"What do we do with her?"
Kline
What were they going to do with her? she wondered. "There's a CA escort coming down for her." Cynthia Kline's mind was in turmoil. She had been a damned fool. She despised the deacons so intensely that she had allowed herself to underestimate them. The older, slow one had only been shooting in the dark, but he had come close enough to the truth to rattle her. Even a dummy like Winters had been plainly disturbed by her attitude. She had talked down to them and made them uncomfortable when she should have come on like a helpless little waif and had them eating out of her hand. It still remained to be seen if her pride was going to hang her. The phone call had temporarily saved her, but it had also brought a new set of questions.
Three deacons shot dead, presumably on their way from their private bordello on Fifteenth, was a major incident. Who was behind it, and was it going to affect her situation? The abrupt removal of her three interrogators had to be cause for some kind of optimism. They couldn't be thinking of her as a dangerous terrorist, if they were prepared to rush off like that.
Her new escort arrived in the form of two burly CA matrons. Cynthia far from liked the look of mem, but to her complete surprise, they seemed quite well disposed toward her.
"Here you greased a couple of the scumsuckers for us. How did you manage that?"
"I was scared out my head, to tell the truth."
Now, after the fact, she was playing it the right way. The nearest matron all but patted her on the head.
"You got 'em though."
"I guess I did."
"You want to watch out, though, getting into a car with those PD bastards. They got just one thing in mind."
"So what happens to me now?"
"We're going to take you up to Directoress Lumet. I figure they've got your case all figured out."
Cynthia did not have to fake the fear. The matrons laughed.
"Don't look so worried. They going to make you a sainted hero, honey."
They took her quickly to the directoress's office on the nineteenth floor. Cynthia was taking it one minute at a time. She was just relieved that they were not taking her to a sub-basement – she had heard too much about what those sadists did to female suspects.
The directoress fancied herself as voluptuous and was fighting a stubborn rearguard action against the ravages of middle age. She wore her hair in the high platinum bouffant of a big-time country singer. Her makeup was thick, her eyelashes were false, her nails were bloodred, and her uniform skirt was cut a little too tightly across her ample hips. She was lounging back in a large leather swivel chair behind an L-shaped combined desk and workstation. The two matrons withdrew and left Cynthia standing in front of the directoress's inspecting gaze.
"So you're our little Dirty Harriet?"
"I think that's putting it a little strongly, ma'am."
"You'll have to get used to it."
"I'm sorry."
"And you can cut out the phony humility. I monitored your interview. You're a tough cookie."
Cynthia stiffened. "Yes, ma'am."
Directoress Lumet stood up and came out from behind the desk. She walked slowly around Cynthia. "I suppose you look the part."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You want to get on in the service?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, you could make it big if you don't foul up on this next assignment we've got for you."
"Yes, ma'am."
"There is no more important backup for an agency like this than a good public image. We are the constant targets of lying Satanist propaganda, and we badly need to show the public the part we play in protecting society from its enemies. A story like yours is just what we need at the moment."
Cynthia blinked. "It is?" What the hell were they up to?
"It's been decided to second you to the PR section. You will report to Deacon Longstreet for initial grooming. As soon as you are ready, you will be subjected to saturation TV coverage. You'll be on every talk show in the eastern area and the covers of all the magazines. You're going to be a nine-hour wonder, Kline. 'Heroic CA slays scum.' "
Cynthia was bewildered. She had never bargained for anything like this. Could she safely go so public? She had to talk to her control, but it seemed as if she was not going to be given the chance. "I don't know what to say."
"Don't screw up. Cooperate with the PR people even if they are a bunch of fags and, above all, don't let it go to your head. We're not making you into a movie star. It's just another facet of law enforcement."
As Lumet finished her speech, another CA stuck her head around the door.
"Lefthand Path just claimed the killings."
Lumet looked up sharply. "Are you sure?"
"Anderson just took the call."
When the other woman was gone, Lumet glanced at Cynthia. "You didn't hear that, right?"
"Right."
"It'll be all over the building soon enough, but I don't want it coming from here first."
"I understand."
"So go to the thirty-fifth floor and report to Longstreet."
"Yes, ma'am."
Anslinger
Maud Anslinger turned off the TV. She could not watch any longer. Satan seemed so close. All but one of the local channels had preempted their regular programming to run live coverage of the terrible murders on First Avenue. Channel 9 was still showing Treasure in Heaven, but she couldn't watch a soap when the presence of Evil was all around. She turned on the Jesus Wave and knelt beside the bed. The lights warmed to a comforting glow, and she clasped her hands.
"Sweet Lord Jesus, please do not forsake us in this time of our testing."
She really felt that God was testing her – her and all the good Christian people in the country. That was the only explanation for all the awful things that were happening. Looking into the lights of the Jesus Wave made her feel a little better, but even with its soothing hypnotic pulse she could not shake the feeling that the storm clouds were gathering all around. It was just as President Faithful had told them last week on Fireside Sunday Night, "Let us pray for America in what may prove to be our finest hour. Dear Jesus, we are a country under siege. A beleaguered enclave of decency in a dark world of pain and iniquity. To the north, we are menaced by the Godless Red Canadians and the Evil Empire of their Soviet slave masters. At the same time, beyond our southern defenses, the brown hordes from the jungles of South America are massing to descend on our pastures like a plague of locusts. Dear Jesus, bless this Fortress America, dedicated in thy name, and strengthen us lest we despair. Let us not forget that thy banner, though torn, is still flying. Make us strong, sweet Jesus. Make us strong."
The text of the prayer had been published in the Post on Monday morning. Maude had cut it out and taped it to the mirror, beside the postcard that her sister Eva had sent her from Holy-world.
Theodore the cat was watching her balefully. She had gone to the store early, but for the second day running there had been no milk delivery. There had been no chicken bits in a week. The cat had been forced to settle for the new generic Petfood with the white label on the can and the funny smell.
Suddenly there were tears running down her face. God had to be testing her.
"Make us strong, sweet Jesus. Make us strong."
Carlisle
Harry Carlisle put on his sunglasses and climbed the steps to the front door of the brownstone. It was a house without a face, the windows having all been replaced by steel sheets. There was a watch camera mounted over the door but, surprisingly, it did not swivel to look at him as he mounted the steps. He motioned to Reeves. "Get ready for a show of force here." Reeves and Donahue braced their legs and raised their Remingtons. They were dressed for The Untouchables in long overcoats and fedoras. Behind them were six of the riot squad's meanest with helmets and armor and leveled M-40s. Carlisle was very much aware that what was about to happen had a lot more to do with theater than with law enforcement. He had given himself the Eliot Ness role. He could not help grinning as he extended an assertive, black-gloved finger to the old-fashioned, polished brass bellpush and pressed. There were a lot of paybacks about to be exacted. In his other hand he clutched a lovingly maintained, long-barreled.375 Magnum that he brought out only on special occasions. After the first ring, nothing happened.