"Where?"
"Wish I knew. He and Jensen and the High Council guys keep their cars in a garage around the corner from the temple. I've seen him pull out a number of times and tried to tail him, but always lost him."
"He ditched you?"
"I don't think so. I'm just not very good at it. But I tailed the GP a few times and had better luck with him."
Jack had to laugh. "You've been following him too? That's dedication."
"That's me, all right. Dedicated to a fault."
Jack saw a strange flash in her eyes as she took a sip of her Scotch.
"It's more than professional, isn't it."
She shrugged. "A journalist's credo is impartiality and objectivity. But you might say I have a thing for cult situations. You might say I think they're poisonous, that they prey—sometimes knowingly and sometimes unwittingly—on confused people and exploit their weaknesses."
An idea was taking root in Jack's head. "Were you ever in one?"
"Uh-uh. No way. Never. But my sister Susie was. She died of exposure on a hilltop in West Virginia. You may have read about it a few years back."
Jack nodded. Half a dozen bodies, two males, four females, found stiff and cold by some hikers. They'd been dead since New Year's Eve. It had been all over the news for a day or two, then dropped.
"She and her fellow cultists literally froze to death while standing naked in the cold waiting to be 'taken home.' So yeah, it might be personal, and my articles may have an adversarial edge. I'm looking for dirt, I won't deny that, but my facts are facts and all double- or triple-checked. That's why I follow the Dementedist bigwigs. Because that cult is dirty at the top. They're hiding something."
"Like their founder, for instance?"
"I get a feeling it's bigger than that. But getting back to Blascoe: On two occasions I followed Jensen and one of his TPs to a supermarket where they packed Jensen's car full of groceries. Then he dropped off the TP and headed for the hills—literally. I followed him up 684 and lost him the first time. But then, back in September, I managed to tail him all the way into
Putnam County. Way up in the hills there I saw him unload the groceries at a house in the woods, then leave."
"Maybe it's a relative."
"An old white man with long hair and a scraggly beard came out on the front porch and shook his fist at Jensen as he was leaving. Not exactly the way I'd picture his daddy."
"Blascoe?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. In any pictures I've ever seen of Cooper Blascoe he's been a hale and hearty fellowT with this blond mane. This guy was skinny and kind of stooped. I've heard Blascoe had some kind of germ phobia, but this guy looked like he hadn't seen soap and water since the Beame administration."
"And yet…?"
"And yet, something about his hairline, something about his profile…" She shook her head. "I don't know. Somewhere in my brain a circuit closed and lit up a neon sign that kept flashing Cooper Blascoe … Cooper Blascoe . . . and wouldn't stop."
Jack knew the feeling. His own subconscious had recognized immediately the pattern on Brady's globe, but it had taken his conscious mind a while to catch up.
"How close did you get?"
"Not close enough to be sure."
"You didn't move in for a better look?"
"No. I wanted to but… Want the truth? I was scared. I'm brave behind my keyboard—I'll take on anyone, anytime—but out in the real world… out there, I'm chickenshit." She waggled the stump of her pinkie at him. "Low threshold for pain. Maybe a low threshold for death too—like if I get too scared I'll die."
"What were you frightened of?"
She placed a mocking finger against her temple. "Oh, let's see now. How about being a woman alone at night in deep woods where I was pretty sure I wasn't supposed to be? How about I was hot and all scratched up from following Jensen's car on foot and the bugs were eating me alive? Knowing how Dementedists are about security, and this being their chief of security I'd followed, how about wondering whether or not I might be walking into a trap? Like maybe an electrified fence situation or bear traps or Dobermans? How about worrying about Jensen spotting my car in the bushes where I'd ditched it? Can you blame me if all I wanted was out of there?"
Jack shook his head. "Not a bit. Can you find it again?"
She smiled as she nodded. "I might have been scared, but not scared stupid. I made careful notes on a map as I drove back to the freeway."
"And you haven't been up there since?"
"Been meaning to. Been thinking about sneaking up there in the daytime with a telephoto lens and hanging out till I got a chance to snap a few shots. Even drove by the side road a couple of times but…"
"But never left your car." Jack wasn't asking. He knew the answer.
Jamie looked embarrassed as she shook her head. " 'Lacked da noive,' as the Cowardly Lion might say."
"How about if I take you up there?"
From the look on her face he guessed she'd been hoping for just such an offer.
"Great idea. What about tomorrow?" Her words picked up velocity as she went on. "I'll borrow a camera from one of the staff photogs. We should leave in the morning so we can maximize our light hours."
Jack ran his fingers lightly over the pocks in Anya's skin as he thought about Jamie's proposal. Tomorrow looked like a good day for a road trip. But first he needed to drop in on Maria Roselli. Ostensibly to tell her about Johnny, but mostly to give her a grilling. He had a feeling she knew a lot more about the pattern on this thing than she'd admitted.
He refolded the skin. "Okay, let's do it. I'll drop you off a few blocks from your place and let you walk home."
He'd probably never set foot in a Dormentalist temple again, but he didn't want to be seen yet. Always keep your options open.
He noticed Jamie's worried expression.
"Don't worry. I'll follow to make sure you get home safe."
Jamie smiled and held up her hand for a high five. "Awright!"
Jack poked her palm with the tip of an index finger. When she gave him a questioning look, he simply shrugged. It always tended to be an awkward moment. Jack didn't do high fives.
She slid out of the booth. "You know what I might do? I think I might just tap on those watchdogs' car window and ask them how their Hokanos are hangin'."
"What kind of word is 'Hokano' anyway?" he said as he bagged the skin and slipped out to join her. "Made up or from some other language?"
"Probably just made up. The closest I could find was the Japanese hoka no—but they don't put the accent on the middle syllable like the Demente-dists do. Means 'other.'"
Jack stood paralyzed as ice crystalized along every nerve in his body.
"What… what did you say?"
"Other. Hoka no means other." She stared at him, concern etching her features. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"
Jack felt as if he'd taken a battering ram to the solar plexus. It was happening again. He was being sucked in again.
He shook it off as best he could and turned to Jamie.
"Can you find this place in the dark?"
"The cabin? Pretty sure. But—"
"Good. Because that's where we're going."