The Cult (18 page)

Bruce sauntered over. “What’s up?”

Alexa smiled. “Sal’s sending a cleanup crew.”

Bruce nodded, then turned to the apartment and shoved his hands in his pocket. “I wonder if the rent will go up once the place has been cleaned up a bit.”

Alexa chuckled. “Who knows? It seems that places around here are in high demand.”

Holy Trinity Church, Las Vegas

McGill handed the plate of food to the destitute man and smiled and nodded, acknowledging his thanks. “You’re welcome, anytime, Mr. Brady. Remember, sermon is at seven this evening if you wish to attend.”

He fumbled in his pocket as his phone rang. He fished it out and checked the number. It was Alexa. “Hello?”

“Bishop, I need your help.”

“Okay?”

“I have thirty men and woman with me, they were forced to work in a drug lab by Illumenex. I need a place to house them until we’re able to contact their families. Do you have any place at all where we could keep them safe?”

McGill scratched his chin. “We could house them at the shelter, I have a couple of spare bunks. Three empty rooms at my house and I guess we could make some room in the church.”

“No, I need them all in one place, it would easier for us to secure and protect them.”

McGill nodded. “I understand. We’ll have to move them into the church, then.”

“Could I bring them over?”

“Now?”

“Yep.”

McGill grabbed his coat from the hanger and waved goodbye to his volunteers. “Okay, I’ll get the place ready.”

“Oh, Bishop? I have another favor to ask of you.”

“Yes?”

“I need all of your daughter’s clothes and anything you can spare from your closet. They’re naked.”

“What?”

“Please bring me all of your daughter’s clothes. They’re not doing anything in the cupboard. And some of yours, if you can spare them.”

McGill hesitated. “I guess you’re right.” He jogged the short path to his home. “See you at the church, Captain.”

McGill drew up in front of the church. In the parking area stood a yellow bus, the type that carries school children, and it was full. Alexa sat at the wheel and she slipped out when she saw his car arrive. She sauntered over to him, a mischievous smile on her face. “You got the clothes?”

He nodded, awestruck. “Yes, they’re in the trunk,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

“Think we could make up thirty outfits?”

“Double.”

He helped her unload the plastic bags and she carried them inside the bus. She coordinated the dressing routine and McGill averted his eyes. She hadn’t been lying, they were all naked.

A couple of minutes later, she exited the bus and sauntered back towards him. “Thanks,” she said, giving him a hug.

“No problem. Where did you find them?”

“It’s a long story, I’ll fill you in later.” She glanced around. “Where do they sleep?”

He hurried to the church door and unlocked it, followed her inside. “In here. I’m sorry, I haven’t had time to prepare, so we’ll need to move the pews.”

She walked outside and called some of the men who were loitering about, standing with guns clutched to their chests, like they were guarding the president or some very expensive cargo. He recognized Bruce Bryden and Superintendent Allen, but the other faces were new to him.
 

The men filed into the church, greeted him with a smile or a nod of the head, then started moving the pews to the side of the church.

“I guess I’ll need to cancel a couple of sermons,” McGill said, pulling his collar away from his throat.

Alexa smiled. “Sorry.”

He waved it away. “Not a problem.”

They had the place set up in less than half-an-hour, beds made, curtains made from linen strung between the beds to afford the occupant a modicum of privacy.

The Captain had been issuing orders the entire time, directing the men and organizing meals and ablutions. Finally, she stopped and looked around the church, arms folded, tapping her lip with a finger. She nodded, seemingly pleased.

Her last command was that the men position themselves around the building. They stood guard with their weapons clutched to their chests, looking menacing.
 

McGill had never, in his entire life, experienced anything like this before.

Alexa excused herself as her phone rang. “General?” she answered.

“Alexa, my dear. I have just received an interesting phone call from a young man named Peter.”

“Peter, General?”

“Peter Di Mardi.”

Alexa smiled a thanks as McGill handed her a steaming cup of coffee. She directed a man where to place a portable toilet before focusing on the conversation again. “Family of the famous Joe Di Mardi from Illumenex?”

“His son. I’ll send you his number. Speak to him. You may find what he has to say quite interesting.” The call disconnected.

Alexa leaned against a tall maple, sipping her coffee. What was the general up to, why would she want to meet the Cult Leader’s son? She shrugged. Laiveaux always had his reasons.
 

Her phone vibrated and she dialed the number.
 

It was answered after one ring. “Hello?”

“Is this Peter Di Mardi?”

“Call me Pete. Who’s this?”

“My name is Captain Alexa Guerra, Interpol.”

“Ah, yes, the general said you would be calling.”

Alexa flicked her hair behind an ear. “Is there something you could tell me about your father?”

Peter chuckled. “A lot.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s a complete fraud, amongst others.”

Alexa took a deep breath. Maybe this was the break she needed. “Okay, could we meet?”

“Where are you?”

“At the Holy Trinity Church in Vegas.”

“Ah, McGill’s place. Look, I don’t like churches. Meet me at Joe’s diner across the road in ten minutes.”

Alexa nodded, then disconnected the call. Strange. Things were starting to get interesting.
 

Peter Di Mardi was a bright-eyed young man in his mid-twenties. He looked fresh-faced and had neatly trimmed hair. It was past ten in the evening, but he still looked good, dressed in a jeans and collared shirt, jacket and tie. He reminded her of the young tech execs from Google.

They ordered coffees and settled into the chairs. There was a lot of movement across the street at the Holy Trinity, Bruce had set up spot lights and had managed to get a dozen tents, and the men were now being housed outside, on the church lawn. It looked like a big sleepover party.

“I assume you don’t get along too well with your dad,” Alexa said.

He shook his head and smiled ruefully. “I don’t judge the sinner, I judge the sin.”

“Tell me about him.”

Peter looked down at his coffee that he held cupped between his hands. “Twenty years ago, Joe Di Mardi used to sell vacuum cleaners, the fancy ones that could do everything and took the buyer half a lifetime to pay off.”

“Kirby’s?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know what you call them. All I know is we were never allowed to call them vacuum cleaners. They were home maintenance systems.”

“Okay?”

“Well, he won the prize for overall sales in the county three years running. We visited Disney World a lot.” He sipped his coffee, looked up. “At about the same time he got interested in an organization called the Rosicrucians. He met a guy called Benjamin Lamont, a snake oil salesman if there ever was one.”

“He’s one of the Masters up at Illumenex.”

Pete nodded. “That’s the one. Anyhow, they were caught for defrauding some customers, had them pay the deposits directly into my dad’s bank account, and then paying off the full amount for the cleaners over a period of time. Some customers woke up to the fact that they were being screwed and contacted the company.”

“How much?”

“Almost two-hundred thousand.”

Alexa whistled. “That’s a damned lot of vacuum cleaners.”

“Like I said, they were damned good sales people.” He finished his coffee and ordered a refill. “They got out of Wyoming and settled in huckster’s paradise.”

Alexa lifted a questioning eyebrow.

“Vegas.”

She nodded.

“So they started this new religion based on the Rosicrucian teachings, and together they recruited hundreds of followers. Benjamin gave the lectures and my dad put on the staged performances.” He chuckled. “And that’s exactly what they were. Staged.”

“How?”

“Lights, smoke, fire shows.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” He sat back, lay his arm over the back of his chair. “I’ll prove it to you.”

Alexa considered his answer, leaned forward. “Why would you do this, Peter?”

The man’s expression changed from a smile to a bitter grimace. “Because he threw us away like old rags, left my mom fending for herself, raising me and my siblings by herself, with no help from him, whatsoever.” He glanced out of the diner’s window, watching the commotion. “He doesn’t acknowledge me, says I’m not his child.”

Alexa lifted a hand, waved it at him. “The resemblance is obvious, Peter. You couldn’t be anyone else’s kid.”

He continued staring out of the window as he spoke. “We did the paternity tests when I was still a kid.”

“So why isn’t he paying alimony or something?”

Peter turned to face Alexa. “The tests were done and alimony granted in Florida. Nevada doesn’t have any enforcement agreements with Florida as far as alimony payments were concerned.” He smiled cynically. “They wouldn’t even suspend his driver’s license for non-payment.” He shook his head. “That’s all besides the point, we did okay. The fact is he doesn’t regard us as his family, and that hurts.”

“And you think by exposing him it will make you feel any better?”

Peter Di Mardi pursed his lips, nodded slowly and then smiled. “Most definitely.”

“Okay, let’s do it then.”

Jonathan Sands slipped out from behind the wheel of his car and stood for a moment, watching as the crowd mulled around in front of the church. He was still feeling slightly overwhelmed, everything had happened so fast.

Last night, a man called Bishop McGill had called him, wanting to know if he knew a certain Miss Jenna Sands. Jonathan started weeping when McGill had told him Jenna wanted to come back home. Then he put Jenna on the phone and Jonathan sat and listened to her story for half-an-hour without saying a word, dumbstruck. Jenna sobbed and sniffed but at the end of it all, she had told him that she had been captured by some organization called Illumenex and she had been forced to make drugs for them because she couldn’t raise enough money to pay her rent. They wanted a thousand dollars a month to cover boarding and expenses. Seemed like a screwy rental agreement, Jonathan thought at the time.

He didn’t hesitate, immediately jumped into his car and picked up his wife, Mandy, on the way. They drove through the night and arrived at midday. Mandy now climbed out as well and stood next to him, her hand slipping into his. “Let’s go get her.”

He nodded and they walked hand-in-hand through the jubilant crowd. He spotted her immediately. She wore a pink T-shirt that said, “Boy George,” and an oversized jeans. She was barefoot. She noticed them and rushed up to them, throwing her arms around his neck.

“I missed you guys so much,” she sobbed.

He sobbed too, couldn’t help it, the prodigal daughter had returned. “We missed you too, Jen.”

They stood there, hugging for what felt like an entirety. Babbling and excited people chattered around them. He pulled her arms from his neck. “Come baby, let’s go home.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“We need to tell the people still trapped up at Illumenex what these sickos have done to us.”

“But, baby…“

“I can’t, Daddy. There’s so many more people who need to be informed. We’re planning on visiting the temple this evening, they’re having another mass gathering and Bishop McGill wants to say a couple of words to them, see if he can convince them to leave.”

Jonathan Sands glanced up at the crowd. “Is everyone going?”

Jenna nodded. “You’re welcome to accompany us.”

He turned and looked at his wife, who nodded. “It’s the right thing to do, John.”

He made up his mind and nodded. “We’ll go, but first, let’s go grab a cup of coffee; catch up on old times.”

Alexa followed behind Bishop Daniel McGill as he led the party into the temple. She rubbed her arms as they entered, it wasn’t only the blast of cool air, it was the deep-rooted feeling of foreboding in the pit of her stomach which threatened to overwhelm her.