Hidden Pearl (25 page)

S.T. pulled the Silverado into a side road not far from the compound. He turned to Christine. "If I'm not back in an hour, take off, get to Hank, then call the police."

She shook her head. "I'm going with you."

"You are not." They'd had this argument before. He'd thought he convinced her.

"I'll go. If I'm seen, I'll pretend I'm there to pick up my camera and rental car as a distraction for you; and if that isn't enough, I just had to hear the wonderful preacher again."

"How did you get there?"

"Caught a ride with a friend."

"Woman, you think he'll believe that?"

She lifted her chin. "He will because he'll want to."

"How will you get out then?"

"After I get the car and camera, maybe listen to him orate, why would I stay after that?"

He glared at her. "I don't like it. If we're right about this man, he's ruthless."

"Even if we’re wrong about the murders, he is ruthless—witness the drug he ordered given to you.”

He clenched his jaw, the muscle twitching as she saw him trying to come up with a better reason. “Hey, I didn't expect you would like it, but you need me. What if somebody starts to go in the office while you're still inside? You wouldn't have time to go out the window if I wasn't there to delay them."

He gritted his teeth, then reached for her, pulling her into his arms. He felt her fingers tighten at the back of his neck as he bent to claim her lips, the kiss passionate and more than a little desperate. Be careful,” he whispered when they broke apart. He didn't want this for her. She deserved so much more, but she had chosen to entangle herself in the web he felt surrounding him, and he seemed unable to stop her.

#

Christine heard the voices singing from the auditorium but didn’t feel reassured by the sound. She had watched as S.T. jimmied the lock and disappeared into Soul's inner office. So far so good. She had little hope their luck would hold but prayed for it anyway.

When she heard the sound of footsteps in the hall, Christine started walking toward them. "George," she said, greeting him with a smile.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I left my camera here, or had you forgotten. You didn't sell it, did you?" she joked.

He stared at her. "He didn't say you would be coming."

"You mean Peter?" she asked, keeping her voice deliberately firm and steady. "I didn't tell him. I didn’t know I needed to ask permission. Did I?" She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"I-- I don't know where the camera is," he said finally, obviously unable to come up with an answer to her question.

"That's fine. I'd hoped to hear some of Reverend Soul's talk anyway."

"You had?"

"Of course. He's a wonderful speaker, don't you think?"

"Yes." He stared at Soul's office door down the hall from them. If he had been sent for something, he was clearly conflicted now. Should he leave her to wander around by herself or neglect the task he'd been sent on?

She didn't help him. "Can you help me find a place to sit where I won't interrupt the sermon?"

George looked down at her, then nodded. Together they walked toward the auditorium and she only prayed S.T. would get what he came for and quickly because she would not be able to protect him from another intrusion.

In the office, S.T. left the door and hurried back to the computer. He'd already seen the code was too complex for him to break it within an hour. He couldn't let anyone catch him here, not with Christine nearby. So that meant execution of plan three.

He took the duplicate computer from his backpack, put Soul’s into the pack, plugged in the phony which had been turned into a permanent black screen. The possibility was that Soul would see it as a hard drive failure-- if he was lucky. There were several jump drives in the desk drawer which he also took leaving a few that looked the same but were blank. Everybody had computer failures even gurus.

He looked around the room, saw one of the desk drawers had a key lock, tried it but found it to be secured, possibly even an alarm on it; so he left it. Everything else looked innocuous, but he took out the little camera and photographed what he could see, especially of the books on the shelves. He wanted more time to research Soul’s influences—if these books weren’t all subterfuge, part of a masquerade. The ceremony the night he’d been drugged had seemed an odd amalgamation of several cultures and religions. What was Soul really up to here?

Going back into the hall was too risky; so he opened the window as quietly as possible and slid out into the fresh air, watching carefully where he put his feet, brushing out traces of his steps as he went.

Heading back down the gravel drive, he hurried to the Silverado, stuffed the stolen disks, camera, and his jacket under the lockable back storage space. He would wait, but not the hour he'd told her. He glanced at his wrist watch, guessed the sermon might last another half hour. Then he'd drive up the road to the compound. One way or another, he'd get her out or wouldn't leave himself.

#

Peter Soul's oration was as disturbing to Christine as the first time she'd heard it. He used a snatch of Scripture, but the rest of his message was pure Soul, pushing his own agenda of control, the need for obedience--not to God but to Peter Soul. Loyalty was measured by its depth for the Servants of Grace.

Trying not to be noticed, she scanned the audience, wondering if any of these people heard what she did, understood what was happening to them. From what she could tell, they didn't. She saw smiles everywhere, but when she looked into eyes, she could read nothing.

Finally the sermon was over. A woman sat down to the large harp beside the podium and began playing, the melody gently floating over the room. Christine sucked in her breath, as she saw Soul come toward her, delayed only slightly by people wanting to talk to him. Would he believe her excuse for being here? There was a smile on his firm lips, but his features were carefully schooled, revealing little of what he was thinking. She could not deny the man's handsomeness, the almost ethereal cast to his face and body, but it served to not reassure but rather to frighten her. Was it what she knew about him, what he'd done to S.T., what he might have done, or was it instinctual, the inner voice that had served her so well in the past?

"Fair Lady, you return to us," he said taking her hands in his.

"Well, you did have a ransom," she said, attempting to keep her tone light.

"Ah yes, your camera. Did you perchance remember to bring the photographs from your last visit with you?"

"I'm saving that for my next visit to you.”

His smile widened, blue eyes sparkled. "You're becoming attached to us."

"How could I not?" she asked, managing to free her hands as she gestured around the room. "All the love, the messages about God, the work done here. It's an addictive place."

"Not addictive," he corrected, "rather let us say enticing."

"Agreed. Uhmm, I looked for my rental car when I arrived but didn't see it."

"As requested, we returned it."

"How considerate. I can see I worried about that for nothing."

"And how did you arrive this time?" he asked.

"Because I thought I'd have to drive the rental car, I asked a friend to drop me."

"Mr. Taggert?"

She smiled. "I have other friends. I just wish I’d asked this one to wait."

"I’m sorry. Of course, you are welcome to stay. We can find space for one such as yourself." 

She looked around the room. "I think you have more followers than when last I was here."

"We are growing," he agreed, "but I'd prefer we call them disciples."

"Is there a difference?"

"Followers imply one person beneath another. Disciples are learners on different levels of the same path."

"Interesting distinction," she said. "One I'd never have thought of."

"Will you stay for dinner with me?" He looked deeply into her eyes as he took hold of her arm.

"I really have to get back. Of course, with my rental car no longer here, I do have a problem with transportation."

"Not at all," the deep voice behind her caused her to jump and Soul to react by a narrowing of his eyes as he looked up.

"Mr. Taggert, I didn't see you arrive," Soul said, a tinge of irritation in his voice as he took S.T.'s hand in his. "To what do we owe this visit?"

S.T.  smiled crookedly. "Didn't you invite me back?"

"I rather expected you to call first."

"Next time," S.T.  said, glancing at Christine then for the first time. "I'm here to see a soil analysis, but if you don't mind waiting a bit, I'm running on a tight schedule and have to get back myself."

"Ah yes, the illusive soil analysis," Soul said. "Now where do you suppose George got to? I'm sure he has it." He signaled Sharon over and asked her to find George. She glared at S.T. but went off on the assigned errand.

Soul turned back to S.T. and Christine. "Why don't you both eat with me?"

"Sorry," S.T. said with a cold smile, "I ate on the way down. Of course, if Ms. Johnson wants to stay, I could wait." He leaned one broad shoulder casually against the wall, folding his arms over his chest as he looked around the room.

"Not at all," Christine said, relieved to put the weight of her problem onto his shoulders. She felt a fear that they would neither easily get out of the compound, but at least they would be together.

Sharon came back. "I'm not sure where George went. Is it important?"

"Rather," Soul said. "Have him come to my office when you find him, ask him to bring the soil analysis." He turned back to S.T. and Christine. "You will at least have a cup of tea with me while we wait?"

S.T. shook his head. "I'm not much of a tea drinker, but we can wait in your office, if that's what you want."

Worried at what they might find in Soul's office, Christine accepted S.T.'s air of confidence as reassurance that there would be nothing in that room to show evidence of his earlier visit.

Moments later, they were seated across the desk from Soul. He had poured himself a cup of tea, again asking them to join him.

"George was in the hall when I arrived," Christine said, again refusing the beverage, "helped me get seated. I can't imagine where he got too so quickly."

Soul smiled, his glance traveling from her to alight on S.T. "George is my every man. He is where he's needed and that often puts him afield."

He was unsuccessful if he had meant to rattle S.T., whose smile was affable, his gaze steady. "Every one needs somebody he can trust. I imagine that's true of you more than most."

"Why would you think that?" Soul asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Aren't religious leaders under attack... from within and without. Seems to me I've heard their own followers sometimes turn on them. "

Soul considered him for a long moment. His contemplation only broken by the knock at the door. Sharon entered at his permission, her gaze quickly cast downward, her demeanor apologetic. "I can find George nowhere."