Jack spoke and the question seemed to hover in the air between them. Clear, succinct, to the point. He could almost see the words floating before him, but he couldn’t quite grasp their meaning. It sounded as if he’d said… but no… he couldn’t have.
“Pardon?”
“How do I go about finding the One?”
Ernst’s muscles seized, freezing him in place. His first impression had been correct. He’d truly asked about the One. But… impossible. He couldn’t know about him.
And then Ernst flashed back on a conversation with the One, perhaps a month ago. He had appeared in Ernst’s office and asked what he knew about the Order’s Lodge in Johnson, New Jersey. He’d made Ernst recount his stay there in excruciating detail. Ernst hadn’t perceived it at the time, but in light of what was transpiring at this moment, it occurred to him that the One had seemed especially interested in the young groundskeeper and his girlfriend who had invaded the Lodge one night with near disastrous consequences. Ernst had thought he was interested in the event, but now it was clear he’d been interested in Jack.
An unexpected symmetry: the One asking about Jack, and now Jack asking about the One.
“The one?” Ernst fought to maintain a neutral, mildly curious expression as he took a sip of his beer. He noticed the glass shaking in his hand. “The one what?”
Jack looked annoyed and the mild brown eyes hardened. “No games. I asked you a straight question. I expect a straight answer. You know exactly who I’m talking about: the One… the point man for the Otherness… Rasalom.”
Ernst choked and spewed beer across the table.
“Don’t speak his name!”
But a bigger shock than hearing the name said aloud was the realization that Jack knew it. Only the High Council of Seven and precious few others were privileged with the One’s name. Even Ernst wasn’t supposed to know it, but he’d heard it from his father shortly before he died.
Jack merely stared at him, waiting.
Ernst stared back as other connections formed. Jack knew something only a few in the Order were aware of. So had another man… the bearded man who’d accosted him in Central Park. He’d known about the One and the Fhinntmanchca. He’d pressed a good Austrian pistol under his chin and asked him questions.
And then Tasered him.
He remembered the feel of the current jolting through him, running from the back of his neck down his spine and limbs, coursing through his chest. Pain and helplessness-his useless muscles felt as if they’d melted.
He remembered the humiliation.
He imagined a beard on Jack and-yes… no question. Ernst had never seen the adult Jack, so he hadn’t recognized him through the beard. No doubt about it.
In a burst of anger he slid his hand toward the pocket where his own Taser hid. He’d bought it after the incident, hoping someday he’d have a chance to return the favor when he caught up to the mystery man. His fingers brushed against the comforting lump, then withdrew.
He was too far away. He’d bide his time till Jack was closer. Then…
“Last summer,” Ernst said. “In the park. That was you.”
Jack nodded. “I was in a rush chasing that Fhinn -thing, and neglected to introduce myself. Sorry.”
“The man I was with-”
“Hank Thompson.”
No surprise there. If he knew the One’s taken name, he probably knew as much about Thompson as Ernst did.
“Yes. He didn’t see you but is under the impression that you’ve met before.”
Jack nodded. “We have.”
“You do get around.”
“Not by choice.”
Ernst wasn’t sure what that meant, but didn’t want to waste time pursuing it when he had another question burning to be asked.
“How do you know about the One? How do you know his name?”
“We’ve met-a couple of times, in fact.”
The words struck like a blow. “Met? I don’t believe you. How could you have met the One? And if you really know him, why do you need me to find him?”
“We’re not on the best of terms.”
And then it became clear.
“You’re aligned with the Enemy.”
That was the reason for the One’s interest in him.
Jack frowned. “‘Enemy’?” Then nodded. “Oh, right. From your end, I work for the Enemy. From mine, you do.”
Ernst remembered secretly testing him for the Taint as a teen.
“How does someone so rich with the Taint come to oppose the Otherness?”
Jack shook his head. “Only the Ally can answer that. But you tell me: How does anyone with half a brain-and you’ve always struck me as an intelligent man-come to work for a force that is out to put some serious hurt on humanity?”
“Because the Otherness is going to win. I have no doubts about that and neither should you. Those who help it win will not, as you put it, have the hurt put on them.”
Jack gave him a lopsided grin. “You really believe that? You really think you can trust something like the Otherness?”
“As much as you trust your so-called Ally.”
Something flickered across Jack’s features. Pain?
“I don’t trust the so-called Ally. Not a bit. It keeps the Otherness at bay. That’s all it’s good for. And not for our sake. It has its own agenda. I learned that the hard way.”
Interesting. The Enemy-Jack’s Ally-was reputed to be as ruthless as the Otherness.
“Really? How?”
Instead of answering, Jack said, “You don’t strike me as a man with many illusions, so why do you think you’ll be spared if the Change comes?”
“ When it comes,” Ernst said, “the One will ascend to power, and those who aided him will ascend with him.”
“Right. You and your buddies in the Order will be seated at the right hand of God.” Jack laughed. “At the risk of sounding like John McEnroe, you can not be serious.”
“The multimillennial existence of the Septimus Order has been devoted to that. Our lore confirms it.”
He laughed again. “And you’re basing this on what-the word of a guy who feeds on pain and misery? Not exactly what I’d call an ironclad guarantee. After the Change he won’t need you or your Order anymore, Drexler. He’ll be top dog and all bets will be off. New rules will be in place and he’ll be the one making them.”
The words cut to the heart of Ernst’s own misgivings. He’d taken it as a matter of course that if the Change occurred during his lifetime he would be part of it. But would he?
Jack wouldn’t stop.
“What kind of leverage will you have, Drexler? Do you even have a promise? Did he ever say to you, ‘When I take over, you’ll be one of my lieutenants’?”
“Enough!”
Jack ignored him.
“I’ll take that as a no. But think about it: Even if he did promise, you’d have only moral leverage, and we know what kind of moral code this creep lives by. We’re talking about the guy who convinced Vlad that impaling people was an entertaining hobby.”
“That’s quite enough.”
“Face it, Drexler: If the One gets his way, you’ll be as screwed as the rest of us.”
Ernst felt something snap within him. With a cry he leaped across the room, pulling the Taser from his pocket as he moved. When Jack raised an arm to ward him off, Ernst rammed the prongs of the Taser against it and pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
He pressed it again with the same result.
Still seated in his chair, Jack stared up at him, his smile almost sad as he shook his head.
Ernst felt a pressure against his throat and angled his gaze downward. He realized with a start that the pressure originated from the muzzle of that same Austrian pistol.
Where had that come from?
“Drop it and get back to your seat.”
Ernst did just that, and watched as Jack rested the Glock on his lap and took a sip of his beer. He shifted his gaze to the Taser on the floor. What had gone wrong? It had been turned on, had had plenty of time to build a charge… It should have reduced Jack to twitching helplessness. What sort of man was this?
Jack looked at him. “Hit a nerve, huh?”