March Into Hell (29 page)

The woman took her back, tears pouring down her face as she turned to others behind her and shouted, "Did you hear that? He said he didn't want her to get hurt! That means my baby's heart will be fixed!"

Mark stopped, intending to correct the woman's assumption, but Jim turned and edged between the woman and Mark and with a hand to Mark's back urged him forward and said, "Don't bother.  Let her believe what she wants."

"But she thinks I fixed the baby's heart. I can't let her believe that."

"You have no control over it, unfortunately. What you can control is getting your ass into my car so I can get you the hell out of here."

Mark hesitated. "I was going to take the "L" or maybe a cab." The doctor hadn't cleared him to drive yet, but he hoped he'd get the okay in a week when he went back for a follow-up.

"Impossible. You'll be mobbed before you reach it. Just get in the damn car, Taylor." Jim opened the door for him.

As the crowd surged towards him after the woman's pronouncement, Mark didn't need any more urging. He flinched when a hand reached for his head, but the fingers only brushed his hair before he ducked into the car.

Feeling like a fish in bowl, Mark kept his eyes forward as people pushed against his window. Jim slipped in his side and started the car, pulling away fast enough that the people had to jump back.

"Shit, Jim! You almost ran a few of them over." Mark turned to look behind them to make sure no bodies lay in the road.

"I didn't come close, but it would serve them right, the imbeciles." Jim looked in the rear view mirror, his brow furrowed in concern, and Mark wasn't fooled. It had been close. Damn close.

Mark settled into the seat and asked, "Where are we going?"

Jim suddenly laughed. "I have no idea. Away from there is all I had in mind." He glanced at Mark. "Where did you want to go? You're calling the shots, I'm just the chauffeur."

"I didn't have a set destination. I was just going to go take photos." His intention had been to take the bull by the horns and regain control of his life without worrying about the cult and Kern. An inkling of an idea took root. Instead of waiting around, he'd go to them-show them he wasn't afraid. "I want to see the apartment."

"The cult's apartment?"

Mark nodded, then realized Jim was driving and not looking at him, so he said, "Yeah. I want to take some photos of it."

The side of Jim's mouth quirked as he shrugged. "If you say so."

"What? You don't think I should?"

"I like the idea of taking it to Kern and the cult, but I don't think we should tip our hand. I think it would be better to draw them out."

Drumming his fingers on the armrest, Mark tried to shake off the idea that popped into his head. No way. It was crazy. "You said that Kern has a history of getting rid of witnesses, right?"

"Yes, that's correct."

Jim stopped at a light and turned to Mark, but Mark ignored the other man for a moment as a crystal clear scene formed in his mind. It was so powerful, it made him shiver in response. It was almost like a future dream, only different, because he wasn't dreaming.

"Taylor? I don't think I like that look on your face. What are you thinking?"

The car jumped forward, and Mark was grateful to feel Jim's gaze leave him and turn to the road. The concept was crazy. It wouldn't work. Still...what if it did? "What if we bait a trap for Kern?"

"I knew I wouldn't like what you were thinking." Jim sent Mark a sidelong glance. "What kind of trap?"

"I could hold a meeting."

"What kind of meeting? I'm not sure I get it."

"I was thinking some kind of religious meeting...like a revival or something." His face burned and he knew he shouldn't have brought it up. What did he know about revivals? "It's just that all these people are hanging around anyway. If I held some kind of ceremony, they would come, I know it. I just have a feeling that Kern and his group would come too."

"Huh." Jim didn't look at Mark as he turned right on to Jackson. "He'd probably know it was a trap. Especially since you told everyone in the press conference that you wanted to be left alone."

Mark's hopes sank. Jim was right. He couldn't just have a meeting without arousing suspicion. "Yeah, I guess so."

They drove in silence for several minutes, before Jim cleared his throat. "You might not be able to pull it off without looking suspicious, but I could."

"What could you pull off?" Mark was totally confused.

"I could hold a revival as a sort of disciple of yours." A flush crept up Jim's neck from his collar.

Mark grinned. "A disciple? Seriously?"

Jim shrugged, but didn't look at Mark. Instead his eyes appeared to be locked on the road ahead of them. "Listen, we never spoke about what happened the night of your kidnapping."

Mark felt his own face heat up. "So?"

The car swerved suddenly and Mark had to grip the door handle to keep from sliding into the door as Jim parked the car along the curb. The action sent a shard of pain through his still tender palm. "Jeez, give a warning next time you do that, would you?" He flexed his fingers a few times until the pain eased.

The car lurched as Jim slammed it in to park. "Taylor, this isn't something I'm comfortable talking about either."

"Lily already told me what happened. I admit it's kind of weird, but I don't think it was what she was saying, like I called out to you or anything." Even voicing the possibility embarrassed him.  "I think it was just a freaky coincidence. Probably the scene was planted in your subconscious by what you knew of Judy Medea's incident."

Jim laughed, but it lacked humor. Instead, he seemed to be laughing at himself.

"What's so funny?"

"I finally realized how you must feel every time you try to tell someone about your dreams."

That statement caught Mark off-guard. Was he acting condescending to Jim? "Sorry. I'll shut-up and listen."

"I'll keep it brief. I heard you praying. It was so loud, it woke me up in the middle of the night. I know it was real, not some figment of my imagination, but that's not important for my plan. I'll have to take on a different identity to pull this off, but I have some resources at my disposal who can give me a new identity, history and experiences so authentic, my own mother would start to doubt who I am."

Jim finally faced Mark, his mouth curved into a rueful smile. "What I propose is passing out flyers to your fans, that I'm going to hold a revival of sorts. I'll tell all about my dream, but I'll keep the photo part out of it. "

Mark nodded, but his thoughts had snagged on the part about Jim waking up because of the praying. "Do you think I reached out to you?"

Jim was silent for a long moment. "Hell if I know. I'm not a praying kind of guy, but if you can get future photos and dreams, I guess anything is possible."

"Yeah. I suppose. I'm not much for religion either," Mark admitted.

Jim laughed and this time there was no doubt who it was directed at. "Yes, that was obvious as even I realized you mangled every prayer you uttered during your ordeal."

"Hey, in my defense,  I was under just a little bit of stress." Mark smiled.

Tilting his head in acknowledgment, the smile faded from Jim's face. "True. Sorry for joking about it."

"No, it's all good." Mark took a deep breath and discovered it was the truth. Joking about the horror eased some of the awkwardness.

"I wonder if you could do it again?"

"Do what?"

"What if you reached out again? Would it only be to me, or could you do it to others?"

Mark shrugged. "I could try, but how would I know for sure? If I told someone beforehand, like Lily or someone, they might 'hear' me because they expect to. If I don't tell someone, they might just think it was some bizarre hallucination."

"What if you sent out a message and Kern received it?"

"First of all,  that would be beyond creepy, but secondly, how would I direct it? How did I send it to you?"  Mark closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was revisit that scene, but how could he know how he'd done it if he didn't look back and see if there was something he'd done? "I remember the smell of the smoke, and the crackle of the fire. I was...beyond terror. I was going to die." He paused, all humor gone from his mind now.

"Never mind, Mark. Forget about it." The car jerked as Jim put it into drive. The sound of the blinker was loud in the silence.

"I kind of zoned out while it was happening. Just before the hammer and nails part. I thought of my family, friends, events in my life. Not like my life passing in front of my eyes, exactly. It was more like I just wanted my last thoughts to be something other than the fear. They were tying me down, I guess, but at some point, my mind went back to all those prayers I half-learned in Sunday school."  Mark gave a wry chuckle. "Maybe if I'd have memorized them like I was supposed to, they'd have worked a little better for me."

He glanced at Jim to find the other man watching him, his face inscrutable. "Anyway, that was pretty much it. There was nothing special I did that I can recall."

Jim took a deep breath and turned to look out his side window before facing Mark again. "I felt it again, just now when you were talking. I saw a flash of something.  Your Sunday school teacher—she had strawberry blond hair, right? A little on the plump side? And I also saw some little kid stuffing his mouth with cookies."

The confusion on Jim's face would have been comical in other circumstances.

A chill washed over Mark. "Yeah, she did have reddish hair. You saw it?" As he'd thought about Sunday school, he'd had a quick mental image of Mrs. Perry standing in the dim living room, her own son polishing off the cookies that were supposed to be for all of them. "Maybe you're the one with the magic?'

"No, I don't think so, but we may never know for sure if you don't know how you do it."

"Honestly, if I have to feel that fear every time I send out some kind of mental image, I'd rather not have the power."

"I don't blame you, but if you could try and focus it just enough to draw Kern to a meeting, afterward, you can forget all of this and go back to your semi-normal life."

"I thought flyers were going to draw him to the meeting?"

"They might, but he might not risk it, despite the temptation, but if he can be enticed by a little mental summons, that would make it a sure thing."

Mark shook his head. "Okay, so assuming Kern is there, however he gets word of the revival, what are you going to do? My idea was just to get him there so he could be arrested. I didn't plan to hold an actual revival."

"It has to look real, or Kern will get spooked and may not show his face. I'm going to talk about your miracles a little bit and then, I hate to say it, but you're going to have to make an appearance. Nobody will come out to see me."

"But I thought that would look suspicious?"

Jim drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes distant. "We might have to make it look like we'd 'captured' you—like Kern did."

Mark turned and leaned back against the car door, holding his hand up. "No way."

"It's the only way I can think of to draw out Kern and his followers. In fact, we can approach Kern's group ahead of time, tell them personally about the revival. It'll be a secret meeting, but we'll make sure to invite his followers, possibly make a pact to join his guild."

"You want to hold a revival with me as the unwilling guest, and invite Kern's group to attend?"

"Yes, and mixed in with the worshipers will be police and FBI."

Jim stopped the car in front of a derelict building, and Mark leaned forward to see past him. So this was it. It certainly wasn't impressive. The crumbling cement steps led up to a building that looked like it should have been demolished about the time of the Vietnam War. The yard was nothing but a narrow strip of mud split by a cracked sidewalk. At least three of the windows were boarded over with plywood, and the brick had graffiti decorating the lower third of the building.

Mark looked around. "I'm going to get some shots. Keep an eye out for me." He slipped his left arm out of the sling. He could manage without the support for a few minutes. He stepped out of the car and took a half dozen snapshots of the building and the neighborhood.

If nothing else, there could be something useful in the photos that might not jump out at them now. As he raised the camera to squeeze in a few more, a jolt of energy shot through his hands.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Adrian exited Union Station, shouldering his way through the throngs of commuters. He was tired and stiff from the long train ride, and the bus ride from El Paso to San Antonio had been even worse.  His neck felt stiff and he rolled his head to ease the pain. If only the border police hadn't taken him aside to question him. He couldn't believe they'd searched his rental car. Good thing he'd made other provisions to send the goods north. Did he look like a drug mule? Hell no. Even in his disguise, it should have been apparent to the cops that he was above that kind of thing.