"For Christ's sake, Lippitt," I said, feeling my frustration and fear winding up like a mainspring, "Carling and the woman are probably the only people who know where Garth is! How the hell am I supposed to find my brother if I don't confront them?!"
This time there was a very long pause, and I could hear the Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency breathing heavily on the other end of the line. He was thinking again … to no avail. "I don't have an answer for you, Mongo," he said at last in a very low voice. "Your death would upset me."
"I appreciate your thinking about me, Lippitt, but that still isn't an answer. I was thinking of walking in there and sticking a gun in Carling's ear."
"It wouldn't work, Mongo-and after you've given it some thought, you'll know it won't work. Both Carling and the woman are K.G.B., which means they're as tough as they come. Neither one will tell you what you want to know-and that's assuming you could get one or both alone, which may be a false assumption at this point."
"I'll get them alone-and I'll blow their brains out if they don't tell me where they've got my brother."
"In which case, you'd almost certainly end up blowing their brains out-and that wouldn't get Garth out of danger. You don't know how many K.G.B. soldiers Carling and the woman may have around them in there, and you don't know what contingency plans they may have. At the very least, you'd tip your hand. I've told you I don't know what way you should go, but I'm sure that isn't it-not yet. We still have a little over twenty-four hours to try other ways."
I screwed my eyes shut, sucked in a deep breath, slowly let it out. "You think they plan to kill him, don't you, Lippitt?"
"After hearing what you've told me. . yes."
"But, damn it, why would they want to kill him now? Like you said, they have control of a global religious movement. Talk about. . killing … the Golden Goose!"
"But they've never had control of Garth, Mongo. Also, if I read my history correctly, the death of the central figure in any messianic movement always solidifies that movement. Even after Jesus' crucifixion, it was a whole lot of years before Paul produced the writings that would form the basis of Christianity. I don't see the Russians being that patient. The K.G.B. may be thinking of solidifying their gains right now, taking over the whole operation by removing their one potential threat-Garth himself. I wouldn't be surprised if Harry August was also on their hit list. I think a more interesting question is why they felt Garth had to disappear days before this supposed announcement."
I thought about it, suddenly felt short of breath. "You think the drug could have finally worn off, Lippitt? You think Garth could be Garth?"
"It would explain what seems to be a lot of hurried action, and also the disappearance." Lippitt paused, continued quietly, "There's something else you should know, Mongo."
"What's that?"
"Two Mossad agents who'd been seeded into Garth's People are also missing."
"The Mossad?! What the hell. .?"
"The United States is not the only country for which the phenomena surrounding Garth have presented difficulties, Mongo."
"Right," I said, and sighed bitterly. "Having a live, loose Messiah traipsing around the countryside is a real pain in the ass from a national security viewpoint, isn't it?"
"For every country in which the movement exists and is strong, yes. Because of the very nature of its existence, there's been a tremendous amount of turmoil in Israel over Garth and Garth's People. Although I'm certain that many other countries have intelligence operatives planted, it was the Mossad operatives who were recognized by my man. They disappeared the same time as Garth. In effect, all the intelligence agencies have been sort of war-gaming against God, predicting and taking steps to prevent political problems caused by a Messiah who might say the wrong things or motivate people to behave in a way that was not in a particular country's political, social, or economic best interests. The Russians, in their war-gaming, would have realized early on that they were in a unique position to create political problems, perhaps on a massive scale. And that could explain why the Mossad agents disappeared-the Russians recognized them too."
"Oh shit, Lippitt. You think that's what Carling plans to do?!"
"I think it's not beyond the realm of possibility."
"That's insane."
"Not if you're war-gaming this thing for the Russians. The Soviets always fish in troubled waters. Garth is perceived by many people as a Messiah-by many Christians, as the Second Coming of Christ. If Jews, specifically the Israelis, can be blamed for the death of this Messiah, it will have a disastrous impact not only on Israel's relations with the rest of the world, but with our relations as well. The entire western alliance could be sent into disarray, with Israel ending up even more isolated and condemned. Those are the benefits the Russians could reap if they kill Garth, and somehow manage to pin it on those two Mossad agents."
"Lippitt, what the hell am I going to do?!"
"I really don't know, Mongo," the old man said, real pain in his voice. "I just wanted you to be aware of all the dimensions of the danger to Garth, as I see them. We'll be doing all we can, and we'll have our people there tomorrow night when Garth is scheduled to make his announcement. But I'm afraid that if we can't find Garth before then, it may be too late."
"I've got to go, Lippitt," I said tightly. "I've got some heavy thinking to do; I've got to think of some valid excuse for walking into that bathhouse."
"Yes. Mongo?"
"What?"
"Go with God."
19
I was at my bank in the morning when it opened. I gained access to my safe deposit box, took out the black leather attache case inside, opened it and studied the magnificent knife and scabbard nestled in a bed of red velvet. I had not looked for years at Whisper, with her jeweled handle and blade made of Damascus steel by a process lost for centuries, and now memories cascaded through my mind. I had stolen it from a murderous commune which had intended it as an "offering" to a man they considered the Messiah-Siegmund Loge; now I needed the blade to try to save another man many people considered the Messiah. I closed the case, walked out into the morning. It had begun to snow.
It was after ten by the time I got to the converted bathhouse. The street in the front of the building was clogged with television equipment trucks; all three networks were to televise the Christmas Eve proceedings, and the broadcast would be relayed around the world by satellite. Whatever was going to happen, Tommy Carling had gone to great pains, on relatively short notice, to make certain a global audience would be watching.
I hoped it meant that Garth wasn't already dead.
In view of the fact that scores of sports figures, movie stars, and politicians had indicated their desire to attend the event, it didn't surprise me that the two green-jacketed men flanking the entrance to the bathhouse carried metal detectors. I'd anticipated some kind of security check; I unstrapped the shoulder holster holding my Beretta and slung it over my shoulder, then ducked under a police barricade, skipped over a treacherous sea of thick electrical cables, and went up to the entrance.
"Here," I said, holding out the gun to the burly, sandy-haired guard standing to the left of the door. "I assume you'll want to take this off my hands before you let me in there."