Piercing the Darkness (89 page)

“I’M SORRY,” TISEN
told the two federal agents now standing in his office. “You’ve come at a hectic time. We’re just closing down for our midspring break. Hardly anyone is here now.”

The two men exchanged glances.

“
Midspring
break?” asked one.

Tisen smiled. “We follow a rather unique calendar here, gentlemen.”

“We’ll have a look at it.”

The other agent noted, “We saw the buses pulling out. It looked like an evacuation.”

Tisen grinned sheepishly. “Well, most of them have planes to catch . . .”

The agents didn’t waste time. “Like I asked you over the phone, this is the same Omega Center that published the
Finding the Real Me
curriculum?”

“Well . . . yes, it is.”

“Then you must be familiar with the author, Sally Beth Roe?”

“You mean me personally?”

“I mean you personally or any other way.”

“Well, of course I’m familiar with the name . . .”

“Where can we contact her?”

“Um . . . Well, I’m afraid she’s deceased.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, I—”

One agent consulted some notes. “What about an instructor here, a lady named Sybil Denning? Is she still on the campus?”

Tisen shook his head with just a little too much sadness. “No, I’m afraid she’s gone.”

“Do you see much of Owen Bennett anymore?”

Tisen looked shocked at that question. “
Owen Bennett?
”

“He used to be on the Omega advisory board, right?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“How about the director of this place . . . uh . . . Steele?”

“He’s gone.”

“The
director’s
gone?”

“He’s away at a conference.”

“What conference and where?”

“Well, um . . . Do I really have to answer all these questions?”

“Maybe now, for sure later. Suit yourself.”

These guys were intimidating. “He’s . . . he and some other people on our faculty are at the Summit Institute.”

The two men nodded to each other. Apparently they already knew about that place.

GORING, STEELE, AND
Santinelli stood in a close cluster near the big fireplace, trying to lay a contingency plan. They paid little attention to Khull, who still sat at the top of the basement stairs trying to tape up his wound with gauze, cotton, and anything else he could find in Goring’s first aid kit. So far he was only making a mess.

“You know what she said in those letters!” said Goring. “She didn’t leave out one thing!”

Steele asked Santinelli, “How would our chances be in court?”

Santinelli was grim but determined, and spoke in a low mutter. “There are many variables and contingencies. We should immediately inventory and eliminate any liabilities.” Goring and Steele couldn’t help a quick, sideways glance at Khull. Santinelli cleared his throat to correct them. “Any connections at all with the Bacon’s Corner case must be eradicated. I can call my office on that. As for material evidence . . .” He shot a glance at the coffee table. “I strongly suggest we
burn these letters!”

Khull pretended he didn’t hear anything.

The telephone rang. Goring cursed, but decided to pick it up in the kitchen. He stepped out of the room.

“Power in the right places will also be a crucial factor,” said Santinelli. “This will be a test of how much we really have.”

“Mr. Steele!” Goring called. “It’s your faculty head, Mr. Tisen!”

Steele motioned for Santinelli to follow him, and they joined Goring in the kitchen.

“It sounds urgent,” Goring whispered.

Khull saw his chance, and struggled to his feet.

A SLEEK, BLUE
sedan pulled into the parking lot, and three men in business suits got out, getting a good look at the place and acting just a little bewildered.

“They’re going to think we’re crazy,” said one.

“Let’s make this quick,” said another. “I want to get back in time to see the Broncos game.”

They encountered a beautiful blonde woman just getting out of her Mercedes.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” said the group’s leader. “We’re looking for . . . uh . . .” He lost his train of thought.

The second man stepped in. “We need to talk to the people in charge of this place.”

“Oh,” said the woman. “Why don’t you try Mr. Goring? His chalet is right over that way, beyond the herb garden, see?”

She gave them just a few more pointers and then went her way. One man was ready to head for the chalet, but the other two just kept staring after the woman.

“C’mon,” said the one, “let’s go.”

“You know who that was?”

“C’mon!”

“That was . . . you know, What’s-her-name, from that TV show . . .”

TAL’S BRUSHFIRE CONTINUED
to rage.

Far away, on the Bentmore University campus, there was quite a buzz about the School of Education closing down so suddenly. Information was scarce. There were isolated conversations here and there about the sudden death of Professor Samuel W. Lynch. No one seemed to know how he died, or at least no one was willing to talk about it. The only news being consistently repeated among the faculty and students was that he’d been found dead in his office and that the School of Education was suspending classes indefinitely. There were rumors, of course: Lynch may have been murdered, and there might be some kind of scandal afoot. There might be an investigation. Student reporters for the
Bentmore Register
were hoping for an exposé.

CORRUPTER, THE BLOATED
demon Prince of Bentmore University, was dethroned at last, and it was Chimon the European and his British friend Scion who batted him out of his position like a beach ball over a fence. The angelic forces had done their job quickly, and now homeless demons were aloft and wailing, most of them heading for Summit. Soon they would descend upon the Strongman along with all the other evicted and dethroned spirits, demanding rescue, answers, relief.

IMMEDIATELY, WITH THE
slamming down of the phone, Goring, Santinelli, and Steele came dashing around the corner and back into the living room with one goal in mind.

And one huge shock waiting for them—an empty coffee table, and no Mr. Khull.

“The letters!” cried Goring.

“Khull!” said Steele.

“That devil!” said Santinelli, dashing out the door.

CHAPTER 44

SALLY’S HEART POUNDED
and ached in her chest as she scurried and stumbled over damp pine needles and patches of crusted snow, grappled and groped through prickly, dead branches, and tried with all her rapidly ebbing strength to stay ahead of the snappings, huffings, rustlings, and footfalls of the devils pursuing her.

Two were directly below, but invisible behind limbs and thickets; a third was to her left, and she’d seen him twice, so close she could read the demons in his eyes. The fourth was silent and invisible except for his eerie, intermittent whistling to let the others know where he was.

They were getting closer.
O Lord Jesus, help me run!

“Hey,” said one of the three visitors, “now who’s that?”

His friends expected to see another celebrity. What they saw was a silver-haired man in a business suit running like a wild man across the herb garden.

“Guys, I just have this feeling . . .”

KHULL, HIS CHEST
still reddened from his wound, had Goring’s briefcase full of Sally’s letters in one hand and the keys to the van in the other. He stood by the van, unable to find the right key to open it. He could see the key to the door, but it kept falling out of his fingers and dangling from the key ring.

Guilo stood by him, flicking at the keys with the tip of his finger, making them dance, slip, flip, and turn every which way but where Khull wanted them.

Tal swooped low over the parking lot with a message: “They’re on the way!”