Covenant (18 page)

            “Manners, manners.”  The man clucked his tongue.  “Please refrain from using foul language.  It offends me deeply.”

            “You were shooting at me like a damn sniper, so don’t give me your holier-than-thou bullshit.”

            “Mr. Thorne,” the man said tightly, “in spite of your apparent intelligence and material success, you have misread the signs of your age.  The kingdom is fast approaching, and sinners such as you will be cast into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

            “Who let you out of the nuthouse, man?  Jesus.”

            “Don’t you
dare
take the Lord’s name in vain, you brimstone-drinking heretic.”

            “Sure.”  A laugh escaped Anthony.  “I’m standing here trying to believe that people like you actually exist.  Please tell me you haven’t fathered any children.”

            “Why did you decide to do the devil’s work, Thorne?  How long have you been in league with the adversary?”

            Anthony only shook his head. 

            “How long have you and the Judas been scheming to destroy us?” the man asked.    

            “Who the hell is the Judas?” Anthony asked, and as soon as he posed the question, realized the answer: Bob.

            “I should have known that an immoral man such as you could never admit to the depths of his sin.  You likely think yourself a noble man.  But the devil is the great deceiver, Thorne.” 

            “Sounds like I’m not the only one who’s been deceived.  Why are you working with these people?  How long have you been murdering for them in God’s name?”

            “It’s pointless to run from us, really,” he said, in a bored tone.  “Let’s meet at a mutually agreeable location, and conclude our business in person.  What do you say?”

            “I say, kiss my black ass.”

            The man sighed.  “You’re determined to make this harder on yourself and your wife, aren’t you?  How is Lisa doing?  How are her parents, Earl and Robin?”

            “Leave my parents out of this, you bastard!” Lisa shouted, veins standing out on her neck.

            He chuckled.  “It seems I have an audience.  Perhaps you, Mrs. Thorne, can convince your bull-headed husband of the futility of prolonging this tedious exercise.”

            “Yeah, he’s bull-headed, and so am I,” she said.  “Far as we’re both concerned, you can go to hell.”

            “Sadly, it appears you are equally yoked in sin.”

            “Who in your organization killed my father?” Anthony asked.

            The caller quieted. 

            Anthony clutched the phone in a steel vise grip, and both Mike and Lisa appeared to be holding their breath.

            But in a flat voice, like a robot programmed to recite a slogan, the man said, “We represent the truth.  We shine a light in the darkness.  We are subduing the earth to prepare it for the King’s arrival.  Dominion will be ours.”

            “Goddammit, tell me who killed my father!”

            “God has led me to you, Thorne.  It’s your destiny to perish by my sword.  Repent for your sinful ways now, and perhaps God will forgive you before I strike you down.”

            “You crazy—“

            But the man hung up.  Chest heaving, Anthony stared at the phone as if it had stung him.

            “What a freakin’ nut job,” Mike said.

            “That’s an understatement,” Lisa said.      

            “We’ve gotta get out of here,” Anthony said. “We know the guy’s elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top, but he sounded way too confident.  My gut tells me they know where we are, and they’re on their way.”

28

            Mike crossed his thick arms over his chest.  “Forget it.  I’m not going anywhere.  I fought the Taliban in Afghanistan and survived.  No way I’m running from a bunch of Jesus freaks.”

            “There might be a whole squad of them this time, Mike,” Anthony said.  He shoved his laptop into the satchel.  “They might be fanatics, but they’ll be armed to the teeth.”

            “It’s you and Lisa they want.  They don’t care about me.”

            “You’re our friend, and we came to your house tonight,” Lisa said.  “On the basis of that, they might care a whole lot.”

            “Bet we could take ‘em, AT,” Mike said with a gleam in his eye.  “We’ve got plenty firepower here between the two of us.  What do you say, bro?”

            “I don’t want to fight another Iwo Jima in the middle of your subdivision,” Anthony said.  “Innocent people could get hurt.”

            “Yeah, probably a bad idea.”  Mike looked crestfallen.  “Would’ve been fun, though.”

            “Some other time.”  Anthony slung his satchel over his shoulder and picked up his duffel.  He glanced at Lisa, saw she was ready.  “We’ve gotta roll.”

            “Where you going?” Mike asked.

            “Probably a hotel.”

            “To hell with that.”  Mike went to the key rack above the kitchen counter.  He plucked off a set and tossed it to Anthony.

            “What’re these for?” Anthony asked.

            “A house of mine in Roswell.  See the address label on the ring?”

            Anthony nodded.

            “Go there and hide out,” Mike said.  “Tenants moved out last week and the utilities are still on, and the place is already furnished, too.  It’s a quiet, mature neighborhood—I like it so much I just put a contract on another spot a few doors away.  Owner moved to Florida and gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

            “You don’t have to do this for us,” Anthony said.

            “And take these.”  Mike threw another set of keys at Anthony.  “To my Jeep.  You can’t be driving around with bullet holes in your windshields—big red flag to the cops, and you say these freaks have connections with cops.”

            “We can’t take your car,” Lisa said.

            “You’re going to take my car, end of story.  Just bring it back with a full tank of gas, that’s all I ask.  Nothing worse than loaning someone your ride and they bring it back with the gas tank on E.”     

            “Thanks for everything,” Anthony said.  “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

            “By the way, I’ve been Googling Kelley Marrow, the name written in the Bible?  I haven’t found anything conclusive yet, but I got a feeling about it.  I’m gonna keep digging.”

            “E-mail anything you find to me on Jarhead,” Anthony said.  “I think my main e-mail’s probably been compromised.  I’ve never used my real name on Jarhead, so that’s a good alternate address for now.”

            Mike nodded.  “Good point.  Got it.”

            Soon, they were settled in Mike’s SUV and pulling away from the house.  Like Mike’s home, the vehicle was fastidiously clean, as if it had been recently driven off the showroom floor.

            “He’s such a sweet guy,” Lisa said.  “I’m worried about him.”

            “He’s a hell of a fighter,” Anthony said.  “Don’t let his juvenile jokes fool you.  If these people screw with him they’ll have a war on their hands.”

            “Do you really think they could’ve tracked us to his house?”

            “They called me on my unlisted cell phone number.  So yeah, I think they could’ve tracked us there.  Matter of fact, I’ve been thinking my cell gives them the means to do it.”

            “What’re you talking about?”

            “These phones transmit signals to cell phone towers.”  He held up his phone.  “I’ve heard of cases in which the cops were able to track down criminals because they had information on the cell phones the bad guys were using.  A cell can work like a homing device, if someone has access to the data.”

            “Which these people seem to possess,” she said.  “If they can find out the number, why not the signals, too?”

            “Plus, this gadget is GPS-enabled—I use it all the time to map out routes around the city.  They might be able to tap into the GPS satellite network my cell uses and pinpoint my exact location.”

            “That’s scary as hell, Tony.”   

            “The glory of technology.”  He dropped the iPhone into the cup holder.  “I’ve gotta ditch it somewhere.”

            “Okay.”  She dug her Blackberry out of her purse and held it up for inspection.  “What about mine?”

            “We’ll ditch yours, too.  We’ll stop by a twenty-four-hour store and pick up a prepaid cell.”

            A drizzle had begun to fall.  Rainwater glistened on the newly paved streets of the community, made the blacktop shine like licorice.   

            He swung out of the subdivision and made a right onto a two-lane road.  The road wound through a thin layer of forest before reaching a four-way intersection that, at one forty-five in the morning, held only thin traffic.       

            “So where’s the nearest twenty-four-hour superstore?” she asked.

            “We’ll follow the trail of retail.”

            At the intersection, he hung a left, onto a wide thoroughfare.  The road was lined with chain restaurants, coffee shops, and strip malls.  Suburban utopia.     

            Gazing out the rain-smeared window, Lisa released a melancholy sigh that he understood all too well.  It was the sadness of seeing your old, normal life washing away like detritus down a rain gutter.   

            “I see a superstore ahead,” she said softly.

            “I see it, too,” he said, but turned into the parking lot of a burger joint.  Lights blazed inside; it was one of those locations that remained open until late into the night.  Only a handful of cars sat in the lot, and none of them looked suspicious.

            “Hungry?” she asked.

            “Since it doesn’t look like we’ll be getting to sleep anytime soon, we need to eat something to keep up our energy.  I could use a double cheeseburger.  How about you?”

            “I’m actually starving.”

            He pulled into the drive-through lane.  An employee who sounded half-asleep took their order.  Five minutes later, laden with a bag full of hot food and two large colas, he nosed into a parking space at the corner of the lot, near a trash can.

            They broke open the bag and ate in silence.  Soft rain pattered against the windows.  Although it was a tranquil setting, he vigilantly checked the rearview mirror and the street ahead for the Suburban or other questionable vehicles.        

            Lisa suddenly dropped her bag of French fries in her lap.  “I can’t do this.  I want our lives back.”  

            “We’ll get them back,” he said. 

            “Those assholes were in our
house,
Tony.”

            “But they haven’t taken our house,” he said, but he knew what she really meant.  Their home, trampled and ransacked by these bizarre people, would forever be tainted. 

            “What if they do take it?  We’re starting to see what they’re capable of.  What if they add something to my record to get me disbarred?  What if they drain our bank accounts?  They can take everything away from us.  Don’t you see?”

            “It’s going to be fine, Lisa.”  He put his arm around her shoulder, pulled her closer, kissed her forehead.  Her skin was salty with cool perspiration. 

            “When?”  Her gaze bored into him.  “When’s it going to be fine?”

            “As soon as we find out the truth.”

            “When will that be?”

            “Soon.”

            She closed her eyes.  Laid her head against his shoulder, trembled.  He stroked her hair. 

            “That freak knows my parents’ names,” she whispered.  “What if . . . something happens to them?”            

            “He was only trying to scare us, Lisa, intimidate us with the depth of their information.  He’s after us, and us alone.  And guess what?”

            “What?”  She looked up at him.      

            “I’ve got something for him.”   He made a fist.  “It’s called a knuckle sandwich.”

            She laughed.  It was weak, tired, but better than nothing.

            “We stick together, we keep it together, and we’ll get through this,” he said.

            “I’m trying.”

            “Give yourself some credit.  You handle worse stress than this every day.  Don’t you deal with Atlanta rush hour traffic?”

That brought a genuine laugh. 

            He picked up the empty bag and shoved in their cell phones.  He mashed their food wrappers and containers on top of the phones, and folded down the top of the bag. 

            “Say goodbye to your cell phone bill,” he said.

            He got out of the SUV, stuffed the bag in the nearby trash can, and returned behind the wheel. 

            “We’re off the grid now,” he said.  “Unless we do something stupid, there should be no way for them to track us.”       

            “Then I say it’s time to go shopping,” she said. 

29

            Even at two o’clock in the morning, the superstore’s parking lot was a quarter full.  Anthony ditched his notion of grabbing a parking spot near the door and settled on a well-lit area a couple of dozen yards away.

            “We must be a nation of insomniacs,” he said.  “I thought this place would be empty.”

            “Honey, please,” she said.  “Shopping is a compulsion for folks.  I have girlfriends who go shopping no matter what time it is—it’s something to do, like eating or watching TV.”

            Inside the massive, brightly-lit building, bleary-eyed shoppers wandered the wide aisles like zombies cursed to browse store shelves for the rest of their existence.  Clerks shuffled the floor as if dazed, yet avoided making eye contact with customers, either too tired or apathetic to care.  A couple of tired-looking young women were pushing giant carts with little children in tow, the kids’ heads drooping sleepily.

            “There should be a law against bringing a child into a store this late,” she said.  “What kind of parent does that?”