It was as if this place could not be touched by such gross evil, but Fronval had to know better. Still, it was a vacation destination for hundreds of thousands annually. People came here to view the fantastic geological wonders of the infinitely varied hydrothermal features of this region, from the obsidian sand at Black Sand Geyser Basin to the vivid blue, giant eye of Morning Glory Pool in Upper Geyser Basin. People came here to marvel at the extraordinary silica that dissolved in hot water precipitates as the minerals brought from the depths of the planet cooled to create grottoes and fountains and caverns turned inside out. Algae did the rest, painting the geyserite in all the hues of the rainbow. Rainbows captured in rock, strewn about the earth.
Jessica recalled in particular the spectacular Minerva Terrace at Mammoth hot springs as an outstanding example of the variegated patterns that travertine formed as it was deposited on the surface of the cooling waters of the hot spring. The place looked like a limestone cave turned inside out. The place made the clumsiest of amateur photographers suddenly gifted.
People were indeed here to play, to party, to have fun, and not to be concerned about what went on in the world at large. The fact that there was a serial killer at work, and that he was winding his way from vacation spot to vacation spot here in the West, and that he was bent on taking people's lives by burning them to death for some hideous purpose no one would ever fully understand except for the killer himself, remained of no consequence to the typical tourist or merchant preying upon the tourist. And God forbid that Jessica's manhunt should interfere with business as usual here.
Oddly, however, Jessica's radio call to Fronval below seemed to ''devil'' the helicopter pilot more than anyone on the ground. Fronval had promised to put extra men on alert in and around Old Faithful Lodge, the grand hotel of the park, within shouting distance to Old Faithful, where every thirty to thirty-five minutes, the magnificent, most famous geyser of them all spouted its hot whale spray to an adoring American public.
Still, Fronval promised Jessica a full green light when she arrived by having her way cleared, pleased to be hearing from her after all these years. Fronval had kept up with her career, and she his. He remained one of Yellowstone's best loved and most respected rangers.
Coming back to Yellowstone would, under normal circumstances, have been a balm to her, a reunion for her heart and soul. The place held a spectacular appeal that no words could capture; rather, it silenced men-and even women, she jokingly thought. It was a spiritual place, a place to renew body and soul. Perhaps this was its appeal to one Feydor Dorphmann as well.
Off the left side of the helicopter now, she could see the billowing clouds rising from hot water pools, searing hot springs that welled up out of the earth's crust at temperatures of more than 180 degrees, 205 degrees in other places here. Enough boiling water to scald the entire human race, she thought.
A handful of the pools were swimmable, but every hot spring in the park remained outlawed, off-limits to everyone, since only a trained park ranger could tell the difference between a safe and a deadly pool, and even some of these so-called experts had, on occasion, become victims of the pools and their own bad or impaired judgment, ignorance, or possible suicidal thoughts.
Jessica was immediately shocked back to the present when Corey Rideout shouted, "There's a fire down there at the lodge!" Rideout pointed down toward the lodge.
Jessica stared down at the scene, certain there lay a body in the flames below, a body that the killer, in his obsession, knew only as number seven. ''Damn him… He is here. He is here!"
TWENTY
Act nothing in furious passion. It's putting to sea in storm.
Feydor knew that time was of the essence, that it was only a matter of time before they caught up to him and put an end to his-their-plans. He was angry with his demon god for not allowing him to count at least the two men in Salt Lake that he'd torched, the two that had died in the hospital. But there was no arguing with the supernatural being, the source of evil. That meant he must kill two more here at Yellowstone before Jessica Coran arrived.
He knew she would come. Satan had assured him that she must, and he was right. Feydor had seen the approaching helicopter. She must be aboard.
He needed one more victim. The Tolliver woman was easy. He'd flattered her in her little gift shop downstairs, bought her a box of chocolates, and had shown up at her room. He'd used the syringe on her, and while she battled, bruising him in the bargain, he'd managed to subdue her and let the drugs do the rest. Then he did her as he'd done the others.
Time was fleeting now, however, and he had no victim in mind, nothing prepared. Still, he had his tools in hand. He just needed to be smart about this thing.
He wandered the hallways, going from floor to floor, looking at room numbers, trying doors to see if anyone had foolishly left one unlocked, keeping his eyes and ears alert, watching anyone who happened in or out of a room, up or down a stairwell or corridor. He began stalking for his next victim, number eight is number two, the lustful.
He needed a soul to send to that special rung of Hades reserved for those whose minds and hearts were filled with only lust. But it was late, everyone in their beds asleep, silent. Whom might he find to fill in?
''Return to the fire,'' Satan said inside his head.
"Coran is here. It's not time yet to face her. You said so."
"There, staring into the fire, you will find those who lust."
It appeared the only way. "Of course, the fire."
Feydor expected to hear Dr. Stuart Wetherbine next, objecting to this final step, but Wetherbine kept silent. Wetherbine had remained silent for a long time now. Perhaps he'd been silenced by Satan.
Dorphmann knew now he must return to the seventh fire, where people would be milling about, gawking. Somewhere in the crowd, he'd find the one whose eyes shimmered with a lustful glow, the sinner he looked for. He'd have to be careful, however. Coran and others there would be searching all the faces, too, searching for him.
Jessica had instantly gotten on the radio to inform Sam Fronval of the danger overtaking his lodge. Fronval shouted back, "We know we've got a fire! We've got help on the way."
"It's got to be him, Sam! The coincidence is too much."
"We found no one at the fire but the woman who died in it, Jessica, but he did leave a message for you."
"Let me guess: Number seven is number three-gluttonous."
"Jesus, Joseph, and Jessica! How'd you know that? Never mind, I don't want to know," said Fronval. "Victim was Lorraine Tolliver, big woman who worked in the gift shop and lived at the lodge, room four twenty-two."
"If he's true to form, Sam, he's seeking out another victim as we speak."
"Why didn't you bring more men with you, Jessica? We can't cover the entire lodge. There are more than six hundred rooms in use here. And each wing of the lodge goes off in another direction, like the spokes of a wheel. There's the original lodge and the add-ons."
"If he doesn't kill again tonight, he'll kill again tomorrow night." Jessica then told Rideout, "Get me down there."
"Gonna scare the shit out of Henry if we set down too close to the lodge," complained Rideout, the chopper pilot.
Jessica frowned and asked, "Henry? Who's Henry?"