Covenant (20 page)

            The utilities were still on, too.

            He entered the attached garage.  It was broom-clean, and empty.  He hit the button to activate the garage door opener, and the sectional door slowly climbed.        

            Lisa nosed the SUV inside.  

            He pushed out a deep breath.

            He dared to believe they were safe.  For the time being.

31

            By following the GPS signal transmitted by Thorne’s cell phone, Cutty had traced him to a residence in Duluth, a home owned by Michael Alfaro, an individual whom had appeared on Thorne’s known associates list.  Shortly after their telephone chat—which had, frustratingly, revealed little about Thorne’s iniquitous motives—Thorne had left Alfaro’s and gone to a fast food establishment within two miles’ proximity of his friend’s house. 

            They canvassed for Thorne at the burger joint—and found his cell phone in a garbage can at the edge of the parking lot, along with another phone that apparently belonged to his wife.

            It appeared Thorne had figured out that he could be tracked via the cell, and had ditched it, whereupon he had either gone to an undisclosed location, or returned to Alfaro’s.  He was proving to be a most resourceful adversary. 

            Using a map of the housing community that Genesis pulled from a publicly accessible database, Cutty determined the placement of Alfaro’s home in relation to the rest of the neighborhood.  The house stood on a cul-de-sac, fronting a parcel of dense forest that separated the various building phases of the subdivision. 

            He did not risk having Valdez drive past the house, for Thorne or his friend could be conducting surveillance.  Instead, he instructed her to park on the other side of the woods, in the driveway of a home that was under construction.  None of the surrounding homes had been completed, either.  Theirs was the only vehicle on the block, conspicuous, to be sure, but there should not be any traffic through that side of the community.

            They climbed out of the SUV.  Valdez carried her .38.  He had drawn his Glock, and had the Remington rifle slung over his shoulder, too, and the night vision binoculars dangling around his thick neck.  

            He led the way across a newly sodded yard, wet grass squishing beneath their sneaker soles, and they entered the woods at the rear of the property.

            The cold, persistent drizzle had dampened the forest.  Overhanging leaves dripped water onto their heads.  Higher above, the pale moon peeked like an observing eye through a cheesecloth of clouds.

            “God is watching us,” he whispered to Valdez over his shoulder, and indicated the moon with a nod of his head. 

            She glanced from him, to the heavens.  Said nothing.

            “It’s what the Prophet teaches,” he said.  “God is always watching, always judging, to see if we are fit for the kingdom or deserve to be cast into hell.  The Prophet has God’s ear, Valdez.  More than that, he’s God’s
mouthpiece—
so we can rest assured that everything he teaches comes directly from the mind of the Almighty.  You do believe that . . . don’t you?”

            “Si.”   She nodded vigorously.

            He smiled.  “Of course.  I knew you would.  Or else, you wouldn’t be working with us, would you?”

            “No.” 

            “Sometimes I have to ask these things.  It is written that those who are not with the kingdom are against the kingdom—and hell will be their reward.  That goes for all of us.  None is spared divine judgment.”

            She nodded again.  The sincerity in her eyes gave him a warm feeling.  She was a true believer.  Their future in the coming kingdom—together as husband and wife, he prayed—was assured.

            Others would not be so blessed.  The unbelievers.  The worshippers of false gods.  The hedonists.  The unrepentant sinners.  Although those unfortunates would be present in the kingdom, they would not enjoy the rights to which servants were entitled.  They would be outcasts—some day, literally confined in camps on the most barren edges of civilization.

            He looked forward to that day.  The world would be a cleaner, happier place without such people staining the earth.    

            They neared the edge of the forest, and stopped behind a large maple.

            After another ten yards or so, the woods cleared, and gave way to Alfaro’s neatly trimmed back yard.  The house stood about twenty yards away. 

            Plastic chairs, a table, and an umbrella occupied the slab of concrete that served as the patio.  A sliding glass patio door led to the kitchen, but the view beyond was obscured by a set of vertical blinds, the long slats only partially open.

            There was another window at the back of the house.  The blinds were partly open, a ghostly glow coming from the room.        

            He raised the binoculars to his eyes.  The night vision display was a luminous green, and significantly improved his view of the house’s interior.  Beyond the patio door, through the vertical blinds, there was a kitchen. 

            It appeared to be empty.      

            He scanned to the room from which the glow emanated.  From his vantage point, he didn’t get a full view, but he saw the edge of a computer monitor, desk, and chair.  No people, though. 

            He lowered the binoculars.  Valdez looked at him expectantly.

            “I don’t see anyone inside,” he said. 

            “Thorne and wife is gone?”

            “That’s what we’ll have to find out.  Let’s move.”

            Moving low and fast, he led Valdez across the lawn, to the patio.  There was no house yet built on the left, and the home on the right was under construction, no nosy neighbors presenting a threat, and the entire neighborhood was quiet, the only sounds the plinking of rain, and water trickling through gutters.

            It took Valdez less than ten seconds to quietly spring the lock on the sliding patio door.  She was so skilled that he almost asked, as a joke, if she had been a burglar prior to joining their organization, but he doubted she would appreciate his attempt at humor.  Women were so mysterious, so easy to offend, that he had to be careful.

            The door vanquished, they slipped inside the house as silently as ghosts.

32

            When the Jesus freaks arrived, Mike had been in the unfinished house next door for about half an hour, camped beside a first-floor window in a dark, dusty space that would one day be someone’s bedroom.  He had no intention of waiting for the loonies to ambush him in his own home.  He’d found himself a perfect fighting hole and hunkered down to wait.

            He had a Winchester 1200 pump-action shotgun, a Taurus .44 magnum, plenty of ammo, binoculars, a pillow to cushion his backside, and a canteen of cold water.  Using the binoculars, he kept a vigil on the wooded rear perimeter of his property, as he was certain that was the direction from which they would approach.    

            He wasn’t disappointed.  Sometime past three in the morning, two black-clad figures stealthily scrambled across the back yard, easily defeated the lock on the patio door (it was cheap anyway), and entered his house.  They moved with the swift efficiency of highly trained professionals, and both of them were armed.

            He’d had them in his sights.  Had the Winchester loaded and ready to blow.  Only one thing had stopped him from spraying them with buckshot before they’d breached his home, and he was almost ashamed to admit it to himself. 

            It was the woman.  She was absolutely stunning.  Latina, long midnight-black hair woven in a ponytail, jewel-like dark eyes, and though it was difficult to tell from the tracksuit she wore, looked like she had a hard body, too. 

            He’d always had a weakness for beautiful women.  That was why he hadn’t settled down yet, in spite of his family’s endless chiding about when he was going to give them grandkids.  There were too many hot women out there for him to turn in his bachelor card and miss out on all the fun. 

            What he told people was that he would settle down only when he found The One.  The perfect woman, the lady of his dreams, someone gorgeous yet tough.  He’d yet to find her, though a few had come close, and he was convinced that if he settled on someone else, just to get married and shut everyone up,
then
Miss Right would appear, and he’d feel like a fool for not having waited for her. 

            There was no way the woman in the tracksuit could be The One—she was a member of that fruitcake religious organization, for starters—but he’d be damned if she didn’t look the part.

            Just figured.  He sees a woman that looked as if she could be The One, but she happens to be a nut job.  Life was crazy like that.

            He wouldn’t have minded popping her partner, though, the short, stout dude with the pale face and boulder head who’d talked all that crazy shit on the phone, but there was no point.  They weren’t going to find anything in the house.  Anthony and Lisa had left over an hour ago, and there was nothing inside that would tell these freaks where they had gone.

            He hoped Anthony would contact him soon.  Shortly after they’d left, he’d uncovered some interesting stuff on Kelley Marrow.  He’d e-mailed it to Anthony’s account on Jarhead, as he had asked, but was antsy to talk to him about it. 

            Binoculars pressed to his eyes, he watched his house.  He hadn’t drawn the blinds on one of the windows facing him—it was a window to his master bedroom—and he saw the woman flick on the ceiling light and step inside, gun drawn.  She quickly swept around the room, ponytail swaying.

            He licked his suddenly-dry lips.

            He felt like a Peeping Tom—one watching his own house.  How nuts was that?

            She peered inside the closet, the master bath.  He was glad that he’d maintained his Marine discipline of keeping his living space totally squared away.  You could have eaten a meal off those tile floors in the bathroom and bounced a quarter off the tightly drawn bed sheets.

            Concluding her search, she switched off the light and left. 

            He sighed, lowered the binoculars.  After this, he could use a cold shower. 

            Perhaps twenty minutes later, the intruders left the house via the patio door.  They were empty-handed.  They blended into the forest like shadows, and were gone. 

            He wondered if he would see the woman again.  He hoped that he would, and face-to-face next time.  He had to know if she really believed all the crap her partner had been saying.  Just out of curiosity. 

            He waited a few more minutes, and then he took his guns and entered his house through the rear door. 

            Nothing appeared to be out of place.  Except one thing—the lid on the trashcan bulged, as though packed to capacity, and he saw something gleaming underneath. 

            Bomb?           

            Carefully, he lifted the lid with the barrel of the shotgun. 

            “What the hell?”

            The can was full of empty beer bottles—every bottle of the twelve-pack he’d been keeping in the refrigerator, looked like.  Underneath the bottles, he glimpsed squashed cans of soda, and a brand-new, unopened bag of potato chips. 

            At the sink, a residue of beer foam clung to the basin. 

            Automatically, he knew the short, nutty guy had been responsible.  Probably thought beer, chips, and soda were sinful.  Freak must’ve been dropped on his head at birth.   

            He was going to look through the rest of the house, when he noticed one other thing out of place, too.

            All of the rental property keys that had been hanging on the rack in the kitchen were gone.

33

            The house featured a living room with large curtained windows that overlooked the front yard, so Anthony and Lisa bunked in there.  Lisa curled up on a cream-colored fabric sofa, while Anthony reclined on a matching armchair that he moved nearer the windows, to keep a close watch on Mike’s property a few doors down.  

            A Glock 19 and a Colt .45, both loaded, lay on the glass cocktail table, and he had the Beretta 9mm on a lamp stand beside his chair.  He did not expect that he would need to use the guns while they occupied the house, but keeping firepower close at hand had become a matter of necessity that night.

            Funny how his long-time obsession with hardware was paying off, at least in giving them greater peace of mind.

            He’d plugged the new cell phone into an AC outlet to charge the battery.  Although he’d wanted to call Mike to give him the number and let him know they’d gotten settled in okay, cellular service was not yet activated.  According to the instructions, it could take up to an hour for the phone to be ready for use. 

            Lisa had quickly tumbled asleep.  Sneakers on and using an extra jacket as a blanket, she slept clutching a throw pillow, legs drawn up to her chest, mussed hair covering her face.  She was as beautiful in repose as she was awake—even after they’d spent the last several hours on the run.    

            Silently, he promised her that he would get her through this ordeal alive and unharmed.

            The only sounds were the rhythmic patter of rain, and Lisa’s hushed breaths.  He wanted to sleep, too, but he could not close his eyes without hearing the fanatic’s choir-boy voice.   

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 . . .

            From his military experience in the Middle East, he’d learned that the worst part about facing an enemy insanely committed to a wacky cause was that he would never back down.  He did not believe in negotiation or compromise; annihilation of those who opposed his will was the only acceptable conclusion.  Death in the service of the mission was welcomed as the path to martyrdom, whether that meant the undying love of seventy heavenly virgins or some other absurd prize.