March Into Hell (32 page)

Sounds filtered to him from within the warehouse. Jim expected several hundred people to turn out, and had chairs set up for that many. His estimates came from what they could see of the crowd in the photos and from what Mark recalled from the dream, but they had mere snapshots of the event.

He paused his pacing long enough to cock his head and listen. It sounded like a lot more than a few hundred people out there. His stomach did a backflip. Why had he agreed to this? Mark pulled out the notes from his speech, but after staring at them, crumpled them and tossed them into a wastebasket. He was a terrible speechwriter. He'd be better off winging it.

There was a short, hard knock on the door, and Jim entered. "We have standing room only. In fact, we had to turn some folks away at the door, and they weren't too happy about it."

"How many is 'standing room only'?"

Jim shrugged. "Our permit allows for only a thousand people, so once the count hit that, we had turn folks away from getting inside, but a bunch decided that just being near the building would be better than nothing. They're hoping to hear your words of wisdom through the open doors."

Mark groaned. "I feel like such a fraud. I don't get why you can't just arrest him as soon as he shows up."

"You're not a fraud. Besides, remember the goal. Convicting the bastard. You can claim he was the one, but there's no physcial evidence of Kern being present, and he'll get a dozen people from his group to put him somewhere else the evening you were abducted. Even if we arrest him, it'll get tossed out for lack of evidence. We need some kind of admission. As soon as Kern takes the bait and comes on stage. I'm hoping he'll slip about what happened before."

"Should I say anything about it? Try to incite him?" As much as he hated the idea of seeing the man again, getting a chance to confront Kern might be just what he needed to do.

Jim helped himself to a bottle of juice from a table full of refreshments Lily had sent over. She'd wanted to participate, but Jim didn't want any non-law enforcement, and with her red hair, she would be easy to recognize as Mark's business partner. She hadn't been thrilled with being regulated to providing the snacks.

Jim tilted the juice, draining the small bottle, then tossed in the trash. "It depends how you do it. I think if you outright accuse him, he's going to clam up. It might be better to play it quiet until we hear what he has to say." He glanced at his watch. "Okay, I guess it's time for us to hit the stage." He pulled a length of rope out from beneath his robe. "Sorry about this, but we have to make it look real."

"Yeah, I know." A wave of shivering overtook him. He tried to still it, but it was beyond his control.

Jim must have seen him shudder because he circled in front of him. "Mark, look at me."

Mark raised his gaze.

"We're not going to let anything bad happen to you. This is not going to be like before, understand? Do you trust me?"

Swallowing hard, Mark tried to quell the waves of shivering. Did he trust Jim? A year ago, he'd have laughed at the notion. Tonight, he nodded and put his hands behind his back.  "Do what you have to do."

Jim tied the rope around Mark's wrists, and Mark took a deep breath.

"I didn't tie it too tight, did I? How about your shoulder?"

The rope pinched, but Mark could live with it. "It's fine." The discomfort was the least of his worries.

As they entered the short hallway behind the stage, three of Jim's men flanked him. Mark wondered if they'd fool anyone. He thought they looked like FBI, but maybe it was just because he knew their real identities. Their clothing was thrift store bargain basket. One had a shaved head, the other two had long hair.

Bright lights bathed the stage and Mark didn't have to fake it too much as he instinctively balked as his guards pulled him in front of the crowd.

* * *

Kern fought the urge to push to the front of the crowd. The old guy had done it. He had Taylor.

"Welcome to our gathering, gentle people. I'm Reverend Jim, and as I promised we have Mark Taylor here as our special guest." He yanked at the struggling prisoner. "He was feeling a little shy, so we had to persuade him to come." Reverend Jim smiled. "Don't worry though, we didn't have to use extreme measures, not like what happened to him last time."

Kern scowled at the crowd around him, but no one seemed to notice. Their eyes were fixed on Taylor.

Reverend Jim pulled out a knife and Taylor's eyes grew huge, but all the reverend did was cut the binds. "There you go, Mark. I hope you don't have any hard feelings towards me. I just knew once you were here, you'd be eager to speak to my flock. Or your flock. They are all ready to do your bidding."

The crowd cheered their agreement. Taylor rubbed his wrists and glared at Reverend Jim as he was pushed closer to the podium.

 "Come on, Mark. Share your wisdom with us. We are eager to learn from you." The reverend turned to the crowd, making motions for them to shout their agreement. They complied, and Adrian tried to shut out the screech from the woman on his right. The dream, so vivid upon waking, had faded throughout the day and he tried to hang onto bits and pieces. He'd been so sure that he'd seen the future in the dream, but now it was out of focus.

With a final dark look aimed at the reverend, Taylor tilted the microphone and tapped it, testing the sound. "I, uh, I don't know why I was brought here, and I doubt I have any wise words, but I'll tell you all this.  I'm not some kind of savior, but then, I don't think any of you
need
a savior. Your savior is the person you see when you look in the mirror every morning. Every day is a new start. A day when you can choose to help someone or do nothing. What kind of choice will you make? Ask yourself that as you comb your hair or put on your make-up."

Taylor orated from a makeshift stage, and a hush settled over the crowd. The guy was so goddamn believable. Adrian bit back a scowl at the 'amens' shouted when Taylor finished speaking.  Reverend Jim led the chorus of 'amens, a grin stretched from ear to ear.

Adrian eyed the old man, disgusted at his unkempt appearance. Why did fanaticism go hand-in-hand with bad personal hygiene? Adrian smoothed his hand down the front of his suit. For today's event, he had carefully chosen his best suit. It went well with the glasses and dark hair with just a touch of gray at the temples. He looked like a lawyer, banker or commodities trader - benign, but distinguished.

Adrian moved from his place at the back of the warehouse. He picked Medea out of the crowd by her jet black dye job. The goth makeup completed her transformation. She glanced over her shoulder at him. Kern nodded. Nobody noticed him.  Things were progressing exactly as they had planned, despite the fading dream. He'd done it. He'd attained the power to see the future. Taylor wasn't the only one now. Adrian felt a wave of anticipation. In just a few minutes, he, Adrian Kern, would be the sole person alive with the power to dream of the future.

 Reverend Jim nodded to Kern, their prearranged signal for Adrian to take over the show. Taylor stood awkwardly on the stage as Reverend Jim moved forward and gave him a hug. Adrian raised an eyebrow at the slight stiffening of Taylor's posture. The man was uncomfortable with the hug, but the crowd loved it. They surged towards the stage, as if they wanted to hug Taylor too. This was too perfect. As though watching a pre-recorded movie, Adrian glanced over at Medea, knowing what he would see before he'd even picked her out of the mob.

Medea moved with the crowd. Adrian saw the gun in her hand. She was going to go through with it. He'd been worried she would flake out, but now that everything was preceding exactly as he'd seen it, he merely smiled.

* * *

Mark blinked against the bright lights. The faces in the audience appeared blurry, and he couldn't pick anyone out. His dream was hazy in his mind, and he felt a rush of panic. What would happen next? The photos of him on the floor only showed the end result, not exactly when it would occur. The dreams were supposed to fill in the blanks, only his dream had been watered down and faded with every passing second.

Within three feet  of the stage, a woman lifted a pistol to her head and shouted, "Please, Mark, I need you to forgive me. After what I did to you, I don't deserve to live!"

He knew that voice and he squinted into the lights, finally picking her out of the crowd. She'd dyed her hair, but he recognized her. "Judy? Put the gun down. I don't have any powers to grant forgiveness. Besides, I have a feeling you were coerced. Please put the gun down, Judy." Mark glanced around, looking for Jim. What was he supposed to do now? If this had been in the dream, he had no recollection of it.

Medea shook her head. "I can't. I did an awful thing and I can't live with myself unless you forgive me."

Jim sidled closer to Mark. "Do as Mark says, and put the gun down, miss."

The agents who'd escorted Mark onstage closed ranks around him. The crowd had scattered, leaving empty chairs around Judy. Was that Jessie and Dan easing towards her?

Judy's gaze wavered, but Mark had the impression it was in reponse to something else, not him or the officers approaching from behind. The gun remained planted firmly against her temple. Where was Kern? Was he here? Jim must have had the same thought because he dipped his head and Mark caught Kern's name mentioned as Jim fired off orders into his hidden microphone.

Mark tried to recall if this had been part of his dream. There had been a photo with Judy in it. Lily had tentatively ID'd her, but with the dyed hair and not much left of her head, it had been hard to know for sure.  Was he supposed to stop Judy from committing suicide?

He tried to push through the agents, but they didn't allow him through. Shoulder to shoulder, they pointed their guns at Medea, which made no sense to Mark. She already held a gun against her head. He was taller than they were, so he settled for looking between them, and re-establishing eye contact with Judy. Jim could deal with Kern if he was around.

"Judy, listen to me." Her eyes pulled from whatever she'd been focusing on and settled on Mark.

"That's it. You don't need to do this. Set the gun down. Just put it right there on the stage. Whatever role you played in my kidnapping, we can talk about later. I'm fine now. It's not too late for you to come forward and talk to the police. You have to understand—it's not up to me to forgive anyone.  You go to the police and if you do, I bet you can work a deal. I'll do whatever I can to help, okay?"

Judy bit her lip and tears welled in her eyes. "Why?"

"Why what?" Mark pushed the agents from behind, urging them a little closer to Medea, but they held their ground and he couldn't blame them for not wanting to get too close to the gun.

"Why would you help me, after what I did?"

Mark wished he had time to think of a good answer, but he didn't. "I have no idea, Judy. I just know that none of this is worth dying for. Kern isn't worth dying for. We have to move on—both of us. Kern used us. Do you want to let him win this time too? Do you want the press to forever paint you as the girl who was Kern's puppet?" He sensed movement in his peripheral vision, but didn't tear his attention away from Judy.

Judy's eyes narrowed. "I'm nobody's puppet."

"That's right, you're not. That's why you have to cut the strings. Do what
you
want to do. What
you
feel is right."

She nodded and slowly eased the gun away from her head.

Mark took a deep breath, but before he could let it out in relief, Jim shouted, "Behind you!" He saw Jim rushing the stage, his gun in hand, but he bypassed Judy without a glance and Mark whirled.

There was no time to duck, and barely time to register Kern standing with a gun pointed before something slammed into Mark, as he staggered back, two more impacts sent him flying onto his back.

Pain ignited in his chest, and he couldn't breathe. Dimly, he heard another shot, but the edges of his vision closed in.

His awareness returned by degrees, but he didn't know if he'd been out seconds, minutes or even hours. He blinked, wanting to see what was happening, but the agony in his chest kept him motionless. At least he wasn't dead, and his breathing returned even if every inhalation felt like someone was stabbing him.

He turned his head. One of the agents lay several feet away, his face contorted as he clutched  his right thigh. Blood oozed between his fingers. The other agent was nowhere to be seen. Where had Jim gone? Shouts, the clang of the chairs, and feet running across the stage penetrated his brain. He curled  onto his side with a groan, but bit back the sound as he took in the scene before him.

Kern stood with his back to Mark, holding Jim in a headlock with a gun digging into his temple. Beyond Kern, Jessie and Dan stood at the edge of the stage, their guns aimed at Kern, but  neither would be able to take the shot without the risk of hitting Jim.

"Reverend Jim is a fraud and a murderer! I saw him pull the trigger. He shot Mark Taylor. Then that young sweet girl ended her own life when hope of forgiveness died with Taylor."

Mark  stifled a moan of pain as he rose to a sitting position, fighting the darkness that encroached on his vision as he sat and waited for his sight to clear.  The lack of blood on his robe, and the fact that the pain was easing reassured him that the vest had done its job even if it did feel like he'd been kicked by a mule. As he put his hand down to move to a standing position, he felt something cold and metallic. The agent's gun. He picked it up, not quite sure what to do with it. Not only had he never fired one, he'd never had reason to point a gun at another human being.