The Switch (55 page)

"Dammit," he groaned. It had been great. Why did it have to end so unhappily, with so much tension between them?

He wondered: If he hadn't met Gillian first, if it had been Melina who'd escorted him that night, would the course of everything have been different? When they went for tacos, Melina would probably have said to Dale Gordon, "I'm sorry, you've obviously mistaken me for my sister Gillian." They would have laughed over the mistaken identity. Gordon wouldn't have freaked out, and Gillian would still be alive.

Would he have slept with Melina that night? Who knew? Maybe. Probably. Because the two of them were so damned much alike. The same characteristics that had attracted him to Gillian then, attracted him to Melina now. She continued to stoke his vivid memories of Gillian. Like today when she
—

His train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

He rewound the recollection like a videotape in his mind. Hit play again. Closed his eyes. Watched the scene replay against his eyelids. And again.
There! That!
Involuntary. Unmindful. Natural. Seemingly unimportant. But incredibly significant.

Chief sat bolt upright. "Oh, Christ." The realization had floor boarded his heart. It was beating hard and fast. His breath was loud in the otherwise soundless building.

Easy, easy. Don't launch yet. T-minus ten seconds. Look at it again. Think it through.

He did, calmly and rationally.

The rockets fired. Liftoff.

Chief bounded from the cot and practically threw himself against the bars of the cell, shouting, "Somebody get me the hell out of here!"

At that precise moment, the door to the sheriff's office burst open.

"Hey, whoever you are!" Chief yelled. "Back here."

When they rushed into the hallway, Lawson was in the lead. A handsome black man was hot on his heels.

Lawson read Chief's expression instantly. "You know what she's done."

And Chief said, "I know she'll kill him."

CHAPTER 39

"
I'm so glad you're here, Melina."

Brother Gabriel was beautiful. It was easily understandable why people were drawn to him. He exuded vitality and seemed to glow from within, as though even in a dark room, he would radiate light.

But the most beautiful reptiles had the deadliest venom. As he moved nearer to her, she recoiled, a reaction that seemed to amuse him. Smiling, he tsked her. "Melina, Melina. Why do you shrink away from me?"

"Because I don't want to be contaminated."

"Then it's true. You do plan to do me bodily harm with that ridiculous six-shooter."

Surprise being on his side, he reached into the pocket of Chief's jacket and removed the pistol, which he then tossed to Hancock. "There's an X-ray machine—the kind used in airports, except much more sensitive—mounted inside that doorframe," he explained to her, pointing toward the double doors through which she and Hancock had entered.

"It registers on monitors in my bedroom, in Mr. Hancock's computer cabinet over there, and in the security center. So you see, there was no way you could possibly sneak it in." He

touched her cheek. "Did you really think it would be that easy to kill me?"

She swatted aside his hand. "I didn't come here to kill you. I want you to live."

"Really? I thought for sure you had it in for me. Now I'm intrigued. Do go on. Please."

"I want you to be publicly exposed for the fiend you are. I want to see you convicted of your crimes, and then I want you to live a long time behind bars, so that you'll have thousands of days to think about the evil things you've done."

Chuckling, he hitched one hip over the corner of his desk and indolently swung his foot back and forth. "That's an awfully harsh sentence, Melina. What have I done to deserve it?"

"You ordered my twin's murder."

"Ah, sweet Gillian. I'll concede that her death was a terrible waste. I've seen pictures of her."

"Gordon's disgusting photographs?"

"Along with snapshots of her that Jem Hennings took. I was particularly fond of one in which she was clowning for the camera. She was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, which I thought was very fetching."

Frustrated by his seeming unflappability, she shouted, "You killed her!"

His gaze was steady and mildly reproving of her raised voice. "That was her doing, not mine, Melina."

"You're saying she chose to be brutally stabbed?"

"To her wretched misfortune, your sister's moral character didn't equal her outward beauty."

The same could be said of him, but she didn't want to sidetrack him by pointing that out. "You killed her because she spent most of that night in Colonel Hart's company."

"How delicately put," he said with that same belittling hint of amusement. Then, all trace of a smile disappearing, he added, "Gillian made a bad choice."

"Choice? Okay, let's talk about choice. Where was her choice when she was inseminated with your sperm?"

"What difference did it make to her? She was using an anonymous donor anyway."

So her conjecture had been correct. She'd clung to a thread of hope that she had been wrong. It nauseated her to think of the women he had debased. She almost envied their not knowing. Knowing made it worse. Perhaps.

She wanted to strike him, hurt him. Badly. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. It was only by an act of will that she contained her fury. "Dale Gordon. You're responsible for his death, too."

"I regret losing him. His devotion to me was unshakable." "Which you exploited in order to talk him into killing himself."

He waved his hand negligently, as though the life of that pathetic man was of little or no consequence outside the context of what it had meant to him.

"You hoped the investigation into Gillian's murder would stop with his suicide."

"You wouldn't let it lie, Melina," he chided gently. "While I admire your tenacity and your devotion to Gillian, you've made a real pest of yourself this week."

"Those goons you sent to my house—"

"Joshua and his assistant."

"Who are they?"

"Loyal disciples. Good soldiers."

"Not that good," she scoffed. "Chief and I managed to escape them. More than once."

He didn't take the derisive criticism well. His leg was still lazily oscillating, as though he didn't have a care in the world. But the muscles of his face looked less mobile than they had earlier. His smile had gone a little stiff, his eyes several degrees colder.

He said, "You got lucky. Especially Colonel Hart." "Why the attempt on his life?"

"Why do you suppose, Melina?"

"As punishment for sleeping with Gillian."

"Punishment which he deserved. Gillian was honored—" "I'd hardly call it an honor," she said scornfully.

"She had been chosen for greatness."

"Meaning that she had been selected to bear you a child?" "Precisely," he said.

"But Chief was intimate with her."

"He desecrated her."

"He cared for her."

"He
fucked
her."

That first chink in his armor, which she had noticed moments ago, widened even more. She could use that jealous anger to her advantage. She would prod it like a sore tooth.

Leaning toward him, she smiled. "And she loved it," she whispered. "She told me that she couldn't get enough of him. His mouth. His penis. He was strong, hard, virile. She said that he was the best lover she'd ever had, that he knew how to give a woman pleasure. She couldn't wait to make love with him again. She said that if she did conceive that day, she hoped the father was Christopher Hart and not the sperm donor."

He came off the desk like a shot, his face now ruddy with wrath. "She deserved to die."

"Do you kill them all after they've borne you a child?" "Only the ones who turn out to be cunts like Gillian." "And the rest?"

"They continue living their lives, never knowing." "Candace Anderson."

"For one."

"And it doesn't bother you that the Andersons grieve for their son and pray for his safe return?"

"How selfish of them."

"Selfish?" she exclaimed incredulously.

"Their son is thriving here."

"Without his parents."
"
I
am his parent."

That was going nowhere. She took another tack. First she had used his jealous anger to get answers. Now she would appeal to his monumental ego. "How did you devise such a brilliant plan?"

"By accident, actually." Composure restored, he resumed his place on the corner of the desk. "For years the Program was limited to women who came here to the Temple to live and work. But the numbers weren't large enough. Then I happened on to an article about the use of artificial insemination to propagate endangered species. Of course, it's been successfully used for decades to breed livestock."

She thought she might be sick right there on his expensive Oriental rug. "So you applied the technique to human beings."

"The technology was there. I just had to find among my followers the personnel with the knowledge and skill in andrology
."

"And the depravity to switch sperm."

He didn't contradict her, adding, "Along with enough cunning not to get caught."

"How many women have been..." Unable to complete the question, she swallowed hard.

"Inseminated by me? You would be staggered by the number. Not all conceived. Of those who did, not all went to full term and delivered. But our percentage of miscarriages is agreeably low. We've got a dormitory of healthy children who attest to our success."

To hear him boast, one would never guess that he was referring to human beings. "Do you do it all from here?"

"We have two other compounds, one in Europe, another in Asia." He winked at her. "Of course, the semen is collected wherever I am."

"How is it preserved? Shipped?"

"Expertly. It's all very scientific, I assure you."

"If Gillian had lived to have your child, you would have kidnapped it like you did the Andersons' baby?"

"It would have been brought here, nurtured, loved." "That's what a mother is for."

"We have wet nurses, Melina. The babies aren't deprived anything, not even breast milk."

"They're deprived of their mothers, their true identities, their families."

He was shaking his head. "I become their family, and I am sufficient to meet all their needs. The women who bear them are biological necessities. Nothing more. When my scientists are able to successfully replicate the uterus outside the body, the mothers will become obsolete. That would streamline the Program considerably."

He assu
med a wistful expression. "I'll
confess to developing a fondness for the mothers, because they perform an essential service. But the children don't belong to them. They belong to me, to the ministry."

Except for his extraordinary good looks, he appeared as normal as any other man. His voice was distinguished by its remarkable resonance, but it was otherwise normal. His mannerisms were polished but not so different from those of anyone else. But he wasn't normal; he was deranged. He didn't rant and foam at the mouth. He didn't screech like a fanatic. But every word he spoke was absolutely insane.

"You are a lunatic."

Rather than take umbrage, he smiled ruefully. "That's been a misconception about most men of greatness, Melina. Can you think of a single historical figure who made a breakthrough in science or medicine or architecture or religion or politics who wasn't ridiculed? Name a single genius who wasn't initially misunderstood and labeled a lunatic. I can't let the skepticism of small minds dissuade me from my purpose."

"Which is what? To people the world with little Brother Gabriels?"

He laughed. "My dear, you have a wonderful way with words. Your phraseology oversimplifies, but you've captured the essence of the plan."

"Your new world order."

"I see you've listened to my sermons," he said, looking pleased. "In a few years, my children will be ready to assume their positions in the world. They'll have unlimited power and means, the likes of which have only been dreamed of by previous world leaders. Governments will be ruled by them. The world economy will be theirs to manipulate. They'll direct global commerce. Communication will be under their control.

"Art and culture will be molded around their ideas and creations. They will determine what the general public reads and sees and hears and thinks. They will dictate where wars are waged, who thrives, and who is vanquished. Coinciding with this movement, there will be a spiritual upheaval, a universal revolt against established religions."

"Ah! That's where you come in."

"Out of that ecumenical chaos, there will arise one world religion."

"You."

"Me."

His self-confidence was so unmitigated it was chilling. "You actually believe that you're capable of bringing about this new world order?"