him important jobs to do."
"What kind of jobs?"
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"He won't say. He just grins like it's some big joke on the rest of us. But whatever they're doing, I don't think it's just stealing cars." She squeezed Laura's hand. "I'm worried. Really worried, Laura. I don't want him getting himself killed."
Laura squeezed back. "Don't worry, Shari. We're not going to let that happen." She didn't have the first idea how , but it was important to seem confident and determined. Shari needed to know her friends were strong enough to help her deal with just about anything.
Laura thought for a moment. "If this guy's a criminal, do you think Chuck met him in prison? Maybe we could find out who he is that way."
"I don't think so. Chuck says he met him in town. Said he was having some trouble making a cash withdrawal, and this guy helped him out." She frowned. "But he won't tell me anything else about him."
"Well, that's not much to go on, but why don't I ask Chief Rawley if he can keep an eye out for Chuck and this friend and maybe he can get a better sense of what's going on with the two of them."
"Laura, I don't want to get Chuck angry with me by making him think I'm getting him spied on by the police."
"Oh, Shari, we both know that Chuck is likely to be angry whether you try to help him or not. You're a caring sister, but you can take it only so far. Eventually, he will have to make the decision to help himself."
"I know. I was lucky I had my friend's mother, who started taking me to church for the first time after my parents died. And you and Murph have been so wonderful looking out for me."
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"Yes, and speaking of looking out for yourself, how about you, Shari? When was the last time you went out with a friend--a boyfriend?"
"Well, since you brought it up, I had somebody over recently, a transfer student, Paul Wallach, who's in Professor Murphy's class with me."
"Nice. So?"
"So, nothing. I'm just getting to know him. He's got major issues, as in issues with his major, still wrestling with the business course his father forced him into, even though his father died months ago."
"Why don't you tell him to come see me?"
"Oh, I already did, Laura, especially since the course that is really exciting him the most is Professor Murphy's."
"Whew, that's some leap, from the gold mine of business administration to choking on dust, looking for bones in old mines."
"Well, you of all people should know that. I hope you don't mind, I suggested that he should go talk things over with you."
"Mind? That's what I'm here for. Otherwise, I'd have to spend more time in the field with my dreamboat archaeologist."
"And isn't that him coming right now?" Murphy circled his Dodge in front of the bench and stuck his head out of the window.
"Ladies, can I interest either of you in a walk in the North Woods, where I will be winging a few dozen arrows into unsuspecting trees just to keep sharp?"
"I don't think Shari's ever caught your Robin Hood act, but we're going to lunch. Murph, are you skipping off because
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I asked you to round up the clothes you want to give to the church clothing drive?"
"Busted. I'll do it later." He floored the accelerator before he could hear Laura yelling at him.
Laura shook her head and looked at Shari. See what I have to deal with? "We once figured out that Murphy can say 'later' in twelve languages, most of which are as ancient as his promises to do any chores."
"Oh, I twisted Paul's arm to come to our Wednesday church meeting and told him he should get in the swing of things by helping sort the clothing in the basement."
"Great. But we'd better eat so we can keep our strength up, because if we rely on the men, we'll probably be left doing all the lifting and sorti
ng ourselves."
Talon scowled over at Chuck. "I told you to slow down. I don't want to get stopped in any speed traps down here."
"Okay, okay. It's just that I haven't been behind the wheel for a while. Tell me why we're going all the way up to Raleigh for shopping like yesterday. There's lots of stores closer."
"I don't want anybody to remember what we're buying."
"What did you want to give my sister a lift for? Man, I can tell she doesn't like you."
"Yeah, the feeling's mutual. That's why you can't tell her anything. She'd rat you out to the cops in a heartbeat. So don't tell her anything about what we're doing."
Chuck's bored eyes brightened. "I don't know anything, so what could I tell her? Hey, man, when are you going to tell me what you're planning for? Whatever it is, count me in."
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Talon shook his head. "Of course you're in, you fool. Now, just shut up and get us to the mall. We're buying clothes. Lots of clothes."
"Clothes. That's cool. I could use some new duds."
"They're not for you. We're giving them away."
"I don't get it. Why are we buying clothes to give them away? What's the scam?"
"Didn't you listen to your sister natter on in the backseat about that Preston Community Church clothing drive?"
"So? Don't tell me you're making me go to church!" Chuck braked to a stop in the middle of the highway. "What kind of junk are you pulling here, anyway?"
Talon smacked Chuck's head just once, but once was enough. "I told you to shut up and drive. Relax. We're just going to be making a special donation to the church this week."
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THIRTY-SIX
"DESPITE MY GRIEF and shock, I had to come forward to warn the American people." Shane Barrington was speaking in front of dozens of reporters. Though he did not usually make media appearances, he found himself warming to his assignment.
The assignment had been the latest from Talon, to go public with the death of Arthur Barrington, his son. Of course, the story he was now telling was far from the truth. No mention was made of the horrible way in which Talon had murdered his only child. Instead, Barrington had embellished Talon's curt instructions and devised a completely fictitious account of Arthur's death.
Barrington stared into the cameras, calculating whether he should try to manufacture a tear as he told his tale. "Three
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days ago, my office was contacted with a ransom note informing me that my only son, Arthur, had been kidnapped in broad daylight from the streets of New York. The kidnappers demanded five million dollars for Arthur's safe return--as long as I did not contact any authorities. Like any parent, I was distraught, and my only thought was to do whatever it would take to save my son."
Trying not to distract himself with the true image of how he had actually stood by and watched Talon kill Arthur, Barrington stared straight at the media cameras. "Out of no disrespect to our fine law enforcement officers, in order to do what I felt was necessary to save my son, I instructed my private security team to make contact and arrange the payment of the ransom. Yesterday morning, instead of welcoming my son home alive, my security team uncovered his dead body, horribly mutilated by these heinous criminals."
Even the usually cynical press corps gasped at this terrible revelation by Barrington. "If my son is not safe in this country, your children are not safe either. As I mourn the loss of Arthur, I am setting aside my grief to pledge my personal energies and personal resources to marshal public action for the end to the unchecked and alarming spread of criminal violence in our society. Thank you."
Questions burst forth from the press. "Mr. Barrington." He acknowledged his own network's reporter. "Can you elaborate on what kind of efforts you will mount in your campaign to fight back, as it were, against the violent elements out there?"
Barrington gave a smooth delivery of Talon's answer to the natural question. "There are many actions I plan to lead in the
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coming months in the fight back by the citizens against the out-of-control violence in our country. Like so many of you, I am fed up with the politicians who do not do enough."
Another question was called out: "Mr. Barrington, are you indicating that you are planning to run for office yourself?"
"To the people of this country"--Barrington fixed his gaze coolly on the cameras--"I will make this pledge: If the politicians do not protect us, then I will set aside my work running Barrington Communications and will lead this country back to citizen safety."
"My colleagues at the Seven are most pleased with our Mr. Barrington." Talon was listening by satellite-link phone to John Bartholomew of the Seven. "You prepped him well, Talon. Over time, we will exploit that gruesome murder of yours into a whole new political power if Barrington can continue to follow orders."
Talon sneered. "If he doesn't, he will meet his own unfortunate, untimely death."
"Now, we have been reviewing your latest update about your Preston progress, Talon. Something you noted in passing actually connected with one of my diabolical colleagues, and it can fit very nicely in this new phase with Barrington."
"What do you want me to do?"
"That young man you mentioned, the Wallach lad who is warming up to Murphy and the sister of your stooge. We have a little change of plan for him."
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THIRTY-SEVEN
ON WEDNESDAY EVENING, Paul Wallach parked in front of the Preston Community Church. In the fading light, its whitewashed clapboard facade gleamed invitingly. His heart slapped a beat and he was not sure if it was because he was about to see or because he was about to choose to enter a church for the first time.
The door was open but he didn't go in. He wanted to go right to the basement to show he was sincere about helping out with the clothing sorting. He walked to the side of the building to the steel door that led to the basement. He pushed it open and climbed down the narrow wooden stairs.
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Paul could make out a bare concrete floor with neatly stacked piles of wooden planks and some cardboard boxes at the far end. He felt along the wall for a switch, and a single bare bulb flooded the basement
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with light. He could see more boxes, and piles of clothing spilling out of garbage sacks.
"Hello, I'm here to volunteer," he called. "Where is everybody?"
Over in the corner was what looked like an old boiler and an archway leading to another part of the basement. Ducking under the low ceiling, he stepped in--and nearly fell over a sack of clothes. Except that it wasn't a sack of clothes.
It was a body.
Paul knelt down, and the face of a young man with long blond hair stared sightlessly back up at him, one arm flung out at a strange angle. He did not recognize the man, but Paul instinctively stepped back, bumping his head painfully against the wall, his mouth open in shock. Taking a deep breath, he knelt back down and put a trembling hand to the young man's carotid artery. Nothing. He tried to think what to do next, but his brain wouldn't function. He'd never seen a dead body before. Then a single thought came to him with piercing clarity.
"Shari!"
He stumbled to his feet and looked desperately around the basement. There was a steel table with what looked like a laptop and a tangle of wires, more boxes--and under the table...
He ran over. A girl. But not Shari. He felt his throat tighten. The pretty, oval face framed with a mass of auburn hair was familiar. Where had he seen her? On campus? Somewhere in town? What did it matter-- Check for a pulse, you idiot . It was there, very faint but definitely there. Okay, remember your CPR . Breathing first. He put his ear close to her mouth, hoping for a whisper of air.
"Hello, Paul."
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He gasped. Chuck Nelson, in a loose-fitting tracksuit, was grinning down at him.
"Who's your friend? I thought you had the hots for my little sister. She's going to be real upset when she hears about this." Chuck shook his head. "And in c
hurch, too, you dog."
"Chuck, what are you doing here? And where is Shari?"
The grin disappeared. Chuck shrugged. "Who knows? Who cares?"
Paul was torn between making sense of the situation and trying to help the girl. "Look, said to meet her here. Chuck, what's going on?" He put his ear back to the girl's face. "We need help. Have you got a cell phone? We need to call 911."
"Gee, I think I left it at home." Chuck was really enjoying this. "What a shame. Guess it's up to you to wake Sleeping Beauty here. Better hurry. I think she's fading fast."
Paul leaped to his feet and grabbed Chuck by the front of his tracksuit. "Look, this isn't a game. This girl is seriously hurt. Go get help while I try to get her breathing."
Chuck shrugged him off. "She's had all the help she's going to get." He took a step forward, letting something dark slide out of his sleeve and into his palm. "And I'm getting a little tired of your whining."
Paul took a step back, a hand raised defensively in front of him. At least his brain seemed to be working again. If he could distract Chuck for a second or two, maybe he could make it to the stairs. He half turned, looking for something he could throw in Chuck's face--then there was a flash of movement as something very hard punched him off his feet and his head slammed into the floor.
Then his world went black.
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THIRTY-EIGHT