The Faithful (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

The cowgirl was sitting at the same table at the Peaks Cafe in the Cheyenne Regional Airport, newspaper propped in front of her as she sipped from a takeout coffee cup.

Well, shit. Sumner blinked, unnerved.

If not for the fact that she was wearing different clothes—snug jeans and a tight black T-shirt—he would have wondered if she’d ever left.

Although he’d been warned he would be watched, the notion of having to ignore her bumbling surveillance was daunting.

And weren’t they a bunch of psychics? Was having this chick follow him around like a well-trained puppy really the best they could do?

Quickening his pace, he shook off his annoyance. There were way more important things to worry about. Joining the long lineup at the ticket counter, he obediently shuffled forward, chewing on his lip as he worried the problem.

What the hell was he going to do?

Sumner had been turning this over in his mind since the moment the gates of The Ranch miraculously opened, allowing him to live another day. The brief exultation that flooded through him at this unexpected gift of life was quickly doused by the stark reality of the situation.

Walk the straight path or die.

It should have been a pretty simple choice, really. And technically, it wasn’t a hard job to do. A few minutes at the computer and all the information would be transferred to the right people. Agents around the country would swarm upon unsuspecting children, ripping them from their families.

It was a job he had been doing for over a decade, albeit in blissful ignorance for most of that time. But that all changed six months ago, when the note in his mailbox started his awakening.

Since then, he’d learned some tricks to try to quell his conscience. He’d drink until he forgot he had just pointed his electronic finger and destroyed another life, filling the empty hours of the night with booze and whatever Western was on TV.

But now he was stone-cold sober. And he couldn’t deny his culpability anymore.

From the safety of his office, just how many kids had he kidnapped? How much heartache had he caused? How many families had he destroyed?

Anguish twisted a knot in his gut. He couldn’t ignore the truth any longer. He knew what happened to the kids he selected, so how could he continue? And yet, if Day Zero was approaching, how could he not?

In the end of days, could an evil act be turned on its head? Could it become the honorable thing to do? If gathering them in meant saving their lives, he thought it was possible. How ironic to continue to do the wrong thing, but this time for the right reasons.

He reached the front of the line and bought his tickets. Cheyenne to Denver to Washington, DC. As he passed the cowgirl, his frustration boiled over, and he blasted her.

“Ora, go back to your girlfriend. And unless you’re willing to let me watch, stay the hell away from me. Tell the old bastard I’ll follow the straight path.”

She gave no response save the irritated flutter of her newspaper, and he continued past her to his gate.

The next time he saw her was during his layover at Denver International Airport. He had two hours to kill until boarding. He grabbed a
Denver Post
and a beer and settled into a deep booth at the Boulder Beer Tap House. To hell with not drinking.

When she sat down across the table from him, he was engrossed in an opinion piece about the Denver Broncos’ aging quarterback. He looked up, startled. She was smiling and casually sipping beer from a bottle.

From a distance, she had seemed Barbie-doll perfect, but up close her bottom teeth were crooked and her upper lip was plumper than the bottom one, making her mouth into a bow. Her nose was a bit too big for her face and covered in freckles, and her blue eyes were wide-set and slanted down at the outer edge. She was young and perky and he did his best not to stare at her cleavage.

“Are you sure you’re old enough to be drinking that?” he managed, and she rolled her eyes in response.

“Do you want to see my ID?”

Leaning back in his chair, he took a sip of beer as he appraised her. “What do you want?”

“Are you really going to continue to be one of their sheep?”

Taken aback by her directness and the obvious disdain in her voice, he shrugged noncommittally. “I said I would follow the straight path.”

“The one that’s paved with ill intentions?” She was probing at his mind, looking for the key to unlock the dead bolt and let herself in. He clamped down, staring back at her stubbornly.

“You’re pretty strong. But I’m stronger,” she said.

“Oh really?”

Tipping her head back, she drained the bottle. Against his will, his gaze traced the length of her neck. Down and down.

“Yup. You’ll see.”

“You’re pretty confident for someone so newly out of diapers,” he said gruffly.

She laughed, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder. “Go on, try to read me,” she dared.

Not one to resist a challenge, he set down his glass and focused on her. She was closed. Completely closed, impossible to read. He tried nudging at her from one direction, and then another. While beads of sweat popped out on his forehead she sat there smiling, completely at ease. With a loud exhale he gave up and leaned back against the chair.

“Impressive,” he admitted.

“That’s not the half of it.” She waved a hand in casual dismissal.

“At least you’re modest about it.”

They paused while the waiter slapped a basket of fries down in front of him, along with a couple of napkins. She wiggled her empty bottle, indicating she wanted another, and then eyed his fries.

“Ooh, those look good. Mind if I share? I’m starved.”

The basket slid across the table as if magnetized and stopped right in front of her. She popped a fry into her mouth and chewed vigorously.

“Do you like ketchup?” she asked, and before he could answer the bottle lifted off the table. It hung suspended in the air in front of his nose. The cap turned once, twice, three times, and fell to the table with a clatter. The bottle upturned and a glob of red sauce plopped onto the fries.

He grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap back on. “I don’t like ketchup, and I don’t like show-offs.”

Before he could pull the basket away, she snatched a handful of fries and stuffed them into her mouth, smiling cheekily at him.

“Why didn’t they ship you off to The Command with the rest of the Telekinetics?”

“Because I’m one of the Chosen.
Duh.
”

Her teenage attitude was tiresome, but that did explain her strength. And speaking of which . . .

“So you
allowed
me to read you in Cheyenne?”

“Of course. If I didn’t want you to see me, you wouldn’t have.” She wiped the grease off her fingers and slid an e-ticket across the table to him. “That’s for you.”

He glanced down. It was a Southwest flight to Houston, leaving in an hour and a half.

“What’s in Houston?”

“Maybe nothing. Maybe a chance to redeem yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“‘Just how many kids have I kidnapped?’” she imitated in an insulting falsetto. “‘How much heartache have I caused? How many families have I destroyed?’”

“Okay, I get it.”

“You have a choice to make,
Summoner of Spirits
. Fly back to DC and continue to walk the straight path, or fly to Houston and fight back.”

“And what makes you think I’d go with you?”

“This,” she said, and shoved an envelope toward him. Apparently she had fished his letter out of the UPS drop box. He picked it up and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“They’ll know if I go to Houston. I’ll be dead within hours.”

She shook her head. “I can shield you from them. They won’t know where you are, just that you’re not in DC.”

His stomach clenched with anxiety. “But . . .”

“There’s no ‘but.’ It’s time to choose. Are you going to be an
I Fidele
patsy and contribute to the destruction of the world, or are you going to go down with your guns blazing? It’s your choice, Sumner. And for the first time in your sorry life, you actually have the freedom to choose. We won’t force you. We’re not like
them
.”

“We?”

She nodded. “Come see for yourself.”

“Wait!” he said as she stood up. “Why should I trust you? Who are you?”

Her smile was tight, and it didn’t reach her eyes. “Even
I Fidele
has black sheep. Kids who will never meet their parents’ expectations.” Placing her empty beer bottle on the table, she said, “I hope to see you again.”

She left him in the Boulder Beer Tap House with trembling hands and a stomach that churned with anxiety.

“Sir, are you all right?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you were done with that newspaper.”

“Oh. No. I mean yes; go ahead.” He folded the paper and handed it over to her.

“Are you all right? You look a little pale.” She was a grandmotherly sort, and he sensed her desire to reach out and feel his forehead.

“I’m all right. Thanks.”

“Nervous flyer?” she asked sympathetically, and he nodded.

“Well, don’t worry.” She patted his shoulder. “I’ve got good instincts when it comes to these things. Everything is going to be just fine, you’ll see.”

His smile was halfhearted. With another pat on the shoulder, she moved away.

For what must have been the thousandth time, he checked his watch, counting the minutes until it would be too late. There were forty until the flight to Houston departed, and here he was sitting at the United gate in Terminal B, one train ride away from the Southwest gate in Terminal C.

Follow the straight path and save some kids’ lives. Follow the cowgirl and maybe save the world.

But what if it was a trap? What if Father Narda was using her to test his loyalty?

Groaning, he folded in on himself, rocking from side to side in an agony of indecision.

“Are you sure I can’t help you?” It was the grandmother again. Her boxy black shoes were visible from the space between his knees. He sat back up.

“I’m all right.”

She sat down beside him, folding her hands primly in her lap. “I don’t think you are, dear. Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, thanks.”

“Hmm. It seems to me you’re running out of time to do the right thing.”

“What?” His eyes sprang open. She was watching him, not unkindly, with her rheumy blue eyes. Her skin was pale and wrinkled, her white hair a cloud of tight curls.

“It’s time to find your moxie, Sumner. There’s a lot of work to be done, and there’s no room for cowards.”

“How . . . ?”

When she leaned toward him, he saw the slightest hint of transparency in her features. He could almost make out the chair behind her and the woman reading a romance novel three seats down. She wasn’t sitting on the seat, but floating just above it in a parody of sitting. If he tried to touch her, his hand would pass through with no resistance save a puff of cold air.

“Wow. You’re good. I thought you were real.”

“I am real. And I’ll kick you right in the buttocks if you don’t get going. It might not be too late to save the world, dear.” She was fading by the moment, running out of strength from the effort of having made herself known to him. A few more seconds and she would be invisible, but it didn’t matter. The message had been delivered. He pulled himself to his feet and started to run.

In his eternally helpful way, the bogey he’d dubbed
Coach
chose that moment to show up. Sumner groaned.

“Faster, you maggot!”
Coach
bellowed. Bellowing was all that particular bogey knew how to do.

“Sir yes sir!”

Sumner’s lungs were burning. He hurled himself onto the train just as the doors were closing. He bounced on the balls of his feet as he watched the airport pass by outside the window, trying to ignore the bogey’s brash insults. He was first off the train at Terminal C.