Fake: The Scarab Beetle Series: #3 (The Academy) (29 page)

“Doyle,” he said. He did a come-hither motion and pointed to the base. “Come look at this. Does this look like—”

Doyle shoved him aside before he could finish. He got down on his knees, looking at the wiring and the box that was beside the dish and then angled his head more, nearly putting his ear to the ground to check it out. “What is this?” he asked.

I stood aside quietly, keeping an eye on them and the ladder behind us. I worried one of the hobos would climb it, or put the ladder back and lock us up here.

“You tell me,” Blake said. “How do we turn it off?”

“It is off,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Doyle picked up his head and dusted his hands off on his jeans before he raked through his hair. “This isn’t it,” he said.

I fully turned now, looking at him. Blake stared too. “What do you mean?” Blake asked. “You said this was it.”

“So?” Doyle said. “I said the biggest signal was coming from this...general vicinity. It’s the most logical place to put it.”

“Atop an abandoned building?” I asked. “You thought the best place to put an antenna that was supposed to be a secret to be on top of a building filled with hobos, with no security and rusted ladders and spiders everywhere?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” he said. “But how was I supposed to know about the rustiness of the ladder? But will you look at this dish? It’s a perfectly good dish. I’d use it for an underground cell phone service. If I had one. I wouldn’t start one though. That’s a lot of work. And apparently people named Amanda come after you.”

“Alice,” I said. “And she’s already got to the first one. We need access to another antenna before she figures a way in, and Axel and Marc and Brandon get killed.”

“Well, we’ll have to find the next one,” he said. He stood up and continued to wipe his jeans and look around. “If it isn’t here, it’s like a false signal or something.”

“Or it isn’t this building,” Blake said. He walked away from us, toward the edge of the roof, looking out toward the church and the churchyard behind it. “You just need something tall, right? Something high enough to send out a signal?”

“Something to bounce signals off of, yes,” Doyle said. “And a lot of them.”

Blake stared out at the church, and I wasn’t connecting it until I caught the cross on top of the steeple, the tallest thing for miles.

That’s when it struck me. Brandon had said that an antenna didn't have to be obvious. It could be anything. It was just large metal...with the right sort of signal behind it, anything could act like a cell phone tower.

And then I remembered the large observatory with the telescopes that overlooked a stretch of church towers amid the trees.

“Ethan,” I breathed out, stepping up beside Blake and staring off at the church. “The man that started the core. He’s a religious man. He’s gotten a bunch of emails from church people.”

“So no one would think it odd if he happened to come out to church, and did a little fiddling in the steeples,” Blake said. He turned to me, smiling big. “That’s brilliant. That takes the cake. Using church steeples as antennas system. It’s in your face and yet it’s hidden.”

“Should have figured,” Doyle said behind us. “Happens all the time. I mean, churches are evil, aren’t they? What with the crosses and the rituals and the singing.”

A CHURCH STEEPLE AND A PRAYER

T
here was a debate as to going down the ladder again or jumping off the side of the roof, when Blake pointed out there was a fire escape. It was rusty, and creaky, but we were outside, and it didn’t fall apart on us.

Once we were on the ground, we crossed the street, heading for the church. The garden had a concrete path among low hedges and the occasional late blooming rose bush and a fancy fountain in the center. It was probably better looking during the day, but for the moment, there were shadows, and I kept picturing hobos sleeping in the bushes.

“It’s midnight,” Doyle said. “Isn’t the church closed?”

I’d been wondering the same thing. “How do we break into a church?”

“Are you both heathens?” Blake asked. “This is a church. It’s never closed and you don’t break into one.”

I blinked at him, a little stunned. Churches closed, didn’t they? I mean, no one was here this late. Wouldn’t someone come in and like loot the tithing box? Steal the gold crosses? Did they even have gold crosses anymore? I was guessing based on every movie or TV show I’d ever watched about churches.

While there were lights on, they were minimal, making the church appear foreboding. It was Catholic, according to the sign, although I didn’t catch the name. The steps up to the front doors were empty, with lights focused on the engraved wooden doors and the shiny brass handles.

I lingered back, intimidated by the building. The grounds had been scary enough. The church itself terrified me. Would a priest see me, know me for what I was, and kick me out? Would I have to go into a confession box? Wasn’t I supposed to put holy water on myself at some point?

Blake pulled on the door handle. I held my breath, thinking there was no way this church was open and worried we’d set off some sort of alarm.

But the door opened easily, and with barely a creak.

I swallowed. If it hadn’t been open, we’d have had to break into it, but even now, I was expecting fire and brimstone for stepping through the front door.

Nothing happened as I followed the guys inside. The front area, whatever it was called, had a marble floor and high ceilings and lamps that looked like candles. There was a table nearby with pamphlets, one advertising the history of the chapel, and the others about religious services.

I scanned the area, but didn’t see anyone. Yet there was a feeling that we weren’t completely alone. The place smelled of old wood and an undertone of lemon, like furniture polish.

Blake led the way further in, seeming more comfortable about where we should go. We passed the front entryway and then walked into a chapel. The inside of the church had even higher ceilings, with columns and statues. Stained glass windows were lit up. Every inch of the place was an artistic bible reference in an artifact, name, or picture. I couldn’t see the confession boxes at first, but I spotted a couple of dark doors beyond the podium, to the very right of the large room.

I was way too curious and distracted by all the prettiness of the building.

Blake forged ahead, checking out the columns at first and then focused on looking up. I followed his gaze. How were we supposed to get to the steeple in this place? And where was it, exactly?

Doyle’s voice echoed in the room still. “Maybe we should have brought a ladder.”

“There’ll be a stairwell,” Blake said. “The steeple should have a bell in it. There would be an access door somewhere.”

I scanned the area, seeking out anyone who might be listening. The church was open, so there had to be someone here. Who stayed so late at a church? Priests? How could we explain our need to climb the steeple?

I was walking on my toes as it was. The heels were making clicking sounds if I walked normally. I stood as close as possible to Blake.

Blake quietly reached for my hand, holding it. I allowed it, feeling stronger. I wasn’t a shy type of person, but I was completely out of my element here. I didn’t do church.

Blake circled around the room, finding a door on the left hand side. He turned to us. “I’ll go up with Doyle,” Blake said. “We’ll just turn it off and we’ll wait here in the pews. Someone will have to pass by here to fix it. We can relax until then.”

“Right,” Doyle said. “And then we flank him? Knock him out with the big cross? By the way, I didn’t bring a gun. I left mine back at the house.”

“Hopefully it’s not a gang of them,” Blake said. “If it is, we’ll have to settle for staying out of their way and following them. Otherwise, we’ll take a chance on just talking to whoever it is. They’ll want to know their phone service is being targeted.”

“They might turn it off to avoid giving it to anyone else,” I said.

“They’re not going to turn it off if we explain to them,” Blake said. “The man who runs this isn’t an idiot. He’s not going to scare off his customers by shutting the network off. Not unless he has to.” Blake motioned to Doyle to follow him and then directed me to sit in the pews. “We’ll be back.”

“You’re leaving me behind?” I whispered. I did not want to be left alone. It wasn’t like I’d be able to blend in.

“It’ll be a tight fit up here, and I need you to keep a priest busy if one starts heading this way. We shouldn’t be long.” He started to turn and then spun around, climbed down the steps and approached me.

I was backing away, wondering if he’d forgotten something and needed to get by me, when he grabbed my shoulders and kissed me roughly on the lips. It was quick but hard and then he released me.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “And don’t get kidnapped.”

My heart fluttered. I nodded. Maybe I should have told him no, or backed away, but I was terrified of making another wrong move, and grateful he was taking over the fight. His strength and assurance was giving me the motivation to keep going, and not to simply run off to the hospital and feel the guilt of knowing Axel and Marc and now Brandon were out there somewhere.

It surprised me how much I realized now that I did need someone. I’d realized it before with the boys, and now, with Blake Coaltar, I was feeling it again. There was that doubt if I was making the right decision, and working together with someone made things easier. When I wasn’t sure, because it was out of my depth, someone else was there to help.

I hadn’t realized how alone I’d been, even while I had Wil and my father around. It hadn’t been enough.

Blake disappeared behind a door with Doyle. I was grateful not to be following. Even if the church was open, it was more reasonable for me to be out in the chapel than the non-public areas. It wasn’t like they’d let just anyone climb all over their church, right? I wondered if nuns slept here. Would Blake and Doyle spook a nun?

I slinked between the columns and the walls, studying the glass windows and trying to read the words. Some of it was in Latin, but some I struggled to read because of the angle and the fancy fonts, but I admired the artistry. How was it so quiet, but my heart felt like it was alive and thundering so hard?

“Good morning,” said a male voice in a whisper, but the voice was deep, so it echoed within the cavernous space. “Early morning, I should say.”

I jumped and twisted, spotting an older man with a priest’s habit, white collar and rosary, the whole getup. I hadn’t realized they still wore all that. His hair was cropped short and he had a thin frame. He stood there smiling, his eyes friendly and curious.

When my heart settled, allowing me to breathe a bit, I pressed a palm to my chest and exhaled. “Uh...”

“Sorry,” he said, again in the same soft voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Did you have any questions? Is there something I could help you with?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, I didn’t mean to be here if I’m not supposed to...”

He held up a hand and smiled assuredly. “God’s children are always welcome here, no matter the hour. Please,” he said, and gestured around him, “look around as much as you’d like.”

“Oh. Okay,” I said, lowering my voice to match his whisper, although I wasn’t sure my voice carried the same as his did. My eyes cut from him, to the colored glass above our heads, meaning to turn away and let him resume...whatever it was priests did.

“Do you know this story?” he asked. He sidled up beside me. He pointed to the picture within the glass, of a man carrying a cross who I’d thought to be Jesus. “St. Dismas, the good thief.”

I smothered my initial reaction to choke and sputter. “Oh?” I said, my voice weakened, my tired brain going wild. He did know. He knew I was a thief. He knew my background. Doyle was right. Churches were evil. It’s not what I really believed, but the coincidence was spooky.

The priest nodded and smiled, directing his gaze to the window, carrying my attention there. “St. Dismas was one of two thieves sacrificed on the cross the same day as our beloved Jesus Christ. It was Dismas who, upon the day of his death, turned to Jesus and asked to be remembered. Jesus promised to be with him in heaven that very day.” He paused for a long moment, and then continued, his voice much softer. “I always liked the story. I feel it shows it’s never too late for anyone to seek forgiveness and be given a second chance. All it takes is a will, a desire to change.”

I swallowed, and hoped he didn’t notice. “Personally, I like the one where Jesus feeds a couple thousand people with a fish.” I probably got that one wrong. Honestly, it was the only one I could remember.

The priest chuckled, the bass in his voice echoing throughout the chapel. “I have to agree,” he said quietly. “That is a good one.”

“Have you been here at this church a long time?” I asked. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and at the same time, the priest was looking at me, like he desired to continue the conversation. I felt awkward and small, like a child, even though he was shorter than me and I could probably knock him over with a single punch. He simply carried himself confidently and there was something even greater than that: trust. He simply trusted me to behave and not do him any wrong.