Piercing the Darkness (74 page)

Destroyer put his hand on his sword.
You will take her to Summit, to the Strongman, and you will do it now!

After the longest, most agonizing moment, for no apparent reason, Khull took away the knife and let her finger go.

Sally thought she would faint. She was close to vomiting.

“Get her up!”

She was snatched from the floor in an instant by no less than four huge thugs, and held tightly, unable to move. Now she could see Khull’s face leering at her, the eyes full of hate. Demon eyes.

SLAP! His hand felt like iron across her jaw, cheek, and nose. She almost blacked out. Warm blood began to trickle from her nose and
down over her mouth.

Khull grabbed a fistful of her hair again and held his knife right under her nose. “We’re going to take you to our friends. They are going to get the whole package right in their laps, and listen to me now: you’d better give them everything they want when they want it, because I will be right there, and if they don’t get what they want, they are going to give you to me. To
me
, understand?”

“I
will
cooperate.”

“Not a sound from you!”

“Not a sound.”

Khull looked at her with all the lust and murderous intent of the Devil himself, and then gave the order: “Let’s go.”

The young blonde woman stuffed everything Sally owned into Sally’s duffel bag, and a thug grabbed it up.

In broad daylight, like a gruesome parade, Khull led his band of rogues and their captive, bound with rope and her nose still bleeding, out of Number 14 and to the street. Sally could see some curtains cracked open across the courtyard, but no one dared show their face. Even the owner of the place, an ugly, chain-smoking woman in her fifties, caught just a glimpse of them and then turned away, being careful to mind her own business.

They took Sally to the first car, shoved her into the backseat between two men—one of them was the young knife-wielder she’d met at Bentmore—and drove away unhurried, unhampered, and unchallenged.

THE CARAVAN MOTEL
was almost invisible under a crawling, hissing swarm of evil spirits. Every person in every building was motivated by fear, self-interest, and even self-delusion. No, they didn’t see anything. It wasn’t what it looked like—it just seemed that way. It wasn’t their problem. A lot of that kind of thing happened around places like this; so what?

Destroyer and his twelve key warriors flew just above the two automobiles, wary and braced for any angelic resistance. The resistance never came. They did see some heavenly warriors, but the warriors made no moves against them; they were intimidated by the great demonic
numbers, no doubt.

“Ha!” Destroyer laughed, elbowing his closest warrior. “What did I say? Their strength is gone! Tal has no more numbers to boast in, and . . .” He was delighted with his own craftiness. “. . . I do believe we have surprised them all! Before they could muster any new strength, we have snatched their new little saint right from under their noses!”

AS THE TWO
automobiles turned onto the main thoroughfare and sped away, many of Nathan’s prize warriors were on hand to watch, hiding in the shadows, crouching behind trees, parked cars, and houses. They kept a close watch, but they did not intervene. The word had spread quickly and clearly among them all: This was Destroyer’s moment, and Captain Tal’s biggest risk ever.

OUT ON THE
interstate, a U.S. Mail truck sped along, heading southward from Chicago toward the easy rolling hills of the Midwest and the quaint little college town of Ashton.

On board, in a mailbag, just a little dirty and wrinkled by now, was that letter addressed to Bernice Krueger.

CHAPTER 39

MARSHALL WAS IMPATIENT,
and that made him anxious, and that made him irritable. Ben Cole just kept pacing around the house trying to think of what else to do, Kate sat next to Marshall at the dining room table, flipping through all their accumulated files for any information Marshall might need, and Bev Cole just kept watching it all and praying softly, “Lord Jesus, we need You now!”

Marshall was on the phone with John Harrigan, a friend and contact with the FBI. “Oh yeah, she wrote it, all right. I got back to my reporter, and she’d already gotten back to this Cliff Bingham guy, and he verifies the edition he found was recent, published only two years ago.” Marshall rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. This conversation wasn’t bringing results fast enough. “So that means the curriculum the school gave to us was doctored; Sally Roe’s name was deleted and substituted by two other names, and that fits right in with the cover-up I told you about. No, I don’t have a case yet. I thought you guys were the ones who are supposed to investigate these things. Well, I’m close, real close, and I do think it’s something for you guys to handle. The Omega Center’s in Fairwood, Massachusetts, and Sally Roe was almost murdered clear over here in Bacon’s Corner, for crying out loud! Now is that across state lines or what?” More talk from the other end. “All right, listen: can you give me a number where I can reach you anytime, I mean, right in the middle of the night if I have to? I won’t call unless
I’ve got some real stuff for you, but when I do get it, time will be that much shorter for Sally Roe.” He got an objection. “Come on, I’ll owe you one. Just remember that lead I got you in that cocaine operation.” Marshall grabbed his pen. “Good man!”

He got several numbers, said good-bye, and hung up.

Everyone in the house converged on him. “Well? What did he say?”

“He’ll be on call. I’ve got phone numbers to reach him at work, at home, at church, and I’ve also got his paging service, so he’s covered. But what he’s waiting for is some firm information to justify the FBI getting involved.”

Ben was indignant. “What’s wrong with all that stuff you gave him?”

“Eh, it was enough to make him interested, but not enough to make him stick his neck out.”

“What about Wayne Corrigan?”

Kate answered, “I left a message at his office. He’ll get what we have.”

“O Lord Jesus, protect Sally Roe!” said Bev.

GUILO HAD RETURNED
to his post in the mountains above the picturesque town of Summit, and though the surroundings were as strikingly beautiful as ever, the invisible evil was even worse. Educators, statesmen, jurists, entertainers, corporate moguls, and financiers from all over the world were gathering just a mile up the valley from Summit at the Summit Institute for Humanistic Studies. Their semiannual conference was just getting underway, and as these global planners gathered, demon lords and warriors of the most conniving sort gathered with them, filling the valley with a swirling, sooty, steadily thickening cloud of spirits. The demons hovered, hooted, sparred, and jostled, more numerous, riotous, and cocky than ever before.

“They are expecting a real party,” said Guilo.

MR. SANTINELLI, KINGPIN
of the law firm of Evans, Santinelli, Farnsworth, and McCutcheon, Mr. Goring, the lord and administrator of the Summit Institute for Humanistic Studies, and Mr. Steele, the ruthless
ruler of the Omega Center for Educational Studies, were together again, enjoying a brandy by the fire in Mr. Goring’s rustic chalet on the Summit Institute campus. This meeting brought back the memory of their last meeting at Omega, when things were not so rosy; they could recall the indignation of having to endure the very presence of that most undesirable of personalities, Mr. Khull—and, of course, at that time Sally Roe was still at large.

Now they clinked their glasses together in a toast of victory. Indeed, with the news that came in earlier today, things were definitely different.

“To the future!” said Santinelli.

“To the future!” echoed Goring and Steele.

They sipped from their drinks, smacked their lips, and even allowed themselves a chuckle or two.

As they relaxed into Goring’s soft couch and easy chair, Santinelli addressed the pressing matters before them. “I’ve sent our private jet to bring Mr. Khull and his personnel. They should arrive here with the prize in a matter of hours.”

“Have you ever met her?” asked Steele.

Goring and Santinelli exchanged glances.

“Not I,” said Goring, “but I’m looking forward to it.”

Santinelli agreed. “An outrageous fish story can never compare to actually seeing the fish hauled in. Actually, I’m impressed that Khull was able to restrain himself and deliver her to us alive.”

Goring spoke with great anticipation. “I’ll be fascinated to meet her. I have many questions, to be sure.”

“Oh,” said Santinelli, “we’ll all have questions for her—serious questions.”

“Any word on the ring or the rosters?” asked Steele.

“None. But with Sally Roe in our custody, I can’t imagine that will be a problem.”

Goring cautioned, “But just remember, there are many delegates and visitors about. Our present business would be quite distasteful to most of them, I’m sure; so our guests must never know about it.”