Deadly Weakness (Gray Spear Society) (32 page)

"Why are you bringing this up now? Are you finally ready for a family?" Her expression brightened.

"No, unfortunately." He sighed. "Listen, I..."

"What is it, Race?"

"I want you to be happy. You deserve a much better marriage than the one we have."

"I've never complained about our marriage," she said.

"You never complain about anything. I'm doing it for you this time. You need things I can't give you, like a husband who always comes home for dinner. Something happened last night. It made me think hard about us. About you."

She drew back. "You met another woman?"

"No! I've always been faithful, even during the long tours overseas. There were temptations, trust me, but I was always strong for you. Last night I was caught in a situation that showed me how fragile our lives are. They can end at any moment." He remembered Ethel's eyes and took a deep shaky breath. "You have to start living your own life. I can't hold you back anymore."

"You're leaving me?"

"I want what's best for you," he said, "and I'm not it. Don't worry about money. I'll make sure you get taken care of. You can have the house and everything."

"But I can't afford the mortgage," she said.

"You won't have to make a single payment."

They ate without speaking for a few minutes. Tears dripped down her cheeks.

She abruptly put her fork down and stared at her plate. "I have a confession."

"What?" he said.

"I met somebody. I... cheated."

He leaned forward. "When?"

"Last night. I went out with some friends. We were at a bar, and there was a guy..." She sniffed. "I was so lonely, Race. I didn't know when you were getting home, or if you were getting home at all."

"And this was last night?"

"Yes." She put her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"When, exactly?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'm just curious," he said.

She frowned. "I'm not quite sure. I guess we met around 7:30."

That was the time he had entered Camp Zonta.
Death waits beyond this point.

"I'm happy for you," he said, "really. I'm not mad at all."

She looked up timidly. "It's OK?"

"It's the best thing that could've happened. Somebody upstairs must be looking out for you. I hope you get married right away and finally have some kids. You deserve it."

"Oh, Race! Thank you." She ran around the table and gave him a hug.

"I'll sleep on the couch tonight. After I get home from work tomorrow, I'll start moving out."

* * *

Xavier parked in front of a motel. He had travelled 250 miles and had switched vehicles three times along the way. He had earned a little sleep for himself.

The light in the manager's office was still on. He hurried through the cold night air to get inside.

The old man behind the counter had a pale, wrinkled face. His eyes looked a little glassy.

"Hello, sir," he said in a tired voice. "What can I do for you?"

"I need a room," Xavier said.
Why else would I come in here?
"Just one night."

The clerk pushed a clipboard across the counter. "Fill this out, please. I'll need to see a driver's license and a credit card. You have to pay fifty dollars tonight and fifty when you check out tomorrow."

"That's fair."

Xavier started to scribble randomly on the form. He didn't even bother with real words. The clerk grabbed a room key from a line of small hooks and placed it on the counter. A plastic tag on the key showed "8."

Xavier patted his pockets. "Oh, shit! I don't have my wallet. Somebody must've picked my pocket at the last rest stop!"

"Sorry, sir. You can't stay here tonight." The clerk didn't appear very sorry.

"Fuck. I guess I'll have to drive all the way home." Xavier grimaced. "I hope I don't fall asleep on the road and get killed."

He went back to the car. He drove a short distance up the road and parked. Then, he hustled back to the motel. He wandered around until he found room eight. The door was locked, but his lock picks opened it quickly.

It was dark inside the motel room but he didn't turn on the light. He looked at the bed for a moment. It was tempting.
No,
he thought.
Too comfortable. Too risky.

He lay down on the carpeted floor behind the bed, where he couldn't be seen from the window. Anybody peeking in would think nobody was in the room. He took off his bulkier weapons and shoes, but he kept his clothes on. His only concession to comfort was taking one of the pillows from the bed.

He closed his eyes. Almost immediately, he fell asleep.

* * *

Hanley arrived at his office in FBI headquarters at seven in the morning. He intended to get an early start on what would certainly be a very long day of administrative drudgery and meetings.

He was surprised to find his office door slightly open. The light inside was on. There was no reason for anybody to be in there.

Silently, he pushed open the door. Hanley instantly recognized the man sitting alone inside. His picture was in every hallway in the building.

"Director Felt!" Hanley said. "What are you doing in my office, sir? I wish I had known you were here. I wouldn't have kept you waiting."

The FBI director was a short man with perfectly groomed, silver hair. He wore a sharp blue business suit that fitted him perfectly. Wire rim glasses gave him an academic air.

"I have a few questions. Sit."

Hanley sat behind his desk. It had metal legs and a plastic top made to look like wood.

"What questions, sir?" Hanley said.

Felt glanced at the door, which was closed. "Tell me about Ms. Pickenpaugh." He spoke the name very quietly.

Eyes like black holes,
Hanley thought.
A creature made of shadows, miracles, and death.

A loud knock on the door surprised him. "I'm in a private meeting!" he called. "Come back later!"

The door opened, and a man with curly brown hair and brown eyes entered. His face was round and a little puffy, but that was the only puffy thing about him. He was in tremendous physical condition. He wore a gray business suit that looked even more expensive than Director Felt's.

"I'd rather come now," he said calmly.

"Who the hell are you?" Hanley said.

"Ms. Pickenpaugh sent me."

Felt stared at the newcomer as if he were an alien with green skin.

The mysterious man closed the door. "I'll just listen to the conversation. Pretend I'm not in the room, please. You can talk freely. I'm very good at keeping secrets." He stood in the corner.

Hanley wasn't sure how to deal with the situation. His brain was still sluggish this early in the morning. He hadn't even had his usual cup of coffee.

Felt stood up. "I should go."

"Don't," the man said. "I want to hear what you were about to say. Ms. Pickenpaugh is expecting a report from me."

Felt sat down again. His face was pale.

Hanley couldn't believe the FBI director was taking orders from a complete stranger. At some point in the last two days, the world had gone crazy.

"He asked me about Ms. Pickenpaugh," Hanley said. "I was about to tell him I can't really answer the question. I'm not allowed. Sorry, sir."

"I understand." Felt frowned. "She has a reputation as the ultimate string puller, but you're the only person I know who actually met her. I was dying of curiosity."

"Does she live up to that reputation? Does she get things done?"

Felt nodded. "It's like she's a secret branch of the government, but I don't know how she does it. She never asks for money. She doesn't have any lobbyists. I don't know who works for her." He glanced at the man standing in the corner.

"Does she ask you for favors?" Hanley said.

"Just a little information, now and then, or a bit of influence. Easy stuff. She never asks for anything risky, and she always pays me back by taking care of a problem for me."

"What kind of problem?"

Felt shifted on his chair. "Sometimes, the FBI discovers criminal activity at a high level. Sometimes, it involves elected officials that can shut us down if we get too close. I'd rather not get into specifics. Let's just say Ms. Pickenpaugh is not constrained by politics or the legal process in her pursuit of justice."

"Then she's one of the good guys?"

"You tell me. You met her."

Hanley settled back in his chair. "I think she is." He stared at his desk as he pondered the question.

Felt looked at the man in the corner. "Can I go?"

"Sure." He nodded.

Felt hurried out of the room and closed the door.

The stranger walked over and shook Hanley's hand. "I'm Norbert." Norbert sat on the chair the director had used.

"What are you doing in my office, Norbert?" Hanley said.

"Aaron sent me to keep an eye on you. I work for him. He felt you needed watching. It's also a fun outing for me. I was stuck in Chicago during the convention, so he let me take this field trip as a reward for being a good sport."

"I don't need watching."

"Your opinion is irrelevant," Norbert said, "and to be honest, Aaron is absolutely right. You have no training. You don't know what you're doing."

"That's not true," Hanley said. "The Navy trained me, and so did the FBI."

"We deal with a different class of adversary than the Navy or the FBI."

"Maybe. The legate mentioned some kind of war. It sounded a little crazy, but I wasn't going to argue with her."

"I'll try to explain." Norbert leaned back in his chair. "God has a plan. When that plan is going well, His presence is invisible and His influence is very subtle. But He has enemies who are always looking for ways to disrupt the plan. That's when He has to take a more active role. Even then, He tries to work through special intermediaries. The Gray Spear Society exists to provide a kinder, gentler alternative to divine intervention. We fight His enemies for Him."

"It still sounds crazy. What's wrong with divine intervention?"

"My best guess is the universe is like a delicate, finely tuned machine. When God sticks His hand into the mechanism, something usually breaks."

Hanley raised his eyebrows.

"Eight months ago, I saw divine intervention first hand," Norbert said. "The Lord turned an entire Army base into a field of lava. A lot of men and women died. I'm sure many of them were completely innocent. That's exactly the sort of outcome we try to avoid."

"Give me a break. I would've heard about something like that."

"Look it up. It happened near Springfield, Illinois. You may have to dig a little because it wasn't well publicized."

Hanley turned to the computer on his desk. He ran several internet searches without getting a hit. He eventually found an FBI case file that described the incident.

"It says here the cause was a major weapons malfunction."

Norbert shook his head. "It was an extremely pissed off deity. I almost soiled myself."

"I don't believe you actually saw God."

"It's one of the perks of being in the Society. You get to meet your Boss occasionally. I've had three divine encounters so far. Marina told me she's had more than a dozen. And the legate is practically buddies with the Big Guy. How do you think she got those eyes?"

Hanley frowned. He had seen enough that he couldn't easily dismiss Norbert's claims.

"Do you have a magical power, too?" Hanley said.

"Me? No." Norbert shrugged. "Most people in the Society are normal, more or less. We call them gifts, not magical powers, by the way. They are given by God to those He favors."

"All the people I met Saturday night certainly weren't normal."

"The legate runs with a special crowd. You should feel proud she gave you a personal interview."

Hanley wasn't sure how to feel. "What's your background? Military? You look like you could be a soldier."

"I was a Catholic monk."

"Huh?" Hanley stared at Norbert. "Aaron mentioned something about that at the meeting. A brotherhood?"

"The Brotherhood of the Luciferian Child. I was the field commander. At one point I had a hundred and fifty men reporting to me. The Brotherhood was created to kill a single child: Wesley."

"Why?"

"We believed he was the son of the devil," Norbert said. "I later found out this information had come from one of God's enemies. We were deceived. The Society was given the task of protecting Wesley from us."

Hanley furrowed his brow. "You lost some guys in Maryland Heights, Missouri, didn't you?"

"That was just the last of several disastrous battles. The entire Order was wiped out in the end. I'm the only survivor."