Piercing the Darkness (77 page)

THE HEAVY PLANK
door closed behind Sally and her captors. They were standing in Mr. Goring’s spacious, comfortable living room. At one end was a massive stone fireplace; at the other end, a wall of glass brought in the mountains; the open-beam ceiling soared above them to the roof’s apex, and from the massive ridge beam, rustic iron chandeliers hung on long chains.

Three men rose from their places by the fire. Sally recognized Mr. Steele, and it was obvious by his satisfied grin that he recognized her.

It was Goring who ordered, “Bring her here and sit her down.”

Khull was after some glory. He grabbed Sally’s arm and pulled her forward, keeping her constantly off-balance, then, with a cruel grip that bruised her arm, flung her down into a sofa. With just a few small gestures, he ordered his four thugs to stand guard around her.

“Gentlemen,” he said arrogantly, “I bring to you Sally Beth Roe.”

The three men stood before her, staring at her with great interest. The gray-haired man with the perfectly trimmed beard and the bone necklace looked at the tall, silver-haired executive type, and then both of them looked at Mr. Steele.

“This is she,” said Steele. “Well done, Mr. Khull. We will settle our account with you immediately. However, if you are agreeable, we may still have need of your services.”

Khull smiled, giving Sally a leering, sideways glance. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Then please remain for a time, you and your staff. We’ll try to settle this business as quickly as we can.”

“Take your time.”

With Sally placed securely on the sofa and under capable guard, the three gentlemen relaxed and took their seats—the two older men in another sofa facing Sally, and Mr. Steele in a large easy chair between the two sofas, facing the fire.

Steele opened the conversation. “Sally, let me introduce my two friends.” He indicated the man with the perfectly trimmed beard. “This is Mr. Emile Goring, presently Director of Finance of the Mannesville Association, an international humanitarian and environmental think tank and mobilizer of global projects. He’s a major stockholder and director in over forty global corporations dealing in oil, gas, transportation, exports, mining, and so forth.”

Sally looked toward Goring, who nodded back at her with a grim but still fascinated expression.

Steele wanted to be sure Sally was impressed. “Consequently, what Mr. Goring desires to do, he has the means to do. He and his associates are major contributors and underwriters for such endeavors as the Summit Institute; this institute is part of their vision, and it wouldn’t be here at all if not for their efforts.

“The other gentleman is Mr. Carl Santinelli, Senior Partner at Evans, Santinelli, Farnsworth, and McCutcheon, one of the most powerful law firms in the country and, in a sense, the flagship of the ACFA. He is a man of great causes in law and jurisprudence, a legal activist of the highest order, and definitely not a man to be tampered with.”

Sally looked at Santinelli, and got a cold, probing stare back.

Then Mr. Steele turned to Goring and Santinelli. “Mr. Goring and Mr. Santinelli, I introduce to you Ms. Sally Beth Roe, former Director of Primary Curriculum Resources at the Omega Center for Educational Studies, convicted murderer, former convict, production worker at the Bergen Door Factory, and most recently, vagabond.”

Goring and Santinelli continued to study her as if looking upon a real oddity.

Steele relaxed in his chair and studied her himself. “It has been quite an adventure, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” she answered.

“I see your hair roots are beginning to grow out. I do miss seeing your fiery red hair. And since when do you wear tinted glasses?”

She sighed and removed them, rubbing her tired eyes. “All a disguise, of course.” Then she bitterly admitted, “And quite futile.”

“Quite futile,” Steele agreed. “But you do understand, don’t you, why we had to track you down?”

The question angered her. “It is my impression, Mr. Steele, that you and your associates want me dead, and I would like to know why.”

“Oh, come now!” said Santinelli. “A person of your brilliance and experience should have no trouble seeing how much you are in our way. As for that initial attempt on your life, we will not mince words. It was a blunder, an unfortunate fiasco perpetrated by some incompetents who thought they would please us. We were not pleased. Killing you in such a way was never our original intent.”

“So what was your original intent?”

Santinelli smiled. “Our original intent was the lawsuit against the Good Shepherd Academy in Bacon’s Corner, your current town of residence. Your stumbling into the middle of our project was a total surprise to all of us.”

Sally needed to confirm what she thought. “
You
are the people ultimately responsible for the lawsuit against that Christian school?”

Santinelli nodded. “Lucy Brandon first contacted our local ACFA affiliate, the affiliate contacted the state chapter, the state chapter contacted us, and we decided the case could prove profitable. We immediately put our strength and influence behind it.”

“But not for the child Amber’s sake, of course?”

Santinelli exchanged a glance with the others. This woman was as sharp as Steele had said she was. “Obviously you have no illusions about our concern for the safety, rights, and welfare of children, especially since the ACFA regularly defends the interests of child pornographers and molesters.” He sat back with his chin high, tapping his fingertips together, watching her eyes for a response.

She forced one corner of her mouth to stretch upward and nodded.

“As you may well imagine, the real object of that lawsuit is not the awarding of damages to the plaintiff, but legal precedent, the molding and shaping of law, even the rewriting of law, through an ideal test
case.”

Steele contributed, “Ms. Roe is quite familiar with our agenda for social change through state-controlled public education. She was a major contributor to that effort at one time.”

Santinelli nodded, impressed. “So you do realize how great a deterrent to our cause the Christians are as long as they are allowed to raise and educate their own children according to their Biblical beliefs. Even before your years at Omega, we were seeking legislation and legal precedent that could be used to stifle that deterrent. It’s taken this long for that to develop.”

“But it did,” said Goring with a gloating smile.

Santinelli indulged in the same smile and continued, “The latest legislation for our use was the Federal Day-care and Private Primary School Assistance Act, and the Munson-Ross Civil Rights Act, each a rather muddled stack of laws that—as we had hoped—would require testing and clarification in the courts. The Good Shepherd Academy case seemed tailor-made for that purpose. It not only involved federal funds spent in a Christian school, and therefore government intervention and control, but also included the useful, inflammatory child abuse angle, something we could use to incite support in the media and in the public mind, getting them all on our side regardless of the real issues. And that, of course, was the object. With the public outraged and preoccupied with the protection of innocent children, we would be seen as no less than champions for children in establishing through case law the right and duty of the state to control religious education.” He couldn’t resist a laugh of delight. “Even after the initial trauma—real or concocted—against the child fades into the past and is forgotten, the laws will still be on the books, and the government firmly planted within the walls of the church.

“As you yourself taught and were taught, once such control of religious instruction is established, the methodical, gradual elimination of religious instruction altogether is only a matter of time. And then such people as you once were will have tremendous, far-reaching power to control and mold every segment of the next generation without resistance.”

Sally nodded. She’d learned this catechism.

Goring picked up the narrative. “Well, it did look promising, of
course. But that was before you happened along. You can imagine what a shock it was to learn you were out of prison and living in the very town where we’d brought the lawsuit. Worse than that was the way we found out: Our little prize, the very child in question, supposedly the pristine, totally innocent victim of Christian bigots and abusers, suddenly chose to demonstrate her true colors one day in the local Post Office. Ah! I see you remember the incident! Of all people to witness such an outburst, it had to be you!

“When Mrs. Brandon brought the incident to her attorneys’ attention, they passed the word to us, and, knowing who you were, we saw a substantial risk that you would recognize the child’s condition, especially since you wrote the very curriculum that caused it. We were aware that you could severely jeopardize our case should you decide to step forward.”

Santinelli allowed himself a mournful chuckle. “But really, we hadn’t yet decided what our course of action would be before a misguided member—uh, former member now—of our staff took matters into his own hands and secured the services of an assassin.”

“That part you are quite familiar with,” said Goring.

“Oh, yes,” Sally answered.

“And that,” said Santinelli, “brings us to why we’ve all been on this merry chase. Ms. Roe, had you died then, we could have absorbed the error and continued with our plan, none the worse for our friends’ impulsiveness.” He sighed. “But impressive person that you are, you not only lived, but a) you killed the assassin and left her there to create all kinds of questions should she be found, and b) you made off with a ring the assassin was wearing on her finger, a ring that could eventually link the whole wicked affair with us.”

Sally said nothing, and tried to keep her face from saying anything.

“The assassin was a crafty sort. She was a paramour of that former member of our staff, and pilfered his ring, we believe, for the purpose of blackmail and manipulation. That ring could have told anyone who its owner really was—all it would take would be the securing of the Nation’s rosters in which all the code names are listed. Both items are now, we believe, in your possession?”

“I’m prepared to bargain,” she replied.

They all stifled a laugh and exchanged glances.

Steele ventured a question they all felt was unnecessary. “So . . . you are willing to relinquish the rosters and the ring in exchange for something? Just what would that be?”

Sally looked them all in the eye and spoke clearly. “Abandon the lawsuit. Leave the Christian school alone, and let Tom Harris have his children back.”

This time they didn’t stifle their laughter at all, but enjoyed her appeal thoroughly.

“And then,” Goring asked, “you will release the ring and rosters back to us for our disposal?”

“We can certainly talk about it; I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Santinelli leaned forward. “Is that a chain I see around your neck?”

Khull found out for sure. He forced her head sideways and grabbed at the chain, yanking it from under her blouse.

The gold ring dangled on the end.

With a vicious jerk that pulled her from the sofa and gouged her neck, he snapped the chain and tore it from her. She landed on the rug with a cry of pain, only to be gathered up by the thugs and flung on the sofa again.

“Here now, enough!” said Goring. Then he pointed to her bleeding neck. “Put a cloth on that. I don’t want it staining the sofa.”

One of Khull’s men placed his handkerchief around Sally’s neck.

Khull dangled the ring above Santinelli’s palm, and then dropped it.

Santinelli examined the ring. “Mm-hm. The Ring of Fellowship in the Royal and Sacred Order of the Nation. A sacred object, to be sure.” He glared at Sally. “Too sacred to be in your possession . . . and no longer in your possession.”

Sally held the handkerchief to her neck, stunned and deflated in her spirit and wincing from the searing pain from her wound. “I see you belong to that group.”

Santinelli looked at the gold Ring of Fellowship on his own hand. “Oh, the Nation consists of many brothers, all in vital places: in government, in banking, on the federal bench, on college boards and regencies. You were quite familiar with Owen Bennett, of course, and I’m sure you’ve already read an impressive list of names from those rosters
you stole. Like any other secret society, we help all our initiates get established in the right places, and we see to each other’s interests—provided, of course, that each man’s interests conform to the interests of the society.”

“Apparently James Bardine’s interests did not.”

Santinelli smiled. “Ah, yes, that ‘former member of our staff’ does have a name. Then it was you who called our office? I understand our receptionist recently informed an anonymous female caller of his untimely death.” He dropped the ring back and forth from hand to hand. “Brotherhood is one thing; violation of sacred blood oaths of secrecy is another.”

He looked out the windows toward the mountains. “There are some things that are best kept sealed, Ms. Roe. If you could have toured these grounds, or walked through the town of Summit and met some of the people that are here this week, you would have found many different esoteric organizations represented, as well as some very . . . unique . . . individuals. We’re all one global family, you know; that is the unifying cry of every heart. We proclaim that idea here and everywhere, just as you yourself have proclaimed it, and we teach that all are equal.” He paused for effect. “But we keep to ourselves the fact that some are more equal than others, and far more fit to rule.”

He set the ring on the glass coffee table and then looked directly at her. “I trust that now you fully appreciate what the stakes are here, how ruthless and determined we are, and how desperate your situation is. We are not here to bargain, Ms. Roe, but to put an end to the threat you pose to us. Exactly what process will be necessary to accomplish this will depend largely on yourself.” He looked toward Khull. “I’m sure you’ll find little comfort in the fact that Mr. Khull and his four accomplices are members of the same secret order to which your assassin belonged, a Satanic cult known as Broken Birch. They’re a ruthless bunch who thrive on bloodletting, torture, human sacrifice. Quite unsavory.” He looked back at Sally. “Ms. Roe, we are decent men, and we desire no more discomfort for you than you may make necessary. To be blunt, your fate depends on your performance.”