This Present Darkness (66 page)

“Wait!” said Susan. “There! Go back a few frames.” Bernice rolled the film back. “Yes! There! I got this from some of Kaseph’s personal notes. It’s hard to make out the handwriting, but look at this list of names.”

Bernice did have trouble making out the handwriting, but she had written those names herself quite a few times.

“Harmel … Jefferson …” she read.

“You haven’t seen these yet,” Susan said, pointing to the bottom of a very lengthy list.

There, in Kaseph’s own writing, were the names Hogan, Krueger, and Strachan.

“I take it this is some kind of hit list?” Bernice asked.

“Exactly. It goes on for hundreds of names. Notice the red
Xs
after many of them.”

“They were disposed of?”

“Bought out, driven out, maybe murdered, maybe ruined reputations or finances or both.”

“And I thought
our
list was long!”

“This is the tip of the iceberg. I have other documents that we need to get photocopied and stored somewhere safe. It could all work into a very good case against not only Kaseph but the Omni Corporation—evidence that could prove a long history of wiretapping, extortion,
racketeering, terrorism, murder. Kaseph’s creativity in these areas knows no bounds.”

“The ultimate gangster.”

“With an international mob, don’t forget, unnaturally unified by their common allegiance to the Universal Consciousness Society.”

Just then Kevin, who had been running off photocopies of Susan’s stolen documents, hissed at them, “Hey, there’s a cop out there!”

Susan and Bernice froze.

“Where?” asked Bernice. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s across the street. It’s a stakeout, I’ll bet!”

Susan and Bernice went carefully toward the front to look. They found Kevin crouched in the doorway of the copier room. It was broad daylight now, and light was streaming in the front office windows.

Kevin pointed to a plain old Ford parked across the street, just visible through the front windows. A plainly dressed man sat behind the wheel, doing nothing in particular.

“Kelsey,” said Weed. “I’ve had some run-ins with him. Dressed in his civies and driving an old Ford, but I’d know that face a mile away.”

“More of Brummel’s doing, no doubt,” said Bernice.

“So what do we do now?” Susan asked.

“Get down!” Kevin hissed.

They ducked into doorways just as another man came up to the front window and looked inside.

“Michaelson,” said Kevin. “Kelsey’s partner.”

Michaelson tried the door. It was locked. He looked through the other front window, and then he walked out of sight.

“Time for another miracle, huh?” Bernice said, a little sarcastically.

HANK AWOKE EARLY
that morning and thought for sure that some great miraculous intervention of God had occurred, or that he was about to ascend into heaven, or that the angels had come to rescue him, or … or … or he just didn’t know what. But as he lay there on his cot, half asleep, still in that semiconscious state where you’re not too sure of what is real and what isn’t, he heard worship songs and hymns floating around his head. He even thought he could hear Mary’s voice singing among all those other voices. For a long time he just lay there
enjoying it, not wanting to wake up for fear that it might go away.

But Marshall exclaimed, “What the heck is that?”

He heard it too? Hank woke up at last. He jolted up from his cot and went to the bars. The sound was coming in through the window at the end of the cellblock. Marshall joined him and they listened together. They could hear the name “Jesus” being sung and praised.

“We’ve made it, Hank,” said Marshall. “We’re in heaven!”

Hank was crying. If those people out there only knew what a blessing this was! Suddenly he knew he was not in prison any longer, not really. The gospel of Jesus Christ was not imprisoned, and he and Marshall were now two of the freest men in the world.

The two of them listened for a while, and then, startling Marshall a little, Hank started singing too. It was a song painting Jesus Christ as a victorious warrior and the church as His army. Hank knew all the words, of course, and belted them right out.

A little embarrassed, Marshall looked around. The two car thieves in the next cell were still too dumbfounded to complain yet. The phony check writer only shook his head and went back to his paperback novel. Some other guy in the last cell, offense unknown, cursed a little, but not too loudly.

“C’mon, Marshall,” prodded Hank. “Jump in! We just might sing ourselves out of this place.”

Marshall only smiled and shook his head.

Just then the big door at the end of the cellblock burst open and in strode Jimmy Dunlop, his face red and his hands shaking.

“What’s going on in here?” he demanded. “Do you know you’re causing a disturbance?”

“Oh, we’re just enjoying the music,” Hank said, all smiles.

Jimmy shook his finger at Hank and said, “Well, you cut that religious stuff out right now! It has no place in a public jail. If you want to sing, you do it in church somewhere, not here.”

Yeah, thought Marshall, I think I know the words well enough by now. He started singing as loudly as he could, singing right at Jimmy Dunlop.

It brought a very satisfying response from Jimmy. He turned on his heels and got out of there, slamming the door after him.

Another song began, and Marshall thought that maybe he’d heard
this one somewhere before, maybe at Sunday school. “Thank you, Lord, for saving my soul.” He sang it loudly, standing next to that young man of God, the two of them holding on to those cell bars.

“Paul and Silas!” Marshall suddenly exclaimed. “Yeah, now I remember!”

From that point, Marshall wasn’t singing for Jimmy Dunlop’s sake.

TAL COULD HEAR
the music from where he stood in hiding. His face was still a little grim, but he nodded his head with satisfaction.

A messenger arrived with the news. “The Strongman is on his way.”

Another messenger informed him, “We have prayer cover now from thirty-two cities. There are fourteen more being raised up.”

Tal brought out his sword. He could feel the blade resonating with the worship of the saints, and he could sense the power of God’s presence. He smiled a slight smile and put the sword back. “Gather in the sources: Lemley, Strachan, Mattily, Cole, and Parker. Do it abruptly. The timing will be important.”

Several warriors disappeared to their missions.

SANDY HOGAN CONTINUED
to primp in front of the mirror in Shawn’s bathroom, nervously brushing her hair, checking her makeup. Oh, I hope I look okay … whatever will I say, what will I do? I’ve never been to a meeting like this before.

Shawn had given her some explosively good news: Professor Langstrat had decided that Sandy was an excellent subject with exceptional psychic abilities, so much so that Sandy was now being considered as a prime candidate for a special initiation into some kind of exclusive fellowship of psychics, an
international
fellowship! Sandy now recalled hearing just a fleeting mention here and there of some kind of Universal Consciousness group, and it had always sounded like something very lofty, very secret, even sacred. She had never dreamed that she would be granted such an extraordinary opportunity, to actually meet other psychics and become a part of their circle of confidence! She could imagine the new experiences and the higher insights that could be achieved in the company of so many gifted people, all combining their psychic skills and energies in the continuing search for enlightenment!

Madeline, did you have something to do with this? Just wait until we meet again! I have a hug and a load of thanks to give you!

BERNICE, SUSAN, AND KEVIN
could do nothing but try to preserve the evidence Susan had gathered at so great a risk. Bernice made prints of all the pictures Susan had taken, then Kevin ran photocopies of the prints, along with copies of all the other material. Bernice looked about the building for a good hiding place to stash all the material. Susan looked over a map and pondered different escape routes out of town, different means of getting out, different people they could call once they did get out.

Then the telephone rang. They had ignored it before and let the answering machine squawk out its usual message. But this time, after the little beep tone, a voice said, “Hello, this is Harvey Cole, and I’ve completed working on those accounts you gave me …”

“Wait!” said Bernice. “Turn it up!”

Susan crawled over to the desk in the front office where the answering machine was sitting and turned up the volume.

Harvey Cole’s voice continued, “I really need to get in touch with you as soon as possible.”

Bernice snatched up the telephone in Marshall’s office. “Hello? Harvey? This is Bernice!”

Susan and Kevin were horrified.

“What are you doing?”

“The cops are going to hear this, man!”

Harvey said through the telephone and also through the turned-up answering machine, “Oh, you’re
there!
I heard you were arrested last night. The police won’t tell me anything. I didn’t know where to call …”

“Harvey, just listen. Got a pen or a pencil?”

“Yeah, now I do.”

“Call my uncle. His name is Jerry Dallas; his number is 240-9946. Tell him you know me, tell him it’s an emergency, and tell him you have materials to show Justin Parker, the county prosecutor.”

“What? Not so fast.”

Bernice labored through the information again, more slowly. “Now, this conversation is probably being listened to by Alf Brummel or one of his lackeys on the Ashton Police Force, so I want you to make sure that if anything happens to me that information will still go to the prosecutor so he’ll wonder what’s going on in this town.”

“Am I supposed to write that down too?”

“No. Just make sure you get in touch with Justin Parker. If you possibly can, get him to call us here.”

“But, Bernice, I was going to say, it’s pretty clear that the funds have been going out, but the records don’t show where—”

“We have the records that show where. We have everything. Tell my uncle that.”

“Okay, Bernice. You really are in trouble, then?”

“The police are after me. They’ll probably find out I’m here because I’m talking to you and our phone has been bugged. You’d better hurry!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay!”

Harvey hung up quickly.

Susan and Kevin looked at each other and then at Bernice.

She looked back at them and could only say, “Call it a gamble.”

Susan shrugged. “Well, we didn’t have any better ideas.”

The phone rang again. Bernice hesitated, waiting for the answering machine to go through its little recitation.

Then came the voice. “Marshall, this is Al Lemley. Listen, I’ve got some pretty stirred-up feds here in New York that want to talk to you about your man Kaseph. They’ve been tracking him for quite some time, and if you can supply them with any good evidence, they’d be interested …”