Piercing the Darkness (73 page)

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?” she read. “. . . I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

She closed her eyes, gave thanks, and kept reading, just waiting hour by hour in her little room.

MARSHALL PULLED INTO
the small parking area in front of Judy’s Secretarial. Well, was anybody there? The lights were on inside, but there was no sign of Judy. Hm. That looked like a note taped over the OPEN sign hanging in the window. He got out to have a look.

OUTSIDE CHICAGO, TWO
cars turned off the main thoroughfare, came down one block, and slowed long enough for the people inside to get a good look at the Caravan Motel.

“Hm, so this is the Caravan,” said Mr. Khull, giving the old motel a quick once-over. “Roe isn’t operating on much of a budget.”

“What a dump,” said one of Khull’s three favorite killers, a young, wiry woman with long, blonde hair who could have passed for a college
student.

The Caravan Motel was no joy to behold. Long ago, before the freeways diverted all the interstate traffic, this place probably did a profitable and respectable business in housing weary travelers for the night. Now times had changed, the fourteen little cabins were run down, the lawn had surrendered to weeds, and most of the business here was probably the disreputable kind.

“Which cabin is she in?” asked a tall, youthful-looking man. He’d gotten within a knife’s blade of Sally Roe on the Bentmore University campus. He still had his knife, and he was looking forward to a longer, more satisfying encounter.

“Fourteen,” said Khull, “right on the end near the road. We won’t have to pass any of the other rooms. She’s making it easy.”

Khull parked the car just past the motel, and the other car pulled in behind. Altogether, eight people got out of the two cars. Khull gave the four men from the second car a slight nod, and they scattered immediately up and down the street, covering every avenue of escape from the motel.

“Okay, babe,” said Khull, “check and make sure.”

The young woman went ahead of them, walking into the motel office.

Khull and the other two just stood on the sidewalk, talking and looking casual.

She came out again, and pointed discreetly at Number 14.

“Let’s go,” said Khull.

“OH, HI,” SAID
Judy. “Been waiting long?”

“No, not long,” said Marshall. “About ten minutes, I guess.” He’d seen the little note she’d taped in the window, “BACK IN TEN MINUTES.”

“Had to get a new typewriter ribbon. I can hardly read my letters anymore.” She had a small sack in her hand, which meant her trip must have been successful.

“I think I have a fax waiting for me.”

“Oh yeah, you do.”

Judy unlocked the door and let him in. “It came in not too long ago.
I think I put it . . . Let me see, where did I put it?”

THE YOUNG BLONDE
knocked on the door to Number 14.

Sally tensed, closed her eyes, and prayed a quick prayer. Then she rose from her chair and approached the door. “Yes?”

“Maid,” said the woman.

JUDY FINALLY FOUND
the sheet of paper that had come out of the fax machine. “Oh, here you are.”

Marshall took it and thanked her. Now this looked familiar. It was even disappointing. Hadn’t he told Bernice he’d already seen the curriculum? What was the big deal? All the way over here to Judy’s for this?

But what was Bernice’s note at the top? She’d written it in bold marker pen.

“OKAY, JUST
A minute,” Sally said, and looked around the room one last time. She was ready. She went to the door and put her hand on the knob.

“MARSHALL,” SAID BERNICE’S
note, “have you seen this? Call me.”

From the note, a huge arrow drawn with a wide-tipped marker pen bled down the page to a glaring circle at the bottom.

Within that circle was the name of the curriculum’s author—its
real
author.

Sally Beth Roe.

WHAM!
THE DOOR
burst open and almost caught Sally across the face. Khull was all over her, then two more blurred figures. Arms grappled and grabbed, the room spun around her, she fell to the floor, her face smacking the worn carpet. A sharp knee gouged into her back, pinning her down so hard she thought her ribs would crack. They grabbed her
arms and twisted them behind her until she cried out in pain, then bound them with loop upon loop of tight, cutting rope.

AAW! Khull grabbed a fistful of her hair and wrenched her head up from the carpet. She couldn’t breathe. He held a glimmering, silver knife to her throat. “Make a sound, and this goes in.”

She closed her mouth tightly, trying to contain the cries of pain and terror she just couldn’t help.

The room was full of people, searching every corner, every drawer, under the mattress, dumping out her duffel bag, going through all her possessions.

“You know what we’re looking for,” said Khull right into her ear. He grabbed one of her bound hands and forced her index finger open. “Tell us where the ring is and where those rosters are, or I start cutting.”

“If I tell you, you’ll just run off with them yourself!” said Sally. The knife came against the base of her finger. She gushed the words out. “I’ll tell the people who sent you! Turn me over to them!”

The knife remained in place.

Sally blurted, “You want to get paid, don’t you?”

The knife stayed where it was; Khull’s grip on her finger never loosened. She could feel the edge of that knife against her skin, and she prayed while an eternity passed.

Destroyer stood in the room, not at all willing to lose the prize once he had found it.

Take her to Summit,
he said to Khull.

Khull leaned over Sally, longing with every fiber of his being to run his knife through her heart. He hesitated, breathing hard.