Without Mercy - Lisa Jackson [133]
It had been the last time his followers had met him at the old church, a forgotten building going to ruin. Adjacent to a cemetery, tucked into the forest near the Blue Rock caves, the nearly dilapidated church had provided much-needed secrecy and had been a perfect, secure place to hold his meetings, to praise God, to gather and mold the minds of those most ready to serve the Lord, or so he’d thought.
But as he’d orated, he’d caught a glimpse of her face in the watery panes of a narrow window and had realized then that she’d been spying on him.
A traitor.
Just like the first woman he’d ever truly loved. That first one, she would soon see her mistake, would soon know as he rose in power what a fool she’d been, but Lauren had been another matter.
That night, he’d pretended that he hadn’t caught a glimpse of her, that he hadn’t known of her lies, but she’d found out. Before any real damage had been done.
Again, he touched the small lump in his pocket, reassured himself that the information was secure and reminded himself that he could trust no one. The flash drive was a silent, constant reminder.
He had to be vigilant. He bit on the corner of his lip. As the Lord’s soldier, he needed to take care of any threat to his mission, to make this school the best in the country. He saw himself being elevated, lauded for his good deeds. Blue Rock would be the first of many like academies whose purpose was to aid the disenchanted youth, to turn them to Christ, to mold them into soldiers, an army for God. He thought of his mission much like the kings and emperors of Europe who had organized the Crusades to the Holy Lands, considered himself a warrior like King Richard I of England, the Lionheart.
Yes, blood had been spilled.
But it was necessary in the fight for God’s word to be spread.
In his mind’s eye, he saw himself in the house on the shores of Lake Washington, so much like a castle. Perfect. But he was getting ahead of himself. There was much to do here first, and his soldier was right—the storm provided perfect cover to get rid of the traitors who had infiltrated the academy.
For the time being, here in southern Oregon, travel was still impossible. Planes were grounded, trucks, cars, and buses stranded on the interstate, the local roads impassable. Drifting snow had closed the main gate to the school, and supplies were limited to what was held in the larders.
So far, the electricity was still operational. If and when a transformer blew or a utility pole snapped, there were generators in place, though power would be limited.
So he had to work fast.
Deal with traitors.
Julia Farentino was the first on his list.
Why was it that the women he always found the most fascinating turned out to be the most deadly?
The cell phone jangled in his hand, and he smiled as he clicked it on and lifted it to his ear. A frantic voice on the other end of the line hissed, “Jesus, Jules, what’re you doing here? Doesn’t it totally freak you out that students are dying here? I mean dying! As in dead! I…I thought you came down here to get me out of here—well, do it already. You have to! Whatever it takes, do it ASAP! Call Edie! Call Dad! Call the damned president! Just get me out! Oh, damn, I think someone’s coming….”
The line went dead.
He swore under his breath.
Things were worse than he’d thought. Belatedly, he realized that his right-hand man was right. He had to act swiftly. Vengefully.
There was no time for a meeting in the small church; it was too far away, would take away precious time from their purpose. But there was another place within the campus.
It was more dangerous to meet there, but he had no choice.
A gust of wind slammed against the building, shaking the timbers, rattling the windows.
The Leader took it as a sign from God.
Omen.
The note had said Omen.
And it had been.
Maeve knew what she had to do, where she had to go.
But she was afraid.
She snapped the band on her wrist, the sting calming the frantic part of her mind so that she could