The Lights of Tenth Street (64 page)

“Great. Okay, here’s what you do when you reach the building.” He described the logistics, the visitor parking across the street, the door to use, and the number to dial when they arrived. “But don’t wait for the girls to arrive before you yourself come on in. We should look at that Palm Pilot right away. We’ll be waiting for you just inside the gates, at the security area.”

“Okay.”

Doug could hear the man talking to someone in the background, his voice hurried. He came back on the line. “We have a lot of things to arrange here. Call me back if you need anything.”

“Okay.” And again, the line went dead in his hand.

Ronnie and Tiffany pulled on their coats, their faces anxious. Sherry handed them a slip of paper with Doug’s cell number and explained everything Doug had said.

Sherry started to open the door, then paused and pushed it shut. “No, wait. I have to pray for you before you go.” She put one hand on Ronnie’s shoulder and the other on Tiffany’s. “Lord, we need Your help. There’s something going on that we don’t understand and these girls are caught up in it. Protect them.
Set
your mightiest angels about them, protecting and shepherding them to where they need to go, that their feet would not be dashed against a stone. May Your will be done today! Amen.”

She looked up and wrenched open the door, brisk and back in business. “Amen and amen! Get going. Ask Doug to call to let me know that everything’s okay.”

Ronnie finished taking directions—reading them off for Tiffany to write down as Doug gave them to her—and clicked the phone shut. She eyed the battery indicator on her phone, nervous.

“He said to call as we pulled into the parking lot directly across the street, to see if he was still there. I hope we don’t run out of battery.”

“I hope we don’t run out of luck.” Tiffany finished writing and put the pen down. “This is all just too weird.”

“Yeah. I hope—I hope Maris is okay. I’m afraid for her.”

“I am, too. But we don’t know … maybe the police showed up early enough to kick the bad guys out. Maybe they even arrested them. Who knows?”

Ronnie drove for another mile in silence, her mind turning. “I can’t believe the Turners just took us in like that.”

Tiffany shrugged. “Why? You said they were friends.”

“Not really! I only met them a little over a week ago. The other couple—the Woodwards—I knew Mr. Woodward for several months, from school. But I’d only been over to the Turners once—last night!—for dinner.”

“Huh. Weird.”

Ronnie glanced sideways, irritated. “But don’t you see what a big deal that is? They’re this yuppie suburban couple that doesn’t mind two strangers—exotic dancers no less—showing up on their doorstep at midnight. Isn’t that amazing to you?”

I guess.

“Oh, you’re always trying to be so cool, you won’t even admit it.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Well, what do you want me to say? That they’re nice? Okay—they’re nice. A little churchy-weird, but nice.”

“Forget it. Keep your eye on the directions. Just forget it.”

“Whatever. Hey listen, can I use your cell phone to call Wade? I was supposed to meet him at five o’clock, and that’s only a couple hours away. I need to let him know I may be late.”

“May be late! May be
late?
Tiff, you’re not seeing him at all! Not tonight and not until we figure out what the heck is going on!”

“Why? It’s not like he’s one of our coworkers. Who’s going to trace me to him?”

“Oh, just the half of our coworkers who knew you were his lover. Are you forgetting the gunshots, Tiff? Those men were trying to kill us! Think, girlfriend. We can’t go back to normal until we figure out what’s what.”

“At least let me call Wade and break the date.”

“No way. We have, like, no battery left. I’m not letting you waste it.”

Tiffany crossed her arms, petulant. “You’re acting like my mom.”

“And you’re acting like Sherry’s six-year-old kid!”

Tiffany threw the directions at Ronnie. “Find your own way there, then!”

Ronnie grabbed the paper. “Fine! I will!”

Several hundred miles away, Linda Hanover wearily unlocked her apartment door and turned on all the lights, pushing back the gathering dusk. Why did every conceivable emergency come through the door right at quitting time?

She had, of course, told the other administrative people to leave early, saying she’d cover for them. Linda allowed herself a melancholy smile. She, after all, didn’t have family at home waiting for her. Didn’t have any delightful New Year’s Eve plans to skip off to. Maybe she could go to a movie or something. She didn’t mind going to movies alone.

She picked up the phone and accessed her voice mail. The time stamp on the very first message—announced in the usual robotic voice—startled her.

“Left today, 12:24
A
.
M
.”

Linda frowned. Why hadn’t she heard the phone? Ah—there had been so many people around, praying until long after midnight, with people on and off the phone the whole time. Some phone calls had surely been missed amid the fuss.

The message began to play, and Linda listened to the account of the previous night with wide eyes, lips parting in astonishment as she scribbled down notes. No
wonder
they’d been spurred to pray! She had tried and tried to reach Ronnie on her cell phone, but it had remained firmly off, unanswered.

The phone rang near her hand and she snatched it up, but it was just Angela, inviting her over for a small party if she had no other plans. Linda told her friend of the harrowing events of the night before, leaving her, too, speechless. She eventually put down the phone, trying to decide what to do.

Biting her lip in uncertainty, she picked the phone back up. Her call was tentative, but the answer was welcoming. She smiled and went into the bathroom to get ready, at last firmly decided on how she would spend her New Year’s Eve.

Jordan buzzed his secretary again. “Where’s Doug?” The two men had arrived in his office, waiting and ready.

“Last time I checked, Mary said he was on the phone.”

Jordan went to the office door, motioning the men to wait. “I’ll go get him. Just
give me two minutes and we’ll have this all taken care of.”

Jordan passed Mary’s desk and pounded on Doug’s door.

“Why didn’t he come when I asked him to?” he barked at her, then jerked open the door.

With intense satisfaction, Caliel watched Jordan and his dark companions run back down the hallway, curses pouring from their lips. Caliel gave his remaining troop the prearranged signals, and they vanished, heading to the next beachhead.

Caliel knew, as he sped away from the thronging dark forces, that he hadn’t left them for good. He could hear the other heavenly warriors around him praying as intensely as he. The main front in this war was still ahead of them.

W
ith an eerie calm on his face, Jordan made two phone calls. One to his right-hand man, mobilizing his army. The other to his client. A massive dark figure superimposed himself on his host as the man finished his second call to a small room in a distant land. A different sort of army would soon be mobilized, the strength of their hatred strengthening and rejuvenating his forces.… taking the other side by surprise.

They would win. He could feel it.

He panted with the strength of his growing anticipation, his mouth dry, thirsting for it. He could feel the consummation so close ahead … so close. It was like a shout in the core of his being, a drug he’d been craving for years.

The last such fragrance of death and destruction had been too contaminated, the shock and grief of millions bringing much-needed energy, though tainted by the addition of unexpected prayer to the great Enemy.

It had been so perfect! The attack so carefully planned, so coordinated, the jihadists so malleable to their devious suggestions, convinced that as their speeding aircraft found their targets, they would be in heaven. He barked with pleasure, remembering their subsequent shock and despair.

But then came the prayers! He winced back from even the memory of the blazing Presence that had descended on the nation—on the world—as millions who had never prayed before dropped to their knees.

He didn’t understand it. How could they have looked at the devastation unfolding over and over on their television screens and
prayed?
He paced the room, deciding, as always, that it must have been too paltry, the visual shock of the destruction giving way to the reality of only several thousand lives lost. This time … this time there would be no one untouched, no one who wasn’t caught up in the chaos. Millions would die … the systems would fail … the nation would be in chaos … and they would turn from their God.

The great dark being, like the man below him, shook, trembled, crazed with anticipation. It was only hours now … only hours.

Mr. Mohammed put down the phone and rose from his bed. He slipped out into a long, dark hallway, pulling on a cloak against the chill. He knocked on doors, sharp raps awakening the people within.

One by one, men joined him, some carrying their weapons slung about with rounds of ammunition. As always, they were alert and ready to move.

“We are not moving tonight,” Mr. Mohammed told them, his eyes burning with urgency. “But we must seek Allah, petition his favor. The plan is precarious, resting on the edge of a knife. Allah will see it done.”

His men murmured agreement, moving toward the space they had designated as their prayer room. Mr. Mohammed moved down the hallway and started to knock on a few more doors. Then he stopped.

No. These last ones were not pure of heart. They were of double mind about the plan, had searched the words of the Prophet and had several times brought questions about their course. They had not understood the brutal necessity and purity of taking the sword to the infidel until they capitulated or were overrun. They were influenced by the traitors in their land, the imams who sold themselves to the infidels, who spouted lies about protecting the innocent and the young, about promoting peace. The traitors even dared to say that it was the true believers—those fighting the infidel—who were betraying Islam!

He had memorized the words of the Prophet from cover to cover. And where there were contradictions, he was sure he knew the will of his god. Only with full submission to Allah would the world be at peace. And if that submission had to be forced—so be it.

No, these young ones could not be trusted to pray with pure hearts. He would let them sleep.

A great, shining being kept a wary eye on the proceedings. Watched as the men knelt on their prayer mats, with chanted prayers on their lips and destruction in their hearts. These lost children thought they were serving the one true God, the creator of heaven and earth, thought they were doing His will.

They did not know how deceived they were.

Mary sighed at the mountain of work Doug had left undone. And he hadn’t even called back in. She decided to take a fifteen-minute break and go down to the cafeteria.
She was going to need some strong coffee to see her through the rest of
this
day.

When she returned, the remaining assistants had gathered around the desk of Jordan’s secretary, talking in low, perplexed voices.

“What’s going on?” Mary asked. “Can’t any of us get out of here on New Year’s Eve?”

“I’m leaving soon,” Jordan’s secretary said. “I’m not sticking around just in
case
he comes back. We can finish all his projects the day after tomorrow for all I care.”

“Jordan left already?”

“In a hurry.” The secretary rolled his eyes. “He’s been so weird lately. I have no idea what he’s doing. The COO just came by with a question, and he was clueless, too. And look at this.” She glanced around to make sure none of the few remaining executives were in sight, then led the little group into Jordan’s office.

“See?”

In an oversized ashtray on the desk, burnt and almost unrecognizable, lay a computer disk.

“That’s the disk that Doug brought down just an hour or two ago.”