Nina went back into the main room. Two single beds, couch, armchair, desk. No television. The cross was the focus of attention — or contemplation.
A small box was mounted high in one corner. A red LED blinked as she moved: a security system with a motion sensor and camera. She was being watched. The eye behind the cross was more than merely symbolic.
Another box overlooked the kitchen. She was not surprised to discover a third surveying the bathroom. Every inch of the suite was under observation.
She returned to the first camera and put her hands on her hips as she glared up at it. ‘Okay, you can see me. When do I get to see you? I know you’re watching — what, are you afraid to show yourself? You’re scared of a pregnant woman?’
Clack.
The noise came from the door. She went to it and tried the handle. This time, it opened. She stepped outside.
Heat rolled around her again. The sun was low, the view ahead lit by a dazzling golden glow. She was in a village, numerous small white buildings spread out before her. It had the same artificial, too-clean feeling as her room, a carefully maintained holiday resort rather than a place where people lived and worked. Or some kind of private gated community? A religious one, apparently; the tallest structure was a church rising up beyond the houses, a cross atop its spire. The symbol of the eye was affixed behind this too, an outline in wood or metal.
Nina stepped out of the shade. She was near the village’s perimeter, seeing a dense swathe of palm trees beyond a chest-high wire fence with a barbed top strand. There to keep people in, or out?
Where were the people? Nobody was in sight, even though the weird little village looked large enough to house several dozen. But she knew someone was here, observing her. A high white pole nearby was topped by a grape-like cluster of glossy black spheres. CCTV cameras, pointing in every direction to give her mysterious hosts 360-degree video coverage. More such posts dotted the settlement. As she regarded the cameras, one of them rotated to stare back at her.
Not only was she being watched, but it was being made unavoidably obvious. God’s eye — or that of a follower, at least — was upon her wherever she went.
She considered running into the trees, but instead advanced into the village. Right now, she needed to find out what was going on — and for all she knew, the jungle was also under surveillance.
There was still no sign of life as she moved between the pristine houses. Some had their shutters raised; she peered through a window. The interior was as neat and as impersonal as her suite, with another large cross and eye on the far wall. Increasingly unsettled, she reached the end of the street.
A path led to the helicopter landing pad, now empty, near the edge of a low, rocky cliff. Beyond it stretched the ocean. A brisk wind kicked up whitecaps as waves struck the stony shore below. She was facing away from the lowering sun, looking east — across the Atlantic, most likely. Was she on one of the Caribbean islands? Given the length of the journey, that seemed a safe bet. But which one?
She looked to her right. The church was fully visible from here, atop a little hill. Steps led up to it. If nothing else, she decided, it would give her a better view of the surrounding landscape.
She was halfway up the steps when a bell rang loudly from the steeple — and suddenly the village burst into life.
The church doors were thrown open. A throng of people poured out, hurrying towards her. All wore white clothing. Fearful, Nina tried to retreat, but they swarmed around her. There was no hostility, the group merely blocking her way, and everybody was smiling, but the silent uniformity of expression was somehow more disturbing than if they had been aggressive.
‘Welcome, Dr Wilde!’ a voice boomed. Nina searched for its source, seeing loudspeakers above the church door. ‘Welcome to the Mission. My friends, bring her to me.’ The words echoed from other speakers throughout the village.
A plump middle-aged woman gestured towards the entrance. ‘This way, please.’ Others moved aside to form a clear path up the steps. ‘The Prophet is waiting for you.’
‘The Prophet?’ Nina asked, but the only response was a polite nod. Smiling faces watched her expectantly. Feeling increasingly unnerved, she went through the human corral to enter the church.
The interior was clean, white and devoid of any warmth or comfort, a place of worship that was entirely about the act rather than the feelings behind it. Even the tall, thin stained-glass windows were less inspiring than forbidding, the same eye motif topping simple grids of coloured squares.
At the far end of the central aisle was a raised pulpit, in which stood a man dressed in white robes. Simeon and Anna flanked it. The former slipped a hand into his jacket to make it clear to Nina that he could draw his gun in a moment if necessary.
She retreated, only to find that the people behind her had closed ranks to block her exit. ‘Let me through!’ she protested, trying to push between them. ‘I’ve been kidnapped! Let me out!’
‘The Prophet wants to see you,’ said the woman amiably. Then, with a sterner undertone: ‘Don’t keep him waiting.’
The figure in the pulpit signalled that Nina should approach. Realising that she would not find any support from the cultists — that was the only way she could think of the smiling white-clad crowd — she reluctantly started down the aisle.
The voice resounded from more speakers inside the church. ‘Dr Wilde, I’m glad you decided to see me.’
‘Did I have a choice?’ she called angrily.
‘God granted you free will. Of course you had a choice. But making any other one might have had consequences. Something I hope you’ll remember.’
Nina approached the pulpit. ‘So you’re Number One. Who are you? Or do I just call you Mr Prophet?’
The man appeared to be in his late forties, with dark hair that was greying at the temples. His eyes, an extremely pale blue that appeared almost glowing, fixed unblinkingly upon her. ‘That’s the title my followers gave me,’ he said. She was now close enough to hear his unamplified voice. ‘Their choice, not mine. My real name is Ezekiel Cross.’
‘Appropriate,’ Nina replied, indicating the symbol dominating the wall behind him.
‘Yes. When I realised I’d been chosen as an agent of God’s will on earth, everything about my life made sense.’
‘And when was that?’ she said, mocking. ‘Did an angel appear before you?’
Simeon scowled, but Cross gave her a thin smile. ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ He descended from the pulpit. ‘Come with me.’
He led the way through a door at the rear of the church. Nina followed, Anna and Simeon falling in behind her. The robed man walked down a short passage, opening another door and ushering his guest inside.
Nina stopped in surprise. She had expected a study, but what she found was more like the control room of a television studio. The entire opposite end was a wall of monitor screens, curving around a large white leather swivel chair. The seat had touchscreens at the end of each armrest, which she guessed Cross used to operate the system.
But what had brought her to a startled halt was not the digital panopticon, but its subject.
Herself.
Every screen displayed a different picture, but all had one thing in common: they were following her. Literally, in some cases, as the camera tracked her movements. Most of the footage had been shot in the last few minutes, showing her blindfolded arrival in the Mission, her search of the suite and subsequent exploration of the settlement, right up to her entering the church.