World War S 2

Chapter 3

*

If you board that plane, you can’t count on me anymore, the voice of his boss echoed in John’s head as the plane landed on the runway in L.A. He didn’t immediately turn on his mobile because of that last call, but he knew he needed to; Paul would surely call him.

If they ever let him call, he thought, pushing his way through the crowd of passengers, from the look of this case, they’ll be limiting his basic rights.

The flight marshal smiled at him from afar and approached to shake John’s hand. Either they hadn’t notified him or he was successfully disguising the fact that he would arrest John in a minute.

“What’s the case you’re working on?” he asked with an inquiring look.

Nobody can act that well, John thought. He was adept at reading people after his undercover role as a drug addict. Although he was a crappy actor, he survived because of the clumsiness of the drug barons.

“It’s a very complicated case, but unfortunately I can’t talk about it,” John said with a troubled smile. He felt sorry that he could not let this kind guy into his private investigation; he might even be able to help him.

“No problem, I understand,” the marshal nodded, patting John’s back. “But I can still give you advice. When you leave the aircraft, always stay on the right side!”

The realization sliced through John’s mind like a knife; the guy knew everything! He knew everything, but his kind smile said he intended to help John. Or did he really mean to ensnare him?

John tried to look straight into the marshal’s eyes, and then let them roam over the guy’s face. He watched every movement of his facial muscles, thinking he might give himself away. But the man was still smiling steadily.

“Hey, buddy,” the marshal said when John didn’t move, “take it easy! I’m sure everything will be all right with the case.”

Everything will be all right with the case, John repeated the sentence as he walked through the tunnel out to the terminal. How could he know about it? How does he know that everything will be all right?

He looked back from the door once more, but the marshal was not concerned with him anymore; he was watching the passengers slowly exiting the plane. I’m just imagining things, John thought.

At the terminal, he just joined the crowd, mixing with the passengers from different flights. Stay on the right side, he remembered, watching for the disguised policemen waiting for him. But the right side of the corridor was as clean as the left. He noticed nothing suspicious.

The crowd slowly piled up, three to four hundred people spanning towards the checkpoints. Now, he thought, now they’ll pull me out of the line. He decided to stay in the middle, where they wouldn’t nail him as easily. He would stand behind a big guy, where he could hide from the cameras.

He looked right again, hoping to find the colleagues who would come for him, but there was only a female guard standing below the “Officials Only” sign. She let a group of flight attendants and pilots pass through after checking them. The air marshal might have been suggesting he pass through that gate, as he might be regarded as an official person …

John made a sudden decision, as he usually did in life; he stepped out of the line and headed to the uniformed woman. Come what may!

“Sorry, sir, this exit is restricted for officials only.”

“I see. I’m Lieutenant John Levi, from Morris County Homicide in official matters.”

“All right, sir,” she nodded, checking his badge. “Please, the way is clear.”

The way is clear, the words echoed in his head as he passed through the narrow corridor marked by cordons to the huge terminal building.

Nobody stopped me. It was a false alarm.

He looked at his mobile. He couldn’t decide if he should use it or not. They could trace him by following this signal, so he decided that he would call the L.A. District Police Station on the public phone to find out about Paul’s place of custody.

There was only an older woman in the queue in front of him, and luckily she finished her call after just a few words. John swept a prepaid card in front of the scanner and dialled the number. Only a moment later somebody tapped him on the shoulder.

“Okay. I promise, I’ll be quick,” he said to the stocky guy and turned back to the phone. But the man didn’t give up.

“Believe me, it will only take …” he said, turning, but the words stuck in his throat. Two other men had joined the short one. One of them was holding handcuffs, which he immediately snapped onto John’s wrists.

He didn’t resist; he knew if he didn’t put his hands behind his back, they would twist his arm.

“John Levi, you’re under arrest on drug charges. You have the right to remain silent …” the short man rattled off.

John noticed he wore a DEA jacket. He couldn’t speak, nor did he want to. He realized that his decision was once again the wrong one, and Paul would be pissed off.

If they ever saw each other again.

*

Raymond stayed at the police station late that night, after his partner, John, stormed out. His colleagues working with the police’s special supercomputer had promised the first results this evening. Ray hoped they would be able to give him a clue about what those many hundred thousands of words in all those languages—cut out from the Bibles—meant, the ones they’d found in William Ridmoore’s flat. The superbrain will have a hell of a time solving it, he thought.

Suddenly Jack, the captain, stepped into their office without knocking.

“Ray, please collect the files on B.A., we have to close the case immediately!”

Raymond must have had a strange look on his face, as the captain had to repeat the sentence. Ray still did not believe his ears.

“Now, when we’re only just starting to get somewhere?”

“Now. Right on time, before you get anywhere. I suspended John for a while anyway.”

“But …” Ray stopped when the captain signalled with his hand that he didn’t want to start a debate on it, and with the same movement he closed the door behind him.

Ray followed Jack’s blurry figure behind the smoked glass as he disappeared around the corner. Ray was still holding the thicker folder of this bizarre case in his hand, wondering what he should do with it.

Whose interest is served by making this case vanish into thin air? Or rather two cases, because the Heartley accident has obvious connections to this one …

He decided that he would collect all the papers and take them home. He couldn’t do what the captain was asking; he couldn’t do that to John or the Heartley family. He wouldn’t let all the evidence just be destroyed in this intricate case. Because William Ridmoore was guilty, no question.

He was just packing the documents into boxes when his phone rang.

“I think you need to get over here,” the technician said. “I can’t fully explain to you over the phone what we’ve found here.”

“All right, I’ll leave in a minute,” Ray said, hoping his boss would not realize that the decoding project was connected to the case of the mysterious arm until he could reach the building at the other side of the city. “Is it that interesting?”

“It’s even more interesting than you think. You won’t be disappointed. The person who made this was either a genius or totally crazy.”

Bingo, Ray thought, Ridmoore is definitely crazy. Who else would be able to mutilate a man and crash the car of an innocent family at the same time?

“Well, I’m even more eager to see now,” Ray said, about to cut the line. “Look, there’s something I have to tell you. If the boss or anybody else calls to say you have to delete all the evidence before I arrive—don’t do it! Promise me?”

“Sure. I’ll save it on a data key right now, and I’ll only give it to you,” the technician answered and cut the line.

Ray put the boxes under his arms and headed to the garage. Only the guys from the night duty were there; and there was a bizarre, dark feeling in the air, like he’d felt in Ridmoore’s flat.

*

Martha didn’t wait around for the elders’ leadership to discuss where they would move the congregation, because after the police raid they could not stop praising Will for his miraculous capabilities. The experienced, long-time elders listened eagerly to Will’s every word. After the conversion of Reverend Artman, there was purification among the leadership. The self-seekers, the greedy, and the exhibitionists disappeared; all who tried to get hold of Artman’s fortune were replaced by those who faithfully followed the gospel. But when Will arrived, he dismissed them all and filled the elder group with those linked closely to the spiritual world by many threads. Will had no doubt that all would fall to their knees in front of him.

Martha could not decide if she should be proud of her partner or afraid of him. For a fleeting moment, she became weak and was filled with an overwhelming anxiety. But as she saw the way those mature men prostrated themselves before Will, she convinced herself that as a young Christian she had misunderstood the Holy Scriptures. If those wise, old men put their faith in Will’s talent, why should she doubt it?

Lylian had invited her for a visit—she lived a few streets from the boxing club—while the elders discussed the matter of the move. She was the leader of the women’s group that had formed after Reverend Artman left his ungodly life and converted. Tonight they were meeting at Lylian’s place—those women who are closest to God, Martha thought. Lylian especially radiated that unearthly wisdom and tranquillity that could be a blessing and help for young Christians like Martha.

When she entered Lylian’s apartment, there was a special prayer meeting underway to intercede for a woman who had secretly left the God of the Bible for other gods. At least that was what Lylian told Martha before she guided her into the living room.

“Just sit in that chair. If you wish, you can join in the prayer. But if you don’t want to, you can just listen. Pour yourself a cup of tea.”

Martha timidly looked at the woman they were praying for; she smiled back with encouragement.

“I’m Abegail,” she raised her hand. “I’ve attended other groups before, where we learned angelic communication, stuff like that, but I ended up here.”

“There are no accidents, you were meant to end up here!” said Lylian encouragingly, caressing Abegail’s back.

“Pleased to meet you,” a faint smile flitted across Martha’s face, and she poured herself a cup of tea.

“Abegail, it’s wonderful that you’ve decided to put your life on a firm foundation from today on. We won’t do anything else, just pray for you. Relax. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

“All right,” said Abegail, sitting between the two others on the couch. Martha knew both of them; they had always been kind to her when she turned to them with her problems. But now there was a strange light flashing in their eyes. Martha thought they were offended by her appearing as Will’s close partner at the congregation; but maybe she was just imagining it, her fears inducing bad feelings.

Lylian knelt in front of them, and all of them placed their hands over Abegail.

Martha sat in the corner looking on as Lylian started to pray. For a short moment, she felt a strong desire to join the common ceremony with joy, as she had done a few weeks ago when they held the first prayer meeting. Before Will. But now she wanted to move her chair into the next room, as far as she could from here.